#thousand fates novel

[byunniiis]

[OC] ⋆☾ Power couple ☾ ⋆

Our favorite local gods make an appearance again!

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ About the two losers ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Eikan is the clingy one in the relationship. He's needy and loves any kind of attention and reaction from Altair. While his behavior towards mortals and other gods is unpredictable, manipulative and often cold, to Altair he's gentle and loving. Treating him like a precious gem.

Altair on the other hand is more reserved. His love towards Eikan is immeasurable, sometimes lacking the words to express his feelings to him. Instead using his actions to show them.

Back when Eikan used to be around, the two of them were glued together like magnets.

(Also small fact: both of them like all the other gods are genderless. Eikan and Altair use he/him pronouns)

[fateandloveentwined]

wuxia, xianxia, and cultivation differences meta

translations: wuxia 武俠, xianxia 仙俠, and cultivation 修真/修仙 (xīuzhēn/xīuxiān)

think i've seen posts on this eons ago, and i'm pretty sure there are tons of these online, but since this has been written up already let's just have another one.

wuxia 武俠

wuxia and xianxia sound similar, but basically for wuxia it is about the pugilistic world (江湖 jiānghú). It is relatively more down-to-earth, and people practice martial arts ("kungfu") in their current life -- they do not do it to become xians (仙) and gods (神) however.

Like Thousand Autumns and Faraway Wanderers/Word of Honor, it has more historical background and ties to the current court and kingdoms, because people are living in the moment and concern themselves with worldly issues.

Martial arts may seem unrealistic, but in view of chinese fantasy it would be considered "real". It consists of fighting moves and internal energy, which they call qi or nèigōng (內功), and at times you see people flying around, climbing hills and jumping across rooftops which is qīnggōng (輕功).

xianxia 仙俠

A level up would be xianxia, where characters in the story cultivate to become xians (and gods, like in the heaven official's blessing). They don't really care about earthly issues here now, because their ambitions lie beyond the current world, and cultivation, getting stronger, and an immortal life are majorly all their goals.

You may not always see them working towards that purpose, such as in mdzs they are considered a lower-xianxia society (低魔), meaning people don't go through all the steps of cultivation and only stay at the stage before the "golden core" stage.

In xianxia, characters still learn basic fighting moves aka. martial arts, but to direct the internal energy they use línglì (灵力), zhēnqì (真气), and fǎlì (法力), all xianxia terms you commonly see. "neigong" is practically nonexistent in this genre. That's why people building up their "neigong" instead of "lingli" are likely never going to be able to cultivate.

cultivation 修真/修仙

A subgenre in the xianxia category would be cultivation. Characters actively go through the stages of cultivation, and likely for the MC, because they are the main character, they successfully become a xian and exit the world at the end of the novel.

There are many stages of cultivation, usually defined at the beginning of the novel in the synopsis, and a typical example of the different levels would be this:

练气，筑基，金丹，元婴，化神，炼虚，合体，大乘，渡劫

And with a cursory search, an English translation would be something like this, albeit not with all the cultivation ranks identified.

Qi condensation (练气), Foundation establishment (筑基), Core Formation (金丹), Nascent Soul (元婴), and the names after that vary too greatly with translation and fandom so I'll jump straight to Immortal Ascension

extra info: getting into the philosophy of it all

It'd be interesting to note that the word "xiá" (俠) permeates all these genres. This is something akin to the concept of "hero", but not at all also, and I'd love to speak more on this but this post has already gone way longer than I hoped it would be, so perhaps another day.

Regardless, it is interesting to note that wuxia has a greater emphasis on "xia" than xianxia. (some joke that cultivation doesn't have the word "xia" in it, and much of that is because characters have foregone heroism and focused on gaining powers and working towards ascension instead). As a result, wuxia is more confucianism-oriented, though not without its taoism and buddhism influences.

xianxia, on the other hand, is mainly derived from "dào" (道), from taoism, which is another lengthy concept if I ever get to it.

And some may have heard of the "farming" genre, 种田 (zhòngtián). This has to do with golden fingers (mary sues) in imperialistic china, earning a wealth of money, and all that. It has nothing to do with cultivation, alike they sound in english.

that's it for now, hmu if you wish to ask/discuss!

(and apologies for the pinyin translations, hope it's understandable still! formally writing pinyin they are supposed to be two separate words not one.)

[artingstarvist]

TGCF Vol 3, Chp. 43 - 44 (First "Kiss") Part 2 / 5 (First, Next)

Next part is finally done! Xie Lian's inner monologue kills me.

Novel excerpt under the cut:

[denotes panel #]

[1, 2] Xie Lian blinked, trying desperately to bat away the thousands upon millions of lingering crystalline bubbles. [3] Then he found himself caught by a pair of strong arms. [4, 5] One hand circled his waist, and the other grasped his chin. [6] In the next second, something cold and soft covered his lips. [7]In that instant, Xie Lian's eyes bulged. Never in his life had anyone treated him like this. First, no one dared, second, no one could. However this person was swift like the devil and had appeared so suddenly that he had no chance to defend himself before he'd been plunged into such a state. [8, 9] Flustered, he thrashed and desperately tried to push the person away. [10] Instead, he only succeeded in choking on large mouthfuls of water as string after string of bubbles escaped his mouth like crystal beads. Of course, this was a big mistake underwater. [11] The hands round his waist only tightened, pressing their bodies closer together, and Xie Lian's struggling hands were firmly folded and crushed against his own chest, trapping them in place. [12] His lips, too, were securely sealed. The kiss deepened, and with it, a breath of cool, gentle air was transferred into his mouth. [13, 14, 15] Completely helpless and at a loss, just as Xie Lian began to accept his fate, he finally saw the person's face clearly. [16] It was Hua Cheng. [17] The moment he realized it was Hua Cheng, he stopped struggling. Innumerable random thoughts popped into his mind, all inappropriate for the time and place, such as : So it was Hua Cheng! No wonder he's cold. [18] Ghosts don't need to breathe, but he can still transfer air to me?! [19] Don't ghosts sink in the water? [20] Hua Cheng suddenly opened his eye. [21, 22] Staring into that dark eye from such an intimate distance, Xie Lian froze again, then resumed struggling, his arms flailing like a duck so clumsy it was drowning. [23, 24] Hua Cheng easily corralled those thrashing limbs, and with his arm still firmly locked around Xie Lian's waist, Hua Cheng took him and speedily swam upward.

[faustandfurious]

«Here’s the one book everyone should read before they die» *bites you* here’s one book written by an author with a specific viewpoint shaped by time and place and circumstances, here is another book written from the exact opposite viewpoint, here’s a war memoir, here’s a peace memoir, here’s the philosophical treatise which inspired the first author, here are dry facts, here are the human fates behind the dry facts, here’s a book that will not teach you kindness unless you’re already inclined towards kindness, here’s a book that will teach you nothing but small sorrows and vague melancholia, here’s the Northern Lights written on paper, here’s a marriage broken, here’s a marriage healed, here’s the case against marriage as an institution, here’s a poem you have to read at least five graeco-roman classics to understand, here’s the unfinished novel that could have been the greatest work of literature ever written if completed, here’s the history of the world as we know it, here’s the book telling you everything not mentioned in the history of the world as we know it, here’s the critique of teleological history, here are five thousand books you should read just to begin chipping away at the surface of human experience

[ot3]

The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere

What is it, and why you should read it.

(Art by purple)

The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere is a currently updating webserial by author Lurina. It's one of my favorite things I've read in a long while and I'd like to convince you all to give it a chance.

My elevator pitch is this: A time-loop murder mystery directly inspired by Umineko, with a lot of similar vibes to the Locked Tomb Trilogy - partially due to it's meditations on grief and mortality and partially due to it's far-future magical sci-fi world where we follow a fucked up lesbian necromancer on a task she is determined to see through to the end. A deeply complex, unique, and believable world that plays hosts to one of the best interpersonal dynamics I've read.

In a future so far-flung that it is past the heat death of the universe, humanity has constructed a new society that is post-scarcity but not post-stratification. Utsushikome of Fusai is one amongst a class of prodigious young medical arcanists (essentially grad students) who are invited to visit a recently legitimized conclave of top-of-the-line researchers studying immortality. Accompanying Su is her best friend Ran, a fellow arcanist. Over the course of the novel we begin to slowly unravel exactly what ulterior motives have brought them to this conclave and how events in their childhoods and years of working toward their shared goal has warped their relationship into what we now see. This relationship is the crown jewel of Flower's narrative, and getting to peel back the layers of it as you read is a delight.

Like Umineko, Flower is a murder mystery that prevents itself with in-universe Rules that dictate the murders' parameters, meaning there's a lot to chew on for anyone who likes solving mysteries. For those that don't, like myself, Flower offers instead a richly developed world and plenty of open questions about the sociopolitical and metaphysical implications of its own worldbuilding.

Below the cut, I'll go into more detail about the series (without spoilers!) for those of you whose interest has been piqued.

The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere is currently ongoing, updating every few weeks. It's several hundred thousand words, so if you're looking for something substantial to keep you entertained, you've got it. As you might expect from the length, the pacing is decently slow. I don't see this as a bad thing at all, because within this pacing Lurina dripfeeds the readers enough new and interesting information at a regular rate that it never feels like your time is being wasted. But if you can't handle slow burns, I wouldn't recommend this one for you.

If you enjoyed the Zero Escape series and liked that they stopped solving murder puzzles to infodump about fringe science, I think you'll get a lot out of Flower. Characters are frequently interrupting their life-or-death scenarios to have lofty, philosophical and political discussions. It's a ton of fun if you like reading characters argue.

'People have to sleep.' 'People have to work.' 'People have to die.' But those were just vague rules, phrasing I'd used because it had been easier in the context of that conversation. What really mattered, on the day-to-day level, was the idea that it was all for something. If someone invented a elixir that made people not to need to sleep, it would, in retrospect, recontextualize all nights everyone ever wasted sleeping as wastes of time. Not something that occurred for some inherent purpose, but whims of circumstance, a tragedy of when you happened to be born. If you accepted that all unfair things in the world could be removed, if only someone knew how - fatigue, labor, death - then to exist in the world we had now, with all its grotesque imperfections, was to know that you had been violated by fate.

Along those lines it's just got a sense of humor I really enjoy. Pretty dry and cavalier. It manages to keep the mood light without feeling like it's undermining it's own stakes. I'm particularly fond of Su's penchant for telling incredibly depressing suicide jokes that just Do Not Land.

The peer pressure cut into me like a hot knife. I hesitated a little, biting my lip. "Well, uh, okay. I'll just tell a quick one." I swallowed, my mind quickly scrambling. "Okay, so, there's a woman who runs a dispensary for second hand goods. She sees a man come in who's a regular customer. He's kind of a mess-- Has a big beard, a bad complexion. He buys a razor, and tells her he needs it to clean himself up, because he has a date." I could see that I now had Ophelia's attention and that Kam was looking pleased with herself, but Ran was watching me, too. I could see the look in her eyes. It screamed at me, with such vividity that it could be sold at an art gallery: You better not be telling a suicide joke right now, or we're going to have a talk. But it was too late. The wheels were already in motion.

As I mentioned up top, the relationship between Ran and Su is just one of my favorite interpersonal dynamics ever. Period. The author is playing some insanely complicated 5th dimensional yuri chess and I am absolutely here for it as someone who likes characters who are deeply devoted to each other in a way that is deeply deeply fraught. I cant emphasize enough how obsessed I am with what they have going on.

Additionally, as stated, the worldbuilding in Flower is top tier. The author clearly understands how every part of her world functions, which makes the moral quandaries and politics presented all the more impactful because they're very believable. It's hard to talk about Flower's world without spoiling too much of the specifics that get slowly revealed, but it doesn't fall back on any typical sci-fi standard fare and feels like a breath of fresh air amongst recycled and repetitive worldbuilding tropes.

A lot of really fun side characters. Strong voices for all of the supporting cast (♥♥Kamrusepa♥♥) and even though not every character gets their own arc, they all clearly have plenty of interiority. Once again, another thing that makes Flower feel very believable despite it's absurdities.

Autism

"Did you notice anything out of the ordinary with anyone?" She eyed him. "Anyone who seemed tense?" "Saoite, I'm not sure if you've noticed, but half of our class is so autistic that they constantly seem tense. You might as well ask me to find a specific turd in a sewer." "Just answer the question, please," she replied flatly.

Guys it's really good just trust me I don't want to spoil you for the more intricate plot beats but they're doing some crazy shit here. It's never a bad time to support an independent author's project. If you're sick of corporate mass-media and stuff needing to be marketable, getting into independent works owned and supported by individual creators is a great way to push back against that. I highly recommend it.

[imgeekgirlfan]

The Curse of Cassandra│(Qimir x Reader)

Read in Ao3 : here

Pairings:  Qimir x f!reader(SEA Reader)  [The Acolyte]

Content Rating : Mature 18+  Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warning (AT YOUR OWN RISK)

tags/themes : Alternate Universe - Dune & Star wars, Partners in Crime, Strangers to Lovers

Summary: Being a prophet is both a gift and a curse; you see the future and you’re burdened with the weight of knowing that every decision you make could shape or destroy entire universe, with the overwhelming pressure that the fate of the galaxy hinges on your choice, and every path fraught with sacrifice.

Status: work in progress (This is a long fanfic that will be about 10+ chapters.)

A/N : I'm thai and english isn't my first language (sorry for the broken English)

This fic exists 'cause I got high (thanks to weed!). So my work's full of random shit in many ways. But I hope you'll dig it.

I got inspo from novels and movies I'm obsessed with: Dune, Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga, Blue Eye Samurai, and Anne Carson's Cassandra Float Can. (Hence the title "The Curse of Cassandra," linking to the Greek myth)

It's a mash-up of different universes, not just Star Wars, with a lot of tweaks for my storyline. If you want fanfic that strict Star Wars canon, this fic isn't for you.

Also, diversity FTW! the reader in this fic isn't white, she's a SEA woman, we gonna representing ASEAN pride.

➡  EP : I // EP : II // EP : III // EP : IV // EP : V // EP : VI // EP : VII

[Intro] A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away

What fate could be worse? 

Being captured by Jedi 

Or being hunted by Sith

You close your eyelids, frowning at the stabbing sensation creeping into your brain. It's always like this when you try to sink into the stream of time, pondering what's yet to come. The price for this wicked foresight is torment of both body and soul, intensifying as your senses expand.

You see, you hear, you feel. The moisture in the air, the sound of water droplets hitting the ground, the wind rustling through the grass, the capillaries in your nasal cavities twisting and rupturing before blood gushes from your nose.

As you casually wipe away the red fluid with the back of your hand, you suddenly realize certain truths that have always been part of you. 

You are an aberration, something repulsive. An Abomination. 

And abominations must be eliminated—so they say.

You let out a long sigh, allowing your mind to drift through the past, present, and future—every possible event and situation. You watch it all with a numb mind, as if you've seen the same movie hundreds or thousands of times, a movie whose ending you already know well.

Yet there's one thing you still don't know: which ending will the path you're on now lead to?

Something pulls you out of your meditation, coinciding with the moment you sense someone's piercing gaze openly fixed upon you. That man is watching you from the shadows behind a large tree, not with malicious intent but with curiosity mixed with several other complex emotions too ambiguous to explain.

You remain seated in meditation at the same spot, amidst the blood and corpses of the Jedi, not daring to move, almost forgetting even to breathe.

You are the last one still breathing, the final victim of the Jedi massacre carried out by the mysterious Sith—The Stranger who is now closely observing you.

His face is completely hidden beneath a dark, twisted metal mask. Yet you can still feel his gleaming eyes surveying your body, as far as sight allows, focusing excessively, even invasively.

The curiosity in his mind is so intense that you find yourself trembling.

You see visions of what might happen—there's a high chance he'll rush in to slice you to pieces with his red lightsaber, searching for secrets or whatever might be hidden inside your body. Or he might subjugate you with his Force, using his power to penetrate your mind, deep into your subconscious, hoping to taste the forbidden fruit of secrets that you alone possess.

But he will never know, as long as you don't wish him to.

The scent of death hangs heavy in the air as heavy footsteps crunch over gravel, approaching you slowly, like a predator toying with its prey. You freeze, every muscle in your body tense, as you face the tall figure in dark robes, his visage concealed behind a strange metal mask carved into a distorted smile.

For a moment, this man reminds you of the grim reaper from ancient religious myths that vanished thousands of years ago.

He is the harbinger of death everywhere he goes, including your own death

Awareness strikes like a warning signal. Various possibilities flash through your memory, similar to how a dying person recalls everything that happened in their life.

You instantly realize how crucial this moment is. This is an incredibly fragile juncture. 

There's a fifty percent chance he'll kill you, and another fifty percent chance he'll spare your life. 

Fear spreads throughout your flesh, imprinting itself on your soul, turning your blood ice-cold. Your pulse races with panic. 

You take a deep breath, quickly focusing, trying hard to regain control of your shaken mind. "I must not fear," you mutter to yourself, the same phrase your mother used to teach you as a child. "Fear is the mind-killer, fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration..." 

A low, hoarse laugh escapes from behind the metal mask. Clearly, he heard what you said. "Oh, I think you should fear," he says, his words teetering between mockery and sarcasm.

You know he wants you to fear because, for the Sith, fear leads to power.

 You do the opposite, swallowing the lump of fear in your throat, maintaining a calm demeanor as you force a faint smile for the person before you. 

"Humans fear what they don't know, just as they fear me, and just as they fear you." You pause momentarily, carefully considering your final sentence, which could determine your fate. 

Finally, you speak, firm and unwavering, "But I know you, so I do not fear." 

There's a fifty percent chance he'll kill you, and another fifty percent chance he'll spare your life—this thought returns to your mind once more.

He had always kept his secret well, never letting anyone who knew his true identity survive.

'Why does this woman know who I am?' He must have thought.

You know well that your revelation will bring about an end that changes everything, both for better and for worse.

This is the gamble you've already placed your bet on, for this purpose and for this moment.

The lightsaber hilt in his hand remains tightly closed, showing no sign of the red flame that has taken countless lives. He kneels before you, his action clearly revealing vulnerabilities in his body. You could easily grab the lightsaber from the Jedi's corpse and behead him in one stroke.

But you don't kill him, just as he doesn't kill you.

You look into his eyes, he looks into yours, gauging each other in silence.

His large hand reaches beneath his mask, unlocks the mechanism, and slowly removes it, revealing the familiar face in your sight.

His face is sharp in every proportion, with messy jet-black hair. His eyes, once gentle when touched by sunlight, now cold as ice, contrast starkly with the smile slowly spreading wide, in the same fashion as the smile on the mask he wore earlier.

"Qimir"

His name sounds strange when you utter it, as if it's not a name you're familiar with, and the man before you is not the man you know.

The man chuckles softly and moves even closer, cutting off any chance for you to escape. You swallow hard, trying to turn your face away from his intense gaze. But he doesn't let you. His fingers, wet with others' blood, dig into both of your cheeks, pressing hard enough to hurt, forcing you to look only at him.

"Surprised?" He leans in closer, his hot breath on your face, and whispers softly in your ear, "I told you, you can't run away from me."

[aronarchy]

A copy of the first reading list, if you dislike clicking on Google docs links:

The liberal news media is working overtime to silence Palestinian voices. As we sit thousands of miles away, witnessing the massacre through social media, the least we can do is educate ourselves and work to educate others. Apartheid threatens all of us, and just to reiterate, anti-Zionism ≠ antisemitism.

Academic Works, Poetry and Memoirs

The Revolution of 1936-1939 in Palestine: Background, Details, and Analysis, Ghassan Kanafani (1972)

Palestinians: From Peasants to Revolutionaries, Rosemary Sayegh (1979)

Popular Resistance in Palestine: A History of Hope and Empowerment, Mazin Qumsiyeh (2011)

My Life in the PLO: The Inside Story of the Palestinian Struggle, Shafiq al-Hout and Jean Said Makdisi (2019)

My People Shall Live, Leila Khaled (1971)

Poetry of Resistance in Occupied Palestine, translated by Sulafa Hijjawi (Baghdad, Ministry of Culture and Guidance, 1968)

On Palestine by Ilan Pappé and Noam Chomsky (2015)

Gaza in Crisis: Reflections on the US-Israeli War Against the Palestinians, Noam Chomsky and Ilan Pappé (2013)

The Politics of Dispossession: The Struggle for Palestinian Self-Determination, 1969-1994, Edward W. Said (2012)

Queer Palestine and the Empire of Critique, Sa’ed Atshan (2020)

Stone Men: The Palestinians Who Built Israel, Andrew Ross (2019)

Ten Myths About Israel, Ilan Pappé (2017)

Blaming the Victims: Spurious Scholarship and the Palestinian Question, Christopher Eric Hitchens and Edward W. Said (2001)

Palestinian Walks: Notes on a Vanishing Landscape, Raja Shehadeh (2010)

The Gun and the Olive Branch: The Roots of Violence in the Middle East, David Hirst (1977)

Gaza: An Inquest into Its Martyrdom, Norman Finkelstein (2018)

Fateful Triangle: The United States, Israel and the Palestinians, Noam Chomsky (1983)

Israel and Palestine: Reappraisals, Revisions, Refutations, Avi Shlaim (2010)

Politicide: Ariel Sharon’s War Against the Palestinians, Baruch Kimmerling (2006)

The Holocaust Industry: Reflections on the Exploitation of Jewish Suffering, Norman G. Finkelstein (2015)

Light in Gaza: Writings Born of Fire, Jehad Abusalim (2022)

Nakba: Palestine, 1948, and the Claims of Memory, Ahmad H. Sa’di and Lila Abu-Lughod (2007)

Peace and its discontents: Essays on Palestine in the Middle East peace process, Edward W. Said (2012)

Three Poems by Yahya Hassan

Articles, Papers & Essays

“Palestinian history doesn’t start with the Nakba” by PYM (May, 2023) 

“What the Uprising Means,” Salim Tamari (1988)

“The Palestinians’ inalienable right to resist,” Louis Allday (2021)

“Liberating a Palestinian Novel from Israeli Prison,” Danya Al-Saleh and Samar Al-Saleh (2023) 

Women, War, and Peace: Reflections from the Intifada, Nahla Abdo (2002)

“A Place Without a Door” and “Uncle Give me a Cigarette”—Two Essays by Palestinian Political Prisoner, Walid Daqqah (2023)

“Live Like a Porcupine, Fight Like a Flea,” A Translation of an Article by Basel Al-Araj

Films & Video Essays

Fedayin: Georges Abdallah’s Fight (2021)

Naila and the Uprising (2017)

Off Frame AKA Revolution Until Victory (2015)

Tell Your Tale Little Bird (1993)

The Time That Remains (2009)

“The Present” (short film) (2020)

“How Palestinians were expelled from their homes”

Louis Theroux: The Ultra Zionists (2011)

Born in Gaza (2014)

5 Broken Cameras (2011)

Little Palestine: Diary of a Siege (2021)

Al-Nakba: The Palestinian catastrophe - Episode 1 | Featured Documentary

Organisations to donate to

Palestine Red Crescent Society - https://www.palestinercs.org/en

Anera - https://support.anera.org/a/palestine-emergency

Palestinian American Medical Association - https://palestinian-ama.networkforgood.com/projects/206145-gaza-medical-supplies-oct-2023

You First Gaza - https://donate.gazayoufirst.org/

MAP - Medical Aid for Palestinians - https://www.map.org.uk/donate/donate

United Nations Relief and Works Agency - https://donate.unrwa.org/-landing-page/en_EN

Palestine Children’s Relief Fund - https://www.pcrf.net/   

Doctors Without Borders - https://www.doctorswithoutborders.org/what-we-do/where-we-work/palestine

AP Fact Check

https://apnews.com/article/israel-hamas-gaza-misinformation-fact-check-e58f9ab8696309305c3ea2bfb269258e

This list is not exhaustive in any way, and is a summary of various sources on the Internet. Please engage with more ethical, unbiased sources, including Decolonize Palestine and this list compiled by the Palestinian Youth Movement.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Weinersmith and Boulet’s “Bea Wolf”

On July 14, I'm giving the closing keynote for the fifteenth HACKERS ON PLANET EARTH, in QUEENS, NY. Happy Bastille Day! On July 20, I'm appearing in CHICAGO at Exile in Bookville.

Bea Wolf is Zach Weinersmith and Boulet's ferociously amazingly great illustrated kids' graphic novel adaptation of the Old English epic poem, which inspired Tolkien, who helped bring it to popularity after it had languished in obscurity for centuries:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250776297/beawolf

Boy is this a wildly improbable artifact. Weinersmith and Boulet set themselves the task of bringing Germanic heroic saga from more than a thousand years ago to modern children, while preserving the meter and the linguistic and literary tropes of the original. And they did it!

There are some changes, of course. Grendel – the boss monster that both Beowulf and Bea Wulf must defeat – is no longer obsessed with decapitating his foes and stealing their heads. In Bea Wulf, Grendel is a monstrously grown up and boring adult who watches cable news and flosses twice per day, and when he defeats the kids whose destruction he is bent upon, he does so by turning them into boring adults, too.

And Bea Wulf – and the kings that do battle with Grendel – are not interested in the gold and jewels that the kings of Beowulf hoard. In Bea Wulf, the treasure is toys, chocolate, soda, candy, food without fiber, television shows without redeeming educational content, water balloons, nerf swords and spears, and other stuff beloved of kids and hated by parents.

That substitution is key to transposing the thousand-year-old adult epic Beowulf for enjoyment by small children in the 21st century. After all, what makes Beowulf so epic is the sense that it is set in a time in which a primal valor still reigned, but it is narrated for an audience that has been tamed and domesticated. Beowulf makes you long for a never-was time of fierce and unwavering bravery. Bea Wulf beautifully conjures the years of early childhood when you and the kids in your group had your own little sealed-off world, which grownups could barely perceive and never understand.

Growing up, after all, is a process of repeating things that are brave the first time you do them, over and over again, until they become banal. That's what "coming of age" really boils down to: the slow and relentless transformation of the mythic, the epic, and the unknowable and unknown into the tame, the explained, the mastered. When you're just mastering balance and coordination, the playground climber is a challenge out of legend. A couple years later, it's just something you climb.

The correspondences between the leeching away of magic lamented in Beowulf and experienced by all of us as we grow out of childhood are obvious in hindsight and surprising and beautiful and bittersweet when you encounter them in Bea Wolf.

This effect owes a large debt to Boulet's stupendous artwork. Boulet brings a vibe rarely seen in American kids' illustration, owing quite a lot to France's bande dessinée tradition. Of course, this is a Firstsecond book, and they established themselves as an exciting and fresh kids' publisher in the USA nearly 20 years ago by bringing some of Europe's finest comics to an American audience for the first time. You can get a sense of Boulet's darker-than-average, unabashedly anarchic illustrations here:

https://www.comixtrip.fr/bibliotheque/bea-wolf-weinersmith-boulet-albin-michel/

The utter brilliance of Bea Wulf is as much due to the things it preserves from the original epic as it is to the updates and changes. Weinersmith has kept the Old English tradition of alliteration, right from the earliest passages, with celebrations of heroes like "Tanya, treat-taker, terror of Halloween, her costume-cache vast, sieging kin and neighbor, draining full candy-bins, fearing not the fate of her teeth. Ten thousand treats she took. That was a fine Tuesday."

Weinersmith also preserves the kennings – the elaborate figurative compound phrases that replace nouns – that turn ordinary names and places into epithets at you have to riddle out, like calling a river "the sliding sea."

These literary devices, rarely seen today, are extremely powerful, and they conjure up the force and mystique that has kept Beowulf in our current literary discourse for more than a millennium. They also make this a super fun book to read aloud.

When Jim Henson was first conceiving of Sesame Street, he made a point of designing it to have jokes and riffs that would appeal to adults, even if some of the nuance would be lost on kids. He did this because he wanted to make art that adults and kids could enjoy together, both because that would give adults a chance to help kids actively explore the ideas on-screen, but also because it would bring some magic into those adults' lives.

This is a very winning combination (not for nothing, it's also the original design brief for Disneyland). Weinersmith and Boulet have produced a first-rate work of adult and kid literature, both a perfect entree to Beowulf for anyone contemplating a dive into old English epic poetry, and a kids' book full of booger jokes and transgressive scenes of perfect mischief.

Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/24/awesome-alliteration/#hellion-hallelujah

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Can you write about a reader who is the most beautiful girl in the village? Donna literally worships her, she has many pictures of her in her house,she is overprotective, literally treats her like a goddess. Every time Donna sees reader she loves to touch her, tell her how much she loves her and how beautiful she is.Reader is also very shy and doesn't talk much, even more than Donna. Can it be smut G!P Donna with reader being super shy and embarrassed? Reader needs aftercare soo much :))

Yesss!!!! Thank you for your request!!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!!!! :)))))

Your cursed beauty

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: G!P Donna, smut, Minors DNI, fluff,

Word count: 7,672

Summary: She's the only one who really loves you...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!!I love you all!!!

“So, with the rune in his hand, he made an effort not to use that power again, because the fate of the region was much more important than his selfish desires...” you read out loud as you wrote.

The always reassuring silence of the mansion, the subtle lighting of the place, that peace, that tranquility were your best companions when it came to writing one of your stories. It was a shame that someone had other plans for you.

“Hey! Silly, silly!” a shrill voice pulled you out of the sheet of paper, blurring the image of your characters in your mind. At least you were used to it. “Hey, do you hear me? Hello? Silly?”

“Angie...” you sighed in a low voice, shaking your head as the puppet climbed onto the old desk, taking a not-so-subtle look at the already written sheets. “W-Wait…”

Your whispers weren't going to stop the doll's curious eagerness.

“Keep reading, keep reading, keep reading,” the puppet insisted, pointing at the paper.

“I can't read what isn't written,” you murmured, taking that new page out of the machine, pretending that this intrusion hadn't made you nervous.

“Well, write then,” Angie said, with her hands on her hips.

“I can't if you're here,” you said with a shy tone, afraid that one of your words would offend the doll. It wouldn't be the first time. “Besides, I'm done for today.”

Sometimes you thought Angie only did those things to make you nervous. What nonsense, of course she did it to make you nervous.

“I hope you've accepted my suggestions,” she said in a petulant voice.

You looked at her briefly, shaking your head. Despite your shyness, despite the comfort you felt in not having to speak, you knew it was impossible.

“I can’t put spaceships in it, it’s a fantasy novel,” you said in a soft voice, not looking at the puppet as you did so, an old trick to lose the fear of communicating.

“Bullshit,” Angie protested, in a brusque tone, one that even startled you. “Spaceships are cool.”

“Angie, lasciala stare,” a tender voice appeared to protect you.

Your lips broke into a smile, your cheeks flushed at those melodic words. The sound of the heels matched the beat of your heart and your eyes moved from the desk to contemplate her approaching figure.

Since you were very young, you were blessed with the gift of beauty.

Being beautiful was the dream of many girls, they strived to achieve it. They prayed to achieve it.

You never had to do it, you were born beautiful, according to too many people, you were the most beautiful girl in the village.

It was a proud title, in which you yourself didn’t believe. You never cared. You never looked at yourself the mirror and smiled. You never contemplated that beauty everyone said you had.

The only thing you were proud of was your gift for writing.

Creating a world, characters, play with them, make them live a thousand adventures was truly your passion. Since you were 10 years old you had started with short stories, with tales that you read to your parents. That was a gift for you, not looking in the mirror and knowing that you were beautiful.

Unfortunately, those kinds of talents were not noticed in that village. The Black Gods, Mother Miranda, the Lords... They transformed that place into a gray pit of bitterness, of conformism.

Like those knights in the books, with small brains and big lances, the villagers didn’t see in you an artist, not even a friend, all they could see was your face, your beauty.

A beauty desired by others, an extraordinary gift that was a blessing for those silly girls who dreamed of their prince charming. For you it was not like that, for you that beauty was a curse, an unjust sentence.

You felt the eyes, the glances on you, you heard whispers. You lived with uncomfortable smiles.

Far from considering you a strange girl, your friends seemed to be interested in your talent. That was a good thing, or so you thought. Every day you had several people willing to listen to your stories, to hear a voice that wasn’t yet afraid to come out of your lips.

In your ignorance you believed that those invitations were simply a desire to hear your stories, since it was the favorite excuse of those boys and girls.

You soon discovered you were wrong. You only had to ask, ask what part they liked the most, what they thought of the fate of a character, to realize that they never listened to you, that your stories didn't matter to them.

Nobody cared about your writing, nobody cared about your stories. They only wanted to be close to you to try to make that fairy tale princess fall in love with a brainless knight.

That same attitude, the repetition of that behavior over and over again led you little by little to despair, to not feeling comfortable talking, relating to people.

One day you were beautiful and outgoing, the next one you were beautiful, yes, but shy and lacking in words.

Shyness arrived over time, as a side effect of that curse your beauty was.

“Oh, come on, don't be like that, let me invite you to dinner at least,” he protested, while you walked away, telling yourself that it was over, that no one who didn't want to listen to you would deserve to hear your voice.

“I really want to know the end,” a hoarse voice startled you, getting in your way.

It wasn't a dream, nor a nightmare. One of the village Lords, the youngest, the strangest, Donna Beneviento, appeared in front of you, with her hands in an elegant pose.

It seemed unlikely, even impossible.

But your duty was to obey those authorities, and so you did. The lady in black and you sat on a bench. Silence accompanied the mystery hidden by that black veil. There were no words, only gestures that encouraged you to continue that story.

You would never have imagined that she, that sick, disturbed woman, that doll maker would listen to you. She didn't interrupt. She didn't seem to devour you with her gaze. She just wanted to listen to you.

No one, not even your best friends, had made the slightest effort to let you share your talent with them.

Donna Beneviento did, she listened to you again and again, she asked you questions, she seemed curious about your talent, enthralled by your stories, and not by your beauty.

Well, that would be trivializing it a bit, of course she thought you were beautiful, the most beautiful girl in the village, but that was a very secondary detail.

She was the first, the only one who dared to meet you, who seduced you not only by what you were on the outside, but also by what you were on the inside. The dates on that remote bench were frequent. They were dates that weren’t scheduled; they simply existed, always in the same place, always at the same time.

You found refuge in her presence. Attentive, kind, shy like you... That was the youngest of the Lords.

That was the first time, the first time that a compliment, a flattery, was accompanied by praise for your talent.

Her deformed face forced her to isolate herself from the world. Her different body embarrassed her, almost as much as your beauty did to you. You tow ere so different and so alike…

You had no doubt, you loved her, and she loved you.

Without thinking, you threw yourself into that romance, into her lips, into her kisses, into her hugs. Donna was the only one who treated you the way you deserved, the only one who won your heart.

Living in the old mansion was your next step. You couldn't walk without feeling her lips, her caresses, her words of love. Yes, she was also dazzled by your beauty, she adored you as if you were some kind of Goddess, but you knew she was the only woman you allowed to do it.

Your shy attitude was curious to her. Your talent was fascinating to her. But, Donna... She was much more than that to you, Donna was everything to you.

You could no longer live without her kisses, without her voice, without her caresses... Anything that meant not having her by your side was like a hell for you.

“Hi, tesoro...” the lady sighed, bending down to steal a kiss from you, to cheer your spirit with a tender smile.

You smiled again, embarrassed by the softness of her lips, her words. Your cheeks had become accustomed to blushing in her presence, and your body trembled accepting her caresses.

“Donna,” you said with a soft voice, broken by the shame your body felt when hers surrounded it.

“Are you done for today?” she asked softly, looking at the pile of papers on the desk.

You nodded slowly, lowering your gaze as she looked at you again with that smile, one that didn't seem to want to fade from her face.

“I've finished two chapters,” you said in a whispery voice, trying to make the heat in your cheeks dissipate, something complicated due to her constant caresses.

“Mm, you were inspired,” Donna said, amused, putting her hand on your shoulder and sitting on the desk. “Do you want to read them to me?”

“Oh, um, I…” you said nervously, moving your eyes away from hers. “You, you know it’s embarrassing for me.”

Donna laughed, shaking her head, taking the opportunity to run a hand over your face again, to be captivated by your features. Your cheeks accepted that caress, responding with an increasingly dark red tone.

“You know I love listening to you,” she whispered, moving away so as not to overwhelm you. “Your voice is worthy of the Gods.”

You laughed as you shook your head, giving her a soft slap on the leg.

“Hey, don't say those things to me…” you said in a shy tone, focusing your gaze on the papers, and not on her beautiful, truly beautiful smile. “It makes me nervous.”

“Oh, does it make you nervous when I tell you nice things?” she said in a tender voice, biting her lip. “You're perfect, you know?”

“No, no, I'm not,” you murmured, looking for the chapter you had finished. “If I read you… will you stop talking to me like that?”

“Maybe,” she said, with a mischievous smile.

You indicated for her to sit in a nearby chair, while you cleared your throat.

“Mm, let's see…” you whispered, dying of embarrassment as every time you read out loud, even more knowing that the Angie doll had climbed onto her owner's lap, also willing to listen to your story without spaceships.

Little by little, you related those parts of your novel, which Donna, along with a mysteriously silent Angie, listened attentively.

 “What do you think?” you said, sighing in relief when you finished reading.

The lady in black, with her head resting on one hand, blinked, her smile widening.

“Edgar's story is very tragic,” she commented, with a low voice, moved by the fate of one of your characters.

“Yes, well…” you said, nodding and moving the pages, returning again to your usual shyness. “He can have all the money he wants, but he will never get Regina's love…” you commented.

“Never?” Donna asked, curious about your comment.

You shook your head with a smile.

“Not everyone has to have a happy ending, right?” you said amused.

The lady sighed, getting up from the chair and lowering Angie to the floor.

“I had it,” Donna whispered, helping you get up from the chair with an elegant gesture, placing her hands gently on your waist. “Although I didn't deserve it…”

You enjoyed the contact, the soft hand that placed a lock of hair behind your ear.

“Me neither,” you said in a low voice, intimidated by the intensity of her gaze.

“Nonsense, tesoro, you deserve anything you want,” the lady in black whispered, leaning to your ear and kissing your skin slowly, savoring each of the soft movements of her lips on your neck.

“You’re exaggerating,” you said shyly, laughing nervously at the tickling her kisses did to you.

“Mm,” Donna murmured, sighing and caressing your cheek one last time before slowly pulling away, kissing the back of your hand. “I’m going to go make dinner.”

“Oh, do you need…? Do I help you?” you asked, more confidently.

Donna turned slowly, shaking her head.

“No, tesoro, just rest,” she said softly, walking away from you with her graceful step, the rhythmic sound of her heels clicking on the floor.

You stood still on the floor, but before the doll maker reached the elevator, you walked quickly towards her, placing a hand on her shoulder, drawing her attention.

“Donna,” you said with a shy smile, slowly turning her around and capturing her lips in an improvised kiss, one you rarely felt capable of giving.

She smiled into your lips, cupping your face in her hands, caressing your lips slowly, softly, while you leaned, smiling. Your cheeks were burning with shyness, but also, with love.

The kiss deepened, and seemed to never end. Your hands settled on her chest and hers ran seductively along your waist.

“Amore mio…” she sighed, letting her lips go free, kissing every part of your face, releasing the chastity of her hands, which tickled your arms, your neck. “Principessa…”

You resisted nervously, unable to control those kisses that were increasingly unbridled.

Laughing again, shy at her whispers, which only knew how to praise you, to adore you as if you were something precious, fragile, tremendously valuable, you put your hands on her chest, stopping the passion that was increasingly ardent, because otherwise, you would be unable to do it.

“Donna,” you whispered between kisses, gently moving away, causing a tender growl from the lady, who finally agreed to stop kissing you. “I'm… I'm a bit hungry.”

“Oh, certo…” she murmured, kissing you quickly and running her thumb down your cheek while laughing nervously. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't apologize,” you whispered shyly, with a sincere, sweet smile, a smile like you've never had, one in love, truly in love. “I love your kisses…”

“I love you…” the lady whispered, giving you one last kiss before pulling away again.

“Hey, that's enough! Stop, basta, parad!” Angie shrieked, pushing the lady by her legs. “How disgusting…”

“Angie…” Donna sighed, shaking her head.

“Is the blood reaching your head? I doubt it…” the doll mocked, making the lady blush with a serious look.

“Angie, don't be rude,” the doll maker protested, turning around. “I'll see you right away, amore mio…”

“O-Okay,” you said shyly again, laughing at Angie's impudence. “I'm going to take a bath, I need it.”

“Mmmm,” the lady in black protested, turning on her heels and biting her lip. “(Y/N)… You know I love to do it with you.”

You shrugged in amusement, looking at the floor so your embarrassment wasn't so obvious. The characters in your novel weren't afraid of such things but you... Despite having shared everything with Donna, you were still extremely shy when it came to taking off your clothes next to her.

Your life was perfect, really perfect.

“And this... It's for you...” Donna said as she served dinner, handing you a perfect rose, like every night.

“Oh...” you murmured, smelling the intoxicating scent of the flower. “Donna...”

“Mm?”

“It wasn’t necessary” you said with your voice low, soft and shy as usual. She smiled at you, gesturing with the bottle of wine. “Oh, don't pour too much wine, otherwise, my head will hurt.”

The lady laughed, obeying your request and leaving the bottle on the table, waiting, as always, for you to eat first.

“Do you like it?” she asked, unsure, observing your gestures.

“Very much, darling,” you said kindly, earning another radiant smile from the brunette, who, finally making sure that you enjoyed her food, began to eat. “Thank you…”

The glances crossed as always, the smiles danced between them from time to time, the shine of your eyes reflected the dim light of the candles.

Every night, every moment was the most romantic of your life. Of course, you could envy many things from the books: talkative, outgoing, daring characters... But if there was something that those romance stories were not able to convey, it was the love that existed between you and Donna. That was just impossible.

“How...?” you said nervously, interrupting that silent dinner, wishing to be the one to start a conversation for once, something difficult due to so many years of voluntary silence. “Ahem, how about your...? Your... Dolls?”

Donna looked up, knowing that you were interrupting because of your internal struggle to stop being the shy girl you always were.

“My dolls… Well, I guess they are as usual,” she commented, drinking some wine. “They're not very talkative.”

“Hey!” Angie protested, entertained on a nearby sofa.

“Well, not all of them,” Donna joked, lowering her gaze again.

You nodded. Yes, Donna wasn't the most extroverted and talkative woman in the world either, but at least she tried, and with better results than you, of course.

“I, I'd like to learn how to sew,” you murmured, hiding your shyness in a glass of water. Donna smiled, arching her eyebrow.

“Sew?” the lady asked, with a tender voice, unable to hide a bit of curiosity.

“Yes, well… You must be sick of fixing my dresses,” you commented amused, finishing your plate, looking at the sleeves of your dress, always masterfully mended by the brunette.

“Don't talk nonsense, tesoro, I love sewing for you, and making you dresses…” she commented, winking at you. “You have a perfect body for it.”

“Oh, well…” you said nervously again, running a hand over the back of your neck and looking away. “But, I would really like to learn.”

“Okay, dolcezza, I'll be happy to do it,” Donna said in a soft voice, with a slight blush on her cheeks. “Tomorrow when I get back from the meeting we could start, what do you think?”

“Oh, tomorrow…” you sighed, blinking nervously. “I don't know if I can, I had thought that, since you have a meeting, I could take a walk around the grounds, you know, to get inspired.”

Donna stopped eating, with a slightly more serious, darker look. You didn't expect any other reaction.

All the virtues of the lady in black were enough to make you fall in love, but, like everyone, she also had flaws. The worst of them was her subtle possessiveness, her jealousy, the fear of losing you, something that always led her to overprotect you, to put a bubble wrap on you so nothing dared to harm you.

The lady wiped herself with a napkin, drinking some wine before looking at you suspiciously, perhaps searching for the words to dissuade you.

“Mm, you can wait for me so we can go together,” she murmured, searching for the lie, the deception in your gaze, something that made you even more nervous.

“Yeah, but... Well, it's just that I don't know when you're going to come back,” you said with a voice that was getting weaker and weaker, playing with your cutlery so as not to look at that darkened eye. “Last time it got dark.”

“You know you can't go out alone, (Y/N),” she said abruptly, crossing your arms. “If I come back late, we'll go another day.”

“But Donna... I...” you insisted with a broken voice, with the seriousness of her gaze stabbing a dagger into your heart.

“Basta, (Y/N). We've talked about it many times,” she hissed, clenching her fists on the table, without changing that sinister expression. “You can't go out, it's dangerous.”

“You worry too much,” you murmured, frowning and shaking your head. “Nothing will happen to me, it's still your territory.”

“I worry enough, tesoro,” she whispered, crossing her arms. “I don't know what I would do without you.”

“I think you're exaggerating, darling,” you said with a fake smile. “I don't think anything will happen to...”

“You can't go out!” the woman in black shouted, with an angry voice, losing control, something that happened less and less frequently.

“Donna...” you whispered, scared by her abruptness.

 It shouldn't surprise you, but your soul was suffering to see the love of your life losing control.

“I'm sorry,” she said nervously, looking at the table and shaking her head. “I just... I can't imagine that... (Y/N) you, you can fall off the cliff, you can trip and hurt yourself, do you understand? How do you think I would feel if something happened to you?”

You nodded, calmer as you saw the light in that darkness again. It seemed to take a lot of effort, but little by little, she began to control her problems, more or less.

“Um, Donna,” Angie interrupted, dispelling the uncomfortable tension that had formed between you. “Can you stop being too Donna?”

“It's none of your business,” the brunette hissed, her breathing still labored.

“Come on, silly Donna, (Y/N) is not a dog. You can't have her stuck in the house all day long,” the doll said, defending you. You raised your eyebrows but didn't intervene. “She's not stupid, nothing will happen to her.”

“Am I talking to you?” the lady asked, with a dangerous tone, getting nervous again.

“Now you are,” the puppet joked, laughing amused.

“Ugh…” Donna protested, shaking her head and getting up from the table, approaching you.

The brunette bent down, taking your hands, kneeling on the floor with a different expression, a sad, pleading one.

“Amore mio, I'm sorry…” she said in a soft voice. “I shouldn't have yelled at you.”

You nodded slowly, letting her hands caress you with soft, but trembling hands.

“I'm sorry, per favore, perdonami…” she sighed again, burying her head in your lap, soaking your dress with a tear of sadness and regret. “You are the most important thing in my life, my girl… My soul…”

“Donna…” you sighed, caressing her black hair, calming her demons little by little, comforting her in your arms. “My love…”

“If I lost you, I would…” she sobbed again, raising her head to look into your eyes.

“Shh,” you whispered softly, caressing her cheek. “You won't lose me, I promise. I promise I'll be careful of cliffs, ditches, and anything that could hurt me. Nothing will happen to me, darling, trust me.”

“O-Okay,” she said, nodding, getting up from while kissing you slowly, repentant for her irrational anger. “You're right, tesoro.”

You smiled tenderly, ending that argument.

It was funny. When Donna was in trouble, your informal nature, your self-confidence came back to lend a hand to you. Sometimes you wondered what your life would be like if you hadn't given up socializing, if that desire to talk for hours, to say everything you thought, had remained.

“You're welcome, silly...” Angie whispered, while Donna and you looked at each other in love, in silence, with the sweet glow of forgiveness on her face.

You looked amused at the doll and back at its owner, who shook her head, pulling you up from the chair so she could hug you affectionately, lovingly, letting a sigh run through your bodies as you buried your head in her black dress.

“I love you so much...” she whispered, swaying with you. “I have a hard time believing that you're really with me, it's like a dream.”

“Don't say that,” you said shyly again, with the blush on your cheeks confirming that the bad moment was over. “You know I blush easily…”

“Mm,” she murmured, stealing one last kiss from you before slowly pulling away, her gaze fixed on yours. “I like seeing you blush… You're beautiful, you know?”

“Donna,” you said looking away and giving her a playful punch on the shoulder. “Stop it…”

“Okay, okay,” she laughed amused, leaving you some room again and turning towards the table. “I'm going to pick this up, you… Well, why don't you prepare a movie?”

“Oh, I… Okay,” you said, with the blush limiting your words, walking towards the elevator until a tug on your dress stopped you.

“Hey, you, aren't you forgetting something?” Angie said, crossing her arms with a cocky tone and pose.

“Um…” you murmured, frowning, confused and looking for Donna's help. Unfortunately, the lady was busy with the dishes. “N-no, I don't know,” you stammered.

“I helped you, I demand compensation,” the doll told you, determined to not let you go.

“What do you want? you asked nervously, playing with your hands.

“Oh, it’s not complicated, just one word: Spaceships,” Angie said, with an amused tone.

Not knowing if she was joking or on the contrary, she was serious, you rolled your eyes, without answering back, hitting the elevator button.

The next day, that afternoon, you were finally able to go out for some fresh air. The meetings of the Lords were always something annoying for you, something that took Donna away from you but… That day, you really needed that walk.

Unfortunately for you, that silent walk through the forest was not entirely useful. Your head tried to get inspired, but you were unable to do so. Maybe what you needed was a break.

“Okay…” you said, closing the door of the mansion, scared when you felt a tug on your dress. “Oh, no!” you squealed, thinking that maybe someone had grabbed it.

Your face turned red from embarrassment, but not like when Donna whispered in your ear, this time it was because of the terrible ridicule you had before your eyes.

 In your clumsiness, with your mind wandering through imaginary landscapes, you had closed the door too soon, thus trapping the fabric of your dress.

“I don't believe I'm that stupid…” you muttered, pulling hard on the fabric, unable to open the door again. “Shit!” you screamed when, with a disgusting sound, the fabric tore, ruining one of your dresses, one of the ones Donna made for you. “See? That’s why I wanted to learn how to sew…” you hissed, lamenting, kicking the floor nervously.

Furious, angry with yourself for your clumsiness, cursing in ways you only used when you were alone, you went down to the bedroom to change clothes, searching in your head for the best way to ask the doll maker to fix your dress again.

“Great, (Y/N), you’re stupid…” you said to yourself, opening the closet and looking for a nice dress, one to give her a surprise you thought she deserved.

Rummaging through the clothes, something fell to the floor. It looked like a small box, like a jewelry box. You picked it up, unable to resist the temptation to open it.

Maybe there were the Beneviento family jewels. Maybe some ruby, sapphire, or precious stones would serve as inspiration for some weapon in your novel.

“What?” you said surprised when you saw its contents. There were no rings, no necklaces.

Inside that small box were photographs, a few photographs in which you were the main protagonist.

“No…” you sighed, watching yourself walking to the market, reading alone in a corner… It was obvious, although you couldn't believe it. Donna had been spying on you.

Long before she met you, before she dared to talk to you that day, she had been following you, stalking you without you realizing it.

The thoughts became confused in your mind. That idealization of the lady in black, that feeling of thinking that it wasn't your beauty that attracted her in the first place, blurred as you looked at those photographs.

You shook your head, feeling your stomach sink, how everything you thought was clouded in a fog of betrayal, of deceit.

“Everyone is the same… You too,” you said nervously, with a dark hiss, squeezing one of the photos in your hand.

You, who believed that she was the only one who loved you for who you were inside, and not on the outside, saw that, in reality, the brightness of your eyes, your face, your figure, was what attracted her attention, you didn't know how long ago.

“Why, Donna? Fuck... I thought you were different...” you lamented, passing a hand over your forehead.

Disappointment attacked your feelings, but the love you felt for the lady in black was resilient, even with that disappointment, your heart didn't change sides, it was still with her and it always would be.

“(Y/N)?” her soft voice interrupted your laments. The sound of her heels was getting closer. Apparently, that day, the meeting ended early.

A smiling Donna entered the bedroom, ignoring the scene in front of her, grabbing your waist, leaning you in a chivalrous manner and kissing you in a somewhat old-fashioned way, something that, in other circumstances, drove you crazy.

“I've missed you, tesoro…” she whispered with a tender voice, approaching your lips.

You, angry, upset by your discovery, turned your head away, pushing Donna roughly.

“(Y/N), what…?” the lady asked with a frown at your rejection. “What's wrong with you?”

“What's this, Donna?” you asked hissing, showing the lady one of the photographs, one in which you were calmly reading.

“Oh, I…” she said shyly, blinking in embarrassment due to your discovery, with the smile slowly fading from her face. “Well, I…”

“How long have you been doing this?” you asked, putting the embarrassment aside, demanding explanations with an irrational fury.

“I...I...” she stammered, desperate, nervous, shaking her head.

“I...I...” you scoffed unpleasantly. “Fuck, Donna, I thought you were different!”

“What? No, I, I just...” she said, unable to look you in the eyes, terribly embarrassed.

“You just what? Were you spying on me?” you asked, getting a little closer in a threatening way, making her back off. “Answer!”

“It's not that, I...” she said, breathing heavily. “You, you don't understand.”

“No, of course I don't understand...” you hissed, looking at the ceiling. “Do you know why I fell in love with you?”

Donna shook her head, her body shaking, totally humiliated.

“Because you weren't like the rest, because I thought you looked beyond my physical appearance,” you explained, pointing at her with your finger, forcing her to lower her head, to accept your reprimand.

“But, but I...” the lady interrupted, narrowing her eye. “Listen to me, I...”

“No, I don't want to listen to you, Donna,” you said, nullifying any attempt of the brunette to defend herself, to explain herself. You didn't remember having gotten that nervous, ever. “Why were you doing this? Why were you spying on me?”

“Because, because I... I, I love you...” she stammered, with a sad look. “I fell in love with you before I met you and...”

“So that's why you were secretly taking pictures of me, right? That's creepy, Donna,” you snapped, showing the photograph. “I can't believe it. You're just like everyone else…”

“No, you're wrong, I'm not like them,” the lady in black defended herself, with a tear running down her cheek, reaching out her arms to grab yours, something you prevented with an unpleasant gesture.

“You've shown me… I'm just a pretty face to you, aren't I?” you said in an ironic tone. “I always was. If you loved me before you met me it means that the only thing you cared about was my appearance, right? Then fuck you!” you shouted furiously, crumpling the photograph in your hands and letting it fall to the floor.

You were completely unhinged. Not even you could understand the reason for your anger, you simply couldn't.

“No…No, no, no, no,” Donna sobbed, throwing herself to the floor and grabbing the photograph, smoothing it again with trembling hands. “That’s my favorite…” you whispered, holding it tightly against her chest.

“They’re right about you, you’re a sick nutcase,” you hissed without thinking, letting out all that irrational rage.

Donna didn’t respond. She just closed her eye shifting on her stomach with your picture on her chest, crying inconsolably.

A spark of sanity came back to your mind, making you put a hand over your mouth, aware of what you had just said, of the damage you had done to poor Donna just because your beauty made you feel self-conscious, just because that was the reason for your hermetic attitude. You didn't want to be a pretty face, not to her.

“Gods...” you sighed, shaking your head and putting a hand on the shoulder of the lady, who was still crying inconsolably. “Gods, Donna, forgive me, I didn't mean that.”

“I just wanted...” she murmured, her voice broken by sobs. “I wanted to see you all the time... I knew, I knew I could never have you so... I took pictures of you secretly but, but it's not what you think... It's not that... It's not that!”

“Don't you understand how bad makes me feel that you noticed me because of my looks?” you asked in a softer, calmer tone.

“Is that really a bad thing?” the lady asked, putting the photograph back in the box.

You remained thoughtful, stepping back.

“N-No, I don't know,” you murmured unsurely, calming your breathing. “The truth is, I…”

“You are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met,” Donna said, putting the box away in the closet, controlling her sobs. “I don't care if you hate me saying it. I'm not going to stop doing it.”

“Donna…” you sighed, relaxing little by little, regretting your attitude.

“Yes, I fell in love with you, always so quiet, reading anywhere, with that smile…” she whispered, bringing her trembling hand closer to your face. “You are like a Goddess to me, better than a Goddess… But I… I knew that I could never have you, that you would never love someone like me. I limited myself to looking at you from afar, dreaming of your beauty, until that day…”

“What day?” you asked, tilting your head, with a serious face, but with your eyes shining.

“The day you were talking to that boy, when you were telling him a story,” she said, without looking at you, still nervous. “Then I had no choice but to do something. Besides being a beautiful girl, you were smart, you had imagination. I had to meet you, (Y/N). I had to know if your beauty also touched your soul… And it really did.”

“That's… Very, very nice,” you said with an involuntary smile, lifting her chin. “Donna, Gods, I went too far… Forgive me…”

“I’ll always forgive you, (Y/N), you are the love of my life,” she said, placing her hand in yours. “Don't worry about the photos, I… If they disgust you that much… I'll, I'll get rid of them.”

“No, wait, honey,” you said, stopping the lady from bending down again to pick up the box. “Wait, my love… No, it's not necessary…”

“I would never do anything to hurt you, (Y/N), I live to take care of you, to love you…” Donna murmured, caressing your face erratically.

“I know, Donna, I…” you stammered, losing yourself in her gaze, in her sincere words of love. “Donna…” you sobbed, burying yourself in her arms, hugging your lover tightly, calming the delusions of your mind.

Her embrace was warm, comforting as always, strong, safe… In your head you regretted your attitude, that fury, the absurd transformation of your personality due to the interest people had in you, a physical interest, without feelings, a superficial vision of what you were on the outside and not on the inside.

The things the lady in black did, the photographs, didn't matter. Little by little you began to realize that it wasn't important.

What was important to her wasn't your appearance. It was that your beauty was linked to your soul, to your intelligence.

“Honey…” you sighed nervously, caressing her cheek, letting her arms cradle you. She looked back at you, nodding for you to speak. “Forgive me. I'm sure you'd like me to be a little more talkative or outgoing but… It's just that… Everything, everything that's happened to me, my disappointments… I…”

“Shh, don't go on, darling. It doesn't matter… I like the way you are, I love you just the way you are…” she whispered, kissing your lips softly, mixing your salty tears with the dance of a loving kiss, a sincere one, one that ended that horrible moment you both suffered.

Donna pulled away, making an effort to give you a smile, one that made your cheeks shine again with that blushing tone.

“Mm?” the lady in black murmured, when her gaze strayed to the torn sleeve of your dress. “What happened to your dress?”

“It's just that...” you murmured, moving your ankle, embarrassed. “The door caught me.”

“The door,” she said, with an amused expression, studying the damage of the seam. “Don't worry, dolcezza, I'll fix it.”

“You always fix everything, don't you?” you said shyly, looking down, only being able to hear her nervous laugh, a sweet and tender one. “Okay, let... Let me...”

Your feelings sent signals to your head as you moved away from the lady, with your cheeks flushed and your hands tremblingly traveling to the buttons of your dress, slowly undoing them, one by one.

“Tesoro, what..?” Donna asked, looking at you curiously, watching how, controlling your shyness, you took off the sleeves of your arms, thus revealing your partially covered torso.

“Shh, I'm embarrassed if you talk,” you whispered nervously. “Just let me do it by myself”

She nodded, not wanting to bother you, to intimidate you, running her gaze over all the parts of your body that were gradually becoming exposed.

“Sei una dea della bellezza,” the lady in black murmured, breathing nervously in front of your half-naked body.

“Don't even talk to me like that. Don't use Italian against me. You know I'm embarrassed…” you protested amused, grunting in shame, unable to hold her gaze.

You could sense a smile as she approached, surrounding your body with her hands, caressing your waist, your back, lifting your chin so your blushing face looked at hers.

“I will never be tired of saying how beautiful you are,” she whispered in your ear, with that melodic voice that always made you squirm, while her soft, delicate hands took advantage of your distraction to act on the clasp of your bra, unbuttoning it instantly.

You laughed again, resisting the embarrassing impulse of your hands, which asked you to cover yourself. Fighting your own shyness, you succeeded, while Donna helped you face that absurd shame with a soft kiss from her lips, with some sensual caresses on your bare back.

“Donna…” you whispered, letting yourself be carried away by the humidity of those tender kisses, by the glances, by the sighs, by that increasingly warm, an increasingly anxious atmosphere.

Your dress fell down your legs, crashing against the floor irremediably, making a shiver run through your legs, the cold making the hairs on your skin stand on end.

“Come here, amore mio… This horrible floor is not worthy of your footsteps…” Donna whispered, lifting you in her arms in an elegant way, raising your half-naked body to lay it on the bed.

“Why are you so tender?” you asked amused, crawling across the mattress, closely followed by the brunette, who began to get rid of her own clothes without taking her gaze off yours, a look of admiration, of faith, of adoration to your body, to you.

She didn't answer, she simply moved the black dress away from her body, approaching you little by little, running her hands over your legs, over your waist... Leaning down after a sigh and kissing you again.

They were sweet, tender kisses but they betrayed the passion that had begun to form in the dark bedroom. The blush on your cheeks didn't want to leave your skin, shame refused to give you a break.

You were sure that every time your lover ran her hand over your face, her skin burned from your heat.

You laughed shyly when Donna exposed her bare torso as well, when she did with her hands what yours were incapable of doing, uncovering the beautiful woman beneath that black fabric, that pale, soft skin you were addicted to.

A brave arm pulled her head, returning her lips to where they belonged, directly to yours.

Her hips began to dance over yours. The heat of her body was mixing with yours. The kisses became fiercer, wilder as her fingers enjoyed your body, the shapes and curves you were born with, that kind of cursed blessing your beauty was.

“Gods… I love you…” Donna whispered, shaking her head, unable to repress her excitement any longer, pulling down your underwear with a soft movement, studying your embarrassed face, your gaze desperately searching for a place to focus on that wasn't her body.

“I love you,” you repeated, trembling as that hand ran down your chest, the other spreading your legs, exposing you completely.

The wine seemed pale compared to your cheeks. Your whole body trembled nervously as Donna finished undressing, as she positioned herself on top of you, ready to make you hers.

“Please, if you want me to stop, just…” she said, looking for the doubt in your eyes, that unmovable blush on your cheeks when her erection brushed the moisture of your folds, when you saw for yourself what you were doing to her body.

“No, no, Donna…” you said, gaining confidence due to that obscene, lustful touch, one that you had already experienced, but that you had a hard time getting used to. “Just… Don’t, don't look at me, okay?”

The brunette laughed, delaying her entrance and shaking her head, running a hand over your reddish cheeks and another one over your leg, scratching it without harming you.

“You can't ask me that…” she whispered with a smile distorted by desire, while her hips forced her to move so as not to lose that wet contact. “Watching you is my greatest hobby… You can close your eyes.”

You obeyed, writhing from the sensations her hard shaft sent to your body, not wanting to see her gaze when making love to you, not wanting to feel the shame that would prevent you from enjoying.

“Ah, Donna…” you gasped when she finally entered slowly, letting your wet entrance adapt, without forcing, enjoying the moisture that surrounded her, the ease with which your body accepted that invasion.

“Am I hurting you, amore mio?” Donna asked in an almost silent whisper, moving more slowly until she entered completely.

You, unable to say a word, unable to bear that incredible pleasure, shook your head, running your hands around her waist, bringing her even closer to you. That gesture reached the brunette, who quickly understood the message, you wanted her to move.

You would never say anything, you would never ask for anything. The only thing you could do without dying of embarrassment was to moan, to say her name, but never interrupt or dare to ask her for something different.

The wet sound of your bodies was accompanied by discreet moans, by the random sound of your lips colliding with each other in a disorderly manner. Everything gave you pleasure: her hands, her erection deforming your walls, her soft caresses, her reassuring, flattering whispers…

You were stupid. You would never give up that, the comfort of her body inside yours, the love and understanding that only Donna could give you.

In the middle of that lustful festival, your arms moved alone, running down her back, enjoying her skin when you thought she didn't notice, when the soft but determined movements of her hips began to become erratic.

Her hands also lost their tenderness, gently grabbing your legs, lifting them at will. Just thinking about that look, that eye shining with desire as she took you… Just with that thought you let out a louder moan and your hips began to want to keep up.

It was an intense rhythm, embarrassing but not wanting to miss anything, wanting to enjoy each one of those wonderful sensations, that very sexual, erotic and hot way that Donna had of expressing her love for you.

“(Y/N)…” she moaned, losing the rhythm, moaning faster, unable to control her movements, scratching your legs, your fragile skin.

That only made you tense up, scream, say words you would never say while you noticed how your body contracted, how your walls played with her erection, hugging it, holding it, squeezing it until, overwhelmed by the pleasure of your orgasm, she released herself inside you, stopping her body as close to yours as possible, with her legs shaking and her seed sending soft and wet caresses to you.

“My love…” you sighed when the lady fell exhausted on your chest, catching her breath little by little, with a smile, not wanting to leave your wet and warm body.

“(Y/N)… Ti amo, ti amo…” she repeated over and over again, finally coming out of you and covering your face with kisses, settling you under the sheets, letting her body surround yours, protecting it from shame, from your fears…

“Donna,” you said, snuggling up to her, controlling your still agitated breathing, melting into her body in a tender embrace, far from the lust of moments before. That was the true reward, for which you fought day after day with her insecurities and with yours.

Her hugs, her caresses, her fingers tangling in your hair… That was much better than Paradise, much more pleasurable than anything else.

“Are you okay?” the lady asked after a few minutes in which your breathing was the only soundtrack. Her voice was tired, exhausted from the effort, but always, always in love.

“Yes…” you sighed, snuggling up a little more, wrapping her other arm around yourself, daring to look at her smiling face, making your ears delight in her soft and affectionate laughter. “I've never been better…”

[aingeal98]

Something I can't quite explain, but in a novel full of higher powers and different levels of gods, a novel about breaking through each and every barrier and power that demands to control your fate, a novel about choosing to seek answers about why you exist no matter how hard it gets... Somehow the glimpses we get into Han Sooyoung's pysche, the moments where we can relate to either her or one of her clones who are all really her in some way... it's the closest a story's ever come to making me understand what it would truly be like to be a capital G god. A higher power. Something more than human and yet deeply, purely human at the same time. I can't even put it down into words and neither can the novel fully because it's almost to big to comprehend but it's there. Yoo Joonghyuk has lived thousands of lifetimes. Dokja essentially does become the ultimate God of the universe in the end. In comparison she's just a normal person with a talent for writing. But that ability, of being an author in a work so focused on meta narratives, of being the author of the entire story we read AND the story these characters live in...

There's layers on layers on layers and maybe I'm just sleep deprived but I don't think the human mind was made to contemplate them all, or maybe it's just that the story can't function if it tried to do so. And the story knows it which is why we don't get the same level of backstory for her as for the other characters. We get enough to define her as a character and define her role in the narrative, but in the same way you can't put YJH's trans journey on the page because that needs to happen outside of the confines of HSY's writing, you also can't put HSY the writer on the page, as anything other than the love she has for her creations. Otherwise the whole story would implode.

Anyway to sum up these midnight rambles if you put Plato, Aristotle and Han Sooyoung in a room together, those two old men would end the night curled up and crying.

[byunniiis]

[OC WIP] Hello pookies!! Kinda forgot I was an artist who's supposed post drawings online for a sec

[kaleidoscopic-quiddity]

reading the bluelock light novels and theres so many fun lil character traits and info thrown in (probably not on the wiki bc the LNs dont have an official english release yet)

isagi was a crybaby and a scardy cat as a kid

he was also really senitive to sounds and they’d make him cry (he just like me fr)

isagi’s always had really great spacial awareness and vision, even as a toddler

nagi lived at student dorms at hakuho academy (which explains why his parents dont live w/ him)

he got into hakuho, an elite tokyo prep school, with only two weeks of studying

there were two different rumors abt nagi amongst his classmates, one saying if you talked to him you’d be cursed with bad luck and the other saying youd find happiness after talking to him, the curse rumor is more popular 

(nagi my poor guy, his classmates think hes a weirdo just bc hes quiet an not interested in rich kid pissing contests)

he also has the nickname of ‘thousand year netaro’ bc he sleeps in class so much lmao

he doesnt study but still gets good grades, at least in social sciences

nagi helps his class win a volleyball tournament (that he was forced to participate in) despite knowing nothing abt the rules purely based off of his height, reflexes, trapping skills, and desire to finish the game quickly so he can go home lmao

bachira refers to his mother by her given name, yuu, which would typically be disrespectful af in japanese culture but in this context i think it just displays how close they are + the fact that bachira’s first/best friend is his mama :’)

he walked (dribbled), slept rough, and hitchhiked all the way to osaka from chiba prefecture for 5 days just to go see one of her art exhibitions too

he got a fortune from a shrine that literally read  that he will meet his “ 運命の相手” - unmei no aite, literally ‘partner of fate’ or ‘fated partner’, bachisagi soulmate-isms r crazy

he won a 4 on 1 fight with a bunch of delinquents in osaka

rin liked ice cream but really he’d be happy with anything as long as sae bought it for him

the itoshi bros played for the kamakura united youth club, which won the U15 national league

they shared a bedroom growing up

rin gets bad grades in every subject other than english bc hes too busy thinking abt football, and hes only good at english bc he wants to go pro and play internationally

rin got into horror movies and games only after sae left for spain, he likes the thrill they give him, especially splatter films

he found a scene of someone getting chopped up w/ a chainsaw calming after he had a rough day,, damn okay rin in there anything u wanna talk abt edgelord?

“Perhaps because of this stress, he has recently been watching shark movies at night, where sharks attack humans. It’s refreshing to see a giant man-eating shark attack and munch on humans.”  what a fuckin chuuni oml

sae got trending on japanese football twitter for scoring a hattrick for real madrid’s youth team

rin did the tongue-out-in-concentration/bloodlust thing pre-bluelock too apparantly

he didnt talk to sae whilst he was in spain bc he didnt want to bother him but he kept up news of him and thought abt him a lot

“He thought he would just shout out loud “I'm the best in Japan!” and hug him, but in reality, that didn't work out that way” <- rins first thought seeing sae after 4 years, excuse me whilst i sob

chigiri went to a ‘jitsugyo’ school, which is like a vocational tech or business school, it also has a foreign name (’lacosute’) so its probably a private school, maybe missionary?

chigiri likes cats awww, there was specially a stray black cat he’d talk to and buy karinto manju for

his ACL is attached to his knee in an odd which which is why he can run so fast

chigiri stopped cutting his hair after he quit going to his school’s football club once he finished rehab for his knee

reo got baya to hire him a whole team of ppl including a coach, nutritionist, nurse, etc once he decided on football, fuckin rich ppl i swear 

all the adults who worked w/ reo sing his praises but also said how cheeky he was lmaooo

reo was learning english, spanish, and german in preperation for going pro

he also got a specially made football training VR facility made for him this boy i swear

reo bribed the hakuho football club w/ fancy meat and the opportunity to meet idols to get them to put more effort in

immediately upon meeting nagi reo notices his height and how ‘cool’ and ‘intense’ his trapping is like okay fruit

[mosaickiwi]

Fall Unto Me (epilogue hehe)

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

Demon!Ren and Angel!Angel my otp!!! I think saying I won't write anymore compels me to write more somehow................... sowwee I just keep lying :3c

cw// religious themes

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

Moonlight gleamed on the gentle waves pushing back and forth to meet the shore. You sat at the water’s edge with your lover, legs curled under you to lean against his side, your fingers drawing shapes in the wet sand that only lived a few fleeting seconds, then washed away in the water's wake. 

The blue eyed demon kept an arm around you for warmth. You still felt cold, sometimes even during the day. It bothered him more than you. Ren silently watched you etch shapes, though they didn't pay as much attention as usual. He was lost in thought.

Almost a year had gone by since the dreaded night that wouldn't leave their mind in peace, when heaven had burned away all you’d ever known without a care for the loneliness you felt afterwards. A nightmare that was sure to stain decades of eternity with you. Centuries past his own damned fall from heaven's gate, they still found a way to punish him.

Your heart healed quickly with his doting and comfort, but the physical scars remained. Each morning was a glimpse of heaven and hell. He was always awake before you, but to ever leave your side would pain them like nothing else. So he waited. You'd open your eyes, smile at him as if he was the paradise you'd treasured dearly—how could you still choose to grace a monster like them with your sacred beauty? Your presence? Your love?—then crawl from the sheets to stretch and start your day. 

The two jagged streaks of seared flesh on your back greeted him like a cruelly blinding sunrise. He could only wonder where everything went wrong.

He hadn’t meant for it to happen so soon. Your fated fallen angel had already waited millennia to meet you again, and he was intent on waiting infinitely more until you were ready. Because they knew you’d eventually come to desire him, to yearn for their embrace above all others. But you’d fallen—both in love and divinity—faster than he dared to wish for. Nevermind a thousand years, you were taken with him in barely a day, even if it took you much longer to realize the gaze you set upon him in the setting sun was more than just curiosity. 

It must have been destiny’s twisted attempt at design. He didn’t expect you that day in heaven’s library, but they were meant to belong to you from the moment— 

“Ren,” you spoke as softly as the ocean’s gentle breeze. Still, they heard you loud and clear through the muddled sea of their mind. You were the only being who could ever pull him ashore. Or astray. 

“Yes, little angel?” he answered. The nickname burned in his heart to use now, but the way your eyes glittered with love like the moon and stars above when they said it… he yearned for that happiness to last as long as it could.

“Did I spell it right?” He cast his gaze to where you pointed. Just out of the crawling reach of lapping waves, you’d written something in the starlit sand.

They’d written your name thousands, maybe even millions of times over and over to keep him sane enough to find his only solace in you. Seeing it here, finally in your own handwriting was something else entirely. He’d commit it to memory.

“Exactly right,” Ren smiled down at your handiwork and leaned over to write the three letters of his name under yours. They were all he could remember of the real name heaven had stolen away. Though it’d been so long that he wasn’t even sure if they were correct.

You stared for a moment, then drummed your fingers on your thigh. “Your real one was certainly longer than this,” you muttered to yourself. 

Your companion absently nodded, those innocent words haunting him with another memory. He’d spilled his heart out months ago in a moment of weakness, one morning when the sight of your scars broke him. About the real first time you met, his own fall from grace, his sinful intentions to take you with him some day. Everything that he feared would make you hate him. It was a way to punish himself further. Heaven’s permanent reminder wasn’t enough—but you forgave everything with ease like the angel you truly were. 

I’d go through it all again if it meant you’d be mine, you told him. As if it was a simple choice. You were more upset to hear that you couldn’t call his true name. That worthless excuse of a god had made a mistake to let you go—one Ren would never even think to make.

The demon had developed an odd habit of brooding. You kissed his cheek to get his attention, one hand lacing through theirs. “Ren, there’s nothing to worry about. Why don’t we go swim? Or take a walk?”

He meant to answer, but a harsh shiver suddenly tore through your body. You felt cold again, even to him. A lance of pain from his own ill fated guilt, and he carefully stood, lifting you into his ink-stained arms. “Let’s go home.” You were clearly about to frown, and he had to correct himself. “Little angel, let’s go home.”

Not even the moon could outshine the immediate smile you brightened his world with.

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review 32 – The Adventures of Amina al-Sirafi by Shannon Chakraborty

This is the first book this year I picked up specifically and entirely because it got a Hugo nomination; I’d previously vaguely heard of it, but never in any detail and the title didn’t really grab me. Despite what an exercise in masochism the whole ‘read every nominee for best novel and novella’ turned out to be last year, I’m actually very glad I stuck with it. Not sure I’d actually vote for it – this years best novel slate is actually incredibly strong – but it was an absolutely lovely and just fun read.

As one might assume, the story follows the eponymous Amina al-Sirafi, infamous and legendary corsair, smuggler and general rogue plying the Indian ocean sometime in the 12th century. Dragged out of an obscure retirement by the aristocratic mother of a former crewman whose fate still haunts her, she is sent on a mission to rescue the crewman’s kidnapped (or runaway) child by the twin incentives of more money than she could ever spend on one hand and blatant threats to the safety of her own family on the other. From there, she puts her crew together, has an unfortunate reunion with her demonic not-technically-ex husband, makes a pact with an island of officious peris, and races to prevent a Norman warlock from seizing control of an ancient relic to make war upon God.

The setting is honestly the point of this as much as the actual plot or any of the characters are. The late medieval Islamic maritime world and the wider Indian Ocean trading networks are an incredibly rich milieu to sink your teeth into, and one the author’s clearly fallen wholly in love with. I can’t speak for their accuracy, but little details of life and flourishes of historical terminology drip off every page, and the whole thing sings with the amount of research that was put into it. It’s the vanishingly rare work of fiction with a list of further reading at the end that actually makes me want to go hunt them down.

Specifically placing it in the twelfth century is kind of interesting, in terms of placement in the Islamic Golden Age – long, long after political power became fully fragmented and the Islamic world was linked more by economic and cultural ties, in the midst of the Crusades in the Levant, but still a few generations before the Mongols sack Baghdad. I really don’t have any ideas or assumptions about te why here, it’s just centuries later than the voyage of Sinbad the book is clearly riffing off of, so it makes me curious.

The enthusiastically researched and real-feeling setting does sadly kind of stop with the characters. Amina is sincerely religious and comfortable with the supernatural in a way that feels much more fitting than the vast majority of fantasy protagonists, but in every other sense she is clearly written to be relatable and sympathetic to an assumed audience of modern liberals. (Near-)Queernorm settings are great, but does jar with the fixation on historical grounding a bit. (The whole beat where dragging a runaway bride back to their family and decades older rich fiancee is unfortunate but for their own good until it’s realized they’re trans also kind of feels like a parody of a certain kind of identity-focused liberalism).

Between this and the Radiant Emperor duology I’m definitely rediscovering a real love for historic low fantasy. The research burden is immense but it’s hard to beat the actual past for making a world that feels lived in and real, and provide the vital sense that there are a thousand other stories happening just out of shot. The complete lack of generic-western-fantasy magic and monsters is also nearly as appreciated as the lack of castles and earls.

Which is good, really, as if you ignore the setting there isn’t really much to chew on here. To an extent this seems deliberate – the story is trying to be a pulpy, larger-than-life swashbuckling adventure, what with the getting dragged out of retirement for one more big score and the getting the band back together and the cackling 1.5-dimensional villain trying to make himself as unto god. In the main it absolutely succeeds at this (though the introduction of a generous and competent pirate captain who lends Amina a ship and a spirit-cutting magic sword out of nowhere at the end of the second act does strain things a bit). It does end up feeling a bit like using the most gorgeous, lusciously details stage in the world for a bunch of puppets to act out a pantomime, though – Amina is basically the only character in the entire story that feels like a person instead of a cartoon. They are, at least, more amusing cartoons than not. Raksh the murderous but cowardly ambition-seeking incubus husband was a highlight.

All in all, a very fun, page-turning read. I’m looking forward to the sequel.

[catslilypad]

We're Cats on a Lilypad Studios. A solo run indie studio based in regional Australia and we make visual novels!

We aim to bring you rich and vibrant worlds, characters and narratives with a focus on fantasy, romance, and adventure.

(and cats)

See what we're working on!

GAMES

The Inn Between

Steam || Itch.io

Lead Artist: XianJin Publisher - Two and a Half Studios

A modern fantasy BL visual novel following Myka Riley, a young barista with a mystery on his hands.

He has no memory of his past, a sketch book full of creatures only he can see and a nightmare he can't shake.

A phone call from a stranger changes the course of his life as he's directed to a mystical inn on the outskirts of town.

A story of gods, demons and a world beyond anything Myka could have imagined as he seeks his past.

🏮Three love interests 🏮Incredible soundtrack + art 🏮Catboy, goatman, roommate! 🏮Free NSFW patch

Our full common route is now available in beta on our Patreon!

Heart Agency

Steam || Itch.io

Lead Artist: 6nii9

A model, an actor and an idol get assigned to a reluctant composer and brother of the agency head.

There's no punchline, there IS Heart Agency however, our BL idol visual novel in development.

A modern day BL visual novel about a composer from a famous family who isn't so keen on fame himself.

Not only are his parents world renown performers, they also own their own talent agency, which Adrian Heart is now compelled to work at.

Becoming the reluctant manager to one of three elite talents Adrian has his work cut out for him. All while maintaining his anonymity.

🎬 Three Love Interests 🎬 Original Soundtrack 🎬 Gorgeous art 🎬 All your favourite Idol themes

Heart Agency is getting a completely revamped demo via our Patreon!

Moonflower

Steam || Itch.io

Lead Artist: Tomomochi

The Moonflower...is dying...

Play as Nika Skylar, a royal alchemist with an aversion to nobility as he uncovers a century long plot, investigates a murder AND rescues a sacred and rare fae flower.

When a once a century festival is attacked, High Alchemist Nika Skylar is forced to take matters into his own hands. Accompanied by a mysterious stranger who ignites his very soul, he has one night to save not only the kingdom but the rarest and most powerful entity in the world.

The fabled Moonflower.

🌸 56 thousand words with multiple endings 🌸 Gorgeous CG 🌸 Bonus Chibi 🌸 Alchemy Minigame 🌸 Catboy

Moonflower

Steam || Itch.io

Lead Artist: Tomomochi Key Art: Fuyuure

One year after the disastrous Moonfaire all seems well in Ashmire.

But what of our fated fae?

While memories of the event are hazy to all others Captain Thane has remained vigilant, waiting for the promised return of their felinis alchemist.

With the arrival of a voiceless fox perhaps his wait is at an end?

🌘 Continue the love story of Skylar and Ender 🌘 New locations 🌘 New characters 🌘 Gorgeous art and breathtaking backgrounds

🍑Additional Patreon exclusive NSFW ending

ARTBOOKS and BUNDLES

The Art Collection Volume 1

Every month our patrons vote to decide our monthly illustrations themes and characters Illustrated by Mizu Yukiiro.

These votes include theme, SFW character and NSFW character.

A collection of select past patreon illustration and promotional artworks can be purchased in the Artbook Volume 1 on itch.io.

The Art and Lore of Moonflower

Steam || Itch.io

Delver into deeper into the world of Moonflower with the art and lore of Moonflower!

This book covers all the details of the game, from character concepts, to extended lore and even a comprehensive endings guide.

BL LOVERS BUNDLE

Steam

Three games, two developers!

Immerse yourself in three captivating stories: The Divine Speaker, an 18+ fantasy visual novel; Moonflower, a mystery fantasy visual novel; and start;again, a hilarious (yet somewhat heartbreaking) mystery visual novel.

And the best part? You can get all three games at a discounted price! Already own one or two of the games? No problem! Pay only for the games you don't have yet and still receive the bundle discount. Don't miss out on this fantastic deal!

If you'd like to follow along in real time and see other things from us as well our discord and twitter are the best places to find the studio, chat, and also see what other devs are working on as we collaborate or share.

You can find all of our links and socials on our Linktree

Find Us:

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Discord

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BlueSky

Support us on our Patreon for multigame updates, exclusive illustration and more:

Patreon

Buy our merch, such a Keychains, prints and Dakimakura on Ko-Fi:

Ko-f

As well as making games, I also sometimes get to play them!

Catch me on Youtube playing games and sometimes singing!

Exclusive dev streams sometime? (づ￣ 3￣)づ

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[anachilles]

hi :)) "you'll always be safe with me" for clegan from the prompts list, please?

helloooo! and thank you; hope you enjoy! 🫶 prompt lists i'm currently accepting requests from: [ x ] [ x ]

In the rare moments of stillness in the days following Gale's capture and transport to Stalag Luft III, when he wasn't being poked, prodded, provoked, frogmarched, interrogated, shoved on a train, or barked at by smug, self-satisfied looking German officers, he'd strenuously willed himself not to give into the very basest, most selfish instincts he possessed and wish that John was there. He didn't wish that, not on John, not on anyone, of course he didn't.

He willed himself not even to wish, more abstractly, that they were at least still together wherever that happened to be, somewhere he could keep John in his sights and be secure in the knowledge that he knew where he was and that he was okay. Even that would be tempting fate.

Nowhere was truly safe in this whole bloody affair, not with the job they'd undertaken, but Thorpe Abbotts sure beat a Nazi POW camp, thousands of miles from home.

Those days were some of the loneliest Gale had ever felt though, and the more the adrenaline wore off, the further his usually rock-hard resolve started to weaken. Suppressed, unbidden thoughts of home and comfort and familiarity sprang up like weeds between cracks in the concrete sidewalk, and really there was only one way that line of thinking was going to go.

Savouring the mixture of pain and pleasure, the way they intermingled, fed each other and drove the other forward, had always been more John's thing than his own. Gale, however, had no choice but to appreciate the burn as he watched John half-stumble into camp a few days after his own arrival, a niggling twinge in the back of his mind that somehow he'd willed it himself, damned him to whatever bleak, listless version of life awaited them there.

For a moment though, that was rendered undetectable by the force of John's smile as their eyes finally met, by the way it lit up Gale's chest and made warm what had been for days left barren and cold.

With John in such bad shape physically, Gale's stomach turning every time he looked too long at what the makeshift camp doctor had surmised was an orbital fracture, and infection having been given the chance to set in on his journey there, he was confined to a newly commandeered bunk soon after his arrival.

For the whole first day, Gale didn't leave his side. The other boys said nothing about it, their deferential fondness shining in all the water bowl refills, errand running, and fortifying shoulder squeezes that allowed him to do so. Through tending to his fevered brow with a wet rag, and in between the passages of a novel Gale would try to read when John once again slipped out of lucidity, he was plagued by churning thoughts of just what the hell the other man had to have went through to have gotten there as banged up as he was; what untold horrors he must have seen, or had to have endured himself. John had been in no rush to tell him, not that Gale could blame him, but the chasm of the unknown left opportunity aplenty for worry to fester.

When it periodically threatened to overflow, Gale's free hand would find its way to John's chest, his breaths coming easier at the steady, if shallow, rising and falling under his palm.

He was still in that position on the floor at John's beside, backside numb and limbs stiff and sore, when one of the camp guards stuck their head in, ordering lights out. He couldn't bring himself to get up right away though, John having managed to fall into another uneasy sleep, but with his hand laid resting on Gale's arm.

Though the thought of leaving him unwatched to the mercy of the night was repellent, resigned, Gale first tried to pull himself up into a crouch without having to move his arm, give the poor man's peace another couple of seconds before risking disturbing him. But with even with the mere twitch of a movement, with surprisingly quick reflexes for a man as sick as he was, John's hand, bruised and calloused, shot out and caught Gale by the wrist. His left eye fluttered open, though was was hazy and barely seemed to register Gale with any precise focus, a pained, decidedly discontented "hm" of disapproval escaping escaping from his lungs, a glaringly uncharacteristic, vulnerable little sound that went straight to Gale's chest and dropped right on target.

It wasn't quite close enough to deep winter for the plausible deniability that it was too cold to sleep alone, but if any of the men felt at odds with the way Major Cleven slipped into Bucky's bunk that night, no one vocalised it.

The night grew into the small hours and all the others were long asleep, but Gale found it illusive, not that he was trying overly hard. A tentative hand to John's forehead came away roasted, he was still slipping in and out of consciousness, and he just couldn't bare the thought of John waking up in any way alone.

It left the door open for his mind to let in errant, sentimental thoughts, soaked in concern and set alight by his own exhaustion, and Gale shimmied a little tighter into the line of John's side, splayed his fingers against John's side and let himself be what he hoped to be a brace for the other man to lean on, rest his weariness on and let Gale take some from him.

He was there. Use him; take what he needed from him, because there was nothing Gale wouldn't give him to get him even one step further, to undo even some of the hurt that had come to him.

Gale swallowed hard. When he spoke, he hadn't even stopped to consider the words before they'd demanded to be said.

"You'll always be safe with me," Gale softly murmured but resolutely into the inch of space between his lips and John's cheek, not quite brave enough to chase the promise with a kiss, but lowering his face down into the dip of John's shoulder all the same.

He wasn't quite sure if he believed them all the way, the oppressive recognition of where they were bearing down upon him, but that didn't mean that he meant them any less.