#two books at 150 pages each

[lunasun1verse]

Omg I shouldn’t have promised to redo my BoS as a devotional act 😩😩😩

But I’m glad I did. Having a BoS in a binder means I can rearrange and readjust as needed. Now I just gotta fight the urge to buy 500 protective sleeves…..

Side note: I plan on making a map of a fantasy land like the one tiktoker did, and I’m super excited to do so because it’ll feel like the book came from an exotic place and landed in my simple ass lap with instruction on how to get back there. Almost like Narnia 🥹

[beomiracles]

congratulations on 500 followers and many more to come!! 🎉 :D for your bash event can i get a nsfw txt reaction to reader putting on pheromone perfume oil? i think they’d all would go crazy but who would be the most obsessed 🫶

500 BASH SPECIAL

#serene adds ✎... I feel like they would all want you equally bad so I more ranked based on how much self control I think they'd have >.< kai's and Soobin's might be the only really nsfw ones, the rest are mostly suggestive I think, hope that's still okay ◟( ˃̶͈◡ ˂̶͈ )◞

wc -> 150-170 for each member

pairings ot5 x gn!reader (except kai, fem!reader) all are written with fem!reader in mind but no gender is stated except in kai's. warnings neck kisses :3, suggestive content but not smut, titty groping in kai's.

HAS THE MOST SELF CONTROL

TAEHYUN — Glancing over at your boyfriend, he nods and you turn to the next page, your gaze flickering back to the words written as the two of you continue reading in silence. Taehyun’s arm around your shoulder felt warm against your body while his fingers leisurely tracing your skin caused goosebumps to rise. Your boyfriend was a fast reader and when you got to the end of the page you turned to look at him before continuing. You find him already staring intently at you and you blink in confusion. “You’re wearing the perfume I got you.” He states and you slowly nod. His gaze flickers over to the book and he nods. — You flip the page. Barely a paragraph in, you feel his lips on your neck. Swallowing, you try to focus on the sentences in front of you, but as Taehyun’s hand moved from your arm and down your stomach you suddenly found it hard to focus on anything but him. He plucks the book from your hands as he throws it off the bed. 

“Let’s continue later.”

YEONJUN — Large arms wrap around your waist as Yeonjun presses a tender kiss to your shoulder. “Hey, how was work?” You wonder without looking up from the vegetables you were chopping. Your boyfriend merely hums against your skin as he inhales your familiar scent, except today something was different. “Hm, what’s this?” He mumbles as his kisses trail along your neck, and you shudder as you lean back against his chest. “What’s what?” You drawl, a small grin spreading across your lips. His hands on your waist spins you around before he hoists you up on the countertop behind you, making you yelp as you grab onto his shoulders. “You smell…”, he begins as he draws in a sharp breath, “really fucking good.” A small giggle escapes your lips, “do I?” — Your deceiving manner doesn’t pass him unnoticed, but he frankly couldn’t bring himself to care. His soft lips sucking loving marks along your scented skin as he groans. “I was in the middle of making dinner”, you protest, yet your hand in his hair only pulls him closer. 

“I’ll take dessert first today.”    

BEOMGYU — “Can you help me put this on?” You turn to your boyfriend who was leaning against the doorframe of your shared bedroom. Nodding, Beomgyu pushes himself off the wall as he walks over to you, grabbing the gold jewelry from your hands as you turn back to the mirror. You lift your hair for him as he places the necklace around your neck, immediately getting a whiff of your perfume, but it wasn’t your usual one. His pupils dilate as he blinks down to the lock of the necklace, fumbling to get it fastened as your alluring scent fills his senses. “Did you get it?” Your voice sounds like a faint whisper, somewhere far away and Beomgyu swallows, letting out a small sigh as he finally secures the jewelry around your neck. “Uh-huh”, he mumbles as he leans down to press a sloppy kiss against the juncture of your neck, making you shiver. His gaze snaps up to meet yours through the thin glass of the mirror, his eyes filled to the brim with desire. 

“We still got another twenty minutes until we need to leave, don't we?” 

SOOBIN  — “You got a new perfume?” Soobin asks as he watches you set the unfamiliar bottle down and rub your wrists against your neck. “Mhm”, you hum as you wrap your towel tighter around your still damp body. “Wanna smell?” You wonder as you push your hair to the side. Eagerly nodding, your boyfriend practically stumbles inside the bathroom as he wraps his arms around you. He almost groans at the scent as his hands travel down to the curve of your ass, giving you a harsh squeeze before pushing your towel up above your hips. “S–Soobin!” You shriek as your hands push at his shoulders. Your boyfriend merely grunts as he pulls your body flush against his, the prominent erection in his pants makes your eyes go wide. 

“Only wear this from now on.”

KAI  — The mattress dips as Kai flops down on the spot next to you, easily rolling over to lay by your side as he presses a chaste kiss to your cheek, making you smile. Upon pulling back, his nose scrunches up as his brows draw together in a frown, “you smell different”, he comments and you raise him a questioning eyebrow. Quickly realizing his mistake, he speaks without thinking as he tries to undo the damage. “I mean like, in a good way, you smell really good”, he swallows as his gaze drops to your exposed collarbone, your tank top hugging your chest tightly, “like really fucking good”, he groans before quickly getting on top of you. You don’t have time to respond before he seals your lips in a kiss, his hands going straight for your chest as he gropes your tits hungrily, pinching your nipples through the fabric of your shirt and you gasp against his unusually demanding behavior. 

“Fuck, I need to be inside you, like right now.”

HAS THE LEAST SELF CONTROL

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[thesilicontribesman]

The Lanchester Roman Diploma

Found by a metal detectorist near Lanchester, Co. Durham, this is the first complete Roman Fleet Diploma to be discovered in the country and reveals the identity of one of Britain's first named sailors.

In the Roman Empire, there were citizens and non-citizens. Being a citizen gave you social and legal advantages. These included the right to own property, not pay some taxes and the right to have a lawful marriage. Most people in Britain at this time were not citizens. One way to become a citizen was to serve in the Roman army for 25 years, or the navy for 26 years. A diploma was the document that proved you had completed military service and could call yourself a Roman citizen.

The Lanchester Diploma was issued by the emperor Antoninus Pius (138-161 CE) to Veluotigernus, a Briton from Lanchester, County Durham, in around 150 CE. To earn his diploma, Veluotigernus had served in Classis Germanica, the Roman navy in Germany. We know his unit was based around Cologne, and that their main duties at this time were patrolling and logistics rather than combat.

It is unusual to be able to identify a local person from this period by name. Veluotigernus' British name ended with '-tigernus', which means 'king or 'master' This suggests that Veluotigernus was from a high-status local family. When he was honourably discharged from the navy, his name, according to the diploma became Titus Aelius Veluotigernus - illustrating that he, like many others, had embraced Roman culture. He is the second oldest known sailor in the country, and one of the few Britons we know to have served in the German fleet.

The diploma is made of a copper alloy. It consisted of two inscribed rectangular bronze plates,like pages in a book. The inside pages contained the complete text, whilst the outside had a shortened version, along with a list of seven witnesses. Each diploma was checked and then sealed to create a single document. It is very unusual to find a complete diploma.

Most diplomas were broken up, and the pieces passed to the recipient's children, allowing each of them to claim Roman citizenship. It is unclear what prompted Veluotigernus to bury the diploma rather than distributing the pieces amongst his close family.

The Museum of Archaeology, Durham University

[fanauthorworkshop]

Introducing the FAW Summer Asynch Session!

Many people have mentioned that the times I lead the spring and fall workshops aren’t accessible for those with busy/unpredictable schedules, but they would still like to participate in the workshop and join the FAW community. To address that feedback, I’m running an asynchronous summer session. An asynch session doesn’t have a set meeting time. Instead, you’ll read up to 2 pieces presented each week by fellow participants, write them crit letters, and participate in discussion over Discord. 

The only required* meeting is an individual 30 minute Zoom call with me any time during the two weeks prior to the start of workshop. We'll use that time to go over the syllabus together and I can answer any questions you have. You'll book via Calendly once I send the welcome email.

*Optional for previous participants

Participants of the workshop receive:

Attendance in a 4-6 week asynchronous course during which you’ll provide feedback to your peers and workshop one piece of your own work, up to 6,000 words.

Access to the Fanauthor Workshop Discord server, an active community where we host weekly accountability meetings, writing sprints, a twice monthly short story club, and other events.

A 15-30 minute pre-workshop consultation with me to go over the syllabus and any questions you have.

A 30-45 minute post-workshop consultation with me to discuss the feedback you received, come up with a plan for revision and/or publication, or anything else you’d like to discuss regarding your writing.

Open enrollment option in future workshops.

Timeline

Applications close: June 14

Syllabus calls: July 1 - 12

Workshop begins: July 15

Workshop ends: Before August 23, depending on the number of participants

Cost

The recommended amount is $150. If you’re experiencing financial hardship and unable to pay, or can't pay the full amount, please let me know.

How to apply

Eligibility

Anyone over the age of 18 who considers themselves a participant of fandom and who is familiar with fanfiction may apply. A stable internet connection is also required. Submissions must be written in English.

Application requirements

To apply, you will need:

A brief cover letter discussing your fan history and goals as a (fan)writer (more specific instructions on submittable).

Maximum 1,000 words of your writing, either original work or fanfiction. This may be previously published/posted.

You can apply via submittable. Applications close June 14. There is no fee for applying.

FAQ and other info under the cut.

FAQ

Are there any content restrictions to what I can workshop?

The only restriction is word count (max 6k), with the following caveats:

If you workshop a piece in a form other than prose (for example, a script), your peers may not be able to offer constructive feedback on that aspect of the work. Participants are asked only to have a familiarity with prose.

Content warnings are required for each piece (if applicable), and participants who are uncomfortable reading certain subject matter may abstain from your workshop.

What is the time commitment of the workshop?

As a participant of the workshop, you'll be asked to:

Workshop any piece of your own prose up to 6k words, which will need to be uploaded no later than the Sunday prior to your workshop week. For example, if you sign up to workshop in week 2, your submission will be due July 14. Participants will have a week to read it and write their crit letter, and discussion will begin over Discord on July 22.

Read 2 pieces per week, write a 1-page crit letter for the author, and participate in the Discord discussion.

What are the benefits of being in the Fanauthor Workshop community?

We have an active Discord server open only to those who have participated in the workshop. Once you've completed the workshop, you'll have access to attend our weekly accountability meetings*, writing sprints, our twice monthly short story club, and other events we host.

*I'm working on figuring out an asynch accountability group.

You'll also have an open enrollment option in future workshops, where in lieu of applying again, you can pay a portion of what you intend to pay and secure your seat in the upcoming workshop.

I'll be working on rolling out additional events and benefits throughout the year.

Can workshop participants submit to OFIC Magazine?

Yes! Part of the reason I run the workshop is to inspire and promote the original work of fanwriters. You can follow us on tumblr @oficmag.

Who is running the workshop?

@bettsfic! In short, I lived a dreary cubicle life as a banker until I found fanfiction at 24. I loved it so much that I quit my job to get an MFA in creative writing. I loved the MFA so much that I became a writing teacher. I have some publications, awards, an agent, and 2 million words of fic on ao3. I don't have a book out yet but I'm getting there.

Currently I'm a writing coach and freelance editor. I also have a lowkey writing-related newsletter. And I've been answering writing advice asks on my blog for 10 years.

If you want an idea of the kind of writing activities I create, last summer I worked with @books on a workshop series which includes craft essays and some fun prompts.

If you're interested in my original work, my short story "Not If, When" is a good representation of my writing. For something darker, check out "Shut Up and Kill Me."

What is the workshop like?

Check out G's experience of attending the workshop. And here's some feedback from previous participants.

One final note: This is the first summer asynch session so there may be some hiccups. I've taught asynch classes before so it's not totally new to me, but there's still bound to be some pivoting when the workflow that makes sense in my head doesn't work super well in reality. It happens sometimes. I'm always taking feedback and trying to improve the workshop.

If you have questions about the workshop or application process, you can shoot me an ask, DM me, or add me on Discord (I'm bettsfic there too). Or you can email me at ekweeks@gmail.com.

[novasintheroom]

008. Kindness

♡ Pairing - Vash x Reader

♡ Word count - 1.1k

♡ Warnings - none

♡ Description - You continue to send Vash letters.

Part of the 150 Bullets drabble series on AO3

Part 1 ---- Part 2 ---- Part 3 (you are here!) ---- Part 4 ---- Part 5

The next letter comes a week later on a Tuesday. The one after that, two weeks and two days. And the one after that, just four days later.

You’ve made a habit of writing at nearly every post office and leaving it to be picked up by Vash if he chooses. He tries to resist and leave the letters there, but loneliness and the want to know how you’re doing always wins. He’s returned to a town more than once just to get a letter.

This week’s letter comes from a little town called Bangs. The mailwoman hands him the letter from the top of her tomas, and he gives her the twenty-six C-cents for handling it.

The paper inside is pink this time and smells a bit like almond lotion. Your curving and slanted writing greets him:

                Birdie,

                I’ve managed to add three new towns this week to the roster. There’re only a few people in each who are willing to join in on the book exchange, but a win’s a win. HQ says I’m doing great, and they’ve already gotten a few applications from some teenagers in the towns to apply for college in the bigger cities.

                In fact, they’re moving me to a new route soon. One that’s a bit more challenging due to it being so far out and away from most other places. I’m getting my own tomas for it since the towns are so spread out. I’ve drawn the map they sent me on the back…in case you ever want to visit.

                I hope you’re doing well. I wish I could see you. I know you’re getting my letters. Write to me, please. Even if you don’t think we should travel together anymore, we can at least be friends, right?

Forever yours,

       ______

P.S. What do evil toma lay? Deviled eggs.

He’s surprised to find two blank pages nestled into the envelope. You really want him to write you? After abandoning and dodging you for nearly two months? But he shouldn’t be surprised. You’re always adjusting to his boundaries, always making sure he’s comfortable, even if you disagree. You’re too kind for your own good. The least he could do is tell you he’s okay.

So, he writes back.

                ______,

                I’m doing fine. I’ve got a few jobs lined up in the town I’m in right now. I was able to help nurse someone’s grandma back to health here too. I’m doing my best, just like you are.

He taps at the paper. What else should he say?

                I’m sorry I I’m glad to hear you’re doing well. You’re making a huge difference by helping build up people’s education. It will help so many people in the future.

                What do you know about the region you’re getting assigned to? I’ve only been around there a few times, and I’m sure it’s changed since then.

Best,

              Vash

P.S. Why can’t you ever trust stairs? They’re always up to something.

He’s left with an extra page to write with, but just stuffs it in his pocket. He doesn’t have much of worth to say right now; he still feels bad about…everything. He finds the postwoman again, who takes the new envelope and trots off on her tomas, and that’s that.

The next letter comes on the road as a courier passes by on her own walk back toward a town called Ferret’s Claw. She hails him, and hands it to him. “Already paid for,” her gravelly voice says, then continues trotting down the path of dunes.

Vash watches her leave before he opens and scans it over.

                Birdie,

                I’ve heard about you helping the Plants in the region. You’re not as sneaky as you used to be. That, or people are a lot more talkative about the talented, young, handsome man going around fixing Plants.

                Sure sounds like you.

                I’ve had to deal with some bandits on the road. Been chased a few times. Luckily they either aren’t great shots or don’t have their own toma to chase me on. They seem to be young kids with nothing better to do. I hope the more we spread education, that will lessen.

                Be careful around here, birdie.

                                                                                                Forever yours,

                                                                                                                ______

A blush rises to his cheeks when he reads over the “talented, young, handsome” line again. Leave it to you to still get his stomach fluttering with butterflies, even at a distance. Vash lets a breath go through his nose, then folds the letter, putting it in his “letters pocket,” so dubbed now after receiving them. He brings out the spare piece of paper from the previous letter and begins to write, using his knee as a ‘desk.’

                Mayfl______,

                Don’t worry about me; I know how to run handle bandits. You should be more careful, though. Do you still have that knife you got from the pawn shop?

                I won’t be staying in the region long. There’s a call coming from somewhere else, and I need to go to it.

He taps the paper, looking up and around as he thinks. Should he tell you where he’ll be? He’d like more letters…

                It’s coming from a town in the east, I know that much. Hopefully I can get there in time.

                Be safe.

                             Vash

P.S. There are three types of people in the world: those who can count, and those who can’t.

There. That ought to be enough.

And when he’s in the east, he isn’t as surprised to find a letter waiting for him at one of the towns.

Birdie,

I’ll keep writing to you if that’s alright. It gets lonely on the road, and I don’t doubt you feel it too. I love getting your letters.

HQ says I’ll stay in this region for at least a few months. Please let me know where to send my letters; I promise I won’t follow – I’ve got too many people relying on me and the books now. But I’d still love to hear from you. Tell me about what you’re up to, any adventures, even the shoot-outs you’re in. I’ll worry, but I’ll know you’re okay with each letter.

I hope you’re well. I hope you find happiness wherever you go.

                                                                                Forever yours,

______

P.S. What do you call a can opener that doesn’t work? A can’t opener.

And Vash does write back. Even if it’s so much less than what you write, he keeps you updated.

Vash wonders, when he’s writing his next letter, if this should stop. He’s leading you on; he hasn’t stopped contact like he promised he would. He looks down at the paper and crumples it in his hand, then opens and smooths it out again. Your kindness is like a drug he can’t quit. It’s selfish, but he wants to keep you, like the letters he keeps in his pocket. Is it so bad to want one friend in the world?

Maybe. Perhaps not.

And so he writes.

[olderthannetfic]

I've done some reading challenges before and I think they can be fun if they have a purpose: for instance, something like the Read Harder challenge, ones that encourage you to read from different genres or read more diverse books, etc. I have a sort of evergreen challenge where I encourage myself to read more books written by authors from different countries, and keep a spreadsheet of which countries I've "read." (I also do this with other kinds of entertainment like movies.) But it's definitely true that some of them just seem to be for the gimmick and aesthetic, and for people who prize quantity over quality of reading in a sort of commodity-fetishism (as they're prizing books as markers of intelligence over the actual experience of learning and expanding your world via reading). Like when the challenges start to be things like "read a book with an orange cover" that's where I start to roll my eyes a bit, haha.

I will say that while I try not to be a snob about reading, it does drive me nuts when I've had people lord over how many more books they've read or how many more pages when they're reading beach reads and YA and other easily digestible stuff whereas I'm reading stuff that is heavier. One time when I was working some crappy minimum-wage job in college, I was reading this big omnibus of all Jane Austen's works (because I was taking a class on her where I was required to read those, not that I wouldn't read Austen otherwise lol) on my break, and one of the other employees asked me how many pages it was and I answered and he was like "pfft, that's nothing, I read all the Harry Potter books in a week and they're more than that!" And I wanted to be like.... yeah, me too, dipshit. I mean, I didn't literally read them in one week, but when each one came out, I devoured it within a day or two like a lot of people did, despite it being 800 pages. Because Rowling's prose is really easy to gobble up like that. Not that Austen is impenetrable or anything (I don't think she is and I think that's precisely why she remains so evergreen popular), but she does require more effort than *that*, particularly when you're reading her work for a literature class where you're expected to write a paper analyzing it, so you want to linger to make sure you really deeply understand it.

I've read academic monographs that were 150 pages long that took me weeks to get through, and I've read 800-page bestsellers that I ripped through in a few days. Pure page length does not determine how long it takes to actually read something. I mean.... in fandom we should all be aware of this, how many of us have devoured some 100k fic in a night or two? As someone who has written some of those academic monographs myself and therefore is familiar with how word count tends to relate to book page length, I can verify for you that that is the equivalent of devouring a novel in the same time frame. But it's a lot easier to do that when you're reading relatively invisible prose and are invested in your OTP getting together (or whatever) vs. if you're trying to digest someone's very dry and convoluted argument about Foucault.

--

I just read all of Scum Villain in about five minutes, yeah. And it was great, but nothing to brag about as an achievement.

I've got this friend who goes on about reading sooooo fast but then admits to often rereading to catch things that she missed the first time. It came up when I was explaining how seldom I reread or rewatch anything. I tend to remember it far, far too keenly after one time through, and it just doesn't hit the same a second time. I still read pretty fast, but not that fast.

I don't think it's snobby to roll your eyes at people who clearly don't grasp the difference between different difficulties of reading and—this is key—who are trying to wave their dick at you about how great they are. They started it!

The time I do roll my eyes is when people think you should read mega hard prose in order to learn, especially in order to learn vocabulary or get faster at reading. That's not what the science says. (Apparently, the fastest way to improve on that kind of thing is to read mass quantities of faintly hard-for-you stuff, not stuff that's hard hard.) But to learn how to decode confusing arguments? Yes, absolutely.

I do wish people would put a little more effort into unwinding their own tortured syntax on Foucault though.

[pinksturniolo]

Cinnamon

Matt Sturniolo x Fem Reader (AU) Series

Part Two: Iced Vanilla Lattes

Intro:

Spring 1981

Cambridge, Massachusetts

Harvard University. The only ivy league school in the state.

Acceptance rate: 14%

Graduation rate: 97%

Tolerability of your mostly fake, pretentious peers: 0%

But your best friend Matt?

He makes it worth sticking around.

content warnings for this chapter: none really, some swearing and suggestive situations. mentions of depression.

read part one here <3

Two days after Matt climbed through your window, he decided it was time to go back to school, to try to get into his regular routine again. He had received a warning letter last week, with mentions of his scholarship being revoked if he was going to continue being frequently absent.

He had gotten up extra early this morning, putting on his usual pair of khakis and collared school shirt. He walks through the courtyard to the library, intending on getting some studying in before his first class of the day.

He has your journal in his hand, the green felt cover with matching ribbon wrapped around, securing it shut. It was about 150 pages or so, and halfway filled with writing between you two. He’s had it for well over two to three weeks now. Longer than he did last time.

At the end of freshman year, he came up with the brilliant idea of sharing it, the color and material of it catching his eye as it sat upon your dresser.

“What is this, your diary?” Matt snickers, snatching the journal. You two are sitting on your small bed, the mid day sunlight filling the room.

He holds it in the air as if he’s inspecting it before pulling the ribbon between his fingers and opening the cover, seeing a short paragraph of words, and flips through the rest of the empty pages.

You rip it from his hands, a disapproving look on your face. “Excuse me!” Your eyebrows furrow in anger as he laughs. “There’s not much in it anyway.” He responds.

“That’s because I just bought it.” You tell him and open the book to skim over your first entry.

It wasn’t anything too revealing, just a recipe for your mom’s cinnamon rolls.

A faint memory of when you were a little kid crosses your mind. Laughter and the smell of them baking. Sticky frosting on your fingers, your legs wobbling on the wooden stool as she helps you knead the dough.

“Did I see a recipe in there?” Matt asks, a grin plastered across his face. “Yeah. Do you like cinnamon rolls?” You respond. His smile only grows wider, the way he squints his eyes annoyingly adorable. “I love cinnamon rolls. Its my favorite desert.”

“Maybe I’ll make it sometime…” You tell him, a soft smile on your face as your eyes drift back down to the pages.

“Plan on writing more in there soon?” He says and you smooth your hand over the felt on the cover, the velvety feeling soft under your palm. You nod, and look back up at him, his eyes on your face as he waits for you to elaborate.

“I bought it at that little bookstore, you know the one across from Flagstaff Park?” He nods.

 “There was a stack of them by the register. But there was only a few with this color left… and I loved how it looked so I had to get it. My mom kept a journal when she was younger… she said it helps to write down all the thoughts in your head.”

Matt’s face has a focused expression, looking at the way you run your hands over the book as you tell him why you got it.

“But I don’t know… It feels weird to write to no one. To just jot down every thought or feeling I have. Like I’m talking to myself.”

“I have a suggestion.” He says, his eyes lighting up. “Why don’t we share it? You can write down whatever you’re feeling in the moment or when I’m not around to talk to you. And then you can pass it to me. I’ll write my thoughts too and then give it back.”

“You want to share custody of my journal?” You say, a laugh escaping mid-sentence. The idea is amusing to you, but you’re interested.

“Sure. Like writing letters to each other but instead it’s in a book.” He responds, and you can’t help the heart warming feeling it gives you to see the playful smile on his face.

You smile back at him and decide it would be a fun thing to do. “Okay, why not.”

You sit in your desk, the third class of the day, pencil drawing mindless circles on your notebook. European history was your second to last favorite subject and your professor was extremely monotone, his certain style of teaching being one that writes out each and every lesson on the blackboard. His voice drones on as you continue to doodle, your attention now peeked by the conversation between two classmates in front of you.

“Did you see Matt Sturniolo this morning? He was walking to class with Vanessa Henderson. She’s so fucking lucky.”

“I know right? And he’s been looking especially good lately.”

You almost scoff out loud at their blatant gossip. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve heard girls in your school fawn over him. You’ve even heard rumors of you two, students giving you dirty looks whenever the two of you first started hanging out. But they soon died down after they realized you were just friends and Matt had no intention of anything romantic with you.

But what did irk you was the fact that he was walking with Vanessa. She was one of the prettiest girls in your grade and practically every guy wanted to hook up with her. From what you knew, she was vapid and uninteresting, her personality made up of one sole purpose. Being the most popular girl in school and head of the cheerleading team.

Still, you weren’t the type to judge someone and if Matt, your best friend, was taking the time out of his day to talk to her, then there must be some redeeming quality about her.

You tune out their conversation as they continue, eager to get to your next class.

By the time lunch comes around, you’re starving, grabbing one of the ready-made meals from the cafeteria and sitting at your usual spot at the table under the oak tree in the courtyard. It’s peak weather for springtime, the sun warm outside but the cool of the breeze in the air making it enjoyable. Students chatter around you, some lounging on the lawn, others sitting under the shade of the brick awnings.

Just as you’re pulling out your history textbook from your bag and placing it on the table, a figure stands over you, creating a shadow over your view. You look up to see Matt, that signature smile on his face and two iced vanilla lattes in his hands. “Brought you your favorite.”

Matt used to make fun of you every time you would get the overly sweet, caffeinated drink, calling your coffee addiction “a serious problem.” But once you convinced him to try it, he was instantly hooked.

He sits next to you on the bench, setting the drink down by your book. You smile and grab it immediately, taking a sip. “Thanks Matt. Glad you decided to show up today.”

“Right well, apparently I have to start being present more if I want to actually keep my scholarship. Who would’ve thought?” He says, taking a sip of his coffee as well.

You chuckle, setting the drink down and pulling your pen and notebook out of your bag. You make notes from the chapter of the history textbook you’re currently studying. Matt picks the apple from your lunch tray, taking a bite out of it.

You told yourself you wouldn’t bring it up, but you just couldn't help yourself. The few moments of comfortable silence between you two are broken as your curiosity takes over. “You know I’m not one for gossip, right?” You say, keeping your eyes on your notes. But you don’t miss the smirk on his face from the corner of your vision.

“Vanessa is… nice. I was only walking with her because we’re partners in Biology. And she happens to know a lot more than I do. I needed a recap on the past few lessons I missed.” He responds, knowing exactly what you were going to say. He’s undoubtedly heard the rumors already swirling around campus.

You look at him and put your hands up in defense, a sheepish smile on your face. “Hey, I was only wondering. I could’ve sworn you said she was spoiled and boring last semester.”

“Like I said, I needed some help.” He shrugged, laughing lightly and took another bite of the apple, his eye contact with you playful.

You ignore the subtle green of jealousy that worms its way inside you, the thought of Vanessa tutoring him for Biology. That was usually something you two did together, and you’re a little upset he didn’t just ask you for help. Sure, you might’ve had a different professor than his for that class, but you’re certain the coursework wasn’t much different, and you would’ve gladly caught him up to speed. If he would’ve asked.

“Don’t sweat it, kid. I was just wondering. Apparently, every girl in our sophomore class thinks you’re screwing her so… just thought I would get the inside scoop. Get ahead of the curve.” You tell him, unable to restrain the teasing tone in your voice. You focus your attention on your studies again, taking another sip from your latte.

Matt simply laughs, rummaging through his backpack for something. “If I had I a dollar for every bullshit rumor made up by our class, I’d be rich.”

And then he’s sliding your green journal across the table, his hand reaching out for you to take it. “I’ve been meaning to give this back to you.”

You take it from him, shoving it into your bag. “Does this mean I get it for however long I want? Since you kept it hostage and all.”

Another warm smile from him, as bright as the sunshine in the spring air. “As long as you write something good for me.” He says, winking at you and then standing up, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “See you in English.”

The end of the day couldn’t come any faster, and it made your heart stutter slightly in your chest when you saw Matt in his spot beside you as you walked into your last class.

Students chatter loudly as you make your way to the back of the room, settling into your desk. Ms. Ellmore’s voice rings out shortly, silencing the noise as she instructs everyone to open their books to today’s chapter.

It’s silent reading time, the room quiet except for the buzz of the AC. You’re focused on the words until you feel Matt’s presence closer to you, and turn your head a little to see him leaning towards you.

“Wanna help me study for Biology tomorrow morning?” He whispers, his voice low and deep in your ear.

Your desks were close enough to where only you could hear him. You can almost feel his breath on your neck. You keep your eyes on your book, and his are still on your face as he waits for your response.

“You know I’m not a morning person, Matt.” You say and can hear the smirk in his voice.

“Great, so my dorm? An hour before first period.” He tells you and you can’t fight the matching smirk on your mouth as you look at him now, his tongue poking into his cheek, coy expression on his face.

“Don’t look at me like that. I haven’t even said yes yet. And what about your other study buddy, hm?” One of your eyebrows are raised at him, jaw set in defiance.

"What other study buddy?" He rasps. He lets his eyes trail over your face briefly before resting on the collar of your shirt, noticing the way your pulse picks up, the thrum of your vein underneath the skin of your neck all too enticing suddenly.

Was he really that close to you? He now realizes his arm is fully on your desk, his whole upper body leaned towards you. He catches the blush on your face from the sudden tension before pulling back, Ms. Ellmore’s voice cutting the silence.

“Is there the something the both of you would like the share with the rest of the class, Mr. Sturniolo?” She says, a smile on her face as she looks at the two of you, making you shrink back in your seat, propping your fist up on your head so your arm can act as a barrier between you and Matt.

You fight to hold in your laughter as you hear Matt’s response. “No mam. It’s a private matter actually.” Ms. Ellmore narrows her eyes in fake assertiveness at him, smile never leaving her face. “Let’s save those for after class, thank you.”

Ms. Ellmore was your stereotypical "cool" English teacher. She was usually easy going and as long as you weren’t disrespectful and got your work done, she wasn’t very strict.

You don’t look at Matt again until you get up to leave once class is over, telling him you’ll be at his dorm tomorrow morning, practically rushing out of the door as he watches you, confusion all over his face.

You’re not sure what caused his borderline flirty nature earlier, but you hated the way it made you so flustered.

Once you get to your dorm room, you relax as you sit on your bed, slipping off your doc martens and book bag. The cover of your journal peeks out of the top as you grab it, untying the ribbon and opening the front. You hadn’t read it since Matt gave it to you at lunch and you were curious to see what he had written.

When you’re done going through it though, your heart is racing, your breath a little shaky. You let his words soak in, turning them over and over in your head.

What he wrote was about ten pages long, some writing in long paragraphs and others in fragmented sentences, like he took his thoughts straight from his head and displayed them on the old pages.

It started off as usual, he wrote about his family and how his Mother was doing each time he visited her over the past few weeks. He wrote how hard it was to see her grieve, and to in turn deal with his grief, unsure how to manage both. With his father out of town so often, he did the best he could.

He wrote about how he was losing interest in school, in people, in life in general. He was struggling with motivation, feeling like he was lost.

Matt was the smartest and most talented person you knew, always pushing you to do your best in school. You knew he had issues with mental health, something you could relate to, but the way he goes in detail of his emotions in his writing this time has you worried. He’s never been this upset before.

No wonder he missed so much school.

And then, he wrote about you. Or rather, to you. He mentioned how much he missed you, hearing your voice, or even eating lunch with you. His thoughts matched everything you were thinking or feeling while not seeing him these past few weeks.

I was thinking about that one time we went to Plymouth beach with Celine for the weekend. Remember? It was last summer, I can’t believe its already been a year. I just think about the way the ocean smelled, the blue shell you found under the sand the gelato we got on the way back. You told me you hadn’t felt that happy in a long time. I realized I haven’t felt happiness since that day. Its funny how I’ve felt so much sadness since the funeral, everytime I go to visit my mom, yet every time im with you… I know you can’t depend on another person to determine your happiness in life. But I feel like its always been better when you’re around.

His words are raw with honesty, tears threatening to spill from your eyes as you wrap the book closed, setting it inside the drawer of your nightstand.

Matt’s always been emotionally intuitive, not afraid to say what he’s feeling in the moment. And he’s always made it clear to you how much he enjoys being your friend, the relationship between you two pleasant. But there’s something different about this entry, like the way he looked at you in English class earlier, something that’s shifted that you don’t quite grasp the understanding of.

You let his words fill your thoughts for the rest of the night, until you’re willed to write some of your own in return to him, pulling the journal back out of the drawer.

taglist: <3

@sturniolopepsi @tillies33ssss @whicked-hazlatwhore @riasturns @christhopersturniolo @junnniiieee07 @sturnsjtop @seahorsie11 @inveigledvex @mattslolita @certifiednatelover @glassesmattsbae @eryismum @sturncakez @wh0resstuff @ribread03 @sturniololoco @75sturn @mattscoquette @h3arts4harry @chrizznmetswife @bambi-slxt @streamermattsgf

[if you would like to be added/taken off pls reply to this post or comment on my masterlist. and if u weren’t tagged, it wouldn’t let me add you :/ ]

[bob-artist]

Art vs artist 2023!

In terms of comics, this was my most productive year ever, which also meant that in terms of money and social media presence (two things entirely unrelated to each other for me), it was my worst year in recent memory, haha.

That's what happens when 90% of your work is for projects that aren't released yet. (And, income-wise, when you're doing more comics and less product design. But I really needed to make that shift...)

Here's some of what happened in 2023!

I finished 23 pages of DOTU

I finished 26 pages of Into the Smoke

I thumbed/penciled/inked/flatted an additional 45 ITS pages (meaning they're each about 2 hours away from being done)

I scripted chapters 2 and 3 of Into the Smoke (150-200 pages)

I sold a graphic novel to a publisher! 🎉

I scripted 260 pages of that graphic novel

I offloaded a HUGE amount of dead weight from my chest :D

I lost soooooooo much muscle :( (post-op restrictions)

But now I'm finally starting to gain it back!

I had to say goodbye to 3 elderly pets ;_; The worst

Oh and also there was freelance, though I took a lot less this year

Since I've been working on pages assembly-line style, I'm a little annoyed that my "finished" count of total comic pages is only 50 despite having nearly finished 95 pages. But that means that in January or February 2024, I'll get to magically say "I finished 45 full-color, shaded, 600dpi comic pages this month." XD

Part of me is happy with these numbers because they're better than any previous year. But they're also lower than I *want.* I'm at an age now where I'm calculating how many healthy years I have left to make these epic-length comics, and it's... not a great thought. I know that the only way to work faster is to simplify my style or hire help, but I have mixed feelings about both of those things.

Also, as someone who was a prose author first, I'll just always be frustrated by how much slower and more labor intensive comics are for the same amount of story.

I also have to occasionally remind myself that I lost some time this year to pet hospice care, pet grief, and a major surgery...

Also, I'm happy I got so much comics work done, but I'm sad that I didn't write any prose this year. But hopefully now that I'm so far ahead on the *writing* portion of my active comics, I'll have more steam to pick up Merritt's Story book 3 next year...

[bookish-monster]

BOOK REC

Healing the Orc's Heart

by Lyonne Riley - find her on Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok as well

The storygraph link for this book will provide information such as page count, publication date, and community-created content warnings.

Healing the Orc’s Heart is the second installment of the Trollkin Lovers series. This book was my introduction to Lyonne Riley’s monster romance universe, and I found it very fun! Even though it’s the second book in the series, it was very easy to slip into and I didn’t find anything confusing—the protagonists of the previous book, Stealing the Troll’s Heart, are secondary characters here, but you don’t need to know their story well in order to follow Blizzek’s and Nera’s journey together and apart.

This is a short and sweet little book, coming in at just under 150 pages on Kindle. I really loved the initial language barrier between Nera and Blizzek—caught on opposite sides of a war, the two have never really had a chance to mingle with those outside of their own respective cultures, let alone learn each other’s languages. Nevertheless, with a bit of tutelage Nera picks up Trollkin (Blizzek’s language) very quickly, and this turns into an advantage for her further along in the plot. 

Nera was a great protagonist; I loved how she insisted on caring for every wounded person she comes across, even if she meets resistance or her rendering aid ends up getting her own self in trouble further down the line. Although very good-hearted, Nera never strikes me as silly or naïve—instead, she just comes across as a person who is determined to do what’s right. The medical assistance she renders is very abstract (Nera mostly fetches a plant or two, makes a potion, and then the patient gets better after it’s administered) and isn’t gruesome or graphic at all. Dark themes like war and slavery, though present in the setting, are touched with a very light hand and never cloud the horizon too ominously.

Blizzek was equally wonderful. His internal conflict of fearing that his presence in Nera’s life would hurt her since there is a stigma against interspecies relationships in this universe, in spite of their blooming life-mate bond, was conveyed with a lot of feeling. It was very funny seeing Raz’jin (the troll protagonist from the first book of the series) knock some sense into Blizzek and make him realize that he could have a life with Nera. The sex scenes were deliciously steamy, and I loved how tender and gentle yet still incredibly masculine Blizzek was with Nera in the bedroom.

The HEA was cavity-inducing in the intensity of its sweetness, but it felt very much earned. Nera and Blizzek went through a great deal of strife and heartache to find each other after their initial separation. Overall, I really enjoyed this book and am excited to start reading the others in the Trollkin Lovers series!

Find this book on Amazon Kindle (US)

[girljeremystrong]

cat!!!! hi!!!! i want to get my non-reader friend into reading. he probs won't read anything over 150-200 pages so i'm trying to find an entertaining short book. all the short books i love are essays or philosophy or things i think he could like in time but would probably find dry at the start (especially cause he hasn't read anything recreationally for years). so im at a loss and wanted to know if u have any recs for short books that are page-turners/easy to read <3 hope ur having a good day beloved xo

hello my love <3

first of all sorry for replying late but i was sleeping and then i had to go to the BANK but anyway i have compiled a little list of books i loved that are under 200 pages. there are lots of classics that are shorter and i've included them even though i think some of those would be stuff that you or him might have already read!

contemporary fiction

open water by caleb azumah nelson: THIS IS SUCH A GREAT ONE that i can't imagine anyone not enjoying. truly. it's a love story between two black young british people but it's far from a tiktok romance novel. it explores themes of race and masculinity and vulnerability and it's soft but also very real and it's wonderful. honestly if i had to only recommend one it would be this!

small things like these by claire keegan: very good and quietly hopeful story of a man in a little irish town at christmas. everybody was talking about this book last year and with good reason, it's great.

whereabouts by jhumpa lahiri: the story of a woman in the town she lives in and how it can change in a year. this is an introspective one but jhumpa lahiri is a genius so it reads very easily and it's so wonderfully written.

interpreter of maladies by jhumpa lahiri: short stories, mainly dealing with indian characters in the US. they feel absolutely universal while teaching something about culture and belonging. won the pulitzer in 1999.

how not to drown in a glass of water by angie cruz: a woman narrates the story of her life to her counselor who's trying to find her a job. it's funny and hopeful and memorable. the author is so great (she wrote another one called dominicana that is a masterpiece although is longer!)

kim jiyoung, born 1982 by cho nam-joo: the story of a new mum living in korea that explores the estrangement of being a woman and having to give up so much. it's definitely more serious but it's written very well and it doesn't feel heavy at all.

swimming in the dark by tomasz jedrowski: this one is incredible. it's the story of a polish university student who falls in love with another man in the 1980s in an obviously very repressive society. so he's in love but he wants protest and he can't ignore the struggles and the disparity around him. it's very political but also lyrical and tender.

someone who will love you in all your damaged glory by raphael bob-waksberg: okay this breaks 200 pages at 256 pages long. but it's so good. everybody would love this. it's by the creator of bojack horseman if that can be an incentive somehow. it's a collection of stories that are so unconventional and bizarre in the most incredible way. they are funny stories and sweet and absurd and sad. i really loved reading this book.

infinite country by patricia engel: the story of a colombian family dealing with deportation. it's from the pov of elena who is the eldest daughter. it's a beautiful book that deals with very real struggles and it does it beautifully.

classics

recitatif by toni morrison: very short story (about 20 pages) but so clever and so well written of course. it's the story of two women who have known each other since they were children. they lose touch and then they reconnect when they're older. one of them is white and one of them is black, but the author never tells you which is which. so it's a great story about race.

the cossacks by leo tolstoy: the story of a man who loses his fortune and retires to a cossack village. it's very russian... but it's very well written and definitely explores some of the themes that tolstoy will then explore in war and peace like the purpose of life and war and his love of nature.

white nights by fyodor dostoevsky: again very russian. but less than 100 pages long! it's the story of a young man living in st petersburg who one day meets a girl and they become fast friends. they both feel like outcasts, so together they feel like they can belong. it is actually great.

giovanni's room by james baldwin: lots of baldwin's books (both his fiction and non-fiction) are short ones actually. this one is the story of a man in paris who, while waiting for his girlfriend to get there, falls in love with a man. it's an incredible story dense with love and passion and shame and it is wonderful.

the old man and the sea by hemingway: old man tries to catch big fish after not being able to catch any fish for a long time. but also so much more than that and nobody made me read this in school so i only read it at 25 and it blew me away. everybody told me it would be so sad but i think it's actually hopeful and a little bit it is a story about community? and it tells you that there's people waiting for you to come back.

of mice and men by steinbeck: again i read it in my mid twenties and loved it. it's a gut punch. it's about two men clinging together as laborers in california. it deals with what it means to feel powerless in a tyrant world.

franny and zooey by salinger: one of the best books ever i think. franny and zooey are brother and sister and they are two young people experiencing existential doubts. it's a book about family and about growing into adults and about the alienation that comes with that. salinger knows how to write young people in a crisis so well and how to make it engaging and entertaining.

having compiled this list i now see that my tastes definitely are oriented in a certain way but i hope at least one of these can work for your friend. i tried to include all the shorter books that i have read and loved and i think that generally anyone could enjoy them, but you never know!

hope you're having a great day too!!! mwah!!

[jinkoph03nix]

To anyone reading this, I highly recommend the Monk & Robot series by Becky Chambers. I just finished reading the second one and it’s making me feel the shrimp emotions. It feels like when you look out at a field of fireflies or perhaps the ocean on a quiet night, mixed with some of the same emotions I feel when I relisten to the wtnv pilot. It’s so good. Go pick the two books up from your local library if you can, they’re like 150 pages each, the audiobooks are like 3-4 hours long (and the narrator, Em Grosland, is a great fit), so it’s not a big time investment. They are so worth a read.

[positivelybeastly]

What do you think of Juan Jose ryp art of beast?

So, I actually had to look up which X-Force/Wolverine artist this was, because I . . . honestly don't keep a massive track on who's on what duty for these books. I haven't even capped them, which is. Telling. There's like 80+ issues of comics featuring Beast that I haven't capped because I dislike the subject matter so much.

In fact, you know what, here's some pulling back of the curtain and some statistics for you - you know the little icons that I used for replies?

These are 100x100 icons cut down to size manually after being screencapped from digital copies, for maximum resolution and quality. I have QUITE a lot of them saved up, a lot of them from back when I was first RPing back in 2013-2015.

For Human Hank, I have 208.

For classic/Ape Hank, I have 622.

For feline Hank, I have 1,018.

For modern Hank, I have 457.

For Dark Beast, I have 150.

Now, this isn't EXACTLY how much I like one form over the other, it's also determined by which one I tend to RP as most, but the two definitely influence each other - most people I write with get feline Hank, he's my default for a reason, he's the Hank I know best.

BUT ANYWAY.

Juan Jose Ryp.

Honestly, it's good art. His anatomy is good, he can capture fur texture well, he is certainly drawing the Beast that Ben Percy is asking him to draw. It's just a bit of a shame that it's the single worst version of Beast ever put to page, so I automatically see it, recognise it, and go, oh, yeah, from THAT run.

Honestly, almost any other time, this would be a scenario that would have me salivating, but instead I'm capping this, uploading it, then immediately throwing it in my recycle bin. I don't want it on my computer, straight up. And it's a shame, because the art is eminently very good. The colouring is on point, it has that underwater shine, the shading is excellent, the muscle definition is lovely . . .

I do also have to point out something, though, which. Annoys me. And I hesitate to point the finger at Ryp, because I don't know that it's his fault or not, it could be just how Ben Percy is telling him to draw this, but.

That's the wrong Beast.

I'm extremely well acquainted with every one of Hank's forms, and that is way more akin to THIS

than it is to THIS

Ryp draws 90s Beast. He does not draw modern Beast. Whether this is designed to intentionally repulse the reader, who sees the design, thinks of TAS Beast from the 90s show, and then reads him being an absolutely colossal chode, or if it's just straight up artist error, I don't know. Hank has a habit of being drawn badly or incorrectly. Don't believe me?

This art is from 2012, from issue #24 of Secret Avengers. The Avengers vs. X-Men tie-in.

Beautiful 90s Beast, right?

Except, you know.

He's meant to look like this.

Like a cat.

Aren't we meant to have, like . . . editors, and shit?

But yeah, Ryp draws 90s Beast, and it's flat out wrong. Artistic interpretation, sure, but it's just straight up wrong. Again, I don't know if he's being told to do this or not, but it's something I need to bring up, because this is not something that happens to Cyclops or Wolverine, and it bugs the living fuck out of me.

But yeah, Ryp does draw a lovely Beast, even if he's inaccurate. That being said, he's not my favourite modern Beast artist by a country mile. Cassara and Gill, who drew Beast in the X-Force books, I like more.

I also have an affection for Coccolo, just because he draws a very round and lovely Beast.

Like, yeah, he's a genocidal war criminal, but fuck, he's got such a lovely belly and thick as hell thighs and I am weak.

That being said, they are not my favourite modern Beast artists either, because this is a poisoned run and I don't like to think about these pages.

Sean Izaakse draws the best modern Beast, in my opinion. Is it partly because he illustrated the last time Beast was written in character?

But I do just genuinely think he draws an effortlessly handsome and gorgeous and animated Hank.

George Perez often said he had a good time drawing Hank, even calling him the funny little monkey man, asking his 90s collaborator Kurt Busiek if he could come back so he could draw him more, and honestly, you can see it in his art, in how much love and attention and how elaborate he gets with his work on Hank. I get that same feeling from Izaakse.

[publiccollectors]

New Publication: Public Collectors publication #76: PROTESTER PORTRAITS

16 pages, 2-color RISO, stapled booklet. Approximately 150-160 copies. PURCHASE ($4.00)

It has been a little while since I made a publication, start to finish, in a day. I always have paper and other materials on hand that allow this to happen; it's just a matter of finding the time, idea and headspace to do it. It's a pleasurable thing when it comes together and I try to make something in booklet format like this once a year or so. From the back cover:

"PROTESTER PORTRAITS is the latest in a series of publications I have created using details from discarded press photos in my own collection. In Fall 2021 I purchased 1,000 press photos contained in two auction lots in a quest to find more material for the exhibition and book Protest Grim Reapers. This trove yielded exactly two photos for that project, leaving me with the task of finding interesting uses for the rest. For this short booklet, I’ve selected photos of a number of costumed or performative protesters, framed in the manner of portraits—though most were part of larger multi-person compositions originally. I have retained the events or causes associated with each protester, as well as the year each photo was taken. I left out the photographer and newspaper credits, however, as these photos—and the way they are used in this booklet—deviate quite heavily from their original function."

[one-way-dream]

The King's Shadow - Ch. 3

Rating: General

Words: 4900+ (9600+ Total)

Media: Sonic the Hedgehog, Sonic and the Black Knight

Pairing: Sonic/Lancelot (Sonic/Shadow)

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Developing Feelings, Pining, Alternate Universe - Medieval (Check AO3 for any tag changes!)

Warnings: Canon-typical violence

Chapter: 3/3

Link to the original work

AO3 Summary/Excerpt:

The other’s embarrassment slowly melted away into a resigned sigh, before turning into a smile; mischievous in appearance, but nothing short of putting the sun’s radiance to shame. And then Lancelot truly felt the carefree and trusting weight, the sheer warmth of the newly crowned king’s hand in his own.

And he knew more than ever that his life now belonged to him.

Author's Notes:

cheesus christ i think this is the first time i've ever finished a multichapter fic…….. a short one but multichapter nontheless….. dang

ANYWAY i hope you enjoy :] hope you heeded the warning at the end of ch1

THANK YOU FOR READING I HOPE YOU ENJOY (also thank you for 150+ kudos on ao3 that is WILD) ❤❤❤

Previous/Next

Sonic put his quill pen down with a sigh, before quickly catching his inky mistake of leaving the near-dripping calamus exposed on the expensive desk as he scrambled to place it back in the inkwell. 

He leaned back into his extravagantly lush and velvety chair and stared up at the expanse of the accented wall, flourishing with delicate patterns and complemented by rich silk fabric in reds, blues, and golds. While he hadn’t tested it out for himself, the bedroom looked large enough for him to do laps in probably— no, definitely. Just by eyeballing the area, it was more than likely twice as large as Tails’ workshop.

At that name, the pang in his chest came back, harsher than ever before.

Sonic sighed again heavily, lacing his fingers behind his head and running his eyes up the wall until they hit the ceiling, right at the giant gunmetal-steel chandelier that seemed larger than his whole body. A sense of unease crawled through him every time he entered his bedroom; it was the only place where the other knights or Merlina weren’t allowed to visit, and thus, the loneliest place in the entire kingdom.

It was like the room was trying to swallow him whole; like it knew that he didn’t belong there, that he was an intruder bestowed with riches that didn’t belong to him – tearing out pages from the book of legends and rewriting himself into it.

He always believed in deciding his own fate, but… he couldn’t decide for the others unless they wanted it too. He couldn't change the course of their world like that just on a whim. Sonic smiles a little melancholy to himself, thinking about how that line of thinking was probably the most king-like thing he’s done thus far. After all, it wasn’t always about fighting bad guys around these parts, was it?

Even if the others did consent to his continued ruling, now he had a choice – to go back to his own time, to Shadow and the others, and let the people of this world decide their destiny, or he could stay with the kingdom, with Lancelot.

As he looked down at the two letters on his desk, one stamped with red and the other with gold wax, he knew his answer. A pressed violet rested soundly in one letter, while commands almost befitting of his soon-to-be-lost title as a king lay in the other.

Sonic took in a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut.

His gut feeling wouldn't let him down.

-x-

King Sonic had not made his nest in Avalon for very long, and yet Lancelot felt his presence permeate every inch of their lives with relative ease, making a friend out of everyone he possibly could, regardless of whether they were a peasant or noble.

Each and every townsman had felt it too, Lancelot could tell by their charmed expressions as he accompanied the king on his rounds. He’d insisted on travelling alone, putting his faith in Caliburn should anything take a turn for the worst, but his advisors were persistent. However, when Lancelot’s company was suggested to him, he was surprisingly quick to give in; one could even say that his eyes lit up, though the knight knew not to be so hopeful as to expect the king to enjoy his company above the rest. He could only hope that he didn’t greatly mind Lancelot cherishing their time together. 

Even the nobles that had once upturned their noses at the new king, relented to the fact that he was indeed unique – however, that came with a hesitancy, deciding whether or not this new king would be good for their kingdom would be judged in due time, but for now, Lancelot could breathe easy knowing they trusted him for the time being.

But still… what if the rumours were true?

Lancelot’s stomach churned at the mere thought.

The two of them passed a quaint little shop at the far end of the town’s main street, something of a food and trinket vendor that rotated their inventory every other week. They’d been struggling a lot with thieves in the past month or so, but when word got around to the king, he’d rounded up the knights to tighten up the security within the town. And then just like that, those petty thieves were a mere tale of the past.

Much like King Sonic may one day be, Lancelot thought to himself, heart sinking in his chest.

He caught a glimpse of the shop owner standing behind a stand full to the brim with apples; some spotted and bruised, but otherwise perfectly edible and polished with care. Lancelot watches with a newfound fascination as the owner exchanges a bag of seasonal berries for a small bag of what he assumed was coin.

Lancelot curiously fished around the small brown bag secured around his waist, hoping for at least a few shillings to leave behind as they walked past.

The king however, had no intention of simply passing by. He silently gave the knight the sign to wait for the exchange to finish entirely before beelining for the shop with an eager wave. Lancelot glanced to his side, quietly smiling at his king and his ever-so charitable heart of gold.

“Your highness!” The shop owner beams at the approaching hedgehog, “How do you do?”

“Not bad, not bad! I’m happy to see you doing well. Have those thieves come back?” Sonic grinned cheekily, happier and more relieved than ever to hear the shop owner be so easy going about his presence, “I wouldn’t mind giving ‘em a personal message, if ya know what I mean.”

The owner pauses for a moment at the king’s words, a perplexed expression just barely lining the features of their face as they helplessly glanced at the knight and then back at Sonic – it’s a look Lancelot knows far too well. After all, he too was guilty of bearing such an expression at Sonic’s unusual speech mannerisms at the beginning. But they seemed to adjust quickly enough, perking up again with a light laugh as they shook their head, “I think I understand, sire, but there’s no need; there hasn’t been a single robbery ever since you assigned guards to patrol the town.”

Sonic smiles, giving a thumbs up that Lancelot wasn’t sure the other understood, but took politely anyway, “Good to hear it, buddy! Keep up the good work! Oh, and here—”

He fishes through his own mostly-empty bag, frowning when he feels only one coin. He pulls out a single silver penny and lays it on the counter, “Really sorry this is all I had on me. I don’t want anything; it’s just my way of saying good luck. I think silver means good luck, anyway!”

They look back at the king, at a slight loss for words at the sudden donation before Lancelot strolls up to the king’s side and neatly places a stack of coins on the table as well. Sonic’s expression changes from surprised to pleased as he shoots him a wide smile from the side, and Lancelot makes the mistake of looking right at him. He curses himself for being drawn into his gaze, distracted, while they were in the presence of another. The knight swallows thickly and pulls away, face heating up despite not being under the harsh sunlight anymore.

It was… strange how it was sunny much more often. Or maybe it was Lancelot’s imagination.

“T-thank you… it’s truly a miracle that a king like you has come to rule our kingdom, but…” They look away, a forlorn expression on their face. Lancelot can’t fight off the icy dread nipping at his heart, his mind begging away the premonition to no avail, “Forgive me if this isn’t my place, but… I have heard rumours that you will be heading back to your world some time?”

The anxiety hits him full force once the question lands, gauntlet covered hands curling into fists at his side. He knows he can’t bear to look at the king now. Not now. But… like always, he still can’t find himself looking away from the other.

Except the flash of regret, – of sorrow and melancholy, –  in Sonic’s eyes devastates him like nothing else.

And it’s only for a moment, and not a moment longer, but it’s enough for Lancelot to understand.

“Yes, I—” He clears his throat, smiles as he scratches his head nervously, “The royal wizard, Merlina, has found a way for me to get back home.”

“I see… how much time do you have left, sire?” Lancelot almost couldn’t hear the owner’s voice over the sound of his own heartbeat.

“…I will be leaving in three days.”

For a moment, Lancelot feels nothing. Almost as if he’d been expecting it since the very moment he laid eyes on the king; but that couldn’t be true – deep down he knew that he wanted to serve King Sonic until the end of his days, and no one else. Until his final breath. Until crimson spilled and met with the soil beneath his feet in the name of honour, or until his old age finally put his battle-worn bones to rest.

But no thoughts of a peaceful or honourable death could put his mind to ease when the anguish suddenly poured in, as if the floodgates had shattered all at once.

He didn’t know what to think. What could he think when he couldn’t even figure out the source of his pain, let alone put a name to it? All he knew was that his chest hurt unbearably, and that he couldn’t bear to let go of someone like Sonic the Hedgehog.

“—H-hey, are you okay?!”

When the world came back into focus, he found both the shop owner and the king looking back at him with worried looks on their faces. Those wondrous, lively eyes so full of worry for him. For him.

Suddenly, he was overcome with the urge to laugh. Had he become so delusional to think that his feelings ever really mattered to begin with?

As a knight, he had a responsibility. And surely, as a mortal hedgehog, he had a heart. He knew well enough that he could not carry both in his hands, and so he chose to be a knight until the very end, just as he’d promised on that fateful day that he took the king’s hand and swore his life to him.   

“I’m… quite alright, my liege.”

Lancelot looked back at Sonic with all of his courage, and smiled at him with every bit of strength he could muster.

The king then sighs, face pulling into something almost irritated. Amidst the new surge of fear, Lancelot suddenly finds his wrist captured by the other as he’s pulled into a dark and damp alleyway near the back of the town, ignoring the questioning looks from the other townspeople.

He could barely make out the king’s face in the dim light from the side, but really, it was probably better this way. Although, who was he kidding? He’d already memorised his face down to the small, healed nick by the bridge of his nose that Sonic himself probably hadn’t noticed.

The king relented his grip on Lancelot’s quivering wrist, as they both stood to face each other, their backs to the walls. He huffs, crossing his arms and tapping his foot impatiently, “Okay, what’s up?”

“P-pardon?”

“I mean—” Sonic pinches the bridge of his nose, “What’s the matter? What happened? Are you not feeling well or somethin’?”

“I’m… fine, sire—”

He clicked his tongue and sighed, “Take off your helmet; it’s easier to talk to you face-to-face.”

Lancelot stiffened. He… didn’t usually take it off while outside – it made it easier to obscure his face and somehow, he just felt more comfortable having it down during patrols. But it was rare to hear the other truly ask something of him, and so he was in no position to decline as a knight serving under him. Still, before he could stop himself, he spoke, “Is that a command, sire?”

A look of hesitation flashes over Sonic’s features, opening and closing his mouth before finally sighing, letting his arms fall to the side, “I… no, it’s not. I just wanted to—” He shakes his head, looking away a little embarrassed, “Never mind, forget it.”

There’s a careful beat of silence between them.

“…Is this because I didn’t tell you first?”

The shock that ran through Lancelot’s body was vicious, heart stopping at his words. Yet he shakes his head, even though he was far from incorrect in his judgement of Lancelot. Pathetic, pathetic Lancelot.

“It isn’t like it was my right to know.” He tries to steady his voice, despite the pin-pricking sensation in his chest, “It… doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter. You’re my right-hand man. You’re— you’re the person closest to me in this whole kingdom and I…” Sonic stops himself, unaware of the way Lancelot’s heart was caught in his throat, “I wanted to tell you first. That’s why I brought you out today. I didn’t mean for you to find out like this…”

Lancelot finally breathes, the tightness in his chest alleviating a little at the king’s reassuring words. Even if he weren’t his king, Lancelot would trust and respect him all the same; he’d earned that much all on his own. And with that, he loosens the sides of his visor, sliding it all off slowly as his red and black quills trickled out. Sonic looked on with surprise, shoving down yet another pang of nostalgia and longing as he saw the other as he was, stunning ruby eyes, quiet honesty, and awe-inspiring boldness in action. Lancelot set his visor on top of an old crate pushed against the grey stone wall, before setting his sights back on the king, similarly ignoring the way his heart rate spiked at the way Sonic had his eyes set on him.

Slowly his expression falls into something a little more downcast, ears drooping as he breathes out deeply.

“I’m sorry, Lancelot. You deserve better than this.”

This time, Sonic could see how Lancelot’s eyes widened at the words, and his heart ached in wonder of how much he’d wordlessly endured until now. It must not have been easy for him, serving under such a clueless and carefree king right after dealing with the abuses of a corrupt one.

But in Lancelot’s eyes, all he could think about was the fact that someone cared enough to that extent; to reach out a hand to him in battle even when he was covered in mud and grime, to laugh with him at small things, share a meal with him, to race with him against the sweeping winds that spoke to him tales of freedom and adventure, to walk him to his quarters at the end of each wonderful and star-speckled eve. He couldn’t possibly, reasonably, ask for more.

Yet, Lancelot couldn’t help but still be mysteriously drawn into him, almost like it was magnetic.

Could he really be blamed?  

“Is, uh… is there something on my face?”

Lancelot doesn’t catch the words at first, far too lost in thought. Too lost in Sonic. Anxiety doesn’t line his breaths anymore, just for a moment, because all he can think about is deep blue and emerald. All he can think about is how he wants to reach out and touch him, make him real – as if he, too, would disintegrate before his eyes like an illusion, like the fallen King Arthur.

But Sonic wasn’t like that.

Even if he would no longer be a part of this world in a few short days, he’d never give in or fade out, stubborn as he is. He’d never disappear like that, would he?

He was all courage and stupidly charming wit and a true follower of his own heart. And perhaps that was why he had such a hold over Lancelot’s own. He was forever burned into their lives, into their memories, regardless of whether he was there to lead them as king or not.

And so he reached out, heart pounding in his chest.

“W-woah,” Sonic laughed nervously as he watched Lancelot’s hand grow closer, “Lance, what are you…?”

“What am I…?”

He paused, mind fully going blank for the first time in his life.

“Oh. There’s… ah, dirt, on your left cheek.” Lancelot fibbed as he scrabbled to pull out a handkerchief, ice running through his veins despite the way his face burned all the way up to his ears. He willed his hands to stop shaking with all his might, and brought his hand up to the other’s cheek, ignoring the wide-eyed and flustered expression the other wore, “M-may I?”

Sonic slowly nodded, unblinking as the soft cotton of Maria’s handmade handkerchief brushed his cheek. Lancelot had hoped that he bought the lie, because he didn’t know what to do if he didn’t.

He doesn’t even know what to make of his own actions, after all.

His strokes are a feather light touch on short-hair peach fur that bloomed a delightful rosy tint that Lancelot would have savoured any other time. But right now, all he could do was hold his breath and hope that the other wouldn’t catch the way he couldn’t take his eyes off of him.

With his heart in his throat, Lancelot shakily breathed out a little carelessly, making the king’s shoulders flinch at the warmth as his eyelids fluttered shut. Despite that, he hadn’t said a word about all this. The knight finally pulled away and tucked his handkerchief back in his bag, leaning until his spines met the wall. It’s only then that he realises that they met in the middle, far closer than they needed to be, and yet King Sonic still hadn’t pulled back.

He looked at the ground, eyes stinging from embarrassment. The king truly is… a wonderful person.

And Lancelot couldn’t begin to think of how despicable he himself truly was.

On the way back, they walked in silence, tension too thick to cut through with their usual easy conversation, which only pained Lancelot more knowing how little time he had left to cherish their moments together. But right now, he couldn’t fathom thinking about anything but their time in the alleyway.

Shame burned like acid inside of him.

Why… had Lancelot done that? Why couldn’t he pull away like always? He knew better than to suspect the king of using witchcraft like he did before – he just wasn’t that kind of dishonest person, and he simply wanted something then he knew that Lancelot would lay down his life for him at his word. If anything, Lancelot was at fault for doing something as disgraceful as touching the king like that, but…

More importantly…

…Why was Sonic looking at him like that?

-x-

Lancelot slides a sealed letter under Gawain’s door, stepping away just in case the door swings open. Despite him feeling apologetic, he wasn’t keen on having a face-to-face conversation, especially not after what happened the last time he tried having one.

He made his way through the winding hallways, footsteps muffled by the crimson carpet laid out before him that seemed to run endlessly. The walls were a decadent light cream, framed portraits of gold lining the walls every fifty or so metres. Lancelot had spent enough time in the castle to count just how many there were; he knew this castle like the back of his hand.

At the end of the hallway, he finds one of the guards with a letter in his hand, carefully wrapped and tied with a dark blue string that would’ve looked black to anyone else. He nods to the guard as he hands over the letter to Lancelot, although the knight has a feeling he knows where it’s from and what it’s about.

Lancelot unties the letter, the string undoing itself rather gracefully with one swift but careful tug. He reads its contents once, and then again, just to really burn it into his memory. It was King Sonic’s handwriting after all, and at this point, what did he have to lose?

A heavy feeling settles into his gut, contrasting the steady beat of his heart pounding. He couldn’t let up now – he couldn’t be afraid.    

He swallows dryly, although it does nothing to clear the lump in his throat. Both reading the letter and saying it in his mind made it real, as much as he didn’t want it to be real; today really was the final day.

Lancelot had humbly requested the king’s presence; a request that defied everything he had been taught up until his knighting. But… King Sonic was a strange one; full of life and humour and charisma, full enough that he had no such room for attachment to formalities. Each time he’d been addressed as king, there was a hint of shyness that was easily overtaken by his usual demeanour not a moment later, followed by words along the lines of, “Just call me Sonic!”.

If this had to be his last day, then Lancelot would adhere to a balance for his sake, even if it wasn’t commanded of him. He was such an unusual king, uprooting all that they’d known and creating a pact uniquely his own; to follow your heart, so that you may do good for yourself and those around you.

Any other king, Lancelot might’ve questioned those words. But King Sonic had just as much strength as he did grace and imperfections, and that made him all the more beloved to his kingdom.

He held a fondness for his king that he’d never felt for the fallen King Arthur. A fondness that feels familiar but different in many ways from his sister. A fondness that he still didn’t understand to this day.

Try as he might do his best to defend Arthur’s honour as a king, he could die for his sake, but he could never say that he would weep for him, even if he was ever good.

But… King Sonic…

He was different. He was always different.

Lancelot steps out the castle gates, Arondight tucked into its sheath by his hip and a showy confidence in each step that he wished he truly possessed. It was all just a performance; no one could begin to gauge the ache from the gaping hole in his chest as he pushed through the crowds of townsmen, gaze focused on the violet fields at far reaches of the grassy plains, right where the horizon kissed the outskirts of Camelot.

As soon as Lancelot’s shoes touched the grass at the end of the stone path, he took off at full speed. He couldn’t bear it anymore – he couldn’t bear to waste a second longer away from the king. Their king, his king, even if he could no longer remain as such. But only Lancelot would know how much he meant to him, and maybe it should simply stay that way.

The deep woods aren’t as thick or treacherous as they usually are, and it’s only after a moment that Lancelot notices the dirt path leading out. He smiled to himself as he followed it, knowing full well that the only person who could do something like running back and forth enough times to make a permanent path in the forest would be the fastest thing alive, Sonic the Hedgehog.

At the end of the clearing, he sees him, armour-free and vivid blue against the violet-spotted grass, and it takes every ounce of self control in Lancelot to not trip up over himself at the sight of the king. Even besides being undignified, he couldn’t bear to think of how he’d feel if Sonic saw and tried to help him up. He still couldn’t forget the lingering feeling of Sonic’s hand brushing against his arm from days past.

And oh, how he would miss it dearly.

When the king turns around, his expression brightens tenfold. Lancelot can’t even fight off his own smile as he approaches the other, heart thrumming against his ribcage like butterfly wings batting wildly. 

“You came.” Sonic breathes out, closing the formal distance between them. 

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. After all, it is I who requested your presence.”

“Took you long enough to finally start making demands of me.” He laughed lightly, toothy smile as charming and heart warming as always, “Too bad that… it's the last day.”

A silence treads between them; questions, hundreds of them probably, lingered in the space between whiffs of fragrant flowers and sun-kissed fur. Yet only one honest query made it past Lancelot’s lips.

“Sire…” He starts hesitantly, clearing his throat before Sonic catches onto the tremble of it, “Forgive me but, is this really what you wish?”

“I…” Sonic stops himself, shakes his head as if he can’t make himself say what he truly wants to. Lancelot wishes he would. “It's like I said, everything has its end. Every adventure has its end. I’ll… be leaving to see Merlina after this – I just wanted to see you first.”

Lancelot stops breathing for a moment as Sonic pulls out two letters from his quills, a flash of vulnerability across his expression that he just barely caught.

“This is for the next person who pulls out Caliburn,” He smiles at Lancelot though it doesn’t reach his eyes, handing him one of the letters before pulling out the letter with the gold stamp and placing it firmly in his hand, overlapping his own, “And this is for you. Please… don’t read it until later, okay?”

And before another word could be uttered from the knight, he was held in a sudden embrace, Lancelot’s body stiffening from the contact but melting into the touch within moments all the same. There was just something different about him, something he couldn’t place his finger on quite yet – something he should have been able to figure out as he felt the king’s heart race against his own bare chest.

Sonic pulled back hastily, “I couldn’t do that to you. I couldn’t do that to my… Shadow.”

“Your… shadow?” Lancelot wondered why he was referring to him with that old name again. He hadn’t heard it since they first met, so why now?

There was a fond, but melancholy look on his face, as though his eyes were searching for something beyond Lancelot.

Something, or someone, just was great as the king was.

“Yeah.” And there was that smile. “My shadow.”

This time, he looked straight at Lancelot; emerald eyes boring into his, with a voice that was drenched in a longing sadness he’d never imagined the king would bear within him. A burden Lancelot so desperately wanted to bear, so that he may alleviate his troubles. Anything to cease his suffering.

But something within him cried out, as if warning him that learning the truth behind those words would undoubtedly crush him.

“It is alright, your majesty…” Lancelot pulled farther away from his touch, already feeling the cool air creep in absence of the other’s warmth. But that was quite alright, because the cold was still familiar enough. “I think I understand.”

And then he heard the king’s breath hitch.

Till the end, he was certain; his life belonged to him.

Even as he kneeled, as he’d done so many a time before, no one’s presence filled his soul so overwhelmingly. Nor his heart so deeply.

Lancelot reached out his hand to hold the king’s in his own, just as he’d done during his inauguration. Feeling the wind begin to settle, he felt King Sonic’s hand gently slip into his with care.

He hung his head, hearing his very own heart pounding in a way he didn’t know what to make of. And over the sound of the howling wind, he heard the words…

“Thank you…” A beat of silence between them as the world stood still for just a heartbeat, “Remember that your destiny is in your hands, but… someone will come for you. I promise, Lance.”

A sharp chill ran down Lancelot’s spine as Sonic squeezed and then carefully pulled his hand away; something about his tone, the uncharacteristic vulnerability behind it, made him look up to face the king against his better judgement.

Just like before, he was gone without a trace. Without another word. 

And so Lancelot thought hard to himself, emotions running high while he remained rooted on the spot, as to what everything could mean.

Whether these feelings were ones meant between the strongest of kings and the most loyal of his knights.

Whether such ideals even applied to a king such as Sonic, who had no desire to adhere to a set-in-stone knight’s code, and would rather follow his heart.

Or whether this is what it meant to truly follow his heart. To know affection so deep, a pull stronger than what Gawain knew as honour, and what Percival knew as duty. Far stronger than what Lancelot knew as loyalty.

The blow of reality coursed through him with such a crushing force that it would only be described as heartache. Because even if that rang true, it would not be until he was gone like the wind, that Lancelot realised he had been in love with the wind itself. 

It was always destined to be a fruitless endeavour, he thought as he felt his heart fall to endless depths in his despair, and as his vision began to blur.

After all, he was a shadow of the flame that burned the brightest.

And one that went out just as quickly.

[undeadhorse]

oh huh. i read an entire book in one sitting. not a long book but still. to think a month or two ago i was struggling to hold my focus on reading. big relief.

tangential but read deltora quest. its awesome. i have been ravenously tearing through my childhood collection of the whole series. just finished book 2 of the second series. first series was better, genuinely a 10/10 for me. DQ2 is... much darker. and the core of trust and loyalty has been damaged. i like dark fantasy, i dont like strife between friends, secrets, lies, and mistrust between people who care deeply for each other. theres also very few puzzles. the puzzles were my favourite part of deltora quest but dq2 seems to have mostly abandoned them. the dq1 puzzles were incredible and devilish and deeply satisfying. some were foreshadowed in the first book and only resolved in the last. so very exciting. dq2 is more about wandering from misfortune to misfortune, and barely surviving on dumb luck and a little violence. it just feels... less polished overall. a little hollow. its still good. the subplots are very good. the worldbuilding is good. the monsters are mid. the new characters are all fantastic however.

ik no one knows what im talking about.

if you like dark fantasy adventure books, read deltora quest. its presented as lots of small digestible novels, but functionally its 3 long books broken up into 3 series of short 120-150 page novels. its a lotr-esque trilogy, but with more colourful and unique fantasy, somewhat inspired by australian fauna and flora.

[gunkreads]

Phew. Finished The Tyrant Baru Cormorant; now finally caught up on Masquerade. Took me fuckin' long enough.

For a summary of my thoughts, I'd like you to imagine a wee little squeal of sadomasochistic glee sounding from my chair every page or two, slowly building in to a combination of wails and shrieks, no less sadomasochistic or gleeful than the squeals that preceded them.

Seth Dickinson writes the type of story that I want put into the IV bags in the hospital when I finally get hit by a car hard enough to send me into a proper coma. I love being forced to cry. I love having to close the book over my thumb because I can't bear to read another word , then having to open it right back up because what's the point of this character suffering like that if I don't see them through to the end?

Dickinson writes the type of story that makes me not give a dribble of a shit whether it gets finished properly. There's a divide of public opinion that seems to believe a story that may never be finished is worth less than one that is or will be. I do not care if Baru 4 is ever released. I want it very badly, but if this is the last I ever hear of this story, that's fine. It's done enough. I'll admit I feel this way about a lot of stories, but I think it's worth mentioning here because this really is a story that's complete enough within itself to stand on its own at any of its climaxes.

Spoilers below the cut.

Bad out of the way first: there was a very obvious issue with the split between Monster and Tyrant; I later found that they were originally one book and really wish they would've either 1: stayed that way or 2: been split around 100-150 pages into Tyrant, some time during the Kyprananoke climax. So that's one very minor bad thing.

Second bad thing was... not so much "bad" as a slightly off-putting thing I've noticed and theory I've been working on. Depending on your level of cynicism about publishing, you'd describe it as either "authors breaking out of their shell" or "editors/publishers easing up on the reins". Around the second or third books of several series I've read, the author's voice begins to shine through a lot more potently. I don't wanna dive too deep into my background on this theory, but that definitely happens in Tyrant. You start to see Dickinson use slightly more modern twists of language, have characters crack a few more out-of-tone jokes, and other small things like that. It's nothing particularly intrusive, but it did bring me a bit out of the story.

One thing that probably turns some people off the series, especially toward the middle of Monster, is the way it presents economics as a kind of absolute power over the world. I'd agree that it's a somewhat limiting authorial choice in some ways--as much as you can call "falling short of portraying the full spectrum of society" limiting--but I, personally, adored the way Dickinson used Baru's single-minded belief in economics as the sole solution to the world's problems as a foreground for all the other philosophies he presented. What's the difference between economics and trim? Plenty, but less than you think, so he puts Baru--the world's best-ish economist--and Tau-indi--the world's best good person--in a room together a bunch and makes them ask each other every question except "What's the difference between economics and trim?"

This is one of my favorite things in storytelling: to answer a question by painting a silhouette of different answers around it. Answer every question except the one you're asking and the reader will see it clearly enough to answer for themselves. Dickinson does it really, really fucking well.

Also yeah. Tau-indi Bosoka. What a great character. Operates on a truly higher level of insanity than any other character in the series while still keeping their feet so firmly on the ground you're amazed they can pick them up to walk.

Another thing I really adore, and this is a smaller one, is demonstrating conclusions to the reader via the actual physical medium of a book, not just the words. There's one place toward the end of Tyrant where this happens: the reveal that Aminata is Kindalana's daughter, where they jump-cut from "Kindalana has a daughter with Farrier!" to "Hey, where's Aminata?" (or something, can't recall the exact scene) on the very next page. The two scenes take place far out of earshot of each other, but they're juxtaposed like conjoined twins to the reader. This is the type of thing that can either pass straight over your head or hit you like a cement truck, with very little in between. It's my personal stance that this counts as an outright textual statement, not just implication, but that's a whole other haterific can o' worms I'll leave unpoured for now.

There are a couple things to be said about the Cancrioth, but I think the one that's most important to me is that they never lost their mystical properties. They never stopped being properly arcane. I really liked that. It's very easy to write a revealed secret as a thing that becomes mundane; the Cancrioth couldn't have ever been that way because they're an immortal cult. Not everyone there is an onkos, so all the non-onkos aboard need to believe in the magic. For them all to believe, the magic has to be pretty rad!

Sorry, I wrote this whole post just for that joke. Anyway.

In another way, the Cancrioth did start to bore me toward the end. I was kind of sick of their shit, for lack of a more complete thought. I had the same difficulty deciphering the Brain's motives as Barhu did and... honestly, it got a little bit tiring. Changing the trajectory of an immovable object is obviously a very hard thing to do, and it obviously takes a very long time, but man is it kind of exhausting to read it play out in real-time.

Tain Shir is great. She speaks for herself (lol) as an element of the narrative. Good shit, no notes. There's actually nothing to be said here besides saying "Hey, Seth, your character rocks ass." She fills a trope I enjoy a lot: flesh made force-of-nature.

Aminata is an excellently insane character. I like how her perspective gave so much weight to the relative worldliness of other characters. She doesn't know dick about shit the whole time and it makes it much clearer to the reader how much everyone else should know. Also she's just... fantastically nuts.

Kyprananoke as a whole Fucking Thing was a little oddly drawn-out. Chekov's Tsunami was a little too heavy-handed for me. Not the tsunami itself, but its introduction--there's no way to introduce something like that without forcing the reader to lean back and go "Well, this place is fucked. What's next?" It kind of mangled the pacing of that whole sequence for me. I think that's more an issue with my own preferences as a reader, though, because all in all it's just another way to structure a release of tension.

I was pleasantly surprised at Dickinson's handling of gender issues. I'm not going to tell you whether he does a good or bad job; I'm going to tell you he does a thorough job. He paints a very interesting picture of the history of gender relations in various societies, how those have clashed over time, and their impacts on main characters. Aminata has probably the simplest relationship with gender and sex of them all, but she's also the character with the narrowest range of information about the world. I think your mileage will vary greatly here and it'll depend a lot on your existing stances on gender politics.

All in all, this is already one of my favorite series. I think rereading it would kill me and I think I'll eventually do it anyway.