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calder · 6 months

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Released in 2010, Obsidian Entertainment's Fallout: New Vegas actively concerns itself with the realities of gay existence, and is widely recognized as a noteworthy work of queer science fiction. New Vegas extensively examines social attitudes towards homosexuality among the game's major factions, and primarily conveys this lore through gay and bisexual characters describing their own experiences. It also allowed the player to mechanically set the Courier's sexual orientation. By taking both available perks, the player character can be bisexual. By choosing neither, the player can opt out of seeing flirtatious dialogue options.

Uniquely, Fallout: New Vegas explores homosexuality in the context of wasteland societies, and touches upon related issues. The core theme of New Vegas is that the desire to recreate the past is driven by irrational nostalgia, and any endeavor to manifest past glory is dangerous and doomed. The social issue of homophobia is used as a demonstrative example. The resurrection of corporate and military power structures presents new avenues for Old World problems such as institutional homophobia to reemerge. One of the many issues that divide the New California Republic and Caesar's Legion is the latter's open persecution of gay people. The NCR is described as tolerant and even accepting of same-sex relationships, though acceptance tends to fall off the further one moves away from the developed, urbanized core of New California. In recent years, the Republic's rapid economic transformation has led to an unforeseen erosion of the humanitarian ideals which it was founded to serve. In practice, to recreate America was to take on its shortcomings and its sins. As subsistence scavenging has dried up, the people of the NCR increasingly turn to wage labor, entrepreneurial venture, or military enlistment to keep their families fed. Meanwhile, their government enacts morally corrosive imperialism (narrative verbiage), their dominion expanding indefinitely as their infrastructure crumbles from within. This has led to a profit-based imperial monoculture which must conquer, consume, and coerce to perpetuate. As personal politics and service labor grow in importance, people find themselves more inclined to present as "normal" in the interest of financial stability and political expedience. A loading screen visualizes this culture of artificial social normalcy: the portrait of President Aradesh on the NCR 5$ bill neglects to depict his unibrow, earring, and facial scarification, overall portraying the once-chieftain so cleanly-cut as to be unrecognizable at first glance. He also appears to be wearing a collared shirt or suit as opposed to the robe he wore in Fallout.

In the Legion, Caesar has mandated that every legionnaire take a wife and produce children, citing high infant mortality rates and the constant need for soldiers, and going as far as instituting child quotas. He treats human beings as a resource to be exploited for war. Ostensibly in this aim homosexuality has been declared a capital offense punishable by death. Historically, routine demonstrations of violence towards women and gay people are a deliberate feature of fascist societies, the only logical cultural conclusion of a government devoted entirely to war and control. In Forlorn Hope letter 9, an NCR soldier wrote wrote the following to his boyfriend:

Dearest Andrew, Writing this seems pretty morbid, but tomorrow we march into the no man's land between our camp and Nelson, which is crawling with Legion. The Major insisted I write this damn "if you get this, I'm dead" letter so here it is. What a crock. I have the luck of the devil and your love on my side, so I'll be home soon. Keep the porch light on for me. We'll party in New Vegas when I get back. I love you. —Devin

Devin believed he would prevail over the Legion because his love would keep him safe. He was found dying or dead on the battlefield, the letter was found on his body. In a post-release patch, the injured soldiers were removed from the battlefield for performance reasons, and never re-implemented. Driven largely in reaction to the Legion's hyper-masculine posturing and misogyny, rumors persist across the Mojave that gay male relationships are not only common within the Legion, but condoned. These rumors are repeated commonly in NCR society. A closeted NCR Major mentions that the Legion is "a little more... forgiving" about close male "friendships," speaking in a hushed tone to avoid suspicion. At the same outpost, the player can encounter Cass, a bisexual civilian woman. She may flirt with a male Courier, who may imply they are gay, prompting her to imply gay men are more common in the Legion. Even as gay men fight and die in the name of love under his command, NCR General Oliver may remark to Courier Six at the Second Battle of Hoover Dam: "If you think after all that's happened, I'm going to grab my ankles and take it like the Legion..."

This writing pertains to institutionalized homophobia which manifests in practice though power structures and social interactions without being written into law. Simply put, in his derogatory remark, the general expresses to his army that military surrender is gay, much like their gay enemy. From the brevity and bluntness of this remark, it's clear that this sentiment is already well understood among his ranks. Logically, to project strength in the eyes of such a leader, one might also project homophobia by scrutinizing and harassing one's peers and subordinates. In this atmosphere, the expression of homophobia is not only normalized, but materially incentivized. For the ambitious, it becomes a tool, and a way of casting shame upon rivals. For the closeted, homophobia becomes a survival tactic, hoping to throw scrutiny off oneself. This is why Major Knight is immediately frightened when a male Courier flirts with him. He is so profoundly alienated that he romanticizes life as a gay man under the Legion. The Legion punish homosexuality with death, and yet Knight characterizes them as more "forgiving" than the NCR. Through these apparently disparate events, the audience can trace how a distorted perception of gay people emerges among insecure men in a military environment, and subsequently becomes ingrained in the corresponding civilian culture. At the 188 Trading Post, a lesbian from the Brotherhood of Steel named Veronica also wryly remarks that she believes legionaries have gay sex about as often as straight sex. She also notes that this only applies to men, as women have no rights whatsoever in Legion society. In this aside, she conveys a pre-existing frustration with lesbophobic social norms. Veronica also mentions that the people of her bunker would rather she remain on the surface. The Mojave Brotherhood of Steel has no official policy prohibiting homosexuality, but an implicit attitude among its dominant members that their limited numbers require everyone to have children to avoid extinction. Numerically, this may seem logical on the surface, given their reluctance to recruit outsiders. However, given their tiny population, this is an ineffective countermeasure, as they do not have nearly enough members to maintain genetic diversity for more than a few generations. This approach is not universally supported by all family units within the Brotherhood, but every individual is ultimately at the mercy of the elder. Veronica was in a lesbian relationship, but they were quietly separated by Elder Elijah, due to the dominant culture of enforcing heterosexual pairing among their population.

Caesar's law has not ended homosexuality within his domain. Despite the obvious risks, some legionaries have continued to pursue relationships behind closed doors, especially given their access to slaves. So long as members complete their societal obligations and fulfill the child quotas, they are able to pursue romance with other men in secret. Homosexual relationships in the faction are noted as being relatively equal compared to the average Legion husband and wife, in a "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" sort of open secret policy. Gay legionaries must always make sure to keep their activities hidden. A centurion was once almost caught fraternizing with the teenage boy he had chosen to tend his tent. Despite previous "romantic" intentions, he quickly resolved to dispose of the slave to dispel suspicion. Had they been caught together, the centurion would have been charged with homosexuality and sentenced to death. This story is only known because the enslaved young man, Jimmy, managed to escape execution. Further illustrating the cruelty intrinsic to Legion governance, it's stated that homosexuality was the crime, and not the rape of a young slave; in fact, it seems Jimmy was forced to contribute to the child quota despite being a gay teenager, and the experience left him traumatized. He has resolved to never have sex with another woman, as the very notion triggers memories which fill him with disgust, and (in his own words) makes him feel like a slave all over again. The Strip is indifferent to gay people, viewing them as another opportunity to make caps. Both the Gomorrah and the Atomic Wrangler are interested in maximizing profits, and their prostitution services cater to clients regardless of their orientation. The openly gay Jimmy works at nearby Casa Madrid, but there is some tension among his peers due to his co-worker Maude's blatant homophobia. She supposes he's "okay, for one of those," and if propositioned by a female Courier, Maude will direct them to Sweetie for such "perverted" services. Pretty Sarah must regularly intervene to keep the peace among her staff.

The Followers of the Apocalypse, well-read punks who seek to embody healing through anarchistic values, are not concerned with gender. Most are openly and casually sexually active. Upon meeting Courier Six, Arcade Gannon offhandedly makes his gayness known, unprompted. The audience must face the fact that Arcade's apprehension of the Legion is far from abstract; under Legion law, he would be put to death. One possible ending gives further insight into Caesar's hypocrisy: should the player sell Arcade into slavery and leave Caesar alive, he will keep Arcade as a personal physician and philosophical advisor. They intellectually spar at length, and Caesar grows singularly fond of him. Accordingly, Arcade imitates the historic suicide of Cato the Younger by disemboweling himself. The Legion's remaining medics attempted to save his life, but none were Arcade's equal. Caesar understood his doctor's final gesture of contempt, and mourned him for months.

New Vegas ventures further into themes of healing from the trauma of sexual violence, from the perspective of a lesbian character. Corporal Betsy, an NCR sharpshooter, is a rape survivor, and suffers with PTSD from the incident. Her unprocessed trauma has manifested as a maladaptive tendency to aggressively and explicitly proposition the women she encounters, in an effort to reassert a sense of control. This defensive hypersexual impulse has negatively impacted her ability to connect with other women. A male superior officer notes that her behavior is inappropriate for anyone of her stature, but abstains from disciplining her out of sincere concern for her mental health. The Courier can help her begin to recognize these problems, and convince her to seek treatment from Doctor Usanagi at the New Vegas medical clinic, which proves helpful to her as she processes and heals from her trauma.

In Old World Blues, the Think Tank are five floating brains in jars who express themselves by waving robotic arms bearing screens depicting facial features. Before the War, they were federal scientists who committed crimes against humanity in the name of weapons development. Each is stuck in some sort of neuro-bionic feedback loop which prevents them from moving forward with their projects, mentally binding them to their central laboratory. Walking through their homes at Higgs Village, it's clear each was deeply neurotic before they were transformed into floating brains. Now without bodies, they attempt to maintain the illusion that they are exempt from sexuality as purely mental beings, but each displays obvious interest in the human form. They have codified this shaming with the term "formography." Most of the men are obsessively defensive over their complete disinterest in penises, which they talk about constantly. However, the shameless Dr. Dala shows overwhelming interest in observing and recording any and all human functions. Already androgynous in her pre-War life, Dala has taken to self-identifying as a "gender neutral entity" (though she is not known to use they/them pronouns). Regardless of the Courier's gender, they may coquettishly scratch themselves, clear their throat, and stretch in front of Dala until her biomed gel decoagulates. Dr. 8 also responds positively to graphic masturbation advice from Couriers of either gender. The X-8 research facility is ostensibly a massive immersive shrine to Doctor Borous's hatred of Richie "Ball-Lover" Marcus, a long-dead child who bullied Borous centuries ago. He also clings to his resentment of one Betsy Bright, who refused to attend a dance with him, supposedly so she could "go smoke with RICHIE MARCUS." Clearly arrested in development, Borous has literally built a temple to the fantasy of torturing his adolescent romantic rival and feeding him to dogs. His frozen, static characterization of the jock Richie Marcus as a "pinko-commie" who "likes balls" reflects the shallowness, pettiness, and overall misanthropy underlying his patriotic identity. It remains apparent throughout Old World Blues that the Think Tank are all chronically sexually repressed, which is inseparable from the values of the violent and judgmental pre-War culture which created them. With time and isolation, this ingrained repression has manifested as various intense and deranged psychosexual behaviors, including rage-fueled homophobia, voyeurism, and the obsessive performance of puritanical pretense.

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“Although I’ve been out for a very long time, I made a conscious effort to be out with relation to this project, as I wanted to be visible as a lesbian in the game industry. New Vegas itself is, I think, one of (if not the) best games out there in how we treat homosexuality – and all of that is very intentional.”

“If my work on FNV, if my being out has helped even one gay person, then I have succeeded.” — Tess “Obsidian’s Gay Cowgirl” Treadwell

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written (with help from other editors) for fallout.fandom.com/wiki/LGBT_representation_in_the_Fallout_series criticism welcome

#fnv

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teatreeoilll · 4 months

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Retribution (Ryomen Sukuna X Reader)

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w/c - 0.5k content warnings - MDNI!, 18+, fem!reader, dom!reader, attempted murder (lol), language, poisoning, Heian-era sorta sub!Sukuna, sorta smutty drabble, Reader is a pissed-off concubine trying to kill the King of Curses. I dunno what came over me

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"Has the king heard the tale of the obedient emperor?" You muse, your tone an eerie tune that lingers in the dim chamber.

"What's in the drink, human?" Sukuna demands, his gaze locked onto his own fidgeting palms.

When Sukuna's fingers first wrapped around the cup, you scolded yourself for ever letting the other miserable concubines coerce you into believing that a mere poison in his drink would end his life. But as his body began to tremble, still trying to remain seated on the bed, and his pupils burst into black holes within his ruby irises, a glimmer of hope coursed through you like hellfire.

"Nothing, my king. It's nothing but wine." You hold your breath as his body falters, "Unwell, my king?" There is a hint of self-satisfaction in your words as his arm extends towards you. But then, like pulled by an invisible string, it retreats, falling back onto his side.

"They say a thousand years ago, far up north, lived the strongest emperor the world has ever known," You resume, watching the cup slip from Sukuna's grip, staining the wooden floor with remnants of the crimson drink, "It is said he had an army hundreds of thousands strong, servants to abide his every whim .."

Sukuna's eyes pierce through you. He attempts to speak, but his words emerge as nothing but deep grunts and growls. His mouth fills with taste of lead as the cursed energy flowing through his body already works on his recovery.

"Ah-ah, don't interrupt," your malicious grin sends waves of fury down his spine, "Or you might not get to hear the ending."

In the pleasure districts of your town which the king of curses burned to ashes, the brothel owner taught you thoroughly; all men who possess great power, crave to relinquish it as well.

Sukuna’s body wobbles, the thud of his torso hitting the mattress is like music to your ears.

"Where was I? Oh - the servants. Men and women who cowered in fear when he spoke, who built him a palace so vast that even the gods looked down upon it with envy. And so, the gods decided to curse him."

You approach the bed, watching his monstrous limbs sprawled across the mattress, enjoying the subtle twitches of resentment in his expression.

"They cursed him so that even with all his power," You put a knee on either side of his body, straddling him with all your weight, "He could not feel any pleasure until he would submit to another." You grind against his hips, a moan escaping your lips as you feel the bulge grow under you.

"You like this, don’t you? Like being powerless?"

"-Fucking Bitch." He groaned, interrupting your gleeful smirk; your eyes widen as you tip your chin down to watch his arms regain their vigor, shooting out to slam you on the mattress.

You gasp for air, freezing when his body towers over you. The thuds of your pounding heart deafen your ears as he stretches out his arm. Your breath halts as you brace for impact, and for a fleeting moment, you see the imminent end.

Instead, he slams his hand down on the mattress beside your head, his expression a flushed, panting mess as he thrusts his clothed hips between your legs. "Fuck you."

"Be nice," you chastise. As your initial plan crumbled, a greater wave of pleasure engulfed your senses at the sound of his breathless moans.

Maybe you’ll make him beg, just for fun.

#sukuna X reader #sukuna smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #ryomen sukuna X reader #ryomen sukuna smut #jjk x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna ryomen smut #sukuna ryomen x reader #ryoumen sukuna x reader #ryoumen sukuna smut #ryoumen sukuna #sukuna #sub sukuna #sub!sukuna

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onlymingyus · 1 year

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The King's Gambit: a 95 line collab (Masterlist)

Playing the king's game is risky business, there’s just too many risks — but the reward for winning is sweeter than any mousse au chocolat. It’s why three brothers sit atop Seoul with their crooked crowns and broken chess pieces; they loved playing the game because they always won, getting one step closer to ruling the world. But when Cupid comes knocking on their doors, the empires they built threaten to crumble as they fight to protect what’s hidden and salvage what’s missing.

(hidden: their life behind closed doors. salvage: the love they create)

These three fics are closely intertwined and should be read in the following order. Although they can be read on their own, we highly encourage you to read all three fics to get a full picture of the world we’ve built for Joshua, Jeonghan, and Seungcheol, as each fic contains important context that the others may be missing.

Series Rating: R for graphic descriptions of sex, violence, death, and other adult themes.

Join the Taglist

The King's Gambit: Contracts by onlymingyus Patreon Teaser • Teaser 1 • Patreon Teaser 2 • Patreon Teaser 3

Joshua Hong, rich CEO of Hong Investments, lives his life by his schedule and contracts including the women who find themselves in his bed. When you find yourself in his world you find out there is more than just meetings, money, and expensive champagne but secrets, sex, and lies.

The King's Gambit: Bound by @duhnova Teaser 1

Money never came easy for Jeonghan, so when he finally built an empire that’s just his own he’ll do anything to protect it. But when you come into his life it’s like it’s all flipped upside down as he learns you’re more precious to him than the eleven digit number in his bank account.

The King's Gambit: en Passant by @onlyhuis Teaser

Millionaire CEO Choi Seungcheol has never relied on anybody: not his parents, not his friends, no one. The only person that’s gotten him through life is himself and the power his name holds. But even now, with everything he could ever want at his fingertips, his life lacks purpose… until he meets you.

#seventeen smut #seventeen angst #seventeen fanfic #svthub #joshua smut #jeonghan smut #scoups smut #seungcheol smut #joshua angst #jeonghan angst #scoups angst #seungcheol angst #joshua fanfic #jeonghan fanfic #scoups fanfic #seungcheol fanfic #the kings gambit masterlist

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lovemyavatar · 1 year

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Irreplaceable

Neteyam x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

based on this request

Warnings: angst, mild descriptions of injuries, fluff

Your eyes flutter open, squinting against the harsh morning light as it flickers into the tent.

Out of habit, you turn over, arms outstretched, reaching for the warmth of your mate. When they come up empty, your brow pinches in confusion, bleary eyes scanning his unoccupied side of the bed.

You’re alone…again.

A rough sigh falls from your lips. Disappointment weighs heavily in your heart, chest tightening with the twinge of loneliness you’ve gotten used to over the last several weeks. Your legs swing off the side of the woven bed frame, a new determination powering your steps as you get ready for the day.

Your gaze flicks over the bustling center of Home Tree as you emerge from your tent, searching the crowd. You don’t stop looking, not until he’s found on one of the upper levels of the massive structure. His attention is firmly locked on the task at hand, as he circles a group of young warriors.

They’re practicing archery skills, the long line of men and women pulling their bow strings back, then releasing them rhythmically as Neteyam’s laser focus dissects every movement.

“Yawne (beloved)!” You call lightly, a soft smile pulling at your lips.

Despite the less than ideal state of your relationship, you’ll always be happy to see him. You can’t help the way your heart skips a beat at the simple mention of his name, the way your stomach flutters as you watch him help teach the clan.

His eyes cut to you for only a brief moment, hands falling to his hips in irritation as he corrects one of the warrior’s postures. You walk right up to him, fingertips brushing along his arm when he doesn’t stop to look at you.

“Ma ‘Teyam—”

“Not now, Y/N.” He says curtly, before walking away without so much as a glance.

You force down a thick swallow, embarrassment darkening your cheeks. You feel the glances, the judgement of the warriors as they watch him practically ignore you. Your stomach dips at his dismissal, but you press on, plastering another smile on your face as you follow his quick strides.

“I was just checking on you, Ma ‘Teyam. You did not say goodbye again.” Your voice quivers a bit with the effort of keeping it lighthearted despite the way his treatment splinters your heart.

“I am very busy.” His arms cross over his broad chest, tongue clicking disapprovingly at one of the warriors as they fumble their arrow.

He walks away from you again, correcting their stance with firm hands. All you can do is stare at his retreating back, heartache settling like heavy stones. Your gaze falls, a soft sigh falling from your lips.

You’re quick to make your exit, as it’s clear he doesn’t have time for you right now. He doesn’t have time for you at all, it seems as of late. Aside from waking up alone more often than not, he barely pays you any mind throughout the day either.

You know he has a lot on his plate. As the future Olo’eyktan, he has many duties around the clan. Especially as tensions—and his father’s expectations—only rise with each passing day. You try not to take it personally, try so hard to remember the version of Neteyam you fell in love with all those years ago.

But your loving, attentive, thoughtful Neteyam has been gone for weeks now. Replaced with this rigid, strict leader in training. He seems to have one goal as the sky people continue to threaten your home: protect The People at any cost.

Even if that means losing you.

Several hours later, you haven’t seen so much as a shadow of him. Dinner has long passed, the plate you made for him now ice cold. Only a sliver of the sun pokes from behind the moon, twilight bringing the world around you to life while you feel another part of yourself crumble.

You remain in the gathering area, stuck in place for many hours until he strides from the tree line, looking every bit as exhausted as you feel. His eyelids are heavy, face sunken with the effects of not caring for himself the way he should.

Within seconds you reach him. Your hands find his shoulders, palms soothing down his arms to slow his rushed pace. He stops, although begrudgingly, a rough sigh leaving his lips as his distracted gaze flicks toward yours.

“Sorry, baby girl. I’m headed straight to see my father.” His tone is dismissive, and he’s already trying to walk away, but you’re quick to block the path.

“Neteyam.” The way you say his name is firm, a pointed warning that he’s taking this too far. “At least sit and eat something. You are overworking yourself.”

“I can’t.” At this point, you aren’t sure if you’re imagining the moment his eyes soften, the tiniest hint of remorse darkening the usual bright yellow. “We have a big raid tomorrow, remember? There is much planning to do.”

One of his hands cradles the back of your head, guiding it forward to place a chaste kiss along your temple. You jerk back as his hold slips away, moisture blurring your vision. You’re left watching his retreating back once again.

Your jaw clenches, chest tightening with bitterness. Shaky fingers roughly clear the stream of tears coating your cheeks as you stomp toward the place you’d been sitting all night. Sitting and waiting for someone who clearly couldn’t care less.

You tremble with pent up anger and frustration as you grab the plate of food you’d stupidly kept for him, a quiet shout leaving your lips as you throw it into the embers of the evening’s fire. You practically run home, back to the tent you know will remain empty for many hours.

When morning comes, you're alone again, but this time, it’s expected. Jake and the rest of the warriors have been planning this raid for weeks. You were prepared for them to depart long before the sun broke free of the moon's shadow, in hopes of catching the humans off-guard.

You're awake for no more than a few minutes when Kiri comes barreling through the entrance of your tent. She's frantic, eyes wide with panic as they search for you. She runs to your side, fingers curling around your arms tightly.

“Y/N, we need to go.” She jerks you toward the door, causing your legs your stumble as you try keeping up with her rushed pace.

“Whoa, Kiri. Wait a second. What—”

“My dad called over comms. They need help. Now.” She doesn't stop, tugging you out into the main area of Home Tree.

Breath catches in your throat, heart rate doubling at her words. That's never happened before. There's never been a mission that wasn't successful, that didn't go off without a hitch. Fear licks down your spine, a tremble of unease wracking your entire body.

Now matter how difficult or perilous the mission, Neteyam has always come home to you. The mere whisper of danger, of something going wrong, has you reeling. Your mind races, thoughts of him in trouble, injured—or worse—cloud your judgement.

In an instant, you don't have a single care about your own safety, the need to aid him, to make sure he comes home, overwhelming. You jump into action beside Kiri, mounting your Ikran as she does hers, soaring into the sky without hesitation.

The second you arrive on the scene, it's clear the clan is outmatched, and outnumbered. You guide your Ikran upward, hovering over the action while Kiri dives right in. Your eyes rapidly flick over every Na'vi in sight, heart leaping in your chest when they land on Neteyam and his Ikran in the distance.

In a flash, you're weaving through the chaos, trying to reach him as quickly as possible. Breath lodges in your throat, stomach dipping with panic when you see a helicopter swing around the perimeter, humans with huge guns perched at the open doors.

And they’re pointed right at him.

“Neteyam!” Your voice is hoarse with anxiety as you yell his name as loudly as your lungs will allow, hands waving wildly.

His head instantly jerks to the side, brow furrowing in confusion and alarm when he sees you.

“Y/N? What the hell are you doing?” His heart is already slamming between his ribs at the mere sight of you among the bloodshed. “Get out of here!”

One of the only things that helps him focus during missions is the knowledge that you’re home safe. It pushes him, reminds him to act carefully. Knowing you’re protected within the layers of Home Tree keeps him sane, allows him to devote all his attention to defending the clan.

He isn't paying attention, hasn't noticed the weapon aimed in his direction. Your mind is moving too fast, thoughts too jumbled from blind panic to see any other option but to put yourself in the way. Without hesitation, you swoop down, forcing Neteyam to jolt to the side.

You block the onslaught of bullets as they rain down from the helicopter. White hot pain sears through your middle, one of your hands leaving your Ikran to cradle your side. Your fingers tremble as they pull back, crimson smeared over dark blue.

“Y/N!” Neteyam cries, eyes popping wide as he can do nothing but watch you sway before tumbling to the ground.

Your face scrunches with another intense wave of agony, stomach flipping as your Ikran calls out and nosedives from the sky. Darkness dots your vision, eyelids growing heavy. Nausea curls in your gut, heart slamming between your ribs harshly.

Neteyam races after you, but he’s a second too late, only catching up just after you crash into the unforgiving earth. He leaps from his Ikran instantly, clambering toward you hastily. He kneels next to your broken body as you lay in a heap on the dirt.

Panic cinches his heart, makes his breath stutter as he forces it from quivering lungs. Shaky hands grip your shoulders, turning your upper body gently to assess the damage.

“Nete…I-I think— ” A pained groan leaves your lips, moisture blurring your vision as you blink up at him.

“No, don’t talk, baby girl.” The words rush from his mouth in one quick exhale. His palms fan over you, as if unsure what to do.

Sharp pain radiates from your side, and suddenly, it’s just too much. Your breath slows, chest rising shallowly as your racing heart settles.

“I’m going to get you help. Okay, baby?” You don’t see the tears rolling down his face, don’t register the turmoil he couldn’t hide even if he wanted to.

When you don’t respond, his head jerks up, eyes widening at your unconscious state.

“No! Y/N? Ma muntxa (mate)?” His hands find your shoulders again, shaking you roughly. He feels the ground shift beneath him, resolve crumbling when you remain limp in his hold.

One of his arms slips under your knees, the other supporting your head as he lifts you from the ground. All thoughts of the mission are long gone as he mounts his Ikran, racing back to Home Tree.

Erratic sobs jostle your body in his tight hold as his chest trembles from the force of rising grief. He’s flying blind, tears clouding his vision as he counts on muscle memory to get him back safely.

The moment he touches down, he’s sprinting toward the Tsahik tent, silently praying to Eywa that it’s not too late.

Neteyam’s head lurches to the side at the sound of quiet shuffling on the other side of the room.

His heart leaps in his chest, not fully believing the sight of your eyes fluttering open. He crosses the distance in a few long strides, kneeling beside the bed that’s been your home for the last three days.

He hasn’t left the Tsahik tent. Not to eat, to sleep, not even when his father tried demanding his help with another raid. He wouldn’t—couldn’t leave you. Not even for a second.

He’s had little else to do but mull over how he’s treated you the last several weeks. His chest hurts, stomach rolling each time he replays the times he ignored or dismissed you.

He’s tried, desperately tried, to remember the last thing you said to him. And he can’t. No matter how long he stares at the wall, willing his brain to recall the information, he just can’t. Each lapse in memory tears at his soul, rips another hole in his battered heart.

He’s gone through endless scenarios, imaging all the terrible ways his life would collapse without you in it. He’s beat himself up, called himself every name under the sun. But nothing will give him that time back. The time he wasted prioritizing everything but what actually matters.

A low groan falls from your dry lips, pain emanating from your ribs at the slightest movement. Your face tightens, and another piece of Neteyam’s heart breaks. His hands clasp yours tenderly, thumbs smoothing over your skin.

“Mawey (calm), sweetheart.” He coos, releasing his hold to swipe a stray braid from your forehead.

You blink rapidly, clearing days of built up moisture to see him clearly. Slowly, you come to, surroundings gradually focusing until you realize you’re in the Tsahik tent. At once, the events just before you passed out flash in your mind, making you wince once again.

“I’m sorry, baby girl.” Your gaze finds his, chest tightening at the sight of his red-rimmed eyes. He’s quick to swipe away the tears as they slip down his cheeks. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Your brow furrows with confusion, unsure why he’d be apologizing. If anyone is to blame for your condition, it’s you. You put yourself in harms way, and he had no control over that. Your mouth has barely part in protest before he shushes you, fingertips pressing into your lips gently.

“I’ve been a terrible mate, Y/N. But that stops now. Okay?” His voice is full of conviction, expression hard with determination. “I would give anything to take back those days I dismissed you. But I can’t, so I will spend every day moving forward making up for it.”

Warmth blooms in your chest, a wobbly smile splitting your face. Though you never would’ve chosen such drastic measures to make him aware of the way he’s been treating you, gratitude overrides your previous animosity at the words you’ve been aching to hear for weeks.

His lips caress the backs of your hands, planting sweet kisses against your skin before he stands suddenly.

“What do you need, sevin (pretty)? Are you hungry? Thirsty? I will get anything you want. I can even go—”

“Oh, Nete. I-I just need you…” The words are a mere whisper, your voice hoarse from lack of use.

“I’m right here, baby girl. But you need to eat. I bet you’re starving. Let me go get—” Your hands find his arm, latching on tightly to keep him from walking away.

“Please, don’t go, Nete. Lay with me?” Moisture blurs your vision instantly at the thought of him leaving you alone.

A soft breath falls from his lips, shoulders dropping in defeat. He doesn’t want to hurt you, but right now, he can’t deny you anything. Especially not with that wounded look on your face.

“Okay, okay. Don’t cry, honey.” He shushes you gently, lifting the blanket covering your body so he can nestle against your side.

He gingerly drapes one arm over your hips, the other snaking beneath your neck. You settle into the familiar embrace, tense muscles unwinding for the first time in weeks. A contented sigh leaves your lips, eyes fluttering closed as a wave of exhaustion washes over you.

“I will give you one hour, and then you’re eating something. Understood?” Neteyam gently pulls you closer, lips trailing against the column of your neck as he murmurs softly.

“Yes, sir.” You can’t help the giggle that bubbles in your chest as you send him a little mock salute.

He rumbles against you, pressing his face into your skin to hide the way his lips stretch into a grin at your teasing. You succumb to sleep quickly, at last finding peaceful rest within his protective hold.

@fanboyluvr @minjix @daeneeryss @aonungsmate

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leeknowsintrusivethots · 2 months

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A Stray Concubine

| Part 1 | Pairings: Prince!Lee Know/You, Prince!Bangchan/You, RivalNoble!Hyunjin/You? We are all about possibility here. Summary: Entering into a harem choosing was something you have been groomed for since you were young. Your aim is to make Crown Prince Christopher fall at your heels in order to restore your ruined family name and fortune, but games of love are much harder than games of lies and deceit. Content: Angst (is it me if it's not?), slow burn, smut(warnings below the cut), fictional historical universe, dark themes, second person perspective, historical-typical gender roles, imperial harem-inspired concubine system, multi-pov WC: 5119 Minors do not interact. Do not repost my content to other websites. Notes: I'm back to writing again, keyboard slappin' again. Also, I am having trouble figuring out a way to format POV shifts on tumblr that is clean but not intrusive. I am open to suggestions.

Smut Warnings: very brief/very vanilla smut, sex with a stranger, no strings, mentions/illusions of oral, smut is not between leads of the story?(idk, I think some of you might be peeved by that. We do it for the plot.)

You

Powerful was a word that most would not place on a woman.

Women were meant to be demure and delicate. They were meant to rear children and attend to household affairs as their husbands brought in income and fought in wars where there would be no true victors. It was not a woman's place to meddle in affairs of politics and governance outside of securing marriage alliances for unwanted daughters to bring extra wealth and prestige to the family name. That is simply how the world worked.

You never questioned it in your childhood. You wore the pretty, colorful silks. You learned to speak eloquently but never out of turn. You played instruments and studied embroidery and other womanly arts. You were exactly what society dictated you be: a pretty face being prepared to be sold off for the honor of your family name.

It was a single, fateful trip to the capital with your mother and father that had changed not only your perspective but the entire course of your life. Your family name was tarnished and your father was executed by the ruling Bang family for murder and treason. The only thing that had saved you and your mother was the grace of the sex you had been born with and her tears and pleas for mercy. Even as she cried and begged in front of His Majesty, the truths you had known crumbled to dust.

Your father had been a puzzle piece in a generations long game of chess where the kings and queens played with the lives of others to gain power of their own. He had been a disposable pawn, easily lost to the ages as a traitor whom there would be no songs written about. Everyone knew it, and it didn't take long for you to realize it for yourself. You, even at a young age, looked beyond your mother's pretty tears and prettier words.

You knew Princess Mai was set to wed the young lord Hwang.

The Hwangs were a powerful family - rivaling your own in terms of wealth and influence. Hwang Hyunjin was the sole heir to his family's fortunes. A marriage alliance with Princess Mai would tip the precarious balance of power to favor the Hwangs more greatly. It would have been a match that would have been detrimental to your own family's power.

You knew all of this. You also knew the vial of dark purple liquid your mother had hidden under the flowing sleeve of her gown was not nail polish as she had told you. You had watched keenly as she had slipped the liquid into Princess Mai’s goblet as you all supped with the Queen without anyone else the wiser. Your mother's poison had killed the young princess before the physicians could even get through the door. As Queen Bang had cried and screamed for the loss of her child, your mother had secretly smiled.

She had ruined the Hwang’s grab for more power and gotten rid of a Bang daughter in one fell swoop. She was the chess master, and she had outmaneuvered them all with a pretty face and a pretty smile. You don't know if she foresaw any of the consequences of her actions: the execution of her husband, the ruin of the family businesses, and the loss of your family's prestige.

Your mother had broken the mold. She had held your father under a spell with her looks alone. His station allowed him to take other wives if he chose, but he never did. He allowed her the freedom that many women would never get to taste in this lifetime, and she took it with greed and left him in a grave of her making.

“Was the power worth it, Mother?” You asked the carriage window that tottered down the street.

Through the pristine glass, the lush landscape was ruined by the image of heavily armed men on horseback. They wore the colors and heraldry of the Bangs, and they patrolled the road to the palace with keen eyes and sharp blades. Their numbers were more than usual as they surveyed the throng of carriages and ladies on horseback that made the journey in an unlikely parade.

The Selection was the only time that the Kingdom of Miroh would see such an odd assortment of women making their way to the Palace of Kings. It was a rare event, only happening when the Royal family required more women to act as concubines and maids. The needs of the Palace had nobles and commoners alike sending their daughters off for the possibilities of fame and fortune.

Serving the royals as a maid was an honor that most of the peasantry could only dream of, but even nobles would be pleased if one of their younger daughters could secure a spot in the Royal household. It would ensure that they were at least in the line of sight of the many princes, and the maid staff were compensated fairly for their time along with accommodations and food provided for them. There were certainly worse places for a woman to find herself.

You, however, were not sent by your mother with such plebeian goals.

It was not comfort you sought, nor was it the possibility of an affair with the princes. You were to aim higher. You were to become one of the women that history scorned for reaching beyond her station.

Your aim was to ensure that you became Prince Bang's Most Favored. Your mother would accept no less. She wanted the favor, the prestige and wealth that would come along with your rise. It had always been her goal, and it had been fed to you for so long that you weren't even sure how much of it was your own desire over her influence.

Did you want that level of power?

Did you even care to join the Royal family in such a fashion?

Would you ever even come to care for Prince Bang as more than a chess piece on your own board?

These were questions that you could not answer. You often thought of being a young girl again - ignorant to the world and the affairs of adults. You liked your pretty dresses. You loved running through your family's well maintained gardens with your favored hunting hound on your heels. You loved scrubbing paint off your arms and being scolded by your governess for ruining good gowns after a day of painting lessons. You were innocent then, but that was certainly no longer the case.

The frivolities of childhood had to be left behind. You were an adult, and you knew more of the world than you cared to. You knew that as a gently bred woman, you would never be more than a broodmare for a rich and powerful man unless you took charge like your mother had so many times before. The consequences could be grave; you could lose your head if you weren't careful, but great queens had never become so by following the status quo.

As you toiled with emotions far beyond your depth, the King's Gate shadowed your carriage eerily. It was an original part of the palace’s structure, built so solidly that the centuries had done minimal damage to its intricate design. It towered over the road, blocking out the sun with marbled walls inlaid with precious metals and jewels. It was meant to intimidate, and belittle. It was meant to make everyone passing in its shadows feel weak and small in comparison to the glory of the Royal Family. It opened seldomly, and only for whatever family sat the throne at the time.

Its momentous shadow lasted for what felt like an eternity as the line of carriages trudged along the walls of the palace to a more appropriate entrance for those not of royal blood. You and the other women arriving for the selection were being directed to the same gate used for supply carriages and merchants. It was yet another mind game: being delivered like fine cattle to await the murderous whims of a king. It was a way to ensure all women of the selection knew their place - but you saw things through the lens of your mother.

The Gate of Kings was the first thing all arrivals to the palace would see by design, but it would never open for them. Instead of intimidation, you saw a challenge to inflame and inspire your heart. You would enter through the Merchant's Gate, but you knew that the Gate of Kings would open for you one day. It was all a matter of what you had to do to make it happen - consequences be damned.

Prince Minho

Head held high. Feet light and delicate. Body slim and lithe. Features sharp and regal despite station. Gown loose and flowing in bright, ostentatious colors.

She could be a candidate, Lee Minho thought to himself as he watched the dancers practice.

The brightly colored fabric of her gown rode up her ankles as she moved, offering the briefest flash of a pale and delicate ankle. It was inappropriate – bordering on scandalous. Had it been even a decade prior, she might have been imprisoned for her lewdness but times were changing. It was a fact of life as set in stone as the changing of seasons: people evolved and people learned.

Minho liked that concept. He liked the ideas of society shifting and expanding. He liked the change of pace from the monotony, but what he liked even more was the prospect of those daring enough to enact that change. It took an uncommon spirit to go against the masses – to challenge the very knowledge that civilized society was built on.

As if reading his thoughts, the dancer’s eyes found his and held them. Her's were not the wide eyes of an innocent maid. They were heavily lidded, seductive in their intent.

It was another act of impudence, a daring so strong she probably would be locked in a labor camp if his father witnessed the scene. A woman so open in her sexuality was a threat to the masculinity of the insecure men around her who grasped at whatever shred of power they thought was within their reach. She would be scorned – likely punished by her closest male relative had she acted so with any other man.

Lee Minho was certainly not just any man off the streets of Miroh. He was so much more, and arguably so much worse. A Prince of Miroh could easily have her pretty head taken off for such an insignificant slight against social norms. He hated himself for even thinking about it, but he did. He hated himself even as the dance practice came to a natural end and the dancer approached him carelessly.

It was a silent exchange – not a single word passing her rouged lips as he took her slim hand in his and led her from the banquet hall. He knew what she wanted. It's what they all wanted. Motivations differed, but the methods never changed. A fun time with a Prince of one of the most powerful nations in the world. He was never one to reject the advances, never had been.

Lee Minho was many things. He was a Second Prince of Miroh. He was the son of the most powerful man in the kingdom. He was the younger brother of the Crown Prince. He was an intellectual, a graceful fencer, and the official Spare of the Bang family. These were all monikers and titles the public used to describe him, but behind closed doors they sang a different tune.

He was the shame of the Royal family. He favored arts over swordsmanship. He was an alcoholic who frequented ill reputed pubs and discussed philosophy over ale with criminal scholars. He was a rake who lived at brothels and slept with low class whores. They talked as if they knew him. They spoke as if he sat at their tables and discussed with him personally over hot tea – but they had no idea.

They knew nothing of the self hatred that coursed through his veins. They knew nothing of the helplessness he felt due to his station. They would never understand the uncontrollable guilt that never failed to find him.

He was a Prince. He held all the power in the world but that power was wrapped up and presented to him with strings attached ever since he came into the world. He could drink, he could talk and he could sleep his way through the entirety of Miroh but that was as far as his freedom extended. The second he even stepped over the invisible line of what was acceptable, everything could be taken away.

The change he wanted was within his reach – a delicate treasure that would be so easy to share. Reaching up to break it free for the rest of the world would spell the end of everything he had, but he was not brave enough. He was a coward – a coward hiding behind fancy words and under the colorful skirts of women far more courageous than he.

His frustrations often manifested in indulgence in the freedoms he was allowed. He would drink, he would dine, and he would fuck in a vain attempt to fill the deepest pits of his tarnished soul. He never wanted it. He had wanted to change it, but his own desires had twisted him. He became the very thing he feared: a powerful man taking advantage of the luxuries given to him without giving anything in return.

The dancer’s back was pressed against a thin wooden door. Her lithe legs had wrapped around him of their own accord and her hands were threading into his hair and the fabric of his shirt – pulling him deeper into a brief moment where he was not a Prince. He was a normal man without a moral compass, enjoying the pleasures of a woman's body.

There was no foreplay – no kissing or passionate words. He didn't even get her name before he was pushing her skirts up and sinking his sheathed cock into her cunt. It was not an act of love. It was the act of a desperate fool seeking to forget the world around him.

And he took. He took the brief reprieve with abandon. The door shook dangerously behind her. Her nails raked him though his shirt hard enough to leave marks. Her moans and whines intermingled with his hushed pants to fill his ears with sensual distraction as her walls squeezed him.

It was over too fast. The sounds, smells, and feelings of arousal tapering until all that was left was grim reality. Post orgasm clarity was never a good moment sober. Words failed him, and all the truths he ran from distracted him from the beautiful woman who had originally caught his eye.

“Talia,” she spoke as she adjusted her skirts.

“Excuse me?” He questioned dumbly. He had put space between them, giving himself a moment of reprieve and allowing her a moment to collect herself.

“My name: Talia,” she repeated.

“You're telling me now?” He asked in mild amusement.

“Figured you might want to know who just made you cum,” she shrugged nonchalantly.

“Is that any way for a lady to speak?” he asked at her audacity. It was brazen and crass, but he was far from mad about it. Her words had his cock twitching in his pants again.

“M’no Lady. You know as well as me that I'm not gentleborn.”

“Since we're being so frank, relieve me of my curiosity,” he said as he propped himself against an abandoned and dusty desk against the wall opposite of her. He regarded her levelly, but with the easy charisma that he was often praised for.

“Anything for Second Prince Bang,” she mocked with a quirk of her brows. She never shied away from his stare, never let herself be subdued by the power his titles held. He liked that – a lot.

“I figured you knew.” He was not surprised in the slightest. His portraits were few and far in between, but it was highly likely the palace staff had informed the dancers one of the princes was watching in on their practice. She made no comment of guilt, so he continued, “What did you want from this entanglement?”

“Other than being able to brag that I fucked a Prince?” She laughed. It was not a malicious laugh, but a genuine one. She also found their exchange amusing.

“Are you going to join my fanclub?”

“I'll be the leader.”

At her remark, he laughed. It was an honest laugh, one that had him feeling light and free. It was an uncommon feeling for him, one only his brothers had managed to make him feel. He liked this girl, but that's all he ever could do was like her. He was under no illusions that this was just an exchange of banter. She was a passing moment in his life, not a permanent fixture.

“Were you that pleased?” He asked with a spark in his gut. He made to move from the desk, but she put her hands up in surrender.

“So pleased, I fear another round would have me fainting.” She let out a sigh as she fanned herself in exaggeration before letting out a snort of derision. “Isn't that what the gentleladies say when their ladybits can't take it anymore?”

“Even noblewomen like to dabble in the fine art of overstimulation,” he smirked back.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Are you avoiding my question?”

“I would never dare,” she hummed with a twinkle showing in her eyes. It was teasing – daring on its own.

“Then answer.”

“Is that a command, Your Highness?”

“Would you obey if it were?”

His question had her approaching him, a smirk that mirrored his own pulling at her painted lips as the gauzy material of her dress flowed around her slim figure enticingly. When she was directly in front of him, close enough that he could feel her breath against his skin, she sank to her knees before him. Her hands deftly handled the ties of his trousers to pull them down enough to free him.

“If the Prince commands, I will serve.” Her mouth, hot and wanting, was on him before he could even think of a witty response.

Prince Christopher

As heir apparent of a nation, Christopher Bang was not unaccustomed to worry. He worried about the coming winter and if the provinces had prepared their food stores accordingly. The winters in Miroh could be harsh– deadly even. If the cold didn’t kill the populace, hunger was a certain second contender. If he could help alleviate that in any way: he would. It was his birthright and his duty, and he was nothing if not a man of his station.

Any indication of increasing hostilities in the Borderlands would have him holed up in his personal offices for weeks on end. He would analyze patterns. He would discern strategies. He would rethink choices in generals. He would make plans to advocate for peace treaties with the neighboring territories. WIthout fail, his efforts would be rebuked by the King and the conflicts would continue unchecked. He never stopped trying.

The conflicts never turned to all out war. They were simply petty squabbles with centuries long history over dejure land rights. It was almost ingrained as tradition– sons carrying out the same trite battles as a matter of pride over any true cause. Ofcourse, it wasn’t the Kings or Princes that suffered.

It was the common soldiers with wives and children waiting for their safe return. It was the fishermen who watched warily as flagships came to shore. It was the farmers who worked full days for a meager loaf of bread only to watch their livelihoods be put to the torch in a war they never asked for. It was average people who held no stake nor say in the matters of governance or state. It didn’t matter to them who held the territories they called home. Their lot would stay the same regardless of which Lords called themselves King, but the battles for that title hurt them more than anyone else.

Christopher knew that. He wanted to change it. He wanted to right historical wrongs and be the King his people needed. Alas, he couldn't. All he could do was worry.

It wasn't even just grand matters of state that occupied his mind. Smaller, more personal affairs piled on his already overloaded platter of responsibilities. He was the eldest of his family's sons – even in the circles of peasantry that came with its own responsibility. He had to look out for his younger siblings. He had to ensure they played their parts as royal children and kept the family name clean and as prestigious as ever. Some of his brothers made it harder than others.

Changbin had taken his duties easily as had their younger brothers: Seungmin and Jeongin. They knew their stations and how to conform within the standards that befit them. Felix and Jisung tried, but they were more empathetic. They struggled with their places on the world stage– questioning the morality of their way of life and the responsibilities they held. It wasn't a negative thing, and Christopher could not fault them for it. It was a natural part of being human.

In his youth, it wasn't at all uncommon for his studies and training as heir to lead him down a spiral of questions. He was one of the most powerful men in the world thanks to nothing other than being born a son of the Bang Family. He could make people tremble in fear if he so much as looked at them with ill intent. He held the power of life and death in his hands. How could that possibly be fair? How could he live knowing that he had everything while others had nothing? He was as well aware of the moral quandaries as Jisung and Felix. He would not fault them for floundering – he could not.

The hardest thing – he had learned – was having all the power in the world and still trying to be a decent human.

The duties and power of royalty were a loaded hand cannon given at whim by an unfair creator. Some men would tremble at the burden, and lay it down without problem. Some would take the power to head and heart, and become a terrible beast whose machinations could ruin entire realms with a single shot. Others – a very rare few – had the sense and sensibility to know not only how to shoot, but how to aim.

It was Christopher’s only hope that he ended up in the history books as one of the latter. He would be a good king when the time came. He would care for his people and not let the burden of rule turn him hard and corrupt. He would be the role model his brothers needed.

But these were simply hopes and dreams. In reality, he was simply one Prince amongst many others. His father still held the crown of governance, and he answered to the King as well as anyone else.

“You can not simply force him!” Beauty Lee cried out with as much emotion as Christopher had ever seen her express. She was usually so calm, and collected. She was a Beauty of the King’s Harem, but he had learned far too early that even his father could break the cool facade of the Palace women with little effort.

“And what's to stop me, Woman?” King Bang grunted back with a bite. His voice was not to be forgotten. It was distinct in its unyielding harshness, and it suited his appearance just as well.

He was a hardened man – a King but a true warrior at heart. He was graying and wrinkling in age, but he was still considered a handsome – even fearsome – man. Under the wrinkles covering his face and hands were scars from battle. He had seen war, but his age and dress showed he also knew luxury in equal measure.

“He is your son! You must have an ounce of compassion for your own blood!” Beauty Lee protested.

“Compassion? Is compassion what he needs, now?” The words were not spoken, but spat in frustration. It was a testament to Beauty Lee’s determination that she did not shirk away from the words. “I'd rather a firm beating to undo all the years of coddling you've put the boy through.”

“Is a mother's love coddling? I shall not deny he is flawed. Heaven knows we all are, but he's grown into a good man with a good heart!” Her voice was calmer, but still burning with resolve.

The feeling of dread that had been slowly rising in Christopher’s chest engulfed him until he felt bile rising in the back of throat. He knew he had not been summoned to the King’s receiving chambers to simply witness a lover’s quarrel. They were speaking of Second Prince Minho - Beauty Lee’s only son and the Second of the Bang Sons.

Minho wasn’t like his other brothers. He had always been incredibly brave even if outlandish. He broke tradition: galavanting across the world with intellectuals, keeping the company of whores and artists, and never accepting his duties as a Prince of the Royal Family. He had always done what he wanted, and Christopher admired him for it even if it stressed him out to his wits end.

“A heart our enemies would tear out of his chest and eat for protein. He is soft. Sometimes I question whether he is even my son,” King Bang said viciously. It was a tone that could cut down enemies. I was not a tone to take with a gentlewoman, especially not regarding your own blood.

“You– you can't say such things! He is your true son! I swear it,” Beauty Lee prostrated.

“Ah, bugger off woman! If I had any true suspicions you would be dead and he would be left to rot in a cell.”

“Please, Your Highness. Minho admires you so much, he just needs time.”

“Time? Had I known you and your welp would be so resource intensive, I would have left you both in the whore house you came from.” King Bang said it as if he were discussing the menu for the upcoming festivities. It was as casual a threat as could be delivered, but it was a threat.

“Plea–”

“Save your whimpering. There will be no further discussion. Minho will cease his fruitless adventures and settle down here in the palace with a harem befitting his station – or he will be sent to the Borderlands indefinitely.”

“You would send your own son to die in such a way?” Beauty Lee cried. As if suddenly realizing he was present, her wild eyes fell on Christopher. Before he could even register what was happening, she was tugging the sleeve of his shirt in desperation. “My Prince! He is your brother! Minho will die in the Borderlands! You know it.”

“Unhand the Crown Prince, Woman! I have taken heads for less!” King Bang roared amongst her pleas for mercy.

It was moments like this that Christopher liked to pretend. He was not simply Prince Christopher: he was King Christopher. He held the power. He would never let Beauty Lee be in such distress and he would be content to let Minho live as he saw fit, but those were still dreams. He was but a Prince, and Minho was too. If they wanted to survive for a future, they all had their parts to play. He could not pretend: he had to take action.

“Father,” Christopher spoke up as Beauty Lee clung to him. “I will take responsibility.”

“For Minho?” King Bang questioned with narrowed eyes. He was always suspicious– always seeing a play even if there was none, and truly Christopher didn’t have one.

“Yes. I will ensure he settles down into Court Life,” Christopher assured his dad and the bleary-eyed Beauty. She blinked up at him with hope, and even fondness. She always had been kind to him and his brothers. She would sneak them sweets when they were young and practiced at swords and the King forbade it. She was a kind woman – maybe too kind for the world she had been adopted into. “I will make sure he accepts it, and adjusts appropriately.”

“Sometimes, I fear I have raised no sons, but seven bleeding hearts instead,” King Bang sighed. He contemplated for a moment, his eyes flashing between his concubine and his heir with laser focus. If he were looking for something, he seemed to be content with what he found. “I will let you.”

“Oh, Your Majesty. I will be forever grateful. You are good, and just!” Beauty Lee cried as she dropped Christopher’s arm only to bow as low as possible at the foot of the King’s ornate desk chair he occupied.

“Save your words,” he commanded her. Her words stopped at once at his admonishment. “If Christopher should fail to tame my most wayward son, it will be a statement of his right to rule.”

As he spoke, he stared right into the eyes of Chrisopher.

The young prince was not surprised. He had spent his entire life jumping through hoops to earn not only his crown, but even a shred of affection from the larger than life figure that he shared blood with. His aptitude had never failed him, but he would never feel safe relying on his father’s love for anything in his life.

“If I cannot trust my heir to command his own blood, how can I trust him to command the people of an entire kingdom?” the King added. He let the threat hang in the air before turning his attention back to the sniveling Beauty at his feet. “In other words, if he fails: you will ruin two of my sons.”

It was another threat meant for the woman who had borne him a child.

She was one of his longest lasting concubines. It was rumored that Beauty Lee was the one woman of the harem that held any love from the King, and she had suffered for it. She had been scorned and bullied by the other women of the King’s harem. She had been attacked in countless games of court intrigue. She had outlasted all the attempts to have her ousted from the court and from his favor.

Christopher could only wonder: how would she survive the biggest threat of them all?

#stray kids smut #skz ff #skz smut #lee know fanfic #lee know ff #lee minho smut #lee minho fanfic #lee know smut #stray kids fanfic #bangchan smut #lee know x reader #bangchan x reader #bangchan ff #bangchan fanfic #stray kids ff #stray kids x reader #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #skz fanfic

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thesirencult · 2 years

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Pick A Pile : Who is your soulmate ?

Pile 1

3 of cups, the sun, ace of cups (reversed), queen of pentacles (reversed)

- Leo, Sagittarius, Venus in Leo/Sagittarius, moon in Leo, Sagittarius, cancer, Sagittarius, Scorpio

- pile 1, when you first meet this individual you might overlook them, because they may not tick all the boxes at first, but this person will evolve beyond your expectations.

- you might start off as friends. When you meet them they could struggle financially or in the 3d in general (feeling like they don't fit in, not feeling secure or have lost someone they consider a mother figure and this made their world crumble down).

- sunny personality! Kind with a golden retriever energy 😊🦋. they hide their problems behind a smile because they always see the glass half full. When they open up about their past struggles you will be shocked that they are so happy go lucky all the time !

- this relationship is a happy ending for both of you ! they will get their joy eventually! This is a hippie person, they want a slow life, simple living. You could meet through friends or siblings/cousins. They might be travelling with a van near you. A dog person.

- you will communicate like best friends. This is a soul contract. You will learn that joy is in the small things and they will get their happy ending through your love. This person could be a nomad or a digital nomad, living the van life.

- reminds me of someone who is the wild child/black sheep of a wealthy family who said "I'm out of this fake, materialistic family !" "I'm escaping the matrix 🤣😂🤣"

Pile 2

4 of swords, 9 of pentacles, the star, the moon, the empress, the magician, 10 of pentacles

- This pile is about a feminine energy. She is wounded and going through a healing journey currently.

If you're a woman attracted to men, this pile won't tell you a lot about your soulmate, it could give you some heads up about your own journey until you meet them though. If you're part of the LGBTQ+ community or attracted to women/feminine energies, then this is your pile ❤️

If not, pick one of the other two piles to find out about your soulmate's energy.

- Pisces/Aquarius/Scorpio/Cancer/Taurus Energy

- Divinely guided connection. You're meant to be. Currently manifesting eachother. Wishing upon a 🌟.

- This feminine energy could easily be the protagonist of either a "coming of age" or a "rising up from the ashes" movie.

TRIGGER WARNING !

- She has been through a LOT. Right now she has "shut down", after being in survival mode for a very long time Grieving, losing her feminine essence, anxiety, depression, infertility issues, miscarriage, child loss, pet loss ...

- She took some time for self care and deep healing, naos, rejuvenation. She recollected her thoughts (Gemini mind/overthinking). Then she started depending on herself. Started that business, Elle Woods type. She can't even see her immense power and her worth 😔. She planned and acted accordingly.

- Then she started manifesting. She is a child of the universe, sensitive and spiritual. The universe has a soft spot for this soft, kind soul and she has gone through so much darkness. She is a star. Otherworldly, humanitarian and thinking about the highest good of everyone. Huge manifesting powers.

- Her innermost wish is having her "happily ever after" : the kids, the dogs, the love, the prince charming, the house with the pool, doing charity... But she is balanced NOT materialistic.

- She doesn't even know what the future is holding for her. Her intuition is strong and guiding her. The universe is working behind the scenes 🤍

- Shape of the water (poem and movie). She is like the protagonist of that movie or kind of like Amelie ❤️ Beautiful, precious and lovable 🥰

Pile 3

4 of swords, the moon, ace of pentacles, ace of cups, 9 of pentacles (reversed), 5 of cups (reversed), 6 of pentacles, 7 of pentacles (reversed), the devil, 6 of cups (reversed)

the hermit, the lovers, ace of wands, queen of cups, the empress, the high priestess, king of wands

- Cancer/Virgo moon, Pisces/Leo sun, Taurus/Leo/Sagittarius energy. Masculine but well balanced with an emotional side.

- If you felt called to read pile 2, go and read that first 🥰💞 This feels like the continuation of it. Part of the bigger story.

- This is my twin flame or very very strong soulmate pile. Mirror souls.

- Pile 3 starts with the 4 of swords and the moon. The energy that was around pile 2, with the moon closing the previous pile.

- When you meet your masculine, you will both have been going through your respective helping journeys. You've both sorted yourselves out as far as you could. You may feel a bit jaded and falling into a "dark place" again, like a relapse. You will both have overworked yourselves trying to escape the past and keep up the appearances/facade. Especially when it comes to your FUTURE HUSBAND/HUBBY (yes you will get married), money is not enough , now. His independence and yours too, has become a vice and now you want an equal give and take and emotional commitment and investment.

- You both are getting ready to open your heart up to love after trauma and loss (this could even have been the loss of a loyal companion, a friend with four legs, a lovely pet ... That you considered a soulmate, a kindred soul 😊).

- This relationship will be the sweetest taboo. It will have you both going into extremes, being obsessive and possessive (especially the masculine). But don't be alarmed because you've both have done your inner work and are evolved enough to balance things out in the end.

- There might be a power imbalance. The masculine could be older, much older or come form a different socioeconomic background. This will create an imbalance and make it taboo.

- Your masculine is firey and passionate. He is street smart but likes to read books that he finds interesting. He might be into psychology and investment/financial literacy books. You both know what loneliness means. He might be more of a social butterfly than you. I'm seeing two sides of the same coin, twin souls. Mirrors.

- You could have seen this person in visions or dreams. You could intuitively know what this person looks like. He will notice that you intuitive know what he wants an dwhat he likes right away. You will read him like an open book.

- He will be abundant both in money and emotions. I'm seeing the vision of a goddess wrapped in gold light. That's how he will see you. Magical, intuitive , otherworldly. Your energy reminds him of Circe the enchantress. A goddess walking among mortals. He will definitely put you on a pedestal. You will bring him even more luck than he already has, when it comes to financial matters. Associates may like you.

- You're water and he is 🔥🥵. Steamy !!!! This masculine may be an investor, successful freelancer/agency owner, digital entrepreneur, businessman or own a family business with his parents/siblings/cousins. It will be something big and he will have a huge role, being CEO or General Director/Manager.

- He will want to have a family with you. He knows how nurturing you are. He will appreciate your empathy and intuition and will eventually see you as an equal force, no matter your age and experience.

- I'm seeing a romantic night at the beach. Candlelight, fairy lights and white linen dresses.

- He will be very physically affectionate. I'm seeing lots of public displays of affection 🥵 Two bodies, one soul 🤍

- Love at first sight, especially for him ! Put a ring on it 😂 by Beyonce is coming to mind 😉

If you liked your reading, repost this or like! Messga eme privately for a personal paid reading ❤️

#pac reading #pick a card #pick a pile #future spouse #soulmate #tarot reading #tarot #astrology #romance #synastry

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i-am-dulaman · 3 months

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petition for that long rant on revolutions here, i really enjoyed the way you laid out your facts and explained the first rant and am not too good at reading theory myself (i am still trying tho) thanks!!

Okay okay so the problem with revolutions is they get messy. Real messy. You get counter-revolutionaries, moderates, extremists, loyalists, and everything in between. One revolution turns into 5, and even if your side wins, its almost guaranteed to have been tainted some way or another along the way.

Take the first french revolution. It started as civil unrest, the estates general initially called for reform of the french state into a constitutional monarchy similar to Britain. Even king louis XVI was in support of this. But extremists wanting a republic and counter-revolutionaries wanting absolute monarchy clashed and things became more and more chaotic and violent. Eventually the extremists won, the jacobin reign of terror ensued, and 10s of thousands of people were executed. Now don't get me wrong, i am all for executing monarchs and feudal lords, but look what happened a few years later; Napoleon used the political instability to declare himself emperor, a few more years later his empire had crumbled, and the monarchy was back with Louis XVIII.

Or take the 1979 iranian revolution. It started as protests against pahlavi, who was an authoritarian head of state and an American pawn. As the protests turned into civil resistance and guerilla warfare it took on many different forms. There were secularists vs islamic extremists. There were democrats vs theocrats vs monarchists. Etc. Through all the chaos, Khomeini seized power, held a fake referendum, and declared himself supreme leader and enforced many strict laws, particularly on women who previously had close to equal rights. Many of the millions of women involved in the revolution later said they felt bettayed by the end result.

Or the Russian Revolution. It started as protests, military strikes, and civil unrest during WW1 directed at the tsar. He stepped down in 1917 and handed power over to the Duma, the russian parliament. This new provisionary government initially had the support of soviet councils, including socialist groups like the menshiviks. But they made the major mistake of deciding to continue the war. Lenins bolsheviks were originally a very tiny group on the fringes of russian politics, but they were the loudest supporters of peace, so they gained support and organised militias into an army and thus began the russian civil war. Lenin won and followed through on his promise to end the war against germany, but its a bit ironic that they fought a civil war, that killed about 10 million people, just to end another war.

Im not saying any of these results were either bad or good. They all have nuance and its all subjective. But the point i am trying to make is that they get messy. The initial goals will always be twisted.

France wanted a constitutional monarchy, they got an autocratic emporer.

Iran wanted democracy and an end to American influence, and well they ended american influence alright but also got a totalitarian theocrat.

Russia wanted an end to world war 1 and got one of the bloodiest civil wars in history.

I cant think of a single revolution in history that achieved the goals it set out to achieve.

But again, im not saying this is necessarily a bad thing, just a warning against revolutionary rhetoric and criticisms of reformism. Sometimes revolution is the only option, when you're faced with an authoritarian government diametrically opposed to change, then a revolution may be worth the risk. But it is a risk.

But if you live in a democracy, claiming revolution is the only way is actively choosing both bloodshed and the risk of things going horribly wrong over the choice of peaceful reform.

So when i go online in some leftist spaces and see people claiming revolution in America or UK or wherever is the only way out of capitalism I cant help but feel angry.

I know our democracy is flawed, and reform is slow and can even go backwards, but we owe it to all the people who would die in a revolution to try reform first.

I know socialist reform is especially hard in our flawed democracy where capitalists own the media, but if we can't convince enough people to vote for socialist reform what hope do we have of convincing enough people to join a socialist revolution. Socialism is supposed to be for the people, but how can you claim your revolution is for the people if you can't even get the support of the people?

So what I'm trying to say is; if youre one of those leftists that are sitting around waiting for the glorious revolution, doing nothing but posting rhetoric online - at least try doing something else while you wait. Join your labour union, recruit your coworkers, get involved in your local socialist parties, call your local representatives (city council, senator, governor, member of parliament, whatever) and make your opinions known, push them further left, and keep pushing.

#thank you anon this waa fun #also when i say i cant think of any revolution in history that achieved its goals #im not counting wars of independence #i know americans call the american war of independence the revolutionary war but its not a revolution l #(for reference - the first rant that anon mentions is a reblog a couple days ago about the communist manifesto)

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emblazons · 1 year

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Saw this post and article (not for the first time, but for the first time related to Stranger Things) and started thinking.

Thinking about how M*leven's relationship (at least at the start) is the full embodiment of the "Born Sexy Yesterday" trope in the way that even its existence is a play on the relational and sexual insecurity of nerdy and insecure young men.

Thinking about the way Mike kissing El when she has no idea what romance means is literally this trope watered down because they're younger...and you can't deny its rooted in insecurity either, because even the pitch of the show says that Mike has a lot of insecurities he thinks will be resolved by the presence of a girl.

Thinking about how a lot of people who struggle with social relationships and romantic endeavors for the same reason have projected the same fantasy of "Born Sexy Yesterday" onto Mike and Eleven's romance...even though The Duffers have repeatedly made clear their plan is to subvert the trope by giving El autonomy and independence...and showing us that they don't view women as a means to cure insecurity in men...even in science fiction.

Thinking about how the reason people don't want Mike to be queer or M*leven to break up is because Mike is the one who represents the "gets the girl in spite of his rampant lack of desirability" in science fiction, and Mike not getting the girl means that a show they've projected onto is throwing a mirror in their face and saying "this wasn't right when he did it, and its not right when you do."

Thinking about how the more Eleven gains autonomy--the more she hangs out with Max (which also leads to Mike feeling insecure)--the more their relationship crumbles, because El no longer needs the insecure boy to lead her, or to give her insight into the world....which is core to this relationship trope's survival.

Thinking about the way the only thing Mike says about El is that she's his "superhero," because he never learned to view her as a whole and autonomous person--the exact same way this trope does to its female love interests. About how we know this for a fact, because Mike coming to terms with the fact that the naive girl he tried to use to fill his insecurities no longer exists or needs him is what the entirety of his first digression monologue to Will is based on in the van...including the line that made this explicit, though its been moved to the subtext again in the show itself.

Thinking about media illiterate people who think the "trope subversion" in Stranger Things is El being the one with powers isn't a subversion at all, because science fiction has been doing that shit for half a century by making women entirely out of men's leagues their partners by making them naive to the world...which is why people expected the same from Mike and Eleven after Season 1.

Thinking about why people pointing out that S4 "showing the cards" meant of Mike and El's crumbling relationship, El's full fledged autonomy combined with her now losing (removing the superhero effect even more effectively than her losing her powers did) on top of Mike having feelings for another guy is so angering for people--

--because the characters they thought were filling their toxic trope fantasies were actually turning into something else: a girl with a full independent identity and autonomy...and a boy who learned how to view his partner as an equal...once he realized he was actually in love with another boy.

The only way to deny this is to either be entirely unaware its happening or deny the subtext of this trope being turned upside its head...which is also why they probably hate people talking about subtext, right before screaming "its not that deep."

But I mean. You didn't hear it from me. ☕️

#anti mlvn #I could write a longer post and maybe I will but. this is my start lmao #el hopper #mike wheeler #st analysis #st commentary #stranger things #the me tag #my st commentary

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mostlysignssomeportents · 5 months

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All the books I reviewed in 2023 (Graphic Novels)

Next Tuesday (December 5), I'm at Flyleaf Books in Chapel Hill, NC, with my new solarpunk novel The Lost Cause, which 350.org's Bill McKibben called "The first great YIMBY novel: perceptive, scientifically sound, and extraordinarily hopeful."

It's that time of year again, when I round up all the books I reviewed for my newsletter in the previous year. I posted 21 reviews last year, covering 31 books (there are two series in there!). I also published three books of my own last year (two novels and one nonfiction). A busy year in books!

Every year, these roundups remind me that I did actually manager to get a lot of reading done, even if the list of extremely good books that I didn't read is much longer than the list of books I did read. I read many of these books while doing physiotherapy for my chronic pain, specifically as audiobooks I listened to on my underwater MP3 player while doing my daily laps at the public pool across the street from my house.

After many years of using generic Chinese waterproof MP3s players – whose quality steadily declined over a decade – I gave up and bought a brand-name player, a Shokz Openswim. So far, I have no complaints. Thanks to reader Abbas Halai for recommending this!

https://shokz.com/products/openswim

I load up this gadget with audiobook MP3s bought from Libro.fm, a fantastic, DRM-free alternative to Audible, which is both a monopolist and a prolific wage-thief with a documented history of stealing from writers:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/25/can-you-hear-me-now/#acx-ripoff

All right, enough with the process notes, on to the reviews!

GRAPHIC NOVELS

I. Shubiek Lubiek by Deena Mohamed

An intricate alternate history in which wishes are real, and must be refined from a kind of raw wish-stuff that has to be dug out of the earth. Naturally, this has been an important element of geopolitics and colonization, especially since the wish-stuff is concentrated in the global south, particularly Egypt, the setting for our tale. The framing device for the trilogy is the tale of three "first class" wishes: these are the most powerful wishes that civilians are allowed to use, the kind of thing you might use to cure cancer or reverse a crop-failure.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/11/your-wish/#is-my-command

II. Ducks by Kate Beaton

In 2005, Beaton was a newly minted art-school grad facing a crushing load of student debt, a debt she would never be able to manage in the crumbling, post-boom economy of Cape Breton, Nova Scotia. Like so many Maritimers, she left the home that meant everything for her to travel to Alberta, where the tar sands oil boom promised unmatched riches for anyone willing to take them. Beaton's memoir describes the following four years, as she works her way into a series of oil industry jobs in isolated company towns where men outnumber women 50:1 and where whole communities marinate in a literally toxic brew of carcinogens, misogyny, economic desperation and environmental degradation. The story that follows is – naturally – wrenching, but it is also subtle and ambivalent. Beaton finds camaraderie with – and empathy for – the people she works alongside, even amidst unimaginable, grinding workplace harassment that manifests in both obvious and glancing ways.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/14/hark-an-oilpatch/#kate-beaton

III. Justice Warriors by Matt Bors

Justice Warriors is what you'd get if you put Judge Dredd in a blender with Transmetropolitan and set it to chunky. The setup: the elites of a wasted, tormented world have retreated into Bubble City, beneath a hermetically sealed zone. Within Bubble City, everything is run according to the priorities of the descendants of the most internet-poisoned freaks of the modern internet, click- and clout-chasing mushminds full of corporate-washed platitudes about self-care, diversity and equity, wrapped around come-ons for sugary drinks and dubious dropshipper crapola. It's a cop buddy-story dreamed up by Very Online, very angry creators who live in a present-day world where reality is consistently stupider than satire.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/22/libras-assemble/#the-uz

IV. Roaming by Jillian Tamaki and Mariko Tamaki

The story of three young Canadian women meeting up for a getaway to New York City. Zoe and Dani are high-school best friends who haven't seen each other since they graduated and decamped for universities in different cities. Fiona is Dani's art-school classmate, a glamorous and cantankerous artist with an affected air of sophistication. It's a dizzying, beautifully wrought three-body problem as the three protagonists struggle with resentments and love, sex and insecurity. The relationships between Zoe, Dani and Fiona careen wildly from scene to scene and even panel to panel, propelled by sly graphic cues and fantastically understated dialog.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/11/as-canadian-as/#possible-under-the-circumstances

Like I said, this has been a good year in books for me, and it included three books of my own:

I. Red Team Blues (novel, Tor Books US, Head of Zeus UK)

Martin Hench is 67 years old, single, and successful in a career stretching back to the beginnings of Silicon Valley. He lives and roams California in a very comfortable fully-furnished touring bus, The Unsalted Hash, that he bought years ago from a fading rock star. He knows his way around good food and fine drink. He likes intelligent women, and they like him back often enough. Martin is a—contain your excitement—self-employed forensic accountant, a veteran of the long guerilla war between people who want to hide money, and people who want to find it. He knows computer hardware and software alike, including the ins and outs of high-end databases and the kinds of spreadsheets that are designed to conceal rather than reveal. He’s as comfortable with social media as people a quarter his age, and he’s a world-level expert on the kind of international money-laundering and shell-company chicanery used by Fortune 500 companies, mid-divorce billionaires, and international drug gangs alike. He also knows the Valley like the back of his hand, all the secret histories of charismatic company founders and Sand Hill Road VCs. Because he was there at all the beginnings. Now he’s been roped into a job that’s more dangerous than anything he’s ever agreed to before—and it will take every ounce of his skill to get out alive.

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865847/red-team-blues

II. The Internet Con: How to Seize the Means of Computation (nonfiction, Verso)

We can – we must – dismantle the tech platforms. We must to seize the means of computation by forcing Silicon Valley to do the thing it fears most: interoperate. Interoperability will tear down the walls between technologies, allowing users to leave platforms, remix their media, and reconfigure their devices without corporate permission. Interoperability is the only route to the rapid and enduring annihilation of the platforms. The Internet Con is the disassembly manual we need to take back our internet.

https://www.versobooks.com/products/3035-the-internet-con

III. The Lost Cause (novel, Tor Books US, Head of Zeus UK)

For young Americans a generation from now, climate change isn't controversial. It's just an overwhelming fact of life. And so are the great efforts to contain and mitigate it. Entire cities are being moved inland from the rising seas. Vast clean-energy projects are springing up everywhere. Disaster relief, the mitigation of floods and superstorms, has become a skill for which tens of millions of people are trained every year. The effort is global. It employs everyone who wants to work. Even when national politics oscillates back to right-wing leaders, the momentum is too great; these vast programs cannot be stopped in their tracks.

But there are still those Americans, mostly elderly, who cling to their red baseball caps, their grievances, their huge vehicles, their anger. To their "alternative" news sources that reassure them that their resentment is right and pure and that "climate change" is just a giant scam. And they're your grandfather, your uncle, your great-aunt. And they're not going anywhere. And they’re armed to the teeth. The Lost Cause asks: What do we do about people who cling to the belief that their own children are the enemy? When, in fact, they're often the elders that we love?

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865939/the-lost-cause

I wrote nine books during lockdown, and there's plenty more to come. The next one is The Bezzle, a followup to Red Team Blues, which comes out in February:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

While you're waiting for that one, I hope the reviews above will help you connect with some excellent books. If you want more of my reviews, here's my annual roundup from 2022:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/01/bookishness/#2022-in-review

Here's my book reviews from 2021:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/12/08/required-ish-reading/#bibliography

And here's my book reviews from 2020:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/12/08/required-reading/#recommended-reading

It's EFF's Power Up Your Donation Week: this week, donations to the Electronic Frontier Foundation are matched 1:1, meaning your money goes twice as far. I've worked with EFF for 22 years now and I have always been - and remain - a major donor, because I've seen firsthand how effective, responsible and brilliant this organization is. Please join me in helping EFF continue its work!

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

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/01/bookmaker/#2023-in-review

#pluralistic #books #reviews #science fiction #gift guide #graphic novels #2023 in review #novels

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