laurelnose

[laurelnose]

oh my FUCKING god they’re already sending out surveys for summer 2026. we haven’t even gotten prize reorders for summer 2025 yet. ...the deadline for feedback is TWO WEEKS before the end of THIS SUMMER?

[laurelnose]

distressing things to say to your friends

[laurelnose]

@syncogon: #thank you for linking idt i would have found this otherwise. good shit #edit: but i still can't find this passage? TT thought i'd gone through all the options

this is two different quotes cut together at the [...] mark. if you still haven't found it, you get the first one by, starting from the top, selecting open your eyes → What an unremarkable ceiling.

From there you can get to the second passage by playing: look away → your long-lost secret twin? → he'd look like the first you -> the intruder is speaking → You have. → reaches down under the covers → he does sometimes respond to sarcasm → "No, really?" you say sarcastically → You thrust up against him.

which then leads to two different endings not accessible otherwise.

...i am totally normal about TFP.

the deliberately open robe is my favorite part of turnabout’s fair prey for sure like:

The man in bed with you is—your long-lost secret twin? Except you’ve never owned robes like that, sheer silk draped over brocade, black over gunmetal gray. The robes are carefully arranged so as to gap open over the chest, revealing scars that you know all too well. [...]

But you twist out from underneath him. He could stop you, but he doesn’t; his eyes are sideways-glittering with curiosity. Then again, you've always known that he doesn’t fear you.

“Why,” he adds after a while, “am I that unappealing?” His smile is just slightly chilly. “I always did advise you to get the scars removed. It’s not like it’s that hard.”

what an INSANEEE neg. show up unexpectedly wearing your man’s body and then when he doesn’t really want to fuck you like that, ask him if it’s because his own scars are off-putting and remind him you think he should consider cosmetic surgery (with you) (you’ll do it for him)

[laurelnose]

doing Character Design For 9-12-Year-Olds (about 40% an actual art lesson, 60% a creative writing free-for-all) is always a hoot but this year’s highlight was definitely “wasp person who wants to be a pilot but is stuck working as an exterminator,” like, the themes! the moral depth! I’d read the 50-volume manga

[laurelnose]

me last night: i don’t even have 60% of an outline, i have zero handouts printed, i have not checked my supply closet, possibly the entire concept of ““programming”” was a mistake—

me after the program: my job should consist of nothing but children telling me stories forever and ever and ever

my problem is i tjink it will be fun to do lots of different programs so i say ‘we should do this’ and we put the thing on the calendar and then i spend 110% of my energy budget prepping for everything and i tell myself the whole time ‘you cannot keep doing this you have to step back you are going to burn out’ and then a program day actually arrives and i spend two hours getting paint on my hands with a dozen or more kids and i’m like well. :) it wasn’t that bad was it. :) maybe i should do this more often actually :)

[laurelnose]

the deliberately open robe is my favorite part of turnabout’s fair prey for sure like:

The man in bed with you is—your long-lost secret twin? Except you’ve never owned robes like that, sheer silk draped over brocade, black over gunmetal gray. The robes are carefully arranged so as to gap open over the chest, revealing scars that you know all too well. [...]

But you twist out from underneath him. He could stop you, but he doesn’t; his eyes are sideways-glittering with curiosity. Then again, you've always known that he doesn’t fear you.

“Why,” he adds after a while, “am I that unappealing?” His smile is just slightly chilly. “I always did advise you to get the scars removed. It’s not like it’s that hard.”

what an INSANEEE neg. show up unexpectedly wearing your man’s body and then when he doesn’t really want to fuck you like that, ask him if it’s because his own scars are off-putting and remind him you think he should consider cosmetic surgery (with you) (you’ll do it for him)

[laurelnose]

It happens very quickly. You find yourself curled up on your side, breathless with pain, one arm locked behind you and the other trapped beneath your own torso. It took you a lot of hours to master that maneuver in your first life. You’ve made sure to practice in the later ones, too.

“I always wondered how you did things like that,” Kujen says into your ear. He sounds very pleased.

Great.

[laurelnose]

also definitely Liozh Zai, right?

but on another note, if the ethnic signifiers we were supposed to use here were curly brown hair (totally normal for asian people) and amber eyes (probably more common in white people, but rare in any case and also real stats on this don’t exist), this kind of implies weird things about Mahar’s race. I don’t know that Lee means to imply anything because they’re not supposed to look anything alike but like. anchor is introduced as gorgeous but not particularly exotic-looking for the hexarchate → like Kujen, he also has brown hair and amber eyes → Kujen, unlike (?) Mahar, is obviously white does not actually follow from the text.

if I had a nickel for every time I emailed an author I deeply respected to ask whether or not one of my favourite characters who might be asian is instead white and the answer was yes I'd have two nickels

[laurelnose]

two of my book group members were like “where are you guys getting Shakespeare from? we didn’t see any references to Shakespeare” about... Hamnet by Maggie O’Farrell. on the one hand O’Farrell is purposefully obfuscatory about the playwright’s identity, and on the other hand I am still trying to wrap my head around what this book must read like if you, like, have no idea that the guy from Stratford-upon-Avon currently living in London writing plays is the Bard. genuinely what the hell did you think was happening when Joan came and told Agnes her husband had named his newest play “Hamlet”???

[laurelnose]

🐛🐛

[six sentence wip meme]

The kid ate at a measured, deliberate pace, but he still scraped his bowl clean before Jedao was halfway done. He didn’t ask for seconds—he’d been uncannily agreeable this entire time, to the point Jedao had almost considered calling Liyeng back up and asking if he was sure this child was Kujen. He did keep sneaking hungry looks at Jedao’s food.

Maybe it took a lot of energy to accidentally convert from revenant to flesh-and-blood teenager. In any case, continuing to eat while a kid pretended not to be staring his lunch down like a ravenous hyena was making him feel like a dick. “Do you want seconds?” Jedao asked.

“I don’t need any more,” Kujen demurred.

Weird. Also, not an answer. Jedao flagged down a waiter and ordered another bowl for Kujen.

[laurelnose]

🕷️ :3

[6-sentence wip meme]

Yennefer had not lived in close quarters with another person for—years. Decades. Not since she was a youth in the dormitories of Aretuza.

She did have Geralt with her periodically, sometimes for only a few days, sometimes for several hedonistic weeks, but usually she hosted him in her well-outfitted townhouse in Vengerberg rather than in a swamp hovel. And with Geralt it was easy to get away when they scratched at each other too viciously. He would go on to his next contract, and after taking the space to lick his wounds from the latest spat they could reunite friendlier.

With Lambert there was no escaping.

[laurelnose]

⚓⚓

[six sentence wip meme]

Were there men Baru could get for her? She couldn’t think of a single name. But yes, a man, of course, she would need a man. She could—It could be—

Baru was standing right there, her hand with the missing fingers around the door frame, totally focused on her. Her expression was desperate, a little agonized. “Uh, Nullsin, maybe—?”

“No,” Aminata said, horrified.

“...I’ll ask the crew.” She didn’t break eye contact or turn away, but she withdrew slightly from the open door.

“Don’t leave,” Aminata’s traitor mouth said before her mind caught up.

[laurelnose]

ok i have to go on my weekly mollusk mission now. i will write more later today

[laurelnose]

⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️

hmm... this is exploiting the rules of my little game somewhat but i'll allow it this time

⛓️: [still noncon]

He’s a mess, soaked in sweat and cum. He lifts his head warily, effortfully, at your approach. You stop in front of him and tug the blindfold free.

Jedao stares at you in tense unrecognition for a second, then sees your shadow and visibly relaxes. His eyes slide closed, and he lets himself slump, sticky forehead resting against your thigh. That’s all right; this is only a technician’s uniform, and it’s seen much worse. You are, despite yourself, charmed by the show of trust. (Or resignation.) He’ll never like you, not after everything, but you don’t need him to.

You comb your fingers through his hair, enjoying the picture he makes, pleasantly but not urgently hard.

“You want some too?” Jedao rasps, rolling his head to look up at you. His expression is sardonic. If he resents making the offer he doesn’t show it.

You undo the lower half of the long jacket, and Jedao lets you feed him your cock. He’s too tired to do much of the work but satisfyingly pliant in your hands; you fuck his mouth in warm, languid strokes, not deep enough to make him gag.

Afterwards he sighs out a breath, leans his cheek against your leg again, eyes half-lidded. You slide your hand down under his jaw, tilt his face back up towards you. “I can put you down right now,” you offer, “or you can have a shower and the rest of the night.”

The look on his face is delicious. Wariness, desperation, the faint hope of relief.

“Shower. Please.”

He really must be exhausted, to not try and figure out what the conditions of your mercy are. Lucky for him, you’re feeling generous. You’ll be content with nothing more than his unwilling gratitude.

You help him to his feet and to the suite of rooms you’re using. Show him the bathroom door. You don’t offer to join him—he’ll want a minute to collect himself—and he disappears into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He doesn’t lock it.

Most of an hour later, he emerges clean and smelling of your soap, hair damp and ruffled. You don’t have to invite him closer. He joins you in bed without coaxing. When you put your slate aside and stretch, reaching languidly for him with one arm, he comes to you at once.

Before his death, he liked to sleep with his face tucked into your neck. Like this, with the carrion glass making the body practically his own, he turns his back and lets you spoon him, where he can still look out at the room.

“You know, I feel like I could sleep,” he says muzzily.

[laurelnose]

⛓️

[6-sentence wip meme]

⛓️: [still noncon]

Someone loops a long piece of cloth around their fingers, yanks it gleefully tight between their hands. Jedao doesn’t catch the significance of it right away. When he does, he jerks futilely against the Andan holding him in place. “No—wait—”

A fox buries a fist in his hair, yanks his head up and back. Jedao gives up on begging, jaw tight as they knot the blindfold in place. They let go of him with a shove and he falls forward onto his knees, breathing fast and panicky.

[laurelnose]

fic game: caterpillar!

[6-sentence wip meme]

He didn’t understand why it mattered to Jedao. If Jedao wanted to be a benevolent (if apparently temporary) master, fine, but why tell Kujen all this? It didn’t make any real difference to Kujen. He didn’t want to go to a heptarchate orphanage.

“I want to go home,” Kujen said quietly.

“I bet. I’m sorry. Do you have family back on Erchanno?”

[laurelnose]

🕷️.

... ⛓️?

[6-sentence wip meme]

🕷️:

Yennefer didn’t want to take the eggs through a portal so soon after laying; ichneumonae were so sensitive to chaos, and they knew so little about what might impinge their development. Lambert, still under the influence of her pain-blocking spell, didn’t protest as vociferously as he might have, but he was clearly not comfortable. He walked behind her with a grim, drawn expression. Several times she turned to check on him before finally asking outright if he was in pain. He shook his head.

The second time she asked, he grinned sneeringly at her. “Usually when I can’t feel my vital organs after an adrenaline crash it means it was nerve damage.”

“You should—”

He held up a hand, the one not hovering over his abdomen. “It just feels weird. You can hover when we get back to the cabin.”

⛓️: the file name says gangbang for an aesthetically preferable number of Gs but it’s gangrape + assorted other black cradle / anchor noncon elements. sorry jedao. (i’m not sorry)

The modding isn’t your best work. If you’d had another month—but you and Jedao are the only ones who’ll know you skimped on the shape and extent of his scars. He’ll probably think you did it to nag him.

A line of neat stitches under the sternum, seven knots tied off one by one with a twist of your wrist. In future, when the chrysalis gun is ready for deployment in situations without a readily available surgeon, a conscious volunteer—or “volunteer”—might be able to take the fragments orally for the same effect. Since you are a surgeon, you find it easier to take the direct route to the body cavity.