God I Love Fallible Characters, But Specifically Zuko In The Catacombs. Choosing His Sister Over His

it's a cruel summer (with you)

You and Donald Na get wrapped up in a summer romance. It doesn't end well.

F/M, Angst, Hurt no comfort

Inspired by the song 'Cruel Summer' by Taylor Swift

(and I’m drunk in the back of the car-)

You leaned into the man’s shoulder, cloth rubbing against your skin, your two bodies pressed against each other. You inhaled, and expensive cologne filled your nostrils, dampening your already dulled senses.

"But whyyyy?” You slurred, leaning into him even further. Your voice comes out whinier than usual, like that of a disobedient child, but you’re too drunk to care. The man next to you stays silent, and you steal a glance at him. His cold steely gaze is harsh in comparison to the soft fabric of his sweatshirt sleeve- lined with golden motifs and bought with an absurd amount of money no high schooler should have had access to. 

“Donald.”

Donald Na’s red eyes land on you for a second (you don’t know how to feel- elated that you caught his attention, or small, under his shrinking gaze, his silence a simple reminder that you aren’t worth his time. But, a smaller voice in your head whispered, He hasn’t pushed you away. And for you, that was enough.) before shifting back to the road. 

You follow his line of sight- red and green traffic lights and moving cars blurring into one under the droplets of rain beating down on the windows. To anyone outside in the pouring rain it might’ve seemed warm and cozy, but to you it was as cold as ever. You looked back at his face, his beautiful, angelic, face. Angelic, hah. Pretty, snake like red eyes that were hellbent on ignoring you, pale, flawless, undented skin, like you were looking at a marble statue. 

It was laughable how someone who looked like they could’ve been sculpted by God himself was capable of doing so much harm. (Some poetic part of you thought that your comparison of him to a marble statue was rather fitting- beautiful, yet cold and untouchable. You supposed it was the alcohol talking.)

It started back at the bar.

~

It was hot outside when you met him. The summer was in, and you were drinking your way through the sweltering heat in the bar. 

Donald was there sometimes, and he had always caught your eye. How could he not? Tall, pale, and tattooed, radiating an expensive yet untouchable aura, always watching, never taking a sip. It intrigued you, so much that one day you approached him. He seemed sort of amused by your arrival, and in a way it felt demeaning- like you were just some idiotic girl that he saw as entertainment. You pushed it away.

One thing about Donald Na, is that he did everything right. He was charming, bought you drinks and bantered with you, yet you knew that this man was a bad idea the moment you set eyes on him. You were drawn in anyways. It’s not built to last. That’s what you told yourself. It’s just a casual fling. You weren’t sure you believed yourself, as his snake-like eyes met your own (his captivating aura was even stronger up close), from your view next to him on the booth seat. 

He smiled at you (God, he was gorgeous) and you knew that your entire being was going to be consumed by this man, like he was a black hole and you were the astronaut who floated away too far from the space station. Only you were jumping in willingly. 

Perhaps that was a mistake, dedicating every fiber of your being to something you knew could only end in tragedy.

He started coming in more often, still never consuming a drop of alcohol. You asked him why once, and he smiled at you with that smirk of his- the one that said he was always in charge of the situation (the one that drove you crazy)- and said that it was ‘dirty’. The two of you talked for a bit at the bar, before you started meeting at other places. Late nights where you’d text him all of a sudden, asking him if he wanted to go to the park to ‘hang out’. Oh, please. It was a date, and both of you knew it. 

Other times he’d be the one calling you up, abruptly informing you that he’d reserved a table for two that night at some fancy restaurant with a complicated name that you had no idea how he could afford, telling you to clear your schedule. He’d bring you in, arm around your waist, walking like he owned the fucking place. Despite all the time the two of you spent hanging out, you didn’t know that much about him. 

He was from Yeo-il High apparently, but aside from that he was some sort of enigma to you, expertly dodging questions about his job and personal life, and especially his background, half truths rolling off his tongue as if he was used to twisting the situation to his advantage. That should have scared you off; a man with something to hide is not a man to be trusted. You knew that, and yet you ignored it. All the red flags that should have pushed you away drew you even closer to Donald Na.

You guessed it was just some dumb, self destructive part of you that wanted to know more, craved the feeling of having him open up to you when he was so on guard with everyone else, that screamed louder than the sensible part of your brain that told you that this could only end badly. So for a couple months as the two of you grew closer, you lived in a false reality, a dream where you were always aware that the alarm clock was going to come ringing eventually. You took a gamble; you made a bet.

~

It started back at the bar. 

Donald had to admit that when you first showed up, pretty face flushed from alcohol, he didn’t think much of you. He watched in amusement as you struck up a conversation with him, played along as you flirted with him, yet the more he talked to you, he couldn’t help but get the growing feeling that you knew exactly what you were getting yourself into. He was good at that, at reading people. He decided he wanted to see where this would go- talking to old men and delinquents all day was frustrating after all. He needed some normal human interaction too.

You were ordinary. And he meant that as a compliment. Frankly, Donald was bored of dealing with delinquents who thought they were tough shit until they got a taste of his fist, tired of the business meetings and stuffy suits. He had learned to savour the ordinary in his everyday life, knowing that it would fade away soon enough; sitting in his dark office, eating soft bread, watching the traffic below. 

He would listen as you talked about your life, about your parents, about drama at your prestigious all girls school, about your grades, just anything. It was so different from his dangerous, crime filled life. It was peaceful. Each moment he spent with you felt like he was pressing pause on his reality and jumping into another one, one where he wasn’t stressed out running a criminal empire, one where he could just spend time slowly talking with you under the dim lights of the bar.

But all good things had to come to an end. It was a cruel lesson that life taught Donald again and again, to the point where he got used to leaving and being left. He knew that this secret relationship couldn’t last forever- It wasn’t built to last. He had accepted it as a fact. One thing that Donald valued, even more than his criminal empire, even more than his own life, even more than you, was his reputation.

It was his reputation that kept him alive, that made sure that fuckers who would usually be trying to oppose him, couldn’t even look him in the eye. It was what let him lead the Union so flawlessly, and he knew that at the slightest slip up, the smallest mistake, all the scum that had cowered at his feet before would come running. Loved ones were seen as a liability in his world, as weaknesses to exploit. He wasn’t gonna risk all that he’d worked for, what he'd spent all these years building up just for a small crush, a summer fling.

He looked down at you, leaning against his body, his jacket over your bare shoulders. He would miss you when you were gone.

~

"We should stop meeting up." 

Donald’s icy tone broke the peaceful silence that hung over the table. You blinked, drunken mind taking a moment to process what he said. When his statement finally registered, you swivelled around to face him, grimacing when your head spun. Shit.

“What?” You put your hand to your head, rubbing at your temple; you must’ve misheard him. But there was no mistaking the way his light hearted voice turned hard, no mistaking the whiplash it gave you.  

“We should stop meeting up.” Donald Na always got straight to the point. Speaking frankly even when he was breaking your heart. 

You moved yourself off of his side, sitting up straight, as if his words had sobered you up.

“Why? What are you talking about?” You watched him- cold, red eyes and an indifferent expression. You felt your heart drop. He had to be fucking joking. Your life depended on it. 

The thrill of the chase was wearing off, and now it was time to face the consequences.

“You know what I mean. Let’s end this.” Donald didn’t look at you as he stood up. The last pieces of hope that you clung on to fully disintegrated into ash. You knew that face; the cold, distant one that he put on when he was annoyed. “You’re drunk. I’m getting a taxi.” 

You chased after him as he walked out of the bar, yanking on his sleeve with a manicured hand. 

“Wait- Tell me what I fucking did wrong. Don’t just leave, Goddamnit!” 

Donald sighed, and you knew whatever came next would be painful. Even if it was just the truth. You weren’t sure why you asked the question- perhaps it just slipped out due to intoxication and desperation, hoping to hear another answer rather than the one that you’ve already known since the start. 

A cab pulls up on the street before he can start. You get in, and he does too. 

Rain starts to pour as the cab door slams shut, and the driver steps on the gas, soft jazz music playing on the radio. Red, orange, and yellow leaves fell from the trees, your eyes following them as they hit the ground. Just like a movie scene. You wondered if there was a God out there. How cruel, if this was the fate that they had chosen for you. But then again, you did suppose you chose it yourself. 

Maybe it was unfair to blame everything on an omnipotent being you weren’t sure was even there. The calming music, and the thudding of the heavy rain on the windows made your eyelids heavy, but you couldn’t fall asleep- not like this.

“But whyy?” You cut through the heavy silence. Donald kept quiet, and the cab driver minded his business. Fuck. It felt like you were freezing inside the taxi. You wondered if the vehicle had heating, as you leaned into Donald’s shoulder. His sweater was warm. He however, was colder than ever, as he watched the road, like whatever was going on outside was so much more interesting than you. You took a moment to admire his face.

Pale skin, piercings and scarlet eyes. At least even in uncertainty one thing stayed the same.

“Donald.” 

He said nothing. 

“Goddamnit, you asshole. Don’t ignore me.” He turned to face you, and your heart leapt. 

“Goodnight.”

The cab came to a halt outside a large house. You’d been there before, marvelling at Donald's tall ceilings and designer furniture. 

“Wait-” You have got to be fucking kidding me.

“Get her home safe.” Donald cast you a glance before the door shut, and the car sped off. 

It felt like the universe was playing a big prank on you today. Like you were the galaxy’s equivalent of a little kid wearing a dunce hat in the back of the classroom and everyone else was just pointing at you and laughing. 

Hahahaha. You just got dumped, or whatever the term for what just happened for the strange relationship you and Donald Na shared was, and then stood up in the back of a taxi. Hilarious.

But you wouldn’t end things. Not like this, in the pouring rain in the backseat of a cab. The alcohol spurred you on, making you bolder than you usually would’ve been. You’ve already made so many bad decisions, what was one more?

“Stop the car.” The taxi driver cast a quick, incredulous look back. “Stop, now?”

“Stop, now.” 

The driver stared at you like you were mad, but you paid it no mind, pulling dollar notes out of your purse and handing it to him as he slammed on the brakes. 

“Thank you.” 

You jumped out of the car and into the raging storm. The water hit your bare shoulders, but you felt numb to the cold, your mind focused on only one thing. Your head was throbbing, but you were sober enough to walk straight.

 That would be enough for you, as you ran towards Donald's home, pressing the doorbell repeatedly. The storm around you didn’t stop, beating into you persistently, soaking you, your minidress, and anything you had on underneath. Water pooled around your feet, and you knew that the heels you had on would be ruined by the end of the night. 

Finally, the door cracked open, and streaks of light broke the inky darkness that you stood in. Donald stood there too, looking down at you with those vermillion eyes. His eyes widened slightly, though the rest of his face remained levelled, like he was surprised you were there but decided to mask it with apathy.

“Go home. You’re going to get sick.” His tone sounded indifferent, but you could pick up on hints of? exhaustion? exasperation? regret? 

If you regret it so much, take me back, you asshole.

“Tell me why.” Your voice came out hoarse, and you cleared your throat. You tried your best to stay still under his stare, under his overwhelming presence.

His eyes narrowed, and his lips grew taut, before finally, he broke eye contact and let out a sigh. 

Exasperation, you were right. 

You knew you were probably quite a pathetic sight; shivering and soaked to the bone. You hoped your makeup wasn’t running. 

“There are some things I can’t tell you. On my part, I’m sorry things had to end this way.” 

“But let’s be honest. We both knew that this wouldn’t go well, so let’s not pretend that you didn’t know this would happen.” 

He moved to close the door, and the pounding of the rain seemed to hit harder than usual. “Good night, and I mean it this time.”

For a second there it was as if you saw the grains of sand flowing down the invisible hourglass of your relationship, and you knew you had to do something- you didn’t know what, but something. 

“Wait! Please!” 

Donald paused. You saw his face through the crack of his front door. He looked tentative, like he was expecting you to say something. To try to change his mind.

So you did.

“I love you!”

You felt instantaneous regret as the words left your mouth.

You watched Donald for the hundredth time. He didn't scoff, or reply emotionlessly like you expected. What came next was much worst.

He laughed. You’ve heard Donald laugh before- usually just a soft chuckle in response to a joke you made. This was a hollow, humorless laugh that chilled you to the bone.

You’d practically studied Donald’s face, every soft curve and every sharp angle had been practically memorised by you, carved into your mind.

But this wasn’t something you’ve seen before. A devilish smile. How ironic; you’d compared him to an angel just moments before. Well, the devil came in many forms. Maybe Donald Na was one of them. You unconsciously took a step back. 

He caught his breath, and his laughter ceased.

“No, you don’t.”

The door slammed shut.

~

Pure despair.

It had been a while since you had last felt it. 

Truth is, you didn’t cry easy. When you got sad, you got moody. And when you got moody, you got angry, lashing out and sulking until you cooled down as a way to cope with the pain. Now, there was none of that. No one to blame but yourself.

The tears did not come out in a rush; it built up slowly in the wells of your eyes before cascading down your face like a dam had been broken, getting heavier and heavier until you were fully sobbing. You let out a raw, anguished cry, like a banshee in the night.

You had prepared yourself for this a million times, waited for this moment to come, but you never expected it to hurt like this. 

At that moment, you wished you were at home, in your comfiest pyjamas, taking in the warmth of your blanket. But you were crying on the front step of some man’s house, makeup and tears streaming down your face, half frozen to death. You should have brought your jacket along. 

Maybe this wouldn’t have happened had you thought this through.

Donald was right (of course he was). You did know that this was going to happen. You knew that this was the reality that was written for the two of you, carved in stone by the hand of whatever divine being was up there. And you didn’t love him. You just blurted it out of desperation to make him stay. 

After all, it was impossible to love somebody you didn’t know. 

Maybe you could have loved him, if this relationship wasn’t doomed from start to end. 

Sure, Donald could be cruel. But you were too, to want more than he had to give. You knew there was nothing more to it than a summer fling, and yet you threw yourself into it headfirst hoping that there could be something more. Well, there wasn’t. 

One part of you wondered what would have happened if you listened to your Goddamn brain and stayed away from him. Then you’d just be two strangers in a bar, with you constantly looking over at him in curiosity and him pretending not to notice your glances before finally failing to show up one day. Two planets orbiting each other, but never touching. 

(The reckless part of you, the one that got you into this mess, thought that it would’ve tortured you more if you had never approached Donald. How you would’ve stayed up at night, thinking about what it could’ve been.) 

You laughed in spite of yourself. You were gonna get yourself killed one day.

Numbly, you pushed yourself off of Donald’s doorstep, standing up wobbly, the tears blurring your vision. The cold rain had sobered you up, and your mind was clear. It was time to pull yourself together. You sent a glance back at Donald’s house. All of his lights were off except for one. You wondered if he had heard you cry. You wondered if he cared.  You guessed that you were of value to him, just not as much as whatever he was hiding from you. Not that it mattered anymore.

You knew you’d get over it eventually. Time heals all wounds, after all- like the grains of sand running over a jagged rock in a river until it became a smooth pebble, but for now, you would mourn. 

You looked around. The neighbourhood was a nice one, large houses lining the empty streets, lighted by rows of lamp posts. The wind blew colder, and both you and the tree skeletons shivered. The air had grew colder over the past few days, signalling the end of a long summer, and the start of autumn. The start of a new beginning. 

This time, you didn’t look back as you walked away.

♥

a break from the tsats negativity: top five apollo slay moments let's gooooo

best ask ever i love youuuuuuu

i’ll probably re-read ToA soon and write a better version of this but for now on top of my head:

5) Honestly I need to reread but there’s a scene in ToN where he has to get rid of security guards and he beats the shit out of them with nothing on his hands except spite and a slightly-over-the-average strenght. I was going insane about it.

4) That scene with Commodus in the flashback of TDP. his hair, his throwing grapes in Commodus’ mouth, the fact that he’s the protagonist of the only implied sex scene (post-sex scene but you get me) in RR’s books, his bitches (=Commodus), his “and you’re perfect”.

3) The Titan’s Curse in general. his shades, his car, his hotness, his putting headphones on while Zeus speaks, his haiku, his abs, his hair, his drip, his bitches (=all of us)

2) The smile and “BOO” in TTT. LORD

1) Him coming back to Olympus and getting bigger and bigger in the throne room and being like “so who won the bet?🤨” i’m not even joking i was hyperventilating

honorable mentions to: blinding Commodus, killing Commodus with his voice, drowning Commodus, having the best sex ever with Naomi Solace, beating the shit out of Ares in the Olympus’ Olympics which happens in mythology but not in RR’s books and i’m saying it anyway, all his roasts, yelling at Incitatus (Caligula’s horse) that he’s not going to win because “you have no opposable thumb!!” as if that’s the biggest gotcha ever.

[Image ID:

A picture that says “A student once asked anthropologist Margaret Mead, “What is the earliest sign of civilization? The student expected her to say a clay pot, a grinding stone, or maybe a weapon. 

Margaret Mead thought for a moment, then she said, “A healed femur.”

The second picture is a news headline. It is bolded and a much larger font. “27-year-old who couldn’t afford $1,200 insulin copay dies after trying cheaper version.”

The third picture is the same font and size as the Margaret Mead quote. It’s a continuation. It says, “A femur is the longest bone in the body, linking hip to knee. In societies without the benefits of modern medicine, it takes about six weeks of rest for a fractured femur to heal. A healed femur shows that someone cared for the injured person, did their hunting and gathering, stayed with them, and offered physical protection and human companionship until the injury could mend.” 

The fourth picture is another headline. It is in a large and bolded type. “Dying man who couldn’t afford to go to hospital after vomiting blood"

The fifth picture is a screenshot of the Margaret Mead story.

Mead explained that where the law of the jungle—the survival of the fittest—rules, no healed femurs are found. The first sign of civilization is compassion, seen in a healed femur. 

The next screenshot is of a slightly different font. The letters are pointier and the lines are a little curvier. It says, “Susan Finley returned to her job at a Walmart retail store in Grand Junction Colorado, after having to call in sick because she was recovering from pneumonia.

The day after she returned, the fifty three  year old received her ten year associate award — and was simultaneously laid off, according to her family. She had taken off one day beyond what is permitted by Walmart’s attendance policy.

After losing her job in May 2016, Finley also lost her health insurance coverage and struggled to find a new job. Three months later, Finley was found dead in her apartment after avoiding going to see a doctor for flu-like symptoms. 

A screenshot of a bold, bigger headline. It says ‘The house always wins’: Insurers’ record profits.

A final screenshot of smaller text with a slightly gray background. It says “We are at our best when we serve others. Be civilized.” /end ID.] 

pro-AI in the sense of "they taught a bread scanning computer to recognize cancer cells" etc etc

against AI in the sense of "we stole artwork from hundreds to thousands of artists, didn't credit them and didn't financially compensate them"

If Trump goes to prison during pride month I will literally never stop laughing like to charge reblog to cast give me all of your evil thoughts and prayers for this freak to get his first ever consequence.

It’s DOOOOONE! It’s finally finished! Oh my gosh, what a journey this has been! I started concept on this last July (2020) and have been working in chunks via Instagram Lives to complete this sequel papercraft of the Six of Crows for over a year! I’m so excited to present Hook And Crook, inspired by a specific scene that happens in Crooked Kingdom. I’ve been stating this over and over again during the lives, but there were specific mirrors happening here between the two papercrafts that wholly define the dynamics of the characters and the two books.  

We talked about how the symbols in the facade of the Slat in Featherdark (Six of Crows papercraft) represented the strengths of each character (cane, knife, guns, bombs etc). The crow is standing proud and upright, above the city, to symbolize the upper-hand that the dregs had during SOC.

Now, the tables have turned in Hook And Crook. The symbols on the facade of the hotel show the character’s weaknesses (gloves, a red bird, gambling wheel, Dunyasha’s stars, paintbrush & laurels etc). The crow is defensively crouching with its hackles raised, the city above and oppressing - all representing the dregs having to turn and fight under dire circumstances. And bonus! When you put the two side-by-side, a little nod to a certain Ravkan symbol takes form! What a stupidly fun project this was! I’m so happy it’s finally finished and I thank you all for those who joined me in the lives to watch the process! (so sorry for the low quality on this; Featherdark is my most pilfered artwork for unsanctioned merch 💔)

this was amazing

I think a lot about The Bathroom Scene™ and how Kaz's selfless actions towards Inej are contrasted with their discussion about whether he's any different from Pekka, but Chapter 26 as a whole also does a lot to show how much Kaz cares about all of his Crows and not just Inej. He spends a lot of time in that chapter thinking about how he's probably about to die, and yet he does everything in his power to make sure his Crows get out alive.

He specifically zeroes on Inej's safety, of course (because when isn't Kaz focused on her?) but his actions, dialogue, and internal monologue are all entirely centered around how guilty he feels for getting everyone into this mess and how desperate he is to make sure he's the only collateral damage of his own scheme at the end of the day:

Kaz sits down and (more or less) fully explains his entire plan to the Crows instead of keeping them in the dark

Kaz gives Jesper's dad the only protection he's still able to give: his own family's name and reputation

Kaz ruminates on why he called Jesper by his brother's name and implicitly acknowledges that it's because he's scared to recognize Jordie in Jesper (that he's afraid to lose another brother)

Kaz thinks "But they’d landed in a trap, and if he had to chew his paw off to get them out of it, then that was what he would do."

Kaz pays off Inej's contract by liquidating "every asset he had" and explicitly tells her "I don't want you to be beholden to Per Haskell. Or me."

Kaz tells Inej about his emergency money stash and charges her with getting everyone out of the city safely if he doesn't come back from the Slat

Kaz tells her "Whatever happens to me, survive this city. Get your ship, have your vengeance, carve your name into their bones. But survive this mess I’ve gotten us into."

Kaz leaves on a suicide mission, telling Inej not to follow, because if he's going to die he wants to be the only one in active danger

And of course Kaz had already offered to serve himself up on a silver platter to the stadwatch and give them a way out even before he came up with the auction plan (though we don't get Kaz's point of view of The Clocktower Fight, I suspect it's also why he picked that fight with Jesper: he knew Jesper would never leave him to die unless he made him mad enough to "walk away" for once in his life).

What separates Kaz from other Barrel Bosses like Pekka isn't just that he would never sell a person or con/otherwise harm children. It's that at his lowest, when all the bravado and scheming and masks are stripped away, Kaz chooses to put himself on the line and sacrifice his own safety over putting his people in any more danger than they have to be. Because despite his ruthlessness and casual assholery, Kaz simply doesn't have it in him to watch those he cares about get hurt if he can prevent it. He ended Chapter 26 saying he intended to leave damage behind when he's gone, but also spent the entirety of the Geldrunner chapters spending time and effort and money he didn't have to minimize the damage as much as possible for his friends (his new family) if the worst should happen to him.

So he gives them a safe place to land where the gangs won't find them. He tries to push them away and make them mad enough that they won't grieve him when he dies. He gives them multiple ways out even if none of those options guarantee his own safety. He gives them money and as much safety as he can provide with the whole city out for their blood. He gives Inej her freedom. And he gives them time to rest, recharge, and prepare for whichever plan they end up doing while he goes off to stage a coup he's not sure he'll come back from.

This is all to say: Kaz could never be Pekka, no matter how tough of a game he talks about burning everything to the ground, because Kaz cares too much to ever become Pekka. Even as he continues to pretend not to care about anything but the money, his love for his city and his Crows are baked into every one of his thoughts and actions in those chapters. Unlike Pekka, who flees first Ketterdam and then Kerch entirely when his son is in (percieved) danger, Kaz stays to fight for the city he bent to his will. And unlike Per Haskell, who lets other people do his dirty work and sells out at the first opportunity for glory, Kaz puts himself on the front lines first even when doing so comes at a great cost to himself.

Pekka chases money and power for their own sake. Per Haskell chases money and power for the decadence, glory, and laziness it allows him to get away with. Kaz chases money and power because he knows what it's like to be powerless and wants to, in his own weird way, protect others from suffering his trauma and himself from losing anyone else he cares about. And that's why even at his most unhinged Kaz could never become Pekka Rollins: his quest for power and fame and riches comes from a fundamentally different place. Kaz Brekker doesn't need a reason, but he has at least five at all times during the course of the duology...and while those reasons are often filtered through his primary reason (Inej's freedom, safety, and happiness), none of them are ever far from his mind.

"But I finished [Near and Mello] together as a set, and although they aren’t particularly laid out as such, I still feel a bit like they’re twins." —Obata Takeshi

whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same:

i. low sky, mahmoud darwish. ii. the world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire, ritika jyala. iii. kadan, 2008. iv. the dreamers, gilbert adair. v. @nathanielorion vi. nagiko, 2016. vii. elektra, sophokles (tr. anne carson). viii. wishbone, richard siken. ix. inbred, ethel cain. x. the boy who, tirol. xi. monster portraits, del samatar and sofia samatar. xii. in the field, @nathanielorion xiii. death note, "use" ch77. xiv. gut symmetries, jeanette winterson. xv. mystic union; fire and wine: poems, john gould fletcher. xvi. @inukai_0055, twitter. xvii. the carnivorous lamb, agustín gómez-arcos. xviii. my sister, the serial killer, oyinkan braithwaite. xix. the beatrice letters, lemony snicket (text); a quiet visitor, holly warburton (art); @unpardonablesins (edit). xx. ada, vladimir nabokov. xxi. this is how you lose the time war, amal el-mohtar. xxii. the borgias, s3e10, showtime. xxiii. @antaarf xxiv. @vilicity xxv. @boymiffy