#and also. the little tale of the body thief reference too. like. is that going to effect daniel? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nesta-stan · 5 years ago

Text

Acosf Theory: Nesta being kidnapped by the Mortal Queens will be a major plot point.

We all already know that the queens are going to play a major role from the synopsis. I think that specifically it will be the youngest Queen who will act as Nesta's main antagonist. She is the perfect character to act as a foil for Nesta.

Lets start with the younger queen herself.

"And the youngest two queens … One was perhaps a few years older than me, black-haired and black-eyed, careful cunning oozing from every pore as she surveyed us.

"The youngest queen, the dark-haired one, smiled slightly. Arrogant youth"

Here we see a few similarities between Nesta and that Queen. She is arrogant, "Cunning", proud, and about the same age as Nesta. They were both made into things they didn't want to be. To the Queen, Nesta has everything she wanted; she got the youth the power, and the money.

“The youngest one—that pinched-faced bitch—went into the Cauldron first. Practically trampled the others to get in after it saw what it did to you and your sister.”

Stone screamed beneath twin sets of talons. “But the Cauldron … Oh, it knew that something had been taken from it. Not sentient, but … it knew. It was furious. And when that young queen went in …”

The Ravens laughed. Laughed as the slope leveled out and we found ourselves at the bottom of the library.

“Oh, it gave her immortality. It made her Fae. But since something had been taken from it … the Cauldron took what she valued most. Her youth.” They sniggered again. “A young woman went in … but a withered crone came out.”

And from the catacombs of my memory, Elain’s voice sounded: I saw young hands

wither with age.

“The other queens won’t go into the Cauldron for terror of the same happening now. And the youngest one … Oh, you should hear how she talks, Nesta Archeron. The things she wants to do to you when Hybern is done …”

The Queen is angry at Nesta and Nesta is angry at the Queens. I'm going to be honest, when it comes to SJM's main villains like the king of hybern they seem to be one dimensional but this Queen's circumstances can be what forces Nesta to look further at her own. This Queen is what Nesta might have been. She might even be a deciding factor on who Nesta chooses to become.

Why this would make Nesta going to the Illyrian mountains make more sense

"She wasn’t stupid—she knew there had been unrest, both in Prythian and on the continent, since the war had ended. Knew some Fae territories were pushing their new limits on what they could get away with in terms of territory claims and how they treated humans."

These are Nesta's thoughts before going to see her sister in the sneak peak. I, and a lot of others, have never been able to wrap our heads around how the Illyrian mountains could ever be a good place for Nesta. Yes, a lot of people use the excuse "it's for her healing" but there is never any reasoning behind why illyria?

The mortal Queens know about Velaris. If Feyre and the inner circle have caught on to a plan to kidnap Nesta, than it makes sense that they would try to hide her away somewhere safe. Especially since she is basically helpless on her own. Cassian is the only character, besides Feyre, that cares about Nesta's well being and Illyria is filled with soldiers ready to fight at a moment's notice, while Velaris isn't. It is also where she can train. This threat has probably made Feyre realize how defenseless her sister is and to give her a fighting chance, she forces Nesta to train.

Now, let's talk about the "Ally" the synopsis mentioned. I think it's the Illyrians. That's how she still ends up captured. They betray Cassian and offer his mate to the mortal Queens. Though we all refer to this as Nesta's book, it's Cassian’s too. The Illyrians are closest to his heart. So it makes sense that they are included in his Arc. He has long been bad mouthed and treated as lowly for his status but he never stopped loving his people. Instead he internalized it, but what happens when the woman of his affections suffers because of that hatred? It would be the perfect tool to force Cassian to self-reflect on who he is and what he stands for. Can he choose between his people and his love?

This ties in with the snow queen theory

I actually first thought of this when reevaluating the theory that the story that will work as an inspiration for this book is the Snow Queen by Hans Christian Anderson. There are three versions of that story that all could potentially tie into to Acofas. The original, Frozen, and the 2002 movie remake.

Frozen because it is the tale of two sisters coming together after years of estrangement. (Feyre and Nesta obviously).

I put the 2002 version in their because in that version of the story has "Lady's" portraying and ruling over each season. Their is a spring witch, summer princess (cresseida) , Autumn thief, and then the snow queen(Vivian?). Meaning more characters might play more roles in this story. I did see alot of wanting Nesta to travel to the other courts.

Now for the original, which probably looks like it has the most connection to Acosf. The story is short and easy to find online. In short, it's about a girl Named Gerda who goes on a quest to find Kay, her childhood friend. A magic mirror created by the devil , that I'm not going into detail much but it's basically the Ouroboros, is shattered and falls into the eyes and heart of young Kay. (Snow Queen also speculated to have a shard in her heart) This makes him cruel to his sister like friend over the next year till he is kidnapped by the snow queen.

This story ties in for multiple reasons. I think hear the mirror is replaced by the Cauldron. Both the Mortal Queen and Nesta were made and neither or happy about it. This being the "glass shard that froze their hearts." And the Mortal Queen being the Snow Queen who kidnapped Kay, or Nesta. Also, Kay is cruel to Gerda for a year before he is taken and it's been a year since the war.

Now let's look at this Quote.

“Little Kay was quite blue, yes nearly black with cold; but he did not observe it, for she had kissed away all feeling of cold from his body, and his heart was a lump of ice. He was dragging along some pointed flat pieces of ice, which he laid together in all possible ways, for he wanted to make something with them; just as we have little flat pieces of wood to make geometrical figures with, called the Chinese Puzzle. Kay made all sorts of figures, the most complicated, for it was an ice-puzzle for the understanding. In his eyes the figures were extraordinarily beautiful, and of the utmost importance; for the bit of glass which was in his eye caused this. He found whole figures which represented a written word; but he never could manage to represent just the word he wanted—that word was “eternity”; and the Snow Queen had said, “If you can discover that figure, you shall be your own master, and I will make you a present of the whole world and a pair of new skates.” But he could not find it out.”

I always interpreted that if this was going to inspire something in Acotar it would be Metaphorical. That the injuries Kay suffers would be how Nesta let herself fall apart and the puzzle that he needed to spell eternity for could be how Nesta still doesn't know what to do with her immortal life.

But what if it's literally? What if the Queen captures Nesta and tries to use her powers to fix her. The Queen was also granted immortality. What if Kay figuring out how to spell eternity is Nesta figuring out how to fix the young Queen. And the injuries are of being black and blue are from the queens torchering her?

Sjm's habits.

Sjm always has a habit of making her characters go through even deeper shit, once they finally healed. It would make sense that she would throw us another curve ball like this. She did something similar with Aelin in Koa, and she has reused some points before. Like Aedion and Lysandra taking Nessian's "till the next life".

Also, alot of people don't like Nesta and having even worse charecters be introduced to make the others look better is so in Sjm style. Just in the way that Tamlin and Eris make Rhysand look like a Saint, having the mortal Queen be the "bad" version of Nesta would help people see her in a better light.

I tried to look at this in the way of, What will make these Charecters question themselves and their motives the most. This was my conclusion.

This is just what I came up with, if you have any differing thoughts or ideas I would love to hear them.

@heylittlemissy @sjm-things

205 notes · View notes

regrettablewritings · 4 years ago

Text

Animatic/Storyboard Music

Got bored/procrastinate-y on coloring in this ultra intricate card for my mom. So I’m just gonna make a list of songs I think make for good animatic material. Because why not/I wanna foist my musical tastes on people/ @locke-writes got me in a music binge. For the most part, it’s just gonna be me explaining the meanings or the vibe or what they generally tend to be used for, but really it’s mostly subjective so imaginate whatchu wanna.

“Trust Me” - The Devil’s Carnival Originally depicting a story about the Scorpion and the Frog, it’s the perfect song for when you want to depict the dynamic between a gullible or at the very least more grounded character and a figure whose intentions . . . may be less than pure. Or good for anyone, really.

“The Dismemberment Song” - The Blue Kid I have a playlist dedicated to songs whose content and sound are just . . . not married to one another, but got a weird flirtationship situation going on. Anyway, I’ve seen people say that they like to imagine it’s sung through the POV of a scorned housewife who’s finally Had Enough™️. And . . . They’re really not wrong for it. Really, though, it’s just the right song for when a sadist is just ready to gut a fucker but is disturbingly jolly about it.

“Love Me Dead” - Ludo Continuing with my trend of songs about people in less than ideal situations, “Love Me Dead” is straight to the point: The relationship is just awful and the guy gets nothing from it, but he can’t help but be hopelessly in a state of adoration for the woman he’s latched on to (“You’re born of a jackal! YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL!!”)

“Constellations” - The Oh Hellos There actually isn’t a plot to this song, it just feels really good (as all songs by The Oh Hellos are prone to be). However, if you feel a need to portray the concept of having to reorganize your thoughts after realizing that maybe they weren’t what you initially thought, and then coming to the conclusion that even though everything changes as a result, you’ll be alright? This is the song for you.

“A Kindling of Sorts” - The Oh Hellos An instrumental piece that is like . . . It’s related to another song of theirs about nationalism called “Torches”, so make of that what you will. (I personally have been using it to imagine storyboarding an opening for an animated The Witcher series.)

“The Other Side” - The Greatest Showman I know everyone and their mom has used this to portray situations like villains trying to get good guys to join their side. But I dun curr, it’s a fun song. That, and I like what Emilyamio did with her interpretation. It’s fun. For a basic rundown, know it’s another song about two characters’ dynamics being explored, with one coming to the other with a proposal that they join them in whatever endeavors they have in store. It’s often portrayed as something evil, but it really doesn’t have to be, as the original context was more about letting loose than anything.

“The Thief and the Moon” - Shawn James A much more mellow piece. Simple and straight to the point: A thief tells the Moon that he plans on stealing her light to shade the world in darkness. The Moon insists that the thief would only doom the world by doing so, to which the thief clarifies that he doesn’t care; if the world is shrouded in shadow, it means he will be able to steal with more ease (“My very existence is a race to attain wealth”). Disgusted, the Moon essentially curses the man with a warning that his greed can and will bring about his end -- and leave him to be forgotten by the rest of mankind, once it happens.

“Villainous Thing” - Shayfer James I’ve seen people say that this song is about singing to a cadaver but I can’t quite find anything confirming that (translation: I’m too lazy to look too into it). Regardless, it’s a fun ditty that yet again portrays someone with less than pure intentions encouraging someone to join him in some good old fashion villainy, as they’ve clearly endured their fair share of hardships and surely wanted to do evil anyway (“You’ll find no ever after here, it’s clear that isn’t what you came for“).

“Necromancin Dancin” - Bear Ghost Straight forward and fun as fuck: A necromancer apparently seems to cross classes and try his hand at barding by not only raising an army of the dead, but by also making them dance in order to make conquering the world easier. Because . . . a body doing Disco Duck isn’t scary, I guess.

"Aquaman” - Walk the Moon A song about one half of a couple wanting to become more involved in their relationship, but still having some nervousness about doing so. If you somehow haven’t heard this song yet, you gotta because it’s the cutest shit.

“Jenny’s Tale” - Ren I’ll be brutally honest, it’s about a woman named Jenny who just wants to get home after a long day of work and an unfortunate encounter with a 14 year old named Screech who gets way in over his head. As in, like, a death happens. That being said, I need. Like. An animated music video of this song. I imagine this shit in gritty charcoal or painted on glass, it just needs this. Somebody who isn’t me who knows what they’re doing, please look into this.

“The Curse of the Fold” - Shawn James As cheesy as it sounds, it basically boils down to not giving up or yielding. But what makes it so cool is the fact that Shawn James makes all his songs basically sound like a western gothic soundtrack. Which helps, because he admits that the title is also a reference to poker, in which giving up too often or too easily can often rob you of a delicious reward gained through perseverance and sacrifice.

“Thank God I’m Not You” - Himalayas I prefer to imagine this for an arrogant asshole of a character. Because that’s exactly what this song is about: They’re a liar and a thief, they’ve been called the son of Satan, and yet they consider themselves lucky -- ‘cause at least they ain’t you! If you have a character in mind who’s a delightful, punchable little shit, this is probably either their anthem or at least on the playlist you inevitably made for them.

"Passerine" - The Oh Hellos So there’s a common trend in The Oh Hellos’ discography that tends to explore the two founders’ experiences with faith and their growth in how they understand it or recognize it. With “Passerine”, the concept being explored is the experience they had when it came to taking a step back and realizing just how many of their supposed “fellow Christians” were actually doing some rather unchristian things, so to speak. When they “prune[d] their feathers”, it became clear that they had less in common with certain people proclaiming to be Christian while also spouting bigotry and greed. However, the desire to move away from such influences comes with the feeling of being torn, as moving too far away from the Bible leaves the singer feeling as though she is betraying something she holds dear. As a result, “Passerine” symbolizes not a breakage from faith, but a breakage from blind faith as they understood it, and the inevitable feeling of being torn that comes along with expanding upon how one views their beliefs and those around them. It’s therefore not uncommon to see Good Omens animatics using this song. (Something I also noticed is that throughout the song, you hear pieces of “Constellations”. TOH have a tendency to reference previous pieces, and considering “Constellations” is a song about changing perspective and the meanings we apply to them, it fits in beautifully with a song about reevaluating one’s stance.)

“Like the Dawn” - The Oh Hellos As stated before, a lot of TOH’s discography draws inspiration from their faith. In this case, it’s an outright retelling of the Garden of Eden, specifically when Adam awoke to find Eve had been created. What makes this iteration stand out to most, however, is that the singer is female, which seems to change the vibe you get. It sweetens the feeling of wonder we often forget the first man might’ve felt upon seeing somebody made for him, creating an air of beauty yet comfort with such lines as “And like the dawn, you broke the dark and my whole earth shook” or “You were the brightest shade of sun I had ever seen.” Even without the awareness or an interest in religious influences, it still manages to be a very feel-good song -- which is the mark of an overall good song in general!

“Confession” - RED Dealing with the constant battle of feeling ashamed that how you feel on the inside isn’t in sync with how you present yourself on the outside. That you should feel bad for smiling out at the world while screaming and thrashing -- like it’s a lie. But you can’t help it: It’s what you’re accustomed to. Though it does end on a hopeful note with the singer deciding that they want to reach out for help and rid themselves of this feeling of pain they have inside.

“When I Grow Up” - Matilda . . . Only if you want to cry. Seriously. When you’re a kid, everything seems difficult but you’re positive that once you grow up, everything will change: You’ll be tall enough to climb the trees you were too small to, you’ll be able to carry everything because you’re stronger, you’ll be brave enough to fight the monsters hiding in your room, you’ll finally have all the answers. . . . But life isn’t that simple. We wish it were, but it isn’t. There’s this bittersweetness about this song, about a sense of purity we unfortunately grow out of where we think things will be just the same enough for us to do what we want when we want, but things are more complicated than that. We still struggle to reach, to bear the weight, to not be afraid, to have even a fraction of the answers. But! We’re reminded that just because we’re told life isn’t fair, doesn’t mean we have to take it. After all, nothing changes when nothing happens. And even beyond that? It helps to remember that we’re never quite done growing up; there’s always more to learn, so remember to be patient with yourself.

“Hand Me My Shovel, I’m Going In!” - Will Wood and the Tapeworms This is . . . a song. The lyrics are honestly kinda all over the place and shooting rapid fire, making it a bit difficult to discern what exactly the singer is going on about. It makes for a pretty crazy song that suggests somebody’s going unhinged, which is apparently precisely the intention?? I’ve seen a lot of people interpret this as a song about a guy who is already at a low point in his life but nonetheless is going, “. . . I bet I can go deeper. Hand me my shovel.”

“No Reason” - Beetlejuice God if i had a youtube channel the segment i would spend on this song would be so juicy just ripe and thicc with thoughts and feelings i tell ya rich like a fresh fatty peach the apple that tempted Eve and gagged Adam yes ‘Nother song that explores the dynamic between two differing people and their worldviews. At its simplest, “No Reason” is about two opposite ends of a spectrum coming to a head: Idealistic and hippie-dippy Delia is convinced that everything happens for a reason, while cynical and depressed Lydia asserts that everything happens at random and it doesn’t matter anyway because we’re all going to die. And even though the delivery is ultimately a comedic one, you get more insight as to why one another feels the way that they do: Lydia, as we’ve previously learned, has recently lost her mother to an illness, which has left her depressed and feeling invisible (a theme in the show); whereas Delia’s failed marriage and desperate attempts to nonetheless be happy have left her dependent on the idea that these things had to have happened for a reason, otherwise, her pain would’ve been for nothing. What’s important is that neither side is actually appointed as the winner, with the song ultimately ending that the universe is random for a reason.

“Barbara 2.0″ - Beetlejuice Without spoiling anything (or at least too much), “Barbara 2.0″ is about growth. It’s about learning to put your foot down after a literal lifetime of being passive out of fear of what might happen and just accepting that nothing will happen if nothing happens -- but that doesn’t make whatever happens good.

“Bleed Magic” - IDHKBTFM It’s either about a killer or a vampire. No, seriously: When Dallon Weekes was asked about what the story of the song was, that was his answer. I personally prefer to think of it as a vampire or demon of some kind, given that the song came out around Halloween. Perfect for yet another example of somebody (likely supernatural) having an upper hand on an unsuspecting mortal. ...I have way too many of these on this list, I swear I don’t have a problem —

“Feel Good Drag” - Anberlin A toxic relationship of sorts. In that it shouldn’t be a relationship to begin with. Depicts the singer being approached by an ex, who seeks a one-night stand while her current boyfriend is out of town. However, the singer is aware that trying to continue anything regardless of the situation is a moot point: Even when they were together, their relationship was doomed from the start, and nothing about that is going to change -- especially now.

“Soviet Trumpeter” - Katzenjammer (It’s kinda difficult to work with this one but I’ve seen people work with less or stranger.) Based off the life of one Eddie Rosner, a Jewish Polish trumpeter whose fame within the USSR unfortunately faded due to the Soviet Union’s heavy censorship. Even if nothing is to be done with it, it still paints a melancholic picture of a talented man’s skills being largely unknown as a result of things beyond his control. All wrapped up in a song that denotes a strange deterioration in a way I can’t quite place.

“Apple Blossom” - The White Stripes On its face, it’s a very sweet song: The singer encourages his beloved to be vulnerable enough with him to tell him her troubles and to let him “sort them out for [her]”. She’s clearly saddened, and seeing so distresses him to where he insists that he will do whatever he can to make her happy. However, the tone of the song and certain lines make it easy to twist into yet another song of a character attempting to seduce somebody into a state of vulnerability . . .

“You’ve Got Possibilities” - It’s a Bird, It’s a Plane, It’s Superman The one singular song people actually liked from this forgotten musical. Perfect for when somebody intends on giving somebody else a makeover. Y’know, after totally roasting them on their posture and clothing. If you want to add a lil something extra, know that the context is that a lady wants to give Clark Kent a makeover, insisting that in spite of his schlubby appearance, there’s gotta be something underneath. I repeat: She is telling this to Clark freaking Kent.

“Still” - Anastasia In the context, the show’s antagonist (not bad guy, there’s a difference) finds himself torn between obligation and personal interest: Does he fulfill his duty and live up to expectations set upon him by his father and the society he’s been selected to help uphold? Or does he let a woman he has become fond of go? Is she truly as innocent as she claims? Or is she well aware of what she’s doing? And every time he thinks he’s reached a conclusion, he can’t help but thing, “But still . . .” Good for when you want to portray a character conflicted between obligations of politics and what their heart wants.

“Two Nobodies in New York” - [title of show] Two young men plan on entering an upcoming theatrical festival but struggle with what to even submit. This song in particular focuses on them trying to figure out what to even write, the concept of fame, and if wanting the certain things that may come with fame can mean anything from being sell-outs to getting a sitcom. It’s admittedly specific, but it’s a cute and funny interaction between two guys who are, for the most part, actually in sync with their thoughts and anxieties. For the time being.

“Into the Unknown” - Idina Menzel Look, I refuse to watch that movie. I just do. But I will take this song over That Other One any day. Mostly because I personally like to imagine that the singer in this song is about to embark on a Pixaresque journey after accidentally leaving her home during the night of The Wild Hunt, accidentally separating her spirit from her body and thus giving her a very limited time to get back to it before she remains a soul trapped in a whirlwind of ghosts forever. But first: Let’s sing about that strange howling that coaxes her so.

“You’re Gonna Go Far, Kid” - The Offspring I sure do long songs that can characterize a shithead . . . Anywho! The smoothest way to go is just to portray some cocky, manipulative shit who’s used to just lying and cheating their way to get what they want before slipping away without any consequences -- to a point. There’s the option of portraying the betrayer’s comeuppance, but there’s also the frustratingly delicious option of just letting them get away with whatever to lie another day.

“Why Should I Worry” - Billy Joel When in doubt, go to earlier Disney. Because like it or not, they had some bops. And when in the need of portraying a happy-go-lucky (probably idiotic) doofus and his more neurotic or cynical friend going about their life with the former just Mr. Magooing it while the latter suffers more realistic consequences? You go with this song. If you want. That’s just me.

“Transformation” - Brother Bear For when you want to invoke a mystical or otherworldly feeling. There’s really not much more I can say except to encourage you to listen to it and watch the scene if you can find it. You’ll get the vibe.

“No Girl’s Toy” - Raggedy Ann and Andy: A Musical Adventure It’s a big shame this movie is relatively unknown and never got a proper VHS release or anything -- mainly because the music in this cult classic is definitely stuff I could see becoming standards. I could see people performing “I Never Get Enough” for little shows, or recycling “Blue” for a different show. Thankfully, somebody was able to upload a clear enough sounding recording of “No Girl’s Toy”, so at least we have that. In context (just...follow me on this), Raggedy Ann’s brother, Raggedy Andy, has had enough of being subjected to “girly things” while in the nursery. Additionally, though, the way the song was written means it can also be interpreted as just a guy who refuses to let himself be yanked around regardless of how thick the sugar being laid on him is. . . . If you wanna poke fun as a character for trying to appear tougher than what he is, here’s the song. (That being said, Andy is a sweetheart at the end of the day. No amount of tough-fronting will hide that.)

“I Enjoy Being a Girl” - Flower Drum Song (It is by sheer coincidence that this song follows the above.) Really, it’s exactly what it says on the tin: The singer enjoys being a girl and what all it entails for her. She loves her feminine form, she loves the attention she gets, she loves dolling herself up, she loves frilly dresses, and she hopes to one day marry a guy who enjoys “having a girl like [her].” And honestly? Good on her! Love whatcha love, lovely! Seriously, though, it’s a cute song for anyone who just wants to indulge in some girliness.

“Chip on My Shoulder” - Legally Blonde Come on: It’s Legally Blonde. You know what this bop is, or at least have an idea of it. But since I love this song, I’ll indulge: Disheartened by her failure to both win back her ex and succeed in the fast-paced environment of Harvard, the normally bright-eyed Elle is ready to call it quits. That is, until junior partner Emmett gets involved. Unimpressed by her story, Emmett reveals that he got to where he was by busting his ass due to having a chip on his shoulder from his rough beginnings — and maybe a chip on the shoulder is exactly what Elle needs to survive. And as somebody driven by spite, I can appreciate that kind of message. Anywho, it all in all is a song about growth and learning how to be “driven as hell” to keep up with an opportunity that may not be easy to take, but is not one to be passed by.

“What Do I Need with Love?” - Thoroughly Modern Millie “What Do I Need with Love?” asks exactly that: He could date a different girl every night of the week if he so wanted, and never once had any desire to go steady before. He considers himself lucky to have never fallen for anyone -- until now. Which he’s not! He’s not in love. ...He totally is and, by his own admission, he’s got it bad it’s terribly adorable.

“Interlude IV” - Zach Callison The entire album is actually a narrative about a failed relationship of Callison’s and I’m sure the other songs are just as great fuel for animatics -- I’m just too caught up on listening to this one over and over. Sometimes, we just wanna listen to Steven Universe cuss and be openly furious. Seriously, though, even without the context of the rest of the story, you get the idea well enough: A spiteful Zach decides to get back at the one that broke his heart in such a painful way, whereas a well-meaning friend insists they just leave it be and move on. While this technically would be the better and healthier option, Zach is just too far gone with rage to let it go and decides to take care of things by himself.

“Evermore” - Beauty & the Beast Look, I know the remake wasn’t anything crazy. But also I don’t honestly care too terribly much. Besides, this song was nice and it really gets me after that key change. We all want a royal doofus to be enamored enough with us to let us go for our own happiness but still know that their life will forever be changed because they met us. Animate that shit. Over and over.

goddamn this list is long lemme just stop this now byyyyeeeee

#long post #boop #music post #sorta

12 notes · View notes

brynnmck · 5 years ago

Text

J/B Exchange Recs Round 1!

I have not been around Tumblr much lately because I was so preoccupied with stuff for @jaime-brienne-fic-exchange, but I am trying to get back into the swing of things, and I figured what better place to start than with some recs?

These are currently skewed a bit toward my amaaaazing gift fic and the amaaaaazing ones I beta-ed, since I am way behind on my reading, but there will be more to come!

Backpfeifengesicht by @samirant - I am so unbelievably grateful that I had both amazing prompts/amazing recipient for the fic I wrote, and such a fabulous gift fic too. I was still working on my own fic and very sleep-deprived and flagging when I read this for the first time and I think I may have actually left my body on a wave of sheer euphoria. IT IS ALL THE GOOD THINGS. So many of my favorite vacation/road trip tropes--drunken shenanigans! Intimate late-night conversations while everyone else is sleeping/elsewhere! Friends being too involved in your relationship! Unexpected forced proximity! And the banter is glorious, and the secondary characters are so well thought out and add such depth and vibrance to the story, and the Sansa/Margaery subplot was DELIGHTFUL, and I love the way this structured Brienne's relationship to Tyrion and then to Jaime as an extension of that, and the resolution was handled with an absolutely perfect balance of hilarity and heat. (There was also the stuff throughout that was very targeted to me specifically WHICH I APPRECIATED, so thanks to both Sami and @forbiddenfantasies1 for that). About 20% of the way into the story, I was deeply convinced it was Sami, and in the best possible way--it had the hallmarks I love about her writing: her sense of humor, her gift for banter, her clear affection for the characters, the richness of all the relationships. It was like showing up to a party and unexpectedly finding a friend there, and it was the loveliest feeling. I am thrilled that so many people have read and loved this story but I want everyone in the world to read and love it, so. Please check it out if you haven't! And also check out Sami's hilarious tale of woe regarding her writing process, which is amazing. THANK YOU AGAIN FOR SUCH A PHENOMENAL GIFT SAMI. ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

A favorite line: On any other day, Brienne would have left him - a relative stranger - to his wallowing, but an untold amount of imbibed Pentoshi Slammers stirred up a noble benevolence within her, a little voice that said they had something in common and what good were her broad shoulders if they weren’t offered as a place to rest a weary, heartbroken brow? SO GOOD.

_____

Lay Your Heartbreak and the sequel You could make me feel so good by @ajoblotofjunk / sdwolfpup - LISTEN. SDW sent me an early chunk of this and I was immediately OBSESSED and I have not stopped being obsessed since. Obviously worldbuilding is a huge strength of SDW's and her creativity with that is a constant astonishment to me. But pop culture is full of examples of people who can create amazing worlds and then utterly fail to populate them with interesting or dynamic characters, whereas SDW's ability to fill in those wonderfully creative spaces with her love for the characters and their love for each other that is just magic. And these fics are the perfect examples of that. The setup is not only fascinating but makes for such fantastically INTENSE feelings, omg, everything just feels like it's crackling off the page; even before Jaime and Brienne and Addam are admitting anything to each other, it's not so much simmering under the surface as boiling. The balance between the three of them is gorgeous, there are two incredibly hot fencing scenes as well as a very hot swimming scene (in addition to the sequel being just one big tangle of brain-scorching hotness), there's a perfect amount of sweetness and softness to play off all the blazing heat, and overall this is one that's going to stick with me for a long time. I know J/A/B isn't everyone's cup of tea, but if you aren't actively opposed to the idea of them, then I highly highly encourage you to check this out.

A favorite line: That night she dreams of golden skin, hot and soft against her palm – yes, someone moans, yes – the rough scrape of callouses over the arch of her ribs, the scratch of red stubble between her thighs – like this? Yes, more, please more – legs sliding together and between each other, and two mouths touching her all over. Hnnnnngh.

_____

The Limit Does Not Exist by @agirlnamedkeith / sameboots - Fics with a power imbalance are something I approach with a lot of caution but I LOVED the way that sameboots handled it here. The fact that this fic includes her signature extremely hot feelings-forward porn as well as a thoughtful exploration of what it can mean to be a woman in STEM is like a beautiful multi-course meal; I cared a LOT about whether they were gonna do it and I was also equally invested in how Brienne’s thesis was going to turn out and where she would go from there. I love Brienne’s stubbornness and determination and even though she’s finding her way here (as you would be, as a grad student), those elements are VERY much on display and they spark fantastically against an initially guarded and caustic but eventually deeply admiring Jaime. And while I don’t want to spoil anything, I will say that I feel like the end is a perfect illustration of one of the major themes of the fic, and I love it so much for that. Watching this one take shape and watching sameboots geek out over her math research was a delight, and the result is excellent (and did I mention, extremely hot). Definitely worth all her work!

A favorite line: “Has anyone ever told you that you’re the worst liar?” (KIDDING HANNAH ILU HERE’S THE REAL ONE:) The problem with smoothies was that it was hard to make them aggressively., Angrily pushing a button didn’t have the same release as whaling on a punching bag. Brienne didn’t have a punching bag, though, and she desperately needed to do something, and she was hungry. ANGRY SMOOTHING-MAKING. I LOVE IT.

_____

Right Off the Bat by @hillaryschu - A You’ve Got Mail AU where Jaime and Brienne are rival Little League coaches who unknowingly bond over Twitter is SUCH a great idea, and Hillary committed to it right down to the delightful rom-com-trailer summary. She also put an enormous amount of care into the details of the story--she had references for outfits, buildings, even Jaime’s cologne--and it shows in all the lush descriptions throughout. The banter is sparky, watching their two relationships gradually unfold is a lot of fun, there’s a particular tipsy (on Brienne’s part) Twitter DM exchange that I still get flustered thinking about, and there’s a batting cage scene that will be haunting my brain for a while. Especially given that Hillary had never written a story anywhere near this long before, I’m so impressed that she pulled it off (and fixed some of the most problematic elements of the movie, too). Congratulations to her on rising to the challenge!

A favorite line: But as they part from each other, Brienne lifts the hem of her tee to wipe the dirt and sweat from her face. Her exposed stomach is pale and toned, with softly defined muscles that gleam with perspiration. Jaime trips over home plate. SAME JAIME. SAME.

_____

X Marks the Spot (where I’ll find you again) by @pretty--thief - PIRATES. I WAS SO EXCITED WHEN I HEARD ABOUT THE PIRATES. And this fic is such a fantastic blend of snappy, exciting swashbuckling (and hilarious use of parrots) and a very poignant backstory that underlays the adventure with all this yeeeeeearning and it’s SO GOOD. The action scenes are thrilling, the descriptions are gorgeous, there is STARGAZING and BATTLE COUPLE, the Jaime snark is chefkiss, Brienne is so brave and committed and quietly full of feelings, there’s a really lovely discussion of the ethics of being in the military, and also Pod and Addam and Arya and PIRATES FOR JUSTICE. SO HERE FOR THAT. And did I mention the yeeeeeearning (which is paid off wonderfully--the penultimate chapter lived rent-free in my mind for about a week after I first read it)? Ugh SO GOOD.

A favorite line: When he had exited his quarters, Brienne had looked at him with so much concern in her eyes it threatened to swallow Jaime whole. He’d felt something similar when he was around Cersei, when they were fucking or fighting; a fire he had once thought he could never tire of, would never want to put out. But Brienne had reached out her hand, as if on reflex, and smoothed her thumb across his tired brow. The ship had continued to sway beneath them, and Jaime didn’t feel fire. He didn’t feel like he would be turned to ash at any moment. He felt a breeze, the wind in his hair and salty air in his lungs. as;lfkja;sldjgas;lfjas;lf

_____

Federation Fliers by @elizadunc /Ladybugbear2 - A short and very sweet one! I adore the world that Megs created in this and would happily read many many more words in it, but this is a lovely glimpse in and of itself, and made me so happy. Established relationship (which I love), one of my favorite Jaime nicknames for Brienne, a wonderfully badass Brienne and a wonderfully besotted Jaime, all against a fascinating backdrop. So good!

A favorite line: She belonged in the sky. She had a grace to her movements on the ground, but in the sky she was ethereal. HEART-EYES

_____

And now for a few that I just read after they were posted like a normal person:

Wine Down by @slipsthrufingers - SOME MILD SPOILERS HEREIN FYI. Okay first of all, the summary of this fic is deliciously evil and I think we all need to appreciate that. Also, it starts out with Jaime and Brienne having lunch together and these glorious descriptions of food and he has taken note of the specific food she likes and is making sure it’s provided for her and that is SO VERY MUCH MY LOVE LANGUAGE YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW. I FLAILED. And then things go, shall we say, a bit downhill, but in the most achingly beautiful way--Jaime sacrificing himself for Brienne and Brienne determined to tether him to life through sheer force of will and steadfast devotion. Slips puts us right into Brienne’s headspace/heartspace while she’s worrying for Jaime and trying to negotiate the fucked-up Lannister family dynamics (and the observations on said dynamics are wonderful too), and this hits such an excellent balance of Brienne’s rigidly controlled surface and everything that’s roiling away underneath. I’m always fascinated by the idea of what could have happened during the time that Brienne was in King’s Landing and this is such a brilliant exploration of how things could have gone, and Brienne’s interactions with the rest of the Lannisters (and Sansa) give the world that much more depth as well. The descriptions throughout are beautiful, there are so many lovely turns of phrase, the intimacy between Jaime and Brienne is just devastating, and it all comes back around to an immensely satisfying conclusion. SO GOOD.

A favorite line: The gods had seen fit to give her an unwomanly body, so she had taken up the sword. They had given her an ugly face, so she had perfected her manners and courtesies so they could never be frowned upon. But they had given her a maiden’s heart, and try as she might she had never found the right weapon to protect it. MY PRECIOUS GIRL.

_____

A Matter of Honor by @nire-the-mithridatist - I shrieked at nire in DMs basically the whole time I was reading this story, it made me experience like 90% of the range of human emotions in one night and I’m still mad about it. This features a fascinatingly flipped script where Brienne is the wealthy one and Jaime the supplicant, and an arrogant-ass supplicant he is. Brienne is an angy baby nineteen-year-old who is furious at the entire world and I fucking adore her for it, and watching all the events unfold through the lens of her (generally well-founded) suspicions was a delicious sort of torture where I trusted NO ONE and genuinely did not know exactly what was going to happen next. Nire turns a lot of marriage fic tropes on their head in this and it’s all done brilliantly, and there is EXTREMELY SEXY SWORD-FIGHTING (and as a sexy bonus, Brienne’s perspective on it feels so perfect for someone who is truly an accomplished swordswoman), and nire uses some common elements throughout to just pack in these layers and layers of meaning and significance, and there are many turns of phrase so perfect that they hurt, and then she’s like “hey would you like to re-feel all the feelings in this story again in a very concentrated burst” and it’s SO MUCH, and the conclusion pays everything off amazingly. And even though it’s very swoony and romantic (and HOT. I SHOULD MENTION VERY HOT), there’s a hint of melancholy to it too, reckoning with what it means to be a woman--even a wealthy one--in Brienne’s world, and it’s just the perfect crunch of salt on top of all the sweetness. LOVE.

A favorite line: He brought her knuckles to his lips. As sweet as honeyed nettles, he declared, “Lady Brienne. You have made me the happiest of men.” As the crowd roared in approval, she felt the sting of his kiss. STING OF HIS KISS ARE YOU KIDDING ME. Also I’m including this for purely thirsty reasons but NO SHAME: He stood from the sofa and went to help his wife undress, and if she noticed his averted eyes and his trembling hands—oh gods, the laces went on endlessly down her back, and with each pull, a little more of her figure was revealed, barely veiled by her gauzy shift—she said nothing. I DIED. I ALSO SAID NOTHING BECAUSE I WAS DEAD. Fuck, man.

_____

The Riverlands Gang Go to the Zoo by @naomignome - Another shorter and very delightful one with Naomi’s typical brand of chaotic humor that I adore. It’s Hyle POV, for one thing, which is good times, and the structure of this is so clever--the way each section of the zoo is used to progress the story is so seamless and happy-making, and there are tons of little jokes and Easter eggs packed in along with a very sweet, snarky emotional storyline wherein Hyle is definitely doomed. Plus another EXCELLENT Brienne nickname in here. LOVELY.

A favorite line: “Pixel!” he said laughingly, “You know if you fell in the bear pit, I would jump after you without a second thought.” “You need to have a first thought in order to have a second one.” Brienne said dryly. SUCH A GOOD BURN.

_____

all these people think love’s for show (but i would die for you in secret) by @naomignome - This is SUCH A FLEX because not only did Naomi write TWO fics for her recipient but they are WILDLY DIFFERENT and I’m so impressed with her for doing it! This one is SPIEEEEESSSS and Naomi packs so much tension into 5K, I was on the edge of my seat through the whole thing. Canon events are woven in astonishingly well, and it’s a delicious enemies-to-partners-to-lovers situation that involves some excellent hurt/comfort and excellent use of RAIN to moody/sexy effect and it’s just all very thrilling. YUM.

A favorite line: He lets off a single bullet and it grazes the inside of her thigh, enough to make her wince and draw blood, but not enough to stop her from tackling him to the ground and wrestling him into submission. She’s got both of his wrists pinned above his head and her knee is drawn up and pressed against his torso. Jaime’s chest is heaving under her knee. Her chest is heaving in tandem. From above him, Brienne can see the green of his eyes darken, and even in submission, he’s annoyingly beautiful. Her blood is rushing, and it’s not all adrenaline. WHEW. SAME.

_____

as stars once a year brush the earth by @ylizam / mazily - Another wonderfully bite-sized one (good job actually taking the minimum word count as a guideline, people who did that, unlike the rest of us dumbasses!) that packs a lot into a small space. A canon-ish soulmates AU that’s so understated and dreamy, but with the echo of all the turmoil they’ve gone through to get to this place that brings everything in sharp relief. It’s also funny and sexy and romantic as fuck, and there are gorgeous poetic descriptions, and they spar by a WATERFALL, and just. So much happens in just over 1600 words! IMPRESSIVE.

A favorite line: Her right hand goes numb, unfeeling; back in their rooms Jaime is waking up, and she knows the phantom ache of his missing hand is bothering him. Jaime is waking, and yawning, the bed linens pooling around his waist and highlighting his summer tanned skin. She misses him, suddenly, as wide as the endless sea in front of her. BEAUTIFUL.

OKAY THIS WAS A LONG POST. That’s all I’ve got for now--more to come as I continue my reading!!

#jaime x brienne #jaime x brienne fic rec #jaime brienne fic exchange #braime #so many feelings in this post!!#so many talented writers in this fandom!!

63 notes · View notes

heroine-of-albion · 4 years ago

Text

Your Wishes He Grants... - Fable Fan Fiction

Synopsis - Sparrow finds Reaver in Bloodstone...and he has tricks other than being the Hero of Skill.

Word Count: 1050 words

Warnings: none

Inspired by Ashley Serena's version of Master Mirror, and also available here on my Ao3 if anyone wants to go and give me some love over there.

Sparrow had been warned about Reaver long before she had ever set foot in Bloodstone.

Of course she had: everyone had a tale to tell about him. The Pirate King, the Thief, the one who cheated death...she’d heard him referred to in countless different ways, in a dizzying amount of legends, half-truths, and old sailor’s exaggerated yarns...but there had been one common thread amongst them all.

He was dangerous.

She’d never been warned he was so charming - or if she had, she’d dismissed the warning as so unimportant she hadn’t even remembered it. Now she didn't know why she'd been so stupid to not know Reaver was as...prepossessing as he was.

His smile fair as spring, as towards him he draws you…

Reaver was devastatingly charming.

It wasn’t just his good looks, although Sparrow couldn’t deny he was in no short supply of those, it was...something else. Something in his smile that, even though it didn’t reach his eyes, pulled Sparrow deeper into the reception room of his Bloodstone home. It was like a siren’s call; even though something in the back of her mind was crying out that the man in front of her was far more dangerous than any cragged ocean rocks, his smile still brought her closer.

The idea that he presented a threat to her seemed hazy: unimportant compared to the warmth from his smile.

Especially as he managed to keep it firmly in place while starting his speech of how he’d heard about her presence...

His tongue sharp and silvery, as he implores you…

He said he didn’t get many visitors to his coastal paradise - especially not ones as renowned as she was. His smile didn’t slip as he praised her strength, her abilities, her successes in defeating some of the worst Albion had to offer.

Suddenly Sparrow couldn’t remember why she’d been so wary of Reaver; he was so pleasant. Surely all those tales of him being so dangerous were exaggerations...

Your wishes he grants, as he swears to adore you…

Reaver knew Sparrow had come here for his help. He offered it freely…

...all she had to do was one little favour for him, and how hard could that be? As he pointed out, she’d already survived Wraithmarsh, and that was all he needed her to do. Take a simple objet d'art to one of the few structures that remained standing in Wraithmarsh - a structure that had managed to keep out Hollow Men, Trolls, and Banshees for hundreds of years.

How hard could it be?

Gold, silver, jewels, he lays riches before you...

Sparrow’s hand hovered over the object. Reaver had called it an objet d'art , but...but it didn’t quite sit right in Sparrow’s head.

She tilted her head to the side, hand still held a few inches over the round object as she looked at it, trying to work out why she couldn’t make herself actually pick it up.The more she stared at it, the more...the more she felt something was wrong.

But then Reaver was right behind her, not quite touching her, but close enough she could feel the heat radiating off of him against her back, fighting away the cold chill that seemed to emanate from the objet d'art on the desk as he murmured promises of help into her ear - if only she did that one little favour for him first.

It was all too easy to give in. Her concerns seemed so silly - she could barely even remember the feeling of unease she’d had just seconds before.

Dues need to be repaid, and he will come for you…

Clarity hit the moment her skin came into contact with the object on the desk.

Sparrow’s own Will abilities sent tiny bolts of lighting over her body like a wave, and far from having no effect on her as it normally would, Sparrow felt like she’d just jumped into the Bower River in the depth of mid-winter.

All the air felt like it had been forced out of her lungs...but her mind was cold and clear when she turned to look at Reaver.

Reaver, who’d jumped back with the shockwaves had passed over her skin.

Reaver, who wasn’t smiling any more.

All to reclaim, no smile to console you…

His charming mask discarded, Sparrow saw Reaver for exactly what he was.

A threat.

He'll snare you in bonds, eyes glowing afire…

Reaver had realised he’d overplayed his hand...and it seemed his compliments hadn’t exactly been empty when he’d said he’d heard about her.

Sparrow knew what waryness looked like: and right now, it looked a lot like Reaver, standing a few feet away from her, hands carefully kept away from spots Sparrow was sure he was concealing multiple hidden weapons. He was desperately trying to appear casual, but Sparrow could see through it.

And as far as she was concerned, he had every reason to appear nervous.

Whatever trick he’d just tricked, whatever skill or spell he’d attempted to use to get inside her head, Sparrow had shaken it off now, and she wasn’t going to get pulled under again. If nothing else, she did her best to learn from her mistakes.

Hopefully, Reaver would do the same.

And to make sure he got the chance, Sparrow would do his little favour for him - just to prove that she could, and just to make sure that Reaver understood that he couldn’t get rid of her that easily. With that thought in mind, she made sure to keep eye contact with him as she swept the Dark Seal - because without that haze in her mind, she could tell exactly what it was, and could hazard a guess at where she’d find the door it unlocked - off of the desk, and then deliberately turned her back on him.

Sparrow was on to Reaver now. That didn’t make him any less dangerous...but it made her more dangerous than he had been prepared to deal with.

To gore and torment you, 'til the stars expire…

“Well, this is certain to prove interesting.” Reaver smirked at her leaving back.

Despite the lack of warmth curling around her mind, Sparrow still found herself looking over her shoulder to agree with Reaver - albeit grimly: “I’m sure.”

#Heroine Writes #Fable Fan Fiction #Fable One-shot #Fable imagine #Fable fan fic #Fable fanfic #Fable Sparrow #Sparrow #Hero of Bowerstone #Reaver #Fable Reaver #mine

10 notes · View notes

mediaeval-muse · 4 years ago

Text

Book Review

Confessions of the Fox. By Jordy Rosenberg. New York: One World, 2018.

Rating: 4.5/5 stars

Genre: historical fiction, queer fiction

Part of a Series? No

Summary: Set in the eighteenth century London underworld, this bawdy, genre-bending novel reimagines the life of thief and jailbreaker Jack Sheppard to tell a profound story about gender, love, and liberation.

Jack Sheppard and Edgeworth Bess were the most notorious thieves, jailbreakers, and lovers of eighteenth-century London. Yet no one knows the true story; their confessions have never been found. Until now. Reeling from heartbreak, a scholar named Dr. Voth discovers a long-lost manuscript—a gender-defying exposé of Jack and Bess’s adventures. Is Confessions of the Fox an authentic autobiography or a hoax? As Dr. Voth is drawn deeper into Jack and Bess’s tale of underworld resistance and gender transformation, it becomes clear that their fates are intertwined—and only a miracle will save them all.

***Full review under the cut.***

Content Warnings: sexual content (as in sex acts, not the mere presence of lgbt+ people), blood, graphic depiction of top surgery, violence, racism, gender dysphoria

Overview: I didn’t know what I was expecting when I picked up this book, but something about it just hit all the right angles for me. I adore historical fiction that not only aims to imitate the aesthetics of the period, but also focuses on underrepresented identities, such as queer, non-white, and working or poverty class people; thus, it was inevitable that I would find Confessions of the Fox would be so engrossing. I do understand that this book might not be for everyone, as Rosenberg plays with a lot of academic ideas that usually fall in the realm of theory, but personally, I loved that this book wasn’t just about trans identity. While gender and identity and queerness were at the heart of this book, Confessions was also about archives and policing and commodities and so much more - things that were related and engaged the more academic part of my brain, but somewhat complicated for casual reading. Nevertheless, it was ambitious and smartly-constructed, so I’m giving it a high rating, even if I have quibbles here and there.

Writing: As a former academic and lover of history, I very much enjoyed Rosenberg’s approach to genre, form, and writing. It would have been easy to simply write a story using modern aesthetic tastes, but Rosenberg goes out of his way to imitate the prose style of the 18th century. I loved the richness of the vocabulary and the complexity of the sentences, as well as the juxtaposition of the sacred and profane. It was refreshing to read such beautiful prose that the author clearly put a lot of love into, and if you want to be so immersed in a story that you feel like you’re reading a historical document, I think Rosenberg does a wonderful job.

I also really loved the way Rosenberg wrote about trans identity in the 18th century. There are passages, for example, where Jack’s attention wanders while being dead-named, where Jack expresses feelings of confusion or freedom when talking about his physical body, where he talks about the process of coming into being when he heard Bess use his name, etc. I thought these passages were the most beautifully written and impactful, and they stayed with me the most after I finished the book.

These 18th century “confessions” are accompanied by a number of footnotes, written by a character named Dr. Voth in the present day. In these passages, Rosenberg shifts his tone and style, thereby differentiating between past and present without having to constantly remind the reader that Jack and Bess’s story is told through something of a frame. I think the choice to have footnotes instead of chapters where Voth’s POV takes center stage was a good one - it more effectively created parallels between the 18th century story and Voth’s personal story, and reminded the reader that history (especially trans history) evolves as a result of a kind of archival work, collected in pieces by many different people. In that sense, form matched function, which I am always delighted to see in my novels.

That being said, I can’t say I enjoyed Voth’s voice all that much. This criticism is probably a personal preference rather than anything Rosenberg did wrong - I just think Voth’s voice felt a little too conversational, like he was talking to someone instead of writing.

Plot: Most of Rosenberg’s novel follows Jack Sheppard and Bess Khan as they discover Jack’s identity, evade arrest, and disrupt a horrifying commodity trade (so to speak). In my opinion, the plot points surrounding Jack’s personal journey were incredibly well-constructed; I felt that the evolution of Jack’s gender identity, the romance between Jack and Bess, and their evolution as criminals were all very compelling and touched on a number of engrossing themes, from gender to poverty to anti-capitalism. Granted, there were some areas where I think the pacing dragged, but part of me thinks this was due to the 18th century style and genre conventions, more than anything Rosenberg was doing wrong.

In Voth’s footnotes, we also get something of a personal story which includes Voth being coerced into working for an exploitative publishing company at the direction of his university administrator. As we go through the footnotes, Voth recounts conversations he had with these figures while also disclosing details about his failed relationships - with one ex in particular. While I did like the parallels that exist between the manuscript and Voth’s own life, there were some things that challenged my suspension of disbelief. For example, I would never expect an academic to record personal anecdotes and intimate confessions in footnotes for an academic project. Maybe that happens in academic circles outside mine, and I understand it needs to happen for plot reasons (just reading references to critical theory or secondary sources would be boring for most people), so this criticism is coming from a place of being too close to the setting surrounding the text, in a way.

I also think that there were some passages where sexual activity would be mentioned where it was not needed. I do understand, on some level, that sex and sexuality is an important topic in trans studies (and queer studies as a whole), and I don’t want to appear too prudish. However, I think random references to a character masturbating, even if they were making a point, were a bit egregious. I was especially put off by the story of a 15 year old masturbating (in the present-day footnotes), and though I understand the story was illustrating an academic concept and books should acknowledge that (many) teens do have sex drives, it was also a bit much for me, personally.

Characters: Jack, our primary protagonist, is interesting and complex not just because he struggles with his identity as a trans man, but also because he struggles with acting in ways that are not out of self-interest. Though he is a thief and thus acts in self-interest in understandable ways, he eventually uncovers an operation which involves the production of a drug-like substance (or something - that’s the best I can describe it). Bess demands that he destroy all samples so that the substance can’t be reproduced by others, but Jack wants to confiscate the samples for himself to make a huge profit. I liked that this conflict existed, not only because it showed Jack as having other challenges in his life other than his gender identity, but it also spurred character growth and emotional turmoil.

Bess Khan, a prostitute and Jack’s lover, was written in a way that respected sex work and provided commentary on race and policing. I really liked that she had a strong set of principles and desires that were larger than herself, and I liked that she was confident and forceful where Jack could be meek and unsure.

Other rogues were equally loveable and admirable. Jenny, another prostitute, was a nice example of women forming networks of support within the criminal underworld while also showing how white women (even prostitutes) are treated differently than non-white women. Aurie, a black queer man, was also a supportive friend to Jack who is frequently instrumental in his survival. There is also a wide variety of named and unnamed rogues who were non-white and/or queer in some way, providing a rich array of characters that dispels the assumption that 18th century England was homogenously white and straight.

Our main antagonist, Jonathan Wild, is a bit less interesting in that he’s mainly just corrupt. I personally didn’t care for the chapters from his perspective, though I do understand that he functions as an important, symbolic figure that embodies all the things Jack and Bess work against (capitalism, police corruption, etc.).

Voth, our modern day commentator, has his moments, but sometimes, I would waffle back and forth between finding him engaging and finding him pretentious. I understand that he is supposed to be flawed, and I sympathize with a lot of his plights - mainly the pressure from his university and the anxiety he suffers from. But also, I found his voice to be somewhat combative, and if the point was to make a complicated, likeable-sometimes-unlikeable-other-times character, then I think Rosenberg succeeded.

TL;DR: Confessions of the Fox is a beautiful debut novel that engages with trans identity and history, though it does so in a way that may be a bit too academic for some readers. But while it definitely demands much of your attention, Rosenberg ultimately delivers a rich, engrossing story that reaches beyond the historical and textual boundaries of the page and invites the reader to see themselves as part of a vast network that is constantly “making” and “becoming” itself.

#book reviews

7 notes · View notes

polin-erospsyche · 5 years ago

Text

Princes on Paper || Blackdale one shot

Words: ~1917

Lucie was running in the pouring rain, her dress getting heavier by the moment. She wasn’t sure when it had started raining. All she knew was that when she went into Chiswick house at Grace’s request it hadn’t and now the rain was so strong she had difficulty seeing through it. She missed a step and fell on her knees in the mud ruining her light blue skirt. She was shivering and panting, the icy rain sent a chill down to her bones. Her corset seemed to be tightening with each new breath, constricting her. Tears were running down her cheeks and getting mingled with the heavy raindrops. She willed herself to stand and to leave this wretched place but she couldn’t move, the truth of what she had to do froze her in place. The sacrifice she had to make too heavy to bear. To bring Jesse back she would need to agree to be a human host for Belial. And if she agreed who knew what would happen? Would they still be able to stop Belial from taking over this realm? Or would she be drowned in his darkness along with the rest of the world and she would be the one responsible for all the chaos? But she couldn’t go back now, not when she had gone this far. A sudden flash of lightning brought her back to reality and away from thoughts of sacrifice and necromancy. She lifted her head and through the rain made out a very faint, white, silhouette standing under the archway of the house. Jesse. Lucie stood upright, did her best to dry her tears, and slowly walked towards him. When she arrived under the archway she couldn't help but smile a little, although Jesse could have appeared in front of her in the rain he had decided to lead her somewhere shielded.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this yet.” Jesse started, keeping his distance.

“Like what? A drenched rat?” Lucie asked on the defensive, trying in vain to sort herself out. It wasn’t fair that he looked so beautiful with his perfect raven black hair while she looked like a mess.

Jesse leaned against the wall, giving a mirthless smile and pointed to the place she had fallen “No. Vulnerable. Unguarded. You always speak your mind but you are also always so lively, so put together.”

“If you think that, then you do not know me as well as you would like to think.” She said, still trying to untie the tangled mess her hair had become, at some point in her run the pins that were carefully holding up her hair had come loose.

Jesse looked out at the rain forming a curtain on both sides of the archway and let out a long sigh “Maybe not. Maybe we do not know each other at all.” He then turned his head, studying her “But would you do it? Are you that kind of person, Lucie Herondale?” At that Lucie realized that he had heard her and Grace talk, he knew the price. A lump started to form in her throat, what would he think of her if she was? Would he judge her?

“Did you know the price? Were you aware? Is that why you told me not to try?” Lucie asked.

“I …” he let out another sigh, looking at his feet, his black hair falling in front of his eyes “I didn’t know all of it, but I knew some things. I knew Belial had a plan with you and I knew I was involved. I just didn’t know what it was exactly. But I could guess, it wasn’t hard really. You have control over the dead so it wouldn’t be surprising if you could raise them as well. I just never thought he’d try to take over your body. I also knew that to bring me back someone would have to pay a high price but Lucie, that’s too high a price to pay.”

“So tell me what I am supposed to do Jesse!” she cried out “Because as far as I’m concerned you’re still a ghost and you’re becoming weaker by the day and it’s my fault.”

“It’s not your fault.” Jesse interjected, pushing himself off the wall and taking a step closer towards her.

“Yes, it is! You gave your last breath for my brother.” She subconsciously reached for the locket around her neck, the same locket he had given her to save James. “I cannot just stand by and do nothing.” Her words trembling, the tears she had tried so hard to hold back threatening to spill over.

“Lucie …” he said taking another step, for a moment he seemed to want to reach out to her before thinking better of it and keeping his hands by his side “Look at me, I am a ghost, a remnant of what I was, my life is barely worth living. Yours is barely beginning, you have a whole life ahead of you. Now compare both and think which one I would give up in a heartbeat.”

“I don’t think my life is worth much if you’re not in it. I don’t want to live with the knowledge that I could have done something to change things and give you the life you deserve.” Lucie murmured, taking another step, looking into his black eyes. They were standing so close now that despite the coldness emanating from his body, she felt her face flush as a tingle of desire ran down her spine. They had been dancing around these unspoken feelings for so long and here they were, at the edge of a monumental decision, in the middle of a downpour, and so close to confessing. Tolstoy, Lucie remembered, had once said that everything that he understood, he understood because he loved. She had wondered for a long time what he could possibly have been referring to, but now she imagined that she was close to understanding as well. The world, the risks, that one amber of hope that would push her forward to defy her own limits, all because of one boy with a cocky grin.

“You shouldn’t say that.” Jesse said without backing away “I asked you once to promise me you wouldn’t help. Do you remember that Lucie?”

She gave a humorless chuckle “I remember never agreeing to such a thing. I told you once I would always owe you. This is how I start repaying you.” She set her chin high as if she was daring him to disagree.

“Even if it might be with your own life, is that worth it?” he asked

“You are worth it to me.” Another near-confession, another step closer to the brink of no-return.

“You seem so certain.” He said absent-mindedly as if he couldn’t believe what she was saying.

“I am. My whole life, as long as I can remember I’ve always written princes on paper. They were part of a fantastical story; they were the fruit of my imagination. I never thought much about them, they had to be handsome and courageous, perfect, they had to fill in a role. I never thought I’d meet someone who could rival with my writing but I met you again and …” I think I’ve fallen for a ghost and that’s why you are worth it Lucie thought but did not dare to say out loud.

“And I’m your prince on paper?” he asked with a cheeky grin making Lucie flush.

“No.” she shook her head “You are so much more than that Jesse Blackthorn. They were never real, never touchable. I never could have written you. You are infinitely more complex than any fairy-tale princes or knights. And for that I want you to be here with me, real and touchable. I want you to be smiling and laughing with me, at me, I won’t care, as long as you’re flesh and bone and alive before me. And if that means that I have to agree to Belial’s plan then I will.”

“I want that too but who will stop him then Lucie? Me being alive and kicking won’t do much good if this world goes down in flames.”

“Then Cordelia and James and the others will find a way to help.”

“But what if they can’t Lucie?” Jesse argued, infuriating Lucie, he wasn’t going to make this easy for her, was he? “Your plan rests only on the hopes that everything goes well and in my experience, things don’t usually go well.” He had a point she thought.

“Then we will find a way, together. I will not be going in it blind,” she tried to reassure him “we’ll have a plan, which might have to involve revealing you to the others.” She had no idea how that conversation would go but if she was to agree to be Belial’s host the others had to know so they could devise a somewhat sound plan. She would have to explain the reason why she was doing it was to help a special ghost that she had befriended when she was little, and that no one could see, and that he happened to be the son of Tatiana Blackthorn. This would then eventually lead to a discussion on her abilities and black magic and defying the Clave and …

“Well, that guarantees to be entertaining,” Jesse said as if he could read her mind.

“Jesse,” Lucie reached out for his hand only to feel a cold empty mist, how she wished she could touch him “I’m so close to having you. I’m not giving up because I’m scared of my grandfather.”

“Well your grandfather happens to be one of the Princes of Hell, thief of realms, most people would be scared.” He pointed out.

“Yes, well, we have a legendary sword on our side. If anyone is scared it should be him.”

Jesse let out a small laugh “Just tell me this before I agree to this wildly irrational plan, is there any way for me to stop you?” he asked, honestly wondering if he could stop her.

“No, you can’t and I wouldn’t suggest you to try, you’d find yourself failing miserably.” She replied, smiling.

“Alright,” Jesse sighed “but just to be clear, I still think it is one of the worst decisions I’ve ever seen you make.”

“I never said it was a smart one.” Lucie grinned knowing that they would be alright. They would bring Jesse back and they would win against Belial. It would be hard and dangerous but they would do it together. They stood next to each other for a long time looking out at the rain and contemplating the potential impact their decision would lead to. After a while, a comfortable silence began to settle.

“You know, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry I’ve ruined your expectations of boys.” Jesse said with amusement, gazing at Lucie.

“You can ruin my expectations any day.” Lucie assured him with a wink while laughing. And as the blue sky slowly replaced the punishing rain Lucie’s heart felt in equal measures happiness and dread over what was coming their way.

End-note: One day I won’t put end-note anymore but here I just wanted give this to a few people who, unknowingly maybe, made sure that this got written, first @jesseblackthorns thanks for making me love Blackdale so much, this literally would not exist if you hadn’t been so enthusiastic, second @adrearner without your playlist this fic would have been very different so thank you for sharing even if you think your music taste is a mess, I like it! And last but not least @purplebass thanks for listening to me rant about writing, also thank you for helping me and not let this go into my archives

#i hope you guys enjoy it #let me know #the shaking while i post my writing will never really go away will it?#luwen dabbles in writing #that’s gonna be my writing tag #time for me to get to the lovely prompts i’ve received #aaaaah #blackdale #tlh #the last hours #blackdale fanfic #lucie herondale #jesse blackthorn #tlh fanfic #my writing #mine

55 notes · View notes

inventors-fair · 5 years ago

Text

Lessons Unlearned: Short Story Commentary and Reflection

Well. 21 entries isn’t exactly a 50+ commander extravaganza, but that’s where we’re at. This contest made a lot of sense to me, in my own head, and I think I got lost in the concept without considering the full execution, or that Other People Might Not Think Quite Exactly Like Me.

Still, I would say that almost all the entries created their own unique worlds, some plane-based, some personal, and it made for great and creative reading. I feel that something more concrete would help a contest like this in the future, like... Well, I’ll have to save that for another time.

Onto the commentary!

@abzanhero — Captain Morgan the Vengeful

The Card: It’s interesting design space you’re playing with here, and I’m actually a fan. You could pump him up to a 2/2 for a little battlefield presence, but it’s not out of the question. The fact that there’s not consistent graveyard tutelage means that he’s not as overpowered as he could be, and it’s only one counter, which... Admittedly, it’s powerful, but there are a few moving parts to make this less than incredibly overpowered. I’d rather the trigger happen at the end step for that “final fate” feel, personally. Minor templating: “shuffle it into your library” (only planeswalkers get personal pronouns), and I think contemporary design supports “when you do” as a trigger to respond to instead of “if you do.”

The Story: Ha, it rhymes! ... And yeah, it doesn’t precisely explain the ins and outs of the curse, but it’s swashbuckling as hell. It’s one degree off-kilter to have a rhyme that isn’t part of a meta-tale, but I like it, so. I can imagine younger players doing their best pirate voice as they shuffle him (the character, not the card, I know, pedantry) into their library. Arr.

@dimestoretajic — Eternal Bond

The Card: I had to go through the Zendikar image gallery to make sure, but yeah, “party members” isn’t a term. I believe this card would read “Exile two target creatures in a party. (reminder text)” And it would be “combined” toughness, right? Either way, this is a hyperspecific and expensive removal spell, at rare, with a modest amount of lifegain. That simply doesn’t feel good, and I’m not getting a feeling of a “bond” out of, well, a removal spell. Let’s move on.

The Story: So, a kind of love story, framed around a removal spell? That already doesn’t make a lot of sense. I don’t have anything positive to say about the writing itself, so for Magic critique, I’ll say that it doesn’t feel like a Magic card or part of a Magic world, absolutely not Zendikar. There’s a time and place for those kinds of cards, such as Cathartic Reunion and Planewide Celebration. But Magic doesn’t need single-card love stories, unless they’re remarkably well-written.

@fractured-infinity — Baddon, Rivstalt’s End

The Card: Okay, that IS a real town in Innistrad. Had to check that. Anyway, man, someone would love to make a commander out of this bad boy. Kinda eh that he doesn’t do anything specific on his own, but the death effect is cool as-is, I suppose. The only issue is that HOO BOY you are going to have a LOT of memory issues with all your Zombie tokens capital Z. It’s flavorful and I think it would be worth doing, but the second part... Nah, keep it simple. 3UB, no protection, just Zombies, and you’re golden.

The Story: I’m having a really hard time parsing your writing. It took a couple reads to understand that he’s talking about... Well, actually, I don’t know. What do emotional bonds have to do with taking the town, or damaging the bodies? How does that work? Do we get that anywhere else in the story? Hate to say it, but this little snippet doesn’t really make much sense in or out of context, without heavy inference about the world that we don’t really get.

@gollumni — Tempest Serpent

The Card: I love the idea of off-color emerge! Emerge was a fantastic mechanic and I feel that it could come back again. It creates some really neat draft ideas that unfortunately may bend a lot of the pie rules. But also. A three mana 3/3 flying hexproof? That’s OP at uncommon, no question, good lord. Small templating note: Flying comes before hexproof, and the second should be lowercase.

The Story: I can just see the art of a guy on a boat cowering as the ship snaps in half and a massive stormy elemental electric snake monster BLOWS UP outta the ocean ready to eat him. It’s cool how it’s not about the serpent itself, but rather the human/NPC interacting with the serpent. It’s not Hemingway, but you conveyed something great! I liked this story.

@i-am-the-one-who-wololoes — Gravedigger of the Order

The Card: I don’t get how all these parts come together. Pro zombies, sure, she’s a zombie caller. The blocking/blocked trigger, uh, I don’t see that coming up a lot considering that she’s only a 2/2 with no significant combat-oriented keywords. And the last ability implies a strong return mechanic that I’ll admit makes a lot of cool sense with your flavor but doesn’t translate to perfect gameplay. I don’t know, maybe I just don’t grok this card, but it feels like there was cohesion sacrificed in favor of flavor.

The Story: Well, this sure as heck ain’t Innistrad. I’m curious about where this would take place, and what kind of world you’re going for here. Let’s try looking at it from an isolated perspective. It’s an alright macabre story, so I’ll give you that. But the name. What is the “Order?” Is she part of it? Do all members of the order whisper to bones like her? I don’t understand her goals and motivations, what “kindness” she whispers, why the dead are coming back at all.

@ignorantturtlegaming — Demonic Mentor

The Card: It feels unplayable and yet extremely playable at the same time. It’s expensive and creates some really crazy shenanigans in Commander with surplus life. Oh my goodness, Oloro would LOVE this card, good GOD. It’s unfortunate that it does have to be costed this way and that it makes sense for a tutor. I believe the wording could be adjusted to one chunk of text: (using Covetous Urge and Thief of Sanity as references)

“Search target player’s library for up to X cards and exile them, then that player shuffles their library and you lose X life. You may cast those cards for as long as they remain exiled and you may spend mana as though it were mana of any color to cast those spells.”

The Story: I don’t get it. What does having a demonic mentor have to do with brother rescue? I assume this is part of a larger story, but we don’t have that story for context, and mentorship doesn’t have to do with rescue. This is a card about tutelage and power and losing life, not losing a mind. The library is so often represented as the mind, and you’re not losing that, you’re saving part of it. Really iffy on this one, despite the coolness of the card. Also, watch out - you switched tenses in the second sentence.

@macaroni-and-squeez — The Iroan Race

The Card: RRR for haste, sure, whatever, that’s fine in this day and age, if a little color-heavy. But this card isn’t meant for limited. This is a build-around-me if I ever saw one. “Four instances of haste”?? I don’t want to call that brilliant because it frustrates my sensibilities, but dammitall, it’s...it works. For those of you doubting me, the Zendikar Rising release notes for Attended Healer states “Multiple instances of lifelink on the same creature are redundant.” So, if that is to be believed, this card is designed for some combo player to go nuts with haste nonsense. Or maybe I’m just reading it wrong. Either way, I like this card. But I would make it win the game for you, not anyone else.

The Story: Sure, I’m into it. A guy running a race for Iroas checks out. I would have condensed it a little, but in general, yeah, it fits the world and makes a neat little story. I’m really hung up on the name “Kris.” That...doesn’t feel like a fantasy name as much. I mean, we have things like Gideon, and Judith, etc. but Kris? I can’t help but feel that it’s a smidge too out of touch with Theros worldbuilding. Yay, nitpicks.

@milkandraspberry — Burn Down the Library

The Card: Conceptually, this card is pretty cool. Very strange. It’s a different take on anti-blueness in red, and I can go for it. Sorry about MSE and fonts. Reinstallation is a pain but it’s possible. Anyway. I wouldn’t call this card a breakout all-star, but it would be...fun, I suppose. A good combat trick enchantment thing. Shame it doesn’t do much if you have an empty hand. With wording: Use “can’t” instead of “cannot cannot.” Use “cast blue spells” instead of “play;” that’s been phased out for a while. You also can’t discard spells, but you can discard blue CARDS. Question: what if you couldn’t cast blue spells from your hand? Eh? Eh? Flashback and madness? Ehhhhhh?

The Story: This time, I’ll give an example of how this could be shortened. “After years of fruitless study, the young scholar found a better use for her teacher’s wisdom.” Maybe “frustrated young scholar,” or something to give her motivation. Why is she burning down the library? That’s the most important question to ask. “Because she felt like it” is the obvious answer, but that’s not motivation, that’s not intrigue. We have to ask “why,” always. Your story makes sense, but it’s just on the brink of great characterization.

@nine-effing-hells — Arch-Evoker’s Capstone

The Card: I want to like it, and I probably do. I don’t know what kind of deck would play it, as it feels like a Commander card for sure, but yeah, I think I do like it. It’s got powerful stuff attached to it with very red sensibilities. The land destruction is pretty wild, but it’s expensive as hell. Or is it? Five mana to destroy two lands... That’s actually, hm. That’s actually really, really, super strong if this were to see any limited play. You may even have to make it XXRR to get around that if you want to keep that effect. Land destruction is unfun. (I <3 Ponza though, so)

The Story: With this specific card, I wouldn’t have recommended also adding three lines of flavor text on top of four paragraphs of rules text. Additionally, um, I don’t get that last line. “It wasn’t every day the horizon was on fire for a week straight”? It’s exerting too much effort without a strong effect on the reader. Edit and save for a card without as much rules text.

@partlycloudy-partlyfuckoff — Spiraling Depression

The Card: Buries? What opponent? Is this targeting? Is this an edict effect? Least power among creature they control, I assume? I legitimately don’t know what you’re trying to do with this card. Wretched Banquet-esque?

The Story: Instead of attempting to give this flavor text legitimate critique, I would instead advise you that referencing real-world conditions such as “spiraling depression” without a critical lens might appear as insensitive to individuals legitimately suffering from those conditions.

@reaperfromtheabyss — Blazing Sacrifice

The Card: I really love this card, actually. The choice to do CMC over power I would argue requires playtesting, and I would prefer power to compare to other cards in the family such as the lovely Fling, but I can see the argument against it. Yeah, not much to critique or add onto that front. You made a really great card mechanically.

The Story: And then the story lost me entirely. “monsters that would surely go on to destroy everything he loved” is clunky to say the least. “Surrounded by monsters” is fine, it’s decent, it gets the job done. Monsters are monsters, that’s that. But that last line. That’s...a D&D reference, right? I can’t take that seriously, I just can’t. It’s verging on cliche, and it makes sense on a rudimentary level but adds nothing to the Magic world. I’ll be the first to say that yes, it’s personal bias and that some players would appreciate the memetic qualities, but it simply doesn’t do it for me.

@scavenger98 — Walking Stick

The Card: It...is a stick. You know, I think I like this one, and frankly I would consider it for constructed play. I’m a Krenko guy, what can I say. But yeah, it’s fun, it’s fragile, it’s got good equip synergy, and I might actually be underestimating its power. I don’t know, is there some crazy combo that you could do with it? This stick is made for walking, not fighting. Heh. Good flavor tie.

The Story: And there it is, right? It’s kinda funny how it’s implied that the whole story about this thing is that this piece of equipment is breaking. And that’s kinda what makes me on the fence about it. Like, if you had a creature, and the text was about the creature dying, that wouldn’t make a lot of sense, right? Maybe if the text was about Bredik fearing the day when he WOULD face a sword? Eh, I’m just being picky here. I think that it’s still pretty good. I like Bredik. He’s not a fighter, but he walks very fast.

@tmstage — Rocks Fall, Everyone Dies

The Card: Yeah, once again, looking at Zendy Risey, I think the wording would be different than “full party.” I’ve been sitting here and I can’t come up with a better way to word it, but it still doesn’t mesh well even if it groks. And it’s a situational card that’s either going to do literally nothing or it’s going to destroy four creatures for one mana. That’s...not great. Hey. I understand if you don’t like a specific mechanic, but I’ve seen some really great ideas from your neck of the woods. Let’s keep going.

The Story: Technically, uh, this does not fit the criteria. Who was praying to the vengeful god? Was it the creatures in the other party? Is there a god of making rocks fall down? What’s up with the name, anyway? There’s a strong sense of disconnect and many questions that go unanswered. But considering all the factors that are going into this card, I have a feeling they aren’t really asking to be answered anyway.

@walker-of-the-yellow-path — Marathon of Mogis

The Card: Wow, I wasn’t expecting two Theros-themed God-themed enchantments that gave a number of creatures haste. Great minds and all. So, this card. I don’t think you need to reference the active player. The whole thing can be toned down a little. “At the beginning of each player’s combat (or end?) step, that player sacrifices all creatures they control that didn’t deal combat damage to a player this turn.” Keeping it simple. Honestly, though, I...am not sure I like it for four mana. It feels like a game-ender kind of card. Frankly, I would make it six. And I know that’s a lot and I know that it might be too much, but to be honest, this would be an unfun card otherwise, in my opinion. It’s really, REALLY powerful for a clock.

The story: Is that Mogis’ deal? Does he make people run? I checked the wiki and read through it all and I don’t understand why Mogis would get pleasure out of people not dying. The point of the stampedes and the destruction is to invoke slaughter and sacrifice, not to run humans to the bone. The ferocity of minotaurs is not sadistic. This feels like a Rakdos card — the cult, not the color combo. I feel that there was a misunderstanding.

@wolkemesser — Otherskin Scarecrow

The Card: I’ll go out on a limb and say that you could make this a little more Horizons-y and give this card Changeling instead of just saying it has all creature types. Could that make it a shapeshifter? Hm, what if, because it wears clothing from characters in the past, it also has the creature types of all creatures in graveyards? But I digress. Anyway, this card. It’s not bad! It’s not making me super excited, but it’s not bad. You meant for this to have a Reaper King vibe, right? Or at least to work well with it? I think you succeeded.

The Story: Love the first sentence, don’t quite understand the second one. My interpretation is that it’s taking skin from others, right? Well! Um! That’s actually scary and makes me miss the world of Lorwynmoor even moor. Er, more. It’s unfortunate that the mechanics of the card don’t necessarily depict “skinning intruders alive and taking their identity in a grotesque fashion” as much as I’d personally like. Still, that’s a risk, and you know what, the implications aren’t super strong but it’s enough for me to grok.

Once again, thank y’all for your entries. New contest tomorrow. Be prepared. Be scared. Be....ard.

-@abelzumi

#mtg #magic the gathering #custom magic card #contest #entries #short story #commentary #inventor's fair

17 notes · View notes

apictureisapoemwithoutwords · 5 years ago

Text

Be Careful That Which You Request.

“Eat the damn food!” Ӓr’kān’s growl is low, tone gravelly.

Ears and connecting fins pull back in her impatience, as he thrusts the plate with a fish across the bar top. At the hungry, stubborn moron sitting beside them.

“Bought it ‘so you’d fuckin’ eat an’ quit gawkin’ at my supper.”

Ӓr’kān speaks, before going on to chow down on their own Giant Redlina, about almost done. As she observes Śhadō who is quiet again.

This time peering at the extra plate. Like the dead aquatic, grew two more head’s. Right before those beautiful shiny black faded dark emerald green and peach-pink eyes.

It’s taken Ӓr’kān a moment to figure out the differences in their species’ ways of expressing things. More so than it was even close to hard trying to understand the Lepíspterón language, with no working translation between their species.

Again, just another of the million reasons to love being an Aquatic, Ӓkˈtäˈpəd. It took their species little to learn unfamiliar languages, and almost all of them were pronounceable through their speech.

The Lepíspterón Tribe, Pectō Victima, or at least this single-member named Śhadō wasn’t doing half bad himself. He still stumbled on Ӓkˈtäˈpə words that had no equivalent translation in his dialect or any dialect or primary language known to their species; as far as either was aware of...

Śhadō’s antennae pulled up in alert, then drew backwards towards their false feather scale pony. Before he pulled them closer to his head, in mock anger; antennae almost now hidden in the feathers.

The period of silence broke between them as he spoke up in his native dialect. “Śhadō will take no such-”

… Making it even more fun for this Aquatic when their Insectoid attempted to mimic whatever Ӓr’kān attempted to say. And what she’d said was uncivilized. Something about the Lepíspterón or his thieving Moth subgroup or even his war made siblings and Śhadō; even as stuck up and nasty hearted as he’d described his culture as did not have in their native tongue.

“- fuck’ing actions!” and finished in Ӓkˈtäˈpə, with his upper lip stretched up over sharp, serrated black teeth; to bear his annoyance, rather than any genuine anger directed at Ӓr’kān.

Which reminded him of the species Selakē; whose Kiŋdəm had been to the right of her own. A best friend in honourment of their species they’ve not seen since forced to flee their home and all those she loved.

Looking as the Pectō Victima’s stunned silence in the wake of being thrown off by the show of affection and hospitality’s had warned off. Ӓr’kān prepared for the shit storm he will throw in its wake.

Affection had been something shocking to learn Śhadō nor any of his species held a previous history. It was just everything Ӓr’kān grew up on had been about devotion, tenderness and the respect between family and for your people. She had felt as if he had been the only one of their species to have an ugly and dark side.

Even with her Octopade parents not being as prevalent within his life. They’d always had her older Octopade sibling to love him, and then she got to love a wonderful little codling sibling. When everything Ӓr’kān had ever held, gone. It was the Ratz who had taken that job of comfort and affection. Before that dark hole devoured everything, creating this being, this them they called, Bounty Hunter Ӓr’kān.

Although, after having learned about what Lepíspterón’s siblings were like, what one had done to him and with all the stories forced fed into making Pectō Victima who he is today. On top of Śhadō's personality, engraving betrayal, from his own family. It was no wonder the chaotic, nasty, fluffy gremlin did not understand what it was like to have anybody genuinely care about them. Or to sprinkle you with pleasant things without needing that suspicion of ulterior motives connected to keep you alive.

Though, in all the time that this Ӓkˈtäˈpəd had known them. Never stopped Śhadō from being someone with an abundance of love to give. And for somebody who’d never known it existed or experienced it. The crazy bastard’s reverence and care for his insect pets were some of the deepest of ties.

Ties, Ӓr’kān has only ever seen between Ӓkˈtäˈpəd Ŕȯiəl siblings. It went beyond the willingness to die or live to protect and love them and to think this overgrown moth did it all for these tiny squishy unintelligent creatures.

It is too bad for everybody else. - Notably, those Śhadō defined as Humanoid, which was everything and anybody. Something Ӓr’kān is slowly trying to fix, as they had no idea what that species is. Outside, the fairy tales told in space of a horrible cryptic race that as far as anybody knows doesn’t even exist. - Were not worthy of that love, them being included it seemed for some universal awful reason.

So it is a splendid thing Ӓr’kān, thought, she defied all common logic and universal truths and could be just as stupidly obstinate as he ~ or just plain stupid, depends on whoever you asked. That he knew the two of them would work. If nothing else, she’d become the only friend this grumpy killer thief has ever or may ever have to trust.

Snarling back at Śhadō; which is not a normal sound for a Ӓkˈtäˈpəd, and had been something she’d picked up aboard Ratz. Ӓr’kān spoke up, “Fine, starve, I’ll eat yo’r food too,” and turned away to do just that. As he bluntly ignored the most adorable sound Ӓr’kān’s ever heard.

An offended high pitched squeaking or squeaking for any reason should be illegal. They should have the right to arrest, detain and devour Śhadō in -

Thoughts of unholiness screeched to a halt. As a large, warm, looming body shoved Ӓr’kān aside. Forcing her to grip the other side of the bar top, to keep from falling off the stool.

“HaA’A~”

Their voice pitching high, choked off mid surprise, as three cool metal digits from the thief’s prosthetic arm wrapped around their wrist, moving her hand away from Ӓr’kān’s mouth.

All eight of their eyes attempted to see what the other was doing. But Śhadō’s magnificent form blocked their view. He could only sense a heavy rhythmic heat ghosting over her hand for a split moment, before. …

The noise of flesh and tendons being torn, bone being crushed covered the atmospheric sounds of the shady Bounty bar they were in.

Alerting not only the other living things, but Ӓr’kān. Before the sickening splosh of blood pouring over-the-counter cuts off the rest of the room, daring to continue on with what they’re doing.

At first, the Aquatics whole being is in shock with the actions of Śhadō. The pain hasn’t really caught up to him, and then it does, and the scream sticks to the rear of Ӓr’kān’s throat. Along with the failure of words, at having a piece of themselves stolen, with the fish she’d been holding.

It’s not until Śhadō’s noisily devouring his meal filters in. That Ӓr’kān’s wide eyes dart up from the missing extremity to glance at their companion. Whose lightly furred black cheeks bulge with his fresh mouthful. Lips, chin and parts of the omnivorous moth’s cheeks stained in the purple essence of a Ӓkˈtäˈpəd’s bodily existence, that she snaps out of their stunned silence.

“THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!?” The screech of vocals a decibel close enough to shatter glass.

Śhadō jumps, large four wings spreading out slightly as their chest puffs out to make them look larger, as their eyes widen in shock, antennae now laying across their head and tucked away in their plumes in aggression. Looking close to jumping right through, Ӓrˈ’kān; who craves nothing more at this moment than beat the other into a gory pulp, before revising that plan.

She brought this upon himself challenging a being as twisted up inside like this.

Instead, they concentrate on the original issue.

Vocals low and gravely again, yet still yelled in anger. “GIVE THAT BACK!” All thoughts to why the Bounty Hunter would not wish the piece back far from their thoughts.

The six-foot beast towering over their barley 5’11 height, even standing a stool away, is back to chewing contentedly. Looking so very proud of himself at the moment. That has Ӓrˈkān rendered speechless, again. Before reeling back, repulsed. As Śhadō takes the fish and their extra webbed finger bits. Wrapped in his long tubular tongue and rolls it out to reveal to all those who are observing.

“Y’r’an animal.” The words are, however, tainted with affection rather than any anger or disgust that should rightfully be there. But . . .

Ӓrˈkān understands. Not only is this like some adorable display of pride, that knows no term of interpretation for, but it’s also a display of glory to this war created creature.

Of course, there’s no reaction to her words. As they place the meal back where it belongs and promptly swallowed; as earlier demanded of Śhadō.

It’s twisted, they know, to consider Lepíspterón’s display as a form of love. Expressing that now Ӓr’kān belongs to Śhadō, as well.

Putting information down here again, to keep above clean.

We are not even going to pretend we are going to make the prompts for Halloween, anymore. Just no time.

So, today’s pretend prompt is Fights, Food, Shady Business, Moths and Octopus. ;)

There are my IZ created OC’s for my Au’s. They both have detailed species bios. More so for my Moth child.

Meet X Prinˈses Ӓr’kānia, known now as Bounty Hunter Ӓr’kān - Of the species Ӓkˈtäˈpəd from an Aquatic planet called, Süər. Using She/Him/Them pronouns. Affiliated with The Resisty, The Resistance & The Bounty Association.

And their trusty Moth menace Śhadō, of the insectoid species Lepíspterón, born within the War Bred Tribe Pectō Victima. Off their homeworld forest, Hālünä on a rainforest planet called Tsəlaveh. Refers to self as Male. Affiliated with nobody except Bounty Hunter Ӓr’kān and Folk Healer Green Witch X-invader Kravis. Occupation Thief and Murder.

Thinking of adding a short character bio for them here, and a summary of their species.

#Invader Zim Oc #Original Character #Alien Oc #Insect Oc #Aquatic Oc #Moth Alien #Octopus Alien #Created for the IZ Universe #Invader Zim #Mi Tales #// Please Tags work. //

7 notes · View notes

the-stories-in-my-head-95 · 6 years ago

Text

The Time of Legends

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary- You have lived alone in your family’s cottage since your family died of the sweating sickness last winter. So when a man dressed in the king’s colors shows up bleeding on your door step it’s up to you to save him.

Message- This is sorta a king Arthur au thing, where Bucky is a knight of the round table. This is a one-shot but I will take ko-fi bribes for a part two!

Warnings- injury, reader’s family is dead.

Word Count- 1257

Silence. That’s all there ever was, ever since your family died last winter. There was the occasional breeze that rustled the leaves on the trees, or an animal that has wondered out of the thicket of the forest, and if you stand at the edge of the forest you could hear the babble of a nearby brook.

So when the day came that you heard the load clomping of a horse, you ran out your front door. You pause in shock, your brain having trouble processing the scene in front of you. There was a man bleeding and hanging from a large brown horse.

“H-help.” The man slurs as you run towards him. You help him to his feet, allowing him to put most of his weight against your body. “I-I need help.”

“It’s okay.” You murmur as you help him into your cottage. “I will help you.”

“T-Tha-.” The man tries to say.

“Shh, do not speak. You need to rest.” You say as you start to check his wounds. After a little while his eyes drift shut, but his breaths are steady so you are not too worried. It takes a little while, but eventually you get the bleeding to subside. Most of the blood had been from a wound from his shoulder.

You then leave the man to rest and go out to check if his horse was still there. To your surprise he was, so you walk him in to your barn that had sat empty for many years and you give him some hay and water. Then you check his saddles pouch for anything that may help you identify him, it’s then that you notice the kings seal on the saddle. So the man in your bed was either a thief or a knight.

****

It takes several days for the man to rouse, but when he does it’s with a jolt.

“You need to lie back down.” You whisper, as you gently push on the man’s shoulder.

“Where am I?” He asks. “How did I get here?”

“You were injured, I know not how.” You say, giving the man a cup of water. “You are currently in my cottage. You showed up on your horse, bloody and asking for help.”

“Thank you.”

“May I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“What is your name?” You ask. “I have been referring to you as ‘the man’ in my head these past few days.”

“My name is Sir James Barnes, but you, my lady, can call me Bucky. May I have your name?”

“I am Y/N.”

“Who lives in this home with you Y/N, a husband perhaps?”

“I have no husband.” You say, giving Bucky a sad smile. “My family died last winter.”

“I am sorry for your loss.” Bucky says.

“Thank you.” You murmur. “I need to tend to some things, will you be alright by yourself for a little while?”

“Let me help you.” Bucky says, moving to get out of bed.

“You need to rest.” You say, firmly. “For at least another week.”

“Very well.” Bucky says, smiling at you.

****

Bucky doesn’t leave after a week, he stays and helps you around the cottage. Over the next several months the two of you fall into a pattern of simple domesticity and you love every second of it. But you know deep in your soul that it will not last. The man you love is a knight, destined for greatness and he will have to return to his king eventually.

“I’ll have to leave this place soon.” Bucky says one night over dinner. You just nod, not trusting yourself to speak. “I-I was hoping that you would come with me- to Camelot. I think that you could be very happy there- I think that I could make you happy. I would like for you to be my wife- if you’ll allow it.”

“Y-you want to marry me?” You stammer out.

“There is nothing I want more.” Bucky says, smiling at you.

“What about the cottage?” You ask, the thought suddenly popping into your head.

“I will send someone to see to its upkeep.” Bucky says and you nod.

“Alright.” You say. “I-I’ll come with you.”

“You’ll marry me?” Bucky asks.

“Yes.” You say. “I will.” With that Bucky suddenly stands from his place at the table and moves towards you, picking you up into a hug before spinning you around.

“You have made me the happiest man alive, today.” Bucky says, still holding you against his chest.

****

The two of you leave a week later, stopping only to be married at a small church the two of you find in the country side. But after that the two of you head strait to Camelot on the back of Bucky’s horse.

“I should have wrote him.” Bucky murmurs as the two of you enter the cities gates. “They probably all think I’m dead.”

“There was no way to get the letter to them.” You say, trying to soothe your husband’s nerves. You look around, marveling at the beauty that was Camelot. It takes nearly half of an hour to get to the front of the castle, and once you do you notice a small group standing there, waiting.

“Here we go.” Bucky says under his breath as he jumps off of the horse, he then turns and lifts you off as well.

“Damn, you are alive. Now I owe Samuel a pint.” A man wearing a knight’s uniform says.

“You should know by now to never bet against me Clint.” Bucky says, laughing a bit.

“Sir James.” A commanding voice says, causing the small crowd to quiet down. “It is good to see you alive and well.”

“My King.” Bucky says, smirking a bit as he bows to the man you know is his best friend. “It is good to be back. May I introduce you to my wife, Lady Y/N?” As he says your name you curtsy, but you stay silent.

“It seems you have been busy in your time away, my friend.” King Steven says, as he smiles at you.

“Indeed, I have, my King.” Bucky says. “And I promise to tell you all about my adventures later, but first I would like to show my wife to our chambers. It has been a long journey.”

“Of course.” King Steven says, moving slightly to allow the two of you past him.

“You have a room in the castle?” You whisper as Bucky leads you down a hallway.

“I do, I also have an estate nearby. But it is easier to fulfill my duties to the crown from here.” Bucky explains and you stop walking. Bucky looks at you, concern filling his eyes. “Are you alright, my love?”

“I-It’s just a lot to process.” You murmur. “I’ve barely ever left that cottage and now you’re telling me I am to live in a castle? It feels like a fairy tale.”

“So does that make this our happily ever after?” Bucky asks, smiling down at you.

“I suppose it does.” You say, leaning into your husband a bit as you do he kisses the top of your head.

“I love you.” Bucky murmurs, his lips still resting on your forehead.

“As I love you.” You say back. “Now take me to our bed husband.”

“If you insist.” Bucky says, chuckling a bit as he leads you down the rest of the hallway and into the room were you would live at least part of the rest of your lives together.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #winter solider imagine #winter solider x reader #avengers imagine #royalty au #King Arthur AU

441 notes · View notes

coralstories · 5 years ago

Text

An Unexpected Arrival: Chapter Two

Word Count: 2500

It’s another “main character shows up in Mirkwood and has to figure out how to survive”, but this time with my OC Aurelia Castillo and she freaks out first. Have fun laughing at her!

A/N: These first couple chapters are slow but it picks up eventually. I hope anyone who reads this loves Lia as much as I love her. Bolded text is still a different language, text in italics are still thoughts.

Warnings: still some cursing I think, but other than that not really.

Legolas gestured for her to go ahead. “Emlithor will lead the way.”

Aurelia turned and looked at the elf Legolas referred to. It was the fair-haired, blue-eyed elf who had almost slapped her and who she had threatened to maim. She narrowed her eyes at him, but he remained stoic. He turned around and led them down a series of hallways, where Aurelia caught glimpses of the sky. They finally arrived in front of a tall, simple wooden door. Emlithor pushed open the door and stood to one side.

“This will be your room,” Legolas said. “Emlithor, please get her some proper clothing.”

Emlithor’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked at Aurelia, trying to determine her size. Aurelia was taller than the average height for girls her age, but elven women were much taller than her.

“If you don’t have anything small enough, just grab whatever, it’s fine,” Aurelia told him.

Emlithor left, and to avoid looking at Legolas, Aurelia searched the room. It looked comfortable enough. It had a large canopy bed in the middle with two side tables. There were tall candle holders in all four corners, an elegant lounge sofa, and a vanity against one wall. There was a door next to the vanity, and a closet against the other wall. The color scheme was a soft cream and dull green, with spots of wood as accents. It was beautiful. Aurelia went to the bed and touched the comforter, finding it soft and light.

But there were no windows. There were no windows, there were no handles on the inside of the door, and she didn’t even want to look in the closet. Even if there were clothes in it none of those clothes were hers. In fact, none of this was hers.

She realized how very far from home she was, and how alone she was. Her eyes teared up. She pulled the cloak closer around her and tried not to think of her dad, or her friends at school, or Ingram. Legolas distracted her for a moment as he began to speak.

“My father will summon you to the throne room again soon,” he said. “I suggest you go to him immediately when he does. There are several common rooms and libraries here that you may visit, as well as a dining hall. But you may not leave the palace, both for your safety and our security.”

Aurelia sat on the bed and tried to muffle her sobs. She kept her hand over her mouth and her head down. She couldn’t hide the way her shoulders shook or the way her breathing became unsteady.

“What’s wrong?” Legolas asked.

Aurelia shook her head and turned further away from him. She didn’t want blond Orlando Bloom to see her crying.

“Are you crying?” Legolas asked.

He moved closer to her and peered around to see her face. Aurelia hurriedly tried to calm her breathing and stop crying. Legolas reached out a hand and started to pull her hair away from her face. Aurelia smacked his hand away and turned to glare at him. Then he could see the fresh tears on her cheeks and her red-rimmed eyes. A few strands of hair stuck to her forehead, and she still had leaf remnants in her hair and clothes. When he saw all this, his eyes softened. He realized how young she was. Aurelia knew what he was thinking, and it didn’t help her. Her eyes filled with tears again, and she started crying anew. Her whole body shook and she was bent almost in half.

“What is it?” Legolas asked. “Are you hurt? Can I get you some water?”

Aurelia shook her head and tried her best to calm down. She tried to take deep breaths, tried not to focus on whether she would ever see her family again. Instead, she focused on what she was going to do right now, tonight. Legolas walked to the door Aurelia had not looked in yet and opened it. She heard water running, and then Legolas stepped out of the side room in time to see Emlithor enter the main room. Emlithor looked at Aurelia in surprise. Legolas went to Emlithor and whispered something to him. Emlithor left again, leaving Legolas with Aurelia.

“Aurelia,” Legolas said. “It is Aurelia, isn’t it?”

Aurelia nodded.

“I’ve started a bath for you, why don’t you go ahead and take it? I must go now, I have other matters to tend to. Tauriel will be here soon, you remember her, right?”

Aurelia nodded again. “Yes, I’m sorry, please go. Don’t mind me.”

She attempted to laugh. Legolas looked at her with a frown one last time, before he left. Aurelia continued to take deep breaths for another minute, then got up to explore the side room. It was definitely a bathroom, with a marble bathtub and sink, and a rack for towels that also had candles set on it. There was a hook behind the door, so that is where Aurelia put the cloak Tauriel had lent her. She put her swimsuit and scarf below the towels. The tub was only half full, but Aurelia got in any way, sinking down as far as she could go. She wrapped her arms around her legs and stayed like that until someone turned the water off. She looked up to see Tauriel. The red-haired elf woman smiled at her.

“Emlithor told me you were upset,” Tauriel said, sitting on the edge of the tub.

“I’m sorry I cursed at you earlier,” Aurelia said. “Not at them, just at you. I’m really scared and confused, so…”

“You seemed very angry,” Tauriel commented.

“I was very angry. I don’t want to be in Mirkwood, and I still don’t know how I got here.” Aurelia sighed. “I’m going to kill whoever did this.”

“So you are still angry?” Tauriel handed her a sponge and some soap.

“Only a little bit. I’m more sad than angry now. I started thinking about my family, and how… I might n-not see them again.”

“I do not think the king will keep you prisoner without good reason,” Tauriel said reassuringly. “And you don’t seem like a spy or a thief to me.”

“Even if he lets me go, Tauriel,” Aurelia tried to explain. “I wouldn’t leave. I can’t leave. I’d have no place to go.”

“But you just said you had a family--”

“It’s hard to explain,” Aurelia said, rubbing her temples. “I do have a family, but they are not anywhere near here.”

“Are you from Gondor?”

Aurelia snorted.

“Rohan?”

Aurelia rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“You can’t be from the Shire.”

“No, but I wish.”

“Are you from somewhere near the Blue Mountains?”

The name sounded vaguely familiar to Aurelia, but that didn’t matter. She shook her head.

“The lands to the east?”

“No. A bit farther away, I think.”

Tauriel handed her a towel as she looked up, deep in thought. Aurelia took it and began to dry herself off.

“Are you from Middle Earth?” Tauriel asked softly.

Aurelia slowed her movements, trying to think of the best way to answer her. She didn’t want to lie to her, she did want to tell her. But, she knew that if Thranduil thought Tauriel knew where the strange girl was from, and Aurelia wouldn’t say, Thranduil would order Tauriel to talk and Tauriel would. Aurelia didn’t want to tell Thranduil that she wasn’t from this earth because she felt he would react in one of two ways: he would believe her and think she was some sort of alien, strange creature, and go crazy, or he wouldn’t believe her and accuse her of lying which meant she was hiding something. Aurelia sighed. Perhaps honesty was the best policy; she wasn't even making sense to herself at this point. Even if Thranduil didn’t believe her, she had to try to find a way back home. She knew that as soon as Ingram realized she was missing, she would try to figure out how to bring her home too.

“No,” she finally said in answer to Tauriel’s question.

Tauriel didn’t say anything for a moment. She only looked long and hard at Aurelia and tried to contain her emotions. Tauriel walked out of the bathroom, gesturing for Aurelia to follow.

“Emlithor laid your clothes out on your bed,” Tauriel said.

“Thank you,” Aurelia said quietly.

Tauriel walked to the door and closed it, then turned around to Aurelia. Aurelia started to dress slowly, waiting for Tauriel’s reaction to her revelation. Emlithor had given her a green and brown cotton dress with long flowing sleeves. The skirt was just a bit too long for her. There was also a long leather cord.

“You are not from this world?” Tauriel asked quietly, her eyebrows shooting up.

“Not this one,” Aurelia confirmed. She gathered up about an inch of the skirt around her hips and used the leather to tie it in place.

“Where are you from, then?” Tauriel sounded almost excited.

“Um… I’m not sure what it is in relation to this world, but we just call it Earth. I live in a country called the United States of America.”

“Is it like this one?”

“You only exist in stories.” Wow, that was blunt.

“Elves, you mean?” Tauriel asked hesitantly.

Aurelia hesitated again. “Well, yes, but I meant you, and Legolas, and Thranduil, and Mirkwood. There are stories about you.”

“Stories?” Tauriel looked amazed for a second, but then she registered Aurelia’s tone and expression. “I assume that’s not a good thing? You don’t mean stories as in tales recalling our great deeds?”

“No, I mean…” Aurelia was unsure whether she should continue, then forged onward. “I mean you are not real in my world. You are supposed to be a piece of fiction. That’s the only reason I knew I was in Mirkwood; because I’ve seen it before in pictures.”

“And you recognized us in the forest.”

Aurelia nodded.

“That explains your reaction then,” Tauriel sighed. “I really did think you were going mad for a moment.”

“I’m not sure I haven’t,” Aurelia said.

Tauriel refocused on Aurelia’s face. She grabbed a comb from one of the side tables and began to comb through Aurelia’s hair for her. Aurelia relaxed slightly at her gentle touch. It was nice to know that Tauriel was as kind as she was in the movies.

“You need to get back to your family,” the elf woman said. “I will help you.”

“You’re taking this rather well,” Aurelia commented dryly.

Tauriel shrugged. “Even if I am not real in your world, we are in my world now, and I am very real.”

“True enough. Did you mean what you said then? You’ll help me?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you so much!” Aurelia said and embraced the elf woman.

Tauriel laughed. “You’re welcome.”

“I thought there might be something in the library.”

“You’ve already thought about this?”

“Well, I had a few moments on the walk here and from the forest,” Aurelia said with a wink. “Can we have dinner first though? I’m starving!”

After dinner, Aurelia got distracted by a room full of fabrics and sewing supplies. She gathered up a couple of yards and a basket full of supplies to keep herself busy for the next few days. Then Tauriel led the way to the library. When they stepped over the threshold, Aurelia stopped short. She looked over the room in wonder. It wasn’t just one room; Aurelia could see many doors and entryways branching off in every direction. The chandelier-covered ceiling was high, and the shelves reached all the way to the top. There were quite a few elves roaming the shelves or reading at the various tables situated in the rooms.

“This kind of makes me wish I’d been kidnapped here a lot earlier,” Aurelia murmured.

She set her basket down at the door and walked quickly between the shelves. Tauriel was a few steps behind her. Aurelia walked the aisles and climbed ladders to find books that were relevant. There weren’t very many titles in the common tongue, but Aurelia did her best to figure them out. Whenever she couldn’t tell what a book was about, she asked Tauriel.

“What does this say?” the girl said quietly.

She tilted the book, and Tauriel glanced at the cover.

“These are love poems.”

“Oh. Don’t need this, then,” Aurelia said, and replaced the volume.

“Do you not enjoy love poems?” Tauriel asked.

“Hm? Oh sure. Especially the really good ones. When we get back to my room remind me to tell you one or two of my favorites. That aside, I need books for research, not for—” Aurelia stopped.

“What is it?”

A thought had occurred to Aurelia. She turned around and picked up the book of poems. Perhaps there was a story in it like hers that was taken as fiction. She explained this to Tauriel, who then narrowed down the genre of books they should be looking for. They searched for books about magic, earthly and heavenly sciences, strange phenomena, myths, and legends. After filling two large baskets, Aurelia decided that that should be enough for now. They thanked the librarian, and they headed back to her room. When they got there, they found Emlithor and Legolas waiting inside. Aurelia set down her basket of sewing supplies near the vanity, then took the two baskets of books from Tauriel. She didn’t acknowledge the other elves’ presence other than to smile slightly in their direction.

“Wow this is heavy,” Aurelia commented to Tauriel.

Emlithor stepped forward and took one of the baskets.

“Where would you like me to put this?” he asked.

Aurelia smiled brightly. “Just at the side of the bed, at the end, please. Thank you!”

Once that was done, Aurelia turned to Emlithor and stared at him.

“Is your name really Emlithor?”

Emlithor glanced at Legolas before answering. “Yes.”

Aurelia tilted her head and stared at him for a few seconds. She pursed her lips and shook her head, seeming to come to a decision.

“No. I think I’m going to call you Ben,” she said.

Emlithor was taken aback.

“Ben? Why?” he asked.

“Because there’s a boy I know named Ben, and he’s really nice,” Aurelia said as if it made perfect sense.

“Aurelia,” Legolas said.

He wondered why she hadn’t said anything to him yet. Was she embarrassed that she had cried in front of him earlier?

“Yes?” Aurelia responded.

“My father would like to see you now,” the prince said.

“Oh.” Aurelia’s shoulders dropped. “I suppose it wouldn’t matter if I said I was extremely tired, and I was about to collapse in that bed?”

“No. Come,” Legolas said firmly.

He took her arm and started to lead her out.

“I remember the way!” she hissed and pulled her arm away.

“Do you?” Legolas said, raising his eyebrows in disbelief.

“No.” She smiled. “But I can walk by myself, at least.”

#the hobbit #the hobbit fanfiction #oc #original character #falling into middle earth trope #writing #my writing #stories #aurelia castillo #legolas greenleaf #tauriel #thranduil #mirkwood #an unexpected arrival

12 notes · View notes

ozarkhealingtraditions · 6 years ago

Text

From the Archives: The Razorback

Across the world, the wild boar and feral pig (two distinct critters though often overlapping in legend) have been scaring hunters shitless for centuries. As a fiercely aggressive animal it’s no wonder there are so many legends surrounding the beast. Ozarkers inherited much of their razorback lore from their Appalachian ancestors, who most likely their tales over with them from Europe. There are very few indigenous tales and beliefs surrounding the wild pig and wild boar, as they are not native to the Americas, and were introduced by the Spanish in the 16th century. Often indigenous stories of bear hunts merged with wild pig hunts after introduction to North America as the two animals were both famously feared by hunters. Across Europe, however, there are tons of legends about the fierceness of boars and the danger of boar hunts. The animal almost reached the status of deity for many people, rightly so, early on in our history when on the boar hunt it’s the decisions of boar that determines whether or not you die. There are two different Stone Age European burial sites that include boar tusks as a part of the grave goods, showing the spiritual importance of the animal to our ancestors. One is the Bad Dürrenberg grave, the other is at Upton Lovell. Often the hero of a legend will need to face off with a boar in order to continue their quest, as in the Welsh tale from the Mabinogion where Culhwch seeks to win the hand of his beloved Olwen. Olwen’s father, Ysbaddaden, is a giant who issues Culhwch with a lengthy list of ridiculously difficult tasks to fulfill before he can marry Olwen. The final tasks are to cut Ysbaddaden’s hair and shave off his beard. The giant’s beard was so tough that to soften it Culhwch had to obtain the blood of the Black Witch. And the only thing sharp enough to cut the beard was the tusk of the wild boar Ysgithyrwn. After killing this boar, Culhwch (with help from his cousin Arthur), had to get the only scissors and comb up to the task of dealing with the giant’s hair. These just happened to be between the ears of Twrch Trwth, an Irish king who had been transformed into an irate boar with poisonous bristles. In Greek mythology killing the mythic Erymanthian Boar was one of the Twelve Labors of Hercules. In Norse mythology the golden-bristled boar Gullinbursti was friend to the god Freyr:

“Sindri laid a pigskin in the hearth and bade Brokkr blow, and did not cease work until he took out of the hearth that which he had laid therein. But when he went out of the smithy, while the other dwarf was blowing, straightway a fly settled upon his hand and stung: yet he blew on as before, until the smith took the work out of the hearth; and it was a boar, with mane and bristles of gold. … Then Brokkr brought forward his gifts: … to Freyr he gave the boar, saying that it could run through air and water better than any horse, and it could never become so dark with night or gloom of the Murky Regions that there should not be sufficient light where he went, such was the glow from its mane and bristles.” In the Appalachian and Ozark mountains tales about pig or razorback hunts abound. It seems like every hunter has a story about the pig that nearly killed him. Usually these stories are recounted in great detail around a big fire, slowly cooking the very pig in the story. In one story the razorback even merges with the European bogeyman named “Bloody Bones”. Here’s the story as retold by S.E. Schlosser: Way back in the deep woods there lived a scrawny old woman who had a reputation for being the best conjuring woman in the Ozarks. With her bedraggled black-and-gray hair, funny eyes – one yellow and one green – and her crooked nose, Old Betty was not a pretty picture, but she was the best there was at fixing what ailed a man, and that was all that counted. Old Betty’s house was full of herbs and roots and bottles filled with conjuring medicine. The walls were lined with strange books brimming with magical spells. Old Betty was the only one living in the Hollow who knew how to read; her granny, who was also a conjurer, had taught her the skill as part of her magical training. Just about the only friend Old Betty had was a tough, mean, ugly old razorback hog that ran wild around her place. It rooted so much in her kitchen garbage that all the leftover spells started affecting it. Some folks swore up and down that the old razorback hog sometimes walked upright like man. One fellow claimed he’d seen the pig sitting in the rocker on Old Betty’s porch, chattering away to her while she stewed up some potions in the kitchen, but everyone discounted that story on account of the fellow who told it was a little too fond of moonshine. “Raw Head” was the name Old Betty gave the razorback, referring maybe to the way the ugly creature looked a bit like some of the dead pigs come butchering time down in Hog-Scald Hollow. The razorback didn’t mind the funny name. Raw Head kept following Old Betty around her little cabin and rooting up the kitchen leftovers. He’d even walk to town with her when she came to the local mercantile to sell her home remedies. Well, folks in town got so used to seeing Raw Head and Old Betty around the town that it looked mighty strange one day around hog-driving time when Old Betty came to the mercantile without him. “Where’s Raw Head?” the owner asked as he accepted her basket full of home-remedy potions. The liquid in the bottles swished in an agitate manner as Old Betty said: “I ain’t seen him around today, and I’m mighty worried. You seen him here in town?” “Nobody’s seen him around today. They would’ve told me if they did,” the mercantile owner said. “We’ll keep a lookout fer you.” “That’s mighty kind of you. If you see him, tell him to come home straightaway,” Old Betty said. The mercantile owner nodded agreement as he handed over her weekly pay. Old Betty fussed to herself all the way home. It wasn’t like Raw Head to disappear, especially not the day they went to town. The man at the mercantile always saved the best scraps for the mean old razorback, and Raw Head never missed a visit. When the old conjuring woman got home, she mixed up a potion and poured it onto a flat plate. “Where’s that old hog got to?” she asked the liquid. It clouded over and then a series of pictures formed. First, Old Betty saw the good-for-nothing hunter that lived on the next ridge sneaking around the forest, rounding up razorback hogs that didn’t belong to him. One of the hogs was Raw Head. Then she saw him taking the hogs down to Hog-Scald Hollow, where folks from the next town were slaughtering their razorbacks. Then she saw her hog, Raw Head, slaughtered with the rest of the pigs and hung up for gutting. The final picture in the liquid was the pile of bloody bones that had once been her hog, and his scraped-clean head lying with the other hogsheads in a pile. Old Betty was infuriated by the death of her only friend. It was murder to her, plain and simple. Everyone in three counties knew that Raw Head was her friend, and that lazy, hog-stealing, good-for-nothing hunter on the ridge was going to pay for slaughtering him.

Now Old Betty tried to practice white conjuring most of the time, but she knew the dark secrets too. She pulled out an old, secret book her granny had given her and turned to the very last page. She lit several candles and put them around the plate containing the liquid picture of Raw Head and his bloody bones. Then she began to chant: “Raw Head and Bloody Bones. Raw Head and Bloody Bones.” The light from the windows disappeared as if the sun had been snuffed out like a candle. Dark clouds billowed into the clearing where Old Betty’s cabin stood, and the howl of dark spirits could be heard in the wind that pummeled the treetops. “Raw Head and Bloody Bones. Raw Head and Bloody Bones.” Betty continued the chant until a bolt of silver lightning left the plate and streaked out threw the window, heading in the direction of Hog-Scald Hollow. When the silver light struck Raw Head’s severed head, which was piled on the hunter’s wagon with the other hog heads, it tumbled to the ground and rolled until it was touching the bloody bones that had once inhabited its body. As the hunter’s wagon rumbled away toward the ridge where he lived, the enchanted Raw Head called out: “Bloody bones, get up and dance!” Immediately, the bloody bones reassembled themselves into the skeleton of a razorback hog walking upright, as Raw Head had often done when he was alone with Old Betty. The head hopped on top of his skeleton and Raw Head went searching through the woods for weapons to use against the hunter. He borrowed the sharp teeth of a dying panther, the claws of a long-dead bear, and the tail from a rotting raccoon and put them over his skinned head and bloody bones. Then Raw Head headed up the track toward the ridge, looking for the hunter who had slaughtered him. Raw Head slipped passed the thief on the road and slid into the barn where the hunter kept his horse and wagon. Raw Head climbed up into the loft and waited for the hunter to come home. It was dusk when the hunter drove into the barn and unhitched his horse. The horse snorted in fear, sensing the presence of Raw Head in the loft. Wondering what was disturbing his usually-calm horse, the hunter looked around and saw a large pair of eyes staring down at him from the darkness in the loft. The hunter frowned, thinking it was one of the local kids fooling around in his barn. “Land o’ Goshen, what have you got those big eyes fer?” he snapped, thinking the kids were trying to scare him with some crazy mask. “To see your grave,” Raw Head rumbled very softly. The hunter snorted irritably and put his horse into the stall. “Very funny. Ha,ha,” The hunter said. When he came out of the stall, he saw Raw Head had crept forward a bit further. Now his luminous yellow eyes and his bears claws could clearly be seen. “Land o’ Goshen, what have you got those big claws fer?” he snapped. “You look ridiculous.” “To dig your grave…” Raw Head intoned softly, his voice a deep rumble that raised the hairs on the back of the hunter’s neck. He stirred uneasily, not sure how the crazy kid in his loft could have made such a scary sound. If it really was a crazy kid. Feeling a little spooked, he hurried to the door and let himself out of the barn. Raw Head slipped out of the loft and climbed down the side of the barn behind him. With nary a rustle to reveal his presence, Raw Head raced through the trees and up the path to a large, moonlight rock. He hid in the shadow of the huge stone so that the only things showing were his gleaming yellow eyes, his bear claws, and his raccoon tail. When the hunter came level with the rock on the side of the path, he gave a startled yelp. Staring at Raw Head, he gasped: “You nearly knocked the heart right out of me, you crazy kid! Land o’ Goshen, what have you got that crazy tail fer?” “To sweep your grave…” Raw Head boomed, his enchanted voice echoing through the woods, getting louder and louder with each echo. The hunter took to his heels and ran for his cabin. He raced passed the old well-house, passed the wood pile, over the rotting fence and into his yard. But Raw Head was faster. When the hunter reached his porch, Raw Head leapt from the shadows and loomed above him. The hunter stared in terror up at Raw Head’s gleaming yellow eyes in the ugly razorback hogshead, his bloody bone skeleton with its long bear claws, sweeping raccoon’s tail and his gleaming sharp panther teeth. “Land o’ Goshen, what have you got those big teeth fer?” he gasped desperately, stumbling backwards from the terrible figure before him. “To eat you up, like you wanted to eat me!” Raw Head roared, descending upon the good-for-nothing hunter. The murdering thief gave one long scream in the moonlight. Then there was silence, and the sound of crunching. Nothing more was ever seen or heard of the lazy hunter who lived on the ridge. His horse also disappeared that night. But sometimes folks would see Raw Head roaming through the forest in the company of his friend Old Betty. And once a month, on the night of the full moon, Raw Head would ride the hunter’s horse through town, wearing the old man’s blue overalls over his bloody bones with a hole cut-out for his raccoon tail. In his bloody, bear-clawed hands, he carried his raw, razorback hogshead, lifting it high against the full moon for everyone to see. Just the other day I even found a poem about the fabled Arkansas razorback from journalist and poet Fred W. Allsopp: Folks talk about the Razor-back In terms of deep derision. The porcine is a crack-a-jack, If you rate my decision. He walks away a suckling pig, And gambles in the woods; He finds ripe mast and worms will dig In fertile neighborhoods. Dogs find him nimble as the fleas. He seldom needs be fed; His simple life precludes the ease That kills the thoroughbred. When hick’ry nuts and acorns fail To fall upon the ground, His sides and snout the trees assail And shake nuts all around. In six months by the almanac, Unless corralled before, Returns to us a razor-back, Four hundred pounds or more. A little corn mixed with his swill Will soon the hog prepare To grace the farmer’s autumn kill And stock the smoke-house bare. Rich sausages to fill a vat The sweetest hams e’er eaten, With steaks of red and lumps of fat In side-meat never beaten. Let folks speak of the Razor-back In terms of deep derision, But that he is crack-a-jack Is still my ripe decision.

#ozarks #traditional witchcraft #folk magic #folklore #Ozark Folklore #ozark folk magic #ozark folkways #ozark folk medicine #traditional healing #traditional medicine #razorback #feral hog #ozark healing traditions

55 notes · View notes

inactive-zym · 6 years ago

Text

Zymphadora “Zym” Purpura CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT QUESTIONNAIRE

BASICS

1. Height?

5’4

2. Eye color, skin color, hair and horn color?

Completely, moonish white with no visible pupils.

Her skin is light purple like lilacs and her horns darken to near black-purple and lighten as they get longer, however the remaining sections of her horns are mostly dark.

Her hair is a darker shade of purple than her skin.

3. Do they need glasses?

No.

4. Scars and birthmark?

Zym has thin scars on her fingers and knuckles. Her knees and shins are also pock-marked from less than graceful falls from trees and stairwells while exploring her father’s estate.

Her broken horns are still jagged beneath the metal caps.

5. Tattoos and piercings?

Zym’s ears have several piercings, though they aren’t particularly dramatic or gaudy. She has two piercings on each lobe and two in the cartilage of her right ear where a small chain connects the two silver studs.

Delicate tattoos of her her favorite flowers drape across Zym’s shoulders and tumble down her sternum and across her collarbones. They flood down her left arm and across the back of her hand, but her right arm has yet to receive the same treatment and the flowers are limited to her shoulder on that side. Sunflowers, violets, lupins, cornflowers, trilliums, irises, and many more are all carved into her skin.

On the inside of her right upper arm, normally only visible when her arms are raised, is the symbol of her bandit crew, the Lurkers. The crudely drawn symbol itself is of a set of scales with a cartoonish eye sitting in both sides. The black, harsh lines are incongruent and ugly beside the flowers. Next to that is a small, equally crude bird in reference to Zym’s nickname within the gang. They called her their Larker rather than Lurker because larks always sing at daybreak and even while they’re flying unlike most other birds. The sight of a meadowlark is meant to signify abundance and good harvest as is the case when Zym reappeared after a heist.

FLOWER TATTOO REFERENCE

6. Right or left handed?

Ambidextrous.

7. Any disabilities? Physical or mental.

None.

8. Do they have any allergies?

Ironically, she has seasonal allergies and her favorite flowers make her nose stuffy.

9. Favorite color?

All of them, but pink especially.

10. Typical outfits?

Day-to-day Zym wears gathered white shirts that, while occasionally billowing or lacey, can be tucked into her waist or tightened to remove risks of it getting caught during her sneakier deeds. She rarely, if ever, bothers to button them up all the way and the tattoos down her chest and dancing on her clavicle are always in view. Pale rainbows of color, suggestions of what lies beneath the fabric, peek through the white as she moves.

She wears plain, often black or brown pants that are gathered and tucked into her laced boots. Both are unremarkable, but functional. Atop her pants she ties a shin-length skirt of light, breezy, and layered fabric of whatever color she decides on that day. Most often it will be pink, pale blue, or ivory. The skirt itself is not a full circle skirt and instead is much like a cape and ties secure around her waist with a ribbon. There’s always a slit up the side, but the fabric is bushy enough that the slit isn’t easily visible and it acts like a normal, full skirt. She can easily pull her skirt free if she needs to flee or climb, but she’s nearly always wearing it and it’s light enough not to encumber her. The layers of the skirt also hide the large number of small pockets and sheaths strapped along her thighs where she keeps her keys, trinkets, daggers, and her thieve’s tools all secure and easily accessible.

When cold, she wears thicker pants and a jacket that fits snugly to her frame. Alternatively she’ll wear billowing cloaks that are easy to throw off and leave behind. She wears no jewelry other than her earrings.

11. Do they wear any makeup?

She rarely bothers with makeup and her skills begin and end with lining her eyes in black kohl. When she wants to feel festive, or pretty, she’ll apply some.

12. What weapon do they use, if any?

She carries a short sword, a shortbow with a quiver of arrows, two daggers, and her thieves tools. The latter pieces of equipment are secured to her thighs beneath her skirt while the former hang from her waist or her pack.

PERSONALITY

13. Are they more optimistic or pessimistic?

She’s utterly, irrevocably, impossibly optimistic. Really, it should be rather concerning how hopeful she is and how enduringly cheerful.

14. Are they introverted or extroverted?

Extroverted, but not always in her excitable, hyperactive way; she desires to be near people and adores being in people’s silent presences as much as she does the bustling, loud atmosphere of a tavern or party.

15. What are their pet peeves?

People who are needlessly negative or who go out of their way to try and make others feel the same.

Squirrels. They’re always better climbers than she is and she doesn’t like it.

16. What bad habits do they have?

She bites the tips of her fingers when she’s nervous and is unable to sit still for long if she doesn’t have something specific to focus on. If she’s laying in wait and preparing to rob someone, she can stay still and silent for hours at a time. Similarly if she’s having an interesting conversation she won’t fidget. If not, she bounces on the balls of her feet, swings her arms back and forth, hums, spins or dances in place, and swooshes her skirt back and forth.

17. Do they have any phobias?

She’s scared of the dark, but it’s not quite a phobia as she can still function in darkness. It’s one of the many reasons she adores cities: their lights never dim. If she’s forced out into the wilds, she’ll refuse to leave the safe net of light from the campfires or insist on carrying the lantern or torch. If someone knows the Light cantrip that’s the person she’ll stick close to.

18. How do they display affection?

Zym is incredibly tactile and if given permission, or not outright refusal, she’ll hold anyone’s hand, link arms with them, hug, and kiss them freely. When given the opportunity, she’ll often show her affection for someone by merely pressing into their side and resting her head on their shoulders or lap.

She’s always enamored by one thing or another. An activity, a book, a performance and she’ll always want to share whatever neat thing she’s fixated on with people.

19. How competitive are they?

Extraordinarily. If she’s in the competition, she wants to win, but the moment it becomes too serious, or the fun is lost, she likewise loses her competitiveness as well as interest.

20. If they could change one thing about themselves, what would it be?

She’d want her horns back. She knows her personality is pretty great, and so is her smile, and she’s a great thief and all, but her horns were always part of her. She’s an even better thief and burglar because of their absence and she no longer runs the risk of the long, curling protrusions catching on something or stopping her from fitting into small spaces, but she feels like she’s lost her crown and will be self-conscious about them.

21. Do they have any obscure hobbies or routines?

She loves to find academics and experts and ask them as many questions as possible. She’s both truly curious about anything and everything, finding art as well as plants endlessly fascinating, but she also wants to see how many questions it takes for them to become irritated with her. The better professors take several hundred questions, but the stuffiest, haughtiest ones only take three or four of her truest inquiries.

She then steals from the mean professors.

Before she joined the crew of thieves she would change her name every few weeks. Not for any particular reason, but they all got boring after awhile. Her name is from a very old, silly tale of adventure she read only a few weeks before joining the crew and it’s stuck for many years.

BACKSTORY

22. What are the names and ages of their close family members? Parents, siblings, etc.

Father [human]: Lord Argus Encrois, 67

Father’s wife [human]: Lady Gisella Encrois, 52

Their four legitimate daughters: Heather, 27; Holly, 25; Merilla and Jonie, both 20.

Too many bastard siblings to name: Aged 16-40s. She isn’t in contact with any of them, but fears the worst for some of the bastards left behind in Itresa and knows her father wouldn’t do anything to protect them or keep them from going to the plantations or into the slave army. They never cared for her, but she still wishes them the best.

She never knew her mother, but she knows she’s a tiefling. She likes to think that she’s a grand adventurer or thrill seeker, but also never wants to meet her because she might not like the truth.

23. Is their family alive and are they still in contact with them?

Yes. Definitely not. A few of the bastards she hadn’t minded, but they all acted as a hivemind and scorned her.

24. Where are they from? City, nation?

She was born and raised in Itresa.

25. Did they have a childhood best friend?

No.

26. Have they had any pets?

No. She wants a monkey, though. Especially the species that look like they have mustaches (Emperor tamarins).

27. Did they grow up rich or poor? What were their living conditions like?

Sort of rich, but mostly poor. She was raised as the ignored bastard daughter of a low-ranking, yet rich merchant noble and wanted for nothing but attention until her early teen years. Living on the streets she was technically homeless and often times penniless, but it never felt like poverty to her.

28. What is their educational background?

Tutored by the best and the adequate until she was fourteen and was thrown from the estate. Any other skills she has she picked up from people she met in Itresa, from being taught by members of the crew, and by harassing academics. She has fun facts about nearly any body of research, but very little technical or applicable knowledge.

29. As a child, what did they want to be when they grew up?

She wanted to be an adventurer and a treasure hunter. She still entertains herself with fantasies of far-fetched heists and journeys to the center of the world or to the depths of the sea in search for gold and magic. In a way she is a treasure hunter… she just happens to hunt for it in people’s houses. And pockets.

30. What advice would they give to their younger self?

Run away sooner and look back a little more.

31. Growing up, were they ever bullied or were they the bully?

Her half-siblings, the legitimate ones and her fellow bastards, all bullied her. She stared too much, she was too quiet, she moved too much, she spoke too much, her horns were funny, her eyes were scary, she was dumb, she was too smart, she was too fast, she was disrespectful, she was a know-it-all and a teacher’s pet. She could never do anything just right for them so she stopped doing anything for them at all and avoided them whenever possible.

32. Who do they look up to/who is their role model?

She used to say Garriss, the unquestionable leader of the Lurker crew, but now she has no one.

PRESENT

33. Do they currently have a place of residence?

Nope.

34. What is their most treasured possession?

She has a gilded, ever-sharp dagger she stole from someone her first week free and loose in Itresa. It’s never failed her and has a habit of always returning to her even when she thought it lost.

35. What is their drink of choice?

She hates bitter drinks, but anything else she likes. If offered coffee she has to put at least a pound of sugar in to enjoy it.

36. Which king/queen are they loyal to, if any?

None.

37. Have they ever killed anyone?

Never and she doesn’t want to.

38. What was their last promise and did they keep it?

She promised Garriss to keep her theft from the other crewmembers a secret. She kept it and technically has continued to keep it as no one gave her the opportunity to reveal the truth.

LOVE

39. What was their first kiss like, if they’ve had one?

She kissed a fellow street rat after they successfully upturned a market stall to avoid the raging guards and the tavern keep they’d stolen a bottle of mead from. She and the girl were street partners and hellions together for many months, but one day the girl left without a word and never returned.

40. Are they in a relationship/have a love interest?

No and beyond casual flirtation she’s never had an actual relationship.

41. Have they ever been in love?

Never, but she really wants to fall in love. She’s read about it and it sounds very nice.

42. Have they ever had their heart broken?

Only by her family, but not by a lover.

SPIRITUALITY

43. Do they follow a god, if so who?

No, but Mask and Sune intrigue her and she prays to them when she’s bored or needs guidance.

44. What do they think happens to them after death?

A sparkling void of something-something.

45. What is their spirit animal?

Sugarglider.

#zymphadora purpura #romtask #character development

2 notes · View notes

abzilp · 6 years ago

Text

The modern German novel begins with The Adventures of Simplicius Simplicissimus (Der abenteuerliche Simplicissimus Teutsch, 1668) by Hans Grimmelshausen (1622?–76). One of the greatest novels of the 17th century, this 5-part, 400-page book is a boisterous Oktoberfest of genres bumping bellies: bildungsroman, picaresque, allegory, (anti)war novel, hagiography, fantastic voyage, romance, ghost story, sermon, and utopian novel. Referring to the frontispiece depicting a leering satyr/phoenix/bird/fish creature pointing at a book, one German critic admitted “the history of literary forms stands helpless before such a Tragelaph.”64 Initially, it resembles a picaresque novel, especially Alemán’s Guzman of Alfarache, which had been adapted into German by Aegidius Albertinus in 1615. Beginning about halfway through the Thirty Years’ War (1618–48), the narrator explains how he was raised nameless and uneducated among peasants until the marauding Imperial army looted his village when he was 12 or 13; he escapes into the nearby forest and is taken under the wing of a religious hermit who names him Simplicius because of his ignorance—he’s never seen a horse, and assumes soldiers riding them are a centaurlike hybrid of man and wolf—and brainwashes him with Christianity before allowing him to read more books borrowed from the local pastor. After the hermit dies, Simplicius returns to the world at war and yo-yos from one camp to another; treated like a fool, he becomes a professional jester until he can work his way up the ranks. He becomes a marauding prankster known as the Hunter of Soest, and on one occasion discovers an abandoned treasure in a haunted house, which seems to ensure his fortune. Knowing he’s betraying his Christian upbringing but powerless to resist, Simplicius then accompanies a young nobleman to Paris, where he becomes an actor and a gigolo, the beginning of a downward moral spiral that takes him back penniless to Germany, where he scrapes by as a traveling quack until he’s forced back into the army. Determined to settle down, he marries a country lass (who turns into a drunk), reunites with his “father” (who tells Simplicius he is actually the son of the hermit who raised him, a Scottish nobleman who abandoned the world in disgust), travels some more (Russia and Asia) before returning home disillusioned with everything, and becomes a hermit—choosing the life that had been forced upon him as a frightened boy. So it seems the entire novel has been a sermon against unchristian behavior, and a religious call for renunciation of the sinful world.

But Grimmelshausen complicates this picaresque pilgrim’s progress in many intriguing ways. On the one hand, the novel is graphically realistic, much more so than spiritually oriented works are. The attack on young Simplicius’s village is described in sickening detail: the soldiers ransack and torch everything, torture the peasants, and rape the women. Later, peasants capture a soldier, cut off his nose, and force him to lick their assholes before they bury him alive in a barrel; when other soldiers capture the cleansed peasants, “They bound their hands and feet together round a fallen tree in such a way that their backsides (if you will forgive me again) were sticking up nicely in the air. Then they pulled down their trousers, took several yards of fuse, tied knots in it and ran it up and down in their arses to such effect that the blood came pouring out. The peasants screamed pitifully, but the soldiers were enjoying it and did not stop their sawing until they were through the skin and flesh and down to the bone.”65 Young Grimmelshausen was an eyewitness to such atrocities—the first third of the novel is somewhat autobiographical; his handling of a child’s POV is superb—and his willingness to report what he saw so unflinchingly makes Simplicissimus a primary source for historians of the Thirty Years’ War. (You’ll recall the Spanish Estebanillo González is also set during that conflict and captures some of the chaos of war, but Grimmelshausen focuses on the civilian population.)

Such language also makes the novel a primary document in the rise of realism in fiction; not since Thomas Nashe had any novelist dared to describe the aftermath of battle in such gruesome terms as he uses: “there were heads that had lost the bodies they belonged to and bodies lacking heads; some had their entrails hanging out in sickening fashion, others their skull smashed and the brain spattered over the ground; . . . there were shot-off arms with the fingers still moving, as if they wanted to get back into the fighting, . . .” (2.27). The dialogue is equally realistic: “Pox on you, brother, are you still alive?” one soldier greets another. “By the holy fuckrament, the Devil looks after his own!” (1.26). As a licensed fool, Simplicius doesn’t mince words when asked to describe a fashionable visitor: “This lady has hair as yellow as baby shit and the parting is as white and as straight as if she had been hit on the scalp with a curry-comb. And her hair is in such neat rolls it looks like hollow pipes, or as if she had a pound of candles or a dozen sausages hanging down each side. And oh, look at her lovely smooth forehead, is it not more beautifully curved than a fat buttock and whiter than a dead man’s skull which has been hanging out in the wind and rain for years?” (2.9). Simplicius often embarrasses himself by farting noisily; people vomit, shit, swear, scratch at lice and fleas. There’s sex and some nudity: sailing on the Danube for Vienna, Simplicius “had eyes for nothing but the women who answered the calls from the boats with literal rather than verbal bare-arsed cheek” (5.3).66 The point is religious writers don’t write like this—nowhere in Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress does a farmboy tell a dairymaid “that she could kiss his arse and go fuck her mammy in the bargain” (3.23)—which calls into question the ostensibly religious orientation of the novel. Something else is afoot.

Though highly realistic, more so than most pre-20th-century novels, Simplicissimus is, on the other hand, highly unrealistic and brazenly supernatural. Grimmelshausen’s novel often reads like a Grimms’ fairy tale, for Simplicius lives in a demon-haunted world where people still cast spells, foretell the future, and consort with devils. When he leaves the forest for the town, some citizens “thought I was a spectre, a ghost or some such phenomenon” (1.19)—phenomena as real to them as the butcher or the baker. In book 2, Simplicius is foraging at night and sneaks into a farmhouse, where he spies a few people who “had a sulphurous blue lamp on the bench by the light of which they were greasing sticks, brooms, pitchforks, stools and benches. Then, one after the other, they flew out of the window on them.” Puzzled, he sits on one of the benches and instantly shoots out the window and lands about 150 miles northeast to witness a witches’ dance, described with Boschean extravagance. Invited to join the dance, “I cried out loud to God, at which the whole crew vanished” (2.17). Simplicius insists this actually happened, and wasn’t a dream; citing similar stories from reputable scholars, including the story of Faust, he dares the reader to disbelieve him: “if you don’t believe it, you will have to think up some other way in which I went in such short time from Hersfeld or Fulda (I still don’t know where I was, wandering round in the forest) to the vicinity of Magdeburg” (2.18). There he is taken into a regiment that includes a prevost-sergeant who “was a true sorcerer and black magician who knew a spell for finding out thieves and another to make not only himself as bullet-proof as steel, but others too.” To find a thief, “the sorcerer muttered a few words and puppies started to jump out of people’s pockets, sleeves, boots, flies and any other openings in their dress, one, two, three or more at a time” (2.22). A little later, Simplicius invents a pocket-sized instrument that enables him to hear things taking place miles away, and again taunts the reader: “However, I am not surprised if people do not believe what I have just written” (3.1). The treasure he discovers is guarded by a “ghost or wraith” (3.12), which is not a product of his imagination, nor is the demon who speaks to him from inside a man undergoing exorcism (5.2). Near the end is the greatest test of the reader’s incredulity: tossing some stones into the “enchanted” Mummelsee, “a supposedly bottomless lake” (5.10)—a real lake in the Black Forest, but now known to be only 55 feet deep—some sylphs come to the surface, give him a magic jewel that enables him to breathe underwater, then take him to the center of the earth for a 16-page tour of their subterranean world and discuss their place in the Christian scheme of things.67

All this takes place on the “factual” plane of the novel, and doesn’t include numerous instances where people are mistaken for devils, or Simplicius’s allegorical dream of the military establishment as a tree (which allows Grimmelshausen to criticize further the suffering inflicting upon civilians) “with Mars, the God of War, on the top, and covering the whole of Europe with its branches” (1.18). One chapter is entitled “How Simplicius Was Dragged Down into Hell by Four Devils and Treated to Spanish Wine” (2.5), followed by “How Simplicius Went to Heaven and Was Turned into a Calf” (2.6), but these are merely pranks soldiers play on the naïve lad. Later he meets a madman who calls himself Jupiter, whom Simplicius plays along with by referring himself to Ganymede or Mercury, and layered on top of other references to classical mythology and German folklore is an elaborate set of references to Chaldean astrology. It’s tempting to call this magic realism were it not closer to the aesthetics of the medieval morality play, where figures representing devils or the sun shared the same stage as mortals. Christianity is part and parcel of this magical/medieval world: throughout the novel, saints and angels are evoked in the same breath as figures from myth and folklore, supernatural events are defended with citations of similar events in the Bible, and Christian theology is indistinguishable from the world of myth and magic. If you believe in the miracles in the Bible, the novel implies, then you’re no different from those who believe witches ride broomsticks and sorcerers cause puppies to magically crawl out of your pocket. As in Don Quixote, there is a clash between old-world and new-world weltanschauungs, and by the end of the novel, Christianity has been so thoroughly contaminated by its association with outdated mythology that Simplicius’s quixotic decision to renounce the world at age 33 and become a Christian hermit can only be regarded as the act of a simpleton. The novel encourages figurative detachment from the world, not literal.

Grimmelshausen certainly didn’t drop out to play the holy fool: he managed estates, ran several inns, was the mayor of a small town, had 10 kids, and wrote more than 20 books. He converted from Protestantism to Catholicism when younger (to help his careers, it’s been suggested), but he knew the only real magic is the act of artistic creation. There’s a lovely passage near the end of book 1 in which an officer’s secretary praises writing as a way to make a living; Simplicius thinks he’s talking about magic (and is reminded of “Fortunatus’s inexhaustible purse”), but Grimmelshausen is also praising the novelist’s art of creating something from nothing:

I once criticised him for his dirty inkwell but he replied that it was the best thing in his whole room for he could draw up out of it anything he wanted: fine gold ducats, fine clothes, in short all his possessions had been fished out of his inkwell one by one. I refused to believe that such magnificent things could be obtained from such a paltry container. He replied that it was the spiritus paperi, as he called the ink, that did it, and that an inkwell was called a well because you could draw up all sorts of things out of it. (1.27)

Out of Grimmelshausen’s dirty inkwell came this devilishly clever satire on 17th-century society, a world “so full of foolishness that no one takes any notice or laughs at it anymore,” as Simplicius notes (3.17), encouraging him to “castigate all follies and censure all vanities” (2.10). Simplicissimus begins like a picaresque bildungsroman but opens up into a Menippean satire, a blitzkrieg against pretension, hypocrisy, superstition, and especially the alleged nobility of war. There’s no bullshit here about dulce et decorum est pro patria mori, a con kings and politicians have been using to recruit cannon-fodder ever since Horace penned that piece of propaganda. The Thirty Years’ War was essentially a family squabble between the Hapsburgs and the Bourbons for territorial control over Europe (with some Protestant vs. Catholic window-dressing), about as noble as a mob turf war, and though Grimmelshausen sarcastically notes war is good for business (5.5), he rubs his reader’s face in its barbaric nature with a force that wouldn’t be felt again until the antiwar novels of the 20th century. As Simplicius fools his way through war-torn, phantasmagoric Germany, I was remind of Slothrop in Gravity’s Rainbow; Grimmelshausen even indulges in some Pynchonesque personification: on one of his foraging expeditions, Simplicius sees “a sight for sore eyes or, rather, empty bellies: hanging up in the chimney were hams, sausages and sides of bacon. They seemed to be smiling at me, so I gave them a come-hither look, wishing they would come and join my comrades in the woods, but in vain; the hard-hearted things ignored me and stayed hanging there” (2.31). Simplicissimus belongs to the same insubordinate platoon as The Good Soldier Švejk, The Tin Drum, and Catch-22.

Though Grimmelshausen drew upon personal experiences for the early parts of the novel, he drew mostly upon his extensive reading. Scholars have shown that more than 150 books went into the making of this erudite novel, ranging from classical authors and the medieval Parzival to the 6-page passage from Antonio de Guevara’s 16th-century theological tract that concludes book 5. A German translation of Charles Sorel’s iconoclastic antinovel Francion (see pp. 182–86 below) was a major inspiration, but Grimmelshausen also drew upon Italian novellas and German jestbooks (like Till Eulenspiegel), encyclopedias and almanacs, and manuals on witchcraft like Johann Wier’s De Præstigiis dæmonium (2.8). A battle scene that sounds like an eyewitness report actually comes from a German translation of Sidney’s Arcadia (which should give military historians pause). On one occasion, Simplicius visits a pastor and finds him “reading my Chaste Joseph” (3.19)—a biblical novel Grimmelshausen published in 1666, though it’s only 1639 at this point! That’s so obviously an anachronism that it has to be deliberate, another taunting call for the suspension of disbelief like Simplicius’s magical bench ride and his sylph-escorted journey to the center of the earth. It’s all one to “the old inkslinger” (2.4).

Cervantes waited 10 years to publish a sequel to Don Quixote, but Grimmelshausen jumped on the unexpected success of Simplicissimus. When the 5-book novel was reprinted in 1669, he added a 6th book simply entitled Continuation (Continuatio), though scholars are divided on whether this forms an organic whole with the previous part, or is the first of several sequels Grimmelshausen published over the next few years.

Like most hastily written sequels, the Continuation isn’t very good. Picking up where book 5 left off, Simplicius’s solitary life as a hermit seems to be driving him crazy, for first he recounts a long, allegorical dream that starts in hell with Lucifer gnashing his teeth at the declaration of peace that ended the Thirty Years’ War, which morphs into a didactic tale of a rich young Englishman who ruins himself through conspicuous consumption. Our hairy hermit then encounters a statue that comes to life, and—after Simplicius decides to hit the road as a pilgrim—he gets into an argument with some toilet paper, who delivers a long economic history of its many metamorphoses from seed to paper (a remarkable set-piece that again brings Pynchon to mind). Mistaken for the Wandering Jew, spooked by ghosts, Simplicius has further bizarre adventures as he travels to Egypt, then is shipwrecked on a deserted island off the coast of Australia, where he leads a Robinson Crusoe-type existence—this section was based on the popular English novelette by Henry Neville, The Isle of Pines (1668)—and there he writes the entire Simplicissimus novel on palm leaves. Refusing rescue by a Dutch sea captain, Simplicius intends to live out the rest of his pious life on his island hideaway, “an example of change and a mirror of the inconstancy of human life.”68 Although the book offers further displays of the author’s outlandish erudition, it’s too didactic, too medieval.

Grimmelshausen returns to form in The Life of Courage (Die Landstörtzerin Courasche, 1670).69 Near the end of Simplicissimus, our protagonist had boasted of seducing and dumping a beatiful lady, a “man-trap” whose “easy virtue soon disgusted him” (5.6); nine months later, she leaves a baby on his doorstep, who Simplicius reluctantly makes his son and heir. Audaciously blurring the distinction between fiction and reality, Grimmelshausen states in a headnote that this unnamed woman read Simplicissimus and was so insulted at her portrayal therein that she decided to avenge herself by telling the story of her life, revealing that the woman he took for an aristocrat was actually a promiscuous adventuress infected with syphilis—which raises an intriguing possibility: Did Simplicius contract the disease from her? Untreated, it can cause insanity, which would explain the underwater sylphic adventure later in book 5 and the talking toilet paper. Indeed, the entire bizarre Continuation can be read as a neurosyphilitic hallucination. If nothing else, it stinks up the odor of sanctity with which Simplicissimus ends.

Just as the Continuation anticipates Robinson Crusoe, this short novel anticipates Defoe’s Moll Flanders, but with no apology at the end for the life she’s led. (Grimmelshausen, however, tacks on a homiletic warning against following her example.) Inspired by a German translation of Lopez de Úbeda’s Justina, Grimmelshausen backtracks to the very beginning of the Thirty Years’ War. Born in Bohemia, 13-year-old Libuschka disguises herself as a boy to avoid rape from invading soldiers and joins the army: “I made a great effort to get rid of all my woman’s habits and acquire man’s. I took great pains to learn to swear like a trooper and drink like a fish . . . so that no one should suspect there was something I had not been endowed with at birth” (2). When it’s revealed during a fight she lacks that certain something, she defiantly calls her vulva Courage, which becomes her girl-power nom de guerre in her fight against male prejudice as well as opposing armies.70 Over the next dozen years, she is repeatedly married to soldiers, repeatedly raped by other other soldiers, then becomes a prostitute, then a black marketeer, doing whatever it takes to survive the war, and marrying whoever promises shelter from the storm. (Through no fault of her own, her husbands usually perish before their first anniversary.) She’s smart, as courageous as her name implies, and fiercely independent; she doesn’t really descend into criminal behavior until later in life, when she joins a band of Gypsies. And that child she left on Simplicius’s doorstep? Not hers, but her slutty maid’s. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and Courage takes self-incriminating delight in telling Simplex (as she calls him) how wrong he was about everything.

Like Simplicissimus, Courage is graphically realistic but includes a few magical elements. The Spanish Justina tried to dodge sexual encounters, but Courage welcomes them: she’s a novelty in novels of this period, a sexually active woman who doesn’t feel guilty about scratching her itch (as puts it). While we have to remember that a man is writing this, Grimmelshausen was a worldly one and knew that women have sexual desires too, which you wouldn’t guess from most novels published before the 20th century. Like Simplicius, Courage occasionally reads courtly romance novels, but only to pick up “pretty turns of phrase from” for the purposes of seduction (5; cf. Simplicissimus 3.18: “these books taught me how to lure the female sex”). Rebelling against the polite romance tradition, Grimmelshausen opposes his hard-core realism to their unrealistic fantasies; like his model Charles Sorel, he was out to destroy the mainstream novel, and Courage is an earthy and bracing alternative to most 17th-century fiction.

One of Courage’s longer-term relationships was with a lackey/paramour she nicknamed Tearaway, from the time she told him, “Tear yourself away from that cart and go and fetch the dappled grey from the grazing” (16). After she dumped him for drunkenness and domestic violence, this rascal became one of Simplicius’s gang during his Hunter of Soest period. He tells his story in Tearaway (Der seltzame Springinsfeld, 1670), which begins when the young scribe Courage had hired to write down her memoir runs into Simplicius, lately returned from Australia, and his old servant Tearaway at an inn.71 The scribe tells them what Courage dictated to him—Simplicius interrupts to admit he was also banging Courage’s maid, so that baby is his son after all—and also of her life with the Gypsies. (Grimmelshausen may be the first to write about them in fiction.) We learn that Simplicius, as pious as ever, is annoyed that readers are treating his Simplicissimus merely as a jestbook like Till Eulenspiegel instead of the Christian allegory he intended. Incongruously, he is now making a living as a traveling salesman peddling an elixir that improves wine, using a magic book as part of his spiel—another occasion Grimmelshausen uses, like the dirty inkwell, for a tribute to the power of imaginative writing—and after nine chapters of metafictional scene-setting, Tearaway tells how he spent the war. Like much of Simplicissimus, Tearaway is a grim, grunt’s-eye view of war, where greed for booty trumps patriotic duty, and which brings out the worst in everyone. Tearaway admits “Soldiers are there to persecute the peasants and any that leave them in peace aren’t doing their job properly,” but also notes “some peasants were worse than the good soldiers themselves. They not only murder soldiers, innocent and guilty, whenever they managed to get hold of them, when they had the chance, they stole from their neighbours, even from their own friends and relations” (13). This section is sketchy, obviously worked up not from firsthand experience but from the same war chronicle Grimmelshausen used for Courage, Eberhard von Wassenberg’s Erneuerter Teutscher Florus (1647). After the war is over, Tearaway marries a widow and becomes a crooked innkeeper, abandons both, then marries a hurdy-gurdy player and scrapes out a living accompanying her on the fiddle as wandering musicians. This colorful, realistic account of tramping morphs into a fairy tale in which his wife discovers a magical bird’s nest that confers invisibility on its owner; Tearaway’s too cowardly to use it for gain—she isn’t, and winds up being burned as a witch as a result—and the tatterdemalion is still playing for pfennigs when he runs in to his old master. Simplicius tries to recall him to Christian principles, which Tearaway initially dismisses as “a load of monkish tripe” (27), though he repents just before he dies.

“The Miraculous Bird’s Nest” (Das wunderbarliche Vogelnest, 1672 [part 1] and 1675 [part 2]) is the title of the last two sections of what Grimmelshausen eventually called the Simplician Cycle. In part 1, a do-gooder named Michael uses the cloaking device to obstruct various misdeeds while searching for an honorable way to make money; in part 2, an unnamed merchant, less scrupulous than Michael (and more like Tearaway’s wife), takes advantage of invisibility to commit various acts of greed, lust, and sorcery. The miraculous bird’s nest functions as a “lens through which the bearer perceives reality” (Negus, 124), another analog for one of fiction’s purposes. Simplicius’s son appears in one episode in part 1, but otherwise the 2-part novel is only thematically related to the preceding novels, emphasizing once again the inconstancy of fortune, the prevalence of evil, and the consequent necessity of adhering to Christian principles. Books 1 through 8 of the Simplician Cycle depicted a world at war, but in these final two books Grimmelshausen argues that the world at peace is just as dangerous. They sound mildly entertaining, but as they’ve not been translated, I can only direct the interested reader elsewhere for more on the conclusion to Grimmelshausen’s 10-part, 800-page meganovel.72

Unlike part 2 of Don Quixote, the second half of the Simplician Cycle isn’t as impressive as the first half (i.e., Simplicissimus), but that doesn’t prevent Grimmelshausen from occupying the same lofty position in early German literature, and his influence on later German writers is profound. He impressed Ludwig Tieck and other German Romantics, the Grimm brothers and Goethe, and his work played a patriotic part in the unification of Germany in the 19th century. Most major German novelists of the 20th century have paid tribute to him: Thomas Mann borrowed from his work for his Felix Krull and Doctor Faust, and in his introduction to a Swedish translation of Simplicissimus, he wrote: “It is the rarest kind of monument to life and literature, for it has survived almost three centuries and will survive many more. It is a story of the most basic kind of grandeur—gaudy, wild, raw, amusing, rollicking and ragged, boiling with life, on intimate terms with death and the devil—but in the end, contrite and fully tired of a world wasting itself in blood, pillage and lust, but immortal in the miserable splendor of its sins.”73 Hesse greatly admired Grimmelshausen, and from him Bertolt Brecht conceived the idea for his play Mother Courage and Her Children (1949). Grimmelshausen’s earthy, erudite, punning language was an inspirational starting point for Arno Schmidt’s even more outlandish diction. I implied earlier that the young Simplicius has something in common with Oskar Matzerath in Günter Grass’s Tin Drum (1959), and Grimmelshausen steals the show in Grass’s erudite critifiction The Meeting at Telgte (1979), an imaginary conference of several German authors in 1647, in which Grass affectionately roasts the old inkslinger:

In his green doublet and plumed hat he looked like something out of a storybook. . . . [After he] had offered his services in a long-winded speech well larded with tropes, Harsdörffer took Dach aside. True, he said, the fellow prates like an itinerant astrologer—he had introduced himself to the assemblage as Jupiter’s favorite, whom, as they could see, Venus had punished in France—but he had wit, and was better read than his clowning might lead one to suspect. . . . His lies, said Harsdörffer, are as inspired as any romances; his eloquence reduces the very Jesuits to silence; not just the church fathers, but all the gods and their planets are at his fingertips; he is familiar with the seamy side of life, and wherever he goes, in Cologne, in Recklinghausen, in Soest, he knows his way about. . . . Hofmannswaldau stood dumbfounded; hadn’t the fellow just quoted a passage from Opitz’s translation of the Arcadia? . . . His words seemed as trustworthy as the sheen of the double row of buttons on his green doublet. (6–7)

In this novel Grimmelshausen is still in his mid-twenties, but someday, the narrator predicts, “he would let every foul smell out of the bag; a chronicler, he would bring back the long war as a word-butchery, let loose gruesome laughter, and give the [German] language license to be what it is: crude and soft-spoken, whole and stricken, here Frenchified, there melancolicky, but always drawn from the casks of life. Yes, he would write! By Jupiter, Mercury, and Apollo, he would!” (112–13).

#steven moore #the novel: an alternative history 1600-1800 #hans jakob christoffel von grimmelshausen #simplicissimus #tom nashe #miguel de cervantes #bertolt brecht #arno schmidt

2 notes · View notes

kurtty-drabbles · 6 years ago

Text

lovesick au(part 4)

@djinmer4 @dannybagpipesarecalling @discordsworld @look-ma-no-hands336 @sailorstar9

N/A: I did make a sketch for this one, let´s see if is good or not.

The port city is in euphoria as today is the day to celebrate the wonder that the ocean, the water can give, many ornaments are in the sight as the people enjoy the holiday and show respect towards their God, Dagon, and the herald s are throwing petals in the streets as they stop on the nicest house on the city.

A girl wearing a white dress with a flower crown on her head and a frown on her chubby face, and, her parents are wearing similar outfits, except the flower crown. The only female herald, an attractive woman with red hair and blue eyes, speaks with joy that is shared in her body language.

“Little one, is time to give thanks to the ocean” the herald speaks and offer her hand to Kitty, in the feeble and delusional idea that Kitty Pryde, 11 years old, would take. Reality was not kind as the smile dies on her lips. “Little one, the ocean is waiting for you”

Kitty looks bitterly at the ocean, always, always and always looking at her. “Why? the ocean won´t gain legs and leave us” and crosses her arms.

“Lady Zaorva please” the woman and soon realizes the mistake she did as she covers her mouth, Kitty would like to ask what the name Zaorva even means, but, the ocean does not care for her questions.

Dagon himself appears as wearing a handsome form, everyone in the city is the epitome of handsome and Kitty hate them. The God looks at his herald as she gulps nervously knowing she makes a mistake.

“Kitty, what my foolish herald speaks” Kitty now takes the woman´s hand as feeling and knowing what the God does to those who he refers to foolish “I´m your little doll, and you want to make me safe, so, don´t hurt she” Kitty replied.

Dagon smiles and nods “of course, little one, now come to me, Kitty, we need to say our prays together for the ocean” Dagon smiles and Kitty shakes her head “Well, is a pity, do you know that water is vital to humans, and that humans are 80% water?”

Then Dagon, using his “human” hand, squeeze hard and Cameron is gasping for air and Terry is screaming. Kitty is scared and looking at him. Cameron is a special member of his cult.

“Stop, I´ll go, leave him alone, you bully” Kitty speaks with tears in her eyes and Cameron is now breathing normally.

In the shore of the ocean, Kitty, aside from being the only child, is the only shaking and with Dagon on her side.

“I want to cure you of your fear, you do know...life starts with the ocean” Dagon speaks in a sugar tone and then asks for Kitty to go fish for him. Kitty refuses, and Dagon replied/reminder her again how her father is in his cult and how Dagon is doing everything to protect her.

“Protect me?” Kitty looks mad as a small child can be and breaking her own rule uses her power to divide part of the ocean, a small part and throw the random fish on his face. “There is your fish”

________________________________________________________________________________-

Her temporary new room is somewhat equal to her old room, in the sense both are big and luxurious, yet, unlike her old room, she feels safer here. Kitty feels safer here and is exploring her powers, Dagon often puts limitations, especially after the “throw a fish on his face” incident and Kitty is split, for one hand, she wants to explore her power...on the other hand, she feels this is not a natural mutant power(could it be that Dagon is right?)

“NO!” Kitty shouts and attracts the attention of Ororo. The Egyptian woman was passing by and notices Kitty in distress.

“Kitten, wanna talk?” Ororo offers and Kitty nods, to her surprise Rogue was there as well, she wanted to talk with Ororo about the new tests on the Danger Room.

“I was raised to believe that my powers, my life is meant to be protected and evil things are after me...and I can´t help…” Kitty can´t finish the line and is no need.

“If your powers are dangerous as he made out to be?” Ororo speaks and Kitty nods, the woman shares her tale in Cairo, how her powers made people see her as a God, yet, she wasn´t one...She mentioned her encounter with extremist that feared her and mentioned her encounter with the cult of the black pharaoh “and after all that cult talk, is a strange tale I´m on the Zaorva´s cult”

“That name again” Kitty mutters and Rogue reveals her story and how she was put in the cult, the herald Venus(“strange woman, that one, even for alien´s standers”) take her from a sub-cult that sacrifice children to Zaorva and how this is dumb, zaorva is the goodness of creation, why she would want dead kids?

“What we are trying to say, Kitten is that this power, is yours and as much you think you can´t control it, that is dangerous, it is not, You are in control and you can control” Ororo explained and Kitty nods feeling a little better.

“Yeah, Sugah, I have a pretty dangerous power too, but I can control it” Rogue proves by taking her glove out and touching Kitty´s hand. The gothic woman has great control on her power, but, for a split of a second, she swears she was touching a tentacle.

“Thank you, I need to hear that, also, I want to stay here, so, I´ll have a word with Nightcrawler” Kitty look at the two women and knows that they have no clue what he is (why he´s not mutating them?)

Kitty, once the women, leave the room, let sleep claims her as she wants to sleep, her lucid dreams often give her ideas and maybe he´ll show up there.

___________________________________________________________________________________

This is a better temple, I can´t help to admire the glass, not this mask, I like when humans are creative, even in such harsh environment they still can create wonderful things, how amusing.

Venus enters the temple, without the proper ceremony, but she did bow with a huge smile on her face, bring a man along with her. She looks like an excited puppy.

“My lady, I finally caught the thief” I almost ask what she meant, but, I know and I found amusing she is going to such lengths to catch this man for me, well, I suppose she´s my favourite for several reasons(and her bad love advices are unique too)

“It was a difficult task” My expression give away and my herald amends “Oh, no need to be modest, it was awesome, I defeat him using my power and a bit of my brain, oh, but this is not about me being awesome, this is about the thief” and using her cobras of fire(it was cobras of fire or sand cobra)

“You are the God of forgiveness” the man speaks to me and Venus beat him up, man? I look at my reflection now noticing I was indeed a male. “Why this matter for you?”

“It was my bracelet made by someone I love very much” I replied and gives attention to Venus “I´m not in the mood to eat a thief, and I know you want to throw him in that Vulcan you made and live, very well, punish him and I shall eat his soul later, now, give me the bracelet”

I could catch the bracelet myself, but, again, Venus offers herself to me to do this task. The man is screaming obscenities and I wonder why humans still?

(is because is shiny, my other half)

“Oh, you, always here even when you aren´t here, still, risk his life for a shiny thing is odd”

(Humans are odd)

_____________________________________________________________________________________

“Nightcrawler? Are here?” she asked and only phases through the door once God invites her in. Still, with the mask of blue and furry, Kitty is confident to speak to this deity.

“Ah, you came here” his smile dies a little “still afraid of me?”

“Still unsure of lots of things in my life, but, the thing I crave the most is control, if I´m the favourite of the gods for whatever reason, I´ll use this, Nightcrawler, if you want to be my friend and talk, we need to have some rules” Kitty speaks and Nightcrawler nods.

“No eyes on me” Nightcrawler never did that, Dagon did all the time “ or mutation to any X-men” he pouts but agrees. “you can only enter in my mind if I let you in and please, don´t go mentally torturing the X-men”

“And do you still think I will hurt you?”

“The worst thing you can do is eat me and that wouldn´t be the worst thing Dagon has done to me”

Nightcrawler´s eyes are in a red and golden as his mask is cracking. “should I ask what he did?” his voice is in a mix of human and non-human.

“Another time, now, I want information, I have a plan to save my parents and I would like your help” Nightcrawler nods once his mask is in place and his eyes just in the golden hue.

#lovesick au #lovecraft kurt #kitty pryde #ultimate setting #rogue #ororo munroe #powers being discover #dagon is bold here

2 notes · View notes

auroraphilealis · 7 years ago

Note

any book recs?

Heck yes I do!

Simon VS. The Homo Sapiens Agenda by Becky Albertalli: Even if you saw the movie already, the book is like a different storyline. They’re super close but very different and I literally can’t decide which I prefer

It by Stephen King: I’m not actually the biggest horror fan of all time but after seeing the movie, I fell in love with this idea. I’m only about half way through the novel version, but there is something insane about the way Stephen King writes. He truly understands human’s on a level not many people do, or at least understands them enough to REALLY draw out the true horror of the world. I don’t know man, it’s a good fucking book.

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley: Actually though, i re-read this after having read it 6 years ago, and holy shit this is actually amazing. I love this novel. Frankenstein is… a fascinating story.

The Book Thief by Markus Zusak: Seriously fucking amazing. It’s about a little girl growing up in Nazi Germany only it’s told from Death’s point of view, and I know what you’re thinking - how the fuck? But holy shit it is a fucking crazy good story, and the character of Death had me hooked on the first page

The Story of Edgar Sawtelle by David Wroblewski: One of my all time favorite books. It’s kind-of sort-of the story of Hamlet, but with a totally different modern revamp. The main character is mute, was born mute, and his closet relationship is with his dog. His mom marries his uncle after his father dies in a fire, and.. well. It’s just incredibly beautiful and amzing.

The Sword of Truth series by Terry Goodkind: Look. This is the longest book series I have ever read. I used to spend every second of every day reading these books. But if you’re a fantasy fan, and huge word counts don’t scare you, then good LORD is this the series for you. I think back on this series so fucking often, and I’ve read certain books in it like, six times each. Currently, my mom has my copies or I would be READING IT AGAIN since this series hass been on my mind alot again. Again, it’s super long. I think currently we’re on book like… 27. I googled it. holy shit it’s grown since I last picked it up. The best part about this series is 1. You can technically stop at any point because each book has a relatively good ending that will keep you satisfied (except book 1 and 2, you really have to finish 3 while youre at it). 2. They reflect the modern world so well sometimes you’re just godamn wow. Seriously. If you love fantasy, please give it a try. It’s worth it.

The Host by Stephanie Meyer: Look, I know what you’re all going to say. Twilight was terrible, why would we read this? Listen, LISTEN I actually love The Host. It was really well done, and it definitely Stephanie Meyer’s better novel. The movie adaptation sucked ass but I actually DO still read this book over and over again. It’s a sci-fi novel about alien’s coming to Earth and taking over host bodies. They do this on lots of planets, and Earth is their newest requistion. It’s also the only planet to fight back well enough that the aliens actually think they might win. It’s not as weird as it sounds. It’s a love story, and it goes far more in depth with the meaning of life and stuff like that then Twilight could dream of, so give it a try.

The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood: Actually amazing. I read it for class like… idek, 5 years ago maybe? When I heard it was getting it’s own show I was like !!!! but I haven’t actually watched the show version yet, so I have no idea how it compares to the novel. The novel is fucking amazing though. Legit made me cry. However, if you have a sexual trauma or trigger, this might be a difficult read in some select parts :/ Still fucking worth it times ten. I literally bought the book when my class was over, it was so good (the teacher actually, actually handed out copies, how insane is that? She was amzing)

Beloved by Toni Morrison: FUCK SO GOOD. I’ve read it twice, both times around school, and got to write papers on it twice as well. This is… this is one hell of a book. Both times I read it, I got so much more of it than the first time. THERE IS SO MUCH TO UNPACK. It’s about a former slave whose haunted by the baby daughter she killed to prevent her children from ending up slaves as well. This was just before slavery was abolished, as well, and while her baby daughter died, her other three kids lived. However, now her home is haunted, and the baby ACTUALLY comes back. It’s crazy and amazing and one of my favorite novels of all time. I can’t pick favorites guys, okay, but I love this one so fucking much.

Pellinor Series by Alison Croggon: Listen. Listen. I read this book when I was in high school immediately after I hurt my back so bad I was stuck in bed for a week, and literally continue to have issues with too this day. I CANNOT TELL YOU what the fucking plot was, and apparently there are 2 more books in the series that I didn’t know about, BUT I LOVED AND ADORED THIS BOOK OKAY IT WAS A WONDERFUL FANTASY NOVEL AND IT HAS A FEMALE LEAD ALRIGHT ITS GREAT JUST TAKE MY WORD FOR IT AND READ IT

Uglies Series by Scott Westserfeld: I remember finally getting my hands on this series and reading it in like, two days. Idk. It was great. If you can’t tell, I love fantasy and sci-fi and horror, which all mesh together horribly and you can never tell them apart. This isn’t horror though, just the other two. It’s about a world where when people turn a certain age, they get to become a “pretty’ which means to have surgery done to make them look perfect - only the reason for this is to dumb down society. Read it. I love it.

Vampire Academy by Richelle Mead: I love vampire novels. If you couldn’t tell, this is a vampire novel. It’s one of my preferred series though, I think Mead did an amazing job crafting the world she crafts. Vampires aren’t under wraps, nor are they inherently evil, but they do work in a really weird system where you have the Special vampires who the other vampires protect, and then like the bodyguard vampires. I can’t fully remember, it’s been a long time. But regardless, I remember this being one of the few novel series that made me cry, and I still love it to this day.

Harry Potter by JK Rowling: I thought this was such a give in that I didn’t put it on the list until now but actually like. Super good. I grew up in this series and sometimes I talk about it and remember I’m 24 cause some people I know have never read it and IT WAS LITERALLY MY CHILDHOOD. Still think it’s worth it, even as I poke more and more holes in the story, because the older you get, the more you start to recognize problematic things. Clearly, Harry Potter was meant for children, not an adult who wants to critize everything. GOOD READ THOUGH

Fangirl by Rainbow Rowell: I grew up the girl writing fanfiction hid away in the back of the class because I didn’t want anyone to know. I look up to the people older than me at the time who developed and crafted the world we live in now, where Fanfiction is almost acceptable. Reading this novel... brought me right back to the Harry Potter days when the fandom was sitll new, underground, and ao3 didn’t exist. Honestly... it’s a really good book, and really hits home for people like me who write fanfiction and want nothing more than to write novels one day.

Game of Thrones by George R.R. Martin: But actually the books are really good. I fucking adore the show and that’s what got me into the books, but the books are HELLA good. Weirdly, Daenery’s Targaryen is not the most well written character ever, and I blame it on Martin being a guy, becasue sometimes I actually hate her in the novels (seriously, he makes her sound... like a child, which I guess she kind of is) BUT one of my favorite things in the novel is that her husband Khal Drogo does not sexually assault her in the novels. He’s super sweet and good to her, and honestly just. Yep. Yeah. Good series.

What Happened to Lani Garver by Carol Plum Ucci: The most heartwrenching book of all time. I can’t tell you how long I cried over this book. I’m literally getting tearful as I think about it. It is... fucking BEAUTIFUL. I want to read it right this fucking second. It’s about a girl who was in remission from cancer, but who joins the cheerleading team. Only, shes technically too tall to be a cheerleader, so she gets an ED which actually puts her at risk for remission. She meets Lani Garver - the literal emodiment of a nonbinary person before that term every existed. Lani Garver is... a fucking angel. An actual angel okay. They help the main character through so much, specifically bullying, and Lani taught ME so much when I read it. The author refers to Lani as he, but remember that it was written before nonbinary was an accepted (possible even before it was a fully labeled) thing, but the book is SO worth reading. I. I’m going to go read it again.

Streams of Babel and it’s sequel The Fire Will Fall by Carol Plum Ucci: I originally read the second novel first on accident, which just goes to show you how good an author Ucci is becasue I didn’t even NOTICE until I got to the end and saw there was a first novel, oops. But, its a take on the lives of 4 kids in a situation of chemical warfare, and what happens to them when they get poisoned by the water. I think one of the kids is a fucking comptuer genius. Idk, I can’t fully remember, but it is one of my favorite novels, so check them out.

I’m like 100% that there’s more I could list but those are the ones I could currently recall BECAUSE THIS IS A MONUMENTAL TASK AND I LOVE BOOKS

#Anonymous #asks #book recs #book rec #books

94 notes · View notes