#book excerpt

[adamparrishsaccent]

Pardon my first post but we, as a community, do NOT talk about this scene enough.

THIS.

THIS. THIS.

I cannot possibly express how much I loved this one little scene. I think it really set the stage for a relationship between Adam and Ronan, as well as the difference between the way Gansey and Adam handle Ronan.

Firstly, no shade to my man Gansey, love him and his weird little king crush, but I think this scene highlighted perfectly what kind of puts him at odds with Ronan and Adam. In my opinion, Gansey seems to have a “fix it” sort of mindset. Not that he’d ever consider his friends broken or in need of repair, but he doesn’t like it when bad things happen to them or they engage in self destructive behavior. He wants to fix it because he cares about them, understandably so.

When Gansey sees Ronan punching the wall, he’s quick to intervene and set him “straight”. He wants to fix the situation, make sure Ronan doesn’t hurt himself or do something destructive. He gets a little snarky with Adam for his lack of action, but Adam just simply answers that he isn’t the one who can kill Ronan’s demons. This is a very key difference between Adam and Gansey’s character right here that I think is often overlooked.

We all know Gansey is like the mom friend, he tries to keep the peace and keep everyone in line, and subsequently feels a lot of guilt when something happens to them. They are his responsibility because he loves them so deeply. This certainly has its benefits with someone like Ronan, who needs who’s levelheaded and composed when he isn’t. Both Gansey and Adam generally fill that role for him, but it’s the way that they do it that just GETS me.

Adam doesn’t stop Ronan from punching that wall not because he doesn’t care, but because he understands it in a way that Gansey doesn’t. Adam lets Ronan take out his frustrations because it’s not his job to stop him. Ronan has demons, he has gone through horrible things and the things that surface because of that aren’t always pretty, but Adam doesn’t try and fix those things. He lets Ronan punch the wall because he understands needing to do it. Everyone has their own demons, and only Ronan can overcome his own. It’s not anyone else’s place to try and do it for him, which I think Gansey unknowingly attempts to do for all of his friends.

This isn’t to say Gansey’s way of handling it was wrong or that Ronan should be allowed to just go and do whatever destructive thing, nor is it to say that one method of handling the situation was better than the other. Ronan very clearly needs BOTH Adam and Gansey when he experiences those lows. Adam allows him to express what he feels, and Gansey keeps him from going too far with it. I just love this little scene that pinpoints that key difference between Adam and Gansey.

I could also use his and Adam’s constant fights and bickering regarding Gansey’s insistence on always fixing things, but I will probably do that in another post...

[goodluckclove]

The Hot Dog Scene (Migration Patterns Preview)

I feel like I have to include this to provide closure to those invested in my Hot Dog Discourse. It's a first draft so it might look different when the book comes out next year, but like...here it is. The Hot Dog Scene.

Edgar lingered. He looked tired in a positive way. Tired like how a person feels after they stop shouldering as much of their unimaginable burden. His eyes locked with Tenzin and he twitched an attempt at a smile.

“You want to get a hot dog?” Tenzin asked him.

He blinked, startled. “Excuse me?”

“Or chili fries, maybe? I’m probably going to get chili fries.”

“It’s the place next door,” Jude told him. “It’s good. They make a great Seattle dog.”

Edgar furrowed his brow. “What’s that?”

“Polish sausage with grilled onions and cream cheese.”

“They also,” Tenzin’s stomach lurched again and she sighed inwardly. “They also make regular hot dogs that humans can eat.”

Apparently all it took was the concept of a new type of hot dog to immediately start lifting Edgar’s spirits. “It’s – good?” He asked. “I never thought...I couldn’t even imagine that to be a thing that existed.”

Jude got this devilish look on zir face that Tenzin hated. “You’ve had a bagel with cream cheese and lox, right?”

“I suppose I have.”

“It’s the same idea! If Riley’s working the counter ask them to add grilled cabbage with a sprinkle of jalapeno brine. You won’t regret it.”

A slow, warm smile blossomed over Edgar’s face. He was excited, genuinely excited, despite the looming life-changing circumstances hanging just above their heads. Earlier today he was questioning if Scott would still love him under a new set of pronouns. Now all of that was rendered unimportant thanks to the promise of a singular, five-dollar hot dog.

It was childlike in a way that struck Tenzin right across the face. She knew then why Scott fell for him so instantly. Why Katy considered him family.

She bopped him with the corner of her briefcase and nodded towards the door. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go. I’m hungry.”

“Right now?” Edgar looked uncertain. “Don’t you still need to..?” Eventually his anticipation for a new flavor overtook whatever hesitation he had. “Uh – yeah! Yeah, okay. Cool!”

The hot dog place was dingy, yet clean. The checkered tiled floors were scuffed in the way that implied a heavy amount of foot traffic, while the furniture looked brand new. Tenzin and Edgar took a seat at the counter by the large window after they ordered.

Tenzin got a bite to eat here whenever she was in the area because it was a weird enough eatery to stock RC Cola. She sipped at the rim of her mug and enjoyed the icy, sweet fizz. Beside her Edgar watched out the window with the straw of his own glass held between his teeth.

“It’s interesting,” Edgar began.

Here we go. “What is?” Tenzin asked hesitantly, wiping her mouth with a napkin from the nearby dispenser.

“RC Cola is more sour than I expected. It’s not bad – I like how smooth it is. It’s like…” Edgar took a drink from the straw and analyzed it carefully. “Cinnamon, maybe. Some kind of orange or lemon, and – it’s crazy, but I almost get a hint of rose. It reminds me of kombucha.”

She didn’t even realize that Edgar got the same soda as her. It looked like he enjoyed it, though with much more thought than Tenzin tended to give to anything she ate or drank.

“Do you do that all the time?” She said. “Do you just analyze everything you taste?”

Edgar shrugged. “It helps me appreciate it.”

“You never just eat something just to eat it?”

He looked close to embarrassment, but something changed at the very last moment and he doubled down. “It feels more mindful to...know what I’m eating. And why I like it. How it makes me feel. I mean, growing up I didn’t always get – I don’t know. I like to be grateful for things like this.”

Tenzin let out a stifled laugh. She worried Edgar would take it personally, but when he spoke again there was a smile in his voice. “Do I sound like a crazy person?”

“You sound like a birthright.”

She looked at him sitting beside her. Edgar was newly relaxed – more so than usual, especially with it just being him and her on their own. He smiled easily with his eyes shimmering in a soft gold glow, one that held its potency without trouble. This might’ve been the first time she saw him use his abilities with total control. He looked in that moment like any other witch town member. If she noticed him in the Mess Hall she’d take him to be a new employee she just didn’t get a chance to meet yet.

And he was reading her now. Reading her like Regina used to when they first met. Or was he? Growing up Tenzin would see her mom’s eyes glow momentarily in moments of high emotion. Regina told her it was an empty gesture, a reflex that couldn’t actually gain any real information. Not from Tenzin. Not anymore.

Edgar wore another beaded bracelet around his wrist that she didn’t notice until now. It was done up in multiple colors, just a repeating line of black and gray and white and green. She recognized the Agender pride flag as one of the gender identities Scott, and by proxy Tenzin, were informed of in their childhood.

That must’ve been one intense conversation between Edgar and Jude. Tenzin was grateful she didn’t have to be the one to navigate it.

“You never showed her your work,” Edgar said, eyes pointed down towards Tenzin’s bag.

“Mm,” Tenzin quickly put on an indifferent demeanor. “Don’t really need to.”

Edgar raised his brow. “Really? We drove all this way.”

“Well that’s the thing, isn’t it? That’s exactly what Jude’s thinking right now. So when I go ahead and ignore most of what ze told me to do, ze can’t get that upset,” Tenzin raised her drink to punctuate her point. “Because we drove all this way.”

“Clever,” Edgar said.

He said that with both sarcasm and admiration. Very recently she described Edgar as her brother. He technically was in at least a few senses. Absolutely not in many others.

When they met Tenzin was so crazed by her Knight’s Bond that she elbow struck him off his feet and could’ve easily beaten him to death. She cleaned the blood off his face once she healed him and he sat so carefully, not even wincing at the sight of his own blood.

It could be that he was used to the sight. The smell. The taste, even. Enough so that it didn’t surprise him anymore.

I won’t let anything put you in danger, she told him when he lingered in the car before meeting Regina. Tenzin meant it, too. She couldn’t explain why and even now the reasons confused and aggravated her.

The cashier that took their order came by with two baskets with hot dogs and fries. The teen placed one in front of each of them, muttered a weak bon appetite, and retreated back to the register.

Edgar’s attention was fully enraptured by the meal. He looked down at it and grinned. His eyes were massive and bright with shy excitement. Tenzin wonders how something so tarnished could be cleaned to glimmer so brightly.

It is unfair for Tenzin to feel an echo her feelings for Scott reflected in a separate human being. It just wasn’t right.

She took a french fry from the pile in her basket and bit into it. It was hot, but no too hot.

“How is it?” Edgar asked, hushed and eager.

Tenzin ate another fry. “Uh – good?” She attempted. “It’s...crispy. Salty. Made of – potato.”

Edgar picked up a french fry. It was a french fry. It was the first result in a stock image search of the word french fry and did not deserve remotely as much focus as Edgar was giving it.

“You know what I don’t see a lot of?” He looked at Tenzin but didn’t give her time to answer. “Waffle fries. Why do you think that is?”

He’s supposed to be the normal one, Tenzin thought in stunned silence. He’s supposed to be the one that got to be a regular human being.

Edgar didn’t look like he noticed her silence. “I think they’re harder to fry. That’s just my theory though. I never got to work a deep fryer,” he ate the fry in his hand and smiled. “Ooh, it’s fresh.”

He took a sip of his soda and took a deep breath, rubbing his hands in private anticipation. Edgar Gallows was the origin of Scott’s agony for his entire life, and now the guy was revving himself up to eat a hot dog. Treating it like he was about to land a perfect back flip on the first try. How did the events of Tenzin’s life lead up to this of all things?

She watched Edgar tenderly handle his Seattle-style hot dog, a title of which sounded deeply questionable since Tenzin had been to Seattle for business and didn’t see anyone slathering their processed meat with cream cheese. She wasn’t sure if it was an actually style native to the city as a whole. It was far more likely to her that some pervert thought himself clever and decided to make Washington worse as a result of it.

Edgar bit into the end and chewed. His focus was refined and laser sharp, but Tenzin knew she could’ve left the restaurant right now and he wouldn’t notice her absence until she was halfway home.

An entire conversation was being held with himself through the slight twitch of his brow and narrowing of his large eyes. The gold returned in a soft shimmer, showing just how much emotional stimulation Edgar was getting from just one bite.

He’s...reading the intentions? Tenzin truly felt one misstep away from losing her mind. Is Edgar reading the intentions of his hot dog?

She smiled deliriously thinking about it. Then, softly, she began to laugh. Eventually the sound was loud enough to attract Edgar’s attention. He swallowed and smiled sheepishly.

“’S good,” he said.

Tenzin tried to speak and could only laugh. She held her hand over her mouth, lolled her chin down to her chest, and laughed even harder. By the time Tenzin finally got a hold of her senses Edgar was already halfway done with his hot dog. He ate calmly and paid little mind to her hysterics. Edgar remained perfectly satisfied with the situation he was in.

“It’s really good,” he clarified while she caught her breath. “It’s probably top – top five. In my list of hot dogs.”

“It’s not even number one?” Tenzin’s voice was hoarse from laughter and she was forced to drink some cola to dull the burn. “Ah. Ah man. What a shame.”

“No, it’s good!” Edgar grinned. “I always love to try a new food.”

He looked happy. The affection Tenzin felt for him in that moment was stark and disorientating. It was something long-sleeping in her chest suddenly startled out of hibernation.

This was her brother. No. Yes. Maybe. The answer didn’t matter as much as Tenzin’s new conviction. Edgar was here now, after all this time, and there was no point resenting him for things he didn’t know, understand, or have any control over.

Scott was willing to die in his search for Eddie. If he didn’t find Edgar when he did, he likely would be dead. Or worse. But none of that happened, and now the two of them could sit together and eat a strange and slightly sacrilegious hot dog.

Edgar went back to happily eating. Tenzin decided to join him then, and she picked up the soft bun and bit into the sausage. She tried to focus on what she was eating. It was – crispy? Crispy, but not crunchy. It tasted like cooked meat and tangy cream – so creamy meat, but not like that because that sounds terrible.

It was okay.

[doyouknowthisbook-poll]

Do you know which book this is from?

Please reblog the polls, but KEEP IT SPOILER-FREE to make people read the excerpt with an open mind 💖📚 Title and author will be revealed after the poll's conclusion.

[septemberkisses]

— Carol Rifka Brunt in Tell The Wolves I'm Home

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

The Arrangement was very simple, so simple in fact that it didn’t really deserve the capital letter, which it had got for simply being in existence for so long. It was the sort of sensible arrangement that many isolated agents, working in awkward conditions a long way from their superiors, reach with their opposite number when they realize that they have more in common with their immediate opponents than their remote allies. It meant a tacit non-interference in certain of each other’s activities. It made certain that while neither really won, also neither really lost, and both were able to demonstrate to their masters the great strides they were making against a cunning and well-informed adversary.

It meant that Crowley had been allowed to develop Manchester, while Aziraphale had a free hand in the whole of Shropshire. Crowley took Glasgow, Aziraphale had Edinburgh (neither claimed any responsibility for Milton Keynes, [Note for Americans and other aliens: Milton Keynes is a new city approximately halfway between London and Birmingham. It was built to be modern, efficient, healthy, and, all in all, a pleasant place to live. Many Britons find this amusing.] but both reported it as a success).

And then, of course, it had seemed even natural that they should, as it were, hold the fort for one another whenever common sense dictated. Both were of angel stock, after all. If one was going to Hull for a quick temptation, it made sense to nip across the city and carry out a standard brief moment of divine ecstasy. It’d get done anyway, and being sensible about it gave everyone more free time and cut down on expenses.

Aziraphale felt the occasional pang of guilt about this, but centuries of association with humanity was having the same effect on him as it was on Crowley, except in the other direction.

Besides, the Authorities didn’t seem to care much who did anything, so long as it got done.

- Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch

[lilithsorchid]

The Secret History by Donna Tartt

A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara

[longreads]

Chaos and Cosmic Order: The Year of the Dragon

It’s February, 2000. Lunar New Year is fast approaching. Grace Loh Prasad was just trying to get to China to celebrate with her family, until a critical snag puts her reunion in jeopardy. 

Check out this excerpt of her upcoming book, The Translator’s Daughter. 

The China Airlines ticket agent looks at my ticket, then at me. I notice the gray hairs beginning to sprout around his temples and his slightly oily complexion. He’s a Taiwanese man in his mid-forties, speaking unaccented English, probably married with kids and an elderly mother-in-law at home, all three generations under one roof in Daly City or Hayward or San Jose. He looks at the ticket again, then his eyes meet mine. His face softens with a mixture of concern and pity, an I-hate-to-tell-you-this look. I strive to keep my face expressionless, even as I feel the adrenaline surging through my veins. I act as though I don’t know what he is about to tell me with a sigh of administrative regret. “I’m sorry, but . . . this ticket is for yesterday.”

Read the excerpt at Longreads.

[incorrect-primarchs-quotes]

Re-reading "Vulkan lives" because my brain has completely deleted any information about this book and

Baby didn't like being alone

[amberfoxerotica]

Something stirred under the table, concealed beneath the long tablecloth. A slimy streak ran along my ankle, the touch soft and wet. A sigh left my lips at the delicate touch. 

“I see. So your tentacles are good for a great many things then.” The tentacle stroked up my calf in response.

I looked deep into the tentacle monster’s eye as I traced a finger around the rim of my wine glass. Sexual undercurrents were clear in the tentacle monster’s penetrating gaze. We shared this moment, heightened by the secret, sensual touch hidden from everyone else.

We continued sipping at our wine, our eyes locked, sparks of desire flying between us. The tentacle smeared up my knee, then up my thigh. Another tentacle joined the first, slipping under my dress and pulling my moistened panties from my arousal-soaked pussy. I sucked in a breath as the first tentacle brushed up my slit, turning my body hot with desire.

“Two strawberry tarts,” a voice said, causing me to jolt in my seat and the tentacle monster to pause its advances. Our waitress had returned. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said as she lay two plates on the table.

“Oh! That’s quite alright,” I replied. “Thank you. The tarts smell delicious.” 

“Enjoy them,” the waitress said before departing.

I looked down at the tarts. They were still fresh from the oven and decorated with strawberries. “Something tells me you really like strawberries,” I teased. The tentacle monster reciprocated by spreading my pussy lips and, at a glacial pace, gliding an oozing tentacle into me. “I’ll take that as a ye–ess…” I said, my eyes sinking closed as the slimy penetration slowly overwhelmed me.

-----

This is an excerpt. Get the full story here

🌐 www.amberfoxerotica.com

[godzilla-reads]

How unaware many trekkers around the world are of what a luxury it is to be able to walk in the land they love without anger, fear or insecurity, just to be able to walk without political arguments running obsessively through their heads, without the fear of losing what they’ve come to love, without the anxiety that they will be deprived of the right to enjoy it. Simply to walk and savor what nature has to offer, as I was once able to do.

—Raja Shehadeh, Palestinian Walks: Forays into a Vanishing Landscape

[icecreamwithjackdaniels]

I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.

— Pablo Neruda, Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair, 1924

[newvision]

No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai

[imkeepinit]

From the 1993 Discworld series novel Men at Arms by Terry Pratchett.

[septemberkisses]

To be loved is to be known; to be seen.

Excerpts Sources:

Is it okay to say this? - Trista Masteer // Blasted - Sarah Kane // Reassurances to Hades - Kristina Haynes // The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo - T.J. Reid // My Mother/Madame Edwarda/The Dead Man - Georges Bataille //"The Last Poem in the Book," These Days (Alfred A. Knopf, 1989); Over and over again - Frederick Seidel // My Mother/Madame Edwarda/The Dead Man - Georges Bataille // Adult Children of Emotionaly Immature Parents - Lindsay C. Gibson // She Satisfies A Fear with the Rhetoric of Tears - Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz // My Life Is Pathetic! - Heather Havrilesky

[missinyouiskillingme]

„You'll get over it...“ It's the cliches that cause the trouble. To lose someone you love is to alter your life for ever. You don't get over it because 'it' is the person you loved. The pain stops, there are new people, but the gap never closes. How could it? The particularness of someone who mattered enough to greive over is not made anodyne by death. This hole in my heart is in the shape of you and no-one else can fit it. Why would I want them to?

— Jeanette Winterson, Written on the Body

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

In ep 6, right after Aziraphale asks if the Great Plan is also the Ineffable Plan, Crowley seems to realize something and says “You don’t know.” Maybe I’m missing something obvious, but…wtf does this mean?? I’ve watched the show twice through and I still don’t know lmao. Thanks!! :)

Hiya! :) Crowley realizes that they don't actually know what God's plan is, so they can with Aziraphale bullshit them to go away :D (like... oh you thought that the Great Plan about War is the thing? oh no, actually the Ineffable Plan is and it means something different...), in the book there is:

"Excuse me," said the angel.

The trio looked at him.

"This Great Plan," he said, "this would be the ineffable Plan, would it?"

There was a moment's silence.

"It's the Great Plan," said the Metatron flatly. "You are well aware. There shall be a world lasting six thousand years and it will conclude with—"

"Yes, yes, that's the Great Plan all right," said Aziraphale. He spoke politely and respectfully, but with the air of one who has just asked an unwelcome question at a political meeting and won't go away until he gets an answer. "I was just asking if it's ineffable as well. I just want to be clear on this point."

"It doesn't matter!" snapped the Metatron. "It's the same thing, surely!"

Surely? thought Crowley. They don't actually know. He started to grin like an idiot.

"So you're not one hundred percent clear on this?" said Aziraphale.

"It's not given to us to understand the ineffable Plan," said the Metatron, "but of course the Great Plan—"

"But the Great Plan can only be a tiny part of the overall ineffability," said Crowley. "You can't be certain that what's happening right now isn't exactly right, from an ineffable point of view."

"It izz written!" bellowed Beelzebub.

"But it might be written differently somewhere else," said Crowley.

"Where you can't read it."

"In bigger letters," said Aziraphale.

"Underlined," Crowley added.

"Twice," suggested Aziraphale.

"Perhaps this isn't just a test of the world," said Crowley. "It might be a test of you people, too. Hmm?"

"God does not play games with His loyal servants," said the Metatron, but in a worried tone of voice.

"Whoop-eee," said Crowley. "Where have you been?"