#pure poetic masterpiece

[mariondeux]

nagisa non con nagisa non con nagisa non con. can i pls request nagisa non con where hes treating the reader like a delicate thing having them tied up in silk n stuff and impaling them on his big cock pls 🙏🏼 and a trans masc reader pls i need to get my trans dick sucked i miss it 😞 -💌

— SYNOPSIS ; Nothing but words of adoration came out of Nagisa’s mouth as he forced himself onto you. Admiring the silk tying up your body and having his way with you.

CW ; NSFW, Non-con, shibari using silk, praise, gentle sex, soft dom Nagisa

WORD COUNT ; 536

PAIRING ; Nagisa Ran x Transmasc!Reader

A/N ; To be honest I tried being a little poetic with this one. It probably sucks though. But, I hope you like it either way!

FEMALE ALIGNED DNI.

Nagisa’s tall stature leaned over yours, his thick cock tenderly sliding in and out of you. His arms hovered just above your head, his hands pressing your wrists down onto the bed. Your body was tied up in silk, shibari style. He specifically tied your torso in a diamond harness. Silk was much gentler on your skin than normal ropes, treating you as if you were a porcelain doll.

“An absolute masterpiece, a flawless song. Your delicate figure wrapped in silk… is a display I don’t think I can ever forget. The sounds you make are so precious...” He breathed out, gentle amber eyes holding the warmth of the sun locked onto the sight of you unfolding underneath him. This choice of color fits you perfectly, complimenting your skin tone. He made a great choice choosing this color, as it only amplified your beauty. You were a sight to behold, a sight he couldn’t look away from. A vision of beauty, a mesmerizing trance.

You writhed in his hold, your head tilting to the side with tears pouring out of your eyes, glistening with a reflection of the truth of the situation you were in. You wanted nothing but to fall asleep, drowning in the nothingness of slumber so you could become numb to the surrounding things. So you could ignore the fluffy feeling of Nagisa treating you like a precious, fragile prince.

You grit your teeth as Nagisa worked his way deeper into you, eventually pressing his hips flat against yours. Your insides stretched out around his girth, trying its best to accommodate his size. As a pained whine makes its way out of you, Nagisa notes your discomfort and presses his lips at the corners of your eyes, kissing the tears away.

It was ironic. You knew he knew full well you didn’t want him to be inside of you like this. He’d forced himself onto you like the seasons changing. From fall to winter. He dismissed your pleas for him to stop. And now he was comforting you, treating you so nicely as he fucked you open. From winter to spring.

“Relax your body, loosen your grip. Breathe in deep and let it go. Just close your eyes and let me take care of you.” Nagisa’s voice smoothed out into a soothing, reassuring tone. His hands left your wrists, serving no purpose in pinning you down when you were already tied up. His left hand moved down your body, his hand dragging across your skin and up your thigh. He moved your leg and slung it over his shoulder.

With his right hand, the palm of his hand ghosted over your crotch. Two fingers placed themselves on either side of your tiny cock, sliding up and down your folds. His cock continued slowly, entering and out of you as his thumb gently pressed against your sensitive dick. His actions drew a moan out of you, head tilting back a little to shove yourself further into the bed.

“I love you, (name). Just know my love for you is pure, and with every breath I adore you. Your body and your will all belong to me, and I to you. Never forget that.”

TAGLIST ; @resluv @berrycolaa @noahrandom @1694 @raiiinydayz

[not-actually-a-goddess]

Fable SMP Finale - Analysis & Thoughts

Holy shit, I cannot even begin to describe how much of an emotional rollercoaster watching the finale of Fable SMP was. I was sobbing one second, screaming in joy the next, laughing and smiling not soon after, and feeling anger or sickness. The pure emotion that the cast of Fable SMP put into this masterpiece is undeniable. And yes, I know it's silly little block people playing silly little stories, but their our silly little block people and their stories are huge! There were cutscenes with commissioned art!

The joy and comfort that Fable SMP has brought me over the past many months is massive. Their streams were around for me to watch when I was having bad days or needed something in the background while studying. Fable SMP was a multimodal storytelling wonder. And whilst I'm sad it's over, I'm happy it was there to start with. I came into this fandom at the mid-point of S2, and from then on, have been hooked. I love the art and the cosplay and the nice fandom with friendly, cosy chat communities. But anyways, let's get into this analysis. (also RIP Rakai, thankyou for romantically distracting Ick and making them forget about hunting the child, a.k.a Athena) Spoilers!!!!!!!!!! For anyone who hasn't watched the finale!

To start with, watching the complicated emotion portrayed by Sherbertquake through Icarus was incredible acting. The whole cast, including Fable himself (aka Mr. HeyHay's husband), displayed awesome acting that I'm jealous of and one day hope to be able to express. I loved watching Sherb change their expression, even minutely, as everyone just unloaded their trauma and screamed at Fable. I loved watching as they realised that maybe their dad wasn't the best guy, even though they knew it in the back of their mind the whole time. Hearing the raw emotion that each member of the cast poured into their act was impressive, and reminded me that you don't just have to be an actor to be good at acting. As of now, I'm still yet to watch HeyHays POV, but trust me I will, I just need to emotionally heal over the next couple of days.

Now onto the storyline of the finale. Now of course, I've only watched from Sherberts' POV, but here's what I think as of now. I started watching the episode effectively knowing what would go down, but I still came out surprised. At the start, I could definitely see the hesitance for action in Icarus but also their want for relief and the freeing of burden, still mostly trusting in their father. Of course, Icarus would always trust Fable at the start, he is their dad. Their dad who they've been missing all their life, whenever they actually needed him, he couldn't be there. Fable was also the one that promised Icarus what they wanted; peace, freedom from Quixis, their mother back, a happy united family, no more resets. Why wouldn't Icarus believe everything their father said? It's like a preacher in a pulpit. But as we moved further through the episode, we started to see everything fall apart. We could see pain, pain as people had to fight others they didn't want to. And then things started to unravel more as everyone entered Purgatory for the final show down. Our beloved Violet of course swooped in to save the day in the final second, saving Athena from Reaver by Fable's hand. Fable was then chained, which is ironic, as this whole scene reminded us of Fable's new mortality. That without the Reaver, he was nothing. And then, we finally got to see Icarus redeem themselves. I thought the glitching trident through the chest was very poetic and very Icarus. The creation destroying their creator in more ways than one. Fable was both Icarus's dad but also the creator of who Icarus had become over the last couple of months. He poisoned Icarus and turned them against their friends, so it was nice to see Icarus make things right and put Fable out of his misery. And then everyone was together again. The brothers were reunited, and I cried when we finally got to see Icarus and Rae get that much needed hug. Athena didn't immediately forgive Icarus, but that's fair, and Icarus understood that and was willing to move towards restoring their relationship. I suppose that's what happens when you push Athenas boyfriend off a tree and hurt Momboo. I think Arisanna staying back in Purgatory and working to restore it was a good move, and I'm excited to watch everyone else's epilogues. When it was time to Icarus to pass on, I was also really sad, because this meant the actual end for the series, especially for Icarus. It was nice to see Violet/Centross and Ick get closure and emotionally heal? And for Ick and Rae get a final goodbye.

Okay, so the art cutscenes? Awesome! They added finesse to the final scenes and made the project really elaborate and put together. I love @fruitsalad864 art, and I could definitely see bits of Silco in Fable. *chefs kiss* I think putting the art in grey background and black ink with touches of colour for emphasis and embellishment was a good creative choice and didn't make anything too busy. I loved the flashes of peoples eyes as they casted the spell to trap Fable, it was a nice way to include everyone into the art. But what do I know? I had to quit high school art classes in Grade 10, which is sad.

Anyways, Sherberts filmed end scene. Let's look at that. Well, we finally got to see Quixis' face, in fact we got to see all of Quixis and the world port. Does anybody know if the creators made the world port prop or they went some where to film. Because if so, kudos for being brave enough to film in a large public setting. The emotion and ambience in the moment was great, and finding out why all the wack has been happening to Icky was a big relief to know. Thankyou Quixis for protecting the wet bird from carrying the burden when they were too young and giving them time to grow up. You're our favourite god/not god kinda' person! Finding out that when Icarus were to take the position, everyone would forget about them past the point of when they died in the first reset, saddened me. But also, seeing Icarus accept this and take up the mantle with no hesitation was a good character development, showing that they're now a selfless person who will do anything for their family. But it's sad that Ick won't see them for a while and they won't remember what happened. But I was also happy, happy to see Icarus move on and happy to see the relief on all their alternate selves faces as Icarus took the spot as Quixis. The filming as we spun through the reel of Icarus's AU's was beautiful and had a good use of angles. The cosplays were awesome, and I've just got to say, the use of that piece of music was perfect, it gave a sense of hope, peace, and new beginnings. It was fresh and I almost felt the wind on my face. Thankyou @sherbertquake56 and your film crew for doing these scenes for us, they added the closure we all needed.

For now, I think I'm calling this a finish for my analysis. But I'll be back! Don't worry! I'll be doing some short analysis's of everyone else's epilogues and also ticking off the predictions I made earlier this year.

Signing out,

The Lady

[rinamars]

I always wondered what fics do my favorite authors read bc maybe if I start reading them too, I'll be able to write like them 😤 Kidding aside, can you recommend some Erwin x Reader fics that you really like/inspire you to write? I'm fine with on-going ones 🤩

little anon i could KISS you!! i've been looking for an excuse to make an erwin fic recs post so here we go *cracks knuckles* brace yourselves heheh (warning: most of these recs are 18+)

first of all: everything @riewritten has ever written. EVERYTHING. that goes without saying. her brain is so big. i wish i could take a trip inside her mind. rie ily

this is a story of the sea by shinzouing is a canonverse eruri x reader fic, where the three enter a relationship (or rather, erwin enters a relationship with both of them. levi and reader are idiots at first. the pining is so delicious though). where do i even begin to talk about this masterpiece? it broke me. it seriously broke me. i'm just going to say that the universe she has created in this story (as well as in the sequel which i'm going to talk about in a sec) feels so real and so right that when i finished it i needed a minute to remind myself what details that are ACTUALLY canon and what aren't. peak writing i swear. heartbreaking, but worth it.

after tiasots has broken your heart, go read beyond the sea by the same author and let it piece it back together!! it's currently being posted, and it's basically the continuation of tiasots BUT erwin survives at shiganshina (unlike in tiasots). again, same thing: peak writing, and a little universe it's sooo easy to get lost in. this story will end up living rent free in your mind, trust me.

aaand also set in the tiasots universe is certain obscure things!! it's three chapters, and in each of them they take turns between being dominant or submissive. this is smut that goes a lot harder than what you can find in tiasots but everything shinzouing writes is pure gold

to complete the eruri x reader category (aka the fics that made me go "i think i might be into the concept of throuples") there's two lovers by feelingthorny. it's also set in canonverse. erwin and levi are in an established relationship, one day they invite reader into their bed, and... Big Feelings ensue. i have another fic by feelingthorny by recommend, and oh man, she truly has a way of writing emotions that is so evocative and poetic, it truly drags you into the moment and you are able to feel exactly what they are feeling, they're so immersive. the smut parts literally drip with body worship, it's insane. beautiful.

the other fic by feelingthorny i HAVE to mention is close call. this one is pwp, but FUCK this erwin is SO DREAMY. and, as one might tell, the writing is just marvelous.

next, i recommend every! single! fic! that belongs to the to build a home series by nylondreams. the romance, the intimacy, the tenderness... ahh, they're so lovely to read. and *cough* the first fic in the series gave me a breeding kink *cough*

more recommendations in the "horny fics that also made me fall in love even more" category: e major, uncorked and treasured memories, all by whatsherquirk. delicious. that's all i'm going to say.

prying eyes by SecretsOfHarprocrates is in my opinion a depiction of erwin that's very close to how he'd behave in canon (if canon included sexy times)

four christmases by ghost_party was !!! ok i don't really know what to say about this one because it's been a while since i read it, but you have to trust me and check it out!!

i think that's all for now, i hope i haven't forgotten anything (if i have i'll just reblog this post and add more). happy reading <3

now PLEASE give me an excuse to make an eruri fic recs post (or even a levi one)

[lonelypep]

spoilers for episode 2 of the fall of the house of usher

the end of episode two is just a masterpiece kinda

before i get into the meat and potatoes, this show is very interesting just in the way its formulated. we have a plotline in 1980, when madeline and robert are young, a plotline in the recent past, following all of our tragic bisexual kids' deaths, and a plotline following dupin and robert's conversation. theres so many layers to every conflict in this show so far, and i love it.

we're told from the start of the show that roberts kids will all die. this is already interesting, instead of it being a twist, we're told from the get-go. instead of being surprised at a bomb going off, the writers tell us the bomb is there, making it all the more interesting seeing it go off.

towards the final moments of episode 2, perry is having a conversation with verna, and she warns him that its not too late to stop. this isn't perry's last warning, it's ours. more media-savy viewers couldve guessed perry would die at the end of the episode, but this is our confirmation.

perry's death is ultimately a tragedy. throughout the episode, we see his brilliance. he's smart enough to manipulate his peers into whatever he sees fit, clever enough to rewire a "watering" system, and cunning enough to get some of the most influential people ever into a single one-night orgy. his smarts, his intelligence could've gone towards anything. he could do anything he wants, napoleon says so. but he focuses his time into something this meaningless and inconsequential. but everything has consequences, thats something verna says.

after our warning, our premonition, we're pulled back into the party. wicked game by the newton brothers begins to play, and that is when shit goes nuts. the camera movement is fast, eccentric, making damien chazelle's camera quake in its boots. and on screen, hundreds of people fucking. its a moment without thought, people are consumed purely by carnal desire, and its simultaneously beautiful and disgusting. then the rain starts to fall, but its acid.

the people, previously connected by sex, are forced together as their skin melts together. their screams are unheard, they are simultaneously together and more alone than they ever were. perry's brilliance, consumed by desire for sex, is melted and conjoined with the other bodies in the room. its the scariest thing ive ever seen flannigan make. ive never felt this uncomfortable since a similar scene in nope.

its brilliant, poetic, tragic, and gory and fleshy.

sorry for my rudimentary pointless pretentious essay i literally couldn't sleep until i wrote this stuff down.

[author-of-all-sins]

Making love...

A dance of passion, hearts in sweet design.

Soft caresses weave a tale untold,

Two souls embraced, a love to unfold.

In the symphony of sighs, desires bloom,

Silken moments, an intimate cocoon.

Eyes locked in rapture, a gaze profound,

Bodies entwined, a love spell unbound.

Your touch, a sonnet, on skin it scribes,

In the language of love, where passion thrives.

Breathless melodies, a symphony of bliss,

In the poetry of us, sealed with a kiss.

Embraced by moonbeams, our spirits soar,

Love's canvas painted, forevermore.

A dance of stars, a celestial rhyme,

In the realm of us, transcending time.

Ethereal touch, a ballet of grace, Passion's embrace, a timeless chase.

Stars above, witnesses to our desire, Igniting flames, a poetic fire. Silken words in shadows spun, In the realm of love, we are the only one.

With every breath, a sacred hymn, Lost in the rhythm, our bodies swim. A canvas of ecstasy, painted by the night, Two hearts colliding, pure and bright.

In this symposium of tender affection, A masterpiece crafted, a divine connection. Embraced by the echoes of a whispered vow, Our love, an opus, forever and now.

[cynic-spirit]

The Compliment

It was a typical night at the club, everyone was in good spirits, and the teasing was in full swing. Steve, Sam, Nick, and Thor were all gathered at the table with Bucky and Yn. The conversation turned toward Bucky’s endless compliments for Yn, which had not gone unnoticed by the group.

“You know, Yn,” Steve started with a knowing smirk, “Bucky here never misses a chance to compliment you.”

Sam nodded, grinning. “And all you ever do is say, ‘Thanks, Bucky,’ like he just handed you a cup of coffee or something.”

Nick chuckled, leaning back. “The guy’s practically composing love sonnets, and you’re over there with a ‘thanks.’”

Thor laughed, his deep voice booming through the room. “A simple ‘thank you’ doesn’t do the man justice.”

Bucky immediately stiffened, sensing the trap being laid out before him. He raised his hands in defense, looking at Yn. “Guys, don’t—”

But it was too late. Yn’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Oh? I don’t appreciate him enough, is that it?” She arched a brow and turned to Bucky, a playful smile on her lips. “You think I don’t compliment you, Bucky?”

Bucky’s eyes widened. “Yn, don’t...”

Yn leaned forward, her voice taking on a dramatic, almost poetic cadence. “You know, Bucky, I could compliment you more. Let’s start with your hair.” She gestured to his dark locks. “It’s like the Starry Night by Van Gogh—each strand as dark and deep as the night sky, swirling in endless beauty. A masterpiece.”

Bucky shifted in his seat, already feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. “Oh no…”

Ignoring his discomfort, Yn continued, her voice smooth and confident. “Your face,” she said, letting her eyes trace his jawline. “It’s chiseled like the statue of Michelangelo’s David, each angle sharp and perfect, as if molded by the hands of the gods themselves. That jaw... it could cut through glass.”

Sam snorted, already having trouble containing his laughter. “Oh man, she’s really getting started.”

Thor, looking absolutely entertained, nodded enthusiastically. “This is gold.”

Yn pressed on, turning her attention to his lips. “And your lips... they’re like the delicate curves of Bernini’s Apollo and Daphne—soft, inviting, a work of divine craftsmanship. A kiss from those lips is surely like being touched by art itself.”

Bucky’s hand shot up to his face in pure embarrassment. “Yn, please…”

But she was just warming up. Her eyes flicked to his piercing blue gaze. “And your eyes... they’re Monet’s Water Lilies, serene yet striking, pools of blue so deep they could drown a person. They see through everything, Bucky. They are like art come to life.”

Steve leaned back in his chair, shaking his head with a grin. “She’s killing him.”

Nick laughed, nodding. “Oh, he’s done for.”

Yn’s gaze dropped to his shoulders. “Your shoulders,” she continued, her voice dripping with admiration. “They’re like the Parthenon—broad, strong, capable of holding up empires. They carry the weight of the world with grace and ease.”

Bucky’s composure was visibly slipping, but Yn didn’t stop. Her hand brushed lightly over his arm as she moved down. “And those biceps... like the curves of Rodin’s The Thinker. Every muscle perfectly sculpted, a testament to strength, carved out of pure marble.”

Thor chuckled, “She’s describing a literal god.”

Bucky groaned softly. “Oh my god…”

Yn, completely unfazed, shifted her focus to his chest. “Your chest, Bucky... expansive, like the canvas of da Vinci’s The Last Supper, full of detail and meaning. It’s a masterpiece of strength and power, every inch telling a story.”

Bucky was gripping the table at this point, trying not to collapse under the weight of her words. “Yn, I’m begging you—”

But she went on, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “And your abs, Buck... they’re like the architecture of Gaudí’s Sagrada Família—intricate, precise, a wonder of design and craftsmanship. Every muscle a deliberate work of art, as if designed to mesmerize.”

Sam covered his mouth, barely containing his laughter. “I can’t... I can’t breathe.”

Steve was practically in tears. “He’s not going to make it.”

Yn moved to his back, her hand tracing lightly over his shoulder as she leaned closer. “Your back... strong, like Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel. Every line, every muscle, like a perfect fresco, a divine creation.”

At this point, Bucky looked like he might actually melt into the floor. His entire face was flushed, and his breathing had grown shallow. “Yn, please stop.”

Yn smirked, but she didn’t relent. “And your legs, Buck... tall, powerful, like the pillars of the Pantheon. They’re pillars of strength, holding you up with unshakable resolve.”

Bucky slumped a little further in his chair, completely wrecked. “Oh my god…”

“And your hands,” Yn continued, her voice growing even softer. “Long and graceful, like the hands of Donatello’s Saint George. Each finger delicate, but strong, like a sculptor’s tool, capable of shaping the world.”

Thor nudged Sam. “This is better than any show I’ve seen in years.”

Nick grinned. “He’s not surviving this.”

Then, Yn’s eyes twinkled with one final blow. She lowered her voice, her lips curving into a playful smile. “And of course, your derrière... firm and perfect, like Canova’s Venus, a form that should be displayed in museums.”

Sam lost it, doubling over in laughter. “Oh my God, she went there!”

Bucky was slumped forward now, completely defeated, his face buried in his hands. “I can’t believe this is happening…”

But Yn wasn’t quite finished. She leaned in for the final blow, her voice soft but devastating. “And lastly... your ithyphallic form, Bucky... like the great statues of ancient Greece, standing proud, a symbol of strength and power. Truly... a marvel of artistic anatomy. exquisite Mr Barnes!”

That was it. Bucky finally slumped fully over the table, his face hidden in his arms, utterly wrecked. “I... I’m done.”

Yn sat back with a satisfied grin, crossing her arms. “What do you expect from an art professor, Bucky?”

Sam, unable to breathe from laughing so hard, raised his glass. “To Yn. The only person who could turn Bucky Barnes into a piece of art and utterly destroy him in the process.”

Steve clapped his hands, laughing so hard tears were streaming down his face. “I’m never going to let him live this down.”

Bucky, still face-down on the table, groaned, his voice muffled. “I’m never challenging her again.”

Bucky remained slumped over the table, face buried in his arms, even as Yn gracefully leaned back in her chair and reached for her drink, completely at ease after delivering her artistic onslaught of compliments. The room was filled with laughter, but Bucky didn’t budge, clearly too mortified to resurface just yet.

Steve, wiping away tears of laughter, nudged him with a finger. “Hey, Buck, you still with us?”

Bucky let out a muffled groan from his position, his face still hidden. “Leave me here. I’m dead.”

Sam, still chuckling, leaned in, tapping his shoulder. “Come on, man, you survived worse than this. Hydra’s got nothing on what just happened.”

Thor, grinning ear to ear, clapped Bucky on the back, sending him jolting forward just slightly. “He’s strong. He’ll rise again. Though, I admit, that was quite the battle to witness.”

Bucky groaned again, this time even more dramatically. “I’m not rising. I’m staying down. Just... let me go.”

As Yn got up from the table to head to the restroom, the rest of the group watched her go, still chuckling at Bucky’s complete and utter defeat. The moment she disappeared from sight, Steve saw his chance and slid over next to Bucky, who was still face-down, refusing to lift his head.

“Come on, man,” Steve said, trying to sound sincere, though the amusement was still clear in his voice. “She really meant every word. You know that, right?”

Bucky let out another groan, his face still buried in his arms. “Steve... leave me be. Just... kill me. Put me out of my misery.”

Sam, overhearing the conversation, leaned in with a grin. “Nah, we’re not letting you off that easy, man. You gotta live with this one.”

Bucky’s hand lifted slightly, waving in the air before slumping back down. “Mercy... I’m asking for mercy here.”

Steve shook his head, patting Bucky on the back. “You know she wasn’t just teasing. That’s the thing. Every word? She meant it.”

Bucky lifted his head just enough to glare at Steve. “She made me sound like a piece of museum art. And don’t even get me started on the... ithyphallic form thing.”

Steve chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, I get it. That part might’ve been a bit much.”

Bucky slumped back down onto the table, covering his head with his arms. “A bit? Steve, I’m not recovering from this.”

Nick chimed in, laughing from his side of the table. “You’re like the Venus de Milo, man, but with arms.”

Thor’s deep laughter rumbled through the group. “And perhaps a bit more... fully sculpted, as Yn described so poetically.”

Bucky groaned louder. “I’m asking you all... end it now. I can’t go on like this.”

Steve just shook his head, grinning as he stood up. “You’ll survive, Buck. Besides, I’m pretty sure she’s going to do this again next time you compliment her. So, you better get used to it.”

Bucky let out another defeated groan. “I can’t... I’m never complimenting her again.”

Sam raised his glass with a grin. “Oh, sure you won’t, man. Let’s see how long that lasts.”

Bucky, still slumped over, gave another pathetic wave. “Goodbye, cruel world.”

Nick leaned back in his chair, shaking his head in disbelief. “You know, the best part of all that? It was so poetic. Nothing about it sounded vulgar or cheap.”

Thor nodded in agreement, stroking his beard. “Indeed, it was vivid, bold... but elegant. She has a way with words, that one.”

Steve, grinning, leaned in closer to the table. “Yeah, I mean, she described Bucky’s ithyphallic form—" He paused, holding back laughter at the word, “—and even that somehow sounded like it belonged in a museum exhibit. That takes talent.”

Sam snorted, shaking his head. “Right? Most people would just go for something basic. But Yn? She practically turned him into a walking art gallery.”

Nick added with a smirk, “I’ve never heard anyone talk about someone’s biceps like they were carved by Michelangelo and still keep it classy. She’s something else.”

Thor chuckled deeply. “You know, Bucky, you should feel honored. To be praised in such detail... so grandly.”

Bucky, still slumped over the table, let out another dramatic groan. “Please... stop...”

Steve patted him on the back, still thoroughly amused. “Come on, Buck. You’re the closest thing we’ve got to a living masterpiece, apparently.”

Bucky didn’t lift his head, but his voice was low and defeated. “I don’t want to be a masterpiece. I want to disappear.”

Sam raised his glass, his grin wide. “Sorry, man. No disappearing for you. Yn just immortalized you with that monologue. You’re stuck as art now.”

Nick added, “And it wasn’t just any monologue. That was the kind of stuff people quote. Like, forever.”

Bucky groaned louder. “Just... let me die in peace.”

Thor chuckled again. “Death by compliments. That’s a first.”

Steve leaned in, shaking his head in disbelief. “Seriously, though. Not a single word was out of place. She even threw in those references to art... the Pantheon legs... Venus—”

Bucky raised his head slightly, enough to glare at Steve. “Stop... talking.”

Steve just grinned, unfazed. “I’m just saying, Buck. She turned you into a poetic masterpiece. You can’t escape it.”

Bucky slumped back down, his voice muffled as he muttered, “I’m not going to survive this.”

Nick leaned in, his grin mischievous. “You know what, Bucky? It’s gonna be tough for anyone to top that. You’re basically untouchable now.”

Sam laughed. “Yeah, anyone else tries to flirt with their girl, and you can just throw down, ‘Well, have you ever been compared to Michelangelo’s David and Apollo and Daphne? No? Thought so.’”

Bucky groaned again, a long, low sound of pure exasperation. “I’m begging you... leave me alone.”

Thor raised his glass, a wide grin spreading across his face. “To Bucky, the masterpiece none of us knew we needed.”

The rest of them clinked glasses and laughed, while Bucky stayed slumped over, unwilling to rise to the challenge or the teasing. This might just be the hardest thing he’s ever had to endure, and it didn’t involve a single fight—just words. Beautiful, poetic, devastating words.

As the laughter continued, Bucky finally muttered under his breath, “Next time... I’m not even going to open my mouth.”

Steve chuckled, leaning forward with a grin. "I mean, come on, she literally described his derrière like it belonged in the Louvre. ‘Firm, like Canova’s Venus’—who even thinks of that?"

Sam, barely able to keep from laughing, chimed in, "Yeah, and when she got to the ithyphallic form... I mean, seriously, who does that and makes it sound like it should be on a pedestal somewhere?"

Nick raised his eyebrows. “But you know what? She’s right. Both of those—" He paused, biting back a laugh, "—definitely deserve to be celebrated. She wasn’t kidding. Bucky’s got it all, man.”

Bucky, still face-down on the table, let out another exaggerated groan. “Please... for the love of God... stop.”

Thor, with his booming laugh, clapped Bucky on the back, causing him to jolt forward slightly. "Ah, Bucky, you should be proud! Few men have had their derrière and their... uh... more impressive assets so elegantly praised. It was like an ancient hymn, a celebration of the body."

Bucky lifted his head just enough to glare at Thor, his face flushed. “I don’t need my body celebrated, Thor.”

Steve grinned, folding his arms. “Well, it’s too late for that now, buddy. Yn has officially made sure your ithyphallic form—" he paused, clearly enjoying the moment, “—and your... well, your other fine qualities are immortalized.”

Sam couldn’t contain his laughter anymore. “Man, you’ve been sculpted and celebrated. She didn’t just compliment you—she turned you into a freakin’ statue! Everything got its moment of glory. And I mean everything.”

Nick added with a grin, “Yeah, you heard her, man. Your derrière—firm, like Canova’s Venus, a ‘form to be displayed in museums.’ That’s some high praise right there.”

Bucky groaned again, dropping his face back into his arms. “I’m not surviving this. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Thor, ever the encourager, shook his head with a wide smile. “But you should hear the end of it. Bucky, she has celebrated you from head to toe. And every part—yes, even the parts that some might... blush to mention—have been given their due respect. This is not something to run from, my friend.”

Steve nodded sagely, completely serious. “Exactly. You’ve got a Michelangelo’s David jawline, Venus-level derrière, and don’t even get me started on the ithyphallic form. Bucky, you’re a walking masterpiece.”

Bucky lifted his head just enough to shoot Steve a withering glare. “You’re not helping.”

Sam, still laughing, chimed in, “Look, man, you gotta own it now. Both the front and the back were celebrated in such vivid detail, and let’s face it—you deserve it.”

Nick grinned, leaning back in his chair. “I mean, if I were you, I’d be pretty proud of the whole package getting that much attention. People pay to have their art appreciated like that.”

Bucky groaned even louder, burying his face deeper into his arms. “I’m asking you all... please... stop. I can’t take any more.”

Thor, with a playful grin, crossed his arms and said, “Oh no, Bucky, this is something to relish. There are men in history whose greatest hope was to be immortalized in such a way. And you? You have been praised in the way of ancient heroes, from every angle.”

Steve leaned in, still amused. “Including some angles that probably don’t see that much poetic love.”

Bucky, with one last exhausted groan, slumped even deeper into the table, as if trying to disappear entirely. “I’m begging you. Let me die in peace.”

Sam raised his glass with a wicked grin. “To Bucky Barnes, whose derrière and ithyphallic form have been rightfully celebrated in the way all true art deserves.”

Nick, laughing, clinked his glass with Sam’s. “I’ll drink to that.”

Steve and Thor joined in, while Bucky stayed resolutely face-down, his resolve crumbling.

As the glasses clinked around him, Bucky let out one last, defeated sigh. “Next time... I swear, I’m not saying a word.”

After what felt like an eternity, with his head buried in his arms, Bucky finally lifted himself from the table. Slowly, he sat up straight, blinking a few times, looking like he’d just come back from a long and arduous journey. The group, still grinning like fools, turned to him, their amusement evident.

“Hi... welcome back, buddy,” Steve said, patting him on the shoulder with a playful grin.

Thor chuckled. “We weren’t sure if you were going to rise again. Thought maybe the weight of all those compliments finally took you down for good.”

Sam smirked, raising his eyebrows. “You alive, or do we need to get someone to give you CPR?”

Bucky exhaled deeply, rubbing his face with his hands as if trying to wipe away the memory of the poetic onslaught. “I always knew she had a way with words… and she’s brilliant, no doubt about that... but...” He paused, glancing around at his friends, who were watching him with entertained smiles.

“But what?” Nick asked, leaning in, clearly enjoying Bucky’s reluctant confession.

Bucky let out a long, exhausted sigh. “But I am never, and I mean never... ever... challenging her again on anything.”

The group laughed, fully understanding where this was coming from.

“Smart move, man,” Sam said, grinning. “I don’t think you’d survive another round.”

Bucky nodded, looking dead serious. “I won’t. I’m happy not getting any compliments from her for the rest of my life. In fact, I’m good with just silence forever.”

Steve chuckled. “Come on, you don’t mean that. You love when she compliments you. Maybe just not... quite like that.”

Bucky shook his head, his face still flushed at the memory. “Nope. I’m good. I don’t need to be compared to Michelangelo’s David or have my... ithyphallic form praised ever again.”

Nick raised an eyebrow, smirking. “You sure? Because I gotta say, that’s one hell of a compliment.”

Bucky glared at him. “I’ve had enough compliments for a lifetime. I’m done. No more. I’m tapping out.”

Thor, still chuckling, leaned back in his chair. “Well, Bucky, it’s good that you’ve learned your lesson. She clearly has the upper hand.”

Bucky sighed again, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, and I’m fine with that. Totally fine. She wins. She can have all the victories. I don’t need any more... artistic descriptions of my body.”

Sam raised his glass once more, his grin wide. “To Bucky, who has finally learned not to mess with an art professor with a poetic mind.”

The group clinked their glasses again, laughing while Bucky just shook his head, clearly still recovering from the ordeal.

Steve grinned, patting him on the back. “Good choice, man. Because after that, we all know—you wouldn’t stand a chance in another round.”

Bucky leaned back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling, still in disbelief over everything that had just happened. “I’m not taking that risk again. No way. I’m keeping my compliments to myself from now on.”

Sam, with a wicked grin, added, “Yeah, and maybe avoid giving her any challenges for a while. Unless you’re ready for her to turn you into the next Renaissance masterpiece again.”

Bucky groaned, dropping his head into his hands again. “I’m good. Thanks.”

As the laughter continued to ripple through the group, Steve, ever the instigator, grinned at Bucky and raised an eyebrow. "At least she didn’t talk about your lovemaking, buddy. Could’ve been worse.”

Bucky’s eyes widened in horror, but before he could even respond, Yn returned to the table, having just come back from the restroom. She caught Steve’s comment, her ears clearly perked up, and with a playful smirk, she leaned forward, looking directly at Bucky.

“Do you want me to, Bucky?” she asked sweetly, her voice dripping with faux innocence.

Bucky’s heart stopped, and he turned to her, panic written all over his face. “No. No, no, no. I am begging you—please don’t.”

The rest of the table, however, erupted in enthusiasm, completely ignoring Bucky’s pleas.

“Yes!” they all chorused, grinning from ear to ear.

Sam leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Please, Yn, I think we all want to hear that.”

Thor nodded eagerly. “Yes, Bucky’s lovemaking... told through the lens of an art professor! It would be an epic tale, worthy of legends.”

Nick smirked, joining in. “You’ve already turned the guy into a sculpture—now we need the full masterpiece.”

Bucky slumped back in his chair, his face going bright red as he stared up at the ceiling, looking like he was seconds away from total defeat. “Guys, no. This is my final plea. Mercy.”

Yn, still smiling, simply gave him a wink and took a sip of her drink, clearly letting Bucky off the hook this time. “Alright, alright... I’ll save that for another time.”

Bucky exhaled in relief, slumping back in his chair. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

[thirdtimed]

Question .. which installment of the life series is your fav + whose pov do you usually watch ? :o

SUCH A FUN QUESTION!!!!!! out of courtesy i will put my ramblings under a readmore because (warning) there is a lot. sorry in advance but more than that THANK YOUUUU for granting me the opportunity to yap my little head off.. bows and curtsies

to answer your question (which season is my favorite): i am very very partial to third life (as evidenced by my username) !!! i think theres something sooo special about the energy of that season in particular, everyone still trying to gather their bearings, no one really having a handle on the general scope or severity of what's about to come-- there's such a fresh doe eyed feel to it that betrays the utter chaos we all know is coming. it's timelessly charming to me!

narratively too, there's so many plotlines that i adore beyond measure that come specifically from 3L. grian's arc in particular is like, the most beautiful poetic accidental masterpiece ever written to me (and everyone else lol) it makes me legitimately upset on a regular basis that it somehow wasn't scripted out in advance and just a whim of improvisation and fate. & when you have other just as equally thematically rich arcs (and foils!) with dogwarts, the altar sacrifice, impulse's original betrayal (and bdubs' to him!) etc. its just full of all these incredibly fun & deeply engaging story beats that make each and every single rewatch just as enjoyable (if not more!) than the last. third life my absolute beloved of beloveds

mechanic wise though, and just for value of pure entertainment, my technical "true" fave and/or close second is secret life!! i think SL's gimmick is by far the most unconventional but flexible out of all the seasons thus far, and by nature of its gimmick it got to bring back fan favorite mechanics (i.e. double life) in a fresh & innovative way. it's also the season that i think is most successful in providing extremely satisfying pov switches-- this goes for all the life installments really, but its especially pronounced in SL, where members are required to keep their respective missions confidential. watching a single person's pov only to find someone acting inscrutably strange & immediately switching to their video to find out the reason why is an Immense Amount of Fun & i can't think of another series that has kept me smiling so wide it physically hurt. everyone by nature is assigned their own mini-arc each episode so to speak & watching them each individually try to overcome their assigned challenges While Seeing Others Also Attempt To Complete Theirs In The Background (minus crucial context) leads to absolute golden hilarious interactions. i would not mind a rehash of secret life at all.

also, on a more self indulgent level, i love secret life for its inclusion of the watchers & the very direct level of interaction that season had with us as the audience. the inclusion of the watchers conceptually lends itself to a litany of metanarrative shenanigans that i am personally incredibly incredibly weak to and will leap at the chance to elaborate on (if. i can. in a coherent fashion. which i more often than not can't LOL) obligatory omniscient reader's viewpoint shill here BUT i have a very specific & personal to me way i like to interpret the watchers (based on orv) & secret life is tantamount to that particular interpretation. the watchers are us! but the watchers are also them! nothing can exist without observation (a witness) and thus, we bare witness to every single triumph and tragedy that they lay before our eyes. it gives their lives meaning. and it gives our lives meaning, too. smiles

AS FOR POVS..! i am still rather newish here, to hermitcraft and the life series as a whole. i was inducted by my younger sister who primarily watches grian + joel + jimmy, and i watched specifically grian's third life on her recommendation. and thus ended up binging all of grian's povs LOL. aside from grian though, my other fav specific povs (since i haven't had the chance to watch the entirety of another person's 5 seasons like grian) are

martyn's third life

pearl's double life (this is mandatory viewing at this point really)

joel's double life (i felt like throwing up w laughter each episode. its so good)

i'm currently (planning) on watching mumbo's last & secret life, then jumping back to joel in order to watch the rest of his povs. scar's last life is also high priority, as are the rest of the winner povs. i have a Lot on my to watch list LOL

okay thank you SO much for asking me such an open ended question and i am so sorry for the unwieldy response i get really excited about this. Hope you are having a wonderful day and or night and thank you once again for indulging me :D stay safe out there. hug

[windsweptinred]

When people ask me why Corinthiel?

(Me taking the ship lovingly from the pedestal I have placed it upon and presenting it with a dramatic flourish.) Just look at this poetic masterpiece!

Two beings, brought into the world at a time of transference from old to new. With one foot in past and present. Born under the shadow of a predecessor they struggle to escape from. Both searching for sense of self amongst the ghosts and ruins. The only other being each has who understands that journey. Who see each other for themsleves, rather then a fragment of the past or a recreation of what was. Both walking the same path together. The first two characters in this new chapter.

Daniel, the mortal born king of the Dreaming, the Waking Dream, a drop of humanity in a pool of Endless. A beautiful intertwining of the human and divine. Cori's desires made manifest. A 'dream' almost perfectly crafted for him.

The Corinthian, remade with the sole purpose to find and protect Daniel Hall. Ultimately fashioned by Morpheus to serve his successor, to be Daniel's, not his own. Cori who was young Daniel's protector, the child's sanctuary was in the nightmare's arms. And the beauty of that continuing on after his transformation....Of Daniel's sole haven from the pressures and expectations of his new role being in his arcanas embrace. Of finding understanding and solace in the one who knew him in both lives, the one who was there for his rebirth, the first one to look upon him as Dream. Of always being Daniel, purely Daniel to the Corinthian. Just mwah, chef's kiss.

Look at the beautiful hurt/comfort, fluff but mind the gore, the Corinthian is his own warning. Smut glorious smut tapestry they weave.

So yeah, that's why. 😊🤍💚

Ps.

They can be a continuation of Corintheus (True love never dies, just changes form. A beautiful study of second chances, metamorphosis and finding each other again through rebirth.)

Or along side retired Dreamling (Everyone's a winner. The literal definition of having your cake and eating it. Cue some meaningful character explorations into why Morpheus and Daniel want different things from a relationship. And finding a seperate sense of self in that beyond 'Dream'. )

Or just love them wholeheartedly for themselves.

[bookloure]

This is perhaps my most anticipated read of the year, and I’m happy to report that it did not disappoint. This novel has a lyrical, almost feverish prose that is brutal in (a lot of!) places. If you do not like flowery writing, I don’t think you’ll appreciate this.

On a sentence level, “But for the Lovers” demands a lot from the reader. The prose is dizzying, challenging, and is rife with code-switching. It is not a book that will coddle purely English speakers, which I laud. In the novel's foreword, Gina Apostol wrote that every time the Filipino employs the English language, the purpose is always subversion. BftL perfectly demonstrates this point. The way Nolledo used English in this book is very Filipino and very weaponized. And as I read, I got the sense that he was having a lot of fun writing this masterpiece. This book is not an easy read, but one that is worth the trudge.

So what is it about? “But for the Lovers” follows a cast of characters living in a rundown tenement building in a Japanese-occupied Manila at the tail end of World War II. This is a war novel with much waiting; the characters await their American “liberators.” And the reader waits too—knowing full well that when Americans do finally arrive, Manila will be razed to the ground.

The way Nolledo employs language in this book is really unique. It reads a lot like magical realism with its lyrical and flowery prose, but this book is very much grounded. And brutal. The seemingly magical things are actually happening in the physical world. For example, the opening sentence reads: “He was beginning to eat flowers, and the crescent moon was in his eyes when he awoke again.” It sounds a lot like a work of magical realism. But later in the chapter, we find that the man was literally eating flowers because he passed out under a flowering tree. And when he awoke, he saw the crescent moon. This push and pull of seemingly fantastical language against the physicality of the scenes continues throughout the novel. In magical realism, the fantastical elements are also usually employed to shield against the brutality of the physical world. In Nolledo’s novel, the brutality of the physical world disrupts the reader's enjoyment of its fantastical language. When brutality happens to the characters, it punches you in the gut.

So much trust is put in the ability of the reader. Whenever a chapter opens, the reader is plunged into the middle of the narrative and is expected to make sense of what’s happening—who’s the speaker in this chapter? Where am I? What is happening? And it’s only in the latter part of the chapter where things will start to make sense. Then, you’re on to a new chapter, and the disorientation starts again. I enjoyed trudging through the book, but can understand why people may be turned off by that.

Another marvel of this novel is that from start to finish, everything moves parallel along two realms: this is a physical novel, but it’s also very much an allegorical one. This beautifully reflects the poetic quality of our history and experiences. Of how we always seem to repeat the mistakes of the past. Of how, many years later, we seem to find ourselves in the same situations. And if we extend this to the rise of the Marcoses and the historical revisionism happening in the present… hay nako.

Which leads me to the way Nolledo wrote the novel's climactic moment: this war novel culminates in an overlap of memories. The parallel sentences hone in on the point that things that have happened before will happen again. America fooled us twice—first when they colonized us in 1899 and now in 1945 as they shelled Manila to the ground—both done in the pretense of being our liberators.

I found the allegories too in the nose at first. But thinking about it now, I’m glad the subtexts are simple and obvious, because the text itself is already challenging enough. Kung mahirap pa pati subtext san na lang ako pupulutin?

Some things I did not enjoy: I did not like the dream sequences in this novel. I did not like the woman (or, in the case of BftL, girl) as a nation trope employed. Especially since the waif who is the stand-in for the nation is worse than Maria Clara in Rizal’s novels. I don’t appreciate the sexist language (i.e., penetration), especially around the awakening of the nation’s soul. That said, I forgive Nolledo for his sexism. He’s a genius but still very much a product of his time.

The novel ends on a hopeful note, a promise of becoming, of blossoming for this nation. (Reading it today under another Marcos administration is bleak and depressing.) But one has to hold on to hope.

This novel is breathtaking, audacious, and blatantly anti-imperialist. It also tells us that the poor, the masa, carry the nation’s soul—not the educated middle class, not the wealthy landowners, not the ruthless authoritarians in power. But for the Lovers is a challenging read, but one that is well worth your time.

More photos from the book on my Instagram!

[borahaerhy]

D-Day is an absolute masterpiece; let's discuss.

Obscenely long description of each of the songs under the cut

TL;DR: I'm an emotional wreck and this is the best album I've ever heard for so many reasons.

Haegeum??? That MV??? Never wanted to quit my job and start a gang that bullied the rich and steals their money more in my life (and trust me, that's something I've wanted to do since I was like 13). Yoongi is the only rich man I'd ever let lecture me about capitalism. He can do it all day every day. This is a fucked system, but thank you for turning me on while lecturing me about it and murdering people with some dirty chopsticks 🥴

D-Day is absolutely sick, 100% exactly what I'd expect from him. How a song can go so hard and still be so poetic to me is just insane. The beat is SICKENING. The chorus? CATCHY. 10/10 song, perfect opener to the album and set's the tone for the rest that's coming in an amazing way.

HUH?! killed me. We open the song with "what the shit do you know about me" and bro? Nothing, ion know shit about fuck, but you got me all the way fucked up with that attitude. Hoseok?? THE "HUH"S EVERYWHERE?? dead. deceased. The beat? Would literally sell my soul to be able to be in the studio when that man makes anything. I went to school to be an audio engineer, I've seen the way people put music together and create these catchy ass beats and have even made a few of my own, but FUCK BRO THERE'S NOTHING BETTER THAN THIS MAN IN THE STUDIO.

^^That goes for every song, not just Huh, but I just thought that it was important for EVERYONE to know that I'd sacrifice my firstborn child just to watch this man work.

AMYGDALA had me in tears. I was literally sobbing reading the lyrics. There are no words I can say that will accurately express how I feel about this song. This song has been out for less than 24 hours and I already feel so close to it, I can't even begin to describe it. The way most of the instruments fall out in the pre-chorus just so they can all come back in the chorus for that intensity with him basically yelling the lyrics is just *chef's kiss*.

SDL Is so cute and heartbreaking at the same time. The chorus is everything, so beautiful. Talk about bitter sweet lyrics, I'm eating that shit up. His vocals are absolutely outstanding, that "I'm thinking 'bout you" is making me so delulu you have no idea.

People Pt. 2 has already been out, but man that song is gorgeous. IU's vocals are such a great contrast to Yoongi's rap, and when they harmonize I wanna start crying whY DO THEY SOUND SO GOOD??!

I'M NOT KIDDING YOU WHEN I SAY I WAS CRYING, LEGIT SOBBING THE FIRST TIME I HEARD POLAR NIGHT. The instrumental is so uniquely Yoongi, and makes you feel so much. Yoongi is one of the only artists whos music makes me feel what they feel; and this song is the best representation of that. Everytime i listen to it I have to stop myself from crying and it has nothing to do with the lyrics. I cried before I even knew what the song was about, just because that's how good of a composer and producer he is. Genuinly one of the best songs I've ever heard.

I've never had an interlude make me feel so much. He's perfected the art of making his music invoke the emotions of his listeners and there's nothing more perfect than a minute-and-a-half-long interlude with no words in it that's still able to do that. Incredible.

Snooze is honestly one of the best thing's to have ever graced this planet if i'm being 100% rn. I know I keep talking about the emotion of the music but broooo. And the Woosung feature? His voice is amazing and is already so raw and emotional and paired with this song I just cannot. The lyrics make me want to sob, which I will probably do later when I get off work. And the the reference back to So Far Away? I'm on the floor someone please hug me.

Yoongi's vocals go fucking crazy in Life Goes On. If this was my introduction to Yoongi I would 100% believe that he's a singer and has been his whole life. The pure raw talent of this man will never cease to amaze me.

In conclusion, I love Min Yoongi with my whole chest and I hope he knows how much his music helps people, because it really, really helps. I can never even fully express just how this album alone helps me, that's not even speaking about all his other solo projects and the hundreds of songs he's worked on throughout his career.

If you read all of that I love u and I hope u have a spectacular day.

[loving-jack-kelly]

Yo!! Hello!!! I am like 90% sure I've seen you post about dimension 20 before!!

I just got a dropout subscription and I'm thriving but I am looking for advice for where to start/go with the dnd-verse on it? I'm assuming that the separate campaigns are relatively stand-alone but I would love an opinion (or just input on what the actual chronology is lmao)

hehe sleeper phrase discovered i'm honored you came to me :)

so the first thing to know which you probably already do is that there is a main returning cast for some seasons, and then some campaigns are a different group with an occasional different dm. the Intrepid Heroes are Lou Wilson, Zac Oyama, Brian Murphy, Ally Beardsley, Siobhan Thompson, and Emily Axford with Brennan Lee Mulligan dming, so they play as that exact group multiple times. There's usually one or two of them in a non-main-cast campaign, too, including Brennan sometimes as a player when somebody else is dming.

So! In terms of watch order! I recommend starting with Fantasy High because it's the original campaign and also fantastic. There are currently two seasons, Fantasy High and Fantasy High: Sophomore Year, and they are both masterpieces. We're also getting Junior Year this winter which is extremely exciting for me personally because I Love Fantasy High lol. Fantasy High is a great starting point especially if you're new to dnd/dnd actual play shows (which you may not be so feel free to disregard this bit of advice lol) because multiple players are learning how to play in the first season, so there's plenty of opportunity to learn with them. It's also generally pretty light-hearted and funny, though it doesn't sacrifice story for comedy which I love. If you don't know, the concept of Fantasy High is that these young teenagers live in a world where everywhere else is a stereotypical fantasy world but their country is like. Classic high school Americana. It's silly, the characters are great, the storylines are great and only get better in Sophomore Year, it's an all around great time and great intro to D20!

I went right from Fantasy High to Unsleeping City, which is also fantastic (you'll notice a recurring theme here, I love every campaign I've watched so far lol). If you like the lighter parts of Fantasy High but want a little bit more tension, Unsleeping City is perfect. It's set in modern-day New York with a twist: there's a magical underside to the city. Lots of fantastic commentary on modern life in the storytelling that slaps, I won't spoil but it slaps, and also really wonderful characters! Unsleeping City also has two seasons, so you get to see the characters grow and change a lot over two full plotlines which is very fun!

If you like the more serious side of things, my personal favorite D20 campaign is A Crown of Candy. I watched this third and it made me cry hard enough at work that my boss asked if I was okay lol. The set-up is simple: fantasy world made of food, but make it Game of Thrones. It's intense, the stakes are high from episode one, it's incredibly character driven and everybody plays really, really interesting characters, and because of how high-stakes it is, every payoff is just insane. We all talk about Ally's poetic nat 20s and believe me, they exist, but Mr. Lou Wilson (love of my life) has a nat 20 near the end of A Crown of Candy that genuinely made me feel so crazy when it happened that I had to take a walk lol. Cannot recommend it enough, it's devastating and perfect.

A Starstruck Odyssey is really good again if you like the lighter end of thing but still want stakes and tension! The world is based of comics that Brenna's mom wrote which is really sweet, and it's a very different vibe because is sci-fi instead of pure fantasy, which is honestly really fun. Some of the characters are up there on my favorites list, shoutout to Skipper and Sundry Sydney!

In terms of the campaigns that aren't Intrepid Heroes, the first one I listened to was Misfits and Magic, which is a Harry Potter spoof dmed by Abria Ayangar, who's fantastic, and featuring Brennan as an utterly unhinged in the best way player. There's also Mice and Murder, which is a super great mystery with anthropomorphic animals that was shot on zoom over the first lockdown (a few seasons were so don't be shocked by that lol). I'm a bit more than halfway through A Court of Fey and Flowers which has been great so far, and I'm super looking forward to getting to The Ravening War, which is a prequel to A Crown of Candy, and Mentoplis, as well as the current season, Burrow's End. I have to watch Neverafter first though, which is the most recent Intrepid Heroes campaign.

Anyway! To summarize!

My advice is to start with Fantasy High and Fantasy High: Sophomore Year, and then pick which elements you liked best to decide what you want next! All of the campaigns that aren't explicitly linked are completely standalone, like I'm not missing anything important from the one's I've watched by not having watched some of the others, so don't worry too much about chronology or anything like that! The only ones that need to be watched in a specific order are the two with two seasons already, which are Fantasy High and Unsleeping City, but those are labelled quite clearly with season titles! Also if it's easier to keep track of, Dropout has the campaigns sorted into their own shows on the site so you don't have to choose seasons of D20, you can just choose A Crown of Candy.

PLEASE update me as you watch! I love love love talking D20 lol it's one of my favorite shows like ever!!

[petruchio]

I miss the more catchy dancy songs, like red, style, daylight. TTPD is so much like folklore, the songs are like deep lyrical poems that make us think and have SO MANY WORDS. I dont wanna think!

i am a dance pop fiend to be sure, but the thing is there’s a way to do poetic lyrics without being wordy. for your consideration i submit the masterpiece “clean” — a deep layered metaphor that weaves in the imagery from the rest for the album while telling a coherent story and painting a vivid picture of a relationship that has collapsed, a period of pain and anguish, and the subsequent healing. the water imagery takes on multiple forms throughout the song and ties into the other songs neatly (rain came pouring down, drowning, droughts, thirst, perfect storms — and this as a closer following all of 1989s imagery around fire/burning/flames as well as lyrics like “loose lips sink ships all the damn time” and “shaking from the rain” and “high tide came and brought you in” like it’s simply pop album perfection)

so yeah i actually don’t think it’s the poetry of the language (we had some beautiful poetic images on speak now and red too, im thinking of iconic couplets like “time turns flames to embers/you’ll have new septembers” and “twin fire signs/four blue eyes) i think it’s purely that it’s TOO WORDY. poetry isn’t actually about jamming as many mixed metaphors into one line as you can — it’s about distilling a thousand complicated feelings into a statement as simple as “you paint me a blue sky then go back and turn it to rain”

[aranciafiamma]

WARNING: Evil Tsuna, gore, child abuse, animal abuse. If you are in anyway squeamish, DO NOT READ. Reader Beware, You're in for a Scare.

Reborn's expectations are rarely exceeded. When Ninth first offered him the job - tutoring the snot-nosed spawn of Iemitsu, he... braced himself. The kid would become a Mafia Boss and a damn well respectable one. But Reborn saw the soft-spoken, dull-eyed boy and well... Tsuna could win gold, of course - Reborn will not stand for silver, but he wouldn't break any world records.

Reborn has never been more wrong and he never will be again because Sawada Tsunayoshi is a singular masterpiece. And Reborn can't even take full credit.

"Hold tight," Vongola Decime whispers, resting a careful hand on the child's thin shoulder. His other hand holds three leashes.

The leashes are connected to three hulking, rabid wolves - starved and beaten to madness. Countless weeping cuts emphasize the outline of their ribs poking through patchy fur. They snarl and scratch, straining the tender leather of their leashes, in a desperate attempt to lunge - to feast.

On the opposite side of this courtyard - it would be the Iron Fort's front courtyard, where they greet all their lovely guest, two grown women are on their knees - forced to kneel by the chains wrapped around their wrists and ankles and necks. Apart from the restraints, and places where those chafe, these women seem entirely healthy and whole. There's not a single bruise upon their smooth, supple skin. They might have gone through a spa before they arrived at the courtyard to kneel in the dirt. And every inch of their skin is currently coated with pig's blood. The Vongola's Storm is pouring the last dregs of viscera and gore on them - entrails slapping against their shoulders on the way down.

A little girl - of an age that Reborn cares not to know - a beloved, little girl stands opposite of these women. Both of her tiny hands fit neatly within the Vongola Decimo's single palm, and together, they hold onto the leashes of these massive wolfhounds.

"You've got it? Nice and tight now."

Each wolf is twice her height and four times her weight, even as wasted and ruined as they are. The little meat left on their bones is reserved for pulling, straining muscle. The girl whimpers - a high, breathless sound of pure, distilled fear. Her hands - soft and scarless - both hands barely wrap around the leashes. She shakes her head wildly as her quivering mouth tries to form words.

The Vongola Decimo smiles. "Good girl."

And he lets go.

The women watch wide-eyed and helpless, unable to even scream through the gags wrapped around their heads. Their little girl does scream - shout - cry. She cries and cries and cries.

"Mommy! Help! Help me! Please!"

To her credit, she holds on longer than anyone expected. She digs her heels in. She straightens her spine. She closes her fists until her nails dig bleeding crescents into her palm.

But the wolves are so hungry.

She slips.

The raw hunger pulls her down - pulls the ground from beneath her feet. For a singular second, she thinks that she's flying as every part of her divorces from the Earth below. Seconds expand into hours, half seconds into minutes. She watches - drinking every detail - as the wolves leap forward, as the women's eyes close, as fangs find flesh.

She crashes onto the ground with a teeth-knocking thud. Her bottom lip splits open, sliced by unseen some rock. It bleeds slightly - a drop compared to the splash that colors her face as the wolves descend. If the women scream, they cannot be heard over the frenzy of snarling and growling and feasting delight.

Tear. Rip. Shred. Claw.

Pig blood looks no different from human blood. The intestines, the bladder, the lungs all mix into a messy slop that drowns the dirt, turning the courtyard into a mudpit. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, pig pen to pig pen. It's all quite poetic.

The wolves glut themselves, gnawing on marrow and gristle. The spoils start to thin and they pick up the scent of meat untouched - unspoiled. It's young and fresh, tender to the teeth. They start to turn.

"Poor thing," Vongola Decimo coos. "I told you to hold tight."

Vongola Decimo carefully picks up the girl. She doesn't struggle. She doesn't fight. Her eyes are flat and dull, hollowed out of any emotion - no fear, no sorrow. From a distance, it could almost look like peace. Vongola Decimo holds her close, before laying his infernal gaze on the wolves.

Pure animal instinct stop the beasts from taking another step. They whine - a high, breathless sound of pure, distilled fear. As one, they turn tail and run - fleeing into the forest that surrounds the Iron Fort. Soon, there's only silence.

Vongola Decimo shifts his hold, cradling the girl against his chest.

"There, there. Those beasties are gone now," he murmurs, wiping the blood from her face.

His smile widens as her gaze lifts towards him. Something wordless passes between them. Tsuna's mouth twists - softening in the corners.

"Some day, you'll hunt them down. Then it will be your turn to feast."

The girl doesn't reply. She simply rests her head against his chest, allowing her eyes to drift shut. Tsuna turns, shifting his gaze.

Reborn finds himself staring straight into the eyes of Vongola Decimo. The burning orange resembles a carefully tamed wildfire - one so strong that the only way to fight it is by starving it. Yet there's no hunger here - no desperation - no urgency. This fire has burned long before Reborn and it will burn long after him. It has all the time in the world.

Reborn smiles, tasting the promise of ash and iron on his tongue. There will be a reckoning. Hallelujah, hallelujah. Let his will be done.

[sophisticated-creepy]

As ten o’clock rolled around, true to Annie’s words, the front doors to the Northcott Manor House were shut and locked, the creaky hinges a certain precursor surely to setting the scene for the evening’s future and anticipated spookies. While the staff doted about their closing duties, the overnight birthday party agreed upon using that time to cart in their luggage and supplies, which included small suitcases, presents, a cake, video cameras, digital recorders, duffle bags filled with a random assortment of ghost hunting necessities, and a sack full of pillar candles with strange and unusual symbols carved into their wax. After watching Annie descend the front stoop of the building, the last staff member to vacate the premises, the friends stood in the silence of the foyer, alone with the old ghosts of the infamous mansion.

          “It’s actually happened,” Lola stated. “We’re here, spending the night, at the Northcott Manor House. I can’t believe it. I never dreamed this could be possible.”

          “Well, don’t waste your time waxing poetic about it,” Modesta laughed, steering her dazzled friend into the front parlor room. “You have the whole night and run of the place, but right now, you have presents to open and a party to get started.”  

          Lola watched on in a state of contented bliss as her friends scurried about arranging a table for the birthday celebration setup. Since the parlor had also been converted into a dining space like many of the other rooms on the main level by the Manor House restaurant, it wasn’t difficult placing a linen covered table in front of the room’s magnificent fireplace, and while Modesta, Jack, and Lazare busied themselves with ambiance such as dimming the lights, Raphael retrieved the chilled bottle of champagne from their room as well as extra glasses. The pleasant pop of the cork had Lola blinking herself back into reality just as Raphael handed her a champagne flute full of her favorite sparkling bubbles.

          “You should see the cake Modesta made,” Raphael said as he clinked his glass edge with hers. “There isn’t a cake to be made in all the world that will ever suit you quite like this one.”

          “Mo? You made the cake?” Lola asked, excited to taste her best friend’s masterpiece of baked goods.

          “Naturally,” Modesta retorted, flipping her hair over her shoulder in pride for her confectionary work. “I created a three layered, elderberry and lavender genoise sponge cake with a light blueberry compote and white chocolate frosting.”

          “Oh, my God, when are you going to open a bakery? That sounds absolutely divine, I’m already drooling.”

          “Take a look at the top,” Jack added, pointing at the cake over his rolling camcorder. “I think you’ll appreciate that, too.”

          Lola squealed delightedly as she approached her cake, and laughed with pure joy behind the sound as she saw the little sheet ghost Modesta drew with icing chocolate garnished with edible eyeballs for extra drama and pizazz. “I love how you’ve written ‘Happy Boo-thday’.”

          “I know it reads like ‘booth-day’, but, hey, there’s only so much I can word pun,” Modesta said with a shrug of her shoulders.

          “It’s perfect, and I love it. Thank you,” and Lola gave her friend a hug.

          “You’re welcome. Now, let’s open some presents so we can cut into that thing,” Modesta said, laughing. Lola agreed heartily, and while Raphael and Lazare doled out the rest of the champagne, passing a glass to everyone, Lola situated herself at the head of the table, and once all the friends were comfortably seated, Modesta handed over the first present. “Since we’ve been fawning all over my cake,” she started, “you might as well open my present first,” and she handed Lola the gift bag adorned with pretty paper.

          Rummaging through the layers of glittery, colorful tissue, Lola uncovered a tabletop woolen crow with coiled wire legs for balance and a checkered burlap scarf for fashion. “Look at the baby!” Lola cooed, holding up the figuring for her friends to see. “He’s so cute!” and she held it to her bosom in a loving squeeze. “I love him.”

          “What are you going to name him?” Lazare asked.

          Lola held the crow out before her, turning it over to observe every angle before answering. “Aloysius.”

          “A dashing name for a dapper crow,” Raphael chuckled.

          “He’s fancy,” Lola agreed.

          “Like I said, as soon as I unboxed them at the store, I had to give you one for your birthday,” Modesta said. “I’m glad you like him.”

          “I love him. Thank you.” Lola kissed the end of Aloysius’s beak and gave him another tender embrace.

          “My turn! Open mine next,” Lazare said, holding out the wrapped parcel. Lola accepted the rectangular box with a “thank you”, and tore into the shiny paper. “This came from the pawn shop,” he began to explain, “and there’s a solid chance it might be haunted.”

          “You’re gifting me a haunted object?” Lola asked, pausing midway through peeling back the wrapping paper to stare at him with wide eyes.

          “It’s a possibility. I haven’t personally experienced any activity centered around the object itself specifically, but it does give off some pretty spooky vibes, and who doesn’t love haunted objects?”

          Without further delay, Lola tore off the remaining wrappings, unveiling an unassuming black box, and upon opening the lid, she gasped in surprise. “It’s a fountain pen,” she announced, and taking gentle fingers, plucked the ornate pen from its velvet cushion, showing off the green enameled writing implement with marble detailing and polished gold metal hardware with a wide, sturdy nib.

          “It’s in perfect working condition, too, and I filled the chamber with fresh ink for you, so you are good to start writing whenever you want,” Lazare shared.

          “What do you think, Modesta? Is it haunted?” Lola held the pen towards her friend, who spontaneously gave a jolt and violent shudder once the object entered her personal space. “Yep. Haunted,” Lola laughed, the others joining in.

          “It’s giving off some major residual energy for sure,” Modesta agreed, rubbing her hands up and down her arms to dispel the march of goosebumps crawling over her flesh. “But I don’t know if an actual spirit is attached to it or not.”

          “Only time will tell,” Lola declared, tucking the pen away back into its soft casing. “Thank you, Lazare, I love it. You all are seriously the best people I could ever ask for to be my family. I cannot express how much I love each and every one of you, nor can I thank you enough for making today feel so special. Now, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m ready to cut into that cake.”

          In agreement, the friends once more bustled about the room, gathering paper plates and cutlery or topping off champagne glasses while Lola moved her newly gifted treasures to a safe place out of the way to later take upstairs. Returning to her spot at the table, Lazare finished putting three birthday candles into the cake, and when everyone was settled, he took out a book of matches and struck the first light. The friends began to sing the traditional “Happy Birthday” tune as the first candle was lit, Lola’s smile wide and joyous with love and warmth filling her heart, and she reached out to hold Raphael’s hand as the second candle was lit. The song was culminating to its end as Lazare was getting ready to light the third candle, but as he lowered the flame to the wick, the matchstick extinguished itself.

          “Sorry about that,” Lazare nonchalantly apologized, striking up a second match to light the remaining candle. Again, he repeated his actions of lowering the match to the wick, and before he could make contact, the flame, once more, extinguished itself.

          “Got some faulty matches there, Lazare?” Jack asked.

          “Apparently,” he replied, striking up a third match, only to have it extinguished before he even lowered it to the candle. “This calls for some advanced critical thinking.” He set aside the box of matches, taking up the unlit candle from the cake, and tipped it over to light it from one of the other existing flames, yet as the wick was about to catch fire, all the birthday candles, at once, blew themselves out.

          “It would appear someone doesn’t want you having a birthday wish,” Jack quipped.

          “That’s rather unfortunate,” Lola scoffed. “Well, joke’s on them, I already have everything I could wish for this birthday.”

          “At least blow out one candle,” Raphael suggested. “Otherwise, your birthday doesn’t count.”

          “Oh? Are those the rules of birthday candles?” Lola asked, her tone teasing and playful.

          “Yes, now be a good girl and blow.” Raphael deftly struck up a match, relighting one of the birthday candles, and pulled the cake closer towards her so she could make her wish. After a few seconds of theatrical over dramatic thinking, Lola blew out the candle, and everyone cheered.

          Modesta took charge of portioning out slices of cake while picking up the conversation. “Lazare and I have another surprise for you, Lola.”

          “Another surprise?” Lola asked. “I’ve had so many pleasant ones today, I don’t know how there could possibly be any more.”

          “We all know how much you love the Gray Lady, so how would you like it if we tried to communicate with her?” Lazare asked.

          “Are you saying, what I think you’re saying?” Lola questioned, anticipation beginning to bubble up inside her chest.

          “That’s right. We’re going to have a séance and try to make contact with your favorite ghost,” Modesta announced. “Respectfully, of course. We’re not provoking her into responding to our ‘demands’ to show herself or perform some kind of ‘ghost-trick’, we’re merely asking some simple questions to try and start a conversation. So, what do you think?”

          “I love that idea! What are we doing sitting around eating cake? Let’s get this séance started!”

          “Relax,” Modesta said with a laugh. “We have plenty of time to summon ghosts. Finish your cake and then we can get started.”

          It was rather impressive, albeit alarming, to watch Lola finish eating her entire piece of cake in three whole bites, but the declared séance had everyone’s eagerness rising the longer they sat and talked, and with excited expectation overpowering the energy around the intimate group of weird friends, Lazare finally broke the tension first by standing from the table to gather his special candles of summoning. Their table was cluttered with evidence of birthday celebrations, so they moved it off to the side, creating space to hold the séance on the floor in front of the fireplace. Lazare sat with his back towards the hearth, the rest flanking him in a circle, the pillar candles placed in proper accordance to speak with the dead. Lola had retrieved her pen and notepad, with Stanley at the ready as well to capture every word and sound.

          “I’m going to go into a trance,” Lazare began. “I’ll be wearing the noise canceling headphones and blindfold, which means I won’t be influenced by your questions, and will only speak on what I intuitively hear. Modesta is going to lead the circle of protection, and then hopefully, the Gray Lady will come through.” Lazare gave a wave to the lens of Jack’s camcorder, then removed his glasses, slipping on the blindfold and securing the headphones. He sat peacefully, taking steady breaths, grounding himself in preparation to begin connecting with the mistress of the house.

          “As I light these candles, I ask that you all imagine a dome of protective white light covering this space. Only those who are of the light may enter this dome. Here, we are safe and protected,” Modesta began. There were five candles in total, the largest one, as well as the one carved with the most symbols, sat in the middle of their circle, with the other four marking a type of compass for north, south, east, and west. Modesta gathered the matchbook from earlier in the night, and struck a match, leaning forward to light the center candle, yet the flame, as before, extinguished itself before making contact with the wick.

          “Damnit, what is wrong with these matches?” Modesta asked in a frustrated huff, striking a second matchstick only to have the same outcome.

          “Surely the Manor House have extra matches stashed around here somewhere. Want me to go look?” Jack asked.

          “No, I saw Lazare had a lighter in that bag he used to bring the candles. Let’s try using that first. I like us to use lit candles when doing a séance, as they help ward off unwanteds, but we don’t have to use them,” Modesta explained as she stood to look for Lazare’s lighter. “Here it is. Okay, let’s try this again.” Striking the metal wheel, a healthy flame appeared from the small pocket lighter, and Modesta was able to light the wick of the center candle.

          “Don’t do it.” Lazare’s drawl was eerily musical, a command while also a coax to continue in lighting the candles, the lilt a taunting sing-song of foreboding.

          “That didn’t sound like a friendly ghost,” Lola whispered, her breath practically stilled from Lazare’s creepy warning.

          “Is there someone already here with us?” Modesta asked, her attention fully on Lazare even as her hand hovered over the candle in the north position. “Can you tell us your name?” All eyes were fixated on Lazare, yet he remained silent and unmoving. Modesta tentatively sparked the lighter over the second candle, watching as Lazare took in a deep breath, but said nor did anything further while she lit the second candle.

          “We just want to speak with the lady of the house,” Modesta continued. “Is she here with us?” Her arm moved to the third candle, but the lighter jumped from her hand, appearing to be smacked out of her grasp, and she yelped, shaking her fingers to dispel the searing charge of energy that shocked her. As the lighter clattered to the ground, the wicks that had been burning, sputtered, and went out.

          “Maybe we should stop,” Jack said, filling the silence that began to border on awkward. “It’s starting to feel like we’re playing with fire…no pun, or irony, intended.”

          “But it is rather interesting, however,” Lola said, “that we can’t seem to light more than two candles at a time. Something clearly doesn’t want a third candle lit. But why?”

          “Do we need all the candles lit?” Raphael asked. “Similar to Lola’s birthday candles, can we conduct a séance with only one?”

          “Light them all,” Lazare spoke, his tone remaining playful yet taunting.

          “That sounded like a challenge,” Jack said on a nervous chuckle.

          “Too bad I didn’t bring my battery operated candles,” Lola said, her sigh tinged with the regret of oversight.

          “That’s it!” Modesta shouted, her outburst startling the group. “If we can’t have traditional flames for a séance, we can always make do with contemporary fire.” She shot up from her place on the floor, continuing to speak her idea aloud while rummaging through the bags holding their ghost hunting equipment. “I’m taking a page out of your book, Lola.”

          “And that would be…?” Lola asked, drawing out the question.

          “The power of loopholes.” Modesta turned from her foraging to face the others still sitting on the floor. “Nowhere has it been said we can’t use modern day torches for a séance,” and she held up five small flashlights, the devices perfect sizes for travel or emergency kits. She handed out a flashlight to everyone as she rejoined the circle, keeping two for herself, as Lazare was oblivious in his current condition to notice the activity scuttling before him.

          “On the count of three, everyone turn on your flashlight,” Modesta instructed. “One. Two. Three.”

          The room ignited in a glow of warm illuminations from the flashlights, their beams pointing towards the ceiling, and like moths to a flame, the friends subconsciously huddled closer into the soft realm of intimate space the torches created. Whatever appeared to dislike the notion of tangible flame seemed to be okay with the crafty makeshift workaround of their lighted protective circle, and when Lazare continued to sit motionless as the flashlights were all turned on, the friends collectively relaxed, eager once more for the séance to officially begin.

          “All right, let’s get started,” Modesta said, rubbing her hands together. “Whomever is---?” She stopped mid-question, as all five flashlights began to simultaneously flicker, the lights dimming as if the batteries were being drained.

          “Get. Out.”

          Lazare’s voice had taken on a gravelly, guttural sneer, the abrupt contrast to his usual cadence eliciting tiny gasps of fright from Lola, the others flinching back at the hatred dripping from Lazare’s command. The flickering bulbs of the flashlights burst into a surge of powerful light, far brighter than what the circuitry was capable before plunging the parlor into complete and utter pitch darkness. Light, as well as temperature, was sucked out of the room, the shadows growing cold as ice, the act of breathing becoming a daunting chore, for akin to the dying flame of a candle, oxygen was pulled from the hauntingly quiet room. The increasingly deep, wet breaths of Lazare saturated the air in an uncomfortable heaviness, the thick vocalization of his next command spreading chills through the hearts of those sitting in the protective circle.

          “Run.”     

~*~*~*~*~*~

Super spooky!

Another new chapter here for "The Third Light", and I hope you all enjoyed it! And yes, it is perfectly acceptable to go out and get yourself a cake now, or any other baked good of your choosing.

More spookies are on their way, so keep an eye out, friends! Thanks for reading, and I'll see you all next time!

~Melissa

[adarkrainbow]

I recently spoke of Pierre Dubois and evoked the confused and convoluted enigma that are his world-famous Encyclopedias - beautifully illustrated, a masterpiece of fae art, a Renaissance of the fair folk, a deep mine and fabulous treasure of folkloric, literary, mythological references... But also a very convoluted, invented, reinvented, unfaithful-yet-faithful work that freely uses the poetic license and the "storyteller license" to recreate a fairy world that sometimes has little to do with actual folkloric material. And that's because, as I said and as too many people seem to forget, Pierre Dubois is a storyteller and a writer before anything.

Today I want to briefly evoke his purely literary work, not his encyclopedias, or his books about ghosts or trolls, or his manual of elficology, or his anthologies of collected fairytales. His purely literary work - but still deeply inspired by folklore and fairytales. More precisely a short story collection of his called "Comptines assassines" (Murderous nursery rhymes):

This book is actually a sequel to a previous short story collection called "Contes de crime" (Crime fairytales ; a pun on "Grimm fairytales" because in French "Grimm" and "crime" sound similar). Both collections are based on the same key concept: take a fairytale, a nursery rhyme, a fairy-legend, and twist it into a dark short story - sometimes a crime, sometimes a horror novel, sometimes simply disturbing reality.

For example, in Comptines assassines, Dubois tackles twice the topic of "Let's follow the crimes and mad mind of a fairytale-inspired serial killer". Once in his "Puss in Boots" short story, where the titular cat becomes a fairytale-obsessed serial killer of the Interwar era deeply involved with the motif of the Great War mutilees ; and another in his "Bluebeard" short story, making the Bluebeard character a current day serial killer mixed with the Halewyn legend (and it is left unclear if he isn't the ACTUAL Halewyn) who picks of prostitutes and places them in the Bluebeard scenario pretending a "bizarre, excentric role-play game" when in fact he just wants them to end up like Bluebeard's victims... And there's also some really weird and bizarre stories, such as his "Croquemitaine" story (the French bogeyman), which is a Sherlock Holmes story about the titular detective ending up on the trace of a child-killer who somehow returned as a monstrous ghost thanks to a medium's ill-organized seance - and Arthur Conan Doyle actually meets Sherlock... Its typical Dubois bizarreness.

The reason I wanted to speak of this collection specifically is because, as a collection of short story, it truly allows to present the best and the worst of Dubois as an author, since some of his short stories are truly brilliant, and others sadly badly done. I say sadly because Dubois always has good and interesting ideas, and he always cleverly plays of tropes and motifs and archetypes... But the executon is very often lacking.

And this precise collection has two story that are perfect opposites. "The old woman who lived in a shoe" and "The Musicians of the town of Bremen".

"The old woman who lived in a shoe" is the longest short story of this collection, so long it is basically a novela. And the basic idea is very efficient: in an old-but-not-too-distant England, various people of the high society with apparently no relationship to each other are brutally murdered. Here's the twist however: they are murdered by nursery rhymes characters, or by "Alice in Wonderland" ones. And the police, soon driven mad by this insane investigation, ends up calling forth a "fairy detective" expert in supernatural cases (who was involved in a previous story in "Contes de crime"). This is a strong and solid basis, and it works for the most part. Take each of the murders - because the investigation is for a first part pushed on the background, onto quick recaps summaries and "what happened" aftermaths, the better to highlight the dead end and mad frustration of the investigators. The murders are all very interestingly set - each victim is fleshed out in one given scene, each one evokes various archetypes, stereotypes or just "types" of the English society and the English literature, and then the encounters with the nursery-folks are all set in a brilliantly disturbing "fantastique" way, always simple and short but very efficient. The whole thing is told with a distinct British humor, sometimes slight, sometimes very heavy, and Dubois shows here his immense love and great passion for everything British (he always keeps in his bibliographies a section for all the English books of literature or folklore he read).

But here's the problem: this thing is... too much. Too long, too flowery, too flowing, too extensive, too bloated. That's one of Dubois' main vices and one of his greatest writing flaws - he doesn't know when to stop. He writes too much, he extends everything, he describes all with so much detail. We can at least forgive him for the series of murders opening the novel because each one, with such an exorbitant and extensive style, manage to present us a full, lively, complex portrait of each character and scenes, that is always brilliantly cut short by the childishly simple and yet completely reality-breaking supernatural of the murders. We can forgive that - but when the "fairytale detective" gets on the case... By Jove it is all too much. If this had been a novel, I think it would have worked much better - there would have been time to breathe, space for the sentences to flow right, but here everything is so crammed it boils and erupts like a volcano. And while the conclusion is interesting in theory, I do think its handling was... between muddled and dubious. Not to give too much spoilers, but Dubois wanted clearly to mix together the motif of "The old woman in the shoe had many children - and these children were nursery rhymes folks" ; the idea of "The fairies are pissed off humanity are destroying their land and take revenge" ; and an exploration of Lewis Carroll's life and how his Alice work haunts England today. But the result is... let's say it is a difficult result and touchy subject, as Dubois tries to explain Carroll's obsession with little girls by the involvment of a fairy in his life, and the whole handling of this is... Well it needs some careful reading and contextual considerations, because I couldn't tell if Dubois was actually making a big blunder by handling badly the topic, or if he actually did something that could work in some very bizarre way. And I will not insist on how Dubois, in his famous habit of mixing everything, insisted on mixing together the Alice books and the nursery rhymes of England as a whole into one and same world, making it so that for someone who hasn't read Carroll they could believe you'd find in Alice books Mother Goose or Old King Cole...

So yes that's the bad - but what about the great? The great is "The musicians of the town of Bremen" and I am really sad this story wasn't translated in English for me to share with you (or maybe it was?). To give you the simple but brilliant effect of this story I will recap it, but to avoid spoilers if you want to read it I'll put it under a cut.

Contrary to what the title says, the story isn't a rewrite of "The musicians of Bremen" but actually a "mix fairytales together" tale, and Dubois shows here his immense love, passion and knowledge of fairytales in one clever and poetic story - in an effort that reminds me of his Elficology Manual.

Say hello to George Boutonnet, a 20th century man with a frankly... Not happy life. Despite being an adult with a job, he stll is under the control of his old and tyrannical mother who, for example, insists on him having regular dinners with her to which he should never be late and always bring the same food. His mother's bad influence had already started as a kid, when she forced him to listen entirely and repeatedly to "L'Enfant et les Sortilèges" (Ravel's The Child and the Spells) - which deeply traumatized him, especially the scene when the child is punished by living furniture and wild animals and can only scream "Mommy!". He spent a childhood stuck between doing all his homework correctly under the stern eye of his mother, and brief moments of carefully looking at her precous books of fairytales - but these fairytales did not allow him any escapism either, because it was the Gustave Doré's illustrations, that scared him (he preferred Félix Lorioux as a child), and all the stories of Perrault, Grimm, madame d'Aulnoy and the countess of Ségur left him even more depressed - while all those virtuous girls and brave boys and couragous knights defeated the ragons and won eternal love, he couldn't escape his harsh and stern life... And so he grew up to become a middle-class office worker, always careful, prudent and meek, tyrannized by his bosses and his mother, living alone without any romantic potential, and having an extremely strict and precise schedule where every daily activity is timed precisely.

Except one day, when his alarm clock doesn't work, he wakes up too late, and this results in him going into a frenzy panic as he tries to stich up his schedule - because today is the day he is supposed to arrive on time to eat with his mother, and bring her cake. In his chaos and panic, after finally getting the cake and crossing with his car the wood that separates his home from his mother's, he needs to stop in the forest to pee. And... this turns out to be a revelation for him, because all his life, he kept crossing in his car the wood without ever actually stepping his foot in it. His mother never took him to the woods, too "wild and dangerous" - she didn't even taught him how to recognize flower species. So when he finds himself there, surrounded by unknown flowers, bizarre insects, and all those forest scents he never felt before, he can't help it, he walks around, he explores, feeling like a kid again. And as he walks around he sees... Little Red Riding Hood. Or rather a girl dressed exactly like her. Amused, he has a talk with him where he reveals he knows everything about her - much to the girl's amazement, and when she asks him how he knows her identity, he claims to be a wizard, which the girl immediately believes. And when he keeps joking (because he believes it is all a joke) about the wolf - this time Little Red is confused as there's no wolves in this forest, and she flees the man thinking he is one of those bizarre and nasty adults that like to mess up with kids' head.

Boutonnet, confused, ends up walking down the path Little Red Riding Hood came from... And discovers a fairytale village. THE fairytale village - with castles and beautiful landscapes and cute little houses and superb towers... Boutonnet thinks it's some amusement park, some local fair - but when he meets Gepetto in his workshop who is sculpting what will become Pinocchio (in fact it is Boutonnet himself who suggests the name Pinocchio), he starts realizing... Maybe something else is up. He tries to evoke Pinocchio's future misfortunes and misadventures, but Gepetto wants to hear nothing of those weird stories - claiming Boutonnet is just like "all those other folks from behind the hill", always coming in whith disastrous warnings when the truth is, nothing bad ever happens here. What truly convinces Boutonnet's however is when Gepetto summons Puss in Boots, who promptly asks the man to become his master, and when the latter agrees the cat literaly changes by magic his 20th century clothes into a fairytale-prince outfit.

Thus convinced he is truly in the world of fairytales, Boutonnet becomes the subject of a tour with Puss in Boots as a guide, to find himself a wife among the numerous princesses, queens and fairies of the area - and he gets to enjoy a wonderful, colorful world of talking flowers and singing frogs directly out of Lorioux's drawings, seeing the Goat with her seven kids, and Polichinelle, and the baron of Münchhausen, and fairies, and Hans my Hedgehog, and Riquet with the Tuft, and the seven dwarfs, and Tom Thumb... This is where Dubois' narrative style works the best, as his over-flowering, extensive listing and complex scene descriptions fit perfectly this "wonderful panorama of fairytales" we are supposed to see - and it is an abundance of fairytales and nursery rhymes references, and tons of puns based on popular culture, and fascinating description of fairy castles, and an abundance of baked goods, candies and cakes that Boutonnet gets to stuff himself with... And Boutonnet is in Heaven because it is everything his life is not - magic everywhere, everybody looking at him with respect and kindness, as much sugary treats as he can eat, cool clothes. An especially important part is that his name (which can translate as "Small-Button" and was a source of mockery when he was a child) is here fully accepted as a typical fairytale name.

Boutonnet is also very impressed by the beauty of the fairytale princesses - notably, after one breathtaking sight of Cinderella, he gets to encounter Snow White herself, described in such passionate, positive, romantic terms you feel like you have the perfect fairytale and mythical princess in front of you. Snow White is indeed the "fiancee" Puss in Boots wants to have Boutonnet fall in love with - and it works as they go for a promenade into the fairy woods and the wonderful village, and Snow White's kindness and beauty and gentleness and purity touches Boutonnet right into his heart... Even better (or worse depending on how you see it) - Boutonnet realizes that this fairytale village is stuck into the perfect moment, into the apex of happiness. Snow-White doesn't know what Boutonnet is talking about when he talks of her wicked step-mother, Little Red Riding Hood is going into the woods with no idea of what a wood is, when Puss in Boots is asked about cemeteries he is horrified as nobody dies in this valley... He is happy at finding a world of ultimate happiness and perfection, but he is slightly worried about how things might unfold if the stories haven't truly happened yet...

Snow White invites Boutonnet to the village's grand feast at the castle - where music will be given by the titular Bremen musicians, and after this invitation (and before Puss in Boots prepares for him a new outfit), Boutonnet has a brief moment of lucidity in the euphoria. He realizes that it is all mad, that such a place cannot exist, that if he returns to the real-world his mother will be mad at him and he'll be taken for a crazy person - but this is also mixed with a deep sorrow within himself, as he is told nobody ages, nobody dies, everything is happy in the fairytale valley... The sorrow that, as it turns out there was a place where wishes came true and dream became reality, there was a wonderful place of chilhood love and eternal youth, but he got denied this place, people tricked him into believing it wasn't real and forced him into living a horrid life...

As dusk starts forming at the horizon, Boutonnet considers leaving the valley and returning to his car and fleeing the forest - but the forest now smells quite unpleasant, of damp humidity, and rotting wood, and all sort of other unpleasant smells of "reality", and he ultimately get smooth-talked again by Puss in Boots into joining the grand festivities of the night. And what grand festivities! A huge banquet with mouth-watering dishes one after another ; and a whole array of old, aristocratic dances for the ball ; and music, so much music ; and Boutonnet sits right next to Snow White and gets to enjoy a soft, discreet, blooming romance between the meal and the dances, surrounding by fantastical beauties and fabulous riches...

... But as the night advances, the guests starts looking a bit less happy, a bit more shameful, things get more quiet. Boutonnet looks around and upon seeing so much beauty can't help but ask: Where are the others? The villains, the wicked ones, with their iron teeth and blue beards and hooked noses and warts and crooked chins... He notices there is some horrible sounds seemingly coming from the palace's door - but Snow White pretends it is "Just the wind" as the Bremen musicians try to cover it up with their music... And yet it is not wind, Boutonnet hears it growing louder and louder. It is scratches, screeches, screams and howls, the sounds of beasts and madmen. Boutonnet asks for explanations, and Snow White ends up sadly telling him the truth (and Boutonnet for the first time feels her hands are as cold as snow):

Once upon a time, a long time ago, fairytales were as Boutonnet heard of them. Snow White feared that every item was poisoned, Little Red Riding Hood didn't care cross the woods because of the wolf, princesses and sheperdess kept being killed by dragons, while brave heroes a la Jack and the Little Tailor kept killing giants, trolls and other gargoyles - and overall it was a constant battle of mutilated limbs, beheaded corpses, spells thrown left and right and constant pyres to burn people. It became so bad that the two side, the heroes and the antagonists, the goods and the villains, gathered one day to sign a peace treaty because they were so exhausted of living a "life of fairytale"... And the pact was such: the good folks and the heroes could live in the valley by day peacefully, while the villains and monsters ruled over it by night. This is why today Hansel and Gretel can eat gingerbread houses without fear, and why the three little pigs build their home in whatever material they like, and why Little Red Riding Hood visits her grandma every day...

But outside? What Boutonnet is hearing at the door of the castle? Its the wild hunt of the villains: Snow White's wicked stepmother is there, and so is the Big Bad Wolf, and Baba Yaga, and the Bogeyman, and the Ogre and the Ogress, and Frau Trude, and all the others: the dragons, the witches, the wicked dwarves, the ghouls, the trolls, the cyclops, Père Fouettar and so many monsters...

Boutonnet, puzzled wonders: But... If they are all outside, unable to attack or touch the good folks and the heroes... How do they survive? What do they eat? What do they kill, harass, maim and scare? Do they turn onto each other?

And Snow-White, sorrowfully but still so charming and beautiful, confesses to him: Alas, my beloved... They feed of strangers.

And the fairytale "good folk", to preserve their peace, throw Boutonnet outside of the castle, into the claws of the monsters and witches and ogres, and he only has time to scream one thing - the same word the little child screamed in "The Child and the Spells" - Mommy!

[marengogo]

Glorious Freedom

Desire In Silence - by Hong Eun Ji  [The Glory, Pt.2 (Original Soundtrack from the Netflix Series)]

[Music is a very big part of my life and I’m MOSTLY INCAPABLE of writing without music, so I just thought I'd share what I am listening to while writing this]

–🐺–🐺–🐺–

Okay, let’s get the shitty stuff out of the way real quick. I’m still not well, turns out that what I thought was something which would pass with some rest, wasn’t that at all. Hence, the time has come to let the heavy-duty doctors do some heavy-duty doctoring. Luckily enough, I was able to get an appointment for next week because I am going private, had it been public it was a 3 months wait and, yeah; no. So let’s wait and see.

NOW, while I’m not in pain, and my mind is somewhat clear, please allow me to quickly wax poetic over the combined total of 36 seconds which we were bestowed, between the Teaser 1 and Teaser 2, of Set Me Free Pt. 2. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about them and for some reason, every time I see Park Jimin staring at us in that way, I can’t help but think of Moon Dong-eun; the main character from The Glory.

In fact the whole of Teaser 1, in particular the choir CHILLS, all make me evoke the theme upon which the Glory stands. If you haven’t watched it yet, I highly advise it, so while not spoiling it let me explain how Moon Dong Eun is a woman who is out for the blood of those who hurt her, she is trying to find away to hopefully be happy but above all she seeking Glory for herself and for those who also were hurt but couldn’t attain happiness. Moon Dong-Eun is on a mission and life has been heavy, but one thing she learned how to understand and use is Time.

As we all know Park Jimin has had, and probably still has, his fair share of suffering, be it physical or/and mental. He’s also battled with external and internal forces, this also being physical or/and mental. That we are knowledgeable of, he’s had at least 10 good years of it and in a way, even though he may not be looking for "blood", he’s also learned to understand and use Time. Differently from the other members thus far, each of his promotional material, such as the FACE release schedule itself, has been very carefully calculated.

Park Jimin has chosen this particular time in his life to talk to us. He is not going to force people to listen to him, and he doesn’t particularly strike me as someone who likes to repeat himself twice. The presence of contemporary dancers (emotional expression), the choir (external forces), the circular/semi circular “stage” (mental environment), all make me think of a theatrical performance. This  is an opera, JImin’s Opera, and we are all invited to witness this tale that he has meticulously woven for us. 

Remember how upon seeing the tracklist I thought that Set Me Free pt.2 felt like a continuation of Lie?

Caught in s lie

Find the me that was pure

I can’t be free from this lie

Give me back my smile

Caught in a lie

Pull me from this hell

I can’t be free from this pain

Save me, I am being punished

If so why not call it Lie pt. 2 instead? Though he does talk about not being free, the lyrics are very much focused on the feeling of pain. GRANTED we yet do not know what Set Me Free pt.2 talks about, AND AS ALWAYS THIS ALL JUST ME RAMBLING WHAT'S IN MY HEAD, it feels to me like he is now over the pain, and not because it doesn’t hurt anymore, but because he is just numb to the feeling, numb to all that are irrelevant noises, be them external or/and internal “noises”.

So will he find freedom at the end of this masterpiece?  What is the main genre within Jimin’s Opera? Will WE survive it all? Only Time will tell …

So nervously yours,

Marengo.