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#root family misadventures
moonfromearth · 1 year
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❄ Snow flurries!! ❄
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halfagone · 7 months
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Rules: Give us the links to your fic with the most hits, second most kudos, third most comments, fourth most bookmarks, fifth most words, and fic with the least words.
Thank you for the tag, @oliveofvanders!! <333
Most Hits
lex luthor's ascent from supervillainy to fatherhood - DPxDC
Based on this Tumblr prompt. Lex Luthor has recently acquired a son. Weapon? Parole officer? ...Lex now has a teenaged god and he'll be damned if someone tries to take the kid away from him.
Originally started as a collection of inter-connected one-shots. It was only meant to last twenty chapters. It grew plot. It's almost at 500k words. It's projected to finish at 150 chapters. I am in plot hell.
Second Most Kudos
Two For One Special - DPxDC
While in Gotham, Clark gets mistaken for Bruce Wayne. He's not alone in his dilemma, however, because a teenager by the name of Danny is also mistaken to be Tim Drake. At least Clark's having fun with his fellow captive. Day 2/November 15th: Mistaken Identity | It’s tough gaining respect from new League members when they find out one of their superiors is a 14-year-old
My submission for the DP/DC Crossover Week in 2022! This one was a lot of fun, and I'm pleasantly surprised to see how many people enjoyed it as well. :3
Third Most Comments
Off With [the Demon's] Head - DPxDC
As it turns out, Damian is not Talia's firstborn. Not her first child, not her first son. This would not be so horrible if Talia's actual firstborn hadn't been stolen from her as a babe. But he's alive. And he's not alone. As it turns out, Talia is a grandmother. She takes this news surprisingly well. If only Damian did the same.
This was a gift fic for an inquiring reader and it took up so much of my brain that it went from being a 10-chapter quick fic, to being a whole plot-filled, time traveling misadventure.
Fourth Most Kudos
Eldritch Toddler - DPxDC
Bruce is not prepared for when John Constantine hands over a young boy who has been de-aged. While Constantine goes off in search of the one responsible, Bruce and his family are left to care for the child. Danny is a sweet kid, he isn't fussy either! This should be fine. They quickly learn to take Constantine's warnings seriously. Day 3/November 16th: Eldritch Identities | The worst person to put in charge of teens is another teenager
This is Day 3 of my DP/DC Crossover Week 2022 submissions!! I am pleasantly surprised to see two of that work so high up on this list!! Very nice to see people still enjoy it after all this time. <3
Fifth Most Words
bloodlines - DPxDC
Diana stumbles upon a prophecy, which thus leads her tumbling into a secret long since kept from her and Batman. They had a son together, one who was ripped out of her arms not long after his birth. A son who is prophesized to cause the apocalypse and end the world as they know it. Although they are no longer a couple, they intend to find and raise their son to ensure this prophecy never comes to be. Neither of them realize that he's way ahead of them.
...This one has 34k words already? I had no idea it'd grown that much in only 4 chapters, holy cow. Welp, I hope to continue it someday, because the brainrot is REAL, my friends.
Fic With Least Words
silly, silly turtles - Tower of God
Takes place between Season 2, Episode 310 - 312 (SPOILER ALERT!!!!! if not caught up) In which Rak thinks about the many important turtles in his life.
This is actually my very first fic ever! It was just a 600 word one-shot, canon compliant as you can tell from the summary. I actually totally forgot about this fic, it's been so long. But I'm glad I could remember my roots now.
I suppose I'll tag~ @die-erlkonigin6083 @disillusioneddanny and @thewritingowl!! Apologies if you get @'d twice!!
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pencopanko · 5 months
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Revolutionary Girl Utena-inspired Coco AU... but it's focused on Rosa Rivera
In 2017, the second eldest son of a family of shoemakers embarked on a journey to Escuela de la Cruz to discover his family's true roots after discovering that his great-great grandfather had been Héctor Rivera; a songwriter and fellow musician who used to travel with Ernesto de la Cruz before his untimely disappearance in 1921. An event which triggered a 100-year long music ban, and the establishment of a new school "dedicated to his name".
It had been four years, and nobody had neither seen nor heard from Miguel Rivera since.
Not wanting history to repeat itself, the head matriarch of the family along with her sons and their wives gave their blessings to their children, Rosa Rivera and Abel Rivera to go to Escuela de la Cruz and bring Miguel home. At first, the youngsters were reluctant but after a prophetic dream that Rosa had of her ancestors, Miguel's whereabouts, and an enchanted academy in the heart of México City the two of them finally complied.
Little did they know that the time and space continuum worked in a different way in Escuela de la Cruz. Everyone who entered the school grounds stopped aging, the dead were able to communicate with their descendants directly... and no living thing could ever leave. In order to be able to leave the school, students would have to face a series of duels with the final showdown being a duel with the headmaster: Ernesto de la Cruz himself. And nobody had succeeded past the headmaster's great-great grandson, Marco de la Cruz.
Including Miguel Rivera, who had been stuck in his 12-year-old body all this time... and the ghost of Héctor Rivera. The only ghost who could not leave the school premises.
After a series of misadventures and armed with weapons from their ancestors (a pair of boots and an enchanted rapier/rifle thing from Mamá Imelda & Tía Victoria, a pair of golden gauntlets from Tía Rosita & Papá Julio, and a guitar from Papá Héctor; all of which had been modified and enchanted by Tíos Óscar & Felipe), Rosa, Abel, and Miguel had found themselves in the middle of a century-long feud of music, family, shoes, and betrayal. Rosa even had found herself in an odd romantic tug-of-war with the cocky yet well-meaning(?) Marco.
And so as the next-next matriarch of her family, Rosa would have to learn to fully embrace who she is and lead her family to... a "revolution"? Whatever that is.
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Watching The Great North "Risky Beefness Adventure" and...
I'm so glad Beef is still in touch with his mom group friends. It's so sad he declines their invite to go out and have fun.
"Time to unwind from a long day with fishing, with more fishing". Beef Tobin is the definition of having "special interests".
Beef Tobin is cut. The silhouette of his penis in the sky is very clearly an erect cut penis in the far shots.
Moon is what I wish I could be when my family discussed adult topics, and just nopes out immediately
"I'm also suppressing a scream of terror at the prospect of discussing Dad's boudior journey, but I like to be perceived as sex-positive and I just want Dad to be happy, so I'm just going to stay here and say 'Mmm.. Mmmhm Mhm Mhm.'" Oh my god. I need to rewatch this episode just to focus on Judy's silent nodding and mmhm.
Jerry as a big brother is so sweet
Beef's misadventures in dating could be its own episode in its entirety
I spotted the yeti for once! He's rooting through garbage off to the side when Moon and Jerry are coming out of the party
I love Beef and Greta's new "let's have sex as friends" dynamic. This makes me root for them more than Beef and Alyson. It's what Beef needs-- someone who won't make a big deal out of intimacy to start. I can write a long, slow burn about this.
I think Judy's "everything is ok face" might beat Tina's "everything is ok face". Or it's just the same face on different people.
Judy's breakdown is by far overdue and I would not have held on as long. She is braver than I could ever be.
I love how wise Ham is, and it's wild that Nightrider is now canonically his gay awakening
Beef's Penis and the Heart have names and voices that aren't Beef or Nick Offerman. They're too obtusely funny for me to spoil the jokes.
Good lord, I guess I have to write Beef/Greta fanfiction now. Would a Beef/Greta/Alyson throuple be too strange? They were cool with weirder
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mistresslunastarx · 2 months
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Echoes of Tomorrow
Journey to Bioville
In the quaint town of Crestwood, there existed a charismatic troublemaker named Ryan who left an indelible mark on every corner of the community. With disheveled hair and a mischievous grin, Ryan embodied the essence of teenage rebellion.
Behind his daring exploits, there were layers of complexity. Ryan struggled with familial issues, his relationship with his parents fraught with misunderstandings. His attempts to communicate his emotions were often met with indifference, as if his feelings were taken for granted.
Despite his rebellious exterior, Ryan yearned for genuine connections and believed in the value of loyalty. The concept, however, proved elusive in a world where trust was hard to find. His trust issues extended beyond his family to friendships, leaving him feeling isolated even in the midst of a bustling community.
Ryan's misadventures, ranging from harmless pranks to more audacious escapades, became a form of self-expression, a way to carve out a space for himself in a world that seemed indifferent to his struggles. His friendships, though marked by loyalty, were tempered by the fear of betrayal.
The pinnacle of Ryan's escapades occurred during Crestwood's annual summer fair when he decided to inject some excitement into the town. His daring attempt to decorate the mayor's statue with water balloons became a symbolic act of rebellion against the constraints of his own emotions.
As the town awoke to the whimsical sight, laughter rippled through Crestwood. Ryan's mischievous nature, a reflection of his internal turmoil, unwittingly brought a sense of joy to the community. In the end, the charismatic troublemaker taught Crestwood that beneath the surface of rebellion lies a longing for connection and understanding.
The distant sound of the summer fair's festivities lingered in the air as my phone suddenly buzzed in my pocket, breaking the lively atmosphere. Retrieving it, I noticed an unfamiliar number flashing on the screen. Intrigued yet cautious, I answered the call.
"Hello?" I greeted, my voice betraying a hint of curiosity, as I wondered who might be on the other end.
A voice, both familiar and distant, responded, "Hey, is this Ryan?" It was Jessica, a girl from my past whose memory had long been relegated to the dusty corners of forgotten friendships.
Our conversation unfolded like a time capsule being unearthed. Jessica shared stories of our shared adventures, reviving memories of a simpler time when life was carefree, friendships were authentic, and the weight of familial expectations hadn't yet settled on my shoulders.
The unexpected call stirred emotions within me, opening a chapter I had believed was firmly closed. Jessica's words became a bridge to the past, a time when loyalty flowed effortlessly, and trust wasn't such a challenging concept.
As we delved into shared memories, the phone call became a bittersweet reminder of connections that had frayed but not fully unraveled. Caught between nostalgia and the complexities of the present, I found myself grappling with questions about loyalty, trust, and the changing dynamics of relationships.
The once-vibrant summer fair backdrop faded into the background as Jessica and I navigated the uncharted waters of rekindling an old friendship. The call ended, leaving me standing in the heart of Crestwood, my thoughts swirling like leaves caught in a sudden gust of wind.
This unexpected reunion with Jessica had become a catalyst for introspection, pushing me to confront not only the challenges of my present but also the roots of my rebellious nature. In the quiet aftermath of the call, Crestwood seemed to hold its breath, as if awaiting the next chapter in this charismatic troublemaker's journey.
After the unexpected call with Jessica, I navigated the bustling fair with a jumble of emotions. The distant hum of carnival rides, the laughter of families, and the scent of cotton candy filled the air. As the sun dipped below the horizon, I made my way home.
Entering our modest house, the air felt heavy with the tension I had grown accustomed to. My parents' voices echoed through the hall, a relentless soundtrack to the struggles we faced as a family. I sighed, bracing myself for the nightly confrontation.
As I approached my room, the familiar sight of clothes strewn across the floor greeted me. The harsh admonitions from my parents followed, their complaints about my untidiness blending into an indistinct murmur. Their voices served as a stark reminder of the turbulent relationship we shared.
In response, I mechanically packed a bag with a change of clothes and some essentials. The echoes of their words fueled the silent dialogue in my mind. "You're never going to change," one voice taunted. "You deserve better," another whispered, a faint spark of rebellion flickering within.
The moon cast a soft glow on Crestwood as I tiptoed down the staircase, bag in hand. I couldn't shake the feeling that, like the fair behind me, my childhood was fading away. The cool night air greeted me as I stepped outside, my heart pounding with the uncertainty of my decision.
Under the watchful gaze of the stars, I paused to take a deep breath. The night held the promise of escape, a chance to rewrite the narrative of my life. With each step, Crestwood became a distant memory, and the open road beckoned with the allure of endless possibilities. As I set out into the unknown, the weight of my past slowly lifted, leaving room for a newfound sense of freedom and self-discovery.
The rhythmic clatter of the train echoed through the narrow corridor as I settled into my seat, bound for Bioville. The distant hum of the engine became the soundtrack to my thoughts as I stared out the window, watching the world blur by.
I fished my phone from my pocket, fingers tapping against the screen. Jessica's number flashed before me, a connection to a past I longed to revisit. The anticipation in my chest grew as the phone rang, each ring a step closer to rediscovery.
"Hello?" Her voice, warm and familiar, resonated through the phone.
"Hey, Jess, it's Ryan," I began, the words tumbling out. "I'm on a train to Bioville. I'll be there in a few hours."
A pause, pregnant with unspoken memories, hung in the air. "Ryan? Really?" Jessica's voice held a mix of surprise and excitement.
"Yeah, really," I chuckled, a hint of nervousness threading through my tone. "Thought I'd surprise you. Haven't seen you in ages."
Bioville loomed on the horizon, a cityscape that held the echoes of our shared history. Jessica's laughter filled the gaps in our conversation, and we reminisced about the carefree days when the world seemed less complicated.
As the train pulled into Bioville's bustling station, my heart quickened. A mix of anticipation and uncertainty enveloped me. Stepping onto the platform, the cityscape sprawled before me, a tapestry of lights and shadows.
"I'll be waiting at the station," Jessica said, her voice a beacon of comfort. "Can't wait to see you."
The train journey had brought me full circle, back to the place where friendship had blossomed and life's journey had diverged. As I approached the station, the prospect of rekindling a connection from the past filled me with both excitement and trepidation. Bioville awaited, promising the potential for new beginnings and the rekindling of an old flame
(Follow for more)
Comment: https://www.reddit.com/r/BBbookclub/comments/1aceu6s/echos_of_tomorrow/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3
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helianskies · 4 months
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[ 22 ] for Wales and Spain? I need more c:
easily done! i need more too >:)
Bewitching
Rhys is in the middle of some research when he hears a knock at his door. At first, he calls for whoever it is to come in, knowing that, realistically, it could only have been one of a handful of people. 
When his visitor doesn’t do as told, however, Rhys huffs, abandons his work (hoping that nothing goes awry in his absence; if it does, he makes his visitor suffer the consequences), and goes to the door himself. Maybe it’s Alasdair, he ponders as he walks, trying to kill his boredom. Perhaps it’s Arthur unwittingly trying to wreak yet more havoc on his cosy life.
However, when Rhys opens the door, fully expecting one of his brothers, he is deeply surprised to see—
“I’m not disturbing you, am I?”
—Antonio!
Antonio is relatively new to the area. He comes from a family of so-called ‘researchers’ and academics. The pair of them had met on his third day wandering around the local woods, where Rhys spends most of his time. Antonio had had concerns about his horse, who had become ill after a misadventure with some mushrooms, and had heard of a healer and apothecary who could help…
Of course, Arthur had not done the best job in the world—he’s still having teething issues, in fact. But fortunately, Rhys had been in passing. Antonio had been grateful. And in the few weeks since, the other has stopped by many times to keep a reclusive Rhys company.
“No,” Rhys assures Antonio, readily inviting him inside by holding the door open wider for him. 
“Are you sure?” Antonio checks, though. “I mean, it smells like you’ve got something cooking…?”
“Oh, bollo—”
“Yeah, I’ll let you… Do that…”
Rhys excuses himself and hurries back to the kitchen. He grabs a cloth to help him lift his small cauldron off of the hook it hangs from over the fire, and sets it down on a pile of bricks near the back door of his woodland cottage.
As he stands back up, he realises he had been followed; Antonio leans in the doorway and, as Rhys brushes himself off of nothing but air and apology.
“I feel like… you were in the middle of something,” Antonio says. “I can go, you know. I’ll come back later.”
Rhys is quick to say, “No,” however. “No need. That was done anyway,” he lies, “and I am now free as the wind.”
“Lucky me,” the brunet supposes. 
The other agrees, albeit internally. Though, now that they’re there in the kitchen, he offers, “Tea?” which Antonio readily accepts. 
A few minutes later, they are together in the other main room. Rhys is steadily pouring them both a cup of tea, and Antonio is leaning back against a cabinet, turning a crystal ball in his hands. 
He has this… sort of fascination with what Rhys does, but Rhys, knowing that Antonio’s roots are buried in the trade of secrets and knowledge (and of things that ordinary humans should not know of at all), guards his truth as carefully as he can. No matter how hard it may be. For now, it is safer.
“I only actually came over because I was going to ask if you wanted dinner, since you tend to forget,” Antonio mumbles, his eyes fixing on the ball as he holds it still. Rhys wonders for a minute if he will be shown anything—if the ball would dare—but today is not that day. “I don’t want to bother you, though. I’m not convinced you weren’t busy.”
“Believe what you want. But as far as I’m concerned, you can stay for as long as you like,” Rhys tells him, nevertheless, as he puts down the teapot. 
“Oh! How kind of you.” 
“Pays to be good company.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Antonio remarks with a quiet and brief laugh, soft like fresh butter, as he continues to turn the crystal ball around and around in his hands. “What are you up to, anyway?”
Rhys won’t say—won’t say too much, at least—and chooses to placate him rather than ward him off. “Potions,” he therefore tells him. “As usual.”
“And what sort of potion were you brewing this time, hm?” Antonio asks. The ball returns to its little stand, and he walks over to the fabric chairs and table where the tea awaits. 
“Why?” Rhys returns. He hands Antonio his cup and saucer (the other thanks him). “Are you looking to buy?”
Antonio gives a soft snort, amused. “Depends,” he replies as he lifts his drink towards his lips. “What are you selling?”
“That depends, too,” the other claims. “Is there something you need a potion for?”
“I don’t know…” muses Antonio, as he gives his tea a stir (pointless, because he hasn’t added anything to it, and they both know it). “Perhaps not…”
“Well,” Rhys concludes, still smiling a smile Antonio comes to replicate—a smile that he hopes Antonio would forever give back to him, one way or another, “when you do, you know where to come.”
“Oh, I do,” Antonio indeed smiles.
And Rhys would be waiting for him. Just as he did, every single day.
[ full fic collecion on ao3! ]
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abc-felixx · 4 months
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if I could collect sea glass and beach treasures like sand dollars and pebbles I would. my favourite is the smoothed-over glass, especially the ones thickened by age. the creeks make them too, just not as nice and tempered as I like. one of my family members told me once that she could go and collect those glass pieces and her mother would give her quarters in exchange. if the glass were a blue or green transparency, they were worth even more than that. I miss trespassing in the woods, I was alone for hours everyday examining rocks and scrounging for trinkets and bottles to take back to the brick house. it’s like better than money to me, it was in nature’s hands until I decided to take it back or steal it for the first time all together. back when I was curious about the properties of plants and how I could make art and be in composure with my surroundings. one of my favourite walks was the woods behind the cemetery near my house. a dried up creek, with walls about 2-3 feet tall I’d say. the mud was dried and beautifully exposed were roots and their systems. holes where bugs had burrowed. the really cool part though was what had been lodged into the mud over the years… a perfectly preserved beer, mostly glass bottles of sorts. but there were coins and detailed mugs and bottle caps. the rocks under my feet as I walked held fossils and the most stunning creek glass. the finds here were always so lovely, I think because I was on private property and no one ever really saw these parts. there was so much beauty behind that cemetery which overlooked the Finley river in the oddly boring town of Ozark. where I found peace in my solice and lonesome. the creek led to this river eventually, to an old ruined bridge torn down and long forgotten. caution tape would wave to me in the flowing body, as I stared at the underwater structures.
so many other memories from the woods I would travel to. one day I hope to share more from my misadventures during adolescence
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pachu09 · 2 years
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Another Tobirama and Izuna’s misadventure
Tobirama who announces with an even voice " Madara and I will have a child..."
Kagami who's only ten years old, looked up with wide black eyes at his Sensei. His parents then happily congratulates Tobirama: " That's a gre– "
Izuna, who quickly appears out of nowhere slams some adoption papers on the table. " Kagami! Quick! Sign here!...so you'll finally be Tobi and Madara’s legal child!."
Kagami's Mom who was flabbergasted for only a second, quickly clutches her child to her chest. She glared at an impassive Tobirama while her husband lunged for Izuna’s throat. Naturally, Izuna had easily dodge the man's attempted murder of his person.
Kagami whimpered in dismay. " Maybe, next ti—" his mother slap a hand over his blabbering mouth. The smart woman that she is, she decided to be out of this non sense and hurried out of the Uchiha Main Estate. Her husband hot on her heels. The man then glared furiously back and hollered angrily at a sneering Izuna and a blank eyed Tobirama. " Madara–sama will hear about this non sense of yours, you imbeciles!. "
Izuna sighs in dismay. " Next time, I'll make sure Kagami can sign this without any interruption. Maybe we'll sic Madara to them, even. " He straighten out the adoption papers and goes back to his room to plan for a more effective strategy.
Tobirama remain rooted on his spot for a few minutes after, even after Kagami's Family had long went home. He still refused to moved from his spot. He only moved from his fixed position when he felt Madara’s Chakra, search for his, to greet him. He'll meticulously plan with Izuna later, but first!. He had to give a warm welcome to his exhausted Husband....
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Things I found remarkable from Madame Putiphar: (warning: this post is mushy and earnest. And the writing is clunky af. if you don’t like those things, skip it)(no spoilers tho)
-Borel’s denunciation of the horrors of the ancien regime. From the kidnapping and purchase of girls as young as 7or 9 to become trainees at the Parc-aux-cerfs, Louis XV’s personal harem, to the illegal incarceration and disappearance of enemies of the crown(since the incarceration was not legal, your family didn’t know if you were alive or dead, and anything could be done to you because technically you were not incarcerated)(very reminiscent of certain non democratic methods of xxth c dictatorships), to the incarcerations of writers such as Diderot and Sade for their ideas. (parallels could be made with Borel’s present time and they might have. The book was not censored but it got such a terrible review from Jules Janin, Borel found it harder and harder to find work again)(Jean-Luc Steinmetz calls Janin’s review a rehearsal for the later censorship trials on books such as mme bovary and les fleurs du mal during Napoleon III’s government)
-a heroine whose shortcomings and aptitudes are not rooted in her gender (crazy I know.)(like in Champavert, where race is not deterministic at all) Debbie, our heroine, is a brave, intelligent person, doing what best she can in adverse circumstances. Not always correct, not invincible, not ever stunted (or blessed!) by the innate powers of femaleness some authors and thinkers seem to believe in. (a probable antecedent is Diderot’s Suzanne Simonin, some of her misadventures are similar and she is a fleshed out character as well)(but it’s been a while)
-an appreciation of femaleness and effeminacy, and androgyny. Because of their love, padraig and debbie’s genders mingle and impregnate one an other. Debbie becomes more masculine. Pádraig in his turn, is made more effeminate by his love of Debbie. And this improves them both. (The androgyne as a divine being is a recurrent theme in romantic literature, but an appreciation of femaleness, maybe not so much. Borel says padraig has been improved by receiving debbie’s femenine upbringing. That is unheard of)
-A narrator that shows love and care for his readers. Besides Borel’s usual use of irony and meta literary discussion, here he stops and comforts the reader, takes their hand (Borel specifically addresses a female and male reader) and asks if they’re ready to carry on. Since this was a book he felt pain while writing, he -correctly- assumes the reader will probably be shaken as well. This is very sweet and considerate and it never happens?? I feel like writers are usually here to lecture the reader and make them swallow their truth. (Borel does a fair share of that too, tbh)(there is more to be said about the narrator in this book. But it will require a rereading because I admit I am not at all certain about some things he does here)
-a Romantic’s take on the Enlightenment. Borel takes familiar tropes and makes them his own. I was reminded of Diderot’s heroine from La réligieuse, his playful narrator in Jacques le fataliste. Sade’s Justine, (tho sade does not really write humans, rather gears that put his plot in motion, this is not a jab at sade. just that debbie is not a sadian innocent sticking to her virtue in ways required only by the plot) Voltaire’s Candide and Laclos’ Dangerous Liaisons come to mind as well.
Overall I really loved this book. I have one or two complaints over one midly unfortunate rant about the roots of european orientalism, a queer character that is not that bad but uuh seems rather underdeveloped and tropey, and one coup-de-theatre death that was unnecessary imo. There’s also the narrator thing. This requires a second reading bc I found some of his digressions confusing. His tone was easier to decode in Champavert. Here I had trouble discerning what Borel is being serious about or not. Not all the time but occasionally. Hard to tell what he is serious about or not. But overall this are very minor complaints. I insist this is a great book!! And I feel very grateful for having read it 🖤
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memorimae · 11 months
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Whisperer Adalwolf Salzlakritz, The White Wolf of Court
Licorice Rogue (Inquisitive) - Level 5
Those with nothing to hide have nothing to fear - so why are we all afraid?
Just beyond the borders of Gumbia rests the twin regions of Cane and Maple. The latter is named for the rocky mountainous wild-woods of maple root that house the Malic-Morass; the former is for the labyrinthine Underdark of the Candy Cane mining ports that carve the mountain out from below.
Port Bon-bon of the infamous massacre, The Bon-Bomb Banquet, is part of this region, but its ill-fitting crown is Salzlakritz. It is by far the rowdiest of its kind - a lawless sort of place where state-power battles with resident authority to create a haven of misadventure. But it is prosperous and a master of the trade. 
For that reason, their Noble house of the same name is often forgotten. A licorice family of nobodies who fail to control their populace but are always sending their taxes on time. Irrelevant to all but the economy.
Until Adalwolf, that is. Adalwolf was smart and strategic. Adalwolf was raised by a guiding hand towards the purest form of currency; secrets. 
He, like Lady Hazel, waltzed into Castle Candy at it’s hour of need with a charming air and wolfish grin. It didn’t take long for him to snake his way into the court, hypnotic in his ability to lull the deepest secrets from everyone, no matter the stature.
The greatest secret he discovered, however, was the love inspired by Queen Rain-Beau. He fell for her, hard - and their secret flourished inside the castle. A love to be shared in their home but traitorous should anyone outside the castle walls discover it.
It is the nature of mortals to lie and shield their truths, for the sake of self protection. But as the Spymaster of Candia, Adalwolf knows more than most how some are kept for the protection of others.
When all the secrets erupts from within him like a tempest, what destruction will be left in the Wolf’s wake?
Character Playlist
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comeawayrp · 10 months
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• Robin 'Slightly' McGinnis • Lost Boy • Age Unknown • Thomas Brodie-Sangster
Start your life in the middle of the jungle...
Robin ‘Slightly’ Mcginnis was born in the Enchanted Forest to traveling musician parents. They traveled all over the country and rather than having a small child to drag in tow they often left him in the care of relatives; passing him from one family to the next. They would come and visit him, but it would only be for a few short days and they were gone for sometimes a month or more at a time. It was here that the seed of rejection started to take root.
As Robin grew, so did his resentment of his parents. As far as he was concerned he had no family, no one that gave truly gave two shits about him. His only escape was in his music or in his dreams where he would visit a magical world called Neverland. His only friend, a boy he had met in his dreams. The boy’s name was Peter Pan. 
It didn’t really click that Peter wasn’t what he seemed to be, nor the world he figured was just all a figment of his imagination. Robin was just a young kid who found someone who seemed to understand him and wanted to be his friend. Robin hungered for Peter Pan’s friendship. It was extremely painful to wake up again and again thrust back into the real world where he knew he didn’t belong. 
Robin continued to visit Neverland long into his teenage years. The longer he dreamed the more he became discontented with his own world and wanted out. It was not a healthy situation to be sure. And by then, Robin was treated by the townfolks as ‘slightly’ an oddball - a boy who lived in dreams and got into more trouble leading other town boys astray with their shenanigans and mischievous misadventures.
When the time came, Slightly was only too eager to leave this world behind for a better one. It didn’t take long for him to adapt to Neverland being a real place and Peter, the boy he trusted and come to feel a deep devotion towards was not just a hope and a prayer of his own making. It was a dream come true - he supposed he had always known deep down that he would end up there. Maybe he was dead and this was heaven - either way, he didn’t care. He was where he wanted to be and that was heaven enough for him. 
Personality:
+ Witty, Sharp, Observant, Clever, Sneaky - Constant Fear of Abandonment, Blunt, Over-Adventurous, Tactless!
Slightly is TAKEN!
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moonfromearth · 1 year
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Copperdale High Year Book
Graduating Seniors & Cheer Squad Pages
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paulinedorchester · 2 years
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The Convert, by Stefan Hertmans; translated by David McKay. New York: Pantheon Books, 2020. Originally published in 2016 (in Dutch, as De bekeerlinge), by De Bezige Bij, Amsterdam.
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Perhaps I should begin by explaining that I have a fully-fledged love/hate relationship with the Middle Ages. Like many Americans of around my age (I am 60), I received a fair amount of my lower- and middle-school education from the same people who brought us the Society for Creative Anachronism and Medieval Times (not to mention Renaissance Fayres across the country): the generation born during World War II and their immediate successors, the leading-edge baby boomers. This cohort idealized the entire Medieval period as a happy alternative to the impersonality and materialism (as they saw it) of post-war life.
And why not? What we were fed was very attractive indeed: the (highly Bowdlerized) stories we read were exciting; the clothing was beautiful and looked comfortable (although the enveloping headgear that some women wore now looks a lot like erasure); and the art and music — the revival of interest in the latter was just past its earliest, experimental stage — were glorious. My mother was a generation older, but she got involved: in the early 1970s she was teaching lower-school art, and for several years each of her 4th-grade students created an illuminated letter.
For me, though, part of enthusiasm for a historical period — history fandom, if you like — involves being able to envision oneself in that period. When I began seriously reading Jewish history, I also began having serious trouble inserting myself into the Middle Ages. Medieval Jewish history is not for the faint of heart, or the weak of stomach.
Still, every so often I came across something encouraging: I discovered the existence of Hebrew illuminated manuscripts, for example. (How that happened is a good story that I really must post here sometime.) Stefan Hertmans’ novel The Convert is rooted in another such phenomenon: the early Middle Ages saw a steady trickle of conversions to Judaism among educated, mostly upper-crust Christians in Western Europe, particularly France and Italy. Their stories do not, as a rule, have happy endings. They were relentlessly hunted down, either by the Church or by knights acting on behalf of their families. If not put to death on the spot, they were tried for heresy and burned at the stake; any children they might have had were abducted, and in some instances sold into slavery in North Africa. With that in mind, I offer the following trigger warnings for this novel: murder, rape, arson, kidnapping, and all manner of mayhem, fueled largely by hatred of Judaism and Jews; disease both physical and mental; many deaths, some of them quite gruesome; detailed description of a difficult childbirth; suicidal ideations. (Also, there are some spoilers ahead.)
The Convert is true literary catnip for someone like me: a work of imaginative fiction harnessed to rigorous — obsessive, even — historical research. It imagines the life of an actual person, a woman who is referred to in at least one, and possibly a second, document discovered in the Cairo Genizah and now in the Taylor-Schechter Genizah Research Unit at Cambridge University Library. The first document, T-S 16.100, is a large fragment from a letter of introduction, signed by Joshua ben-Obadiah, requesting assistance for an unnamed convert “from a distant land” whose husband, Rabbi David Todros, of Narbonne, in Languedoc, has been murdered during an anti-Jewish riot and whose two older children, Jacob and Justa, have been abducted. The second, T-S 12.532, which is not only fragmentary but in two separate pieces, is in identical handwriting and uses some similar turns of phrase; it describes a woman’s further hair-raising misadventures. She is again unnamed (and what is up with that?), but this letter, too, refers to her daughter Justa. That's a highly unusual name in this context and could well indicate that both letters are about the same woman. Hertmans takes off from there.
He posits that the first letter was written in 1096 C.E. (the year of the start of the First Crusade, which, like its successors, would prove calamitous for Jews caught anywhere in its path), and that the “distant land” from which our heroine hails is Normandy — specifically Rouen, which was indeed the home of a thriving Jewish community during the 10th and 11th centuries, as was Narbonne. He gives her a birth year of 1070, names her Vigdis Adelaïs Gudbrandr, and makes her a wealthy descendant of the Norsemen who had conquered northern France a century and a half earlier. Meanwhile, David Todros is sent to Rouen in the late 1080s to study at the city’s renowned (and historical) yeshiva.
The two of them meet by chance in the Rue aux Juifs. A spark is lit. Vigdis, who struggles with her parents’ narrow expectations for her and has warned them that she’ll join a convent rather than be married off against her will, contrives to tell David that she wants to study Hebrew. (She is fully literate and has been taught enough Latin that she can be more than a passive participant in worship, so this is actually not all that implausible.) David is taken aback, but agrees to teach her.
Things move forward from there, and in 1090 they run off together, making a harrowing journey clear across France, mostly on foot. By the time they arrive in Narbonne Vigdis is pregnant. (Possibly for that reason, her conversion process is head-spinningly fast by modern standards.) She takes the name Sarah, but David has given her a nickname that sticks: Hamoutal, “warmth of the dew.” All is well for a few months; then her father’s knights show up in Narbonne, searching for her, and the couple take flight once again. Hertmans moves back and forth between Hamoutal’s imagined story and his own efforts at researching what her life might have been.
That brings me to my own reasons for feeling compelled to read this book just now.
Most of the foundational research on both Jewish history in Normandy and the conversion phenomenon was done over the course of 50 years by a long-time neighbor of mine. (This story is going to take a painful turn, so I’m going to be very vague here: no names will be named, and no dates specified.) His family and mine moved to the neighborhood at about the same time; for more than a decade we lived five minutes’ walk from each other. He and my father used to play tennis together, and I have an amusing memory of his wife and my mother trying to be polite while getting on one another’s nerves during a Jewish United Fund ladies’ luncheon (although what my mother and I were doing at such a hopelessly bourgeois event is a mystery). He is mentioned by name several times in The Convert, as is his youngest son, who seems to have been acting as his father’s amanuensis during the early 2010s.  
I knew that son in school — only slightly, because he was three years ahead of me and we went to different synagogues, so we didn’t cross paths that often, but his reputation preceded him. That reputation was as someone who went out of his way to be helpful to others, and also that of a prodigy: he had been skipped ahead a year at some point; he won chess tournaments with ease and regularity; he was already fluent in French and Hebrew and proficient in Latin. (I had all of this on pretty good authority: the older brother of my closest friend of those years was another competitive chess player.)
He seems not to have lived up to his early promise. He earned both a law degree and a Ph.D. in comparative literature (the latter from a very prestigious institution), but apparently has done little with either.
And how do I know that?
My neighbor was prominent enough that, when the time came, a fair number of newspapers and general-interest magazines carried his obituary. Many of them used words like “contrarian” and “controversialist” to describe him. It's true hat one through-line in his career was that his research, which went well beyond the areas that I’ve mentioned above, did often lead him to conclusions that were quite different from those of other scholars working in the same or adjacent fields. He also managed to irritate the governments of, or influential non-governmental organizations in, several countries in which the authorities have a history of seeking to control access to historical artifacts, intellectual discourse, etc. All of this seems to have led to him and his views being excluded from that discourse at times.
Well, one day I opened my morning newspaper and learned that his son, my old schoolmate, had been arrested on more than two dozen counts of criminal impersonation, identity theft, forgery, and aggravated harassment stemming from a clandestine campaign to bolster his father’s reputation while undermining several of his leading critics.
He was convicted on most of the charges, including two felony counts, and was initially sentenced to six months’ imprisonment and five years’ probation. He did spend a day and a half in prison before his family was able to post bail, an experience about which he later wrote for a now-defunct literary magazine. Many of the convictions, including both of the felonies, were reversed on appeal, and one of the laws under which he was charged was repealed as a direct result of his case. His probation was reduced to time served. Just last year, he regained his law license. His father, who turned out to have been aware of the scheme but was never charged with a crime, was his son's staunchest defender until encroaching illness robbed him of his ability to be so.
As much as a matter of principle as for any other reason, I don’t read, let alone write, real-people fic of any kind. But it’s awfully tempting to try to construct a less sad alternative version of these events — perhaps one in which my it was schoolmate’s older siblings (both of whom, I’ve discovered, have displayed some degree of underachievement and failure-to-launch syndrome) who did this, deliberately excluding my brilliant schoolmate from their plotting.
I hadn’t thought about any of this in a long time until a few weeks ago, and I’m completely at a loss to explain what brought it back to me and sent me down this rabbit-hole. But it made me remember that I had been meaning to read The Convert after seeing a review of it early in 2020, just before lockdown began. So here we are.
Well, then, is The Convert any good? It’s certainly a fine piece of storytelling and compulsively readable, but I can recommend it only with certain reservations, all of which, I’m afraid, stem from the fact that — how shall I put this? — Hertmans is no Heidi Thomas. To begin with, the book is sprinkled with inaccuracies about Jewish practice and worldview:
Synagogues don’t have altars, nor do we set up altars for weddings (which traditionally take place out-of-doors).
It is not and never has been the case that marriage in Judaism is “for the eternity of their lives.” That’s a Christian thing.
It wasn’t only “according to the Jewish traditions of the time” (my emphasis) that a sexual encounter rendered a couple halakhically married: that’s always been true. On paper, at least, it’s still true today.
Hertmans, or his translator, also repeatedly uses pogrom, a Russian word that first appeared in print in the 1880s, to refer to events taking place in 11th-century France. (He’s not the only writer to have committed that anachronism, to be sure.)
A more serious problem is that Hertmans seems unable or unwilling to accept the idea that conversion to Judaism is, for lack of a better way of putting it, real. (Without wishing to open a can of worms, one could compare this to a refusal to accept that other types of self-identification are real.) I’ve encountered this attitude among two groups of people: secular Jews like my parents, whose only basis for Jewish self-identification was genetic (although, not atypically, this was of overwhelming importance to them — may their memory be for a blessing, but this used to drive me Up. The. Wall.); and (some, by no means all) people harboring a Christian worldview, whether they call it by that name or not. Neither cohort is willing to accept that the idea that Judaism is a religion: sure, you can convert to Christianity; you can convert to Islam; you can convert to Hinduism; but Judaism either comes with the mother’s milk or is really just a set of folkways — and you can’t convert to that, not really.  
Hertmans — a Flemish-speaking Belgian, and thus likely raised as a Roman Catholic, for whatever that’s worth — starts out showing great respect for Vigdis’ intellectual process, and for Judaism:
As the weeks go by, her discussions with the young Jewish intellectual teach her that there is a religious alternative to the violence and turmoil of the Christian world. This tremendous shift in perspective throws her off balance and fascinates her. She pictures a different world, a different chronology — one that does not begin with death by torture and crucifixion. A historical sense not bewitched by apocalyptic delusions and millennial fears, by the return of the dreaded Beast, by hell and Devil and torment and Fall, but by a far more ancient calendar that begins with a creative act, the beginning of life itself: the instant when Yahweh created the world. The thought comforts her; no longer is history broken by any fault line. At the same time, she lies awake at night in her narrow alcove, agonizing over the words of the Torah, comparing them to what she has learned from the priests. ... She says nothing to her governess about her growing doubt and confusion, and she certainly never speaks of it to her parents.
Meanwhile, the aforementioned T-S 16.100 offers no indication whatsoever that "Vigdis" and David arrived in Narbonne together. One could even draw the opposite conclusion:
She went forth from the house of her father, from great wealth and a distant land, and came on behalf of the Lord ... She left her brothers and the great ones of her family, and was living in Narbonne; and Rabbi David, the deceased person just mentioned, married her.
By throwing illicit romance and elopement into the mix, Hertmans undermines the first of these passages and ignores the historical facts presented in the second. And he makes it clear that our heroine continues to struggle with identity issues for the rest of her life. Under any degree of stress, she begins murmuring the Catholic prayers of her youth; she worries constantly that she has in fact damned herself. She dies not at the hands of the Church but as a victim of her own shattered mind, broken by too much loss. Hertmans seems to be implying that she has brought her fate, her madness, onto herself by trying to do something that he sees as impossible: become Jewish.
We need a novel that shows a great deal more confidence in this process. (Admittedly, I have an axe to grind here.)
Since I’m posting this here on Tumblr (and I know who my followers are), I should add that The Convert would make a terrible feature film and an even worse mini-series. Too much interiority, not enough dialogue. But it is worth reading, if you keep its issues in mind.
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potohseviltwin · 6 months
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Rosalina through the years! She started as a random pink-haired character that I had a very vague story idea for. Then I decided to make her the main character for the Misadventure May challenge 2019. After finishing MM, I developped more ideas and lore around her, gave her a family etc. and then Roots slowly came into existence. TBH it took a while until she grew on me as an OC (I was mainly attached to just her overal design with the pink hair and all), but with a flashed out personality and backstory I'm just so glad she's in my life uwu
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ethanreedbooks · 7 months
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The Review of a Dazzling Emergence into the New DCU: "Blue Beetle" Lights Up the Screen with Heart and Action
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In a cinematic whirlwind that ignites emotion and excitement, director Ángel Manuel Soto masterfully navigates the exhilarating waters of "Blue Beetle." This electrifying debut for the flagship character of James Gunn and Peter Safran's new DC Extended Universe franchise is a testament to Soto's skill in crafting an action-packed narrative that transcends mere superhero spectacle. Hailed for his breakout success with "Charm City Kings" at the 2020 Sundance Film Festival, Soto's transition into the superhero blockbuster realm was no small feat. Yet, he not only rises to the challenge but grounds the film in a profoundly human exploration of family, ancestry, and the unbreakable ties that bind. With a dazzling blend of heart and action, "Blue Beetle" emerges as a mesmerizing introduction, establishing the character's origin while delivering a potent mix of exhilaration and genuine emotion.
Following his college graduation, Jaime Reyes (Xolo Maridueña) returns to his hometown of Palmera City, where destiny beckons him to his next chapter. Gareth Dunnet-Alcocer's skillful script relocates Jaime's origins from the comic's El Paso, Texas, to the visionary metropolis of Palmera City. This neon-drenched cityscape, blending diverse Latin American influences, provides the backdrop for Jaime's journey. Here, he and his younger sister Milagro (Belissa Escobedo) embark on an unexpected journey, landing cleaning jobs at the mansion of Victoria Kord (Susan Sarandon), a cunning billionaire. Their misadventures lead them to Jenny Kord (Bruna Marquezine), unveiling a chain of events that forever alters Jaime's life.
In a riveting twist of fate, Jaime finds himself entrusted with an ancient scarab containing alien biotechnology courtesy of Jenny. A whirlwind transformation follows as the scarab symbiotically bonds with him, linking their fates irrevocably. Under the guidance of Khaji-Da (global pop star Becky G), the sentient entity within the scarab, Jaime assumes the mantle of the Blue Beetle. His mission: thwart Victoria Kord's perilous plans for Palmera City and the world. As fans of Blue Beetle rejoice in witnessing the character's live-action debut, Xolo Maridueña impeccably embodies Jaime Reyes, capturing both the physicality and spirit of the hero. His portrayal is rooted not just in superhero bravado but also in a deep resonance with his Mexican American heritage.
"Blue Beetle" radiates with the warmth of family, defying conventions seen in many superhero films. Anchored by a stellar cast, the Reyes family dynamic is richly textured and forms the story's heart. Jaime's overbearing yet endearing mother, Rocio (Elpidia Carrillo), his quirky uncle Rudy (George Lopez), and his remarkable grandmother Nana (Adriana Barraza), each contribute layers of authenticity to the narrative. Damián Alcázar's portrayal of Alberto Reyes, the compassionate father, tugs at heartstrings, and Harvey Guillén's presence adds a memorable touch.
However, the film stumbles in depicting the main antagonist, Victoria Kord. Susan Sarandon's lackluster performance fails to inject the character with the menace demanded, diluting the impact of her technological prowess. Even the setup for the secondary antagonist Conrad Carapax (Raoul Max Trujillo), needs to be more inspired and forgettable. This is a familiar pitfall in the superhero genre, where one-dimensional villains hinder narrative depth. While the cracks appear here, Soto's direction and the film's core strengths carry it forward.
At its core, "Blue Beetle" is a pulse-pounding journey that races by within its relatively compact 2-hour runtime. A vibrant soundtrack and Bobby Krlic's synth-infused score complement Pawel Pogorzelski's kinetic cinematography. The anime-inspired action sequences are a visual treat grounded in a hyper-realism contrasting the CGI-laden fare of recent superhero releases. The fight scenes bristle with raw energy, emphasizing real stakes and genuine jeopardy.
Soto's film is not just a standalone effort; it marks the dawn of a new DC universe. With James Gunn declaring Jaime Reyes as the first character to debut on screen within the DCU, "Blue Beetle" initiates a captivating new chapter. The character's future as a returning presence is hinted at, with potential explorations suggested by the film. Yet, as with any cinematic endeavor, the journey depends on the audience's reception and box office performance.
In the grand tapestry of superhero films, "Blue Beetle" stands as a riveting adventure. Its flaws are overshadowed by the exceptional core cast and a celebration of Latino culture within a family context. Xolo Maridueña's star turn as Jaime Reyes elevates the film, showcasing his acting prowess and charisma. As director Ángel Manuel Soto delivers a film that is both engaging and emotionally resonant, "Blue Beetle" leaves a mark as a thrilling emergence into the DCU. With heart and action seamlessly intertwined, this is only the beginning of Jaime's heroic odyssey.
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wrongpublishing · 9 months
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BOOK REVIEW: Kate Maruyama's Bleak Houses
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by Elizabeth Broadbent, Staff Writer.
Horror writers love coming-of-age stories. Our Biblical origin story is nothing if not humanity’s coming-of-age tale; knowledge is the destructor of innocence. Growing up involves revelation, accepted or not, of some societal truth. The world is never what we wanted or expected, and in this gap between innocence and experience falls the shadow.
The deftest horror bildungsroman mine that territory not for singular revelation, but for the universal miseries that afflict us all. In A Boy’s Life, the terror of a veterinarian’s Nazi past stands in for the knowledge that trusted people can betray us; the dead body may be the least horrid element of The Body. Kate Maruyama steps into this tradition with Bleak Houses: Safer and Family Solstice, her novella double-header releasing with Raw Dog Screaming Press on August 3rd.
Both coming-of-age stories, the novellas deal with innocence lost. In Safer, a twentyish girl takes a nannying job with a famous Hollywood star mid-pandemic; his house and family aren’t what they seem. Family Solstice sees a thirteen-year-old prepping for a literal fight against the unknown on winter solstice. Both Sol in Safer and Shea in Family Solstice come face-to-face with terrifying truths, and both must attempt to reconcile (or not) that knowledge with their own moral code. How must we live when the world betrays us?
In both works, you know the bad stuff’s coming. It’s inevitable. But you never see this particular bad stuff coming—one of the hardest parts of a coming-of-age story. Maruyama keeps a quick pace that ratchets the tension to eleven. There’s something of that proverbial trainwreck here: you know it’s coming, but you’ll be damned if you look away. The crash is all the worse (better) because Sol and Shea are easily-loved, well-drawn characters, endearingly plucky and simple to root for. You can lose your heart to characters like this, which make that upcoming revelation all the more devastating. 
Fans of YA lit will adore these two, but people who avoid it will still find plenty to love (ike RDSP’s Wasps in the Ice Cream, these novellas are suitable for teens, but their themes and craft will satisfy adult readers). Bleak Houses is worth reading for its use of liminal spaces alone: the houses at the center of both novellas could arguably be called anomalous architecture, and if you’re not a fan of that, you’re haunting the wrong genre.
Moreover, Safer is the first full-length work I’ve read that not only acknowledges the pandemic, but uses it as a plot point (Sol takes her nanny job because she’s in lockdown). Maruyama does it well, without sensationalism or sentimentality, and for narrative necessity. 
Put Bleak Houses on your must-read list. It reads fast (I devoured each novella in one sitting), and even better, you’ll believe in these stories. You’ll fall in love with Sol and Shea, and Maruyama’s deft enough to keep the villains from stereotype—so deft that I find myself wondering if “villain” is really the correct term. More than a single person, the antagonist in these pieces isn’t so much one person as a universal truth too terrible to bear.
You’ll see yourself in these. Maybe, more than anything else, that’s the test of great horror. 
Preorder in time for August 3rd:
Twitter: @ KateMaruyama & @ RDSPress Instagram: @ katemaruyama & @rdspress
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