#(rip you would have loved the fishing hamlet. or not actually)

[undefeatablesin]

Took my Tarnished on a relaxing day trip to the Deep Root Depths 👍

[theoddcatlady]

Unnatural Combinations

I think most people are surprised when they learn one of my hobbies is taxidermy.

I know what you probably expect when you hear that- some shady looking Ed Gein kinda guy. I’m gonna clear this up off the bat. Not everyone that practices taxidermy looks like a serial killer, all empty eyes and unsettling grins. I’d like to say I’m pretty normal, as far as your average human being goes. I’m close to my parents, I have a good job, I even have a dog named Hamlet. But I also really do enjoy taxidermy.

I picked up the hobby almost… god, has to be like ten to twelve years now. At the time, I thought the same as probably most of you, that taxidermy was for people like Norman Bates or Leatherface. That changed during a highschool project where I had to shadow someone at their workplace. Since I was sick the day all the popular choices were taken, I got stuck working at McConnell Taxidermy with the stern looking Walter McConnell. Although I originally expected to be either bored or grossed out, it was actually a lot of fun. For the most part Walter and I just kicked back and watched TV and enjoyed his husband Bernard’s home cooking.

For the actual taxidermy though, I actually found it fascinating. It’s not all blood and guts, some of it is real artistry. I had a lot of fun learning about it, seeing what incredible focus Walter had while sewing together a squirrel, and I was surprised to learn which of the fish on the wall were real and which were incredibly accurate recreations. Walter loved animals, he had at least three rescued dogs and I lost count of the amount of cats that weaved between my ankles as we drunk root beers and sat on his front porch.

Anyway, after that week shadowing him, I ended up going back again and again. I admitted I didn’t really have the patience for hunting, which is where most of Walter’s business comes from, but he let me know that if I found a mostly whole, fresh piece of roadkill, he could see what we could do. After a month of searching, I came across a raccoon that was just what Walter said would work. With him teaching me, I mounted my first animal. I still have it, even though I can point out like a half a dozen flaws.

All I’m trying to say it that no, I’m not the next freak that’ll make headlines for skinning the neighbor’s cat… and the neighbor with it. I can, however, say that some of those said freaks do have that wrong idea about us. And one of them was Clarence Warner.

I first met Clarence when he quite literally ran into me I’d gotten some new taxidermy books and I planned on kicking back at the shop while I read them. I was reaching for the door when it suddenly burst open, smacking the books out of my hand and sending them crashing to the ground.

“Oh! Oh, oh no, I’m s-so sorry!”

The man hurriedly exiting the shop was a scrawny looking fellow, below average in height with extra large glasses that magnified his watery eyes with the bags underneath so dark it looked like he hadn’t slept in a month. The rumpled state of his sweater and slacks didn’t help the impression.

Before I could even tell him it was fine the man was on the ground, carefully smoothing the cover of each of my books, even the hardcover ones. “N-none look to be damaged!” With a nervous smile, like he expected me to suddenly clock him in the face, he carefully handed the books back to me. “I’m so s-sorry, do they look okay? Nothing r-ripped or damaged, I hope?”

I gave the books a once over. “You’re fine, they can take a fall. You in a hurry?”

“Yeah, uh, yup,” The man nervously bobbed his head up and down, “The shop owner, he uh…” he chuckled nervously, “he’s a bit frightening. I decided to m-make myself scarce. I’m Clarence. Clarence Warner.” He stuck out a hand that had nails bitten down so far his fingertips were all red and sore. I sort of just looked at my books before Clarence slowly lowered his hand, his ears turning pink along with his cheeks. “Right. It’s a b-bit hard to shake hands when they’re full.”

“Yeah…” I glanced in the shop, “Everything’s cool man, have a good day.” I side stepped around the clearly socially awkward Clarence and managed to get the door open with my foot, eager to end this bizarre confrontation.

“Wait!”

Clarence’s piercing yelp nearly caused me to drop my books again. I turned my head back around and Clarence looked rightfully embarrassed.

“What’s your name?” He asked while staring at his feet, sounding like more like a shy first grader than a grown man.

“… Everyone calls me Bobby,” I bowed my head, “Have a good day, man.”

“Good day for you too!”

Clarence skittered off down the street, beelining for the nearest bus stop. I just shook my head, got the door the rest of the way open, and made my way into the shop. The classic rock station was playing, the room smelled of sandalwood incense thanks to Bernard, and other than me and Walter the place was empty. It seemed normal, but Walter’s usually unbothered, apathetic expression was replaced with an unnatural hostility that I’d rarely seen from him before.

“You okay, Walter?” I asked, setting my books on the counter before taking a seat on the bench.

Walter was quiet for a moment, watching the door like a hawk. “You spoke with the man leaving the shop?” He asked, his gruff voice quieter than usual.

“Just for a second, he accidentally knocked the books out of my hands,” I nodded to them, “Seemed a bit weird but that was it. What did he do?”

Walter’s mouth pressed into a firm line as he glowered in the direction Clarence had walked off in. “Asked questions I don’t like answering. Keep your distance. Want tea or beer?” Before I responded the man had ambled off to the back, coming back with two beers and setting one in front of me. I accepted, because I’m not the kind of person to turn down free beer, and I didn’t press the matter further. I figured I wouldn’t see Clarence any time soon anyway.

I actually ran into him again that night, while Hamlet and I were on a run. We were on the loop back home when I heard someone shouting my name. I skidded to a stop and pulled one of my headphones out, craning my neck around and seeing a shorter guy dashing on up to me.

When he was close enough, I finally realized that this was Clarence, and he was not looking so good. When he skidded to a stop his knees buckled, the poor guy nearly falling to the ground as he gasped for air. Not exactly a man in the best of shape.

I waited until he’d started to catch his breath before speaking. “Yeah? You want something?”

Clarence swallowed and stood back up straight, wiping the sweat off his pallid forehead. “So so sorry… to b-bother you,” he wheezed and for a second I thought he might pass out, “But you live around here too?”

At first I was tempted not to give him any information about where I lived. I mean, he weirded out Walter, and it’s hard getting under that guy’s skin. But I lowered my guard as I saw him struggling to get his breathing under control. “On this street, yeah. You going to be okay?”

Clarence bobbed his head up and down. “I have… Mild asthma. You’re… really fast,” He swallowed again and finally seemed to get his breathing under control. “I was just thinking about this being a s-strange coincidence, but we’re actually neighbors!” He pointed to the house on the corner. I did remember that the for sale sign had vanished, but I figured whoever bought it was going to plow it over, that place was not in the greatest of shape. “I was sitting on my front porch and saw you run by, I had to be s-sure it was you, Bobby.”

“Yeah,” I tightened my grip on Hamlet’s leash. I did not want my German mix accidentally knocking him over. “Why though?”

Clarence smiled. “Well, you were very nice to me today! I figured you’d be a good person to get to know if you lived around here.”

“What’d you say to Walter earlier?” I asked. “He seemed pretty upset when I entered the shop.”

“Walter- oh! The scary, elderly gentleman that runs the taxidermy place, right,” Clarence looked a bit sheepish, “I’m afraid I’m a bit poor at phrasing my questions. All I wanted to know was more of the process of taxidermy. It’s a s-science I’d like to know more about. That’s all.”

That actually relieved me. I’d been afraid that Walter was on the receiving end of some homophobic bullshit, but that didn’t seem to be the case. I lowered my guard and stopped gripping the leash so tight. “Yeah, no offense, you don’t seem to be the most… eloquent,” I said, deciding that maybe being subtle with this guy wasn’t going to work.

Thankfully Clarence didn’t take offense. “Everyone says that, I’m not really good with people,” He chuckled, jamming his hands into his pockets, “But I hope I can get along well enough in this place. Is everyone nice around here?”

We chatted for a few minutes. I learned he’d been recently divorced from his wife and lost his job, so this was going to be a fresh start. Any of my earlier apprehension quickly dissolved, this was just a lonely guy who just wanted to make a friend. Hamlet didn’t seem to mind him either, although he strangely enough didn’t jump up and try to lick his face- Hamlet thinks face kisses are the best to give to strangers.

When we parted, Clarence looked to be on cloud nine. “Thank you for n-not being upset with me,” He bowed his head in my direction, “I hope we see each other again soon!” With that, my bizarre new neighbor trotted down the street.

I glanced down at Hamlet. “Guess we should be nice to him,” I decided, giving my dog a pat on the head. Hamlet wuffed quietly before he started pulling on his leash to head back to the house. I didn’t double check to see if Clarence saw me head into my home, but I guess he had to have- the next morning there was a package of home made cookies on my doorstep, along with a note with yet another apology about the books.

Damn good cookies, even if they were oatmeal raisin.

Hindsight being 20/20, I really did drop my guard around Clarence too quickly. But it was hard to be freaked out by a guy who got winded running half a block and apologized for breathing the same air as you. I dunno, I just didn’t think he was very threatening. Even when things started to get strange. And by strange, I mean actually fucking horrifying.

We have a lot of pets in our neighborhood, and warning, this is gonna get gruesome, so turn away if you’re sensitive to this kind of thing. It was a week to the day that I first met Clarence that the eldest Waid boy, Brian, came to my front door.

I opened up to see the twelve year old staring at his untied shoes, nervously chewing on his thumbnail. When he first spoke it was so quiet I had to ask him to repeat himself.

“… Have you seen Cooper?”

Cooper was the Waid’s obese chocolate Labrador retriever. Good dog though, even if he was always begging at the summer barbecues and drooling like a monster. I shook my head, not even recalling the last time I saw the dog. “What’s up buddy, is he missing?” I asked.

Brian nodded, chomping down on another finger nail.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t seen Cooper. Tell you what, I’m about to take Hamlet for a run. I’ll keep an eye open for Cooper while I’m out, okay?”

That seemed to relieve the kid at least, I got a half smile out of him before he bolted from my porch and headed to the next house. I felt for the kid, I wasn’t particularly closed to the Waids but I knew Brian had some social issues. It had to be hard for him to go door to door like that. I went looking for Hamlet’s leash, figuring there was no way Cooper could get far. I’d seen him dozing on his owner’s front lawn without any supervision nearly every warm day in the summer. It would’ve taken a lot to get him to leave his comfort spot.

I figured it would be easy anyway, if the dog had just wandered off. But I combed through the neighborhood, even bringing Hamlet’s gourmet treat bag to try and lure out the greedy pup. I headed out again at lunchtime, and I even told Walter not to expect me at the shop that afternoon because I was looking for a lost dog.

It didn’t cross my mind until it was dark out that perhaps Cooper had not just ‘wandered off’. I mean, he was a good dog. I checked in with the Waids at dinner, all of the poor kids a wreck and the parents having not a clue where Cooper could’ve gone off to.

“After all, we just let him out a few minutes before we looked out the window and saw he was gone. I don’t understand how he could’ve gotten out of the yard and out of sight so fast,” Mrs. Waid said, although the way she fidgeted clued me in that she didn’t believe Cooper ran away. Of course she couldn’t say that around the forlorn Brian, telling the boy someone stole his dog would’ve probably broken him, but I could read between the lines. And it was the only possible scenario that made sense, although why someone would steal Cooper was beyond me.

The next morning when I was going to take Hamlet for his morning walk, I saw the Romero kids stuffing my mailbox with something. At first I was worried it was one of their pranks, but I opened up the mailbox to see a flier.

It wasn’t just Cooper that had gone missing the day before. Rocky, the Romero’s rottweiler, had also went missing around the same time.

Two dogs, one day. It was too spine chilling to be a simple coincidence.

I mean, the cops didn’t take it seriously. Two dogs missing but no one seen ushering either away or lurking around the properties, so clearly both just ran away. Just bad timing. Yeah right. No one in the neighborhood bought that, and by that night everyone was keeping a tight grip on their pet’s leashes.

That grip grew even tighter when their bodies turned up.

I just left the house with Hamlet for his morning walk when my dog suddenly barked and pulled his leash free from my hand, dashing down the street. He bolted right towards a dark shape next to the Waid’s dumpsters that I initially thought was a trash bag. It wasn’t until I got closer that I saw the pool of stagnant blood and realized the ‘trash bag’ was the lower half of a brown dog’s body. Someone had cut it in half, right about where the ribs ended.

I skidded to a stop. I stared for an agonizing amount of time, watching Hamlet growl while buzzing flies crawled between the viscera spilling out of the mutilated corpse.

Then I ran for the Waid’s front door and pounded on it. It was only about six AM, but no way… no way I was going to let Brian leave the house and see that.

This time when the police were called, it was taken far more seriously. It’s one thing to have a missing dog. It’s another thing entirely for the missing dog’s corpse, or well, half the dog’s corpse to be dumped practically on the doorstep. And although the perpetrator may have wanted it to seem like it was a hit and run, there was just no sign of the dog’s other half. Even if by some weird circumstance Cooper was torn in half after being hit by oncoming traffic, which is highly unlikely, we’d have to find some sign of the head and shoulders.

Brian was understandably a wreck, but his mom pulled me aside to thank me. It had been Brian’s morning to take in the garbage. If he’d seen that… god, I don’t even want to think about it. They didn’t give him all the details, but when the remains of Rocky were found later that day, dumped in a similar manner, I imagine he did get an inkling about the condition of his beloved family pet.

I knew one of the cops personally, he’s another of my neighbors, Tim Grove. We met when he moved here a few years back with his heavily pregnant wife Florence. She couldn’t really help with furniture, so I tagged in. Although my first impression of Tim was to be a bit intimidated by the big guy, we’ve ended up becoming pretty good friends. I’m actually go to babysitter for their son Harry. That night after the initial panic had died down, Tim came over to chill at my front porch.

“You know what dead animals mean?” Tim asked me as we watched the sun set in this previously simple neighborhood.

I just raised an eyebrow and waited for Tim to remember my hobby. “Not like what you do,” He rolled his eyes and punched me in the shoulder. “Like what happened today.”

I unfortunately had to nod. “Fucked up person. Really fucked up person,” I said.

Tim nodded, dragging his hands down his face. “Damn it. I don’t ever want to see another dead dog in my entire life,” He groaned.

I got the man a beer, not at all envious of the task that was in front of him. By the time I returned, I internally groaned when I saw Clarence with yet another gift for me, a wrapped up fruitcake. He looked about ready to wet his pants at the sight of Tim.

Clarence sighed with relief when he saw me. “I just came by with this!” He handed me his newest baked offering. “Um, I’m s-sorry, I didn’t know you had someone over already, I didn’t want to be a hassle, I just made too much m-m-mixture and-”

“Clarence, you’re fine,” I interrupted. “This is Tim, he’s my neighbor to the right. His bark is worse than his bite.”

Tim quietly laughed. “Hope you end up liking it around here, Clarence. Moved here little over three years ago myself, and well, other than what happened today, it’s usually pretty quiet.”

Clarence cocked his head to the side. “What happened today?” he asked. Tim grimaced and looked to me to handle this.

“Someone killed a dog. Two dogs, actually. Pretty messed up,” I said.

Clarence looked sympathetic. “Which families? Would they appreciate some baked goods?” He asked.

“Maybe give them a few days. But that’s a nice thought,” I said.

Clarence nodded and nudged his glasses up with a finger. “Goodbye then, I’ll speak with you tomorrow if we run into each other!” With that, he skittered off back to his house on the corner.

Tim waited until he was out of earshot before he turned to me. “That’s the guy that just moved in?” He asked, sounding carefully nonchalant.

“Yeah. He’s all right.” I unwrapped the fruit cake and sat down. “Bit bad at making friends, but he’s all right.”

Tim didn’t say anything, only twisting his mouth before eyeing that cake. “Sooo, is he a good baker?” He asked.

“He’s good at baking cookies at least. I’ll cut us some slices and you’ll find out if he’s good at cake too.”

Answer: yes, he was good at cake too. We quickly changed the subject away from Clarence, really we stopped talking about the events of the day entirely, we needed to decompress.

I imagine some of you are wondering why Clarence wasn’t top of the suspect list, since the mangled dogs showed up right after he arrived in town. And I think it’s because not many people even realized Clarence was there. He was just that invisible of a person. Hell, I wouldn’t have noticed if Clarence hadn’t made it a point to keep showing the fuck up wherever I was. Even then, I didn’t chalk that up to stalking or anything creepy. That’s how nonthreatening he came off as, even if he was bizarre.

Some people are just good at that I guess.

People of course took precautions. Never leave your dog alone in the yard, don’t let them out late, just keep an eye out for anyone who looked off.

It didn’t stop though. That’s the whole chilling part about it, the fact the pet killer saw people had their guards up and it didn’t stop him. More pets vanished, both cats and dogs of all breeds and sizes. In and out the thief would slip into yards, take their beloved pets, and within the week their butchered remains would show up near their home. Only parts and never the whole. I never let Hamlet off his leash when we were outside, which made him miserable, but the very idea of losing my best four legged friend was enough to break me. I’m sure any and all pet owners can empathize with that.

I never considered Clarence a danger until an afternoon I was watching Harry for Tim, a ‘work emergency’ that he didn’t want to go into too much detail about but odds are was another dead pet. That day I’d taken Harry to the park because he ‘wants swings time!’ I couldn’t say no to that lil face, it’s too cute. Besides, I’m not his dad. I don’t have to say no.

Harry was begging me to swing him higher when I heard someone softly clear their throat behind me. I turned my head around and saw a surprised looking Clarence.

“I d-didn’t know you had a son,” Clarence said, nudging his glasses up as he stared at Harry.

“He’s not mine, he’s the Grove’s,” I scooped Harry off the swing, the kid squealing as I set him on the ground, “This is Harry. I’m just watching him for now.”

Harry grinned and did that cheeky wave of his that made him seem shy, but it was all an act. Kid can and would make friends with anyone that gave him even a little attention.

I didn’t expect Clarence’s response, which was to immediately turn his head away and shudder. It was such a visceral reaction that I was, for the first time, truly put off from Clarence.

“Are you okay?” I asked, picking Harry up and letting him cling to my side like a little monkey.

Clarence kept facing away, but I saw his face going red and his eyes looking a bit wet. “It’s nothing,” He squeaked out, his voice barely above a whisper. He finally turned to face me, plucking his glasses off to clean them on his shirt and smiling at the little guy. “H-Hello, Harry. You remind me of my Trudy, you know?”

Harry beamed and waved again. “Hello! Hello!” He chanted, reaching to try and take Clarence’s glasses. Clarence chuckled and mock put the glasses on his face, but he couldn’t hide the genuine pain on his face when he took them back.

“Hello, and… a-another time, then,” With that, Clarence sped out of the park, not even stopping to give a more official goodbye. Harry didn’t pick up on anything being strange, but toddlers usually don’t pick up on social strangeness, he just wanted more time on the swings.

I did though. And I brought it up that night when I was chilling with Tim, both of us cracking open a few beers.

Tim was clearly exhausted, the last few weeks of animal thefts and deaths were wearing him down. He needed the guy’s time on the porch. It was after Harry was put down for sleep when I brought up Clarence’s bizarre behavior at the park.

“Why was he even there?” was Tim’s first question.

“Guy sticks to me like a burr to a sock,” I responded, throwing my emptied beer can into the trash, “I think he’s just… clingy. You know anything about him?”

Tim shrugged. “I ran a background check on him after he gave us fruitcake. Just to see if anything popped up, relax. Guy doesn’t even have a parking ticket, he’s clean as they come.”

“What about Trudy? Did he have a child?”

Tim sighed and reached for another beer. “Did. He did have a child,” He said. “That’s the one thing that really popped out at me, I kinda feel bad for the guy.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“She died. About a year ago.” Tim shook his head. “Clarence was driving home from work, got t-boned in the center of the intersection. He lost his left leg from the knee down and his daughter Gertrude didn’t make it. She was four. Life seemed to just fall apart for him after that. Divorced his wife right after he got out of the hospital, lost his job shortly after that. I didn’t want to give him a hard time, so I left him alone after I ran the check. Just had to make sure he wasn’t some kind of wanted serial killer. They tend to do that, you know- start with animals, work their way up to more… human prey.”

I sat there, completely stunned. No wonder he’d reacted like that around Harry, if he was still grieving the loss of his own kid that was around that age. As I headed back home, I resolved to try to reach out to Clarence more often, starting the next day.

I never did. That night me and the rest of the neighbors woke up to Florence’s bloodcurdling screams.

I ran over without even putting my shoes on. I didn’t even try to make sure Hamlet stayed indoors, so he ended up running outside with me. I just about ran into their door when Tim whipped it open, his face white as a sheet.

He only got out the word ‘Harry’ before he collapsed in my arms, nearly sending us both toppling over- Tim’s a big fucking dude. I helped him to the bench in the front porch before I burst into the house, unsure of what I would find.

I found Florence, still screaming in her child’s bedroom. The window was open, letting in a cool breeze, and Harry’s bed was empty.

I couldn’t get a lick of sense out of the hysterical Florence, so I stumbled back out to Tim, who was still white and was now trembling. I quietly sat down next to him and asked, “What happened?”

“… We put him down around seven. Florence only wanted to take a quick look at him when she was up and he was… gone. He’s not in the house. Where’s my boy?”

I didn’t even consciously think about it. I just remembered Clarence’s face in the park earlier that day, the look of tragic loss, and how it was now plastered across the face of my friend.

I still didn’t stop to get my shoes on. I bolted across lawns and down the street, Hamlet galloping after me as I ran to that quiet house on the corner. Clarence’s house. It looked somehow even more uninhabited than ever, the lights all dark and the lawn unkempt. Sometime since he’d arrived the front window had been broken and all he’d done was tape some cardboard over it.

Tragedy can make a man do some really messed up things, and I found that out the moment I entered the house.

Hamlet started snarling the moment I forced open the door. Hamlet rarely growls, he’s a pretty laid back dog. But he could pick up the wrong before I did. I heard the jangling of a dog’s tags down the hall and I turned on my phone’s light as I stepped further into the house. The place was still filled with unpacked boxes, nothing in any sort of order.

I almost reached the kitchen when out poked the head of a chocolate lab. A chocolate lab I only knew too well.

I froze. Cooper stopped only for a second, his head lolling to one side before he looked up at me. I panned my light over the rest of him, my hands shaking as I saw he was cleanly split down the middle, the back end of him taller than his front end and with short black fur contrasting with Cooper’s soft brown coat.

I dropped my phone, I heard the screen smash on the way down but I couldn’t bring myself to care. Hamlet barked, the hair on the back of his neck standing straight as his hackles raised. Cooper didn’t really respond, just meandered his way back into the kitchen and plopping down by the sink, next to a cat… a Frankenstein’s monster of a cat. I picked up my phone and panned the light over to see there was no less than four different cats sewn together to be one single feline, its glazed blue eye looking at me while its just as milky amber twin was permanently tilted towards the ceiling. Cooper, well, half Cooper and half Rocky just huffed while the Frankenstein’s cat groomed his ears.

I was shaking so bad as I made my way back to the living room. I collapsed on the couch, Hamlet whining and pressing his nose into my hand as I continued to tremble. It looked so wrong in a way I can’t even put my finger on, but I guess the closest feeling would be to compare it to uncanny valley- it was still a cat and still a dog, but at the same time it wasn’t.

Another cold nose, this one dry, rubbed against my ankle and I hauled my foot up to see another cat… well, half a cat.

I didn’t know whether to laugh hysterically or scream and cry at the sight of the two headed animal at my feet. One head was of an orange tabby with ripped up ears and the other head was a bichon frise that I recognized from a missing poster that was plastered on the corkboard at the grocery across town. The heads and shoulders were sewn together clumsily to the body of another animal that wasn’t dog or cat- the best I could guess from the bushy orange tail it was a fox.

That disturbing chimera stared at me with all four eyes before he clumsily clambered back into an empty box.

I forced myself to get up, fearing even more for Harry. I was leaving the living room with full intent to go get Tim and the rest of the goddamn police force… but that’s when I quite literally bumped into Clarence leaving his basement.

I just froze, staring back at the nonplussed Clarence. My new neighbor eyed the growling Hamlet, then looked back at me. Nudging up his glasses, he smiled. “I didn’t know you wanted to come over, Bobby. But I thought I heard you up here. Are you here for Harry?” He asked.

I nodded.

“Come, follow me. He’s downstairs.”

I don’t know why I followed Clarence when I should’ve bashed his head in against the wall and made a run for it, but I did. I told Hamlet to sit and stay, and for once the dog listened to me as I followed Clarence into the basement. The basement reeked, smelling so metallic I could almost taste it, and Clarence turned on the light to a horror show.

Blood and gore caked the area around a worktable in the center of the room, bloody needles and thread stacked up next to it along with a bin full of innards and bits of hide. Beside it, the front half of a raccoon attached to the back end of a dachshund was leisurely chewing on a piece of intestine. A murky tank of water was up against the far wall, its surface occasionally disturbed by whatever was inside. I nearly collapsed with relief when I saw Harry, unharmed, sitting on a couch and clutching a stuffed rabbit I knew wasn’t his.

“Rogue taxidermy. Have you heard of it?”

I nodded while Clarence took a seat next to Harry, patting the boy’s hair while Harry’s bottom lip quivered. “Like jackalopes. Not really my thing. Clarence, why is Harry here?”

“First things first.” Clarence nodded to the murky tank. “Take a look at my newest creation. Not every one worked out, but I feel this one looks the best.”

Deciding that just going along with what the potentially crazy and murderous guy wanted was the best course of action, I headed over to the tank. I nearly set my fingers on the side when Clarence cleared his throat. “Uh, maybe don’t… do that. Just wait a moment.”

So I did. In a moment, the water stirred and out popped the head of a goat. I jumped backwards with probably quite the yell, much to Clarence’s amusement as I heard him quietly chuckle.

The goat glowered at me before it flicked its tail above the water… its fish tail. As it swum circles around the tank, its lips twitched to show its flat molars had been replaced with what I could only assume were the teeth of various dogs, all janky and twisted.

“I spent a long time getting all the fish I needed for its tail. I needed them fresh, you see, so I couldn’t just go to any fish market and expect the freshness required.”

I turned back around, hiding my shaking hands behind my back. “What the actual fuck, Clarence?” I said, my jaw clenched so tight it was borderline painful.

Clarence tutted his tongue and covered Harry’s ears. “Small ears listen, Bobby,” He gently scolded.

“Not apologizing. What is that?!” I asked, gesturing to the goat monstrosity swimming in its tank. “What is… what is all of this?!”

Clarence got to his feet, putting himself between me and Harry, who was still cuddling the rabbit and clearly struggling not to cry. “You get a lot from a family, you know. Inherit so many things.” In this basement that stunk of death, Clarence had gone from the shaky nerdy fellow to a man confident and dare I say it, proud of his work. “I’ve inherited my talents, and of course the instructions, to fake life.” He nodded towards the dog-raccoon combo. “It’s not really alive, or it doesn’t have its soul from before. It’s running off muscle memory, which probably is why that goat is so poorly behaved.”

Before I could get it out, Clarence answered it for me. “And as for why, well, my ancestors have been playing with the dead for almost seven generations.” He nodded towards the work bench. “Go on, take a look.”

It took me a second to realize he was gesturing to a book, thicker than most dictionaries and bound with old, cracked leather. Still trying to keep Clarence at the corner of my vision, I picked up the book and flipped it open. The writing near the beginning was faded and written in such old English I could barely understand it, but as I flipped through the pages the words became darker and the language began to modernize. At the end of each section was a signature.

“My mother was the most recent author. I was her only child. Luckily for me, I lived long enough to inherit the book.” Clarence’s jaw clenched so tight it looked painful. “But I’ve not been so lucky.

“Trudy?” I asked.

Clarence took a deep shuddering breath before he nodded. “It was all my fault, you know,” A tear slipped out of the corner of his eye, “I’d been working far too hard. My wife, bless her, told me I needed to take it easy, but I wanted to- I guess I just wanted to make a mark somewhere other than the book, which would only be seen by family. I fell asleep at the wheel of my car when Tr… Trudy was sleeping in the backseat. We were heading home from a father daughter date, because I f-finally promised to take the time to spend time with her. I thought I’d have a hundred more nights like that, never even thought for a moment how it’d be the final time.”

He looked at Harry, eyes filled with grief. “No, he doesn’t look like Trudy. Not a bit. Trudy… my Trudy looked like her mother. Ginger hair and hazel eyes, had a beautiful smile. But this boy, it’s his soul that reminds me of Trudy. Good. Just… just so good. I promise, no animal in here suffered. I managed to procure some pentobarbital to help them go easy and quietly. Except for the goat, unfortunately that one had to be fought with a bit more. Quite an ornery creature, but I wanted to see if I could pull off making a seagoat. And I did, didn’t I? No one else in that book has succeeded in making separate parts work as a whole. It’s been tried of course, Mary Shelley was quite an inspiring woman, but I was the one to figure it out. I have to pass it on to someone, don’t I?”

The conviction he spoke with during his speech, I almost understood him. Almost.

I set the book back down and carefully approached Clarence. “But you can’t pass it onto Harry. You know he’s not your son. We can make this better, Clarence. You don’t want to hurt Harry, right?” I said, trying to speak in a calm voice and not with the fury I felt for the sake of this little guy.

Clarence’s face contorted in horror. “Of course I wouldn’t!” He said.

“Can’t you see how scared he is then?” I gestured to the little boy. “Was that Trudy’s bunny? He seems to like it.”

Clarence swallowed audibly. “She named it Rosie,” He said.

“You don’t want to hurt Harry, but his dad? He’s in agony right now. Just like you were when you lost Trudy.” I took another careful step towards Harry, trying to gesture for the little boy to come to me but he seemed about glued to his seat. “You don’t want to hurt someone like you were hurt. You didn’t even want to hurt these animals, you just wanted to create something new, and you did. It’s… it’s beautiful, Clarence. You’ve really done something incredible.” My stomach turned at the lie, but I was just trying to calm this guy down as I inched closer to Harry. “Let’s go to Tim and return Harry. We can get you some help. I’ll be with you every step of the way. It’s not too late to make things right.” I was now right up next to Clarence, who was staring at his hands. “We can make this right?” I asked. He didn’t respond, just staying still. I took that as a sign of acceptance, so I reached for Harry.

My first mistake was assuming Clarence’s stillness was a sign of surrender. My second mistake was assuming that Clarence wasn’t as wimpy as he looked.

He moved like lightning, one second I was reaching for Harry and the next I was flat on my ass with stars exploding in front of my eyes and my head screaming in pain.

Clarence stood, his face a careful mask as he patted Harry’s head. “I’m sorry, Bobby. But I know there’s no returning from what I’ve done.” He leaned down to look at me, smiling that friendly smile that now made my skin crawl. “I won’t kill you. You can tell Tim and Florence I’ll take great care of Harry. He won’t even miss them, with all the things he’ll be able to learn from me.”

With not many options, I did probably one of the lowest things I could’ve done.

I smacked Clarence’s left leg out from under him. It hurt like hell to whack his prosthetic, but it had the desired effect. Clarence immediately lost his balance and he tumbled to the ground. My head still swimming with pain, I scrambled to get up and scooped Harry up, who finally began to wail as I held him in my arms. I tried to head for the stairs, but by then Clarence had gotten back up and limped his way in front of me, cutting off my mistake. He was still so calm, not at all mad about my retaliatory attack.

“You’re not leaving with Harry,” Clarence said. “I won’t kill you, I promised and I don’t break promises, but I will hurt you if it means I’ll have him.”

I backed away, now not at all sure of what Clarence was capable of now. Sure, he said he wouldn’t kill me, but would him killing me count if he could just bring me back right after?

I kept stepping backwards until I nearly bumped into the tank. I heard the gnashing of the seagoat’s teeth behind me and it occurred to me that not all of Clarence’s creations were happy to just chill and eat their own guts.

I bolted behind the tank and with one strong kick, I knocked that tank over.

The tank’s water spilled across the floor and the seagoat flopped about, trying to find balance with only two legs and a fish tail. Its strange yellow eyes rolled back towards me for a second and I briefly panicked, thinking it might be come for me, but it thankfully its murderous gaze focused back on Clarence.

With a watery bleat, the seagoat lunged at Clarence, who screamed as he was tackled to the floor. While Clarence tried to hold that thing back and prevent it from biting his nose off, I bolted for those stairs.

Hamlet was still waiting upstairs, thank god, and we ran out of that house while Harry bawled and held onto my neck so tightly I couldn’t breathe. I ran back down the street where the cop cars had now surrounded Tim’s place.

Even if my head was absolutely killing me and the horrors of that house were still making my stomach churn, it was all worth it when I burst into the house with Harry in my arms and seeing both Tim and Florence’s expressions of despair turn to pure joy.

People are still calling me a hero, which I will admit feels pretty nice. Walter says I get free use of his taxidermy space for the rest of his life, which would sound pretty neat but he never charged me before, so it’s mostly a joke. I don’t think Tim has let a day go by without thanking me, and Harry is still my little buddy. He’s bounced back pretty well, a doctor’s visit confirmed he was perfectly unharmed and he was always a pretty happy go lucky tyke.

Of course, people called for Clarence to be drawn and quartered, but the bastard got the last laugh. It wasn’t even an hour until the cops were breaking down his door, and although they did find a few sewn together animal corpses, Clarence was nowhere to be found… and neither was his book or the damn seagoat.

[bigfan-fanfic]

Forms of the Gods (Percy Jackson Thoughts)

I love the Percy Jackson series. I admire so much the creativity it takes to reimagine the myths in the modern era. And I’ve been thinking of how the ancient gods interact with mortals today, when hardly anyone truly believes in their existence.

Zeus is a guy you might meet in a bar or at the gym: the guy who flirts with anything with a pulse. He’s quite obviously a douche just looking for a one-night stand, but he’s so devastatingly charming and handsome that the little voice in your head telling you he’s bad news goes unheard. But when he’s not picking up women (or men, as the mood takes him), he’s actually an avid NASCAR and Formula One fan. Also sometimes he’s a handsome guest meteorologist that appears for one broadcast on your local news channel, then vanishes, and people have dedicated entire subreddits to tracking him down, to no avail.

Hera is the goddess of marriage, so perhaps surprisingly, you will find her most often in divorce court. She takes the form of a firm but fair judge with a reputation for the most equitable divisions of property and the best custody arrangements. You can find her as a social worker who knows all the ins and outs of protecting victims of spousal abuse. Marriage is her domain, and she feels it is her personal responsibility to protect the innocent when a marriage goes wrong. She also commonly takes the form of a site inspector for animal adoption, although people might be weirded out by how often she gives the animal in question a side-eye, as if trying to see if it is hiding something.

Hades is a grief counselor. He’s the kindly man comforting a child at the scene of a tragedy, allowing him to carry them as he searches for their parents. He’s chasing stupid kids away from headstones, and he’s the janitor at a crematorium who always has some insightful comment to make. He’s also a Wall Street broker who is particularly good at playing the market, and he’s a banker who finds a way to be extra lenient on loans for those who need it. But he’s also the IRS auditor that everyone’s so afraid of.

Poseidon is a surfer dude who always shows up on the red flag days at the beach and never wipes out. He’s a lifeguard on other days - sometimes he’s incredibly strict, sometimes he’s saving a kid from a riptide, and sometimes he’s ignoring the ocean entirely and flirting with some lady, putting suntan lotion on her back or some such. He’s that dude on a hiking trail who’s riding a horse for some reason, and doesn’t seem to use a saddle. He’s a businessman peddling the newest earthquake protection developments for buildings, and he’s protesting against ocean pollution and whaling. He’s that guy who’s rescuing baby seals and helping clean up oil spills. And he’s a fisherman who comes to the pier every so often and sets out his rod. He always catches enormous fish but throws them back, shaking his head. People are always scared of what he might find to be big enough.

Demeter is a protestor outside a fracking site. She’s the lady selling organic jams at the farmer’s market, and she always knows who has the best fresh fruit. She’s partner at Golden Sword Law, an environmental activism group, that always lobbies against laws that would allow harmful emissions. She’s the kindergarten teacher who launches a classroom vegetable garden, and she’s a horticulturalist preserving the old ways of farming.

Hephaestus is the guest judge at a robotics competition. He is the blacksmith at a Renaissance fair, and he’s the guy at Medieval Times who is in charge of the swords. He’s a firefighter with some bad burns, but knows hot to get someone out of a building well enough. He’s at underground robot battles, and he’s also a gruff yet surprisingly effective therapist for people who have been cheated on.

Hermes is the new mail carrier who delivers the mail earlier than you expected, and there’s always money in the envelopes when he comes. He’s the mugger on your first trip to the city who takes the money but gives you back the wallet or purse and says welcome. He’s a jogger who seems to be blessed by traffic lights, and he’s the guy who gives you the best directions.He’s a shopkeeper who always spends all your time talking about his day, but you don’t mind because he’s so interesting. And he’s an up-and-comer on late-night poker tournaments who folds at the oddest, yet most opportune times. He also has one of those obviously phony psychic networks. All of his social media is full of viruses and sends spam by the second.

Apollo is that backup singer or that drummer that’s oddly more attractive than the lead. He’s the opening act for the concert you came to see, and you end up buying his album and having him sign your forehead before you leave. He’s the teenager playing the guitar to earn money for college, and he’s the handsome and talented new doctor that makes everyone want to get food poisoning or something.

Artemis is the lady giving tours at space museums who knows absolutely every fact there is to know about the moon. She’s the naturalist nursing wolf pups who has a knack for rehabilitating animals back to the wild. She’s on the news for breaking into a zoo and releasing the animals, and she’s an animal rights activist who shows up wherever she’s needed.

Ares is the guy starting a bar fight, and the guy ending it. He’s the bouncer who always makes sure everyone leaving with someone is willing and consenting. He’s the guy who intervenes in a street brawl and rips the fighters apart, sustaining several blows in the process. He’s a competitive body builder, and a mechanic in a chop shop. He’s also sometimes the guy at Medieval Times with the swords, but he’s more often in the show as a knight.

Athena is, shockingly, an Internet troll. She goes by the handle owl-eyed-fact-checker and posts essays that illustrate with grace and humor how the OP is completely wrong and foolish. She responds to every comment, and when she cannot win an argument, resorts to changing the topic. But Athena is a stern teacher who throws a surprise pizza party instead of a pop quiz, and she is a substitute that the kids know better than to mess with. She’s a historical consultant on a TV show, and she’s a regular attendee of quilting bees and crafts shows. She also is a guest appraiser on Antiques Roadshow.

Aphrodite runs a dating site that she also uses. She’s administrating singles’ events, and promoting her own skin care line. She’s a model, but she’s also an activist for including all body types in fashion. She’s a marriage counselor, and the best-selling author of the self-help book True Love Takes True Work. She’s a romance novelist, she’s a soap opera writer and star, and she’s a vicious Hollywood agent. All her social media simultaneously posts body positivity messages and advertisements for her cosmetics side by side.

Dionysus (at least, after his term at Camp Half-Blood ends) is a theater critic as often as he is an actor. He plays Rosencrantz in an avant-garde production of Hamlet and completely steals the show, then plays Ophelia in the next showing and again, completely steals the show. He’s in the background at the wildest Hollywood parties, and he’s a surly loner you see at a wine tasting, claiming that he’s had a bottle of some rare wine nobody’s ever heard of.

Hestia is the relative you don’t remember ever meeting before at a family gathering, but you wish you had, because she is such a hoot. The only record anyone ever has of her are the family photos. Every member is in them, and no one can remember who exactly took the pictures. She’s a little girl picking up litter at the park, and she’s a guidance counselor at college who is incredibly good at curing homesickness.

[lacystar]

Canonicups - A Taste of Heaven, Ch. 1

So if you haven’t heard about the whole situation with Gerard voring a Reese’s cup, good. Read this and you’ll find out. Also sorry this is formatted weirdly. Tumblr’s post length sucks. :/

Ships: Canonicups (Gerard Canonico x Reese’s Cup)

Warnings: swearing, not smut but oddly steamy undertones

Word count: 2,045

@hey-hamlet-bmc this is for you Elliot. I hope it’s accurate to your experience.

———

Gerard could sense it from a mile away.

He’d been standing backstage. Jennifer Tepper was talking about the show and how successful she thought it would be, and Gerard had been listening very intently.

But then... it just hit him.

Maybe the air conditioning changed direction, directing the irresistible musty peanut scent to his nose.

Or maybe he’d heard the crinkle of the wrapper. That high pitched little squeak. The beg to be let out of the paper prison and into a loving mouth.

Or maybe he’d just sensed it. Just gotten that gut feeling of wanting something so bad it canceled every single one of his other thoughts and made his stomach churn... and rumble.

But however it happened, whether through smell or hearing or feeling, or maybe all three, that single moment, that pang of absolute desire would change Gerard forever.

Jennifer was still talking, but Gerard wasn’t listening anymore.

“I just feel so incredibly honored to be working on it, y’know? Joe has had such a huge impact-“

“We’re going downstairs.”

It wasn’t a question.

Jennifer’s face twisted in confusion, or at least Gerard thought it did. It was hard to tell. Everything was so blurry.

“What?”

He didn’t have time for this. Gerard turned on his heel and began power walking to the stairs. Looking back, he might’ve realized how rude he was being. But he couldn’t care. There was too much at stake to care about anything other than finding it, whatever it was.

The closer he got to the stairs the stronger the feeling became. The dry tightness of his throat. His sandpaper tongue. His heart that felt almost more machine than muscle with its rapid yet steady pulsing.

All of his senses were muted to the world around him, yet dialed to 100 when it came to it.

Whatever this thing was, it was his new air supply. Gerard knew that if he couldn’t get to it, he would die. It sounded ridiculous, but Gerard now associated this emotion, this new adrenaline, as dying.

The closer he got, the more amped it got. The nearer he drew, the desire chocked his heart harder.

It was coming from the bag check.

He knew better than this. He knew better than to just walk around where a group of fans was waiting to see him. But he didn’t care.

He was faintly aware of Jennifer following him. Good. It excited him, the thought of her seeing whatever the hell was about to go down.

One of the bag checkers, a girl, caught his eye and waved to him.

It was coming from her. It wasn’t her, exactly, but it was coming from her.

“Gerard, you look pale,” Jennifer worried, grabbing his shoulder. He shrugged her off.

He beelined for her.

The friendly bag check lady said something. Actually, she’d been talking for a minute now. Yet again, Gerard hadn’t been paying attention.

“Uh, I’m... sorry, I- what? Did you say? What did you say?” God, he couldn’t even talk right.

The lady’s brow furrowed in concern. “I asked if you wanted a Reese’s Cup?”

And all at once the frantic pounding in Gerard’s chest stopped.

It— his soulmate, he now knew— had a name. And it was Reese’s Cup.

Realizing he was gaping like a fish and hadn’t responded, Gerard nodded. He didn’t trust his voice at the moment.

Gerard’s head was pounding now and he felt sick to his stomach. What was happening to him? Was this how Rich felt when he needed Mountain Dew Red, a part of him wondered.

It seemed like a century passed as Bag Check Lady reached into her pocket and closed her fingers around Reese’s Cup’s wrapper. It let out another crinkle, this one of joy and utter relief. Gerard realized that it must be going through the same, lovestruck, near death experience he was going through, and found solace in the fact that he wasn’t alone. Soon it would all be alright.

Bag Check Lady lifted her hand out to him and he lunged. She stumbled back as he tore the candy from her hand.

His eyes finally focused through the blurriness. The orange paper was a beacon in the rest of the world. It was the single tiny barrier separating him from his lover. He loathed and loved it all at once.

A drop of water fell on it.

Wait, no, not water. Spit. Gerard was drooling. Or, less drooling, more foaming at the mouth. He hunched protectively over the treat in his hands, and his whole body convulsed in violent shivers.

He was so hungry that he wanted to throw up.

“Holy shit, Gerard,” Jennifer grabbed him by the shoulders and forcefully turned him to look at her.

Gerard snarled, and let out a noise that sounded like a bark, growl, and yelp conglomerated. His arms snapped to his chest, hands protectively wrapped around Reese’s Cup, who let out a panicked crinkle.

Jennifer’s eyes widened and she let go. “What the fuck Gerard, I- you-“ she shook her head, “I’m getting you help.”

Before he could grab her, Jennifer was running away. Shit, Gerard thought. Now she couldn’t see him reconcile with his lover.

He turned back to Bag Check Lady, but she’d already turned her back to him to continue searching bags.

Gerard carefully unfurled his arms from his chest and looked back down at Reese’s Cup. He took one more second to admire the curly calligraphy that was his lover’s name, and then carefully tore the orange prison cell open, careful not to rip into Reese’s Cup on accident.

He reached into the packaging and carefully felt for the candy, the packaging crinkling in anticipation. His pointer finger brushed it and a jolt of electricity raced down his spine. Gerard gingerly pinched it between said pointer finger and his thumb, and pulled it out.

It was beautiful.

The crimped paper packaging was gorgeous compliment to its dark, coco skin, like an expensive dress. Its flesh seemed so smooth, and he found his finger gliding along it to further prove his point.

“Hi,” he whispered breathlessly.

It didn’t speak, but he smiled nonetheless, tears gathering in his eyes as he felt the love radiating off of it. He’d never felt so wanted.

For a beat, everything was perfect.

His stomach growled violently, and he snapped back into his carnivorous state, all kindness gone.

Gerard began to raise the treat to his mouth, when he remembered Jennifer. He’d wanted her to come along so she could see this moment, but she wasn’t here anymore.

For an unexplainable reason, he just couldn’t do this without anyone watching. He needed someone to witness this moment. Someone had to share this with him so that someday, when someone wrote a biography about him, they could retell this crucial moment in his life.

He needed someone to share the miracle of love with.

His eyes rose and scanned the small crowd of fans waiting to get in. He caught the eyes of a boy who was trying to indiscreetly look at him. They locked eyes.

Perfect.

With his target acquired, he brought the treat up and took a little whiff. The peanut chocolate concoction smelled delectable, and he couldn’t wait any longer. He used both hands and brought it to his mouth.

It felt so intimate to be doing in public, and with someone purposely watching no less, but god it felt right. His brain was pleasantly foggy with desire, and he couldn’t comprehend how odd and somewhat disgusting this whole scenario was. He had just never been more hungry.

As the growling in his stomach reached a cacophony, Gerard thrust his lower lip forward, digging it into the treat. He scooped and inhaled the treat into his mouth, never once breaking eye contact with the boy across the room. He’d never stared at anyone so intensely. It didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered. He bit down.

It was the best thing he’d ever put in his mouth.

Warmth flooded him. The ratio of peanut butter to chocolate was perfect, the mix of hard outer shell and soft inside healing his headache, his queasiness. He stopped shaking and continued to chew. He didn’t want to swallow yet. This was too special.

Despite the fact that he already felt better, the intensity was still there. He continued staring at the boy across the room, whose eyes were as wide as saucers and whose mouth lay agape in confusion. This didn’t register to Gerard at first.

But slowly, as he began to walk towards the stairs leading to the lobby, the events of the last five minutes began to catch up to him. A whirlpool of emotions slowly flooded him, mainly made up of confusion. Because, he thought as he stuffed the wrapper in his pocket, what the actual fuck had just happened?

It was as if he hadn’t been in control of his own body. And he realized, as he walked, that he didn’t really remember what had just occurred.

He could recount it, sure. He could tell someone what had happened. But he couldn’t remember the feelings or the drive.

He stepped up a couple steps when the gravity of the situation fully fell on him. He finally swallowed Reese’s Cup, dread filling his stomach along with the candy.

Did he just... get sexually attracted to a Reese’s Cup? And then... vore it... in front of-

He dared to look back over his shoulder. The boy he’d stared at while doing the deed was still looking at him in incredulous horror.

Oh fuck.

Embarrassment and terror jolted through Gerard. What the fuck. How was he supposed to make this better? Did he go back to the guy and apologize for an occurrence he didn’t even fully understand himself?

He stuttered out and “uh,” to nobody in particular, and then, holding eye contact with the boy for only a second longer, turned and sprinted up the stairs.

Gerard dashed through the lobby, panting. Running was definitely the best way to resolve this situation, he decided.

Jennifer almost collided with him as he skirted backstage.

“Oh Jesus-“ she sighed, grabbing him by the shoulders, “I called Troy to fill in for you. You’re free to go home and... figure yourself out.” She looked him up and down, “Do you need a ride to the doctor or-“

“No!” Gerard shook himself out of his stupor, “I... I’m fine,” he lied, “and Troy doesn’t have to come in. I can do it.” Because really, he had a job to do and no smoking hot candy bar was gonna distract him from that.

She looked doubtful, but Gerard continued to try and persuade her and eventually she agreed to let him do the show.

So he left without another word to her and stumbled to his dressing room. George and Will were in there, unsurprisingly, as they often just hung around in there whenever they felt like it.

Gerard collapsed onto a chair, and took a good minute to stare at himself in the makeup mirror. He almost didn’t recognize the face he saw.

“Wow, not even a hello?” Will joked.

No response.

An awkward heavy silence filled the room. Gerard managed to break eye contact with the monster in the mirror, and dug his palms into his eyes.

Will spoke again, more tentatively “... Are you ok?”

“I don’t know.” George opened his mouth to talk, “don’t ask me about it,” Gerard cut him off. George closed his mouth.

Eventually, Gerard forced himself up out of the chair, stuffing the events of the night into the back of his mind as he got into costume. Will and George continued talking as if all were normal, but they didn’t engage with him. Every now and then, Gerard could feel their questioning stares baring into him.

If Jennifer told anyone else what had happened, they didn’t approach Gerard.

The performance went fine, but Gerard’s heart wasn’t in it.

He didn’t stagedoor. He couldn’t bear the thought of having to see that boy who he’d probably scarred for life when the incident went down.

Besides, he had to get home and rest. He had a lot to think about.

To be continued...

[our----aregone]

1. Lady Maria of the Astral Clocktower, god it’s just a fun fight. 2. Oof I haven’t explored them too much. I liked the Isz dungeon because of the electric charge coming from some of the walls. 3. Eileen’s entire outfit. 4. I see there’s this same question for the DLC later, so base game its the Tonitrus.  5. Executioner’s Gloves 6. Vilebloods. Yes hello may I please be a sexy vampire knight 7. Milkweed. Just something about people who play broccoli-heads 8. Eileen the Crow. God what an icon. 9. Full Eileen cosplay 10. I mean, have you seen One Reborn? (nah it’s Maria by a landslide) 11. Noble Dress with Crown of Madness 12. She is friendly and kind. 13. Oh the female Knight’s set, easy. 14. Always have Tonitrus as a 2nd weapon, Ex Gloves, Evelyn, and usually wearing Crowfeather set. 15. I just played through with 99 Arcane and it was really fun.  16. Depraved, or whatever its called in Bloodborne. 17. I’ve only gotten as far as NG+2. I keep making new characters. 18. True ending. 19. I’m sorry but I like Maria so much 20. Rakuyo, see 19. 21. I’ve never done a Beasthood build before and that’s my next project. 22. I go out of my way every file, even if the build doesn’t fit. 23. She’s a frontline worker who didn’t deserve her fate. I wish there was a way to save her from the Choir imposter. 24. Well it must have been lovely in its prime. My first time through Cainhurst was absolute hell. 25. Yes yes yes yes. Only 2 places in the game with background music, and this place has the decency to the reward the player with Make Contact. 26. Hunter of Hunters. GOTTA have that stamina. 27. It was my first Souls game and it introduced me to environmental story telling. I love the rush when it’s a close-call boss fight. And I think the biggest reason is the soundtrack. 28. Fuck. Laurence. But his music is phenomenal so that actually means I like the fight. Uhhhhh true least favorite is probably Celestial Emissary. It isn’t very exciting and I don’t think the music slaps. 29. Do guns count? I think guns count. Don’t like the repeating pistol. I don’t need 2 shots. 30. I always go get the Rakuyo, despite this, I have not gotten better at fighting the twin Shark Giants. 31. Standard ending makes me feel sympathetic towards him. I know he committed atrocities in the Fishing Hamlet, but he clearly regrets it. And he’s been forced to live with all that regret for so long. Fun fight and great music. 32. If I had discovered the Old Blood I would have feared it. RIP to the Healing Church but I’m different. 33. Central Yharnam. It’s the least fucked. 34. Ludwig the Holy Blade. What could be cooler than a feral demon horse who regains their sanity and wields the Holy Moonlight Blade?? 35. No I don’t. They get repetitive after a while. 36. Laurence, the First Vicar. I don’t care that he’s optional and I don’t care that you can cheese him. He is consistently a bigger pain in the ass than Orphan of Kos. 37. Love it. Incredible addition to an already great game. All 5 bosses are exciting and THE MUSIC OH MY GOD. 38. Waste my QS bullets smh. 39. I’m convinced that the old man in the very beginning of the game is actually Oedon and that he pulls you, a relative of Queen Annalise, into the Nightmare of Yharnam. 40. Yeah, gotta co-op through those hellholes. 41. Nah. I don’t invade and I try to avoid the invaders. 42. Pfft. As if. I like my HP stat as is, thank you. 43. Nope 44. I’ve seen a few pages on tumblr and they look very interesting. 45. Almost always. 46. It’s a 4 way tie between Eileen’s Crow mask (because it looks amazing) and the Enlarged Head, Golden Ardeo, and Mensis Cage because they are all just ridiculous. 47. Sadly, I dress for stats. Oh how I long for fashion souls. 48. I think whatever he is he’s just trying to be a good person, saving as many people as he can. Also I’m pretty sure if he was stricken with the Beast Plague he would become a Blood Starved Beast. they look very similar. 49. The aesthetic. 50. Silva- first character and most progression with NG+2. All stats are 40, Eileen set with Rakuyo for life.       Arcanine- Most recent playthrough, 99 Arcane. Here on NG+ she’s playing with Kos Parasite only.       Ariadne- Vileblood with pink hair. Big DEX and Bloodtinge stats, but not enough HP, haven’t finished the game yet.        QWERTY- my poor attempt at a blood lvl 4 run. I haven’t even killed Gascoigne yet. Also the only male character.

Bloodborne Asks

Favorite boss fight?

Favorite chalice dungeon?

Favorite clothing set?

Favorite weapon?

Favorite hunter tool?

League or Vilebloods?

Blood Beast or Milkweed?

Favorite NPC?

Favorite outfit?

Sexiest boss?

If stats weren't a thing, what would you wear?

How do you feel about the Plain Doll?

What's the most fashionable coat in the game?

What gear do you always carry with you?

Favorite build?

Favorite starter class?

What's the max NG cycle you've reached?

Favorite ending?

Favorite Old Hunter?

Favorite Old Hunter weapon?

What's a build you've never tried?

Have you ever gotten the Rakuyo?

Iosefka. Thoughts?

What do you think of Cainhurst?

Upper Cathedral Ward Y/N

What's your favorite covenant rune to equip for solo play?

Why do you like Bloodborne?

Least favorite boss fight?

Least favorite weapon?

Is there anything you always do in your playthroughs, even if it's not necessary to beat the game?

What do you think of Gehrman?

Any hot takes on the Healing Church?

Favorite area?

Coolest boss?

Do you like to do chalice dungeons? Why or why not?

What's the hardest fight in the game?

What do you think of the Old Hunters DLC?

You know when you put your controller down and accidentally shoot your stupid gun?

Hot takes on any Bloodborne lore?

Chalice dungeon co-op Y/N

PVP Y/N

Do you like doing additional rites on your chalices?

Cursed chalices Y/N

Have you read any of the comics?

Do you ever play offline?

What's your favorite hat?

Do you dress for stats or fashion?

Oedon Chapel Dweller. Thoughts?

What's your favorite thing about Bloodborne?

Tell me about your hunters!

[bellringermal]

«She fancied Gehrman, unaware of his curious "mania", but was left heartbroken when Gehrman couldn't, or wouldn't, reveal his feeling towards her.» WTF, fextralife?!

Thank you fextralife! ~♡No okay let’s be serious for a second and put aside my fangirl heart that craves for the damn romance and let’s look at the facts, shall we?

Let’s begin with the Hair Ornament and how the Doll reacts to it.

The item is described as “ordinary” and does look as such. This is not something fit for a woman of noble lineage like Maria is, is the sort of gift that a middle-class Yharnamite would give his fiancee. In fact, I would say that the Red Jewelled Brooch that Gascoigne gave to his wife looks way fancier and in line with what a Cainhurst noble would wear than the plain, ordinary hair ornament.

Giving little tokens of affection before the marriage was a no-no for Victorian lovebirds unless the couple openly expressed the intention to get married and both families agreed to the arrangement.

In Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen, Marianne Dashwood’s spontaneous behaviour is considered unorthodox and her (only rumoured!) clandestine engagement with John Willoughby is heavily frowned upon. One of her biggest ‘sins’ was to have sent John a bunch of letters and locks of her hair that the young man respectfully gives back to her before marrying another woman.

So, if we take for granted that Yharnam’s courtship customs are similar to those of the 19th century’s I think it’s safe to assume that if an unmarried man gave something as cute and personal as a hairpin to an unmarried woman he was clearly saying “hey babe I like you. But I haven’t the slightest idea of what I’m doing and I should’ve finish that “how to pick up fair maidens” book before doing anything on my own” :P

Of course, we can’t take Victorian society and expect Yharnam’s to be exactly the same because of all the obvious differences such as the clearly more prominent role of women in society, (Amelia is the highest authority of the Church, many hunters are women, Viola, though traditionally married, takes instant action to help her husband etc) but I still think it to be a good lens through which seeing the game’s world and it surely gives some extra credit to Gehrman’s conscious decision to hide his feelings from Maria.

Now, on the subject of Plain Doll, if we gave her the Hairpin she says this:

What… what is this? I-I can’t remember, not a thing, only… I feel… A yearning… something I’ve never felt before… What’s happening to me? Ahh… Tell me hunter, could this be joy? Ahh…

And as she speaks, they even took the time to actually animate her so that she would wipe her tears and gave us the Tear Stone:

Now, the dialogue itself is enough for me to say that Maria had feelings for Gehrman because there’s _no way_ that mere admiration and/or respect for the guy would make her surrogate, who only shares a few, blurred memories with her, cry tears of joy. But hey, we could say that since Plain Doll was “made” to love her creator her perception could be warped by what Gehrman wants her to feel towards him. So, let’s read what the lore has to say about this ;) let’s turn the Tear Stone into a Blood Gem!

Created from a shining silver doll tear, this blood gem is a quiet but unfaltering friend that continually restores HP, the life essence of a hunter. Perhaps the doll’s creator had wished for just such a friend, albeit in vain

BOOM! “Albeit in vain”… and here it is why I think Gehrman doesn’t talk to/doesn’t care about and is openly dismissive of the Doll. She is not the woman he used to know but a pale imitation. She doesn’t have Maria’s memories, she is nothing like the hunter that fought by his side, the strong and kind woman he secretly fell in love with. Before Moon Presence brought the Doll to life, Gehrman poured love and care into her creation that most likely happened after Maria’s passing. All item descriptions related to the Doll include this bit:

“A deep love for the doll can be surmised by the fine craftsmanship of this article, and the care with which it was kept.“ It borderlines on mania, and exudes a slight warmth.”

Which once again, reinforce my idea that my boi Gehrman cared for Maria not _just_ because she was hot. He doesn’t dress her up in revealing clothes nor does he keep her hunter attire while retaining elements of it such as the brooch and her boots. Maria killed herself after renouncing her life as a hunter, her conscience forever stained by what she and her teacher had done to the inhabitants of Fishing Hamlet. Dressing the doll in her hunter set would have been an even greater insult to her memory. Gehrman’s decision to dress her up in the seemly clothes of a respectable woman of the time is actually pretty tasteful if you ask me. May look strange and “unnecessary cute” to us modern-day players but that’s how women used to dress. Take a look at this picture of Mia Wasikowska’s in this movie adaptation of Jane Eyre. The reason why I pick this movie is its director, Cary Fukunaga who also directed the first season of the award-winning HBO series True Detective. (a show inspired by R.W Chambers and Lovecraft’s nihilism & cosmic dread.) This too is a pretty dark and spooky rendition of Charlotte Brontë’s classic.

But no more talking about Gehrman, let’s get back to Maria:

Among the first hunters, all students of Gehrman, was the lady hunter Maria. This was her hunter’s [cap/garb/gloves/trousers], crafted in Cainhurst. Maria is distantly related to the undead queen, but had great admiration for Gehrman, unaware of his curious mania.  [Maria’s Hunter Set]

This description tells us a lot of things, but most of them are irrelevant to the subject of this analysis. I could go on for hours pointing out the similarities of her set to the Knight’s and other Cainhurst fashion but let’s not do that. What matters here is that Maria, despite being of noble blood, had no social prejudice towards her mentor (and I would assume, any of her fellow hunters.) and, just like Gwyn’s firstborn, “had respect only for arms and nothing else” :P

I wouldn’t say that the reason why she was heartbroken was the fact that Gehrman never revealed his feelings to her (as mentioned in the ask) but that she idolized him and the cause of the Byrgenwerth Hunters as a whole and couldn’t bear the guilt once the college’s research pushed their actions too far. Like Ludwig who had an unshakable faith in the ways of the Healing Church, Maria had faith in and was possibly in love with Gehrman and couldn’t believe that the man she admired so deeply would blindly obey Byrgenwerth’s orders.

“Go and kill those fishmen who did nothing wrong and aren’t bothering anyone. Oh, and be sure to rip that umbilical cord from the body of thad Great One that washed ashore.”

“Yep.” No question asked.

THAT’s why Maria felt betrayed. It hasn’t anything to do with Gehrman’s “mania”. In my headcanons Gehrman’s total obedience to Willem is motivated but there’s no solid proof in canon so let’s just say that Gehrman was an idiot who never questioned the orders from above :/

And now, let’s get to the final, FUNDAMENTAL point of this analysis: did Maria love Gehrman back?

Yes she did. Why else would anyone want to take a look at any picture one last time before killing themselves? To remember what they lost or could’ve had if things were different.

Why am I 100% sure that Gehrman is in that picture? Because in canon we don’t know the name of any other member of the Old Hunters. It’s just the two of them: Gehrman and Maria, the only ones with faces and backstory in a crowd of faceless, bloodthirsty mannequins.

Here you go, thanks Fextralife.

[fadingfartconnoisseur]

The Worst Books I’ve Ever Read

Every month, I tell you what I’m reading; every year, I rank my favorite books of the year. Reading is a huge part of my life and I make an effort to read the best books I can find. (See the best of 2016 and best of 2015 here.)

That being said, anyone who reads this much knows that there’s no attraction in, “This is good, this is good, this is also good.” The bad stuff — the drama, the conflict — is what gets readers really interested.

And so I think it’s time to talk about the WORST books I’ve ever read.

I haven’t read Fifty Shades of Grey and don’t plan to, so you won’t find that here. Nor anything by Ann Coulter — in fact, I’ll exclude political books altogether. Nothing by L. Ron Hubbard. The Da Vinci Code won’t be on this list, either (Dan Brown gets a lot of hate, but dude knows how to write suspense and I can’t hate on him for that). And while some people can’t stomach it, I happen to love Lolita.

Here are the worst books I’ve ever read, in my opinion. Some are great works of literature that happened to rub me the wrong way. Some are more embarrassing than that.

And the worst book of all, a book that made me physically angry for having read it and forever changed my opinion of the author, is listed last.

The Worst Book from High School: Walden by Henry David Thoreau

Sophomore year was tough for me, capped by my experiences in Honors American Lit. My teacher and I butted heads from the start and I disliked much of the literature we read. I struggled to keep up, even deciding to drop Honors British Lit the following year in favor of English electives. (This is why I didn’t read Hamlet until 2015.)

And then came Walden near the end of the year. A book lauded by so many people — often including the travel blogging community. A book that took place and was written just a few miles from where I grew up.

Henry David Thoreau moved into a cabin in the woods. He read, he wrote, he observed nature and grew his own food and tried to create art from it.

“Every morning was a cheerful invitation to make my life of equal simplicity, and I may say innocence, with Nature herself.” –Henry David Thoreau, Walden

Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity.

Revisiting Walden after years of reading about privilege in America, it becomes more striking that Thoreau was only concerned with what a wealthy independent man could do with his time, ignoring everyone else in society.

Another problem was that much of what Thoreau actually wrote was cloaked in hypocrisy. In between talking about the beauty and fragility and nature, he described how much he loved burning down half the forest. He would go on and on about how the only books people should read are classic Greek literature — as he writes a new book for them to read. Also, his mother would do his laundry.

I wrote a scathing paper decrying Thoreau’s hypocrisy.

My teacher gave me an A-.

I consider that one of my greatest academic victories.

What To Read Instead: The Prince by Niccolo Machiavelli. It’s pretty much as much an opposite of Walden as you can get, and I found it far more entertaining.

The Worst Conclusion to a Series: Allegiant by Veronica Roth

I get it — it’s hard to write a good ending to a book, much less wrap up a three-book series. But I haven’t seen anything crash and burn as badly as Allegiant, the conclusion of Veronica Roth’s Divergent series.

The series as a whole intrigued me a bit but ultimately made my eyes roll. In a futuristic society, teenagers take a test and are sorted into one of five groups based on their personality: Abnegation (the selfless), Erudite (the intelligent), Candor (the honest), Amity (dirty hippies), and Dauntless (the brave). But when Tris displays the traits of multiple groups in her test, she finds out she’s Divergent and she could be killed for it.

Now: the first two books were told from Tris’s point of view. In Allegiant, the story is suddenly told from two points of view, Tris and her lover Four — but both voices are exactly the same. They witness the same events. They have the same feelings. Their vocabularies and cadences are identical. I could never tell who was speaking.

Beyond that, the “big revelation” at the end of the book landed with a thump, and so many people died throughout that the deaths became meaningless.

“When her body first hit the net, all I registered was a gray blur. I pulled her across it and her hand was small, but warm, and then she stood before me, short and thin and plain and in all ways unremarkable- except that she had jumped first. The stiff had jumped first. Even I didn’t jump first. Her eyes were so stern, so insistent. Beautiful.” –Vernoica Roth, Allegiant

Another theme throughout the first two books is that characters would occasionally get injected with serums that would create simulations — and sometimes led them to do evil things. The final book was a series of, “Okay, it’s time for another serum!” “Wait, here’s a serum to override that serum!” “No, that’s a bad serum, we’re the good guys, this one’s a GOOD serum!” Again and again, another serum. You’d think Roth owned stock in skincare products.

What to Read Instead: The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver. Not only is it a fantastic novel, the story is told through several different narrators and each of the voices are unique and different.

The Worst Book Receiving Bewildering Levels of Praise: The Girls by Emma Cline

One of the buzziest books of 2016, The Girls is a fictionalized retelling of the Manson murders of the 1970s, focusing on the relationships between the women in Not Charles Manson’s cult.

One of the things I can’t stand the most is wasted potential. This book could have been so good in the hands of another author!

Emma Cline focused more on creating elaborate prose than telling a story. And when I say elaborate, that’s not a compliment — she stuffed her paragraphs with enough bewildering metaphors and similes as if they were banana peppers on a Subway sandwich (yes, I know what I did there). It goes to show that no matter how you write, if you don’t know how to tell a story, you’ve got nothing.

“Poor Sasha. Poor girls. The world fattens them on the promise of life. How badly they need it, and how little most of them will ever get. The treacled pop songs, the dresses described in the catalogs with words like ‘sunset’ and ‘Paris.’ Then the dreams are taken away with such violent force; the hand wrenching the buttons of the jeans, nobody looking at the man shouting at his girlfriend on the bus.” –Emma Cline, The Girls

At the same time, the book moved at a glacial pace. By the time the action started, I was psyched to finally have some excitement — only it withered and died instantly. The big showdown I had been expecting didn’t even come to fruition.

What To Read Instead: American Heiress by Jeffrey Toobin, a much better book about 1970s Bay Area counterculture. This one focuses on the kidnapping of Patty Hearst by the Symbionese Liberation Army, and it was so exciting I couldn’t put it down.

The Biggest Disappointment From An Author I Love: A Cook’s Tour by Anthony Bourdain

I love Uncle Tony. I worship the man. But A Cook’s Tour was not his best work.

You think combining Anthony Bourdain and world travel would be amazing, especially after his wild and raw Kitchen Confidential (one of my all-time favorite memoirs). This book is a collection of essays about his first major international trip as a food writer and personality. And he loved every minute of it.

But that was the problem — Kitchen Confidential was full of conflict. Pirate-looking chefs fucking brides in their wedding dresses in the walk-in. Crawling along the bar after work, snorting six-foot lines of cocaine. Going from cooking in world-class restaurants to flipping burgers in a crappy diner, the metallic taste of methadone in your mouth. It was gritty and ugly and utterly compelling.

A Cook’s Tour was just Uncle Tony eating food and having a good time traveling. There was no story, no narrative arc. It was just a lot of, “Hey, this is great.”

“What is love? Love is eating twenty-four ounces of raw fish at four o’clock in the morning.” –Anthony Bourdain, A Cook’s Tour

And while I enjoyed his stories from Russia and San Sebastian, Spain, they weren’t enough to sustain a full book.

Luckily, his writing changed direction in his subsequent collections, and I suspect he had a better editorial team behind him. Uncle Tony is at his best when he’s ripping on people he can’t stand.

What To Read Instead: Kitchen Confidential is great, but Bourdain’s best post-fame work is The Nasty Bits. It still has a lot of food and travel, but with a sharper, more ardent point of view.

The Worst Impulse Kindle Buy: On the Island by Tracey Garvis Graves

On the Island was an Amazon bestseller and I liked the concept: a teenage boy and his thirty-year-old tutor survive a plane crash in the Maldives, end up living on a desert island for years, start a romantic relationship after he turns 18, and are rescued following a tsunami and have to deal with the aftermath at home.

And absolutely nothing that happened was believable. This sixteen-year-old boy acted like a 40-year-old man the whole time. Neither character changed or transformed in any way. And even after being rescued after living on a desert island for THREE YEARS, the only thing they worried about was how people would judge their relationship that they started after the kid turned 18.

“You weren’t supposed to fall in love,” she whispered. “Well, I did,” I said, looking into her eyes. “I’ve been in love with you for months. I’m telling you now because I think you love me too, Anna. You just don’t think you’re supposed to. You’ll tell me when you’re ready. I can wait.” I pulled her mouth down to mine and kissed her and when it ended, I smiled and said, “Happy birthday.” –Tracey Garvis Graves, On the Island

Yes, that’s an actual quote from a bestselling book.

It’s been translated into 27 languages.

I hate people.

What To Read Instead: Euphoria by Lily King. Now, THAT’S a great controversial love story set in a remote location — in this instance, Papua New Guinea in the 1930s.

The Worst Smash Hit: The Twilight Series by Stephenie Meyer

I’ll be honest — I was hooked on the Twilight books during their height of popularity. I didn’t like them, but I couldn’t stop reading them. And my friend Beth and I made a tradition of seeing the movies on opening night amongst the superfans, only somewhat ironically.

Nothing I say here is anything you haven’t heard before. These books are poorly written. The character development is scant at best. The plot holes are the size of football fields.

But the worst part is that these books glorify intimate partner abuse to an impressionable audience of young women. The behavior that Edward exhibits — stalking, controlling, threatening, saying “no one will ever love you like I do,” leaving you with bruises and suggesting you tell people you fell down the stairs, and ultimately leading you to give up your future for him — should be recognized as alarming, not held up as a model for romance.

“The waves of pain that had only lapped at me before now reared high up and washed over my head, pulling me under. I did not resurface.” –Stephenie Meyer, New Moon

Also, a werewolf falls in love with a baby.

What To Read Instead: The Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. It’s a much better, more intellectual book for teens that focuses on issues of justice, bravery, brutality, media culture, and utopianism, just to start.

The Best Book I Happen to Hate: The Road by Cormac McCarthy

The Road is a fantastic, gorgeous book worthy of its Pulitzer Prize and every other honor it’s received.

And I fucking hated every word of it.

It’s an incredibly frightening tale of a post-apocalyptic world after a series of unspecified disasters — a barren planet where survivors hide in the shadows and the world is pillaged by tribes of cannibals and rapists. Through the book, a dying father takes his young son on a journey to the sea, not knowing what lies there but hoping they’ll find something better than what they’ve left behind.

“Then they set out along the blacktop in the gunmetal light, shuffling through the ash, each the other’s world entire.” –Cormac McCarthy, The Road

This book is terrifying. And realistic. And that’s why I hated it with everything I had.

Maybe it shouldn’t be on this list. I appreciated every beautiful word. But it still makes me upset, years after reading it.

What To Read Instead: The Color Purple by Alice Walker. Also a Pulitzer Prize-winning novel, it starts with an incredibly bleak beginning but blossoms into joy and forgiveness.

The Worst Book of All Time: Cleaving by Julie Powell

Julie and Julia was a commercial success, and deservedly so — a sweet if not overly literary memoir about how a directionless woman finds joy and meaning in cooking all of Julia Child’s recipes.

A feel-good tale about an everywoman with a sweet husband who supports her, encourages her, and makes her a better person. It got some hate, but it was overall a fun and engaging memoir, and it was commercial as hell, working even better as a film.

Cleaving, the sequel, destroyed all the goodwill Powell earned with her first book.

Following the success of Julie and Julia, Powell began an affair with a former boyfriend. Her husband found out. They decided to open their marriage, though it seemed like they didn’t want to actually work on their marriage, either. And she decided to go apprentice at a butcher upstate because…food is continuity? And this memoir is about, um, all of that. It’s unfocused at best; I suspect her publisher rushed it.

But it mainly focuses on Powell’s affair with the former boyfriend, her enjoyment of the affair and obsession with her lover, and her complete lack of remorse while her husband waits in the background.

The worst part is when Powell is out with her lover and gets recognized by a blog reader. Her lover introduces himself as her husband to save face and they both get off on the scenario. This sums up the book: Powell runs wild with her id, doesn’t care about who she hurts in the process, and learns absolutely nothing.

How did her publisher agree to release this?!

“Like the muscles knew from the beginning that it would end with this, this inevitable falling apart… It’s sad, but a relief as well to know that two things so closely bound together can separate with so little violence, leaving smooth surfaces instead of bloody shreds.” –Julie Powell, Cleaving

I’ve read raw memoirs that overshare the intimate details of a marriage — Glennon Doyle Melton’s Love Warrior comes to mind. But Cleaving is far worse. I find it to be a cruel book. Cruel in its lack of accountability.

The other part I hated was that Powell clearly discovered she was into rough sex — only she never explicitly says so. She implies things and hints at others, conveniently evading details. Dude, you’re not the first person to suddenly realize you’re into a new kind of sex. Stop patronizing your readers and actually say it.

The book ends with what I’m sure she imagined was a heartfelt revelation: her lover, who had been called D up until the final page, was actually named Damian.

Hey Julie — nobody cares. Literally everyone hates that guy.

Many reviewers focused primarily on Powell’s infidelity; I don’t thick that’s fair, and much of that criticism is rooted in sexism. Infidelity itself is not the issue here. What matters is that she went about her infidelity, as well as her apprenticeship and travels, with a complete lack of self-awareness. Powell wrote a sloppy memoir about her darkest, most selfish moments without a shred of insight or transformation by the end of it. The Julie at the end of the book is the same Julie at the beginning of the book.

This book is the reason why I eat grass-fed beef today, and that just makes me hate it more. I hate that something good came out of it.

What To Read Instead: Wild by Cheryl Strayed. She flew into a tailspin after her mother’s death, cheating on her husband and using drugs, but she acknowledged her failures, strenuously worked through her shit, and transformed as a result.

What’s the worst book you’ve ever read?

via Travel Blogs http://ift.tt/2ngjzFl