#I like the slower pace and the introspective tone

[sentientcave]

Retirement Party

Chapter 6 - The Butterfly Effect

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Contains: No Y/N (2nd POV but Reader is an OC), Kidnapping, Forcible relocation, Dubcon, Plus-sized Reader/OC, female Reader/OC, Everyone learns new things about each other, Manipulation, PTSD, Doll has a tragic backstory, Poorly translated Spanish, Lots of introspection

~4.2k - MDNI - Dark fic! Please mind the content warning above but honestly nothing particularly bad happens this chapter.

John gives you space for the next few days, letting you settle in around the edges of his own routine. You’ve always been an early riser, and so is he, but he starts every day with a run, and you prefer a slower pace. You’ve taken to coming downstairs after you hear the front door close, and stretch on the living room floor (you wouldn’t call it yoga, but you’ve spent the last few years keeping up with the Kinsey kids, and you know how important it is to maintain flexibility), and make coffee before you go back upstairs to get dressed and ready for the day. John always showers first thing after his run, but after the second day he starts taking off his shirt before he drinks a glass of water at the sink, watching you from the corner of his eye to see if you’re looking.

And maybe sometimes you are. It would be a useless endeavour, pretending that he’s not nice to look at. He’s big, barrel-chested, with thick, muscular arms, and he’s hairy in a way that’s unbelievably attractive, and he gleams with sweat after his runs. If he didn’t look so damn smug every time he catches you looking, you’d probably gladly spend a few long minutes studying him. Something about the man makes your fingers itch to pick up a pencil.

You just orbit around each other for those first few days. He’s working on some project outside, and you putter around the house a bit and look for new jobs online. You were surprised that he didn’t confiscate your laptop to keep you from calling for a rescue, but he made no effort to stop you from using your laptop or your phone. Perhaps he’d really listened when you’d tried to set boundaries. He’s certainly given you space to adjust.

On Wednesday, you video call your Lola— It’s been routine for ages, since you always had Sundays and Wednesdays off from work— and catch up. You start the call shortly after John leaves, to give yourself some time to talk privately. It’s nice to see her familiar, wrinkled brown face, even if she’s half the world away from you.

She clocks that you’re not at home right away, and gets that sly, knowing smile when you tell her you’re staying with a friend. “¿Estás viendo a alguien?” she asks. “¿Un joven tal vez?” Are you seeing someone? A young man perhaps?

“No nada de eso. Sólo quedarme con un amigo.” No, nothing like that. Just staying with a friend. Once again, lying to make it seem like you’re not in trouble. It’s not like your Lola would be able to do anything about your situation anyway. You would just worry her.

Of course, Lola is much too observant not to see that you're hiding something-- Even if all she sees of you is a video call once a week, you're her granddaughter and she knows you. "Dalisay," she says, her tone a mocking approximation of sternness. "Eres una mujer adulta. Me gustaría saber que eres feliz, que estás saliendo con alguien agradable. No tienes que mentirme. Mientele a tu otra abuela.” You are a grown woman. I would like to know you're happy, that you’re seeing someone kind. You don't have to lie to me. Lie to your other grandmother.

You laugh. "¡Es complicado Lola! Él es—" It's complicated Lola! He's—

The door opens, and John limps back in, early. "Rolled my ankle," he explains, taking your wide-eyed look as concern. "Just need some ice."

"Muéstramelo," Lola demands, laughing. "Tiene una voz hermosa.” Show him to me. He has a handsome voice.

John turns toward you, frowning. "I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?"

"I always call Lola on Wednesdays-- John, sit down, you need to ice your ankle, what are you doing?"

He's standing on one leg, in the middle of the kitchen, fishing a mug out of the cupboard rather than getting something cold and sitting right down. "I--"

You're not sure what possesses you, but you get up, and you make him sit, and you go to make him his coffee and wrap a bag of frozen peas in a tea towel. When you turn around, he's reached across the table to pull your laptop closer, smiling at the camera when Lola claps he hands together, beaming.

"Es guapo, Dalisay. Pero no joven, ¿eh?" She says, laughing. He's handsome, Dalisay. But not young, huh?

"No," he agrees, "soy demasiado viejo para ella. Todavía soy lo suficientemente egoísta como para intentarlo de todos modos.” I'm too old for her. I'm still selfish enough to try anyway. Lola laughs at his honesty, pleased with John already.

You set down the coffee and glare at him. But you gently set the ice pack on his raised ankle. He pulls you into his lap, sitting you on his other thigh. "John!" You protest.

"Oh, relájate, apo,” Lola chides, unhelpfully reading the situation just the way John wants her to. She seems impressed by John's accented Spanish, happy to not need to translate her words to English to speak with him. She speaks English perfectly well, but she prefers Spanish, calls English clunky and ungraceful. "Yo también fui joven una vez. Me preocupaba que ella nunca encontrara a alguien.” Oh lighten up, apo. I was young once too. I was worried she would never find someone.

"No es que ella no pudiera,” John says. "Ella es tan hermosa, pero mantiene la distancia." It's not that she couldn't. She's so beautiful, but she keeps her distance.

“John, stop that,” you say, and you do mean the way he’s talking, but you also mean the hand that’s firmly gripping your hip, kneading your soft flesh. It’s not hard enough to bruise, not even enough to hurt, but it’s distracting, and makes your heart flutter. The movement is also hitching your skirt up a little higher on your thighs.

The innocent, laughing look he gives you is no help. “Sorry, love.” He kisses your shoulder, his hand sliding up to your waist instead.

You glance over at the screen, wincing when you see two of your cousins crowded into the screen with Lola, all of them stifling laughter and one of them holding a chubby baby.

“He needs to buy you a ring, cuz,” Ligaya says, waving her baby’s chubby hand at you. “Say hello Berting, that’s your auntie Dalisay and her boyfriend.” She and her sister, Ceci dissolve into giggles. The baby laughs too, although he doesn’t have any idea what’s going on around him.

“He’s too old to be anyone’s boyfriend,” you grouse.

“He looks more like husband material to me,” Ceci crows. She points a threatening finger at the webcam. “You’d better be good to her! She’s our favourite cousin.”

“Y mi nieta favorita,” Lola says, And my favourite granddaughter, cupping her hand around her mouth as if that would keep Ligaya and Ceci from hearing her. They both laugh, unoffended, Ceci batting Lola’s shoulder lightly.

“I will,” John promises. “She makes it easy. She’s much too good for the likes of me.”

“And don’t you forget it, English!” Ligaya agrees. “Are you coming to see us for Christmas this year, Lisay? There’s at least four babies you haven’t met yet.”

“I’m not sure I can afford to this year. We’ll see if I can find work—”

“¿Qué pasó? ¿Perdiste tu trabajo?” Lola asks. What happened? Did you lose your job?

“You practically raised those niños!” Ligaya protests, as if that would change the facts of the matter. “They love you!”

You grimace, and haltingly explain that Mr. Kinsey had made a pass at you, and you’d been fired so that he and his wife could work out their marital issues. Apparently you’d been just too tempting to have around, despite the fact that you had less than zero interest in your former employer. By the end of your explanation, Lola looks ready to fight, and Ligaya and Ceci both look furious too. “It’s alright,” you say, trying to convince yourself as much as you are them. “I wouldn’t have been able to leave if they didn’t fire me. And I didn’t want to be raising someone else's’ kids forever.”

Ceci wiggles her eyebrows at you. “Yeah, Lisay, you want your own babies, eh?”

“You should start painting again,” Ligaya suggested, flicking Ceci with the hand not currently supporting her son. “You could sell prints online, portrait commissions. You’re as good as your mother, and she made it into that London Gallery.”

Lola notices the way your smile strains and shoos your cousins away. “El consejo es bueno aunque graznan,” she says. “Eres demasiado buena para dejar de pintar.” The advice is good, even if they quack. You’re too good to stop painting.

You change the subject, and Lola talks some about the children, about neighbourhood gossip, catching you up on everything before you end the call. You sigh, sinking into John unconsciously. He’s so big, and so solid, you wish you could do away with that undercurrent of fear ruining the little comfort his arms would provide you otherwise.

“Why’d you stop painting?” he asks.

“It’s not the same anymore.”

“Is anything ever the same?”

You twist to look at him. His eyes are too blue, piercing though you like he’s able to read the thoughts in your head. You have to remind yourself that he can’t, that he doesn’t know you well enough even to guess. You’re getting to know him pretty well though, and you recognize this earnestness, this plea to let him in, to let him help. John is a man who needs to do something all the time, that needs to focus on a task. You wonder what it is that nips at his heels so sharply— Is is inherent, genetic, something unavoidable, written in the core of his very deepest, truest self? Or is it just that he’s running from something, and must stay in motion, driving himself ever forward to keep it from catching up?

“Have you ever lost anyone, John?”

Surprise widens his eyes for a flickering second, before he hides it behind a tight smile. “Think we’re talking about you, Doll.”

“You don’t have to answer. I think it’s just easier to understand, when you have. Painting just reminds me of my mam. It’s like trying to swim with lead shoes on. It’s so hard to keep my head above the water that it’s easier just not to swim.”

“Maybe you could try takin’ off the lead shoes,” he suggested, his arms tightening around you. Levity and reassurance, like he knows exactly what you need. “Or maybe you just shouldn’t go swimmin’ alone.”

“A lifeguard,” you say, rolling the thought around in your head. Maybe that was the problem, the empty space was too apparent when there was no one around to fill it. You’d painted the flowers on the credenza with Ripley there, and that had even been nice. You’d thought it was just a fluke, but you hadn’t really thought about why it had been different. “That’s an interesting thought.”

“Did you have everything you’d need? We can look through the boxes for your supplies.”

You shake your head. “No. Yes. I have watercolours somewhere. Just no acrylics. But I could start with watercolours.”

“Yeah? We can look now, if you like.”

“Maybe in a bit. I’ll make breakfast first.”

“I can do it,” he offers quickly. “I want to take care of you.”

As much as you aren’t quite ready to admit it, he already is. “No, I think it’s my turn. Just give me a minute. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, but this is kind of nice.”

He hums his agreement, picking up his coffee. You think he’s doing it so he can’t kiss you, and you’re so pleased that he’s starting to get it that you almost consider kissing him instead.

But you don’t. You just let yourself enjoy the moment.

Maybe that’s enough, for now.

You decide that having him sit and watch you painting would be awkward, so once you hunt down your watercolours and a sketchbook with heavy paper, you set up outside while he works. He’s constructing some kind of frame over a concrete pad, a covered porch, you think. You sit out of the way, facing the copse of trees that surround the house, and the overgrown, weedy garden. It looks like it had been set up early in the season with the best of intentions, but you suspect that it was too hard on his knees and back. He’d made the mistake of planting everything straight in the ground— You probably would have suggested planter boxes, if you’d been here in the spring. Then he could have sat on a stool— It would have helped keep the bunnies out too. The few tomatoes left on an abandoned vine have little bites nibbled out of them— Almost everything has little bites taken out of it.

It makes you smother a laugh. It’s easy to imagine John railing against nature— He’s so stubborn, there’s no way he gave up for a good long time— Cursing the rabbits and deer, leaning over the once-neat rows until his back ached. There’s a pair of rusting garden shears stuck out of the ground, evidence that he quit in a fit of pique some months ago.

He’s looking at you— He has a sense for when you let happiness slip through, like a hound picking up a rabbit’s trail in the woods. You can feel the burn of those bright blue eyes on you, the heavy weight of his attention. Does he make note of everything you smile at? You wonder how long the list is now. Puppies, the Stuart kids, Lola and your cousins, and now his poor attempts at gardening. You haven’t really let much else get past your careful, polite mask, knowing full well that stone-walling him is your best defence. He’s searching for an opening, and once he finds it, he’ll pop you open like a clam.

It seems inevitable. Still, he’ll have to work for it, if he wants you to let him in. He’s already set himself the first of his Herculean tasks, to get you painting again. It would be easier to face the Nemean lion. Your grief has sharp teeth, unblunted even after a decade, still dug deep into your heart.

“You aren’t painting,” John says in your ear. His hands settle on your shoulders, holding you in your seat when surprise would launch you a few centimetres into the air.

You turn your head to look at him, and he’s far too close. “You aren’t working.”

“Takin’ a break. You look like you’re thinkin’ hard about something. What’s on your mind, Doll?”

“Your garden. Must have been a storm of misfortunes to make you give up.”

“Few things get the better of me, but this was one of ‘em. Have to settle for buyin’ produce at the shops like everyone else.”

“It’s not really so hard.”

“You the expert in gardening?”

“No, I just used to help my gran with her garden. Picked up a thing or two about keeping green things alive.” You take a dry paintbrush and dust it over his fingertips idly.

“That the one we talked to today?” he asks.

“No, that’s Lola. Gran is the Scottish one.”

He hums, smooths out tension in your shoulders with his thumbs, catching the slightest touch of your skin at the collar of your sweater. "Didn't think you had family in the UK."

You tip your head back, looking up at him. He shifts, leaning his forearms on the back of the chair, hanging over you. "Just my Gran, she got remarried a bit before we moved to Manchester. She thought her husbands-- Well, I'll say kids, but they were full adults, older than my mam already-- She thought they were more respectable than my parents. Wouldn't categorize her as a real warm and fuzzy lady."

"You don't talk then?"

"No. Not since my parents died. We had a proper row at the funeral and she's never apologized, and I'm certainly not going to."

"Learnin' a lot about you today, Doll."

“That I’m stubborn and that I distance myself from the people that love me?” you ask, flicking the paintbrush at the tip of his nose. His whole face scrunches, and it’s kind of endearing. You’re already feeling soft about him from this morning, because Lola liked him, and because he didn’t ask if she spoke English, just launched right into Spanish that was a maybe a little rough around the edges, but good enough.

“That,” he agrees. “But I think it’s good that you hold your ground. You’re not stubborn for the sake of it, you say what needs to be said. I’d bet good money that you were in the right.”

“It doesn’t always matter who’s right and who’s wrong, John. Sometimes you have to set aside ego to make things right.”

“Tryin’ to teach an old dog new tricks?” he asks.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll teach yourself. Now go on, get. You’re distracting me.” You wrap your hands around one of his, and press a fleeting kiss to a spot between his thumb and his wrist before releasing him. “And be careful of your ankle. If you need to carry something heavy, let me help you.”

He laughs and withdraws, his shadow sliding over your page as he moves away. “Yes ma’am. You’re pretty cute when you’re bossy.”

“I’m always cute,” you say blithely.

You don’t look at him, so you miss the way he glances back over his shoulder, blue eyes burning. “You’re damn right about that.”

Ducking your head down to hide your smile, you pick your pencil up and look back to the garden. Something about the red-handled shears stuck in the soil speaks to you, so you lightly sketch it out on the page, humming to yourself quietly. The next things you need to hunt down are your headphones and the old mp3 player so you can listen to music while you paint.

There’s something soothing about hearing John work anyway. The whirr of his drill as he screwed framing lumber into place, or the buzz of his saw when he cuts pieces to size. He’s methodical, exacting— What makes him so good at building probably made him a poor gardener too. He can cut and fit pieces of wood together to make any shape he pleases, he can make a plan and nothing will fight back against it, beyond a warped bit of lumber here and there, but a garden grows as it will, and there’s no controlling the wind or the sun or the rain, let alone the creatures that might come looking for something tender and green.

That same struggle plays out between the two of you. He sees a map and a destination where you see a landscape. The journey, the exploration, is what matters to you, the light and shadow, the soft growing things and the hungry teeth that nip at the roots. In his mind he’s already built a house at the top of the hill, and he wants to pull you inside, lay you down, plant his seeds in a different garden, watch something new grow. It’s not simply impatience, but a need for control, for surety.

He exerts that control outwards, bending the world to the shape he likes. You’ve always turned it inwards, pulling in on yourself, turning your life into a safe little cocoon, turning deprivation and isolation into an art. Constructing masks to get you through, reliable scripts, being whomever you need to be to make things easier.

And perhaps it was easy, but it was lonely too.

Maybe they really had done you a favour. By pulling you out of your comfortable routine, they’ve forced you to face yourself, for the first time in ages, to ask yourself what it is that you want, to see who you are.

You feel like a butterfly, wings still damp and unfurling, perched in John’s hand. He could risk letting you fly away, or he could force you to stay by destroying some integral part of you. There’s no telling which path he intends to take, not yet.

You can just hope.

It might be insane— It certainly feels insane— but you really want him to be a good man. Not just out of self-preservation, although it probably weighs something in the equation, but because you want him. He’s right when he says there’s something here, something that’s been rolling around in the back of your mind since Ghost dumped you in his lap. It hasn’t even been a week, but it feels longer.

You keep half an eye on him while you put the first pale washes of colour onto paper. A few small versions first, to get a handle on light and shadow, colour values, just to remember how to mix colours the way you want to, and then start on the larger version, feeling a little more confident.

You’ve just blocked in the base colours when you notice that John’s limping again, and showing no sign of stopping his work. Sighing, you set your paintbrush down and stand. “John,” you say gently, putting yourself in the path between the saw set up and his lumber pile. “It’s time to take a break.”

“No, I’m fine, Doll. Get back to your painting.” He tries to move around you, but you side-step and block his path again. “It’s just a sprain,” he says, exasperated. “I’ve worked through worse.”

As if that was a good reason to ignore pain. “And you never considered that maybe you shouldn’t have had to?”

He frowns down at you. The difference in your heights has to be at least a foot, but he has a funny way of tucking in his chin and hanging his head when you’re standing close like this, and looking at you straight on anyway. A soft little hand settles on his stomach, unbidden— You’re not sure that you’ve instigated contact with him before, it’s always been him reaching out for you, his big hands achingly gentle. Is anyone ever gentle with him? Is he ever gentle with himself?

“The work will still be here tomorrow,” you remind him. “You have time to rest.”

A raindrop splashes on your outstretching arm. The two of you look up in tandem, at a heavy grey cloud that’s rolled over head— It hasn’t blocked out the sun yet, and neither of you had noticed it creeping up— and then at each other. “Guess the weather agrees with you,” John says.

You both scramble apart and into action. John covers the pile of lumber and the saw with tarps, weighed down with a few odd bricks so they won’t blow away, and you quickly pack up the water colours and your paintings. You don’t get there in time to stop a few splashes of rain from hitting the page, but you get everything inside before it’s completely soaked and set it on the kitchen table for the moment.

While you’re filling the kettle and looking outside, watching the rain splash against the window, John comes in too, and looks at your work. “The rain ruined it,” he says. “I should have been paying more attention to the weather.” There’s guilt in his voice, as if it’s his fault that the rain chose to fall where and when it did.

You set the kettle to boil, and join him, studying the paintings. Each of them unrefined— The smaller ones are just work-ups anyway, but the raindrops have warped the colours, creating voids with saturated edges. You wouldn’t say they’re ruined. There’s an artistry to incident, story preserved on paper in a way that your art wouldn’t do alone.

“No, I like it better this way,” you say decisively. “It underlines the theme of futility, don’t you think? How we’re at the mercy of the weather, whether we like it or not.”

“S’pose so,” he admits grudgingly.

His mouth is set so it almost disappears under his moustache. He really does hate the reminder that he has no control over some things. You dash upstairs and grab a couple of towels and tuck them under your arm, and take John’s hand, leading him out onto the front porch.

He follows you without resistance, although there’s a funny, curious look on his face. “What’re you doing?”

You let go, and put the towels down on the bench. “What does it look like I’m doing?” The rain is coming steadily now, the sky turned darker, sun all but blotted out, and it’s cold on your skin when you step out from the shelter and into the downpour. You throw your arms out and spin, laughing.

There are many things in this life that you can’t control. Things that are fixed, unchanged and immovable, laws of nature, the whims of weather, and Captain John Price. But you have choices too. You can try to move a mountain, but you’d be better climbing over it. You can choose to struggle against the current, or let it sweep you along. You can dance in the rain rather than wish it were sunny.

And you can hold out your hand, and invite John to dance with you.

Image Credits: Banner Dividers

[lattesqueeze]

For the Pinterest prompts!! Can we get ambient, any ship??

My love! Hello! Yes! Of course you can!

Please accept a little peek into a sweet Sebchal moment. For when you wake up 💛💛💛

Sebastian is different, now he’s retired from racing. He’s softened, mellowed. Hell, enough of his old friends have teased that it’s just age. 

He sits, now, in an overstuffed armchair before a slightly sticky table. It’s dark outside, the cobbled streets flooded with the warm amber glow of the streetlights. Soft but persistent rain patters against the full-length window, and the glass steams up with opaque mist. The coffee shop is quiet enough, a soft babble filling the open space. 

The late hour and the cosy ambience of the cafe lends itself to introspection. Indeed, the removal of stress from his life had allowed Sebastian to relax into himself somewhat. Having been so young when he entered the cut-throat, hyper-competitive bubble of Formula One, he had sometimes felt he had missed out on some of the finer points of socialisation, leaning instead into the ‘win at all costs’ mindset he became known for in his younger years. 

It’s nice, now, to wake up when he chooses, and to run for the feeling of freedom it provides, rather than to break his own personal cardiovascular health records. 

Yes, it’s true that Sebastian’s retirement has seen him become calmer. However, it’s not so much the slower pace of life that has lulled him. It’s definitely more thanks to the sunshine-soft influence of the one he loves. Time is finally on their side, and at last it feels like they have all the time in the world.

There’s a gentle tinkle as the door opens. A slim brunet man makes his way straight to the counter, and orders in a hushed tone that Sebastian can’t quite hear. It doesn’t matter - he always gets it right anyway. He’s wearing a black hoodie over faded jeans, and thick-rimmed glasses. He looks so soft, and Sebastian envisions him curled into his lap on his sofa. 

Charles has been away, racing, and they haven’t seen each other for some time, and phone calls just aren’t the same. Sebastian doesn’t let his mind wander further, waiting for Charles to take the lead with what he wants. 

They never say it in as many words, but it’s there. Sebastian is the first to tell Charles he’s done a good job. Charles always orders Sebastian’s tea with honey in it, just how he likes it. They text each other first when they reach their respective destinations. They know they love each other. And everyone else who cares to know also knows. They don’t have to keep secrets any more.

Charles slides into the armchair opposite Sebastian, placing two steaming mugs on the table. 

“You’re here.” He says with a shy smile. 

“Aren’t I always?”

[crystalshard]

Pacing is absolutely about context. It's also got a surprising amount to do with tone.

I once read a car chase scene that was 90% introspection. Yes, introspection is a good thing, it lets us know what's going on in the characters' heads, but it's debatable as to whether its place is in an action scene. (Although you can do a lot with carefully aimed quick thoughts.)

For example:

Adam gritted his teeth and hauled on the steering wheel, barely clearing the carelessly placed trash cans. His tires squealed warning; he ignored them, just as he stubbornly ignored the tears running down his face. Black flickered in the rear-view mirror. Nell's car, heavier and more powerful than his. She was closer now than she'd been only seconds ago. Heavier and more powerful. Not as fast. Adam grinned through the tears, heart aching, and stepped on the accelerator.

versus

Adam drove quickly around the trash cans. Perhaps it was fitting; the obstruction of trash cans, against the trashed state of their relationship. He'd thought he had something special with Nell, he really had. Their relationship was - had been - amazing, up until the point when it hadn't been. He still wasn't quite sure how they'd ended up here, with Adam running and Nell chasing. Tears ran down his face, hot against cold skin, and he dodged again. In the rear-view mirror, he could see Nell's car, big and black and powerful. He'd know it anywhere, could pick it out from a lineup of supposedly identical vehicles. He tried not to think about how Nell knew his own car with equal intimacy. Nell was too close; the twisty roads here were in her favor, but if he could make it to the freeway, he'd be gone. Hers might be more powerful, but his was faster. Adam put his foot down and hoped that he could make it.

I'm not going to grade you, but take a look at those two fragments.

Which one feels faster, more like a car chase?

Which one gives you more concrete information, and which one implies it?

What information could wait until a later, slower scene?

Which do you think is paced better for the situation Adam is in?

You might have different answers from the next person to read this, and that's fine! I just want you to think about the differences.

PACING IS ABOUT LOAD BEARING WALLS.

*staples violently to my own forehead*

[abloginnameonly]

The Meadow

“This place is creepy,” Koshak said at last. 

What he couldn't say was why he felt that or why saying it aloud only seemed to further crystallize it in his mind, whatever “it” was. They were on the most direct route to Mal’Don, and although the forest was more remote and overgrown than he’d expected, every tangible sense said that there was nothing out here with them except the early-autumn sun filtering through the trees. He’d checked. So, why did he feel…something. 

“Really?” His half-folk companion had been keeping pace a few steps ahead of him and looked surprised when she spun to face him. Reasonably so, unfortunately; he already regretted speaking up. Fennel bounced on her toes moving backwards, visible after spending much of the morning hidden by her travelling pack. She barely came to Koshak’s waist and was warm-toned in both dress and complexion. Her hair was trimmed unconventionally short, particularly for how traditional her Janchavri mountains were, and it only serving to compound on her youthful appearance; a child playing knight. She struck such a non-threatening image that one could easily overlook the sinewy leanness of her body or even the length of the sword at her side. This was, as she often told Koshak, the point. She didn’t want to threaten anyone, she wanted to help them. Overshot her mark a little, he thought, but that was among the reasons that Koshak was accompanying her little investigation. He’d threatened and been threatened enough in his life to know how to navigate the more nuanced situations she found herself in…and even if it was no longer polite to say, monsterkyn - half-demons, orcs, beast-folk - made people uneasy. 

Fennel flashed a sunny smile as she always did and said, “I thought it’s been really nice! You don’t like it?” 

Koshak turned his instincts over carefully before answering. They were usually pretty good, but they’d entered the forest just after dawn and had by now already taken a mid-day meal with no interruption. Realistically, it was just the unusual quiet on their journey chafing at his nerves, or maybe the prolonged cheer from Fennel was grating at them, or, if he might briefly delve into the dangerous waters of introspection, it had been a little too long since he’d visited an apothecary and making do with the light ale they’d packed was souring him, so rather than make an ass of himself, he shrugged and shut up except to mutter, “I don’t know. Just a feeling.” 

Fennel slowed to focus her dark eyes on him, and a single concerned wrinkle formed between her brows. If she sank her teeth into an imagined problem, he’d never hear the end of it, Koshak knew from experience. He hastily tagged on, “Maybe the weather’s going to turn later or something.”

Easily trusting, she relaxed and wrinkled her nose instead. 

“I hope not. I don’t like being wet.”

There were certain crass jokes he could make at the paladin’s expense, but he let it pass mutely, and they walked on. 

His unease lasted for another hour with no change or source becoming evident - just long enough for him to finally dismiss it as baseless paranoia - until the light changed ahead of them. It stung on his sensitive cat-folk eyes, particularly after spending all day in the quiet shade of the trees, but Fennel trotted out ahead and exclaimed, “Oh! What a beautiful meadow!”

Koshak followed, slower while his vision adjusted, and then stopped fully. 

It was beautiful, filled with a riot of flowers and deep, plush-looking grass that came up to Fennel’s hips, already several strides in. Koshak’s mouth opened instinctively to call her back, but then he clicked his teeth shut in confusion. He was suddenly aware of his palms sweating and itching under his mangy gray fur as if he was standing at a sheer cliff, a heightened renewal of the edgy feeling that had been at his back all morning. 

Remaining at the lip of the clearing, Koshak could easily see the total of it, circular and perhaps a hundred arms across. Oddly circular, he realized on more careful observation; it felt off, in the same sense of walking into a room with a false wall. He crouched low to brush aside some of the leaves and detritus underfoot, and a harsh sigh hissed between his teeth. The old growth of the forest simply stopped as if a boundary was drawn by a great compass, with the meadow maintained on the other side down to the individual blades of grass. Even the earth seemed different, richer, within, and showed no disturbance besides Fennel’s and his own. Koshak dusted off his hands and stood again, reconsidering the presumed safety of being alone. He wasn’t stupid enough to want to have met whoever might have been out here preserving…whatever this was, but he had rather been expecting (hoping?) to find some evidence of cultivation. 

Speaking of stupid…

Fennel was laughing out in the full sun, not too far yet, and blissfully ignorant to his concerns. He shouldn’t be surprised; they were never worried about the same things. She’d taken advantage of Koshak’s delay to drop her pack, rolling her shoulders this way and that. Catching his eye, she bloomed into another smile, bright and giddy. 

“Aren’t you coming?” Her voice rang like a bell with the gentlest echo against the trees. A fresh, floral scent drifted over him on a breeze. It was almost a shame he was about to make them leave, because it really was an incredible view. Even Fennel looked warm and familiar against the shockingly green scenery, every freckle highlighted, brown hair turning golden, armor catching light like stars. To see her like this, just for a moment, oddly breath-taking. 

What the fuck.

Koshak recoiled back into the trees. 

What the fuck was that. 

He dropped his eyes in an instant, bracing himself against a tree with quickened breath. The forest floor now looked dark and harsh compared to the brilliance of the meadow, but he kept his gaze fixed down. His mind was scattered in a dozen discordant directions, making it difficult to assess the intrusion that had come over him - because what else could it be? Even past his knee-jerk disgust, the thought wasn’t his. Koshak ground his teeth together until pain sparked in his jaw. It wasn’t. Fennel was… She had dedicated basically her entire personality to being likeable - it was the only way she could get away with being so hellishly annoying - but whatever else he might think of her, the shape of that thought was wrong. Koshak slowly looked aside at the equally strange-shaped meadow and felt a migraine forming behind his eyes to see Fennel already wandering further in. Dammit. There could be a hundred things he didn’t know about this place, but he knew the idiom that befell those with too much curiosity. To hell with this, he decided, this wasn’t so big an obstacle that they couldn’t just walk around it. 

He gathered himself and called, “Fennel. Come back for a minute.”

“What?” she called back.

Damn the skies, he should get a whistle for her.

“Fennel,” he said, louder. “Get back here.”

“Can’t it wait?” 

It would have been easy in that moment to follow his impatience and go in to retrieve her like a wayward hound, not the first nor even the second time that he’d had to chase after her somewhere foolish, and it wouldn’t be the last either, but Koshak’s neck prickled. For months, he’d been subjected to Fennel’s near-compulsive chorus of, “What do you need, Koshak?” and “Keep up, Koshak!” and “Are you okay, Koshak?” It was only when it didn’t present itself now that he realized he’d been so distracted by his own unease that he hadn’t considered that he might not be the only one affected by this strange clearing. 

Koshak hated dealing with phantasma to begin with: illusions, charms, manipulations, the whole sect. The last encounter that he had with it was some years ago, stumbling through a tumbledown tramp town and letting a soft, husky voice entice him into their tent filled with rich, herbal-smelling smoke. Then he woke up missing three days, with the worst hangover he’d experienced before or since, and a shaved patch on his thigh the size of his palm. It was bad enough that the magic here was touching Koshak’s perceptions, but the shaping of minds, he had only heard of. 

Without knowing the extent of the effects here, the best he could hope to do was to get both of them away from it. His tail swished pensively while he weighed his powers of persuasion against Fennel’s temperament. She was stubborn in the best of times, and it didn’t sound that she’d been made particularly more compliant now, but she was also, he could grudgingly acknowledge, deeply committed to limiting violence, and anyway, Fennel had said once that paladins were supposed to be less susceptible to outside magics. Hopefully, that would be enough to keep her from doing something rash. 

“It can’t. You have to come back.” He sounded stilted even to his own ears, but simple speech was supposed to work better on the magic-addled, and he wanted to keep a tone that would allow for no argument.

Fennel was about a third of the way across the clearing and obviously reluctant to return, but slowly she did. She stopped as soon as she was within easy speaking range, however. Koshak examined her. She looked a little confused, a little impatient, and there was a slight flush to her cheeks as if she’d spent hours in the sun rather than minutes. 

“I’m reacting badly to the plants in the meadow, Fennel.” An understatement. “We need to go around through the trees.”

“Oh.” She looked worried for him, which was encouraging, but then she said, “Well, why don’t I meet you on the other side?”

Come on, Fennel. “I don’t feel comfortable separating this deep in the forest." 

“It’s not that far,” Fennel insisted. Then she let out a breathy little half-laugh. “And I thought you were always looking to spend time away from me, anyway.”

Come on, Fennel. “Not here. Now let’s go; I don’t like this place, Fennel.” 

She didn’t seem unreasonable, per se, but she wouldn’t even come close to the edge of the meadow. If she didn’t want to leave by the time she reached the other side, would he have to force her out? Carry her? Not likely. Even small as she was, he couldn’t wrangle her all the way to Mal’Don if it came to that. That was another two days’ travel, not to mention the time it would take to find a spiritualist or mage. Koshak’s tail made another irritated swipe behind him, and Fennel’s expression tightened. 

“Well, of course you don’t,” she said quietly. Another, sharper sigh. “I’m enjoying myself, and you hate that.”

What?

"What?” Koshak asked incredulously. He could almost laugh, despite the situation, because unless he was mistaken, it was Fennel that was always in his business, disapproving of what he did. There was no way that she actually believed he was the killjoy between them. “That’s- Fennel, be reasonable. That has nothing-”

“Then why is this a problem?” Fennel was getting noticeably more frustrated; her accent was getting heavier. “I can see to the trees just fine from in here, and even if I couldn’t, it won’t take five minutes to get across.” 

“Sure, but you were set to march straight across without me if I hadn’t called you back.” 

Firm voice, soft posture, but Fennel’s shoulders squared to a hard line. 

“And I’m supposed to know when to heel and follow,” she bit. “‘Bad dog.’” 

Koshak’s jaw twitched in surprise. Not frustrated, Fennel was mad.

“You’ve been in a bad mood all day,” she accused. “The Mothers know it ain’t a secret you don’t like me, and you don’t like workin’ with me, and you don’t like bein’ out here with me, but can you behave enough for once to not take it out on me just because you got it in your head to get bitter over somethin’?”

Even expecting some sort of change from Fennel, it still caught him off guard to hear hostility coming from her. He hadn't honestly been sure that she was aware enough to acknowledge that he didn't like her, let alone acknowledge it enough to be upset by it, the cheerful little bastard. He had always believed there was a limit to Fennel’s impervious paladin facade, but he’d spent so much time trying to find the end to her seemingly endless patience that he had mostly given up hope. He found it a bit vindicating, to learn that something had been hiding under the surface all along.

And he could fire right back, if he decided to stoop to the level Fennel was putting him to: how her recklessness or inflexibility or ineptitude kept putting him in danger, not to mention the coercion he was under to join her quest to begin with. If he tried to rein her in, it was because she otherwise ran head-first into a problem. Now, here he was trying to solve yet another mess for her. How the hell was he supposed to feel? 

“Okay. Okay.” Koshak clipped his tone. It was a stupid idea to get his claws out now, tempting as it was. “Fennel, I’m sorry that I’m an asshole, but I think that there is something actually wrong with this place. I think it’s dangerous, and I don’t know why yet, so can you, please,” he emphasized, “come back now?”

Fennel stared back with eyes that spoke her answer before she did. 

“…You don’t really think you need me, and I am not asking you to follow.” And she turned back into the meadow. 

Bloody seas, this girl.

Koshak stepped in after her. 

Nothing happened. The ground didn’t swallow them up or anything so dramatic, but every hair on his body was twitching. 

He didn’t have a plan. He didn’t even have a concrete reason to be afraid of this place, just something nagging under his ribs from the moment Fennel stepped foot in here. It was almost enough for him to wonder if he was the problem, experiencing some form of madness unrelated to the forest or the meadow or Fennel, his brain finally rebelling against the cacophony of drugs he’d used in his lifetime to suppress it, but as much as he might hate being wrong, he hated unnecessary risks more. 

A stupid reason to have joined her in the meadow, then.

Idiot. 

It didn’t take much to catch up with her. He landed a hand on her shoulder without an idea of what he was going to say. 

“Fennel, just listen. I-”

She yanked herself from his grasp with a fierce expression, alien on her features. Fennel’s eyes were very dark, black enough that it was hard to distinguish iris from pupil. Only now was Koshak finally close enough to see the feverish glitter in her blown out eyes, hear her labored breathing, feel the sickly heat rolling off of her. She looked between Koshak and the trees and the expanse of meadow surrounding them with rapidly fluctuating confusion and agitation. 

“You…" Her breath began to come in pants and gasps. “I’m not…” She took a stumbling step away, and Koshak reached for her once more despite himself. 

Something sharp hit the back of Koshak’s arm. He could feel what it was even before he saw it, but he reached around and pulled it out anyway. An arrow with a small, needle-thin head. His movements began to slow and his thoughts quickly followed. He looked to Fennel, who looked dazed with a similar arrow in her back. Motherfucker, they were being followed-

“For you, sure. But you were set to march straight across without me if I hadn’t called you back.” 

Firm voice, soft posture, but Fennel’s shoulders squared to a hard, familiar line. 

“And I’m supposed to know when to heel and follow,” she bit. “‘Bad dog.’” 

Koshak’s jaw twitched in surprise. Not frustrated, Fennel was mad.

“You’ve been in a bad mood all day,” she accused, “and the Mothers know it ain’t a secret you don’t like me, and you don’t like bein’ out here with me, but can you behave enough for once to not take it out on me just because you got it in your head to get bitter over somethin’?”

It wasn't that Koshak hadn't expected to see some kind of mood shift, but it still caught him off guard to hear hostility coming from Fennel. He hadn't been sure that she was aware enough to acknowledge that he didn't like her, let alone acknowledge it enough to be upset by it, the cheerful little bastard. He had always believed there was a limit to Fennel’s impervious paladin facade, but he’d spent so much time trying to find the end to her seemingly endless patience that he had mostly given up hope. He found it a bit vindicating, to learn that this had been building under the surface all along.

And he could fire right back, if he decided to stoop to where Fennel was putting him: how her recklessness or inflexibility or ineptitude kept putting him in danger, not to mention the coercion he was under to join her quest to begin with. If he tried to rein her in, it was because she otherwise ran head-first into a problem. Now, here he was trying to solve yet another mess for her. How the hell was he supposed to feel? 

“Okay. Okay.” Koshak clipped his tone. It was a stupid idea to get his claws out now, tempting as it was. “Fennel, I’m sorry that I’m an asshole, but I think that there is something actually wrong with this place. I think it’s dangerous, and I don’t know why yet, so can you, please,” he emphasized, “come back now?”

Fennel stared back with eyes that spoke her answer before she did. 

“…Get yourself across; I’m not asking you to follow.” And she turned back into the meadow.

Bloody seas, this girl.

Koshak stepped in after her. 

Nothing happened. The ground didn’t swallow them up or anything so dramatic, but every hair on his body was twitching. 

He didn’t have a plan. He didn’t even have a concrete reason to be afraid of this place, just something nagging under his ribs from the moment Fennel stepped foot in here. It was almost enough for him to wonder if he was the problem, experiencing some form of madness unrelated to the forest or the meadow or Fennel, his brain finally rebelling against the cacophony of drugs he’d used in his lifetime to suppress it, but as much as he might hate being wrong, he hated unnecessary risks more. 

A stupid reason to have joined her in the meadow, then.

Idiot. 

It didn’t take much to catch up with her. He landed a hand on her shoulder without an idea of what he was going to say. 

“Fennel, just listen. I-”

She yanked herself from his grasp with a fierce expression, alien to her features. Fennel’s eyes were very dark, black enough that it was hard to distinguish iris from pupil. Only now was Koshak finally close enough to see the feverish glitter in her blown out eyes, hear her labored breathing, feel the sickly heat rolling off of her. She looked between Koshak and the trees and the expanse of meadow surrounding them with rapidly fluctuating confusion and agitation. 

“You…" Her breath began to come in pants and gasps. “I’m not…” She took a stumbling step toward nowhere, and Koshak reached for her once more despite himself. 

Something sharp hit the back of Koshak’s arm. He could feel what it was even before he saw it, but he reached around and pulled it out anyway. An arrow with a small, needle-thin head. His movements began to slow and his thoughts quickly followed. He looked to Fennel, who looked dazed with a similar arrow in her back. 

Motherfucker, they were being followed-

[inkedlibrary]

The Librarianist

by Patrick deWitt. Contemporary genre. It was published on July 4th 2023 by Ecco Press Publishing. Started reading it from April 1st to 5th, 2024, with 352 pages. Age group: Adult.

Trigger and Content Warning

Death. Grief. Mental health struggles. Suicidal thoughts. Cynicism. Dark humor. Isolation. Loneliness. Existential themes. Alcohol & substance use.

Premise of the Book

Bob Comet is a retired librarian passing his solitary days surrounded by books and small comforts in a mint-colored house in Portland, Oregon. One morning on his daily walk he encounters a confused elderly woman lost in a market and returns her to the senior center that is her home. Hoping to fill the void he's known since retiring, he begins volunteering at the center. Here, as a community of strange peers gathers around Bob, and following a happenstance brush with a painful complication from his past, the events of his life and the details of his character are revealed. Behind Bob Comet's straight-man facade is the story of an unhappy child's runaway adventure during the last days of the Second World War, of true love won and stolen away, of the purpose and pride found in the librarian's vocation, and of the pleasures of a life lived to the side of the masses. Bob's experiences are imbued with melancholy but also a bright, sustained comedy; he has a talent for locating bizarre and outsize players to welcome onto the stage of his life.

People Suited for This Book

Appreciate dark humor and cynicism, with a more pessimistic tone

Enjoy character-driven stories, particularly ones that focus on introspective and complex protagonists

Like existential themes about life, death, and human connection

Prefer slow-paced, reflective narratives that delve into deeper emotional and philosophical questions

Can handle themes of isolation, grief, and mental health struggles

Feelings While Reading

Complicated. Oh, God! The three characters often mentioned in this book, they're more complex than the plot itself. I mean, their personalities. It's not the typical book I'd enjoy, but also not the typical one I'd dislike. I was comfy reading it till the end, even though it was an emotional rollercoaster—well, more ups than downs.

Book Review

The story is unique, well, I guess you can say that. What else? I thought it would be heartwarming, but turns out it's not. And... I don't like—I don't like any of the characters in this book, except for the side characters, because they’re more organized. Bob, Connie, Ethan, oh my God! What should I say to these three? I can’t handle it—I give up. The plot isn’t too complicated, but it’s enough to annoy you (especially in chapter 2; 1942-1960). The plot twist is surprising, but not like a “whoa” moment—nothing like that. But overall, it’s good, even though I won’t read this book for the second time. But it’s suitable for those who like a slower-paced plot that doesn’t trigger adrenaline, you could say it’s a light read.

Rating

[3.8][★★★☆☆] Cover Design

[3.0][★★★☆☆] Story and Plot

[3.0][★★★☆☆] Characters

[3.2][★★★☆☆] Overall Rating

[munsonshire]

You said separate asks for different fandoms so I'm sending in another one, if that's okay?

Could I please get a matchup for stranger things? I'm a straight female and my pronouns are she/her

I'm 5'9 and I have long and curly dark brown hair and brown eyes. I have a fair skin tone, I'm slim and I've got full lips and fairly large eyes. I also have these dimples that I really like!

I love reading, my favorite genres are poetry, Russian lit, and mysteries! I love learning about new things and knowing a little bit of everything. I adore adventures, witty and playful banter, joking around and having indepth discussions on anything and everything! I adore all forms of art and I have quite a few creative hobbies! I listen to a lot of modern/indie rock and I love watching films very much! It takes me a while to feel comfortable around new people but once I do, I become really talkative and outgoing. I love helping out and I'm the therapist friend, people come to me to vent or for advice and comfort. I'm smart and ambitious; I love being the best at everything I do. I'm quite the hopeless romantic and I love being in love! I adore big and small romantic gestures and I love domesticity sm!! My love languages are acts of service and quality time. I'm a ravenclaw, my mbti is infp and my enneagram is 4w3!

Thank you once again!!

Hey there, sorry for the wait, I hope you like it

According to your description I think you would match well with Jonathan Byers

You both value learning and enjoy having stimulating conversations. Jonathan's introspective nature could lead to deep philosophical discussions that resonate with your INFP personality.

Your artistic hobbies could spark inspiration in each other. You could share favorite films and music you discover or create something together, like a photo series with a story.

You both have a strong ability to empathize with others. Jonathan's quiet strength would provide a safe space for you to express yourself, while your "therapist friend" nature would make him feel comfortable opening up. This mutual understanding could create a strong emotional bond.

Both of you are hopeless romantics who appreciate the little things. Jonathan's thoughtful gestures, like taking you to a secluded spot to stargaze, would perfectly complement your love for domesticity and quality time.

Your initial shyness might be balanced by your ability to become talkative once comfortable. Jonathan's quiet nature could create a calming presence for you, while your outgoing personality could draw him out of his shell and encourage him to try new things.

You might push each other to achieve your goals. Your ambition could inspire Jonathan to pursue his photography more seriously, while his artistic side could encourage you to explore your creative outlets further.

Both of you likely have a strong moral compass and a desire to do what's right. Jonathan's experiences in the Upside Down would resonate with your idealistic nature and desire to help others.

Your personalities could complement each other and lead to personal growth. Jonathan could learn to be more outgoing from you, while you could learn to appreciate a slower pace and deeper reflection from him.

Both you and Jonathan are intelligent and have a love for learning. You share a passion for creative pursuits, with Jonathan's photography aligning with your artistic hobbies. You both have a quiet strength and a deep well of empathy, making you natural listeners and comforters for your friends. Like you, Jonathan enjoys witty banter and appreciates a good film. He's also quite romantic at heart, appreciating both grand and subtle gestures of affection.

Jonathan might be a bit shyer initially compared to your outgoing side once comfortable. His music taste might lean more towards classic rock or alternative, but you could definitely find common ground with your love for indie.

Myers-Briggs and Enneagram types:

INFP: Jonathan shares your idealism and desire to help others. He might appreciate your creativity and ability to see the beauty in things.

Enneagram 4w3: Jonathan, like you, might have a desire for authenticity and self-expression. He would likely appreciate your individuality and your drive for self-improvement.

[the-gateway-to-madness]

I wanna add! @newtonnote @belleyells

The Tangled style is fairly traditional-musical, but I think you could get some variety out of the characters that aren't Rapunzel or Eugene here.

Chris Pine is a really solid singer and could probably do most styles you want him to do; he can do a more loose and playful feel, and the songs he did in Wish are well-performed even if you think the lyrics were poorly written (or not, you know, you do you- I personally like some of the songs and dislike others it's a mixed bag for me). At All Costs indicates an ability for softness while This Is The Thanks I Get? goes for high energy and even harsh tones. Jack is probably the best singer here that isn't from a musical movie. Using more modern vibes, maybe something like Lindsey Stirling that incorporates traditional instruments with modern elements, may serve you well to emphasize how out of place and out of time he is in the Tangled era- especially for solos about his issues, where the vibe is concentrated on him. For other pieces, think casual singing on the road, lullabies he used to sing to Mary, that sort of thing- Jack is the type of character that I think you could integrate small bits of music very casually into what's going on sans big ol numbers, more or less diagetic, even. I think he sings calmly and casually so much that the others don't even realize how serious and loud and strong he can sing, mirroring the way people misjudge his personality. Ya boy probably has the biggest range here, but I think he's comfiest in the baritone/low tenor range, and can get to other notes when he wants to.

Merida, I'd go more folksy- think "Noble Maiden Fair", "The Parting Glass", or "Homeward Bound" if you want to get more emotional moments with her, and an almost sea shanty energy for more upbeat tunes. She feels like the type to sing deliberately, with a bit of a slower pace and more power, only speeding up to build tension. I think she's an alto/mezzesop.

I'm having a hard time with Hiccup given the tone of his voice- Jay Baruchel does phenomenal work acting his character but I struggle to imagine him singing, rip. (I looked up rtte clips and everything and it kinda just made me cringe.) I think he'd have a softer feel to his pieces than most of the others, at first trying to compete with their volume and projection in songs and as time passes settling into his own sound, soft and calm, and the others come to respect and make room for it. He feels like the type to talk-sing and jump into asides and tangents- Jack probably responds to them a lot, there's a lot of snark. Tenor/baritone vibes.

Song ideas? Song ideas:

Manny Issues (jack having le freakout extraordinaire about That Part Of The Story, You Know The Bit)

Precious Palace Princess (merida and rapunzel getting to know each other early on, and Merida thinks Rapunzel is a spoiled palace brat because of the Sheltered Vibes)

Someone I Once Knew (Jack recalling people from his long life who remind him of these kids, a quieter, introspective, almost singing-to-himself sort of mourning feel. I think Hiccup would remind him of Jamie and why he still wants to get home, while Rapunzel and Merida remind him of his younger siblings [yes, I headcanon he had more besides Mary, though I still think he was the eldest]. Jack in this au gives major Odysseus energy.)

The Edge We Need (hiccup sCHEMING because let's be real he's the only strategist. and also a nod to rtte in the name lol)

Oldest in Charge (Bad News, That's Not You) (eugene and jack bickering early on about how Eugene treats Jack like a kid when he very, VERY much is not and clearly chooses to act immature because he's happiest when he's making others laugh and when you're immortal you need ways to cope)

I've talked about this one in another ask but I'm gonna elaborate: Hiccup's Snuggly Duckling song. They're having a drink and Merida jokes about Hiccup probably not being able to handle strong beverages, which makes him basically rant in song about the viking lifestyle (tldr, he can handle them)

Duet by Rapunzel and Merida about being a princess and what it means for both of them???

Trying to Make Eugene Like Winter - by Jack (feat. Rapunzel)

Eugene and Lance's Friendship song, but Jack and Hiccup are also there

Merida and Cass have a We Are So Evil (Are We??) duet

Rapunzel singing about what she loves about each one of her new friends (bwaaah)

Group number: We're Not Lost in This Enchanted Forest (We Totally Are, Guys)

@newtonnote I'd love to give more technical details (like personal music styles, type of singer they are...) but I basically don't know anything about music, so if someone wants to add their own opinions please do!!

[aspiringwarriorlibrarian]

In my opinion, the make or break of whether you like RWBY is Volume 4. Everyone says it’s the Fall of Beacon, but really, it’s Volume 4.

So many people come off the end of Volume 3 thinking “Oh that was so painful and dramatic and gutwrenching and angsty and therefore True Art Above All Others” and then expect the show to just keep continuing like that, then get pissed when it doesn’t. When really, the entire point of the ending arc of Volume 3 was that this was only going to happen once. It was peeling back the curtain to reveal the real story and the real stakes underneath the false genre that had covered it. Even if they had the villains win again (which they did in the Atlas arc), it was never going to be the same as Beacon because the element of surprise was gone. There will never be another Fall of Beacon because there can’t be.

Volume 4, on the other hand, sets the expectations for the rest of RWBY. Can you deal with the pace slowing? Can you get invested in characters if their most important character beats happen with little to no combat? Can you infer things about a character without the show beating it into your brain (*cough*Cinder*cough*)? Can you sit back and listen to a story?

The whole point of Volume 4 was to introduce the new tone to go with the new genre. Yes, there’s still going to be amazing action scenes and humor and surprising plot twists and reveals, but there’s also going to be slower and more introspective parts to it, and if you’re just sitting through them to get to the action scenes this isn’t the place for you. A lot of people seem to have missed that and still complain about “too much exposition” or “characters are OOC because I ignored the subtext” or “characters having moral conflict with no easy answers”, as though these things are taking up space better meant for action or flat, easy archetypes.

And maybe you didn’t want a show like that. That’s fine. Everyone’s got their own tastes and I’m sure there are plenty of other shows that can give you something you’d enjoy better. But I disagree that RWBY would be made better by removing its slow and introspective parts. They’re the yin to the fast, action-packed yang, flowing into each other, making each other better. If you tried you rip them out, you’d have less than half, a bunch of people punching each other with all heart and meaning gone. And really, who would want to see that?

[seasteading]

filter words and narrative distance

so i’ve been seeing a few posts on avoiding filter words, especially in third person pov, and i wanted to make a post about some of my own thoughts about it!

filter words are words like noticed, spotted, saw, realized, felt, heard, etc. they take an event and as the name suggests, they filter it through the perspective of the narrator.

filter words tend to slow down the pacing of whatever sentence they’re in, so they can clutter up action scenes or reduce the impact of certain moments. however, they’re also not something you should necessarily avoid altogether, and here are a few reasons why!

introspection

while writing a longer work, you don’t necessarily want to be going at 100% for 100% of the time. it’s good to pull back a little bit to give an opportunity for slower, more introspective moments. with no filter words, the rhythm of each sentence accelerates. there’s no moment for deliberation on either the reader or the character’s part, everything that happens simply is. 

for example, let’s take a look at the sentence, “he knew he should have been there sooner.” “knew” is a filter word in this case, but it makes it seem like the narrator has had time to think things over and come to this conclusion.

this same introspective tone can work well with a character who’s withdrawn into themself for one reason or another. after a traumatic event, for example, the frequent use of filter words can suggest a character numb to their environment, barely registering what’s happening and even then only through a hazy filter.

unreliable narration

in third person in particular, using filter words can be a great way to hint at an unreliable narrator. “the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall” is what is really happening. the reader and the narrator have the exact same description given to them. “she heard the sound of footsteps echoing down the hall,” meanwhile, is filtering the sound through the pov character. for another level in unreliability, we can say “she thought she could hear the sound of footsteps echoing down the hall.” you can also use filter words to state things to the reader to imply unreliable narration, since as readers, people are primed to assume that a basic description is just that: a basic description.

in first person, the reader is already completely in the narrator’s head, and is already seeing everything through their eyes. in third person limited, meanwhile, filter words can be a good shorthand to mark someone as unreliable, and to create a distance between the reader and what’s actually happening in the text of the story.

filter words should not be used as a crutch, but they also don’t have to be completely removed from your writing! they have their own use cases, and are important to creating narrative distance, whether that be for the sake of internal deliberation or for establishing unreliability. 

[inkovert]

Welcome back to writeblr! ...I say as I only now dip back in myself after too many years of lurking. >.> I can't wait to follow along with your journey of editing your draft! I'm at a similar point in my writing, and while there's so much talk about writing and plotting and eventually publishing maybe, sometimes it feels lonely to work in that in-between zone of being "done" but not really. And congrats on 60 books! That's insane! As someone who desperately needs to read more, do you have any recommendations for Best and Worst books that you read?

aw thank you! Yes I definitely get the lurking. I've been lurking myself for the past few months but have finally decided to commit to posting again.

Haha I didn't think my editing journey would be of interest to anyone so I'm happy to hear that. I may post about it more than I'd intended to then in hopes that it may be useful to someone.

I 100% agree with you - though I understand finishing a draft of a story requires a *massive* amount of time/effort so understandable that there aren't floods of people posting about this part of the process - but I have been floundering to find advice about editing and while there is some out there I wish there was more! And just more commiseration about how hard it is? Like I've only just started in the last month and I haven't made much progress, I'm still figuring out an organized method to go about it. All that is to say I'm happy to commiserate with you any time about this "done-but-not-really" phase that we're both in lol.

Re best and worst books I've read: oof. It has so much to do with preference! A book that I consider 10/10 great someone else may not find their cup of tea. If you're asking for book recommendations for you to personally read for enjoyment I'd need more info on what you personally look for in books! If you're looking for recommendations on books to read to analyze story elements that I think have been done well and/or not so well, that's a list I'll provide below (excuse if this is not what you were asking for):

Books Stronger in Important Story Elements

A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles:  Strengths: Storytelling, narrative voice/tone, well-rounded characters, character development. Weaknesses/Criticisms: time-jumps could be confusing.

 I think this novel was brilliant and so enjoyable because of the way the story was told. Of all the things I listed as its strengths the biggest was the character development. Following The Count (the MC) from where he began to where he ended, and how his growth came about so organically was so satisfying. And despite the slower-pacing of this story, the narration is delivered in such a charming way to keep you engaged and turning the pages. 

Legendborn by Tracey Deonn:  Strengths: everything.  Weaknesses/Criticisms: nothing (I’m joking I just can’t think of any).

This book is probably in my top three reads of this year. You want well-rounded characters with clear motivations? You got it. You want amazing and well-explained worldbuilding with information delivered to you at necessary times and not info-dumped into a wall of exposition? You got it. You want a well-paced story that nicely balances the heightened action and suspenseful beats of the story with the low-stakes emotional, introspective beats that will keep you hungrily devouring the pages? You got it. You want a well-developed and not-forced romantic subplot? You got it. I have nothing bad to say about this book, but I’m sure there are criticisms out there if you want to go looking for them. 

Pachinko by Lee Min-Jin:  Strengths: strong characters/character development over long time period, thematically strong Weaknesses/Criticisms: again, don’t have any but they’re there ofc

If you are writing an epic saga or a series, even though this book is a standalone, I think it’s a masterclass in how to write realistic characters who readers get to follow over an extended period of time. You can watch how they grow over a number of decades and simultaneously how they retain their flaws and the core of their identities. A big theme/trope of this story is generational trauma, which is handled incredibly well. 

The Great Alone by Kristin Hannah  Strengths: strong atmospheric writing and strong conflict  Weaknesses/Criticisms: Some people think the ending was rushed/too unrealistic- while I understand the criticism I don’t agree with it so form your own opinion!

I will preface this by saying there are a number of CWs in this book that I would look up before reading because I was shocked/unprepared when they came up as I was reading. That being said, this is an emotionally heavy book. But what I think it does the best is that it makes it clear from the get-go that the setting is a major character of the book, and Hannah does so with such strong atmospheric writing that you can feel yourself in the bone-chilling, bleak, harsh winters of Alaska. But even more than that, is that the major conflict(s) that are central to the story are not just man vs. man or man vs. self but also man vs. nature. The setting is a silent but imposing antagonist, that is foreshadowed long before it becomes a threat, which makes this book even more terrifyingly engaging. 

Books Weaker in Important Story Elements

Disclaimer: I am criticizing these books purely from a writing stand-point. These books may be great content/premise wise; they’re probably someone’s favorite book, and that’s fine. But objectively I think most of my writing-specific criticisms are valid (and I’ve read reviews from other readers who have shared similar viewpoints). 

Olga Dies Dreaming by Xochitl Gonzales

I hate to criticize an author of color because there’s so few of us out there. But that doesn’t mean we’re above making mistakes. To be fully transparent, I did not finish this book (DNF'd @ 30%), but I was buddy reading it with a friend who did finish it and she told me that all the issues I had with it carried on to the end of the book, so I feel confident/comfortable still saying this. This book had a lot of potential, and the premise was quite interesting, but the strength of the story got buried beneath heaps of exposition/info-dumping, a lot of “telling” not “showing” (mostly with regards to the characters, which made it hard for me to connect with them and see them as real people). Another issue this book suffered from was its lack of focus. The author attempted to tackle way too many things in this story, which left her unable to meaningfully explore any one theme/subplot. So this book taught me that being overambitious with the topics I’m trying to tackle may not always be a good thing and can cause my story to suffer. And info-dumping on your readers can make them want to pull their hair out (at least that was the case for me). See: Lengendborn on how to balance the info you give readers.

Things We Do In the Dark by Jennifer Hillier This is a thriller/mystery novel also by an author of color (I’m sorry). This book did a lot of things well and I think it was a great novel…just not as a thriller. It took me a while to figure out why I felt meh about this book and it was because there was such a lack of suspense. I wasn’t sitting at the edge of my seat wondering what would happen next. I felt like I was reading a contemporary fiction novel sans thriller. 

Upgrade by Blake Crouch Same as above. This book did not have me hanging at the edge of my seat despite being a sci-fi thriller. What I believe this book suffered from most though, is that it felt like it was written for a movie adaptation, and not to please/satisfy its readers. In this new age where books are being shuttle to the screen with increasing frequency, I get it (esp because this author already has one his books being adapted to screen). But I think that just sets you up for the “movie is better than the book” comment. If you’re a novelist, honor your medium and write a book, not a screenplay. 

An Unkindness of Magicians by Kat Howard There are too many issues with this book to count, so I’ll just list the lessons that I learned post-read: If you’re writing a book with multiple POVs, make sure each POV matters. Don’t use multiple POVs just to give the illusion that the story is fast-paced just because we’re constantly shifting POVs, or to make it seem like more is happening in your story when really…nothing is. It just makes the story unnecessarily complicated and hard to follow. Put as much time and effort into crafting villains as you do your main characters. Don’t make them caricatures! Make them well-rounded so they feel real and I actually give a shit about them even if I don’t agree with them. If you’re gonna build up to some intense moment or event - make sure there’s actually a satisfying payoff. Don’t end every conflict/battle in two sentences. It just makes me as a reader stop trusting you every time you point a red arrow at a scene and say “Look! This is cool/important!” I'll walk away feeling cheated and lied to.

I hope this was somewhat helpful to *someone* even if this wasn’t what you were looking for. Feel free to ask any follow up questions or come back and chat with me :) 

[ultfreakme]

I kind of get where the "flatness" is coming from. When he was 10, Tomasi took a very.....explosive and in-your-face approach to writing Jon and Damian. The pace was extremely quick, expressions were exaggerated in the art, and it was very Sunday-cartoony. So the transition to a more somber and slow-burn tone can be a bit of a shift.

I also see why Tom Taylor's SOKE is more, introspective? Like we get to see a lot of Jon thoughts and the pace is so much slower especially for a Tom Taylor run. Idk if you've read DCeased, he wrote Jon there as well and he's much more snappier in it and most people have found his writing in it pretty enjoyable.

I have a couple of meta posts about Jon, and so do my friends! @auberge13 and @fae-morrigan have a lot of fun posts about Jon. There's a couple of stuff under the tag #jonology and all our jon kent posts! @bobbinalong also has a lot of art and posts about Jon!!

I'd probably be posting more about Jon and Jay soon since Secret Six is coming up and I'm super excited! Nicole Maines has much quicker pace and she gets to the heart of the issues of her characters very directly as well so if you're a little tired of Tom Taylor, I think checking out her comics might be fun (I know it's not Jon....but her stuff with Dreamer in Suicide Squad: Dream Team and Absolute Power: Ground Zero are personal favorites and they set a lot up for Jon's current supporting cast).

I'm always defending Jon Kent because supersons was one od the first comics I read and I freaking loved him. Then he got aged up, and I got a bit disappointed, but whnever people said he sucked, I would point out reasons why he didn't. But honestly don't know what my thoughts on him are anymore.

I'm too invested to quit being his fan at this point, but I genuinely don't know if I like him somtimes. Am I creating a narrative in my head about him that doesn't exist anymore? I don't know if I'm mad because he isn't what I want him to be, or because he i genuinely not well-written. I don't know if it's just that his personality changed, or that no writer knows what to do with him. I'm always more inclined to the latter, but if nobody can do anything actually compelling with him, then is it still the writerfault, dc's, or the character's?

It just feels like every single thing that makes him interesting is never fully explored. It's just put out there and then nobody has the courage to expand on it. I loved the way in which PJK wrote him, but now some people say he is going to cheat on Jay and holy heck I would despise that. It depends on how it's handled ofc, so I'd wait and see, but not only do I think it's be wrong, but also, I think relationship drama is by far the last thing he needs. Having a gf or a bf won't make him more compelling, becasue that's not the root of the problem!! AT ALL!!! So why dc, whyyyyyy???

[lovejustforaday]

2021 Year-end list - #3

Kick III - Arca

Main genres: Post-Industrial, Glitch Hop, IDM

A decent sampling of: Industrial Rap, Hardcore EDM

Arca’s Kick series has been one of the most fascinating and exciting series of album rollouts to have happened in the past few years.

Following up 2020's excellent Kick i, Arca had originally announced a two part project, with Kick ii coming out some time within the next year.

Instead, she decided to drop four albums on us this month in the span of just four days at the tail end of 2021. We now have Kick ii through Kick iiiii, a series of 47 tracks between four albums that total up to over two hours of daring and uncompromising artistic vision.

What’s perhaps most impressive about the entire Kick project series is the scope of sonic diversity between these LPs, each entry in the series having a distinct sonic identity.

Kick i approximated a “pop” record, with catchy reggaeton beats and synth lead melodies, albeit chopped, frenzied, and broken down at the molecular level. Still, Kick i was an overall more inviting record than anything else Arca had produced under her own name, right down to the cover art itself being decidedly less grotesque than her usual fare. It is her most celebratory record.

Kick ii takes the Kick i sound and turns it on its head, infused with the same emphasis on rhythm and reggaeton beats but turned more minimal, formless, and even lifeless. Apart from an odd pop moment with Sia of all people on the track “Born Yesterday”, Kick ii is a cold departure from the warmer tones of the first entry in the series.

The fourth entry Kick iiii stands out as the most alien sounding Kick record in a series of LPs already defined by futurism. Dominated by slower tempos, feverish, detuned synth harmonies, and layers of harsh dusty atmosphere like some kind of gas giant, Kick iiii is less of an EDM super mecha robot and more of a introspective, ancient alien life form existing somewhere in the universe.

The last LP Kick iiiii is even less tangible, abandoning Arca’s EDM background entirely for a unexpectedly delicate finale of ambient music. Arca reveals a completely different side of her music with gentle piano concepts and minimal, ethereal electronics more in the vein of long-time collaborator Björk. This one actually kind of snuck up on me and really struck a chord with its emotional resonance, particularly the gorgeously reverberant “Fireprayer”.

But I’d be kidding myself if I didn’t say that Kick iii was the absolute clear winner of the four new Kick LPs. Indeed, in a very short period of time, this behemoth of a record has managed to become my all-time favourite Arca album.

The cover art should tell you just about everything you need to know going in to this LP. Kick iii is the warrior of the the Kick series, a completely deranged industrial glitch hop rampage where Arca sets out to prove that she most certainly does not give one single fuck what anyone thinks about her.

This goes faster and harder than just about anything else that she’s ever produced. In many ways, the production on this album is a culmination of everything that has set Arca apart as a producer.

"Bruja" immediately sets the pace for the record. Arca is already dominating the hell out of your ears, informing you that this is some next level shit. The glitchy ballroom breakdown at the end of the song with her practically shrieking "LET ME SEE YOU BITCHES DANCE, LET ME SEE YOU FUCKING BOUNCE" is quite possibly the most enthralling thing I've heard all year.

Then there's "Incendio", an IDM firestorm of sonic gamma rays. I feel like there should be a radiation level warning on this track, because I'm pretty sure Arca just destroyed one of my internal organs at the sub-atomic level with her paralyzing robotic incantations of "INCENDIO" repeated over and over.

"Electra Rex" is a superb display of Arca's knack for microscopic textural details in her production. This beat sounds like a series of switches being pressed and tiny little pieces clicking into place. You can sense the twitching of hundreds of different little parts.

"Rubberneck" might just be my all-time favourite Arca track. Like a hall of funhouse mirrors, the synths on this track bend and contort into all sorts of bizarre shapes while an elastic, click-clacking beat keeps a rapid pace with Arca's maniacal mumbling. This song plummets me further and further into a feral dancefloor insanity and I love every damn second of it. It's absolute fucking bonkers.

This utter madness is brought back down to earth with possibly Arca's fiercest track ever. "Señiorita" is a scorching industrial rap track made of hot metal and rubber. Arca teases her way through some of her nastiest lyrics while making her masterful beat work seem almost effortless, as if it's all just her flexing on us. I can imagine that this song is her reaching her final form, manifesting as a human chimera somewhere between a vibrant peacock and a ferocious phoenix.

The album does lose a tiny bit of steam towards the end with the last few tracks. Perhaps I should appreciate the breather, but I think this record is definitely at its best when launching a fullscale assault on my brain. Of course, that's still something that the good majority of this record delivers on to an extreme degree.

Altogether, Kick iii is a fascinatingly sexual, adrenergic, and cybernetic beast. This album is full of spit, sweat, lube, plasma, and space engine fuel. If you’re only going to listen to one of the albums in the Kick series, this is the one you absolutely must hear.

9/10

Highlights: “Rubberneck”, “Señiorita", "Incendio", "Bruja", "Electra Rex", "Ripples", “Fiera”

[abloginnameonly]

BWeird OC-tober Community Week

(Fennel is mine, Koshak belongs to repositoryofmalarky)

~ ~ ~

“This place is creepy,” Koshak said at last. 

What he couldn't say was why he felt that or why saying it aloud only seemed to further crystallize it in his mind, whatever “it” was. They were on the most direct route to Mal’Don, and although the forest was more remote and overgrown than he’d expected, every tangible sense said that there was nothing out here with them except the early-autumn sun filtering through the trees. He’d checked. So, why did he feel…something. 

“Really?” His half-folk companion had been keeping pace a few steps ahead of him and looked surprised when she spun to face him. Reasonably so, unfortunately; he already regretted speaking up. Fennel bounced on her toes moving backwards, visible after spending much of the morning hidden by her travelling pack. She barely came to Koshak’s waist and was warm-toned in both dress and complexion. Her hair was trimmed shorter than was traditional in her mountains, only serving to compound on her youthful appearance, like a child playing knight. She struck such a non-threatening image that one could easily overlook the sinewy leanness of her body or even the length of the sword at her side. This was, as she often told Koshak, the point. She didn’t want to threaten anyone, she wanted to help them. Overshot her mark a little, he thought, but that was among the reasons that Koshak was accompanying her little investigation. He’d threatened and been threatened enough in his life to know how to navigate the more nuanced situations she found herself in…and even if it was no longer polite to say, monsterkyn - half-demons, orcs, beast-folk - made people uneasy. 

Fennel flashed a sunny smile to her friend as she always did and said, “I thought it’s been really nice! You don’t like it?” 

Koshak turned his instincts over carefully before answering. They were usually pretty good, but they’d entered the forest just after dawn and had by now already taken a mid-day meal with no interruption. Realistically, it was just the unusual quiet on their journey chafing at his nerves, or maybe the prolonged cheer from Fennel was grating at them, or, if he might briefly delve into the dangerous waters of introspection, it had been a little too long since he’d visited an apothecary and making do with the light ale they’d packed was souring him, so rather than make an ass of himself, he shrugged and shut up except to mutter, “I don’t know. Just a feeling.” 

Fennel slowed to focus her dark eyes on him, and a single concerned wrinkle formed between her brows. If she sank her teeth into an imagined problem, he’d never hear the end of it, Koshak knew from experience. He tagged on, “Maybe the weather’s going to turn later or something.”

Easily trusting, she relaxed and wrinkled her nose instead. 

“I hope not. I don’t like being wet.”

There were certain crass jokes he could make at the paladin’s expense, but he let it pass mutely, and they walked on. 

His unease lasted for another hour with no change or source becoming evident, long enough for him to finally dismiss it as baseless paranoia, until the light changed ahead of them. It was blinding to his sensitive cat-folk eyes, particularly after spending all day in the quiet shade of the trees, but Fennel trotted out ahead and exclaimed, “Oh! What a beautiful meadow!”

Koshak followed, slower while his vision adjusted, and then stopped fully. 

It was beautiful, filled with a riot of flowers and deep, plush-looking grass that came up to Fennel’s waist, already several strides in. Koshak’s mouth opened instinctively to call her back, but then he clicked his teeth shut in confusion. He was suddenly aware of his palms sweating and itching under his mangy gray fur as if he was standing at a sheer cliff, a heightened renewal of the edgy feeling that had been at his back all morning. 

Remaining at the lip of the clearing, Koshak could easily see the total of it, circular and perhaps 100 arms across. Oddly circular, he realized on more careful observation; it felt off, like walking into a room with a false wall. He crouched low to brush aside some of the leaves and detritus underfoot, and a harsh sigh hissed between his teeth. The old growth of the forest simply stopped as if a boundary was drawn by a great compass, with the meadow maintained on the other side down to the individual blades of grass. Even the earth seemed different, richer, within, and showed no disturbance besides Fennel’s and his own. Koshak dusted off his hands and stood again, reconsidering the presumed safety of being alone. He wasn’t stupid enough to want to have met whoever might have been out here preserving…whatever this was, but he had rather been expecting (hoping?) to find some evidence of cultivation. 

Speaking of stupid…

Fennel was laughing out in the full sun, not too far yet, and blissfully ignorant to his concerns. He shouldn’t be surprised; they were never worried about the same things. She’d taken advantage of Koshak’s delay to drop her pack, rolling her shoulders this way and that. Catching his eye, her face bloomed into another smile, bright and giddy. 

“Aren’t you coming?” Her voice rang like a bell with the gentlest echo against the trees. A fresh, floral scent drifted over him on a breeze. It was almost a shame he was going to make them leave, because it really was an incredible view. Even Fennel looked warm and familiar against the shockingly green scenery, every freckle highlighted, brown hair turning golden, armor catching light like stars. To see her like this, just for a moment, oddly breath-taking. 

What the fuck.

Koshak recoiled back into the trees. 

What the fuck was that. 

He dropped his eyes in an instant, bracing himself against a tree with quickened breath. The forest floor now looked dark and harsh compared to the brilliance of the meadow, but he kept his gaze fixed down. His mind was scattered in a dozen discordant directions, making it difficult to assess the intrusion that had come over him - because what else could it be? Even past his knee-jerk disgust, the thought wasn’t his. Koshak ground his teeth together until pain sparked in his jaw. It wasn’t. Fennel was… She had dedicated basically her entire personality to being likeable - it was the only way she could get away with being so hellishly annoying - but whatever else he might think of her, the shape of that thought was wrong. Koshak slowly looked aside at the equally strange-shaped meadow and felt a migraine forming behind his eyes to see Fennel already wandering further in. Dammit. There could be a hundred things he didn’t know about this place, but he knew the idiom that befell too much curiosity. To hell with this, he decided, this wasn’t so big an obstacle that they couldn’t just walk around it. 

He gathered himself and called, “Fennel. Can you come back for a minute.”

“What?” she called back.

Damn the skies, he should get a whistle for her.

“Fennel,” he said, louder. “Get back here.”

“Can’t it wait?” 

His neck prickled. It would have been so easy in that moment to follow his impatience and go in to retrieve her like a wayward hound, not the first nor even the second time that he’d had to chase after her somewhere foolish, and it wouldn’t be the last either. The problem was why Fennel got them into trouble, her near-compulsive need to be helpful. For months, he’d been subjected to her incessant chorus of, “What do you need, Koshak?” and “Keep up, Koshak!” and “Are you okay, Koshak?”, and it was only when it didn’t present itself now that he realized he’d been so distracted by his own unease that he hadn’t considered that he might not be the only one affected. 

Koshak hated dealing with phantasma to begin with: illusions, charms, manipulations, the whole sect. The last encounter that he had with it was some years ago, stumbling through a tumbledown tramp town and letting a soft, husky voice entice him into their tent filled with rich, herbal-smelling smoke. Then he woke up missing three days, with the worst hangover he’d experienced before or since, and a shaved patch on his thigh the size of his palm. It was bad enough that the magic here was touching Koshak’s perceptions, but the shaping of minds - to pacify or seduce or enrage brothers into killers - he had only heard of. 

Without knowing what this magic was for, if it was in fact for anything, the best he could hope to do was to get Fennel away from it. His tail swished pensively while he weighed his powers of persuasion against her temperament. She was stubborn in the best of times, and he didn’t expect that she’d been made particularly more compliant, but Fennel had said once that paladins were supposed to be less susceptible to outside magics. Hopefully that would be enough to keep her from doing something rash. 

“It can’t. You have to come back.” He sounded stilted even to his own ears, but simple speech was supposed to work better on the magic-addled, and he wanted to keep a tone that would allow for no argument.

Fennel was about a third of the way across the clearing and obviously reluctant to return, but slowly she did. She stopped as soon as she was within easy speaking range, however. Koshak examined her. She looked a little confused, a little impatient, and there was a slight flush to her cheeks as if she’d spent hours in the sun rather than minutes. 

“I’m reacting badly to the plants in the meadow, Fennel.” An understatement. “We need to go around through the trees.”

“Oh.” She looked worried for him, which was encouraging, but then she said, “Well, why don’t I meet you on the other side?”

Come on, Fennel. “I don’t feel comfortable separating this deep in the forest." 

“It’s not that far,” Fennel insisted. Then she let out a breathy little half-laugh. “And I thought you were always looking to spend time away from me, anyway.”

Come on, Fennel. “Not here. Now let’s go; I don’t like this place, Fennel.” 

She didn’t seem unreasonable, per se, but she wouldn’t even come close to the edge of the meadow. If she didn’t want to leave by the time she reached the other side, would he have to force her out? Carry her? Not likely. Even small as she was, he couldn’t wrangle her all the way to Mal’Don if it came to that. That was another two days’ travel, not to mention the time it would take to find a spiritualist or mage. Koshak’s tail made another irritated swipe behind him, and Fennel’s expression tightened. 

“Well, of course you don’t,” she said quietly. Another, sharper sigh. “I’m enjoying myself, and you hate that.”

What?

"What?” Koshak asked incredulously. He could almost laugh, despite the situation, because unless he was mistaken, it was Fennel that was always in his business, disapproving of what he did. She couldn’t actually think that he was the killjoy between them. “That’s- Fennel, be reasonable. That has nothing-”

“Then why is this a problem?” Fennel was getting noticeably more frustrated; her accent was getting heavier. “I can see to the trees just fine from in here, and even if I couldn’t, it won’t take five minutes to get across.” 

“For you, sure. But you were set to march straight across without me if I hadn’t called you back.” 

Firm voice, soft posture, but Fennel’s shoulders squared to a hard, familiar line. 

“And I’m supposed to know when to heel and follow,” she bit. “‘Bad dog.’” 

Koshak’s jaw twitched in surprise. Not frustrated, Fennel was mad.

“You’ve been in a bad mood all day,” she accused, “and the Mothers know it ain’t a secret you don’t like me, and you don’t like bein’ out here with me, but can you behave enough for once to not take it out on me just because you got it in your head to get bitter over somethin’?”

It wasn't that Koshak hadn't expected to see some kind of mood shift, but it still caught him off guard to hear hostility coming from Fennel. He hadn't been sure that she was aware enough to acknowledge that he didn't like her, let alone acknowledge it enough to be upset by it, the cheerful little bastard. He had always believed there was a limit to Fennel’s impervious paladin facade, but he’d spent so much time trying to find the end to her seemingly endless patience that he had mostly given up hope. He found it a bit vindicating, to learn that this had been building under the surface all along. 

And he could fire right back, if he decided to stoop to the level Fennel was putting him: how her recklessness or inflexibility or ineptitude kept putting him in danger, not to mention the coercion he was under to join her quest to begin with. If he tried to rein her in, it was because she otherwise ran head-first into a problem. Now, here he was trying to solve yet another mess for her. How the hell was he supposed to feel? 

“Okay. Okay.” Koshak clipped his tone. It was a stupid idea to get his claws out now, tempting as it was. “Fennel, I’m sorry that I’m an asshole, but I think that there is something actually wrong with this place. I think it’s dangerous, and I don’t know why yet, so can you, please,” he emphasized, “come back now?”

Fennel stared back with eyes that spoke her answer before she did. 

“…Get yourself across; I’m not asking you to follow.” And she turned back into the meadow.

Bloody seas, this girl.

Koshak stepped in after her. 

Nothing happened. The ground didn’t swallow them up or anything so dramatic, but every hair on his body was twitching. 

He didn’t have a plan. He didn’t even have a concrete reason to be afraid of this place, just something nagging under his ribs from the moment Fennel stepped foot in here. It was almost enough for him to wonder if he was the problem, experiencing some form of madness unrelated to the forest or the meadow or Fennel, his brain finally rebelling against the cacophony of drugs he’d used in his lifetime to suppress it, but as much as he might hate being wrong, he hated unnecessary risks more. 

A stupid reason to have joined her in the meadow, then.

Idiot. 

It didn’t take much to catch up with her. He landed a hand on her shoulder without an idea of what he was going to say. 

“Fennel, just listen. I-”

She yanked herself from his grasp with a fierce expression, alien to her features. Fennel’s eyes were very dark, black enough that it was hard to distinguish iris from pupil. Only now was Koshak finally close enough to see the feverish glitter in them blown wide, hear her labored breathing, feel the sickly heat rolling off of her. She looked between Koshak and the trees and the expanse of meadow surrounding them with rapidly fluctuating confusion and agitation. 

“You…" Her breath began to come in pants and gasps. “I’m not…” She took a stumbling step toward nowhere, and Koshak reached for her once more despite himself. 

Something sharp hit the back of Koshak’s arm. He could feel what it was even before he saw it, but he reached around and pulled it out anyway. An arrow with a small, needle-thin head. His movements began to slow and his thoughts quickly followed. He looked to Fennel, who looked dazed with a similar arrow in her back. 

Motherfucker, they were being followed-

[bobdylanrevisited]

Time Out Of Mind

Released: 30 September 1997

Rating: 10/10

Like Gandalf returning from the dead, Bob steps back into the limelight like a wise, old wizard returning to tell you all the secrets of existence. This is a phenomenal piece of art, it’s so perfectly Dylan, as he seems to reinvigorate his love for poetry and the music of old. With Daniel Lanois back producing, this is a completely unique experience that kickstarted Bob’s third classical period, and cemented his reputation as the greatest artist of the 20th century. (I won’t be addressing the ridiculously pathetic plagiarism claims that were raised against some tracks here. I recommend reading Richard F. Thomas’ stellar book ‘Why Dylan Matters’ and his explanation of how borrowing and reusing old text has always been a part of poetry and folk music)

1. Love Sick - From the very first second, you find out everything you need to know about the album. It’s going to be mysterious and shady, dark and sad. After the oddly off tempo, echoing guitar notes, we hear Bob’s growl, a man emerging from the shadows ready to tell his life story. This song is slow, but builds to a great chorus, and Bob and his whole band just sound perfectly unique. The lyrics may be fairly depressing in verse, but you believe them because Bob sounds so jaded. It’s a great way to start the album, it sets a scene that you can lose yourself in.

2. Dirt Road Blues - There’s a sudden change of pace here, as Bob hits us with an uptempo blues track. This sounds like a song you’d discover on a forgotten vinyl from the 1940s. It’s a fantastic homage to those Bob adored as a youth, and he sings his heart out here, with fantastic results. It’s a great track, perhaps a little out of keeping with the rest of the record, but everything about it sounds perfect.

3. Standing In The Doorway - After a track rejecting love, followed by one lifted from the past, this song completely knocks you out. I always get emotional hearing it, from the first haunting organ chord to the desperate and mournful lyrics. Bob sounds pained and remorseful, the backing music is simple but sets the bleak tone, and the lyrics are genuinely heartbreaking, as Bob appeals to the love who left him. He paints a picture of loneliness and regret better than any other artist, and this is another beautiful song, although I must admit it’s unlikely to leave you in a happy mood.

4. Million Miles - Very much in the same vein as the opening track, this song sounds seedy and grim, in the best possible way. The sinister backing music helps punctuate Bob’s growl, although the lyrics are surprisingly sweet and hopeful as he attempts to reunite with someone. Perhaps this isn’t the most memorable track, but it’s still bloody brilliant.

5. Trying To Get To Heaven - The acceptance of death is always a theme for Bob, and here it is presented with an organ and crooning voice, as he fears he may be too late for salvation. Although this idea is tackled in a much more nuanced way on track 7, I still enjoy this song a lot. The music sounds a little more optimistic that the rest of the album, and Bob sings his heart out.

6. Til I Fell In Love With You - A great blues number, where the bass is the star of the show. It’s a dark song, with a classic story of lost love and regret, but I do think it may be a tad unoriginal and certainly one of the weaker songs on the record. That’s not to say it’s a bad track at all, Bob sounds like the lost souls of old and the band are on top form. It just doesn’t stand out as much as other, better songs on this seminal piece of work.

7. Not Dark Yet - Bob once again reckons with mortality. He reviews his life and his adventures, seemingly going through an existential crisis of character. This track is truly stunning, Bob sounds introspective and the slower backing music is both haunting, yet sounds strangely optimistic. The lyrics may seem depressing and as if Bob is resigned to fate, yet I think it’s a lot happier than that. He’s freeing himself of worry and is accepting the cruel nature of existence, with some good humour thrown in as well. The poet has definitely returned and this is one of his best written songs in many years.

8. Cold Irons Bound - On an album of highlights, it’s hard to pick a favourite, but I think gun to my head this would be my choice. It’s a fantastic rockabilly tune, Bob has an incredible menace to his delivery and his band have never sounded better, it’s a flawless performance all around. The lyrics are surprisingly sweet, Bob is pursuing his love, but this sentiment is a stark contrast to the electronic assault the instruments lay on the senses. It’s a perfect track, however I wish more than anything that I could hear 1966 Dylan perform this, as it’s a clear return to his famous ‘thin mercury sound’.

9. Make You Feel My Love - I think this may be my least favourite song on the album, though I’m not entirely sure why. Maybe it’s because of Adele’s famous cover? Maybe it’s because Bob’s voice does sound incredibly strained and not that great compared to the rest of the record? I certainly like the hopeless desperation of the lyrics, and the musical production is as brilliant as always, but something about this track just doesn’t quite gel for me.

10. Can’t Wait - For me, this is the best song on the album from a purely musical perspective. The bass riff is amazing, whilst the guitar occasionally kicks in and changes the whole atmosphere of the track. The lyrics are as dark and hopeless as you’d expect from Bob, as he is waiting/hoping for his lover to return, but the backing band elevate this song to a new level. It’s a perfect blend of the blues and rockabilly, which puts you in the mind of dive bars and desperation.

11. Highlands - The final track is heavily inspired by Robert Burns, and at 16:31 minutes this was Bob’s longest song until ‘Murder Most Foul’ 23 years later. Musically, it’s an incredibly simple song, but as with most Dylan work, his poetry and delivery are the selling point. Here he tells a long, sprawling story about life, death, diners and lost love. It’s incredibly hard to not lose yourself in the song, as his words paint vast landscapes and detailed scenes. All I can really say is, whack this on, close your eyes, and join Bob on a long odyssey through his mind.

Verdict: It’s no wonder this won the Grammy for Album of the Year. The music is genius, Bob’s voice is harsh and unrelenting, and his songwriting feels impossible. He manages to be a poet of old, like Ovid or Virgil, yet it’s also as if he’s from another plane of existence. He seems to have figured out what it means to be human, all you can do is listen closely and hope that you understand his teachings. I’m jealous of anyone who gets to hear this for the first time, it’s near life changing, whilst also adding to the enigma and mystery of who or what Bob Dylan is. 24 years on, it still sounds so modern and fresh, whilst also paying respect to Bob’s influences and those before him that paved the road he walks. As much as I adore this record, his next venture would be even better, as Bob continued his late career resurgence and consistently rejected popular music, staying true to his own artistic sensibilities.

[idontneednofuckinhug]

My top 20 albums of 2019

As 2019 is in its final month, we're not only about to experience the end of the year, but also the end of a decade filled with amazing music, ground-breaking albums and self-made musical geniuses. We've had some fantastic years, such as 2012, 2014 and 2016 for album releases and this year definitely rivals all of those beforementioned with the quality and quantity of records we had. There was such a great quantity of amazing albums this year that I had to change my original plans of a top 15 list and move it up to a top 20 list, just due to the saturation of projects. Before starting off the list, I'd like to give my honourable mentions to some great albums which would've made the list in quite a few other years: Charli XCX - Charli; clipping. - There Existed an Addiction to Blood; Charles Irwin - Singles (308). I'd strongly advise to check these out as well as the ones I'm about to list off and with that said, let's get going!

20. Solange - When I get Home A project showing her versality, with music ranging from smooth jazz and blues-inspired vibes to Gucci Mane and Playboi Carti features, Solange once again showed a fantastic ear for production and how amazing her voice really is, without putting it in your face and demanding your attention. Instead the album is like a long, carefree day in mid-April, with Solange's voice giving you an amazing vocal experience.

19. Billy Woods & Kenny Segal - Hiding Places Ranking much lower than last year, the underground New-York genius of Billy Woods once again showcases his amazing talent for rough and grimy delivery combined with industrial, eerie production. The project is very personal for Billy, as he gets very real about his fears and anxieties and even takes a spin for the existential as the talented lyricist raps about his mortality, creating a very unsettling and uncomfortable listen, nonetheless keeping you entertained for the whole duration of the album.

18. Blood Orange - Angel's Pulse A much shorter project this year than last year's Negro Swan, Devonte released a very raw mixtape, presented as a radio-cut, with sudden transitions and unexpected topic changes. The tape is presented with very groovy production, creating the feeling of a warm summer day, but Blood Orange does keep close to discussing personal topics about his anxieties, insecurities and political worries.

17.Injury Reserve - Self-Titled Definitely not Injury Reserve's first project, but their official studio-album debut, it really lets the odd trio's strengths shine, with its chaotic production, personal bars and focus on making it out of the regular 9-5 life. Full off innovative ideas, such as the song "Rap Song Tutorial" which is true to its name, the album also includes fantastic features such as Rico Nasty, Jpegmafia and Freddie Gibbs, with its main strength being the difficulties of keeping the balance between being a rapper and a regular person.

16. EARTHGANG - Mirrorland The Atlanta duo's debut-album, Mirrorland is very witty and cheerful, capturing the story of Doctur Dot and Johnny Venus's come up in the ATL. Full of quirky and whimsical ideas, the record really does remind listeners of Atlanta's OutKast, with EARTHGANG's very own personality and spin to it, with very playful bars and captivating singing, beats with multi-cultural inspirations, such as on "Tequila" and banging trap production, the album is a fantastic mirror to the duo's potential.

15. Ariana Grande - thank u, next Carried by the freedom and carelessness of Ariana's voice, thank u, next is an album inspired by her romantic experiences through her life, addressing Mac Miller, Pete Davidson and her need for sexual freedom. The project explores the insecurities she has experienced with herself and acts as an assertion of Grande's confidence in herself as a woman, creating a huge emotional range during the 12 tracks.

14. KAYTRANADA - BUBBA A return to form for KAYTRANADA after a 3 year hiatus, this was an amazing funky and playful R&B project, blessed with fantastic features. The record really does just make you want to dance along and move to the groove, with its defining feature being each song's simplicity, letting the right elements to shine - like in 10% with Kali Uchis with the sexiness of her voice. Don't let the simplicity of the sound fool you, as BUBBA is full of complex production and small elements and samples that you might miss on the very first listen.

13. YBN Cordae - The Lost Boy Another studio-album debut, YBN Cordae really shows an amazing knack for sticky bars and storytelling, backed by the fantastic production of of a team overseen by J. Cole and feature assassins such as Pusha-T and Anderson. Paak. Although occassionally a bit too corny, the project paints a fantastic picture of his persona and puts the light on a young talent, emerging in the mainstream.

12. Ari Lennox - Shea Butter Baby One of the best neo-soul projects in the past few years, Shea Butter Baby really wraps around you with its warmth and nostalgia and brings back fond memories of kicking it back on a couch with your friends. Full of amazing jazz and funk samples, the slow pace and easygoing melodies really put you in a carefree state of mind and create a chilled out vibe.

11. Flying Lotus - FLAMAGRA This might be a difficult album for some, but FlyLo once again shows an amazing talent for creating songs from scratch, with a very psychedelic jazz-funk vibe. Each song telling its own story, with the feeling that each second of the album matters, FLAMAGRA's biggest strength is its spiritual element, giving off an energy that touches your soul, if you grasp deep enough within yourself to feel it.

10. Jpegmafia - All My Heroes are Cornballs Much tamer than last year's Veteran, Jpegmafia's last album has a very experimental R&B feel to it, but that does not mean that it doesn't sound like pure musical chaos. Showing a surprising vocal versatility, Peggy raps, sings and screams, keeping true to his "Fuck PC Culture" bars and nasty punchlines. Each song has a very manic and wild energy to it, with the album sounding like structured anarchy.

9. Free Nationals - Self-Titled A modern take on classic soul and jazz, Anderson. Paak's Free Nationals crafted a very sexy, intensive album, that gives a feel that there's no hurry for anywhere and everything will happen in due course. The sensual record can easily be described as baby-making music and has handpicked seductive features like Kali Uchis, Daniel Caesar and Syd to underline that vibe.

8. Anderson. Paak - Ventura Very much a modern take on a soul record, Anderson. Paak really creates a feel of time-stopping whilst listening to the project's songs. Paak wearing his influences on his sleeve on this one, you can really feel the vibrant melodies and groovy emotions, with the amazing funkiness of Ventura also having a very sensual feel to it, thanks to the thoughtfully picked out features and background vocals.

7. Mereba - The Jungle is the Only Way Out An album that I believe didn't get enough attention, Mereba's latest release is a very conscious R&B project, full of beautiful darkly-toned synths and very slow and jammy folk. The topics range from facing your vices, to the overwhelming emotions of seeing your lover and the self-realization that people's opinion ain't shit. Her voice is absolutely stunning and authentic, with it giving off the feel of her being uncertain and lost with each song.

6. Denzel Curry - ZUU Denzel never misses and this is fact once again - releasing his most dynamic record to date, Zuu goes back to Zel's roots of South Florida. In it he reminisces about his come-up and relationships with his family and friends and the project stays true to its nature with the features being only rappers from the area. Although very party-focused, ZUU has a wide range of songs, with boom-bap, trap, soundcloud rap and even having slower, more introspective jams to it.

5. Rapsody - Eve Eve is a love letter, celebrating the success of the black woman. Rapsody absolutely peaks her musical versatility and rapping potential, crafting an amazing classic hip-hop album, full of creative bars, alluring samples and a very socially engaged range of topics. The record's strengths create a vivid picture of why successful women need to be appreciated and cannot be given enough credit in its impact for the female side of hip-hop culture.

4. slowthai - Nothing Great About Britain A very heavily punk-inspired record, Tyler clashes with the UK's upper class in this project, exploring the difficulties of the everyday life in the UK's working class with cynical and sarcastic bars, full of energetic and grimey production. The topics in the cleverly titled record go into detail about the class bracket gap, widening poverty, political uncertainities and the average briton's arrogance. The album is full of witty jokes and very direct humor and thai does very well to paint the picture of a realistic Great Britain.

3. Freddie Gibbs & Madlib - Bandana Arguably one of the best produced albums of all time, Madlib and Gibbs really pull eachother deep in their worlds and crafted a geniusly produced project. Celebrating black freedom, the record shines on Freddie's talent for grimey and nimble rapping, with him changing cadence again and again, whilst Madlib's gift for erratic production and turning classic jazz and funk songs into off the wall earworms and samples turns this into a spiritual experience.

2. Little Simz - GREY AREA I'm kind of pissed off I put this at number two, just due to how good it is. Simz's coming of age album is a wicked, erratic record full of witty bars, discussion of social themes and goes between grimey, rough production and introspective, jazzy vibes, making for great entertainment. The record is a very open window to her life and the difficulties she's had as a woman and is crafted in such a masterful way, that even if you're not catching the lyrics, you'll feel the album's emotions just by listening to the production.

1. Danny Brown - uknowhatimsayin¿ This project finishes a cycle of Danny for me personally - starting off with his rockstar, crackhead phase with XXX and the consequences of his drug-induced party life in Atrocity Exhibition, his latest project is the maturest face of Danny we've ever seen. Overseen by Q-Tip as an executive producer, uknowhatimsayin¿ is very free-flowing compared to his previous records, topped off with irregular beats and unnerving samples, keeping true to Danny Brown's personality. The project is the culmination of his rap career, as he addresses the need he had to get his life together,get out of the rut he was in and grow up. He uses his cadence and snapiness to make the point of him being grown up, but still being the dude who can do what the fuck he wants.