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uhuraprime · 3 months ago

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i've got a little mirror!spock x aos kirk fic cooking in my head

i haven't revisited this idea since june but i do have an excerpt that i'm excited to potentially build upon once my current fic is complete :)

Their story, like most worth telling, begins its life at another story’s end.

It begins more specifically with S’Chn T’Gai Spock – formerly second-in-command of the ISS Enterprise, now nothing more than a prisoner aboard that same vessel – being shoved into the ship’s transporter room with both hands tied behind his back.

It begins with the man Spock has called his Captain for nearly a decade now sentencing him to certain death in the cold, unforgiving vacuum of space.

(Such is the standard punishment for those who commit treason against the Terran Empire. Spock would perhaps feel something resembling offense at the blatant mundanity of such a decision – especially from a Captain with such a reputation for dramatic flair – if not for his Vulcan upbringing. As it is, however, he understands that offense is entirely illogical.)

“Any last words?” James Kirk asks whilst the machine calibrates itself for the Vulcan’s punishment. Spock bares his teeth in the merest suggestion of a snarl. “No…? All right, then. Suit yourself.”

Spock’s final moments are spent staring into a familiar pair of cold, hazel eyes. Searching for a warmth he’s only ever caught glimpses of in passing.

Finding nothing but ice in its place.

The shift is instantaneous. Spock’s eyelids flutter closed – provoked involuntarily by the strobing lights that surround his person – only to open a moment later to James Kirk’s same piercing gaze – only now it appears… kinder.

Kinder, certainly, and oh so very blue.

“Spock…?” the familiar-yet-not man questions. The sound of his voice both confirms and muddles the Vulcan’s hypothesis that this is, in fact, some version of James Tiberius Kirk – if not a very close relative. “You have a beard.”

“And you have sleeves.”

The human looks down at himself and then back at Spock. “I, uh… I do have sleeves, yes. Why did I think the two of you had already beamed down…?”

As if on cue, James’s communicator beeps. “The conference is beginning soon, Captain,” Spock’s own voice announces. There’s a brief pause, and then: “Shall we save you a seat?”

“Um.”

“Captain? Are you well?”

“Here’s the thing, Mr. Spock. I think I’m gonna need you guys to beam back up.”

Another familiar voice asks, “Are you being serious right now?,” and Spock feels an illogical thrill at the potential of coming face-to-face with its owner – in whatever form he may find her – after nearly two years of her absence.

“As a heart attack, my dear Nyota. Trust me when I say it’ll be much easier to show you than it would be to explain it over comm.”

“Fine. But you owe me a conference, Captain. One with at least ten distinguished linguists on the bill.”

James Kirk simply hums in response. He hooks the device onto his belt, craning his neck to stare pointedly at Spock’s bound wrists for several long seconds. “Was gonna restrain you myself, but it seems someone else already did the job for me.”

“It seems as such, yes.”

I read that and thought 'damn I wonder what happens next' but unfortunately for my brain it must sow if it wishes to reap any further,,,

#my writing #spirk #i dont know what this is but i know it's Fun (for me)#i don't think it's fun for these two #yet

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bambamramfan · 2 years ago

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- from “What Has Passed Shall In Kinder Light Appear” by Baoshu (via @with-a-martyr-complex )

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with-a-martyr-complex · 11 months ago

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With A Martyr Complex: Reading List 2023

Adapted from the annual list from @balioc, a list of books (primarily audiobooks) consumed this year. This list excludes several podcasts, but includes dramatizations and college lecture series from The Great Courses, which I consume like a parrot emotionally dependent on access to lecturers.

The Birth of Tragedy Out Of The Spirit of Music byFriedrich Nietzsche (Translated by Ian Johnston)

Death in Venice by Thomas Mann (Translated by Michael Henry Heim, Introduction by Michael Cunningham)

Financial Literacy: Finding Your Way in the Financial Markets by Connel Fullenkamp, from The Great Courses

The Dispossessed: A Novel by Ursula K. Le Guin

License to Travel: A Cultural History of the Passport by Patrick Bixby

Making History: How Great Historians Interpret the Past by Allen C. Guelzo, from The Great Courses

No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai (Translated by Donald Keene)

Cyteen by C. J. Cherryh

Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass: An American Slave by Frederick Douglass

Understanding Japan: A Cultural History by Mark J. Ravina, from The Great Courses

The Mountains of Mourning by Lois McMaster Bujold

What Has Passed Shall In Kinder Light Appear by Baoshu (Translated by Ken Liu)

The Other Side of History: Daily Life in the Ancient World by Robert Garland from The Great Courses

The Just City by Jo Walton

Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare

Understanding Imperial China: Dynasties, Life, and Culture by Andrew R. Wilson, from The Great Courses

Stories of Your Life and Others by Ted Chiang (Contains: Tower of Babylon, Understand, Division By Zero, Story of Your Life, Seventy-Two Letters, The Evolution of Human Science, Hell is the Absence of God, and Liking What You See.)

Great Minds of the Eastern Intellectual Tradition by Grant Hardy, from The Great Courses

By The Sword: A History of Gladiators, Musketeers, Samurai, Swashbucklers, and Olympic Champions by Richard Cohen

War in Japan: 1467-1615 by Stephen Turnbull

Yūrei: The Japanese Ghost by Zack Davisson

Nine Princes in Amber by Roger Zelazny

The Tale of Genji by Murasaki Shikibu (Translated by Dennis Washburn)

Buddhism by Malcolm David Eckel, from The Great Courses

The Rise of Modern Japan by Mark Ravina, from The Great Courses

The Shogun's Last Samurai Corps: The Bloody Battles and Intrigues of the Shinsengumi by Romulus Hillsborough

Convenience Store Woman by Sayaka Murata, (Translated by Ginny Tapley Takemori)

Spring Snow by Yukio Mishima (Translated by Michael Gallagher)

Child of God by Cormac McCarthy

The Rise of Communism: From Marx to Lenin by Vejas Gabriel Liulevicius, from The Great Courses

Communism in Power: From Stalin to Mao by Vejas Gabriel Liulevicius, from The Great Courses

Common Sense by Thomas Paine

The Hunchback of Notre Dame by Victor Hugo (Translated by Isabel F. Hapgood)

Cycles of American Political Thought by Joseph F. Kobylka, from The Great Courses

Docile by K. M. Szpara

Writing Great Fiction: Storytelling Tips and Techniques by James Hynes, from The Great Courses

Giovanni's Room by James Baldwin

Hart's Hope by Orson Scott Card

Real Service by Raven Kaldera and Joshua Tenpenny

The Divine Comedy by Dante Alhigieri (Translated by Clive James)

Dante's Divine Comedy by William R. Cook and Ronald B. Herzman from The Great Courses

Ancillary Justice by Ann Leckie

Secrets of The Occult by Richard B. Spence (From the Great Courses, possibly?)

A Deadly Education by Naomi Novik

American Monsters by Adam Jortner from The Great Courses

The Last Graduate by Naomi Novik

Praetorian: The Rise and Fall of Rome's Imperial Bodyguard byGuy de la Bédoyère

The Golden Enclaves by Naomi Novik

Great World Religions: Hinduism by Mark W. Muesse, from The Great Courses

At The Mountains of Madness by H. P. Lovecraft

The Case of Charles Dexter Ward by H. P. Lovecraft

The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath by H. P. Lovecraft

The Dunwich Horror by H. P. Lovecraft

The Shadow Out of Time by H. P. Lovecraft

The Shadow Over Innsmouth by H. P. Lovecraft

The Whisperer in Darkness by H. P. Lovecraft

The Complete Fiction of H. P. Lovecraft by H. P. Lovecraft (Collected by The H. P. Lovecraft Historical Society, contains: The Alchemist, At the Mountains of Madness, Azathoth, The Best in the Cave, Beyond the Wall of Sleep, The Book, The Call of Cthulhu, The Case of Charles Dexter Ward, The Cats of Ulthar, Celephais, The Colour out of Space, Cool Air, Dagon, The Descendent, Discarded Draft of "The Shadow Over Innsmouth," The Doom that Came to Sarnath, The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath, The Dreams in the Witch House, The Dunwich Horror, The Evil Clergyman, Ex Oblivione, Facts Concerning the Late Arthur Jermyn and His Family, The Festival, From Beyond, The Haunter of the Dark, He, Herbert West-Reanimator, History of the Necronomicon, The Horror at Red Hook, TheHound, Hypnos, Ibid, In the Vault, The Little Glass Bottle, The Lurking Fear, Memory, The Moon-Bog, The Music of Erich Zann, The Mysterious Ship (Long and Short Versions), The Mystery of the Grave-Yard, The Nameless City, Nyarlathotep, Old Bugs, The Other Gods, The Outsider, Pickman's Model, The Picture in the House, Polaris, The Quest of Iranon, The Rats in the Walls, A Reminiscence of Dr. Samuel Johnson, The Secret Cave, The Shadow out of Time, The Shadow Over Innsmouth, The Shunned House, The Silver Key, The Statement of Randolph Carter, The Strange High House in the Mist, The Street, Sweet Ermengarde, The Temple, The Terrible Old Man, The Thing on the Doorstep, Through the Gates of the Silver KeyThe Tomb, The Transition of Juan Romero, The Tree, Under the Pyramids, The Unnamable, The Very Old Folk, What the Moon Brings, The Whisperer in Darkness, The White Ship)

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

Patton: The Man Behind The Legend, 1885-1945 by Martin Blumenson

Piranesi by Susanna Clarke

One Billion Americans: The Case for Thinking Bigger by Matt Yglesias

Red: A History of the Redhead by Jacky Colliss Harvey

The Man Who Laughs by Victor Hugo (Translated by Isabel Florence Hapgood)

The Rape of the Mind: The Psychology of Thought Control, Menticide, and Brainwashing by Joost A. M. Meerloo

The Traitor Baru Cormorant by Seth Dickinson

Legacies of Great Economists by Timothy Taylor from The Great Courses

Incomplete books: Trouble on Triton, Comparative Hell: Arts of Asian Underworlds, Dark Archives, The History of the World: Map by Maps, The Iliad (Emily Wilson Translation), Christina Queen of Sweden: The Restless Life of a European Eccentric, The Three Musketeers, The Only Plane in the Sky, Myth in Human History, The Dragon: Fear and Power

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Great Courses consumed: 17?

Non-Great Courses Nonfiction consumed: 13

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Works consumed by women: 13

Works consumed by men: 53

Works consumed by men and women: 0

Works that can plausibly be considered of real relevance to foreign policy (including appropriate histories): 7

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With A Martyr Complex’s Choice Award, fiction division: Convenience Store Woman

>>>> Honorable mention: Hart's Hope, Ancillary Justice, Child of God, No Longer Human, Piranesi, the first 1/3 of Cyteen, What Has Passed Shall in Kinder Light Appear

With A Martyr Complex’s Choice Award, nonfiction division: By The Sword

>>>> Honorable mention: The Shogun's Last Samurai Corps, Praetorian, The Birth of Tragedy most of the Great Courses stuff I got to this year

>>>> Great Courses Division: Buddhism

The Annual “An Essential Work of Surpassing Beauty that Isn’t Fair to Compare To Everything Else” Award: The Divine Comedy

>>>> Honorable mention: Julius Caesar, The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath, The Shadow Out of Time, Pride and Prejudice, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, The Man Who Laughs, The Dispossessed

The “Reading This Book Will Give You Great Insight Into The Way I See The World” Award: What Has Passed Shall In Kinder Light Appear

>>>> Honorable mention: Hell is the Absence of God (from Stories of Your Life and Others)

The "My Mind is Thoroughly Exhausted By Reading Through All This But It Was Worth It In The End" Award: The Tale of Genji

Book Most in Need of A Single Extra Chapter: The Man Who Laughs

Best Dude: Darcy from Pride and Prejudice

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This is the first year where I didn't struggle to reach my 52 book goal at all, only some of which is thanks to the Lovecraft marathon. I also read a ton of short sci-fi stories early in the year for an online class I took (which is also why there are so many sci-fi novels in the beginning of the year) and feel much more knowledgeable in the genre even though I'm still not very well read in it. I will be taking a fantasy course next year to what I assume will be similar effect.

It's still hard to read non-audiobooks, made worse this year by a promotion at work that means I have much less free time overall but still a fair deal of time for audiobooks while working with my hands. My (I don't post it) movie list suffered similarly, with this being the first year in a while I didn't hit my movie target. Not discussed: I read various comics this year! Standouts: Chainsaw Man Part 1, the first volume of Pluto, Fun Home, the fifth volume of Phoenix, Look Back

Goals for next year: more foreign policy reading, more literary fiction, write something of my own, ohgodthesearethesamegoalsaslastyearpleasetellmeI'mnotstagnating

#oc #yearly reading list

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solidrain · 2 years ago

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favorite things i read - february and march 2023

short stories:

“Calf Cleaving in the Benthic Black” by Isabel J. Kim - incredibly haunting and descriptive story about two space scavengers coming across a cryogenically frozen child and a moral conundrum

“What Has Passed Shall in Kinder Light Appear” by Baoshu, translated by Ken Liu (from Broken Stars) - such an interesting and fresh premise if you have even a decent knowledge of modern chinese history, explores the nature of time and history

“The Brain Box” by Regina Kanyu Wang, translated by Ken Liu (from Broken Stars) - a sharp and incisive story about the narratives we tell ourselves about our own identities and relationships explored through maybe the creepiest surveillance technology imaginable

“You’ll Understand When You’re a Mom Someday” by Isabel J. Kim - a possibly demonic creature possesses a woman’s body and navigates the trials and tribulations of marriage, motherhood, and contract law

“Bloodchild” by Octavia Butler (from Bloodchild and Other Stories) - this one is probably a classic of science fiction at this point, but here i am as another person to reiterate that this is very well-crafted and intriguing

essays:

“The Idea of Children” by Madeline Lane-McKinley - a critical analysis of the political position of the child

“Book of Lamentations” by Sam Kriss - a satirical review of the DSM-5 as if it were a dystopian novel

books:

Earthlings by Sayaka Murata - very dark and graphic in some parts, but i really liked it. the narrative really pushes the protagonist to the edge of what a reader may find sympathetic, but it’s an incredibly well-crafted journey from childhood abuse and trauma to alienation in modern society to the gruesome end. lots of content warnings for abuse, rape, incest, murder, and cannibalism.

combining february and march cuz uh i can’t believe it’s already april?? anyways, lots of short stories read (although i think i’m gonna take a break from reading short fiction for a while) and a few books, of which earthlings was the only one i really liked. gonna try to pick up some more novels and poetry in the coming months.

#things i read

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esoanem · 2 months ago

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Got my notes now. Unfortunately it doesn't look like any of the recs I noted down in this direction are fantasy. Some of that is likely that I tended to go to more SF panels, some may be that fantasy leans more towards Great Men than SF. A decent chunk of the recs are weird fiction which may or may not scratch the same part of your brain

There were actually fewer panels that went in this direction than I'd remembered. In particular panel "a People's Alternative History" actually was mostly about leftist althist, rather than non-Great man stuff, so I didn't include its recommendations here

Revolutions in SFF

This panel isn't directly about this so some of the works recommended may be a bit Great Man-y, but the panel did specifically call out Great Man theory as a thing to try and avoid

One of the panelists there was Ada Palmer, whose Terra Ignota (sci-fi) series is especially relevant. As a historian, with a particular interest in historiography, her work (whilst I've not read it myself) is likely to not be too Great Man-y. The panelists pointed out that even when authors try to front the agency of The People, readers tend to narrativise it as Great Men, with Terra Ignota specifically being brought up as a case where this happens

Velocity of Revolution (steampunk fantasy) was recommended

Unravelled Kingdom (fantasy french revolution), especially deals with the aftermath of the revolution (something Great Man theory tends to overlook)

Iron Council (weird fiction) by China Mieville, a long with a bunch of his other books. Not especially surprising given that he's a (weird) Marxist (affectionate)

What Has Passed Shall in Kinder Light Appear (short story, sci fi? Weird fiction?) by Bao Shu & translated by Ken Liu. Deals with revolutions difficulties living up to their ideals (presumably due to structural factors, so working against Great Man)

The Dispossed (anarchist sci-fi) by Ursula K Le Guin goes in depth into the society of the revolution

Proletarian Futures

Not a panel, but a series of talks on the academic track

The Memory Police (weird fiction, sci-fi) by Yoko Ogawa is ultimately about the self-defeating nature of oppressive state power

Are large scale 'epic' narratives incompatible with trying to avoid Great Men narratives.

I'm curious, since I've not really explored much literature beyond what I've read. Are there examples of fantasy set in a large-scale setting that do not play into Great Men narratives of history? It seems that most of the stuff I've read are based on the narratives that individual person(s) can change the course of history without the repercussions of trends and shifts of society.

Of course, the general hero's journey relies on a person or a group being chosen ones that inevitably changes the tides of the stati quo; but this problem seems to also be a thing in fantasy stories that I've read that try to subvert the 'chosen one' stories. ASOIAF, for example, rely on Great Men that still come from interconnected noble families, which is still a top-down view of how history usually works.

I've been writing short stories set in my world for a while now, but haven't really gotten that far wrt to the grand narrative in the setting. I'm just confused on how to exactly execute it. I have tried to incorporate the elements that I've read from the anthropology and history academic books that I've read, but it still doesn't click for me. Mostly from this large roadblock that seems to be an innate feature of the narrative vs what I'm trying to accomplish.

I'm an anthropology and linguistics student so I might be coming from a very different demographic, and that my line of work is very niche. It's definitely not mainstream by any definition, and I'm trying to explore themes that personally align with the stuff that I want to tell. Being a fan of fantasy but also wanting to see the flaws of the narrative of individuals being the force that changes history irks me a bit, so I'm trying to find a way to tell a story without playing too much into it. I realize that what people write doesn't really reflect their ideologies, but still, is this method of narrative incompatible with what I'm trying to achieve? Just trying to avoid running a fool's errand since I've been stuck on this for months now

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silkpunk · 5 years ago

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In this age, survival was the only goal, and conscience was a luxury few could afford.

Baoshu, “What Has Passed Shall in Kinder Light Appear”, Broken Stars (edited and translated by Ken Liu)

#Baoshu #What Has Passed Shall in Kinder Light Appear #Broken Stars #chinese science fiction #我发的

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twstoric · 4 years ago

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shrouded in ambers

Jamil Viper Birthday Special!

𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: jamil viper x f!reader

𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: when you’re always crawling to be on the good graces of the al-asim family, there’s only one obstacle standing in your way—the loyal servant directly under the first prince himself

𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘(𝕤): hate-sex?, non consensual touching (minor), slightly dub-con, cunnilingus, high sexual tension, semi-public sex, enemies to..?, servant!reader, slight au!

𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 2.7k

𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖: grrr going feral for birthday boy jamil is great <3 and i apologise for any mistakes/typing erros—i was too lazy to proofread whoops-

Having a smile plastered on your face is a custom in the life you live. Many people warm up much quicker to a seemingly kinder face than a gruff feature—you’re not sure of the detail but you get better responses from doing the former.

You have a kind smile, you’re told often followed with your usual response of I just enjoy what I do, is all. That kindness of yours has taken you to great heights.

You’re adored by the Al-Asim family; trusted with tending to the younger family members and adjusting their troubles. You’ve climbed up the ranks in a silent hierarchy of servants through years of patience and endurance—you’re not going to allow yourself to fall into a life of poverty just because of a minor slip up.

Then again, becoming a trusted maidservant of the Al-Asim family, one so close to the royal family themselves and not just for cleaning services, can be a difficult feat to acquire. Especially if you’re not from a line of family that’s been in service to them for generations. No, you were taken in from the slums and going back isn’t an option you’d want to make.

You want a much higher pedestal. Somewhere you know they wouldn’t be able to get rid of you so easily if you slipped up just a bit because acting perfect on a day to day basis can be so tiring. It’s taken off more years in your life than any disease you know of.

The plan is simple: appeal to the higher ranking family members and you’re fine. The only problem is that the job you desire is already occupied—by someone you might as well consider as the devil incarnate.

“I see you still have the tendency to daydream,” Jamil’s voice is soft when he speaks, the meaning behind his words contrasting to the smooth timbre of his vocals and you have to hold back a glare when turning to him.

The smile you offer comes naturally to you—trained to stretch on your lips at any given moment as you give the long-haired male a small bow. “Mister Viper. What a surprise.. are you not tending to the First Prince?” Your fingers are clasped together over your maids outfit, then thin material worn out from years of daily use but you take pride in maintaining the smooth white colour the dress comes in.

Jamil’s face remains neutral, staring at you as if looking for your inner demons before he turns around. “I shall take my leave,” he utters, never losing the cool edge to his voice and you keep the smile on your face until his footsteps are no longer heard.

When the silence once again envelops your surroundings, you can’t help the quiet huff you let out. Unbelievable, you think. Who does he think he is? He’s never liked you since the day you came and you’re not even sure why! Trying to befriend him is useless and acting polite towards him because he’s higher ranked than you gives you headaches. It’s almost too cruel how the irony of your desires is blocked by the single entity that makes your blood boil.

Coming yourself with another hiff, you straighten your back, fingers smoothing out the wrinkles in your dress before you take the tray of tea in your hands. Time to go back to work.

‎ﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌ

In life, too many complaints won’t get you anywhere—you know at least this much but again, for the umpetenth time, you can’t help the growing feeling of annoyance brewing up inside you whenever you’re called up to do something in ungodly hours.

You’ve never had the best personality behind closed doors, afterall. So you’ll quietly complain whenever it's necessary (in your mind, of course. The risk of being overheard makes you paranoid).

The kitchen of the royal palace is spacious, stretching wide to accommodate the source of all the luxurious meals always prepared during occasions formal or not. It’s located in the further areas of the palace as any kitchen normally so as to make sure the smell of cooking food wouldn't stink up the area too much.

Because of its location, you find yourself walking quite the distance from your chambers and into an already dark kitchen. You can’t turn on the lights pass curfew so a small candle is your company as you prepare to boil water for the tea requested.

The day had been much more hectic than usual. You can’t remember all the details when you’re one of the servants running around the palace to get everything done. It’s preparation for another event. That much you’re sure of but what type you don’t think you really care for the details.

Fatigue and lack of sleep seems to be catching up to you. You find it difficult to keep your eyes open, resorting to pinching your arms to make sure the slight pain can keep you up and about. Too deep in your sense of tiredness, it takes a second for you to realise that the candle you’ve lit is already blown out—the fire from the stove your only source of lighting.

“Wh-? Ahh, shit, shit,” curses flow out of your mouth profusely, hurriedly reaching inside your dress pocket for a lighter. You’re not sure if it’s because of your fatigue, the chilly air, or even because of how dark it is but you’re fumbling with the match box, struggling to even open it in your panicked state.

Just before you could properly light the match, the candle burns again with a new fire; the small flame used to light it aflame disappears with a shake of the hand. You stare unblinkingly at your newly lit candle, and as if slow motion, you trail up the hand near the small fire to find the familiar face of the First Prince’s personal servant.

“Mister.. Viper,” you greet, unsettled by his sudden appearance. You don’t think you even heard him come in let alone get so close to you like this. Were you so out of it that you weren’t able to hear anything…?

“What’re you doing in the kitchen so late at night?” Jamil gets to the point, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head questioningly.

Your mouth opens and closes in response, mind blanking on how you should reply. “Um.. I was requested to make tea for..” Somehow, Jamil is moving closer to you, your vision going blurry before it only fills with the sight of him. “What- what’re you doing?”

Your breath hitches, the small of your back already pressing against the edge of the counter and Jamil places his hands behind you, trapping you between his arms. He leans closer.

“There’s an intruder trying to break into the castle,” he whispers, lips brushing against your ears and your face burns. Jamil does nothing after that. He doesn’t move away, doesn’t speak another word—his lips faintly brushes against your ears each time you breathe, your senses only filled with the warmth of Jamil’s body and how you can smell the strong scent of spices pressed so close to him like this.

“I don’t… Why are you telling me this?” All you can do is question back, lost on what he’s implying ang you tense when feeling his hand settling on your hip, pressing you harder against the counter.

There’s something so… primal and raw in the way Jamil is touching you. His fingers hold your firmly in a soft pressure that if you weren’t so hyper aware of where his hands are, you wouldn’t notice that he’s already touching you.

Jamil moves back enough to look at you, his other hand lifting from the counter to grasp your chin so you’re forced to look at him properly. “I believe that intruder is already inside,” he murmurs and you see something glinting in his eyes. Suddenly, his grip on you tightens, pulling your chin roughly towards him and his voice is firmer, “What’re you doing in the kitchen?”

You feel a sudden anger flaring in your chest. “Are you accusing me, Mister Viper?” You can’t help but spit out, glaring at him openly. “I already told you- I’m making tea.”

Jamil smirks in response, uncaring of your sudden attitude as he lets you go. The male turns off the stove, your protest ignored as he turns to you again, leaning against the table from across you. “On whose orders are you making it for?”

“That’s-” the bite in your throat suddenly disappears. You blink in irritation before an unsettling feeling brews in your stomach. From who.. that’s... Of course it would be from one of the younger children, wouldn’t it..? But for them to stay up this late then.. the First Prince? But that would be Jamil’s responsibility—not yours.

You bite your lip, brows furrowing for a different reason now; confusion. “It was from a note,” your voice is quiet when you say this, gaze darting to the floor to avoid the smug look on the other’s face at your confession. How could you have not realised..?

Jamil takes quick strides over to you and before you know it, he’s turning you around and roughly pushing you down on the counter. You yelp, hands shooting out to soften the impact as Jamil presses his chest over your back. “Aren’t you too trusting… or maybe.. You’re an accomplice of this intruder?”

What.

“That’s- that’s-! Of course not!” You feel the shudder raking down your spine at the low hum Jamil makes from your words. Your face burns with humiliation, tears springing up to your eyes for a reason beyond you; you’re cursing Jamil to hell for all this.

“Why should I trust you? I’ve always found your sudden climb in ranks to be a little odd,” he sighs and the snarky remark you had disappears when you feel something hard pressing against your behind. The outline of Jamil’s growing erection presses against the thin material of your dress, slow languid rolls of his hips makes your body burn.

You’re quiet now; distracted by the way the brunet is rutting against you. Jamil is a difficult person for you to tolerate but you can’t deny how attractive he is. “So quiet suddenly?” And you want to curse the skies why he was given such an attractive voice.

His hold on you eases before there’s no longer any pressure holding you down. You get up slowly, pushing yourself up by the elbows and turning your head to see that Jamil has already moved some distance away from you. The neutral look he normally has is back.

You think your heart might explode. He can’t just- do that and act like nothing happened..! There’s no words you can think of—verbal communication suddenly beyond you. All you can do is clutch at your dress weakly, your pussy feeling so empty and uncomfortably wet.

“I can…” you gulp, voice hoarse and Jamil raises a brow in question. “I can help.. find the real intruder.” Your chest feels so fucking heavy now, the bruning heat in your body clouding all common sense. “To prove my innocence.” You add quickly as an afterthought, because you’re not doing this for him.

A small laugh leaves the latter’s mouth in response and you feel your brow twitch. “You’re a difficult person to deal with.”

Wha..?

Jamil pushes himself off the table, once again trapping you between his arms but you feel much calmer than before. The candle burning as your only source of light seems to emphasise the brunet’s features. Eyes slanted and shaped like a predator stares at you hungrily and feels natural for you to draw closer to him when Jamil leans over. “Always having a smile on your face when you’re clearly annoyed. Why are you so insistent on putting up a mask?”

His breath ghosts over your lips, body pressing close to you as if you weren’t close enough. You look into his eyes; searching for something and smiling when you find it. “Should I say the same to you?”

The simple questions snaps whatever tension you’re in and Jamil crashes his lips to yours, prying your mouth open with his tongue and slithering in when you give him access. His hands wrap around your back, trailing down over your ass and squeezing you with greedy hands.

You moan in response, pulling him closer by wrapping your hands around his neck and rolling your hips against the hard tent in his pants. Jamil groans softly, breaking the kiss to trail kisses down your jaw to your neck. His fingers tug the front of your dress down, the cotton tearing slightly from his rough ministrations but you don’t care about that when his lips reaches the skin above your breasts, marking you with love bites and easing the pain with the slow drag of his tongue.

Much to your disappointment, Jamil doesn’t pull your dress any further down, instead, he’s the one getting on his knees; his hands trailing up your legs and hiking your dress along with it. Your dress settles over your hips, held by his hands as Jamil nudges your legs apart to trail kisses up your inner thigh.

You’re clenching around nothing, small gasps leaving your lips at every mark Jamil leaves with every inch closer to your aching core. “Please,” you can’t help but whine, tangling your hands in his hair. You feel Jamil smirk against your skin.

He pushes your undergarment to the side and your vision goes white from the first slow drag of Jamil’s tongue against your weeping cunt. The taste of you on his tongue makes Jamil feral—harsh strokes of his tongue against your outer lips before his mouth sucks and he’s eating you out like an animal.

You’re struggling to keep your moans in, legs shaking with every suction of Jamil’s mouth on your core, greedily tasting every inch you can offer him. His hold on your thighs are brutal; not allowing you to close your legs. Your dress is no longer held up by his hands and falls over the male’s head, hiding him from view.

You’re biting at your hands to keep your sounds in. It’s already so late at night and despite your location being in the further areas of the palace, if anyone were to walk in the kitchen then the first thing they’ll see is you, writhing and crying from a reason beyond them, Jamil hidden away behind a table and under your dress.

“A- ah-!” The yelp you let out echoes in the kitchen. You’re mortified by the sound but it’s only a second later that you're moaning again. Jamil’s fingers curl once again, dragging against your walls deliciously. His touch is gently, easily finding all the right buttons to push without too much prying as his mouth focuses on your clit.

You whisper his name quietly, the only thing you can think of saying and it seems to spur the brunet to fuck his finger’s into you, easily finding your good spots and you’re coming with a strangled shout.

You don’t get to register how Jamil greedily sucks off your juices, throwing you into the edge of overstimulation before he finally pulls away; pushing your dress over his head. The blood rushes to your face, gaping at the way Jamil swiped his tongue over his lips as if to collect your juices and your squeak when the male suddenly pulls you into a kiss.

When you break away, Jamil is smirking at you handsomely, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Should we get started then?” You nod absentmindedly, blinking at the satisfied smile Jamil gives you. “Then we’ll start with the main entrance. I think that’s most likely where they entered from because of the hectic preparations.”

“What?” You can’t help but ask dumbly.

The laugh Jamil lets out makes you feel both warm and irritated. His eyes narrow when he looks at you but the smile on his face is still present. “I see.. Did you want to continue?” You can’t answer. Jamil smirks.

He takes your wrist and you’re frozen in his stare as Jamil guides your hand to his erection. The hardness in your palm makes your mouth water and thighs clench uselessly as Jamil blinks his eyes slowly. “Don’t worry,” he reassures, pressing your hand harder against his clothed dick and groaning at the pressure. “Should we be able to catch the intruder then I’ll be sure to reward you.”

#jamil viper #scarabia #jamil x reader #twst x reader #twst n/sfw #twst scenarios #twst imagines #twisted wonderland #f!reader #specially brewed

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years ago

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idk if i missed the boat on monster march but mer + indruck + nsfw? maybe something like that scene in from the depths where duck is rubbing off on indrid's tail but... not interrupted by abominations? with treasured human pet talk?

Nope, the boat is not missed. I’m pretty much taking these until the last few days of the month. Here you go!

There are rough days. There are bad days. There are terrible days.

And then there’s whatever kind of godforsaken day Duck is having.

It started with Winnie coughing up a hairball right on his pillow. Then he was out of coffee, trudged to the store to get some only to discover he left his wallet at home. Saying “fuck it” and spending the rest of his day at the beach seemed the best call when it came to turning things around.

Turns out his ex thought the same thing, and what started as an attempt to be pleasant while crossing paths ended with some thoroughly unkind comments about Ducks suitability as a partner, including his temperament, laugh, and appearance.

His first spot for decompressing in the sun was overrun by seagulls, the second by a group playing New Wave hits at full volume, and on and on until late afternoon, where he trekked up the boardwalk to discover the Wolf Eel Bar and Grill was out of french onion soup. He went for a conciliatory sandwich at Amnesty Lodge instead. Barclay, saint that he is, gave him a two-scoop cone on the house when he went to pay the check. Duck retreated to the most secluded seaside spot he knows, the one where if anything happens to him, no one will see it, to enjoy his rocky road in peace.

Then the cone toppled, the half eaten top scoop falling into the water and the bottom one hitting the rock.

This is why Duck is now on his back, on the tidepool dotted rock, muffling a frustrated scream in his palms. A tap on the shoulder interrupts him.

“Don’t be sad. Look” two tan hands hold the now-gritty ice cream out to him, “I could not save the one in the water, but this one is only a little sandy. “

“Uhhh” Duck blinks at the merman bobbing in the waves, “no that;s, uh, that’s fine. Don’t feel like gettin sand in my mouth.”

The mer glances at his hands, back up at Duck, “May I eat it?”

“Knock yourself out.” He decides not to linger on whether this counts as feeding the wildlife. The merman is mid-bite before he even finishes his sentence.

As the creature of the deep happily stuffs his face, Duck wonders why he chose this of all moments to talk to him. The merman first appeared a month ago, observing Duck while he was doing tide checks. A day later, he swam parallel to the shore as the ranger went for an evening walk. After that, Duck saw him whenever he was near the ocean.

Duck prefers a life without too much weird, and thus ignores the strange and unusual unless it whacks him upside the head. Even then, he tries to shake it off and go about his day. So when the mer hauled himself onto the rock closest to the patch of beach Duck was reading and snoozing upon, the human gave him a cursory nod and went back to his novel. He only glanced up once, to see the merman sketching on a pad of paper; the mechanics of this happening in or near the water intrigued him, but not enough to make him talk to a fucking mermaid.

“Mmmmm” the merman licks his fingers, “I like the little white bits in it best.”

“The marshmallows?”

“Yes! That’s the word.” He paddles his hands in the water to clean them, “you have very good taste in iced cream.”

“Uh, thanks.” Duck scrubs his face, not wanting to leave his oasis of solitude but not sure what’s going on here, “is there somethin I can do for you?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing. You are clearly having a bad day, and I wanted to improve it.”

“Man you don’t know the half of it; shoulda seen what happened when I wasn’t near the water.”

“I did. Oh, oh dear, that sounded creepy. I’m a seer and enchanter by trade, which means I can see timelines as they unfold. And, ah, I kept an eye on your futures today in the hope they would improve. Especially after that conversation between you and your former partner. I did not like how they spoke to you.”

“Not like I was a model of dignity and calm.” Duck scratches the back of his neck.

“True. Nevertheless, were you my human, I would say far kinder things.”

Duck lays back down with a snort; he appreciates the sympathy, but today it feels like the universe has made it clear how little kindness he deserves.

“It is the truth. I would tell you that you are patient and kind. That your laugh reminds me of the shorebirds when they are joyful. That I have seen sunken ships laden with jewels and pearls larger than my eyes, yet when I hear the word ‘treasure’ I think of your face.”

The human rolls slowly onto his side, facing the waves. Rock digs into his shoulder as he studies the merman. He’s staying close, but seems to be waiting for permission to be in Duck’s space.

“Why are you sayin all this?”

“Because it is true, and I like you.”

“You barely know me. Hell, I don’t even know your-”

“-Name. Ah, apologies, I am always a bit ahead. I’m working on not interrupting as much. And my name is Indrid.” The mer rests his arms on the rock, sets his chin on the back of his hand, “You are right, we do not know much about each other. I do not know where you grew up, but I know you take great pride in showing groups of small humans the tide pools and teaching them about the sea. I do not know what you like to read, but I know that I can sit near you and draw without you fleeing in fear or trying to take a photo of me.”

Duck reaches out, presses silver hair behind Indrid’s ear, the lilting voice seeping under his skin, suggesting that maybe he’s not as terrible as he thinks. Like maybe something better is waiting for him “now you gotta tell me somethin’ about you.”

Indrid purrs, rubbing his cheek into Duck’s hand, “I used to live in Atlantis, but I took on a role that let me travel and see more of the world, both my own and that of humans. I settled here recently because the nearby mers are not territorial and the fishing is good.”

Rock catches his clothes as he scoots the last inches to the edge of the stone, “How come your drawings don’t get ruined by the water?”

“Enchantments. Though I did get Dani’s human to bring me waterproof paints.” He mirrors Duck’s arm, reaching out to play with the humans’ hair, his tail keeping him easily afloat in the water.

The ranger closes his eyes to focus on the cool fingers stroking his forehead, “you really wanna spend your evenin’ playin’ twenty questions with me?”

“Yes and no. I came to see what would make you happy. If talking with me is the answer, that is what we can do.”

Duck groans at the reminder of why he’s hiding among the hermit crabs, “Gotta be honest, not sure what’d cheer me up. Everything I tried today backfired.”

“Let me try something.” Indrid’s face goes worryingly blank, then he grins, “I foresee an option that might help, though you will think it self-serving. I have a vision of you joining me for a swim.”

“Water’s a little chilly for that.”

Indrid zig-zags his finger through the waves, “Try it now.”

It’s like sticking his hand into a warm bath, “that ain't gonna mess with the fish is it?”

“Not at all. The spell only applies to you.” Indrid swims backwards as Duck strips down to his trunks, “here, there’s a sandbar where you can stand as long as you need.”

“Plannin on keepin me in the water awhile?” Duck teases, paddling over to join him.

“If you will let me.” The mer circles him, and for the first time Duck notices the gold-red fan-shaped fin on his lower back, “I have many other things to tell you. For instance, if you look at that kelp raft, you will see otters in the next twenty seconds.

Four well-camouflaged bodies surface to their left. As they splash about, Duck remembers the time he mistook one for a piece of driftwood in the dim light of morning, tells Indrid the story as the otters play.

Something smooth and strong brushes his leg. Indrid is floating close enough that his tail keeps bumping Duck as they talk.

“Hey, uh, could I, uh, could I look take a look at, uh, um-”

There must be timelines where he asks, because Indrid turns onto his back and adjusts so the last third of his tail waves in front of Ducks’ torso. The mixture of yellow-green and burnt burnt umber reminds him of an Undulated Moray, though the tail ends in a V instead of a point. Stroking one side leads to a splash and a sigh as Indrid twitches in the water. Duck continues the motion, the skin like that of a ray, and relaxes more with each pass. It’s soothing him and, judging by the tension leaving the muscles under his hands, Indrid as well. In fact, the merman is now so limp, his head is under the water and looks to have been for some time.

“Fuck” Duck lets go, moves to fish him out only for Indrid to contort and swim so they’re chest to chest.

“Oh right, gills.”

“Indeed. That was lovely. May I, ah, examine you as well.” There’s a purr in his voice. Duck nods, and the mer slips beneath the surface. His fingers trace along Ducks legs, then drag up the back of his thighs, pressing more firmly when they reach his ass. Duck barks a laugh, so the Indrid does it again before gliding his hands up to his shoulders.

“Mmm, all of this feels as supple and strong as I hoped. Such a sturdy treasure I’ve found.”

“Jesus.” Duck gasps as Indrid nuzzles the base of his neck.

“A perfect treasure, sitting on the shore with no one to look after him.”

“Indrid.” His dick twitches in his trunks as the mer curves around to meet his eyes.

“Yes?”

“Will you keep talkin like that?”

Indrid loops his arms around Duck’s neck, “So polite. Perhaps I shall take my treasure back with me, keep you as I would a spoiled pet. Caress this wonderful body, see the most handsome face above or beneath the water whenever my heart desires.”

“Nnngh.” Duck whimpers, wrapping his arms around Indrids waist and hiding his blush in the crook of his neck, “M’not worth that kinda talk.”

“On the contrary, you are worth more than all the wealth of Atlantis, my treasure.”

Duck makes weak sounds of protest, the cruel words of the morning and his own mind drowned by Indid’s whispers. The merman is smiling at him in a way no one ever does; like he’s seeing Duck with all his flaws, fears, and hopes laid bare and wants to keep looking instead of turning away.

“You deserve so much more than this day gave you. Will you let me offer something better?”

Duck nods, raises his head, “c-can I kiss you first?”

Indrid dips his head down. His saltwater kisses wash away the miserable day, replace it with curious lips mapping his own. A low, soft hum emanates from Indrid as cool scales stroke his legs. The tail starts low, petting his calves, but as the kiss intensifies it drags up to his thighs, flicking and teasing his crotch.

“Fuck.” He’s groaning, bucking his hips in search of more as the mer smiles, indulgent and wicked. The next tailstroke is drawn-out, undulating across his folds and rubbing his dick.

“Does that feel good, pet?” Indrid pecks his cheek.

“Don’t those visions show you the answer?” He tries for casual, even cocky, and it comes out as a gasp instead as the tail grinds side to side.

“Yes, but answers can change. I want to do as you wish, treasured one, not as my foresight tells me.”

“It feels so fuckin good, sugarAHfuck, ahnnnyeah, hell yeah.” He squirms as the tail thrusts, the tip bumping his ass when Indrid angles it for a better pressure. Then the mer stops.

“Remove these, sweet one.” He snaps his waistband, “I want to feel my perfect human slick and warm against me.”

Duck braces on a nearby rock to pull the trunks off, having only time to set them out of tide range before the mer slithers around him once more. The alien texture of the scales sets him moaning, his hips pumping erratically in hopes it might envelope his cock entirely. All he manages is a rhythm that brings him out of sync with Indrid. Panic circles his stomach at the possibility that this will be yet another part of the day that goes haywire.

“You needn’t work so hard, my treasure.” Indrid coos, “plant your feet on the ground. I will take care of the rest.”

The ranger does as he’s told, Indrid wriggling so Duck is straddling him a few inches from the start of his tail. Satisfied with their positions, the mer cups his ass with an appreciative “ooh,” then uses it to force Duck up and down the colorful ripples of his tail.

“Fuck, fuck, that’s so much better darlin, thank you, fuck, keep doin’ that and your human will do whatever the fuck you want ‘im to.”

“I want him to enjoy himself.” Indrid kisses each of Ducks arms when they drape over his shoulders.

“Mission fuckin accomplishedfuck, god I wanna feel you on every fuckin inch of me, wanna kiss this fuckin stunnin face of yours until the sun comes back up, wanna--uh, Indrid, what the fuck is that?” A slit is opening in the upper part of his tail and something of considerable size is emerging from it.

Indrid smirks, “Do you think you’re the only one getting off on this, pet?”

“Oh holy fuck” Duck goggles at the “was not expectin’ there to be two.” He slides a hand between their bodies, runs his thumb from the head of one cock down to the base where it joins the second one in the world's most obscene “V.” Indrid trills, thrashes his tail when Duck treats the other side the same way.

“ThaAAAaat’s wonderful but, but you needn’t do it on my account. I c-can attend to it once you are satisfied.”

Duck circles one shaft with his hand, gives it a firm, determined stroke, “Sugar, I won’t be satisfied until you’re as fucked out as I am.”

“Oh” the mer looks surprised, “in, in most futures you were too perplexed by them to want such a thing, goodNESSgracious oh, oh Duck, that’s exquisite.” He fucks the human up and down his tail in earnest, “I should have known it would be, you’re so talented my pet, so thoughtful AHgods below and above the next time I am going to spread you on the nearest patch of sand and take you in whichever way you choose, make my perfect pet go mad with pleasure.”

“Dunno, might make you use that sweet-talkin mouth on my dick instead of lettin you fuck me.”

“You say that as if it is a bad thing and not a delicious outcomeoohhh” the mer rolls his hips in time with Duck’s, “that’s it sweet one, right at the base between them yes, yesyesyes” cum spurts into the darkening water. Duck releases his hold, only to be dragged back and forth so roughly he grabs Indrid’s hips for dear life.

“Fuck, right there sugar, lemme rub off on you like that, yeah, fuck, fuckme that’s so fucking good ohfuck, Indrid, ‘Drid!” He cums, heat shooting through him so intensely it’s amazing the water doesn’t boil. He clings to Indrid like an anemone to rock, pressing breathless kisses into his neck.

When he looks up, his hiding spot is coming closer, Indrid swimming them there with ease. The merman retrieves his swim trunks from where they were cast away, presents them to him with a flourish. Duck laughs, pulling them on before pulling a towel from his little reusable bag.

“Don’t know about you, but I feel a hell of a lot better.” Duck lays down on the fabric, rock beneath it still warm from the sun.

“I was alright to begin with, but I take your point. That was wonderful. And I am glad I could make you feel better.”

There it is again, that smile that makes Duck feel more seen than he has in months.

“Don’t suppose you’d be up for makin me feel better tomorrow too? Not that I hope it’s as shitty as today, more that I get the sense seein’ you will make me feel better even if I already feel pretty damn good.”

Indrid raises up enough to kiss Duck once, tenderly, on the lips, “I would like nothing better, my treasure.”

#indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #mermaid au #monster march

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storytimefromthecreed · 4 years ago

Text

The Other Side of the War

When one steps into the Animus, in the time it takes for the world to appear, everything is grey. That’s what it was like right now. Searching the horizon for the world to appear, Desmond searched the grey and found that this was not the case. It remained ever present, and panic shot through him. Something was wrong. Maybe the Animus glitched? Maybe something had happened to the rest of the team, and he was stuck in that damn chair?

If he had a heart, it would be hammering. That should’ve confirmed the thing he dreaded most was true. Perhaps, when you get there, this is what you have to figure out on your own.

As the memories resurfaced, he pieced through his day. Did he need more time with Connor? He’d thought he’d finished his story. Oh. They had. They’d found what needed finding. He remembered waking up and wishing he had coffee. Juno, the face of his family as he pushed them away, the burning. It was the most painful thing he’d ever felt in his entire life. “Maybe that’s why it killed me.” Taken aback that he’d spoken the words, Desmond looked around once more. For a world that would never build.

Of course, he would wind up in hell.

Falling to the ground with a sob, Desmond sat and pulled his knees to his chest. For a moment, he just sat there and wept. Then, he yelled into the void, “I’ve done a lot of bad things in my life!” There was no echo. “I’ve lied, cheated, stole. Hell, I’ve even killed, but you know what?” He waited, what for? He wasn’t sure. Maybe the Devil would show his face or God would smite him. “I’d do it all again! Ok? I fought for good, for the lives of the innocent, for the right to choose, and I’d do it again!” Nothing happened, and so Desmond returned to his crying.

A beam of light appeared a few steps away, like someone had drawn a curtain. The beam grew until a shadow formed inside it, and Desmond braced himself for a fight. He was an Assassin, after all.

He plopped down beside him and offered him a hand. Gold eyes twinkling at the sight of him. “God, I must be really handsome for my line to turn out as it has.” Desmond knew that voice, had spoken it, and yet it should be impossible for this person to be before him. His life was always filled with impossibilities. “Des-mound.” His accent was thick and made Desmond smile. “It’s really good to finally meet you.” Taking his hand, Altair helped him up. “Now, without delay! I had to fight the others to be first in line, and I’m sure they’re going to be mad if we’re late.” He’d began to make a step but stopped when he saw Desmond paled.

“The others?” He asked.

Altair nodded, “Yes. The other Assassins.” Now, he smiled, “We’ve been watching the adventure you’ve been on, and I have to say, Des-mound. We…we’re all so proud.”

“Proud?” Desmond pulled his arm away and cradled it against his chest. It should’ve been burned, and yet his tattoos were in perfect condition. “How can you be proud of me? I died. I made the wrong call. I…I lost.”

A hand went to his shoulder, and he looked up to see Altair giving him a soft smile, “Des-mound, a friend once told me what I am going to tell you. War is endless, it is a cycle between good and evil. It is, and always shall be. We make war on others and they in turn make war on us. Now, that’s not saying that it’s hopeless or not worth fighting, all it is saying is that there are no winners and losers. There simply is. As long as you fight for truth, for good, you’ll always win.” Tears sprang into Desmond’s eyes, and Altair felt a pang of sorrow. Maybe Connor and Ezio were right. They were better with their words and never would’ve made Desmond cry. Just as he was about to say this, Desmond wiping his face and finally smiled.

“Thank you, Altair.”

Swiftly, Altair pulled him in a hug. Shock colored Desmond’s face when Altair let him go, to which he said, “I’ve always wanted to do that. Now, tell me, are we ready?”

“Let’s do it, Gramps.” At this new nickname, Altair swung his arm over Desmond’s shoulders, and they started walking into the light. Scared, Desmond put his arm around Altair’s shoulders, and they stepped in.

Everything was white, and nothing existed save for Altair’s weight beside him. It made Desmond brave. Then, suddenly, there was a, “He’s HERE!! DESMOND!!” Heaven looked nothing like how he thought it would. There were no harps or clouds, but plenty of angels. As his eyes searched the room, he recognized some familiar faces amongst the strangers.

A woman with bright red hair looked him up and down before nodding her approval, the man with a ponytail gave him a small wave. Maria looked between him and Altair, hands clasped in excitement, and Malik stood by her. He looked different when he wasn’t yelling. His face kinder when he smiled.

Breaking apart from the crowd was someone Desmond would know anywhere. Ezio made his way before him and offered a hand, his mouth opening and closing before he finally spat out, “Hi. I’m Ezio.”

Chuckled, Desmond opened his arms, and Ezio walked right in. “I know who you are, Ezio, and it’s so good to finally meet you.” As they pulled away, Ezio held him at arm’s length and looked him over with tears in his eyes. “I can’t imagine how frustrating it was working through the veil and not knowing the whole story.”

“I’d love to hear it from the source, that is,” Ezio looked sheepish, “if you wouldn’t mind?”

“I’d love that, Grandpa.”

“Hey now, don’t go calling just anyone Gramps.” Altair pouted with a cross of his arms.

“Ignore him,” Maria stood before Desmond now, offered a hand. “He thinks the whole world revolves around him.” With her snark passing, she gazed down at him gently. “You probably don’t know who I am, but I know so much of you, Desmond. It’s truly wonderful having you here.”

“Maria Thorpe.” Demond gave her a hug too. “I know you.”

An argument had broken out between Ezio and Altair behind them, but they ignored them. “Oh,” Maria turned bright red. “You do? Well, I can explain. You see, in the beginning….actually, I’m sure I’ll have time to explain everything later.”

“I’m his Prophet.”

“I’m his Gramps!”

“I’m Connor.” The voice made Desmond turn and look up, all the way up, until he found warm by eyes.

Desmond leapt, “Ratonhnhake:ton!” He offered a handshake, “I just finished a session with you, and there’s so many things I have to ask.”

“A session?” Connor took his hand, and Desmond shook it eagerly.

“Yea! In the Animus. So, what happened to the Homestead? Where did the turkey go? How do you feel about the current state of America?”

“Uhhhh….”

“Sorry,” Desmond laughed, “Got a bit ahead of myself, didn’t I?”

“It’s understandable.” Connor assured him, “But the turkey? He lived a long, happy life, and died of natural causes, I promise you. Here, there’s some people you have to meet!”

Meeting Haytham was strange, but meeting Haytham’s Assassin/pirate father was even stranger. “What do you mean you never got to go through my life?” Edward huffed, angrily fluffing a pillow for Desmond. “These two,” he waved the pillow between Haytham and Connor, Haytham flinched. “Wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me.”

“Maybe it’s because you pissed away the head start the Assassins had worked thousands of years for?” Arno sipped his coffee.

Desmond wheeled to Edward. “That was you?!”

“Aye, get off it, all of you. Don’t go embarrassing me in front of my grandson, you hear?” Edward mumbled.

“But I’m the Gramps!” Altair called from the kitchen.

The day was spent catching up, as well as a family can with eras between them, and Desmond’s mind wandered back to his family in the land of the living. He hoped they were safe and knew he he’d be waiting for them when it was their time.

Until then, he was in wonderful company. What’s the worst that can happen with all the Assassins living under one roof?

#ezio auditore de firenze #altair ibn la'ahad #Assassin's Creed #assassin's creed 3 #assassin's creed brotherhood #connor kenway #desmond miles #arno dorian #arno victor dorian #edward kenway #assassin's creed unity #assassin's creed black flag #assassin's creed revelations #maria thorpe

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enithinggoes · 3 years ago

Text

The witch’s teachings, lesson 0: admission

This is a documentation of the education I’ve received from the witch Morgana, whose wisdom and proficiency I’ve come to admire greatly since it began. To contextualise this, though, I must first explain how my apprenticeship at her hand began.

I was a young lad of 23, and never had been out of the village where I had lived, whose only medic, doctor Jones, had taught me how to deal with sewing and cleaning wounds, as well as a few remedies that could supress pain and infection in the body, and I had been serving as assistant in his practices for a few months, however, we’d been recently dealing with injuries I found myself unable to treat, farmhands would appear with deep gashes into their arms and legs which, even after our usual practices, were said to radiate an intense burning sensation, and kept reopening for days on end.

After just a week of these happenings. Doctor Jones and me were both exhausted, caring for the 10 men and 2 women affected by the strange injuries had been intensely taxing, they would feverishly ramble about a dark creature with yellow eyes moving quickly through the night, slaughtering livestock and attacking any who attempted to scare it off or kill it. Me and my senior had been taking shifts of sleeping inside our clinic so at least one of us was constantly able to respond to new cases and monitor the existing victim’s condition. At the afternoon’s end, the neighbourhood suddenly fell silent, there should still be people moving through the street and conversing at the neaby bar at this time, the deafening silence made me shiver, I felt truly alone, being the only one awake at the clinic.

Suddenly the clicking of boots pierced the silence, followed by a door opening and I understood the reason behind the quiet. A woman entered the clinic wearing a short black dress with purple details, black pants, boots and gloves and a large brimmed, pointy hat. She was tall and lanky, with short raven hair. But what struck me the most was her eyes, they were dark like the ocean’s depths, giving the impression that any light that hit them could never escape, and they had a focus to them unlike those of anyone I’d met, the same focus of a falcon in the moment before it dove down for it’s prey, there was no mistaking it, this woman was a witch. I’d heard of them before, in fables and legends, how they were powerful and conniving and vicious and you should never cross them lest you be cursed to die or meet a fate even more terrible.

I stood reflexively to attention, stammering as I spoke a hurried greeting, “Hello ma’m, what brings you here?”

She brought out a small pouch and spoke with elegance and clarity “Heard your town was having a little werewolf trouble, so I’ve been brought on for a little help and consultation, you’re gonna want to spread that over their wounds twice, about half a day apart if you want the stinging to stop, has anyone been bitten?”

“No ma’m, we’ve only seen claw marks so far, did you say werewolf? I didn’t think those were real! What can we do? Should we organize a search party? What is this stuff?”, I asked, taking a small cilinder filled with some kind of cream out of her pouch, which she’d handed to me.

“Take a breath laddy, you don’t have to do anything about the werewolf, let momma here deal with that, it’s what I’m here to do anyway, just warn everyone to stay inside for a few days, alright? As for the paste, it’s silver powder, mashed together with rosemary, you can ask your mayor for the ingredients and make it here yourself.”

As the witch instructed, I spread the paste over my patients’ injuries, she insisted on checking them for bite marks, although considering the size of this creature’s claws, I imagine it would be near impossible to miss a bite. Whenever I finished the treatment on a pacient, their cries of pain would quickly lower in volume and frequency, to the point I stopped a few times to check if their heart and breathing were stopping, but their heartbeat was only going down from the speed it had accelerated to due to the pain back to a stable beat.

As she prepared to leave the clinic, the witch turned to me and asked “Have any human bones or half eaten carcasses appeared? Anybody disappear recently?”

“No ma’m, no dead yet, only injured” I responded

“Great, must be a recent transformation then, one last thing,” she said, “And I need you to answer this honestly, I promise it’s gonna be better for everyone, including you. Have you, or anyone you know been experiencing frequent night terrors, sleepwalking or finding destroyed furniture inside their homes?”

I must admit I was a bit afraid when I responded “not that I know of, ma’m.”

She put her hand on my shoulder reassuringly. “Easy there chap, you can call me Morgana ok? I’ll take you at your word, it’ll all be alright soon, now get some rest, you look spent.”

After she went away I was left to muse upon what that encounter had meant, the first witch I’d met seemed a lot kinder than the ones in the stories. Sure, she a cleverness to her indicative of someone who knew of things I didn’t, and a professional stance in the face of those grievous wounds that showed she was rather habituated to violence. But seemed ultimately benign and even kind, furthermore, I reckoned there was no way these people would recover in less than a month without her knowledge and assistance.

As I thought about it, my mind wandered to her pouch and the cylinder for the healing substance, still on the table, had she forgotten it? She’d probably want it back right? In what I’ve come to regard as a stupid move I left to look for her and give her what she’d left behind.

I only came to my senses when I realized it was already quite dark out, I thought I heard something moving behind me, but it could have been a mixture of exhaustion and paranoia, I started moving faster, trying to find my way home or back to the clinic, But the streets seemed to wind in ways unfamiliar to me. After a while I turned a corner only to find a furred creature starring back at me, it looked like a bear, but taller and skinnier and it’s eyes seemed to glow slightly in the dark. I ran, and heard it bounding towards me, coming closer and closer every second, I turned town an alley, trying to lose it but realized my mistake when I saw the wall at its end, I turned to face the creature, preparing to scare it off or maybe die trying.

Its jaws opened wide as it jumped towards me, moving its arms as if to grab me and hold me in place, I closed my eyes out of fear. *BANG*, a noise rung out through the alley, the creature’s weight knocked me down with it’s momentum, but no bite or swipe came, it was already dead, at the other end of the alley stood Morgana, smoke coming out of her flintlock pistol. I hastily pushed the creature’s body to the side, spotting a hole in the back of its skull

“I thought I told you to stay inside, kid. What in god’s name are you doing here, trying to get yourself killed?” She scolded while coming towards me.

I stood up as fast as I could, then did my best to answer her, “Y-You forgot your pouch.”

“Boy, you’re either very selfless or very stupid.” She took the pouch from my hand, then added under her breath “thank you.”

Suddenly, something came to mind, the real reason I was here, why I’d gone out in the middle of the night and risked my life, “I… I think I wanted to see you work. I was awestruck by your knowledge of a world that was in the edge of my very reality until now, you seem to wield a comprehension over it that seems impossible for anyone I know.” I bowed down my head. “Please, take me on as your apprentice! I’ll serve you however you like, just give me a morsel of that wisdom you wield so effortlessly!”

For the first time so far, she seemed stunned, she put her hand to her chin, thinking for a moment. “so your thirst for wisdom is such that it overpowers your fear of the dark…Very well, I could use a familiar, but be warned, I expect you to carry my things and do the menial labour I cannot waste my time doing. This will be hard, and very often tiring, you must let go of your old life and your old name if you are to proceed. Until you are powerful enough to be a witch yourself and choose your new denomination you shall be known only as my familiar. do you understand that?” She extended her hand towards me, stern but welcoming.

“Yes ma’m… Morgana.” I shook her hand.

“Then the pact is sealed.” A blue light engulfed me as I felt myself shrinking and transforming, I had quickly transformed into the form of a medium black cat, I’d heard about witch’s familiars before, so I did nothing but walk into my master’s leg, following her out of the alley.

As we left in the first rays of dawn, the first thing I learned was how the witch was able to kill the werewolf in one shot when it had bested many men, only silver weapons can wound a werewolf, so her silver bullet was an easy fix. The second was why she chose to leave so soon, instructing the village doctor like she’d done with me before and passing by a sea of judgemental eyes, angry and fearful. Witches are not well liked, they are seen as bad omens and dangerous beings, but they are tolerated as long as they are needed by the community. With the monster gone, and the body of a known baker of the village found in an alley with a hole in the back of the skull, that bottled up resentment was soon to turn into more dangerous action, hitting the road before that happened was vital to a witch’s survival. Thus began my education under the wise witch Morgana.

#original work #story #the witch's teachings #howdy y'all #enni #amateur writing #writing #fantasy #magic

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skgway · 5 years ago

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1825 May, Tues. 24

11 20/60

My cousin came just before I got up. Gave Hotspur oat cake – Rainy morning – Great deal of rain, heavy during last night with much lightning (they say) yesterday evening late – It became nearly fair about 8 1/2 –

Went out at 8 50/60 – Seeing nobody about the new footpath, walked to and from the Crownest gates – A little rain in returning – Met George Robinson, and hearing the workmen were come, went and found Jackman and Frank Oates and John Crossley – the gardner and his brother were come to breakfast – Nothing could be done – Frank had tumbled over the plank, the 1st barrow – John could not wheel at all – Jackman said it would be like standing in puddle to wall – He came to job here about the house – The other 2 men went away I suppose – and George Sykes (the gardner) and his brother came and mowed the grass walks in the garden –

Got home at 11 – Breakfast at 11 1/2 – Went upstairs at 12 1/4 – From 1 3/4 to 6, wrote the letter 1/2 page 2, page 3, the ends, and under the seal, (began on Sunday) pretty close, to Mademoiselle de Sans, and then wrote the latter 3/4 of page 3, the ends, (very small and close) and crossed the 1st page of my letter (began yesterday) to Miss M[a]cL[ea]n – Dressed and came down to dinner at 6 3/4 – The following is the passage in Miss McL– [MacLean]’s letter alluded to yesterday –

“I wish that nasty road was at an end – I do not at all like your being out all day overlooking men – I can fancy the necessity of it but I cannot bear your doing it – You must be directing, finding fault, etc. etc. A manner is so imperceptibly acquired – And you tell me you shall not be released till the middle of July! I shall expect to see a Yorkshire roadmaker appear in the shape of my friend in Quinish – On returning to my sheet, the last lines strike me as terribly impudent – My pen ran off with the thought, and so shall the post – I am not afraid of your justice –I sometimes wonder if ever I shall know what rest is and also ask myself how we shall like each other when more personally known. Your opinion in this subject I know and wish it may prove true. Sometimes I persuade myself that when next we part it may be with indifference. All these queer thoughts pass thro my brain during my sleepless hours” –

Wrote all the above of today downstairs after dinner – Came upstairs at 9 1/2 – Vide page 1 my letter to Miss McL– [MacLean]

“How we may meet I know not; for my fort is not in meetings – but that, when next we part, it may be with indifferences,” I confidently believe will not be the case – To me it seems to be, and, probably, it is impossible – Even should our fancies have wrought but foolishness in thus linking us together by the charities of epistolary intervenience, the disappointment, on my part at least, would be too signal to be compatible with indifference, – That good or evil of which I have as yet learnt little from experience – These are indeed, ‘queer thoughts’ that pass thro’ your brain – I long to prove you right, or wrong – You feel, as if you knew me not thoroughly, – As if you had not yet that ‘faith, that were ev’n its light remov’d, could like the dial, fin’d remain, and wait till it shone out again’ – Hold! Hold! Sibbella! A truce to these queer thoughts – If they have aught of truth, ‘tis premature; if they have aught of falsehood, ‘tis another villainy – But you are a person somewhat given to queer thougths – Perhaps they are in some degree inseparable from regard, and are the natural offspring of ‘the doubt it feeds on, and the pain that in its very sweetness lies? . . . . . . . . .

(vide page 3)

“Part with indifference! Impossible – No! No! Not quite impossible – You do not know me – You make me impatient – You make me anxious on this subject – I have never lately calculated upon being other than your ‘most valued friend’; nor can I be, unless I deserve it; and this conviction would make doubly great the mortification of losing any part of your good opinion” –

(vide page 2)

“I laughed aloud on reading your sentence of excommunication against that footpath – ‘directing – finding fault – a manner is so imperceptibly acquired’ your expectation” of seeing ‘a Yorkshire roadmaker in the shape of your friend’ amuses me exceedingly – This sentence is invaluable – I shall copy it into a conspicuous part of my journal, and read it every day by way of antidote – Why do you call it ‘terribly imprudent’? It is terribly just; but, luckily for me, I have sense enough to know it – In good truth, and soberness, I thank you for the sentence with all my heart – You never wrote a better, or a kinder” –

Say I will see her this summer if possible . . . . .

“Remember now and ever, that ‘all is not gold that glitters’, nor is all valueless, that looks like dross – Do not expect to see any other than the person from whom very little difference of manner would have . . . . . . .”

these seven dots are copied and thus follows

“I am tanned as brown as if I had been dyed with walnut-juice – Itf is not in the nature of things, that I should improve much at present; but I hope . . . . . . . keep your expectation as low as possible, and spare me, if you can, the mortification of discovering, that it will be yourself around whom disappointment shall throw the folds of indifference ‘when next we part’” –

A very kind cheering letter to Mademoiselle de S– [Sans], well written. I have brought in very well the two quotations from Moores Loves of the Angels given in my letter to Miss Macl [Maclean] about faith and tis but the doubt he feeds on etc. See above – There is the following style of profession beginning at the bottom of page 2

“Were my interest in your welfare a small matter, – a mere word without meaning, or a feeling that endured not beyond the moment of professing it, I should have ample excuse for leaving your pages unanswered, perhaps till your head had time enough to forget me altogether; but as I never pay compliments at my heart’s expense, nor ever, either to others or myself, make a joke of its regard, you may believe it real, and may count upon its continuing, in all English sincerity, true to the last – It would delight me to be at your elbow a little just now, because I think I could cheer, and console you, – I think I could persuade you that, come what may for the present, the bright side of your case is much longer than the dark one, and that the one is but as it were, a little spot upon the other, that merely hides, for the moment; the sunny good that lies behind – I have a presentiment, that I shall see you happy – Few will congratulate you more affectionately, and none more sincerely – Do not tell me of shewing you kindness in Paris – I had pity, perhaps even more than your doctor: but pity is neither the 1st, nor the only sentiment which it is in your power to excite, and by which you will always hold your place in the remembrance of those who are not “fickle as the summer’s wind” – . . . .

Conclude with

“God grant you better health and speedy happiness! Write when you have time and inclination – Nothing will give me greater pleasure than the good tidings I confidently hope you will have it in your power to send; for I am really and affectionately interested in your welfare, and shall be always my dear Louise, really and affectionately your friend AL –”

Bid her write in French and tell me what postage she pays, promising to write on thinner paper another time – Mention the de B– [Boyve]’s house being visited as an hotel garnis – Quote Mrs. B– [Barlow]’s words, mention her illness and mention that Miss Gauntlett has told us of a very nice respectable French woman who will be ready to receive a few in July – I have noted this because I never mean to go to the de B– [Boyve]’s again, and hope I have not walked in the Tuileries gardens for the last [time] – Hope to chat again there with Mademoiselle de S– [Sans] and Mrs. B– [Barlow]

A few heavyish showers during the day (vide line of today) very heavy thunder rain in the evening – Began about 7 – Barometer 3 1/4 degrees below changeable, Fahrenheit 57º at 9 1/2 p.m., at which hour came up to bed – Sat up reading volume 1 Rousseau Confessions – I certainly improve a little from the style of Rousseau and read with more ease and profitable observation than ever before –

#anne lister #anne lister code breaker #Sibella MacLean #Louise de Sans #Mademoiselle de Sans #Shibden Hall 1825

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mykingdomforapen · 5 years ago

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Hey Lady Charity! I've been a huge fan of your writing for years now, and I realized that you liked The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien as well, which I enjoyed immensely. It got me curious about what books you like and would recommend readers, if you don't mind sharing. Have a great Easter :) (if it's still Easter there)

ZHappy Easter to you anon!! Thank you so much for reaching out to me, that’s very sweet of you.

Oh, that’s so interesting, I literally was just reminiscing about The Things They Carried a couple of days ago! How fitting...there are some lines in there that I still think about, particularly the bit about “story-truth is truer than happening-truth.” Because it really is significant, and speaks in a way that makes life make some more sense, sometimes. I had the privilege of actually meeting Tim O’Brien many years ago. My English teacher at the time was taking the high school seniors to a talk that he was hosting, and she knew I really liked his book because I wrote an entire paper on it, so she pulled strings to have me come as well even though I was not in that year, and I got to have my copy signed by him and show him my writing. It was really kind of her to do that for me.

Here are some fiction books that I’ve read in the past couple of years that I really really enjoyed:

A Monster Calls by Patrick Ness. It made me cry. It made me bother my sister and be like “listen to this line, this beautiful, poignant line.” It gave me so many chills, and it made me feel a great deal of love. That’s the best stories! The love that it gives to the characters and the readers. It’s a short read, it’s technically a children’s story, but....I had read it this past year, and it was really poignant.

Till We Have Faces by C. S. Lewis. One of his least well known books but honestly his best writing. It’s a retelling of the Eros and Psyche myth from the point of view of Psyche’s sister, and it’s a really poignant and deeply thought read. It’s really interesting to me the way Lewis writes this story, filled with so much pondering on faith and trusting a higher being and really, tenants and foundations of Christianity in a universe of the Greek gods. And his narrator is incredibly deep, desperate for love, bitter, wonderful.

Exit West by Mohsin Hamid. Its prose is incredibly beautiful, like very very beautiful, and I looooove me a good magic realism story. And it has my favourite guilty pleasure dynamimc: ‘carry on my wayward son’ meets ‘please stop my relentless daughter.’

Death Notice by Zhou Haohui. I usually don’t think about reading thrillers, but I read this (500ish) page book in literally a day, it was that gripping. I was really really caught into it! And the prose (and translator’s prose) was really gripping, clear to understand for me as an English reader, and what a page-turner. Really really exciting. The only draw-back is that it is part of a trilogy, so you turn the last page and realise the story isn’t done yet, and now you have to wait for the translation to find out what happens next.

The Paper Menagerie and Other Stories by Ken Liu. I really like this short story writer!! I believe he counts as sci fi but he has a really lovely magic realism that blends Chinese mythology with urban fantasy, and more often than not with a beautiful, meaningful core. I love his mind’s universe, and I really enjoyed nearly every story in it.

Broken Stars: Contemporary Chinese Science Fiction in Translation translated by Ken Liu. Chinese science fiction is really, really good, and Ken Liu is incredible at translating work. There are a lot of stories in this collection, and I had enjoyed a good lot of them. Among them my favourites that stayed in my head for a long time are “Goodnight Melancholy” and “What Has Passed in Kinder Light Shall Appear.”

I’ll start with these for now! And if you want nonfiction let me know :)

#ask #asks #LC recommends #Anonymous

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solidrain · 2 years ago

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favorite things i read - february 2023

short stories:

"The New Year Train” by Hao Jingfang, translated by Ken Liu (from Broken Stars) - a very short and fun time travel story about a train getting lost while traveling along a different time-space continuum

“Calf Cleaving in the Benthic Black” by Isabel Kim - two space scavengers come across a living-but-cryogenically-frozen boy in the remains of a failed spaceship; incredibly haunting and descriptive language and a beautiful ending

“What Has Passed Shall in Kinder Light Appear” by Baoshu, translated by Ken Liu (from Broken Stars) - i highly recommend this story if you’re decently familiar with the history of modern china, it’s a very inventive and sometimes mind-boggling exploration of history, narratives, and the nature of time

books:

Broken Stars: Contemporary Chinese Science Fiction in Translation by Ken Liu - i’ve gushed about a lot of the individual stories from this collection, and i found plenty of stories i didn’t care for in addition to the ones i liked, but when i consider this book overall, i mostly appreciate it for opening a new part of the science fiction literary world that would have been much, much harder for me to access otherwise

Old School by Tobias Wolff - a boy at an elite prep school in the 1960′s navigates his identity and ambitions as a writer; a very kind coming of age novel in the way that it shows and gives grace to its narrator’s sometimes (but no unbearingly) childish and self-important voice while also taking us way past the finish line of most coming of age stories into the boy’s adulthood and a vignette of one of his old schoolteachers

february feels like it both blurred together and dragged on, but i had a big work-related victory this month so that was nice. feels like i’ve been floating between feeling like a child and feeling like an adult, and between feeling content alone and feeling genuinely lonely, but reading (and a little bit of writing) has been revitalizing even when life is weird.

#thing i read #reading #mine

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readsky · 4 years ago

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June 2020 Reads - Minireviews

5 books this month, including a BIG one. June was a bit slower; I am still not back in work and the weather was pretty terrible, so I didn’t get out much. Lockdown rules have been relaxed a bit, so we’ve had a few friends round that we haven’t seen since Feb. Was nice to just have a few drinks and play some card games (Exciting!). Now, to the mini-reviews!

The Eye of the World (Robert Jordan) I wasn’t planning on reading this, but one of my friends has been telling me to read it for years now. I’ve heard all the “it’s just LOTR fan fic/rip-off”, so I put it off since there’s always so much more original content on my reading list. Then I randomly found it in a charity shop for £2. I took it as a sign that I should read it, and I’m really glad I did! A group of young lads discover that they are being targeted by some very scary and dangerous folk, and set off on a quest with a warrior and a powerful female warrior-mage to find out why the forces of darkness are rising and why they are so interested in them. Are there a ton of LOTR parallels? Yes. Does it feel like Robert Jordan just wanted to be a modern-day Tolkien? Yup. But did I care? No. I recently started reading The Lord of the Rings (I reviewed The Fellowship of the Ring a few months ago), and god damn is that shit a slog. It took me MONTHS to read The Fellowship. I think the only way I could sum up The Fellowship is “dense, whilst simultaneously lacking in detail”. I finished TEOTW in exactly 2 weeks, and while it is dense, the story flowed well, most of the characters are interesting, there’s some badass ladies and there’s enough genuinely well-developed mystery surrounding the characters that I’m very keen to keep reading (although 14 x 800 page books is a lot of reading time to devote to one series, but we’ll see how it goes!). So, was TEOTW special or unique? Nope, but I found it an easy and entertaining read despite its size, and it was different enough from LOTR to keep me interested. Very good. 4/5

Broken Stars: Contemporary Chinese Science Fiction in Translation (Translated by Ken Liu) I’ve already used a bit of my blog to wax lyrical about how great Ken Liu is. And I’m going to do it again! He’s great! What a guy! In this follow up to Invisible Planets, Ken has picked 16 more short sci-fi stories (and some with fantasy elements) written by some wonderful Chinese authors and again translated them for English speakers. This is just as strong a collection of stories as the ones picked for Invisible Planets and just as varied in their ideas and themes. Particular highlights include Baoshu’s What Has Passed Shall in Kinder Light Appear which is a kind of historical fiction where time for the characters progresses linearly, but major world events such as the Second World War and the Chinese Cultural Revolution are happening in reverse. This instalment also includes some more fun stories, such as Fei Dao’s The Robot Who Liked To Tell Tall Tales which is a really cute story about a King known as the biggest bullshitter in the kingdom, but doesn’t want to die with that reputation, so sends a robot out into the world with the mission to become a bigger bullshitter than the King. And finally, Ma Boyong’s The First Emperor’s Games is a short and fun read that will delight anyone with an interest in video games. I enjoyed every minute of this book and hope Ken will continue to bring Chinese sci-fi to western readers. 5/5

Daughter of Smoke and Bone (Laini Taylor) This was another charity shop find (50p!). Looked like fantasy (judging book by its cover, I know!) and then saw that Patrick Rothfuss had given it a glowing review. Turns out it was well deserved. Karou is an art student studying in Prague and seems relatively normal to her friends. However, she moonlights as an assistant to demonic beings who brought her up after she was orphaned, collecting teeth for a purpose she does not yet know. After a chance encounter with an angel, she finally finds out the truth. This is a beautifully written book. The writing is so visual, and it was extremely easy to picture the characters and their surroundings. The way the author describes Prague made me want to jump on the next plane and go. If I were any good at drawing, I would probably have had a go at creating some fan art. My only gripe would be that I’m not a fan of over-the-top, unobtainable, supernatural type romance, and the last half of this book is exactly that. However, once you start to realise what an important element this is to story, you do start to forgive it. Fast-paced and beautifully written. 4/5

The Book Thief (Markus Zusak) I don’t read a lot of historical fiction, so this was different for me. Since I mainly read fantasy, there’s always a certain “epic-ness” to everything I read. The Book Thief is not epic, but that doesn’t detract from this beautiful story based on some of the most tragic events of the last 100 years. The story follows Liesel, a young girl who is forced to live with foster parents after her own are taken to a Nazi concentration camp during WW2 for being identified as communists. This is a story of her growing up in a poor town just outside Munich and the stories of the people she meets along the way (and her growing obsession with stealing books). But to give it a bit of quirkiness, the story is narrated by Death himself. This was probably my favourite aspect of this story, as it gave an “alternative” view of Death. Death is extremely thoughtful and talks in a manner of helping people “cross-over”. I imagine that the author didn’t have the stereotypical black cloak and scythe combo that we usually picture Death to look like. The vast array of characters makes this book an endearing one and it is one I will not soon forget. 4/5

Senlin Ascends (Josiah Bancroft) I would have to put this into my most unexpected reads category. I’m finding it hard to compare to anything. Thomas Senlin is a school headmaster and all-round fuddy-duddy. He keeps to himself and never gets into any trouble. When he eventually marries Marya, a beautiful, fun, and upstanding young woman, eyebrows are raised. They decide to spend their honeymoon visiting The Tower of Babel, a marvel of modern-day engineering with unique societies on every floor. A tower so tall, no one can see the top and no one can actually confirm how high it is. Senlin has learned everything he knows about The Tower of Babel from a visitor’s guide that describes it as a utopia; the pinnacle of modern and civilised society. However, when they arrive Senlin immediately loses Marya in the dense crowds just outside the tower and he quickly learns that this place is as far from utopia as it gets. This is extremely unique science fiction with steampunk elements throughout, and follows the change in Senlin’s personality and outlook as he ascends through the tower, desperately trying to find his wife. I will admit to feeling a bit deflated about this book about halfway through. The lack of strong and/or independent female characters had me worrying and it seemed to be turning into a “save the damsel in distress story”. However, I was breathing a sigh of relief as I approached the conclusion of the book. Not every female character was a victim! Phew! Overall, a great start to this series and I’m looking forward to reading the second book. 4/5

#book review #june books #reading goals #book blog #read more #booklr #bookblr #bookblogger #fantasy fiction #science fiction #Chinese science fiction

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