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kimyoonmiauthor · 7 months ago

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Not Freytag's pyramid~~.

That's stolen from a corrupted version of Antigone's diagram.

Why do I know this one to be correct and it's on Wikipedia? Because I read the whole of and tortured myself for a week reading Freytag's book Dies Tecniks Des Dramas, which for the record, is terrible, terrible on women, racism, ethnocentricism and is pretty much a mind trip into reading pre-facist propaganda as it worships Wagner's Opera.

Freytag, much like Aristotle before him is basically worshipping and justfying Wagner's Opera which was pro-German propaganda. He said EVERYONE was inferior to German drama. He went on about this at length, going so far as saying English suck ass (in a lot, lot more words whole entire diatribes of this) and the ONLY decent English ever had in his estimation was Shakespeare.

In summary, he's what you call a grade A asshole. He thought women couldn't write for shit, which is why he chose Aristotle, and he got EVERYTHING about Greek plays wrong.

And then he called Christianity the greatest religion in the world... which is how he came up with that diagram, with wrong and assumed facts about Wagner's opera, Aristotle and Shakepeare.

He also didn't promote conflict.

BTW, that's also not Hero's Journey.

You're missing the misogynistic original version of it. C'mon, put in the part where Joseph Campbell was too lazy to look up Xiqu, and thought women were either there to sleep with the hero or support him, nothing else, and then got into an argument with one of his students that the female student created her own version, even though that too, is ethnocentric media imperialism.

Don't be lazy and just take the first diagram you can find on google, because those diagrams are WRONG. Read the original work and then reel like I did at how terrible these people are, and then QUESTION the foundation of if we should be adhering to thee story structures which were extensibly invented in the 20th century (because no one follows Aristotle, the 5-act which is NOT Shakespeare in origin and is kinda lost to history, honestly, and Freytag.). Or you could just read my long, long research into the origin here: https://kimyoonmiauthor.com/post/641948278831874048/worldwide-story-structures

I've spent what? 4-5 years trying to back trace this awful thing and getting pummeled by loads of racism, sexism, while the industry worships white cis (mostly het) abled men, while ignoring the contributions of women, People of color and other minorities about story structure and I, personally, don't think that's right. We need to restore the *toehr* people and their thoughts to their rightful places and say things like, "Discovery is a valid story driver." And qichengzhuanhe is super awesome and at least 10 times older than the supposed corrupted three act story structure, which isn't really any one person these days but the worst version of telephone game ever.

Does this mean the final diagram made up of all of these different people acting like authorities without citations is "useless" no, but knowing the history of stry structure itself, I think it empowering so you know you hae a *choice* and that choice is important.

Reading the original works gives you a sense of time and plae and how things can change over time, such as where did the development part come into play into story structure, who was arguing what, and should we question it? Give yourself empowerment.

Maybe the Conflict-filled three act story structure is far better for say... horror and thrillers since it gives everyone anxiety when done right, which as I point out is great for a capitalist society. But maybe realization, discovery, self discovery, etc are better for things like romance. OMG, he actually reads Natsume Soseki, I think I'm in love.

Maybe a morality tale needs to be in Sci-fi as it looks at political issues--how do you pull that off? Silas Mariner could help. Knowing that other story drivers and story structures exist is empowering to the average writer.

Plot structure btw, I found much later is also ethnocentric and probably a after-19th century idea.

Culture need not be static. And often culture lies to you. And in this case it's a big fat lie because it's mostly holding up men who hate women and other minorities and the question for everyone is... should we stand for that when the majority of the industry are women who don't hate everyone else? Do you want to go around saying how horrible Gertrude Stein is, or rag on Black people as being "savage" or just go full on racist and religiously intolerant by saying other story structures are not valid?

There's Chaistic, for example, which is used in Jewish lore. Why not have some fun and PLAY? Isn't that what creativity is for? And if by chance people feel threatened by this and goes all Highlander on you, "There can be only one." I have to point out oppressing and saying only white men are right about everything is a terrible way to conduct business. Also, for the love of what's Holy, and for the sake of artists DO CITATIONS. I know it's tradition to not do citations on writing advice, but damn, those white men gave me a headache. And people should get credit for their ideas and work.

I bother with citations and tell when I have a new idea and where my ideas come from because I have a ense of legacy, which, BTW, doubled after I did this project and all of the white men didn't do citations and everyone else did. The more privileged you are, the less you think you have to cite say, Octavia Butler? Screw you, white uncitation men. BTW, It's a trip to read Freytag back to back with Polti. I do cite Freytag for being an asshole in full, BTW.

Let's talk about story structure.

Fabricating the narrative structure of your story can be difficult, and it can be helpful to use already known and well-established story structures as a sort of blueprint to guide you along the way. Before we delve into a few of the more popular ones, however, what exactly does this term entail?

Story structure refers to the framework or organization of a narrative. It is typically divided into key elements such as exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, and resolution, and serves as the skeleton upon which the plot, characters, and themes are built. It provides a roadmap of sorts for the progression of events and emotional arcs within a story.

Freytag's Pyramid:

Also known as a five-act structure, this is pretty much your standard story structure that you likely learned in English class at some point. It looks something like this:

Exposition: Introduces the characters, setting, and basic situation of the story.

Inciting Incident: The event that sets the main conflict of the story in motion, often disrupting the status quo for the protagonist.

Rising Action: Series of events that build tension and escalate the conflict, leading toward the story's climax.

Climax: The highest point of tension or the turning point in the story, where the conflict reaches its peak and the outcome is decided.

Falling Action: Events that occur as a result of the climax, leading towards the resolution and tying up loose ends.

Resolution (or Denouement): The final outcome of the story, where the conflict is resolved, and any remaining questions or conflicts are addressed, providing closure for the audience.

Though the overuse of this story structure may be seen as a downside, it's used so much for a reason. Its intuitive structure provides a reliable framework for writers to build upon, ensuring clear progression and emotional resonance in their stories and drawing everything to a resolution that is satisfactory for the readers.

The Fichtean Curve:

The Fichtean Curve is characterised by a gradual rise in tension and conflict, leading to a climactic peak, followed by a swift resolution. It emphasises the building of suspense and intensity throughout the narrative, following a pattern of escalating crises leading to a climax representing the peak of the protagonist's struggle, then a swift resolution.

Initial Crisis: The story begins with a significant event or problem that immediately grabs the audience's attention, setting the plot in motion.

Escalating Crises: Additional challenges or complications arise, intensifying the protagonist's struggles and increasing the stakes.

Climax: The tension reaches its peak as the protagonist confronts the central obstacle or makes a crucial decision.

Swift Resolution: Following the climax, conflicts are rapidly resolved, often with a sudden shift or revelation, bringing closure to the narrative. Note that all loose ends may not be tied by the end, and that's completely fine as long as it works in your story—leaving some room for speculation or suspense can be intriguing.

The Hero’s Journey:

The Hero's Journey follows a protagonist through a transformative adventure. It outlines their journey from ordinary life into the unknown, encountering challenges, allies, and adversaries along the way, ultimately leading to personal growth and a return to the familiar world with newfound wisdom or treasures.

Call to Adventure: The hero receives a summons or challenge that disrupts their ordinary life.

Refusal of the Call: Initially, the hero may resist or hesitate in accepting the adventure.

Meeting the Mentor: The hero encounters a wise mentor who provides guidance and assistance.

Crossing the Threshold: The hero leaves their familiar world and enters the unknown, facing the challenges of the journey.

Trials and Tests: Along the journey, the hero faces various obstacles and adversaries that test their skills and resolve.

Approach to the Inmost Cave: The hero approaches the central conflict or their deepest fears.

The Ordeal: The hero faces their greatest challenge, often confronting the main antagonist or undergoing a significant transformation.

Reward: After overcoming the ordeal, the hero receives a reward, such as treasure, knowledge, or inner growth.

The Road Back: The hero begins the journey back to their ordinary world, encountering final obstacles or confrontations.

Resurrection: The hero faces one final test or ordeal that solidifies their transformation.

Return with the Elixir: The hero returns to the ordinary world, bringing back the lessons learned or treasures gained to benefit themselves or others.

Exploring these different story structures reveals the intricate paths characters traverse in their journeys. Each framework provides a blueprint for crafting engaging narratives that captivate audiences. Understanding these underlying structures can help gain an array of tools to create unforgettable tales that resonate with audiences of all kind.

Happy writing! Hope this was helpful ❤

#story structure #Freytag was an asshole #Freytag was a pre-Nazi fascist #Don't forget Fretyag was super racist #Campbell was racist and sexist. c'mon #Do citations

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televinita · 11 months ago

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Library Triage!

Since my library tour resulted in an absurd number of new checkouts, some planned and some not, what if we talked about them, since I can't seem to figure out what to actually settle down with and read next.

(includes books I had out prior to this week)

1. Emily Wilde's Encyclopedia of Faeries: LOOK LOOK IT'S FINALLY HERE! I should definitely read this one first! ...I don't wanna.

2. Hemlock Island - Kelley Armstrong: a thriller that comes highly recommended by a friend with similar tastes, and looks great! I can't seem to settle into it yet.

3. A Barn in New England: Making a Home on Three Acres - Joseph Monninger: a 2001 memoir from an author I've read a whole bunch of books from over the years. Not sure if I want to read it right now but checked it out just in case.

4. The Big House: A Century in the Life of an American Summer Home - George Howe Colt: a 2003 memoir I tripped over while collecting the above, and which looks incredible, just the kind of story I want to know about always. "This poignant tribute to the eleven-bedroom jumble of gables, bays, and dormers that watched over weddings, divorces, deaths, anniversaries, birthdays, breakdowns, and love affairs for five generations interweaves Colt’s final visit with memories of a lifetime of summers." (I already had to check and make sure that didn't mean the house was getting torn down, but no, only sold.) It is, however, deceptively small in size while having small print and relatively narrow line spacing.

5. Snow Foal - Susanna Bailey: this darling-looking middle grade horse girl novel is actually what I want to read next, I think. But I still have to go pick it up.

6-7. Welcome to the Dark House - Laurie Faria Stolz: just a standard YA horror I've had on my TBR for a while and finally decided to collect while making a set of requests for the county-next-door library. I also got its sequel, on the assumption I'll like it.

8. Love Interest - Clare Gilmore: FINISH THIS BOOK ALREADY, TELEVINITA!! I've been stalled out on page 125 for 2 weeks because something about the MC and writing style just mildly nettles me and I feel like it's gonna be 3 stars, but also I just keep getting sucked into these same few pages over and over because A+ FAVORITE TROPE OF THEM FALLING ASLEEP TOGETHER (FULLY CLOTHED, TECHNICALLY PLATONICALLY DESPITE KINDA FLIRTING) AND SPENDING THE WHOLE NIGHT CUDDLING.

9. The Seat Filler - Sariah Wilson: this book was supposed to be my respite from the above, but damn, that stupid Driver detail really did derail me. >:(

10. Bright Lights, Big Christmas - Mary Kay Andrews: I was really excited to read this for Christmas because of how much I liked The Santa Suit, but I got on the request list too late, so while I give myself a 3-week grace period or so to still enjoy Christmas books, this one's longer than TSS and at this point I feel like I'll enjoy it more next season. Stubbornly keeping it 'til my hold runs out, though.

11. Jonathan Unleashed - Meg Rosoff: probably not going to read it this round, I just thought I might as well pick it up while I was there, since it's not owned by my two closest branches. Options, baby!

12. The Beginner's Guide to Living - Lia Hills: similar to #6, longterm TBR resident only held by the county next door. And by longterm, I mean I added it in April because the "struggling to cope with his mother's sudden death and growing feelings of isolation from his father and brother" part pinged when I was hunting for real-world approximations of Emo Loki's story. Just wanna satisfy my curiosity.

[edit: done. meh. skimmed.]

There! SO MANY OPTIONS. Pick one and sit down and run your eyes over the words already??

#library triage

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bloodgulchblog · 2 years ago

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Where to Start on Halo Books: A Guide For Nerds that Want In

There's a lot of Halo, so let me tell you about a couple books I think are good places to dive in. They're all early ones, and I think any of them can serve you well depending on what you want/what sounds cool to you.

If you like starting from the beginning of things, care a lot about the origins of the Master Chief, were into Captain Keyes, or are just coming in off the TV show and would appreciate an introduction to ground yourself on the main continuity's lore because it's different, start with The Fall of Reach by Eric Nylund.

It's not the best Halo book, but it's serviceable gamer fiction, you can tell the author really genuinely cared about it, and it sure is the first one! It's a prequel to the first game, and covers the beginning of the Spartan program, the training of the young Spartans, the growth of Keyes as a captain, the origins of Cortana, and finally the eponymous fall of the stronghold world Reach itself which leads on into the game.

One thing to note: this is the oldest Halo novel, but the last revision to it was about 10 years after it came out. Try to find a copy from 2010 or newer. The old ones with Halo 1 era graphics on the cover and the xbox logo on the spine, while very vintage #aesthetic, have a couple glaring errors that got corrected later.

If the cover has this art piece on it, you're good. There's like one fiddly detail that can be different between copies of it and it doesn't matter much.

(Unfortunately, the audiobook never got updated.)

If you don't like prequels, are still to this day haunted by not knowing what happened between Halo 1 and Halo 2, want to spend quality time with the adult Spartan-IIs, you care a lot about the Master Chief as a character, and you thought Cortana and Sergeant Johnson were fun and want a book with both of them, you can start with First Strike (also by Eric Nylund.)

This one bridges the gap between Halo 1 and Halo 2. I think it can stand pretty well as an entry point if you're coming in with a good knowledge of the games anyway.

The Fall of Reach may not be one of my most favorite Halo novels (it's important but I don't enjoy reading the whole thing) but First Strike is definitely one of my favorites. If your tastes align with mine and you like what I have to say about Spartans and the Master Chief in particular, a lot of the roots of that are in here. I think it is a more coherent book than FoR.

Like FoR, this one is one of the oldest books so keep an eye on edition. (This one doesn't have many huge glaring continuity issues that I know of, though.)

If you fucking love prequels, want worldbuilding and backstory, enjoy pain and suffering, want to start even more at the very beginning, are curious about Smart AIs and/or are starving like an animal for Covenant lore, or loved Sergeant Johnson more than anybody else and don't care about Spartans, you could start with Contact Harvest by Joseph Staten.

Contact Harvest is set about 30 years before the first Halo game, and tells the story of humanity's first contact (and conflict) with the Covenant at the planet Harvest. Joseph Staten was the head writer at Bungie during the original trilogy era, and this is a very competently written book. (...Just forgive the awkward sex scene at the end.) Staten's a stronger writer in craft terms than Nylund, and he gets to unfold a bunch of foundational Halo universe lore in here. This had our first big look at the Covenant from an inside perspective, and our first good look (outside a Spartan's perspective) at what humanity was worried about before the Covenant showed up. It has a couple of Smart AIs as major characters, and I still think it is one of the best portrayals of them.

Also, it's about Sergeant Johnson and he's a cool dude.

If you read any one of these three, you can read either or both of the other two if you want to keep going. If you vibe with what Nylund's doing and get curious where he's going with it after First Strike, the next title you want is Ghosts of Onyx. If you liked what Staten laid down in Contact Harvest you will probably enjoy Tobias Buckell's The Cole Protocol, which is also heavy on the colony perspective while its Covenant chapters are about a (much younger) Arbiter.

After that, you're off the Halo lore tutorial levels and are free to do whatever you want, you'll figure it out. (Or stop, possibly. It is a regrettable quality of Halo that there are probably many places where it is wise to stop.)

But hey, while we're here.

If you don't actually care about backstory lore and just want to read a good story, you really like the tension between humans and aliens, you feel like the period right after the war is over sounds really rad, you're all about trauma and recovery, and you have somehow come to the unwise conclusion that you trust me with your life...

You could read Envoy, by Tobias S. Buckell.

Envoy is very self-contained from most of the rest of the lore, but it's really good. It's really really good. I loved it a lot. It's probably not a great place to start with no grounding at all in Halo, it comes from much later in the continuity, but... Keep that in your back pocket for later, maybe.

#halo lore #halo novels #halo

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linkspooky · 2 years ago

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Hi....if you don't mind me asking, what are your top 10 favorite (fiction) books? And why? Sorry if you've answered this question before...

Hello, I don’t mind answering. Here’s my top ten books. Please don’t expect me to have good taste. A friendly reminder that I am a clown, and I have a clown’s taste in literature.

#10 A Game of Thrones

Not the whole series, but the first book specifically is one of what I consider the best fantasy books of all time. I know this is an incredibly mainstream thing to say, but sometimes things that are popular, are popular for a reason. The Cersei sections of Feast of Crows are my favorite in the whole series, but as for the book in its entirety I believe the original book is almost a perfect example of a first book in a series which sets up greater characters and plot threads while at the same time writing a perfect three act tragedy in Ned Stark’s arc throughout the entire book.

Genre fiction is my bread and butter, and I appreciate authors who are able to elevate Genre Fiction into serious art just by taking common characters and tropes of the genre seriously, and using those as tools to build upon the themes. Everyone knows the plotting and the world and politics and backstories are so impressively detailed that George RR Martin’s writing ability, and thoughtfulness towards his own work always shows in its dirty and gritty details. But ebyond that I’m reminded of a quote by Ursula K Le Guinn about genre fiction.

“For example: A writer sets out to write science fiction, but isn’t familiar with the genre, hasn’t read what’s been written. THis is a fairly common situation, because science fiction is knwon to sell weel, but as a subliterary genre, is not supposed to be worth study - what’s to learn? It doesn’t occur to the novice that a genre is a genre because it has a field and focus of it’s own; it’s own appropriate and particular tools, rules, and techniques for handling the material; its traditions; and its experienced, appreciative readers - that it is, in fact, a literature. Ignoring all of this, our novice is just about to reinvent the wheel...”

What I love about Game of Thrones is that it is a fairy tale story, that knows it is a fairy tale and instead of looking down on fairy tales, it critically examines them while at the same time adding humanity to all of its characters. The grittier elements of the story come not from George RR Martin thinking fantasy stories are stupid, but because he wants to write a legitimate challenge in his story for characters to ovecome, and a world where things are harder than they seem in stories, and yet it’s still worth the struggle to live life outside a story. You know. You know those themes? It’s one of those.

#9 The Idiot by Dotsoevsky

It’s hard to pick a favorite out of Dostoevsky’s five great novels, but i inthk his most tragic entry is the one that’s also the most tightly written and clear in its themes.

Prince Myshkin is one of Dostoevsky’s purest heartest characters, a character Dostoevsky wrote he wanted to create with an “entirely postivie... with an absolutely beautiful nature”, and yet despite being so loving and unselfish towards others he’s a rare example of a character who’s good points are matched evenly with his flaws. A fundamentally good person who is as complex as some of Dotsoevsky’s bad boys, like Raskolnivkov. Myshkin is so selfless a person he’s almost an ideal, but the point of the novel itself is that ideals cannot exist in reality.

According to Joseph Frank, the character of prince Myshkin approaches “ the extremest incarnation of the Christian ideal of love that humanity can reach in its present form, but he is torn apart by the conflict between the contradictory imperatives of his apocalyptic aspirations and his earthly limitations.”

Prince Myshkin is someone who similiarly can only see the world in ideals, which is what makes his romance with Nastaasya Filippovna so troubled, because she is a troubled person who exists in an area of grey that Myshkin cannot see. Myshkin can truly and unselfishly love her, and yet he cannot comprehend er at the same time which makes their romance one where desipte all good intentions neither of them are ever on the same page.

Anyway, the best love stories are ones where thy don’t end up together. It’s the story of how they met, they didn’t fall in love, and didn’t end up happy together, and yet the goodness Myshkin saw in Nastasya who is Dostoevsky’s most complicated, and most flawed woman, was there all the same.

#8 Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte

Here’s the cliche answer for which work by a Bronte sister is your favorite. However, my hot take is one everyone in the world will disagree with me over. Wuthering Heights is still a love story, even if it’s a story that is primarily about Katherine and Heathcliff’s selfish, destructive love. The Bronte Sisters weren’t out to debunk Regency Era romantic stories like the kind Jane Austen wrote. They aren’t anti-romantics. Wuthering Heights is still very much a story full of romanticism, it’s just like George RR Martin, looking at that genre with a more serious lens.

In my essay I will go on to prove that Wuthering Heights is a romantic story.... It’s about big emotions and the consequneces about big emotions. Much is made about how destructive Katherine and Heathcliff’s love for one another is, and how selfish, but when reading it you have to pay attention to the circumstances surrounding it. Heathcliff is the victim of abuse and discrimmination, because he is poor, disadvantaged, and dark skinned. His childhood love is also with the only person who sort of treats him like a human being, and in that same light Katherine falls in love with the only person who knows her as she is in a complicated light rather than seeing her as a woman of manners and fine breeding. It’s only after everything goes wrong that the love itself becomes destructive towards both members.

Wuthering Heights isn’t really saying that the brooding Byronic prtagonist is a bad person, but rather illustrating the cirucmstances that would create such a person. One interpretation I like about the story is that Heathcliff and Katherine are just as selfish in their actions towards each other, it’s just Heathcliff’s are more destructive because that’s the power he has as the head of the household.

It’s a tragedy of two people coming together, and then coming apart by love, but to argue that love doesn’t exist is to like, say that the two leads of Romeo and Juliet weren’t in love, they were just horny teenagers. The story becomes leser if you ignore the romanticism of the story. If like, the descriptions of roaring green fields, and the weather reflecting the emotions of the characters, and the fainting spells and bouts of hiysteria are not enough to indicate it as a romantic work of fiction. Also, at the end of the story, the damage to two generations of the family that is done by abusive love, is slowly becoming undone by the union of two children who heavily parallel Katherine and Heathcliff and represent what they could have been under different ircumstances. It’s just such a good story at depicting the extremes that people are capable of while its characters are still human. You could compare Heathcliff to Frankenstein’s monster, except he’s not a monster at all, he’s just a dude, ableit a heavily abused one who goes on to repeat his abuse in a heavily realstic way.

#7 The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath

I put this on the list just to be pretentious. There’s a lo of similar books of this genre I’ve read and enjoyed, but this is for me pretty much the only book that’s ever depicted a mental breakdown accruately. The whole first half of the book really is just about a normal person unfamiliar and uncomfortable with her brief stay in New York City, and when she gets home and falls apart that is when the book becomes brilliant.

A lot of mental illness in fiction is like, heavy hallucination, crazy behavior. Sylvia Plath writes a character just slowly falling apart, not being able to keep up with her normal life in the way she did before. One of the most striking passages to me was when she mentions that all she seemed to do all day was do nothing, and yet she couldn’t sleep either, and she went day, after day, after day without sleeping. When the main character attempts to slit her wrists too, it’s not a big dramatic deal, but something the character mentions almost offhandedly, and she does it because she is so tired of not sleeping.

It’s just a small and quiet portrayal of suffering that’s just as striking and poetic, because it draws humanity out of the mundanity of this character’s breakdown. She just stops being able to do what she could always do before, and she doesn’t know why, or what’s the cause of this slow decline, and she feels trapped in her head and observing as it’s happening to her. It’s a book I’ve reread several times, at the minimalist language it uses, that is equally effetive as striking and overdramatic prose. It just gets the suffering of the character across, in small ways, it’s so soaked with a quiet misery.

#6 Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy

This is my favorite love story, ever. I actually think war and peace is stronger in its themes, and has more liabkly characters in its cast, but Anna Karenina is the story of one woman’s misery and her desire for escape from her life. There is so much humanity to Anna in this story, that’s not given to other woman in the time period. While theplot of War and Peace is about the comparison of the smalll lives of the Russians in contrast to the Big Stakes of the war happening around them, Anna Karenina is written about one women’s misery and her trying to find happiness in love and it is treated with all the same importance and grand consequences.

The opening quote of the book has stayed with me forever.

All happy families are alike, but every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way

Tolstoy writes about one small person living their life like it’s the most important thing in the world. That there are no great people like Napoleon, just people living their little lives. Anna’s desire for happiness is so strong she leaves her husband, and has an affair with him. Something a man would be allowed to do at the time, and is even easily forgiven for in the start of the book, but Anna is reviled for within her own society.

It’s important to marriage Anna has a husband that for the time period she should have been satsifed with, he worked and paid for the house, he was a responsible man who didn’t cheat on her, he just didn’t love her. Yet not only is Anna not allowed to leave in the eyes of society, she should also be thankful for it. Anna then is swept away by a man who promises her the kind of love she’s searching for, and even if he does not love her, he is at least exciting. It sounds like every other romance story ever written which is why you really have to just read it, to understand the humanity that is on display in Anna’s character.

#5 DRACULA

Did somebody say female characters? One of my favorite things to watch on tumblr was to see Dracula become super popular as soon as someone came up with the idea of emailing people the story, letter by letter. Dracula isa story where the most interesting haracters are the human characters struggling against the monster, and that’s brought out by the epistolatory novel storytelling format. Jonathan’s diary, Mina and Lucy’s letters all go to such great lengths to flesh them out.

Mina and Lucy especially are too well developed female characters. The slow decline of Lucy’s health, and the great efforts everyone around her goes to save her, only to have her die at the end is one of the most harrowing things I’ve ever read in fictions. It’s more horrifying than most modern day horror, and this sequence of events happens when Dracula is mostly offscreen and only appears in what to Lucy are just drreams.

Stephen King once said, and I’m paraphrasing, that what makes horror fiction scary is when the audience is invested in the fate of the characters. Dracula is so lasting and impactful because the main cast is as developed as the monster themselves, even though they are ntohing more than pathetic and scrawny human beings. It’s the rare monster story where you actually want to see the good guys slaughter the monster.

#4 Frankenstein

Frankenstein, or as I call it, can you tell this was written by a woman?

Frankenstein is just about so many things. It references stories like Paradise Lost in its themes about the potential of good and evil of humanity. r. It’s about the human adventuring spirit and the desire to do something great, and also when that same desire to be something greater than human can make people forget their basic humanity. It’s about misogyny. It’s about masculine entitlement.

It’s about childbirth It’s about motherhood. It’s about the cycle of abuse. Frankenstein and his Monster are such perfect foils for one another, to the point where the Monster is almost a living Jungian shadow who like Peter Pan’s shadow has escaped from him and is running around on his own. The more that Frankenstein denies the monster and dehumanizes him, the more monstrous he becomes.

One of my favaorite passages in all of fiction and one I think about when writing characters to this day, is when the monster points out that he has done bad things and deserves to be punished, but what about the family who beat him and chased him away for looking ugly when he spent months on end gathering firewood and he only wanted to introduce himself. What of the man who shot him, when he tried to save his son driving for a river. Why aren’t they deserving of punishment? If he is guilty, then why are all the people who pushed him into this and were violent towards him without cause innocent?

#3 Zaregoto Vol. 2: The Kubishime Romanticist.

This is where I get rocks thrown at me for putting a light novel on here and above all of these classics. The story behind Zaregoto volume two is fascinating . While the first was months of work went into it’s creation, Nisioisin felt something was missing when he had finished it. For the sequel, he sat down, and wrote it in two days.

Zaregoto is one of my favorite novels of all time, but it does require reading the first to show how it contrasts the second. Basically, what I always say is that if you read the first volume you don’t really understand why everyone is so offput by the main character, or why everyone is constantly hinting that he’s a terrible person. However, by the second novel you understand exactly the kind of person IIchan is.

While the first volume of the series is a tribute to mystery stories that for the most part, centers around solving the mystery, the second the mystery solving is almost incidental to establishing just what kind of person the first person narrator is. It’s a very vivid image that Nisioiisin paints in detail, and it’s not exactly a flattering portrait.

II-chan is a terrible person. This is the novel about how II-chan is a terrible person. However, Iic-han is one of my favorite characters ever, and this novel is one of my favorite novels just because the prose is so, almost trippy, psychadelic? It’s very stremam of thought narration. It’s poetic. And that’s all in servic to show what the kind of person II-chan is. He’s an unreliable narrator, because he’s such a good storyteller he’s twisting details to make himself look like the victim of the story, and yet if you pay attention and read behind the lines he’s just not a victim nor a particularly good or innocent person. Unreliable narrators are some of the best tropes in fiction to show how not only can stories not be trusted, but people cannot be trusted as well, because they both have a tendency to tell lies.

# 2 +#1 No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai, and This Side of Paradise by F. Scott Fitzgerald

These two are essentially tied for my favorite, because they are very similiar despite being written by authors from two different cultures. They are both semi-autobiographical novel length works that are essentially coming of age stories where the main character refuses to come of age or grow up in any specific way. They are love stories, where the main character doesn’t fall in love. They fact that they are semi-autobiographical novels which follow these characters from childhood to adulthood and paint not so flattering pictures of the main characters is part of what makes them raw and effective.

I won’t speak about Osamu Dazai but if you know anything about F. SCott FItzgerald, well let’s just say there are a lot of scandals about his treatment of his wife, his writing. There’s a lot of honesty though in his works that makes me not want to completely dismiss his talent as an author. This Side of Paradise and Osamu Dazai are just so honest in their portrayal of the main characters warts and all, that they are still readable despite having what are selfish and unsyampthetic main characters.

Osamu Dazai once wrote he tried to write novels for miserable people, and yep, that’s pretty much it. No Longer Human at times reads like a suicide note left by the author himself, and that’s even explciitly the framing of the novel, a journal that was left behind after everybody stopped hearing from the main character. They portray the struggles of the characters by giving them such rich internal worlds.

This Side of Paradise is different in that it at least has a slightly more optimistic ending. Both stories feature characters who are born into relative wealth in privilege, trying to go to school, trying to fall in love, trying to find work and live in the world and failing at all of those things. At the end of hist journey though, Armory ends with this quote.

“I know myself," he cried, "but that is all.

Armory at least from all of his struggles, gains an understanding of himself by the end of the story. Which is why I think, stories like this need to be told. EAs Dazai said, some stories need to be written for miserable people, because misery is just as much of the human experience as happiness is. There’s still something to be gained from these stories, because loss and failure is something you can learn from. Which is why F. Scott Fitzgerald writes some of the most beautiful prose for the time period, because those people were born, dreamed to be someone important, wanted to be loved, just like everyone else and their stories are just as beautiful despite ending in loss and failure.

#literature #literature analysis #askspookies #This side of Paradise #Anna Karenina #Dracula #Frankenstein #wuthering heights #the bell jar #The idiot #Game of thrones

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spiciestmarinara · 7 months ago

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I finished it, so spoiler-free review is that if I was the target audience I would like it a lot. It does invoke ‘Goosebumps’, but if those kids met up in a ‘IT’ manner. Each chapter has a companion piece of art done by Trevor Henderson that was a great idea, calling back to ‘Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark’.

Spoiler-full review under the cut

This is a great first book, I think horror for the middle school level crowd is really underrated and needs more offerings and Trevor Henderson knew who he wanted to write for. Just like ‘The Halloween Moon’ by Joseph Fink, I think these are great books for kids and could definitely be ‘baby’s first horror’ without being too gorey or intense.

That being said I’m going to get critical.

The writing switches between having such interesting descriptions of the horror aspects to the “normal life” scenes and the conversations between characters feeling a little clunky. In fairness to Trevor, RL Stine wrote many many books for a similar age range and also had trouble in that area. Also of course an artist would be better at visual and aesthetic descriptions.

They also are similar in that the characters are not written particularly deep. Lucas is the best written and my favorite and absolutely feels like his whole story could be a separate short story. I don’t know if Trevor breathed more personal experiences to him, but Lucas feels way more like a character than Mary who is somewhat our lead (or at least point of entry as the new kid).

In general, individual stories are weirdly stronger than the turn to make an ensemble. The lead up was so much longer and more interesting than the pay off and I’m wondering if focusing on just three kids (Byron, Mary, and Lucas) or just making an anthology of shorts with the radio broadcast as a framing device would have been better.

I would lean to anthology because the monsters and the ideas behind them are so good, but besides Lucas with the scarecrow and Mary with the doppelgänger, none of them feel like they properly “matched” the kid. The Stranger is so cool and is on the cover, I thought he was the ringleader or something was going to happen to imply he had a bigger role.

The ending feels fast and ends on a “it’s over or is it” without resolving a lot of threads. Why were children and teens the only groups targeted? Could the parents not see/hear the monsters ala IT? What was with the giant centipede who might just be out there? Did Alan Graves generate the monsters or are they functionally tulpas? I don’t mind horror that doesn’t explain everything, but there’s almost too little explained that I feel like I would be a bit frustrated as a kid if I really got into the rest of the book.

In general, as a grown adult reading a book for kids, I would give it a solid 6.5/10. .5 for the art because I really was jumpscared by a couple of them just like when I read the ‘Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark’ series for the first time.

I really hope Trevor Henderson keeps writing, there is such passion for the genre and I think with more practice and a more focused cast of characters, his next entry could really up the ante.

Girl help, I listened to all of Mayfair Watchers Society and now I’m going to read a book that is for a ~slightly~ younger audience because Trevor Henderson wrote it.

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amandaoftherosemire · 4 years ago

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And Hell is Just a Sauna -- Part Three

Fandom: Marvel/MCU

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Author: @amandaoftherosemire

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 6,091

Format: Short Series (Complete)

Warnings: Language, violence.

Summary: You meet Bucky Barnes upon your mysterious and deadly escape from a power obsessed cult leader and his followers. Though you carry a secret in addition to the wariness of trauma, you can’t help your attraction to Bucky and his irascible demeanor. As for Bucky, he is drawn to the light he sees in you while he fears the things you’re hiding. Can you trust him with your secrets, and your life? Will you have a choice?

A/N: Over the course of the last year, I have decided to fully embrace the swamp witch aesthetic that I have been side-eyeing for a long time. What this means for my blog is that I emerge from The Rosemire every few weeks to offer up what I’ve made, only to immediately disappear again. I don’t know if this is an explanation or an apology. Maybe a warning? Up to you I guess.

Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four

And Hell is Just a Sauna -- Part Three

Bucky was watching you. Again.

He was trying to be subtle about it, as per usual, not wanting to make you uncomfortable, but he couldn’t help himself. To Bucky, you were endlessly compelling.

You took a couple of hours in your office every afternoon for researching… something… and he’d gotten into the habit of hanging out on the couch in there, originally intending to nap. Rather than sleep, however, he’d found himself watching you, enthralled by the serious demeanor he’d discovered in these moments. Between the narrow-eyed focus on whatever you were reading and the low muttering under your breath, he found you both charming and intriguing.

The intrigue made sense, considering your discomfort when he asked what information you were seeking in these hours in front of your computer. You hadn’t tried to deceive him, but you’d made it clear that you weren’t ready to talk about it. That had been before you’d let him into your bed, however, and he’d been hoping you’d share the truth ever since.

And so, he found himself stretched out on the couch in your office, watching you from under his lashes and trying to understand the mystery you presented.

Bucky was fascinated and frustrated by the puzzle of you. He’d spent hours talking to you, even more hours simply existing around you, endless days considering everything he’d observed about you. He hadn’t figured you out yet, nor had he uncovered why he was so obsessed, though he was getting an inkling.

He was pretty sure he was falling in love. He’d once had the heart and soul of a romantic, had been able to fall in love every other day, with a woman’s voice, scent, smile, but something about you was different. Something about you made him yearn for more.

He didn’t think it was the mystery alone, though that was part of it. You were in most ways an open book, outgoing and full of stories about anything up to and after your captivity. What happened to you in that blank spot you wouldn’t or couldn’t say, but he heard you whimpering pleas for help or mercy along with the name ‘Joseph’ in your sleep. The terror in your voice always made him want to destroy something. Instead, as he would pull you into his arms to comfort, he’d deliberately remind himself that those he wanted revenge upon were beyond him, but he could care for you.

Most days, however, you were light-hearted and happy and being around you made him feel brighter, more like himself. Every day he woke up next to you was a good day simply because he knew it would be another opportunity to bask in the light and heat of you, the crackle and snap of the searing energy that arced between you. He wanted to understand you, wanted to understand that heated energy. He was certain that there was something vital to be found there.

If he was being completely honest, however, he had to admit he was watching with as much interest the way you absent-mindedly brushed the pen in your hand over your lips as he was listening to your muttered asides about flames and one-way doors. He was utterly obsessed with the seemingly unconscious sensuality that characterized almost everything you did, but he couldn't be sure it wasn't something appealing particularly to him.

The fact was, if he was still the boy he’d once been and you were a girl he'd met before the war, he would already be thinking about claiming you permanently. However, he was in a new century, with new rules, new realities. Old evils still nipping at his heels. The boy he'd been would have adored you as much as the man he'd become, but the man was only comfortable enough to indulge that adoration thanks to his certainty that you could protect yourself should those evils catch him.

Except he was not at all certain he could have resisted you, regardless. The emotion that made his heart race and leap and ache was too powerful, the glory of what you gave him, the joy of giving back to you too exquisite. He'd begun to dread the day he was inevitably forced from your side. He wasn't entirely certain you'd let him go without a fight. He wasn't entirely certain he wanted you to.

You had made clear your genuine enjoyment in him, but he also wasn't certain how deep your feelings toward him ran. He wanted to believe that the softness in your eyes wasn't his imagination, that the tenderness in your touch was proof that you were as taken over by this as he was. But as long as you continued to keep secrets about things that terrified you, he couldn't be sure he wasn't anything more than a diversion. As long as you kept your own counsel about your past, and in the absence of explicit words, he had to assume that your feelings didn't run as deep as he might hope.

On the other hand, Bucky couldn’t help but notice the less than secure way you hid whatever it was you were researching. Every day you closed down your computer and put your paper notes in your desk drawer, which you then carefully locked. He knew that you were aware that the lock on your desk was something he could pick half-conscious with his eyes closed after a bender, and that was the point. That you trusted him to stay out of what you’d made clear was private told him how you felt. You evidently trusted him to respect your privacy. Maybe it wasn't a proclamation of undying devotion, but it was a start.

When it made him so warm and soft inside, he couldn’t even think of breaking that trust. No matter how mad it and you drove him with curiosity.

"I'm pretty sure you're not asleep, you know.” The sound of your voice startled him, so engrossed he’d become in watching the way you rolled the pen over your lower lip. “I feel like I can hear you thinking from over here." Though you weren't looking at him, a mischievous smile was playing around the corners of your mouth and Bucky felt the low-burning embers of desire that had been teasing at the edges of his consciousness burst into full flame. He always wanted you, but he wanted you most when you were teasing him.

Bucky smirked, but otherwise didn't move as he replied in a slow drawl, his eyes bright and blue as they glittered at you from under long dark lashes. "That pen of yours is giving me thoughts, the way it's playing with your mouth."

He was sorry to see said pen yanked away from your mouth, but the bashful grin you shot him as your laughing eyes met his more than made up for it. "Hey now," you mock scolded as your eyebrows lifted in playful challenge. Bucky adored the pretty way you played with him, the fearless way you challenged him. His grin turning feral, he sat up and swung his feet to the floor.

“Don’t get up,” you ordered with a smirk as you tossed the pen down on the desk and got to your feet.

Bucky sat back with a grinning leer as you circled the desk, hoping he'd managed to tempt you into his lap. When you dropped to your knees in front of him, skimming your hands up his thighs to his belt buckle as your mouth spread in a sly smile, he laughed in breathless wonder, grateful to be wrong.

"Fuck, doll," he sighed happily as your hands went to work on the button of his jeans as your eyes burned into his, "a penny for your thoughts."

Bucky's whole body tightened in desire when you leaned forward with a sultry laugh.

…

A long while later, after you'd destroyed first his body, then his mind with your wicked mouth, what was left of his heart crumbled when you led him from the room toward dinner without shutting down the computer or putting away your notes. He followed you without a backward glance, certain that the day was coming soon when you'd confide in him. He could wait until you were ready.

The intruder alert connected to the security system sounded from your phone at the same time the hissing, spitting panic of your friend had Bucky sitting up from behind you where he’d been sleeping curled around you as big spoon.

“What the fuck?!” he spat in a furious and confused whisper as he rolled to his feet in a move so violently graceful you caught your breath even as your heart picked up in fear at the sound of the low humming coming through the cracked window.

You scrambled out of bed and snatched up the nightgown you always left draped over the foot of the bed for just this moment. You’d almost started to think, hope, that it wouldn’t come, but you’d never been that lucky. “Kiki!” Your voice was hoarse with the terror that prickled at the back of your neck when the chanting started.

“What the fuck!” Bucky had put himself beside the window and peeked around the edge into the yard. He now sounded disgusted in addition to infuriated and if you weren’t facing your worst fear you would laugh at the aggravation all over him. Only Bucky would be exasperated by what appeared to be robed and hooded cultists surrounding the house.

When you peeked around the other side of the window and saw one man with his hood thrown back, a chill ran down your spine. The mask covering his face did nothing to disguise his identity. You’d recognize Joseph’s shining gold hair and arrogant stride anywhere, even if only by the light of a crescent moon.

You snatched up the phone on your nightstand and pulled up the controls on your security as you hissed. “Kiki, how is he still alive?” You couldn’t help the panic coloring the question, but at this point there was no reason to keep anything from Bucky any longer. You felt Bucky’s eyes on you when the popping hiss came in response and wished you’d had the courage to introduce him to Kiki before catastrophe struck.

Bucky crouched to pull the rifle from beneath the bed where he’d placed it when he started sleeping with you every night. As he loaded the gun and checked it over, he seemed only mildly curious when he asked, “Who’s Kiki?”

“Very small, Keek,” you said softly as you lifted your hand and turned it so that the backs of your fingers were facing up. Across the knuckles, a tiny orange and yellow flame with a vaguely animal shape, like a small lizard, jumped and pounced until it turned blue flame eyes on Bucky. You smiled a little at his raised brows. “This is Kiki.”

The flickering shape of Kiki’s face spread in what was unmistakably a smile even as the jeweled blue of her eyes narrowed in flirtatious charm as they rested on Bucky. He laughed a little, one of his scoffs of astonished humor, when she hissed and whistled in what could only be appreciation.

“Keek thinks you’re hot, for a human,” you said when Bucky’s eyes met yours over the happy little flame perched like a bird on your fingers. Your smile was a little sick around the edges and Bucky could see the fear that lived there. He was too familiar with the terror of rejection because of what one couldn't help but become to not recognize it when it was all over the woman he loved.

Bucky reached out and took your free hand with his own and squeezed gently as he smirked. “I guess Kiki would know, considering.”

You huffed out a laugh of relief. You could hear in his tone that he wasn't angry, that he understood. No wonder you'd fallen head over heels with the man. He was perfect, at least for you. “I was trying to figure out how to tell you," you rushed to explain, afraid to believe it'd be this easy. "Batshit cult outside kinda figured it out for me.”

“This works," he answered with a shrug. You'd trusted him when it was important. He had faith that the next time, you wouldn't hesitate. With a wink and a flirty grin, he nodded at the little flame still sitting on the backs of your fingers. "Pleasure to meet you, Kiki. You wanna help finish these assholes off?”

Your breathless laugh of wonder chased by adrenaline followed the low, long gleefully malevolent hiss from the little creature. You grinned fiercely at Bucky, ready to defend your home and everyone in it. “Keek likes the way you think.”

"Darlin'?" The deep Southern drawl that haunted your nightmares floated in through the window and sent a shudder of terror running over your skin. Bucky looked down when your hand clamped around his. Using that grip, he tugged you close, letting go to wrap his arm around your waist and crush you against his body as he took your mouth with his own.

"I'm not gonna let him hurt you." He growled the words not like a promise, but as a statement of fact, and one that required no further explanation. The sound of his utter confidence, his complete commitment helped you slow your breathing as he turned you both toward the bedroom door.

A shiver of fear still ran through you at the shouted "Darlin'!" coming through the window, however. Despite the still polite tones, you could hear the undercurrent of cruelty, of barely leashed violence, and the sound reminded you of the time you'd spent as his prisoner before that last horrible night. "I think I've been awful patient with you, darlin', but I'm already a mite annoyed that I had to chase you at all. Why don't you come on out here and we can talk about this like adults?”

Bucky kept you tightly snugged into his side as he pulled you into the upstairs hallway that ran between the bedrooms. He ignored everything but you as he spoke in calm, soothing tones to counteract whatever was in the other man's voice that made you shake this way. Fury lit a fire within him, made him want to leap into the fray with nothing but his knife to take vengeance for you in blood. Only his determination to see you safe could overcome that white-hot rage.

"I have an idea. Go to your library window," he murmured in a voice as soft as velvet as he led you down the hallway toward the room in question. "Stall him a bit while I get into position downstairs." He lifted the rifle still in his other hand, but his reassuring smile drew your eyes and gave you a much-needed boost of confidence. "Let him manipulate you downstairs, but you're only going to the front door."

You looked into eyes so blue the sight made your heart sigh and relaxed in a fundamental way for the first time since you'd been kidnapped by the man that was still taunting you and calling your name. You took a quick breath and leaned forward to snatch a kiss from that gorgeous mouth. With a quick grin into that stormy blue, you turned into the room to face your demons.

"Uuuugggghhhh!" As you threw open the window next to your reading nook, you shouted in hostile exasperation and hit the button on your phone that turned on the flood lights. Bucky grinned in appreciation from the shadows behind you as he turned to make his way silently to the ground floor.

Dropping into the seat with a huff, you leaned out to sneer at Joseph, the villain in your story, who was blinking and shielding his eyes from the sudden light. "What is your fucking problem?!" you sang out with malicious glee.

You'd learned very quickly as a matter of survival how to both fascinate and frustrate Joseph during your time as his captive. Like many psychopaths, he hated boredom above all else. Keeping him amused, even by irritating him, had made you a favorite, kept you alive. It had also led to your place as the vessel for his occult summoning, unfortunately.

"Ah, there's my girl." You were pretty sure you saw his grin flash with that familiar Southern charm. The mask only covered the top of his face and his voice was warm and appreciative. "You sure are a sight for sore eyes, there, darlin'."

You narrowed your eyes and ignored the flattery. He'd sounded the same even as he'd staked you to the ground, spread eagle for what he'd believed to be a demon. "Why’re you hiding your face, Joe?"

The face in question fell into cruel and bitter lines, the charming smile gone as though it had never existed. Despite the warm presence hissing reassurance in your ear and the burly man with the giant gun downstairs, you felt a chill run down your spine at the sight of Joseph angry. "I'll take off the mask if you promise to still think me handsome."

“I told you when we were dating that I have an ugly temper.” You kept your voice bored and unconcerned, well aware it drove him crazy. “If I did some damage on my way out the door, it was only to be expected.”

The dark and sinister cast to his features snapped off and his mouth spread in a wide, cheerful smile. The speed with which he switched from charming and pleasant to cruel and menacing and back again chilled your bones, despite Kiki’s ever-present heat. “I fell for that fire before it burst into flame, darlin’. Why do think I’m here?”

You smiled at him, a thin baring of teeth that carried no hint of amusement. "I thought I made myself clear when I left that I was breaking up with you." You tilted your head in a taunting kind of curiosity. "Was setting everything on fire too subtle?

"I'm not mad, if that's what you're afraid of," he ignored the question with a sly smile. You were only half paying attention as Kiki was hissing warnings and instructions into your ear. Like the night you'd met her, she sounded both calm and competent, the neurotic worrywart you'd come to love these past months gone now that you were once again in danger. "I know you were a mite hysterical."

One corner of your mouth lifted in a darkly amused smile at the sound of Kiki's offended hissing. Describing the destruction that she'd rained down upon Joseph and his cult as 'hysteria' was an insulting understatement and only served to cement the little elemental’s determination to not hold back this time.

"Do I seem hysterical right now?" You drawled the question with a raised brow as you gazed calmly down at your nemesis, that mildly amused smile still playing around your lips.

Joseph let loose with an appreciative laugh that made you vaguely uneasy for reasons you couldn't quite put your finger on. He had a decent sense of humor for a psychopath, and he'd always seemed to enjoy the wryly sarcastic attitude with which you treated him. This laugh, however, had an edge that hadn't been there before, a sound that made you sick to your stomach.

"No, darlin', you sure don't." With another laugh, he pushed the mask up and onto the top of his head and the sight of his face made your blood run cold. His eyes were dark and red and raw, the skin around them cracked and blistered, as though he was burning from the inside out. "I gotta say, I like this side of you.” He wiggled his eyebrows playfully, but you could not respond in kind, only look at him in dawning horror. “Feisty."

Kiki’s low hiss communicated both fear and horror and terrified you more than anything else. Kiki was a fire elemental from beyond a portal into another dimension. If she was scared, you wanted to shake in your boots. The warnings she was muttering in your ear only added to your dread, concerned as they were with evil creatures from her realm, as powerful as she but without her kindness, or control.

"Joseph," you said in a voice gone cold with that dread, "I don't think we should hang out anymore. I'd appreciate it if you and your friends left now." With that, you pulled your head back in the window, lifting your arm to pull it closed behind you when Joseph's voice stopped you with a boom that made your ears pop.

"Except you didn't leave alone, did you now, darlin'?" Your eyes narrowed as his eyes began to deepen and darken. Kiki sighed in relief as she recognized what you were up against and knew she could defeat it, though there was hesitation in her mind that worried you a little. Still, it was an easy answer when she asked of you the same thing that she’d asked the night you met, the night she'd almost destroyed the man in front of you. "You took something with you!” Joseph bellowed. “Something that belongs to me."

Yes, you breathed, in the huffing sigh Kiki had taught you would allow her to work through you to channel her power from her own dimension into yours. Your eyes lit to flames as you replied in a voice that sighed with the same horrific rush of sound that accompanied a wildfire as it tore through a world. "I don't have anything of yours."

Downstairs, Bucky lifted a brow at the tone and timbre of your voice, the sound sending a rush of relief through him at the knowledge that you and Kiki were working together. He'd heard this the night he'd met you, knew he had nothing to fear. He glared, cold-eyed, at the people on the other side of the window that he'd silently cracked so that he could slide the barrel of his gun outside, and hoped for their sake they did nothing to provoke Kiki. Or you.

"You didn't set those fires on your own." Joseph sounded almost petulant, and the sound had you frowning in consternation and disgust. "That was supposed to be my patron, my power."

"Your power, my burden," your breath was starting to flame as Kiki settled more firmly into your form, her thoughts, her emotions sharing the same space as your own. When you were merged like this you worked in concert, each able to read the other. "You had no intention of carrying a demon on your back in return for that patronage. That was my job." Kiki spoke through you, trying to mislead the thing that Joseph didn't seem to realize accompanied him. "I took the patron and the power since I'm doing the work, thank you."

You and Kiki chuckled together when he took the bait and his demeanor shifted to convince, his tone to a wheedle. "Then let me take that burden. If you won't use the power on my behalf, then give it back. You never wanted any of this. Give him back to me and I'll leave you in peace."

Him? You asked the question in the popping language you'd painstakingly learned over the months you and Kiki had been companions.

(Her name, of course, wasn't really Kiki, but the sound you'd learned from her that represented her name started with a double scoffing sound that reminded you of the nickname. She liked the sound of it and so encouraged you in the familiarity.)

Kiki responded with her own confusion, not sure who or what Joseph had been trying to pull through the portal when she'd gotten caught in it. She was almost certain the thing that was currently hitching a ride with him was not what he was referring to, as it was highly unlikely that he'd meant to pull another elemental like herself through the portal.

"Why should I believe you?" You let your voice tremble, just a little, but enough to give the question a touch of vulnerability. You wanted to make Joseph think you were wavering, that he might have a chance at talking you into making a mistake. "You forced me into this before. What's to stop you from turning on me once I give it to you?"

At the tone of bitter betrayal, the sneer of suspicion that curled your lip, Joseph smiled gently and replied in a croon. "You know I never wanted to hurt you." He reached out with one hand and gestured in a come-hither motion. You wondered that you'd never noticed the condescension when you were dating. "Come on down here, darlin', and let me try to convince you. You have to be tired.”

"I am tired, Joseph." Bitter and weary, the words carried the weight of condemnation and the sting of disdain. "He's cruel and it scrapes at my brain. But I don't see how I can trust you to fix that for me. Since it's your fault in the first place." You folded your arms over your chest and glared mutinously down at him.

"There now," he chided, and the sound of his voice made heat climb from your heart up into your throat, your own anger feeding Kiki's fire, "you know you're my girl." If he'd been closer, he would have seen the flickering light behind your eyes, but he could easily see in the flood lights the smoke starting to climb from your hair and hurriedly changed his tone. "I always meant for us to do this together. Come on, darlin', you can't look me in the eye from up there and I want to make a deal with you." His act was completely believable, and if you hadn't already learned what he hid beneath the just-right remorse that cloaked him, you knew you'd have been fooled. "I bet you can smell a lie these days. I only want to take care of you."

This was what Bucky had asked you to do, and Kiki agreed that you'd made Joseph work for it enough that he wouldn't find your agreement suspicious. You glared down at him with narrowed eyes and an indecisive curl to your lips for a long, long moment. His expression didn't shift, except to grow softer and more wistful, as though he believed he could make you ignore the molten burn around his eyes.

When you relented with a deeply wary and resentful, "I'll come down to the front door," he looked both relieved and triumphant. You moved to exert just enough control to allay any suspicions and make him feel magnanimous in agreement. "But I’m going to get dressed first. Everyone stays where they are, got it?"

"Of course, darlin'."

With that same wary glare, you pulled the window closed with a snap and whirled to dart into the bedroom. You were on a clock and you still wanted to talk to Bucky before you stepped outside to face the fire.

Downstairs, Bucky had been listening to you almost as carefully as he had been watching the man in your front yard. After living with you for months, loving you for nearly that long, he knew you well enough to hear both the smoke he now knew was named Kiki as well as the shining brilliance of your canny brain. The way you allowed Joseph to believe he was talking you into doing what Bucky had asked of you had Bucky grinning like a fool.

He couldn't have asked for a better partner; even being back in the fight wasn't as bad as it could be when he had you by his side. He felt no conflict in the fight, not when he was fighting for you, for the home you'd shared with him, allowed him to make his own.

He would do anything to protect that home. He'd say the same about you, but the hellfire he could still hear in your voice reassured him that you were more than capable of protecting yourself.

Still, his eyes scanned the hooded figures on your front lawn with his enhanced and careful gaze, determined to miss nothing. He felt the satisfaction of a hunter's patience when he heard you snap the window closed, saw Joseph tilt his head to the side, and watched the shadow at the edge of the woods move to slip around the house.

Gotcha, he thought, and silently set his rifle on the floor next to the window and got to his feet, listening to discover which point of entry the shadow would choose. He could hear you upstairs, sounding like you were hopping around on one foot, but he could have kissed you for distracting the intruder.

Evidently, the shadow was either blessed with an abundance of confidence or cursed with a lack of imagination, because they had chosen to enter through the mud door into the laundry room at the back of the house. With a sneer of disdain, Bucky moved to the wall beside the door the intruder should come through if they were following the sound of your footsteps overhead coming from your bedroom to the stairs at the front of the house.

Part of him was surprised when the shadow, tall, slim, and largely androgynous, came through the door as expected, without a sound, but barely aware of their surroundings. Bucky easily had his metal bicep around their throat and was choking them into unconsciousness. He frowned in suspicion, worried that this shadow was meant to distract from something else.

If this was the best the bad guys churned out these days, no wonder HYDRA had still been using the Winter Soldier well into the 21st century.

You were coming down the stairs as the shadow was going limp in Bucky's arms. Your eyes widened in surprise, but your night vision had recovered while you'd changed and come downstairs so you recognized Bucky and, in his arms, Joseph's second-in-command losing consciousness from lack of oxygen.

Your eyes narrowed again, flames flickering behind the pupils. Brit had helped hold you down as Joseph had staked you to the ground the night of your escape. You'd never forget her face, and you had no sympathy for her feeble struggles.

You gave the two of them a wide berth as you ducked around Bucky into the kitchen down the hallway at his back. When you came back, Bucky was lowering Brit's body to the ground and you were carrying a hank of clothesline you'd gotten out of the junk drawer.

Bucky flashed a grin so bright with appreciation and warm with affection it made your breath catch, even with Kiki setting fire to your mind. You'd seen him through the curtain of flame when you'd first set eyes on him and had cried out inside that you should have to destroy something so beautiful. That cry of regret had made Kiki pause despite the gun he held and given you a chance to speak through the blaze.

His wry, irritated confusion had done the rest.

Joseph had lied and manipulated you with a carefully cultivated façade so that he could make you the vessel for evil to use its power without paying its price. He had also never even frowned at you until he had you captured and soon to be sacrificed. After that, Bucky's scowl had been irresistible.

Bucky snatched a kiss as he took the rope from your hands, thinking that he'd been completely right when he'd decided his luck had changed when he'd met you. "Do you hate the way he's talking to you as much as I do?" he asked with a smirk as he bent to tie up the intruder.

You snorted in response, wondered if Bucky realized how adorable he was, with his sharp eyes and gentle teasing. "Only with all my heart." You wished you had time to tell Bucky the whole story, wished you had told him before now about Joseph and the strange time in your life that you'd been under his spell.

Somehow, Bucky seemed to understand that because when he straightened up again from restraining your uninvited guest, he held his hand out for yours with a wolfish grin. "You want him alive for any reason?"

You laughed a little as you took his hand and moved into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Can't think of one."

Bucky was mesmerized by the flames that still twinkled in your eyes as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you tight against his body despite the heat pumping off of you in waves. With a quirked eyebrow, he sniffed at the smoke still clinging to your hair and made you smile. "No complicated feelings? No need for revenge?"

"Nope." You stretched forward the few inches left between you to kiss him gently, with soft, warm lips that left heat spreading through him. The look on your face as you did so, bright flames in paradoxically gentle eyes, made his heart race. "I would love to be done with all of this forever."

Bucky's lips met yours with a tender greed that took your breath and made your ears ring loud enough that you couldn't hear the sound of Joseph getting impatient and shouting for you. Bucky could hear him but didn't care. He would show you how much he adored you before letting you walk out the door to finish this once and for all.

If he'd intended to distract you from the fear that had been shivering down your spine at the thought of having to confront Joseph face to face, it had worked well enough to have your knees trembling with lust instead of fear. When he broke the kiss and released you, it took you a second to steady yourself on them.

"Leave the door open and don't go too far out." As he spoke, he turned back to take his place at the window, kneeling down to pick up the rifle he'd left there. Sliding the barrel of the gun back through the crack he'd opened earlier and speaking in a soundless whisper. "If I start shooting, let Kiki do her thing."

You followed him to the window to give him the warnings Kiki had given you as you'd thrown on clothing while you were upstairs. "Kiki says that he must have dragged something through the door along with her because only something from her world could be keeping him alive right now."

Bucky calculated angles and checked the trees at the edge of the yard for the direction and speed of the wind. "What does that mean for killing him?" The bored tone to his voice had you smiling. He'd sounded much the same the night you'd met. It was clear Bucky found this kind of thing to be tedious in the extreme. Considering how he'd spent the 20th century, you could understand his ennui.

"If you see her come in from the right, shoot him as she hits. From the left, wait until she passes through." Bucky only tilted an eyebrow in your direction as you grabbed ahold of Brit by the rope around their ankles and began dragging them forward. As he'd left them on the hardwood floor, the lack of friction meant you didn't need to ask him for help getting them to the front door. "She didn't know how to explain further."

"If you trust her, I do."

"I trust her."

"Good enough for me." Bucky tipped a wink at you before focusing back on the man shouting impatiently for you in the front yard. "I can't believe you dated this guy. Anyone who doesn't know you're your own girl is clearly not good enough for you."

"I love you." The words had Bucky's head snapping around to stare at you in shock. Your gaze devoured his face, wanting to remember the look on his gorgeous face the first time you'd said the words to him. Plump, pretty lips parted on a breath of surprise, bright blue eyes wide with what looked like hope. You huffed out a little laugh and shrugged. "In case I don't escape him a second time." With that, you flung open the door to confront your own personal demon.

Bucky shook his head and snorted. "We're gonna have to have a talk about your timing, doll."

Part Four here >>

Taglist:

@hellzzzbelle @cheekygeek05 @lbouvet @diinofayce @bibliophile1773 @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @miraclesoflove @nerdy-bookworm-1998 @destiel-is--endgame @irritated-bisexual @peaceinourtime82 @badassbaker @walkingtravesty97 @fashionworld12 @readermia

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fanfiction #bucky fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #mcu fanfiction #mcu fanfic #mcu au #and hell is just a sauna #pantswrites #short series

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unholyhelbig · 4 years ago

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Title: Robbing a Dead Woman

Ship: Beca Mitchell/ Chloe Beale:

Prompt: "Why are you robbing a dead woman?" "Why did you die rich enough to rob?"

The first thing Beca Mitchell realized, was that the ground was still frozen. Even though it was well into May and a subtle sweat was dripping its way down her back, it seemed as if the soil in St. Joseph cemetery didn’t’ get the memo- and if it did, it had been swiftly ignored.

She had almost fallen over, sticking the tip of the iron shovel just below the grass before balancing on its wings and nearly toppling into the marker that was just to the right of the one she had positioned herself on top of- and really, Beca Mitchell wasn’t built to rob graves. She wasn’t built to do anything except for curl up and sleep.

It was well past three am and her exhaustion was still clinging to her just like the scent of freshly turned dirt filled the air. And this was stupid, truly, it was. Because the last thing she ever wanted to do was dig up the grave of some old bat because her gold-plated watch had a gold-plated map on the bottom that would lead to even more gold.

Someone else had probably, probably dug this up before. But the coordinates that she stumbled upon on the campus library had an unbroken seal. So, she thought that maybe it was possible that the famous Beale treasure was still here, still hidden, and still buried under feet of half-frozen mud.

Beca got the first layer of mottled dirt and grey grass away from the opening before she decided to catch her breath. Her shoulders ached and she was sure that a splinter was wedged into the palm of her hand at this point. Her exhale clouded in front of her.

Gravediggers had some gull, she decided, to do this for a living. But she was also sure when no one was watching they brought out a machine that did this for them. It was horrible work- horrible needless work. She was a history major, a stupid history major that just got into cryptography because of an undergrad, and fell into a deep dark hole of lies and codes and deceit.

The Beale family really was at the center of it all. Their names were on several of the buildings on campus and there was an ominous oil painting of Mr. Thomas Beale in the science wing. He wore a lavish blue coat that must have been a fortune in those days and scowled down at the students hunched over different mixtures.

She had already committed some… crimes, or vandalism when she snuck into the dark hallways and took a pocketknife to the back of the dusty canvas. She didn’t’ press hard enough to break into the layer that faced the world, but she hoped vainly that whoever dusted around it next didn’t hold it up to the sun because there would be a very precise square missing from the middle.

The map in the book had led her to the painting and the painting had lead her to Chloe Elizabeth Beale’s grave, which she was now more than halfway through. She could smell the wet overturned soil and her own sweat, and the blood from the blisters on her palms.

A golden light swept across the campus cemetery and Beca didn’t’ waste any time dropping into the hole in the ground that she had just upturned. She held her breath as if the person wasn’t just a passing stranger in their car or some students leaning into one another with the smokey stone park as a backdrop.

She was on her back, trying to ignore the prospect of worms squirming under her clothes. She watched the light and fought the urge to drift off because the dirt was shockingly comfy and warm after a while. The lull of the nearby engine was enough to seduce anyone.

“Why are you robbing a dead woman?” A voice whispered.

Beca shot her eyes open and a scream threatened to form in her throat before passing her lips. But before she could a hand clamped over her mouth, strong and cold and also tasting of soil. She breathed in thickly and darted her eyes towards her left.

For all intents and purposes, Beca Mitchell figured that she was alone in the graveyard. She had been alone while digging and alone while researching where to dig. More importantly, she had been completely and utterly alone while she ducked and flattened herself on top of the soil.

But a woman was next to her, so close that she should be able to feel body heat and she should be able to notice something other than her stunning, ghostly, looks. Her red ringlets of hair and the way little specks of black sludge against rosy, white skin. There were freckles, soft and subtle ones that would be void for not the fleeting headlights still shining through the markers.

“You shouldn't do that, I don’t know who’s in that car but they won’t take kindly of you robbing a dead woman. Why are you doing that, by the way? Robbing a dead woman?”

The girl frowned as if she realized Beca couldn’t answer with a hand over her mouth and pulled back, her breath was just as cold as her skin, even as it pushed against Beca’s collar bone and made her hair raise.

The historian made an uneducated leap. “Why did you die rich enough to rob?”

She had never seen valid photos of Thomas Beale’s wife, but it was only rational, or irrational, to figure that this was her. She hadn’t even hit wood yet and ghosts… ghosts weren’t technically real, not that she could prove or disprove.

But this woman, beautiful and dark and light all at once, didn’t disprove her theory. In fact, she smiled as if it were more than just assumption. Her white teeth were glistening under the moonlight as it mingled with the rest of the world.

“Oh, you know you’re not the first person to attempt this?” She said, turning from her side so her dark blue eyes faced the sky and the stars within it. Beca was torn between watching her and watching the constellations but figured they were the same thing- really. “The whole grave robbing thing is a bit barbaric though. Started in the nineteenth century when medical students stole bodies to perform dissections.”

“History buff, are we?” Beca asked, trying to gauge the engine of the car turning over again.

“Thomas didn’t think women should be able to learn but I spent most of my time reading regardless. He was quite barbaric too.” She scoffed “Liked to make people fight for their next move. Did he hide treasure, then? No one has ever gotten this far before.”

“Other’s have tried?”

“Plenty. You got the painting, though. Smart. I like smart.”

Beca grimaced and tore her eyes away from the sky. She found that Chloe Elizabeth Beale stared at her now too. They didn’t’ say anything, not for a few moments. She didn’t look dead or dying, she looked preserved, she looked captivating.

“What killed you, then?” Beca asked despite herself, curious “If I’m to rob a dead woman I might as well know what made her that way.”

Chloe had a bit of a smile to her voice; it was a soft sideways grin and it made Beca warm in a cold grave. “Consumption. They said it was consumption anyway, with it’s blood and mass destruction. But it never lined up for me and by the time I had enough sense to refuse the whiskey’s that Thomas poured it was too late. Arsenic really has no taste. Did you know that?”

“Can’t say I did,”

“Thomas was always one for his riddles. He thought it would be poetic to hide the next clue within a cage, buried under dirt and a gold wedding ring that was much too weighty to carry. Once some poor fool got all the way to my finger and figured that was the treasure.”

It was Beca’s turn to smile. “Oh? So if I ever get a chance to clear the dirt, there’s going to be something more?”

“mm,” She hummed, breath not showing as Beca’s did in the slowly dimming night “Maybe. Let me know if you ever get the chance. I’d love to know if there’s any truth to the myth. The legend… something worth dying for.”

#Beca Mitchell #Chloe Beale #Bechloe #bechloe fanfic #bechloe fic rec #ghost au #pitch perfect #pitch perfect fanfiction

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wellhalesbells · 4 years ago

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✨✨ TOP FIVES FOR 2020 ✨✨

2020 was, i think we can all agree, a massively chaotic year but i have never consumed as much media before in my life, so i thought others might benefit from my slothery uh, connoisseur.... ship? yes, that. below are the books, comics, shows, and movies that got me through!

B O O K S .

the starless sea, by erin morgenstern - i loooove this book because it loves me back. it says: ‘oh, you’re a reader, well i have just the thing for you.’ it luxuriates in language and story and riddles and fairy tales and it feels like an entire library in a single tome.

they never learn, by layne fargo - oh fuuuuuck, this was satisfying. i thought it might feel a little exploitative as it is very aware of the zeitgeist and likely would not exist without the #metoo movement but it never ever did. this was a fucking ROMP, period. reading about a woman getting away with murdering skeezy guy after rapey guy after shitty human just made me happier and happier.

moonflower murders, by anthony horowitz - this is the second in the susan ryeland series (and the first was hardcore good fun too) and really feels very classic mystery with the artful twist of catering to the literary community. mainly because: susan isn’t a detective, she’s an editor and she gets drafted in this time because the clue to what happened to a missing woman is in a book she edited, if she can find it. both of the books in this series have such an excellent coming together moment that is rare af to find.

the invisible life of addie larue, by v.e. schwab - the writing in this is just so good. it has that feel to me where i just want to drop the book and open up my own page and let my fingers fly. it’s that inspiring kind of writing that reminds you of all the things language can do.

crown of feathers/heart of flames, by nicki pau preto - aaahhh, this series is SO FREAKING GOOD! why is there not more of a fandom for it, why???? it is so many of my favorite tropes all resting perfectly together to the point where you almost forget they’re tropes because they just so naturally evolved there. ugh, it’s just.... it’s so heart-bursty good.

.... number 5, part 2? raybearer, by jordan ifueko - this was just so original and i was invested af. like, what a brilliant idea though and an even better execution?? i loved every character and am so looking forward to the next in the series so i can get to know them even better!!

honorable mentions (sh*t i still liked a whole heckuva lot): you/hidden bodies, by caroline kepnes // writers & lovers, by lily king // i’ll be gone in the dark, by michelle mcnamara // the faceless old woman who secretly lives in your home, by joseph fink & jeffrey cranor // girl, serpent, thorn, by melissa bashardoust // a little life, by hanya yanagihara // the guinevere deception, by kiersten white // obsidio (and the entire illuminae series), by amie kaufman & jay kristoff // the bone houses, by emily lloyd-jones // house of salt and sorrows, by erin a. craig // we hunt the flame, by hafsah faizal // savage legion, by matt wallace // blacktop wasteland, by s.a. cosby // crier’s war, by nina varela // the empress of salt and fortune/when the tiger came down the mountain, by nghi vo // upright women wanted, by sarah gailey // the monster of elendhaven, by jennifer giesbrecht // a deadly education, by naomi novik // you let me in, by camilla bruce // when you ask me where i’m going, by jasmin kaur // the lights go out in lychford/last stand in lychford (and the entire lychford series), by paul cornell // the devil and the dark water, by stuart turton // serpent & dove, by shelby mahurin // one by one, by ruth ware // ruthless gods (this was SUCH an upshot from the first book - it’s worth sticking with if you’re on the fence), by emily a. duncan // cemetery boys, by aiden thomas // the inheritance games, by jennifer lynn barnes // the fortunate ones (2021 release), by ed tarkington

C O M I C S .

cosmoknights, by hannah templer - the art was gorgeous, the gayness was glorious, and just.... hot HOOOOOOOOT lady knights in space?! a princess winning her own hand? find something not to love in there, i dare you.

don’t go without me, by rosemary valero-o’connell - wow. wow wow wow wow wow. the writing was stunning, so lyrical and atmospheric and deep, and rosemary has to be one of my favorite artists but even that managed to come as a beautiful surprise because it was just so freaking bold.

through the woods, by emily carroll - i loooove emily carroll, the convergence of spine-tingling horror and art that feeds into it, that is both visually and aesthetically pleasing, is hard to beat! p.s. i also read beneath the dead oak tree from her this year and it was also a BANGER.

the impending blindness of billie scott, by zoe thorogood - zoe is someone that i just want to follow. she’s just starting and i want to be there for every single step. i love her art style and her ability to tell a story with it.

above the clouds, by melissa pagluica - this was so unique, and such a baller concept, as nearly half the entire book is conveyed only through the art and yet you’re never once lost, never once confused as to what any character is thinking or feeling. it’s a story within a story and only one of those gets words though they both are chock full of emotion!

um.... number 5, part 2? crowded, by christopher sebela - everything about this series is fun af. crowd-funded assassination and a hirable bodyguard who’s rated like an uber driver??? and the chemistry between the two mains is so great and gay!!

honorable mentions: monster and the beast, by renji // long exposure, by kam ‘mars’ heyward // fence, by c.s. pacat // invisible kingdom, by g. willow wilson // ms. marvel, by g. willow wilson // heathen, by natasha alterici // not drunk enough, by tess stone // giant days, by john allison // die, by kieron gillen // be prepared, by vera brosgol // ascender (sequel to descender, which is also great), by jeff lemire // the unbeatable squirrel girl, by ryan north // bang! bang! boom!, by melanie schoen // gideon falls, by jeff lemire // life of melody, by mari costa // cry wolf girl, by ariel slamet ries // the tea dragon society, by katie o’neill // ptsd, by guillaume singelin // heartstopper, by alice oseman // solutions and other problems, by allie brosh // finding home, by hari conner // the magic fish, by trung le nguyen // something is killing the children, by james tynion iv // the weight of them, by noelle stevenson // spill zone, by scott westerfeld // skyward, by joe henderson // miles morales, by saladin ahmed

F I L M S.

parasite, dir. bong joon ho - oh it was satisfying, oh it was suspenseful, oh i had to watch some of it through my fingers but i loooooooved it. such a good story and so well made.

knives out, dir. rian johnson - okay, everything about this movie was amazing. every single character was fun as hell and i could’ve watched an entire movie about each of them. what a great fucking mystery!

blindspotting, dir. carlos lopez estrada - this made my heart hurt so damn much. what glorious writing, acting, and story!

portrait of a lady on fire, dir. celine sciamma - gooooorgeous cinematography, amazing chemistry, and such a soft, atmospheric film.

the farewell, dir. lulu wang - i cried and my heart felt so full and i love it so so much.

um.... number 5, part 2? someone great, dir. jennifer kaytin robinson - no part of me expected to love a netflix movie this much but it’s a love story that doesn’t get told that often?? the end of a relationship and the true love of friendship and i love these girls and i love jenny and nate’s broken relationship.

honorable mentions: eighth grade, dir. bo burnham // booksmart, dir. olivia wilde // midsommar, dir. ari aster // the curse of la llorona, dir. michael chaves // the secret life of pets 2, dirs. chris renaud & jonathan del val // jojo rabbit, dir. taika waititi // the invisible man, dir. leigh whannell // the favourite, dir. yorgos lanthimos // can you ever forgive me?, dir. marielle heller // troop zero, dirs. bert & bertie // ready or not, dirs. matt bettinelli-olpin & tyler gillett // brave, dirs. mark andrews & brenda chapman & steve purcell // the half of it, dir. alice wu // palm springs, dir. max barbakow // doctor sleep, dir. mike flanaghan // uncut gems, dirs. benny sadfie & josh sadfie // birds of prey, dir. cathy van // bloodshot, dir. dave wilson // the old guard, dir. gina prince-bythewood // enola holmes, dir. harry bradbeer // hocus pocus, dir. kenny ortega // always be my maybe, dir. nahnatchka khan // finding dory, dirs. andrew stanton & angus maclane // die hard, dir. john mctiernan

S H O W S .

black sails (2014) - this show, this shooooooooow. i cannot, it just makes me want to cry with how good it is. the characters, the EMOTIONS, the story, the plaaaaaan. like, the creators clearly had a plan for every single step of this show and it was a gOOD, GOOD PLAN.

the untamed (2019) - truly, cheesy good fun with one of the best gay romances ever. i love these characters and their relationships to each other and the way it glories in its own ridiculousness.

the righteous gemstones (2019) - one of the things that bothered me about my next choice (the ratio of female to male nudity) was so much more realistic in this one (i mean, we’ve all gotten five thousand dick pics and i know like three people? so the fact that there is so rarely male nudity in shows when there are tits everywhere..... no, how does that even make a tiny bit of sense?). this show was such great, wonderful, awful fun. they’re not great people and the show is under no delusion about that and it’s GLORIOUS!

the witcher (2019) - this was just hella fun, i loved the characters and the fantasy elements. i’m excited for the next season, it’s just entertaining swashbuckling through and through!

fargo (2014) - all of this was really very enjoyable with the through line being somebody fucks shit up and gets involved in something they really shouldn’t be involved in that’s going to swallow them whole. season one and season three were my stand-out favorites but they were all so violent, clever, and vicious!

um.... number 5, part 2? central park (2020) - um..... so many of the hamilton actors in a muscial cartoon drawn and written by the bob’s burgers team? WHAT ABOUT THAT DOESN’T SOUND AMAZING?! it was such a joy to hear daveed diggs and leslie odom jr.’s voices again!!

honorable mentions: schitt’s creek // the mandalorian // mr. robot // broadchurch // mindhunter // jack ryan // the good place // the end of the f***ing world // big little lies // elite // kidding // servant // letterkenny // curb your enthusiasm // i am not okay with this // ozark // buzzfeed unsolved: true crime/supernatural // you // runaways // dear white people // dickinson // brooklyn nine-nine // will & grace // 9-1-1 // dead to me // solar opposites // never have i ever // killing eve // what we do in the shadows // grace and frankie // avenue 5 // roswell, new mexico // the bold type // evil // tuca & bertie // impulse // the umbrella academy // watchmen // infinity train // corporate // search party // on becoming a god in central florida // a.p. bio // criminal: uk // the morning show // mythic quest // last week tonight // prodigal son // the great

#the starless sea #the invisible life of addie larue #the untamed #knives out #2020 favorites list!!#i tried to stick to shows i both started and finished in 2020 otherwise like schitt's creek and the good place would be in top five #same for comics #uh oh i've found the keyboard again

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off-in-the-moors · 4 years ago

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Joseph Kavinsky analysis, part 2

aka no voice and no dream pack

Warnings: spoilers for the whole Raven Cycle, mentions of: drug-use, abuse, death, s*cid, xenophobia

Part 1 // Part 2

Before starting, I wanted to thank for likes and support, not only on part 1 but also on my other posts. I was writing this more for the catharsis, after months of seeing and not really speaking about a lot of stuff. It’s nice to know, somebody read it. Some say, Kavinsky is their comfort character and, well, he will stay with me for a very long time. But enough of that. Let's talk about the point of view, xenophobia and the Dream Pack.

PoV

The running motif in TRC is, all antagonists get PoVs. No matter if they appear in one book (like Whelk) or reoccur (like the Greenmatles). The reader gets multiple chapters with their backstories, internal thoughts and goals. This move by the author is a double-edged sword, on one hand we get a better understanding of them but on the other, by knowing them better they become less effective antagonists and the air of mystery and surprise of what they're up-to/what they know is lost. E.g. In TDT we are first told about Colin Greenmatle and what is he capable of, making him a good threat for our main characters. But when we finally meet him in BLLB, with his attitude and scenes like dissing Ronan's Latin grammar or making cheese crackers while his wife is held at gun-point, he becomes more of a comedic antagonist than a villain to fear.

But here's the thing: I already lied to you. In TRC, all antagonists get PoVs, except for Kavinsky. It's a odd exception from the rule, considering Gray Man in TDT and The Wasp Demon in The Raven King, also got PoVs. But why? There are two things to look at. One I already mentioned. By giving a character PoV, the reader gets better understanding of them. By not giving Kavinsky one, Margaret didn't give anything to make K or his actions clear or understandable. By not knowing his motivations, K is left to pure interpretations, but how the reader will do it mostly will be influenced by his demonetization. Of course, not everybody will just accept what the book tells them without thinking for themselves but most fans don't.

"Bang", he said softly, withdrawing the fake gun. "See you on the street."

Alone, this single line can be interpreted in many different ways. Is it K being angry and threatening Ronan? Or maybe Joseph breaking inside because he was proofen, he really has no one? It all depends on the reader.

Second, when asked on her tumblr, if she'll ever write anything from K's pov (in 2015, before The Raven King was published), M*ggie said she won't, because: she already explored that type of character ("the thoughts and motivations of a powerful, suicidal, creative person with few inhibitions") in Sinner (2014, spin-off/companion book of her older series, The Wolves of Mercy Falls, 2009-2011 for the main three) with Cole St. Clair; that writing through PoV of such character is emotionally and mentally draining for her (which is understandable); and even if she wanted to explore it again in the future, she would through a different character's lenses than K's.

Let's talk about St. Clair.

The characters of Cole and Kavinsky have some similarities: both are drug addicts, who are rich.

That's where they end.

Cole was a famous musician, having the stereotypical rock-star life (drugs, alcohol and sleeping with fans included) with good family relationships, while K was a son of a mobster who tried to kill him and a mother who was a drug-addict herself. While their perspectives would have similarities, there is also other problems. Cole St. Clair already got PoVs in his series and a stand-alone book, Joseph Kavinsky got nothing and will get nothing. Cole had friends that cared for him and helped him, Joseph Kavinsky had his Dream Pack (which whom we don't know what type of relation he had) and his customers who we can safely say, only cared for what he can provide them with, he tried to befriend or start a relation with Ronan who rejected even the idea of it and no one even reached out to him. Cole got his happy ending and (hinted at) a girl he loved, K got rejected by everyone and committed public suicide. (Now, I heard a opinion that K didn't commit suicide, because the dragon killed him. Here is the thing, K could move out of the way multiple times, even Ronan shouted to him to move. But he didn't. He watched the dragon fly towards him and just said "The world is a nightmare.". He choose death.)

People wanted K's PoV, because they wanted to know, what pushed him to do what he did in TDT. But, in my opinion, even if M*ggie gave K pov, she would use it to further demonize him than to make the reader understand him more. She already did write a whole post exaggerating and straw-manning the canon, just to also say "Kavinsky has a very logical backstory that leads him to this place". A backstory we as the reader never truly see and one she forgot to write into her book. At the end, she truly cared only about Ronan.

Xenophobia

The Raven Cycle is a very flawed and problematic series, there are already many other posts taking about racism, misogyny, lack of diversity and many other issues with it, but in regards to Kavinsky, I'll only touch on the xenophobia. (I could talk also about portray of metal-illness, but I'm not the person to talk about it and I would feel comfortable with it.)

Kavinsky is a stereotype of a Slavic person, one we see in American media since the Cold War, especially in 80s movies. The Evil Russian trope. The son of the mobster, drug-addict, forger who can get you anything even illegal stuff, a thief.

When describing Kavinsky, one of the things Ronan mentions is: "refugee's face, hollowed-eyed and innocent". One could argue, "refugee" has many meanings, but boiling it down, is a person who came to the country to escape and seek a refuge. Many people moved to America to find a better life, in the believe of the American Dream, and many of them where driven to do that, especially from ex-Eastern Bloc countries. Kavinsky's Bulgarian, unknown if an immigrant himself or a son of immigrants, but the point still stands.

About Blue’s comment "import from somewhere else" I don't need to say much. First, obvious: You don't import people, only foreign goods, like cars. Second: this shows, he is "the other" in the eyes of the characters.

There is more to it, then just the physical description. We need to look at the outfit he wears. White tank top, white sunglasses, a small earring in one ear and a gold chain around his neck. This gives two images: one of a typical douche-bag, party asshole and the rich kid; the second of a Slavic stereotype, especially of a Russian criminal. If Margaret wanted to make K even bigger stereotype, she would dress him like a dress/gopnik, in a tracksuit.

The thing is: M*ggie could had saved the situation if she had subverted the stereotypes. E.g. K didn't wanting anything to do with the crime live, his family was forced into by circumstances or K being the guy to get stuff from, but he isn't doing it for any gain.

The truth is, K being Bulgarian doesn't add anything to his character, except for xenophobia. (Personally, I tried to find where the surname "Kavinsky" came from. It is Slavic, that much I can tell you for sure, but the rest is my speculation and searching. My best guesses are: Russian (it appears most commonly in Russian, after USA and a use in Russia set novel) or Polish (because it has uncanny simulates to the surname "Kawiński", if it was anglicized like e.g. "Kamiński" into "Kaminsky"). This isn't a common surname and with Peter from the To All the Boys trilogy and the musician, it's hard to find any information.)

But for now, K's portray is one of the many issues.

The Dream Pack or the lack of it

The Dream Pack is the unofficial name for K's group, with whom he parties and races (the canon name is "Kavinsky's Pack of Dogs" which is ugh). They're unfortunately, a non-characters. It's bolt to even call them background characters. Their portray, or again, lack of it, leaves them as props, their only role is to be K's followers and to show K as a leader on a equal ground as Gansey. We're lead to believe, they are like Kavinsky, yet another raven boys, and to make are main characters so “not like the other raven boys”. Problem rises in connection to the previous point, out of four members, only one has an English surname.

Prokopenko is a Ukrainian surname and for his description, we get "ears like wingnuts", "crooked shoulders" and his voice as "milky with drugs". It's said he had "recently attained official crony status", and was noted being in close desecrate to K for a while. Later we discover Proko is a forgery, a dream creature like Matthew and Aurora. It's heavily implied the real Prokopenko is dead, but if K had something to do with it, is unknown. He is the only character to "chortle", which Margaret said she hates and also "fratty boys and the chortling men they turn into". From this we can deduce, that not only the Dream Pack and people at K's parties but all raven boys (with the exception of the main characters) were writen like this on purpose as the personification of everything M*ggie hates. We are also informed, he drives a Golf.

Skov, who according to a deleted scene, full name is Blake Skovron, is polish (or at least anglicized version of it). In said deleted scene he's described as "major asshole, minor bigot" (unfortunately I couldn't find it to confirm it). The only canon stuff about him is: he drives a RX-7 (Mazda RX-7).

Jiang is Chinese, making him one of three canon Asian characters we see in the series (not counting Henry's father, because he's just mentioned, same goes for the Vancouver crowd). Like Proko, his role is a little bigger. In the Raven King, after Ronan finally returns to school after a long time of skipping, he tells him: "Hey, man, I thought you'd died". Ronan doesn't respond, but tells the reader he doesn't want to see Jiang outside of his car, racing. The only other thing we know about him: he drives a Supra (Toyota Supra).

Swan is the only one with an English name, but all we know about him is: he drives Volkswagen Golf, one that matches Proko's.

(For future writers: what car a character drives, isn't a personality trait.)

With the already minimal diversity, this shows the non-Americans as the antagonists or at least "the worst". On the opposite side, we have our main characters. Richard Campbell Gansey III, who has the whitest and British name I ever saw; Adam Parrish, born and raised in Henrietta, Virginia; Ronan Lynch, son of a Irish immigrant, whose Irish identity starts and ends on tit-bits; Blue Sargent, who is half-tree and ambiguous, but was drawn as white by the author multiple times (Yes, I am aware of the Instagram post, but Margaret herself said, she isn't confirming anything that isn't already written in her books. She couldn't even confirm Adam's hair color and made a joke out of it.) The only exception is Noah Czerny, whose surname is Slavic (probably Czech), but this bares no effect on his character.

The Dream Pack are the whole communities babies, created by head-canons and fanons, their relations with Kavinsky and themselves are explored, who they are as people, their appearance, their interests... This is beautiful how many different versions and interpretations of non-existing characters is there. (I, myself also made a version for a rewrite, based partly on the fanon.)

But at the end of the day, the fans did the author's job of creating believe friend group and in the end, their only function was to show, Kavinsky is a king, just like Gansey.

#joseph kavinsky #the dream pack #anti maggie stiefvater #anti raven cycle #anti trc

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duhragonball · 4 years ago

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Battle Tendency Liveblog: JJBA Ch. 83-87

Last time, the Red Stone of Aja got mailed out to the bad guys, so Joseph and Caesar have gone to shake down the Venice Post Office. Notably, Joseph wears a hat and coat similar to the one he’s rocking in Part 3.

Turns out, the package is already on its way to St. Moritz, Switzerland. Messina knows this because... okay, try to follow this. So Esidisi hijacked Suzie Q’s body to mail the Stone. So she probably wasn’t even aware of what she was being forced to do, but Lisa Lisa used Ripple Hypnosis on her to retrieve the address. You’d think she would have told the boys about this ability before they ran over to the post office, but maybe they left before she could say anything.

Meanwhile, this dog’s about to get run over, but this is Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure, so what else is new. Araki’s hatred for comic book dogs is the stuff of legend.

OR IS IT? Yeah, take a good long look, because this is the only time Araki saves a dog in JJBA. Apparently, Kars is a sucker for innocent plants and animals, go figure.

I don’t know what else to tell you, except Battle Tendency = Best JoJo Part.

As for Joseph, he and the others go to Switzerland, only to get held up by Nazis at the border. Turns out, their mysterious commander knows all about the Red Stone of Aja, the Pillar Men, and Joseph and Caesar’s Ripple training. That guy who tried to rob Lisa Lisa a while back? He was a Nazi spy the whole time. So now they have the Stone, and they want to cooperate with Joseph’s group. Lisa goes along with it, because it’s better than letting Kars find the stone.

For some reason, Araki pauses to discuss Nazi Germany a bit, except he has all these historical events from March and September of 1939. I’m not entirely clear on the chronology of Part 2, except that the final battle with Kars takes place in February of 1939, so none of these things have happened yet.

But the point still stands. Hitler wants Nazi Germany to rise above mankind, just as Kars seeks his own kind of supremacy. And like Kars, the Nazis are interested in the Red Stone of Aja as a possible path to greater power.

Everybody spends the night at some Swiss inn, until Kars shows up and uses his hyper-senses to detect how many men are in their room. Then he slashes through the wall with that blade he sprouts out of his forearm, killing them all with one attack.

Except for their commander, who has the Stone. Kars is confused, because he sensed the number and location of everyone in the room, but somehow he missed this last guy, because he’s got no body heat.

And Joseph barges in just in time to find out that this dude is Stroheim, the Nazi officer who blew himself up to stop Santana. Somehow he’s alive, and also a cyborg, which is why Kars couldn’t detect him.

Kars only wants two things: To capture the Aja Stone, and to kill Joseph Joestar. He says that he can’t afford to spare a Ripple User powerful enough to slay Esidisi, but Joseph wonders if Kars is motivated by a desire to avenge his comrade, rather than any sort of cold tactics. Wammu had called dibs on fighting Jojo, but he’s in Greece at the moment, and Kars is in no mood to wait.

But Stroheim insists on tackling Kars himself, as his cyborg body was specifically designed using the information gleaned from studying Santana. He’s strong enough to rip out pieces of Kars’ flesh, and he’s armed with a big-ass machine gun. He tells Joseph not to pity him, because he’s proud to become this living tribute to German technology.

What I want to know is: How did Stroheim survive Mexico without Joseph knowing about it? He was there when that grenade went off, after all. Maybe Stroheim landed some distance away, where Joseph wouldn’t have thought to look for him. But how did Stroheim’s men find him?

Anyway, Kars is not impressed, and he cuts Stroheim in half with his “light mode”, which is just the blades in his arms. They seem to glow, but it’s actually just reflected light from the complex patterns in the blades. From the sidelines, Joseph is unnerved by Kars’ ability, because he doubts that he could block or avoid those blades, even with the full power of his Hamon energy.

As for Stroheim, he had no idea that Kars could do anything like this. I don’t know, are arm-blades really that big a deal? Wammu’s powers seem a lot cooler, and Esidisi’s “flame mode” looks pretty scary, even if it only melts stuff. Still, it’s enough to beat Stroheim. Kars mocks him for thinking that he and Santana were on the same level. Kars considered Santanta a “novice”, like a “weak puppy.” That’s an interesting choice of words, since we just saw Kars save the life of a weak puppy earilier. Maybe that same pity was the only reason Kars kept Santana around in the first place. As dangerous as Santana was, Kars considers him utterly useless.

He even refers to Santana as “it.” Maybe that’s just a mistake in this scanlation, but I dunno. He’d probably use “it” to refer to that puppy he saved too. And maybe this contempt explains why Kars refers to him as “Santana”, the name Stroheim gave the guy. I always wondered why Kars didn’t use Santana’s real name, but maybe Santana never had one.

But Stroheim’s not done just yet. He has a UV beam built into his eyepiece, which stuns Kars long enough to make him drop the stone, and then it slides over a cliff.

Joseph and Kars race after it, but Kars is faster, because he doesn’t have to worry about slowing down before he goes over the edge. He can survive the fall, while Joseph can’t. So Kars figures that Joseph will try to kick him, and Joseph does throw a kick... at the snow, to distract Kars long enough for Joseph to get the Stone back.

But Kars has blades in his legs too, and he uses one to snag Joseph and pull him over the edge of the cliff. Joseph manages to use Hamon to grab hold of some icicles to stop his fall, but he still has to deal with Kars’ unstoppable blades, and his relentlessness. Joseph’s whole deal is that he outsmarts his opponents by exploiting their inattentiveness. But Kars is laser focused on getting the Aja Stone, so it’s almost impossible to catch him off-guard.

So Joseph uses that tenacity against him by holding up the Stone in the path of Kars’ attacks. Kars wants to kill Joseph, but he doesn’t dare use his blades near the Stone. Remember, Kars’ plan requires that specific Aja Stone because it’s the only one big enough and flawless enough to power his “Ultimate Life Form” mask. If he damages the Stone, it won’t be suitable for his needs. Knowing this, Joseph kicks him down the rest of the way, while he heads back up a “rope” made of Ripple-connected icicles.

Said icicles were provided by Caesar, who expected Joseph to try something like this, because he’s already learned that Joseph thinks in terms of ropes and strings. Stroheim is astonished by their flawless teamwork.

Below, Kars goes out of his way to adjust his fall so as not to crush a flower. He laughs at this latest setback, because he’s just that impressed with Joseph’s resourcefulness. Then he withdraws to try again another day.

This whole arc surprised me when I watched the anime, because it seemed like Kars would be the final boss of Battle Tendency, but here he was fighting Joseph early. And it wasn’t exactly an all-out fight. They had a little footrace and Joseph used the Aja Stone to keep Kars at bay, but not much more than that. Considering all the crazy stuff we saw from Esidisi, you’d think Kars would be much more dangerous.

But that’s just it. Esidisi was extremely formidable, and Joseph destroyed him with his Hamon training. Kars lost 33% of his team in a single stroke. All he has left is Wammu, who’s in Greece at the moment. He simply can’t afford to take on Joseph in this situation, so he doesn’t try anything too crazy. Both of them know his blades are powerful enough to get the job done, so he used them, but when they stopped being effective, he ran out of cards to play, so he left. It’s not that Kars is weak, it’s just that Joseph’s gotten so much stronger. So this fight feels like a much milder affair than the battles with the other Pillar Men so far, even though Kars is supposed to be the best one.

And this is something else I really love about Part 2. There’s only five villains to deal with: Straizo, Santana, Eisidisi, Wammu, and Kars. That’s it, so it makes things pretty easy to keep up with, and it leaves room for Wammu and Kars to fight multiple times.

Compare this with Part 3, where the Stardust Crusaders have to fight through a gauntlet of evil Stand Users as they make their way to Egypt. I think I counted 26 bad guys in Part 3? Somewhere in that neighborhood. And I love Part 3, don’t get me wrong, but if Dio only had ten henchmen instead of two dozen, would it really hurt the story?

This was something that really bugged me about Parts 4 and 5. Would La Squadra Esecuzioni’s role in Vento Aureo be any different if they only had five guys instead of seven? And what was the deal with that dude who lived in the transmission tower? Most of the “villains” in Part 4 were just randos who just fought with the good guys for no particular reason.

With Part 2, you don’t have any of that. Five villains, and three of them only get to fight once. That means every fight has to count, and every fight has to move the story along. Kars isn’t going to just show up to be sociable. He saw an opening to achieve his goal, and he went for it, only to discover his enemies were better prepared than he expected. Now, he’ll have to wait for Wammu...

#jojo's bizarre adventure #battle tendency #joseph joestar #caesar zeppeli #kars #rudol von stroheim #lisa lisa #messina #suzie q

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honmyoseagull · 3 years ago

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Wanna see why I laughed so hard during lunch break that I CRIED????

(Bonus point if you hear in your head the whole text in John Finnemore’s voice.)

source: snopes (BUT FOR SIMPLICITY’S TAKE, THE WHOLE THING IS UNDER THE CUT TOO.)

Don’t drink anything while you read this. YOU’RE WELCOME.

*** The World According to Student Bloopers ***

Richard Lederer St. Paul’s School

One of the fringe benefits of being an English or History teacher is receiving the occasional jewel of a student blooper in an essay. I have pasted together the following “history” of the world from certifiably genuine student bloopers collected by teachers throughout the United States, from eight grade through college level. Read carefully, and you will learn a lot.

The inhabitants of Egypt were called mummies. They lived in the Sarah Dessert and traveled by Camelot. The climate of the Sarah is such that the inhabitants have to live elsewhere, so certain areas of the dessert are cultivated by irritation. The Egyptians built the Pyramids in the shape of a huge triangular cube. The Pramids are a range of mountains between France and Spain.

The Bible is full of interesting caricatures. In the first book of the Bible, Guinesses, Adam and Eve were created from an apple tree. One of their children, Cain, asked “Am I my brother’s son?” God asked Abraham to sacrifice Issac on Mount Montezuma. Jacob, son of Issac, stole his brother’s birthmark. Jacob was a partiarch who brought up his twelve sons to be partiarchs, but they did not take to it. One of Jacob’s sons, Joseph, gave refuse to the Israelites.

Pharaoh forced the Hebrew slaves to make bread without straw. Moses led them to the Red Sea, where they made unleavened bread, which is bread made without any ingredients. Afterwards, Moses went up on Mount Cyanide to get the ten commandments. David was a Hebrew king skilled at playing the liar. He fougth with the Philatelists, a race of people who lived in Biblical times. Solomon, one of David’s sons, had 500 wives and 500 porcupines.

Without the Greeks, we wouldn’t have history. The Greeks invented three kinds of columns – Corinthian, Doric and Ironic. They also had myths. A myth is a female moth. One myth says that the mother of Achilles dipped him in the River Stynx until he became intolerable. Achilles appears in “The Illiad”, by Homer. Homer also wrote the “Oddity”, in which Penelope was the last hardship that Ulysses endured on his journey. Actually, Homer was not written by Homer but by another man of that

name.

Socrates was a famous Greek teacher who went around giving people advice. They killed him. Socrates died from an overdose of wedlock.

In the Olympic Games, Greeks ran races, jumped, hurled the biscuits, and threw the java. The reward to the victor was a coral wreath. The government of Athen was democratic because the people took the law into their own hands. There were no wars in Greece, as the mountains were so high that they couldn’t climb over to see what their neighbors were doing. When they fought the Parisians, the Greeks were outnumbered because the Persians had more men.

Eventually, the Ramons conquered the Geeks. History call people Romans because they never stayed in one place for very long. At Roman banquets, the guests wore garlic in their hair. Julius Caesar extinguished himself on the battlefields of Gaul. The Ides of March killed him because they thought he was going to be made king. Nero was a cruel tyrant who would torture his poor subjects by playing the fiddle to them.

Then came the Middle Ages. King Alfred conquered the Dames, King Arthur lived in the Age of Shivery, King Harlod mustarded his troops before the Battle of Hastings, Joan of Arc was cannonized by George Bernard Shaw, and the victims of the Black Death grew boobs on their necks. Finally, the Magna Carta provided that no free man should be hanged twice for the same offense.

In midevil times most of the people were alliterate. The greatest writer of the time was Chaucer, who wrote many poems and verse and also wrote literature. Another tale tells of William Tell, who shot an arrow through an apple while standing on his son’s head.

The Renaissance was an age in which more individuals felt the value of their human being. Martin Luther was nailed to the church door at Wittenberg for selling papal indulgences. He died a horrible death, being excommunicated by a bull. It was the painter Donatello’s interest in the female nude that made him the father of the Renaissance. It was an age of great inventions and discoveries. Gutenberg invented the Bible. Sir Walter Raleigh is a historical figure because he invented cigarettes. Another important invention was the circulation of blood. Sir Francis Drake circumcised the world with a 100-foot clipper.

The government of England was a limited mockery. Henry VIII found walking difficult because he had an abbess on his knee. Queen Elizabeth was the “Virgin Queen.” As a queen she was a success. When Elizabeth exposed herself before her troops, they all shouted “hurrah.” Then her navy went out and defeated the Spanish Armadillo.

The greatest writer of the Renaissance was William Shakespear. Shakespear never made much money and is famous only because of his plays. He lived in Windsor with his merry wives, writing tragedies, comedies and errors. In one of Shakespear’s famous plays, Hamlet rations out his situation by relieving himself in a long soliloquy. In another, Lady Macbeth tries to convince Macbeth to kill the King by attacking his manhood. Romeo and Juliet are an example of a heroic couplet. Writing at the same time as Shakespear was Miquel Cervantes. He wrote “Donkey Hote”. The next great author was John Milton. Milton wrote “Paradise Lost.” Then his wife dies and he wrote “Paradise Regained.”

During the Renaissance America began. Christopher Columbus was a great navigator who discovered America while cursing about the Atlantic. His ships were called the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Fe. Later the Pilgrims crossed the Ocean, and the was called the Pilgrim’s Progress. When they landed at Plymouth Rock, they were greeted by Indians, who came down the hill rolling their war hoops before them. The Indian squabs carried porposies on their back. Many of the Indian heroes were killed, along with their cabooses, which proved very fatal to them. The winter of 1620 was a hard one for the settlers. Many people died and many babies were born. Captain John Smith was responsible for all this.

One of the causes of the Revolutionary Wars was the English put tacks in their tea. Also, the colonists would send their pacels through the post without stamps. During the War, Red Coats and Paul Revere was throwing balls over stone walls. The dogs were barking and the peacocks crowing. Finally, the colonists won the War and no longer had to pay for taxis.

Delegates from the original thirteen states formed the Contented Congress. Thomas Jefferson, a Virgin, and Benjamin Franklin were two singers of the Declaration of Independence. Franklin had gone to Boston carrying all his clothes in his pocket and a loaf of bread under each arm. He invented electricity by rubbing cats backwards and declared “a horse divided against itself cannot stand.” Franklin died in 1790 and is still dead.

George Washington married Matha Curtis and in due time became the Father of Our Country. Them the Constitution of the United States was adopted to secure domestic hostility. Under the Constitution the people enjoyed the right to keep bare arms.

Abraham Lincoln became America’s greatest Precedent. Lincoln’s mother died in infancy, and he was born in a log cabin which he built with his own hands. When Lincoln was President, he wore only a tall silk hat. He said, “In onion there is strength.” Abraham Lincoln wrote the Gettysburg address while traveling from Washington to Gettysburg on the back of an envelope. He also signed the Emasculation Proclamation, and the Fourteenth Amendment gave the ex-Negroes citizenship. But the Clue Clux Clan would torcher and lynch the ex-Negroes and other innocent victims. On the night of April 14, 1865, Lincoln went to the theater and got shot in his seat by one of the actors in a moving picture show. The believed assinator was John Wilkes Booth, a supposedly insane actor. This ruined Booth’s career.

Meanwhile in Europe, the enlightenment was a reasonable time. Voltare invented electricity and also wrote a book called “Candy”. Gravity was invented by Issac Walton. It is chiefly noticeable in the Autumn, when the apples are falling off the trees.

Bach was the most famous composer in the world, and so was Handel. Handel was half German, half Italian and half English. He was very large. Bach died from 1750 to the present. Beethoven wrote music even though he was deaf. He was so deaf he wrote loud music. He took long walks in the forest even when everyone was calling for him. Beethoven expired in 1827 and later died for this.

France was in a very serious state. The French Revolution was accomplished before it happened. The Marseillaise was the theme song of the French Revolution, and it catapulted into Napoleon. During the Napoleonic Wars, the crowned heads of Europe were trembling in their shoes. Then the Spanish gorrilas came down from the hills and nipped at Napoleon’s flanks. Napoleon became ill with bladder problems and was very tense and unrestrained. He wanted an heir to inheret his power, but since Josephine was a baroness, she couldn’t bear him any children.

The sun never set on the British Empire because the British Empire is in the East and the sun sets in the West. Queen Victoria was the longest queen. She sat on a thorn for 63 years. He reclining years and finally the end of her life were exemplatory of a great personality. Her death was the final event which ended her reign.

The nineteenth century was a time of many great inventions and thoughts. The invention of the steamboat caused a network of rivers to spring up. Cyrus McCormick invented the McCormick Raper, which did the work of a hundred men. Samuel Morse invented a code for telepathy. Louis Pastuer discovered a cure for rabbis. Charles Darwin was a naturailst who wrote the “Organ of the Species”. Madman Curie discovered radium. And Karl Marx became one of the Marx Brothers.

The First World War, cause by the assignation of the Arch-Duck by a surf, ushered in a new error in the anals of human history.

Origins: Youngsters are more than capable of mangling what they’ve been taught in school, often in the most hilarious fashion. Mishearings of unusual terms (“pullet surprise” for “Pulitzer Prize,” for example), misspellings (“skilled at playing the liar” rather than “lyre”), and typos (“a horse divided against itself cannot stand”) can turn even the most mundane of descriptions of lessons learned into that which leaves its audience in tears of laughter.

The list of such howlers quoted as our example above has been kicking about on the Internet for dogs’ years — at this point, our earliest sighting of it dates to a rec.humor newsgroup post made in 1991. It was lifted from Richard Lederer’s 1987 compilation of linguistic missteps, Anguished English.

Lederer provides numerous other student bloopers in his subsequent various Anguished English collections. Some of our personal favorites are:

The four gospels were written by John, Paul, George, and that other guy.

The legislature makes the laws, the executive carries them out, and the judiciary interrupts them.

Someone who runs for an office he already holds is called an incompetent.

An Indian woman squatted over a fire in one teepee, and you could smell fresh meat cooking.

As to whether these howlers actually did come from the writings of various students, Lederer says of them: “I am sometimes asked if I invent any of the bloopers that appear in my collections. My answer is an emphatic ‘No way!’ No way would I violate the code of ethics of the bloopthologist — the collector takes what he or she finds and contrives nothing. These uncut gems are self-evidently genuine, authentic, certified, and unpolished; they have not been manufactured by any professional humorist.”

It should be noted, however, that some of the entries Lederer included in his books had been published elsewhere several decades earlier. From among the list quoted as an example at the top of this page, we found the following offerings were also included a 1946 humor book:

Socrates died from an overdose of wedlock.

During the Napoleonic Wars, the crowned heads of Europe were trembling in their shoes.

Abraham Lincoln wrote the Gettysburg address while traveling from Washington to Gettysburg on the back of an envelope.

Nero was a cruel tyrant who would torture his poor subjects by playing the fiddle to them.

Many of the Indian heroes were killed, which proved very fatal to them.

Martin Luther died a horrible death. He was excommunicated by a bull.

Henry VIII had an abbess on his knee, which made walking difficult.

Shakespeare wrote tragedies, comedies and errors.

Donatello’s interest in the female nude made him the father of the Renaissance.

Milton wrote “Paradise Lost”; then his wife died and he wrote “Paradise Regained.”

Columbus was a great navigator who cursed about the Atlantic.

SOURCES

Lederer, Richard. The Revenge of Anguished English. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2005. ISBN 0-312-33493-1 (pp. 24-26). Lederer, Richard. Fractured English. New York: Pocket Books, 1996. ISBN 0-671-00036-5 (pp. 1, 25-38). Lederer, Richard. Anguished English. New York: Dell Publishing, 1987. ISBN 0-440-20352-X (pp. 3, 10-21). Untermeyer, Louis. A Treasury of Laughter. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1946. (pp. 654-657).

#bloopers #student bloopers #bent history #may harm your depression #come have a good laugh with me #ancient history revisited #richard lederer #history

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years ago

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Furies (Mermay OT4)

Request from @angellioncosplay, fill is NSFW

The jagged edge of the harpoon slices into his tail.

Barclay knows he’s doomed but he thrashes and tries to dive all the same. He doesn’t know what the boar above wants, doesn’t care, he just wants to go home, he has to make it back to them, please, all he wants is to see them again.

A second barb pierces his side, blood clouds his vision.

In the darkness below, he thinks he sees two red lights racing closer. Then the harpooners tug, and the world snaps to black.

--------------------------------------

“Is he stable?” Duck whispers as Aubrey swims out of Barclay’s bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

“Yeah. I’m glad Indrid warned us when he did; if he’d lost much more blood, I’m not sure even my powers coulda helped.”

“And Joe and ‘Drid?”

“They’re gonna stay with him. I think they’re okay but, well” she sighs, shakes her head, “if that’d happened to Dani, I don’t think anything could make me leave her side.” She loops their arms together as they swim to the door, “do you wanna come stay with us? I know this is hard on them, but you had to, like, break a harpoon in half while one of your friends almost died.”

“Nah, oughta stay in case any of ‘em need somethin.”

“You want to keep Dr. Harris Bonkers for extra support?” She holds out her sea bunny.

Duck rubs it’s back, “I’ll be okay, but thanks for the offer Lady Flame. You get home safe now.”

“I will. Oh” She turns, swimming backwards as she adds, “if he needs any more healing between now and tomorrow, come get me right away!”

He promises he will, locks the house up for the night and floats into the kitchen to put it back in some kind of order. Indrid’s sketch pad and enchanted pen are still on the floor where he dropped them, Joseph’s book and Duck’s half-built model ship knocked sideways from the seer pushing away from the table in a flurry of silver and panic. And on the counter are the ingredients Barclay’d set out for dinner, the ones he was checking off when he realized he needed scallops and swam off with a promise to be right back.

Duck sighs, jumps when something whaps at the green-glass window.

“Jesus Winnie, thought you were in the bedroom.” He cracks the window enough to lift the octopus inside. See slowly slides off his arm, swimming across the floor to the pile of salvaged ship instruments Duck and Indrid found for her.

“Maybe this will keep her from stealing the silverware.” Barclay plucks a knife from the cephalopods tentacle.

Suddenly, he’s too heavy to swim. They almost lost him.

It’s simple, really. Duck is in love with Joe and Indrid. Joe and Indrid are in love with Barclay. But that doesn’t mean Duck doesn’t love the other mer; Barclay is one of his best friends, a sympathetic ear when things go south and the only one of the four of them capable of beating Joe at Ten Shells. Barclay also understands something about Duck that escapes many of their kind; that he can love Joe, curious and meticulous from his black hair to his dapper monochrome tail, and Indrid, strange and aloof until you gave him the right kind of stroke on his silver scales, with the same intensity. It just manifests in different ways.

Duck cracks the bedroom door open, finds the wounded mer on his back in their large, seaweed colored bed. Indrid and Joe are nestled on either side of him. Normally, they’d be an undignified, loving pile, but the bandages on his stomach and tail prevent it.

Indrid stirs, trilling in distress. His nightmares come and go, are most often the echos of horrible futures he was forced to watch over and over. Duck has a pretty good guess as the which one is playing in his mind tonight.

He wiggles down onto the bed, draping his arm over Indrid’s side and guiding his bony back and red fin against his chest. When Indrid registers his weight, the nervous twitches of his tail stop. Duck glances up, watches Barclay’s hand glide down the bed to hold Indrid’s own.

Someone almost took this from them. Almost ripped away pieces of the hearts of the mers he loves most in the world.

And he wants to know who.

------------------------------------------------------------------

“Dearest, how are you feeling?”

“Fine, totally fine.” Barclay tries to sit up as a demonstration, only for his whole body to convulse. He falls back against the bed, whimpering pathetically.

“Hmmm, I was afraid that would be the case. There were some timelines where you healed quickly, but it seems the monsters who attacked you did a great deal of damage.”

“No, no, it was just a twinge, if you give me a sec I can-”

“-You will stay in bed.” Indrid’s red gaze sharpens, “no mate of mine is going to re-open his wounds trying to make me breakfast.”

“Besides” Joseph looks up from setting all the med supplies they need in tidy stacks and lines, “it’s not like Duck or I can’t cook. You need to rest, big guy.” He swims over, strokes Barclays hair. Barclay leans into the feelings, trying to ignore the fear gnawing a new hole in his side.

In the three days since the attack, he hasn’t been alone. His boyfriends and friend take turns sitting with him, talking when he wants to and letting him sleep when he needs, bringing him food and changing his bandages without complaint.

It’s all wrong. That’s not their job. It shouldn’t be, that’s what they have him for. Some part of him wishes they’d been too late. Because he doesn’t want to face what’s coming.

------------------------------------------------

“Any luck?”

“Some. Juno says she saw an unfamiliar hull pass by about an hour before Barclay got attacked, but she wasn’t close enough to see any details.”

“Damn it.” Joseph slams the book one human weapons in frustration, then cringes at his outburst.

Duck swims to him, pulling him up from the chair into an embrace, “We’ll figure it out, slick. Nothin else, happen to know we got a real smart mer workin the case.” He winks, kisses Joseph on the cheek.

He snorts, then looks at the floor, “Some part of me is worried about what will happen if we do figure out who hurt him. I...I don’t believe in violence outside of dire circumstances, but they, they nearly killed him. I’d like to say my motive in seeking them out is to make sure they can’t hurt anyone else but, well, that’s secondary at best. What I want is to make them pay.”

“That makes two of us” Indrid slithers in the door, “he’s sound asleep, not to worry. I have narrowed down our potential culprits with my visions, but I too am afraid of what I may do if I locate the humans who dared harm him.”

“I get the feelin, but right now we’re mostly borrowin trouble. Let’s wait until we know a little more before decidin whether to track ‘em down.”

Joseph nods, opens his mouth to suggest one of them retrieve dinner from the fishmonger down the block, when there’s a crash from the kitchen.

“Damn, Winnie must’ve gotten into the cabinets again.”

Indrid blinks, then frowns, “No, that is not her doing.”

Rushing into the kitchen reveals Barclay trying to arrange food on the counter. His upper body can barely move, and his tail is unable to maintain direction due to the bandages.

“Don’t worry about, ow, me” Barclay smiles at them, but Joseph spots panic in his eyes, “th-thought I’d do some meal prep since you’re all gonna be busy this week.”

He’s about to point out that a)they’re all capable of feeding themselves even when busy and b)Barclay’s only been recovering for a week and a half and Aubrey explicitly told him it would be at least a month before he could move around without help.

Before he can make any points at all, Indrid draws himself up to his full height, frills of his ears fanned out and gestures to the bedroom, “You will do no such thing. You need your rest, dearest.”

“But-”

“That was an order, not a request.” It’s a tone that never fails to make Joseph’s spine turn to mush, and by the flash of pink in Barclay’s tail, he feels the same way. Then his whole tail drains of color and he nods.

“Right. Sorry. I, I didn’t mean to upset you guys.”

Indrid’s frills flatten and he swims swiftly towards the other mer, “Barclay, I’m not-”

“It’s okay. I caused enough trouble already.” He catches Indrid by the chin to kiss him, blows a second kiss Joseph’s way, then disappears into the bedroom.

As Indrid flicks his tail nervously, Duck clears his throat, “Know I joke about him not havin a selfish bone in his body, but this is startin to get ridiculous.”

The silver-scaled mer sighs, coiling his tail around Joseph’s own and opening his arms so Duck will come give him a hug. When the three of them are close together he murmurs, “ I saw this timeline, but I had so hoped it would not be the one we ended up in. I have mentioned before that the culture Barclay and I grew up in as deep water mers is very different than what you have on the reef. One component of that was the belief that a mer who could not carry his weight in his home would not be in said home for much longer. His mate or mates not only could, but were encouraged to, throw him out to make room for a more useful partner.”

The entirety of Joseph’s stomach crawls up his throat, “He really thinks we’d do that to him?”

“I suspect so.” Indrid rests his head on Duck’s shoulder, “Barclay is already prone to such fears, in that he prides himself on taking care of others. And it is a deeply ingrained message and practice, so much so that there are times I still fear you three may turn me away should my powers disappear.”

“‘Drid-”

The mer purrs reassuringly, “But then I remind myself that I am not down there. I am up here, with you who love me regardless of my strength. Seeing the future helps a great deal as well; I can peek and see there are no timelines where you turn me away. Hmm” his tail taps Sterns lower back, “I wonder, is there a way we can mimic that experience for Barclay? Help him see his future here?”

Joseph gets an idea and, for the first time all day, the sense that he’s getting somewhere, “I have a plan.”

----------------------------------------------------------------

Barclay isn’t sure if this is some cruel joke, or if his boyfriends genuinely believe they won’t grow tired of him needing to be cared for all the time. Regardless, he doesn’t know what to do when Joseph lays beside him, kissing his cheek and shoulder as he talks about how they should go see the Kelpie migration this fall, and how he’s heard about a human beach where they serve a swim-up meal to mers and humans alike, and wouldn’t it be nice for all four of them to visit and try the food?

He doesn’t know what to do when Indrid gently sits him upright and combs his hair, jumping from topic to topic between kisses to the back of his neck but always returning to what they should do for Joseph’s birthday, or Dani and Aubrey’s anniversary, or their own anniversary.

He doesn’t know what to do right now, Indrid sitting and drawing while Joseph finishes changing the bandages on his tail. The one on his side came off a few days ago, scar tissue forming a jagged tooth of pink and white in his skin.

Duck swims in, greeting them all at once, his usually friendly expression somber.

“Joe, ‘Drid, could I talk to you in the kitchen? It’ll only be a minute.”

His boyfriends nod, assuring him they’ll be back even as they swim away. He wishes he could believe it, but he can think of only one reason Duck would need to talk to them alone. With a sad little groan, he rolls onto his uninjured side and pities himself to sleep.

-----------------------------------------------------

“You’re sure that’s the one?”

“Positive. Minerva had a near miss with it this mornin, described the exact same thing Barclay did. Speakin of which, we know they’re down a few harpoons because the ones they sent after her she threw right back at them.”

“A fair response if ever there was one. Do we all agree on the plan?”

“Yep”

“Yes.”

“Good” A smile that could make a sea monster afraid, “then let us begin.”

----------------------------------------------------------------

Winthrop lounges on the deck of the Nemo as his guests and the hired guides mill around the edges of the boat. After that run-in with the mermaid earlier today, they’re on pins and needles, hoping to see and (finally) catch another.

Is poaching in a protected cove illegal? Only if you don’t have the money to pay the fine. Is it wrong to hunt the rare creatures that call this stretch of ocean home? Wrong is a deeply subjective concept.

Warmth leaves the deck as clouds swirl above the sun.

“I say, wasn’t it sunny a moment ago?”

“Yep. Could be again, provided y’all head to shore and never come back here.” A voice calls from the bow.

Everyone races forward, shouting in excitement when they discover the merman addressing them with an oddly calm expression.

“Don’t even think about tryin to spear me. You ain’t the only ones with weapons.”

A second mer surfaces, armed with a spear gun he clearly knows how to use.

“Joe’s a damn good shot.”

The other mer fixes them with a steely gaze, “This is your last warning. Leave this cove and never try to hunt here again.”

“Or what?”

The whole boar rocks as something massive bumps the underside. Screams draw his attention to the silver, serpentine shape gliding through the water. A red fin breaks the surface and then it’s gone.

Then the boat nearly capsizes as it rams the port side. In the darkening waves, the monster turns it’s head to look up at them. It’s red eye is the size of a steering wheel, but he forgets all about that when the creature rears up, jaws snapping, and narrowly misses dragging his wife off the boat between butcher-knife teeth.

“Our friend here is mighty angry with you” the first merman rubs the monster's fin as it swims by him, “in fact, he’s downright furious.”

“And it looks like he’s decided to build up some speed before hitting you this time. I don’t think your boat will survive that amount of force.”

“Alright, alright we’ll leave, we’ll go and never come back.”

A hissing screech from the monster.

“We swear!” He says, really meaning it this time.

The first merman points towards shore, “then get goin’.”

The boat speeds away, and Winthrop decides to never, ever look back.

-------------------------------------------

“That was fuckin incredible darlin’”

“Thank you” Indrid returns to his usual form, groggy but pleased, “you were both wonderful as well.”

“Never been happier that you’re so into workin out how human machines operate” Duck kisses Joseph hard, one of Indrid’s favorite sights in the whole of the sea.

“If you like how I handle a spear gun, you should see how I handle, um, other things.”

“I am” Indrid yawns, “in favor of that idea. But first, I believe I am due for a nap, and Barclay is due for an update.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------

“You did all that for me?” Barclay twists his fingers in the blanket beneath him, trying to sound pleasantly surprised instead of confused. From the look Joseph and Duck trade, he’s doing a shit job.

“Well, technically we also did it to keep the reef safe from hunters, and hopefully start a legend that will keep any like-minded poachers from coming within fifty miles of our home. Or our family. And yes, dearest, that includes you.” In the darkened bedroom, deep purple shimmers up Indrid’s tail. A signal to obey.

“I, I never said it didn’t.”

“Yes, but it has been on your mind for weeks.”

“I…”

“Barclay” Joseph settles beside him, taking his hand, “Indrid told us about what you two were taught about needing care or being helpless. I, we, none of us want you thinking that’s what will happen here. I promise.”

He doesn’t realize he’s crying, not until Indrid whispers “hush now, dear one” and carefully rests their tails together so that the wound is left untouched.

“I, I thought saying it would make it worse. Make you think I needed reassurance, which would just make it clear how useless I am. I, I know that sounds ridiculous.”

“It’s not ridiculous to feel vulnerable or scared after something traumatic.” Joseph traces his fingers up and down his arm and his scales ripple in reply.

“Nor to feel off-balance when you are unable to do what you usually do.”

“But you gotta tell us next time.” Duck rests next to Joseph, “we care about you, all three of us, but we can’t help if we don’t know what’s wrong.”

He flashes apologetic yellow, “You’re right. I’ll, I’m gonna try to be better about that. It’s just hard for me to let other mers take care of me sometimes.”

The purple returns to Indrid’s tail, and when he turns to look at Barclay his smile is no longer gentle and ethereal. It’s almost tangible enough to slice his chest and send everything he wants pouring onto the bed.

“It seems to me, my dear one, that you could use some practice in that area.”

“Yes” he murmurs, then yips when Indrid bites his throat, “I mean yes, sir.”

“Much better. After all, your convalescence has made such things difficult until now. And yes, Joseph, I will keep an eye on the futures to be certain no one is hurt. Speaking of which: Duck, please adjust so Barclay’s head is in your lap. You’ll need to hold his shoulders down should he try and disobey me.”

A shift of the bed and then his head rests on mottled green scales.

“Hey” He smiles up and Duck sends a crooked grin his way, setting more pink off in his tail. He may not want to fuck him, but Barclay’s not about to deny how handsome Duck can be.

This rumination distracts him from Indrid and Joseph’s conversation, so he’s pleasantly surprised when the black-tailed mer catches his lips in a kiss. It’s precise, down with calculated care that always makes him feel like the most interesting, important thing in the world.

“That’s it big guy, relax for us.”

“I’, I’m tryINGfuck, it’s, it’s kinda hard when Indrid is doing that.”

Indrid chuckles, continues teasing the scales in his upper tail, “Shall I stop?”

“No, please no-”

“Please what?” His slit opens at the steel in Indrid’s voice.

“Please sir.”

“Good boy. Ah, and here’s that lovely cock of yours. What shall I do with it, hmmm?”

“Anything you want sir.” He tries not to giggle as Joseph nibbles his ear.

“I was not asking you.” Indrid cocks his head at Duck.

“Huh” Duck toys with Barclays hair, “think I wanna see you suck it. Been too damn long since you had a dick in your mouth that wasn’t mine.”

Indrid licks his lips and then Barclay’s moans fill the bedroom as his boyfriend lovingly sucks the head of his cock.

“Is now the time to mention he sucked me off yesterday while you were at work?” Joseph smiles up at Duck, though his hand is busy teasing Barclay’s nipples.

Duck growls, “and you didn’t even give an encore where I could watch. Mighty rude of you. Both of you.”

“Don’t blame me” Indrid jerks Barclay off with one hand and fingers his slit with the other, “you know how needy our pet gets.”

“True. Guess I’ll have to put him in his place.” Duck looks down at Barclay, gaze soft in spite of his tone, “not tonight though. Tonight his job is to take care of you.”

“Speaking of which” Joseph turns his face into another kiss just as Indrid’s mouth envelopes his cock once again. He moans and whimpers between those perfect lips, a month of not even being able to touch himself meaning his body is already being dragged towards orgasm. His hand finds Joseph’s tail, petting it enticingly.

“If you AHnnnfuck, lay perpendicular babe, I can suck you off without hurting myself.”

Joseph glances at Indrid, who pulls off of Barclay’s cock and shakes his head, “Not tonight, dearest.”

He whimpers, tries to lift his head, use his tongue to tease Joseph’s retreating tail, only or Duck to hold him firmly in place.

“I know, sweet one, you do so love being inside our pet, whether with that talented tongue, those skillful hands, or this sinful thing.” He gives a final jerk, then uses his tail to guide Joseph into his former position, “And I would never deny you that pleasure. He’s such a good little pet after all.” He kisses Joseph posessively, then glides behind him and sets his hands on his waist, “which is why I am going to fuck him on you. I will control his movements, so as to avoid aggravating your injury.”

“And because you get off on it.” Duck adds.

“That too.”

“AHfuck!” Barclay’s whole tail lights up purple for an instant as Indrid shoves Joseph down onto his cock. He might submit to Indrid, but Joseph is the mer in the sea he most wants to claim, to fuck until he’s begging for more.

“Nghnshit, shit that’s so good big guy, fuck I missed this.”

“Ahem.”

“Thank you Indridoh, ohohohohfuck.” Joseph’s hands scrabble on Barclay’s tail as Indrid bounces him up and down. He looks so handsome like this, cock hard and slit swallowing Barclay to the hilt, dark hair loose and framing his head like a crown.

Barclay reaches for him, desperate for a touch, but Duck holds him down.

“Thank you, love, if he had moved just then he would have hurt himself.”

“Don’t care” Barclay growlwhines, “Joseph, babe, wanna touch you so bad.”

“You’ll get to, big guy, there’ll be plenty of chances after this.”

He growls, teeth clenched as the riptide of his orgasm pulls at him.

“It’s okay big fella, you can let go. We’ve got you.” Duck’s voice, as soothing as the hand he scritches down his scalp.

“Fuck” is all he gets out before Indrid pushes Joseph down and Barclay spurts up into him with moan.

“Better, big guy?” Joseph’s smile is as dazzling as ever.

“Uh huh.” His bones are mud, his eyes heavy, and he feels better than he has all month.

“Good. Come, let me look you over and hold you. Duck and Joseph will join us shortly.”

“But I thoughtAHfuck” is all he hears before the sound of Duck frantically fucking Joseph fills one half of the room, his boyfriends moan switching from charming to mouthwatering as Duck keeps fucking him after he’s cum.

Indrid builds them a nest on the other side of the bed, guides him into it to comb his hair and rub his aching shoulders, humming as he does. Eventually, Duck swims over to join them, Joseph more floating than swimming in his embrace.

“How do you feel, big guy?”

“Good. Really, really good.” He closes his eyes, safe in the knowledge that his home and family will still be his when he wakes up.

Then he opens them again.

“Wait, so what the fuck did you actually do to the guy who harpooned me?”

#OT4: Government Men and Their Cryptid Boyfriends #mermay fills #indruck #sternclay #inclay #agent stern/barclay/indrid cold/Duck newton #agent stern/duck newton

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