#as in volume two book eight chapter seven

[anglerflsh]

"I fell asleep" says man who just woke up from fainting in a grave. To the guy that just spent god knows how long in despair over said grave, solilloquizing about it

[dumbslxtclub]

you’re on your own, kid | e.m - part nine (bonus chapter)

eddie munson x singlemom!reader

summary: set after the events of season four, Steve has disappeared and is presumed dead in the upside down. broken and now left to deal with your pregnancy alone, Eddie takes it upon himself to support you to the best of his abilities in Steve’s absence.

chapter summary: we learn the root of eddie’s longstanding guilt as he navigates the crossroads of your relationship.

content warnings: fem!reader, adult language, adult themes, unplanned pregnancy, angst, hurt/comfort, some canon divergence/au, mentions of death, reader is 19, anxiety, angst, fluff, no use of y/n, slow burn, not beta’d

word count: 2.8K+

a/n: cheeky little bonus chapter for you!! wanted to give eddie his moment in all his angsty glory, big shoutout to my bestie @dickfics69​ for beta reading this one and working with me over zoom to flesh out these thoughts. hope you enjoy!

taglist: @lezzy-bennet @harrypotteranna23-blog  @reidstea @sashaphantomhive  @bexreadstoomuch @audhd-dragonaut @littlepotatobeansworld @ches-86  @tlclick73 @fckyeahlames @gnocchey @astrolockley @sidthedollface2​

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Part Nine: You Sunshine, You Temptress

The door swings closed behind Eddie, and shock hits him like a freight train bulldozing through his momentary confidence. The warmth of your skin still lingering on his fingertips, the flushed-pink of your lips practically grazing his still imprinted in his mind. Heart pounding, hands shaking, and the faintest smile playing on his lips. Fuck. He wonders if he should celebrate or criticize his actions, but he’ll have time for that later.

Lucky for him, it’s hard to sift through the onslaught of thoughts flooding his brain over Squid’s vocal crying bouncing off the thin walls of the living room. He flicks on the near-by lamp, illuminating her still bundled-up figure in the crib, squirming around in the confines of swaddle.

“Hey, chunky monkey.” Hands outstretched, he places a hand behind her head to support her neck, worming his other hand to her lower back. Lifting her up and out, he quickly readjusts to rest her into a cradle position. With her head nestled into the crook of his elbow, he begins lightly tapping on her side and bouncing gently. “Shhh, let’s give your mom a quiet night tonight, yeah?”

Sighing, he makes his way to the couch, assuming the same spot the two had spent a majority of their shared night. Once comfortable, he runs a finger delicately along her rosy cheek, mouth wide open to release a plethora of screams at maximum volume. He traces along her chubby cheek, around her eye and across her eyebrow, lightly stroking the bridge of her nose. With this new contact, the tickle must be relaxing to her with the cries slowly weaning off. He’s learning to read her like a book, desperately flicking through the rolodex in his mind searching for what might calm her down. And so, he continues the motion with the corners of his lips still upturned as he studies her tiny face. Up and down, small circles, repeating the motion until her cries morph into coos and soft grunts. Eyes fluttering open, she takes in the faintly lit room around her. Eddie grins as he sees her big brown eyes, gazing up at the plaster ceiling with the occasional babble. 

“There she is.” Pulling his feet up onto the coffee table, his knees are faced skywards in a semi-supine position while he relaxes back into the cushions behind him. With a dramatic huff, as if Squid weighs a tonne, he maneuvers her into the groove between his legs. With her head nestled comfortably between his knees, face now eye line with his, he gives her sides a small tickling squeeze. “Couldn’t sleep, huh? Yeah, me neither.”

Although he’s positive she couldn’t identify him at barely six-weeks old, he feels his stomach backflip as her eyes bore into his with a sense of recognition. Familiarity. Safety. Her cheeky face lights up at the sight of him, shooting him a wide and gummy smile, nestling further into the comfort of her swaddle. 

And then, it hits him. She was crying because she just wanted to see him. 

His heart swells, letting out a soft exhale, pure affection bubbling in his chest and threatening to boil over. God, Eddie wishes he had Jonathan’s camera with him right now, wanting this image immortalized forever. Another picture to add to the pair taped in his locker, getting to see that smile every time he swung open the metal door. But simultaneously, he would not wish for anything to take him out of this moment, no desire to see the perfect image in front of him through a lens. It wouldn’t compare. Wouldn’t even come close. It’s like he’s meeting her for the first time over and over, intently examining her features. He can’t believe something could be so small. So new. So perfect. And, as much as he hates to admit it, he thinks she might be growing into her head. Time to think up new ways to get under your skin.

The two sit there, the faint hum from your fridge the only sound aside from Squid’s gurgling as her eyelids grow heavy, unable to fight off the call of sleep any longer. Her lips contort into an O-shape as she yawns, all the while Eddie runs the back of his forefinger along her chin. And, for the last time, her eyes catch a glimpse of Eddie’s before closing to the world, adequately settled once again. The pair sit in silence, Eddie taking to playing with her mess of hair as he waits for confirmation that he can put her back in the crib without waking her. There’s no doubt she’s Steve’s daughter with the amount of soft, brown hair adorning her head. He takes to mindlessly combing it with his fingers, first brushing it all to one side as a sort of comb-over. Unsatisfied, he brings all of the hair to the middle, smiling giddily as he clasps his hands together in an upward motion. He continues brushing her hair inwards, watching his creation come to life. The mess of hair takes the form of a mohawk, the world’s smallest metalhead sleeping peacefully before him. He chuckles to himself, giving her cheeks one final squeeze before carrying her back to the crib. 

There’s a particular chill to the mid March air, the promise of warmer days a luxury not yet granted to the town of Hawkins. Amidst the leaves kicked up by each breeze and the occasional cluttering of a metal can along the gravel, Eddie sits with his knees tucked to his chest. A moment of sheer solitude alone on the steps of your trailer, embers from his cigarette being prematurely carried into the wind. Nestled between his middle and forefinger, Eddie’s lips wrap around the filter, taking in a long drag of tobacco, allowing the haze of smoke to fill his lungs as it has countless times before. 

He’s not unfamiliar with the early hours, the eerie loneliness it brings to those few unfortunate enough to experience it. Intimately acquainted with the hues of gray and purple penetrating through the thin covering of lingering cloud forms, the view grounding him numerous times after waking from yet another nightmare depicting red skies and suffering. Images burned into his mind’s eye, inescapable and so tangible he feels he could reach out and touch them if he so desired. Breathe in the dense fog, allow it to coat his lungs with a thick layer of desperation. Wrap his fingers around Steve’s dirt-covered bicep, try helplessly to pull him to his feet. Press firmly into the wound carved deep into his abdomen to stop the waste of blood seeping out. Every night, no reprieve, reminded of what he didn’t do. 

Hands shake subconsciously as he once again returns the cigarette to his parted lips. It’s been the same story stuck on repeat like a broken record since the day the group returned without one member. The story that resulted in countless nights of lost sleep. The story no one is more desperate to believe than Eddie. 

He couldn’t bring himself to accept any other versions of the events, not with the implications they carry. And yet, day by day, his perfectly crafted web begins to collapse under the weight of new information. Carefully spun silk methodically weaved into a pattern of his choosing, now fracturing and threatening to break apart. How could he begin to explain it to you? And how could he ever expect your forgiveness once you knew the truth?

He wonders some days if it’s possible to be completely consumed by guilt, swallowing him whole and plunging him into a purgatory of his own creation. He should have told you. He should have told you the first night the group returned, at your trailer. Before he knew about Squid. Before he began to care. Before he grew attached.

There are facts, and then there are assumptions, hopes without tangible proof growing more and more likely to be true. Dustin and Robin were as bad as each other when it came to making mountains out of molehills, finding the smallest pattern in their daily lives and deconstructing it until they inevitably arrived at the same conclusion. With each speculation, Eddie grew increasingly more anxious, hoping to keep their conspiracies out of your earshot. But he couldn’t deny the mounting list of strange happenings. Robin’s recollection of the flickering lights in her home, divulged mere hours after Squid was born. Strapping the carrier to Eddie’s chest before running to a strangely familiar van sitting in the Hawkins supermarket parking lot, its occupants spent the day seeking her out. And then tonight, a frantic Dustin peddling his bike all the way to the trailer park, breathless and shaking as he announced the news before whisking Robin away. 

Owens found something. 

That was all the information Eddie had to work with at the moment, and he would love to say it was all he was privy to. Ignorance is bliss, and he was afflicted with too much knowledge. 

He allowed you to feel hopeless.

He encouraged the intimation that Steve was gone. 

He did all of this, knowing fully well that Owens had been looking for Steve since day one.

Guilt morphing into pressure, sinking him further into a dark sea of half-truths that should never have been spoken. Haunted by a pact made by the group, covered in the blood of others as they crawled out of the remaining gateway to a life now unfamiliar to them. He knew what he was getting into.

Shaking his head, he stomps his long since burnt-out cigarette butt to the ground. Eddie knew better than to let you in, to grow as attached to the pair of you as he’s become. His miserable existence is a movie, the ending of which he’s seen dozens of times before. A jangling of keys, a slam of a door, a scuffling of rocks under worn tyre. Everyone leaves, eventually. Yet, he can’t shake the feeling that he may be in too deep this time, finding pieces of you in the deepest recesses of his soul. Like children exchanging trading cards to complete their own collection, going out of their way to fulfill what the other lacked. He could have kept the first exchange civil, one acquaintance looking out for another during a time of need. Whose need was greater was something Eddie failed to consider. A burden in his childhood, unwanted by his parents and discarded at the first possible chance. A failure in his adolescence, rebelling against the status-quo and reducing himself to a portrait of what the world expected him to be. And at rock bottom, as he trudged along the gravel driveway of the trailer park he called home, gut heavy with culpability and survivor’s guilt. Plagued by his past, and hopeless for the future, he heard it. Your wails cut through the silence of the park, a physical manifestation of the despair looming in the night air. The kind of anguish that he has seldom vocalized, but is intimately acquainted with. Like a wounded deer on the side of the road, body weak with suffering and begging for mercy, he approached your door with an air of humaneness. Armed with only his innate sense of compassion, he comforted you from a distance, keeping his walls firmly in place. 

Walls that were being deconstructed brick-by-brick with every late return overlooked, every firm kick beneath tender skin, every soft exhale as sleep danced across your eyelids. His carefully constructed edifice of detachment now non-existent, uncomfortably open to the uncharted terrain that comes with emotional involvement. And he can’t help but fear that his intentions have turned self-serving, enjoying being at your beckoning call. Willing to crawl to the ends of the earth if it puts a smile on either of your faces. 

Selfish.

The week following Squid’s birth, Eddie picked up a shift at the auto-shop after reassurance that his presence wouldn’t be needed around the trailer. He planted his decade-old backpack at his feet before the metal lockers, clicking the combination he was assigned until the access was granted. From the front pocket, he rifled through until his fingers found the glossy paper of the fresh image. Securing adhesive putty to the four corners of the sheet, he mounted it in his locker beside the ultrasound, pressing it down firmly with his thumbs. A scuffle of boots on laminate flooring was followed by his co-worker’s cheery voice. 

“Look at that! Your girl had her baby, hm?”

Eddie spun around to the older man beside him, his wide grin openly displaying neglected and yellowing canines. 

“Oh, yeah. She did.” Eddie shuffled uncomfortably, wading knee-deep in the waters of the lie he’s created. The man scooted closer, studying the image. “Her name’s officially Audrey, but I’m still rooting for Squid.”

Bob (maybe Ed, who cares), face gruff with deep-set wrinkles in his crow’s feet, chuckles at the image. It’s not hard to imagine the image evokes memories of his own children’s births, kids who have long since moved away and now try to call once a month. 

“Congratulations, son. That girl looks like she’s got a good head on her shoulders." His oil-stained forefinger indicates to you, wide grinned in the hospital bed. Eddie smiles.

“Yeah, she sure does.”

“Take good care of ‘em, you’re a lucky fella.”

And with a squeeze on the younger boy’s shoulder, Eddie’s co-worker retrieves his lunch pail from his respective locker and pulls an old baseball cap over his balding head, bidding Eddie farewell. The two innocuously spoken words reverberate through his mind, heating his heart in a way he wasn’t accustomed to. 

Your girl. 

The dam breaks before Eddie is cognitively aware of it, suppressed emotions boiling over like an unwatched pot on the stove, neglected and unable to be further contained. Hot tears streak down his wind-burnt cheeks, hand quickly finding his mouth to stifle his untrustworthy exhales. He squeezes his sleep-deprived eyes shut, relishing in the burning sensation on his waterline. Every fiber of his body urges him to let out a scream into the quiet trailer park, as if that will absolve the heartache in his body. Instead, he resorts to choking out unsteady gasps of air between his tightly linked fingers, the steady stream cascading from his eyes along the grooves of his cheeks. He validates his greatest fear, allowing his guilt to overwhelm any self-love he granted himself. He didn’t deserve this, he didn’t deserve you. A boy in man’s clothes, playing house with the girl next door, as if that would make him feel whole. 

And it did. It made him feel needed. 

Wanted. 

Loved. 

He was quick to shut down your admission earlier, but still endures the aftermath of the shared sentiment. Sometimes, I’m glad he’s gone. What a fucking awful thing to think, let alone speak into existence. Of course, he felt no judgment when the words softly left your lips, understanding completely where you were coming from. But now, he can’t help but think of the implications should Steve return. And all will be right in the world. Squid’s dad will be back in the picture, something he always longed for her to have. A position he was happy to fill in the interim, now surely slipping from his grasp. What could have been, destined to exist as unlived dreams tucked into the bottom drawer of his mind. With all the love he has for the two of you, and he doesn’t know where to put it now. It’s too heavy to carry on his own. 

His gaze flickers to the temptation of the unoccupied trailer across from him, his bed empty and awaiting. 

Cold. Desolate. Lonely. 

The familiar comfort it brings, however solitary it may be. He was used to it. But after all he’s experienced, he’s not sure if he can go back to that way of living. His mind goes to the little girl, snuggled up in her crib, blissfully unaware of the plight around her. And you, wrapped up in cotton sheets and exhaustion, waiting for him to return through your slumber. How easy it would be to lay down next to you on the plush mattress, wrap his arms around you and hold you close to him as he longed to. To inhale the scent of shampoo lingering in your hair, press his lips to the nape of your neck, feel your warmth beneath his undeserving lips But, then again, how could he deserve such an unearned luxury?

Instead, he remains paralytic for a moment longer, occupying the space of limbo between his two comforts. A man destined to fail from the moment he was born, he cannot envision a scenario in which he is absolved of his guilt. 

His heartache. 

His love.

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

HERE, KITTY, KITTY (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Aizawa x Black!Catgirl!Reader

Synopsis: In which you find yourself in the weirdest predicament after you’re scooped up and taken to a cat cafe after you decide to take the streets to fight some crime, and you’re adopted by your very anti-social and hot coworker Aizawa aka Eraserhead.

Story Warnings: Smutty smut, 18+ (MINORS GET AWAY), Swearing, Adult!Reader, Ear and Tail Stroking, Light Degradation, Spanking, Exhibitionism, Multiple Positions, Creampie, Unprotected PIV Sex, Facial, Scent Play, Collaring, Deepthroat, Cunnlingus, Begging, Edgeplay, Power Play, Rope Play/Shibari, Master Kink, Some Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Some Action

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: Had some time on my hands in between writing papers to update. I fucking hate school man OH MY GOD...i can't wait to graduate next month. Stay safe, y'all & enjoy! -Jazz

Read on AO3 here!

Other Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-One. Twenty-Two. Twenty-Three. Twenty-Four. Twenty-Five.

*********

SEVEN.

If Eri has any aspirations of being a singer, she’d put Mariah Carey’s career in a fucking coffin with the sheer volume of her wailing. 

Aizawa groans in agony and annoyance at the high–pitched sobs and wails that Eri has been making since early this morning when she found her precious pet missing.

It only got worse when Aizawa told her the black kitten they had both grown accustomed to had run away. He didn’t dare mention the crazy feline jumped out his window and fled across campus, never to be seen again. He didn’t want to hear how loud Eri could get if she learned that. 

He did everything to try and calm her down before he was due for work in an hour, but nothing seemed to work, not even the promise of pancakes for dinner. And Eri loved pancakes for dinner! She just stood in her PJs and wailed, her cute little face as red as a tomato and contorted in sheer, internal pain and anguish. 

“I. W-Want. M-My. Kitty!” she wails, each word punctuated by a sniffle. 

Aizawa stares down at his poor daughter, wishing there was something he could do. He could possibly adopt another cat, but with how close Eri became with that crazy-ass black kitty, can he count on her doing the same with another? 

“Honey, I’m sorry,” he laments, kneeling down to wipe at her tears. “I know you miss her, but I guess she just loved the outdoors more.” 

That was the wrong thing to say because Eri only cries harder, her tiny chest heaving with the sobs that break from her throat. Aizawa swears under his breath. At this rate, she’ll never calm down before he’s due for work, which starts in an hour. He hasn’t showered, changed out of his PJs, or had his coffee. And Aizawa needs his coffee. Otherwise, his head will be fucked up all day. 

However, when he hears a blessed knock at the door, he's sure he has a guardian angel. “Stay here,” he tells Eri before getting up to hurry to his door.

He opens it, finding Mic standing there in his gym clothes and carrying a shitload of stuff for Eri in a backpack that he has reserved only for her: coloring books, juice boxes; Disney DVDs; basically, anything that can distract a child long enough to stop crying. 

Aizawa has never been happier to see his friend. He was hesitant about calling Mic over here on his day off, but Mic also specifically told him that if Aizawa is ever in trouble, Mic is always there. And now, Aizawa is drowning in trouble. 

“Thank God you’re here,” he sighs, relieved as he pulls Mic into his dorm. “Sorry to call on your day off, but I don’t know what the fuck to do. She just keeps screaming. And I have to teach class in an hour.” 

He motions towards Eri who is now sitting on the couch, sobbing away into her hands. Mic immediately puts the backpack down without another word and swoops in to rectify the situation. 

“Heeeey, little listener!” he greets the red-faced girl, plastering on a big smile. “Uncle Mic is here! Now what’s all this about you crying, huh?” He plops down next to her, placing an ankle on his lap and looping an arm behind the couch. 

Eri only stops crying momentarily to tell him what happened, but it comes out as a whine more than anything. “M-My kitty ran awaaaay!”

Aizawa resists the urge to cover his eyes at her wails. He’s never seen her like this before. He’s always felt that he did his best to ensure Eri was at her happiest, even adopting a cat for her to make sure she wasn’t that lonely while he was teaching or patrolling. There aren't too many young kids at UA (her age, anyway) and he knows it would be hard for her to interact with children because of what she’s been through with Overhaul. 

His hands clench as he remembers that time, spending sleepless nights watching over Eri in case she wet the bed again or had another night terror. He vowed then to make her the happiest, but now, seeing her with her face wet and damn near inconsolable, he feels like a failure. 

Mic tuts at his “niece’s” crying and scoots closer to her. “Awww, honey,” he coos, wrapping an arm around her head, and cradling it to his chest. “It’s okay."

“What if she gets hurt?” she sobs into Mic’s chest. “What if she never comes back? W-What if...what if…” Her words fall into broken syllables as she continues to bawl into Mic’s chest, wetting up his pink shirt. 

“You’re sure you wanna watch her on your day off?” Aizawa asks nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. Mic looks at him like he’s insane. “You kidding? I’m this girl’s uncle which means I’m her second dad. If she needs me, I’m here.” 

Aizawa has never been more grateful to have such a good friend. Quickly, he goes to Eri and kneels in front of her, slowly moving her hands from her face. “Hey, sweetie, Daddy has to go to work, okay?” he gently says. 

He’s never seen such terror in her eyes before. She frantically shakes her head, squeezing his hands in hers. “No, Daddy!” she sobs, tearing Aizawa’s heart in two. “Don’t go!”

Aizawa would gladly create a fake villain attack himself to spare himself a day with her, but he knows his responsibilities, and that includes his students. “Puddin’, I’ve got to,” he soothes her, “but listen: how does the sound of ice cream for lunch sound?” 

Eri doesn’t respond nor does she smile. Big, fat tears continue to slide down her cheeks that Aizawa wipes away. “I’ll come back and get you on my break. Be good.” 

He presses a kiss to her cheek before standing and glaring down at Mic in a warning. “If I come back here and see her like this, I’ll–” 

“You’ve got an hour to get ready,” Mic cuts in, barely even heading Aizawa’s warning. “If I were you, I’d stop talking and get ready. Chop, chop!” He claps twice before grinning reassuringly at his friend. “Relax, Shouta; she’s in good hands.” 

Without any more time to spare, Aizawa sprints into his bedroom to get ready for work, his heart splintering at the sound of his daughter’s cries. 

*********

Aizawa has never felt more hopeless than watching his little Eri stare down at her ice cream like she was expecting the damn thing to abandon her two hours later around lunchtime. 

Throughout the day, he’s been worrying over her, wondering if she ever stopped crying or if the cops were called because of her constant wailing. Mic never called or texted him, so he just assumed everything was fine.

However, when he went to pick her up for lunch, she wasn’t the hyper, bubbly girl he’d come to know and love. She was despondent and blue, not even touching smiling at him when he came to pick her up. 

She sits in front of him now at her favorite, quaint little ice cream shop several blocks away from the UA campus, a tight-lipped expression on her face and sadness in her amber eyes. “How’s your ice cream?” he asks, trying in vain to make today seem normal. “You barely touched it, y’know. I thought you liked cookies n’ creme.” 

Eri barely looks at him. Despite looking so cute in her pigtails and frilly dress, it means nothing without her bright smile to add to the outfit. Aizawa sighs, realizing this isn’t going to work. He pushes his cup of chocolate ice cream to the side and leans over to tilt her chin up with his thumb.

“Eri, honey, I know you’re upset about the cat running off, and I’m sorry that she did. I know you really cared about her.” 

The little girl slowly nods and Aizawa cringes. He feels like he just set his daughter up to grieve for her pet as if the animal is worm food by now. Goddammit.

“How about we see if we can find her, hm?” he blurts, going with the first idea he has to fix the situation. “Maybe scout the streets and put out posters.” 

Now, Eri perks up, the light coming back into her eyes. “Really?” she asks curiously, her eyebrows knitting together only adding to her cuteness.

Aizawa nods, just happy to see her smile again. He’d take her to the damn moon to find this cat if it meant he could see her smile. “I’m sure she didn’t go far,” he reassures her. “She’s probably closer than we think she is.” 

“Aizawa?” 

He isn’t sure why he doesn’t recognize your voice when he hears it, especially the way his last name sounds on it: like music. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t heard it in a minute since you supposedly went missing this weekend, but the way his body reacts to the sound of it hits all the same–he instantly freezes and his cock is rock hard. 

It doesn’t get any better when he turns around to see you standing there, a duffle bag hanging over your arm and an iced coffee in your hand.

His eyes greedily and shamelessly trail down your form, drinking in the way you look in your athletic gear: those tight black spandex pants that he’s eager to see from behind and one of those cropped Sherpa pullovers with the zipper pulled down enough to show him a peek of your pink sports bra and the slight curve of your breasts. 

'Oh, my God,' he thinks. Are you fucking kidding him right now? 

Your eyes widen at the sight of him and your trail shoots up straight, meaning you’re happy to see him. Happy to see him.

“I didn’t know you came here!” you giggle, motioning towards the little shop. “I always come here for the coffee.” You shake your iced coffee at him he didn’t notice until now because he was too busy thinking about spending you over. 

“I’m not used to seein’ you out and about either,” you playfully say, appearing easy-going and laidback. The last thing he wants to do is give you the wrong impression. So he closes his mouth (which was slightly parted at the sight of you) and tries to act as normal as possible.

“U-Uh, you too,” he stutters. “Um…you look…different. I-I mean out of your work clothes.” 

He makes a note to drink bleach later. 'Goddammit.'

You don’t seem to think it’s a weird response though. You just giggle that cute little laugh that makes his heart flutter. “Just got done with a yoga class. You look quite different yourself.” She nods at the attire that he changed into before lunch: a loose black tee, jeans, and some boots with his hair tied back into a loose ponytail. Underneath your gaze though, he feels naked. 

“Daddy?” Eri’s soft, little voice drifts to his ears, and he realizes that he is, in fact, sitting with his daughter while thirsting over his crush.

You gasp, covering your mouth embarrassingly. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” you quickly apologize. “I totally ruined your date!” 

Aizawa looks at Eri who curiously stares up at you. “No, it’s completely okay,” he chuckles, liking your humor. “Eri, this is my good friend, Y/N. She works with me at UA. Y/N, this is my…”

His mind pauses, wondering if he should flat-out tell you he has a kid. Niece? Little sister? Cousin?

“Daughter,” he finally decides, hating to lie to you. 

Your wide eyes tick from him to Eri, realizing setting in. “Oh!” you exclaim, looking surprised but not spooked. “Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Eri. Such a pretty girl you are.” You suddenly gasp, your eyes falling to the buttons decorating the strap of her little pink messenger bag. “And you like Sailor Moon? You have great taste!” 

Eri’s eyes brighten, all of her gloominess suddenly gone. “Who’s your favorite Scout?” you ask curiously.

Eri is more than happy to respond. “Sailor Mercury,” she giggles. “I have a Luna plushy too!” She sits up straighter, all gloominess gone the instant you begin engaging in conversation with her. 

You give her a shocked, open-mouthed look, eyes wide and so expressive that Aizawa wants to laugh. “Mine too! I don’t have a plushie, so you’re lucky. Do you have any more plushies I can be jealous of?” The white-haired little girl practically falls out of her chair to get out her little tablet and show you pictures of all of her plushies. 

As she feverishly talks about each one, you nod along and pay close attention to her, giving eye contact as needed. Aizawa watches in astonishment and utter adoration for you.

He’s never seen someone interact with a child in such a way, and Eri so excitedly to talk to an adult she barely knows. He can almost see this being a new normal, you sitting on his couch as Eri talks about her day, maybe the both of you coloring together before he comes home from patrols and you snuggle the night away. 

He scowls in confusion at the thought. ‘Where the fuck did that come from?’ he thinks.

“Woooww, Eri,” you gasp, gaining his attention. You're obviously over-exaggerating to make the little girl pleased with herself. “You must be rich havin’ all those in your room.” 

Eri giggles at this, shaking her head. “Daddy got them for me!” she proudly states, grinning up at you. “Except for the Pikachu one. My uncle Mic got it for me for Christmas.” 

“Well, that’s very nice of both of them,” you say and shoot Aizawa a wink. You suddenly begin to back away from their table, looking sheepish. “Well, I took up a lot of your time already, so I’ll just–“ 

“Don’t you want some ice cream too?” Eri asks, batting those pretty lashes at you that would make anyone give in to her. Aizawa’s eyes widen at her suggestion and he quickly reacts. “Uh, Eri,” he nervously replies, “Y/N already has plans. We don’t wanna ruin them.”

“I actually don’t have any plans,” you reply, looking flushed under the spring sun .“I took off today to run some errands and I was just gonna go home to do laundry…but that can wait if you’re okay with me joinin’ you.” Your tail swishes quizzically, curling at the tip as you anticipate Aizawa’s answer. 

He is sold the minute he gets a look at that damn tail. “Make room, Eri,” he says as he goes to fetch a chair for you. 

You thank him and sit down next to Eri, showing her your coffee. “I don’t need any ice cream, either. I’m good with just the caffeine.”

You sit with your legs crossed and your ears tiled forward and slightly angled to the side. They twitch every so often when you hear a bird or the honking of a car. Aizawa thinks it’s the cutest thing in the world. He has to ball his hands up into fists to keep from reaching out and petting them. 

Not wanting to be silent the whole time you’re here, he decides to make some kind of conversation. “Nemuri mentioned you went MIA this weekend,” he says, trying to be as easy-going as possible. “Everything okay?” 

Your eyes widen an inch and your ears begin to swivel nervously. You must not have been expecting that question. But then your ears perk back up and you give him a big, wide smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Yeah!” you reply, a little too enthusiastically Aizawa notices. “I had gone out of town to visit my folks and it slipped my mind to call her beforehand. Guess you can imagine how that resolved itself.” 

Though you laugh it off, Aizawa can’t help but feel like you’re not quite being honest about your night. But then again, it isn’t any of your business. He isn’t your dad or your boyfriend. “So what did you do this weekend?” you ask, smiling down at Eri. 

“We got a kitty!” Eri blurts out, unable to keep the secret in. Aizawa gives her a fixed stare. “Eri!” he hisses to which Eri immediately covers her mouth, horrified. 

You look confused more than anything. “Nezu lets pets into the dorms now? He sounded pretty serious about that rule when we went over everything when I moved into the faculty dorms.” 

Aizawa huffs, pinching his sinuses. Eri’s filter erasure is usually endearing, but now, all he wants to do is slap a hand on her mouth. “He doesn’t,” he sighs. “I had adopted a cat for Eri this weekend, but the damn thing ran off as soon as I got her. Guess she just liked the outdoors more.” 

“We’re gonna make posters and search for her later,” Eri informs you to which you nod understandably.  

You glance at Aizawa, a hint of playfulness in your gaze. “Well, your secret is safe with me,” you say with a playful wink that tugs at Aizawa’s heartstrings. “And I know your kitty will come back to you. They’re never that far away.” 

Eri smiles at your advice, looking hopeful. Aizawa has never wanted to kiss someone more until you sat down and opened your mouth.

Suddenly, Eri gasps, her eyes animatedly wide. “Daddy, you didn't tell Y/N who your favorite Sailor Scout is!” she announces, very, very loudly. Aizawa has never wanted to choke a kid out more than his own daughter as you throw your head back and laugh. 

The rest of the lunch lasts for fifteen minutes until it’s time to head back to work. As you and Aizawa walk alongside each other up the trail to campus, Eri is busy picking as many flowers as she can: daises; daffodils; lilacs. Supposedly, she’s going to put them all around Aizawa’s dorm to “brighten up the room”. You thought it was adorable. 

Aizawa ticks his eyes over at you briefly, his heart thundering in his chest. 'Say something, idiot!'

“Thanks for joinin’ us today,” he says, grabbing your attention. He shoves his hands into his pockets. “Sorry Eri put you on the spot like that. She gets real excited sometimes.” 

“Don’t sweat it,” you giggle, waving a passive hand. “She’s the cutest little thing. If anything, I should be thanking you for letting me hang with you guys. It was fun.” The cherry blossoms are beginning to bloom and he notices one petal dusting your shoulder. 

“Can I walk you back to your dorm?” he asks, surprising you and himself with the sudden suggestion.

You don’t look put off by it though, but your ears still nervously twitch. “U-uh sure, if it’s not any trouble for you. I could definitely use the company.” 

Aizawa internally smiles as the two of you begin to walk along the trail leading to the faculty dorms with Eri in tow. You two begin to fall in stride, walking at the same pace. It feels easy to do, Aizawa finds, and he likes doing it. Even the silence between you isn’t tense or awkward but peaceful and content. 

“I hope I didn’t overstep earlier,” you suddenly say, placing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "I really didn’t know you had a daughter and I didn’t wanna assume anything.” 

Aizawa shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. I keep Eri a secret for a reason: she’s a very bright little girl with a very powerful quirk. A lot of people are lookin’ to have that to themselves, so Nezu, the rest of the UA staff, and I basically protect her while she’s here. She stays in the dorms so Nezu can keep an eye on her and so I can ensure that she’s safe.” 

You nod understandably at the new information. “Well, she certainly made a good choice choosing you as her guardian,” you softly pronounce. “I see the way you interact with your students. They really like you, Aizawa.” 

Aizawa flushes at the genuine nature behind your words. “They can be good kids,” he admits, thinking about his students. “When they’re not stressin’ me the fuck out.” 

“Aren’t all kids stressful in some way?” you lightly laugh. Your smile is just as dazzling and illuminating as the spring sun shining above.

“I’m sure you know all about that as a counselor,” he says, hoping you’ll take the hint and tell him all about it. He wants to know everything about you…if you’ll let him. 

You groan, rolling your eyes. “You don't even know the half of it. Sometimes, them kids come into my office and it’s like pullin’ teeth tryna talk to them.” 

Aizawa nods, knowing a few students in mind that he can put into that category. “But if I can help at least one kid with their problems as they go through the craziness of puberty and becoming a hero, who am I to complain? I love what I do for these kids.” 

The genuine and true twinkle in your eyes and the soft passion in your voice make Aizawa realize how seriously you take your job. It isn’t just a good paycheck or benefits for you–it’s much more, and it all starts with the kids.

“I can tell you do,” he softly utters, adoring you more and more with each second he spends with you out here. 

You suddenly stop and stare at him, wearing an expression Aizawa can’t quite place. However, your pupils are dilated and your tail swishes slowly between your thighs, relaxed and…happy? 

Aizawa needs to get better with reading cats if he’s going to be able to read you better. 

Suddenly, you snap back into yourself and clear your throat. “U-Um, this is me,” you stutter, nodding up at the dorm windows. “I’m pretty close to Nemuri’s dorm.” 

Disappointment blooms in Aizawa, but he shoves it away, feeling stupid. All he did was walk you back to your dorm. Of course, it was bound to end! But damn, does he want it to last a little longer, just to stand here and look at you under the sun rays and cherry blossoms.

You give him a smile that sends the butterflies into a frenzy. “Thanks for walkin’ me, Aizawa.” 

“Call me Shouta,” he replies, surprising even himself with his boldness. “And you’re welcome.”

But you don’t turn to walk away immediately. He doesn’t know why, but he takes advantage of it. “You’ve got somethin’ in your hair.” His eyes fix on the pink cherry blossom petal caught in your hair by your ear. 

You go to try and blindly find it, but he stops you by quickly swooping in and brushing one of your pointed ears to pluck the petal out. As he does, his thumb lightly brushes your ear, causing it to twitch slightly. He nearly melts at the feeling of your soft fur on his skin and he itches to touch the rest of you.

He isn’t sure what he would’ve done if Eri hadn’t suddenly yelled at the top of her lungs, consequently ruining the moment. 

“Daddy!” She yells from across campus, making you both jump back away from what could have transpired between you. “We have to go or you’ll be late for your next class! Uncle Mic is waiting for us!” 

You look at him with wide eyes and a very straight tail. 'Yep. Definitely happy.' 

“Duty calls, I guess,” you sheepishly giggle. “I’ll see you later, Shouta.”

You begin to walk to the dorms and he lets you, no matter how hard he is from you saying his first name. He watches you until you finally disappear into the building, taking the scent of your perfume with you. 

As he walks back to meet with his daughter and go to work, he’s all smiles.

[orthodoxydaily]

Saints&Reading: Wednesday, 13, March, 2024

march 1_march 29

VENERABLE JOHN CASSIAN THE ROMAN, ABBOT (435)

Saint John Cassian the Roman was born around 360, probably in Lesser Scythia (in Dacia Pontica). His pious Christian parents gave him an excellent classical education, and also instructed him in the Holy Scriptures and in the spiritual life.

Saint John entered a monastery in the diocese of Tomis, where his friend and relative Saint Germanus labored as an ascetic. In 380, desiring to venerate the Holy Places, Saint John went to Jerusalem with his sister and his friend Saint Germanus. The two monks stayed at a Bethlehem monastery, not far from where the Savior was born.

After five years at the monastery, Saints John and Germanus traveled through the Thebaid and the desert monasteries of Sketis for seven years, drawing upon the spiritual experience of countless ascetics. The Egyptian monks taught them many useful things about spiritual struggles, prayer, and humility. Like honeybees they journeyed from place to place, gathering the sweet nectar of spiritual wisdom. The notes Saint John made formed the basis of his book called CONFERENCES WITH THE FATHERS in twenty-four chapters.

Returning to Bethlehem for a brief time, the spiritual brothers lived for three years in complete solitude. Then they went back to Egypt and lived there until 399. Because of the disturbances caused by Archbishop Theophilus of Alexandria to the monasteries along the Nile, they decided to go to Constantinople, after hearing of the virtue and holiness of Saint John Chrysostom. The great hierarch ordained Saint John Cassian as a deacon and accepted him as a disciple. John and Germanus remained with Saint John Chrysostom for five years, learning many profitable things from him.

When Chrysostom was exiled from Constantinople in 404, Saints John Cassian and Germanus went to Rome to plead his case before Innocent I. Cassian was ordained to the holy priesthood in Rome, or perhaps later in Gaul. After Chrysostom’s death in 407, Saint John Cassian went to Massilia [Marseilles] in Gaul (now France). There he established two cenobitic monasteries in 415, one for men and another for women, based on the model of Eastern monasticism.

At the request of Bishop Castor of Aptia Julia (in southern Gaul), Cassian wrote THE INSTITUTES OF CENOBITIC LIFE (De Institutis Coenobiorum) in twelve books, describing the life of the Palestinian and Egyptian monks. Written between 417-419, the volume included four books describing the clothing of the monks of Palestine and Egypt, their schedule of prayer and services, and how new monks were received into the monasteries.The last eight books were devoted to the eight deadly sins and how to overcome them. Through his writings, Saint John Cassian provided Christians of the West with examples of cenobitic monasteries, and acquainted them with the asceticism of the Orthodox East.

Cassian speaks as a spiritual guide about the purpose of life, about attaining discernment, about renunciation of the world, about the passions of the flesh and spirit, about the hardships faced by the righteous, and about prayer.

Saint John Cassian also wrote CONFERENCES WITH THE FATHERS (Collationes Patrum) in twenty-four books in the form of conversations about the perfection of love, about purity, about God’s help, about understanding Scripture, about the gifts of God, about friendship, about the use of language, about the four levels of monasticism, about the solitary life and cenobitic life, about repentance, about fasting, about nightly meditations, and about spiritual mortification. This last has the explanatory title “I do what I do not want to do.”

Books 1-10 of the CONFERENCES describe Saint John’s conversations with the Fathers of Sketis between 393-399. Books 11-17 relate conversations with the Fathers of Panephysis, and the last seven books are devoted to conversations with monks from the region of Diolkos.

In 431 Saint John Cassian wrote his final work, ON THE INCARNATION OF THE LORD, AGAINST NESTORIUS (De Incarnationem Domini Contra Nestorium). In seven books he opposed the heresy, citing many Eastern and Western teachers to support his arguments.

In his works, Saint John Cassian was grounded in the spiritual experience of the ascetics, and criticized the abstract reasoning of Saint Augustine (June 15). Saint John said that “grace is defended less adequately by pompous words and loquacious contention, dialectic syllogisms and the eloquence of Cicero (i.e. Augustine), than by the example of the Egyptian ascetics.” In the words of Saint John of the Ladder (March 30), “great Cassian reasons loftily and excellently.” His writings are also praised in the Rule of Saint Benedict.

St John Cassian relics in the main Church of St Victor Abbaye in Marseille France.

Saint John Cassian lived in the West for many years, but his spiritual homeland was the Orthodox East. He fell asleep in the Lord in the year 435. His holy relics rest in an underground chapel in the Monastery of Saint Victor in Marseilles. His head and right hand are in the main church.

THE MONK LEO, CAPPADOCIAN MONASTIC

Saint Leo of Cappadocia fulfilled the commandment to love his neighbor by suggesting to the Saracens, who had captured three sickly monks, that he take the place of these infirm captives with himself, since he was healthy and able to work.

While journeying in the desert, Saint Leo weakened and was not able to go any farther. He was beheaded with the sword, thereby laying down his life for his neighbor.

JOEL 2:12-26

12 Now, therefore, says the Lord, Turn to Me with all your heart, With fasting, with weeping, and with mourning. 13 So rend your heart, and not your garments; Return to the Lord your God, For He is gracious and merciful, Slow to anger, and of great kindness; And He relents from doing harm. 14 Who knows if He will turn and relent, And leave a blessing behind Him-- A grain offering and a drink offering For the Lord your God? 15 Blow the trumpet in Zion, Consecrate a fast, Call a sacred assembly; 16 Gather the people, Sanctify the congregation, Assemble the elders, Gather the children and nursing babes; Let the bridegroom go out from his chamber, And the bride from her dressing room. 17 Let the priests, who minister to the Lord, Weep between the porch and the altar; Let them say, "Spare Your people, O Lord, And do not give Your heritage to reproach, That the nations should rule over them. Why should they say among the peoples, 'Where is their God?' " 18 Then the Lord will be zealous for His land, And pity His people. 19 The Lord will answer and say to His people, "Behold, I will send you grain and new wine and oil, And you will be satisfied by them; I will no longer make you a reproach among the nations. 20 But I will remove far from you the northern army, And will drive him away into a barren and desolate land, With his face toward the eastern sea And his back toward the western sea; His stench will come up, And his foul odor will rise, Because he has done monstrous things. 21 Fear not, O land; Be glad and rejoice, For the Lord has done marvelous things! 22 Do not be afraid, you beasts of the field; For the open pastures are springing up, And the tree bears its fruit; The fig tree and the vine yield their strength. 23 Be glad then, you children of Zion, And rejoice in the Lord your God; For He has given you the former rain faithfully, And He will cause the rain to come down for you-- The former rain, And the latter rain in the first month. 24 The threshing floors shall be full of wheat, And the vats shall overflow with new wine and oil. 25 So I will restore to you the years that the swarming locust has eaten, The crawling locust, The consuming locust, And the chewing locust, My great army which I sent among you. You shall eat in plenty and be satisfied, And praise the name of the Lord your God, Who has dealt wondrously with you; And My people shall never be put to shame. Then you shall know that I am in the midst of Israel: I am the Lord your God And there is no other. My people shall never be put to shame. And it shall come to pass afterward That I will pour out My Spirit on all flesh; Your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, Your old men shall dream dreams, Your young men shall see visions. 26 You shall eat in plenty and be satisfied, And praise the name of the Lord your God, Who has dealt wondrously with you; And My people shall never be put to shame.

[antaxzantax]

Umbrella Pharmaceuticals — Chapter 24

Fifty pages left. Forty-nine. Forty-eight. Forty-seven. Forty-six. Behind her, her father scrutinised the results she had written down on a piece of paper an hour before. Forty-five. Forty-four. Twelve days until her entrance exam to Harvard University. Forty-three. Forty-two. Forty-one. Accelerated. Forty. Thirty-nine. Thirty-eight. Thirty-seven. Thirty-six. Thirty-five. Her father coughed. He put the paper away in a folder. Thirty-four. Thirty-thirty-three. Thirty-two. Thirty-one. Thirty. She thought only of the results; of taking her exams as soon as possible to start university and study whatever she wanted. Twenty-nine. Twenty-eight. Twenty-seven. Twenty-six. Twenty-five. Twenty-four. Twenty-three. Twenty-two. Twenty-one. Twenty. Nineteen. Eighteen. Her relatives had advised her to relax, that she was only six years old, that there would be time later to go to college and get her doctorate as she wanted. Her grandmother had talked to her father about delaying admission to Harvard; and her father had asked her. She refused to delay her admission. Seventeen. Sixteen. Fifteen. Fourteen. Thirteen. Twelve. Eleven. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two.

One.

She closed the book. A tired sigh of relief escaped her. She resisted admitting that her head hurt a little. Her father stood back up and approached her, gently resting a hand on her tiny shoulder. She spun around in the chair and jumped to the floor, clutching her father's relinquished hand.

“Are you going to need that book again?” Her father pointed to the volume he had closed.

“No," she answered quickly.

Holding hands, father and daughter left the study where Edward Ashford once dwelled. She was supposed to have finished an hour earlier to lessen the workload, but both were systematically ignoring the recommendations of the psychologists her father had hired to unravel the mystery of her intelligence. They had all concluded, and long ago, that she was exceptional. They did not understand how a little girl had outperformed established scientists and Nobel Prize winners in intelligence tests. So incredible was her ability that it had rendered obsolete the curricula they had designed for her. In the end, her grandmother and father suggested a routine to which she unquestioningly subscribed because of its effectiveness. The routine had consisted of alternating a couple of hours of study with an hour of rest because her grandmother had insisted that, regardless of her intelligence, she was a child and, as a child, she should make the most of her childhood and play. She understood her grandmother's concern, since she too wanted to play, but she was indifferent to the exaggerated concern for her childhood. She did similar things to Alfred and had gone to school to take her preparatory classes. If childhood consisted of primary and secondary school, as all children were expected to do, she was glad she didn't have a childhood.

They went to her bedroom, where her father bade her goodnight, hugged her and kissed her on the forehead. The nanny, who came in as her father left, helped her undress and put on her silk pyjamas. She went to bed by herself while the nanny turned off the lights and closed the door.

[whencyclopedia]

China in World History (New Oxford World History series)

This is a volume in the New Oxford World History series. According to the Editor’s Preface, the aim of this series is to "offer readers an informed, up-to-date and lively history of the world" that avoids the ethnocentric bias of traditional "world histories" of only focusing on Europe and the United States. This series contains three types of books. First, eight books in the series deal with different periods in world history. Second, certain volumes concern world history using a thematic perspective, focusing on topics such as city, democracy, technology, migration, etc. Finally, there are books that deal with specific countries or regions, and Paul S. Ropp's China in World History belongs to this category.

... the book is a helpful introduction for anyone unfamiliar with Chinese history.

In the book, Ropp states that his goal is to provide an account of Chinese history that places China in a global context. To do this, he focuses on China's historical interactions with foreign countries and compares aspects of Chinese society with others around the world. The book is divided into nine chapters that examine Chinese history in chronological order. Chapter One deals with the earliest periods up to the 3rd century BCE. Chapter Two describes the Qin and Han dynasties (221 BCE - 220 CE). Chapter Three explores the period of disunity from 220 to 589 CE. Chapter Four examines the reunification of China under the Sui and Tang dynasties (618 - 907 CE). Chapter Five recounts events during the Song and Yuan periods (960 - 1368 CE). Chapter Six looks at the early modern period of the Ming and early Qing dynasties (1368 - 1800 CE). Chapter Seven describes the fall and aftermath of the Qing dynasty (1800 - 1920 CE). Chapter Eight deals with the period from 1920 to 1949 and looks at the civil wars, the Japanese invasion, and the rise of the Communist Party. The last chapter is about the People’s Republic of China from 1949 to today.

Continue reading...

[lesmislettersdaily]

Who Guarded His House For Him

Volume 1: Fantine; Book 1: A Just Man; Chapter 6: Who Guarded His House For Him

The house in which he lived consisted, as we have said, of a ground floor, and one story above; three rooms on the ground floor, three chambers on the first, and an attic above. Behind the house was a garden, a quarter of an acre in extent. The two women occupied the first floor; the Bishop was lodged below. The first room, opening on the street, served him as dining-room, the second was his bedroom, and the third his oratory. There was no exit possible from this oratory, except by passing through the bedroom, nor from the bedroom, without passing through the dining-room. At the end of the suite, in the oratory, there was a detached alcove with a bed, for use in cases of hospitality. The Bishop offered this bed to country curates whom business or the requirements of their parishes brought to Digne.

The pharmacy of the hospital, a small building which had been added to the house, and abutted on the garden, had been transformed into a kitchen and cellar. In addition to this, there was in the garden a stable, which had formerly been the kitchen of the hospital, and in which the Bishop kept two cows. No matter what the quantity of milk they gave, he invariably sent half of it every morning to the sick people in the hospital.

“I am paying my tithes,” he said.

His bedroom was tolerably large, and rather difficult to warm in bad weather. As wood is extremely dear at Digne, he hit upon the idea of having a compartment of boards constructed in the cow-shed. Here he passed his evenings during seasons of severe cold: he called it his winter salon.

In this winter salon, as in the dining-room, there was no other furniture than a square table in white wood, and four straw-seated chairs. In addition to this the dining-room was ornamented with an antique sideboard, painted pink, in water colors. Out of a similar sideboard, properly draped with white napery and imitation lace, the Bishop had constructed the altar which decorated his oratory.

His wealthy penitents and the sainted women of Digne had more than once assessed themselves to raise the money for a new altar for Monseigneur’s oratory; on each occasion he had taken the money and had given it to the poor. “The most beautiful of altars,” he said, “is the soul of an unhappy creature consoled and thanking God.”

In his oratory there were two straw prie-Dieu, and there was an armchair, also in straw, in his bedroom. When, by chance, he received seven or eight persons at one time, the prefect, or the general, or the staff of the regiment in garrison, or several pupils from the little seminary, the chairs had to be fetched from the winter salon in the stable, the prie-Dieu from the oratory, and the armchair from the bedroom: in this way as many as eleven chairs could be collected for the visitors. A room was dismantled for each new guest.

It sometimes happened that there were twelve in the party; the Bishop then relieved the embarrassment of the situation by standing in front of the chimney if it was winter, or by strolling in the garden if it was summer.

There was still another chair in the detached alcove, but the straw was half gone from it, and it had but three legs, so that it was of service only when propped against the wall. Mademoiselle Baptistine had also in her own room a very large easy-chair of wood, which had formerly been gilded, and which was covered with flowered pekin; but they had been obliged to hoist this bergère up to the first story through the window, as the staircase was too narrow; it could not, therefore, be reckoned among the possibilities in the way of furniture.

Mademoiselle Baptistine’s ambition had been to be able to purchase a set of drawing-room furniture in yellow Utrecht velvet, stamped with a rose pattern, and with mahogany in swan’s neck style, with a sofa. But this would have cost five hundred francs at least, and in view of the fact that she had only been able to lay by forty-two francs and ten sous for this purpose in the course of five years, she had ended by renouncing the idea. However, who is there who has attained his ideal?

Nothing is more easy to present to the imagination than the Bishop’s bedchamber. A glazed door opened on the garden; opposite this was the bed,—a hospital bed of iron, with a canopy of green serge; in the shadow of the bed, behind a curtain, were the utensils of the toilet, which still betrayed the elegant habits of the man of the world: there were two doors, one near the chimney, opening into the oratory; the other near the bookcase, opening into the dining-room. The bookcase was a large cupboard with glass doors filled with books; the chimney was of wood painted to represent marble, and habitually without fire. In the chimney stood a pair of firedogs of iron, ornamented above with two garlanded vases, and flutings which had formerly been silvered with silver leaf, which was a sort of episcopal luxury; above the chimney-piece hung a crucifix of copper, with the silver worn off, fixed on a background of threadbare velvet in a wooden frame from which the gilding had fallen; near the glass door a large table with an inkstand, loaded with a confusion of papers and with huge volumes; before the table an armchair of straw; in front of the bed a prie-Dieu, borrowed from the oratory.

Two portraits in oval frames were fastened to the wall on each side of the bed. Small gilt inscriptions on the plain surface of the cloth at the side of these figures indicated that the portraits represented, one the Abbé of Chaliot, bishop of Saint Claude; the other, the Abbé Tourteau, vicar-general of Agde, abbé of Grand-Champ, order of Cîteaux, diocese of Chartres. When the Bishop succeeded to this apartment, after the hospital patients, he had found these portraits there, and had left them. They were priests, and probably donors—two reasons for respecting them. All that he knew about these two persons was, that they had been appointed by the king, the one to his bishopric, the other to his benefice, on the same day, the 27th of April, 1785. Madame Magloire having taken the pictures down to dust, the Bishop had discovered these particulars written in whitish ink on a little square of paper, yellowed by time, and attached to the back of the portrait of the Abbé of Grand-Champ with four wafers.

At his window he had an antique curtain of a coarse woollen stuff, which finally became so old, that, in order to avoid the expense of a new one, Madame Magloire was forced to take a large seam in the very middle of it. This seam took the form of a cross. The Bishop often called attention to it: “How delightful that is!” he said.

All the rooms in the house, without exception, those on the ground floor as well as those on the first floor, were white-washed, which is a fashion in barracks and hospitals.

However, in their latter years, Madame Magloire discovered beneath the paper which had been washed over, paintings, ornamenting the apartment of Mademoiselle Baptistine, as we shall see further on. Before becoming a hospital, this house had been the ancient parliament house of the Bourgeois. Hence this decoration. The chambers were paved in red bricks, which were washed every week, with straw mats in front of all the beds. Altogether, this dwelling, which was attended to by the two women, was exquisitely clean from top to bottom. This was the sole luxury which the Bishop permitted. He said, “That takes nothing from the poor.”

It must be confessed, however, that he still retained from his former possessions six silver knives and forks and a soup-ladle, which Madame Magloire contemplated every day with delight, as they glistened splendidly upon the coarse linen cloth. And since we are now painting the Bishop of Digne as he was in reality, we must add that he had said more than once, “I find it difficult to renounce eating from silver dishes.”

To this silverware must be added two large candlesticks of massive silver, which he had inherited from a great-aunt. These candlesticks held two wax candles, and usually figured on the Bishop’s chimney-piece. When he had any one to dinner, Madame Magloire lighted the two candles and set the candlesticks on the table.

In the Bishop’s own chamber, at the head of his bed, there was a small cupboard, in which Madame Magloire locked up the six silver knives and forks and the big spoon every night. But it is necessary to add, that the key was never removed.

The garden, which had been rather spoiled by the ugly buildings which we have mentioned, was composed of four alleys in cross-form, radiating from a tank. Another walk made the circuit of the garden, and skirted the white wall which enclosed it. These alleys left behind them four square plots rimmed with box. In three of these, Madame Magloire cultivated vegetables; in the fourth, the Bishop had planted some flowers; here and there stood a few fruit-trees. Madame Magloire had once remarked, with a sort of gentle malice: “Monseigneur, you who turn everything to account, have, nevertheless, one useless plot. It would be better to grow salads there than bouquets.” “Madame Magloire,” retorted the Bishop, “you are mistaken. The beautiful is as useful as the useful.” He added after a pause, “More so, perhaps.”

This plot, consisting of three or four beds, occupied the Bishop almost as much as did his books. He liked to pass an hour or two there, trimming, hoeing, and making holes here and there in the earth, into which he dropped seeds. He was not as hostile to insects as a gardener could have wished to see him. Moreover, he made no pretensions to botany; he ignored groups and consistency; he made not the slightest effort to decide between Tournefort and the natural method; he took part neither with the buds against the cotyledons, nor with Jussieu against Linnæus. He did not study plants; he loved flowers. He respected learned men greatly; he respected the ignorant still more; and, without ever failing in these two respects, he watered his flower-beds every summer evening with a tin watering-pot painted green.

The house had not a single door which could be locked. The door of the dining-room, which, as we have said, opened directly on the cathedral square, had formerly been ornamented with locks and bolts like the door of a prison. The Bishop had had all this ironwork removed, and this door was never fastened, either by night or by day, with anything except the latch. All that the first passer-by had to do at any hour, was to give it a push. At first, the two women had been very much tried by this door, which was never fastened, but Monsieur de Digne had said to them, “Have bolts put on your rooms, if that will please you.” They had ended by sharing his confidence, or by at least acting as though they shared it. Madame Magloire alone had frights from time to time. As for the Bishop, his thought can be found explained, or at least indicated, in the three lines which he wrote on the margin of a Bible, “This is the shade of difference: the door of the physician should never be shut, the door of the priest should always be open.”

On another book, entitled Philosophy of the Medical Science, he had written this other note: “Am not I a physician like them? I also have my patients, and then, too, I have some whom I call my unfortunates.”

Again he wrote: “Do not inquire the name of him who asks a shelter of you. The very man who is embarrassed by his name is the one who needs shelter.”

It chanced that a worthy curé, I know not whether it was the curé of Couloubroux or the curé of Pompierry, took it into his head to ask him one day, probably at the instigation of Madame Magloire, whether Monsieur was sure that he was not committing an indiscretion, to a certain extent, in leaving his door unfastened day and night, at the mercy of any one who should choose to enter, and whether, in short, he did not fear lest some misfortune might occur in a house so little guarded. The Bishop touched his shoulder, with gentle gravity, and said to him, “Nisi Dominus custodierit domum, in vanum vigilant qui custodiunt eam,” Unless the Lord guard the house, in vain do they watch who guard it.

Then he spoke of something else.

He was fond of saying, “There is a bravery of the priest as well as the bravery of a colonel of dragoons,—only,” he added, “ours must be tranquil.”

[ahb-writes]

Book Review: ‘Slayers’ Collector’s Edition #3

Slayers Volumes 7-9 Collector's Edition (Slayers, 3) by Hajime Kanzaka, Rui Araizumi, Elizabeth Ellis

adventure

fantasy

magecraft

magic

swords and sorcery

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

The fascinating. The powerful. The corrupt.

Each shadowy entity wreaking havoc on this mortal plane has manufactured an array of ignoble philosophies to justify its dark deeds. Some of these philosophies are brutish and rudimentary (e.g., demons are creatures of ill omen, who feed off the ill intentions of others), and some philosophies are dangerously, monstrously complex (e.g., demons vying to reduce all existence to nothingness, for only in nothingness is there true calm). And yet, through it all, a tiny sorceress with a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, might be the only person capable of keeping everyone in check.

SLAYERS Omnibus v3 includes the bookend chapters to the novel series' first major arc. This collection delivers all of the good stuff: strange and incredible spellcasting; clever but not over-the-top magecraft lore; villains who get their comeuppance; and new characters with plenty of issues all their own.

In book seven, Gaav's Challenge, readers are treated to a plethora of entertaining narrative elements, some of which regrettably snare very little time on the page. Lina and the gang trudge toward Dragon's Peak, at the edge of the Kaltaart Mountains, to access a remnant of the Claire Bible. The mythos surrounding the Claire Bible is immense, but filters into readers' purview with somewhat less flair than in the anime, but the reasoning is valid (e.g., there are other access points).

Conceptually, the Claire Bible is remarkable. In execution, however, it's wildly underused. The notion of a body of knowledge stored on a blithely accessible plane of reality, hoarded by those who have no use for it? The Claire Bible is a great example of how fantasy storytelling is both parallel to, and a paradox of, the real world's social, cultural, and political machinations. Lina, of course, is a genius, and she's keen to use it to figure out the universe's darkest magic ("I'm afraid I'm not an enlightened enough being to just roll over and die for something I don't yet understand," page 76).

This book is stuffed with a lot of action and a lot of lore. The fight at Dragon's Peak includes several full-demons, a revelation or two concerning Xellos's true nature, and a deliberate broadening of the novel series' narrative scope. Of the last of these, stepping onto the stage are Hellmaster (Fibrizo) and Chaos Dragon (Gaav), two of Ruby-Eye's five high-ranking demon servants. These are two seriously bad dudes with massive power at their disposal. For readers, the orientation and allegiance of each high-ranking demon is muddled (but assiduous note-taking might resolve this in due time). The good news at this point is that Kanzaka, the author, is dead serious about narrative continuity. Of less good news, this book has plenty of character dynamics that are easy for readers to lose track of (e.g., Amelia almost dies; Gaav isn't an egotistical villain on the lam, he's a sympathetic anti-hero).

In book eight, King of the Phantom City, it's back to Sairaag. Fibrizo artificially resurrects the City of Magic and craters Flagoon (ancient tree) in the process. His baiting of Lina, Zelgadis, Amelia, and also Sylphiel to tread into his so-called Hellpalace, of the City of the Dead, is typical villain stuff. And Fibrizo's snatching up of Gourry, as a hostage, makes the story's climax intuitively time-contingent. But as fans of the franchise likely already know, Fibrizo's ambitions are much, much darker.

The balance between books seven and eight is okay in the moment, but upon reflection, feels slightly off. Book seven is packed with information and intrigue; book eight, essentially, is the open-ended struggle to apply that knowledge. One imagines these volumes were slightly more difficult to consume, on their own, during their original printing.

In any case, book eight is a treat, insofar as spellcasting goes. Lina intuits the limitations of the powers of the higher-ranking demons, she discerns the network of power-sharing that enables her to cast certain dark magic, and lastly and most importantly, she learns the truth about the Lord of Nightmares. Lina does, in fact, "cast the perfected giga slave" (page 204). Controlling it, of course, is another matter entirely. Fibrizo's end is not to be missed.

Altogether, the book's conclusion is excellent, and lacks the fun but romanticized version the anime pulled together. Lina is a pragmatic character, but she's not so stubborn as to ignore what she learned from the matron of chaos firsthand.

Book nine, The Mystic Sword of Bezeld, begins a new story arc. Notably, the novel series pivots in a direction one might have wondered about for years considering the apparent fate of Gorun Nova, the Sword of Light. In the previous book, Fibrizo zapped the magical blade back to the astral plane.

The challenge this time around? Lina is blunt: "Gourry and I were presently on a quest to find him a new magical monster-carver," because, as she notes to the man himself, "I'm not getting a half-decent night's sleep until I find you a half-decent magical sword" (pages 218, 220).

Here, the story shifts onto a lighter beat and reduces the core cast down to Lina and Gourry. The slower pace feels good. And the stripped-down emphasis on characters fighting for one another, rather than fighting to save the whole planet, roots the novel in familiar territory. Sure, there are assassins clad in black. Sure, there are mysterious swords-for-hire hunting for the same treasure as Lina and Gourry. But the scope and scale are manageable.

And when the story is manageable, the worldbuilding can finally breathe again. Losing the Sword of Light gives Lina, as narrator, permission to chat about all of the other fantasy blades that populate the world (and possible swipe for Gourry): the Blast Sword, the Bless Blade, the Red Dragon Sword, the Elemekia Blade, the Dark Lord's Hungry Bone Staff, Ceifeed's Flare Dragon Sword (pages 209, 217). The idea that readers could spend the next few volumes sword-hunting with these two idiots, getting into trouble and feuding all of the way, sounds like an absolute blessing.

But as fate would have it, Lina gets in the way of someone else's carefully laid plans (again). For the umpteenth time, Lina barges in on a high-level demon's plan-in-action, decides she can't quite let things be, and resolves to fight her way through. Granted, the young woman has zero interest in fighting off a "hyperdemon" smothered with the curse of Raugnut Rushavna, but what's a woman to do? When an assassin is transformed by a demonic curse, and is then simultaneously possessed by a demon, the end result is a constantly regenerating creature of death and destruction.

SLAYERS Omnibus v3 is solidly entertaining. The author's increased focus on continuity gives the story a genuine sense of fated consequences (e.g., when a high-ranking demon dies, spellcasters can no longer call upon their power). Further, the book's higher emphasis on character mythology really shows, and portends greater revelations down the line (e.g., if Xellos is a creation of Greater Beast (Zellas Metallium), then who are the priests and generals to the other five servants of Ruby-Eye?). And some facets of the story are just too fun to ignore. Like how Lina's super-powerful big sister is known as "Knight of Ceifeed," but is stuck waiting tables back home. Or how Gourry, apparently, has a sixth sense for sniffing out demons. (Except, he's just too simple-minded to actually do anything about it. Twice in this collection, the guy just goes with the flow.)

The balance between what the narrative reaps and sows isn't perfect, but in reading these three books all at once, one finds the disparity is minimal. Reading about the wicked intensity Lina feels when weighing the ragna blade in her hands never fails to send a chill down one's spine, and the absolute shock of a double-Dragon-Slave still makes one giddy, but alas, there's always more story to tell.

❯ ❯ Light-Novel Reviews || ahb writes on Good Reads

[noizchild]

What This Week Looks Like:

Monday:

Winter Blossoms (Original, Chapters 14-15)

Summary: A strange man finds a pregnant woman and her two-year-old daughter along an empty road.

Tea Leaves and Crismon Nails (Wasteland 2011, Hetalia, Durarara, D.Gray-Man, Match Eight)

Summary: Vol. 12 is up. The toxic dark is spreading all over the world. The Dark Circus is spreading all over Europe with more people disappearing every day. Meanwhile, Ju is haunted by dreams of a plague doctor in red and the shadowy figure of a woman standing over her son’s crib. She has the feeling that something isn’t right. And she isn’t the only one who feels it.

Wonderland Bites (Wasteland 2011, Durarara, Side Story, Bite #15)

Summary: Take a tour deeper into the dark and crumbling world of Ikebukuro in the Wasteland.

Tuesday:

Mars and Heaven (Cowboy Bebop, Story 28)

Summary: A long story of lemon romances of Spike and Sakura.

Wednesday:

Childish Devil (Original, Chapter Two)

Summary: Emily is not as she seems…

Dark Side of Wonderland (Wasteland 2011, Hetalia, Durarara, D.Gray-Man, Halo Two)

Summary: Vol. 12 is up. Core story of the Wasteland Project. Winter is coming. With it brings an interloper. Somebody wants the tadpoles dead. They will go to great lengths for their blood. Chisa and the Ten no Shin'en are rising faster than the main players can keep up. More elements and factors drag Ikebukuro through a new era of suffering. With the city plunged into darkness, only one question remains: Who the hell killed Izaya?

Tengoku.Chikyu.Jigoku (Ghost Hound, Volume Thirteen, Chapter Seven)

Summary: Time is running out. Masayuki might have to complete his mission on his own. It’s a good thing the child-souls are guiding the path. However, he keeps slipping through time. Meanwhile, Baby Doll’s soul fragment is escaping on her end. However, her captor won’t let her go so easily. Meanwhile, everyone on the outside is there to help with the fight. But is it going to be enough?

Thursday:

Posting City Lounge Blog

Friday:

Red Sash Books (Original, Chapter Twenty)

Summary: Eddy’s revolving door in her love life.

Saturday:

Winter Blossoms (Original, Chapter 16)

Summary: A strange man finds a pregnant woman and her two-year-old daughter along an empty road.

Sunday:

Assassin Game (Original, Chapter 21)

Summary: The son of a former assassin is kidnapped by her former employers in order to kill her. Now she must fight back to save her child.

[aboutanancientenquiry]

Description

Modern scholarship judges Herodotus to be a more complex writer than his past readers supposed. His Histories is now being read in ways that are seemingly incompatible if not contradictory. This volume interrogates the various ways the text of the Histories has been and can be read by scholars: as the seminal text of our Ur-historian, as ethnology, literary art and fable. Our readings can bring out various guises of Herodotus himself: an author with the eye of a travel writer and the mind of an investigative journalist; a globalist, enlightened but superstitious; a rambling storyteller but a prose stylist; the so-called 'father of history' but in antiquity also labelled the 'father of lies'; both geographer and gossipmonger; both entertainer and an author whom social and cultural historians read and admire. Guiding students chapter-by-chapter through approaches as fascinating and often surprising as the original itself, Sean Sheehan goes beyond conventional Herodotus introductions and instead looks at the various interpretations of the work, which themselves shed light on the original. With text boxes highlighting key topics and indices of passages, this volume is an essential guide for students whether reading Herodotus for the first time, or returning to revisit this crucial text for later research.

Table of Contents

List of Boxes

Approaches

A literary historian

The form of the Histories

Herodotus the ethnographer

The Histories as literature

Themes and patterns

Commentary

Book One: Croesus and Cyrus

Book Two: Egypt

Book Three: Cambyses, Samos and Darius

Book Four: Darius, Scythia and Libya

Book Five: The Ionian Revolt: Causes and Outbreak

Book Six: The Ionian Revolt: Defeat and Aftermath

Book Seven: The Road to Thermopylae

Book Eight: Showdown at Salamis

Book Nine: Persia Defeated

Notes

Bibliography

Index of Passages

General Index

Source: https://www.bloomsbury.com/uk/guide-to-reading-herodotus-histories-9781474292689/

Sean Sheehan is an independent scholar, having previously taught in the UK and abroad. His publications include The British Museum Illustrated Encyclopaedia of Ancient Greece (2002), Socrates: Life and Times (2007), Žižek: A Guide for the Perplexed (Bloomsbury, 2012) and Sophocles’ Oedipus the King: A Reader’s Guide (Bloomsbury, 2012)

Source: https://www.bloomsbury.com/uk/author/sean-sheehan/

Well, obviously I don’t agree with everything in this description: it is anachronistic to call Herodotus a “globalist”, he was not “superstitious” (on the contrary, one could argue that he was in fact a sceptic), or “rambling”, or “gossipmonger” (we should not confuse the oral traditions which formed a main source of Herodotus’ work with gossip), the monicker “father of likes” was given to Herodotus by a Boeotian aristocrat of the Roman period (Plutarch or some other), because Herodotus correctly described the shameful attitude of the Boeotian oligarchic regimes during Xerxes’ invasion. But for sure Herodotus is a very complex author, the “Ur”-historian of the West, and a writer admired today by social and cultural historians. In any case, the book of Sean Sheehan looks very interesting.

[avaantares]

Hey! After seeing posts about it from you for a while, I wanted to check out tgcf, but I wasn’t sure what exactly it is other than cool vibes. Could you give me a little direction please?

Hi, Anon! Sorry if this reply is late; I'm not sure when your Ask came in, as I've had very spotty internet access while traveling, but today I'm on a train that has some form of wifi (though Tumblr still isn't loading completely, so I really hope this posts properly...).

Anyway… HI, FRIEND, LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT TGCF

What it is:

Tian Guan Ci Fu, or Heaven Official's Blessing, is a Chinese danmei (M/M romance) novel by Mo Xiang Tong Xiu, the same author who wrote Mo Dao Zu Shi, on which the popular Chinese drama The Untamed is based. (You have doubtless seen that on my blog, as it's another of my obsessions!)

The story follows Xie Lian, a royal prince who, in his youth, ascended to immortal godhood because of his profound skill with the sword. However, he later fell into disgrace and was banished from heaven, abandoned by his allies, and divested of his spiritual power, vanishing into obscurity for centuries.

Eight hundred years later, Xie Lian unexpectedly regains his godly status, throwing the heavens into chaos. Anxious to pacify his fellow gods, he accepts missions to solve problems in the mortal realm -- but the assignments bring him into conflict with other powerful gods and repeatedly entangle him with heaven's greatest enemy, the Ghost King Hua Cheng.

The secrets and conspiracies Xie Lian begins to uncover are inextricably linked to events in his own past, forcing him to confront the fear and guilt he's tried to bury for hundreds of years. On the path to exposing the truth, he makes friends, makes enemies, shakes the foundations of heaven itself, falls in love, and… collects a lot of garbage. (It's his day job. No, seriously.)

Why I like it:

The novel (technically, novels; the story spans five volumes) ranges from light comedy to painful angst to soft romance to some extremely dark moments (trigger warnings may apply), so there's something for every mood. Xie Lian's 800 years of backstory provide plenty of room for twisty plot threads and mystery. The characters are engaging, as well: Xie Lian poses as a warm, fluffy cinnamon roll, but is secretly a tortured charcoal briquette who could actually kill you (my favorite kind of character!), while Hua Cheng can and will murder you with a sideways glance, but is in fact a closeted Cinnabon. The supporting cast is also a lot of fun.

Another plus is that the romance isn't the entire plot -- the story stands on its own merit, while the relationship progresses almost incidentally along the way, making it feel more natural. The romance is essential to the plot and guides characters' choices throughout the story, but it doesn't feel forced in a "NOW KISS" sort of way.

(I just realized that this entire description is probably incomprehensible outside of Tumblr. What would we do without the cinnamon roll analogy? LOL)

Ways to experience the story:

TGCF is currently being released in English by Seven Seas Entertainment. The first two volumes are out now (available in paperback or e-book from your book retailer of choice, or from many public libraries).

There is also an absolutely GORGEOUS manhua (comic), which would be my top recommendation for anyone who is interested in the story but doesn't want to commit to reading five books. It's more complete than the donghua (below) but a faster read than the novels -- plus you get to look at STARember's stunning artwork! The official English translation is free to read on the Bilibili mobile app and website, though you have the option to support it financially (and unlock new chapters faster) if you want to. (Note: The manhua is still in progress, currently updating on a biweekly schedule.)

As mentioned above, there's also a donghua (animated series). The first season, which covers volume 1 of the book, is available on Netflix in many regions, and a second season is slated for release later this year. The animation is very pretty; however, I will caution that the donghua tends to gloss over (or just leave out) some important story elements, so while it's a decent introduction, it's not necessarily the best iteration of the story.

Finally, there is a live-action drama slated to come out… sometime within the next year (I don't think there's an official release date yet), so if you try the story and like it, watch out for [what we assume will be titled in English] Eternal Faith!

I hope that answered your questions! Feel free to hit me up if you have more.

[strifetxt]

idk what beefleaf is but the art and characters are so pretty where can i see more

BOY OH BOY okay. beefleaf is a ship in heaven official's blessing (tian guan ci fu in chinese), a novel by mo xiang tong xiu, mxtx for short (it's the same author as mdzs/cql/the untamed, if you've seen those floating around, that one's definitely her most popular work!)

if you want a basic rundown of What Is TGCF, basically it follows the story of xie lian, a former crown prince who ascended to godhood, but has since been banished from the heavens not just once, but twice, and is now considered the laughingstock of the heavenly realm. however, at the beginning of the book, xie lian has somehow ascended to godhood a third time! over the course of the book, you follow xie lian as he investigates various mysteries that lead him to learn more about the heavens, as well as about his own past. and along the way, he catches the attention of the mysterious ghost king hua cheng, a relationship which develops throughout the story (not-spoiler alert: they're in love, like canonically, tgcf is a love story and hualian is beautiful)

in terms of beefleaf itself! beefleaf is the ship name between two side characters, shi qingxuan and ming yi! shi qingxuan is a god known as the wind master, and he is a canonically genderfluid icon who drags her surly best friend, the earth master ming yi, into also having genders with her, so that's a fun time! the more in-depth exploration of their relationship is the crux of one of the major story arcs in the novel, and it is A Lot. that said, if you have any interest in consuming tgcf in any fashion, i would highly encourage you not to google them or look up art and the like, because it is EXTREMELY difficult to talk about them without major plot spoilers!

as for Where To Read: the thing about tgcf is that it is Extremely Long. like, longer than the word count of the literal bible long. the chapters aren't super long, but there are 244 of them, not including the post-canon extras. the most easily accessible way to start the story would probably be the donghua/anime, which is available on netflix! just search up heaven official's blessing! the donghua covers the first 30ish chapters of the book, and it's a solid adaptation! i will say that some of the translation choices in the subtitles don't quite capture the right nuance, but that's just nitpicking from me haha. i would recommend, if you do start with the donghua, to go back and skim the chapters that it covers, if only to check for different terminology and translator's notes, and also because the donghua really does not capture the comedy of the first chapter wherein xie lian basically logging onto the heavenly discord server to see a new channel called FUCK XIE LIAN wherein everyone is taking bets on how long before he gets banned again.

ANYWAY, SORRY THIS POST IS GETTING SO LONG. in terms of actually reading the book! seven seas danmei is officially localizing heaven official's blessing, and the first two volumes are available for purchase on their site and at major bookstores! there are, it seems, eight total volumes planned, scheduled for release over the course of this year and next. so it'll be A While before we have the entirety of the story out officially.

since the localization got announced, the person who did the fan translation (who is now one of the official translators!) has taken down the free versions she had online of the whole book. i'm? wary of linking to a pdf publicly, since i def want to respect the translator's wishes! but if you dm me or ask off anon, i'd be willing to share it privately if you want it! tgcf is one of my favorite stories, and beefleaf in particular is one of my favorite ships, so i'm very happy to share them with anyone who wants! :D

[theeightbts]

The Eight, Chapter 121

Seven Korean Warriors and their Queen.

Always together. Finding each other in every lifetime. Their souls destined for each other for eternity. Sometimes as friends. Sometimes as lovers. Sometimes as spouses. Always together. Until around two hundred years ago, when the Queen vanished. The Warriors: Poet, Misdirection, Ferocious, Watcher, Mischief, Adventure and Passion, continued to find each other, always accomplishing great things in their lives. In their current lives, they’ve found each other and created the biggest boy band in the world.  When their Queen is found, and The Eight souls are re-united, they have to figure out how to live, and love, together again.

Chapter 121

  The Muse was brought out of her reverie, again, by a strong contraction, reminding her that she was on a mission. Jungkook was closest. He heard her quiet whimper and was by her side immediately, wanting to help in some way.

“Food,” she stated in between deep breaths.

He frowned, “Yeppeun, didn’t that book say that you shouldn’t…”

“Jungkookie? I am going to be working very hard soon. I will need the energy. And if you don’t feedmerightnowISWEARTOGOD!” her voice had gotten a couple of octaves higher and her volume had everyone in the condo at attention as her words were being strung together.

He held his hands up in surrender, “Ok! Ok. let’s go see what we have.”

Since they’d been out of the country for over a month there wasn’t much on hand, and she settled for ramyen. It wasn’t much, but it was something. She did have to stop eating a few times to breathe through the pain, but eventually ate all of her noodles and broth.

   Jungkook stayed close by, making sure to take care of every little thing she could possibly want, including rubbing her back through the contractions, trying to give her his healing energy. His over attention made her think of the night he had introduced her to his parents via video chat. It’d been a couple of weeks since they all found out about Petal, and he’d been making a huge effort with his wife, apologizing daily for every transgression he could come up with, while trying to keep a respectful distance until she was ready to forgive him.

  To be honest, Jungkook was far harder on himself than she could ever be, and watching him over work himself as they practiced for their Saudi Arabian concert and upcoming finalies as punishment was upsetting.

“Yeppeun?” he came to her quietly after they’d gotten back to the dorm one evening, his exhaustion clear in the lines on his handsome face,

“Would you like to meet my parents? I’m about to video chat with them, and I know they would love to meet you.”

The Muse smiled sweetly and nodded her head. Jungkook’s huge smile looked relieved and happy as he reached for her hand, which came up automatically to meet his. He led her to his room and sat her in his lap in front of the computer so he could call his parents.

   The visit went well, and his parents seemed like they understood a lot about their relationship. They’d already bought a few cute little outfits and were planning on putting together a box of gifts for their incoming granddaughter. The band’s schedule made it difficult to plan a time they could travel to meet in person, so they committed to video chat more often, and, as Jungkook’s mother said, “have a chance to get to know our new daughter”.

   The Muse beamed. She felt acceptance flowing from the couple, and they treated her like she had been a part of the family all along. Once they said their goodbyes and Jungkook turned off the computer, he looked up at her and gave her a sweet little smiling kiss. His intentions were sweet and loving, and nothing more than just wanting to show his love and adoration for his wife.

“I know I have a lot to apologize for, Yeppeun,” He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, “I have had a lot of time to think since I made the biggest mistake of my life a couple of months ago. But I think that the greatest realization I have had is that we truly are here to serve you. It didn’t feel like that at first. But now I see it. My body is here to heal your body. My soul is here to be with and care for your soul. My whole being is here to take care of everything about you. My job is to make sure you are safe, healthy, fed and cared for. And, I know it’s not just me. All of us are here to protect your mind, body and soul.”

Jungkook gently wiped a stray tear away from his wife’s cheek before placing his hand over her heart, “And now, we have one more perfect little being to care for.” His large hand trailed down the center of her chest to rest on her pregnant belly.

   It was all The Muse could do not to ugly cry at his sweet words. That was the very first time she’d ever thought about their situation in that way, and it felt so right. She’d always thought about being forced to be bound to them as tightly as she was as a punishment for her for disappearing for two hundred years.  It had never occurred to her that it might be a way for her Warriors to learn to think outside of themselves. That their having to take care of her every need wasn’t a handicap. Their relationships weren’t one sided. They all had something they brought to the table, and they were learning how to take care of each other in such a way that they were all thriving. She swore she could almost feel Sejong nodding his head in approval, and Min-ho letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

   She cupped Jungkook’s cheek and looked into his eyes, opening their connection so she could share with him how much she loved him. And, although he still didn’t feel like he deserved her or her love yet, he shared the same with her. He felt like he needed her to understand what she meant to him before they could move forward. Get back to where they should have been, had he not allowed himself to be led astray by their well-meaning management. They were just doing their jobs, really. Making sure that the band was on track and successful. They knew better now. Everyone had learned so much over the course of this adventure with their Queen.

   The Muse stayed with Jungkook that night. And, although he refrained from taking her against every available surface as he would have done in the past, he still let Passion take control and show his wife his overwhelming feelings of love and adoration with his body, overcoming his own exhaustion until he knew she understood from head to toe what he was trying to tell her.  

“I love you, Yeppeun.” was all she heard in her head, over and over, until they were both left sated, tears of joy and relief cleansing their past wrongdoings, and leaving a clear slate they could start their lives together over with.

Next

Master List

[lesmislettersdaily]

Details Concerning The Cheese-Dairies Of Pontarlier

Volume 1: Fantine; Book 2: The Fall; Chapter 4: Details Concerning The Cheese-Dairies Of Pontarlier

Now, in order to convey an idea of what passed at that table, we cannot do better than to transcribe here a passage from one of Mademoiselle Baptistine’s letters to Madame Boischevron, wherein the conversation between the convict and the Bishop is described with ingenious minuteness.

". . . This man paid no attention to any one. He ate with the voracity of a starving man. However, after supper he said:

“‘Monsieur le Curé of the good God, all this is far too good for me; but I must say that the carters who would not allow me to eat with them keep a better table than you do.’

“Between ourselves, the remark rather shocked me. My brother replied:—

“‘They are more fatigued than I.’

“‘No,’ returned the man, ‘they have more money. You are poor; I see that plainly. You cannot be even a curate. Are you really a curé? Ah, if the good God were but just, you certainly ought to be a curé!’

“‘The good God is more than just,’ said my brother.

“A moment later he added:—

“‘Monsieur Jean Valjean, is it to Pontarlier that you are going?’

“‘With my road marked out for me.’

“I think that is what the man said. Then he went on:—

“‘I must be on my way by daybreak to-morrow. Travelling is hard. If the nights are cold, the days are hot.’

“‘You are going to a good country,’ said my brother. ‘During the Revolution my family was ruined. I took refuge in Franche-Comté at first, and there I lived for some time by the toil of my hands. My will was good. I found plenty to occupy me. One has only to choose. There are paper mills, tanneries, distilleries, oil factories, watch factories on a large scale, steel mills, copper works, twenty iron foundries at least, four of which, situated at Lods, at Châtillon, at Audincourt, and at Beure, are tolerably large.’

“I think I am not mistaken in saying that those are the names which my brother mentioned. Then he interrupted himself and addressed me:—

“‘Have we not some relatives in those parts, my dear sister?’

“I replied,—

“‘We did have some; among others, M. de Lucenet, who was captain of the gates at Pontarlier under the old régime.’

“‘Yes,’ resumed my brother; ‘but in ’93, one had no longer any relatives, one had only one’s arms. I worked. They have, in the country of Pontarlier, whither you are going, Monsieur Valjean, a truly patriarchal and truly charming industry, my sister. It is their cheese-dairies, which they call fruitières.’

“Then my brother, while urging the man to eat, explained to him, with great minuteness, what these fruitières of Pontarlier were; that they were divided into two classes: the big barns which belong to the rich, and where there are forty or fifty cows which produce from seven to eight thousand cheeses each summer, and the associated fruitières, which belong to the poor; these are the peasants of mid-mountain, who hold their cows in common, and share the proceeds. ‘They engage the services of a cheese-maker, whom they call the grurin; the grurin receives the milk of the associates three times a day, and marks the quantity on a double tally. It is towards the end of April that the work of the cheese-dairies begins; it is towards the middle of June that the cheese-makers drive their cows to the mountains.’

"The man recovered his animation as he ate. My brother made him drink that good Mauves wine, which he does not drink himself, because he says that wine is expensive. My brother imparted all these details with that easy gayety of his with which you are acquainted, interspersing his words with graceful attentions to me. He recurred frequently to that comfortable trade of grurin, as though he wished the man to understand, without advising him directly and harshly, that this would afford him a refuge. One thing struck me. This man was what I have told you. Well, neither during supper, nor during the entire evening, did my brother utter a single word, with the exception of a few words about Jesus when he entered, which could remind the man of what he was, nor of what my brother was. To all appearances, it was an occasion for preaching him a little sermon, and of impressing the Bishop on the convict, so that a mark of the passage might remain behind. This might have appeared to any one else who had this, unfortunate man in his hands to afford a chance to nourish his soul as well as his body, and to bestow upon him some reproach, seasoned with moralizing and advice, or a little commiseration, with an exhortation to conduct himself better in the future. My brother did not even ask him from what country he came, nor what was his history. For in his history there is a fault, and my brother seemed to avoid everything which could remind him of it. To such a point did he carry it, that at one time, when my brother was speaking of the mountaineers of Pontarlier, who exercise a gentle labor near heaven, and who, he added, are happy because they are innocent, he stopped short, fearing lest in this remark there might have escaped him something which might wound the man. By dint of reflection, I think I have comprehended what was passing in my brother’s heart. He was thinking, no doubt, that this man, whose name is Jean Valjean, had his misfortune only too vividly present in his mind; that the best thing was to divert him from it, and to make him believe, if only momentarily, that he was a person like any other, by treating him just in his ordinary way. Is not this indeed, to understand charity well? Is there not, dear Madame, something truly evangelical in this delicacy which abstains from sermon, from moralizing, from allusions? and is not the truest pity, when a man has a sore point, not to touch it at all? It has seemed to me that this might have been my brother’s private thought. In any case, what I can say is that, if he entertained all these ideas, he gave no sign of them; from beginning to end, even to me he was the same as he is every evening, and he supped with this Jean Valjean with the same air and in the same manner in which he would have supped with M. Gédéon le Prévost, or with the curate of the parish.

“Towards the end, when he had reached the figs, there came a knock at the door. It was Mother Gerbaud, with her little one in her arms. My brother kissed the child on the brow, and borrowed fifteen sous which I had about me to give to Mother Gerbaud. The man was not paying much heed to anything then. He was no longer talking, and he seemed very much fatigued. After poor old Gerbaud had taken her departure, my brother said grace; then he turned to the man and said to him, ‘You must be in great need of your bed.’ Madame Magloire cleared the table very promptly. I understood that we must retire, in order to allow this traveller to go to sleep, and we both went upstairs. Nevertheless, I sent Madame Magloire down a moment later, to carry to the man’s bed a goat skin from the Black Forest, which was in my room. The nights are frigid, and that keeps one warm. It is a pity that this skin is old; all the hair is falling out. My brother bought it while he was in Germany, at Tottlingen, near the sources of the Danube, as well as the little ivory-handled knife which I use at table.

“Madame Magloire returned immediately. We said our prayers in the drawing-room, where we hang up the linen, and then we each retired to our own chambers, without saying a word to each other.”

[heavcnslyre]

ricky bowen x reader series! part four

— starstruck au!

series masterlist, part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven, part eight, part nine, part ten

IN WHICH you go to the beach with camilla, ashlyn and big red, but can’t seem to get away from ricky bowen.

WARNINGS swearing

NOTES i don’t love this chapter but it’s okayy:) hope everyone’s enjoying so far!

(y/n) - your name

text dividers from @writeyourmindaway !!

lowercase intended.

“c’mon! ashlyn left so long ago, now is the perfect tanning time,” camilla groaned, trying to get you to move faster. you rolled your eyes and stuffed another waterbottle into your bag.

“i’m sorry i’m trying to make sure we’re prepared,” you said, moving towards the pantry to grab some snacks. camilla sighed, jumping up to sit on the counter.

“we’re going to the beach, not on a camping trip.”

you scoffed and zipped up your bag. “alright fine. let’s go.”

camilla mumbled a ‘finally’ under her breath and the two of you said goodbye to your family and left. the drive to vienna beach was almost an hour and camilla barely spoke to you, instead she sang along to the music on the radio and turned it up to almost full volume whenever one of ricky’s songs came on.

eventually, you arrived at the beach and spotted ashlyn and big red right away. ashlyn was reading and big red was attempting to build some sort of sandcastle. camilla got out of the car and ran down the beach towards them right away, but you got out at a normal pace, making sure you had everything. as you made your way over, you noticed a familiar hat sitting in a adirondack chair, facing the water. you raised your eyebrows, debating whether or not you should go talk to him. you looked over at camilla and saw her already laying back and tanning. ashlyn was focused on her book and big red his sandcastle. you sighed and made your way over to the adirondack chairs, and sat in the empty on next to him.

“beautiful day isn’t it,” you said casually. ricky has his head down so his hat covered his face and sunglasses on he couldn’t be recognized. he didn’t reply. you relaxed back into your chair, watching the people in the water.

“maybe go for a swim. do some tanning,” ricky shifted in his seat and you looked over at him. “oh, were you sleeping?”

he shook his head. you nodded and pulled out a bottle of sunscreen from your bag. you tossed it onto his chest. he jumped at the impact.

“good. you should put some sunscreen on, then. don’t want to be sunburnt if the press sees you here,” you said. ricky looked over at you and laughed.

“(y/n),” he said, taking off his sunglasses.

“the one and only.”

“how’d you know it was me?”

you sat back in your chair. “the hat.” ricky hummed.

“yeah, pretty distinguishable hat.”

“i’d say so,” you paused. “what are you doing here, ricky? why didn’t you just go home?”

“i tried. big vans with big cameras sitting right outside of my driveway. like usual,” ricky sighed. you looked over at him. he looked tired.

“i’m sorry.”

he put on a small smile and looked over at you. “it’s okay. it’s what i signed up for, i guess.”

“still unfair. you should be able to go home without having to worry about people seeing you and hurting your career.”

“hm. yeah,” ricky said. “why are you here? aren’t there closer beaches to glendale?”

“ashlyn and big red wanted to come here, so cam and i met them here.”

“big red and ashlyn are here?” ricky asked. you nodded and pointed over to them. he nodded.

“i didn’t even realize they were here.”

you laughed. “you would be an awful detective, bowen.”

“you’re very right,” ricky laughed. “i should get going. just gotta get it over with.”

“why don’t you take my car?” you suggested. “drive it back to your house and make sure the coast is clear. then come back and trade back?”

“you sure? it’d take probably two hours.”

you shrugged. “we just got here, and camilla likes to tan for a long time. besides, ashlyn and big red drove seperate. if all else fails, we can just ride home with them.”

“okay. perfect,” he said. he put his sunglasses back on and stood up. “i’ll owe you one.”

“yes you will,” you laughed and stood up. “stay here. i’ll go grab the keys from cam.”

“can’t i go with? say hi to ashlyn and big red?”

you shook your head. “you shouldn’t draw attention to yourself. and if camilla sees you... trust me. it’d be best you stayed here.”

ricky nodded and you walked down the beach towards where camilla was. ashlyn looked up and smiled at you as you came over.

“hey (y/n). where have you been?”

you pointed over to the adirondack chairs. “sat over there for a bit. i just have to grab the keys from cam, gotta grab something from the car.”

“alright. come back quick so you can talk to red,” she said. you nodded and grabbed the keys from camilla’s back. she didn’t even look up.

you made your way back to ricky and the two of you went to the parking lot. you approached the bright pink car that belonged to your grandma and presented it to him like it was the most impressive thing.

“and here it is!” you opened your arms to show it to him and he raised his eyebrows.

“it’s definitely... a car.”

you laughed and handed him the car keys. “damn right it is. enjoy.”

ricky started walking towards the car, but when he looked to his right he noticed something that made him duck down in front of the car. you looked, and someone was standing there with a camera, staring right at you and ricky. you ducked down next to him.

“do you think they saw you?” you asked. ricky shrugged.

“no idea. c’mon. get in the car,” he said, crawling towards the drivers side. you followed his lead and crawled to the passenger door and opened it, slipping in quickly. ricky sinks down in his seat, letting his hat cover most of his face. he hands you his sunglasses.

“here. wear these and sink down a bit in your seat.” you did what he said and he pulled out of the parking spot. the person with the camera looked at you, paused, then turned away, looking around the rest of the beach. you turned in your seat and watched the person get farther away as you drove away from the beach. you turned back around and ricky sighed in relief.

“i don’t think they saw us,” he said. “thank god.”

“where are we going now?” you asked. ricky shrugged.

“we should probably just stall for a little while. make sure anyone who did see us is gone. we could go sight seeing or something. what have you seen in california so far?”

“nothing, really. been too busy following you around, remember?” ricky looked at you with a smirk on his face. you rolled your eyes. “with my sister.”

“yeah, sure. i’ll show you some places you can’t leave here without seeing. deal?”

“deal.”

he reached his hand out. “can i have my sunglasses back?”

“hm,” you adjusted the sunglasses on your face. “i kinda wanna keep them.”

“i’ll give them to you. later,” he kept his hand out, wiggling his fingers to tell you to give him the glasses.

“you better. it is almost christmas, you know. get in the christmas spirit, bowen.”

ricky laughed and you put the glasses in his hands. he thanked you and put them on. you looked around outside.

“where are you taking me first?”

“only the most exciting place you have to go. santa monica pier,” he said. you smiled.

“interesting. wouldn’t it be kinda busy there, though?”

ricky shrugged. “maybe. it’ll be fine. no one recognized me at the beach.”

“except for that one girl.”

“she probably didn’t actually recognize me. we’ll be fine. it’ll be fun.”

he was right. it was fun.

you spent over an hour at the pier, going around to the different shops and riding rides. anytime someone gave ricky a second look, you stood in between ricky and that person and ricky turned away. as far as you could tell, no one knew it was ricky. before you left you split a funnel cake, and ricky got the powdered sugar all over.

as you were driving down the street, trying to figure out where to go next, you noticed a black truck driving behind you. you found it sort of weird, but you shook it off. but, a few minutes later, you looked, and it was still there. at this point you were on a pretty much deserted street.

“ricky,” you said carefully. “i think someone is following us.”

“hm?” ricky looked through the rear view mirror and saw the truck. “what the hell?”

you opened the glove compartment and found a map that your grandma always kept in there. opening it and finding where you are, you noticed side streets that you could turn onto.

“few feet ahead, first street on your left. turn there.”

ricky looked over at you. “you sure?”

“positive.”

he turned onto the dirt road and the truck sped past. ricky watched it through the rearview mirror and grinned.

“good call. we lost him,” ricky said gratefully. “but... are we sure this is a real street?”

“now that you say that... not entirely?” you said, smiling at ricky sheepishly. “sorry. you could probably just turn around up here.”

“sure thing,” ricky turned the wheel to try to turn, but the car didn’t move. he scrunched his eyebrows and pushed on the gas harder, but the car didn’t budge. he gave you a worried look and you stuck your head out the window, only to see that your car was stuck in a huge mud puddle.

“we’re stuck,” you said nervously. ricky rubbed his forehead.

“okay. alright. we can get out through the window and push.”

you unbuckled and started to crawl out the window. halfway out the window, you realized the mud was getting closer.

“ricky! i think we’re sinking!” you exclaimed nervously. he looked down at the mud and his eyes widened.

“yeah, i think you’re right! just... get on top of the car.”

both of you managed to pull yourselves to the roof of the car, but as you stood on top of the half sunken car, you realized you were as stuck as the car was.

“how do we get out of here?” ricky asked. you looked around and pointed at a branch.

“use the branch as a bridge?”

he considered it. “yeah. that’s our best bet. i’ll go first, make sure it’s stable.”

you threw your bag onto dry land before you switched places with him on top of the car and he put a foot onto the branch. he bounced his foot to judge the stability, and once he deemed it sturdy, he brought his whole body over.

“here, give me your hand,” he reached his hand out to you and you took it, reaching your foot over. as you tried to pull yourself onto the branch, your foot slipped and you fell backwards, straight into the watery mud. still holding ricky’s hand, he fell back with you into the mud.

“grab the branch!” ricky said, and you both pulled yourselves onto the dry land. you groaned in disgust as you stood up.

“are you okay?” he asked you, concern on his face. you nodded.

“i’m fine. you?”

“mhm. i’m okay. can’t say the same thing for your grandmas car, though...”

you looked at the pink car, the front half of it completely sunk in the mud. you rubbed your face.

“my parents are going to kill me.”

“i can talk to them, if you want. or pay for it. or both,” ricky offered. you shook your head and picked up your bag.

“no... no it’s fine. you shouldn’t... you don’t want to risk losing this role. i’ll figure it out.”

he looked at you, trying to read your expression, but nodded. he offered his hand to you.

“c’mon. let’s head back to the beach.”

[recentanimenews]

The Manga Review, 5/20/22

This year’s Eisner nominations have just been announced. In the Best U.S. Edition of International Material—Asia category, VIZ Media garnered five of the six nominations with crowd-pleasers such as Chainsaw Man and Spy x Family, while Seven Seas garnered one for Robo Sapiens: Tales of Tomorrow. The only other manga nominated for an Eisner was Zom 100: Bucket List of the Dead, which is competing in the Best Humor Publication category. Also nominated for an Eisner is Eike Exner’s Comics and the Origins of Manga: A Revisionist History, a scholarly work published by Rutgers University Press.

MANGA NEWS

Big news from Seven Seas, which just launched two new imprints: Seven Seas BL, which will publish works in the BL/Boys’ Love genre, and Seven Seas GL, which will publish works in the GL/Girls’ Love (yuri) genre. [Seven Seas]

The final chapter in Wataru Hinekure’s My Love Mix-Up! will run in the June issue of Bessatsu Margaret. [Anime News Network]

Brigid Alverson previews three new shonen titles that debut in July. [ICv2]

Over at Book Riot, Carina Pereira highlights eight of the summer’s most anticipated graphic novels. [Book Riot]

How do librarians respond book challenges in their communities? Shawn, Megan, and Tayla offer a variety of helpful strategies for handling complaints about graphic novels, from setting clear policies about who can bring a formal complaint to using peer-reviewed sites to demonstrate that your collection is, in fact, age-appropriate. [No Flying, No Tights]

FEATURES AND INTERVIEWS

Looking for a good read? The crack team at ANN have just posted their Spring 2022 Manga Guide, shining a light on this season’s newest titles. Look for daily updates through the end of this week. [Anime News Network]

Tony explores the complex friendship between Kaguya Shinomiya and Ai Hayasaka in Kaguya-sama: Love Is War. [Drop-In to Manga]

On the latest Manga Mavericks podcast, host Siddharth Gupta convenes a roundtable discussion about Yona of the Dawn with panelists from Anime Feminist, But Why Tho?!, and Good Friends Anime Club. [Manga Mavericks]

Geremy and Kevin round up the latest Shonen Jump chapters, then turn their attention to volume thirteen of Haikyu!! [Jump Start Weekly]

Why did Nobuhiro Watsuki’s Gun Blaze West get the axe after just three volumes? David and Jordan investigate. [Shonen Flop]

Did you know that Tokyopop’s Warriors fandom is still going strong after fifteen years? Patrick Kuklinksi shines a light on the fan-made comics that explore “parts of the books that weren’t detailed in canon,” re-write controversial storylines, and introduce original characters. [SOLRAD]

Megan D. jumps in the WABAC machine for a look at Rumiko Takashi’s Rumic Theater, a collection of short stories that VIZ published more than twenty-five years ago. “What caught my notice about this anthology is that they all feature something you don’t see a lot of in American manga releases: adult women,” she observes. “Every lead character is either a currently married woman (be they with or without children) or one who was married in the past.  A lot of their stories are small-scale, focused on their homes and their immediate community of friends and family. True to Takahashi fashion, though, they are also often comical”.” [The Manga Test Drive]

REVIEWS

Are you following Al’s Manga Blog? If not, you should: this review-focused website has been publishing insightful, crisply written essays since 2016. Al’s latest offerings include in-depth reviews of The Music of Marie, a new title by Usamaru Furuya (Short Cuts, Genkaku Picasso); Island in a Puddle, a thriller by Kei Sanabe (Erased); and Sakamoto Days, a new Shonen Jump series by Yutu Suzuki.

Also of note: ANN’s Caitlin Moore draws on her own experiences with ADHD in a thoughtful review of My Brain is Different: Stories of ADHD and Other Developmental Disorders, while Masha Zhdanova posts capsule reviews of three new VIZ titles.

All-Out!! (Krystallina, Daiyamanga)

All-Rounder Meguru (Krystallina, Daiyamanga)

Awkward Silence (Megan D. The Manga Test Drive)

Boys Run the Riot, Vol. 1 (Seth Smith, Women Write About Comics)

Devil Ecstasy, Vol. 1 (Demelza, Anime UK News)

Fly Me to the Moon, Vol. 11 (Josh Piedra, The Outerhaven)

A Galaxy Next Door, Vol. 1 (Brett Michael Orr, Honey’s Anime)

Giant Spider & Me: A Post-Apocalyptic Tale (Megan D., The Manga Test Drive)

Golden Japanesque: A Splendid Yokohama Romance, Vol. 5 (Krystallina, The OASG)

The Haunted Bookstore, Vol. 1 (SKJAM, SKJAM! Reviews)

Island in a Puddle, Vol. 1 (King Baby Duck, Boston Bastard Brigade)

Jujutsu Kaisen, Vols. 14-15 (King Baby Duck, Boston Bastard Brigade)

Kubo Won’t Let Me Be Invisible, Vol. 1 (Josh Piedra, The Outerhaven)

The Music of Marie (darkstorm, Anime UK News)

My Androgynous Boyfriend (Megan D., The Manga Test Drive)

The Poe Clan, Vol. 1 (Eric Alex Cline, AiPT!)

Record of Ragnarok, Vol. 1 (Danica Davidson, Otaku USA)

Rent-A-(Really Shy!)-Girlfriend, Vol. 2 (Demelza, Anime UK News)

Sakamoto Days, Vol. 1 (Renee Scott, Good Comics for Kids)

Seaside Stranger, Vol. 2: Harukaze no Étranger (Kate Sánchez, But Why Tho?!)

Sensei’s Pious Lie, Vol. 1 (Sarah, Anime UK News)

Short Sunzen (Megan D. The Manga Test Drive)

Stravaganza (Megan D., The Manga Test Drive)

To Strip the Flesh (Quinn, But Why Tho?!)

Wind Breaker, Vol. 1 (Brett Michael Orr, Honey’s Anime)

By: Katherine Dacey