#because this chapter was LIT
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I just spent an hour writing a reaction post to the most recent chapter of @vibratingskull 's Jaw Crusher series, and Tumblr LOST IT.
So, while I calm down about that (I CAN and WILL redo it, I just spent an hour tailoring every image/.gif and word and am salty), I offer a doodle of my favorite scene from said chapter.
I'm just generally filling in the Reader's position with my OC, Iria, for sake of ease.
Kinda accidentally gave it torrid romance novel cover vibes and tbh? Here for it. It's what my soul knows is right.
I'm out for now, be back with the reaction post after I write it all again.
*yeets out*
#thrawn#star wars#grand admiral thrawn#art#digitalart#thrawnsimp#artist#fanart#digital painting#mirialan oc#mirialan#vibratingskull#thrawn fanfiction#fanfic#fanfiction#gimme that good shit#my heart#my loins#everything is on fire#because this chapter was LIT
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O sonho de Rodion | Rodion's dream
Version where I kick Rodya out of his own dream so you can look better at the horsy ↓
#my art#fanart#digital art#crime and punishment#crime e castigo#raskolnikov#rodion romanovich raskolnikov#russian literature#russian lit#book fanart#i still haven't finished the book but I've reached half and I think that's good enough for making fanart#I refuse to rush the book btw the most I will read is a chapter per day because I like the feeling of looking forward to the next chapter
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i have been without an english literature teacher since the 25th of october. where did he go. we miss him. i am about to EAT of mice and men if he doesn't come BACK
#we are stuck on chapter 3 of of mice and men#because we have no teacher#and weve done the same stupid coverwork 800000 times#im going INSANE#of mice and men#english lit student#gcse
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Potential November Reads
In This House of Brede by Rumer Godden
The Everlasting Man by G.K. Chesterton
Something by Charles Dickens
A nonfiction book
A piece of classic Russian literature
#monthly reading list#books#i've decided to make both lists because i'm in a 'obsess over all the options' mood#and this gets it out of my head#i've already mentioned brede#i plan to stick with it#i'm a couple chapters in and liking it so far#i've ordered 'everlasting man' from the library so i won't have to read my copy with horrendously small print#(after reading h.g. wells and seeing how nonsensical his view of human nature is from a christian perspective)#(i decided i needed to read chesterton's rebuttal to wells)#i've got dickens on here because despite spending october reading almost exclusively victorians#i came out of the month wanting to read some dickens#november has *strong* associations with 'great expectations' so i've got to see if some other dickens will satisfy the craving#if nothing else i got a volume of his christmas novellas out from the library and i may just have to give one a go#i need to read some nonfiction again (essays/apologetics don't count)#a top contender right now is 'the guns of august' because i found a used copy a couple months ago#and wwi is the perfect november nonfiction (oh that reminds me i should finish 'a hilltop on the marne')#and after reading victorians all month i need to read some classic literature from another country#and winter is a very russian-lit time of year#(the victober wrap up is coming btw)#(it's just that concisely summarizing these reading experiences takes a lot of time)
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Pride and Prejudice Chapter 23: Jane, Elizabeth, and Mrs. Bennet worry that Mr. Bingley hasn't come back yet. Mr. Collins comes back instead.
View the full series of P&P chapter memes here
#we're in a stretch of chapters that are difficult to meme#because not a whole lot happens in them#took me until the last second to figure out what to do for this one!#p&p chapter memes#p&p ch23#pride and prejudice memes#pride and prejudice#jane austen memes#jane austen#english lit memes#mr collins#mr bingley#jane bennet#elizabeth bennet#mrs bennet#the office#michael scott#pam beesly#my stuff
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Books of 2024: Library Haul.
Trying a new thing this year where I take my cyclical ADHD impulsivity out on my library instead of my credit card statement. Featured here: a book about corporate bullshit that popped up on my dash a few days ago, plus a handful (backpack full, apparently this is eight (8) pounds of books lol) of architecture-adjacent books to help me come up with a floor plan for the haunted house I'll be writing about this NaNo.
#books#books of 2024#library haul#book photo#is the nano prep premature??#yes absolutely#however: i was there trying to get a lit crit book because apparently there's one (1) really good chapter about ALWAYS COMING HOME#and while i was there i figured i Might As Well#i love floor plans so much#my library has a cozy little selection of them :)#i went Slightly Dated (which is what i need to haunt a house with lol)
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Unbidden, he remembered the first time he had woken up on the office couch after hiring Serizawa. One of the bath robes for the clients in need of more hands-on exorcism had been carefully spread over him. For the rest of the week, Serizawa had hovered around him, subtle as a bear. He hadn’t minded it at all, having all that worry and care and affection wrapped around him like a warm blanket. “It’s different in practice. It’s different… with you.”
Days Spent Dreaming Shit-All, chapter 2: Theory and Practice
[read on ao3]
#serirei#reigen arataka#serizawa katsuya#mob psycho 100#hanahaki au#days spent dreaming shit-all#mp100 fanfic#mp100 fanart#throwing this in all sorts of tags because i lost my mind doing the coloring#late night indulgent doodles#yes this is a rewrite (reboot?) of shit-all!#come join the fun#if i get three more comments to ch2 i'm going to post the next to chapters back to back#make me deliver on my boasting lmao#i think it's becoming a theme for me to draw the emotional peak of each chapter lmao#the stars sparkling are metaphorical#and to let me have their faces lit up#like there's literal magic of seri floating the bench unconsciously#but there's also the magic of reigen reaching out#and that one is powerful enough to overshadow the other#idk something something holding onto something brilliant and precious like a shooting star that landed on your palm#if you want to know why seri's expression is like that#read the chapter wink wonk
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“I could hate you, but it would kill me, and that is not how I am dying for you.”
Sona and Eris from Gearbreakers by Zoe Hana Mikuta Drawing by me. Please do not remove credit or repost. reference photo for Sona Steelcrest / reference photo for Eris Shindanai
#gearbreakers#godslayers#zoe hana mikuta#sona steelcrest#bellsona steelcrest#eris shindanai#I had to take a break after the first couple chapters of godslayers because it's fuckin me up but I still had so many FEELINGS#fan art#gearbreakers fan art#godslayers fan art#queer lit#sapphic lit
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reading old writing at 6:56 am on a Friday and being obsessed with how wound up bel is in his own head, he can't see that ric has BEEN saying he's mutually in love w him.
like.
GET OUT OF YOUR OWN HEAD FOR FIVE MINUTES!!!
unreliable narrator ass, telling the audience nobody loves me and ur just a poor boy from a poor family. shut the hell up and go kiss your boyfriend.
#ive said before that im very intentional in my writing so nothing is ever done lightly or without purpose#(unless it is bc i didnt realize but usually thats a subconscious thing anyhow)#so going back through old leap chapters and reading them w/ fresh eyes is like. dude.#the neon sign has been lit up for forEVER ricardo has been loudly telling you he loves you without ever saying it#you both are so blatantly obvious it gives everyone else around you psychic damage#PEOPLE ALREADY ASSUMED YOU WERE DATING THIS IS HOW BAD IT IS#you are such a MESS#ricardo wont say jack and shit and will continue being “ay lmao” casual about it because hes not out#and bel wont say jack and shit because hes a bundle of self loathing wrapped up in a redheaded twunk#so they waste so much fucking time being stupid and dancing around it and the heartbreak happens and its like.#ric: realizes TOO LATE hes been in love with bel the entire time and is ready to hurl himself out the window after him#bel: has been so resistant to receiving love that hes twisted the narrative into one where he believes hes not worth it#its more complicated than that of course; the regene aspect and ric's comments and the general attitude surrounding them come to mind#but all that aside its just so.#rune.txt#like my brothers in christ i am on my hands and knees BEGGING you to have an adult conversation
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"I didn't really understand what mothers were because mine was in a tree, but I knew they were very good things and you were very angry and sad if you lost them..." -Naomi Novik - Spinning Silver
#I LIKE GOATS because I know what they will do.#I have had Stepon for ONE POV chapter#and if anything happens to him i will kill everyone in this place and then myself#spinning silver#naomi novik#his mom was in a tree#in a TREE#oh lawd#protect this bb#adventures in fantasy lit#i love this book#his first lines were I like goats because I know what they will do#bb boy! yes!#goats will not freeze everything they touch or turn silver to gold#or speak with hearths and become flame#times be dangerous#get you some goats
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This final push north, homeward.
…She smiled grimly at the looming mountains, at the army stretching away behind them…
And just because she could, just because they were headed to Terrasen at last, Aelin unleashed a flicker of her power. Some of the standard-bearers behind them murmured in surprise, but Rowan only smiled.
Smiled with that fierce hope, that brutal determination that flared in her own heart, as she began to burn.
She let the flame encompass her, a golden glow that she knew could be spied even from the farthest lines of the army, from the city and keep they left behind.
A beacon glowing bright in the shadows of the mountains, in the shadows of the forces that awaited them, Aelin lit the way north.
#and just because she could#cause she’s that friggin powerful this is ONLY a flicker a symbol a flaunt flirt moment of peace#Rowan admiring her again#Kingdom of Ash quotes#Kingdom of Ash#Chapter 67#Aelin Galathynius#Aelin Ashryver Galathynius#Queen of Terrasen#Aelin of the Wildfire#Aelin Fireheart#Rowan Whitethorn#home#Terrasen#North#Smiled with that fierce hope that brutal determination that flared in her own heart as she began to burn. — I hope she feels it too#She let the flame encompass her a golden glow that she knew could be spied even from the farthest lines of the army from the city they left#A beacon glowing bright in the shadows of the mountains in the shadows of the forces that awaited them Aelin lit the way north.#and now we begin part 2 the armies and allies are formed now it’s the gods and gates and the girl inbetween#Sarah J. Maas#Part 1#into#Part 2
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When Lucy returned to school for the spring term, Peter sent a war poem. It dropped from the crease of his letter into her lap, as unexpected as a firebomb.
“On Receiving News of War,” the title read, and Lucy’s heart lurched. She was sixteen and Peter was twenty-one. The war had ended three years ago and he had only been a British soldier for a matter of months before he was discharged. Now, this poem came: words from the Last Lot, the 1914 war. Lucy picked up the loose page and read.
ON RECEIVING NEWS OF THE WAR
Snow is a strange white word;
No ice or frost
Have asked of bud or bird
For Winter's cost.
Yet ice and frost and snow
From earth to sky
This Summer land doth know,
No man knows why.
She looked up in shock. What did Peter mean in sending this? Was it only that it made him think of their first days in Narnia, white and frozen under the White Witch’s curse? He could not have missed the title. Lucy worried her lip between her teeth, considering. Her brother did not often use words idly.
Red fangs have torn His face.
God's blood is shed.
He mourns from His lone place
His children dead.
O! ancient crimson curse!
Corrode, consume.
Give back this universe
Its pristine bloom.
Oh. Yes, alright. That made a certain kind of sense. And there, at the bottom of the page, was a single line writ in Peter’s hand. “Variations on a theme,” he had written, “only I’m not yet certain what theme it is. Do you have an idea?”
Several, in fact. Lucy’s mind lit up in an instant, all a-whirl with memory and typology. She wasn’t a child any longer, and in small bits her many battles came back to her. Peter, she was sure, remembered even more of Narnia’s wars.
Yet Lucy remembered the ice of Lantern Waste on the first day as though no time had passed at all. She remembered the crimson of Aslan’s blood. She remembered the thaw. In her mind, those things had nothing and everything to do with Britain’s last war. Nothing: the two worlds were as different as King Arthur and Winston Churchill. Everything: because maybe Arthur and Churchill were not so different after all.
That night, after a trip to the library and with a book of poetry on her desk, Lucy composed her reply. “Another variation,” she wrote, and carefully copied out the lines. Â
All the dead kings came to me
At Rosnaree, where I was dreaming,
A few stars glimmered through the morn,
And down the thorn the dews were streaming.
And every dead king had a story
Of ancient glory, sweetly told.
It was too early for the lark,
But the starry dark had tints of gold.
The poem was called “The Dead Kings.” Peter was not dead, but Lune was and Cor was. Caspian was. It was easy to imagine them appearing in the trenches and whispering their stories into the ears of British soldiers.
“Caspian would have liked the notion, I think,” Lucy said thoughtfully.
Peter leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Yes. Come to think of it, I rather like it myself. If I were the dead king, I mean.”
“It’s strange—I think these were meant to be sad poems, the way they were written. The world unwillingly cursed and the ancient kings dead. Yet when you apply it to Narnia, I don’t think it’s terribly sad at all. Maybe a little melancholy, but hopeful too. Like I know something that the poet doesn’t.”
“You do know something that the poet doesn’t,” answered Peter.
“I mean about war and dying and all. It’s all so distant for me, you know? And yet I often suspect that I know secrets that some men who actually fought couldn’t guess at. The hopeless men, maybe. In Narnia it was all more beautiful. Having lived there elevates even war and death, in this world.”
“We were, both of us, soldiers once.”
Lucy nodded.
“How about this one, then?” Peter shoved his book across the table, nearly upending the cream along the way.
The drab street stares to see them row on row
On the high tram-tops, singing like the lark.
Too careless-gay for courage, singing they go
Into the dark.
“Simple,” said Lucy. “Singing on the way to war is courage. Singing in the dark is just about the bravest thing a person can do. Just because these boys go into the battle without knowing what it’s really like doesn’t make them any less brave for going, or for singing.”
“You would know,” her brother smiled fondly.
With tin whistles, mouth-organs, any noise,
They pipe the way to glory and the grave;
Foolish and young, the gay and golden boys
Love cannot save...
“It makes me think of Susan,” Peter murmured.
“I can see that. Our love cannot save her, only Aslan’s.” Lucy frowned thoughtfully.
“No, no—I mean I wonder if that’s how Susan thinks of us: foolish children still playing games where singing in the dark means anything at all. Gay and golden, but naïve and careless by the same token. Too caught up in notions of courage and glory to realize that we live in a world where good people die.”
“Oh Peter, you don’t really think?”
“She told me once she’s afraid that we’ll never grow up, did you know? I wondered if she meant that we would always be like children, or if she worried we might die young. Sometimes I still wonder.”
“It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world,” said Lucy. “To always be child-like, or even to die young. Not by half.”
Peter snorted. “You might not mind dying young, but I’d certainly mind it. You’re my little sister, Lu. If you die young, it means I’ve done something wrong.”
“Well of course I’d mind! There are so many things I mean to do once I’m grown up. But I’ve always thought—ever since Father Christmas handed me that dagger—that I might. As long as I died for something, it wouldn’t bother me. I think I could be a rather good martyr.” She winked across the table.
“Don’t you dare. If Aslan has short lives in mind for either of us, we’ll drink what we’re given. In the meantime, let’s both of us focus on growing up well.”
The next week, Lucy went with Marjorie Preston to the mail room. It was Marjorie’s birthday and she was expecting a parcel from home, but Lucy was also privately hoping for another letter from Peter.
An abundance of riches awaited Marjorie: an enormous box that the two of them had to lift together. Thus, Lucy tucked Peter’s letter under one of the box’s flaps as they carried it, and it was Marjorie who tore open the envelope when they reached the dormitories.
“What in the world is this?” Marjorie exclaimed, waving a poem under Lucy’s nose. Lucy snatched it away and hungrily read the words, considering how this variation fit Peter’s theme. Then, she noticed that Marjorie was still beside her, tapping her foot impatiently.
“My brother sends me war poems,” Lucy explained hurriedly.
“That’s strange.”
“Do you think so?” Lucy considered. “Well, no matter.”
WAR GIRLS (here Peter had added “& VALIANT QUEENS”)
Strong, sensible, and fit,
   They're out to show their grit,
  And tackle jobs with energy and knack.
   No longer caged and penned up,
   They're going to keep their end up
  Till the khaki soldier boys come marching back.
"Does he mean you?" asked Marjorie, wrinkling her nose.
Lucy laughed, but didn't dispute it. She went to fetch some paper and a pen.
On they went for the next several months, passing poems back and forth in their letters. Some of them were hopeful and some despairing, some sad, some darkly funny. It was a dialogue in a war that Peter scarcely remembered, and Lucy even less. In time, Tennyson and others from before the Last Lot worked their way in. Even Shakespeare made an appearance with several selections from the Henriad. Spring lurched into summer which tumbled into fall. Peter turned twenty-two in August and Lucy was seventeen in November.
Then, at dinner at Professor Digory’s house one night, the specter of a Narnian king appeared before them. Before they left, Peter found the poem he was thinking of in the Professor’s study and gave it to Lucy.
Horror of wounds and anger at the foe,
And loss of things desired; all these must pass.
We are the happy legion, for we know
Time's but a golden wind that shakes the grass.
“Does it feel different this time?” he asked once she had read it.
“Yes,” replied his sister, “and no. It feels obscurely like it did the night Aslan died. Like something is hanging over us.”
“I think this is the end,” Peter said bluntly. “He said we wouldn’t ever go back to Narnia, yet here we are. It feels like the end. Do you remember what it was like the night before a battle?”
“Yes. I didn’t before, but I do now. Like we had to gather up everything inside ourselves and name it. Fear and courage, love and memory.”
Peter sighed. “We ought to get going. There might be ice on the roads tonight.”
Lucy went into the closet and fetched her coat. Peter followed, moving a fraction slower than usual.
“Peter?” Peter turned and looked at Lucy, who was standing in the doorway with her fur-trimmed collar turned up around her throat. “It was a good poem, Peter. The right poem. Time’s but a golden wind that shakes the grass…”
Golden. Golden like Aslan’s mane, which they both so dearly longed to touch once more. Lucy tossed the poem round and round in her mind all that evening.
Before he and Edmund left for London, Lucy slipped an envelope into Peter’s pocket. “Read it on the train,” she told him.
Peter nodded. “I have one for you too.”
It was the last conversation they shared in the Shadowlands, though neither knew it at the time.
When Lucy unfolded her poem, she recognized the words. It was her favorite war-poem, which she’d first sent to Peter months ago when their correspondence had begun.
Sombre the night is:
And, though we have our lives, we know
What sinister threat lurks there.
But hark! Joy—joy—strange joy.
Lo! Heights of night ringing with unseen larks:
Music showering on our upturned listening faces.
It almost made her want to giggle, how well Peter knew her. Lucy thought of him and Edmund together in London; she ached for Susan, who had chosen not to join her siblings in their last battle for Narnia. She breathed in deep and thought of music on the way to war.
Death could drop from the dark
As easily as song—
But song only dropped,
Like a blind man's dreams on the sand
By dangerous tides;
Like a girl's gold hair, for she dreams no ruin lies there,
Or her songs where a lion hides.
That last couplet was wrong. Peter had changed it. The poem ended with, A girl’s dark hair and kisses where a serpent hides, but Peter had written gold and lion instead.
When Peter unfolded his own poem on the train, he found only a single stanza, annotated on nearly every line.
It didn’t pass— (His will be done) it didn’t pass- (His will be done)
It didn’t pass from me.
I drank it when we met the gas (His will be done)
Beyond Gethsemane! (His will be done)
The train halted and the whistle blew. Peter shook Edmund awake beside him, and together they went to unbury the rings.
 .
 Poems referenced: “On Receiving News of the War,” Isaac Rosenberg; “The Dead Kings,” Francis Ledwidge; “Joining the Colours,” Katharine Tynan; “War Girls,” Jessie Pope; “Absolution,” Siegfried Sassoon; “Returning, We Hear Larks,” Isaac Rosenberg; “Gethsemane,” Rudyard Kipling
#i really am very interested in the ways that Narnia relates to both ww2 and ww1#but i almost never like the way other people address the subject#(sorry)#so here's my attempt#i'm not 100% satisfied with it but i think it's good enough for now#the beauty of using a cut is that i can still revise if i decide i want to#also this is part of my informal 'Narnia lit analysis series'#because that's just the kind of gal i am#narnia#dear darling heart-daughter of aslan#high king over all the rest#chapter one#martyr club relevant#leah stories#pontifications and creations#intertextuality
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guys fic writing is actually so hard. i love you fic authors <3
#im very good at reasurch and analysis essays#but everything else feels so so informal omg#i feel like my writing style is so grand and serious because everything else feels lazy#i think it may be the influence of ap lit lowkey#put of the 1038 words ive written only 480 of them are concretely edited#and i edit as i write because what if i get to rewording and the imagery/metaphore/diction i use dosent line up with the next parts#but yeah if i ever get it done ill probably post it chapter by chapter (maybe?)#its a good old angsty apocalypse cherik fic
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Ok but why does Mary Shelley’s “Frankenstein” go so hard?
#I’m literally going to start part three tomorrow and I’m like#WHAT THE FUCK#every chapter#like Idk if it’s the years of English lit burned into my brain#but WHY WASN’T THIS REQUIRED READING#WHY WAS I FORCED TO READ To Kill a Mockingbird SO MANY FUCKING TIMES#FUCK#THIS SHIT GOSS HARD#frankenstein#mary shelley#authors#✨women✨#memorable women#women who should 100% be talked about more in history and lit classes but aren’t because fucking WHHITE men
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The book: literally called War and Peace
Me anytime it’s the war part:
#can it be called russian high society scandals and peace instead?#or anatole and hélène?#because those two are literally all i care about#first book of the year#I was so lucky getting a hélène chapter and an anatole chapter#but then it was right back to the war#leo tolstoy#war and peace#russian literature#classic literature#classic lit memes#war and peace meme#ladystrallan’s tbr
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Pride and Prejudice Chapter 30: Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy show up for some socializing at Hunsford
View the full series of P&P chapter memes here
#i didn't even bother to put captions within the photo itself because it's obvious which one is col fitz and which is darcy#p&p chapter memes#p&p ch30#pride and prejudice memes#pride and prejudice#jane austen memes#jane austen#english lit memes#mr darcy#colonel fitzwilliam#parks and rec#leslie knope#ann perkins#my stuff
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