#prose of pandemonium ( my writing )

[ladyofpandemonium]

Flinch

Attack on Titan | Shingeki no Kyoujin Levi x Reader Canon-verse—fluff, angst A/N: This was requested by an anon on my old blog!

There were a million other things you could have done: slice the jaw of the titan open, cut off its arm, the nape—anything but this. Anything but panicking like a fresh-out-of-training cadet and nearly getting your head chomped off in an attempt to pull another scout from the mouth of one of several little titans with a seven-meter approaching. To make matters worse, Hanji had been hell-bent on capturing the seven-meter, round-bellied titan.

In your rush to hold the sobbing cadet close and launch your gear, one of the smaller titans surrounding you bit into your arm, drawing a pained screech from your lips. Had it not been for Levi’s and Oluo’s combined efforts in which he sliced the smaller beasts and Oluo retrieved you and the poor cadet, you were certain you would have ended up as titan fodder. In the meantime, Hanji’s prey was swiftly taken care of by the remainder of squad Levi. Like the convincingly mad scientist they were, Hanji sulked over the loss of her unauthorized test subject while the cadet you saved was pried off of your stiff form.

In two long strides, Levi had closed the distance between himself and Hanji, grabbing the scientist by the collar like they weigh nothing. “If you want to end up as titan shit, be my guest, but don’t go putting the lives of my men in danger.”

His tone was so much harsher than the norm, and every spectator knew it had a lot to do with the blood soaking through your shirt and half-chewed jacket sleeve. In an attempt to break up the storm you knew was going to come with some science-y remark Hanji would make about Levi’s threat, you stalked over and gently tugged on him. What you hadn’t taken into account was your own utter recklessness in single-handedly trying to take down a small group of 2-3 meter titans, all while trying to save a cadet from one’s mouth.

“And you,” Levi started, rounding on you so fast he practically dragged Hanji with him, “L/N, are you a goddamn cadet? What the fuck were—”

“Captain—” Petra tried to defend you but, of course, Hanji had to try in her own way which happened to be exactly what you’d tried to prevent. “Titans don’t have a digestive system, so neither of us could become titan shit!”

If looks could kill, Hanji would be dead a million times over. Thankfully, another Scout approached the throng of soldiers with orders to retreat. Levi relented, stalking away from both you and Hanji to mount his horse. He barely waited for the rest of you lot to follow suit before kicking off back towards the walls.

Five days past the expedition, and you heard nothing but indirect orders from the captain. For the better part of that timespan, you stuck to the infirmary, recovering from your injuries. Today, however, you are going to find Levi even if it cost you more physical pain than necessary. After all, you are still recovering.

Making sure your arm suffers as little as possible, you shuffle out of the infirmary after dressing yourself, hair still damp from your nurse-aided shower. Winding your way around the base, several Scouts pause to ask about your well-being. You tell each of them you’re getting better as you make your way to Levi’s office. The lack of candlelight peeking from under the door tells you he has either fallen asleep or isn’t here at all. Still, you rap your knuckles on the wooden door, biting your lip as nerves start to surface.

“Y/N.” A faint call from behind you has you turning to face Levi and the tea he carries on a tray. Taking a glance at your arm, he pushes the door of his office open, holding it until you slip in. The door closes behind the two of you as Levi sets the tray a few inches from the edge of his desk, not bothering to meet your eyes though you can be sure he feels your buzzing nerves like heat from the sun.

For a split second, you aren’t sure if you should call him by name or title because, clearly, Levi didn’t take your recklessness kindly. Part of you wonders if he distanced himself because he’d retreated into the mindset of losing you or if it was just that he was angry. Regardless, you have to say something; anything.

“Captain Levi,” You breathe, watching him find another cup from the cupboard in his office. Your lips press together, teeth incessantly chewing on the edge before you clear your throat and speak again, “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” He monotones, spilling the warm liquid into the two cups, placing one in front of you.

“I know you are upset with me,” You mutter, seating yourself in one of the chairs as Levi sits in his own behind the desk. He doesn’t make any move to start on the stacks of paperwork that cover over half the desk, sipping his tea as he finally meets your eyes. He leans forward, replacing his cup on its saucer, “That doesn’t answer my question.”

You look from him to the dark tea sitting in front of you, hand wrapped around the cup for some kind of warmth against the shiver that runs down your spine. Whether it is because of your damp hair, or the situation, you don’t know. “For being reckless,” You steal a glance at him. He’s still watching you.

“Remind me, Y/N, what was our objective?” From his tone, you can tell your recklessness isn’t the only thing that angered him. When you take too long to answer, Levi continues, “Was it to recklessly jump into the mouth of a titan to save the recruit, as you did?”

“No, sir,” You retort, raising your head to look Levi in the eye, “but should I have let her die? Should I have done nothing?”

Levi pinches the bridge of his nose, brows furrowed as he closes his eyes. At this point, he’s making you run in circles. What is he so damn upset about? Your recklessness? Lossing a supply wagon because of said recklessness? Talking back to him?

“Levi, just tell me what you’re so upset about. It wasn’t my fault that horde of titans came out of nowhere or that—”

“Damnit, Y/N,” His hand slams against the table, some of his own tea splashing onto the desk, “you put everyone on your squad in a fucking dangerous situation because you didn’t think things through. Without any regard for your own damned life, you went straight for four titans without any backup.”

Levi is a harsh man; you know that. You knew that when you were placed onto his team, you knew that when you asked to speak with him in private, you knew that when you had told him you wanted him anyway. And, maybe because he wanted you too, you had never faced this side of Levi. Sure, you had seen it with cadets, the MPs, but his harshness had never been directed towards you directly. Why would it be? You never allowed him a chance to have any complaints with you. Until now, that is.

So it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to you or him when you flinched. Levi rises to his feet, eyes boring into your wide ones as he rounds the edge of the table. You sink further into your chair, hoping it’d swallow you, but before you know it Levi is face to face with you.

“Don’t ever do that again, Y/N.” Now, Levi’s voice is a lot calmer, maybe even a hint apologetic. Cautiously, he reaches a hand out to pat your head. You swallow, nodding as you release a shaky breath just when your head bobs slightly upon impact.

“I’m sorry, Levi.” You murmur once more. His hand leaves your damp hair to find your balled fist, still on his desk from when you had clenched it tight without even realizing it. In response, Levi places a soft kiss onto your forehead, somewhat apologetic himself for being so harsh with you as he feels you relax into his touch again.

Levi is a harsh man, but he is also gentle in his own way.

[instruth]

ORIGIN OF MY GREAT MATADOR

I am in Madrid, April 2017… sipping coffee by the sidewalk ... sniffing an aromatic scent ... Hmm ... a conducive place to scribe a romantic letter to my wife ... I whip out my treasured pen ... "Darling, today I dress colorfully... ..." LO and BEHOLD! What's the commotion? Eeeek! A big bull on the loose ... Pandemonium everywhere ... people scramble ... tables tumble ... I am affixed ... Before I can get up to join in the fray, a horn pierces my side ... Ouch! Throwing me off my chair ... onto the floor, gliding ... bleeding ... oh my face ... a deathly punch ... I can barely see ... the pen from my hand slips away, flings high into the air ... but my eyes are on the growling bull right before me ... with steamy smoke, puffing from its nostrils ... the angry bull moves backwards ... digs into the ground ... charges for the kill ... I do the only thing I can ... I pray ... "Save me, O Lord" ... I look up and see my pen falling like a mighty sword from heaven ... piercing the bull on its head, right between the eyes ... spilling black inks, blinding the bull ... displaying a print clearly on its face ... a writing on the wall:

you live by the horn

the amount you thus measure

now weighs upon you

©Johnny Lee

13 April 2022

HAIBUN (Prose + Haiku)

Source: My Album (Photographer Unknown)

[theholycovenantrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, EMMA! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF MAMMON.

Admin Rosey: There is something about Mammon that draws people in - but I know that they can be a very fickle character down simply because they are so utterly unique unto themselves. I really enjoyed the application because of the way they were outlined so meticulously, providing the exact understanding of Mammon that I very much longed to see. There was a certain disdain that was interwoven into everything, from the plots to the prose to the dialogue. The apathy that seemed to be teeming on the surface of things was absolutely delicious to eat up.This application was a fun read and I simply cannot wait to see how you develop Mammon along the way! Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Emma

Age | 23

Personal Pronouns | She / Her

Activity Level | Decently active, at least once a week if I can get  my shit together!!! Always making the effort to stick and get replies whenever available! ( At the moment I’m pretty available but things might change in a couple of months depending on work and etc ) 

Timezone | EST

Triggers | REMOVED

How did you find the group?  | Rosey is a Queen and was like hey look I did something sexy and I clicked and I gasped and I agreed, she did do something sexy. And then I said wow and the rest of the team also did like magic and I was shook. And here I am now applying for the sexy. 

IN CHARACTER

Character | MAMMON 

What drew you to this character? | 

There is something so raw about a demon birthed from nothing - they are the epitome of emptiness, their existence almost synonymous to a black hole which I find extremely fascinating. They are greed, they are consumption, they devour all, eating away at others in physical tangible methods. Perhaps it is their cruelty that is ultimately a big part of what fascinates me - untangling the web of what makes them tick is yet another facet. I’d love to explore their mind and uncover the inner workings of their feral being. Their gluttonous ways and conquest to swallow those around them whole is chaos at it’s finest. The danger that glints in their eyes and the attitude that exudes from them is everything I could ever desire in a character. They’re also really hot. I mean Noma Han though. 

What future plots do you have in mind for the character? | 

& I EAT UNTIL ALL IS CONSUMED | Mammon is a fickle creature who thrives in pandemonium. They tread a questionable line of self indulgent anarchy. Their arms are extended like the angels in mockery, writing their own fanatical laws that no one else could truly understand. Their madness thrives in their mind - their motivation always geared toward their own personal satisfaction. But what if the scale was to tip? Perhaps someone or something will catch the gleam in their darkened eyes. What if they too could live for more than the tool that was once wielded by others. Long accustomed to opulent luxury and gluttonous sin, never had they batted an eye at the politics swirling within courts. Yet for someone as hungry as they, was such mundaneness enough? What if they were to crawl past the line of humdrum satisfaction. What if they dove deeper into their instability - their appetite always growling for more. In a dog eat dog world, they had always been the one to voraciously guzzle first. Enjoying what existed was mediocrity and they were far more than that. With sharpened razor teeth, they know they can bite off more. Nothing would be too much to chew, for eating and taking was what they did best. Take and take until there was nothing left, ambition spirals to the damned heavens itself. 

HOPE? WHAT A PECULIAR CURIOSITY |  Accustomed to eons past of old tales whispered in their name, there is something tedious of Mammon’s life. While they have long been accompanied by their gourmandizing, they too seek out a spark of new excitement. Their bones creak, their jaw snaps at the thought of a new conquest - a new game. Perhaps a pursuit that is unexpected by all others - especially of demon kind. They have seen much and heard much and curiosity is like temptation itself. They too wonder of things like hope - entertaining the concept. They do not understand it as they have long been an inhabitant of the same old Hell. Yet even they tilt their head in interest. What is this so-called thing of wonder that has kept civilizations afloat? And it is this same twisted intrigue that has left their lips parted in bemusement. Will they succumb to it’s enigmatic mystery? What shall become of the creature who begins to understand? 

MONARCH OF PILFERED GOLD | A thief with a stolen crown, it is hardly an understatement to say that Mammon’s a selfish bastard. Anything that caught their eye was plucked by their greedy fingers by the right of their own claim. The excitement that coursed through their being elicits an ecstasy like no other. They will never forget the seal of death against Morningstar himself, oh how delightful it had all been. The sweet taste of bloodied victory is ever so ripe and thus this addiction to capture the same sensation thrusts them forward to chase it all over again. It was never enough for a being like Mammon who was carved from hunger itself. The pupils of their eyes dilate, looking toward shinier prizes - bigger ones that would make tidal wave changes. In their proud arrogant veneer, they mark their target in the back of their mind. Names and faces never forgotten as they seek to take one treasure after another. And perhaps the thrill of the game is only ever more exciting when the opponent viewed them as an enemy. It fuels the maniacal cackles that rip through their throat because what is theirs will be theirs. It would only take a matter of time before they conquered again and again. After all they took down the King of Hell, at this point - what else couldn’t they take? More is more. 

CHARACTER CONNECTIONS & PLOTTING  EXPLORATIONS 

GABRIEL ;  HOW SWEET IT TASTES TO INCITE YOUR WRATH | I really love the potential between Gabriel and Mammon as there’s undeniable heated tension. With him, Mammon feels the very sensation they have long been addicted to. The palpable hatred that lurks beneath Gabriel’s eyes lures Mammon closer - curious to see what would happen if they pushed further and incited an infernal fire. Undoubtedly I can see this dynamic burgeon into something both intimate and unspoken. For Mammon it is their newest game, their newest thrill ride to feel something and be seen. They will not deny themselves of the attention and want to bear witness to Gabriel’s promise of their destruction. ( I’m also here to see the angst ) 

“Destroy me if you can, desire me if you can’t” - Mammon 

ROMILDA ;  FOR THIS ONE’S DEMISE SHALL BE DELICIOUS  | Mammon and Romilda appear to be playing some game of cat and mouse which offers for some spicy ideas. For Mammon, they remain closeby like a voyeur peering into the windows of another’s life - perhaps others would perceive it as a God complex. But it is not stemmed out of arrogance or superiority, rather just another form of amusement for a creature as bored as them. They follow at her feet to watch what will happen because she is interesting and they’re nosy and want to know more. Perhaps Romilda will get sick of it? Who knows! ( I could see them being lowkey kind of obnoxious to Romilda. ) 

“Tell me a story and I’ll give you a show.” - Mammon 

REVNA ;  COME CLOSER INTO THE DARKNESS O FRAGILE ONE | To Mammon, Revna is like the perfect three course meal - so deliciously melancholic and on the verge of hopelessness. They keep her around close to keep her entrenched in her misery. It is also like the finale of a play, they await to see what will snap and send her spiraling - an event that will certainly incite their wicked glee. But Mammon believes themself to be merciful, kind even - giving her a choice to do as she pleases. They just merely amplify what she already believes. And I can’t wait to play that out - this is pretty much a parasitic relationship except Revna gets nothing out of it really. ( They’re the world's shittiest therapist tbh ) 

“The closer to the edge you are, the grander and greater the fall.” - Mammon 

GADRIEL ;  KNEEL BEFORE MY FEET AND BEG FOR MERCY | Mammon has never forgotten the events that had unfolded, a sickly sensation that sticks to the guts of their stomach. It is both a disgrace and a dishonor to have ever allowed such a thing to have occurred. They are not one to bury the hatchet - rather they hold onto it with a grip. I would like to see Mammon and Gadriel perhaps duel once again, mayhaps to the death? If anything this too can make for some good drama. Maybe Mammon will make a friend - or just die, anythings possible! ( They’re in denial that they’re kinda pressed and acting like it’s no big deal but you know deep down it's a big deal ) 

“An outcome must be decided; to the victor go the spoils.” - Mammon

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yes! But I would also think it’s funny if people keep trying to kill them and they just come back like, bitch you thought. Just imagine the meme potential. 

IN DEPTH

Driving Character Motivation | 

AND IT BEGINS ( THE ORIGINS OF IDENTITY ) 

Largely much of Mammon’s natural instincts seems to center around the concept of “hollowness” or “emptiness” and in turn, it would be likely that they would like to share this void sensation of others, a cruel goal but for them - it is merely how they live. Perhaps another reason to pull others into their sphere of vacancy is the twisted amusement of watching others suffer. They are wicked and have never denied it so, and to share in such pain only feeds into their own warped sense of pleasure and indulgence. However even so, their identity remains a translucent nonlinear jumble of messes, one that they do not wholly understand and seek to untangle. Simply put, they are beyond unusual, strange even and given their long years of existence, have become bored of routine.

THE CHANGE ( A NEW GAME ) 

 And upon a frivolous whim, maybe they shall change it - or not, for they are as volatile as a child. But should change come, perhaps this will force them to act differently from the habits they have long been accustomed to. However, perhaps there is potential within their sinful avaricious vice to fall even deeper into the pitfall of hell. They have always been greedy in their collection of treasures. And surely objects have immense value but what if Mammon were to take it a step further? Breaking past the limits of inanimate items, their eyes may be set on an ever steeper goal. Their nurtured sadism bears fruit to cruel intentions; maybe it's time to take from the essence of humanity itself. It is people they wish to take from now; their hearts, their minds and even their souls. 

DANCING TO THE FINALE ( BOPPING TO NIGHTMARES ) 

They want to carve out the creature that breathes their sweet drink of life. Through veiled grins and snide chuckles, they seek to pull the strings of those they deem of inconsequential value. Upon invisible puppet strings, Mammon will play until they tire once more. For it is all just a game to someone who’s never truly ever had a reason to care. ( Born in the void, they become just as senseless the place they call home - it is a cold cavity that is all they have known. ) They live in their own world of selfishness and conceit, the world just a playground for devils to play. So they shall dance in the dark, picking one human target to another, rejoicing in the cries of anguish. And when the song shall end and the old rickety monster becomes exhausted, they will crack their wrists. It is then they will break the fools until there is nothing left. Again and again the routine shall be repeated. Because Mammon hardly understood life in itself; only ever the depths of shadows and death. 

Every word of hope and moral goodness consumed until by the black tar tongued of hell’s devil; and that is when the being is slaughtered, becoming just a husk of what they once were.  

ABRIDGED : Ok so like to sum up, Mammon’s just a big asshole and just wants to screw up other people because they’re mainly 1. Bored and 2. Why the hell not it’ll be funny. 3. Collecting trash is their hobby. They’re so self absorbed in themselves that I feel like in order for Mammon to be pushed toward some outside motivation would require them to either 1. Get friends or 2. To give a fuck about someone else ( to care - WOW ) But as of the moment any sort of motivation or goal just stems from their own wants or needs which rules above all else. They don’t want much in life at the moment besides hoarding, stealing, taking new shit and playing fake God if they can. Or just be that third person ominous narrator that’s super unhelpful but is there to give unnecessary input. Demons gotta do something to pass the time, right? 

Character Traits | 

Positive Traits 

Observant ; They have long had sharp pointed eyes - ones that watched the slightest ticks upon a visage, the subtlest movements of one’s gestures, the rhythm of footsteps of others. Mammon is a particular being who has long been watchful with a gaze that is both frightening as it is dangerous. But it is through their observations that fan the flames of mania. They play their games regardless of their opponent, their whims self serving first. 

Strategic ; A good player must learn the ins and outs of any game and it is one of the first things that Mammon has long gravitated towards. They pick their wars keenly, sometimes even merely satisfied with the knowledge that things shall work as they had planned. Execution is what they have done best and it takes more than sheer luck and power to finesses such precision. 

Clever ; Far from a moron, Mammon has always prided themselves in their intellect. However, exercising such wit often was a choice rather than a given. For the gluttonous demon celebrated their flaws far more than any of their redemptions. Only in dire circumstances would they ever apply themselves with the extra effort of thinking. Perhaps when a worthy enough challenge came along its merry way, they would finally exert their mind once more. 

Negative Traits 

Rapacity ; Mammon has always had a large appetite for intemperance. Both physical and metaphorical, they celebrate in the excess. The more they devour, the more satisfied they become. To them, boundaries are just suggestions. Their overwhelming need to take everything from everyone fuels them to function. Nothing could ever be enough. More was always better, and they live by these words on a daily basis. 

Sadistic ; They enjoy the thrill of crawling under the skin of both friends and foes. It is amusing to watch souls tortured and in pain, the sound of shrieks and cries are like trumpets to their ears. They rejoice in the reactions, cackle in the face of desperate pleas - they have long been accustomed to cruelty. Perhaps it is the infliction of pain that they themselves can understand human emotions; something so strange and foreign. For they themselves have long lived null and empty. 

Manipulative ; Silver tongued and clawed finger tips, Mammon is shrewd in their approach and sly in their tactics. They enjoy digging beneath the surface of what is seen and plucking out the weakest part of a flawed creation. Behind a face that may mask friendliness lies a sinister creature full of mischief and mayhem. They speak with lies, wearing deceit as their second nature. The craze they exude glints beneath the murky tar colored eyes. 

In-Character Para Sample  | 

EXCERPT 01: LUCIFERS FINALE. 

WHEN SINNERS FALL, DEMONS SHALL RISE

T R I G G E R - W A R N I N G : Implications of Violence, Death / Murder  

Morningstar, the king of Hell, how arrogantly he sits upon the throne of bones and emptied carcasses. His face is marred with arrogance; of kingly conceit that is forged from his own inflamed hubris. How pompous Lucifer appears - but perhaps it is the lens that Mammon perceives that weaves the tale which whispers of their questionable truth. 

But rewind -- it begins from the beginning. The one object that sat like an artificial halo atop Lucifer’s head; oh glory to the shiniest trophy of them all. It was all they ever wanted, clenched fists with fingers dug deep into their palms. Such a beautiful crown wasted on the being they thought most undeserving. 

Mammon had arrived late, birthed in the pits only then. They were nothing but a speck in the universe. Thus they knew, to be worthy of such a precious coronet, they needed to become something. Someone. Their worth must be equal to the item they wished to pursue - or so they once believed. 

And so the fateful day came and Mammon strolled within the gates. Head held high, arms swung side to side as their eyes followed the audience. From one head to another - oh the looks of dissatisfaction restrained at the edges of the crowd’s ugly visages. Mammon sensed it, felt the dissent looming through the room - like fog itself, murmurs could be heard throughout. But all of them were cowards, their heads still bowed lowly before the demon king himself. 

They greet the false King, a cockiness in their stride as they stand with informality, a grin crawling up their knife like features. There is a nonchalance in their posture, an indifference that seemed to agitate his royal hellness. 

“I have returned,” the voice thickened and dark. 

Mammon sees the rage, understands the ticking bomb that lies behind the devil’s veneer. But they did what they did best - they poked and prodded. 

“The world is a pleasurable place beyond the frigid walls of this palace. It seems that you have been forgotten, your name abandoned, forsaken,” Mammon sighs - their pupils never moving an inch away from the Morningstar’s head. 

“I suppose your ‘greatness’ is nothing compared to the man residing upstairs,” they mocked. 

Lucifer is silent but his cool rage could be felt. The stillness that fell could stop time itself. It was then he stood, fingers gripped at the arms of his wretched throne. His voice is a hiss, fueled with laughable jealousy. Words that only Satan himself could ever conjure slithered between the flaps of whatever made his mouth. 

But Mammon remained themself. Unflinching as they awaited - beckoned the fury to light brighter and brighter. They took a step, accepting a dare with the fates. And it was then that they had crossed the line, the servants of Morningstar thrusting them upon their knees. 

They had trekked into uncharted territory - detonating the wrath of the top Devil. A small smile appeared on their face. It was all a joke. But the glee that curdled through their rickety bones brought forth the satisfaction they had gambled for. How sweet was the taste of Lucifer’s anger and jealousy - they could eat up more -for it was aromatically delicious. 

The pits of Tartarus were nothing for a creature like them. They would claw their way out as they had done once before. How amusing it all was, they had stepped on the toes of a ‘supposed king’ who’s envy entrapped him. It was confirmed in that moment that Mammon who had wandered the planes with a trail ablazing, they had become something more. They left once but they’d swore they’d come back for more.

A KING NO MORE 

And so they returned. Indifference worn upon the husk humans called a face. Their decision never came from a place of justice or hatred. No, it was the one fixation that they had long desired. And the only way for them to ever get such a prized possession was to chop it from the head of the wearer. 

It was a merry day for a remorseless killer. 

They spun to the tune that played in their head - the haunting whistle that made their feet tap to a jig. It was the mighty king of hell’s turn to have a taste of damnation. Perhaps somewhere the Angels would have sung for Mammon's praise. But whether the pasty holier than thou freaks did or didn’t, they didn’t give a fuck. 

Mammon wanted what they wanted. Blade in the grasp tightly, exposing the whites of their knuckles. Today was the day to claim their very first love. ( Love? Obsesion? No, it was just another whim, another aimless desire. ) 

Swiftly they cut, quickly they shredded. It wasn’t long before the Morningstar was beheaded. 

In the bloody mess of whatever made the black hearted creature, Mamon ripped the crown from his head. Their fingertips stained with the colors of death, they place the object upon their own head. In the reflection of the glassy floor - they bear a smile, teeth exposed to show their mephistophelian smile. 

And yet the feeling is fleeting - as it always was. They had come and conquered but it was never really enough. The agenda was completed and their excitement gone. They looked at themselves once more, the grin fading. Their fingers gripped the item and threw it on the dirtied ground. 

A sigh of exasperation exited their lips, their back turned as they walked away. Onlookers bowed before them but they did not care. They had their fun and as routine, it was time for Mammon to find a new toy to play with. But before they vanished from sight as they were long accustomed to, they glanced back once more. An itch to feel the euphoric sensations that rattled their ribcage and howled beneath their flesh. 

Alas. 

It was just another fucking crown.

____________________________________________________________________________________

EXCERPT 02: THE UNKNOWN. 

IN MY PRESENCE, ANGELS SCREAM

It was him that they found a fascination like no other, an unsettling sensation that felt akin to perhaps what the humans may call alive. Mammon lurks within the shadows - not to close, just enough to see them. Enough to feel something within that jostled, reminiscent of a beastly heart. 

“I know you’re there.” He blinds like the sun. 

Mammon says nothing. 

It is then that Gabriel makes his approach. Oh glory to a walking God. Each step ringing like the bells of divine retribution. But Mammon does not waver, nor do they run. They welcome it, their lips curling at the corners. 

“I am here oh sweet fair haired angel,” their words spiteful. “Vanquish me if you truly dare.” It is then that they too walk into the light. They should have burned. But darkness consumes all, absorbs all and takes all. 

Gabriel does not speak. But his gaze does not fall. 

LOVE AND HATRED ARE SAME SIDES OF PASSION

It is Mammon's turn to take the stage and so they do. They walk closer, enough to taunt the other. They delighted in the seething temper that boiled beneath. His hatred was like no other; he bears witness to Mammon’s full depravity. It is Gabriel who seems to understand the monstrosity of what they are. And it is in this fragile perverted supposed understanding that pulls Mammon closer. 

“You have cultivated your sainthood, your goodness,” Mammon remarks. “But isn’t that your purpose? The will of accursed God all too shitty. But you see Gabriel - I am like you too. It is just merely a difference in … design,” words hissed with pitch black mirth. 

Their finger is pointed at them. 

“For you, they strove for righteousness.” 

“They gave you light. Nurtured you with warmth.”

“Your existence was a predestined fortune.” 

There is ridicule dripping from their words. No bitterness, no care - just vacant rambles and little thought - a pretend of emotion conducted for theatrics. They raise their arms to the sky, their middle fingers pointed. 

“But I was made as an omen, an example of all things terrible.”

Their arms dropped as their focus returned to one of God’s original favorites.

“They made me hungry.”

“They made me wretched.”

“For all the love and praise you fucking angels sing, how imperious for your kind to judge.” 

Mammon closes the distance, their mouth upturned like a risen half moon. 

“Doesn’t it pain you to know that our fallen creator had us all cut from the same cloth? Despise me should you wish but do not deny that even you, pure and good, harbor something as foul as hatred.” They laugh - cacophonic delirious cackles of a madman facing death. 

Mammon stops - in the quietness their head tilts, a sneer pulling at their lip. 

“Kill me if you choose but it’ll make you no better than the Devil.”  

____________________________________________________________________________________

Extras | 

HEAD CANNONS 

WINGS : I’ve always imagined that Mammon would have wiry or metal looking wings? Like it would be sharp and mimic spare parts or just trash, almost as if they had made their wings by hand. I’m specifically picturing the creepy hand from the “Other Mother” in Coraline but imagine the material as wings ( reference here ) 

FOODIE : I think it would be funny that they’re somewhat of a fancy connoisseur of food. Well food and perhaps anything else that they can put in their mouth. I feel like their standards of what can be eaten really is at a low bar. They would be down to just chew on some dirt and be like “wow the flavor in this silt soil can not be compared to clay.” Seems like the type of thing Mammon would be into. Probably would overshare and even attempt to encourage others to try whatever the hell they’ve decided to swallow that day. 

TRENDSETTER : Given that Mammon likes to take a lot of shit and probably has the attention span of a child, I don’t think they’d be wearing the same outfit on repeat ever. I also feel like they’d be the type to put on a plastic bag and then call it high fashion and maybe people would believe them? Or not - I mean the choice is simple, nod or choose death I suppose. I also see them being a big fan of sunglasses just to be dramatic when they toss it off to really emphasize how crazy and fucking wild they truly are. Also I could see them just being dramatic for no good reason with a little bit of a flair for theatrics. 

WEAPON: Perhaps Mammon’s weapon of choice would be akin to something that looks like a Scythe? Or maybe they’re the type that would keep a handful of sharp blades on them, I could definitely imagine them playing with a butterfly knife and doing tricks with it since they’ve had hours upon hours to learn and fuck around. I could also see them picking up other people’s weapons and going like “well that's nice, going to add it to my collection. This one would be great for some good old stabbing.” 

MUSIC : Despite being kind of a silent type, Mammon secretly is the type to be into a lot of music??? Especially when they’re doing some dirty business or like kicking someone for being a buckethead, I could imagine them jamming to some sweet tunes while doing the ass kicking. Maybe they’ll whistle too. Here’s a scene from American Psycho whis is the inspiration I got behind this ( reference here // trigger warning: murder + violence + blood ) 

OTHERS

PINTEREST |  MOCKBLOG 

ENDNOTE: Thank you for reading through my application! Just wanted to say that you guys did such a great job with the roleplay. Whether I’m accepted or not, I had a lot of fun writing this & exploring the character so thank you! ♥

[anadvanceddegreeinquiet]

What, Me Pandemic? A Boho Crowd Stakes Its Claim (and Claims Its $48 Steaks)

Fricasse Dubois, 21, lamented the decision to pull her latest concrete poem from The Codswalloped Pisspot as she passed one of the whimsical “Maine-ducks-in-flight” mailboxes that serve as newspaper bins for the red-hot downtown rag. But her friend and intern, Banshee Fitzgerald, 33, had made a good point: The Pisspot had been flirting with questionable taste for months now. 

First there was the ironic opera libretto by Steve Bannon, which cast Leo “KIDS” Fitzpatrick as a Muslim refugee in a Copenhagen no-go zone. Then there was the edgy faux-memoir from Terry Richardson, modeled on O.J. Simpson’s unpublished “If I Did It,” and accompanied by a portfolio of Juergen Teller ass-Xeroxes.

But now, the Pisspot hype was growing, and Dubois realized that she might miss the proverbial boat. Interest in the nascent publishing venture was at fever pitch; a SPAC had been formed by laid-off Gagosian and Perrotin directors eager to stage a hostile takeover of the irregularly published ‘zine. 

And a dash of infamy certainly helped—the paper’s co-editor, Stizzy Fugger, had just launched a Tumblr in which she tallied the number of people she had inadvertently infected with Covid-19, updated in real-time (12,617 at press time, if you’re keeping score, more than the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally).

Anyone who has witnessed a “Pisspot drop” in the Dimes Square neighborhood of Manhattan knows to expect pandemonium. But nothing could have prepared this reporter for the foamy-mouthed jubilee and ecstatic violence of the occasion. 

It was 11am on a Tuesday, and the editors appeared at the corner of Seward Park, bearing several cardboard boxes of the paper. They were trailed by the usual suspects: Pimple-necked sadcore rappers, sex-positive Zoom therapists, former Artforum critic’s pickers who now run content for Chipotle, and middle-aged men who really shouldn’t skateboard.  

It’s a truism that an issue of Pisspot isn’t really read so much as it is imbibed, absorbed via the osmosis of social media’s orgiastic frenzy. In fact, the Times had a great deal of difficulty locating anyone who had physically held a copy of the paper in their smooth, unlined hands; many preferred to experience it as a series of fuzzy, thumbnail-sized images posted ironically on MySpace. 

“People used to say they read Playboy for the ads,” said Kit Murano, a fish-eyed, forty-something member of a downtown-based Adderall (™) street team. “Pisspot doesn’t have ads. And no one who knows anything would be caught, like, just sitting there and flipping through the thing. It’s an attitude. It’s an essence. It’s a lifestyle.”

Okay, sure—but what about the actual content actually published in each issue? Imagine an early iteration of Vice cross-pollinated with Tiger Beat, and then add a splash of sexual-harassment-era Paris Review. It’s a bit silly, and a bit loose. Bret Easton Ellis contributes a crossword puzzle in which every answer is just another reason why millennials suck. A party report—‘Reamed & Furred’—diligently transcribes the coke-addled bon mots of the same group of six people all eating at the same restaurant every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evening. 

If there’s an ethos gluing all of this together, it’s a passing-of-the-torch from an older bohemian guard to a younger demographic, with their laissez-faire attitudes about sex, drugs, and global pandemics. “It’s, like, we can all still party together, and age isn’t really ‘a thing’,” explains Murano, leaning out the window of a Mini Cooper wrapped in shiny SunGen Pharma adverts.

The entire scene revolves around the lopsided triangle known as “Dimes Square,” which borrows its moniker from the culinary hotspot Dimes. (The name derives from Cockney rhyming slang for ‘elongated pinky nail.’). Every New York story is also, of course, a story about real estate. In this case, that means the Connecticut country houses that this cohort has Airbnbed out while remaining to weather the storm in lower Manhattan. 

Parts of this scene are “white, but probably ambisexual-adjacent; they’re members of the creative class, but they possess enough self-hatred to seem authentic,” says Dash Johnson, a Dimes Square hanger-on who many suspect of running the Steak-Umms social media accounts. “Most of them used to work for galleries, or websites, or Garage magazine, but when those jobs dried up, they woke up one morning and said: Fuck it. Let’s stop pretending. Let’s just tweet.”

One essential element of any good scene is a gossip column to keep track—and to keep score. ArtWet’s “Wet Ass Pigment” plays that role for the Dimes Square cognoscenti. It’s a bleeding-edge social diary written by an anonymous, Gossip Girl-style correspondent who communicates solely via Signal, using a vocal transformer. 

“I was sick of trying to break into this world,” they said. “I was sick of meeting Anthony Haden-Guest at a dinner, for the 387th time, and having him introduce himself all over again, like we hadn’t both thrown up in the same toilet less than three days before. Fuck gatekeepers. I built my own gate, and then I started keeping it.” 

It was a Wet Ass Pigment column, in fact, which broke the season’s buzziest news: semi-disgraced first son Hunter Biden had bought an octoplex apartment directly above Dimes, where he’ll be staying as he prepares for a September solo exhibition that will open concurrently across Andrew Kreps, 56 Henry, Shoot the Lobster, and a pop-up space for Recess CBD seltzer. Unlike the gentle, “meditative” paintings that Biden had been making in recovery, the new work is brash and rudely vulgar—the product of an unexpected friendship Biden had struck up with Bjarne Melgaard and Jordan Wolfson. 

Meanwhile, the group’s literary face remains 29-year-old Katarina Klaus, whose razor-sharp prose skewers her surroundings with the acidic wit of a young Evelyn Waugh. “I’ll be honest, I fucking hate writing,” Klaus admitted, blowing her nose into a Telfar bag. “I’m both super motivated and super lazy. Sometimes I’ll just copy-paste random chunks of Speedboat into a column and no one will even notice.”

So what’s next for this ragtag crew? “Dimes Square will probably be over by the time this fucking article comes out,” Klaus laments. “You’re going to have, like, some TikTok influencer house on the corner of Canal and Essex, and all the coke will have fentanyl in it again because idiots from New Jersey just have no nose. You know what? I’m regretting this already. This is all off the record.”

Meanwhile, Klaus is already rethinking her involvement in Pisspot. With a current print run of 250 copies, the instantly iconic newspaper suddenly seems a bit too exposed. She’s in discussions with a new, unnamed venture that would distribute articles and essays in a serialized format, via fortunes randomly inserted into cookies at various Chinese restaurants within a three-block radius of the Square. “It’s all about ephemerality,” she says, sucking on a DMT vape she brought back from Mexico City. “It’s all about staying relevant.”

This article was lovingly rewritten from the original by Scott Indrisek.

CORRECTION: The above edition of this story mistakenly cites Kit Murano’s age as “forty-something,” based on our reporter’s visual guesstimation. She is actually 19.   

CORRECTION: ‘Dimes’ is in fact Cockney prison rhyming slang for the expression, “a bent knob is straight twice a day.”

CORRECTION: An earlier online version of this story mistakenly identified The Codswalloped Pisspot as The Duct-Taped Shitberg.

CORRECTION: An earlier, subscribers-only post of this story mislabeled the gossip blog Wet Ass Pigment as being a Spotify podcast called Wank ‘n Pose.

CORRECTION: Jordan Wolfson died in 2014. 

CORRECTION: An earlier Google Doc of this story referenced a non-existent ‘hardcore maternity diary’ by Chloe Sevigny, which most likely did not appear in issue 4 of the Codtaped Shitpot. 

CORRECTION: A version of this story that was sent to hapless print subscribers in Texas and Connecticut wrongly identified the geographic boundaries of “Dimes Square” as being East 45th Street, Central Park West, Freeman’s Alley, and Bedford Avenue.

[tlbodine]

Pandemic and Pandemonium: Sickness in Horror

Well, it’s official: Novel Coronavirus, COVID-19, has been declared a pandemic -- ie, a new and widespread infectious disease actively infecting people throughout the world. For most of us currently alive, this is the first time we’ve seen a pandemic. It’s certainly the first time any of us have seen the kind of city-wide or country-wide quarantine measures currently being employed. 

It’s an anxiety-inducing situation for sure. And people are dealing with that fear in different ways. Some folks are hoarding bottled water and toilet paper. Some folks are checking the news compulsively. Some folks are finding 20-second-long songs to sing while washing their hands. 

And some of us are looking for horror fiction that might just mirror our anxieties and give a momentary but welcome catharsis. 

Germs have existed since, well...the beginning of life as we know it. And for as long as humans have been alive, we’ve sometimes gotten sick from these microscopic invaders. It’s just a part of being alive. Everything gets sick sometimes, and humans -- who live in large complex groups and have a lot of casual contact day-by-day -- get sick a lot. 

There’s a lot to fear from widespread illness: 

Germs are invisible to the eye, so you can’t necessarily see the threat coming for you

Because infection is carried from person to person, mistrust and even hostility can grow toward people who appear ill (whether or not they really are sick)

Controlling the spread of disease often requires social isolation and can invite a loss of rights (ie, confinement)

The disease itself can have terrifying effects, from gross symptoms to death 

If enough people get sick, it can disrupt the machinery of society, causing problems with food, electricity, healthcare, law enforcement, you name it. 

Now, in real life, things don’t usually get that bad, especially in modern times when we have advanced healthcare and science and great communication. History’s greatest pandemics, from the Black Death (bubonic plague) of Europe in the 1300s to smallpox in the US in the 1700s to the worldwide Spanish Flu epidemic in the early 1900s, have been devastating -- but obviously, humanity has survived them all, and the numbers have been less terrible each time. With the power of antibiotics and vaccines and anti-virals and advanced medical interventions, we can save a lot of lives. 

But we can’t save all of them -- which is why anxiety still lingers, and why stories about pestilence remain compelling. 

The Magic of Fictional Viruses 

When it comes to fictional illness, viruses usually end up in the spotlight. Some of the nastiest diseases in history have been bacterial infections -- Bubonic Plague, syphilis, typhoid, tuberculosis. Now that we have antibiotics, these once-deadly illnesses are essentially wiped from the modern consciousness. 

But viruses are trickier. We have not yet developed a singular treatment as effective against all viruses as antibiotics are against bacteria. Instead, we rely on vaccines to immunize us against them. But vaccines are individualized, working only for the specific disease they’ve been developed to treat -- and if a new virus pops up, it takes time to craft the response against it. 

Viruses also function in ways that make them especially attuned for horror: 

They are smaller and less complex than other microorganisms, and it’s debatable if they are even, strictly speaking, alive.

Their only method of reproduction is by invading a cell and injecting it with its own genetic material; viruses cannot reproduce without a living host.

Because they reproduce quickly and rely on their host cells, viruses can swiftly mutate and change 

Some people can be carriers, able to spread the virus without ever knowing that they’re sick or showing any symptoms 

It’s little wonder then that viruses in fiction can cause all kinds of things -- zombies, werewolves, insanity, infertility, even turning your body to stone. In modern horror fiction, viruses often fulfill the role previously occupied by magical curses. 

Horror Recommendations for Disease Fiction 

With a global pandemic currently active, the CDC is recommending that people self-isolate whenever possible -- working from home, avoiding large crowds, and abstaining from touching people. So do your part to protect yourself and the vulnerable people around you by staying home and watching movies or reading a book instead. Here are some thematic lists. 

“Realistic” Contagion Stories

If you’d like to watch a tense medical thriller rooted at least partly in realism, try one of these: 

Outbreak - A california town is quarantined to stop the spread of an Ebola-like virus.

Contagion - A woman brings home a deadly virus that triggers a quarantine, complete with social upheaval and looting.

Pontypool - A radio disc jockey reports on a dire, apocalyptic pandemic while in isolation in Ontario

Containment - A TV series about a city that falls under a quarantine to prevent the spread of an Ebola-like disease; it's partly medical drama, partly commentary on social conflict

Apocalyptic Stories 

Curious about what happens after the fall of mankind? So are a lot of authors and filmmakers. 

The Last Man - Did you know Mary Shelley wrote an apocalypstic novel about a world-ending epidemic as a way to process grief about her husband's death?

The Stand - Perhaps Stephen King's greatest epic, the book details the fall of civilization as we know it and its brutal, power-struggle-fueled rebuilding in the wake of a devastating flu.

Oryx and Crake - Margaret Atwood conceived of a trilogy of near-future dystopia focused on genetic engineering, a plague, and the horrors of technology. Start with this one and read all three if it grips you.

I Am Legend - Richard Matheson's short novel is often adapted, but you can't beat the original. A plague novel, a zombie novel and a vampire novel all rolled into one.

It Comes At Night - A story of isolation following a deadly outbreak, and also a question of sanity and the choices people make in difficult positions. (full disclosure: I didn’t like this movie much, but it’s very well-reviewed so you might like it more) 

Weird Chaos Viruses 

I’ve talked about zombies before at great length, so I won’t recommend anymore traditional zombie tales -- just go read my other list for those recommendations! But sometimes apocalypses come by not-quite-zombies, so let’s talk about those: 

Bird Box - The novel by Josh Malerman or the film starring Sandra Bullock, take your pick. Both are about a woman trying to survive in a world torn asunder by a an eldritch evil that drives you to madness if you see it.

The Happening - One of M. Night Shyamalan's more ridiculous films, but one I can't help but guiltily enjoy. An unexplained event drives people to commit suicide (in increasingly ridiculous ways), creating a world-threatening pandemic.

The Crazies - The original 1973 film and the 2010 remake both deal with an outbreak of a bizarre illness that causes people to go, uh, crazy. In a murder way.

Cabin Fever - Eli Roth’s directorial debut, this is a classic gross-out film franchise about a flesh-eating virus that chews its way through a bunch of young campers. 

Dreamcatcher - Basically exactly the plot of Cabin Fever, except with aliens and some It cross-over cosmic horror. A decent Stephen King novel and a fun, if cringey, film, take your pick. 

Mimic - A sci-fi approach involving cockroaches, genetic engineering, and bad ideas. Did you know this was co-written and directed by Guillermo del Toro and was the first Norman Reedus movie? 

Cold Storage - A wonderfully gross debut novel by David Koepp featuring mind-controlling fungus. 

The Troop  - Nick Cutter’s gross-out novel is billed as “28 Days Later meets Lord of the Flies” which is basically everything you need to know. Monstrous tapeworms + boyscouts = bad times for all. 

The Thing - A research team encounters a terrible alien parasite in an isolated frozen wasteland. 

Historical Horror

The Black Death is one of the oldest, best-known, most-historically-significant illnesses in the Western world, so lots of people have told stories about it -- but it’s not the only epidemic in town. If you prefer your disease horror with a side of history, try one of these: 

Black Death - Not a great movie, but it has Sean Bean and Eddie Redmayne and some exceptional gore, so it gets a vote just for that. It’s not about the plague so much as it’s about witchcraft, but it fits. 

The Masque of the Red Death - One of Edgar Allan Poe’s finest stories, in my opinion. You can read this online in multiple places if you don’t have a Poe collection handy, and there’s a lot of audio and short films for it too so take your pick. 

Love in the Time of Cholera - Like it says on the tin, this is a book about life and love and a cholera epidemic. Gabriel Garcia Marquez is a masterful writer, so this is well worth picking up for the quality of prose and storytelling alone.

The Plague - Part social commentary, part plague story, this Albert Camus novel is heavy on philosophy, if you’re into that sort of thing. 

Cabin Fever and Isolation 

A lot of the stories already mentioned touch on themes of isolation, quarantine, and cabin fever, but if you’re staring down the long barrel of social distancing and want more stories about going crazy in enclosed spaces, consider adding: 

The Shining  - The Stephen King novel and the Stanley Kubrick film are both excellent in their own ways, and I recommend both. A family makes the unwise decision to stay alone in a haunted hotel through a long snowed-in winter. It ends badly. 

Devil - However bad your life is, it’s probably not as bad as being trapped in an elevator with the literal devil, which is the premise of this film. 

The Cabin at the End of the World -- You didn’t think I’d write about apocalypse scenarios without finding a chance to plug my favorite Paul Tremblay novel, did you? Part home invasion, part psychological horror, part cosmic apocalypse, 100% terrifying. 

Now, go forth and enjoy many a movie night, or curl up and treat yourself. Social distancing never felt so deliciously spooky ;) 

[adanfourty]

Life In Neon ~ cHapters Of the dreaMing hEart

Part I: A Piece Of Mind

----------------------- I. Simple abundance in an empty life II. Stop III. Projection IV. Come To Theism V. Enter the Threshold

Part II : The Sea of Moonlight ------------------------------ White Feathers Atrium Universal Rain Shade Naissance Home

Part III: Pandora's Clock ------------------------- First. Second. Then I see you Third. Air Fourth. Trumpet of Million's child Fifth. Realitv Sixth. Water Seventh. Closure Finale. Memoire, a scene in a lifetime

Part I: A Piece Of Mind

----------------------- In A Room Without A View

When there is reason, I awake in silence

Please enter, The door is open

I. Simple abundance in an empty life ...

The scent of passion after loneliness A hope of jubilation in life Coming closer to a dream A prelude before the plot

This time, the sunset becomes sunrise in my heart

Her sway, wavering in soft motion Guarding, away from polarity

She is herself not another other than her own self Only she can dance alone without a hint of loneliness That whiff of uncommon independence without arrogance With her right palm always open to the wind, A sign of welcomed company, only if she grants

She's a prelude to a drama An overture to a rhapsody

II. Loose-skin-loose drift, truth abuse truth to mute [St*p]

A new consciousness arises from the abyssimal gap, along with the voices of the singing colours, with the company of colourful rain.

A sighs escapes her as her old consciousness deteriorates.

Though silence is golden, it can also be a sign of unbelievable pain.

Terribly one sided, the consciousness gains space only in her extreme. Though it resembles a lesser four letter word, it cannot be spelled as of yet.

To her it came, through her it goes.

It escapes with swiftness by the way of her fingers and unto the three middle strings.

Now the top.

Now the bottom.

A play of ease and enjoyment, like a teardrop of meaning. There's release and meaning in her words, spoken through the melody escaping her fingers. Weaving phrase by phrase into sentences. Line by line into paragraphs. And chapter by chapter into a story, written in the air to her listeners' ears.

She tells her tale.

A drop of colour in melody's landscape First vivid, then lucid, then luminous The story of song and emotion, of motion and sound

Hikari luminates her enticing configuration Dancing fingers, dancing harmony Another conciousness slowly takes presence...

III. Grapple dream drama and colliding day of another mind [?`jection}

She said that fate can intertwine and leave you speechless Between your eyes and mine we share the same story Especially in this corrupted world of mounting decadence Nothing can hold truth and honesty together

As I wave my hand in the air, I motion you to come closer Start this endless romance

Not between you and I But between trust and committance

Wait for silence Wait for sleep Wait for peace

Then we can touch ..in dreams..

Metropolis doesn't want us to sleep Less it let us inhabbit our dreams Only to pieces of the shattered It can only resolve in our disloyalty

Total mindcrime it says, cannot rebuke There's no rebutle, but an end of statement

Pandemonium clouds temporary judgement A short analysis of ourselves

We cannot be subjected to distinctive terms We are fictional

City of blurring lights in swaying darkness Inverse luminary overshadows heartly judgement

"Tell me more..." "Tell me about myself"

IV. Let silence fall assunder as a boundary (ome to 7heism

Escape in makna ~e%ca]>e~ Don't let it be abstract

Have we been transformed? Apostle of today's corporate culture

Would you have changed a thing ? Destruction of the left brain regime

There is a cycle, which determines life and dharma In the starlit sky of human's silver sea of madness On the seeming horizon, inately seen A lonely silver surfer, Comes to push the wheel for me.

"Gotta move" (

"Gotta move" ^

"Gotta move that wheel right round" )

"Push the wheel of dharma round"

Repeat,

Repeat until the end of perdition

This re|>etition is road to redemption

This hand, can you feel it's touch? Now don't let go.

V. Enter this threshold, where you're }afe w/ m{E

Could it be that you and I have grown to love each other, In the dense aura of this lonely city, full of bitterness? True feelings can never hide much long, For whatever covers, cannot hide from true sight

The wind carried your cries, your wishes, your tears. And when I held my hand out to the sky, I caught some of your dreams.

The misty air partialy hides the growing flowers Blooming without sunlight, to the music of the marionettes Quartet players with classical aptitude Flowing melody in rivers of song

Endless...

Love, love, love, love, beautiful life In the eyes of a lover

Love, love, love, love, merciful touch As if in another dream

Dahlia...

Yes we are, I say we are destined Nothing else but nature that guides The wind, the solstice, the leaves Le ciel's faint whispering Warm snow welcomes this gardenia

Let's enter together...

Part II : The Sea of Moonlight ------------------------------

I dream of a blue nightingale

Not a dream. a perchance SDelirium guide me through this dance

a pointer. an address SPathway leading to this glass

not a form. a code SLanguages, conversations I do not recall

From a faraway place . . . The structured becomes the harmonic, then the frail

White Feathers: ---------------

Start of a lasting imperfect feeling A blissful impression unhindered This slight cut, an apothema Sweetening the shape of a tale

More poetry than justice A judgement in a poem

The tale paints itself a caligraphy Cornering prose to naratic ballad

Few words write themselves as prelude to a dream An overture towards realization Forging a small footstep for an elegy A move towards the end of a chapter

Before planting a kiss on the cheek Take a step out of square one

Atrium Universal: -----------------

I can feel the city itself Living, pulsing through me

I can feel the city itself Breathing in my own breath

At night's first saunter Tides, affairs subtly sweeping

Affairs yielding agnomen Pastly borrowed, then lent, now buried

Not a monumentous rite, A forecourting repose of endeavor

Melfluous, degree, decimal

The wall, the crack, the breach A light, a hope, A piece of reverence A sigh, a gleam, A benevolence

Neon. again a blinding, Charges, pistol, crackpot

Rain: -----

Swaying Petals, Fluttering Sight

Resting in silence Peace in the chaos that surrounds

Hiding within metropolis' fog

Out of reach Out of touch

Lit lanterns sway westbound Path seeking seem astray

Only patience can persevere Only time can lead the way

Only a woman

"A deepened interlude as an intro to a greater truth."

In phrases she speak In riddles she keep

Feel, a longing to be Only little she has

Not much left in her palm Desperately trying to keep

Err on the side of safety

"Here belies the safety of my sanctuary."

Trusting no one Careful not to love

Metropolis. weaves her coccoon

Silence within a storm

Survival is her language Passion is her secret

"Lesser I believe in myself, so I hide."

Shade: ------

A tide to ebb, A shoreline A flow, a motion A gaze

Once, a woman Twice, a sun Thrice, a nephentes

I feel the breze A neophytic caress, innocence So much to long for So much to ebb and lose

Subliminal violence An abstract for laterality

I'll always remember The news of a fog, The songs of a deaf

No echo in the halls No lesson but in our own

A feeling, inside her Notwithstanding a fall Silence for the requiem Not now, not for awhile

This feeling, inside me A pace not too far from fiction Splitting images on one screen My futile vision embracing

His feeling, inside him Bewildering encompassion of a trilogy Another mind, a friend, a rushed exemption Coming closer to a closure, then rebirth

Naissance: ----------

The birth of a soul, Deus ex machina

I feel a distant sun caressing A slow perchance for fate and fancy intertwined

What cometh this way Grasping scars emerging from days past

What shroud cloaks this day A slow immedicine, The unsounding of my parts

My love, a mirror, a friend It needs a chance, a chokepoint degapped

Heal me, A cessation from discrepancy

[tides of Helen]

This time window we must cherish, You and I and eye of The All Seeing

There's none other, Than the mindmaze in the mirror

I became, I bethroned, I abjected Thread, my dearest thread I dearly depart myself, bidding A home for a respite

Home : ------

The walls cry of absence and whispers

A slight touch of the palm graces, The plight of the plaintiff behind the fate Cursors move up the struggles of the vein, Inconclusive ill of melancholy

This notion of separation, Reaps the heart to its dires On bended knees we sink, At this river of futile tears

The ambience of loneliness and division, Portrudes above our conscious minds Heisting the current abode, Unfathomable desire to mutually caress

Beyond this boundary exists my other half Beyond this wall lies another...

Another,

Sustain contain then stop the ambience surrounding My speechless thought echoes throughout without surpass

and another,

Oboete [remember] Never forgetting specified frame of memory First clandestine then disctinction to final separation

and another,

..

I hear this loudness from inside my ears Humming, fainting whisper, to a soft speech

and another.

...

No more can I reject my objection towards presence PLighT is a revocable sister of her brother, fate

And you.

I miss you

The corridors of fate seems to form an unwanted maze No escaping reflective clarity, images beyond seen mirrors

Such is the configuration of this longing A lamentable presence, expelled from fate

It has been two long years, It has been an eternity

Your modulating kiss fades from memory As each deafening ambience ravage me

I, to my heart : [Perhaps to silence, I have spoken for far too long.]

Now the peregrine, Now the calmative

a boundary of mist separates while the only road leads to home

I've nowhere to go But to return to the confines of my sanctuary

[pulang]

Y've reached I home

Part III: Pandora's Clock -------------------------

I have come at a crossroads A silent tantrum of mind and consciousness

Please take my hand Brace the future with me

First.

The solitude of a solitary mind At this junction of overlaping converses

A gaze, then a hand A reach from inside

The solitude of a solitary mind At the junction of overlaping converses

A gaze, then a hand A reach from inside

[E] "Would you dance with me?"

Dec, the 12th of each cycle A courtship between Soleil and Capricorn

Of your latter solstice I find my solace Under luminous frost After a day after days before a new season

[Dahlia] Rest dear Soleil Shine a lesser warmth Shine greater southbound

Then through motion and period Embrace at former solstice

A garden in winter Not far from closure Enclosed in glass And luminosity

Come dear lucidity Let us speak to warm ourselves Let us become classic

One past, presenting a future

In this garden we trust Grace a prelude to truthful fancy

In this garden we lust Skin to skin without a mindful hinderance

In this garden we bind fire and ice

A simple presence felt between us and our dance Resultante, Of motion and perceived decadence

.the second conciousness.

A girl in the mirror Yet to set her feet, Yet to step to the real

A face becoming clearer Vivid smile doubtful eyes

Is she to be welcomed?

Don't let her future mimic the past This is not a point of vacancy Don't let time's vagrancy become turmoil This is a coming whirlwind

A new stream of conciousness is the resultant There can be no regret

Sleep, breathe deep, deeper in a shallow sleep

This is a form of regression Unfolding a dream of recurrence

~Mataku From my eyes

.Mata Ku. To eyes of myself

..Ma Ta Ku.. Then my own eyes

...Mata Milik Aku... These eyes are mine

[E] A cyclic process of birth, death and rebirth Sequential teardrop from a cloudless sky Freefall to a deep mirror of factful fallacy far from fiction

More to truth full of lies and truth, then lies, and lastly truth The answer to a riddle of the sequences and the abstract

A fracture of this mindspace leaks into the open Bequeathing beautiful lies of autumn and of lust But the winter in me is still vast, far from passing Not a drop of colour but a blackless landscape of total blur

Second. Then I see you...

On a road once shared before the crossroads Gleaming with a blueish haze of tenderness Before the coming of daylight's echoing shine Take me to a world outside this shallow sleep

Walking to currentness.

Cascading deep dark blue shade follow folly Interred in my living bones, blades of blunt burden Remain in viewable secrecy, lucidly reasoning for an answer Unwritten forgiveness uttered through a wordless whisper

Reflections, There's me in my head and me in the mirror I can see me very clearly, and I don't like it

The vivid image of reflection has a mind of it's own Why do reflections answer me with such prejudice?

...

A revisitation, A reflection of light Duplicating a world Forming an inversion Making you, Not quite yourself

...

Cascade the masks of emotion to emulate prudence Infer I have, that this is a motion of incredulity

I remain

Asking The Heaven for forgive~ness My hope is now in the clarity of my written bequest

Third. Air

Interlude to preciousness

The world is only an interlude I can't wait for the night to cast it's cloak {of dreams}

A gateway to my paralel life, another conciousness Lucidly living in a shallow sleep

Fourth. Trumpet of Million's child

Dawn to daybreak with a string of trust Warm caress of loyal sunlight Distress and jubilance harbours, Away the stray

A soulful sailor's song Lamenting grace and riddance

Yearly yearning without regard Clasping for release

Melding heartplace and effect Arriving distances to encumbrance The headplace earthing Excelling to explace

Love is a peaceful embrace A feeling, most emtious Of innocence in riddles of sin and temperance A forgiveness for the plightful son

[E] I found who I am at last By a glimpse of fate, enduring A slight mention in destiny A moment alone with my dear fate

A close brush, an eventful sigh Relief, a respite to sensefulness

One last time, Take away my breath

Deliver me my chance, To exhale my last sigh

[Dahlia] I am standing on a ledge A stare to this decending fathom

Cold air sweeps behind me As I tearfully leave my presence

I cannot give you more I cannot be a fitting piece

Musing over life and precedence. Now I'm tired.

I've tried so hard to stay afloat. I'm too tired.

Goodbye now, For I am never truly gone

Fifth. Realitv

[E] A life outside of this TV screen A roundabout of moving pictures preceeding Of passion, of circumstance, of changes My faults and lies, my trials and crimes

Curious apprehension of what may yield I behold to myself, my own mindsight A view to a thrill, a dream of a dream A dull lucidity, a makeup of frigidity

My past turns present My presence sinks into the past Another besetting recurrence Another triumph lost

Sixth. Water

[E] How is my lifeline?

There is a light at the end of the tunnel. A freight train coming my way.

There is a door nearer to the right. Marking exit from a disaster.

(Not out of lifeline)

But indeed. It is I, myself who can save me. It is I, myself who conjured the door. It is I, myself who live my life. Not someone else.

And it is I, myself who choose what I believe in. Not someone else not me.

I'm still breathing, I can still exhale Without hesitation, normalcy without change A sense of endless freedom without boundaries Miracles coming at an enjoyable rate

Now here's that jazz [0}

Flood of tears don't drown me You'll never catch me again crying a flood Now that I'm holding on to my dearest hope I have to hold her gently Careful not to break her to pieces

Seventh. Closure

Strewn paleness, The setting sun colours the sky

A thousand rays bidding farewell, Bidding another rest

And I wish I am not here

Wavering clouds speak with the doves A faint sentence caught in my ears

"There's nothing left to hide."

My melodies will take me Wherever this heart is needing to set

You took away all my strength, Now please take away my pain

Leave my cold outside this shell Never let it rain inside these doors

Please lead me to your promises Then please take away my pain

I am in need of refuge

This is the final scene Before the curtain falls . .

Please, Make me believe in hope, And please take away my pain

Finale. Memoire, a scene in a lifetime

Now I must rest, I must be at peace

Hibernating from culture PlacIng membrane, a distance to bid myself

Sayonara for a moment Please do not forget, oboete my dear Remembrance is for sentient bliss

Keep me in your mind And please, bathe your memory of me in absolution

[shortskirtsandsarcasm]

My Best Reads of 2020 (So Far)

Now that we’ve made it halfway (and a bit) through 2020, I have decided to do a roundup of the best books I’ve read this year before the end of June. I usually do a retrospective of my favorite books at the end of the year, but this year I have read far more books than usual – the current count is 96. Books appear in alphabetic order. I have not included any old favorites that I have re-read this year.

10 Minutes and 38 Seconds in This Strange World by Elif Shafak

Elif Shafak is my favorite author and The Bastard of Istanbul is my favorite book. Every single piece of writing by Shafak I have read, both fiction and non-fiction, has been brilliant and this book lived up to my high expectations. The story of Tequila Leila is both extraordinary and relatable and I found the circle of close friends that she has taken as an adopted family to be powerful and heartwarming. Though the book is centered around the murder of Leila, the story does not have a heavy vibe. Instead, it is a celebration of Leila’s life and trials. Everyone should have such supportive and devoted friends. I’ll leave you with a thoughtful quote:

“No one should philosophize on the nature of humanity until they had worked in a public toilet for a couple of weeks.”

Before the Coffee Gets Cold by Toshikazu Kawaguchi

This one was very short and it only took me an evening to get through it, but it left an impression on me. I found the characters’ heartbreaks and hopes to be relatable and the writing style to be minimalist, but not sparing. It was a thoughtful escape from the stress of living under new lockdown restrictions and an opportunity for self-reflection. It also made me crave a nice hot cup of coffee.

Girl, Woman, Other by Bernardine Evaristo

I am not the only one to be enamored of this book, so I won’t say much about it, except that it lives up to the hype. It, alone, deserved to be the Booker prize winner.

I’ll Be Gone in the Dark by Michelle McNamara

I consume a lot of true crime content, but this one is different from anything I’ve read or listened to before. McNamara has a special compassion for the victims of the Golden State Killer, which I also internalized, as the reader, without being saccharine, cheesy, or engaging in a creepy type of victim reverence that comes up in other high-profile murders, like JonBenét Ramsey. It also does not veer into reverence for the killer, in the way some content concerning Ted Bundy does. It has a balance and a sensitivity that all true crime media should aim for in their output.

Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel

I borrowed this from a friend over a year ago and I finally read this in early March, right when people started getting a little antsy about the pandemic. I found the parallels of the Georgia Flu to the current pandemic oddly comforting. Even after much of humanity has been wiped out by the virus, the survivors still produce and reproduce music and theater for entertainment. The story opens with the unrelated death of a famous actor, Arthur Leander, onstage and follows characters that are all linked to him in some way. The actor’s first wife, Miranda, was my favorite of these characters, and I found her arc and legacy to be the most poignant. I am on my library’s waitlist for Mandel’s next book The Glass Hotel and I am very excited.

The Camomile Lawn by Mary Wesley

My recent discovery (and binge) of Caroline O’Donoghue’s podcast Sentimental Garbage led me to this gem. I have many war novels, but this one has a unique vibe. The Camomile Lawn follows five young cousins, Calypso, Polly, Walter, Oliver, and Sophy, on the brink of adulthood at the beginning of WWII, their trials through the war, and their eventual reunion forty years later. Like 10 Minutes 38 Seconds, it’s a character-driven story and it outlines the ways in which all the cousins process their various war traumas. It captures the emotional rollercoaster of trying to carry on a normal life while the world is in pandemonium and moves between intense cruelty and pleasant lightness. I can’t wait to read it again.

The Starless Sea by Erin Morgenstern

I loved The Night Circus, so I was excited to read this book, and it far exceeded my expectations. The focus on stories, storytelling, books, and libraries warmed my little book-lover heart. The prose is beautiful, and the story is inventive. I was surprised by every twist and found nothing predictable. When I was finished, I had to fight the urge to start the book over again immediately.

[runawaykotaro]

do you have any gintama fanfic recommendations?

Yeah I do!! A lot actually because when i first got into gintama i literally went through all of ao3 and read every story i thought was interesting

so here they are, broken up by category:

Gen:

Pandemonium by Xparrot: THE gintama fic rec. it’s a bit dated since it was written a full like, three years before the shogun assassination arc, so Takasugi’s characterization in particular is like. off. But the story still holds up AMAZINGLY. It’s got yorozuya feels, great writing, and a structure that reads like an easily believable serious gintama arc. (Actually, writing this makes me want to go back and reread it)

Withholding Care by Izanyas: This one….. I LOVED. IT’S GREAT. It’s got a great vibe. It’s in character and beautifully written with great banter and really striking character interactions. There’s implied Takagin, but I’m putting it in the gen category since you don’t have to read it that way if you want to.

Absence by Dearfriendicanfly: REALLY COOL character introspection piece. I love the insight that it gives into the way that Shoyou and Gintoki play off each other. It really speaks to gintama’s themes

Volcanolanche by naye: With the vacation arc crew minus the shogun and plus kyuubei back together, this is another one that reads like an actual gintama arc, complete with a fitting gintama arc ending. It’s got a lot of good funny moments as well as some more harrowing moments. I like this author’s take on the characters too.

Antigravity by UnidentifiedPie: SO. Neat. A really cool AU that features the joui war taking an alternative course; the earth was destroyed during the joui war, and the story follows a much younger Gintoki after he picks up an also-much-younger Kagura. It’s great- there are so many yorozuya family feels (Shinpachi shows up too) and Otose also plays a big role (always a plus) The latest chapter ended on a cliffhanger though so watch out for that.

Rainy Days are Best Spent at Home by UnidentifiedPie: AGAIN, yorozuya family feels. Just the best.

Shippy:

Whatever a sun will always sing by Eddiac: Takazura, Ginzura. Great, melancholy prose. This fic is a huge inspiration to me. The progression is poetic, the feelings are vivid, and the author is great at choosing which things to say outright and which things to leave implied.

Creature Comforts by Mangemouth: Ginzura, Stray Cats arc aftermath. this one is SO fucking funny to me. Like, ‘quote it to myself in my head when i’m walking to class and start laughing out loud’ funny. It’s got a great casual dynamic between Gintoki and Zura- and in the technical respect, I love how the author uses Otose’s perspective at the end.

The Most Important Things are Sometimes the Stupidest by Dearfriendicanfly: Konhiji. SUPER great character analysis that takes into account all of the absolute best parts of Hijikata and Kondo’s relationship.

It’s Polite To Bring KFC as an Apology for Trying to Kill Your Hosts on Christmas by Dearfriendicanfly: Takagin. I don’t think i can quite describe my feelings about this fic in words, especially not after 703. it’s just [incomprehensible groaning] I love this fic. It’s so. Heartwarming. It’s got a perfect aura of quiet hope. read this and pretend that this happened instead of 703.

Don’t judge a book by its cover by Lucienna: TsukkiSacchi, Ginzura. Sarutobi’s pov narration was so good, and it’s a two for two for my favorite gintama pairings. Definitely invokes the laugh rule too.

A good ending by Corvidity: Ginzura. This is everything i’ve ever wanted. The yorozuya + zura feelings are strong, and I LOVE zura’s characterization so much. It hits even harder because it feels like something that could happen after canon NOW. (I just reread this as i was typing up the recommendation and now i’m crying please read this)

Yorozuya got run over by a reindeer by Guycecil: Ginzura. More Yorozuya + Zura feelings, because I absolutely know what I’m about. This is such a fun seasonal piece it makes me wish that it was Christmas.

Rated M:

Fight on a Monday, Cry on a Tuesday, Throw Up on a Wednesday, but Always Laugh on Saturday and Sunday by Mangemouth: Ginzura. Would I even be a ginzura stan if i didn’t put Fight on a Monday in my recommendations? I’m not going to lie, the first couple of times I tried to read it I didn’t get past the ‘Gin-chan you brought me a mommy!’- calling zura the yorozuya mom is a pet peeve of mine, lol. But I’m so glad that I actually gave this a chance. The banter was AMAZING, the narration is HILARIOUS, and the PROSE. Oh my god. This is one of those fics that I go back to every couple of months just to reread.

Don’t ask questions if you’re not prepared for the answers by Deargodwhatisthatthing: Takazura. ALKSJDFLKSDJLFKJ THIS CRACKS ME UP EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. I READ IT. The only really explicit part is at the beginning, after that it’s mostly just dirty jokes. But I swear to god it is one of the funniest fics I’ve ever read.

Authors:

All of these people are already featured on this post but I want to give blanket recommendations, so if you’re looking for more, you should check out these people:

Corvidity, Dearfriendicanfly, Mangemouth, Unidentifiedpie, Eddiac

So this is by no means an exhaustive list of all of the fics that I’ve read and enjoyed but I’m pretty sure I covered most of my favorites!! Hope this helps

[brightbeautifulthings]

Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury

"'But I think it uses Death as a threat. Death doesn't exist. It never did, it never will. But we've drawn so many pictures of it, so many years, trying to pin it down, comprehend it, we've got to thinking of it as an entity, strangely alive and greedy. All it is, however, is a stopped watch, a loss, an end, a darkness. Nothing. And the carnival wisely knows we're more afraid of Nothing than we are of Something. You can fight Something. But ... Nothing? Where do you hit it?'"

Year Read: 2004, 2006, 2018

Rating: 5/5

Context: This has long been my favorite Bradbury book, and it's spawned a love of circus and magician stories that seems doomed to never be satisfied--because what else could ever compare to the magic of this book? I discovered it in high school shortly after reading Fahrenheit 451 for English class, and I read it religiously alongside Flowers in the Attic and The Last Vampire (seemingly the only thing in common is the horror element). I got a fancy new edition for Christmas last year that includes some early drafts and critical commentary, and I managed to save it for this year's Halloween reading list. It's the perfect October novel. Trigger warnings: death, stitches, body horror.

About: It's after midnight in October when the carnival arrives in Green Town, Illinois. Best friends Will Halloway and Jim Nightshade, one born a minute before midnight on Halloween and one born a minute after, have never met a carnival that came so late in the year. And it's no ordinary carnival. At first glance, Cooger & Dark's Pandemonium Shadow Show is the average carnival with rides, cotton candy, and sideshow freaks. But the House of Mirrors is an ocean of rippling glass that threatens to show men their greatest fears, the carousel holds a sinister secret, and the answered dreams offered by Cooger & Dark may really be the stuff of nightmares.

Thoughts: Bradbury's prose is incomparable. I've never met another writer with his flair for imagery, for turning a phrase just so and making it something new, and for tapping into what seem like eternal truths with his sentences. This is the writer that made me see what writing could be, who taught me how to write description, and who made me want to be a writer. His words have a way of brushing the dust off those innermost parts of people--youth, dreams, love, magic--and bringing them back to life. It's no wonder that I was obsessed with him as a teenager and that, even as an adult, I never really got over it. I may have newer, more current author obsessions, but all it takes is cracking a Bradbury book to remind me why I love language.

The text is heavy with imagery, perhaps even a little above Bradbury's usual descriptions, and that's not going to work for every reader. Some people will accuse his prose of being "purple", which is one of my least favorite complaints ever in reviews--but of course it is, because I learned to love twisting metaphor and vivid imagery heaped by the pile at the knee of writers like Bradbury. While I know I flew through this novel many times in high school, I found myself wanting to slow down and let the pages sink in this time around. There's so much atmosphere to take in. We can hear the calliope, smell the crisp autumn air, and feel the cool thrill of fear as our heroes are threatened.

Will and Jim were some of my first literary friends, and they're among Bradbury's most well-developed characters. He doesn't often linger on character the way he does moral or description, but that's not the case in Something Wicked. Will and Jim are mainly defined by their contrast to each other: light and shadow, easy and hard, content and restless, but Bradbury walks a thin line on making them good and evil. There's nothing so black and white about their characters; this book is about the possibility of evil, and none of the characters are exempt from temptation. Will's father, Charles Halloway, the aging janitor/librarian, could so easily fall into cliches as well, but he doesn't. He's as flawed and fragile as the children, but he's also the model of strength and goodness they need to fight back against the carnival.

No carnival in literary history has ever compared to Cooger & Dark's Pandemonium Shadow Show (a delightful name if there ever was one). Bradbury's prose brings its darkness to life like no other, and it's populated by some truly terrifying characters. I would hesitate to call this a horror novel (perhaps dark fantasy or coming of age), but it has some of the most frightening scenes I've ever encountered. Mr. Dark, the Illustrated Man, is a menacing, calculating villain with a menagerie of writhing tattoos and perfectly timed dramatics (as all magicians should be). There are a number of other spooky minor characters, but the Dust Witch is the true horror of the story. Eyes stitched shut, clawed fingers carving out destinies in the air, she's capable of stopping hearts with mere suggestion. (There are some misuses of the word "gypsy" in her case, so be aware.)

The second half of the plot is especially tense as our heroes are still fumbling to find suitable weapons against the carnival's evil. It's hard to see how two boys and an old man can fight against decades, possibly centuries, of wickedness, but Bradbury's solutions are as simple as they are universal. The novel's conclusion could have easily passed into cliche, but it still feels as fresh and surprising on a re-read as it did the first time I read it. Bradbury proves himself as skilled at clever plotting as he is everything else. It's still one of my favorite novels, and every other circus story pales in comparison.

As far as the critical commentary goes in my new edition, it’s a little sparse to be entirely satisfying. Truth be told, I would probably read an entire book dedicated to that stuff. Reading about the long process of turning this into a novel and some of Bradbury’s early drafts where Will was the narrator was fascinating (and I’m glad he ultimately went with third person narration). There are also a few excerpts of other authors on Bradbury that I may have to look into, although Stephen King’s is especially snobbish. His reduction of the characters to mere archetypes is more of a comment on his own cynicism than the novel itself. Of course, it’s possible to approach the novel that way, but one would risk missing the point.

[rsetton]

Asymmetry, Lisa Halliday

“Sometimes I wonder whether we hide lovers from others because it makes it easier to hide ourselves from ourselves.”

“I guess it would be more accurate to say I enjoyed running less than I enjoyed how running later made me feel. Still, there were immediate pleasures, namely the solitude, and the sense of myself as a person in motion, even if I wasn’t sure in what direction that motion might be.”

“This is how I felt. But in the mirror on the other side of Sami’s new piano, I didn’t look like a man teeming with so much potential. On the contrary, in my eleven-year-old jeans, a week’s worth of stubble, and a fraying windbreaker from the Gap, I looked rather more like the embodiment of a line I would later read--something about the metaphysical claustrophobia and bleak fate of being always one person. A problem, I suppose, that it is entirely up to our imaginations to solve. But  then even someone who imagines for a living is forever bound by the ultimate constraint: she can hold her mirror up to whatever subject she chooses, at whatever angle she likes--she can even hold it such that she herself remains outside its frame, the better to de-narcissize the view--but there’s no getting around the fact that she’s always the one holding the mirror. And just because you can’t see yourself in a reflection doesn’t mean no one can.”

“It’s nothing new, disunity. Disparity. Terminological conflict. There have always been dissenters, always those for whom the world is due a revolution and spilling a little blood is the only way. The problem with the idea that history repeats itself is that when it isn’t making us wiser it’s making us complacent. We should have learned something from Yugoslavia, Bosnia and Somalia, yes. On the other hand: humans ill. They take what isn’t theirs and they defend what is, however little that may be. They use violence when words don’t work, but sometimes the reason words don’t work is because the ones holding all the cards don’t appear to be listening.”

“That was one problem: the rampant sentimentality of youth. Another was that I was constantly trying to shoehorn characters into each other’s lives, planting them on street corners or in cafes together so that they could talk. So that they could explain things to each other, from across the great human divide. But it was all so contrived. Contrived and meddlesome, really, because sometimes you just have to let your characters get on with it, which is to say coexist. If their paths cross and they can teach each other something, fine. If they don’t, well, that’s interesting, too. Or, if it isn’t interesting, then maybe you need to back up and start again. But at least you haven’t betrayed the reality of things. In my twenties, I was always fighting this, always trying to force meaningful convergence with my ravishing prose.”

“INTERVIEWER: ...Do you always use the language of possession when talking about love?

EZRA BLAZER: It’s impossible not to! Love is volatile. Recalcitrant. Irrepressible. We do our best to tame it, to name it and plan for it and maybe even to contain it between the hours of six and twelve, or if you’re Parisian five and seven, but like much of what is adorable and irresistible in this world it eventually tears free of you and, yes, sometimes you get scratched up in the process. It’s human nature to try to impose order and form on even the most defiantly chaotic and amorphous stuff of life. Some of us do it by drafting laws, or by painting lines on the road, or by damming rivers or isolating isotopes or building a better bra. Some of us wage wars. Others write books. The most delusional ones write books. We have very little choice other than to spend our waking hours trying to sort out and make sense of the perennial pandemonium. To forge patterns and proportions where they don’t actually exist. And it is this same urge, this mania to tame and possess--this necessary folly--that sparks and sustains love.”

[ladyofpandemonium]

Bulletproof's

Attack on Titan | Shingeki no Kyoujin Father!Tattooed!Levi x Mother! Reader & ackerbaby (ft. Min Yoongi a.k.a SUGA) Modern verse—fLuFf, kinda starts off suggestive Warnings: um, needles? (like, for piercings) A/N: @jean-does-not-have-a-horseface​ and a dream inspired me to write this. Min Yoongi and Levi would make great friends. Don’t try to convince me otherwise. Also, the tattoos are @ackermans-freedom-inc​‘s fault and I am obsessed with the name ‘Aykiz’.

Although you were awake, the comforters wrapped around you against the cool air from the AC kept you in bed. You snuggled further into the maroon fabric, tossing your hair over your shoulder. What had roused you from sleep was nature’s call, and your mistake was washing your face before coming back to bed. The sun had risen, but neither you nor Levi cared to wake until you had no choice or you would miss your flight.

As your half-braided hair thumped against the pillow, a low groan drew from your husband’s mouth. Of course, part of it had hit him instead of the pillow. Did you bother to apologize? No. Instead, you continued to pretend you were deep in slumber until you felt Levi shift. His muscular arm, painted in tendrils of black ink, wrapped around you. A sigh slipped past your lips, his brushing against your bare back, nose buried in your slightly damp hair.

Once his lips planted against the skin behind your earlobe, you burst into a giggle, turning around in his arms and pushing him onto his back in one motion. Your hair, now completely unravelled, caught under Levi’s weight but you were too busy pecking his lips to care. There was something about the way Levi’s rough fingers caressed the only scar you bore as a result of childhood vaccination that made you want to stay in his hold forever.

“Thought you didn’t need me to wake your ass for your flight,” Levi murmured, voice impossibly attractive from morning grogginess.

“I was awake.” You defended. Levi sighed beneath you, shifting to pull your hair from under his arm. Being the sneaky little man he was, Levi didn’t miss the opportunity to kiss where your cheek met your earlobe, gently pulling on your small hoop earrings on his way back. You let out a mock ‘ow’, returning the favour and gently biting his earlobe before you met his eyes once more. “Actually, this reminds me!”

“What did you forget to pack now, Y/N?”

“No, no! Not packing. You have to take Aykiz to get her ears pierced. The appointment—”

“—is at two. Yes, I remember.”

Just like that, within the next three hours, you disappeared behind the airport gates with Aykiz waving her goodbye to you until she couldn’t see you. Levi sat his daughter in the passenger seat as she buckled her seat belt, the material reaching her chin like a blanket, before he climbed into the driver’s seat.

“Mama said we’ll go to a cat to get me earrings. How can a cat poke holes in my ears, papa?”

Levi nearly threw his head back into his seat at the question. Of course, you, of all people, would say it. He put his shades on, buckling his belt as he started the engine of the car and tried to explain what you had told Aykiz. “Well, it’s not a cat, but a person that…is like a cat? Y/N likes to call him a cat.”

“Oh,” Aykiz mumbled with a pout that softened Levi’s eyes behind his shades. He reached out and pat that girl’s head with a small smirk, “Don’t worry, kid. How about we get you cat-shaped earrings or something from the shop?”

“Yes, like Bubbles! Or lion-shaped ones!”

Oh, yes. Aykiz was definitely your daughter and shared your love for felines. She had, in fact, volunteered to take care of Bubbles—your cat—while you took care of business even though no one had brought up the subject. Aykiz had just popped her head into the kitchen this morning with Bubbles cuddled into her arms, declaring that she will take care of her mother’s beloved feline friend.

“Deal.” With that, Levi pulled out of the airport’s parking and turned towards the main road.

Before Levi could, Aykiz was already pushing the glass door several times her size open. However, she stopped in her tracks upon entrance. Whether that was because some of the staff in the reception area turned towards her, or because the interior was a dark contrast to the exterior of the building, Levi didn’t know. Yet, he clasped an encouraging hand on her shoulder as he gave his name at the glossy reception desk.

They were a good thirty minutes early, but with customers being rare at this hour, Levi was allowed in earlier than the appointed time. Aykiz looked around, scanning a few of the tattoo drawings on the wall before looking at Levi’s arm as if trying to match the designs.

While Levi hadn’t been entirely happy with the idea of taking Aykiz to Bulletproof’s shop for her first piercing, you both knew Yoongi, so he conceded.

Levi found his tattoo artist in his booth, cleaning some equipment in the far corner of the tiny room. A small selection of studs and hoops lined one of the trays on the shelf by the chair, the piercing needles on the next.

“Sit over there, okay?” Levi instructed, nodding his head over to the chair. Aykiz jumped into it, already looking at her options, but not touching any of them. Yoongi glanced up, placing his tattooing equipment down to wash his hands before greeting Levi.

“You getting something, too?” He asked, glancing at the tendrils of ink encasing Levi’s arm; one of Yoongi’s designs.

“Not this time.” Levi retorted, glancing at his daughter engrossed in finding some cat-shaped studs. “She’ll take anything with a damn cat on it; big or small.”

“Like mother, like daughter, then.” Yoongi mused, a gummy smile pulling at his lips as he took a seat. Levi followed, standing by Aykiz as he eyed the two studs Aykiz had marked by placing a finger on each.

“Did you pick, Ms. Ackerman?”

“I can’t choose.” Aykiz replied, the spitting image of Levi at that moment before she morphed into yours as she turned to Levi, “Papa, what do you think? This one, or this one?”

“How about you take both?” Yoongi suggested, “You can wear one now, and take the other one home.”

Levi crossed his arms, shrugging his shoulders at his daughter’s questioning gaze. She looked at the black cat-shaped studs, then the orange tiger ones, and then at Yoongi who gave her one of his gummy smiles, eyes crinkling.

A moment more of suspicious glaring and Aykiz decided she will take Yoongi’s offer seeing as Levi left the decision to her. She chose to take the tiger studs as extras.

Yoongi clapped his hands together, dampening a cotton swab with alcohol before carefully rubbing it over Aykiz’s earlobe. Then, he uncapped a pen and marked one dot on each ear, making sure they matched up.

“Okay, Ms. Ackerman, this will hurt a tiny bit.” Said Yoongi, reaching for the piercing needle and making sure it was also sterile.

“You can call me Aykiz if you want to.”

“Looks like you’ve gained her trust,” Levi commented, taking his daughter’s hand. She was starting to look a bit nervous. Yoongi dipped his neck towards Aykiz, as if in gratitude, before telling her to be still.

Levi could tell the girl was growing slightly anxious over a needle being placed too close to her ear. He squeezed her hand in his, reassuring her that it wouldn’t hurt as much as she was likely imagining.

“So, Aykiz,” Yoongi asked, earning a little hum from her, “where’s your mother?”

“Mama had some work to do, so—ow!”

The prickly feeling had Aykiz drawing her hand to her ear, swiftly caught by Levi as Yoongi replaced the needle with one of the cat-shaped studs. “One more, okay?”

When Aykiz nodded, Yoongi took a new needle and went around the chair, trading places with Levi to finish the job. He bent down, aligning the needle with the mark he’d made earlier, “You can keep talking, Aykiz.”

“Mama had some work to do, so she went to Cana—ow!”

“Sorry…” Yoongi muttered, replacing the needle with the second stud before standing once more. “All done!” He announced, handing Aykiz a mirror. Levi dropped his light hold on her hands, nodding to himself at the little kitty studs on his daughter’s ears, watching her tilt her head sideways to see them for herself.

“Like mother, like daughter indeed.” He mused, drawing his debit card from his wallet all while watching Aykiz’s eyes light up at the new look.

The two of them ended up walking out of Bulletproof’s with a pair of tiger studs, and yet another pair of identical cat studs so you and Aykiz could match—courtesy of Yoongi.

[instruth]

THE DAY I KNIGHTED A BULL

A sniff, a sip

Aromatic coffee in Madrid

in scented mall by fragrance

a euphoric sense of romance

As I sit in an old disused bull ring

Pensive mood, casually admiring

Today, I dress colorfully

Distinguished, honorably

in alfresco arena to comment

What a spectacular moment

writing a letter to my dear wife

pledging to the love of my life

I whip out my treasured pen

Lo and behold! A touch of zen

What an accommodated commotion

Screaming women and men in motion

An angry bull out in the sun

Is this the famous Bull Run?

Pandemonium! People scramble,

Bottles topple, and tables tumble

Before I can get up

with a double hiccups

to join in the battle fray,

a horn pierces to a slay

Oh what a terrible fall

I feel I’m pinned to a wall

Dizzy, I can barely see

act as brave as can be

The pen from my hand

flings high like a wand

My eyes fix on the bull,

growling puffs and drools

steaming from its nostrils

a deathly grunting of kill

The big bad bull then retreats

digs the ground, hoofs and feet

It looks me straight in the eye

Then charges for a human pie

I pray, “Deliver me, O Lord"

I look to the sky for a word

I see my pen freely dipping, fallen,

like a pointed spear from heaven

piercing the bull between the eyes

spilling inks, blinding it as it sighs

displaying a black print of scrawls

on its face, a writing on the wall:

you live by the horn

the amount you thus measure

now weighs upon you

© Johnny J P Lee

11 May 2021

HAIBUN

(imaginative Prose & Haiku 5-7-5)

Photo Credit J. P. Lee

[bookiemonsterph]

City of Bones

Synopsis:

When Clary Fray heads out to the Pandemonium Club in New York City, she hardly expects to witness a murder. Much less a murder committed by three teenagers covered with odd markings. This is Clary's first meeting with the Shadowhunters, Warriors dedicated to ridding the earth of demons - and keeping the odd werewolves and vampires in line. It's also her first meeting with gorgeous, golden-haired Jace. Within twenty-four hours Clary is pulled into Jace's world with a vengeance, when her mother disappears and Clary herself is attacked by a demon. But why would demons be interested in an ordinary mundane like Clary? And how did she suddenly get the Sight? The Shadowhunters would like to know...

Title: City Of Bones Series: The Mortal Instruments Author: Cassandra Clare ISBN: 1416914285 (ISBN13: 9781416914280) Pages:  485 pages (Paperback) Published:   March 2013 by Margaret K. McElderry Books (first published May 27th 2007) Characters:  Alexander "Alec" Lightwood, Jonathan "Jace" Wayland, Valentine Morgenstern, Isabelle "Izzy" Sophia Lightwood, Magnus Bane, Jocelyn Fray, Luke Garroway, Clarissa "Clary" Fray, Simon Lewis Setting: New York City, New York, 2007 (United States) Genre: Young Adult, Urban Fantasy, Romance, Supernatural, Paranormal

The very first thing that I would like to talk about in this review is the diversity that the author had installed in this novel. I loved how Cassandra Clare had represented a gay character in this novel because to me, I feel like there were not much representation of the LGBTQIA+ community in YA novels and the fact that the author had laid the community in this novel was just fantastic! Therefore, I liked the diverse cast of characters in this book!

Moving on, I would like to discuss on the relationship that Cassie had deposited in this novel. The relationships between the characters were very unique and magical that I thought it was a great experience to have with the casts in this book because everything was not one-dimensional but complex and hard to guess (Does it make sense? I hope so) that I just really relished on how beautiful the experience that I had with this book was. Thus, I enjoyed the relationships that the author had dropped into this book.

Furthermore, we have the pacing that I would like to rattle on in this book review. I would not say that the pacing of this novel is fast or anything because it literally took me two weeks to finish this book due to the level of hardness at the beginning of the novel which I will talk more about later on in the review. However, as I had gotten past the first 150 pages of explanation and the ‘Wikipedia’ of the world, I was immediately sucked back into the story and the pages flew by so quickly that I had a hard time knowing that I actually reached the certain page count. Thus, I did not enjoy the pacing for the beginning of the novel but overall, I thought the pacing was pretty good!

Moreover, we have the beginning and the ending of the novel that I have to converse on in this review. The beginning which I will be conversing on first was filled with world-building and although I enjoyed how well the author had built the world, I could not help but feel how aridity and anti-climatic the beginning was. It was not that the world was not interesting, it was just that the author had included too much of information that resulted in information overload. Plus, nothing really happened in the beginning except for the planning that the characters’ had to bring Clary’s mother back. Thus, I kind of hated the beginning of the book.

In addition, the ending which was non-identical to the beginning of the novel was juicy, action-packed and overall frustrating (in a good way). The ending of the novel clutched on my heart, burned it to the ground and put it back into my chest again with no remorse except for the blisters on it that will never be healed ever again. Sorry for being so dramatic but I really loved the ending for this novel and because of that, I have decided to read book 2: City Of Ashes!

Into the bargain, we have the world-building and atmosphere of this novel that I have to include in this review! The world-building, just like what I have said earlier, was great and it enhanced the reading experience for us, readers. However, the author had included too much of the functions of the world in the beginning that I really found it to be an extremely hard segment to get through. In addition, the atmosphere for this book was exceptionally good because it increased my heart rate as the scenes had gotten intense and while I was reading this book, I can feel the chemicals that were working hard and revolving much around my brain. Plus, when the story came to a closure and the plot twists damaged my brain temporarily, I felt so drowsy that I had to read the next book almost immediately. Thus, I liked the world-building but not that much and I loved the atmospheres that were gyrating around this novel.

Cassandra Clare’s style of writing in this novel was not the best writing style out there- in the literature world, but I did really enjoy how she held onto some interesting words and made them lively. So, here goes the review of the writing style in this book!

The writing style for this book was chatty, articulate, idiomatic and sometimes- verbose. The reason why I said the writing style was verbose because of its constant used of unnecessary sentences to get to the main point that the characters’ were trying to harangue on. However, the writing style was also pretty informal which I, personally, enjoyed because it lets us, readers, see that this is how the characters’ are going to react when they are facing a situation. In addition, it was also very articulate and idiomatic! It keeps the readers in a constant flow of indulging in the book and performing wonders such as their imaginations- in the brain. Thus, I did enjoy the writing style! But I have more to talk about in the below paragraphs.

Presently, we are going to address on the excessive use of commas in this novel. As you can see, I am not the biggest fan of the redundant use of commas in the writing style because it is pretty hard for the readers to get through them and also, if you dive deeper into the novel, it gets very vexatious. And with all of that that I have said, I thought that this novel’s writing style fell into that category of ‘Commas-are-overused’. Furthermore, there were not enough prose to keep the sentences from breaking apart from each other and I thought the sentences do not flow well as they kept falling apart from each other due to the lack of prose like ‘as, because, etc.’ Therefore, it bothered my reading of this book to death due to the flaws in this novel.

Moving on, we are going to discuss about the word choices that Cassandra’s Clare picked to entwine words together to make them feel alive. I thought Cassie did a really good job on picking out words that were added pleasingly to the story and the word drizzled and diffused through each sentence accordingly. Thus, I enjoyed the careful handing out of words for this novel!

Finally, we have the descriptions of the novel that I would like to talk about. The descriptions which I really enjoyed drifted through the book as the scenes in this novel were thoughtfully picked out and the descriptions that had taken place in the book had made everything so easy to be visualized in the brain that I had no hard time trying to conceive anything in my head. Thus, I enjoyed the beautiful descriptions in the novel.

Clary Fray: Almost everyone on the internet called her out as an annoying protagonist but I thought otherwise. To me, Clary was a sympathetic character that I commiserate with and she was somewhat dumb at times but never annoying because the shreds of evidence were clearly placed in front of her eyes but she still managed to overlook them. Furthermore, she was a little cliché because her characterization fell under the category of ‘She-is-pretty-and-I-am-not’ but other than those flaws, I thought she was kind and decent. Therefore, I liked her as a character in this novel.

Simon Lewis: To be honest, I do not really enjoy Simon as a character in this book even though he had the potential to grow as a character in the later novels but I just did not enjoy his perspective because he was whiny, needy and ibwerobgib. Thus, I have nothing to compliment on his character except for the features that he had held.

Jace Wayland: He was the boy with a dark past. Although I did indeed sympathize with how abusive his father was and how everything- for example, the blood that ran in his veins, was not his fault but the blame was somehow atop of his head, he was still a very sarcastic, rude and not-very-sexy person who Isabelle called him out as sexy. I do not understand how a person who is so rude… can be sexy. Therefore, I liked him (again) as a character in this book; but I did not love him as a character in this novel.

Luke Garroway: I loved Luke as a character in this book! He was kind, friendly and ‘Has-Jace’s-Sarcastic-attitude lite‘. He was somehow a character that I commiserate even more because he was stripped of his title as a Shadowhunter and he was also forcefully banned from his own homeland due to the demon disease that flowed in his capillaries. Plus, he was betrayed by his dearest friend who he thought was a brother. Therefore, I loved Luke’s characterization in this novel!

Valentine Morgenstern: I hated him! UGH! THIS VILLAIN WAS A FREAKING ARSEHOLE IN THIS NOVEL LIKE KJFBIJBFABIBFIBA. Basically, words cannot express how irritated (in a good way) I am with him. He was one of the most interesting villains that I had read in a while and I hope he will just jump off the cliff soon. Thus, I loved this villain but hated him (hopefully it makes sense).

Although the ending for this novel was exciting and action-packed, I thought the beginning- somewhere around page 1 to page 100, was pretty dull and anti-climatic. Plus, there were some flaws in this novel that I, personally, did not enjoy. However, I am going to read the sequel to this book because the ending had me shook and I need more of Cassandra Clare’s world and characters. Therefore, I am giving this book a 69.5% rating.

[sassybrit]

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4. Reversed Order Existence – Reversed Order Series (Book 1) by Blaze Goldburst

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[inloveandwords]

This post was inspired by Ally’s series (which was inspired by Lia at Lost in a Story).

It works like this Go to your goodreads to-read shelf. Order on ascending date added. Take the first 5 (or 10 (or even more!) if you’re feeling adventurous) books Read the synopsis of the books Decide: keep it or should it go?

When Darkness Comes (Guardians of Eternity #1) by Alexandra Ivy

It’s been a hell of a day for Abby Barlow. In just a few hours, she’s survived an explosion, watched her employer die, had a startling dream, and now she finds herself in a seedy Chicago hotel with the sexy, unearthly Dante, a vampire she both desires and fears.

For 341 years, Dante has stood as guardian to The Chalice, a mortal woman chosen to hold back the darkness. A terrible twist of fate has now made Abby that woman. Three hours ago. Dante would have used all his charms to seduce her. Now she is his to protect. And he will do so until his very death.

A terrifying plan has been set in motion, one that will plunge Dante and Abby into an epic battle between good and evil – and a desperate race to save their love…

Date Added to TBR: Sep 02, 2010 Keep or Ditch? Keep

  Firelight (Firelight #1) by Sophie Jordan

A hidden truth. Mortal enemies. Doomed love.

Marked as special at an early age, Jacinda knows her every move is watched. But she longs for freedom to make her own choices. When she breaks the most sacred tenet among her kind, she nearly pays with her life. Until a beautiful stranger saves her. A stranger who was sent to hunt those like her. For Jacinda is a draki, a descendant of dragons whose greatest defense is her secret ability to shift into human form.

Forced to flee into the mortal world with her family, Jacinda struggles to adapt to her new surroundings. The only bright light is Will. Gorgeous, elusive Will who stirs her inner draki to life. Although she is irresistibly drawn to him, Jacinda knows Will’s dark secret: He and his family are hunters. She should avoid him at all costs. But her inner draki is slowly slipping away;if it dies she will be left as a human forever. She’ll do anything to prevent that. Even if it means getting closer to her most dangerous enemy.

Mythical powers and breathtaking romance ignite in this story of a girl who defies all expectations and whose love crosses an ancient divide.

Date Added to TBR: Sep 02, 2010 Keep or Ditch? Keep

  My Horizontal Life: A Collection of One-Night Stands by Chelsea Handler

You’ve either done it or know someone who has: the one-night stand, the familiar outcome of a night spent at a bar, sometimes the sole payoff for your friend’s irritating wedding, or the only relief from a disastrous vacation. Often embarrassing and uncomfortable, occasionally outlandish, but most times just a necessary and irresistible evil, the one-night stand is a social rite as old as sex itself and as common as a bar stool. Enter Chelsea Handler. Gorgeous, sharp, and anything but shy, Chelsea loves men and lots of them. My Horizontal Life chronicles her romp through the different bedrooms of a variety of suitors, a no-holds-barred account of what can happen between a man and a sometimes very intoxicated, outgoing woman during one night of passion. From her short fling with a Vegas stripper to her even shorter dalliance with a well-endowed little person, from her uncomfortable tryst with a cruise ship performer to her misguided rebound with a man who likes to play leather dress-up, Chelsea recalls the highs and lows of her one-night stands with hilarious honesty. Encouraged by her motley collection of friends (aka: her partners in crime) but challenged by her family members (who at times find themselves a surprise part of the encounter), Chelsea hits bottom and bounces back, unafraid to share the gritty details. My Horizontal Life is one guilty pleasure you won’t be ashamed to talk about in the morning.

Date Added to TBR:  Sep 02, 2010 Keep or Ditch? Keep

  Clockwork Angel (The Infernal Devices #1) by Cassandra Clare

In a time when Shadowhunters are barely winning the fight against the forces of darkness, one battle will change the course of history forever. Welcome to the Infernal Devices trilogy, a stunning and dangerous prequel to the New York Times bestselling Mortal Instruments series.

The year is 1878. Tessa Gray descends into London’s dark supernatural underworld in search of her missing brother. She soon discovers that her only allies are the demon-slaying Shadowhunters—including Will and Jem, the mysterious boys she is attracted to. Soon they find themselves up against the Pandemonium Club, a secret organization of vampires, demons, warlocks, and humans. Equipped with a magical army of unstoppable clockwork creatures, the Club is out to rule the British Empire, and only Tessa and her allies can stop them…

Date Added to TBR: Sep 02, 2010 Keep or Ditch? Keep

  Shadow Hills (Shadow Hills #1) by Anastasia Hopcus

After her sister Athena’s tragic death, it’s obvious that grief-stricken Persephone “Phe” Archer no longer belongs in Los Angeles. Hoping to make sense of her sister’s sudden demise and the cryptic dreams following it, Phe abandons her bubbly LA life to attend an uptight East Coast preparatory school in Shadow Hills, MA — a school which her sister mysteriously mentioned in her last diary entry before she died.

Once there, Phe quickly realizes that something is deeply amiss in her new town. Not only does Shadow Hills’ history boast an unexplained epidemic that decimated hundreds of its citizens in the 1700s, but its modern townies also seem eerily psychic, with the bizarre ability to bend metal. Even Zach — the gorgeous stranger Phe meets and immediately begins to lust after — seems as if he is hiding something serious. Phe is determined to get to the bottom of it. The longer she stays there, the more she suspects that her sister’s untimely death and her own destiny are intricately linked to those who reside in Shadow Hills.

Date Added to TBR: Sep 02, 2010 Keep or Ditch? Ditch

      Kapitoil by Teddy Wayne

“Sometimes you do not truly observe something until you study it in reverse,” writes Karim Issar upon arrival to New York City from Qatar in 1999. Fluent in numbers, logic, and business jargon yet often baffled by human connection, the young financial wizard soon creates a computer program named Kapitoil that predicts oil futures and reaps record profits for his company.

At first an introspective loner adrift in New York’s social scenes, he anchors himself to his legendary boss Derek Schrub and Rebecca, a sensitive, disillusioned colleague who may understand him better than he does himself. Her influence, and his father’s disapproval of Karim’s Americanization, cause him to question the moral implications of Kapitoil, moving him toward a decision that will determine his future, his firm’s, and to whom—and where—his loyalties lie.

Date Added to TBR: Sep 02, 2010 Keep or Ditch? Ditch

  Everything Ravaged, Everything Burned by Wells Tower

Viking marauders descend on a much-plundered island, hoping some mayhem will shake off the winter blahs. A man is booted out of his home after his wife discovers that the print of a bare foot on the inside of his car’s windshield doesn’t match her own. Teenage cousins, drugged by summer, meet with a reckoning in the woods. A boy runs off to the carnival after his stepfather bites him in a brawl. Wells Tower’s version of America is touched with the seamy splendor of the dropout, the misfit: failed inventors, boozy dreamers, hapless fathers, wayward sons. With electric prose and savage wit, Everything Ravaged, Everything Burned is a profound new collection of stories.

Date Added to TBR: Sep 02, 2010 Keep or Ditch? Ditch

  Too Soon to Say Goodbye by Art Buchwald

When doctors told Art Buchwald that his kidneys were kaput, the renowned humorist declined dialysis and checked into a Washington, D.C., hospice to live out his final days. Months later, “The Man Who Wouldn’t Die” was still there, feeling good, holding court in a nonstop “salon” for his family and dozens of famous friends, and confronting things you usually don’t talk about before you die; he even jokes about them. Here Buchwald shares not only his remarkable experience–as dozens of old pals from Ethel Kennedy to John Glenn to the Queen of Swaziland join the party–but also his whole wonderful life: his first love, an early brush with death in a foxhole on Eniwetok Atoll, his fourteen champagne years in Paris, fame as a columnist syndicated in hundreds of newspapers, and his incarnation as hospice superstar. Buchwald also shares his sorrows: coping with an absent mother, childhood in a foster home, and separation from his wife, Ann. He plans his funeral (with a priest, a rabbi, and Billy Graham, to cover all the bases) and strategizes how to land a big obituary in The New York Times (“Make sure no head of state or Nobel Prize winner dies on the same day”). He describes how he and a few of his famous friends finagled cut-rate burial plots on Martha’s Vineyard and how he acquired a Picasso drawing without really trying.

What we have here is a national treasure, the complete Buchwald, uncertain of where the next days or weeks may take him but unfazed by the inevitable, living life to the fullest, with frankness, dignity, and humor.

“[Art Buchwald] has given his friends, their families, and his audiences so many laughs and so much joy through the years that that alone would be an enduring legacy. But Art has never been just about the quick laugh. His humor is a road map to essential truths and insights that might otherwise have eluded us.” –Tom Brokaw

Date Added to TBR: Sep 02, 2010 Keep or Ditch? Ditch

  Two-Way Street by Lauren Barnholdt

There are two sides to every breakup.

This is Jordan and Courtney, totally in love. Sure, they were an unlikely high school couple. But they clicked; it worked. They’re even going to the same college, and driving cross-country together for orientation. Then Jordan dumps Courtney — for a girl he met on the Internet.

It’s too late to change plans, so the road trip is on. Courtney’s heartbroken, but figures she can tough it out for a few days. La la la — this is Courtney pretending not to care.

But in a strange twist, Jordan cares. A lot.

Turns out, he’s got a secret or two that he’s not telling Courtney. And it has everything to do with why they broke up, why they can’t get back together, and how, in spite of it all, this couple is destined for each other.

Date Added to TBR: Sep 02, 2010 Keep or Ditch? Keep

  Tim O’Brien’s The Things They Carried (Bloom’s Guides) by Harold Bloom

– Comprehensive reading and study guides for some of the world’s most important literary masterpieces – Concise critical excerpts provide a scholarly overview of each work – “The Story Behind the Story” details the conditions under which the work was written – Each book includes a biographical sketch of the author, a descriptive list of characters, an extensive summary and analysis, and an annotated bibliography

Date Added to TBR: Sep 02, 2010 Keep or Ditch? Ditch Pretty sure this was supposed to be the actual book by Tim O’Brien LOL!

    Here are the stats

Starting Total TBR Count: 1760 Previous Total TBR Count: 1762 Total Marked TBR ASAP: 133 Updated Total TBR Count: 1763

Bye-Bye Books: Decluttering my TBR #3 This post was inspired by Ally’s series (which was inspired by Lia at Lost in a Story…

[fandomshatepeopleofcolor]

the books that are racist and hetero are the ones I used to be into, not for the romance that was really boring, I was always drawn into the other worldly type themes. like Angel's coming yo earth doing shit or a whole world of Vampires existing in secret. like those were good ideas but the downsides always made me uncomfortable even when I started reading them I knew something was wrong but I couldn't put it into words and tried enjoying the part I got into. now tho I regret ever reading them.

Yes, and it’s not like there was much more thought put into them? They weren’t good even when it came to the writing? Like in hindsight they were all terrible? I mean, we all know Twilight is full of plotholes and badly written purple prose; Vampire Academy reads like an older person trying too hard to be relatable to the Youngsters(tm) like

(but imo richelle mead is still the best at, at the very least, writing, than the rest of these authors; her worlds were always better and some of her characters were interesting, aka i’d die for sydney sage whomst deserved better; same with rose hathaway badass bby). (they are girlfriends) (i can’t believe nobody ever shipped it smh)

Hush Hush was so bad that I couldn’t read past the first book even during the times of my Twilight-obsession; same with Divergent (though I did read one and  a half books of it! kudos for that i guess). 

There was another one about fallen angles, Fallen, which was...ugh gross purple pross too. The Fault in Our Stars was just a cringe-fest overall. Pandemonium was,,,,literally,,,,“het white love is illegal” with a dose of on-the-go homophobia.

They were all so terrible anon. The only good ones were The Hunger Games, and Percy Jackson and the Olympians (though that one is middle school,not young adult). And even then they are overwhelmingly white and straight. ~mod ara