#Alexander the Great novels
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All my ATG fiction, back on shelves. The copies of the new book covers just arrived today. 😊 I forgot to leave room for them. 😂
#Alexander the great in fiction#alexander the great#hephaistion#hephaestion#historical fiction#Alexander the great novels#Ancient Greek historical fiction#dancing with the lion
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WILL Our Flag Means Death re-ignite my long-lost love of 18th Century poetry and the utterly batshit nature of the 18th century novel? Only time will tell.
#ofmd#our flag means death#eighteenth century novels are great because there are literally no rules and everyone is off their heads#plus all the authors know and possibly hate each other#samuel richardson and henry fielding had a long-term literary feud#don't even start on alexander pope and lady montagu
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Fire From Heaven by Mary Renault [A Review]
Even for an historical novelist of the calibre of Renault, Fire From Heaven is extremely ambitious. A coming-of-age tale of one of the most well-known and scrutinised figures in history, set in a period of his life we know little about
Even for an historical novelist of the calibre of Mary Renault, what she embarks on in Fire From Heaven is extremely ambitious. A coming-of-age tale of one of the most well-known and scrutinised figures in history, yet set in a period of his life we know very little about.
A boy, almost five years old is woken in the night by the feeling of something moving against his body. He looks down and…
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#Alexander the Great#Ancient Greece#Book Review#Booker Prize#Contemporary Literature#Historical Fiction#Macedon#Mary Renault#Novels
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The ancient Alexander Romance has come to comics. Be a part of history and claim your print copy of Alexander Book 1 by @reimenaashelyee today.
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Highlight of the exhibition @ british library was this boar hybrid alexander from a German Medieval text
The tiny hand holding onto the frame!!
10/10 quality content, absolutely mind boggling
#so many gems#including a whole novel with boukephalas as main character#and the homework of a poor greek student reporting a possible speech by alexander after defeating darius#alexander the great#aniketos
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I guess it's time to start moving some content from twt over here! For those who don't know me, I'm a public librarian with a special interest in polar and nautical history, and I love nothing more than connecting readers with good books. I've managed to convert some friends to my way of thinking, and one of them coined the phrase "sad boat books" to describe the types of books that I'm always reading and recommending. Here is my first list of sad boat books-- I can personally vouch for all of them!
New to sad boat? Start here to see if it’s for you!
Endurance by Alfred Lansing
Madhouse at the End of the Earth by Julian Sancton
The Worst Journey in the World- The Graphic Novel Volume 1: Making Our Easting Down adapted by Sarah Airriess from the book by Apsley Cherry-Garrard
Frozen in Time: The Fate of the Franklin Expedition by Owen Beattie and John Geiger
Terra Nova, A GREAT first expedition!
The Worst Journey in the World- The Graphic Novel Volume 1: Making Our Easting Down adapted by Sarah Airriess from the book by Apsley Cherry-Garrard
The Worst Journey in the World by Apsley Cherry-Garrard
A First Rate Tragedy by Diana Preston
Robert Falcon Scott Journals- Captain Scott’s Last Expedition by Robert Falcon Scott
“I Love Ernest Shackleton” starter pack
Endurance by Alfred Lansing
Shackleton’s Boat Journey by Frank Worsley
The Endurance by Caroline Alexander
“I Hate Ernest Shackleton” starter pack
The Lost Men by Kelly Tyler-Lewis
Polar Castaways by Richard McElrea and David Harrowfield
Roald Roald Roald!
The Last Viking: The Life of Roald Amundsen by Stephen Bown
The South Pole by Roald Amundsen
The Last Place on Earth by Roland Huntford*
*DISCLAIMER: this guy hates Captain Scott and gets most of the Scott details wrong, read for Roald only!
The Franklin Expedition
Frozen in Time: The Fate of the Franklin Expedition by Owen Beattie and John Geiger
Erebus by Michael Palin
May We Be Spared to Meet on Earth: Letters of the Lost Franklin Expedition edited by Russell A. Potter, Regina Koellner, Peter Carney, and Mary Williamson
Non-polar sad boats
The Bounty by Caroline Alexander
Batavia’s Graveyard by Mike Dash
The Perfect Storm by Sebastian Junger
In The Heart of the Sea by Nathaniel Philbrick
Sometimes a sad balloon can be a sad boat
The Expedition by Bea Uusma
The Ice Balloon by Alec Wilkinson
Karluk/Wrangel Island, the expeditions of my heart
Empire of Ice and Stone: The Disastrous and Heroic Voyage of the Karluk by Buddy Levy
The Ice Master by Jennifer Niven
The Karluk’s Last Voyage by Robert A. Bartlett
The Last Voyage of the Karluk: A Survivor’s Memoir of Arctic Disaster by William Laird McKinlay
Ada Blackjack: A True Story of Survival in the Arctic by Jennifer Niven
Miscellaneous sad boat books that are well worth your time
The Ship Beneath the Ice: The Discovery of Shackleton’s Endurance by Mensun Bound
In The Kingdom of Ice: The Grand and Terrible Polar Voyage of the USS Jeannette by Hampton Sides
Madhouse at the End of the Earth by Julian Sancton
Alone on the Ice: The Greatest Survival Story in the History of Exploration by David Roberts
Labyrinth of Ice: The Triumphant and Tragic Greely Polar Expedition by Buddy Levy
If you read and enjoy any of these, please let me know!
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tell me more about classic filk i know a few songs but never got deep into it
Heck YEAH
"Filk" is music (often but not always folk music-style, often but not always song parodies to the tune of famous pre-existing songs) about sci-fi, fantasy, and other fannish topics. Filk circles are popular events at science fiction conventions, and that's really where the genre started. The word "filk" actually arose from a typo in a convention program once, and people just rolled with it ever since!
Some of the most iconic albums in the filk world are the anthology albums "Minus Ten And Counting" (songs about space exploration and the real-life space program), "Carmen Miranda's Ghost" (songs about sci-fi space shenanigans and space ghosts), and "Finity's End: Songs of the Station Trade" (songs set in the world of CJ Cherryh's Alliance-Union novels, and my personal favorite. I've never read any of CJ Cherryh's books, but these songs paint such a vivid world.) "Space Heroes and Other Fools" is another big one, it's more hit-or-miss for me but it's iconic. Other really good and foundational ones are "Divine Intervention" by Julia Ecklar, "Avalon is Risen" by Leslie Fish, and "We Are Who We Are" by Vixy & Tony.
I lean more towards sci-fi and space than fantasy, but fantasy and paganism are huuuugely popular filk topics too.
Some of the most popular names to look into include Leslie Fish (intensely prolific, barely a fraction of her work is on any streaming or music service), Julia Ecklar (famous for her "ose," the filk-world word for sad songs - because they're "ose, more-ose, and even more-ose), Juanita Coulson, Kristoph Klover, Vic Tyler (who just recently died :( rest in peace), Duane Elms, Kathy Mar, Bob Kanefsky, Alexander James (trans, with lots of filk under his previous name as well), Vixy & Tony, and Seanan McGuire. (I like Seanan McGuire's filk music better than her books, hah.) Some other great ones include Cat Faber (most acapella), Astrisoni, The PDX Broadsides, Kari Maaren, and Sassafrass (also mostly acapella. Includes Ada Palmer). Heather Dale, Tom Lehrer, and Jonathan Coulton are kind of honorary filkers too haha.
The best place to get the ones from 80s and 90s cassettes are on the Internet Archive or Youtube; a few filkers who are more currently active have their stuff on Bandcamp.
And I'll leave you with a few of my Favorite Ever filk songs:
"Sam Jones" by CJ Cherryh and Leslie Fish
"Pushin' the Speed of Light" by Julia Ecklar and Anne Prather
"Chickasaw Mountain" by Leslie Fish
"Fire in the Sky" by Jordan Kare
"The Phoenix" by Julia Ecklar
"Freedom of the Snow" by Leslie Fish
"Burn it Down" by Vixy & Tony
"Hope Eyrie" by Leslie Fish, or this Minus Ten And Counting version
"Rocket Rider's Prayer" by Kristoph Klover, Ernie Mansfield, and Cecilia Eng
"Dawson's Christian" by Duane Elms, performed by Vic Tyler or Vixy & Tony
"Somebody Will" by Sassafrass
"Chances & Choices & Fortunes & Fates" by Astrisoni
... my tastes lean sentimental and ose but I swear there's a lot of very funny filk out there too
"Never Set the Cat on Fire" by Frank Hayes (a famous one)
"Banned From Argo" by Leslie Fish (an INFAMOUS one)
"Don't Push That Button" by Duane Elms and Larry Warner
"No More SF Cons" by Juanita Coulson
"One More Ose Song" by B. J. Willinger
everything Bob Kanefsky writes
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The Rare Bookseller Part 47: The Maestro's Diversion
Prev > Masterlist > Next
September 1925
TW: mind control, body control, captivity, kidnapping
Despite Alexander's attempt at soothing him, Oliver felt himself growing more and more anxious as the ballet continued. As much as he tried to focus on the dance, but now that he knew about the strange man's identity, he couldn't help but sneak glances over at him and fret.
Objectively, he didn't look that dangerous - a very slight older man with a sharp gaze -- but there was a certain something dreadful about him that Oliver could sense from across the theater. Or perhaps it was just his imagination, borne of the fact that Alexander was still very much on edge.
The ballet itself did not calm his nerves either. The dancing was growing more and more feverish and abstract, the costumes wilder, with bright red beads and ribbons that seemed to signify wounds. The climax was what appeared to be a human sacrifice, where the prima ballerina danced upon an altar, red ribbons tied around her hands and feet and neck, finally collapsing among raucous, atonal music.
Oliver's anxiety was reaching a fever pitch as the ballet came to a close. He clapped politely as the dancers took their bows, glancing over at the strange man.
He was clapping, but he wasn't looking at the stage any more. No, his eyes were trained directly on Oliver. They locked gazes, and Oliver felt a chill run down his spine.
"We will wait until most of the audience has cleared out," said his master. "Then we'll go attend to my master in his box. We may be in luck. He may be in an unusually pleasant mood."
Oliver had no idea how that icy gaze could count to Alexander as "unusually pleasant." "Must we meet him?"
Alexander didn't answer.
"Couldn't we just... leave?"
"No."
Oliver had never imagined he could feel so much dread simply watching men in tuxedos and women in fancy evening dress chatter and mingle as they made their way to the exits. His hands hurt, and he realized that he was gripping the arms of the chair so hard that they were making imprints. Alexander said nothing, stoically staring down at the empty stage.
Alexander was being so terse, so stiff, so unlike his normal self. But Oliver, of course, had no choice but to follow, no matter how badly he wanted to dig in his heels and not go. He feared that any struggle right now would not be met with Alexander's gentle spell correcting him, but with something far worse.
They made their way around the theater in silence, entering the box and entering the presence of Alexander's sire.
He looked upon Alexander with harsh judgement in his eyes, which Alexander took stoically, and then he looked upon Oliver with...
It was something like approval, perhaps even the ghost of a smile, and it was somehow even worse than his look of disdain.
"Good evening, sire," said his master with a practiced bow. "Was the ballet to your liking?"
"It was passable," the Maestro said, his voice like a musical instrument from another place and time. "While far from perfection, the bold direction was at least more interesting than what usually passes for art in this city. Unusually, I find myself craving the new more and more these days." He was staring at Oliver, not Alexander, as he said this.
"It seems as though you've spent the last few seasons confined to your chambers, sire," said Alexander, with measured words. "That may account for your desire for novelty."
"...A fair observation, child," he said. "Let's speak more of the new and novel, then. This must be your recently acquired thrall, young Oliver, is it not? I've heard that there was quite a stir at the auction house."
"He has very fine blood, sire, as you no doubt can tell. He is naturally docile and obedient, and has great potential."
The Maestro nodded slowly as he looked Oliver up and down. "Come, Oliver. Kneel."
Oliver's breath caught as he felt the tug on his body, puppet strings entangling his arms and legs, as he stepped forward. He remembered his master's words, and had been bracing himself for this, willing himself to relax and stay calm. Oliver would be unharmed, Alexander thought, as long as he behaved. So he didn't resist as his body fell to its knees before the Maestro, his posture straight, his hands clasped in his lap, his head tilted slightly downward, demure.
Alexander's sire took him by the chin and brought his face upwards, his fingers delicate and cold. He examined Oliver as though he were a specimen under glass, searching every inch of him for something that Oliver didn't understand. Oliver could feel the control wrapped around him, as though his very heart was forced to beat in time with the Maestro's whims.
"You've made an appropriate choice for once, Alexander," said the Maestro after what seemed like an eternity. "This is a fine acquisition, and you were quite right to not let him fall into the hands of the likes of Jameson. Well done, child."
Alexander looked every bit as surprised as Oliver felt. "Thank you, sire."
"In fact, I find myself inspired for a new acquisition of my own. As you've correctly observed, existence has become ever so dreary, and I need a new diversion." He leaned back in his seat. "Which is why you're going to pluck the prima ballerina from her perch."
Oliver nearly choked on his breath as Alexander's eyes went even wider. "The ballerina from this show, sire?" he said in a strained tone. "I don't mean to question you, but are you absolutely sure? She's well known and her absence will certainly be noticed."
"Of course. Don't take me for a fool by stating the obvious." His glare was boring a hole into Alexander. "It doesn't matter how well known she is. Once she's in my grasp, she will not be found."
"Yes, sire. My apologies."
"You must fetch her for me. Your power is much gentler than mine, befitting a lovely flower. Bring her here, so that she may dance for me and only me."
Oliver couldn't help his gaze flitting over to his master, who seemed to be struggling to keep his composure. Was he actually going to do it? Simply kidnap the ballerina, on his sire's orders?
"As you wish, sire," he said, meekly. "Oliver, come along."
"No, that won't be necessary," said the Maestro, laying his hand on top of Oliver's head before he could stand up. "I will be content to watch over your thrall while you take care of business."
The hand on his head felt oppressive, and Oliver fought down the urge to beg his master not to leave him here, alone with his sire -- to not steal away a dancer with a bright future and plunge her into a nightmare. But he could already tell from the look on his master's face that he was going to follow his sire's wishes.
"Thank you for watching over him, sire. I will return with your new thrall."
With that, his master left the box, and Oliver was left alone with his master's sire, whose full focus had turned back to him. The Maestro ran his hand through Oliver's hair, and then tilted his head up to look at him once more.
"Hm, yes, a precious find indeed," he said, more to himself than to Oliver. "You will answer my questions truthfully, child. Do you fear me?"
The correct answer, Oliver thought, was to tell the Maestro that he did not fear him, that he was always happy to serve a vampire. But Alexander had warned him so strictly about being honest... "Yes, sir."
"Good. You're correct to do so," he said, apparently satisfied. "What do you fear from me?"
That question was far more complex, a half million nightmare scenarios crowding Oliver's mind at once. "Many things, sir," he said. "Primarily that I'm aware that you have the power to harm me at any time, in any way you wish. I hope you will be merciful, sir."
"Merciful, hm." He seemed as though he were considering an idea he'd never heard of before, and Oliver worried he'd overstepped. "Well, you have been honest so far, so I will be honest with you, child. If you continue to be as truthful and obedient as you are now, I will have no reason to do you harm tonight."
"Thank you, sir," said Oliver, not feeling all that reassured. He felt the control over his body loosen, but before he could move, he realized what the meaning of this was when combined with his previous words -- this was a test, an obvious one at that. He steadfastly remained in the position the Maestro had placed him, trying to keep his posture straight.
"Perhaps I'm in a rare good mood from the fine night air and a half-decent ballet, but I find myself enjoying you, child. Do not take this as an invitation to be bold," he said in his musical voice. "Tell me, do you like being enthralled by my Alexander?"
Although his feelings on this were somewhat complicated, the first response that came to mind was both safe and sufficiently honest. "Yes, sir, I like it very much."
"Does he treat you well?" the Maestro intoned.
"Yes, sir," said Oliver with uncertainty, increasingly worried about this line of questioning. "I want for nothing, and the feedings are gentle and pleasant."
"I see. And does he afford you a great deal of freedom?"
So that's where this was leading. He was trying to get Oliver to admit to his master's soft treatment of him, no doubt so his master could be scolded or punished. His instinct was to protect Alexander -- to tell the Maestro that Alexander was very strict and kept him on a tight leash.
But Alexander had been adamant that Oliver must be honest, and he felt sick at the idea of disobeying a direct order from his master. "He offers me some freedoms, but not others, sir."
"Elaborate. What freedoms do you have?"
"I am not allowed to leave his manor, sir, but I am allowed to inhabit any part of it, except for my master's private chambers. When I am not feeding or waiting on my master, I am given free time to do what I wish." His heart thumped. He knew that was the wrong answer. He fought to keep himself in position, and felt the claws of control tightening around him again.
The Maestro's gaze drilled into his soul. "That is disappointing, but wholly unsurprising," he said after a long, tense minute. "Interestingly, that's the first time I've felt any sort of resistance against my control. You're otherwise obeying perfectly. Why choose that moment to struggle?"
"I want to be honest, as you ordered, sir, but I also don't want to say anything that could bring down punishment upon my master."
"Loyalty, then. An instinct to protect your master. Despite his continued shortcomings, he seems to have done a passable job when it came to enthralling you, especially compared to previous thralls," he said. "That's also my sweet Lily's work. I could sense it in you from the moment you opened your mouth. Obedient, loyal, but with too many thoughts in your head, as is her preference. Unfortunate, really." He gave Oliver a long look. "I suppose it can't be helped. For once my wayward children have brought me something worthwhile. You can always be perfected in time."
Oliver's heart filled with dread. "...Thank you, sir," he said, not knowing what else to say to that.
Before the awkward interaction could continue, Oliver heard a gorgeous, ethereal voice coming from outside of the box. He breathed it in deep, and it filled his mind with a sensation like morning fog, dampening the racing thoughts that the Maestro had criticized. The melody was beckoning him, wrapping around his limbs, enticing him to stand and follow.
Alexander. His master had returned. Follow me, follow me, he sang, a vampiric pied piper.
The pull of his song was strong enough that his master's previous command to obey the Maestro and not resist was completely overridden. He would have sleepwalked to Alexander's side in a heartbeat if it weren't for the Maestro's control preventing him, weighing down his body even as his heart yearned, and Oliver felt that he might be torn in two if this continued.
The struggle was ended when Alexander entered the box and bowed to his sire. Behind him was a young woman, thin but athletic, wearing a simple house dress that contrasted sharply with her dramatic stage makeup and the elaborate hairdo that was halfway to falling down.
It was, of course, the prima ballerina, who had apparently been ensorcelled in her dressing room, just after changing out of her elaborate costume. Her eyes were so far away, so dreamy, as she walked gracefully, a soft smile on her lips.
Oliver's heart sank. He knew from experience how hard it was to escape Alexander's power -- and even worse, she was being given over to the Maestro's thrall. She might never see the stage again, never dance for an audience, never see her family or friends, never laugh and talk with her fellow dancers after a rehearsal. She was to be locked away like a doll in a music box, rotating slowly on command, and she most likely didn't even realize her fate yet.
The Maestro rose from his seat and wordlessly examined her as he had done to Oliver. Alexander was still humming something under his breath, something intended to keep the ballerina calm, and Oliver let the spell soften his thoughts as well, all too eager to dissociate from this scene.
He watched as, with the slightest change in expression and quirk of an eyebrow, the ballerina struck one pose, then another. She was nearly up on her toes despite wearing slippers and not proper shoes, twirling so slowly, and although her face maintained a placid expression, there was fear in her eyes, now.
"Acceptable," the Maestro murmured, as she turned and assumed a different pose. "This will do for a diversion this winter, I think. Well done once more, Alexander."
"Thank you, sire."
"It's been a long time since I've come calling, hasn't it? I do believe I have the evening after next free. I trust I'll be offered quality refreshments?" He gazed at Oliver meaningfully, as the meaning of his words penetrated through the fog.
This strange, distressing vampire wanted to drink from him. Surely his master wouldn't allow that. Surely he was only for Alexander.
"...Very well, sir," said Alexander through gritted teeth. "You're welcome at my manor at any time, of course."
"Excellent. You're dismissed, then. Take your sweet Oliver home, and I'll take my new prize." He picked the ballerina up as effortlessly as he might a kitten, and she lay unmoving in his grasp.
"Good night, sire."
"Good night, child."
Prev > Masterlist > Next
Well, this went well.
Next week, Fitz has a plan.
@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada @typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia @a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @enigmawriteswhump @foresttheblep @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot @cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps @tauntedoctopuses @secret-vampkissers-soiree @whatamidoingherehelpme @strawbearydreams @ghost-whump
#whump#whump writing#vampire whump#mind control#body control#vampire whumper#ballet whump#rare bookseller#alexander#oliver#maestro
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Okay so, I don’t think the Emperor was ever Alexander the Great. Since the historical facts simply don’t add up.
Even around the time of the actual historical Alexander’s death there were still other kingdoms and places that he could have conquered. This is just the Emperor lying to his son to seem more cooler than he actually is. But he’s making the mistake of saying that he was a very famous historical figure, since anyone with a good enough knowledge of that historical figure can disprove his claim.
But the quote about Alexander weeping does exist outside of the warhammer novels, specifically here:
So in conclusion, while there’s absolutely no chance that the Emperor was Alexander the Great, there’s definitely a possibility that the Emperor watched Die Hard (1988) and decided to quote it to his son. Which, to me, feels way more in character for him
#what historical figure could he have actually been? Ea-nasir#wh40k#warhammer#warhammer 40k#warhammer 4000#god emperor of mankind#emperor of mankind#horus lupercal#warhammer lore
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Hello professor! I know you made a list of recommendations of historical fiction books about Alexander, but do you have any more? I've read all the ones you recommended and I'm going to be on a long flight soon, I need to feed my obsession lol
I think that was the list of 5?
You might look for Ruth Kozak's IN THE SHADOW OF THE LION series. It's not about Alexander; it's the Successors right after, but she does her homework, so you might enjoy that. :-) She's actually lived in Greece.
In addition to Judith Tarr's Lord of the Two Lands, try her Bring Down the Sun, which is about Olympias.
For a fun translation...I recommend Kate Elliott's Unconquerable Sun, which is a gender-flipped Alexander Space Opera. (Have fun figuring out who is whom...although not everybody is gender flipped.) The second part, Furious Heaven (which I've read in draft), is coming out in April (you can preorder it).
Last, for a look at Alexander from the other direction, try Scott Oden's Memnon.
Happy reading!!!
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Anonymous asked: I just read saw your suggestion to serialize a large story instead of chopping it into smaller books. This idea sounds great! Is there any site/method you recommend? Or somewhere to find more info on the topic? I have been thinking of Wattpad, but I feel like original stories and those that aren't romance, go unnoticed against the fandom/romance content.
Kindle Vella and Radish are two popular platforms for publishing episodic stories or serials. Tapas, Yonder, and Inkitt are others. I'm not sure about which genres do best where, but they're all worth looking into.
As for Wattpad, although romance and fan-fiction do really well there, YA, fantasy, sci-fi, and supernatural are all said to do well there also. Mystery/thriller are said to be gaining traction there as well.
Here are some articles to Google with some great information:
-- How to Write Serialized Fiction for Kindle Vella by Jill Williamson (via Go Teen Writers)
-- How to Write a Serialized Story: 4 Reasons to Write Serial Fiction (via MasterClass)
-- The Joys (and Perils) of Serial Novel Writing by Will Willingham (via Jane Friedman)
-- Serial Writing, An FAQ by Alexander Wales
-- Plotting Addictive Serials Workshop + Free Serial Fiction Outlining Sheet (via Storytellers Rule the World on YouTube)
-- PLOT A STORY | Story Structure for Serials + FREE TEMPLATES (Scrivener) (via Author Brittany Wang on YouTube)
Happy writing!
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Between the Lines - pt. I
tbhc!alex x reader
this chapter is bascially a slow burn, fluffy vibe charged w some sexual tension between the reader who is in college n our beloved alix who becomes her editor.
warnings: age gap, alex is 33, reader is in her 20's, cursing, alcohol.
In the heart of the university campus, a quaint café served as a haven for students. Seated at a cozy corner table Y/N and her best friend, Sophie, found comfort in the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the hum of hushed conversations.
The soft glow of pendant lights cast a warm ambiance over mismatched wooden furniture, creating a warm atmosphere. Amidst the rustling of students immersed in textbooks and the distant murmur of espresso machines, Y/N and Sophie navigated the labyrinth of academia.
"Ugh, I suck," you groaned, holding your English lit paper in your hands.
"You don't," said Sophia.
"I got a C, Soph."
"Didn’t you do this on three hours of sleep?" she looked at you.
"Yeah," you grumbled.
"You'll do better next time."
"Ugh. I know. It's just such a blow to my confidence," you said, sipping on your ginger tea.
"I know. But this grade doesn't determine your skills. You're great at writing," she said, swirling her spoon in her iced coffee.
"Well. That's debatable," you replied.
She glared at you.
"Fine, fine. I'll stop talking shit about myself," you rolled your eyes.
"Good." She said pleased with your answer.
You scanned the coffee shop and saw students going about their normal routines. Some of them were hurrying to get to their lectures on time. Others were lazing around in their seats, talking to their friends. Chatter filled the room as you let out a stressed out sigh. You sulked, not knowing how you were gonna recover from this grade.
"Anyway, as I was telling you. I asked my dad about Mr. Turner. He said you can give him a call and ask him to check out your novel."
"Oh god,” you groaned. “I mean-thank you so much. I don't wanna seem ungrateful, I just-I don't know. It feels awkward showing someone my short novel. If you can even call it that,” you rambled.
"I get it. I get embarrassed when I show my tutor my paintings. And he always has something to say," she said, rolling her eyes.
"Soph, your paintings are incredible. And your guy is good."
"That's true," she said, a light blush coloring her cheeks.
You smiled at her. You loved your best friend. You met in high school and became close friends senior year. You used to spend hours at each other's places, watching shows and mulling over the characters. She was one of the few people who was there for you through thick and thin and you weren't afraid to show your vulnerable side to her, insecurities and all.
"I'll send you his phone number and you can contact him whenever."
"Okay. Will do." You said, scrunching your face.
"If you don't do it, I will.”
"Ugh, I'll do it, I promise."
"I'll hold you to it."
"I can't wait to go out on Friday. I need to get drunk and forget," you groaned.
"Same. We've been too stressed out lately. We need to let loose," Sophie added.
You and Sophie had a tradition. No matter the circumstances you always went out on the weekend. You often drank alcohol at your favorite bar or club and danced until your feet were numb and your hearts were pounding. Then you stumbled to one of your dorms and ate junk food or watched a shitty movie.
Sophie looked down at her phone, her clock reading 1:47 PM.
"Well, I have to run. I have Literary Criticism soon,” she remarked.
"With Mr. spits when he talks?" you replied.
"That's the one," she said, letting out an exaggerated sigh.
You chuckled. "Good luck."
"I’ll see you later," she leaned down, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek.
You, on the other hand, finished your lectures for the day. Your Mondays weren't as rough, consisting of only two lectures in the morning and god, were you thankful for that.
Your eyes darted to your phone screen, after you received a notification from Sophie.
Alexander Turner
+378 09 998 890
Anxiety gnawed at you. You took a deep breath and told yourself It’s fine. He gets paid for this kind of job. He’s probably seen worse writing.
You decided to be brave and text him as there's no way you were calling him.
Hello Mr. Turner. Peter Herring recommended you as an editor. I am currently working on a short novel and I am interested in hiring you. Would you be interested in that? Thank you in advance.
You typed it out, reading it again. You erased the words ‘short novel’ leaving it blank.
"Ugh." You said out loud. You decided to retype it and send it without thinking too much, letting out a sigh of relief.
As you were scrolling on your phone, it suddenly started vibrating and a number appeared. It read Mr. Turner.
Oh god. Why the hell is he calling me? Doesn’t this guy know how to text?
You answered your phone hesitantly, bringing it to your ear.
"Hello?" you said.
"Hi." a low voice spoke.
"Um. Is this Mr. Turner?"
"Yeah. What's your name, love? You didn't introduce yourself," he said in a thick British accent.
"Oh-um, I'm (Y/N)."
"Alright, (Y/N). You're interested in hiring an editor, is that correct?"
"Yes."
"Great. How's Wednesday evening work for you? 7pm, my office? We can discuss the details then."
"Um, Wednesday evening? Yeah I'm good with that," you said.
"Alright. I'll send you my address then. Don't forget your novel," he added.
"Yes. Thank you," you sputtered.
And with that he hung up the phone. You stood there bewildered at this phone call. You just agreed to go to this random man's office on a Wednesday. You had no idea he was british. Why didn't Soph tell you he was british?
Well I guess you have an editor now.
*
In the sanctuary of your dormitory, you and Sophie nestled on your sofa as you found comfort beneath your favorite blanket.
"I had no idea he was british! His accent was so thick Soph. Like, I had never heard it before."
Sophie was laughing at you. "I thought I mentioned it."
"Well you didn't. Nothing could have prepared me for that. He was so swift and straight to the point. Skipped all the usual bullshit."
"Yep, that's Turner for you," she replied.
"How did your dad meet him again?" you inquired.
"Oh, he was his student in college. Mr. Turner lived in London for a few years and then moved here after my dad recommended him for this sort of writing position," she shrugged.
"Huh. That's interesting," you said. "Hey, what does this guy look like?" you asked, your curiosity peaking.
"Hmm. Let me show you his Facebook," she said.
"His Facebook?" you asked, furrowing your brows in confusion.
"What? He doesn't have Instagram. He's in his 30s." she added.
"Right," you nodded. You got up and sat next to her, both of you staring at her phone. She found his Facebook page and clicked on his photos.
"He's kinda cute," you said, breaking the silence. Sophie chuckled at your reaction. "He’s good looking," she shrugged.
He had big brown eyes and medium length hair that went past his ears, down to the nape of his neck. His beard seemed neat and trimmed.
"Don't get any ideas now," she looked at you, teasing. "I'm not. I want to see how he looks like so I'm not completely blind sided when I get there."
"Anyway," you continued. "Do you wanna sleep over tonight? My roomie's not here."
"Oh my gosh, yes. I'll go grab my stuff," she exclaimed. "Okay," you said in a singsong and slumped down on your sofa, stretching out your legs.
You couldn't help but feel jittery for Wednesday. You let your thoughts wander for a little, wondering what he was like.
*
The week was passing quickly, and it was finally Wednesday. You were preparing to leave and go to Mr. Turner's place. To say you were a little nervous would be an understatement. Your palms were sweaty, and you weren't sure what you were wearing was appropriate.
You questioned if you looked like you were trying too hard as you opted for baggy brown suit pants and a red shirt with long sleeves.
Ugh. I'm sure he doesn't give a rat's ass about what I'm wearing.
As you put on your big leather jacket and wrapped a black scarf around your neck, the words he spoke echoed in your mind. "Don't forget your novel." As you went back to your room, you made sure to grab your novel and quickly stuffed it into your tote bag as well as your dorm keys. You couldn't help but wonder if any of his clients had ever forgotten theirs.
You decided to take the bus to his office and followed the instructions he texted you.
102 Ave Street. Nr. 32. If you have difficulties finding it, call me.
As you strolled around the neighborhood, you spotted a house with the number 32. You walked past his charming little garden and couldn't help but admire how nicely maintained it was.
Now, standing in front of his door, a mix of excitement and nerves crept over you. Unsure of whether to give a knock or press the doorbell, anticipation filled the air. You decided to knock.
As you took a moment to take in your surroundings, the sound of the door being opened reached your ears. Stepping into the view was a figure of a pale man.
"Uh, hello," you said, extending your hand for him to shake. "Good evening," he said, a slight awkward smile on his face. He glanced down at your hand for a few seconds before finally reaching out to shake it.
"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Turner," you said, maintaining the handshake. "Likewise. Please, come inside and feel at home," he invited you.
"Thank you," you quietly replied as you stepped into his house, though a slight feeling of uncertainty lingered. It almost felt like intruding. "This way to my office," he directed, gesturing towards the left.
"Would you like a drink? Coffee or tea?" he asked. "Uh, tea would be fine. Thanks."
As you walked into his office, you settled into one of the inviting chairs positioned near his desk. Your gaze wandered to the oak wood bookcase that adorned the room, its shelves overflowing with a collection of books. Your eyes were drawn to the carefully placed plants that created a warm and inviting atmosphere. You wondered if anyone else lived in this house, although it seemed empty by the looks of it.
"Here you go," he interrupted your thoughts, setting down a mug with hot tea. "I brought you ginger. I don't know if you like it or not," he said with a serious tone. "Oh, that's my favorite actually," you said, smiling awkwardly.
"Great. Careful, it's hot," he looked at you and gave you a half smile. You blushed a little and brought the mug to your mouth, taking a sip. "So, did you bring your novel?" he said, staring at you.
You tried to speak and swallow at the same time and ended up choking on your drink. You coughed for a few minutes as Alex stared at you, his face laced with concern.
"Erm.." he shifted so he could tap your back. "Try to look up. It should help," he said.
You followed his instructions and looked up at the ceiling, coughing. Your throat seemed to calm down.
"S-sorry," you barely managed to say. "No worries. You alright?"
"Yes," you exhaled and took out the novel, handing it to him, trying to move past the awkward situation. "Thank you," he muttered.
He took your novel and opened it, setting it down on the desk. Your legs were only a few centimeters away from each other. You shifted slightly, not wanting to invade his personal space.
You realized he hadn't asked you to send him your novel and wondered if you had made a mistake. Perhaps you should have asked him about it.
"Um... should I have sent a digital copy of it to you?" you questioned. "No, it's quite alright. I prefer reading it in front of my clients," he said, his gaze not leaving the book.
You felt awkward, to say the least. It wasn’t pleasant having someone read your work right in front of you. Especially when you thought editors usually familiarize themselves with your work beforehand.
You fumbled with your fingers, unsure what to do with yourself. Bringing the hot mug to your lips, you took a few sips. Your eyes wandered around the room and settled on Alex. He looked like he was studying your work, wearing a serious expression on his face, his eyebrows furrowed.
He looked handsome. When a few strands of hair fell on his face, he tucked them behind his ear. You felt your cheeks heat up and looked away before he could catch you staring.
As you anxiously awaited his response, doubts clouded your mind about whether any of the sentences you wrote were coherent. You nervously retrieved your phone from your bag, feeling the clamminess on your palms. However, before you could reach out to a friend, he abruptly spoke up.
“S’good,” he looked up at you nodding. “Really? But you didn’t read that much.." you weren't sure what to say.
“I don’t need to. I can see that it’s straightforward and has a clear direction. It’s a bit wordy though and needs some work.” He added.
“Oh, okay,” you nodded. He noticed you slumped a little and found it endearing. He had to remind himself of your age and sensitivity.
“But don’t fret. It’s nothing we can’t fix,” he said, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “Right,” you smiled politely. You looked at him for a split-second and then glanced down at your hands.
“Well. I need to read the rest of your novel now. I only wanted to give you a clear picture of what we were gonna do in the upcoming weeks and how this works,” you nodded.
“For now we can meet once every two weeks and then see how your work progresses. Does Wednesday work for you, around this time?” “Uh-yes. I can do that.”
“Perfect. I want to recommend two books for you to read that could help you with your writing. Could you grab “On Writing”, by Stephen King from the bookshelf there?” he pointed to a book with a brown hardcover.
You stood up and spotted the book he was talking about. “This one?” you asked. “Yes. And also the “Bird by Bird” on your left.” You looked around but didn’t see the book he was talking about.
He stood up, approaching you, his chest pressing lightly against your back. His hand reached out just above your head, and a tantalizing scent reached your nose. The subtle blend of cigarette smoke and lavender emerged from his clothing.
“That’s your right,” he said behind you, amused. “Oh, right,” you chuckled awkwardly.
He got back to his desk and handed you the book, your fingers grazing his.
“You don’t need to read these in over a week. This isn’t school,” he chuckled. “But they should help you improve and explore different methods of writing.”
“Thank you, Mr. Turner,” you mumbled. “Oh, feel free to call me Alex,” he said. “Okay. Alex,” you replied.
You felt strange saying his name in such a casual manner. It felt like you were talking to a friend your age, not a 30 something year old accomplished editor and god knows what else.
“Oh uh, how do I pay for this?” “My secretary will contact you for that. The first session was meant for us to get acquainted and make sure that we are a good fit."
“Great,” you said. “Alright.” He looked at you. “Right. Then I’ll be going. Thank you, again. It was nice meeting you,” you mumbled.
“It was nice meeting you too,” he smiled and guided you to the door. You waved goodbye, and exited his house, the cold autumn air surrounding you. Well, now you really have an editor.
*
Alex didn't expect, well, you. He knew you were younger but god, were you a pretty little thing. His usual clients were a lot older and well, half of them were men.
He tried not to get carried away as his mind swirled with different thoughts about you. He didn't want to be creepy and he never wanted to give you that impression. So he tried his best to be professional.
But you were making it so hard. With your pouty lips and your fumbling hands every time you waited for a response from him. You wore these perfectly fitting tops that hugged your body. Occasionally when you moved around, the fabric would subtly reveal a glimpse of your midriff, making it impossible not to gawk at you. He thought you were simply adorable.
"So, how are your classes going? Anyone giving you trouble?" He asked, genuinely interested. "They're going well," you trailed off, sighing.
"It's one of my professors. I don't think he likes me," you murmured. "Who?" he asked.
"Professor Miller," you slumped a little. "Oh. Well I don't think he likes anyone if that makes you feel any better," you laughed. "No but seriously, what’s the problem?" he asked.
"I have the lowest grade in his class," you said, rolling your eyes, a little embarrassed to admit. "Grades aren't everything (Y/N). I've had my fair share of shitty grades too."
"What if I just suck though?" you asked, finding it unbelievable how comfortable you felt talking to him after knowing him only for a few weeks. "Nah. I would have dropped you by now," he teased you.
You gasped. “I’m only joking. You have a lot of potential,” he said, softly gazing into your eyes.
You smiled, feeling at ease.
"If you want I can help you with your assignments. Give you tips and such. Free of charge," he joked.
Both of you couldn't help but notice that your knees were touching but you felt comfortable staying close.
"Are you sure?" you asked. "Yeah. What else am I gonna do with my time?" he said. "Thanks," you said, feeling like this is beginning to border on inappropriate. But you didn't care.
"How about tomorrow, after your classes, you come by and we can see what we can do."
You nodded. "Okay. Sounds great."
*
You had entranced him. He knew it was inappropriate. He was your editor, after all. And much older than you. But he couldn't help it. He couldn't stand the idea of any of these college guys having you. You were too good. Too sweet.
He wanted to be the one who owned you. He often imagined what it would be like to graze your delicate skin with his fingers. Make you shiver under his touch. Or how you mouth would feel around his coc-
"I hate writing!" you exclaimed, getting up from his couch and pacing around. You guys had moved from his office to his living room. He wanted you to feel comfortable.
He listened to you intently as you explained what you meant to convey in your latest pages. He could have easily done this over an email, but no, he had to see you. Your low voice, sweet like honey, reached his ears.
You sighed. "I don't know. I feel like I'm losing sight of my story. I have no idea what to do next." You said, biting your lip.
"Maybe you should leave it be," Alex replied.
"Huh?" you questioned.
"Well you've been working really hard at it lately. When was the last time you did something else you were passionate about?"
"I-," you paused, "I don't know," you mumbled, sitting down next to him again.
"See? You need to forget about it for a while. Create some distance."
You mulled over his words. "Is that what you do?"
"Course. Every artist does."
You looked at him like the world hung on his lips.
"Yeah. I can try that," you said, a worried expression on your face.
"No," he laughed. "Don't take this as another assignment. I mean really forget about it. Do something that doesn't make you think about writing."
You thought about it for a while and asked "Like what?"
He hesitated. "Well." Fuck it, he thought. "I have two tickets to the theater tonight," he raised his eyebrows slightly. "One of my friends canceled on me and you can join me if you want.”
His gaze met yours as you registered what he asked you. He looked at you, biting his lip, worrying if he had been too forward.
"What's the play about?" you asked, caving in. He tried to contain his smile and continued "It's ballet. The last swan lake."
"Oh, I've always wanted to see that," you said. "Great. We can meet in front of the theater at 7:30. That alright?" he asked.
"Yeah. Sounds good," you replied, trying to contain your enthusiasm. "I'll see you later then."
*
As you were getting ready in your small bathroom, you couldn't help but feel nervous about tonight, butterflies swirling in your stomach. We can meet for a drink beforehand, if you want. My treat. He told you a few hours ago, wearing a shy smile.
You had reluctantly agreed. You wanted to spend time with him so badly but you felt like you were doing something wrong. You hadn’t even told Sophie yet.
You got dressed, slipping on your silky tights past your legs. You decided to wear a delicate black dress with long sleeves that exposed your plush thighs. Pairing it with your leather jacket and your red scarf, you slung your small handbag over your shoulder, getting ready to leave.
You decided to take your earphones with you and listen to music to calm your nerves.
When you arrived at the charming bar he had picked, you flung the door open and entered. lThe cozy ambience enveloped you as you stepped inside, a welcoming contrast to the crisp evening air outside.
Alex, already seated at a secluded corner table, looked up from his menu, a genuine smile spreading across his face as he caught sight of you entering.
As you made your way towards him, the gentle flicker of candlelight played on the edges of his features. "You made it," he said, rising from his seat and pulling your chair out for you.
“Thanks,” you mumbled, your cheeks rosy from the cold. You sat down, not knowing what to do with your hands or where to look. This felt strangely intimate.
“What do you want to drink?” he asked you.
“Uh. What are you getting?” you replied.
“Probably a beer.” He said.
“I guess I’ll get a glass of white wine then,” you replied, feeling somewhat awkward. You didn’t expect in a million years to have drinks with your editor.
“You sure? You can get anything you want. Like I said, it’s my treat.” He smiled.
“Thank you. Yeah I’m good,” you replied bashfully.
After the waiter brought your drinks you started delving into conversation.
"So, um, tell me more about yourself," Alex prompted, his gaze lingering on you.
You giggled, sipping your drink. "Well, there's not much to tell. Just a struggling student trying to make it out alive."
He chuckled, taking a sip of his drink. "From what I've seen, there's more than meets the eye."
You met his gaze, and the air shifted, charged with an unspoken tension. "You know, I never expected my editor to be someone who could make me forget about writer's block."
He raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. "Maybe I'm just that good at my job."
The conversation flowed effortlessly, weaving between discussions of literature, shared interests, and personal anecdotes. As the night progressed, the topics ventured into more intimate territories, the subtle dance of words revealing layers beneath the surface.
"You have this way of making the mundane sound interesting," you remarked, now both on your second drink. You could feel your face heat up from the alcohol.
Alex leaned in, his gaze intense yet inviting. "Maybe it's the company that makes it interesting."
The words lingered in the air, a palpable tension settling between you. Unspoken desires sparked beneath the surface.
"Well, I find the company interesting too," you replied.
A hint of a smirk crossed Alex's face as he took a sip of his drink. "Careful now," he said. "Interesting company can be quite... distracting."
A subtle blush crept onto your cheeks. "Distracting can be a good thing." you replied.
"What are you distracting yourself from?" he asked, his gaze lingering on yours.
“I’m not sure. Everyone has problems, I guess,” you looked down at your hands.
“Anything you want to share?” he asked.
“Wouldn’t want to bore you,” you chuckled.
“You could never,” he replied, his tender eyes meeting yours. You stared at each other for a few seconds before you cleared your throat and looked at the time. “Oh, I think we should get going,” you said.
“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Alex said and he gestured to the waiter for the bill. You thanked him for the drinks and promised you would return the favor next time you saw him. He agreed but knew he wouldn’t let you pay for anything, especially since you were just a student.
You had an amazing time seeing "Black Swan" at the theater. The ballet was captivating, and the music was incredible. You also noticed Alex glancing at you a few times throughout the show.
After the show, Alex walked you to your cab. Under the streetlights, there was a quiet moment filled with something more than words. You exchanged a look that said it all, a shared understanding between you. As you got into the cab, Alex stood on the sidewalk with a thoughtful smile and waved goodbye.
When you arrived at your dorm, your phone vibrated.
Did you get home safely? - Mr Turner.
Your heart fluttered.
Yes.
Great. Good night.
Night.
After washing your face and brushing your teeth, you huddled into your bed and drifted off to sleep, embracing your pillow. The night ushered you into a world of dreams.
#next chapter will be angsty and smutty smut smut i got yall#arctic monkeys#alex turner#alex turner x reader#alex turner fanfic#alex turner fic#tbhc#tbhc alex turner#alex turner x y/n#idk if there r any mistakes but fuq it i guess ive been looking at it for so long
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Funeral Games by Mary Renault [A Review]
Funeral Games showcases Mary Renault’s strengths as an historical novelist. It is entertaining but delivered with reassuring attention to historical facts. It covers a fascinating, turbulent period of history that readers will enjoy seeing brought to life
Funeral Games is the tense, dynamic conclusion to Mary Renault’s Alexander Trilogy. With Alexander the Great in a coma, his empire is under threat of unravelling even faster that it was formed. Allies in battle will quickly turn into enemies as opportunities for enormous wealth and power emerge but the window to achieve them will close just as suddenly.
Alexander the Great is on his death bed…
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The year is 323 BCE, and Alexander the Great begins to fear… Join the legendary hero on his journey for the elusive Water of Life in Book 1 of ALEXANDER, THE SERVANT, AND THE WATER OF LIFE by @reimenaashelyee
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✨ ANNOUNCEMENT
Thank you everyone who waited during the hiatus (a hiatus prompted by postgraduate studies RIP)! I'm excited to announce that Book Two is DROPPING SOON!!
The tentative date is at the end of this month, as soon as I settle down from travelling for a book tour and Lunar New Year family / birthday* shenanigans. Book Two is going to be a wild one, and will be the start of all the ambitious visual and narrative promises I hinted at in Book One. It will be a slow, one page a week update until I get my bearings.
*it's also my birthday today :p (Feb 15)
Alexander, the Servant & the Water of Life is an award-winning adult historical webcomic and graphic novel about the life and legends of Alexander the Great. Fearing death, Alexander embarks on the quest for immortality, alongside a mysterious servant.
Book Two: Katabasis
Alexander the Great is led through a mysterious jungle of memory by a strange and haughty deity, encountering the many ghosts of his past in the years before he became king.
Book One: The Hero's Journey is completed and available to read for free online, or for a price in PDF and deluxe hardcover in English and French.
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I know we all joke about Napoleon and Alexander enemies to lovers to enemies tragic situationship but the thing is - if you really look at their background and personality, they ARE great narrative foils to each other.
Napoleon is like a definition of self-made man, the living proof you don’t need to be high born to be great. He lacked some social tact and could be at times crude, but very awe inspiring. He actively shaped his own destiny and the fate of the entire continent, but always felt like his humble beginnings were a reason for other European powers to see him as less than them.
But where Napoleon made himself emperor, Alexander is forced to be one (and over his dead dads body no less). Where Napoleon married for love (initially), Alexander’s wife was handpicked by his grandmother. He was famously charming and sweet since endearing himself to others became a bit of a survival mechanism growing up in court. But he felt powerless to choose anything for himself, felt jealous that someone like Napoleon could be a great conqueror without having a single drop of blue blood in him.
They both admired things in each other that they themselves lacked but that also ultimately became the rift in their relationship.
Anyway, is anyone going to write a tragic period romance novel based on them or-
#i’m so sorry for napoleonposting to my black sails mutuals like fr#i do not control the hyperfixation#napoleon bonaparte#alexander i of russia#napoleon#tsar alexander i#napoleonic wars
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