#and then i keep finding more cool books and wanting to reread my most beloveds | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sheep-and-lykos · 3 years

Text

In A Week’s Time: Elliot x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

VERY long Stardew Valley fic and I have fallen back in love with the game and Elliot.

Really just plain vanilla lovings below!

Song Choice: Not Just A Girl - She Wants Revenge

Summer. A scorching summer season had settled amongst the valley. Where others saw a reason to just flock to the beach and wade in the oceans or to take advantage of the museum's better quality air conditioner, you had been excited for this season to make profits. Sure, you had made a good profit off of spring's fresh crops what of strawberries and parsnips and bulbs of garlic all in a row; it was summer you were waiting for as well as many other farmers around. You could just imagine your crop fields full of patches of blueberries and of melons, peach and orange trees in full bloom as well as stalks of hops to keep the kegs full of aging beer (and let's not get started about the starfruit patches to which you'll be turning into wine by the end of their respected harvest).

You were out of bed before Elliott - which was rare as he's used to waking with the gulls cawing horribly before the sun even rises over the ocean's shore. The writer's eyes prying open to see you already out the door, flowing auburn hair a mess against the soft pillow covers, sticking to his chiseled face as he watched on in confusion as you bolted out of the front door. He squinted, grumbling something under his breath about how eager you were and quickly followed behind you.

The early summer morning breeze was cool, crisp, inviting as you overlooked the expanse of your farm from your porch. The sun barely peeking over the trees of the forest bordering the outskirts of the farm, bits of orange rays poking through, and twinkling off of the iridium sprinklers littered around, scarecrows still standing tall, protecting the now empty fields of dead spring crops.

The front door opened behind you, you peered over your shoulder to see your beloved husband standing there, squinting as the sun slowly rises over the horizon and spill into the farm. You always loved how squinty-eyed he was when he wakes, hair tied back. He was always so handsome, even when he had just woken up. You giggled, remembering how he had woken up when the spring had started and you had woken early to start planting the usual plots of strawberries, parsnips, and beans. The poor man had his shirt on backwards and nearly had his shoes on the wrong feet before you helped correct him. It was always so sweet of him to wake up early with you every crop season to help you clear and plant and water with you.

"My darling?" he mumbled behind you.

"It's summer, Elliott! Time for the biggest harvests of the year!" you proclaimed, puffing your chest out proudly.

"I'll make coffee," he nodded, leaving the front door open to allow your cat to slip outside and happily trot towards the barn and coop towards the south exit of your farm that leads to Marnie's ranch.

You smiled, watching him leave to the kitchen slowly, you snagged your trusty hoe that sat right by the front door and set off.

Around midday, you had retired back to the house where Elliott was waiting, radiating with excitement. He had just come back two hours ago from Pierre's store with many bags of seeds roped around his hands and wrists for you to start sowing. You climbed the stairs and overlooked the expanse of your farm with your husband. You both took in the tilled dirt ready to be watered after lunch. You were both excited to slowly be able to see the dull beige and browns and ochres of the farm's soil to slowly bloom vibrant greens and pinks and blues and yellows of fresh vegetation by the end of the season.

"Tired, my darling?" he stepped inside, allowing you to pass into your home.

"Not yet," you hummed.

"Good! I have wonderful news I'd love for you to hear," he chimed.

"Oh? And what would that be, Elliott?"

Leading you towards the kitchen, you noticed a large, square vanilla envelope bent in a slight curve. A glass mixing bowl sat a little ways away, most likely used to press out the envelope. It was opened, the obvious tear towards the top of the envelope, the contents gently pushed back inside. What looked to be a single sheet of paper was inside.

"Do you remember the genre of book you've inspired me to write, my love?" Elliott hummed.

You could remember that day clearly. Nearly two seasons had passed, the end of the scorching summer was settled on the land, the valley preparing for fall. The weather had cooled just a tad, but it was enough to warrant you a trip down to the beach for a dip in the ocean. Your crops were all done for the season, every last bundle of blueberries plucked, every melon uprooted, hot peppers and tomatoes picked from every patch you had planted. You were done for the rest of the season when it had come to the farm.

But as soon as you arrived at the beach, you had immediately lost all focus upon seeing Elliott's cabin. You had been meaning to visit, and before you could even realize it, you were knocking at his front door. The poet was surprised to see you, emerald green eyes widening in pure delight at the sight of a new visitor.

Auburn hair tied back by a vibrant green ribbon, delicate locks not long enough framed his face nicely. Sharp jawline freshly shaved, not a single hair missed nor a single blemish on his healthy tanned skin. A loose white button-up long sleeve shirt sat unbuttoned a bit on the top. His shirt had been tucked into a pair of loose black slacks. If you hadn't been blushing at the sight of a man as handsome as Elliott, you would've questioned him on why he decided to dress like a pirate.

Instead, he had roped you into an elegant conversation, allowing you to step into his cabin. Enchanted with his delicate words, you soon found yourself staring at him as he looked at you, groomed dark brows pulled up slightly as he waited for your answer.

He smirked as you shook your head slightly, clearing the fog from your mind as you suddenly found yourself in an embarrassing position.

"Sorry, excuse me," you stuttered, feeling your cheeks heat up.

Elliott simply chuckled softly. His silky voice filled your ears before he glanced back at you, a smile still tugging on his chiseled lips. Yoba, they looked so soft.

"It's this awful heat. I find myself losing my words too. I was asking you your favorite genre to read." "Oh!" You felt your stomach tighten into even tighter knots. "I... Romance I guess. I haven't really had a lot of time to sit down and read something proper like an actual book. Maybe a news article on my phone or something but..." "Romance? Ah, a classic form of literature! I find myself sinking into romantic novels myself, especially during a storm."

"Romance," you hummed.

He pulled the single piece of thick paper from the envelope, still a little curved from its time spent in the mailbox since early this morning.

"It's a very short notice for such big news, but I've been invited to do a reading tour for the book you've inspired me to write."

He handed you the piece of paper.

It was from his publisher, a full schedule on the bottom of the short notice. Every day was packed with readings to signings and meetups, all scheduled for one week.

Next week.

"You're leaving Saturday," you noted the date stamped at the very bottom, the following Sunday being his return.

"I am. But only for one week, my radiance." He paused for a moment, you looked up at him with wide eyes full of excitement. "Will you be alright? I'll be gone for one week and it's already the start of a new crop season for us-"

"Go on it! This is what you've wanted, yeah? I'll be fine!"

Elliott stared at you with slight shock, soon melting into a warm smile full of absolute love.

"I'll be here for the rest of the week, though. I'll still be here to help water what is not covered, help with your animals."

You nodded and looked back down at the paper in your hands. You noticed the time to leave on Saturday is missing.

"When do you leave Saturday?"

"I believe before noon."

Elliott produced one round-trip bus ticket from the envelope. The same company that brought you here to Pelican Town a little over two years ago.

Lo and behold, he would be leaving at ten o'clock in the morning.

Elliott plucked the schedule and ticket from your hands and placed them back on the counter. He quickly replaced the empty space between your hands, he filled them with his own. Grasping them tightly with his own, he pulled you closer to him.

His hands were strong, skin soft, fingertips scarred slightly from countless papercuts he's given himself from binge-reading new and old books on rainy days as well as spending countless and stressful days writing, editing, and rereading his work that he'll now read to many people out there in the world. You loved how nice his hands felt, warm, but not too warm to make your hands overheat. His hands were bigger than yours, enveloping them with their strong warmth as he pulled you closer until you both were pressed flush up against each other.

You caught whiffs of him. You always loved how Elliott smelled, from his shampoo and conditioner to the subtle hints of his aftershave and cologne. Pomegranate was the main node you would get (it was really the fruit that had started your acquaintance with him when he asked if you grew them on the farm) but he would also always smell somewhat like the sea. Sea salt in the ocean breeze, fresh and alive, and inviting like the ocean on a hot summer's day.

And looking at your husband before you, you could feel your body heat up even more. His hands slowly rising in temperature, slowly roasting your fingers and palms still a little cool from handling your iridium hoe. You swore you could feel little tingles sparking between the minute gaps between your fingers and palms, fireworks, explosions of nerves edging you both further and further closer to the end of the cliff until-

You both suddenly found yourselves suddenly tangled in each other's limbs. Bodies pressed flush up against each other, no room between your persons. Your breasts pressed firmly against his chest, stomachs with no gaps between, legs struggling to stand up properly and support each other.

Your hands snatched at the collar of Elliott's button-up, crisp and clean with no wrinkles in sight now sat crumbled in your grasping hands. Your fingers flexing, suddenly releasing the collar to claw and crawl to his broad shoulders, snatching at the thin, soft material by the handful, pulling him closer if that was any more possible.

Elliott's passion placed into his display of affections always seemed to catch you off guard. You knew Elliott was a passionate man the moment you met him, but as you grew to knew him and quickly fell for him, you learned that Elliott and romance went together like Gus and any event where he's able to serve the town. Elliott always made you feel loved, always made you feel beautiful. He may look like he belongs on the front of a romance novel cover with his god-like appearance, but damn it all if he doesn't know how to absolutely ravish you as the books would suggest.

One of Elliott's strong hands had come to the back of your head, agile fingers gently grasping at the back of your head, fingers wrapped around your locks, locking your heads together. The other went around to behind your shoulders. He grabbed at the back of your shirt, a fistful of cloth fabric teasing him whereas he teased you with a few tugs, threatening to rip your shirt right off of your body without another thought.

It wouldn't have been the first time he would have done that.

Elliott's lips seemed to be made for yours. Every kiss was perfect.

Elliott softly moaned into the kiss, the swaying weight between you two nearly had your legs fumbling, nearly allowing the two of you to fall over yourselves. Elliott pulled away for just a moment, emerald green eyes gazing into yours for a brief moment, lust filling his gorgeous hues the more he looked at you, a faint pink blush dashing over his chiseled cheeks. You could feel your face heating up as well, the apples of your cheeks suddenly scorching just looking at him right here, nose to nose with your loving husband.

He had quickly pulled you into another kiss, lips tenderly pressing against yours in a passionate embrace, lulling your legs to finally be able to move towards the bedroom.

It was sloppy, your backs pressing against the walls of the short hallway connecting the living room to your shared bedroom. Elliott had you pinned to the wall at one point, your head pushed to the side, mouth open as soft mewls and moans escaping from your slick lips as Elliott sucked at the nape of your neck. His large, strong hands were squeezing your wrists, your fingers limp yet curling as you felt him pressed his clothed erection brush against your person.

You both had managed to tear yourselves from the wall, suddenly another mess of tangled arms, hands grasping in hair and snatching at clothing until Elliott's nimble fingers had finally dipped under the bottom hem of your shirt, carefully peeling the hem up into a small curl of fabric until he could firmly grab at it with both hands. With a swift and sudden pull of his hands, you had suddenly found yourself topless in the sights of your beloved.

Flushing under his emerald gaze, Elliott had paused for a brief moment to look over your body, eyes scanning your form, lust slowly consuming his features the more he gazed at your form with fluttering eyes. Elliott hummed deep within his throat, hands coming up to cup at your shoulders. Hooking his thumbs under the straps of your bra, he delicately slid them off of the curve of your shoulders and crawled his fingers to the hooks behind your back. Your bra quickly came undone in his hands, the delicate lingerie now sliding off of your body with a tug of his agile hands and carelessly tossed over his shoulder.

The sight of your naked breasts alone was enough for Elliott to start to unravel more and more.

A coy little smirk fell upon your lips as you saw out of the corner of your eye the tenting in his pants, noting how the fabric was tightening more and more as the seconds ticked by.

"I hardly think it's fair for you to still be dressed while you're stripping off all of my clothes," you pointed out.

"My dearest, I believe you're right. How rude of me."

Elliott had complied with your statement, but he was a little shit. Nimble fingers that had just ravaged your top and bra off of your person within just a few seconds, had plucked the top two buttons of his shirt apart at a snail's pace; All with a devilish look in his eye as looked directly at you.

You flung yourself at him, hands grabbing the collar of his button-up and pulling his close to connect your lips once more. Elliott's hands moved from his shirt to grip at the sides of your head firmly, sinking his fingers into the locks of your hair. Your hands fumbled down to the rest of the buttons, fingers struggling to pluck them apart one by one until you had no more to unbutton. Your fingers brushed against his bare chest and abdomen, lightly sun-kissed skin, toned generously as the lean muscle under your fingertips flexed softly at your bare touch.

Elliott shrugged his button-up off of his shoulders and tossed it aside, the hunk of material sliding against the hardwood floors.

Elliott advanced towards you, pushing you backwards until the back of your knees bumped into the lip of the bed. You stumbled back a bit, losing your balance and falling back into the mattress, your body bouncing a bit as you landed on the springy mattress. Elliott smirked, enjoying as your breasts bounced with you.

Elliott's graceful fingers moved from your shoulders downward, fingers dancing down your body, past the curve of your breasts, and digging gently into the soft skin of your stomach until his fingers danced along the waistband of your pants. The button had suddenly slipped free and the zipper had been pulled down.

Elliott had leaned forward, you softly gasped when you felt his warm lips press gentle kisses down the center of your torso in a straight line, going from the bottom of your neck to in between the space of your breasts down to your belly button all while he had wrestled your pants out from under your rear. He worked your trousers down the length of your legs, eventually hitching them off from where they bunched up at your ankles and allowed the trousers to flop onto the floor, all while he was still trailing kisses right down your center.

He briefly looked up at you under a near curtain of auburn locks, emerald green hues amused at your heated face, wonderful lips smirking as you softly begged him to keep going.

His index fingers hooked around the delicate upper hemline of your underwear. Twisting his fingers just a bit to secure the hemline, he slowly pulled downwards, peeling your panties away from your pussy and down the length of your legs, soon joining your pants on the floor. The sight of you dripping wet, heat blooming from between your legs stirred Elliott onwards, but he remained collected; no matter how much he wished to absolutely ravage your body.

Elliott had stood up, you whined a bit as you immediately missed the feeling of his lips trailing up and down your torso, worshipping you, ravishing you with his soft kisses.

Your loving husband gripped the waistband of his own trousers and fiddled with the buckle of his leather belt. Shiny brass clicking a little at him fiddling and soon the long strip of punched leather slid out from the belt loops of his black slacks and was tossed onto your trousers pooling at his feet. You watched on in awe as he slowly dipped his hands under the waistband for just a brief second before plucking apart the button of his own pants and pulling the zipper down, revealing straining boxer-briefs.

You flushed at the outline hidden inside the confinements of his underwear. Cock straining, erect, yet tortured to be stuck into tightening underwear.

The black slacks dropped to the floor, Elliott nudging both his trousers and yours off to the side of the bed just out of the way. The matching black boxer-briefs looked awfully tight, you could only imagine the struggle Elliott was going through as he looked over your delightful form.

A few locks of auburn hair drifted out of place, some sticking to his slightly sweaty forehead while the others hung loose in his face, covering his eyes slightly. A faint blush still settled on his cheeks as he looked down at you with half-lidded eyes full of lust and desire.

"Elliott," you cooed, your body heating up.

Your gut was coiling, heat pooling more around your pussy, your stomach feeling full of butterflies. You could hear your heart pounding in your ears, feel your blood roaring with life.

You needed him inside of you now.

"My dear (Y/n), what do you need?" he purred, still eyeing you as if you were nothing else but prey.

"You," you whimpered.

"And what do you want me to do?" he teased, the corners of his lips twitching upwards into a coy smile.

"I want you to fuck me into this mattress."

You swore you could see something snap inside of Elliott. The once calm and collected writer you called a husband seemingly snapped. You could no longer see the emerald in his eyes. The sea of lovely green now consumed by his pupils blown wide.

It was a good thing you both live on a farm, a good walking distance away from the rest of Pelican Town, otherwise, you and Elliott would be looking at many noise complaints from the rest of the town.

You watched as he snatched off his boxer-briefs, the poor man-handled fabric flung away, no longer in your line of sight.

What was in your line of sight, however, was your husband's cock springing outwards, now free of its confinements.

You only had mere seconds to gaze at it before Elliott had pinned you to the mattress, the man hovering over you, hands pinning your shoulders to the mattress, impaling you with his cock.

A moan lodged in your throat, choking slightly as you cried out in pleasure at the tightness. Elliott gave a satisfied groan as well, broad shoulders sagging for just a mere moment to lose himself in the sea of pleasure he found himself in.

You loved how Elliott's cock fit inside of you so perfectly, it was like to was made for you. His cock was large, thick, always stretching your tight pussy just right. Just the feeling of being stretched had you whining, clawing at the sheets by the handful. Your head rocked back into the mattress, cradled by the bunched up sheets under your head and neck. Your eyes screwed shut at the painful stretch.

Elliott moaning softly, panting against your chest. His long auburn locks had spilled across your sweaty chest, thick strands clinging to your breasts, pooling on your person for a brief moment as Elliott had dipped his head to revel in the feeling of his cock in your tight pussy.

He craned his head back up, looking down at your sweaty face, mouth wide open as you cried and mewled under him. A wild smirk spread across his lips.

He was generous enough to give you a quick second to adjust to the tight stretch before he had started to slowly piston his hips.

The back of your head curled into the sheets piled underneath you more, your throat stretching, baring more skin to him. Elliott had leaned back down again, still pistoning his hips at a slow rate to enjoy the tight feeling of your slick walls around his cock.

Your guts were knotted with lust, only wanting you to raise your hips and match him with his thrusts, meet his cock thrusting inwards with you lifting your hips up, wanting your sexes to slap together, to rock the bed and make it groan like you normally do together. You loved how wild and powerful Elliott could be in bed.

Elliott's hands snatched at your hips, nails digging into the soft skin. You whimpered at the bite of crescent moons, loving the pain adding on to the pleasure bubbling inside of your person. Each thrust seemed to make your organs knot closer together, made the coils heat up, and tighten. Your moans only spurred him to speed up once he had given you ample time to adjust to the tightness inside of you.

Elliott had let go of your hips, favoring to trap the sides of your head by placing his hands out flat against the ruffles and rumples of the sheets now bunched under the back of your skull, careful not to snag at any of your locks. His grip on the sheets tightened, supporting him better as he rocked his hips back and forth at a great pace, pounding into you like a machine powered by pistons.

He had dipped his head down to meet your parted lips. He groaned into the cavity of your mouth, wincing and tightening his grip on the sheets as your walls had clamped down on his cock. You could hear the sheets creaking, the soft fabric stretching and compressing under the intense grip Elliott was putting it through until he had released it just a touch.

He pressed hot, open-mouth kisses all around your face. He trailed kisses along the curve of your jaw all the way back to your earlobes where he would nip and gently tug at them. He would trail a sloppy line down the curve of your neck, grazing the columns of your throat with his teeth. He definitely had produced a good amount of hickies along your neck and upper chest, so much to possibly warrant a turtleneck at the beginning of summer if you were to have made any plans of going out in public. He had even gently sunk his teeth into the soft plush of one of your breasts, enjoying the little squeaks you produced as your clawed at Elliott's back and grabbed at his broad shoulders.

Once he had deemed he had marked you up enough, he had only continued to ramp up his pace until you suddenly choke at the speed. You gasped, feeling your passageway clamp down on him once more, your husband crying out in pleasure and tossing his head back to revel in the feelings spiking through him.

You cried out, feeling the coils inside of you tighten even more, now white-hot as the seed about to enter your womb pretty soon as your climax was fast approaching.

You caught sight of Elliott's eyes, emerald hues still missing, lost in a sea of black. His pupils dilated, still-full blown with lust, looking as though he had captured a starless sky in his eyes.

It was hypnotic, and the thundering of your blood in your ear like war drums had only added on to the pressure building up in your core. The splitting pressure inside of you had you squeezing your eyes closed, wincing, a soft moan passing through grit teeth as a wave of painful pleasure rattled through you, only tightening the coils inside of you even more.

Elliott was unraveling as well, auburn locks falling in his face, hiding his reddened and sweaty rugged face behind the curtain of his groomed mane. His shoulders tensed, lean muscle flexing in his shoulders and biceps, veins poking against his lightly tanned skin. His thrusts had gone from fast and passionate to sporadic and sloppy, longing and yearning to finally release inside of you.

A sudden eruption of heat spilled from between your legs, a massive release of pent up pain and turned to pleasure. A lewd moan had spilled from your open mouth, eyes rolling to the back of your head as Elliott groaned above you, riding and thrusting into your slickening pussy, only allowing him to lose himself to his gaining lust.

Your limbs suddenly felt heavy, weighed down by bones seemingly made of lead and iridium, allowing you to sink into the plush comfort of the mattress as Elliott continuously pounded into your pussy without fail. The man of many elegant words had crippled down to only guttural moans and heavy groans. He could barely make any other noises, he was too busy chasing his won climax. He huffed and puffed in your ears, shoulders shaking as he pistoned his hips back and forth like a well-oiled machine.

It had nearly been another full minute before you felt the slight twitch inside of your passageway, his cock stiffening ever so slowly in between the rushed thrusts of his hips. His thrusts were growing sloppier by the thrust, the bed groaning under the two of you as it rocked with each thrust. The two of you were a flurry of moans and lingering kisses, Elliott occasionally kissing down your jaw or sucking at your neck. Your pussy still slick with your sweet only allowed him to seemingly thrust faster inside of you, you could feel his cock twitch a bit more.

He was going to cum quickly.

His hands on either side of your head snatched at more of the rumpled bedsheets, twisting as his back arched downwards. With each thrust, there was no room left between your two persons, no air gaps between your sexes, drawing his cock nearly out of you only to slam right back into you without mercy. You swore you were drooling, trapped in the starry bliss clouding your mind, still chasing the joys of your climax as he only ravaged your pussy more and more.

The stiffer he got, the sloppier he got with his thrusts until hot milky white suddenly erupted from Elliott's cock, the man coming with a choked shout. His shoulders curled up into his neck, head shooting back, auburn locks spilling over his broad shoulders and you milked every last drop of semen out of his cock still buried inside of you.

You cried, mewled as you felt the fullness inside of you, only to exhale as Elliott's cock had slid right out of your passageway, his semen following quickly after to spill onto the bed.

Elliott nearly collapsed on top of your worn person, the man of elegance managing to roll himself to land right next to you. He draped one of his tanned arms over your body, the meat of his arm over your breasts so his hand could reach under your armpit, dragging you closer to his sweaty chest. You both laid there panting, hearts racing as moments ticked by, the thrill of your orgasms slowly riding down as you both looked at each other in the eye. Sweaty faces, blushed at the cheeks and noses, you both couldn't help the small and loving smiles spreading across your faces. You both looked at each other through the messy, frizzy locks clinging to your sweaty faces. A good shower was to be put in order now, but it would have to wait.

You shivered, still feeling his hot seed spilling slowly out between your nether lips, tangling with the sheets under your person, a mess you would both clean in just a moment.

But for now, you both laid there side by side, looking lovingly into the eyes of each other, enjoying the euphoria and riding it until it ends in his loving embrace, tangled in the sheets in the farmhouse far away from the world.

You stood there by the bus stop, waiting for the bus to arrive with your husband right by your side. You could tell he was nervous, he would always toy with his long locks when he was. He had even pulled his hair back and tied it to try and stop himself from fiddling with his luscious auburn locks, but he couldn't help himself.

He was nervous, and rightfully so!

He was going to be gone for a week, reading for his adoring fans, signing autographs, meeting new and important people.

You took his hand, startling the man out of his daydream. Wide emerald eyes looking at you for a mere second before he seemingly calmed down... just a bit.

"You'll do great out there. I promise," you smiled. "Just breathe, remember to stay calm and you'll do great."

Elliott smiled warmly at you. He only wished you could come along with him, join him on this adventure he was going to have, but you had a farm to take care of, animals to raise and crops to tend to so you can help feed the town.

You had your responsibilities, and now, he did too. This would open up a lot of doors, a lot of opportunities to expand his craft, make good relationships and business partners, spread the word about his writing more and more.

He only wished he could have you by his side. After all, you were his biggest inspiration for finishing his book. This was all because of you; Because you had introduced yourself to him your first day of arriving at Pelican Town, because you took up his many requests on the wanted board in front of Pierre's, because you had taken the time to get to know him, to give him many wonderful gifts, to give him the mermaid's pendant... You had spoken to him nearly every day, no matter if you were covered in dirt from the farm or covered in slime and bits of dead bugs and whatever horrors you had slain in the mines, you made it your goal to befriend him, to stick your muddy boot through his cabin door and get to know him. Even now, the mermaid's pendant sat heavily against his throat, the polished silver chain choking him with suspense as he started to worry.

What if something happened and he wasn't here to help? What if something happened to the farm? It's summer, storms would surely come to try and wreck the farm. What if you were caught outside? What if you were caught in the barns? What if you got hurt and he wasn't there to help you? To protect you?

The bus had rolled down the street and stopped right in front of you both. You both eyed each other one last time before you fully turned to him, Elliott doing the same.

Now face to face with your husband, you reached out and pulled him into a tight embrace. You could feel your throat tightening up just a tad as he wrapped his strong arms around your person, a quick press of his lips against your cheekbone.

"I promise to write to you every day, my radiance," he murmured into your ear.

"Every day?"

"Every day without fail."

"I love you, Elliott."

"And I love you, (Y/n)."

The doors to the bus swung open, the bus driver not even looking in your direction at first.

Elliott pulled away only to press his lips to yours. The kiss was so full of passion for how brief it had to be without keeping the bus driver and the other bus occupants waiting.

You pulled away to look him in the eyes. You could see the yearning for him to stay with you, but you both knew this was coming sooner or later.

"Be careful, yeah?"

"Of course, my dearest."

And with that, Elliott picked up his (overstuffed) suitcase and carry-on bag and set off into the bus.

You watched on with a reassuring smile as Elliott sat down at the window facing you. You followed the bus as far down the sidewalk as you could until there was no walkway left. You watched from your spot on the sidewalk as the bus was slowly swallowed by the darkness of the tunnel, heading towards the city.

With a soft sigh, you glanced down at the mermaid pendant sitting around your neck. You gently grasped the shimmering blue twisted shell and gazed back at the tunnel.

You ignored the biting, bitter feeling bubbling in your gut, wrinkling your nose at the sensation of dread wafting around your mind, and turned to follow the trail back to your farm.

Maybe if you busied yourself with farm work and the mines and whatever foraging you could find, the week would fly by quickly and Elliott would return to you sooner than you would think.

Upon arriving at the farm, you sighed. You knew the farm felt emptier the moment you stepped foot on the land. Even as your cat brushed around your leg and trotted towards the barn and coop, you hoped time would fly by quickly.

Picking up the milking bucket and shears from the chest by your house, you followed behind your faithful kitty, attempting to busy your lonely mind with work until your beloved author returned to you.

#stardew valley elliot #elliot x farmer #elliot x reader #stardew #stardew valley #stardew valley fic

339 notes · View notes

glittercracker · 4 years

Text

Kingkiller Crap

So, I’ve never really posted much here that involves my own thoughts. There are a number of reasons why, but whatever. I feel the need NOW to post some thoughts, and having no working independent blog (yet!) I suppose this is the place to dump them. PSA: none of this is about anime. None of this is frivolous or fun. TW for sexual abuse. You have been warned! So. I’ve been rereading the Kingkiller Chronicles. aka “Name of the Wind” and “The Wise Man’s Fear” and “That Other One That Shall Not Be Named.” This reread was, at the beginning, almost an afterthought. A way to keep my 13 yo happy on a 7 hour car ride. Except, he could not have cared less, and I got sucked back into the story (and okay, if that is how all our audiobook car rides go, meh? At least it keeps me sharp!) I raced through book one, and bought book 2 on audible with an eye to my upcoming surgery and recooperation. Book one was problematic in the places I remembered, but also as generally engaging as I remembered. And then book 2 happened, and surgery happened, and I have had weeks to lie in bed listening to this bloody interminable sequel, and I find myself lost in a morass of, “WTF was I ever THINKING?” Namely, how did I ever love this book enough to pine for the next? It’s been hard to put a finger on exactly what is making this time through book 2 both a slog and also vaguely, creepily uncomfortable, but if you’re interested, my rather stream-of-consciousness ramble of thoughts ensues. First, the male gaze that rears its head at times in book 1 predominates here. But while I don’t love the way Kvothe describes women, I also have 2 degrees in literature, and I’m beyond that being a reason not to read an otherwise engaging book. Second, Kvothe is a Gary Stu, for all of Rothfuss’s protestations to the contrary. Again, so far, so much traditional high fantasy. But while, say, Aragorn is content to just quietly be Awesome At Everything, Kvothe is a braggy little shit of a Gary Stu: the person you hated for announcing their perfect scores in that hs class you could never quite master. I could fill several pages with examples, but for some reason what really made me want to kick him in the head was not Felurian’s disbelief of his virginity (though really, jfc, REALLY?) Nope, it was the end of his time w the Ademrae (sp may be off, remember, I’m listening not reading!) when he crows about having learned the history of his sword 2 days earlier than expected. Why does this stick out? Oh, idk. Maybe bc he sucks so hard he can’t even get past the first obstacle in his practical final exam? Yet he still has to tell us how fucking awesome he is for remembering 6000 names of previous owners.

I know, I’m supposed to forgive his teenage idiocy. The internet sympathists (no pun intended!) keep telling me this. And I suppose that I would, IF this were a simple first-person narrative - but it isn’t. Let’s repeat that, and really think about it. This story is being narrated by an older and presumably wiser Kvothe who has lost everything - whose abilities have been expunged to the extent that he can’t open his own chest of Cool Stuff. He shows humility in his actions, mostly. And yet when discussing his 16 yo self, the humility evaporates, and he speaks with no kind of perspective or lens of accrued wisdom. He still compares women to instruments waiting for the “right” player (i.e. him) and defends this choice of words by saying, essentially, “You aren’t a musician, you don’t know!”

Interesting assumption for an innkeeper in a medieval-esque world. Interesting assumption if this is in fact authorial interjection, too, because I suspect the majority of this book’s audience *are* musicians to at least an extent, and I also suspect that the majority of us (yes, us - I own several beloved instruments, including a harp custom made for me as a wedding present from my husband) would not equate a human lover to even the most beloved of instruments.

But all of this is well-trodden critical ground. As far as I can tell, though, my third issue isn’t: although it’s perhaps the most glaringly tone-deaf example of all of Rothfuss’s excruciatingly tone-deaf portrayal of his world’s women. Namely, the two girls kidnapped and gang-raped by the fake Ruh.

Almost all of the criticism I’ve read on this section of TWMF concentrates on Kvothe’s treatment of the girls’ abusers. What’s interesting is that no one ever seems to write about Kvothe’s treatment of the girls themselves. Yes, he treats them kindly. He tends their wounds, he feeds them, he tries (and succeeds, of course) to draw Ellie out of her shocked stupor.

Yet what he never once does, from the moment he takes control of the situation, is ask their opinions on any of this, including what their next step should be. He just decides to bring them back to their families - families who, in this type of society, might well disown them for being “ruined”. And the girls themselves, namely the intelligent and savvy Krin, seem to go blindly along with what he says. Why? Would Krin at least not question this, or object to his making decisions for her, when a group of men had so recently and brutally taken away all of her agency? Would she not question whether being brought back to her family is the best thing for the catatonic Ellie?

Okay, apparently not. So they return to their apparently very forgiving town. Kvothe stands up for the girls against the village shithead: thank you, Kvothe, bc I’m sure Krin could not have said those words herself. He assures the reader that they are with people who will love and care for them despite what has happened to them: thank you, Kvothe, though it’s stretching my credulity a bit that you would assume that no one will take issue with their deflowering. But then he “gifts” the girls the spoils of his slaughter: the horses, the valuables, the wagons. And I was about to give him a (grudging) pass for being decent about this, EXCEPT: he goes on to say that these goods are meant for the girls’ dowries. Specifically, to make them worth enough financially for potential husbands to overlook their loss of virginity. He even tells Krin not to settle for a less-than-lucrative marriage.

And suddenly, I was outraged. Why? Because a man who had witnessed the full extend of these women’s abuse brought them back to a backwater town believing that he was being magnanimous both in doing so, and in giving up whatever share he might have taken of the spoils of the debacle to make them financially lucrative marriage prospects. Because he never asked these traumatized girls if they might rather cut and run with the money than use it to make some man overlook their abuse in order to make them his property. He never even questions the idea that they will be grateful to submit to marriage contracts that will no doubt require them to have sex with their husbands, even though these women have been abused to the extent that they cannot sit a horse for *two days* after being rescued. And the worst part is that 20-something frame-story Kvothe doesn’t question this either; he just goes on to gloat about people singing songs about his daring rescue. Maybe I was just ready for a straw to break my benefit of the doubt. Or maybe this really is as outrageous as it feels. Either way, I can’t help being angry at Rothfuss. As a writer, I am very well aware that character and author are not the same thing; that authorial intent is not the same as authorial beliefs. But there are moments in some books when I have to wonder if that line is blurring, and this is one of them. Kvothe has literally JUST left a female-dominated country full of independent women happily doing their own thing. He has given these girls the means to find themselves a situation that will never require them to be beholden to a man again - even houses ffs, in the shape of those 2 wagons, should they want them. There are so many options beyond marriage: I can’t, for instance, think of a medieval society that didn’t have its version of a convent. Or, for Krin at least, why not the University? For that matter, why not marry her himself, and then set her free to do as she likes under the awning of a respectable marriage?

Instead he returns them to their fathers, and likewise gives their fathers the means to marry them off with no argument. Who, after all, holds the reins of the horses at the end? Why does Kvothe assume that these families will actually use the wealth even in the dubious way that he recommends?

And in this, I think, I am justified in giving Rothfuss the stink-eye. This is one more instance for Kvothe to play the hero with no real attention given to the consequences. Kvothe himself, I think, would be appalled. He has suffered so much deprivation in his life, so often been marginalized, scapegoated, powerless, how on earth could he so easily consign others to that fate? How could he think, loving Denna as he does, having heard her words to the beaten girl in Severin, that buying these girls husbands who will “overlook” their abuse for the sake of wealth is anything but a wretched life sentence for them?

Sigh. There was a time when I desperate awaited book three. Now, given the other women’s lives at stake in this series, I’m not so sure I want to know.

#kingkiller chronicle #kvothe #patrick rothfuss #wise man's fear #Kingkiller chronicles sexism #kvothe gary stu #kkc sexism

59 notes · View notes

theseerasures · 3 years

Text

Conspicuous Media Consumption, 2020

it’s that time of year again! *saddest toot from the party horn*

for those of you just joining us: it’s a “consume a different content every week for 48 weeks of the year” challenge. for a longer explanation, check out last year’s write-up here, and as always, feel free to pop in and ask questions about any and all of this content.

(same disclaimer as last year too: content for this project ONLY here, and not certain...*looks at my billion Sad Cop Lady posts*...hyperfixations.)

(man remember when i was big into X-Men comics earlier this year? better times than these, if only because no one's discoursing about Emma Frost’s woobie/war criminal ratio anymore--her w/w, if you will)

(...i swear at one point i didn’t exclusively like platinum blondes but alas)

Bitter Root (comic, 1 issue finished 1/1/2020): still very cool on a basic concept level, but runs into the Image Comics problem of just not having enough content to keep my interest beyond that. part of that is on me, for picking it up again BEFORE the second arc rolled out, but the first five issues didn’t really follow (or resolve) any cohesive story either, so...meh.

Immortal Hulk (comic, 3 trades finished 1/17/2020): still not gonna be something i care deeply about (maybe one of Bruce’s Hulksonas dyed his hair???), but i do want to give kudos to Al Ewing for sheer consistency in terms of sustaining this level of quality storytelling month by month for more than two years now. working with the dense archive of the Hulk mythos and managing to make it interesting and thoughtful is impressive even if i personally would not expend the same effort.

Disco Elysium (game, finished 1/18/2020): honestly i should have twigged onto what this year was gonna be like when the third thing i drew from the barrel was pure uncut Eastern European flavored depression. i faintly recall people ragging on it for being pretentiously cynical, but i actually thought its core slid more towards idealism than people give it credit for. also gratified that i haven’t heard anything about Robert Kurvitz using slave labor to finish it, which is a thing we have to say about our video games now!!! fun.

Watchmen (TV, 7 episodes finished 1/27/2020): i am a fool who wants to believe in Damon Lindelof and I WAS RIGHT!!! honestly still cannot believe that he pulled off this highwire act with such deft aplomb. might be my favorite TV this year, which is a pretty high bar given how much TV i ended up watching.

On a Sunbeam (comic, finished 2/1/2020): Tillie Walden rightly deserves all the praise for inventive queer storytelling, but i will say that on reread--since i first read this as a webcomic--there ARE some issues with pacing here that clearly come from the foibles of its original intended medium. still just excellent, even if after some plot significant haircuts i was having trouble telling a few folks apart.

Lazarus (comic, 1 trade finished 2/8/2020): it’s so good and i want moooooorrrreee--though obviously Rucka and Lark have the right to take all the time they need. the newer longer issues work really well with the epic prestige drama vibes of the story! i’m into it.

The Good Place (TV, 4 seasons finished 2/18/2020): i’m gonna be super honest: i actually wasn’t a big fan of the finale, nor the last season as a whole. it felt like all of Eleanor’s flaws vanished for a majority of the season, and the Chidi-centric episode where they tried to give a legible justification for why he’s Like This was...i didn’t care for it. still, it’s so good and unique on the WHOLE that we’ll literally never get anything like this ever again, and that counts for a lot.

The Old Republic (game, finished 2/21/2020): it’s an MMO so it will never actually Be Finished so long as the servers aren’t shut down, but i caught up on the content i’d missed in the intervening months. Onslaught thus far has mostly been...kinda bland tbh; going back to Imps vs. Rebs after all the shakeups in the previous expansions feels like a waste.

High Road (album, finished 2/22/2020): someone should tell Kesha not to say that word!! otherwise i was very happy with this album, and happy FOR her even though we don’t know each other. being able to find joy again in the same genre of music you made while you were being horrifically exploited is very cool.

Young Justice (TV, 13 episodes finished 2/28/2020): given how much the middle stuff dragged--STOP KILLING YOUR HIJABI CHARACTER IN HORRIFIC WAYS--i was...actually kinda mad by how the end managed to stick the landing anyway. the day being saved by Vic’s self-acceptance and Violet’s sublime compassion was A+, and even the Brion/Tara switchup was a pleasant surprise, though it relied on me caring about Brion MUCH MORE than i actually did.

Manic (album, finished 2/29/2020): do people still care for/about Halsey? i feel like even That One Song that was on every tumblr gifset ever has kinda faded into obscurity at this point. this album was...okay. i feel like people give Halsey a pass for extremely obvious lyrical turns that they wouldn’t for other folks because of her subject material--which is fine. not really my cup of tea, but i also listened to lots of Relient K this year, so that’s probably a good thing.

Jade Empire (game, 3/10/2020): the only 3D-era Bioware game that didn’t franchise out, and for good fucking reason!!! the Orientalism and appropriation really haven’t aged well, and even beyond that the story was...standard Bioware faire. even my usual “my wife’s a bitch i love her” Bioware type didn’t do it for me, and i just ended up romancing no one. it did make me think a lot about what level of cultural borrowing is accepted nowadays, and why: people still look fondly at Avatar and talk about how ~accurate and respectful it was, for example, despite it being staffed almost entirely by white folks, and the Orientalism ALL OVER the monk class in DND is still fine for some reason.

Alif the Unseen (book, finished 3/31/2020): interesting to have read this AFTER reading The Bird King last year, because it highlights how the intervening years have shifted G. Willow Wilson’s thematic interest and improved her craft. i’m actually quite fond of how her characterization work is rougher here--Alif is extremely flawed to the point of being insufferable, but it makes his development by the end more satisfying. Dina is also just good and i love her

Baldur’s Gate (2 games, finished 5/31/2020): well, having finally finished the series i’m happy to say that it...still doesn’t really do it for me, sorry. any awesome story moments were overshadowed by the EXCRUCIATING inventory management system and the combat (i still don’t know what a THAC0 is and at this point i’m afraid to find out). these games crucially lack the Home Base that later Bioware games were so good about, and that (coupled with the huge cast of characters you can drop off and never see again) really hurts the intimacy for me. by the time we finally did get one it was the Hell Dimension in Throne of Bhaal, and i was just...trying to get through it. (yes, i did just say that about one of the most beloved expansions ever to one of the most beloved games ever.) THIS particular iteration of “my wife’s a bitch i love her” was very good, but the game wouldn’t let me romance her :(

The Underground Railroad (book, finished 6/19/2020): honestly what is there even left to say at this point! it was exactly as good as every critic on the planet said it was, even with my usual aversion to hype. draining and horrifying in turns but still insistent upon a future for Black folks.

Steven Universe (6 seasons and a mooooooviiieeee, finished 7/11/2020): yes, i DID finish the show and almost immediately begin a rewatch. this series is now one of my top five most formative things, and the amount of love and respect i have for it is incalculable. that said: i once again did not love how the central conflict of Future was resolved (just the resolution--i loved the finale just fine). for all of Steven’s breakdown was built up, resolving it with “EVERYONE HUG HIM UNTIL HE CRIES” felt...cheap, especially since up until this point the show had been so good about treating trauma and mental illness with the respect and nuance it deserves. it made me wish some of the earlier, less substantial episodes had been cut so we could spend more time at the end.

What It Is (comic, finished 8/19/2020): y’all i love Lynda Barry SO MUCH. for the longest time i was worried that One Hundred Demons was more a lightning in a bottle situation but every book of hers i pick up makes me feel obscure emotions i didn’t even realize existed. the compassionate way she’s able to describe her child self and how weird and fucked up she was (and still is) is honestly aspirational.

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (TV, 5 seasons finished 9/26/2020): so here’s a reversal of what i’ve been complaining about with other shows: i was mostly lukewarm-to-warm about She-Ra, but the later seasons and the finale made me much more into it as a whole. more shows should improve in stakes and overall quality as they age tbh!! i still don’t actively love Catradora (my sole quibble with season 5 actually has to do with the way Adora kept backsliding as a character to make certain Plot/Relationship things happen), but i’m very happy for them nonetheless. i can certainly appreciate a show that will go for High Feeling over tight plot. dark horse standout moments: trees growing everywhere proving that Perfuma Was Right, and Hordak and Adora seeing each other--that weirdly intimate moment of recognition.

Fetch the Bolt Cutters (album, finished 10/7/2020): again i find myself not having much to say that no one else has said. it’s good! once again love it when an artist reclaims something they’d attached with negative affect (anxiety, depression, disordered eating) for better and brighter things.

Solutions and Other Problems (comic, finished 10/25/2020): i was very into Allie Brosh’s ambition with this book, which feels weird to say but i stand by it. it’s cool to see an artist try to make a new medium work for them instead of just sticking to what already works. not all the experimentation was 100% effective, but it was still delightful and occasionally devastating to read, so.

Legend of Zelda (3 games: Ocarina of Time, Majora’s Mask, Link Between Worlds, finished 11/1/2020): this was the third time i’d played Ocarina of Time, which made it the nice, comforting groove i settled into before Majora’s Mask blatted me in the face. i’m not usually a completionist Zelda person because...the gameplay in Zelda is bad, do not at me it just is, but i really felt like i HAD to be one for Majora’s Mask since the whole point is to get attached to the banalities of the town. i’m sure nobody’s surprised that i loved it, even if it gave me an existential crisis about how life goes on in the game for NPCs when you’re not there to save them from it, and there’s not enough time to save them all all the time (also not a surprise to anyone: Romani and Cremia gave Personal Feelings). Link Between Worlds...bad. not like in a “this is a bad story by every measurable gauge” way, but i was already struggling with the 2D playstyle shift enough that for the whole story to end with some “yes it’s v sad that Lorule is Like This but trying to steal Hyrule’s privilege is Even Worse Actually” noblesse oblige bullshit left a VERY poor taste in my mouth, this year of all years. i did audibly gasp when Ravio took off his mask, though. i’m currently playing Breath of the Wild in cautious increments; it’s the first time i’ve enjoyed early Zelda gameplay, but if they wanted fully voiced cutscenes i wish they got voice actors who...knew what words sound like.

folklore (album, finished 11/6/2020): my belief that Taylor Swift is Just Fine continues, i’m afraid. i LIKED this album, don’t get me wrong, and respect her constant drive to innovate, but i didn’t love it substantially more or less than any other Taylor Swift album. mostly i’m just tickled by how she thinks leaning into the indie aesthetic means borrowing Vita Sackville-West’s entire wardrobe, though i will admit to feeling Something when she swore in a song. i think it was like. savage vindication?? you go ahead and swear, Taylor Swift. you deserve it.

Shore (album, finished 11/19/2020): do people still care about the Fleet Foxes? i think there was some Drama with Josh Tillman a while back but i don’t remember where the discourse landed with who was being more problematic. it was nostalgic for me to listen to their new album--made me remember being an undergrad who exclusively listened to men who mumbled and played acoustic guitar all over again.

Star Wars (3 movies: original trilogy, finished 11/27/2020): there is So Much bad Star Wars these days that every time i rewatch the original trilogy i’m afraid that they will suddenly be bad, but guess what! they’re not. i love these children and their hot mess stories, i love that Lando doesn’t know how to say his best friend’s name. what stood out to me this time was the way Obi-Wan described the Force in A New Hope, which strongly implied that ANYONE can be Force Sensitive; that obviously faded with each subsequent movie, but part of me does wish they’d kept it.

X of Swords (comics, 22 issues finished 12/5/2020): i am enjoying Hickman’s X-lines!!! not so much here for the Grand Conspiracy or whatever, but the character work and highkey weirdness is fabulous--they FEEL like X-Men, despite all the shakeups in-universe. this crossover is a nice microcosm of all that: grandiloquently all over the place, but still full of cool standout moments and genuine hilarity. ILLYANA DOESN’T KNOW HOW TO SPELL MAGIC.

Fire Emblem (4 games: Sacred Stones, Path of Radiance, Radiant Dawn, Awakening, finished 12/14/2020): this was the thing that i was closest to giving up early on, but i ended up hyperfixating on it instead. that’s a credit to what the gameplay does to my lizard brain more than anything else, because the story and character writing is...insipid. it was very bizarre to witness this franchise blunder around with its animal-people racism allegory around the same time i was getting back into RWBY, and ITS animal-people racism allegory blunders. Awakening was the first time i felt anything for the franchise beyond “teehee red units disappear make exp bar go up and brain go ding,” so i’m excited for more mature storytelling in subsequent games (they MUST get better. they MUST). the child husbandry thing is...very bad tho, and Apotheosis being “challenging” entirely through the game changing all the rules is also bad.

once again no vidya games that came out this year--i’ll probably pick up Spiritfarer or Hades after the New Year, though (or maybe TLOU II! but probably not. sry Laura and Ashley). more TV and franchises this year, which made me feel In Touch with the Children but was also kinda exhausting. nothing was so egregiously terrible i dropped it without finishing! in a year like this that feels almost like an accomplishment

#conspicuous media consumption

6 notes · View notes

anniemar · 5 years

Text

For the readers ...

So can we talk? I feel like we need to talk. (fistbump if you watch Rich Lux)

I’m about to get personal because I’ve been noticing a few things over the years and I’m ready to talk.

I’m a writer. I support other writers. Veteran writers and also would-be writers. But I’m also a big reader. And I support the readers too. The fans. I see a lot of entitlement going on with writers sometimes, and I’m here to remind you that yes, writers make content, but readers are the lifesblood of fic.

I kinda took a break from fandom as a writer and then recently, slowly, made my way back to it. I’ve written here and there over the past two years, but nothing crazy like I used to. There’s a lot of reasons. Life gets in the way. Muses go on the fritz. And sometimes a fandom you’re a part of seemingly goes off the rails, a dustbowl moves in.

When I wrote my first fic I had no expectations, just posted into the void of cyberspace. I’d spent a year just reading. I wasn’t really a part of fandom yet, I was a lurker. I posted on ff.net, not quite understanding how to work AO3, and most of the fics I’d read were on ff.net anyway. Tasertricks was my jam, after exhausting all North & South fic, and a little Vampire Diaries. I had zero fandom friends, no tumblr interaction, and only communicated with readers through DMs on ff.net.

When people began to comment on my first fic I was stunned. I didn’t expect anyone to actually read it. I was just practicing, mostly. That’s what it felt like. Posting my Tasertricks fic into the void. For the hell of it.

And then I got readers. I got readers who commented on every chapter. Some of them left long ones, others just a few words, but I cherished all of them. I read them over and over again. It really did fuel my writing sometimes, and I’d find myself writing a paragraph and thinking “hmmm ... i wonder if so-and-so will like that line”. And even if some chapters got less comments than others, I still kept going. I was writing this to get better.

I eventually finished that fic, it’s one of the things I’m most proud of to this day. Manic Taser Dream Girl, my first child. It taught me that I could write a book if I wanted to (and I want to). I made some dear fandom friends, hung out on Tumblr, switched to AO3 and now I can’t imagine spending all my time over on ff.net. You evolve. Fandom evolves.

But sometimes I think back on my first experience with fic and think about the purity of it. I had no expectations, I was writing because it was fun and I loved the source material, and the people who commented were so dear to me.

It gave me a push. It also made me realize how important comments can be to a writer, so I made a conscious effort to make sure and comment on every fic I read, especially if it’s current. I might not comment on a fic that’s 5 years old with 4,000 kudos and 1,000 comments, but a current one, I always try to. I understand the struggle wholeheartedly.

And fandom for the most part has been amazing, it’s kept me going at times, brought me so much joy and cherished friendships. It’s been a beacon of light through depression and anxiety, addiction. A comfort when all else failed. It’s led me to people I have SO MUCH in common with. True friends.

But then on the other hand I observed how other people sometimes come into fandom as an agent of chaos. Divide and conquer types. Energy and muse vampires. I never understood it. I always stood back and mainly watched. I watched my beloved MCU fandom turn into something weird. It wasn’t fun anymore. People drifted away.

It happens in fandoms. People just get interested in other things, it happened to me. I started to write in Vikings. Found a beautiful community there, more dear friends. Stretched my legs. I wrote a fic for The Alienist, even though 10 people watched that show. I wanted to write for smaller fandoms because I wanted to get back to actual writing. I didn’t care about the kudos or the comments anymore, I just wanted to go back to that purity. Me and the void. I don’t know anyone here. I want to post this thing because i love these characters SO DAMN MUCH and they’re in my head. If anyone wants to read it, even better, I love you.

I recently wrote a fic for Stranger Things. Again, no expectations. I could have received 5 kudos and zero comments, I didn’t care, Jopper got in my head. I had to write it. And I FINISHED IT. I was so proud of that. I finished it. Because it was about the love of the material. It was the love of the characters. And there were a few dear sweet commenters that took the time to send me nice words on every chapter, dear sweet people who left kudos, dear sweet people who gave me a hit, and dear sweet people who I’m sure just skimmed through it and clicked to another fic. It’s all good.

I go back to the MCU more frequently now because I truly miss it. I’ve never stopped being a fan. I’m still in the movie theater seat for every MCU film at the first possible viewing. But in fandom I’ve noticed that things are different. Fans are less vocal. Afraid to have opinions. Afraid to comment. Afraid to interact. Scared to have an unpopular opinion. But I tell you, it’s okay to have that unpopular opinion, because someone else out there has it too. And this is how we find each other.

As writers we need to remember what it was like when we were first lurkers and readers, who gradually worked up the nerve to comment, then to interacting on tumblr, and writing our own stuff. It takes time. If we put too much pressure on readers to comment, the readers won’t stay. If we give them too many rules and regulations, they’ll just move on. It’s not a job for us writers, yes, it’s free content, but it’s not a job for them either.

We need to cool it these these “how to comment” manifestos. In the end they’re meaningless and do more harm than good.

If readers feel like they can’t interact, it’ll have an effect throughout fandom, they’ll just stop commenting on everyone’s fic, afraid of displeasing the author with the wrong kind of comment. It might make them not want to write their own fic, dip their own toes in.

You never know what a reader is feeling. It might take everything they have just to log on and give you a little heart, and that has to be enough. Or a kudo. Or someone who’s writing that comment who’s first language isn’t English, and they’re afraid of using the wrong words. What must that feel like? I speak conversational Spanish and I’d never feel confident enough to leave a comment on a Spanish-language fic. But I could leave a heart.

In the end, there’s no right way to do this. There’s only “don’t be a dick”. Don’t be a dick to writers, of course, but also ... don’t be a dick to the readers. The commenters, the people who have been around for years and years and also the ones who are new and still working up the nerve to hang out. To come out of that lurker stage. And hell, even if they never come out of lurking, that’s okay too. We need to give readers and commenters room to get comfortable and to evolve too. Just as our writing grows more comfortable and evolves.

And criticism?

I think I’m in the minority because criticism doesn’t tend to bother me. I know it’s a big issue with a lot of people, many are sensitive about it, but I have a pretty thick skin. Sometimes it’s even easier for me to take criticism than compliments. With a big compliment sometimes it takes me awhile to respond because it’s too big for me, I need time to deal ;-) I need time to stop crying lol.

I haven’t had too many problems with criticism. If anyone tells me about a typo it doesn’t bother me. I’m usually like, THANKS MAN, because I’m dyslexic and words get jumbled up for me. I have to edit and reread my chapters in different fonts to try and catch everything and I still don’t catch stuff. And sometimes I don’t have my work beta’d because well, on one hand I’m impatient sometimes and on the other hand I keep strange hours.

I think some of the worst (and funniest) criticism I ever got was over mentioning Kanye West in Manic Taser Dream Girl, and whenever the commenter complained about it, it just made me want to use Kanye in the fic more ;-) You have to be able to brush that stuff off sometimes. And the mean stuff? Mean comments say more about the commenter than the writer. I’ve always just tried to leave a “hey, thanks for reading anyway” and left it at that. It’s all you can do, really.

I’ve written travel articles for New Orleans publications before and I’ve gotten some really hurtful and nasty comments, under my real name. That will thicken your skin. I don’t mind if someone tells me to knock off the Kanye West references after I’ve been called a yankee carpetbagger libtard who needs to move back to Ohio. I posted a red beans and rice recipe once and you would have thought I personally led General Sherman through New Orleans with the amount of nasty comments I got lol.

It comes with the territory. And I want to write, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

What I’m trying to say is, if you get a negative comment, don’t let it stop you from writing. Keep going. Keep learning. Keep getting better. Don’t let the terrorists win. You can always say that you don’t want critique in your author’s notes, but I’d recommend that eventually, you want to just let it go as you evolve as an author, because if you want to ever get to a point where you’re publishing original content, you’re going to need some practice handling whatever comes your way.

Because if I gave my readers a bunch of rules and regulations, or a manifesto on the “right way to comment” (when there is no right way) ... they’re just not gonna comment at all. Fic is not a job for the writer, it’s not a job for the reader either.

The only rule should be “don’t be a dick”. Don’t be a dick writer. Don’t be a dick commenter. Don’t be a dick fandom agent of chaos. Just don’t be a dick and we can have this beautiful thing of fandom and community and support. And laughter and good feels. Everyone feeling as if they’re a part of something awesome. Even the lurkers. They’re at home reading shit and they give that silent fistbump, and I can feel those good vibes even from here.

To all my readers, thanks for all of it. Every single thing. Even those mean Kanye comments. I cherish everything. The kudos. The hearts. The incredible well-wishes from people who are nervous about writing in English. The people who leave comments on every chapter, who follow my work to other fandoms, all of you. Please, never be nervous to interact with me. Ever. I am always ready and willing to cry over our fave characters. Or to help anyone with their work. To give advice. To listen to whatever is going on. If I don’t respond immediately, it’s only because I’m busy or I’m a human disaster and don’t see everything right away.

Thank you, dear readers. For answering when I post things into the void ;-)

I love you. All the hearts.

#on writing

125 notes · View notes

swordbreakerz · 4 years

Note

✨ for all of them, 🎥 for treasure planet and guardians of gahoole, 🍀 for 9-1-1 and penumbra, 📃 for unicorn chronicles, 🏳️‍🌈 for howls, treasure planet and legend of zelda, and 💎 for any ones you have facts for lol

you spoil me uwu

🎥 - ok for treasure planet, gotta be the 12 years later scene in the beginning and the zoom in to the spaceport, the way it transitions from jim reading under the blankets to him flying on his solar surfer is so chefs kiss, and just like. everything about to the spaceport lmao, fr guardians definitely the scene where soren flies through the fire and then blows up the pulley system to get rid of the flecks energy, bro when hes flying above it all holding the lantern before he dives down to save them? chills

🍀 - you know im on that projection shit w/ juno steel, ive truly never like connected with a character like that before and he’s really really helped me thru my recovery and transition lol, fr 911 uhhh ig buck or eddie? i havent Thought About It or like consumed it enough times yet to rly settle on someone but fr now,,, they

🏳️‍🌈 - ok for howls, Everyone Is Bi/Pan, howl is trans and autistic and i will die on that hill, fr treasure planet jim and cpt amelia are both trans and both of them + doppler are autistic, fr loz link is trans, autistic and semi nonverbal and communicates primarily with asl, post twilight princess zelda says fuck it and finds a way back into the twilight realm and she midna and link hang out, most of these boil down to everyone i love is trans gay and autistic because i say so lmaooo

📃 - OK SO. without like, spoiling too many plot points, our main character is cara and she lives with her grandmother. her mom is dead and dad is out of the picture. one day theyre getting chased by these people that her grandma knows and cara gets thrown into an alternate realm full of fantasy creatures using her grandmothers amulet. she meets a unicorn named lightfoot and a bunch of other rad people and basically, starts a journey to save that world from the Hunters. the Hunters are an organisation who specifically hate unicorns and want them all dead, led by Beloved, and cara and her friends have to try and stop them from entering the world and wiping them out. its sooo so so good and i highly recommend it cause i have no one to talk to about it please god

✨ - oh boy uh, well. im just gonna like list them out lmao

unicorn chronicles: i loved unicorns as a kid and read it when i was in elementary school, and over the years its remained just as compelling and well written as i remember and like. god the whole concept is so godamn cool and all the subplots that get introduced are fuckign fantastic and like all the different creatures are amazing i literally cant sing its praises enough

howls moving castle: must i have a logical reason? is it not to vicariously live my fantasy of running away to the countryside with a wizard boyfriend, his demon and his apprentice?? for real though, its such a fantastic story with beautiful visuals in the movie and wonderfully compelling prose in the book, and esp in the movie the whole time travel subplot with sophie seeing howl and calcifer in the past and then howl finding her in the future makes me go feral

penumbra: gays in space. need i say more? im a huge slut for gay found family and especially in futuristic space, and im a huge big fan of the lgbt utopia its created. like yeah capitalism sucks but at least im not gonne get misgendered in space starbucks, u kno? all the writing and dialogue is so incredible and the SOUND DESIGN GOD, alex i know u specifically can relate when i say i would kill a man for sophie and her incredible sound design skills, like dude the dance scene in man in glass p2 you can hear every single individual step they take and every swish of junos dress and i jusT !!!!!!!!!!!!!!! god its so good, plus the whole the characters help me work through my trauma and repressed anger haha

911: this one is entirely your fault. so obligatory horny on main everyone on that show is so hot i want oliver stark to cradle me gently in his beefy arms oh my god. other than Men, the way it drives home the whole ‘you can’t save everyone, and it will kill you to try, so just focus on what you can do and keep living’ makes me so emo. the way it tackles big bureaucratic issues as well as closer to home interpersonal ones is amazing and i love how it shows people going through and dealing realistically with trauma.

treasure planet: again, who doesnt want to live in Cool Steampunk Space Travel Future? i really really love jims story and his arc, the way he deals with his trauma is uhh very familiar lol and his relationship with silver is like the ideal. the story is just the coolest concept and i love all the wonderful character design and animation, plus the soundtrack SLAPS and everything is beautiful

legend of zelda: ive been associated with this series from a very young age due to my name and as soon as i gave into my fate and looked it up for real i just kinda fell into it lol. i cant really tell you exactly what draws me to it besides ‘wow fun game!’ and ‘god i wish that were me,’ but like the absurd amount of detail thats put into each installment and the creative ways they retell essentially the same/similar story over and over is incredible

guardians of gahoole: so i had the same experience with this and treasure planet which is i remembered ‘oh hey this is a movie that exists and i cant clearly remember watching it, ill look it up :)’ and then it consumed my life for a solid 3 months. firstly this movie is absolutely gorgeous, the animation and framing is fucking stunning and the way they handled owls talking like people as far as the movement of their very inflexible beaks was amazing. it sort of has the same draw for me as warrior cats? secret animal society ft incredibly traumatic experiences and the characters dealing with it. like, the whole concept is just so fuckign wild and it works so well, i rly enjoy this niche genre.

💎 - alright trivia time, so guardians of gahoole is based on a book series and the movie only covers part of the first arc i think idk, BUT theres another series set in the same universe called wolves of the beyond that i devoured when i was younger! i didnt know they were connected for the longest time and when i found out i was :000, i still rly love wolves of the beyond and wanna reread it, as well as read the actual gahoole books. in the howls books, sophie is a redhead! also, markl is named michael and like a fully functioning young adult who ends up marrying one of sophies sisters. treasure planet is, obviously, based off treasure island but its so much better than the book dont bother reading it lol i tried and it was boring. there was plans for a treasure planet sequel that was fully scripted and cast but it was cancelled cause disney sabotaged treasure planet from the start with the shitty release and advertising and tldr we were ROBBED, also amelias concept was much more octopus like and while that wldve been rad im p glad she was switched to a cat for. several reasons lol. uhh i dont have a lot of Fun Facts abt the unicorn chronicles but for the longest time i thought there were only 3 books and then last year i found the fourth book by chance in a kitsch store and nearly had a breakdown i was so happy, like full on i started shaking and crying cause there was so much joy in my body i cldnt contain it.

thats all i can think of tysm ily, to anyone who read all of this bless u please watch guardians of gahoole and read the unicorn chronicles i will love u forever

#IM LOVE U #friendos #alex #and z answers #astrallouis

2 notes · View notes

real-good-now · 6 years

Text

Letters to Juliet: Chapter 3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Summary: Betty Cooper dreamed of falling in love. She once thought it would be with the red-headed boy next door until he met the mysterious brunette in the pearl necklace.So, when she begins to receive anonymous love letters, she turns to the only person she knows who is not grossly in lust: her childhood best friend, Jughead Jones.

Chapter begins below the cut

“So, first things, first. What is the evidence we have collected so far?” Jug asks, getting down to business as soon as I enter the office.

I set down my bag on my desk and pull out the letter and the gardenia I placed in my textbook to press. “So far It is just these two letters and this beautiful flower.”

“The second one is new. What do you think of it?”

I begin to respond but then decide to brush off the question. “Doesn’t matter what I think. I can’t even think about my feelings until I find out who this person is.” I pick up my trusty highlighter and purple pen that I use to edit Jug’s articles and start rereading the second letter once again. When I reach the last paragraph, I say, “This guy obviously has to have known me for a long time. That eliminates anyone new to the school…”

“Great, we can eliminate Veronica. Now we have it narrowed down to the entire male student body!”

“Look, Jughead,” I snap, “I asked for your help, not your sarcasm! Now, focus. I return my eyes to the letter but I can feel his gaze linger on me. “I didn’t mean to bite your head off. I’m sorry. I just really need to find out who this is, Juggie. Please?”

“Why does this mean so much to you, Betts? He obviously doesn’t want you to know its him. Can’t you leave it alone?”

“I don’t know why. I just have to. No one has ever really felt this way about me before. I want… I need to know if it is genuine, that he actually cares and this isn’t just… Veronica trying to cheer me up or a dumb cheer initiation prank masterminded by Cheryl. That’s why you are here. You’re my best friend but you are also one of the most honest people I know. I need you to tell me this isn’t some elaborate scheme, that this seems legitimate.”

He pulls up a chair next to me and envelopes my hands in his. When he brings them up to his lips and places a gentle kiss on them, I am momentarily stunned to silence and a rush of warmth rushes through my body. He tilts my chin up so our eyes can meet and whispers, “You are amazing, Betty Cooper. You’re like Nancy Drew meets Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. You deserve love. You are too fantastic to be with anyone who treats you less than a princess.”

I am speechless. What can you say to that? Those are the most beautiful, romantic words that any person has ever said to me. I don’t do it consciously, but gravity seems to pull our faces closer— so close I can feel his breath skate over my face. I see him glance down at my lips. Just a little closer and—

Knock. Knock.

I spring out of my chair just in time to see the smiling face of Trev Brown round the corner. “Hey, Betty! I was wondering if I could talk to you for a minute?” He then seems to spot Jughead and, as a second thought, adds, “Oh, hi, Jughead.”

I take a look down at Jug only to see him staring down at his shoes. He only spares a second to half-heartedly wave at Trev before he storms out of the room.

“Is he okay? Did I interrupt something?”

I look after Jughead for a moment, still reeling from our… whatever it was, before I respond. “What? Oh, no. No. I think he’ll be fine. Anyway, what did you need?”

“Well, I was hoping I could ask you on a date, actually. Just you and me, maybe a movie, a round of milkshakes at Pop’s…”

For the second time in an hour, I feel the wind knocked out of me in shock. He’s asking me out? Me? We have known each other since pre-school and not once have I ever had an suspicion that he liked me as friends, much less romantically. We’ve talked in passing during student council functions, but never more than a few words here or there. I would’ve never guessed…

However, it seems that my mouth can process the information faster than my head can, because I hear myself say, “Sure.”

“Cool! Yeah!” He answers, his timid smile growing to a full-blown grin.

I hear him ramble on about times he is free and “I’ll text you later”, yet all I can think about Is what Jughead will think.

I am at cheer practice hours later when Cheryl announces that we will be here much longer than she originally thought.

“You bitches are a lot less capable than I gave you credit for. My mistake. Take a five minute break while I call Toni to tell her I have cancel our date because some people don’t understand their front handsprings from their hurkies!”

I collapse onto the ground, my muscles exhausted from basing far too many stunts than I ever want to. “V, can you pass me my phone in the front packet of my bag? I have to tell my mom I won’t be home in time to make the cupcakes for her book club tonight.”

“Sure, B. Oh you have a—“

I look up at her pause and see her staring intently at my phone, a look of shock or horror on her face. Which one, I’m not so sure.

“Elizabeth I-don’t-know-your-middle-name Cooper, what is this text from a Mr. Trev Brown?” She begins to read the message in a voice that is supposed to be male, but sounds more Terminator than Trev. “Hey, Betty! Just wanted to know if next Friday at six is okay for our date? Blushy smiley face! Betty! Why is this gentleman inquiring of your plans on Friday night and sending you flushing emoticons? What are you not telling me!”

She plops down on the floor next to me. I make to grab my phone but she moves it out of my reach before I can grab it and raises her eye brows at me.

“Its nothing, I promise. I was in the Blue and Gold office this morning when he came in and asked me out.”

“Oh my God! B! I didn’t even know you liked him. Good for you! I told you things would look up soon.” She pulls me up by my shoulders and gives me a big hug.

Cheryl’s commanding voice booms across the gym. “ENOUGH AFFECTION! The only times you ladies are allowed to look happy is when you are smiling through the intense pain and adrenaline coursing through your veins in the midst of the mind-blowing routine. Which is anything but mind-blowing right now! Back to work!”

Veronica helps me stand up and says, “We are not done talking about this, Ms. Cooper! I am calling Kevin and talking this out before we meet the guys at Pop’s tonight!”

In my bedroom, I sit at my vanity while Veronica does my makeup and Kevin looks through my closet to find an outfit for my date.

“Kev, I love and appreciate you for doing this, but my date is still a week away! That is plenty of time!”

“Oh, my dear, sweet Betty. This is not just any date. This is your first date. Why are you acting so blasé about this?” He kneels in front of me and V halts her war on my eyebrows.

I take a deep breath before thinking about it. Because he is right. I should probably be more excited about this. But something is keeping me from celebrating this thing that, just a few days ago, I was longing for.

But I don’t answer.

“Betty, if you aren’t really into him, maybe it’s not the best idea for you to go out on your first date with him? There is still time to back out, no shame,” Veronica hedges.

“I don’t want to cancel it. I had to have said yes for a reason. Whats the harm in one date, right?”

Then it hits me.

The letters. The flower.

I want him.

I want the guy who has been sweeping me off my feet. I want the one who writes me the sweet nothings and makes even my extra-curricular hell sound romantic. What if that guy is Trev? What if he has been writing the letters and has changed his mind about his anonymity? And this date is his way of telling me?

This date suddenly just got more interesting.

I must remain silent for too long because Kevin and Veronica have changed the subject to their own love lives.

“So I bought Archie’s anniversary gift yesterday and, I have to say, it is perfect!”

My curiosity piqued, I ask, “What did you decide to get him?”

She reaches into her purse and pulls out what looks like a ring box. When she opens the box, I see two small guitar pick-shaped silver pieces, each engraved with an “A”. “I was talking to his dad a couple weeks ago and he was saying that they have a wedding to go to soon, some friend of the family, and I asked if Archie had a pair of cufflinks. He said no, so I called a friend of Daddy’s to have these custom-made! Aren’t they the cutest?”

“Veronica, he will adore them! They are perfect!” Exclaims Kevin, stealing the box so he can examine them a little more closely.

Wait, his dad? “I thought you asked for Jughead’s help with the gift?”

“Jughead,” she scoffs “why would I need Jughead’s help? That boy is as inept with gift-giving as he is with his own damn emotions!” Kevin nods along in agreement.

“But he said that he was talking to you the other day because he needed your help with Archie’s gift?”

She seems to think for a moment before it dawns on her and she hurries to come up with an answer. “Oh, yeah, that. Right! I needed him to hide the gift somewhere Archie wouldn’t find it, but then I realized I could just put it in my purse.” She turns and nervously digs through her bag.

Its clear that this is not even close to the truth, but I know better than to try and get a secret out of Veronica Lodge. Its like her mind has a high-security vault that has a code only a select few know.

Instead, we leave for Pop’s.

When we walk into the diner, I look around and see Archie and Jughead in our signature booth. It is clear they are in mid-conversation, Archie laughing and Jughead…is he blushing? God only knows what that is about. I start to head over, but Pop calls me over to his position behind the register.

“I’ll meet you guys at the table, just give me a minute. Make sure Juggie doesn’t drink my shake before I get there!”

Before I can ask, Pop hands me a letter. It is just like the others. A plain white envelope with To my Beloved on the front.

He seems to read my mind because I can’t even get the question out before he says, “I don’t know who its from. The fella was long gone before I got back from the kitchen. It was just this and a post-it note that told me to give it to you.”

I rip it open, starving for the next installment in this saga.

_______________________

To my Juliet,

You are so much more powerful than any celestial body.

I like to think I have at least a basic understanding of astronomy. I know how a star is born, and how it dies. I know that the sun will some day consume the Earth in a fiery inferno like no life has ever seen. I know that we all orbit that very sun.

 But I have a new theory, something much more profound and ground breaking than Galileo or Newton.

I orbit you.

You have a gravitational pull that is so effortless, yet so strong, that I am powerless to resist it.

I am helpless, and I am not so sure that I want to be helped.

With each passing moment, I feel my body falling out of my own control and taking the path that you have determined for it, whether you are aware of it or not.

I cannot stop loving you, Betty Cooper, and I am not sure that I want to.

Always and forever yours, Your Romeo.

So chapter three is up! I was on vacation the past few days and I literally started writing this chapter on one of those free note pads that the hotels give you. >_<. I hope you guys like it. What could possibly be next for these two? You know what they say, one step forward, two steps back...

Thank you for all of your positivity!I hope this one lives up to the last two. Please, let me know if you like it and what you may want to see next!

#bughead #bughead fanfiction #riverdale #riverdale fanfiction #letters to juliet fanfic #Forevereverdeen

9 notes · View notes

televinita · 6 years

Text

Library Triage

Speaking of my incompetence, I managed to accidentally check out an avalanche of super-awesome-looking/hotly anticipated books with fairly restrictive deadlines toward the beginning of a 10-day hell period at work where I had no time to start them. I am almost out of it now, but they are basically all due by or before the end of June and my brain is spinning out trying to fathom how I am going to organize my reading schedule without rushing and ruining the books for myself, SO, time for project Talk It Out Concretely!

(or. you know. even more ramblingly than usual)

Starting with an achievement: Last night I finally had time to finish Fanny Fran Davis’ Everything Must Go, an absolutely delightful romp which was on its final renewal and only a week away from being due. Prior to that I was working on it in 15-minute breaks at work and 1+ minute stoplights on the commute to work. (seriously. thumbs up to its format.)

SO, HIGH ON THAT:

1. A & L Do Summer - Jan Blazanin: This is a book that Goodreads has been recommending to me for 5 years. I always thought it looked cute, but maybe not substantial, so I kept putting it off because it required an ILL request. But next week’s Top Ten Tuesday prompt is “books to read by the beach,” and I saw this on my recs list again and went, “You know what? This is exactly that kind of book. This is exactly the right time of year to finally read it. I want juvenile cuteness that lets me vicariously be 15 (17 apparently?) again with months of freedom ahead to enjoy in a rural Midwest setting.” I’m struggling with whether to read this or the next book first, but I think this one will go quicker. Due 7/2, like the next two.

[edit: I waited until the day before it was due, for some reason, but it was everything I wanted it to be!]

2. Like Mandarin - Kirsten Hubbard. Another book GR has been recommending to me for 5 years, another one that needed an ILL request. I figured I’d send away for them both together because of sort of similar themes in girl-bonding and rural locales, though this looks much more serious. It’s always caught my eye; there’s just something about the "young high schooler latches onto/idolizes Cool Senior High Schooler" concept that appeals to me -- oh, and only JUST NOW did I realize it's by the same author as my beloved Wanderlove! Definitely loving it now. Definitely.

[edit: accurate]

3. Heart-Shaped Hack - Tracey Garvis-Graves: After rereading The Island for the first time in 6 years and remembering how much I loved that romance/had anticipated more work from her, I saw this and immediately went, “I could cast Waige in this.” I am coming to the conclusion that this is untrue, because Mr. Hacker is turning out to be way too cocky for any character I’ve ever liked, but if I re-calibrate my expectations for what is actually being offered, I still feel like I will love this. And if that’s the case...there is a sequel. (which unfortunately would have to come rather far down on this list)

[edit: really should have waited for the sequel in hand! I think it will be better; this was good but rather more, uh, adult-romance-y than I expected so I’d like to at least see them in a higher stakes plot]

4. Going Geek - Charlotte Huang: technically due first, on 6/23 and it’s an ILL so getting it back is tough. BUT I am less interested in it than any of the 3 above, so if I don’t through at least 2 of them first, I’ll let this one go with no remorse. I only requested it because it seemed similar to Life in Outer Space, but that one was wholly satisfying on its own. This does look like a solid YA novel, but it doesn’t have a special hook, and I am up to my ears in Hook Books.

[edit: I made time! Glad I did; it was better than I expected it to be]

5. The Broken Girls - Simone St. James: Not a specific craving right now, but I have been on a wait list since it was released and mentally waiting since November because I love a good thriller with a mystery from the past & an abandoned building -- and then I forgot to suspend my hold and it came in before I was ready. Also due 6/23, and still hotly requested. I am probably gonna lose my shot to read this on time and have to wait another 4-6 weeks, but at least it’s in my home system.

[edit: I made time! Barely took me 10 pages to get addicted; SO WORTH IT.]

6. Learning to Stay - Erin Celello: This popped when I was looking for novels with brain-damaged spouses. I was looking for Waige-related reasons, and with the veteran angle this isn’t going to work for them, but its premise is irresistible to me and I have a suspicion who it’s perfect for: Barbie/Julia (with begrudging thanks for season 3 of Under the Dome for actively showing me what it could look like). Not due until July 8 and will probably delay it until after #7, actually, because I’m having trouble focusing on other ships right now, even ones I adore.

[edit: well done, though I couldn’t keep my characters straight because there was an annoying lot to match up with my original pick, so I kept unintentionally running everything twice.]

7. Shine Shine Shine - Lydia Netzer: All right, full disclosure -- this one is my final, brightest and best attempt to find Walter/Paige (complete with a Ralph!) in a novel. I am setting myself up to fail, in part because the premise includes the idea that the central female character is kind of off in her own way. But like. How else* was I supposed to react to “genius engineer husband whose wife has 'taught him to feel -- helped him translate his intelligence for numbers into a language of emotion‘ + autistic son”???

(*alternate option for how else: I’ve got Happy in my back pocket: As children, the temperamental Sunny and the neglected savant Maxon found an unlikely friendship no one else could understand. Even the ironic name fits!)

This one just got here and I’ll pick it up in a few days. It’s a home system request, but we only have one copy and I already had to wrestle it away from someone who kept it 2 days overdue* so we might tussle again. (*you might be asking yourself why I did that, given the state of this post. I don’t know either. I was in a feverish delirium of reading desire by that point and every book I found online looked more imperative to get immediately than the last, but I was stuck waiting for all of them).

[edit: it was beautiful and I have so many favorite quotes and I cried a lot and it was worth it even if only one character lined up well; the pair won my heart on their own merit.]

8. 45 Pounds (More or Less) - K.A. Barson: a cute YA novel about an overweight girl trying (or at least being pestered by her mother) to lose weight. I’ve been saving it for motivation for when I actually attempt to exercise / not eat like crap this summer. This, like the remaining books, has essentially no due date since no one is likely to request them out from under me even once I return them.

[edit: tossed back unread for the time being. too many shiny new things appeared.]

9. Voracious: a hungry reader cooks her way through great books - Cara Nicoletti: this is either going to help the above plan or hurt it, but it’s such a great premise, especially as someone who once considered starting a side blog devoted to highlighting passages in books that describe great meals. I am not actually sure if I will finish it at all. But I’d like to try.

[edit: see above.]

10. Shelf Discovery: The Teen Classics We Never Stopped Reading: this book was mentioned in a review for one of the lesser-known books in it; I forget which one, but it intrigued me because there are TONS of titles in here that aren’t usually mentioned in online lists like this, and I love when people talk about books I have actually loved instead of pretending that Catcher in the Rye and The Perks of Being a Wallflower are the best examples of universal YA literature we can find.

(What’s most likely going to happen is I’m going to read 3 chapters and then wig out about how many I haven’t read and put it back until I have, so I can enjoy the comparisons in our reactions instead of being unduly influenced, but... )

11. Sixteen: short stories by outstanding writers for young adults: Absolutely lowest priority, probably will never get to it, but if I had no other reading responsibilities right now? I would be reading it now. I spotted this when I went to pick up the above, and I don’t even usually like short stories, but this is a compilation of outstanding writers for young adults IN THE 1980S. And there is a very specific style to young adult books from the 1980s that sometimes, I just absolutely crave. Let me give you more of its description: Stories dealing with teenage concerns, written especially for this collection by well-known authors of young adult novels such as the Mazers [that would be Harry and Norma Fox], M.E. Kerr, Robert Cormier, Bette Greene, and Richard Peck. Biographical sketches for each author are included, as well as follow-up activities for the reader. Me, gesticulating wildly at basically all these names: I KNOW THEM! (as authors, I mean. Once upon a time the library’s teen section was full of their work and I devoured it as voraciously as the newer stuff)

[edit: it was short, so I read it and am glad I did.]

========

AND AS PREVIOUSLY MENTIONED: THERE ARE STILL MORE I WANT, but I can’t think about them right now.

#reading triage #library checkouts #aw crap I just realized I forgot another two I actually have checked out #but I have been checking them out since April and still haven't gotten to them so IDK if I will bother

2 notes · View notes

spamzineglasgow · 4 years

Text

(REVIEW) Isha Upanishad by Mario Petrucci

In this review, Nasim Luczaj considers the metaphysical wonders and linguistic oscillations of Mario Petrucci’s new translation of the Isha Upanishad (Guillemot Press, 2019).

> You know when you walk into a museum and either breeze through or get hit and pressed down to the tiles by the sheer age of everything? The latter, in my experience, is best facilitated by mummies, even when these are considerably younger than standalone stone or coral in the cabinet next door. Their shape recalls you; you recall death. You’re ever so transient but if you really try, an outline of your body might remain.

> For an ancient text, like a mummy, to be ‘preserved’, it must be adjusted to its onlookers while offering just the right level of peep into its age. The balance between affirmation of time gap and making contemporary is crucial to how we receive the work – to whether we breeze through, get hit, or something in between. What the thing to be preserved is (the frame? the possibility of movement? the weight?) and how much dragging into the current state of our language it requires will depend on the text as well as personal taste.

> There’s not much I can say about the original text of the Isha Upanishad. I have only just walked into this particular museum on a whim. I am walking around reading the plaques and exploring its reverb. I have no knowledge of Sanskrit or much in-depth acquaintance with Hinduist texts. What I do have are insights of an observer in a new beloved space and some sense for how a text might be performing the balance between overtly archaic and openly present. I will approach Mario Petrucci’s new translation of the Isha Upanishad chiefly in relation to how I receive this performance.

> The Isha Upanishad is one of the shortest out of over 200 Upanishads – ancient Vedic texts, some of which were written in poetic form, which lay out the central ideas of Hinduism. Mario Petrucci’s rendition, recently published by Guillemot Press and contained in a near-square, thick-papered book the height of a child’s hand, neither allows you to breeze past the fact of its age and sanctity, nor lets you worry about it too much. Whenever I read it, it’s like looking at a stone I know is old and savouring the opportunity to hold it in my hand, to choose how tightly I hold on. It shines with the grease we put on it by asking it back into our palms via translation and reading. The persistence of its stillness, its parallel timespan, carves its way into us. Just what we want. A stone carried out of a river, cool with current, balancing quaintness with a sense of refresh. Coming back from old renditions is like going back to reading a Sappho not translated by Anne Carson having already read If Not, Winter. You want to believe the original is this flippant. You want to trust the calm density of the translation, much like that of a body of water, and play its brim like a glass with your finger. It’s that kind of thinking, that kind of prompting, that kind of whoa you’d like to receive.

> Here, perhaps slightly too much quaintness is reinforced by regular capitalization, then counterbalanced, in places, by neologism. Some stanzas shout novelty, others hardly suggest our century. There is a charm and controlled purposefulness to this oscillation. Nevertheless, it forms a rift between passages. Creases emerge in their unity. Depending on the verse, you’re either ignoring the age of things as you walk through the museum, or you have your forehead placed against the glass dividing you from that time and also allowing you to glimpse it. You’re on one side of the valley or the other – the stream in between inconsequential, only a letter – but somehow the vegetation is noticeably different on either side, and the presence of alternatives, within smell and sight, distract.

Here’s one side – verse 3:

Ignorance is a form of possession

whose owner dons perfect sunlessness.

They follow death in procession:

those hollowed by flesh who bodily

deny consciousness.

The neological quality of ‘sunlessness’ adds to its no-caps feel, although this term is present in all other translations I have encountered and follows the original closely. The rhythm of the second stanza, too, oddens the verse – the sentence structure seems necessary but nicely impossible. It also withdraws our attention from death. Emphasis naturally falls on ‘procession’, the colon, the ‘hollowed’ sonically enacting the following. Then the denial is like a twig being bent very nearly to breakage but not quite allowing for it.

> That same death, in verse 14, surfaces capitalized:

The Eternal and its Effects –

those who place these two together,

by the Destructible need no rebirth,

by the Indestructible taste no Death.

Perhaps there is a difference between these ‘deaths’ that is supposed to be signalled here. In the Sanskrit original, however, this would not have been done via capitalization, which, to my knowledge, did not exist in their alphabet. The capitalization can be productive when demarcating ‘This’, ‘That’, ‘It’, which do require additional ballast for us to focus on them to the extent we focus on ‘Sun’ or ‘Cosmos’ by default. Nevertheless, Petrucci’s choice to capitalize more heavily in some verses than in others becomes stylistically confusing. I cannot read the original – perhaps there are differences in tone between parts of the Upanishad that are conveyed in this way, but I doubt it. You might end up longing for a striking off of pompous capitalization or for a more consistent marking of the more important concepts in relation to nouns of less stature, instead of taking the text in as a unified piece which does not admit tweaking. I found it dizzying to oscillate between verses, though each had a tremendously cohesive, complete, and self-contained air when read on its own. At times I would lose myself in testing comparisons – is this more like Anne Carson, Blake, Winnie the Pooh, or, God forbid, the opening paragraph of Lolita (an association I owe exclusively to ‘Pillar of All, / Lone Fire / Orchard-keeper’ – but still)?

> To my mind, the greatest strengths of Petrucci’s translation lie in aspects in which he has the most poetic license – punctuation, line breaks, stanza division. You can tell he is free. You can tell he is purposeful. There are fantastic clusters of dashes and colons, and full stops that you would just like to thread between your toes to look down on as you walk. My previous encounter with Petrucci’s work involved not his translations, but a poetry collection – i tulips – which I remember mainly for the daze of its line breaks – smooth mirrors sharpening up both all in view and all out of it. I wanted to read this Isha Upanishad if only to see what happens to such an angular style when confronting the mould of ancient text, an entity we may be prone to conceptualise as claylike, earthy, elemental, but must resort to try to get in touch with via Spark-Note-sharp-dull renditions. The poetically-minded translator can cookie-cut to whim, but to do so with the same cookie cutter as they use for their own work would most likely amount to getting carried away (when professing to be a responsible driver of a metaphysical tour bus).

> What makes this Isha such a nourishing reread – I’m really not sure how many times I flicked through, tasting the same lines over and over without the slightest loss of pleasure – is its staccato. Sentences never stumble, yet they are persistently gritty in the way they call out, firm while exhibiting an awareness of the inherent issues with conveying truths in words. Our words are like those toy cars set in their own rink for kids to collide with. Sometimes they need seizing and readjusting to true roads. This driver is slow with moments of clutch and then perfectly eager acceleration until a pedestrian – another thought – pops up and we’re clutchy again. My favourite stanza, which demonstrates clutch to perfection, comes from verse 5:

It is action – yet It

remains dormant. Beyond

all reach – It

is more intimate than blood.

I find no mention of intimacy, not a dash of blood or even just a dash, in other translations of the Isa Upanishad. There’s nothing of the velocity, the gift of oceans, rivers, the multitudes of loud trees, the ‘Orchard-keeper / of Karma’ Mario Petrucci offers as generously as he can while staying true to the philosophical content of his source text. The world comes towards our mouths. The world is our eyes coming towards world. The world is modernised through elementality, not technical fervour. You get to it and it turns out to be compact, just as you want more.

> The free meat-grindery translations I glimpsed online didn’t have a tree in them. They merely made me skim and mourn the insistence on the persistence of a dichotomy between light and darkness which never does darkness justice. This still hurts me here but is inevitable, an essential part of the original message that I can get past through focusing on the wonders of everything else. For example, of how the lines in verse 5 stop at ‘It’ to change gear and keep ploughing up a hill – a hill which actually stands for encouragement to stop trying to make it up anywhere. I’m not sure how far up I park in the shade of Upanishad, but park I do. Nothing left to read. I open the door and air comes through from somewhere, at some angle, some temperature, at some leg of mine, which is hesitant at the touch of something holy. Light hits all manners of dust, especially the broken CD input. I like being here. A seatbelt gleams like a hiccough of holiday sea. Everyone has moved on and maybe they’re wrong. It can be so fast to stop. ‘Take stillness from stillness: / Stillness still remains.’ It can take you everywhere, the halt. Thank you.

Isha Upanishad is available to buy here via Guillemot Press.

Text: Nasim Luczaj

Image: Guillemot Press / Cover design by CF Sherratt.

Published 6/11/19

#review #reviews #poetry reviews #nasim luczaj #Mario Petrucci #Isha Upanishad #Guillemot Press

0 notes