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stardustedsins · 14 days

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Gentle love prompts #41. Not letting them go when hugging

Hol Horse/reader (gender neutral reader)

You’re on Texas’s Galveston Island with Hol for a weekend getaway. He’s been showing you around the places he remembers fondly from his past visits: a bar near your hotel, a chocolate shop on the Strand, and his favorite fishing spot. Of course, you’ve spent some time on the beach, too. Now he’s driven you all the way to the east end of the island, past the bridge you’d driven over when you’d arrived.

“Here we are.” He says, pulling into a ferry loading lane.

“Where does the ferry go?” You ask, watching the cars ahead of you pull onto the ferry as you inch forward.

“Port Bolivar. Not much to see there. They’ve got a retired lighthouse and an old fort, but it’s more of a gateway to the rest of the peninsula.”

“Then why are we going there?”

“Just to ride the ferry. We’ll have to turn around and take the next one back too, unless you wanna see the park at the fort.” He says as your turn to board comes, and you pass over the loading ramp with a bump. “It’s nice, it’s free, and sometimes you can see dolphins.”

He pulls up until the reflective-vested workers gesture for him to stop. He turns the car off and pulls the parking brake, following the instructions on the signs scattered around the deck. Then he unbuckles his seat belt.

“Come on, we’re gettin’ out.” He hops out and you follow him, slipping between cars to the walkway near the side of the boat.

“We’re goin’ up to the front, you can see better there.”

“Isn’t the front on a boat called the prow or something?”

“Honey, I’m a cowboy, not a sailor.” He laughs as you come to stand near the chain keeping passengers away from the very front of the boat, which lowers into the loading and unloading ramp. There’s a good view from here, and the sea breeze on your face is nice.

There’s a small jolt as the ferry’s engines start up and it begins to pull away from the dock. You sway into Hol with the motion, looping your arm around his waist in a side hug and not letting go of him.

“It’s not gonna be that rough, you don’t need to hold on to me.” He says, and you smile at him with a wink.

“Maybe I want to.”

“No complaints here.” He grins and throws an arm across your shoulders. The stronger breeze of the boat’s forward motion and the spray from the sea splashing at the side near you are cooling. At the back of the boat, people are throwing scraps of food to noisy gulls. You watch pelicans floating on the water pass by, scanning for the dolphins Hol had said you might see.

The trip isn’t very long, maybe twenty minutes, so it doesn’t take long before you can see the other dock. Hol gives you a squeeze and lets you go.

“Let’s get back to the car. Gotta be ready to get off.”

You follow him back as the engines audibly slow down on approach. You buckle up again, and soon the front ramp has been lowered and the first cars are being waved off. When it’s your turn, Hol has to drive a little ways down the road to find a place to turn around. And then you’re back in the loading line to do it again.

You repeat the whole process from before, standing at the front of the boat again once you’re underway. You keep an eye out again for dolphins. You watch a bird dive and come up with a fish in its beak, and the wind picks up enough that Hol has to tie the strings of his hat in case it blows off his head, but you don’t see any dolphins. Not until-

“Over there.” Hol pulls you close to point at something a ways away from the boat. You look closely, and there they are: the dorsal fins and curved backs of dolphins jumping and playing at the surface. It looks like there are four or five of them, but it’s hard to count when you can’t see them all at one time.

You watch them until you can’t find them again. Maybe they’ve moved on, or maybe the boat has left them behind. Either way, the return trip comes to and end, and you’re soon back in the car driving away from the dock in the direction of your hotel.

“That was pretty cool.” You decide, watching the seawall pass by your window. “Thanks for showing me.”

“Glad you liked it. Tomorrow we can try some of the museums around town. I’ve never been, myself.”

“Not much of a museum-goer in your youth?” You tease, and he shakes his head.

“I’m hardly a museum-goer now, but I think you’ll like ‘em.”

It’s sweet that he’s planned activities just for you. You’re looking forward to it.

#a theme of sending the characters on vacations is accidentally emerging #they won’t all be like that though #sfw #gender neutral reader #my writing #gentle love prompts #stardust crusaders #hol horse

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astra90x · 2 years

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Flufftober Day 9 - Game Day (Sports)

@flufftober

Fandom: Stardew Valley

Pairing: Sebastian x Reader

Word Count: 1316

Reader Pronouns: She/Her

This is one chapter of an entire linear story! It can be read separately but is better when read as a whole. Enjoy!

❤❤♡♡♡♡♡♡

For a town as small as Pelican Town, they sure do have a lot of yearly events. The luau, the flower dance, the feast of the winter star, and this year’s newest addition, the Pelican Town Sports Day.

Mayor Lewis came up with the idea of it, and it’s to be held on the first day of Fall every year. It’s a large collection of sports and games, such as a three-legged race and an obstacle course, and the whole town was required to—at the very least—attend to “boost morale.” You’re surprisingly excited. Farm Work has boosted your athletic abilities by quite a lot, and you’re sure that you can beat the town in most, if not all, of the strength-based activities. Your agility isn’t half bad, either. You’ve gained quite a bit of stamina from running around the town all day every day for the past six months.

You arrive in the town square at 9:00, though only half of the events will be taking place there. Most of the races have been pushed into the Cindersap forest for the sake of room. It’s still nice, though. There are a few banners up and a lot of the townsfolk are already milling around, observing the sights before the actual games begin.

You spot Sebastian over by the saloon and are about to head over and say hi, but he sees you and starts in your direction before you can move. His look is deadly serious and you’re almost intimidated at the sight of him walking toward you with such purpose, but when he stops in front of you, the words that leave his mouth are, “I need your help.”

“Um, sorry, what?” The absolute intensity both on Sebastian’s face and in his voice causes you to be a little taken aback. Especially since you didn’t expect him to ask for your help.

Sebastian sighs. “Abby and Sam bet that they could beat me in every one of the events today. I need you to help me prove them wrong.”

“Why me?”

“You’re a farmer! You’re strong, and you’re fast, and I trust you to have the abilities to secure this win for me.” His voice quiets a little, and he adds, “Plus, I think we work well together. Partner in crime, right?”

You consider his proposition for a moment. There are quite a few team events, like the three-legged race, wheelbarrow race, tug-of-war, the relay race… You hadn’t planned on participating in those, but with Sebastian, you figure it might be fun.

“Alright, I’m in,” you say with a grin. Sebastian’s face immediately brightens.

“Awesome! We’re going to kick some ass.” The determined grin on Sebastian’s face is almost cute. Not only will it feel good to help him, but he’s right, getting victories for yourself will feel great too.

It’s then that Mayor Lewis enters the plaza and addresses the gathering crowd. He explains what events will take place at which times, which events are solo and which require pairs, and most importantly, what the winner will receive. The winners of each specific event will get a medal, but the person or pair with the most medals at the end will win a trophy. Lewis had it specially made to represent the town, and it features a golden pelican clutching a checkered flag in its beak. You don’t even particularly want the trophy that much, but it’s what it stands for. Victory over Abigail and Sam.

The first event is the three-legged race. When all of the pairs arrive at the Cindersap forest and line up at the start, Jodi comes along to tie your legs together, and then you just have to wait for the actual race to begin. Abigail and Sam are to your right, and Abigail leans over to you, whispering, “Good luck, Sebastian has the grace of a fish out of water.”

“We won’t need luck,” you shoot back, feeling oddly defensive even though it’s just a game. Abigail sticks out her tongue at you and turns her attention back to Sam.

A moment later, Mayor Lewis blows a whistle and the pairs take off running. You’re already ahead of Maru and Penny, and Vincent and Jas are too busy giggling with each other to actually try and race. Alex and Haley seem like they may be competition at first, but Alex is trying to focus on speed while Haley focuses on rhythm, so they fall behind rather quickly.

Abigail and Sam are barely ahead of you and Sebastian, and it’s because the two of you are just out of sync. You’re moving, sure, but your pace is just mismatched enough that it’s slowing you down. Sebastian’s eyebrows furrow in concentration, and before you know it, he grabs your hand and starts tapping a beat on it with his thumb. You quicken your strides ever so slightly to match the rhythm Sebastian is providing, and soon, you’re perfectly in sync and even manage to speed yourselves up. With your new synchronization, you’re able to slip ahead of Abigail and Sam just in time to cross the finish line.

An elated smile immediately forms on Sebastian’s face, and he turns to you with a look of pure victory. His hand still clutching yours, he lifts the pair of them to the sky and lets out a single whoop. Abigail and Sam, standing a few feet away, both look disappointed in their loss, but they seemed amused in Sebastian’s glory.

“First race and you’ve already beaten Abby and Sam,” you say when Sebastian seems a little calmer. “Good start, hm?”

“Absolutely, but we’re far from finished.” Sebastian grips your hand a little tighter, a surge of determination flooding through him and into you. “We are going to demolish them.”

~~~

The rest of the day goes magnificent.

You and Sebastian dominate in every single event. You win the partnered horseshoe toss by a landslide, the wheelbarrow race is easy for you as a farmer, and Alex joins you during the relay race for an amazing victory. At the end of the day, you and Sebastian each have half a dozen medals around your necks. They’re cheap and definitely have no value, but it's what they represent. Sure, Abby and Sam did manage to snag one win from you (damn you, scavenger hunt), but it’s clear that you and Sebastian have proven your point to them.

It’s around 7:00 when the event comes to its close, and Mayor Lewis gathers everybody to the plaza to announce the winners. Unsurprisingly, it’s you and Sebastian. Nobody else had even come close.

The two of you head up to collect your Pelican trophy, and after Mayor Lewis gets a picture of you holding it to commemorate the “first annual game’s day,” everyone splits off and starts to head home.

You release your grip on the trophy and push it towards Sebastian. “You can keep this. You wanted to beat Abigail and Sam, right? There’s your prize!”

Sebastian turns the trophy over in his hands, and after staring at it for a second, he holds it out to you instead. “I’d rather you have it. I owe my victory to you, it only feels right.”

You hesitate for a moment, feeling bad to take the only memento of your win to keep for yourself. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” Sebastian replies. “Plus, it’ll give me an excuse to pop by now and then. Make sure you’re treating our greatest accomplishment right.”

You giggle, but finally reach forward and take the trophy from Sebastian’s outstretched hands. “Thanks.”

“No need to thank me. You earned it.” With a nod and a slight upturn of his lips, Sebastian waves goodbye and turns to head back to his house in the mountains.

When you get home, you put the trophy on the mantle of your fireplace. And every morning, when you wake up, it’s the first thing you see. It makes you think of Sebastian every time.

❤❤❤♡♡♡♡♡

#flufftober2022 #day 9 #stardew valley #sdv sebastian #stardew valley sebastian #x reader

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goldenponcho · 3 years

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A Cruise Fit for a King Chapter 4

I’m going to preface this chapter with a hot take:

Scarlemagne is absolutely a Karen.

Previous | Chapter 1 | Next

The erratic slapping of Hugo’s hand against the water as he attempted to paddle for shore, in hindsight, had most likely been ineffective. But in the moment, in his still stir-crazy mind, it felt like it was making him go faster. He tired himself out long before he would make it, however. The horizon, he soon realized, was much further away than he had once thought.

It was a good four hours before his strange little craft got anywhere close to perceiving much of anything about the island, but when he did, his hopes rose. The island was massive, for all he knew, an entire continent. He could make out a scattering of small architecture, nothing like the massive high-rises of Skyscraper Ridge, but it still promised some manner of life. Hugo was so mesmerized, it nearly gave him palpitations when something hit his vehicle with a thud.

“‘Ay!! No floaters in the reef, land-crawler!!”

“Huh?” Hugo leaned to see who was speaking to him, only to be shocked into silence. Below him was a bustling rainbow of colors and shapes. There were hundreds…thousand of all sorts of marine mutes weaving in and out of a labyrinth of radiant coral. The water was so crystal clear, he could see straight down for what must have been at least thirty feet, and he quickly sat back down in the passenger seat, as actually seeing how deep the water was was much more unnerving than just knowing it in the back of his mind, no matter how much infinitely deeper the actual ocean was.

There was another thud and a squeeeek! as another mute raked the side of the car.

“Hey! You don’t belong here! Get out of our shoals!!”

Hugo, more cautiously this time, craned his head to address the second irritated mute, a porpoise with a fanny pack strapped to her pudgy neck.

“Apologies, madame! I just need to get to shore so I can-”

“Officer! Arrest this baboon!”

Hugo bristled with an affected gasp, “I am NOT a baboon; I’m a MANDRILL! And I’ll kindly thank you not to-”

“Alright, King Kong! Outta the water! Beat it!!” The black and white “officer” fish berated him and blew a shrill whistle.

Before Hugo could begin to reply, his craft was rocked to the point of nearly capsizing as a mega octopus surfaced, and began flailing its massive tentacles to send his vehicle careening toward shore. He could hear angered jeering aimed toward him, and he gripped the door and the seat beneath him as his craft skidded through the surf and onto the shore.

His car came to a nearly instant halt in the sand, and his nose pressed painfully into the windshield before he was tossed back into his seat. Hugo rubbed his aching snout, groaning as he sat up from the slouched position he had been forced into. He quickly saw that he had been lucky enough to stop just short of a substantial piece of driftwood.

“Thanks for the ride, gents!” He leapt to balance himself on the edge of the driver’s side door, holding onto the windshield frame for support as he cupped the other hand to project his voice, “This is exactly where I wanted to go! I’M MUCH ABLIGED!!”

He was barely through with his taunting when a nasally, monotone voice interrupted him, “Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to move your car, or I’ll have no choice but to tow it.”

Hugo looked through the windshield to see a seagull mute wearing a crooked baseball cap and a heavily stained navy jumpsuit.

“I beg your pardon, but I was most unceremoniously surfed here completely outside of my own control,” he stepped back onto the seat behind him and opened his door to release a stream of seawater before stepping down to the beach with a haughty strut, “AND if you could see beyond that BEAK of yours, you would notice that this vehicle has no wheels to speak of.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I couldn’t be less emotionally invested if I wanted to… Tough break, I guess.”

With a wave of the gull’s feather wing, Hugo heard loud flapping and turned in time to watch a mega pelican with two heads that would have dwarfed even his own personal flamingo several times over thud to the sand on the other side of the car. The creature lowered one of its heads and opened its beak to reveal a whole pile of mostly metal flotsam and jetsam. Hugo was left uncharacteristically speechless as the beak latched onto his car and engulfed it completely before the bird waddled with heavy steps away from the beach and further inland. It stopped in front of what looked to be a large wall made of garbage that spanned the entire length of the shore as far as Hugo could see both ways, then practically vomited his precious luxury car onto the top of the wall along with the pile of scrap metal.

“Are-you-JOKING?!!” he resisted the urge to stomp his foot, “That convertible is my ONLY mode of transportation!”

The seagull didn’t look up from his clipboard to gave a wide eyed, tight beaked stare at nothing, “Well, you should have thought about that before you bought a car with no wheels.”

Hugo’s eye twitched, and his fur bristled as he clenched his fists in front of him with barred teeth. Before he could retort, the rude mute had ripped the the sheet of paper he had been writing on and held it in front of Hugo’s nose. “If you want it back, sign this and take it to Maggie at the kiosk. Have a nice day.”

Hugo glared daggers at who was now his least favorite mute in the world, raising a hand slowly, then violently snatching the paper from him. “Thank. You.” The words were punctuated in a way which insinuated that in spirit, he was saying something much less kind. He huffed as the bird left to torment some other poor soul and glanced to scan the form he had been handed.

He glared at the entry for “year” where the gull had written “old”. “Old?! That car was a classic, fully restored, in mint condition!” He slapped the back of his hand against the form, “At least it was.”

His eyes scanned over the total for the pickup fee to see scribbled there “five small shells, three medium shells, or one large shell”. That was all? He looked to his feet where there was nothing but a mixture of seashells and sand, and he gave a shrug before scooping up a handful. He sorted through the gritty mixture with a finger to study its contents. There was one shell. Two. Three, four…and five! He dusted the rest off on his coat, taking extra care to make sure none of the sand stuck there, then made his way to the kiosk next to the wall.

Hugo approached the large crab mute behind the counter and tossed the form and the shells in front of her. “I’d like my automobile back, ma’am. The fuchsia convertible with the silver hood ornament of my very own likeness,” he gave a “get going” motion with his hand. “Please and thank you.”

“What the hell are these?” The crab’s voice grated as she put a cigarette out on the counter, but she didn’t budge from her spot, arms crossed and leaned back against her own massive shell.

“Five small shells?” Hugo jabbed a finger to the form, “I believe this is sufficient payment for you to release back to me my vehicle that your DELIGHTFUL little mom and pop operation took right from under my nose.”

“You ain’t from around here, are ya, monkeyshines? These measly little suckers ain’t worth squat. You need a few o’ these bad boys!” She gave the shell behind her a slap, “We’re talkin’ ‘bout conchs, whelks, cones…even a pitiful little nerite would be better than this. How ya ‘spect the young’uns ta keep their keisters covered with a couple’a little, cracked surf clams?” She moved to open the curtained bar flap next to her which revealed a tiny horde of baby hermit crabs, all of different sizes, one skittering out of site with a squeak at being caught mid shell exchange.

“Listen!” Hugo howled, pointing an assertive finger, “THAT car has been with me for a LONG time! If you think I’m about to let it become a BRICK in your wall of RABBLE, YOU ARE SORELY MISTAKEN!!!”

Hugo breathed loudly and rapidly, now hunched forward on his knuckles, but the hermit crab wasn’t at all threatened.

“You ain’t got SHELLS, monkeyshines, then you ain’t got a CAR!!” And with that, she slammed the rolling counter door above them shut, nearly catching the tip of Hugo’s nose on the way down.

He inhaled before releasing something between a snarl and a scream through clenched teeth, then shuddered with a growl before almost immediately composing himself with a proper, upright posture and a stiff, manic smile, “I…HATE it here.”

#scarlemagne #hugo oak #kipo and the age of wonderbeasts #kataow #kipo

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ibtk · 3 years

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Book Review: THE SEVENTH MANSION by Maryse Meijer

(Full disclosure: I received a free e-ARC for review though Edelweiss. Trigger warning for sexual assault, homophobia, violence against animals, and disturbing sexual content.)

-- 4.5 stars --

There is this person I love. And he’s not even a person.

After Xie's parents split and an environmental disaster sends his already precarious mental health spiraling, Xie and his father Erik relocate from California to an unnamed town in the rural south, in search of the proverbial fresh start.

At first, Xie is your garden-variety teenage outcast: melancholy. goth. vegan. an outsider. friendless. forgettable. Yet he's quickly "adopted" by the only other vegans in the school - girlfriends Jo and Leni, who together make up the entirety of FKK.

The group's animal rights activism slowly evolves from leafleting to direct action: the trio breaks into a local mink farm, freeing as many of its captives as they can. Xie is nabbed during the getaway, and suddenly he goes from "nobody" to "that freak who vandalized the Moore farm". Instead of silence and indifference, Xie is met by hostile sneers, gossip, and relentless bullying. He takes a leave of absence from high school, instead getting one-on-one tutoring at the local library. His parents are forced to pay restitution, and Xie's placed on probation.

Xie's only respite is nature: his burgeoning vegetable garden; the small but pristine forest behind his house; and, eventually, the mysterious light, nestled among the branches, that leads him to a tiny church - and his beloved. St. Pancratius, who was martyred in 304 A.D. and whose remains are on covert display in a one-room church in the middle of nowhere.

He traces the image with his finger. The story the same in every version: A boy on a road, refusing to lift his sword against the lamb, losing his head every time the story is told, again and again and again.

Still, all of this comes with a cost: loving nature, whether animal, vegetable, or mineral, means saying goodbye to it one day. Relationships can be messy, even when they're with clean bones. Sometimes we get so wrapped up in our own shit that we're oblivious to what our loved ones are going through. Maybe your tutor shows up to work one day piss drunk and tells you about her abortion. Or your friends drag you to a backwoods meeting of environmental activists, where one of them sexually assaults you. Or you show up to a mass protest that is even more massive than you anticipated, and find you're unable to protect yourself, let alone the 55 billion+ land animals slaughtered for food every year in the US alone (animalclock.org).

The problem is too big, even when it's one of the smaller ones. The problem is impossible.

While disturbing, Xie's theft of a skeleton is not the worst crime he'll commit in his teen years. As FKK becomes involved with a local animal rights group, and Xie's sanctuary is threatened, he careens toward an inevitable (????) collision with the outside world, which neither understands him - nor cares to. (Fuck capitalism.)

THE SEVENTH MANSION is one weird-ass book; I mean, the main character has sex with a skeleton (!). This is certainly the wildest aspect of the story, but it's not alone. For example, take the narrative structure, which has a kind of stream-of-(Xie's)-consciousness vibe. Many of the sentences are fractured, even forced, as though we're pulling them from the depth's of Xie's tortured soul. His thoughts. Are broken. Up. Like this. Conversely, there are no chapters, and so many of the paragraphs are just huge, unbroken blocks of text - almost as though Meijer is framing Xie in opposition to the larger world around him.*

I suspect that THE SEVENTH MANSION is one of those love it or hate it dealios. Personally, I loved it, even as some parts proved excruciatingly unbearable to read.

I don't know whether Meijer is vegan, but she gets so much right; sometimes it felt like she was rooting around inside my head. I went vegetarian my freshman year of college (1996, not to date myself) and vegan about 9 years later. Reading Xie was like having a mirror held up to my own depressive, anxious, vegan psyche. One thing carnists probably don't realize about walking around this world as a vegan is: it takes a ton of mental work, of suppression and dissociation, just to get through the day.

Animal suffering is omnipresent, and largely accepted. From Carl's Jr. commercials to classroom trips to the zoo; leather car seats to team lunches at non-vegan restaurants, where you'll be forced to watch your coworkers and friends devour the corpse of a once-living creature - someone's mother, brother, or child - we are constantly forced to bear witness to the oppression of animals. Worse, to pretend as though it's of no consequence: just to get along, or because doing otherwise would quickly devour your time, your prospects, your relationships. To say that it's depressing is an understatement.

Whether Xie is living through the oil spill that finally made his world "snap," or gazing into the eyes of caged mink, I was right there with him, trying not to cry. Not to break. There's so much suffering in the world; if you try to take it all in, to truly understand its scope, it will swallow you whole.

Speaking of the oil spill, which was the impetus for Xie to go vegan - Meijer's description of this moment in Xie's life brought back so many memories. When I decided to stop eating meat, I was working at a local grocery store. Every now and again, they had an employee appreciation dinner (in lieu of a raise, natch), which basically consisted of all you can eat burgers and hot dogs in the break room. Everyone would stuff their faces, taking in as many free calories as possible. Not because they were hungry, but to get as much of a leg up on our cheap ass employer as possible. The sheer gluttony and waste of it all is what finally did it for me. No one needed to eat seven hamburgers in one night; we did because we could, because not doing so would be to lose out. The working class eating the chattel, and no one eating the rich.

Point being, that's a singular moment in my life that I'll never forget. It stands out in stark relief, right alongside the deaths of my husband and furkids (six dogs and one cat down and counting). If I close my eyes, I can almost transport myself back there, white starched shirt, demo table, 7PM Friday fatigue, and all.

The last time he ate meat he was twelve years old, after the spill: Xie was Alex then. Even miles from the beach, they could smell something off; at first they thought it was the sandwiches, ham pressed hot in the pockets of Erik’s windbreaker, but the closer they got to the beach the stronger the smell became, noxious, chemical. They parked at their usual spot, yellow tape blocking access to the beach beyond. A black ribbon flat against the horizon; that was the water. No trace of blue. On the rocks below the lot a half dozen pelicans huddled together. Coated from beak to foot in oil. Don’t touch them, his father said. Someone will come wash it off. But there was no one. The black sea lapping the sand. Those bewildered eyes. He watched as one of the birds collapsed, its head twisted sideways against its folded neck. His father pulled him away. The fire on the water burned for two weeks; the beach remained black for a year. Sea turtles, dolphins, whales, gulls, crabs, otters, fish, birds rolled up by the waves in the tens of thousands. Oil on meat on sand. No stopping it. Xie got headaches, bloody noses; he was always tired, couldn’t sleep. His mother standing in the doorway, Stop playing games, you’re fine. But his father was never angry. Scared of what he saw. Xie in the dark. Unable to make it from one room to another. The people who used to go to the beach just went somewhere else. Life as usual. Slumped in the backseat as his father fed gas into the truck he suddenly couldn’t stand it. Stopped standing it. He opened the back door, started walking. Alex, his father called, but he was not Alex anymore. He poured out all the milk in the house and fed the meat to the dogs next door and rode his bike everywhere.

So yeah, our circumstances may be different, but Xie's conversion sure hit me in the feels.

Meijer also does an excellent job capturing the heartbreak and urgency of Millennials and Gen Z. As tormented as I might have been in high school, at least I had the luxury of not thinking too much about climate change - at least until Al Gore came along. Xie and his peers, on the other hand, will bear the brunt of their predecessors' unchecked greed. Nowhere is this divide more eloquently laid bare than in Jo's post-march argument with Erik (who is likely around my age):

Didn’t you see how he just folded up out there? He can’t protect himself, he won’t. You don’t know what he was like, before we came here, okay, you didn’t watch him, lying in bed day after day, ready to cut his goddamn throat because of all this shit, this constant litany of doomsday statistics, he just takes it in and he can’t—he doesn’t know what to do with it, and you want to keep shoving it in his face, when it’s—it’s enough! Staring at Jo, who stares back. Look, whatever you’re afraid of, whatever he’s afraid of, it’s already happening, okay? And he knows it, he’s living it, and he wants to do something about it. If there was some other option, some fantasyland where everything is going to be fine as long as we bury our heads in the sand, then believe me, I’d take it. But there’s not. Not for me and not for Leni and not for Xie and if you think you can protect him by denying that then you’re just—wrong. I’m sorry. She holds Erik’s gaze; he nods, the first to look away.

My gods, that scene just cuts me to the bone. As bleak as things are now, I cannot imagine going through all this - climate change, COVID-19, a Trump presidency, Democratic ineptitude/complicity, *gesturing wildly* - as an adolescent. Their elders cut them down before they even started crawling.

On a lighter note, Xie's scenes with his clueless mom and her equally clueless new husband (Jerry!) brought a(n admittedly wry) smile to my face. If I had a penny for every times this scene has played out in my life, I'd have enough cash monies to start my own animal sanctuary.

Don’t you want some vegetables, Xie? Jerry asks. I don’t eat animal products, Xie murmurs, and Jerry, confused, staring at the green beans, How is this— Butter, Xie interrupts. Butter is from milk, which is from cows, which are animals. Jerry blinks. Gosh, I didn’t even think of that. Sorry. Xie shrugs.

There's so much to obsess about here: I love Jo and Leni together, and their opposing circumstances just make the relationship so much more complex - and potentially fraught. Erik and tutor Karen (I wonder if the name choice was intentional?) are interesting supporting characters, and their relationships with Xie are so beautiful and nuanced; they both support him the best they know how.

Xie's interactions with his phantom lover are a little more confusing and difficult for me to comprehend. Perhaps P. represents Xie's inability to connect with the human world around him, or at least not as well as the more abstract, ephemeral natural world. Possibly P. is Xie's ideal human: one who would rather die than raise a finger against an animal (or one who cannot disappoint you by voicing their own opinions). Or maybe it's simpler than that, and Xie's hallucinations are just that: hallucinations. In any case, it made an already odd book absolutely bizarre, but in a good way, so I can't complain.

* This could just be because I was reading an early copy in need of further editing - but, seeing as how some formatting was already present, I think it was intentional. https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/3672191091

#books #book review #veganism #animal rights #Maryse Meijer #the seventh mansion #lgbtq #depression #anxiety #environment

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lasttimeonthenegaverse · 4 years

Text

If you care to know

Sometimes things may or may not be posted in the actual story. Sometimes they are. Sometimes we don’t know yet but the plot bunny slams our head into the wall until we’re bleeding out. ...... So, Enjoy this glimpse into the past that you may or may not see in story proper....I’ll stop rambling and get on with it. WARNING-Suicidal idealization and vague mentions of Child Abuse. This is the Nega-Verse after all

ND~DD~ND~DD~ND~DD~ND

"If you're going to kill me, just do it" NegaDuck stopped dead. Two hours this kid had been locked up in the room and he'd been kind enough to bring her food for THIS BULLSHIT. Actually, she was looking at the food, beak curled like it was poison.

Run that by me again

" he grit out. She blinked softly.

"I have a pretty high tolerance level. Not to mention, it's all been administered before. So if you're going to kill me, just do it. That probably won't work. Just give me stomach cramps and make me vomit...I’d prefer not to" She shrugged as she spoke so matter of factly "It would be refreshing if you just wrapped your hands around my throat and squeezed instead of breaking my legs so I'll beg better." The bitterness in her voice was born from a tired sort of resignation and Negaduck stifled the growl building in his throat.

"Just eat the damn food! You'll need it. I have a point to prove and a bet to win" and the older duck turned to leave her alone with the suspicious bowl of....tuna????? Maybe? It may have been been a born of a fish....once upon a time.

"Please not alone. Don't go...anymore. I need" her eyes were darting around the room as she curled into a little ball. His sneer got worse. Maybe Pad was right...about her being deadweight but....but there was something else. He's seen it. She robbed those people

blind

. Just by card sharking. She was able to bat those eyes at even him and managed to scramble out out range of his chainsaw. She was smarter than she seemed. But this

soft

shit.

"Just fucking eat. You need your strength. After all, after tonight I can guarantee you'll life's gonna change....

permanently

" her little face hardened at that, but she took a bite of slimy sludge and choked it down as he left the room.

An hour later found Gosalyn, NegaDuck and LaunchPad standing outside of a broken down amusement Park. The Child's eyes were riveted on a toy still hanging up and for dear life at a stupid rigged game of 'skill' some plush princess with an over-sized head and a more over-sized cupcake dress. Fucking pathetic. It was dingy and the rhinestones barely had any shine left. But yet,

that’s

what caught her attention. Not the obviously more important manic duck with the gas gun waving near her face. Said gas gun went off, hitting the ‘princess’ directly, setting it ,and the booth, on fire. LaunchPad chuckled at the action.

"Will you fucking pay attention!?" Gosalyn turned back to the masked villain and for just an

instant

her eyes were brimming with murderous intent. "Now. As I was saying. This is LaunchPad" and she looked at the Pelican before raising an eyebrow at the Duck. "I murdered my way through a few crime families to get to you. LP thinks it was a waste. SO were gonna see if it

was

or not. 10 minutes. Don't let hin catch you and on my word as a criminal mastermind, your suffering will end. Deal?" She considered it. He said he'd murdered three crime families.

A waste?

There was no way that was a waste, he had their

territory

now. For her...what did he mean for her? What did he want from her? End her suffering....she eyed the gas gun on his hip, the one he'd used to start the small fire. A hit like that on her...point blank.... No more.

"Deal"

LaunchPad cracked his neck, which was her only warning before he lunged. Unfortunately, he was fast. She just barely managed to jump and scramble away before he was on top of her again. Heart full of adrenaline she took off scrambling through the ruined fairgrounds. She wasn't stupid. Negaduck said if she lasted 10 minutes, her suffering would be over. No more prisons, no more poison, no more being used or slammed against walls, no more card sharking for food and getting it stolen practically from her throat. No more

HEDIOUS GREY PANTSUITS

Just that gas gun and by her temple. The man behind her would likely break

just

enough bones to keep her from going into shock while she slowly either bled out or starved. Nope, no thanks. She wasn't turning to see how close to her he was. Instead her arms went out, grabbing at a post and using the momentum to swing herself a few feet further ahead of the corner she landed on. The prison issued shoes had metal soles. They weren’t great for running, or

landing

fuck

. She'd have issues if her feet were broken. Bleeding and bruised she could deal with....just don't let them break! He was gaining ground again. She could hear him breathing. Nope. Running was a

terrible

idea. He had an advantage, he was bigger than her, meaning his legs were longer. No matter how much she dodged, he'd catch up. But dodging was better than running in a straight line. So she tucked her legs underneath herself and rolled right into the both area. She heard his grunt of frustration and chanced a look back as she stood up. He was right there slamming his body through a booth as he chased her. Smashed through. But the yellow tape she'd glanced behind him....Hmmm, ideas but she didn't have time to think to much. She at least learned how to slow him slightly, taking off again to slide beneath another booth. She was able to get up and start running again a few second ahead of his destroying the thing. And now she was looking for yellow.

THERE!!!

She took off right for it. Yellow tape....police tape....condemned building. And He was smashing everything. She slid under the rotting wood, the grey sleeve of her uniform tore off as she entered, but there was blood rushing in her ears and the 'door' wouldn't hold back the sentient tank for long. She took off running in a random direction to get an understanding of where the hell she..... Was that her? She raised a hand and so did the duck in the mirror. She could see the exhaustion in the set of her shoulders. Her short hair was an absolute mess, suffused with dust, dirt, debris and so frizzy on would think she'd stuck a fork in a socket. Rage grew in her at seeing the thing in the mirror.... She'd be dead soon. That was a comforting thought. More comforting than the ominous banging sound growing. She took off again, deeper into the mirror maze. It was actually a few minutes until she heard him again. He must have taken off the other way. She felt the blisters forming and something wet. Hopefully the shoes wouldn't leak the blood. That could be problematic. He was carefully walking through the mirror maze, lurking around and looking for her, armed with a crowbar. "Ya still in here kid?" He asked. "Don't worry, I'm just gonna crush your skull nice and easy. Real quicklike, kay?" "Liar!" He stopped and looked around at the echoing voice. Gosalyn scrambled down from her little perch up in the rafters and counted a few more times before standing in front of a mirror. If her math was right, he was about twenty five feet away and the mirror she was in.... *Shhhhhhhhhh*. She grinned as he smashed the mirror she was in. "Awwwweeee, Sorry Mister Launchy Pad. Not quite. Try try try again” She giggled before scrambling back up to the rafters. As predicted he came to the spot her voice had come from. But luckily, he wasn't looking up. She scrambled across the rafters, using her smaller stature to her advantage as she crunched a few numbers before pulling the same trick.

Alright, she wasn't going to get him to punch through mirrors until he was dying of blood loss. The man wasn't that stupid. She got a firm layout of the land as he slowly peered around corners for her. She let the drop be heard this time and he TURNED on his heel as he heard her. "

Over heeerrrrreeeeeee

" The mirror in front of her shattered and she was smugly looking up at a seething bird. He was using the crowbar so she

really

wasn't going to have him collapse of blood loss. She had a better plan anyway. She giggled, turned and took off running. He snarled and took off running after her. She was still giggling. Slip, slide, he was chasing. The back of her grey shirt went the same way of her sleeve as he caught her by her collar. But she had what she wanted, sliding down the tunnel as.....

*THUD*

Gosalyn smirked as she heard him attempt to break through the glass.....and run into the stone wall. "

Awwwweeeee

, bye" It didn't take her very long to bounce her way back to NegaDuck, skipping. The duck raised his eyebrow as he saw her coming back alone.

"Where's LaunchPad?" He asked. She pointed in the vague direction of the house of mirrors. Negaduck was.....completely unworried. This kid wasn't

quite

psychotic, nothing of any real weight to permanently injure the man had fallen by his line of vision, and she was unarmed. So whatever happened to LaunchPad...he'd be fine...If not incredibly pissed off. Nega raised an eyebrow looking at the kid.

"I won. So just....kill me....End my suffering" She ordered.

Welp. She was right about a Gas Gun to her temple, though she'd gotten the hilt of it instead.

She woke up and clutched at her pounding skull, finding bandages. "Oh calm down. The fracture's a hairline"

"What's going on?" She demanded the man sitting in the chair. She felt something.....hard pressing into her and pulled out "

Pretty

" She was transfixed for a moment, tracing at the porcelain doll in the pastel blue ballgown.

"Life changing....permanently.” She jumped, and looked over at the Masked Mallard, his costume stained with blood. “No one's gonna fuck with you no more. You're the ward of 'Lord' Negaduck." He sneered. She locked up.

“For how long?” Her voice sounded as dead as she wished she was. “How long...until my Grandfather comes for me. Until you get bored? Until-”

“He’s dead” The duck interrupted her tirade.“I killed him when he came talking about the rent you were supposed to pay him for food. Since you were

starving,

and seeing as how you’re mine now, that money comes from me.....and I don’t pay for shit.” Well, that explained the blood. She checked the pretty blue dress of her doll for any unsightly spots of red.

“Kill me” She ordered. “That was the deal. I win. I die. Make it fast” He glared at her

“Your

mine.

LP couldn’t catch you so I won the bet. You’re useful. I don’t kill useful shit....not till I get it’s worth. So, Doll is the cute shit you’re getting, and don’t bug me.” Gosalyn reared back to, face twisted in something nasty, but she traced the dress of the doll again.

“You Don’t

cute things do you?” She asked.

“No” He snarled. “And I managed to stomach getting you that doll....and

bullying

a boutique. It’s yours.” She chanced a glance down. Her new nightgown was ruffled, and

pink.

But it was a distraction...

“

Oh thankie wankie”

He snarled. She’d be dead before he changed his mind, she could see his hand twitching for the Gas gun on his hip.

“Listen here ya lil

BRAT

. It’s fuckin impossible to make me do something I don’t wanna. So since you’ve proven you’re gonna be useful, I aint checkin you out till then.” There it was, the wicked gleam he’d seen before, aimed at him this time. She wasn’t gonna break him. She hugged the doll close and

grinned

“LOVE YOU DDDDDDDDAAAAAAAADDDDDDDY” NegaDuck Shuddered. Outside the door, LaunchPad bit back a snort. This kid was good.

#nega launchpad #negaduck #nega gosalyn #This was so much shorter originally #Why can't I stop writing #not that I've written a word of the next chapter #Gods I'm stupid #But this wouldn't leave my head #Warning: suicidal idealzation #NegaGos is NOT alright #NegaDuck's only slightly better #Glimpse into the past #Backstory #Story blurb #'Blub' is used loosely #gosalyn mcquack #ser writes #tw: suicidal idealzation

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disaster-aster · 7 years

Text

The beginning - Part 3

J a c k W o u l d H a v e K n o w n

One thing I really wanted was to see adventurers and I knew exactly where to go in order to watch them. The only problem was that I didn’t know how to find the place where I needed to go… for some reason taverns and inns all look like houses and shops. At least make an effort not to build everything the same! I had to search through many villages along the shore, feeling more impatient and irritated that I didn’t find what I was looking for and Jibbs was not helping at all. She was reluctant to fly most of the time and preferred hopping on the grass and taking way too many naps a day for way too long. She was driving me crazy and I was doing the same to her, forced as I was to steal her pebble if I wanted her large feathery butt to go anywhere. You’d think sleeping from sunset to sunrise would have been enough, but no. I think I understand now why Siisa and Moltai were so angry at me when I ran away from my daily chores. Someone who refuses to do what you want them to when it’s important that they do it is infuriating.

So as I was saying, following weeks of walking more than flying (my feet were oh so sore) I finally learned that the difference between common housing and shops were in their sign. Unlike the shops, houses have small letters on the mailbox or the fence to know which is which (except for the ones that do have big signs and I was very confused then). After making my way into more than a few wrong places, finally I found an inn which I entered through a small hole in the gutter. Jibbs was too large to fit and waited outside. Which was fortunate because the hole gave right into the kitchen, of all things. It was perfect for me, with plenty of places to hide. The door to the dining room was cut in half, too, so it was easy to fly there when nobody was looking.

I don’t understand though what use there is for only half a door.

It took many days, and at some point I stopped counting, before an adventurer walked in. I still remember. He had hair the colour of wheat and he carried with him the smell of sea salt. His clothes were dripping with water, too, but it was not raining. He was talking a lot, and laughing a lot, but what struck me the most was the color of his eyes. I had never seen a human with eyes of gold and I still haven’t seen another one of those afterwards. I heard him say he was waiting for his crew, and he stayed a few days. Every evening he sat with what I can only guess were strangers to him, and he talked with them for hours. I loved listening to his adventures, and I’d always find a spot to sit as near to him as possible. The ceiling beams were very useful to run across the whole dining area. He, too, seemed to be one of those people who ate maps for breakfast; he sounded like he knew the whole world like the back of his hand. Oh, and he had a bird too. A ginormous white pelican who sometimes stuck its head through the dining room’s window looking for him. It took two or three men to push his large, dumb looking face out of the inn and the adventurer kept saying the bird was not with him but clearly, it was. It followed him everywhere whenever he went looking for his crew (I watched them from where I sat on the rooftops with Jibbs). I didn’t know there were pelicans big enough for a human to sit on their back.

He told stories better than Jack, like he was born to do that and I decided I’d tell stories better than him. Sadly, his crew joined him the next week and he left with them the day after. I never saw him again. Maybe the pelican ate him…

That very same night, a group of young men with a similar gait came into the inn.

I couldn’t help but to wonder what was hidden in their hip bags. They were much bigger than what I had seen on any other people I watched. Maybe they were what they call nobles, I thought. Maybe they were rich. They carried weapons with them and what better need would there be than to protect their goods? Luck was on my side: they put silver coins on the counter and asked to stay for the night. I followed them across the dining room, sticking near the ceiling. In the hallway I was in the open but humans rarely pay attention to what is above their eye level. I took a chance. The door closed right in front of me.

“Owl farts!” I cussed and I think they heard me because the door opened immediately and they nearly caught sight of me. The head that popped out of the room looked right and left. When they closed the door again, I approached to eavesdrop. They sounded excited about something. I just had to see what it was about.

I waited for the innkeeper to announce mealtime. In the evening, there often was one or two musicians trading a few drops of ale and a plate of whatever food was left for entertainment. That should give me all the time I wanted in the nobles’ room to look through their things and satisfy my curiosity. They would stuff their faces with strange fish and drink themselves under the table while I’d do what I do best.

Crawling under the door was in itself quite the adventure. Old wood tend to make splinters and those splinters snagged my clothes. I had to be more careful than I had ever been so not to hurt myself. You know how mice and rats squish themselves to fit in tight spaces? Yeah well fairies can’t do that. Once or twice I thought I would never see the end of it, especially when large splinters tugged at my shirt and pants at the same time.

‘At this rate, once I get out from under here I’ll be naked.’ Is what I thought.

On the other side, surprisingly with all my clothes still on, the floor was littered with weapons of all sizes, smelly wet socks and leather coats. I avoided the socks and walked on the coats alongside a well-worn lance. One of them had so many pockets inside and out I stopped counting after the tenth one. Just how many spaces did a noble need to put things in? Besides, some of those things could have easily been left back home. Like those round shiny iron beads and what I thought was a bizarre kind of pepper. The money I understood was necessary to keep, though I didn’t get why they had to divide it into so many pockets. Same about the armfuls of white pearls I found. There were a few papers as well, on which something was written but I couldn’t read it. I did however understand the numbers at the end of each line (numbers may be the only thing we have in common). I thought at first it might be for keeping track of what they owned and they had to be rich, because those were big numbers. They possessed many things in many exemplars.

I know what you’re thinking: I was completely wrong about this.

They were as far from what I understood was a noble as could be. But I heard from Jack about nobles before, you know. Nobles, they fancy nice clothes, colours and point lace but he also told me they sometimes wore simpler clothes that blend in the masses. So it’s only when I found holes on all of their coats that I thought… a noble would have bought a new one, yes? That’s when I realized for myself that they were thieves. Because they were still rich. See, the adventurer I had seen the days before was not carrying anything more than a bottle of ink, a moleskin notebook and a handful of money in his sash. Adventurers are poor by definition.

“My very first encounter with thieves!” I smiled, remembering more of comrade’s stories and playing with a huge diamond ring that would easily fit on my head like a crown. In the same pocket I had found a jewel necklace large enough for me to wear like a dress. Leaving these two treasures behind, my interest quickly switched to something that was left on the nightstand. A little round contraption that started moving as soon as I touched it. I thought it was metal at first, but it bended and danced and morphed and when it stopped, I heard a voice inside my head.

Clean.

“What, you want me to polish you or something?” I asked dumbfounded. I had heard about artifacts but I didn’t know they could speak to you like they were people. The object started moving again, even faster than it was before. If it wanted to be cleaned, it would have to stop doing that. I searched around for something to rub it with and came back with a pure white satin glove.

Cursed.

The door opened and I jumped in surprise, dropped the glove and knocked the object off the nightstand. I didn’t hear it land: the thieves, back way sooner than I expected, expressed their shock in a loud and unanimous voice. As I told you before, humans don’t like the fairies. It’s out of fear, according to Jack, and they either run or fight. I tried to make them run. The magic object I was playing with the moment before had given me an idea.

“I will curse you!” I aimed to look as menacing as possible and stretched my wings wide, trying to get a ray of sun to shine on them. It normally makes a predator think twice before approaching.

“Tough luck, I’m already cursed! If anything ya gonna make it better!”

One more bad idea to add to the list of all the bad ideas I ever had before. Like that time when I fed an injured blueberry kiwi bird a handful of fresh peppers… You know how they already burst if they so little as catch the rising sun before reaching their nest? Imagine feeding them something hot. It took me two days to dig my way out of its blasted hole and it took it three weeks to grow back its feathers and its beak.

Back to the story: The thief who answered to my threats, the cursed one, walked in first. He was shorter than his friends and he looked cleaner as well. He didn’t seem cursed at all, from the outside. For a human, he looked good. Or maybe I just like red heads no matter the species… The three others followed and closed the door behind them before I could do anything to get out. They cracked their fingers. I did the same.

Cursed.

“So what’s it gonna be? A twenty feet long beard? Or maybe a biting plant in your pants? I can also call a thousand crows on your sorry heads and you’ll never hear the end of it.” My threats still didn’t look like they gave them anything to worry for. Where was the ‘humans are afraid of fairies’ I heard so much about?

Were they really scared of me, they wouldn’t have tried to catch me like an insect. I flew up and stuck to the ceiling, trying to remain out of reach, but it was too low to give me safety. They trapped me like a bird, except that they traded the net for a coat and I dropped to the floor like a rock. Swift, I crawled under the heavy leather, fingers crossed that they wouldn’t step on me with their big stupid feet and hoping to find refuge under the beds. The small man grabbed me by the waist the moment I popped out from under the coat. I bit him and tried for the window: it was locked. I spun on my feet to face the thieves, backing against the cold glass and I raised both hands like I was about to do a complicated magic trick.

We don’t even need to do that for the magic to work but I thought it worked well to intimidate someone. Except it didn’t.

“Enough! I am done playing with you!” I should have asked Jack what threats he came up with to get rid of people like them.

Cursed.

“Who’s playing with who? I believe, my sweet little lady, that you are the toy here.”

“And we been bored long enough trying to find a bloody cure to the boss’s curse,” smiled the tallest of them three putting the magic trinket back on the nightstand “that we might as well have a bit of fun wit’cha.”

He had a thin pointy face and small, mean eyes. If he wasn’t afraid of me, I on the other hand was very much afraid of him. His clothes made him look even longer than he really was. Like a tower. A pointy, mean looking tower.

“Don’t meet a damn fairy every day, after all.”

“And see, the thing with fairies like you…” I heard the small man’s voice right behind me as I ran along the window ledge “… is that you are quite fragile.”

#ash's journey #aster #writing #fairy #personal project #logbook #female artist #artists on tumblr #illustration #pelican #inn #candles #giant bird #female writer #a fairy's log #mouse

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