#or rather a burroughs'

[constitutionalweasleymonarchy]

Due to the catastrophic shitshow that is my office (now minus one coworker whose workload is being absorbed by the rest of us), sadly I will not be able to update Pride of Burrough House this Sunday the 15th.

We’ve had a pretty solid run with the regular updating, though, up to this point, and I hope to be posting again on the 22nd. 💜

#I’d rather be writing fanfiction #need that on a bumper sticker #ronsgirlfriday #burrough house

[notbecauseofvictories]

I think I saw you shared a list of books you’d read a couple years ago and was it you who read something like 350+ books in a single year? If so that’s absolutely remarkable and I’d love to see a list of top ten (or twenty or whatever number) of books you’ve read this year that you recommend

Don't be ridiculous, I only read 303 books in 2021! That's much more reasonable than 350. And I've read fewer and fewer each year since---this year I don't think I'm going to crack 50, though I still have a couple days.

Still, always happy to talk about what I enjoyed. Books are listed in vaguely chronological order, though I make no promises.

Patricia Wants to Cuddle, Samantha Allen

I've mentioned this book before, but essentially I put in the library request solely for the improbability of the premise---The Bachelor heads to the PNW and encounters Bigfoot? Fortunately, it delivered on that promise magnificently. A breezy and delightfully gruesome little novel with a bodycount.

Are You My Mother?, Alison Bechdel

I didn't viscerally connect with this one as much as "Fun Home" but I think it might be because it's…closer to the bone for me. When Bechdel writes about the longing for a mother that can't be answered, pulling back, pleasing, an anger that becomes unspeakable, re-routed to anxiety…it's uh. well it's churned up the silt, let's put it that way.

Greener Pastures, Michael Wehunt

I love short stories, but finding those authors who hit the right notes unerringly, in such a brief space, can be tricky sometimes. Wehunt is the rare exception, strange and unique as a writer, dream-like in his descriptions and images. "October Film Haunt: Under the House" was my favorite, though I can't say for sure whether it's because I recognized the framing device or it was just fun to read…

Running with Scissors, A Wolf at the Table, Lust & Wonder, Augusten Burroughs

I read these out of order (Lust & Wonder first, then the other two) but even so, I was wildly impressed. Lust & Wonder was a revelation; I stumbled on it in the library and walked out with it the same day. No wonder people tell you to read his books, he's got such a clear-eyed meanness, an interesting sort of canniness to his depiction of himself, the people in his life…it really does demonstrate that there is no such thing as a boring life, just a boring narrator. But if Lust & Wonder is Burroughs at the height of his power, Running with Scissors and Wolf at the Table are the necessary steps up to it. More unfinished, more raw---a litany of horrors, not even leavened by that same canny, mean humor that flashes through L&W. It's just horrifically sad to watch every person around this kid fail him, leave, or both; terrifying and unexpectedly funny and yet tender as a sucking wound.

The Princess Bride, William Goldman

I picked this up entirely by chance and ended up being deeply charmed. I don't know what I was expecting---well, no, that's not true, I was expecting the film. But what I got instead was something almost real, pleasantly rough around the edges as Goldman's caustic narration winds its way from Florin to the machinations of S. Morgenstern's lawyers, to his struggles with raising his son. (One of the funniest scenes was when he goes to meet S. Morgenstern's lawyer, and the ravishingly beautiful attorney becomes a horrible old hag the more she talks about how he won't be granted a license.) I was afraid the book would be twee, but at the center of it is a pure (if slightly embarrassing, but truth generally is outside of Florin) love of stories, and wanting stories told.

In the Woods, The Likeness, Broken Harbor, Tana French

As I've said before, I started reading this series because I was traveling to Ireland and thought it seemed appropriate. I didn't go too deep into French's oeuvre, mostly because I couldn't shake wanting the books to be urban fantasy rather than gripping psychological portraits with a decidedly noir sensibility. Still, the books themselves are taut and fascinating, the portraits they paint of the Dublin Murder Squad (all of whom are staggering, wounded in their own ways) and the blighted, post-Celtic Tiger Ireland, are deeply compelling. Also, I do still think The Likeness is a perfect answer to The Secret History.

Lesser Known Monsters of the 21st Century, Kim Fu

There's something truly powerful in a short story that doesn't answer any questions or provide you with any sort of guidance---just walks in and rearranges your photographs so they're slightly off-kilter, leaves you with that destabilization. It's almost spiritual, that sense. In particular, there's a story in the collection about the world's sense of taste disappearing; a woman begins crafting art installations to try and recreate the experience of eating a pear, what your favorite family meal tasted like. Short stories are like that.

Perilous Times, Thomas D. Lee

I was surprised by this one. I know that's how I've described half the books above, but truly, this surprised me---not so much the rising action or plot (there's a sleeping king, knights around a table, a dragon) but I loved the setting so much. The depiction of a slightly-futuristic UK as drowning land sold off for parts; figures like immortal spymaster Marlowe coexisting with reborn Lancelot and Kay; the fay hovering around the edges; and then just….all the factions, the Welsh royalists and men's rights group propped up by military contractors; environmental activists, the references to the hodgepodge that existed in the 4th century AD too. More than anything, the novel conveyed how Britain's always been a place of change, the movement of people and permeable barriers, and that more than anything worked for me. (Also, it's a small thing but I loved how the Camelot crew translated modern concepts and objects into their language and knowledge of the world. It was always shown as hesitation rather than total shock, and I found it both moving and persuasive.)

A Cup of Salt Tears, Isabel Yap

I read this in a series of speculative novellas, which impressed on me yet again how hard it must be to write novellas. (Last year, one of my least favorite books was a novella; I still think about it with joyful hate.) However, Yap takes care to focus on single, brief narrative, concerns herself solely with the very small yet very significant issue of a woman, her husband, who and how she loves, wrapped up together with a kappa. Excellent, haunting.

Books of 2020 | Books of 2021 | Books of 2022

#from the bookshelf

[rosewaterandivy]

Everyone But You - a Life as We Know It au

Ch. 1 - Come as a Known Enemy Memory

previous | masterlist | next

Summary: You and your nemesis, the blight of Williamsburg himself, are thrown together under disastrous circumstances. Pairing: e.m. x f!oc w.c.: 4.5K warnings: NSFW / MDNI, immersive second person narration w/ a name and background but no physical description mentioned, big sads, grief, character death, car accident, jason carver mention, legal guidance, CPS, repression of emotions, occasional catatonia, max mayfield esquire

The call comes in somewhere south of 2 A.M. It’s an unfortunate fact of life that you are stone-cold sober, awake, and pouring over the second to last manuscript from the agency. 

You answer it by the second ring.

“This is Vance.”

"Ms. Vance, this is Officer Booker at the 94th precinct in Brooklyn. I’m calling on behalf of Christine Carver, could you please come down to the station?”

The telltale sign of a migraine creeps into your head, lashing against your temples to weave around the base of your skull. A forced blink of your eyes while the words from the manuscript swim across your vision. 94th precinct… that’s, what Greenpoint? The fuck was she doing in Brooklyn at this hour?

"Is she alright?”

The officer sighs, “Ma’am, I can’t disclose personal information over the phone. But once you’re down here—"

Innately and intimately, you know something is wrong. Chrissy and Jason were leaving the city tonight, flying out of Laguardia and back to Indianapolis on the red eye, which should have left an hour or two ago. The officer prattles on about policy and regulation as you get your bearings.

"Yeah, I’ll be there in an hour or so.” A few pages scatter on the table in your haste to get up, “I’m sorry, you said your name was…?”

"Officer Booker ma’am. I’ll let the front desk know to be on the lookout.”

The line drops dead and you lock your phone before slipping it into your pocket. A spring storm whipped through the city, rain falling in sheets outside your apartment window. Slipping into the Hunter galoshes at your door, you attempt to recall Chrissy’s latest missive.

Can’t wait to see you this summer! You and Ed better play nice OR ELSE

The doorman kindly hails you a cab and escorts you to the car, umbrella in hand. You thank him and rattle off an address you’d rather forget in Williamsburg. The ride itself is a quiet hum, briefly punctuated by your various attempts to contact said resident of the Williamsburg apartment which usually ended in a hushed, “Fuck.”

By the fourth attempt, you wonder why you’d ever bothered at all.

It’s not unusual for him to dodge your calls, though it was rare to initiate contact either way. But, rather, this was The Way you had operated since Chrissy posed you Iike her life-size Barbie dolls hoping for a happily ever after— the disastrous date was seared into your memory and played on a loop at the most unfortunate of times, i.e. the night before a big client meeting or during a relay of your Top Ten Greatest Mistakes. And closing in our top three humiliations is…

So, in short, no. No, you did not frequent Brooklyn, and you certainly did not cross the East River if you could help it. Working your ass off at one of the most acclaimed publishing houses did not afford you the luxury to gallivant through the burroughs all hours of the evening, especially not if you wanted to make partner and curate your own client list.

But, clearly, this fact couldn’t be helped tonight.

By the time you arrive in Brooklyn rolling to a stop in front of the brownstone off of Bedford avenue and pay the cabbie, it’s nearing 3 A.M. Dashing onto the stoop in an attempt to avoid the rain, you glance over the numerous intercom buzzers and realize, rather foolishly, that you have no idea which his could be. Luckily, someone is stepping out of the vestibule and you’re able to slip in before the door slams shut.

It’s a walk-up, of course, because this night couldn’t cut you one measly break, could it? The squelch of your galoshes haunts you up the flights of stairs, rain dripping in rivulets onto the steps below. You pause at the third floor, a heavy bass thudding from down the corridor like a siren’s call.

Your fist pounds on the door, punctuated by the clipped sound of your voice, “Munson, I swear to all that is unholy—"

The door opens quickly, and you nearly topple over the threshold. There’s a curl to his lips that tells you he wishes you had careened, tits over ass, in an unfortunate lack of poise, and fell to a heap on his floor. Fortunately, your hand collides with the door frame and finds purchase before any of that can come to pass.

"For Esmé—In Love and Squalor, as I live and breathe.” He drawls, all biting marks and bravado.

Edward ‘Eddie’ Munson was a few things: a writer, a pretentious asshole, Chrissy’s high school BFF, the worst person you’d ever had the displeasure of breathing the same air as, and your arch nemesis— just to name a few.

“Well, if it isn’t the ice queen from the Upper West Side! What brings you down here to slum it with us plebs?”

Soaked from head to toe, the rain drips steadily down your face and body. Your mouth opens and closes intermittently, gaping like a fish. How do I say something like this? How do I tell him that Chrissy, our mutual best friend and her husband are in all likelihood dead? Do I tell him, or should I leave it to the cops down at the station?

Because, at this point, nothing has been confirmed. And it won’t be until you’re both at the precinct meeting with Officer Booker. All you had to go on was your gut.

And your gut hadn’t been wrong yet.

Maybe tonight’s the night. After all, there’s a first time for everything, right?

“Hellooooo,” He hangs on the door jamb, long limbed and impatient. “C’mon, if you came all the way down here to bust my balls you could’ve—“

“S-she,” You swallow audibly and try to correct your earlier statement. “They, they’re gone.”

Eddie straightens up. A furrow pinches between his brows. “Who’s gone?”

“Chris, Jason, they just—"

He quickly grabs a jacket and slips on a pair of beaten to hell docs before shutting the door. It briefly passes through your mind that he should get his keys, he’ll need his keys to get back in. But before you can say anything, Eddie’s hand curls around your bicep and steers you down the stairs.

“Okay, okay.” He soothes, guiding you onto the sidewalk. “Where are we going, hospital or precinct? We’ll need a cab or Uber, right?”

Eddie grabs his phone and pulls up an app before muttering, “Fucking surge pricing, what the shit.”

The rain falls steadily, on and on, in the cool spring night as you wait. A seemingly endless vigil for the pair of you, the dark sky blanketing a city that never sleeps.

The blip and wail of sirens increases the closer you get to the station. The cab ride itself had been silent, save for Eddie’s wallet chain jangling as his leg jostled up and down. You’d mostly gathered your wits on the drive over, knew what to do, who to find— your head was as clear as it could be for now.

Eddie pays the fare and nods to the cabbie in thanks as you turn to open the door. His hand finds your arm, fingers trepidatious against the damp fabric of your trench coat. 

“D’ya think…”

A pinprick of pressure at the top of your sinuses, eyes blurring with newly minted moisture. A quick sniff to clear your nostrils as you slowly exhale.

”I hope not.”

You push the door open and stride across the wet pavement. An officer holds a door open for you with a tight-lipped smile.

”Hi,” You say, clearing your throat. “I’m looking for an Officer Booker?”

A desk jockey leads you both back to a small conference room and offers you a choice of coffee or water. You take him up on it and anxiously wait for Booker’s arrival.

”Hello,” A man greets, setting a to-go cup of coffee on the table and offering his hand to shake. “I’m Officer Booker. You must be Esmé Vance. And this is…?”

”Eddie Munson,” He says with a cough. 

Booker nods, as if he expected it. “Of course,” He takes a seat and places a manila folder on the table between you. He takes a beat, looking each of you in the eye, a tinge of sorrow precedes his next comment. “There was an accident, and it is with sorrow and regret that I inform you—"

And with that, the world drops dead.

A harsh buzzing, like static, fills your ears. Unwittingly, you clutch at Eddie’s hand, slotting your fingers together. Can’t bring yourself to worry over how cold and clammy your palm is against the dwarfing warmth of his. He squeezes your hand back, nods at whatever Booker is saying, something about finding your information as her I.C.E. contact on her phone.

"The first responders found it and we took it from there. But now we need numbers for the nearest next of kin, can you supply those?”

Big, wet tears fall silently down your cheeks and you can’t bring your vocal cords to work, to say something as simple as yes.

"Uh, yeah,” Eddie replies instead, accompanied by a violent sniff. “Her parents are back in Hawkins, Indiana— Peter and Ellie Cunningham.” He rattles off their home phone number as you watch, mesmerized, tremulous tears falling unabated down his face.

There’s scruff bordering on five-o’clock shadow peppering his cheeks and jawline, errant curls falling from the sloppy topknot on his head. He looks exhausted, as if the last half-hour has robbed him of sleep, bluish hollows like crescent moons underneath his eyes.

But he hasn’t let go of your hand.

No, he’s held it like a vise. As if it’s the only thing tethering him to the ground. 

“You said the car flipped? It—It flipped when it hit the…”

Booker looks at both of you, really takes a long, hard look.

Two kids, really. Early thirties, if he had to guess, and hopelessly floundering in the midst of a goddamn bitch of an unimaginable situation. Shit, he couldn’t tell which way was up at that age, and by then he’d had a badge and a gun.

Then, as if it’s dawned on you for the first time:

"They have a baby, w-who is she with now?“ You stutter out, dread curling low in your stomach. You clench Eddie’s hand all the harder.

The harsh whisper of your voice brings a halt to the conversation. Eddie gapes back at you, wide eyed and woebegone.

”If you’ll excuse me,” Booker says, rising to leave, “I’ll get a deputy to contact the parents and ascertain where the child is. Sit tight ‘til then.”

The door clicks shut. 

And the wail that careens up your throat is enough to kick-start Eddie’s survival mode into gear. He pushes away from the chair to sit at your feet, one hand grasping yours while the other winds around your waist and presses you to his torso. Sobs wrack your body, loud and hiccuping, while his lips murmur softly at the crown of your head.

Nothing he’s saying registers. But he’s there and warm, one large hand trailing the expanse of your back, up and down and over again; it’s almost soothing. He’s taller than you, something you’d always known from his penchant to loom over you, but you don’t seem to mind it just now. 

Tucked under his chin and pressed to his chest, it feels almost safe. His physical proximity and the way his body seems to mold around your own, protecting you from the sickening reality that she’s gone, and the sharp pain that kicks up in your gut, lends you enough comfort to make an attempt at processing this disaster. Chrissy and Jason, both gone in one fell swoop. Their daughter, Zoë, effectively orphaned and alone.

A beautiful, innocent little girl, a veritable copy of her mother, all blonde hair and blue eyes. Soft coos and footie pajamas, waiting for parents who would never return. 

What would happen to her?

It’s that very thought that snaps you out of your tear-streaked state as Officer Booker returns. Eddie sets you back on the chair, hands patting along your arms to check that you’re okay, at least for the moment. Catching his eye you give him a small nod.

"The Cunninghams have been informed and are on their way. The child was with the nanny, but CPS has taken over her care for the time being.”

”What, why?”

Eddie’s posture has changed, what was once hunched in an uncomfortable precinct chair has now straightened up, his spine pulled taut with tension. 

“It’s procedure until the next of kin can be notified.”

”No, that’s—" You stand abruptly, “We’ve gotta go. I mean, unless you need anything…?”

He shakes his head, “No, you’re free to go.” He stands and offers his hand to you once more, “My sincere condolences to you both.”

Leaving the precinct in a blur, you hardly realize you’re back on the sidewalk. On auto-pilot, you step out to hail a cab. Eddie, the lingering presence behind you, continues to silently brood.

As the cab pulls to the curb, a sharp jerk of your arm pulls you backward to collide with an oomph against him. You turn an apology on the tip of your tongue that vanishes at the sight of him. 

For all you know of Eddie Munson, one thing is for certain, it takes a lot to render him silent. And while you were rapidly losing it in the station, he had held it together. But the second you mentioned Zoë, all the fight left him. 

“Munson,” You croak, trying to draw him out from his racing thoughts. “We’re going to her, she’s not going to be alone, I promise you.” His eyes track your face in the light from the street lamps. “We’ll be on the next flight out, but we have to get in the cab first, okay?”

He nods, so subtle that if you’d blinked you would have missed it. You release the breath trapped in your lungs, a slow exhale as your hands settle on his forearms. Cautiously, you step forward and wrap your arms around him. He hesitates, body as tight as a tripwire, before he settles against you. The slight weight of you reminding him that he’s not alone in this.

"We’ll figure it out,” You murmur, voice scratchy from all the sobbing.

And for a moment, you just hold one another in the crisp spring morning. Birdsong twitters from above as the gloomy clouds of last night’s storm begin to clear. Elsewhere, people are beginning to rise and greet the new day, coffee percolates and sheets rustle. 

But in that moment, you’re able to forget all that— to push aside the fact that there are other people in the world and instead revel in the heartbreak you both feel, in the odd familiarity of each other.

Eddie uses the key Chrissy gave him to unlock the house in Loch Nora. It’s just after 6 A.M. of that same dreadful day and the house looks homey. A laundry basket propped up on a credenza, overflowing with burp cloths and tiny onesies. He flips a switch, and the entryway is bathed in a dull warm glow. 

“No, no,” You continue speaking into your phone, as you shut the door. “What I don’t understand is why we can’t see her now? Ma’am, I know you have protocol but we’re the godparents, isn’t there a precedent for that?”

Eddie moves like a ghost through the house, finds himself wincing as he catches sight of the Carver family photos with Chrissy’s bright smile. As he moves further into the house, your voice falls away.

All business since the cab ride. You swept through his studio like an automaton, throwing things into a duffle and didn’t bother to shut dresser drawers either. It looked like a criminal had ransacked his bedroom for a paltry collection of clothing. 

Eddie was tasked with packing his backpack, which he couldn’t muster up the effort to adequately do, and settled for tossing in his laptop, a few charging cables, and whatever else he swept off of the cluttered desk before zipping the bag.

Spent less than twenty minutes at your own place on the Upper West Side and returned with a neatly packed hardshell carryon and a leather tote bag, all the contents neatly organized and at the ready. 

And, he had to hand it to you, the efficiency you deployed everywhere from check-in to the TSA Pre-Check line, to wrangling an upgrade for the plane ride itself, and now playing verbal chess with the CPS representative was… impressive. Albeit frightening. 

But he also found it rather cold and unfeeling. Because, while yes, he had held you as you fell to pieces in the police station and witnessed your grief, since then you’d been too… together. Neatly packaged with a shiny bow on top, your sorrow packed tight and lying in wait underneath the glinting veneer of propriety.

The click of your heels on the hardwood floors alerts him to your presence. 

“Yes, I’ll be at this number. Thank you, goodbye.” You huff and lean against the arm of the sofa. “They won’t do anything, not until the case worker arrives this morning, at least.”

Eddie nods, “I’m sure that she’s fine, Vance.” His voice is soft, tired. “Why don’t you get some sleep? The guest room is upstairs and—“

A shake of your head, as you bring the phone back up to your ear. “No, I still need to contact the lawyer for Chr— uh, the will.” You reply, unable to speak her name, a little uneasy at the fact that she had a will in the first place.

Eddie tsks, he lip curling in disbelief, “C’mon, are you serious? What lawyer is going to be in-office and answer the phone at this hour, Dewey, Cheatem, and Howe?”

Fixing him with a glare Medusa would envy, you purse your lips. “Then I’ll leave a message with their answering service. And,” You turn, tossing the last bit over your shoulder, “If it’s an attorney that Carver hired, I can guarantee they’ll call back within the hour.”

And, true enough, the offices of Mason & Finch returned your call within thirty minutes. But really, who was counting?

You find Eddie’s limbs sprawled all over the couch in the den, the tv light flicking against the pallor of his skin. Grabbing the remote, you catch sight of Katharine Hepburn swanning across the screen in Bringing Up Baby. 

Tossing the remote to the side with a clatter, you accidentally (somewhat) wake Eddie. 

“The fuck Vance?” He sounds groggy and confused, slightly alarmed that he was jolted awake by a piece of plastic to the face.

”The attorney has arrived.” You say in lieu of a greeting, “And CPS hasn’t called yet.”

He rises slowly, stretching as a cat might— arms flexing above his head causing the hem of his shirt to ride up and reveal a smattering trail of dark hair down his abdomen. With a roll of your eyes, you turn and walk back into the study at the front of the house.

Maxine Mayfield Esquire, junior partner at Mason & Finch, has made herself comfortable at Jason’s mahogany desk. Briefcase stowed at her feet, she runs a hand through her hair, loose in her haste to make this meeting on time. The sealed last will and testament of Mr. and Mrs. Carver sits at the center of the desk, ominous and forlorn.

Technically, she wasn’t on-call for estate cases currently. But when the secretary had phoned her to see who was available this week, the second Max heard the words “fatal collision” and “Carver”, she was up and out of bed. She knew she needed to handle this case, though the name the secretary gave her was unfamiliar: Ripley Esmé Vance.

Whoever this person was, Max knew Eddie wouldn’t be long behind.

Before she’d left for the Carver’s that day, Max had trusted Lucas to rally the troops for an all hands on deck situation. She couldn’t tell him much, or if Eddie was even in town yet, but she knew Lucas would see to it that he wasn’t alone. 

Mason had briefed her over the phone on the drive over about the proceedings, what to expect from the beneficiaries, how to liaise with CPS, who to contact if Vance and Munson refused custody. Though, she didn’t anticipate needing that particular bit of information.

Rising to greet who could only be Vance, Max is nearly bowled over at the sight of Eddie. He looks haggard, which is to be expected, but it’s a stark contrast to the pristine image of his counterpart. 

Esmé Vance oozes sophistication— black Tahitian pearls adorn your neck contrasting with the gray sweater and wide legged trousers you’re sporting. Not much taller than Max, the inch or two gained in whole part due to the heels that click against the floor as you go to greet her.

"Ms. Mayfield,” You say, with the husky voice of a silver screen siren, “Thanks so much for seeing us this early, we appreciate it.” 

As you shake hands, the singular ring on your right hand catches Max’s notice. A clean and simple signet nestled on an elegant finger. Your nails are impeccable, a dark plum shade that Max makes a note to get the name of later.

In short, Chrissy’s best friend is just as the bubbly blonde had bragged— her polar opposite in nearly every way. Max wasn’t sure if she wanted her or simply wanted to be her, but she’d deal with that later.

"Hey Red,” Eddie says, leaning against the doorframe.

She excuses herself to wrap him in a warm embrace, professionalism be damned. He accepts it willingly, and she allows herself the luxury of inhaling the familiar scent of stale cigarettes and coffee.

"Hey Ed,” She replies, stepping back after a moment or two. “I’m so sorry about Chrissy.” She turns back to Esmè, eyes misty, “My condolences to you both.”

Soon after, they get down to brass tacks. Max reads the will aloud, the legalese meaning absolutely jack shit to Eddie, that is until:

"Joint legal and physical custody of Zoë Lux Carver is granted to Ripley Esmè Vance and Edward Waylon Munson—“

"I’m sorry, but what?” Eddie’s voice is louder than he intended, so distracted by the fact that he’s been granted custodial rights over an actual baby, that he completely misses that you don't even go by your given name.

It’ll come back to him later, sleep-addled and at wit’s end, no doubt.

Max pauses, noting the lack of reaction from you. Hmm, interesting. “Did Chrissy not discuss the guardianship arrangements with you?”

Eddie shakes his head, you decline to reply and turn to gaze out of the window. You’re quiet, which can only mean one thing.

"You knew about this Vance?”

"Well,” You hedge a reply, “I didn’t think it would necessarily come up. But… yeah, she mentioned it after Zoë was born. Though I didn’t know she meant joint custody.”

He turns back to Max, “What does that mean?”

"It means,” You supply, turning back to the conversation, “That we raise her together. Joint as in the two of us,” Your fingers gesture between the pair of you, “Not as in what your studio reeks of.” And then, you pantomime taking a drag from an imaginary joint, as if to prove your point.

"Gee, thanks for the tip, Officer Krupke.” 

Max watches, idly amused by the pair of you, a knowing smile gracing her lips. “Right, so if you refuse custody, Zoë will be placed with another willing caregiver, preferably family, but if not, she’ll go into foster care.”

"Oh, fuck no!”

"Over my dead body!”

Your exclamations override one another, the volume of the conversation increasing for so an early an hour. Max desperately wants a coffee, maybe an Irish one. 

“Okay, so you’re agreed on that, at least.” Max turns over to the next page in the document. “Everything else is pretty standard: all liquid assets are left to Zoë, kept in a trust until her twenty-first birthday, which you are both guardians of.”

She pauses for a moment, very much entertained that Chrissy, and by extension Jason, have left you both in charge of everything. A realization that has Eddie rolling his eyes beside you.

”You’ve also been given the deeds to the house in Hawkins, as well as the brownstone and, besides a few personal effects left to other people, everything within the properties seems to be yours.”

The redhead passes a copy of the document to each of you, along with her card. “When you have questions, you can reach me at these numbers and Eddie has my cell, too.”

Your mind is reeling, trying and failing to piece together the remnants of a life left behind. A puzzle that only you and Eddie can solve, or so it would seem. Before you can ask for confirmation or voice any of your concerns, Eddie’s voice rings through the room with an incredulous, “Properties? As in, plural?”

Max clears her throat, “Uh, yes. They want you to raise Zoë either here, in Hawkins, or—" She trails off to confirm the location of the other property. “New York. They closed on a property there earlier this week.”

"Huh,” He says, collapsing back into the club chair in front of Jason’s desk. “They never mentioned that.”

"Zoë.” You say once your tongue begins working again, “How do we— Where is she now?”

Max gives you a relieved smile. “Well, I’ve already arranged for her transfer. The foster family she was placed with last night will bring her to CPS. They feel that she’ll adjust best in her own environment. So, first, she needs to be picked up and brought here.” 

“Right,” You say, rising from your chair, “Can you excuse me, for just one moment?” And walk, as calmly as you can, out of the study and through the house to the back deck. 

It’s as if you can’t get enough air into your lungs, but the quicker you breathe in, the faster your heart beats. Your skin pricks with cold despite the warm morning sun.

”Ohmygod,” You heave out in a rush of air, “Ohmygod, ohmygod.” 

There has to be a better solution than co-parenting with Munson. How Jason’s attorney even let Chrissy pair you together for the foreseeable future truly boggles the mind. The pair of you loathe each other, further compounded by one disastrous interaction after another. This was insanity, there was no way in hell it could ever work!

You brace your hands on your knees and will yourself not to throw up. Never knowing that at precisely that very moment, Eddie is doing the same in the front yard of the house, just as petrified as you.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson fanfic #fic: eby #modern!eddie munson #stranger things fanfic

[cryley]

"It's like, you know, the Burroughs thing, you know, when he shot his wife. Like yeah, the lore is great and it makes Burroughs more interesting, but I'd rather her have lived than had cool books for me to read and I'd rather, like, people and children be like, happy." - matty

#he's so cute in this video wtf #him and his little coke #getting stoned with matty healy #the 1975 #matty healy #gifset #the 1975 edit #ry.exe

[horrorvisuals]

The Dark Eye (1995) is a first-person psychological horror adventure where you recite Edgar Allan Poe's stories through the perspectives of both murderer and the victim.

It features uncanny valley grotesque, stop-motion visuals, and clay-modeled characters.

Plays in a classic point-and-click adventure style, the game doesn't really put you into any life-or-death situations or doesn't give you choices. There are stories to go through and you are there to witness them.

Throughout the game, you go through some of Poe's favorite stories: The Cask of Amontillado, The Tell-Tale Heart, and Berenice.

Additionally, you can listen to William S. Burroughs' voiceovers featuring The Masque of the Red Death and Annabel Lee.

Many of these scenes play as QuickTime movies. Sometimes in full-screen, or sometimes in smaller, looping segments. The game as a whole has an experimental look and these only add to its already creepy atmosphere.

While the game features Poe's known stories, it doesn't ONLY rely on them but rather uses a unique plotline as a framing device. The gameplay occurs in two different aesthetic modes. While one is more realistic, the other is dreamy or perhaps even nightmarish.

Set in the late 1800s (as interpreted, not confirmed), the nameless character visits his uncle Edwin. Controlling this character, you meet Edwin himself and your brother Henry.

You then have a whiff of the paint thinner Edwin was using while painting, and go into a "trip".

Developed by Inscape, it was released for Windows and Mac OS. The game is now in abandonware status and you should be able to find it online.

If you want, can play it on your browser here: https://classicreload.com/win3x-dark-eye.html

#horror #horror games #horrorvisuals #horror game #retro #nostalgia #point and click #the dark eye #edgar allan poe #gothic #gothic horror #gothic horror story #horror story #horror stories

[charlottan]

every book i read at least a good chunk of in 2023 ranked under the cut grin😁

1. American Gods (2001)  by Neil Gaiman (currently reading) - simply a terrific book. Neil Gaiman at what I believe to be his best. Classic novel

2. Dhalgren (1975) by Samuel R. Delaney (currently reading) - monolithic 70s postmodern book that touches on issues of gender and race. very very good

3. Shantaram (2003) by Gregory David Roberts (currently reading) - very loveable and long book about the true story of an Australian man, arrested on heroin charges, who escapes prison to India and gets involved in arms trading. I'm only on like page 70 out of 900 but I'm deeply in love.

4. Going Postal (2004) by Terry Pratchett (currently reading) - discworld’s postal service! Plenty of hijinks. excellent book

5. Catch-22 (1961) by Joseph Heller (currently reading) - classic anti war satire, what can you say. Still ridiculously funny, the humor really doesnt age at all. it’s very screwball in a way that holds up. Such a joy to read

6. Sirens of Titan (1959) by Kurt Vonnegut - beautiful book, definitely my favorite of the three Vonnys that i finished this year. you can feel his love, as always

7. Cloud Cuckoo Land (2021) by Anthony Doerr- Charming book that spans multiple characters and time periods, all concerned with an ancient codex that symbolizes a sense of faith. I don't really remember this one much but I know I had a lot of fun reading it. Would recommend to anybody

8. Hell’s Angels (1967) by Hunter S. Thompson (currently reading) - very interesting book about, of course, the Hell’s Angels motorcycle club. Thompson becomes a fly on the wall, giving the reader a very, very, perhaps almost too close look at the bikers’ ways and rituals. Very good book if you’re into that sort of thing

9. Infinite Jest (1996) by David Foster Wallace (currently reading)- not much to say about the old Jest. classic annoying book. i read a good chunk this year :thumbsup:

10. Bag of Bones (1998) by Stephen King - average 90s era King. still just as gripping as his 70s and 80s work but with a more comfortable writing style i think. pretty good

11. Detransition, Baby (2021) by Torrey Peters (currently reading) - not much to say about this one really. Its pretty good so far though, pretty classic transfem lit

12. The Dead Zone (1979) by Stephen King - this book had a terrifically gripping second act but then it kindof goes off in a different direction in act 3. Or rather, it feels like act 3 could have been its own decent short story, with the first two acts together being their own novel.

13. Equal Rites (1987) by Terry Pratchett - transmasc king. Girl wants to be a wizard instead of a witch, average discworld novel, nothing memorable but still pretty good

14. Galapagos (1985) by Kurt Vonnegut - Ok vonny book. It definitely had some strong Vonny moments but overall felt a little Different from the rest of his stuff. But maybe in a good way

15. Deadeye Dick (1982) by Kurt Vonnegut - middling vonnegut novel. It was ok. But an ok kurt vonnegut book is still a really good book

16. On the Road (1957) by Jack Kerouac - classic beat novel. pretty good if you're into slice of life 1940s/50s stuff, which you probably arent, but if you are and you haven’t checked this out, go for it!

17. Nevada (2013) by Imogen Binnie - Decent, however it felt very bare bones in a way that, for instance, Detransition, Baby makes up for.

18. The Rum Diary (1998) by Hunter S. Thompson - To be honest I don’t remember this one At All but i know i read it in like 3 days so its gotta be good. Still cant put it too high in the ranking though sorry hunter

19. And the Hippos Were Boiled in Their Tanks (1945) by Jack Kerouac and William Burroughs - first ever book written by either of them, and it’s ok. It’s supposed to be a murder mystery but the murder doesnt happen until like the last 20 pages so idk

20. The Colour of Magic (1983) by Terry Pratchett - first discworld. Not that memorable but i wouldnt say it was bad either

21. 1Q84 (2009) by Haruki Murakami (dropped) - I really wanted to like this one. And i did, *mostly*. However, Murakami has this writing style that is obsessively technical and formal and makes for incredibly unnatural monologues, for one thing. This is just a personal preference though; I know it's very acclaimed. I'm honestly sad I couldn't make it past the writing style to enjoy it at least enough to make it through.

22. The Road (2006) by Cormac McCarthy (dropped) - too edgy

#book talk

[salem-witch-history]

The Parris Household

In late January 1692, panic began to set in at the home of Samuel Parris, minister of Salem Village, as some of the children living there began exhibiting signs of witchcraft.

Parris and his family lived in a simple home known as a saltbox. About 20 by 40 feet, it consisted of two rooms downstairs known as the hall and the parlor, two rooms used for sleeping and storage upstairs, a narrow garret, and a small extension off its back known as a lean-to. The home had been built a decade earlier for minister George Burroughs, but on an extremely limited budget, with much of the home resting on wooden posts rather than a proper foundation. It was torn down a century later after the foundation rotted away, but would have looked similar to the home shown above.

Living in this relatively small space were eight people:

Samuel Parris (age 39): Failed businessman turned minister, a religious traditionalist who projects insecurity to his congregation and fails to unite the sparring church.

Elizabeth Parris (age 44): The minister's wife, in poor health and absent from trial records. She will die only four years later.

Thomas Parris (age 10): Eldest child, absent from trial records.

Elizabeth "Betty" Parris (age 9): Middle child, generally believed to be the first to show signs of possession.

Susannah Parris (age 5): Youngest child, absent from trial records.

Abigail Williams (age 11): A relative of the Parris's living in the home, generally referred to as a niece. She is assumed to be an orphan and, along with Betty, shows signs of possession.

Tituba (age unknown): A Caribbean Indigenous woman enslaved by the Parrises, brought to Massachusetts when the family moved from Barbados in 1680.

John (age unknown): A Caribbean Indigenous man enslaved by the Parrises, often assumed to be Tituba's husband.

Prior to living in Salem, the Parris family also enslaved a young African boy, who died at the age of 15 in 1689. Having this many individuals enslaved in a small household may have reflected Parris's desperation to cling to the lifestyle he had originally inherited from his father's sugar plantation, and possibly also Elizabeth's inability to manage her household due to disability.

#salem witch trials #january #Samuel Parris #Elizabeth Parris #Betty Parris #Abigail Williams #Tituba Indian #John Indian #history

[voorvore]

First off, not a conspiracy post.

Yet has anyone else noticed a kind-of mainstreamed cultural gnosticism that developed in the latter half of the 20th century and the 21st?

I would say that it developed with the creation of fascism during the 1930s and 40s and the subsequent development of postmodernist existential/absurdist philosophies, and also launched into the mainstream during the 70s/80s with the advent of the mainstreaming of new-age hippy 'counter'culture.

Now, as gnosticism has always had a rather nebulous definition, cultural gnosticism, or better-termed neognosticism, is honestly a rather vague concept.

I would say it is better separated into two categories or cultural outlets: that which informs storytelling/media, and that which informs philosophizing/cultural theorizing.

That which informs storytelling/media I would say really came into general pop-culture during the 80s and 90s with not only the invention of cyberpunk fiction (william s. burroughs, etc etc), but also films such as the matrix, the dark city, and neuromancer. It is also worth mentioning the usage of gnosticism in (predominantly) Japanese media as well, such as quite a few JRPGs and late-90s animes such as Serial Experiments: Lain and Neon Genesis: Evangelion.

Furthermore, this trend continued well into the 2000s, 2010s, and even 2020s, with media such as Homestuck, Undertale, Adventure Time, Cruelty Squad, Paraphore, and the Amazing Digital Circus. There are a myriad of other such examples not explicitly mentioned here.

The latter facet of neognosticism especially informed, bizzarely enough, conspiracy culture and podcasts, really.

The matrix, tying into the storytelling/media facet, is often referenced by populist reactoid grifters whom see it as "exposing le matrix of le society", and especially with the usage of the term "redpilled" to describe those they agree with. The exact "matrix" they see is very ill-defined, as it does not exactly refer to capitalism in many cases but rather oftentimes some poorly abstracted, psuedomarxist idea of a New World Order or Globalist Elite, which operate on supernatural or above-human terms.

#voor.txt #196 #capitalist realism #horror #cruelty squad #homestuck #the matrix #matrix #gnosticism #esotericism #occult #magick #neon genesis evangelion #neuromancer #william s burroughs #undertale #todc #the amazing digital circus

[thislovintime]

Photo 4 by Henry Diltz.

A look at some specific books mentioned by Peter over the years...

- How To Play the Five-String Banjo: "Pete Seeger’s book was very, very good. He’s a lively writer as well as a very good musician, a good teacher, good, very enthusiastic kind of all around person. So it was very good to learn from his book. And I recommend the book highly if anybody ever wanted to learn how to play folk-style five-string banjo, his is the book to learn from.” - Peter, Headquarters radio, 1989 (x)

- Naked Lunch: “In Melbourne last night Peter Tork said that Sydney airport Customs officers had seized from his bag the banned book ‘The Naked Lunch,’ by William Burroughs. A Customs officer had taken one look at the book and said, ‘I’ll have that. It’s banned here.’ […] ‘It is a good book,’ Tork said. 'I was just getting interested it. It’s sold out everywhere back home. I didn’t know it was banned here.’” - The Sydney Morning Herald, September 17, 1968 (x)

- Letters to a Young Poet: One question posed to Peter for the Ask Peter Tork column in 2008 was, “Do you think [becoming a writer is] worth a try, or do you suggest I 'keep my day job'?” From Peter's reply: “What writers I know of say is, if you want to be a writer, you’re probably not going to do very well. If you must write, then write! Do you see the difference? Rainer Marie Rilke wrote 'Letters to a Young Poet,' which I recommend on this point. (It’s a small book, and cheap at the bookstore, and free at your library.)”

 -Why Do I Say Yes When I Need To Say No?: Escaping The Trap Of Temptation by Michelle McKinney Hammond: “Some years ago there was a movement afoot to separate assertiveness from aggressiveness, which I heartily endorse to this day. 'Why Do I Say Yes When I Mean No,' is, I believe the name of one book that tackles this subject.” - Peter, Ask Peter Tork, 2008

- Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind: “I recommend sitting in Zen meditation. The best book I know for that is Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind, by Shunryu Suzuki. It’s all about watching your own mind rather than obeying it as tho’ it were the infallible voice of the truth.” - Peter, Ask Peter Tork, 2008

- The Sayings of Buddha: “The Sayings of Buddha (a small, inexpensive book you can find in almost any book store) always rests on the night-table beside my bed. I find that ancient wisdom, meditation and contemplation puts my mind in order and brings me great serenity. These things also broaden my scope of understanding.” - Peter, 16, September 1968

- Stranger in a Strange Land: “One of my favorite books now is Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert Heinlein. It’s about the orphan child of the first Martian explorers. He grows to twenty-one years of age before he’s discovered by the second expedition to Mars which rescues him. He comes back to Earth, having been raised by the Martians — really fascinating!" - Peter, Fave, March 1968

- More Than Human: “Another writer I dig is Theodore Sturgeon, one of the greatest science fiction writers alive today. He visited our set one day and we were all very thrilled. He’s a visionary and a mystic, really one of the giant talents of the day. I hope everybody reads him. He wrote a book called More Than Human and a lot of other novels and short stories.” - Peter, Fave, March 1968

Q: "You read a book a day. Of all the books you have read, which three are your favorites and why?" A: "No, I don’t read a book a day. I sometimes spend weeks on a book. Of all the books I’ve read, my favorites are 'The Book Of [Tao],' 'Stranger In A Strange Land' and oh, I don’t know, a whole mess of other books, because they turn me on—they get to me." - Monkee Spectacular, January 1968

- The Book of Tao: “Peter also reads The Book of the Tao… all about an ancient Chinese nature philosophy with some simple, beautiful and meaningful messages in it. He studies all kinds of different religions, too. Peter has now figured out his own religion, what seems closest to Truth for him. It’s the result of much studying, thinking and sorting out. Peter was also influenced by the Oriental philosophies Zen. ‘Zen Buddhism believes in the theory of sudden enlightenment or sudden awakening. This idea is Japanese. I believe that Truth can just come to you in a sudden flash and you’ll know where it’s all at, if you prepare yourself to receive it. ‘Zen also teaches that you should just go along and live your life as best you can from minute to minute, always living in the present. You’re already there and there’s nothing else. If you can make the most of each day, accomplish and learn all you can now, you’ll get so much more done in your lifetime than if you sit around waiting for tomorrow to come. Because when tomorrow gets here it’s just another today. You end up just waiting and putting things off and nothing ever gets done. So, try to make each minute count!’” - Fave, March 1968

- Upanishads: "[Peter] starts clowning around [on set], but after a bit he settles down and starts reading a book. He sees you looking and explains, ‘This is a book of some of the excerpts of the Upanishads. Actually, these are excerpts from ancient Hindu writings. I guess you could say that in a sense they are like the Bible, only they were written many centuries before the old testament.’ Peter stops speaking for a moment. ‘Am I boring you?’ he asks gently. After you assure him that he is not boring anyone, he continues, ‘Well, the Upanishads are simply but beautifully written. I mean, they are quite easy to understand. You can buy the Mentor pocket edition for about 50 cents —′ Just about that time, Peter becomes aware of 16’s camera focusing on him. He promptly becomes a clown again, laughing and joking and holding his book myopically up to his eyes. You realize that you have just had a glimpse of the real Peter Tork — the sensitive, sincere young man who hides behind the veneer of a silly-funny Monkee. And it makes you feel very warm that for a brief moment you have glimpsed Peter Tork’s secret self." - 16, February 1968

- Autobiography of a Yogi: As Henry Diltz recalled (in Laurel Canyon: A Place In Time), “I remember giving one to Peter on The Monkees set. I did a group shot of them sitting on a couch and he was reading the Yogananda book. I always felt so good about that.”

#Peter Tork #Tork quotes #long read #1967 #1968 #2008 #The Monkees #Monkees #bookworm Peter :) #if anyone's looking for additions to a reading list... #love his mind #more for the solid Tork advice files #Headquarters Radio #16 Magazine #Fave Magazine #Monkee Spectacular #Ask Peter Tork #The Sydney Morning Herald #can you queue it

[haveyoureadthisscifibook]

Book 1 only for all of these.

Humans are weird, I have the data by Betty Adams

Clean Sweep by Illona Andrews . This is a complicated one genre wise, because there are vampires and werewolves and witches, but they're from alien planets, werewolves are the result of genetic modification, vampires have advanced tech, etc. So fantasy would make sense too?

Cluster by Piers Anthony

Proxima by stephen baxter

Prime Suspects: A Clone Detective Mystery by Jim Bernheimer

The Atlas Six by Olivie Blake

Nova Express William Burroughs,

Famous Men Who Never Lived by K Chess

Stories of Your Life and Others by Ted Chiang

The Supernaturalist by Eoin Colfer

Reset by Sarina Dahlan

Omnitopia dawn by Diane Duane

The Dreaming Void by peter Hamilton

Valor's Choice (Huff, Tanya)

Eye to Eye (Jinks, Catherine)

Revan (Karpyshyn, Drew)

Babel (Kuang, R.F.)

The Wandering Earth (Liu, Cixin)

The Merchant of Death (MacHale, D.J.)

Maybe Next Time (Major, Cesca)

The Host (Meyer, Stephenie)

Cloud Atlas (Mitchell, David)

Wild Massive (Moore, Scotto)

Nyxia (Reintgen, Scott )

Revelation Space (Reynolds, Alastair)

Robots vs. Fairies (Parisien, Dominik)

We Are Legion (We Are Bob) (Taylor, Dennis E.)

Spin (Wilson, Robert Charles)

Artifice (Woolfson, Alex)

Androne (Worrell, Dwain)

hello! many of these are queued.

the following are in formats or genres that I’m not currently accepting for this blog:

Ted Chiang’s Stories of Your Life and Others is a collection of (very good) non-linked short fiction.

R.F. Kuang’s Babel is fantasy.

Robots vs. Fairies (ed. Parisien and Wolfe) is a collection of non-linked short fiction.

Alex Woolfson’s Artifice is a graphic novel.

and I had questions about the following:

Olivia Blake’s The Atlas Six appears to be fantasy — is there something in later books that would make it science fiction?

William S. Burroughs, Nova Express — you said book 1 only, but Nova Express is book 2 of The Nova Trilogy. did you want Nova Express specifically or did you want book 1, The Soft Machine?

Liu Cixin, The Wandering Earth — this appears to be the title of a short fiction collection containing the title story. has the story itself been published in standalone format (outside of a magazine/similar)? if so, could you or someone else point me towards it?

D.J. MacHale, The Merchant of Death — while parallel worlds are integral to the Pendragon books, my impression is that the handling of them (and of travel between them) is primarily fantastic rather than scientific/science-fictional. could you, or someone else, clarify the extent of the science fiction aspects of the series?

#clarification requests

[constitutionalweasleymonarchy]

Sneak peek: The Pride of Burrough House, ch 23

Well, well. Look who’s doin some words again. May I offer you some Romione as penance?

.

Ron exchanged a stricken look with Hermione. Or rather, his was stricken — she looked as though she’d just had an epiphany.

“Put your arm around me,” she whispered.

She’d lost her deuced mind. And he told her so.

“Do it now,” she ordered, grabbing his hand and wrapping his arm around her. At the same time, she placed her arms about his neck. Just as the figure reached the doorway, she dropped her weight almost entirely, and Ron grunted with the effort to keep her upright.

“What’s going on ’ere?” demanded a wiry man clutching a broom and a pail filled with rags. Ron recognised him as the son of the local innkeeper, who also kept the assembly rooms.

“Oh, I’m so glad!” exclaimed Hermione. “I had no idea how I was going to get out. It’s my ankle, you see.” She leant on Ron for support.

The man squinted. “What’s your ankle doing in ’ere?”

Ron felt himself go pale as a ghost under the man’s suspicious stare.

“It was so stupid of me,” lamented Hermione. “I thought — I think I left a book in the assembly rooms, and I was just so worried about it being lost, I wasn’t thinking. Mr Weasley told me not to come in here, but I came through that window and I twisted my ankle, so careless! Mr Weasley heard me and came to my rescue, I didn’t think anyone else was here! I was ever so frightened.”

“A book,” the man repeated, caught up on that one detail. He scrutinised the young pair clutching one another.

“She’s an odd girl,” was all Ron could manage by way of explanation. He felt her fingers dig into his shoulder as if trying to claw him through his coat.

#so smooth #romione #ron x hermione #regency au #hp fanfiction #ron weasley #hermione granger #ronsgirlfriday #burrough house

[brooklynmuseum]

“The very word ‘submission’ contains the paradox of wanting and not wanting,” William S. Burroughs wrote in the introduction of Jimmy DeSana’s 1980 book Submission. 

For the photogragraphic series featured in the publication, made between 1977 and 1978, DeSana built on 101 Nudes (1972) and his work for File Megazine by creating theatrical and often comic photographs that push the limits of respectability and explore domestic confinement, consumer affluence, and social conformity. He was also mocking the recent trend of S-M scenarios in fashion photography and advertisements.  

He titled many of the images after the objects depicted in them—Toilet, Coffee Table, Television, Shoes, Shower—rather than sex acts or the names of the individuals shown, who are always anonymous and often wearing masks. This strategy not only protected the identity of his models, many of whom were friends, but also contrasted with his better-known portrait work during this period, which he did to make money. Many of the photographs comically equate practices of everyday life and consumerism (washing dishes, taking a shower, driving a car) with forms of bondage and discipline.

In exploring S-M through an aesthetic and performative lens, DeSana joined a long history of twentieth-century avant-gardes that engaged with these practices in order to compel debate on freedom of expression and power.

📷 Jimmy DeSana (American, 1949–1990). Toilet, 1977–78. Gelatin silver print, 9 9/16 × 6 3/4 in. (24.3 × 17.1 cm). Courtesy of the Jimmy DeSana Trust and P·P·O·W Gallery, New York. © Estate of Jimmy DeSana. (Photo: Allen Phillips)

#Brooklyn Museum #brooklyn #museum #art #exhibition #photography #Jimmy DeSana #JimmyDeSanaBkM #artist #lgbtq+ #FILE Megazine #photographer #New York City #nyc #things to do #things to see

[chernobog13]

Creatures on the Loose #21 (January, 1973).

This wasn’t a great series, but you can’t beat a Jim Steranko cover like this one!  Especially as this was Gullivar Jones’ last appearance in Creatures on the Loose.  He had two final appearances in the black-and-white magazine Monsters Unleashed (issues #4 and 8) before disappearing from Marvel completely.

The series was loosely based on the 1905 novel Lieut. Gullivar Jones: His Vacation by Edwin Lester Arnold.  It told of the aforementioned Lt. Jones of the U.S. Navy being whisked to Mars (on a magic carpet, no less!), where he discovered he had superior strength on the alien world, fell in love with a beautiful princess, and was involved in numerous adventures.

Sound familiar?  That’s probably because Edgar Rice Burroughs’ novel, A Princess of Mars (1912) was very much inspired by Arnold’s novel.  The similarities between Gullivar Jones and Burroughs’ protagonist, John Carter, are numerous and strong.

However, there are two very big differences: 1) Jones is a loser, doesn’t defeat his enemies, and doesn’t get the girl; and 2) the novel was poorly received and not successful, leading Arnold to give up writing fiction all together.

Whereas John Carter, on the other hand, was a classic hero who defeated all obstacles placed in front of him, married his princess, and was so successful that Burroughs wrote 10 more books in the series.

I’m sure that Marvel would’ve much rather adapted the more heroic and better known John Carter, but DC Comics had the license to most of Edgar Rice Burroughs’ characters at the time.

Marvel did make Gullivar Jones more heroic and a master of his destiny in their stories.  They also made him a Vietnam War veteran to appeal  more to the comic readers of the time (and make him a bit more distinctive than John Carter).  However, he never caught on, and once the sales figures came in he was booted out of the book, replaced by Thongor, a Conan-wannabe.

#Creatures on the Loose #Gullivar Jones #Princess Heru #Edwin Lester Arnold #Jim Steranko #Marvel Comics

[likesunsetorange]

https://x.com/llumi_ii/status/1749483411385827672?s=46&t=6gibj1UxMbLn0YGDvwIicw

OUR PRAYERS WERE ANSWERED

bodyguard au drabble # 3

OMG YES I SAW!!!! that’s literally so her i love it so much this mirror palais collection is so bodyguard au mikasa!!! and lia really blesses us with mikasa in the cutest outfits, i always look forward to her art when she posts 😭🩷

i'm sorry this took so long to reply to but i really wanted to write something for this, so i hope you enjoy!!! :)

also slight nsfw warning? lol!

While they weren’t necessarily sharing a mutual dislike for one another anymore, they weren’t necessarily friends either. But Eren also wouldn’t say they weren’t not friends either—it was complicated, but it wasn’t—he was her bodyguard whom she happened to live with, but there was something a bit more there—or at least he thought.

In the weeks since they had come to a truce of the sorts, they had developed a routine of the sorts. He would accompany her on her daily errands (as he was supposed to), but she welcomed his company rather than Mikasa feeling as if Eren was an unwanted presence. It was almost as if they were spending time together rather than Eren doing his job. Even when she spent hours trying on clothes, or trying to choose between (what Eren deemed was the same) lace ribbons, he found himself with the faintest hint of a smile on his face. Once they were back at her house, they would disperse amongst themselves until later in the evening when they would often cook together or watch whatever movie Mikasa picked for them.

The peace within the house was nice, and he found himself appreciating the little things a bit more. When she wasn’t busy throwing insults at him or criticizing every little thing he did, she was actually quite sweet. It was ironic to Eren how a lot of her personality was reminiscent of that first initial encounter—before she drugged him—leading Eren to believe maybe all of it hadn't been as much of an act as he had initially thought.

Today, much like any other day, after a day of various errands and a shower, Eren found himself preoccupied in the kitchen, but rather than cooking dinner like he usually would, he made himself a bowl of cereal, much to what he would assume would be Mikasa’s displeasure. Mikasa had him running around the entirety of the city, somehow managing to go through multiple burroughs (which he didn't even think was possible in NYC) for all of her menial errands, and he couldn't be bothered to make anything, so cereal would have to do.

He had made it through his second bowl of cereal when he heard Mikasa's voice on the phone, approaching. Her figure came into view, her hair damp and clinging to her back and her bangs pinned out of her face with little heart clips. She was wearing one of the many pair of pajamas she owned, today, these ones pink with little red hearts.

There weren't many things Eren allowed himself to indulge in when it came to Mikasa—he tried to keep those thoughts few and far between. But there was one thing that would plague his mind from time to time, no matter how hard he tried. It came in bouts of small moments when he was reminded that at the end of the day, he was a man living with an objectively attractive female who paid no mind to his presence, prancing around her house like she still lived alone.

It came in the form of Mikasa and her abundance of exquisitely crafted satin and silk pajamas—something that to the normal person, was seemingly harmless. Initially, it was. Eren found himself a bit endeared by her seemingly neverending collection, almost looking forward to which pair she'd wear every night—some patterned, some solid, some adorned with little embellishments or details of different fabrics.

But then, for reasons unbeknownst to him, the seemingly cute matching button-up shirts and pants turned into tiny shorts and slip shirts. So the thoughts that Eren tried not to allow cross his mind, ran rampant. When her clothes highlighted the curves of her body, accentuating every dip and crevice, leaving little to his imagination, and the dusking of her nipples against the smooth satin (since Mikasa refused to turn off the AC despite always being cold), it was hard for Eren to think anything but unholy things.

His mind ventured to places of how her skin would feel against his, if her sweet demeanor was applicable elsewhere, and if her smart mouth was good for other things too. And surely Mikasa, who at one point Eren had been sure was Satan incarnate, wasn't all that innocent either—with her sultry looks and sly touches—which only fueled his thoughts further. But Eren allowed these to only exist in his brain in brief glimpses, and would quickly tuck them back into the deepest crevices of his brain where they belonged—for the sake of his sanity and his pride. He would resume his gaze from her very nicely crafted body to her equally pretty face, pretending that he hadn't just imagined multiple ways he wanted to fuck her.

When Mikasa's gaze finally met Eren's he made it a point to keep his eyes on her face, which is exactly how he noticed her face turn from her usual blank expression to a pout as she hung up the phone to whoever she was talking to.

"Are you... eating cereal?" She asked as she walked toward him.

Eren raised a brow quizzically, "Yes, is that an issue?"

"Oh," she huffed, her pout only intensifiying. "Well, what am I gonna eat? You already ate—we normally make something together."

Eren shrugged nonchalantly, knowing she could order takeout like usual when she didn't feel like making something. But it was obvious what the actual problem was—Eren was a bit too oblivious to realize—she just wanted to spend time with Eren.

Eren knew he would probably make her something, always giving in to her, but now that they were a bit more amicable, he enjoyed his fair share of riling her up to compensate for the months of borderline verbal abuse she put him through.

"Last time I checked, I was your bodyguard, not your personal chef," he replied blankly, but the faintest hint of a smile gave way to his teasing.

"You know, sometimes I think I liked it better when you didn't talk to me," her voice dripping with the attitude that Eren had been accustomed to at one point. She glared at him as she walked past him towads the fridge, Eren stopping her before she could make it all the way.

He tugged lightly on the bottom of her shirt, Mikasa swatting as his hand in response. "Mikasa, I was kidding. What did you want?"

"I don't want anything—I can make it myself," she responded, crossing her arms. She glared down at where he sat on her bar stool, Eren trying to maintain his gaze at her face and not her body, which he was at eye level with. He found himself particularly enamored with these little heart pajamas—finding them endearing, but also for the little slivers of skin they showed—but not only could he give Mikasa the satisfaction in knowing that, he couldn't allow it for his own pride.

"Why are you like this? You're a brat sometimes, you know that?"

"And you're annoying," she bit back, but despite her snarky remarks, she seemingly admit defeat, taking a seat, nonetheless.

Eren released a pained sigh as he stood up, knowing he only contributed to her behavior, being the one to constantly indulge in her. He took off his sweatshirt, leaving him in just his t-shirt , not wanting to get it dirty. He almost threw it into the chair before he had half the mind to shove it over Mikasa's head, Mikasa face shocked as he helped her put it on (not bothering to care whether she had wanted to or not), his sweatshirt almost swallowing her tiny frame whole.

"Here, I can see you shivering," he said dully, though he knew it was only an excuse for his own sanity's sake.

"Oh, thanks," she replied, her cheeks flushing the tiniest tinge of pink. "And thanks for making me something to eat, Eren," she added a few moments later as Eren turned on the stove.

"Yea, yea. It's my job, right?" A smile on his face as he rolled his eyes playfully.

And as he sat there a while later, watching Mikasa happily eat the grilled cheese he made her, a smile on her face, while adorned in one of his random sweatshirts, he realized he had royally fucked himself. If he thought seeing her in her clothes did something to him, seeing her in his clothes—combined with her long inky hair splayed across her shoulders, a rare sight to see; the same doe-eyed face that had got him that night just months ago; and her rare but sickeningly sweet personality, that made his heart do a double take—was only so much worse.

#bodyguard au #asks #vic’s drabbles #i had almost finished and then my app crashed and i wanted to kay em es i wont lie lol but luckily half was saved as a draft lol but i was #committed so i retyped the rest again the things i do for eremika. i was fighting demons to post this the demons being myself lol #sometimes im like am i putting these in the fic? idk LOL these might just be tumblr only scenes based off our collective discussions/hcs lo #anyways eren is so down bad for his little boss

[charlottan]

starting a book tag game ^-^

Favorite books: Dhalgren by Samuel R Delany, Sisters of Dorley by Alyson Greaves, American Gods by Neil Gaiman, Piranesi by Susanna Clarke, House of Leaves, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson, anything by Kurt Vonnegut

Favorite authors: Kurt Vonnegut, Stephen King, Jack Kerouac, Charles Bukowski, William S Burroughs, Hunter S Thompson, Alyson Greaves

Favorite genres: Postmodernism, beat generation, road stories, horror, forcefem

Book(s) you're currently reading: Sisters of Dorley by Alyson Greaves, Going Postal by Terry Pratchett, Pet Sematary by Stephen King, Post Office by Charles Bukowski, I Am Pilgrim by Terry Hayes, End of Watch by Stephen King, and Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts are all in my rotation right now, especially I Am Pilgrim. It's a shitty little thriller that I picked up just to get a feel for the genre after enjoying Billy Summers by Stephen King!

Books on your to read list: Gravity's Rainbow, Infinite Jest, Ham on Rye, We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson, Lord of the Rings

Books you loved as a child: Magic Treehouse, Percy Jackson, Charlie Bone, Captain Underpants, Warriors, A to Z Mysteries. realizing i was incredibly into book serieses rather than one off books wow

Preferred book length: considering about 100k-120k as an average length book i think i really like when a book is longer than 200k words. really give me a whole big world to explore, yknow.

Books you couldn't finish: 1Q84 by Haruki Murakami is like the only book in recent memory that ive had to just stop reading. the way he writes characters thoughts is so stilted and unnatural sounding i just hated it. which sucks because i really loved the story a whole lot, especially with the cult storyline.

Fiction or nonfiction: in general i heart fiction but i also really like reading books like the electric acid kool acid test, suspected hippie in transit, on the road, and queer and junky by william burroughs. books about real life people's Adventures

Buy, borrow from library, or read online: Unfortunately i am a buycel i love the feeling of reading a physical book but i take too long to read books to borrow them from a library

Author you've read the most of, but DON'T recommend: Stephen King (has read 40+ of his books, which as an aside is insane to think about)

Favorite book character: Eliot Rosewater from funny kurt vonnegut!!!!!! or piranesi from piranesi. im a big fan of the dreamish lover type characters

If you at some point stopped reading but then started again, what book/books got you into reading again: i read a lot in elementary school but then read barely any in middle school and freshman year of high school and what finally got me back into reading was stephen king :)

tagging ANYONE WHO WANTS TO!!!!!!!!!! PLEASE! and please tag me in the post :)

#tag game

[nix-whythisfilm]

Movies on Writers and Artists

For the writers and artists. Might update it if I find or remember more...

Little women (2019)

An absolute classic of literature, with Jo March being the prime writer in the film. The film covers the domestic life of five women where they all move into their own directions through the course f the story. They start out being artists and writers amongst themselves and then branch out due to various life circumstances. The people who do move into art successfully are Amy being the painter, Jo being the writer, and Beth being the pianist despite her early death. The movie has a strong message for women that they can endure and do anything they put their minds to.

Something I personally liked in the movie is her writing spree at the end. She was driven, by strong feelings and more. The scenes that added up to her writing were something really inspiring to have the writing flow. It often helps me to write whenever I rewatch the movie.

Kill your Darlings (2013)

The film was based on real writers Allen Ginsberg, Jack Kerouac, and William Burroughs through their journeys at Columbia University. This film seems like a pinnacle moment that went on to influence their lives during the modern and post-modern eras of literature. Most English Literature degrees around the world cover the Beat movement and Literature by at least one of these writers. In my undergraduate degree we had the poem "Howl" and studied the Beat movement and the spirit it encompassed.

The movie I felt was incredibly inspiring. It hits like a motivational speech, making you want to grab a piece of pen and paper, making you itch to write something and be a part of the history of English Literature. Their stories are something that people would love to call fictional and completely reckless. But they had a point, they made it a point to establish that writing necessarily does not have to be formatted and traditional. They wrote something revolutionary and made sacrifices that were personal. The movie itself stuck a personal chord in me.

Dead Poets Society (1989)

The movie is obviously very old compared to the movies that are easily watched by the majority of the audience. The film, old as it is, is bound to a certain level of ancient traditions and beliefs that may be considered old-fashioned. There was a time when it faced quite a few allegations that it was misogynistic and male chauvinistic. I will not completely disagree, but it does have a spirit that can be enjoyed without being entirely conscious of the offensive remarks that sound mild. The film itself is a story about a group of boys in a boarding school and an inspiring teacher who wants to awaken the humanity in his students while fighting against the norm of monotonous career paths.

The movie is a personal favourite, considering that I came from a family struggling to accept that I was a student of the Humanities. It had a very important lesson that I often want to preach to everyone around me, with the majority of people I know very casually insulting and degrading artists and writers. It is a hard choice of career, and most struggle to achieve a balance in their life while also contributing to the field of Literature. With so many people so close-minded, a person of humanities is often ridiculed for having an open mind despite it being something helpful, rather than not.

Colette (2018)

The film is based on the true story of the writer Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette in France. The woman was talented in more ways than one, and the film itself speaks about her journey as a writer and mostly through her marriage with Henry Gauthier-Villars. The story talks of a harsh relationship where he often forced her to write for him, along with his other faults, while she only endured them and even went along with his schemes to be the power couple they both quickly became.

Something remarkable in the film is her fiery spirit. Kiera Knightly has played her part excellently, not sure how accurate it might be to the actual story. The film moves in a quick fashion, showing her attitude of taking everything for the better and quickly adapting to any situation she is in and making the best out of it. Her rage and her various frustrations, she somehow always channelled into something she can present to the world and profit from it. That itself was what made the movie so memorable to me.

Frida (2002)

This film stars Salma Hayek and many other significant actors of that time. While the film covered the life story of Frida Kahlo, it also shows much about the working of the world around artists and how they are spun into the web of politics. This film spoke a lot about how people are involved in politics or drama, casually.

The artist itself was an enigma to the audience and the world with her indomitable spirit and being a force of nature in her life. She had tragedies in her life since the beginning but they never stopped her from doing what she wanted or from experiencing her life just like any normal person would. Her art, which was discovered relatively late in her lifetime, became a technique and style of its own. The film also shows how her life was full of scandal and much like a cinematic story.

The Guernsey Literary and the Potato Peel Pie Society (2018)

This film was adapted from the book of the same name, based on studies on the German occupation of the island of Guernsey. The story is about the life of a writer Juliet who wrote about an artist in the times of war. While struggling to live in the city after having been a victim of the war herself, she constantly is shown to be out of place in social gatherings. And while a majority of artists in this industry are shown, and even are, introverts, Juliet here is an extrovert who has grown weary of society.

The film moves into the story quickly, showing the residents of the island becoming penpals and acquaintances of Juliet. There she tries to learn more about the effects of the invasion on the people who lived there. But somewhere in between the journey, she finds her home. The movie was truly enlightening on how the writers of different times fared against the tides of the world and made their way in their life.

Crimson Peak (2015)

Also a book adaptation, Crimson Peak is an extraordinary film directed by Guillermo Del Toro and starring Jessica Chastain and Tom Hiddleston. The movie has intense colouring and a very heavy presence of music and dramatic mystery. The film has some gore, and maybe some bad CGI with horror elements. But it is a good watch, and one with something that keeps you curious to keep watching.

It's interesting how this film too shows another writer, the main character, who is the daughter of a self-made businessman in America after the wars. The story moves quickly in the obvious direction of her falling in love with the European man who is looking for investors. But mystery surrounds him and his sister, and her father questions his integrity. The film itself is a visual treat with a strong plot.

Luckiest Girl Alive (2022)

The film, in the beginning, is a pain to watch. It drags and feels pointless, her inner monologue is borderline creepy and feels like so much drama. It surprised me that it was based on a book. But the more you watch the film, the more the pieces fall together. It is a challenging piece of media that expects the audience to have the patience and open mind to completely accept it. Mila Kunis has a very unique role in this, where she keeps switching her personalities.

The film is gripping and sounds so normal in the beginning, but the more we watch the more the false layers fall off. It is one of the slices of life movies based on a true story and strikes a chord among so many people around the world. It speaks of an experience that is so intimate but also something that leaves you so distant and unfeeling for yourself. It surely is an excellent watch. The only thing that anyone needs to watch out for is the assortment of swear words.

Hymn of Death (2018)

The mini-series is based on the stories of real-life artists and writers. The film is made in Korean but has a considerable amount of Japanese in it. The story covers the life of the playwright Woo-Jin and the soprano Shim Deok during the Japanese Occupation of Korea. They both meet in an institution in Japan where they have gone to pursue their studies, which is where they both fall in love.

As with any other situation, their lives get complicated quickly with their personal situations getting entangled and leaving them with some hard choices to make. The series itself has a streak of melancholy throughout while also showing the lives of the artists in that era and the culture. It is interesting to watch how some things exist across cultures and affects people despite their race, age, gender, or the society they live in.

Our Beloved Summer (2021)

This series has an extremely strong bias in my mind for the artist's work that has been put in for the direction. It stars Choi Wooshik who starred in the Oscar-winning film 'Parasite', and the character is nothing like the one he has played before. The story covers the life of the artist before and after ten years, the difference it had in his life and the romance of his high school. It is a specific genre of romance, comedy, and mild drama that is appealing for a comfortable watch.

Their personalities are a treat to watch as they mingle and spar over words. The series shows the flow of life that is easy and fulfilling though it might not always have everything we want. The protagonist is an easy-natured man who has been the same since he was a boy, but it also speaks of the way an artist thinks. It necessarily does not mean all artists are the same, but I was much like him when I was growing up. It is beautiful to watch, so many relationships blossoming through the journey, not devoid of pain and breakups.

#Ones that I have watched with my unique point on why to watch it and what it talks about #art #culture #painting #writer #writing #artist movies #writer movies #our beloved summer #choi wooshik #hymn of death #japanese invasion #luckiest girl alive #mila kunis #trauma survivor #journalist #crimson peak #sir thomas sharpe #mia wasikowska #tom hiddleston #jessica chastain #post moderism #modernism #art movements #literary movements #guernsey #guernsey literary and potato peel pie society #german invasion #frida kahlo #frida