#shifting to historical romance mode

[wrishwrosh]

inheritance law the sexiest and juiciest driver of genre situations…..primogeniture and coverture my two best best plot devices

#shifting to historical romance mode #something genuinely fascinating abt the tension of a genre where the successful fulfillment of the plot #means your main character losing legal personhood #like yesss lets grapple with thatttt #also on a lighter note im always on the lookout for books about paperwork and chores

[animeomegas]

The Quest for a Second Life - Epilogue

??? x ALPHA!READER

Summary: Having spent so long choosing their second life, the MC is finally rewarded and gets to live their second life. The only questioning remaining was... Itachi or Kakashi. GN!Dom!Alpha!Reader x Multiple Naruto Characters

Word count: 6.4k

Warnings: N-sfw content, tiny self-harm for magical blood potion purposes. All alphas have dicks, fyi.

A/N: And we're finally here! This is the end, and I hope people like it, even if you'd have preferred the other character. This has been a journey and a half, thank you so much for joining me on it. Merry Christmas to those that celebrate! I am deeply honoured to call @omeganronpa my friend, and seeing as I'm too far away to be around in person, I hope that this gets my message across as well as I had hoped 💗💓💞💖❣️

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Epilogue

James found herself lingering in the library when she knew she ought not to. She had just sent another human into their chosen pocket dimension, this time a historical romance, and she really needed to get back to her office to receive the next one. She knew this, and yet her feet refused to co-operate.

She couldn’t stop wondering after the human alpha she had recently worked with, although she wasn’t sure if humans would agree with her use of the word ‘recent’. They didn’t normally, and James had learnt that time flowed differently for humans than it did for Curators.

No, her mind was behaving badly. It was wandering off without her permission and whispering suggestions of going to check on the human alpha, even though James’ shift was still far from over.

Before she could think better of it, James turned and started walking towards the hidden backroom of the library, where books that were in current use were stored. Surely, it would be okay for her to have a little look at what that human alpha was up to. She would only linger for a little while and then she would get back to work.

She entered the backroom and scanned the shelves for the correct book. It wasn’t difficult to find, but she suddenly felt nervous. It wasn’t as if Curators weren’t allowed to watch the pocket dimensions, in fact, she knew several of her peers who did so regularly, but James had never felt the urge.

Until now.

“Just a quick peek, then I’ll greet my next human.” She opened the book and put it into viewing mode.

...

Ugh, you really shouldn’t have bought this much stuff. You juggled the shopping bags awkwardly, but persevered forwards as best as you could. It wasn’t your fault that there was a sale on today, how could you resist getting an entire bag of fresh peaches? You wondered if you could figure out how to make peach lemonade. It was the height of summer and a refreshing drink sounded like heaven right about now.

At least your new sandals were working well. They had been a gift from your parents when they returned from their business trip, and they were as cool as they were durable.

You dodged around a bush so that the branches didn’t abduct any of your shopping, grateful that you were getting used to this route now. Although you had grown up in the area, you had never really had a reason to stray this far. Of course, not until you met him.

Ugh, him. He was perfect. No, he was beyond perfect.

You had found him by chance, and the first few weeks had been a whirlwind, but you knew, more than anything, that he was perfect for you.

And there he was, in all his perfection, as you finally reached your home.

Itachi.

He was standing in the chicken run, his long, dark hair swept up out of his face in a more stringent ponytail than normal. You had helped him with it before you left, after his fringe kept getting stuck to his skin. He was wearing a pair of incredibly short shorts, and a loose T-shirt that always fell away from his chest whenever he bent over. It was a personal favourite of yours, but one that you never let him wear outside of your own home.

Itachi must have heard you, because he turned, a grin lighting up his face. You could see he had a smudge of mud on the swell of his left cheek.

Itachi was utterly stunning. He took your breath away effortlessly, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Alpha!” he called, lifting one hand up in a wave. “Look!”

It took you a moment to understand what he wanted you to look at, but you eventually realised that he wasn’t waving; he was clutching two chicken eggs.

“Amazing!” you called back, approaching the back gate, but stopping at the fence as you realised you didn’t have free hands to unlock it.

“The chickens are finally old enough to lay eggs!” Itachi was practically beaming as he exited the run. A couple of chickens attempted to make an escape, but Itachi flicked his fingers and gently knocked them back with magic. “Look!” He came right up to you now, letting you into the garden, and holding the eggs in front of your face.

“That’s brilliant, ‘tachi. Why don’t you help me get all this unpacked inside, and we can cook the eggs for some lunch. I have some peaches and lemons for lemonade, too.”

You both headed into the kitchen through the back door. You dumped everything on the table and gratefully slumped into a chair, thankful to be out of the hot sun. Itachi practically floated around the kitchen, still beaming. He unpacked what he needed and immediately started making lunch. He settled on shakshuka with the fated peach lemonade.

It was with great amusement that you watched Itachi don his cooking apron, the one you’d specially embroidered with ‘Proud Chicken Oma’.

After you had cooled down a little, you slowly unpacked the rest of the shopping, until Itachi called you over to the oven.

“I’m going to fry the eggs,” he said, sounding giddy. You had known that he wanted chickens, you did too, but the genuine joy that they gave him still surprised you. You felt so incredibly lucky that you had literally wandered into his life by accident, and that he had allowed you to stay.

“Let me watch.” You hugged him from behind and peered over his shoulder. And if you also took a quick sneaky look down his shirt while you were there, well, no one could prove it. It was probably too hot for hugs, but you couldn’t make yourself let go. You nuzzled into the area where you would one day put your bond mark, but for now lay unbroken skin.

Itachi wanted you to meet each other’s families before you properly bonded. Hopefully that day would come sooner rather than later, because having him walk around without your claim was driving you mad.

Itachi cracked the egg into the pan, and perhaps you were too much of a sappy romantic, but the lucky double yolk that it contained felt symbolic.

…

The silence was thick enough to cut. You took a sip of your tea to try and stave off the awkwardness, but it didn’t help.

You were sitting at your kitchen table with Itachi and his parents. Sasuke had been sent out to collect some eggs, most likely so Fugaku and Mikoto could talk to you alone, but even now that Sasuke was firmly outside, the silence remained heavy and oppressive.

“How long have you known each other?” Fugaku asked, finally breaking it.

“A few months, father.” Fugaku’s lips tightened and the lines around his eyes deepened. You got the vibe that he wasn’t happy with that answer. It was such a shame that Itachi cared about their opinions.

“And how did you meet?”

You cleared your throat, “Itachi found me unconscious in a snowstorm and nursed me back to health.”

There was a beat of silence, before Mikoto spoke. “Then you owe my son a life debt, you would do well to remember that.”

You were really getting the vibe that they didn’t like you. It was for that reason, that you hastened to reassure them that you had been looking after Itachi as well.

“Oh! Well, I returned the favour by giving Itachi my cloak when all his clothes were destroyed in the middle of the woods.”

Itachi immediately went red faced, and held up his hands, sputtering. Oh, whoops. That definitely sounded like you had been fucking in the woods. Of course, you had actually fucked in those woods, but that wasn’t what you meant to share with his parents of all people.

“We didn’t—It was an Amplexus plant!” Itachi explained hurriedly, his face continuing to darken. “I needed the seeds for a potion, and it got a hold of me, that’s all!”

Itachi’s panicked explanation broke the tension, as his mother started giggling, and his father sighed and put his face in his palm.

“Sasuke is our only hope,” Fugaku muttered.

It was at that moment that a squawk sounded from outside. Sasuke’s dulcet tones followed shortly afterwards.

“Try that again, you glorified rat, and I’ll burn off all your feathers, I fucking mean it, I—”

Fugaku sighed again and downed the rest of his tea like it was the alcohol he clearly needed.

…

There was no sweeter smell in the world than the one of yours and Itachi’s scents mingling together. And while you were certain many other alphas would say the same about them and their omegas, you were pretty sure you were right.

You panted onto Itachi’s neck, basically drooling. A joint heat and rut wasn’t the greatest for practical reasons, but fuck, if it wasn’t the perfect time to exchange mating bites.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” Itachi slurred, hips rocking up to meet yours at every thrust. “Bite me, alpha, claim me, please!”

You groaned, knot already catching on his rim. It was getting harder and harder to control yourself. Itachi mouthed at the juncture between your shoulder and neck, the place where he would soon be placing your bite, and your self-control collapsed like a house of cards.

Your knot tied you and Itachi together, plunging you both into an orgasm. Somewhere, through the haze, your teeth managed to find their mark. You bit down just as you started filling Itachi with your cum. Itachi seized but managed to bite back.

You rode the waves together. It was the longest orgasm of your life, and by far the most powerful. Your mind was clouded with lust and emotion. Every instinct in your body was screaming, but they were all screaming different things; it was making you dizzy.

Protect him.

Make him scream.

Get him pregnant.

Hide him away.

Show him off.

Love him. Love him. Love him.

Yes, yes, you were going to love him, you did love him… And everything was going to be perfect.

…

You ran out of your joint bedroom potions lab barefoot, having abandoned your slippers in your haste.

“Itachi! There’s been an incident!”

You heard a crash from the kitchen, and quickly, Itachi came racing out to meet you in the living room.

“What is it? What’s going on?!” He scanned you from head to toe but couldn’t see an injury. He had known that you were playing with magic, and he was rightfully worried about what you had managed to do.

“It’s gone,” you said, wide eyed.

“What’s gone?!”

“My dick.”

Itachi blinked at you, processing, before his face morphed into something horrified.

“What? How can—?! What were you doing?! What do you mean gone?!” He grabbed you by the shoulders and shook you roughly. “Tell me what happened!”

“I was just playing around and then suddenly it was gone,” you explained, wringing your hands.

“What spell did you use?” Itachi asked frantically. “I can reverse it. We can figure it out!”

“I don’t know… I mean, at least I’m still alive right? It could have been worse.”

Itachi was still horrified, and you’d wager that he didn’t agree with you.

“No! I mean, yes, but we still need to fix it. Let me see!” He knelt down and started to aggressively tug down your shorts and underwear. “Maybe I can perform a reversal of—”

He managed to get the fabric down and out popped your dick, unharmed and just as it always was. Itachi blinked at it. You started cracking up, unable to hold the laughter in anymore. Itachi, realising that he’d been pranked, scowled at you.

He stood, crossing his arms and huffing. “That wasn’t funny.”

“Yes, it was,” you laughed, wiping away your tears. “You’re completely obsessed with my dick, I knew it! I’m just a glorified dildo to you, huh?”

“You’re being ridiculous.” Itachi had delightfully rosy cheeks.

“Am I? So, you don’t want to suck it?” You playfully shook your hips, wiggling your dick, playfully.

Itachi wavered. You waited patiently.

“This has nothing to do with anything,” he said, kneeling down in front of you.

“Whatever you say, darling.”

“Shut up!”

He was so much fun to tease. Hopefully, he never found out that you had the same obsession with his nipples.

…

“We do need more space, but I still want to maintain that cosy vibe, you know?”

“I agree. We could always increase the number of rooms, but still have them all be fairly small and closed off.”

You and Itachi were pouring over several sketches, trying to design your new home. You had decided to move closer to the nearest town, although you were still staying firmly in the woods because neither of you wanted to give up your private sanctuary. You also just needed more space. You needed a bigger dining table, more bedrooms, a separate potions lab, and crucially more storage space so that you didn’t come across snake eyes in the fridge when you were trying to make a sandwich.

Thankfully, with Itachi’s magic, the local builders, and the money sent from your parents, it was sure to be a smooth process.

“I think we should have a bedroom for Sasuke to use,” you said, tapping on an empty part of the proposed floorplan. “Not just a guest bedroom, but one that’s specifically his.”

Itachi nuzzled into your shoulder. “You wouldn’t mind? Because that would be amazing.”

“Of course not. He’ll be old enough to visit on his own soon, and I want to make sure he knows he’s welcome.” You liked Sasuke and you understood why Itachi loved him so much. He was like a tiny murder kitten that loved to scratch people. It was adorable.

“We have the pup rooms, the lab…” Itachi peered down at the paper. “Is that everything?”

You hummed, considering. “I think so. Unless you want a nesting room. Although, I’ve never seen you nest before, so if you don’t want one, that’s fine.”

“Oh.” Itachi was silent for a moment. “I’ve never tried nesting before.”

You immediately wished his parents would return so you could punch them in the face. Carefully keeping all the anger below the surface so you didn’t make Itachi think you were angry with him, you brushed some hair out of his face.

“Do you want to try it? We can try together, and if you like it, we can get a little nesting space added onto the master bedroom.”

Itachi smiled, looking unsure. “Okay. I suppose we can try it.”

…

“Well, I’m not an expert, but I think I can help with a simple nest layout.” You leant back and surveyed all the materials you had for nesting. Most of it was stuff that Itachi had made, some of it was things you had made, and a couple of pieces were from a craftsperson in town, made from rarer and more difficult materials. There was more than enough for a nice nest.

You slotted the heaviest duty and flattest pillows into the corner and arranged them in a double layer before securing them together with a sheet.

“One of my old partners used to arrange the base like this. It works well.”

Itachi growled and immediately destroyed the base, stacking it in a different way. Oh, yeah, whoops. Itachi was way too possessive for you to casually be bringing up old partners.

 “You’ve had other omega partners?” he asked, still rearranging the base. His voice was carefully controlled, like he was trying to sound distracted, when in reality, his attention was fully on your answer.

“Yeah, I—” You paused, trying to retrieve the memories. It was strange… You could have sworn you had past partners but trying to grasp onto details felt like trying to catch smoke. You could see flashes of dates, gifts and physical features, but you couldn’t really make sense of it. You wondered if it was a side effect of the amnesia spell you’d had. You decided not to mention it in case Itachi got worried. “I’ve had a couple, but they didn’t go anywhere. It never felt right, y’know?”

Itachi hummed, reasonably placated.

You continued to help him with small suggestions until you recognised the signs of an omega in nest building mode. Instincts took over, and you leant back to let Itachi do it how he wanted to.

The nest was so very him, even for his first attempt. It was chaos, but organised chaos, with gentle colours and neutrals, and lots of wool.

 Itachi sat back, blinking the daze away. “Now what?”

“Now you get in it.”

“And… what’s the point? What will being in it do?” He was staring at the nest reverently, and you knew he was going to like it.

“It should help you relax.”

Itachi bit his lip, but gingerly climbed in and tried to get himself comfortable. He fiddled with a few final pieces, but once he was settled, he sighed, seeming content.

After a few moments, he looked over at you. “Do you… want to come in, too?”

You grinned, and agreed, carefully climbing in and spooning your omega.

With you there with him, Itachi curled his legs up to his chest and went boneless. His purrs were so loud that you could feel them in your chest, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He nuzzled into the pillow his head was on, basking in the soft materials.

You kept holding him but tried to remain still so as to not disturb his first nesting experience. You didn’t want to distract him from his bliss. You were honestly so shocked that he had never nested before. Had his family kept him so busy from such a young age that he had never had the time?

You made a mental note to see if you could add a nesting nook for Sasuke’s room too, seeing as he was also an omega and had probably received similar treatment. If he couldn’t have one at home, at least he could have one here.

Suddenly, Itachi stopped purring.

“Is something wrong, baby?” you cooed, gently stroking his hair. “We can fix whatever it is, I promise.”

Itachi only whined, pushing his hips back into yours. He seemed really out of it, not that that was particularly surprising. If he’d been repressing himself, knowingly or not, for his entire life, then his instincts were going to try and take over the second they could.

“What do you need, omega? Come on, tell alpha.”

Itachi pouted, whining again. He shoved his hips back harder this time, like he was making a point. Oh.

“I see.” Your mind was racing at how hot he was. “Do you want to cockwarm, honey?”

Itachi nodded, his purring starting back up again now that you were understanding him. Oh, he was just the sweetest, horniest little thing and you would set the world on fire for him.

You carefully untucked your already half-hard cock, trying to avoid knocking anything out of place. When you were free, you tugged his trousers down and easily slipped inside him.

When your hips met his skin, Itachi purred louder than he had before, melting into the nest completely. His eyes rolled back, and he was lost in the fuzziness.

Okay… so you definitely needed that nesting room.

…

You looked around your new living room proudly, savouring the ‘new’ smell. The entire house was perfect. It kept the essence of the old one, but you had so much more space. No more tripping over cauldrons in the morning, or accidentally spilling powdered bone on the carpet when you were trying to clean.

You were almost finished with the unpacking. The house still seemed pretty empty, but that was good; the house would be able to grow with you.

Itachi had scurried off into the bedroom a few minutes ago with one of the boxes, but you were still sorting through living room stuff. You peered into the nearest box. And kitchen stuff apparently. Why did you own so many wooden spoons?

“Alpha?! Can you come help me with something, please?!” Itachi called from the bedroom.

You stood up, stretching out your sore arms, and then went over to the master bedroom. You pushed open the door easily.

“What do you ne—”

Suddenly, you were reminded of the very first time you had ever walked into Itachi’s bedroom in the old house, the time where he had been half naked and in the middle of changing.

Here, he was half-naked again, but this time it looked purposeful, because Itachi was wearing lingerie.

It was a two-piece set, made out of a dark blue silk that perfectly contrasted against Itachi’s pale skin. Embroidered on it were hundreds of tiny, silver stars, creating the image of a night’s sky. Extra pieces of gauzy, see through fabric had been attached to the top piece, which hide absolutely nothing, but acted as a delightful tease. The set was clearly hand made, and damn, he was again, taking your breath away.

“Well, hello,” you cooed, feeling that stupid horny alpha grin slide onto your face. “What’s all this?”

Itachi fidgeted bashfully as you approached. “It’s a surprise, a celebration for the new house.”

“It’s a lovely surprise.” You ran your hands over his heated skin, feeling the silk with your palms. You kissed him heavily, your fingers dancing along the edge of his panties. “This is perfect for the new house, do you know why?”

“Hm? Why?” Itachi moaned, tilting his neck submissively, and giving you access to his bond mark. You nipped around the scar before answering.

“Because we still need to break in the new bed.”

…

“That will be 500 ryo, thank you.” The man handed you the requested amount and took the pouch of amethyst dust in return.

“How many enchanted apples for these?” a little boy asked, holding up a lovely bouquet of flowers. Oh yes, he was the florist’s son, you remembered.  

“Hmm,” you took the flowers and appraised them. “How about three?” The boy nodded enthusiastically and grabbed three apples before running home. These flowers would be a lovely surprise for Itachi.

“Do you have any more of the inflammation potions?” an old man asked, approaching the store. You recognised him immediately and put the flowers down, ready for a likely lengthy and completely inappropriate discussion. “They’re great for the old joints.”

“We have three left. How many would you like?”

“I’ll take the lot, thank you.” You wrapped the order up and passed it over. He handed you money in return. “Thank you. There’s a lot of downsides to getting old, but the joint pain is the worst of it in my opinion. At least I don’t have to put up with heats anymore. They’re great fun when you’re young, but when your back starts to go, well, you find yourself wishing them away.”

You hummed politely.

“This is why it’s so important for alphas to hone their skills in bed. I can’t count the number of times a young alpha has believed they don’t need to worry about sex skills because an omega in heat is so far gone that everything feels good, but one day the heats will stop, and besides, some of the best sex happens outside of heats and ruts and all that nonsense.”

You laughed, shaking your head. Why did your market stall always attract the weirdest advice and clientele?

“I’d wager you know all about that though. Has Itachi come home with any surprises lately?” You must have looked surprised, because the man winked. “Who do you think taught him how to embroider silk?”

You snorted. Of course. You made sure to slip a complimentary headache potion in as a thank you.

…

“The bedding is all fresh and clean, we bought it especially, and this blanket, I knitted it for you so you’d be warm, it can get cold out here. Oh! And also—”

“I’m fine,” Sasuke said, a slight red flush on his cheeks. “You worry too much, big brother.”

You watched from the doorway as Itachi fussed over Sasuke. Now 14, he was old enough to make the journey here on his own, and this would be the first time he was making proper use of his room. Itachi had been driving himself crazy trying to make everything perfect. You reckoned he was trying to ensure Sasuke had a good enough time that he’d want to come back.

Itachi’s face screwed up in indecision. “Maybe I should get another blanket for you, just in case.”

“Brother—” Too late. Itachi left the room to grab another blanket, leaving you and Sasuke alone. He glared at you harshly. Oh dear, here came the kitten claws.

“I know several spells that would remove all the parts needed to make sure you never touch my brother again. Just saying.” Sasuke crossed his arms and tried to look threatening. You had to try to keep your giggles under controls.

“Itachi wouldn’t like that very much,” you said lightly, remembering his reaction to your ‘I accidentally spelled my dick away’ prank. “And besides, that would be a very rude thing to do to the person hosting you.”

Sasuke growled, but you only raised an eyebrow at him.

“What’s going on?” Itachi walked in, another blanket bundled up in his arms.

You immediately snitched. “Your brother is threatening to cut my dick off.”

Itachi gasped, “Sasuke!”

Sasuke glared at you, but you only stuck your tongue out at him. You were seriously looking forward to the next week.

…

“So!” you clapped your hands together and looked eagerly around at all the potion supplies. “What potion am I learning today?”

You had been having Itachi teach you magic since you moved in, and while you were hardly a prodigy like him and his brother, you were starting to get decent at it, especially potions.

“It’s a pretty simple one, but it requires exact temperature control,” Itachi explained, pulling over a small cauldron. “We’ll need to use runes to manage that.”

“Exciting,” you murmured, trying to recall which runes would work best for temperature control. Probably the same ones that Itachi carved on your hot chocolate mugs. “What does the potion do?”

Itachi smiled, “You’ll see when we’re done.”

“Nooo, Itachi,” you whined. “I want to know now.”

“Later, I promise.” He laughed as you pouted and starting rattling off the ingredients list. “Now, help me crush the beans.”

Time passed quickly as you concentrated on following the potion recipe as best as you could. Before long, it was a blinding white and gently steaming, just as the drawing on the recipe showed.

“It’s ready,” you said proudly, closing the lid on the jar of moss. “Now will you tell me what it does?”

“It needs some blood to work,” Itachi explained. He grabbed a sharp knife and held it to his finger.

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to hurt yourself. Could my blood work instead?”

Itachi laughed lightly. “That wouldn’t work; it has to be me. Don’t worry, it will only be the slightest prick.”

You weren’t happy, but you allowed it, and two drops of Itachi’s blood fell into the cauldron. It immediately started bubbling.

“What’s supposed to happen?”

“Well, it will turn one of two colours.” Itachi leaned over the cauldron and watched intently. “Gold or black.” As he spoke the potion turned to a brilliant gold and Itachi beamed.

“What does gold mean?” you asked, wishing he would just explain what this potion was already.

“Gold means that the person who donated the blood is pregnant.”

“Right, okay, and what does black mea— Hang on, what did you say?”

“I’m pregnant,” he clarified, watching your reaction.

You swallowed heavily, “What?”

Itachi giggled, “I’m not going to say it again.”

“Holy shit.” Your brain blue screened for a moment, before it rebooted, and the phrase properly sank into your brain.

Itachi was pregnant. Pregnant. As in, there would shortly be a baby, your baby, and his baby.

“I love you,” you blurted out, wide eyed. “We are going to need so much baby stuff.”

Itachi laughed, tearing up. “We’ll figure it out.”

…

“You can do it, Daiki! Come on baby, walk to appa!” You were crouched on the floor, arms open and ready.

Daiki gave a little pup whine, but still tried, toddling over on unstable steps. He managed to get three good steps in before he fell into your arms.  You caught him easily.

“Whoo! Look at that! You’re such a clever pup, isn’t that right?” You lifted up your baby and blew a raspberry on his stomach, dissolving him into giggles. Daiki did some proud wiggles as you put him back down, glancing over at Itachi for positive attention as well.

Itachi smiled, eyes glazed with sickness, from his position laying on the sofa. “Good job, baby.”

Daiki squealed, grinning and shoving a fist into his mouth.

Itachi was watching you both, even though he was unwell. This was the first time that he was properly ill since Daiki was born, and he was nervous about it. You had quickly learnt that Itachi had very low expectations of your parenting abilities. You tried your best not to take it personally, understanding that alpha parents in his family weren’t normally the most hands on, but it did sting sometimes. You were doing your best to prove him wrong.

Was it easy for you to do all the cooking, cleaning, childcare, and caring for Itachi at the same time? No.

But was it something you were happy to do while your partner recovered? Of course.

Speaking of caring for Itachi, you probably needed to resoak the flannel on his forehead. You shuffled over, keeping an eye on Daiki, and gently lifted the cloth. Like you’d expected, it felt warm to the touch.

You resoaked the flannel in the bowl of ice water and wringed it out before gently wiping down Itachi’s face.

“How are you feeling?” you asked softly, dabbing around his neck.

“I’m okay.” Itachi sighed and sent you a weak smile. “How are you—”

“Oma! Oma!” Daiki had crawled over to you both and grabbed a fistful of Itachi’s top to pull himself into a standing position. “Oma!”

“Careful, darling.” You unwrapped Daiki’s hands from Itachi’s top and supported him up yourself. He seemed to realise that something was wrong, because he blinked at you and Itachi, and curled in on himself unsurely.

“Oma?” he asked, bottom lip wobbling.

“Oma is poorly, but he’s okay,” you said softly, smoothing down Daiki’s hair. He looked unsure, but he eventually nodded and patted Itachi gently on the arm. Itachi took his hand and covered it in kisses, and Daiki finally relaxed.

Suddenly, from the kitchen, you heard the sound of dinner boiling over.

“Oh! Come on Daiki, we have to go and save dinner!” You stood up, picking up your pup as you did.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to do something?” Itachi asked, sitting up slightly.

“Rest.” You stared him into submission, and Itachi reluctantly laid back down. “I can handle everything, trust me.”

Itachi still wasn’t comfortable relinquishing control, but you’d get there. For now, you had a sick omega and a needy pup to tend to.

…

You pottered around the kitchen, putting away the washing up, while Sasuke diligently took notes on spellcrafting at the kitchen table. You were used to him being around by this point, as he had moved in five months ago to take a magical apprenticeship under Itachi. As you understood it, his parents had encouraged him to stay in their village for his apprenticeship, but Sasuke had insisted that Itachi teach him.

Thankfully he had mellowed out a lot, and now when he threatened to cut off your dick, he was only joking.

At least you hoped he was joking.

Itachi was out today manning the stall in town, which meant you were holding down the fort and looking after Daiki.

The pup in question was currently playing in the garden with Sasuke’s cat, who was just as prickly as him, but had a soft spot for Daiki. At four years old, you were okay to let him play alone as long as he didn’t leave the fenced in section, and you could see him from the kitchen window.

Sasuke sighed, putting down his pen to rub at his temples.

“Having trouble with the spellcraft?”

“No.” He gave you no other information, so you decided to pour him a glass of orange juice as a peace offering and sit down with him. Clearly something was weighing on the teenager.

“Is something wrong, Sasuke?”

“No.” It was a predictable Sasuke response that you didn’t buy for even a second.

You knew that he’d need a bit more prying. “Are you sure?”

Sasuke hesitated. You remained entirely silent as he battled with himself, knowing that any amount of encouragement would only cause him to clam up. Eventually, he spoke, his words coming out slowly. “My father sent me a message.”

“I see.”

“He wants me to come back home, now. He said he’s found me another teacher.”

You nodded, and carefully kept judgement out of your words. “And how does that make you feel?” Sasuke shrugged, playing with the pencil. “You know that you’re always, always welcome here, Sasuke, never doubt that. Even if you decide to stop studying under Itachi, you can always stay here or visit as often as you want.”

Sasuke’s shoulders relaxed and you knew you’d hit the nail on the head. “Okay.”

“Do you want me to tell your father that you’re extending your apprenticeship here?” Sasuke nodded, looked relieved. You gave him an affectionate squeeze on the shoulder, and he relaxed even further.

“Thanks,” he muttered, sipping his orange juice.

“Of course; you’re family.”

Outside, the chickens started squawking, which was your cue to go and grab Daiki, so you left Sasuke at the table and went out into the garden. “Daiki, what did I say about messing with the chickens?”

But it wasn’t Daiki, it was Itachi getting home that had set them all off. He was carrying multiple bags on his shoulders, and he looked incredibly winded. You ran over to grab the bags.

“Are you okay? Come on in.” Itachi panted and followed you inside. He looked completely exhausted; even Sasuke jumped up to help when he saw the state that his brother was in.

“What happened?” Sasuke demanded.

“Nothing, nothing, I’m just winded from the walk.”

“Bullshit!” Sasuke swore, putting a hand on his brother’s forehead. “You shouldn’t be this tired from a thirty-minute walk.”

“Sasuke, don’t swear,” Itachi reprimanded. “I’m just tired, nothing more.”

You raised an eyebrow, grabbing him a glass of water, but making sure he knew that you didn’t believe him. Itachi took the glass gratefully and downed the whole thing.

When it became clear that neither you nor Sasuke would be letting the issue go, Itachi sagged down in his chair.

“It’s nothing, really,” he insisted. “I think—Well, I’m pretty sure I’m tired because—”

“Because?”

“Because I’m pregnant,” he blurted out, looking to you bashfully. “I’m sorry, I was going to tell you soon, I just hadn’t decided how yet.”

“Wha—Really? That’s amazing!” All your previous suspicions were forgotten, and you hugged Itachi tightly, feeling giddy at the amazing news.

Sasuke sent you a suspicious glare, but he had long since made peace with the fact that you and Itachi were having sex as long as he was able to live in denial about it.

You laughed gleefully and covered Itachi’s face with kisses as he giggled. “I guess it’s only me on market duty for the next year then, huh?”

You filled up his glass again. Now that you knew he was pregnant, your instincts were going to remain in ‘overly doting’ mode for the foreseeable future.

“Actually, I was thinking…” Sasuke awkwardly trailed off, scuffing his feet on the ground. “Maybe I could take over some stuff with the market stall. We could open it more days a week then, and you could spend more time on parent duty or whatever. I mean, I still need to study, but I have some free time, and it would bring in some more money.”

You grinned, ruffling Sasuke’s hair. His sheepish expression melted into a petulant pout. “That’s an amazing idea! Seeing as you’re going to be around for at least another six months, it makes a lot of sense! I’ll take you with me a few times until you’re confident doing it alone, okay?”

He rolled his eyes, “It’s not hard.”

Itachi, pregnant and probably incredibly hormonal, burst into tears at the idea that Sasuke living with you would be a more permanent thing.

Sasuke, completely allergic to feelings, promptly fled the room with the excuse that he had to practice a potion, leaving you to delicately wipe Itachi’s tears away.

“I’m happy,” Itachi sobbed into your neck. “I’m so happy.”

“Me too, baby, me too.”

You were incredibly lucky to be able to say that and deeply and truly mean it.

…

James watched as the human alpha built a home with their children, their mate, their mate’s brother, their mate’s brother’s cat, and seven… turkeys? Something like that, James couldn’t quite remember the word for those tiny creatures.

The human was happy, and bizarrely, that made James feel happy too. The weird burning in her chest subsided, and she was able to close ‘Potions and Magic and Sex, Oh My!’, knowing that her human made the right choice.

It was with a light heart that James left the library to guide more humans, knowing that her human alpha was happy.

If you asked her, the human alpha had more than earnt a happy second life.

#the quest for a second life #dom!reader #dom reader #alpha reader #alpha!reader #gn reader #gn!reader #naruto #naruto x reader #reader insert #prose #omegaverse #a/b/o #n-sfw

[sea-owl]

So I know I've said before that I headcanon that the Featheringtons Irish side comes from Portia. I also headcanon that she socially married up where Lord Featherington had the title and she had the money. Most likely being a rich merchant's daughter, so she's new to the aristocratic scene. She also had some sort of vibe to her that I could never place my finger on.

Then I was rewatching some clips and one that always stuck out to me was when Portia takes Marina to the bad side of town as kind of like a scare straight tactic saying hey here's what's going to happen if you don't do something about your situation. That scene kind of gave off the vibes that Portia has personal experience with it.

It wasn't until I was visiting my Mexican American grandmother and all her siblings that I realized why Portia kind of gave off familiar vibes to me. Portia, at least to me kinda gives off Catholic mom vibes.

If that was to be her background of an Irish Catholic woman or even a catholic woman in general who married up than I can see why she would constantly be in survival mode like she is on the show and her need to keep up appearances like another member of the ton.

Catholics had been persecuted in England, and that's not even getting into the mess of British and Irish political relations, for over a good 200 years by the time we hit the Regency era with some relief from James the 2nd who had a catholic wife but he was honestly an anomaly. And in 1689 parliament banned any future monarchs or their spouses from being catholic, which was reinforced in 1701 with the Act of Settlemant. George the 3rd, the king we see on the show, was known to actively reject catholic relief bills. It wasn't until the late 1700s that catholics could own land or inheirt land or join the army. And even longer, in 1791-93 when they could practice their religion without fear of persecution. Being to hold any political power wasn't a thing until The Roman Catholic Relief Act of 1829.

Interreligious marriages weren't really looked favorable either but a catholic wife with a protestant husband was tolerated more but the kids had to be raised protestant. I could pot see a catholic wife being quiet about her religious background if it meant her survival.

But anyway back to what I was saying there is enough in the show that I could see this being a thing or something to have fun with as an idea. A Portia who is trying to survive so she marries out of her religion, marries up socially, and now she's doing everything in her power to keep make sure her position is secured. We could also apply this to Penelope with her writings and her jabs at the monarchy if this is her family history. I can see Portia also doing these kinds of warnings that she did to Marina on a smaller scale too throughout the girls' lives to make sure they stay on the path she's trying to lay out for them. After all it wasn't that long ago and society more than likely still sees catholics as second class citizens.

Now, do I expect anything like this from the show? No. It's a historical romance fantasy show, and I don't see them diving into something like this. Plus, Portia is meant to serve as a foil to Violet. It's a fun idea to play around with and could potentially explain some of Portia's actions. I do kinda hope we dive a little more in Penelope's family history as we watch her and Portia's dynamics shift and change.

#bridgerton #portia featherington #catholicism #catholics portia

[solomonish]

Shy MC Likes to be Traditionally Courted! (Simeon, Barbatos, Lucifer, Solomon)

here you go! i went ahead and only did the courting ask, but you’re more than welcome to send in another ask if you so please!

Lucifer

I feel like this would be the style he would default to. After all, it wouldn’t be very befitting of him to be the subject of some hot and heavy scandal, now would it?

I mean, Lucifer, if left to his own devices, might be the type to go for one of those relationship where the “stolen moments” are a bit heavier (you know, like “oh mc how random for us to be in this empty classroom that i totally didn’t usher you into lol wouldn’t it be funny if we started making out though”) but if you indicate that you’d prefer a more...traditional route, he certainly won’t complain.

Really likes to walk with your hand on his arm. It reeks of class and he can’t fight the satisfied smile on his face when you instinctively reach for him.

His favorite dates are ones where he can justify bringing you to some small Diavolo-related business party. He only makes sure you’re going to the smaller ones where you won’t be overwhelmed or aren’t supposed to be as an exchange student, but having a human there does bode well for Diavolo’s exchange program so you’re always extended an invite. Even if Lucifer says he doesn’t need a break from the business side of things, Diavolo always encourages him to dance with you so you get “the full experience.” 

He really loves having his hand just above your waist as you dance with some of the other demons around you, allowing him a chance to breathe outside of the stuffy political conversations he has to sit through with Diavolo. It’s calming to him, and since these events are technically business related, it’s easier for him to steal you away without the other brothers accusing him of hoarding you.

Barbatos

Another one where this style really meshes well with him just in general. Barbatos naturally falls into this sort of servitude mode - though he knows how to keep it balanced in a more equal relationship dynamic such as significant others as opposed to prince and butler - and the little affections he gives you throughout the day will make you feel like you’re courting him even if that wasn’t what you explicitly wanted.

Honestly, you might feel like you’re engaged in some sort of forbidden affair within the palace walls on some days too, even if you both know Diavolo is probably the most supportive of your relationship.

He’s already in the habit of pulling out chairs for you and planning small dates in the middle of his day, and he has no qualms about making a little extra time to allow you to take his arm as he walks you to and from your classes.

One thing he really likes to do is to call you after he gets home from dropping you off after one of your dates. He thinks it’s nicer than just sending a text that he made it home, and he can normally keep you on the line while finishing up his nightly duties when he’s not quite ready to quit talking to you for the day.

Solomon

While I don’t think this is what Solomon would expect to be asked to do (and you would have to ask him, or hint at it at the least because he’s watched general dating expectations shift from traditional courting over time and will probably default to the norms of today), I don’t think he’d be upset by it. Actually, he might find he likes the idea of courting.

What can he say? He finds the whole “taking it slow” aspect relaxing and it helps him get out of his own head. There’s a lot less guessing involved this way and he finds it pretty easy to just enjoy the time he spends with you rather than worry about getting what you want to do right.

Will probably shoot random facts at you while he’s taking you to and from RAD - “did you know that some people used to carve spoons for the person they were courting? i can give you one with my name on it”

“wow, cool fact. did you know that before or did you look it up a few days ago?”

“...do you want a spoon or not, MC?”

Would definitely scour the internet or books or anything for some of the weirder customs to present to you just for the purpose of getting a rise out of you.

BUT! He does also take it seriously. He knows how to get tickets to any orchestra playing in town and will never leave you at the door to the House of Lamentation without a kiss to the top of your hand. (it becomes a habit eventually and he’ll be kissing the top of your hand every time he leaves you at a door, whether it be to a classroom, your house, whatever. even if he’s in the middle of a sentence. it’s kind of cute actually but don’t tell him that. or do.)

His favorite thing to do is to take you out on a romantic picnic at night when you’re supposed to be finishing your tasks. The whole “sneaking out the window” thing might be a little out of your comfort zone, but sometimes Lucifer just won’t let you out and hey, the stars ARE beautiful.....

Simeon

Simeon notices you aren’t responding as easily to the more casual affections he initiates at first. So he asks you about it straight up - “Is there any particular way you’d like me to go about this? I want to make sure I’m making you happy.”

And when you shyly answer that you’d like to try something a little more old-fashioned, his eyes light up.

He takes it seriously! But he also can’t help but feel like he’s in some historical romance, and maybe he’s getting inspiration for a short story, but let’s not get into that before it even makes it onto paper!

As an angel, he’s familiar with how a lot of people court, keeping the intimacy to a “respectable” level and focusing on compatibility for commitment. But he has to say, he likes your version a little better, how it’s less about two families testing the waters and a lot more romantic. He thinks it’s unbearably cute how you still get flustered at the smallest gestures.

His favorite thing to do is to walk in the Devildom botanical gardens, strolling at a leisurely pace and paying more attention to each other than the flowers. He thinks the whole experience of the pleasant weather and the sweet scent of the flowers wafting through the air is the perfect backdrop for what definitely feels like a dream come true for him.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #swd obey me #simeon #solomon #lucifer #barbatos #lucifer hcs #lucifer fluff #barbatos hcs #barbatos fluff #solomon hcs #solomon fluff #simeon hcs #simeon fluff #obey me lucifer x reader #lucifer x reader #obey me barbatos x reader #barbatos x reader #obey me solomon x reader #solomon x reader #obey me simeon x reader #simeon x reader

[mulderscully]

i loveee your kanthony sets with the book quotes and i was wondering if the books are worth reading or any good?

thank you!

okay, i will shift into former bookseller mode here and encourage you to read it. i mean, a book is always worth reading imo.

i watched the show first and i'm sure if i had read the book first my reaction to it would've been different. that said, i am generally really good at keeping books and their tv/movie counterparts seperate in my mind and that is the case here.

i think the show made a lot of really good adjustments not just to kate and anthony's relationship and how it developed but also to both of them as individual characters. in the books they kiss while he is still engaged to edwina for example, and they (kate and anthony) marry around 60% into the book in the way tv!kate feared. there is a scene where they're engaged in the book and that's when he gives kate the whole "i cannot have love in my marriage" speech and i think it was a really good decision to 1. not have kate and anthony commit any physical adultery and 2. have them CHOOSE to marry each other after he had worked through his own issues (with his mommy💓)

there are a lot of more differences in the book, but that's just one example of how different they are. however, i like reading the book because they are still a version of kate and anthony and therefore still v enjoyable. there are also a lot of great quotes and some scenes i hope to see used later on, esp one where kate has a panic attack during a storm and dreams about her mother and anthony helps her through it. it's very tender and i loved it but it makes more sense to happen when they're married.

the romance genre overall does have issues with consent and other things which s2 really did remove unlike s1, which i'm glad for and hope stays that way. aging kate up in the show and giving her a much stronger sense of authority is probably the best thing they did.

of course, i think a lot of what makes bridgerton so interesting is that the cast is interracial and the books have literally no diversity at all. you could check out the historical romance section and find HUNDREDS of books like the bridgerton novels, but the cast and crew of the show really makes it something special and unique.

ANYWAY, that got away from me but basically i would say give the book a shot if you like the show but just know they are very different.

#reply #anonymous #bridgerton

[tlbodine]

A Horror History of Werewolves

As far as horror icons are concerned, werewolves are among the oldest of all monsters. References to man-to-wolf transformations show up as early as the Epic of Gilgamesh, making them pretty much as old as storytelling itself. And, unlike many other movie monsters, werewolves trace their folkloric roots to a time when people truly believed in and feared these creatures. 

But for a creature with such a storied past, the modern werewolf has quite the crisis of identity. Thanks to an absolute deluge of romance novels featuring sometimes-furry love interests, the contemporary idea of “werewolf” is decidedly de-fanged. So how did we get here? Where did they come from, where are they going, and can werewolves ever be terrifying again? 

Werewolves in Folklore and Legend 

Ancient Greece was full of werewolf stories. Herodotus wrote of a nomadic tribe from Scythia (part of modern-day Russia) who changed into wolves for a portion of the year. This was most likely a response to the Proto-Indo-European societies living in that region at the time -- a group whose warrior class would sometimes don animal pelts and were said to call on the spirit of animals to aid them in battle (the concept of the berserker has the same roots -- just bears rather than wolves).

In Arcadia, there was a local legend about King Lycaon, who was turned to a wolf as punishment for serving human meat to Zeus (exact details of the event vary between accounts, but cannibalism and crimes-against-the-gods are a common theme). Pliny the Elder wrote of werewolves as well, explaining that those who make a sacrifice to Zeus Lycaeus would be turned to wolves but could resume human form years later if they abstained from eating human meat in that time.

By the time we reach the Medieval period in Europe, werewolf stories were widespread and frequently associated with witchcraft. Lycanthropy could be either a curse laid upon someone or a transformation undergone by someone practicing witchcraft, but either way was bad news in the eyes of the church. For several centuries, witch-hunts would aggressively seek out anyone suspected of transforming into a wolf.

One particularly well-known werewolf trial was for Peter Stumpp in 1589. Stumpp, known as "The Werewolf of Bedburg," confessed to killing and eating fourteen children and two pregnant women while in the form of a wolf after donning a belt given to him by the Devil. Granted, this confession came on the tail-end of extensive public torture, so it may not be precisely reliable. His daughter and mistress were also executed in a public and brutal way during the same trial.

Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf? 

The thing you have to understand when studying folklore is that, for many centuries, wolves were the apex predator of Europe. While wolf attacks on humans have been exceedingly rare in North America, wolves in Europe have historically been much bolder -- or, at least, there are more numerous reports of man-eating wolves in those regions. Between 1362 and 1918, roughly 7,600 people were reportedly killed by wolves in France alone, which may have some bearing on the local werewolf tradition of the loup-garou.

For people living in rural areas, subsisting as farmers or hunters, wolves posed a genuine existential threat. Large, intelligent, utilizing teamwork and more than capable of outwitting the average human, wolves are a compelling villain. Which is probably why they show up so frequently in fairytales, from Little Red Riding Hood to Peter and the Wolf to The Three Little Pigs.

Early Werewolf Fiction 

Vampires have Dracula and zombies have I Am Legend, but there really is no clear singular book to point to as the "First Great Werewolf Novel." Perhaps by the time the novel was really taking off as an artform, werewolves had lost some of their appeal. After all, widespread literacy and reading-for-pleasure went hand-in-hand with advancements in civilization. For city-dwellers in Victorian England, for example, the threat of a wolf eating you alive probably seemed quite remote.

Don't get me wrong -- there were some Gothic novels featuring werewolves, like Sutherland Menzies' Hugues, The Wer-Wolf, or G.W.M. Reynolds' Wagner the Wehr-Wolf, or even The Wolf Leader by Alexandre Dumas. But these are not books that have entered the popular conscience by any means. I doubt most people have ever heard of them, much less read them.

No -- I would argue that the closest thing we have, thematically, to a Great Werewolf Novel is in fact The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson. Written in 1886, the Gothic novella tells the story of a scientist who, wanting to engage in certain unnamed vices without detection, created a serum that would allow him to transform into another person. That alter-ego, Mr. Hyde, was selfish, violent, and ultimately uncontrollable -- and after taking over the body on its own terms and committing a murder or two, the only way to stop Hyde’s re-emergence was suicide. 

Although not about werewolves, per se, Jekyll & Hyde touches on many themes that we'll see come up time and again in werewolf media up through the present day: toxic masculinity, the dual nature of man, leading a double life, and the ultimate tragedy of allowing one's base instincts/animal nature to run wild. Against a backdrop of Victorian sexual repression and a rapidly shifting concept of humanity's relationship to nature, it makes sense that these themes would resonate deeply (and find a new home in werewolf media).

It is also worth mentioning Guy Endore's The Werewolf of Paris, published in 1933. Set against the backdrop of the Franco-Prussian war and subsequent military battles, the book utilizes a werewolf as a plot device for exploring political turmoil. A #1 bestseller in its day, the book was a big influence on the sci-fi and mystery pulp scene of the 1940s and 50s, and is still considered one of the best werewolf novels of its ilk.

From Silver Bullets to Silver Screens 

What werewolf representation lacks in novels, it makes up for in film. Werewolves have been a surprisingly enduring feature of film from its early days, due perhaps to just how much fun transformation sequences are to film. From camera tricks to makeup crews and animatronics design, werewolf movies create a lot of unique opportunities for special effects -- and for early film audiences especially (who were not yet jaded to movie magic), these on-screen metamorphoses must have elicited true awe. 

The Wolf Man (1941) really kicked off the trend. Featuring Lon Chaney Jr. as the titular wolf-man, the film was cutting-edge for its time in the special effects department. The creature design is the most memorable thing about the film, which has an otherwise forgettable plot -- but it captured viewer attention enough to bring Chaney back many times over for sequels and Universal Monster mash-ups. 

The Wolf Man and 1944's Cry of the Werewolf draw on that problematic Hollywood staple, "The Gypsy Curse(tm)" for their world-building. Fortunately, werewolf media would drift away from that trope pretty quickly; curses lost their appeal, but “bite as mode of transmission” would remain an essential part of werewolf mythos. 

In 1957, I Was a Teenage Werewolf was released as a classic double-header drive-in flick that's nevertheless worth a watch for its parallels between werewolfism and male aggression (a theme we'll see come up again and again). Guy Endore's novel got the Hammer Film treatment for 1961's The Curse of the Werewolf, but it wasn't until the 1970s when werewolf media really exploded: The Beast Must Die, The Legend of the Wolf Woman, The Fury of the Wolfman, Scream of the Wolf, Werewolves on Wheels and many more besides.

Hmmm, werewolves exploding in popularity around the same time as women's liberation was dramatically redefining gender roles and threatening the cultural concept of masculinity? Nah, must be a coincidence.

The 1980s brought with it even more werewolf movies, including some of the best-known in the genre: The Howling (1981), Teen Wolf (1985), An American Werewolf in London (1981), and The Company of Wolves (1984). Differing widely in their tone and treatment of werewolf canon, the films would establish more of a spiderweb than a linear taxonomy.

That spilled over into the 1990s as well. The Howling franchise went deep, with at least seven films that I can think of. Wolf, a 1994 release starring Jack Nicholson is especially worth a watch for its themes of dark romantic horror. 

By the 2000s, we get a proper grab-bag of werewolf options. There is of course the Underworld series, with its overwrought "vampires vs lycans" world-building. There's also Skin Walkers, which tries very hard to be Underworld (and fails miserably at even that low bar). But there's also Dog Soldiers and Ginger Snaps, arguably two of the finest werewolf movies of all time -- albeit in extremely different ways and for very different reasons.

Dog Soldiers is a straightforward monster movie pitting soldiers against ravenous werewolves. The wolves could just as easily have been subbed out with vampires or zombies -- there is nothing uniquely wolfish about them on a thematic level -- but the creature design is unique and the film itself is mastefully made and entertaining.

Ginger Snaps is the first werewolf movie I can think of that tackles lycanthropy from a female point of view. Although The Company of Wolves has a strong feminist angle, it is still very much a film about male sexuality and aggression. Ginger Snaps, on the other hand, likens werewolfism to female puberty -- a comparison that frankly makes a lot of sense.

The Werewolf as Sex Object 

There are quite literally thousands of werewolf romance novels on the market, with more coming in each day. But the origins of this trend are a bit fuzzier to make out (no pun intended). 

Everyone can mostly agree that Anne Rice’s Interview with a Vampire was the turning-point for sympathetic vampires -- and paranormal romance as a whole. But where do werewolves enter the mix? Possibly with Laurell K. Hamilton’s Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter books, which feature the titular character in a relationship with a werewolf (and some vampires, and were-leopards, and...many other things). With the first book released in 1993, the Anita Blake series seems to pre-date similar books in its ilk. 

Blood and Chocolate (1997) by Annette Curtis Klause delivers a YA-focused version of the classic “I’m a werewolf in high school crushing on a mortal boy”; that same year, Buffy the Vampire Slayer hit the small screen, and although the primary focus was vampires, there is a main werewolf character (and romancing him around the challenges of his wolfishness is a big plot point for the characters involved). And Buffy, of course, paved the way for Twilight in 2005. From there, werewolves were poised to become a staple of the ever-more-popular urban fantasy/paranormal romance genre. 

“Sexy werewolf” as a trope may have its roots in other traditions like the beastly bridegroom (eg, Beauty and the Beast) and the demon lover (eg, Labyrinth), which we can talk about another time. But there’s one other ingredient in this recipe that needs to be discussed. And, oh yes, we’re going there. 

Alpha/Beta/Omegaverse 

By now you might be familiar with the concept of the Omegaverse thanks to the illuminating Lindsay Ellis video on the topic (and the current ongoing lawsuit). If not, well, just watch the video. It’ll be easier than trying to explain it all. (Warning for NSFW topics). 

But the tl;dr is that A/B/O or Omegaverse is a genre of (generally erotic) romance utilizing the classical understanding of wolf pack hierarchy. Never mind that science has long since disproven the stratification of authority in wolf packs; the popular conscious is still intrigued by the concept of a society where some people are powerful alphas and some people are timid omegas and that’s just The Way Things Are. 

What’s interesting about the Omegaverse in regards to werewolf fiction is that, as near as I’ve been able to discover, it’s actually a case of convergent evolution. A/B/O as a genre seems to trace its roots to Star Trek fanfiction in the 1960s, where Kirk/Spock couplings popularized ideas like heat cycles. From there, the trope seems to weave its way through various fandoms, exploding in popularity in the Supernatural fandom. 

What seems to have happened is that the confluence of A/B/O kink dynamics merging with urban fantasy werewolf social structure set off a popular niche for werewolf romance to truly thrive. 

It’s important to remember that, throughout folklore, werewolves were not viewed as being part of werewolf societies. Werewolves were humans who achieved wolf form through a curse or witchcraft, causing them to transform into murderous monsters -- but there was no “werewolf pack,” and certainly no social hierarchy involving werewolf alphas exerting their dominance over weaker pack members. That element is a purely modern one rooted as much in our misunderstanding of wolf pack dynamics as in our very human desire for power hierarchies. 

So Where Do We Go From Here? 

I don’t think sexy werewolf stories are going anywhere anytime soon. But that doesn’t mean that there’s no room left in horror for werewolves to resume their monstrous roots. 

Thematically, werewolves have done a lot of heavy lifting over the centuries. They hold up a mirror to humanity to represent our own animal nature. They embody themes of toxic masculinity, aggression, primal sexuality, and the struggle of the id and ego. Werewolf attack as sexual violence is an obvious but powerful metaphor for trauma, leaving the victim transformed. Werewolves as predators hiding in plain sight among civilization have never been more relevant than in our #MeToo moment of history. 

Can werewolves still be frightening? Absolutely. 

As long as human nature remains conflicted, there will always be room at the table for man-beasts and horrifying transfigurations. 

--

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#horror history #werewolves #horror #werewolf #long post

[thegirlwholied]

@bibliophileiz​: What are the Bridgerton books about?

I needed to move this reply into a post due to length because I am in Full-On Bridgerton mode at the moment! 

I don’t know if you’ve already seen the trailer but Netflix, Christmas Day, the adaptation arrives and I am *in like Flynn*. I’ve been looking forward to it since it was first announced & texted my friend who’s also read Julia Quinn immediately.

I used to not read romance novels. This probably had a lot to do with the covers usually looking ridiculous to me, and the local librarians all being friends’ moms or friendly with my mom, so even if one had caught my attention... O_o. I always loved the romantic thread in my preferred sci-fi and fantasy, mystery, historicals, or more ‘literary’ reads.... but I made it to twenty-two without picking up a true ‘romance novel’, aside from Jane Austen. 

And then, twenty-two, in grad school, & with all reading feeling like *work* because I was doing so much reading for my classes... I started whipping through romances like WHOA. I started them as more a “I need junk food, in reading form” escape... I’d been reading a lot of young adult and urban fantasy, & I slipped from there into paranormal romance. & then Regency. Paranormal/mystery/Regency are still my go-to romance genres. 

Since starting I have frequently mentally apologized for past internal dismissal to the wonderful & hard-working & SMART women behind so many of these books (for example: Eloisa James, a Shakespeare professor when not writing romance). That said, I do consider some are more junk food than others - creating a perfect Snickers bar of a book still requires serious effort! - but, picky in all my reading, I do tend to find some writers where I think “oh, these are a cut above most of their genre and why can’t more books be like these ones.”  

Julia Quinn’s books are, in my opinion, that crème brûlée at a five-star restaurant you ate at once and then think of every time you have crème brûlée somewhere else. She & Courtney Milan are the first Regency writers I think of. I’m usually not much of a rereader (though this year has been an exception! comfort reads galore!) but I have reread the Bridgerton books more than once. 

Even the elements that *could* sound silly - the Bridgerton series is about a Regency family, with alphabetical names, running from Anthony to Hyacinth, and each one gets a book - are airy to perfection as delivered, with cleverness & depth - they lost their father young - and the blend of historical research with modern sensibility makes you think - i.e., the Bridgertons’ father died of a bee sting allergy, unfathomably to them, especially since he’d been stung once before (and the allergic reaction really usually isn’t until the 2nd time!). And I’ve never been able to get that out of my head, all the things we understand now but not then - my favorite Regencies all tend to play with some element of this, and the extent of the writers’ research always awes me. Best, the characters really do feel like a family; the banter’s on point, and while I’m partial to some of the romances more than others & my take on them in a reread can shift, as a whole, the books are just a downright joyful series with great world-building. 

The high-society scandal sheet of Lady Whistledown, which both starts the chapters and plays a key plot point in the series - who is Whistledown? she sure seems to enjoy writing about the Bridgertons! a multi-book mystery! - also gives us the simple answer to “what the books are about”. Alas I did not opt for the four-word answer, ha, but I am 100% sure the TV show was pitched that way: “think Regency Gossip Girl.”

& yes, Julie Andrews is the voice of Regency Gossip Girl and that choice alone makes me love the adaptation already.  & the casting! I <3 the casting. 

I suppose I had a phase of scorning happily-ever-afters, and while sometimes I doubt them, being able to rely on those in romance is a fantastic hallmark of the genre. With TV, happily-ever-afters and locked-in endgame couples do become more of a question mark, but I am excited to see what twists are taken and confident the core of the books will be captured. And, of course, the books will always be there.

I thoroughly recommend the Bridgerton series for anyone in the mood for anyone in the mood for reading some crème brûlée &, in a time when it’s really impossible to make plans or look forward to events, I am so looking forward to the Christmas gift of this show. 

#bridgerton #books #booklove #romances #...i need better book tags! #or at least to remember what my better book tags are! #the happy few #netflix #julia quinn is on my shortlist of 'authors i have read everything by and will read everything they ever release'

[sometimesrosy]

Hey! I hope youre having a good day ☺️ I wanted to ask if you read fanfiction and if you do - what are some of your fav works?

I am having a good day. Thank you. 

I have not, however, been reading fanfiction lately. I’m sorry about it. I go through phases. Right now I’m reading historical romances, and reading them over and over again. I’ve been doing this since I started ghost writing, which has an intense writing schedule, and I need something soft and narrative and dependable to let my brain rest, while still staying in narrative mode.

Fanfiction has gotten a little tense for me, what with all the fandom politics and factions, and I just don’t trust it as a social media. I could read it without commenting or even liking, but I’ve just gotten real conflicted about fanon and antis who love fanfiction and hate canon, and romance books are easier and less anxiety provoking. And I’m practicing self care. Self care used to be escaping into the fantasy of Bellarke fanfiction, but it is no longer an escape for me. And this may also contribute to why I haven’t been writing fanfiction.

That’s my analysis of my recent interaction with fanfiction. I was trying to figure out why I stopped reading. Also, there were perhaps some shifts in the way that Bellarke was being written in fandom that did not click with me. One of the problems with writing kinks is that if the audience doesn’t share those kinks, that story has to be REALLY good to catch their attention. There was just a lot of stuff I was simply not interested in. Not to change what anyone else is writing just explaining my own reading habits. Bellarke hits my buttons. Some fanon does not. I was having trouble finding stuff I wanted to read. Fanfiction was getting too not escapist for me.

And I’ve been writing a lot of original stuff, from ghostwriting to my own new novel which is a cross between a historical romance and post apocalyptic science fiction. LOL. No really. A girl from an apocalyptic earth wakes up from cryo without her memories or identity, and meets a duke from the space colony as they land on the new world... and all hell breaks loose. 

And neither character is Clarke or Bellamy! it’s a miracle. 

#sorry

[mamabearcat]

Keys To Her Heart Ch 1

I was going to post a saucy snippet of an upcoming chapter, and then realised that I’d only ever posted a link to this story on fanfiction.net. Sooooo, I’ll be posting the first three chapters on Tumblr, and adding a Masterpage link. This is a Fairy Tail Modern AU set in Australia, with a touch of the supernatural. Mostly NALU, and will definitely be M rated. Lucy is in research mode, ready to write her first historical book, and has no time for Natsu, the hot fire fighter who has a side hustle hosting ghost tours. Together, they end up discovering more than they bargained for!

CHAPTER ONE

Lucy Heartfilia glanced up from signing the cheque to find the real estate agent leering at her… again. She disguised her distaste with some difficulty, and handed the cheque to him over the desk. Mr Everlue put it into his pocket.

"So, what did you say brought you up to the mountains for a month my dear? A romantic interlude perhaps?" He leaned towards her and winked in a conspiratorial way. Lucy looked at him uncomfortably, shifting in her seat.

"I didn't say", she said raising her chin impatiently, but trying for a pleasant tone. "I'll be working."

"Ah, that's right, the book, on… bushrangers, did you say?"

"Yes", said Lucy, wondering if it would be rude to turn and march out of the office immediately. There was something about this man that made her feel inherently uneasy. But she needed to stay in Rose Cottage for her research, and this slimy man was the managing agent. Turning her gaze around the office, she caught the sympathetic gaze of the blue-haired receptionist on the front counter, and immediately felt a little better.

"Well, if that's everything I have to sign, I really need to get going, Mr Everlue", said Lucy, reaching down for her small backpack. "I still need to drive the rest of the way up the mountain, and it's getting dark."

"That is true, my dear. I did offer to escort you, and the offer is still open…"

"It's not a problem, Mr Everlue" Lucy replied hurriedly, rising from her seat. "I'm sure I'll manage."

He handed her a small bunch of keys. "Well, you can't say I didn't try", he smirked. "And you have my business card."

"And I'll be sure to call you if there are any problems", she answered, picking up her heavy backpack and turning to leave.

"You might change your mind after spending a few nights up there alone. I'm told the cottage is decidedly… spooky… after dark. You might need some company. Who knows what might be up there, lurking, just…

Lucy turned her gaze toward him and fixed him with an icy glare. He had the decency to look a little abashed.

"I stopped believing in fairy tales a long time ago, Mr Everlue. If you'll excuse me, I have a lot to do."

She turned and walked briskly out of the office, the bell on the shop door tinkling merrily as it closed behind her. As she turned, Lucy caught a momentary glimpse of her reflection in the real estate shop window. Her long golden hair was still confined in the thick braid she had put it in this morning, and her old leather jacket, checked buttoned shirt, jeans and boots, although clean, were looking decidedly scruffy. Her round, plain glasses magnified her brown eyes in her pale face, which were currently narrowed in an annoyed expression. Mr Everlue chose that moment to give her a final wave, wriggling his fingers at her, which did not improve her mood.

Lucy hurriedly swung her body around and stomped down the hill, slamming straight into something tall and solid. She immediately fell backwards with a thump, and felt the wind slam out of her, and her glasses fall from her face. There was nothing she could do but sit on the ground, like an open-mouthed fish, trying to gasp in oxygen.

"Are you alright?" a gravelly male voice asked. A blurry face appeared in front of her, and she felt someone kneel next to her, rubbing her back, trying to help. "This ain't an asthma attack, is it?"

Lucy shook her head dumbly, still trying to draw in breath, and finally managed it, making a most unladylike whooping sound as she did so. She moved her hands around beside her, trying to find her glasses, and her hand came to rest on a muscular leg clad in faded jeans. She felt her glasses being put into her hand by one much larger, and warmer than her own.

Lucy slid her glasses onto her face, to find herself focusing on the greenest eyes she had ever seen. They seemed like they would usually be crinkled in enjoyment and laughter, even though at the moment, they looked concerned. The rest of the face was equally striking, with high cheekbones, a generous mouth, and an unruly shock of dark pink hair. The owner of the face was still rubbing her back, and now that she was breathing, she felt a wave of embarrassment begin to wash upwards from her toes. Why was she always so clumsy!

"I'm fine", she snapped, trying to get to her feet quickly, a little too quickly. She lurched sideways, and the owner of the green eyes rose quickly and steadied her with his hands on her upper arms. She found herself staring directly at his broad chest, and had to tilt her head to look up into his face. Her stomach did a little flip flop, as his mouth curved into a smile, one that went all the way up to his eyes.

"You don't sound fine. Are you sure you're not hurt anywhere?", he said gently. She took a deep breath, and after trying to smile back unsuccessfully, shook her head, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. She'd been in the mountains for fifteen minutes and had already managed to look like a total klutz in front of the most attractive man she had ever seen.

The piercing gaze of his green eyes seemed to scorch her, increasing the turbulent feeling in her stomach, and she turned her face aside, only for her eyes to rest on the taut muscles of his arms underneath his grey t-shirt where they had flexed to steady her. She wondered what it would feel like to be pulled into an embrace inside those strong arms. She immediately gave herself a mental slap and looked away, down towards her own scuffed boots. 'For heaven's sake, pull yourself together Lucy, what are you, a love-sick teenager!' she thought, and said aloud, "I'm sorry, I was in a hurry to get somewhere, and I just wasn't looking where I was going. Thank you very much for your help."

Green eyes dipped his head downwards, trying to catch her eye, and continuing to smile, said "It was my pleasure". He took her small hand in his own and shook it briefly, and then continued on his way up the hill, whistling cheerfully, his hands resting nonchalantly behind his head.

It took all Lucy's self-control not to turn around immediately to see if the view of him from behind lived up to the one at the front. After a few moments, she gave up the struggle and turned. She was rewarded with the view of dark pink tousled hair, wide shoulders, a narrow waist and muscular legs which seemed made to wear blue jeans. His stride was purposeful, but unhurried, and she allowed herself the pleasure of watching him for a few moments before a movement of his head made her quickly turn and scurry in the opposite direction. Just because he was built like a statue of a Greek god didn't give her the right to stare at him, like a piece of marble in a museum. And he was definitely not made of marble. She remembered the warmth of his thigh underneath her hand, the way he had firmly rubbed her back. Oh, and that smile… She gave herself a mental shake; she had no time for romance, even if he was interested. And of course, he wouldn't be. Beautiful people like him were never interested in her. She was the good girl, bookish, polite Lucy Heartfilia, who always kept her head down, and never did anything unexpected.

She continued down to the corner, where she had parked her battered pale blue Volkswagen beetle. A large furry white head with pale blue eyes was hanging out of the back window, and she could hear a strong curved tail beating a happy wagging rhythm against the cardboard box of groceries in the back seat. Her husky Plue gave a short sharp bark of approval that she was back, and did his best to wriggle his excitement within the confines of his dog car harness. She hopped into the front seat, and couldn't help turning to smile at him. When she had picked him up at the pound only two short years ago, he had been a tiny white ball of fluff, shivering in fear. Now he was a rambunctious ball of furry energy that constantly kept her on her toes. Life with a dog as big as Plue was never dull.

"Ok, boy, time to hit the road. Straight up the mountain, no pit stops until we get there. Rose Cottage, here we come, ready or not". She glanced over her shoulder to see the happy doggy grin on his face, and paused to give him a good scratch between his ears. "This is going to be our year Plue, the year we make all our dreams come true."

Lucy pulled into the overgrown driveway, at the very end of the curving mountain road. She was glad she had driven up the thin winding road for the first time before dark. Although it was sealed, there had been a sheer drop on one side, and it was difficult to see exactly how far down the valley floor was, filled as it was with tall eucalyptus trees and tree ferns, and she had no desire to find out for herself by plummeting over the edge. She got out of the car, and undid Plue's safety harness. He immediately jumped down, and started a sniffing exploration of the overgrown garden.

"Don't go too far!" Lucy called, as she balanced the box of groceries on one hip, while slinging her backpack over her other shoulder. She walked up the three steps at the front of the wooden cottage, and sniffed appreciatively at the small sweet-smelling yellow climbing roses that covered the posts of the front veranda, almost disguising the peeling white paint. She put both the backpack and the box down, and fumbled in her front pocket for the keys.

A big plain silver key opened the old lock with a little effort, and she opened the front door. A faint waft of lavender greeted her as she walked into the hallway. She peeked into a small bedroom on the left, with a quilted double bed, and old rocking chair and a cedar wardrobe, and then turned to see its twin on the other side of the hall, with two single beds and a carved cedar chest.

An exploration further down the wooden hall revealed a snug sitting room with faded but comfy looking red velvet armchairs on an old Persian rug, either side of a fireplace that included a small combustion stove and a supply of chopped firewood. She continued walking into a small wooden kitchen, painted pale yellow, with a scrubbed pine table and chairs. Off the kitchen was the bathroom, where an old white claw foot bath took pride of place in its dark green tiled surroundings. Although the furnishings were faded and worn, they gave the cottage a very homey feel. Lucy immediately felt a connection with the cottage. It felt like she was meant to be here, like the cottage had been waiting for her.

She stepped out onto the back veranda, and gasped at the view. At the end of the sloping lawn, past a little clump of birch trees, she could see the garden drop away into a rocky valley, giving her a view of distant farmland far below. The mist was beginning to gather as the sun set, lighting it with a rose and tangerine hue. The sunset intensified the earthy colours of the sandstone escarpment, and she heard the bell like call of a lyrebird from somewhere nearby. Lucy could smell the strong clean scent of eucalyptus and tea tree, and she took in a deep breath of air. She could feel the stress of the long drive from Sydney ease, and a tension that she hadn't realised she carried seemed to drop away from her shoulders.

A sudden howl and yelp from Plue had her bolting back into the house. It was late autumn, but there still might be snakes around that would not tolerate the inquisitive nose of a boisterous husky. Plue might be large, but he was just an overgrown puppy, and during his short life in the city, he had never come across a snake. She grabbed a handy broom from the kitchen as she skidded past, just in time to see Plue back out of the main bedroom, with his tail between his legs.

Lucy cautiously peered around the bedroom door, the broom held out in front of her like a sword. A cautious sweep under the bed and behind the door revealed nothing scarier than a few dust bunnies, and she was about to drop her guard when a movement caught in the corner of her eye made her heart beat in double time. She whirled around, just in time to see a small blue-grey cat, the colour of smoke, leap up from the top of the bed head and squeeze itself through a small slightly open window she hadn't noticed upon her first inspection. It paced backwards and forwards on the window ledge in the last rays of the sunlight for a few moments, purring and rubbing its face against the window frame, gave them a cursory glance with its almond shaped yellow eyes, and then jumped down into the garden. Lucy stood up on tiptoe to gently push the window shut with the broom handle, and turned to face Plue, who was looking decidedly embarrassed.

"Oh Plue", she laughed, scratching him between his furry ears. "We've both made fools of ourselves today". Her mind went back to a pair of piercingly green eyes, and a gentle smile, and amazingly warm hands that rubbed her back. A firm muscular leg under her hand, disconcertingly male, all male. She shook her head, as if to shake the memory out, and then said in a decidedly no-nonsense tone, "Plue, we have work to do."

It took no time at all to go out to the car to retrieve her suitcase and unpack the contents into the wardrobe, and after lighting a fire in the small stove in the sitting room, she moved on to the kitchen, putting away the groceries. A small leaflet remained in the bottom of the box, and she snorted as she picked it up and began to read.

"Join Natsu Dragneel, your ghost host with the most, as he entrances you with tales of misfortune and mayhem. Hear accounts of long-gone residents who can still be seen in numerous locations around the town. The stories you'll hear come from years of research, personal accounts and hauntingly real-life experiences.

Visit historic FairyTail Inn. Who's playing games in the cellar when the sun goes down? Is it the spirit of five-year-old James still looking for a friend, or is it the Grey Lady, still waiting for her walk down the aisle? See scary sights like Magnolia Cemetery, the final resting place of early settlers and convicts who succumbed to tuberculosis…or was it final? End your journey with a visit to Caddock's Leap Lookout. The Leap has a long history of paranormal activity. In 1870, the bushranger Mad Dog Caddock, leapt from the cliff rather than be captured by local law enforcement, and he is now believed to haunt the area.

Comfortable shoes are recommended so that you don't become dead on your feet during the brief walking portion. Dinner at FairyTail Inn is included in the price of your tour."

Lucy shook her head. There was no way that she believed in this sort of rubbish, but it would give her a head start to hear some of the local history this evening before she could begin her own research tomorrow at the local town museum. Entirely on a whim, she had called the number on the flyer when she had picked it up at the local grocery store, and made a booking for tonight's tour. Even though it would be ridiculous, and not the historically accurate account she preferred, she did want to hear a local telling of Mad Dog Caddock's death, though of course it would be 'glamourized' for the benefit of those going on the tour. If she was to get her book research completed in a month, she needed all the head start she could get.

Lucy walked in to the sitting room to check on Plue snoozing in front of the fire. As much as she would rather get straight into her pyjamas and make herself a hot chocolate, she forced herself to march away from the cosy glow of the sitting room to the bedroom. She pulled on a navy woollen sweater over her shirt, and after a moment's thought, dug a bright red beanie and scarf out of the drawer at the bottom of the wardrobe she had so recently filled, and stuffed them into her backpack. Plue should be fine for the few hours that she would be gone – he was in such a deep sleep from the exercise he'd had chasing lizards and birds in the backyard that afternoon, he'd probably hardly notice that she wasn't there. After leaving him a fresh bowl of water and his favourite biscuits next to his basket in the corner, she grabbed her car keys, ready to make the half hour trip back to Magnolia.

Natsu smiled as he walked up the hill to the local pub. That poor woman had been so embarrassed, you could have fried an egg on her face, she could barely look at him. Which had made it all the easier to look at her. And he had liked what he saw. A lot. Too much. He had really wanted to ask her name, what she was doing in Magnolia, because she was obviously not a local, but seeing her intense embarrassment, he'd decided that a chivalrous exit was the best course of action.

He knew everyone in the small community; they were a tight knit bunch. You didn't live in a small country town for twenty-five years without knowing everyone's business. She was probably just a tourist, up here for the weekend from Sydney, for some mountain air. There were quite a few bed and breakfasts here in Magnolia, who capitalised on city slickers who wanted a weekend away from it all. Yes, that was probably it – she was here with her boyfriend or husband for a romantic weekend, and had been in a hurry to go meet him somewhere. Lucky guy. He tried not to imagine how those beautiful golden curls would look like out of that braid, spread out on a pillow. Natsu stopped short. Where on earth had that come from! It wasn't like he was short of female companionship. If he wanted it. And he didn't. Right now, Grandeeney was his number one priority.

He walked into the pub, and greeted the few men already sitting at the bar with a nod, and received raised beer glasses as way of greeting in return. He sat on the nearest bar stool and smiled at the barman, who was deep in conversation with old Makarov about the latest football scores. Football was the only thing Macau took seriously, everything else would look after itself.

"Evening Macau", Natsu said, as soon as there was a break in conversation. "Are there many bookings tonight?"

Macau tore himself away from the football conversation, after a good-natured pat on old Makarov's arm, and ambled across to him. He retrieved a small battered notepad from under the bar, and after consulting it, and counting on his fingers, he replied "Seven. An older couple, John and Elsie Smythe, staying at the Victoria and Albert Guest House – they'd appreciate a pick-up, by the way, they didn't want to walk up the hill in the dark. A couple of boys from Hall's Gully are bringing their girls along, so that should be fun for you." Natsu rolled his eyes. Hall's Gully was a larger town further down the mountain where the local high school was situated, and every now and then a few of the older students came on the tour. Usually it involved a lot teasing from the boys, and screaming from the girls, and no doubt tonight would be no different.

"And the last one?"

"A woman. Lucy Heartfilia. She called me this afternoon on the phone to book, and paid with a credit card. Said she's here to research for some history book on bushrangers and was interested in local stories. She's staying up at Rose Cottage, but said she didn't need a pick-up, she could drive herself."

A sudden image of brown eyes, a cute slightly-freckled nose and thick golden hair forced its way into Natsu's head. 'No, that would be too good to be true' he smiled to himself. 'She's probably some older university professor or something.'

"Rose Cottage?" he said aloud. "I didn't think anyone was still up there, after old Mrs Evans died?"

"Ah, it's one of Jonathon Everlue latest purchases. You know how he's always going on about his 'portfolio'. After poor old Esme kicked the bucket, and didn't leave a will, Everlue snapped it up at the deceased estate auction. Got it for a good price too, including all the furniture. I hear he's letting it out to tourists. Knowing him, he's charging them like a wounded bull."

Natsu frowned, then shrugged his shoulders. Everlue was not well liked around Magnolia, and Natsu had his own reasons for disliking the man.

"Well, that's not a huge group, but it's better than nothing. Good thing I didn't give up my day job" he joked to Macau. "There's just enough time to go check on Grandeeney before I come back here".

"How's Grandeeney doing these days?" asked Macau. "She used to potter into town every day, but I haven't seen her around lately. Not even at the gin rummy game on Wednesday evenings. It's not like her to miss a chance for cards and a port and lemonade".

Natsu's face fell. "Not so good, I'm afraid Macau. You know she had that fall last year when she broke her hip, before I moved in with her. With the colder weather coming on, she's finding it hard to walk a long distance at the moment with her arthritis. She can get around home ok, but she doesn't like people seeing her use a walker, and she'd need that to get into town. I've been taking her out and about when I can, but you know how stubborn she is about being independent. The only reason she's letting me live there with her to keep an eye on her is because I told her I needed to save money for a house."

Macau sighed. "I'm sorry Natsu, I didn't realise it had got as bad as that. She's a tough old stick; I didn't think anything would get her down."

Natsu managed a weak smile. "Come over and visit one afternoon, and bring your cards. She can still beat the pants off me at poker. She'd probably like some new competition."

Macau chuckled. "I've been there once too often to take that bait Natsu. Remember that tournament we had in the pub a few years back? The boys have never let me live it down. I'll round up a few of the old folks who've been asking after her – we could come over for a gin rummy afternoon, if you think she's up to it. I'll even throw in a free bottle of port."

After a beer and a chat with a few of the locals, Natsu walked around the corner and down the street in the twilight to the comfortable old Federation house that he now called home. The front garden was still filled with all the old-fashioned cottage garden flowers that his grandmother so loved, and their perfume hung in the still air. The wide veranda held several Adirondack wooden armchairs, painted a crisp white, and made more comfortable with fat squashy cushions and crocheted blankets. A welcoming glow poured out of the windows either side of the dark green front door, and the huge brass doorknocker gleamed.

Just looking at this house filled Natsu with comfort. It had many happy memories for him. It was where he had grown up, and Grandeeney had always been there. After his parents had both died in a house fire when he was a tiny boy, his grandmother had come to the city to collect him, taken him home, and he had never really left. Of course, he had moved away to go to University after high school, and he stayed in the rooms above the Fire Station in Hall's Gully when he was on call, but Grandeeney was the one constant in his life. There was no way that he was going to let her down now that she needed him, whether she liked it or not.

The front door gave its characteristic groan on the hinges as he opened it, and he heard the familiar sound of knitting needles gently clicking, and his Gran calling from the kitchen.

"Natsu, is that you boyo? Come and give your old gran a cuddle. I've been reading up on the rising temperatures in Antarctica, and there's more than a few people that I'd like to give a piece of my mind!"

Natsu grinned. As a birthday gift, he'd given Grandeeney a laptop, and after some initial reluctance, she had embraced the internet with all its possibilities. Dinner was often spent discussing world events, or some crackpot scheme she'd come across.

He stepped down onto the slate tiles of the cosy kitchen, and walked over to the huge kauri pine table, where his grandmother sat in a comfortable armchair propped up on cushions. It was much easier for her to get out of the softer chair when it was next to something she could lean on, and as she spent most of her time in the kitchen anyway, she had finally agreed to move her favourite armchair there. She was surrounded by balls of different coloured wool, and from the looks of what she was knitting, no doubt he'd have a new scarf before the weather got cooler.

Natsu walked behind the chair and leaned down to kiss the top of his Grandeeney's head. "I can't stay long Gran, I have a tour tonight, but I'll be back in time for supper. What's in the oven that I can smell?" A delicious lemony scent was drifting around the kitchen, emanating from the old cast iron wood cook stove that his grandmother had staunchly refused to get rid of, even though he had offered to buy her an electric one. He made to open the door of the oven, and received a poke in the ribs with a walking stick for his efforts.

"Oi! Keep your greedy mitts off. It's a lemon delicious pudding, and you'll be ruining it if you go slamming the oven door." The cheeky grin she gave him as she poked him in the ribs again softened her words. She gazed at him over her the top of her glasses. "Are you sure you want to do a tour tonight boyo? My elbow's aching, I'm sure we're in for a storm this evening."

"Definitely sure" he smiled. "I have bookings, and it's not polite to keep your customers waiting".

"Oh well then, if you have to, you have to. But make sure you're home in time to tuck me in".

Natsu smiled at her again. "Of course, I'll tuck you in. But I'm really coming home for the pudding."

"Be off with you then, you rude lad" she grinned, taking up her knitting again. "Maybe you'll finally meet a lass that you can bring home for me to meet. You know I'd much rather be knitting booties than another scarf for you!"

Natsu rolled his eyes at her, before giving her a quick smooch on the cheek and grabbing some keys off a hook next to the back door. "Save me some of that pudding" he said with a wink on his way out.

Natsu leaned against the wall of the old sandstone pub. The rest of his tour group were all inside, being fed huge portions of steak and chips by the ever-hospitable Macau. He'd just wait outside for a few more minutes to see if his last guest was going to show, before rounding them all up to begin the tour. He rubbed his hands together in the chill air, before thrusting them into his capacious pockets, glad he'd remembered to bring his huge old army jacket. He was used to the cold, but this night looked like it was going to be a windy, stormy one. Gran's elbow was a very reliable weather predictor. He looked up to see grey clouds scudding across the full moon, and heard a distant rumble. The storm was still a good way away, hopefully it would continue circling until everyone was safe home in their beds.

He was just about to turn and head back inside to wait next to the fire, when a small battered blue Volkswagen lurched into view, with a grinding of gears. It pulled into the car park, and a petite woman in jeans and a navy wool jumper leapt out of the driver's seat. She made to sprint towards the door of the pub, then turned on her heel and opened the driver's door again, leaning across for something in the passenger seat.

Natsu caught a glimpse of a long shiny gold braid as it swung in mid-air, and couldn't help grinning to himself in the semi-darkness. He was going to get to meet his mysterious woman after all. He admired the heart shaped view of her behind in her jeans as she leaned across the front seat to grab a small backpack, and then winced in sympathy as she banged the back of her head on the opening of the car door. Rubbing her head, and muttering to herself, she turned and seeing him, immediately stopped in her tracks.

"Oh no, not you", she groaned audibly.

This story began as a straight romance I was writing, hoping to get published. Lucy was originally Cally, Natsu was Connor. I was halfway finished, and then I was hit by the worst case of writer's block I've ever had. I just couldn't finish it, and shelved it indefinitely. I decided to drag it out again a few months ago, and while I was re-reading it, I realised that the characters were really close to my favourites from Fairy Tail. So with a few name and hair and eye colour tweaks, plus a lot of extra content to take in some of the Fairy Tail arcs, this story lives again!

I debated about changing the location from Australia to somewhere else, but I really wanted to tell my bushranger story. So, as far as I know, this is the first Fairy Tail fan fiction set in the Blue Mountains, near Sydney, Australia.

If you’d prefer to read on Fanfiction.net, here’s a link!

#nalu fanfiction #Nalu #natsu x lucy #Keys to her Heart #fairytail fanfiction

[scifigeneration]

Friday essay: how speculative fiction gained literary respectability

by Rose Michael

Biologists are gathering evidence of green algae (pictured here in Kuwait) becoming carbohydrate-rich but less nutritious, due to increased carbon dioxide levels. As science fiction becomes science fact, new forms of storytelling are emerging. Raed Qutena

I count myself lucky. Weird, I know, in this day and age when all around us the natural and political world is going to hell in a handbasket. But that, in fact, may be part of it.

Back when I started writing, realism had such a stranglehold on publishing that there was little room for speculative writers and readers. (I didn’t know that’s what I was until I read it in a reader’s report for my first novel. And even then I didn’t know what it was, until I realised that it was what I read, and had always been reading; what I wrote, and wanted to write.) Outside of the convention rooms, that is, which were packed with less-literary-leaning science-fiction and fantasy producers and consumers.

Realism was the rule, even for those writing non-realist stories, such as popular crime and commercial romance. Perhaps this dominance was because of a culture heavily influenced by an Anglo-Saxon heritage. Richard Lea has written in The Guardian of “non-fiction” as a construct of English literature, arguing other cultures do not distinguish so obsessively between stories on the basis of whether or not they are “real”.

China Miéville in 2010. Pan MacMillan Australia/AAP

Regardless of the reason, this conception of literary fiction has been widely accepted – leading self-described “weird fiction” novelist China Miéville to identify the Booker as a genre prize for specifically realist literary fiction; a category he calls “litfic”. The best writers Australia is famous for producing aren’t only a product of this environment, but also role models who perpetuate it: Tim Winton and Helen Garner write similarly realistically, albeit generally fiction for one and non-fiction for the other.

Today, realism remains the most popular literary mode. Our education system trains us to appreciate literatures of verisimilitude; or, rather, literature we identify as “real”, charting interior landscapes and emotional journeys that generally represent a quite particular version of middle-class life. It’s one that may not have much in common these days with many people’s experiences – middle-class, Anglo or otherwise – or even our exterior world(s).

Like other kinds of biases, realism has been normalised, but there is now a growing recognition – a re-evaluation – of different kinds of “un-real” storytelling: “speculative” fiction, so-called for its obviously invented and inventive aspects.

Feminist science-fiction writer Ursula K. Le Guin has described this diversification as:

a much larger collective conviction about who’s entitled to tell stories, what stories are worth telling, and who among the storytellers gets taken seriously … not only in terms of race and gender, but in terms of what has long been labelled “genre” fiction.

Closer to home, author Jane Rawson – who has written short stories and novels and co-authored a non-fiction handbook on “surviving” climate change – has described the stranglehold realistic writing has on Australian stories in an article for Overland, yet her own work evidences a new appreciation for alternative, novel modes.

Rawson’s latest book, From the Wreck, intertwines the story of her ancestor George Hills, who was shipwrecked off the coast of South Australia and survived eight days at sea, with the tale of a shape-shifting alien seeking refuge on Earth. In an Australian first, it was long-listed for the Miles Franklin, our most prestigious literary award, after having won the niche Aurealis Award for Speculative Fiction.

The Aurealis awards were established in 1995 by the publishers of Australia’s longest-running, small-press science-fiction and fantasy magazine of the same name. As well as recognising the achievements of Australian science-fiction, fantasy and horror writers, they were designed to distinguish between those speculative subgenres.

Last year, five of the six finalists for the Aurealis awards were published, promoted and shelved as literary fiction.

A broad church

Perhaps what counts as speculative fiction is also changing. The term is certainly not new; it was first used in an 1889 review, but came into more common usage after genre author Robert Heinlein’s 1947 essay On the Writing of Speculative Fiction.

Whereas science fiction generally engages with technological developments and their potential consequences, speculative fiction is a far broader, vaguer term. It can be seen as an offshoot of the popular science-fiction genre, or a more neutral umbrella category that simply describes all non-realist forms, including fantasy and fairytales – from the epic of Gilgamesh through to The Handmaid’s Tale.

While critic James Wood argues that “everything flows from the real … it is realism that allows surrealism, magic realism, fantasy, dream and so on”, others, such as author Doris Lessing, believe that everything flows from the fantastic; that all fiction has always been speculative. I am not as interested in which came first (or which has more cultural, or commercial, value) as I am in the fact that speculative fiction – “spec-fic” – seems to be gaining literary respectability. (Next step, surely, mainstream popularity! After all, millions of moviegoers and television viewers have binge-watched the rise of fantastic forms, and audiences are well versed in unreal onscreen worlds.)

One reason for this new interest in an old but evolving form has been well articulated by author and critic James Bradley: climate change. Writers, and publishers, are embracing speculative fiction as an apt form to interrogate what it means to be human, to be humane, in the current climate – and to engage with ideas of posthumanism too.

These are the sorts of existential questions that have historically driven realist literature.

According to the World Wildlife Fund’s 2018 Living Planet Report, 60% of the world’s wildlife disappeared between 1970 and 2012. The year 2016 was declared the hottest on record, echoing the previous year and the one before that. People under 30 have never experienced a month in which average temperatures are below the long-term mean. Hurricanes register on the Richter scale and the Australian Bureau of Meteorology has added a colour to temperature maps as the heat keeps on climbing.

Science fiction? Science fact.

A baby Francois Langur at Taronga Zoo in June. François Langurs are a critically endangered species found in China and Vietnam. AAP Image/Supplied by Taronga Zoo

What are we to do about this? Well, according to writer and geographer Samuel Miller-McDonald, “If you’re a writer, then you have to write about this.”

There is an infographic doing the rounds on Facebook that shows sister countries with comparable climates to (warming) regions of Australia. But it doesn’t reflect the real issue. Associate Professor Michael Kearney, Research Fellow in Biosciences at the University of Melbourne, points out that no-one anywhere in the world has any experience of our current CO2 levels. The changed environment is, he says – using a word that is particularly appropriate for my argument – a “novel” situation.

Elsewhere, biologists are gathering evidence of algae that carbon dioxide has made carbohydrate-rich but less nutritious. So the plankton that rely on them to survive might eat more and more and yet still starve.

Fiction focused on the inner lives of a limited cross-section of people no longer seems the best literary form to reflect, or reflect on, our brave new outer world – if, indeed, it ever was.

Whether it’s a creative response to catastrophic climate change, or an empathic, philosophical attempt to express cultural, economic, neurological – or even species – diversification, the recognition works such as Rawson’s are receiving surely shows we have left Modernism behind and entered the era of Anthropocene literature.

And her book is not alone. Other wild titles achieving similar success include Krissy Kneen’s An Uncertain Grace, shortlisted for the Aurealis, the Stella prize and the Norma K. Hemming award – given to mark excellence in the exploration of themes of race, gender, sexuality, class or disability in a speculative fiction work.

Kneen’s book connects five stories spanning a century, navigating themes of sexuality – including erotic explorations of transgression and transmutation – against the backdrop of a changing ocean.

Earlier, more realist but still speculative titles (from 2015) include Mireille Juchau’s The World Without Us and Bradley’s Clade. These novels fit better with Miéville’s description of “litfic”, employing realistic literary techniques that would not be out of place in Winton’s books, but they have been called “cli-fi” for the way they put climate change squarely at the forefront of their stories (though their authors tend to resist such generic categorisation).

Both novels, told across time and from multiple points of view, are concerned with radically changed and catastrophically changing environments, and how the negative consequences of our one-world experiment might well – or, rather, ill – play out.

Catherine McKinnnon’s Storyland is a more recent example that similarly has a fantastic aspect. The author describes her different chapters set in different times, culminating – Cloud Atlas–like, in one futuristic episode – as “timeslips” or “time shifts” rather than time travel. Yet it has been received as speculative – and not in a pejorative way, despite how some “high-art” literary authors may feel about “low-brow” genre associations.

Kazuo Ishiguro in 2017. Neil Hall/AAP

Kazuo Ishiguro, for instance, told The New York Times when The Buried Giant was released in 2015 that he was fearful readers would not “follow him” into Arthurian Britain. Le Guin was quick to call him out on his obvious attempt to distance himself from the fantasy category. Michel Faber, around the same time, told a Wheeler Centre audience that his Book of Strange New Things, where a missionary is sent to convert an alien race, was “not about aliens” but alienation. Of course it is the latter, but it is also about the other.

All these more-and-less-speculative fictions – these not-traditionally-realist literatures – analyse the world in a way that it is not usually analysed, to echo Tim Parks’s criterion for the best novels. Interestingly, this sounds suspiciously like science-fiction critic Darko Suvin’s famous conception of the genre as a literature of “cognitive estrangement”, which inspires readers to re-view their own world, think in new ways, and – most importantly – take appropriate action.

A new party

Perhaps better case studies of what local spec-fic is or does – when considering questions of diversity – are Charlotte Wood’s The Natural Way of Things and Claire Coleman’s Terra Nullius.

The first is a distinctly Aussie Handmaid’s Tale for our times, where “girls” guilty by association with some unspecified sexual scenario are drugged, abducted and held captive in a remote outback location.

The latter is another idea whose time has come: an apocalyptic act of colonisation. Not such an imagined scenario for Noongar woman Coleman. It’s a tricky plot to tell without giving away spoilers – the book opens on an alternative history, or is it a futuristic Australia? Again, the story is told through different points of view, which prioritises collective storytelling over the authority of a single voice.

“The entire purpose of writing Terra Nullius,” Coleman has said, “was to provoke empathy in people who had none.”

This connection of reading with empathy is a case Neil Gaiman made in a 2013 lecture when he told of how China’s first party-approved science-fiction and fantasy convention had come about five years earlier.

Neil Gaiman. Julien Warnand/EPA

The Chinese had sent delegates to Apple and Google etc to try to work out why America was inventing the future, he said. And they had discovered that all the programmers, all the entrepreneurs, had read science fiction when they were children.

“Fiction can show you a different world,” said Gaiman. “It can take you somewhere you’ve never been.”

And when you come back, you see things differently. And you might decide to do something about that: you might change the future.

Perhaps the key to why speculative fiction is on the rise is the ways in which it is not “hard” science fiction. Rather than focusing on technology and world-building to the point of potential fetishism, as our “real” world seems to be doing, what we are reading today is a sophisticated literature engaging with contemporary cultural, social and political matters – through the lens of an “un-real” idea, which may be little more than a metaphor or errant speculation.

About The Author:

Rose Michael is a Lecturer, Writing & Publishing at RMIT University

This article is republished from our content partners at The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. 

#science fiction #speculative fiction #literature

[frazier00lott]

Origin And Historical Background Of Greater Swiss Mountain Dogs

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#SOLIDWORKS

[bluewatsons]

Sabra Embury, Are We Too Quick to Call Everyday Assholes Narcissists?, Vice (August 17, 2016)

Vice: It seems the label "narcissist" is more ubiquitous than ever, used to describe every power-hungry egomaniac.

Kristin Dombek: My hunch is that the popularity of the word, as an insult, or a citizen diagnosis, these days, is partly about a fear of the internet itself, where it spreads. About how we have to deal with so many people so quickly, without being able to test who they are behind the images and words they put online. More generally, the commonness of the term these days is an example of the dominance of psychological language in our everyday ways of relating to others and thinking about ethical problems. It worries me that we've come to use psychological diagnosis in a very unexamined way in everyday conversation, as if it's scripture, as if its categories are clear and true, and we can just fit people into them. Historically, that kind of language has often had an agenda, under the surface.

Vice: For those who are unfamiliar, what's the difference between a narcissist and a sociopath?

Kristin Dombek: People must ask the internet this all the time—"Is my boyfriend a sociopath or a narcissist?"—judging by the number of posts on this topic on relationship self-help sites. Neither a narcissist nor a sociopath can give real love, people tend to agree about that. But while both are just tricking you and using you, or so the story goes, narcissists are more focused on getting affection and attention they need to maintain a grandiose, vain self-image, while sociopaths don't even give a shit; they're just trying to get power and win. The narcissist might drop you and then keep coming back to try to persuade you that he's actually cool and perfect, and that it's you who is the problem; the sociopath might just take off when she's done. The studies that claim to show narcissism is actually increasing are not convincing to me, so I got interested in the question of why narcissism [has become] one of our most common fears about other people. Fear of narcissism is a little different than fear of sociopathy or psychopathy; it's about fakeness, and performance, about the possibility that someone can seem to have a warm, charming surface, but under the surface, total absence of empathy, total emptiness.

Vice: And that emptiness is definitely more nurture than nature, right?

Kristin Dombek: There's a total lack of consensus in the psychology literature I've read. But dating self-help sites tend to present it as a natural thing, like an essential category--Some people just don't have empathy. You can feel better about your ex-boyfriend because he's essentially a narcissist, he's not capable of love, he'll never change . It's not that he chose not to feel empathy for you, he's not capable of empathy at all. You were fooled . The commonness of this story makes me suspicious.

Vice: Just as there's a spectrum of autism, do you think there's a spectrum of narcissistic personality disorder? Or do you see it working in stages--early inward versus full-blown zero-empathy monster?

Kristin Dombek: These are huge questions. If you look across the subfields of psychology, there's a good deal of disagreement about whether narcissism is a thing we are or a thing we do, if it's better defined as a clinical condition or a spectrum, a thing in the brain or a thing at all, a permanent and untreatable lack of empathy or a condition that can be healed. The lack of consensus is so great that the American Psychiatric Association came close to removing "narcissistic personality disorder" from the last edition of Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders . And yet there are hundreds of websites about toxic and fraudulent romance that dispense advice about "narcissists" as if the term is clear-cut. I've read enough to become a committed agnostic. When the word comes up in my head, it feels more useful and accurate to think of it as a thing we do—as a thing I do, and have to work against doing, and a thing others do, and I have to work to understand them. In other words, since the word is there, shouting at me, when I do something shitty or cold, or someone else disappears, I'm trying to make it more flexible.

Vice: In the debate of who did what wrong, I guess it's all pretty relative.

Kristin Dombek: There are assholes, of course. But yes—my hunch is that I'm fascinated by the way these diagnostic terms shape our stories about romance, gender, sexuality, generations—our feelings about the culture and condemnations of whole groups, like millennials. And worried by the way the word "narcissism" helps us fetishize our own empathy, as if "we" always have it and "they" don't.

Vice: You say that Freud argued that narcissism, at its base, stems from an instinct of self-preservation, especially when dealing with cold, cruel, or violent parents. Is this at all related to the type of narcissists who are constantly posting selfies?

Kristin Dombek: The social psychologists who warn of a narcissism epidemic today, citing selfie-posting and so on, actually believe that the thing they're calling "narcissism" comes from too much parental attention and coddling; they think narcissists have too high self-esteem—which is the opposite of what Freud thought. Are they talking about the same thing, even? I'm not sure. But no, we'd better hope that all people who post selfies are not necessarily people with personality disorders. Selfies are shared and shared for the sake of contact. I've noticed that some of my most wildly generous, empathetic friends post the most selfies. Why is this? It seems too simple to claim that anything that is expressed through self-representation is necessarily self-absorbed or vain. Sometimes selfies are posted for vain reasons, sometimes for no good reason, and sometimes for important, generous, even revolutionary reasons.

Vice: Speaking of revolutionary self-representation, you briefly mentioned novelist Karl Ove Knausgaard and the success of his memoirs being treated, by some, as a symptom of all this.

Kristin Dombek: What Knausgaard has done is mysterious, isn't it? Knausgaard has been called narcissistic, and many have cited the popularity of the memoir genre as a sign of a cultural shift toward narcissism. But this doesn't make sense to me. For every one person who writes a memoir, there are multiple people who read it, right? In the case of Jeannette Walls or Cheryl Strayed, a gazillion people. So even if Jeanette Walls or Cheryl Strayed were narcissists for writing about their lives (and there's just no way they are, or their books would be boring and non-revelatory and people would not love them as they do), then what about all the people who are reading their memoirs? It's hard to imagine cold, non-empathetic, entirely self-absorbed people caring enough to read hundreds of pages about someone else's life. My point is that maybe it's not the "I" that's the problem; maybe the "I", as a mode of expression, in image or writing, or music, for that matter, can be humble or tyrannical, generous or attention-seeking, conservative or revolutionary, and so on.

Vice: Is there a common "tell" you've noticed among people with full blown NPD? From all your research, have you noticed an ability to meet people and see characteristics of NPD emerge sooner than later?

Kristin Dombek: There are many posts suggesting "tells," ways to test people and diagnose right away. I'm more trying to learn how not to do this. Diagnosis can protect you from being exploited. Also, it's fun, sometimes, to talk about with friends. Maybe I'm a spoilsport by worrying over it. But there's a structural similarity with every kind of bigotry, everything that causes the horrors we see in the world--to put people in a category first and then decide how to treat them. I think most professional psychologists would agree we should be more cautious. The APA, this week, published a message to its members not to be tempted to diagnose certain political figures from afar; there's a standard that's been in place since 1972, the Goldwater Rule, that forbids diagnosing people you have not examined yourself.

Vice: Do you believe a symbiotic relationship between empaths and narcissists exists? That the empaths are "consumed" and emptied so that they too eventually become narcissists themselves, like some vampire apocalypse?

Kristin Dombek: That's a story that's told, again and again, online. And it's a compelling one—it must be. The thing is, everyone ends up, at one point or another, thinking that their partner is the narcissist, and they are the empathetic one, right? There are all these moments over the course of an ordinary relationship when your partner (or parent or boss) can look evil, and when you do, to them, too. In the book, I'm trying to tease apart that vulnerable moment when we fear the other's selfishness, and the way our habit of diagnosis overdetermines the moment, encourages us to label things as mental illness when we might be better off sitting in the difficulty without deciding what it is. What happens if we let the psychological language go, and the moral language, without labeling it "selfishness" or "vanity" or, especially, "pathology"? What if, in other words, we're able to let their actions not necessarily be about us? I think there's a lot of sweetness in the moment just after that, sometimes, when we accepted one another's temporary self-absorptions, and them, ours.

Vice: The age-old wisdom that says don't take things too personally.

Kristin Dombek: That's the joke that fearing narcissism always plays on you—when you start calling others assholes, you're giving up on them, and then you're one, too. You're interpreting the actions of others only as they affect you. So while that story about the vampire apocalypse can be true of some relationships, its popularity tells a deeper story about being human, maybe the deepest one. When others look more selfish than we do, that's often the moment when we're most stuck in our own position, mistaking it for the center of the universe.

#narcissism #labels #interviews #personality #psychology #the way we live now #self-esteem #selfishness #other people #other peoples' problems #society

[jonathanbogart]

Magnitizdat: Soviet Aligned Pop and New Wave

Mix seven of seven. The previous mixes can be found here. The YouTube playlist for this mix can be found here. Below this paragraph is the tracklisting for this mix; below that are my notes on it. It’s been a gas.

Bravo, “Koshki”

Klaus Mitffoch, “Jezu jak się cieszę”

Spenót, “Szamba”

Tango, “Na šikmé ploše”

Forum, “Davayte sozvonimsya”

Urszula, “Wielki odlot”

Pankow, “Rock ‘n’ Roll im Stadtpark”

Florian din Transilvania, “Mă simt minunat”

Trick, “Elektronnoto kuche”

Dzeltenie Pastnieki, “Sliekutēva vaļasprieks”

Marika Gombitová, “Prekážky dní”

Grazhdanskaya Oborona, “Zoopark”

Gigi, “Divat a fontos”

Maanam, “Lucciola”

Silly, “Die Gräfin”

Kino, “Posledniy geroy”

Sfinx, “An după an”

Első Emelet, “Amerika”

Aya RL, “Skóra”

OK Band, “Žižkovská zeď”

Nastya, “Tatsu”

Magnitizdat: soviet aligned pop and new wave

In a just world, just about every nation represented here would get its own mix: Poland, Hungary, Czechia, and Russia, to name just the largest pop scenes, were (and are) too capacious to be summed up in the paltry handful of songs I’ve allotted them. But I’m already teetering on the furthest outside edge of my understanding. My grasp of Europe is comparable to Saul Steinberg’s legendary view from 9th Avenue: the further East of the Pyrenees I get the more featureless and notional everything is.

To make things more complicated, although the seven nations (at the time; now 13½) represented in this mix were formally Soviet-aligned in terms of foreign policy and general economic structure, they all pursued different approaches to cultural policy, and those policies changed radically over the decades, and even from year to year. At the beginning of the 1980s, the Soviet Union was perhaps the most officially censorious in terms of rejecting Western influence, whereas places like Poland, Hungary, East Germany, and Czechoslovakia were relatively open to current trends in Western European culture, especially following the Prague Spring of 1968. Then too, one of the necessary preconditions for good pop is money (which doesn’t necessarily mean pure capitalism: state-funded arts education and broadcast media, e.g., made British pop the envy of the world), and many of the Eastern Bloc nations, whether or not they were eager to support international-style pop, were among the poorest in Europe.

Still, life finds a way. Electronic music in particular was taken up enthusiastically by many Warsaw Pact composers in the 1970s, both as a technical challenge and as a path forward into a Communist musical future that owed nothing to the dead traditions of the West. Young musicians in Warsaw, Riga, and Leningrad got hold of contraband records or reel-to-reel tapes (called magnitizdat in Russian, in parallel with printed samizdat, according to Wikipedia) of new and innovative forms of rock and pop, imitated them, and added their own perspectives. And Eastern European nations held their own national and international versions of Eurovision, and broadcast local singers in a variety of traditions, both as light entertainment and as a way to reinforce cultural nationalism.

So although Eastern Bloc pop in the 1980s was often cheaper and perhaps chintzier (or at least dedicated to different notions of cool) than its Western counterparts, there was still plenty of it; but it was also unevenly distributed. My division below is less about population size or global importance (either today or historically) than about what would fit into a single mix. There are six Soviet songs (five Russian, one Latvian), four Polish, three Hungarian, two East German, two Czech, one Slovak, two Romanian, and one Bulgarian. Linguistically, it’s my most diverse mix by far, with six Slavic languages, one Germanic, one Uralic, and one Romance language represented (the runner-up, Melodier, had five Germanic languages and one Uralic). Google Translate is my everything.

All of them are great songs, and most of them are great records as well (we’ll get to the exception), although I doubt anyone actually living in Eastern Europe, either at the time or presently, would group together these precise performers in this way: some were defiantly underground, some boringly mainstream, and most somewhere in the middle.

Most of these mixes have taken 1981 and 1987 as the boundary years: while this one ends with a longish 1987 track as per tradition, the rest of the songs are mostly clustered between 1983 and 1985. Due to protectionist policies (both Eastern and Western), inefficiencies of resource allocation, and the slow-to-arrive effects of glasnost, the new wave (if that’s even a useful term to describe a shift towards 1980s-era modernity in the diverse Communist scenes) rolled over Eastern Europe several years after it had blanketed the West. My early investigations all centered on 1984, and further research still marks that as a pivotal year.

Anyway, here’s what I’ve fallen in love with. I hope you dig it too.

1. Bravo Koshki no label | Moscow, 1985

WIth all apologies to Long Island’s Stray Cats, Southern California’s Blasters, England’s Shakin’ Stevens, West Germany’s Ace Cats, and Barcelona’s Loquillo, the greatest rockabilly revival act of the 1980s was the Russian Браво (Bravo). Formed in 1983 by guitarist Evgeny Havtan, with singer Zhanna Aguzarova signing on later that year, they played 1950s rock and roll with a side order of 1960s ska, with lyrics simple and catchy enough to be universal but subversive enough to get them into trouble. “Кошки” (Cats) could be a children’s song: “Cats don’t look like people, cats are cats,” is the opening lyric. But when Aguzarova adds that cats don’t talk nonsense or care about bits of paper, that’s questionable, and when she launches into some of the most thrilling scatting ever heard in rock & roll it’s downright revolutionary. After the band had self-released their first recordings on magnetic tape, she was arrested for using forged identity papers in 1984, and didn’t release a proper record until 1987. She left the band in 1989 for a solo career, and is beloved throughout Russia as a sort of Lady Gaga avant la lettre, while Bravo under Havtan and a succession of singers has continued to plow their rockabilly furrow to slightly diminished success.

2. Klaus Mitffoch Jezu jak się cieszę Tonpress | Wrocław, 1983

One of the most important Polish new wave bands, Klaus Mitffoch combined punk energy, two-tone nimbleness, and post-punk solemnity in a compulsively listenable and sometimes danceable mix. Their first single, Jezu jak się cieszę (Jesus, I’m Happy; the name is an interjection rather than an address) is a mordant portrait of callow youth that doesn’t think past the next payday, fight, or fuck, and of the system that keeps them that way: the shouty chorus translates as “Get up and be busy and own things/I can’t really do it/I don’t really want to.” A Polish “I prefer not to,” it’s a critique of the capitalist contract which worked just as well as a critique of Communist expectations: the lack of real difference between the oppressiveness of East and West will be an ongoing theme.

3. Spenót Szamba Start | Budapest, 1983

Although I’ve been attaching the tag “new wave” to these mixes, one of the signature sounds of the US new wave has been entirely unrepresented: the beachy kitsch of the B-52’s. Until now. Spenót (Spinach) was a Budapest arts collective founded in the early 80s which only released one single on the rock imprint of the Hungarian state label: “Szamba” (Samba) b/w “Hová tűntek a szőke nőket” (Where Did the Blondes Go). Casio, bass, guitar, and disaffected vocals from Kriszta Berzsenyi (now a costumer in the Hungarian film industry) make for a minimal-funk tribute to proletarian hero Popeye, as the refrain “Everything’s perfectly fine, I’ve got spinach flowing in my veins” makes clear. A late entrance from a mariachi trumpet only adds to the delightful kitsch effect, and makes me grin ear to ear every time I listen.

4. Tango Na šikmé ploše Supraphon | Prague, 1984

Although the island-borrowed rhythms and frontman Miroslav Imrich’s vocal qualities in this early song are rather heavily reminiscent of the Police, in terms of cultural positioning Tango were rather closer to Madness: a ska-pop band that could be goofy or heartfelt depending on the song, and burrowed deep into Czech working-class cultural identity, in part thanks to their inventive and prolific videos. Their first single, “Na šikmé ploše” (On the Slope) is a heartfelt and rather poetic love song on skis. Even after Tango’s dissolution, Imrich has been a consistently popular singer and songwriter in the years since, his work, both solo and in collaboration, ranging from ballads to techno.

5. Forum Davayte sozvonimsya no label | Moscow, 1984

A Russian synthpop band who owed nothing to such English decadents as Human League or Depeche Mode, Форум was fronted by singer Viktor Saltykov, who had previously sung with rock band Manufactura, and anchored by synth wizard Alexander Morozov. The video for Давайте созвонимся (Let’s Call Each Other), from an early television appearance, has become a minor internet classic of kitschy Soviet aesthetics, but a google of the lyrics reveals as thoughtful and sensitive a song about love under modern technological conditions as anything Gary Numan or Scritti Politti ever recorded. Forum’s debut album wouldn’t see official release until 1987, by which time a lot of Russian pop had caught up to them.

6. Urszula Wielki odlot Polton | Lublin, 1984

Perhaps Poland’s most prominent female rock star for the last forty years, Urszula Kasprzak has recorded in a variety of styles, from hard rock to dance-pop; but her 1984 album Malinowy król (Raspberry King), recorded with members of prog band Budka Suflera, is a minor masterpiece of cool, reflective synthpop. “Wielki odlot” (The Great Departure) was the leadoff track and the album’s lowest-charting single, but I love its stately swell and the apocalyptic  lyrics (or maybe it’s just about emigration, which is another form of apocalypse). I’m looking forward into digging around into the rest of Urszula’s discography.

7. Pankow Rock ’n’ Roll im Stadtpark AMIGA | Berlin, 1983

East Germany probably had the most thoroughly Westernized and extensive pop scene in the whole Eastern Bloc — only natural, given its proximity and exposure to West German media. But child star Nina Hagen had to leave East Berlin to help found the Neue Deutsche Welle: East Germany preferred shaggy 70s rock even as icy synths overran the NATO countries. Pankow, formed in the eponymous suburb of East Berlin, was a case in point: definitely a new wave band, they still clearly adored old-fashioned boogie rock. “Rock ’n’ Roll im Stadtpark” (Rock ’n’ Roll in the City Park) is an anthem of Communist rock (even the shouted refrains are collectivized): dancing to rock & roll in the park is better than bourgeois disco or high-priced cinema, because it’s free. Of the people, by the people, for the people, oh yeah.

8. Florian din Transilvania Mă simt minunat Electrecord | Bucharest, 1986

The hermetic and impoverished Romanian scene, tightly controlled by Nicolae Ceaușescu’s Maoist-modeled authoritarian government, was the slowest of the European Communist nations to catch up to the present of the 1980s: officially supported music tended to be folkloric, balladic, and at its most up-to-date, hippie-era hard rock. Mircea Florian was one of the grand exceptions: beginning as a mid-60s folk-rocker in the mold of Dylan and Cohen, and maintaining a parallel interest in electronics and modern composers like Stockhausen and Nono, he moved through many progressive, electric, and Eastern-influenced musical phases over the next twenty years, often butting heads with the regime. His last great record, 1986’s Tainicul vîrtej (The Secret Swirl), released just before his defection to West Germany, was a summation of his folk- and art-rock past and his new-wave present. This opening track “I Feel Great,” is a statement of gleeful modernism, the lyrics an expression of bucolic alienation while the synthesizers and drum machines wander off on prog-rock solos before being recalled to robot rhythms.

9. Trick Elektronnoto kuche Balkanton | Sofia, 1985

If the Romanian rock scene was impoverished, its Bulgarian counterpart was even more so. Trick was a vocal group — two women, one man — put together out of music school in frank imitation of Western acts like ABBA, Boney M, or even (if the record sleeves are any indication) Tony Orlando and Dawn. But this cut from their first LP, “Electronic Dog,” was produced by the young, ambitious Kristian Boyadzhiev to a hypermodern sheen: if the girls are still essentially singing disco harmonies, at least the music has heard of ZTT. After release, the song was suppressed by Bulgarian state media on the grounds that the goofy lyrics and synthesized dog barks were making a mockery of Bulgarian electronics. But today, it sounds like it might predict Eastern European trance.

10. Dzeltenie Pastnieki Sliekutēva vaļasprieks no label | Riga, 1984

The underground new-wave scene in Latvia was apparently the most active and prolific in the Soviet Union outside Mother Russia: the Baltic seaport of Riga, as one of the USSR’s few access points to global culture, saw bands like Pērkons, NSRD, and Dzeltenie Pastnieki making waves even as their magnetic-tape recordings were suppressed by the Soviet authorities and not released for decades. I chose this song by Dzeltenie Pastnieki (Yellow Postmen) not because it’s exceptionally better than the rest of their material, which is all pretty great, but because its combination of electronic loops and sensitive guitar sounded surprisingly to me like the Postal Service. The pitch-shifted vocals, sure, sound more like “The Laughing Gnome,” but that’s no deal-breaker.

11. Marika Gombitová Prekážky dní Opus | Bratislava, 1984

Probably the biggest Slovak pop star of the era, Marika Gombitová had been well-known in the eastern half of Czechoslovakia since 1977, when she sang leads for the popular rock band Modus. This synthpop gem (Daily Obstacles) from her fifth album, the unselfconsciously-titled No. 5 (it was her first stab at singing to synthesizers), uses sporting metaphors to talk about desires that slip forever out of reach, the evocativeness of which imagery would not have been lost on a contemporary television-watching audience: Gombitová had been confined to a wheelchair, paralyzed from the shoulders down, following a car crash in 1981. Her marvelous voice, thin but strong, reminds me of Cyndi Lauper’s: and the gorgeous production, with its slippery bass and a haunting electronic solo in the middle eight, makes this maybe my favorite song in this mix.

12. Grazhdanskaya Oborona Zoopark no label | Omsk, 1985

Here’s that not-great record, meaning only that it’s extremely lo-fi, so much so that the tape hiss and room tone plays practically an aesthetic role, turning a simple rock ballad into a fuzz-pop gem that could sit side-by-side with contemporary work by the Beat Happening or Hüsker Dü. Гражданская Оборона (Civil Defense) was the psych-rock project of Siberian-born Yegor Letov; after their first magnetic tape, containing “зоопарк,” was recorded, band members were institutionalized, their subversive attitudes having been dutifully reported to the authorities by the guitarist's mother. That subversiveness isn’t hard to detect in this song, in which Letov dreams of finding other crazy people (like him) with whom he can plot an escape from the zoo of contemporary life.

13. Gigi Divat a fontos Start | Budapest, 1985

Nobody on the Internet seems to know anything about Gigi, not even whether the name is of a performer or a group. The writing credit on the Hungarian compilation LP where “Divat a fontos” (Fashion Matters) appeared is to “Gigi Együttes,” which latter word just means Ensemble. But a bunch of people on the Internet, some in Hungarian, some in English, and some in Polish, have warmly praised this song, an aerobic synthpop jam that combines the best of Kim Wilde and Olivia Newton-John. It’s apparently all that this Gigi (the thirty-first entity of that name on Discogs) ever recorded, but it’s enough.

14. Maanam Lucciola Polskie Nagrania Muza | Kraków, 1984

The post-punk band Maanam, on the other hand, are legends of Polish rock, with dozens of records and a rabid fanbase: one of the most successful and important Eastern European bands of the decade. Lead singer Kora (Olga Jackowska)’s vocal style owed little to Anglophone precedent, digging deep into Slavic and Polish modernism, even when, as here, the most frequent word in the song is the Italian woman’s name of the title. In “Lucciola,” Kora dispassionately portrays a man searching for the titular woman in the night wind, while the band’s brawny Gang of Four funk motorvates right along regardless.

15. Silly Die Gräfin AMIGA | Berlin, 1982

Probably the most interesting East German rock band of the 1980s, Silly was centered around the vocal performances of Tamara Danz, who could be kabarett-outrageous in one song and luminously synthpop-tender in the next. “Die Gräfin” (lit. The Countess, but also slang for any stuck-up woman) is a funk-rock vehicle for her gift for satirical vocal caricature, as she mocks the decayed German aristocracy from a victorious proletarian point of view. Not that Danz was a strict ideologue: in 1989, she joined other East German musicians in demanding greater freedom, in protests that helped lead to the collapse of the Communist consensus. She died in 1996 of breast cancer, far too young.

16. Kino Posledniy geroy AnTrop | Leningrad, 1984

The only Russian band represented on this mix whose music was officially released within the era under consideration, Кино (Cinema) were no less skeptical about the Soviet system than their peers, just luckier in that they hooked up with the independent Leningrad-based AnTrop label, which gave them cover for sarcastic, despairing songs like Последний герой (Last of the Heroes), in which the familiar 80s theme of nuclear annihilation gets another airing, and East and West turn out to be not so different after all.

17. Sfinx An după an Electrecord | Bucharest, 1984

When Mircea Florian was one of the leading lights of Romanian prog in the 1970s, one of his few competitors in the field was the band Sfinx (Sphinx), formed in the mid-60s to play Western-style pop/rock. In the following decade, they grew more ambitious, taking cues from Yes, King Crimson, and Genesis, the last of whom, in their 80s incarnation, is a reference point here. “An după an” means Year After Year, and even though it was only their second LP (they were constantly running afoul of the Romanian censors), it was occasion for a wistful look back over the last twenty years.

18. Első Emelet ‎Amerika Start | Budapest, 1983

Perhaps the most popular Hungarian rock band of the early 80s, Első Emelet (First Floor) was formed from the remnants of several less fortunate acts which imploded around 1982. With a bright, energetic sound, witty lyrics by songwriter Péter Geszti, and an irreverent comic sensibility to their visual presentation, they were just the kind of band that would have been a lock to appear on MTV if they weren’t from a Communist nation. In fact, they did anyway — one of the television screens in Dire Straits’ “Money for Nothing” is playing an Első Emelet video. Their first single, “Amerika” is a terrific satire of that consumerist paradise, rendered with all the plastic pomp the subject deserve.

19. Aya RL Skóra Tonpress | Warsaw, 1984

One of the greatest long-running European indie-rock bands, Aya RL (for Red Love) formed when Russian keyboardist Igor Czerniawski and Polish singer Paweł Kukiz met in Warsaw. “Skóra” (Skin), their biggest hit and most well-loved song (I dare you to get that wordless chorus out of your head), is somewhat unrepresentative of their more psychedelic and intellectual work — but it’s a great song, a portrait of love despite the turmoil and violence of the heavily politicized street culture of Warsaw in the 1980s.

20. OK Band Žižkovská zeď Supraphon | Prague, 1982

If you didn’t know anything about Eastern Bloc music in the 1980s and relied only on what the Western media of the time showed you, you might expect it all to sound like this: icy, measured, foreboding. In fact, “Žižkovská zeď” (The Zizkov Wall) is just about the slowest and coldest song in Czech synthpop act OK Band’s repertoire: most of it is much cheerier and romantic. But I really dig its coldwave vibes and the sound of Marcela Březinová’s voice singing about the awful feeling of seeing your name written in graffiti by an unknown hand.

21. Nastya Tatsu no label | Sverdlovsk, 1987

Thanks no doubt to my own global position — in the (allegedly) democratic West — I’ve been focused throughout this mix on how the music of Communist Europe responds to or relates to or recalls its Western counterparts. But with “Tatsu,” the gaze shifts not West, but East. Nastya, a band formed on the border of Europe and Asia, and named after its frontwoman, singer, composer and poet Anastasia Polova, was fascinated with Japanese folklore, history, and mythology. The Tatsu of the title is both a Japanese child left for dead in World War II (that’s where the bits in English come in), and a mythological dragon-god protecting islands in the Pacific. It’s an amazing song, the centerpiece of an amazing album, and the fact that it only circulated as a bootleg tape for a decade before being officially issued in the mid-90s is the strongest indictment of late-Soviet cultural policy I know. I say that as a Communist.

That’s it, that’s all the mixes. For now, anyway. Thanks for reading and listening and sharing and liking. I’ve got other projects to keep me busy; I’ll try to mention them here from time to time.

#my mixology career

[thecoupleenextdoor-blog]

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