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nautilusopus · 3 years

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do you have any favorite books?

Coraline by Neil Gaiman is the obvious answer lol. Still my favourite book to this day, obviously hugely influential in my own bullshit. Seriously check it out if you can find a copy, it’s pretty short and absolutely worth your time.

The Devil’s Storybook by Natalie Babbitt and its sequel (The Devil’s Other Storybook) are more of an anthology of short stories starring the Devil, who occupies every role from vague background presence to put-upon protagonist that are funny and thought-provoking and genuinely clever and that pissed enough people off that it was a banned book for a while. “The Imp in the Basket” is the kind of short story I wish more people knew about and wanted to sincerely discuss what actually happened at the end.

ugh i haven’t read a book i actually enjoyed in over ten years at this point uhhhhhh

Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut. I think potentially the only classic I had to read in school that I genuinely liked and actually finished in one sitting on my own time. And I think the first time any themes a book had for me actually clicked and I was able to do any kind of meta analysis of it completely unprompted. Baby’s first literary comprehension. Slaughterhouse-Five is a semi-autobiographical piece set during the bombing of Dresden in WWII, and also some period in the “future” (the 80s lol), and ALSO on an alien planet as the protagonist is abducted and taken to a human zoo. The story is told achronologically, and I feel is hugely influential to my own shit where it skips around, building a narrative almost entirely by juxtaposing specific moments in time against one another. It's surreal and thought-provoking, and if you only ever make yourself read one classic, it should be this one. *

Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH by Robert C. O'Brien. Bear in mind this thing has fuck-all to do with the movie, and while in retrospect I now am able to enjoy the Don Bluth movie as its own thing, I remember being fucking furious when they busted out a goddamn magical amulet. It’s a different kind of story, but is more magic realism than outright fantasy, and the titular rats get a lot more backstory, as does the late Mr. Frisby iirc.

The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane by Kate DiCamillo. God that book fucked me up. It is about a snotty porcelain toy rabbit that gets dropped overboard a ship into the ocean one day, and the various owners he has over the years as he changes hands, and the impacts they have on him, and it makes me fucking cry every time and is to date the only book to ever do so so fairly warned be ye. Fucking shit I wish I could dish out gut-punches half as good as that book could.

The His Dark Materials trilogy by Phillip Pullman, which in and of itself is an angry rebuttal against everything the Chronicles of Narnia has to say, as well as Christianity in general. You’ve probably seen shit floating around about the HBO series, which I have not watched. Lyra is a horrible gremlin child running wild around a parallel universe Oxford until she accidentally stumbles onto a conspiracy that goes all the way to the Church which unofficially runs the government and eventually starts an interdimensional war against God. The first two books I think are better than the last one, which really drags in spots (and in a twist of irony had Lyra’s sexual awakening censored from the North American release which like... come on man). Absolutely worth checking out though, especially if you’re an angry pedant like I am.

Tales from the House of Bunnicula, by James Howe. Honestly the entire "Bunnicula Expanded Universe"(???) is great, but in particular I'm mentioning this sub-series because I think it actually kind of taught me to write. The framing device used is that they're being written by Howe's pet dog and sent in to him to publish by proxy. On top of having just a lot of good storytelling tips for beginners (how to create a plot! how to create character motivations! how to write female characters like actual people!), they're also fun little satire pieces of various kinds of genre fiction. Like, the third book is a riff on Harry Potter and making fun of all of JKR's worst writing tendencies, like her compulsion to phonetically write out everyone's fucking accent.

these days i'm just too picky to enjoy books anymore idfk. you have no idea how fucking disheartening it was growing up with actual taste (snooty snooty snoot) and watching everyone go nuts over stuff like divergent and eragon and maximum ride and fuckmothering twilight and shit. like, yeah misogyny absolutely played into why people shat on it because teenage girls aren't allowed to like anything, but lest we forget they were still shitty books guys. that never stopped being true or anything. and you were a social pariah if you didn't like them and that sucked. and then a couple ostensibly good series, like harry potter and artemis fowl and hunger games just dropped the fucking ball for one reason or another as they went on and never picked it back up. i think the mid 2000s almost singlehandedly just killed any real enthusiasm i had for reading altogether (this is not even getting into the fact a lot of really fucking bad "grown-up" novels came out around that period too. whole era was a baaaad time for books). so here i am writing, i guess, because i've decided you fuckers can't be trusted to make anything good yourselves. if you want something done right...

(*I like to think if Cloud wrote a book he’d write something like Slaughterhouse-Five. I think at one point I was even working on a fic along those lines -- a fictional story vaguely based off the burning of Nibelheim and the fall of Shinra that was written, in-universe, by Cloud several years later. Abandoned it just because of how fucking complicated it would be to do. Might come back to it one day.)

#asks #Anonymous

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cullxtheherd · 4 years

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“There’s only one bed.” //sorry, couldn’t resist, lol//

hey Ghost!!! how are you?? and ksjdnkdf absolutely no need for apologies, I love filling requests or making starters/etc. which ?? ? ? please feel free to continue this if you’d like, just? If you don’t mind please send me a link to it if you do. my notes are broken and mostly the @ just doesn’t work lately - thank you in advance (just in case)!!! also skjfnkdfg i hope this is ookay!

There are many things Jacob Seed is prepared to deal with at the proverbial drop of a hat. Unexpected fight with enemy forces? A walk in the park on a light, breezy day. Escaped pack of Judges making meals out of his men? Not a problem. Out of the blue blizzard at the peak of summer in Montana? He is more than prepared to start a fire and hunker down in anything suitable, but? Having company on this little prospecting expedition?

Not so much.

When a deep, dangerous grey had taken over the skies he had immediately been scanning the horizon for sustainable shelter. Miles out, hiking the rigid peaks of the Whitetails and without an all terrain vehicle would leave them more than vulnerable if they weren’t quick to act. And, so, he did.

“Cabin up ahead,” Mussed hair from nearly an entire day’s worth of trekking is covered in a fine layer of accumulation and, as the temperature drops his beard begins collecting as well, “Way this storm’s kickin up we should stop for the night.” It isn’t an idea that he is immediately comfortable with, but? What other viable choices are there?

Hand sawn logs are a welcome sight and the porch is cozy, a pair of adirondack style chairs and a matching table sit under the windowsill of surprisingly still intact panes. Cupping a hand around his vision makes it easier to see into the darkness of the cabin and, as usual, he is a wealth of conversation, “Doesn’t look occupied.”

A tiny, miniscule part of him - a bit of the frightened boy inside feels bad for infringing, but the Herald he has become holds no remorse for what he has to do to see his part of the Project through to the end. Although he knows it is futile he checks the door anyways: locked and assumably bolted. From the scant look he had gotten through the pane the place didn’t look like it had been rummaged through yet- at least, not by his men.

“Gonna check the back, see if any windows are open, “ Of all the days to not bring a set of picks it is, of course, this one. Although he knows from first hand experience both at war and within the Project that women aren’t any less than men he does have an almost overwhelming portion of Southern Boy left in him and the idea that she likely also has the skills to let them in doesn’t bother to cross his mind, “I’ll come open the door.”

“Elvis, bleib,” The wolf obliges, sitting on the porch and not in the mood to waste any time getting a fire started he jumps the rail, crunching down on a thin layer of powder that has accumulated over the past hour and a half. It takes several tries before he arrives at a smaller cut of window that is likely the restroom he is pleased to find it open. Thankfully the wood storage at the rear is close enough for him to hike himself up and haul his comically large body through to the other side.

Despite being agile for his size he is less than graceful at this moment in time and Jacob dumps his entire being onto the cold, tile floor. Partially out of breath from the tumble he grumbles, “Am gettin’ too old for this shit.” Elbows bent, his forearms pause, hanging in the air for a moment while he catches his breath. When he is steady on his feet again he makes his way across the unfamiliar layout. Thankfully a lot of the cabins in Hope County follow a similar, basic and open floor plan and he is at the door, fiddling with the locks relatively quickly.

Even though it is much warmer inside than out the winds outside are picking up audibly and he can only wager that the snow is as well. “I gotta get some wood and start a fire, GiGi have a look around.” Peeking his head out the door he manages a smile for his judge, “Elvis, komm.” A palm presses between the wolf’s ears, rubbing, “Braver hund.” Without commanding the canine follows him back out, past the porch to the wood hut.

For the most part what he finds is not promising. At some point the hut has leaked and the sparse logs that are left are very damp. “Fuck,” This will likely only last a few hours- that is if he can manage to get it started. Elvis bumps his elbow with his snoot and Jacob responds, patting him reassuringly, “It’s okay boy, we’ve been through worse, huh?” This seems to hit the spot and the canine pounces at the snow playfully, agreeing.

Grabbing the measly bundle he goes back inside, securing the door tightly with the deadbolt. GiGi isn’t immediately in view and he assumes she is likely scavenging for supplies to last through the night. The small kitchenette table holds his spoils for now and he, with the use of his heel, begins breaking down one of the four available chairs for a viable fire starter. It doesn’t take incredibly long and on the last strike he has to turn and clarify, “Hmm?”

“There’s only one bed…”

“I’m sorry,” Both brows raise and although he has heard her, his mouth moves anyways, “What?”

German/English “Elvis, bleib.”/”Elvis, stay.” “Elvis, komm.”/”Elvis, come.” “Braver hund.”/”Good dog.”

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