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britcision · 2 months

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As promised, part two!

First Chapter:

Part One of this chapter:

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So That Just Happened part 2

In the bathroom, Jason turned the hot tap on as high as it’d go and stood over the sink, breathing in the steam. He just… he just needed to clear his head. Get his thoughts straight.

Sleep for the next six fucking weeks and make Pitty someone else’s problem, ideally.

The weight of Frostbite’s gift sat heavy in his pants pocket and he pulled the case out, shaking a single glowing ice chip into his hand. The rising temperature of the bathroom didn’t affect it at all, which didn’t surprise Jason.

He considered putting it under the stream of hot water but didn’t bother.

Frostbite said not to use them too much, or get too dependent on them. On the other hand, fuck today. So much.

He crushed the shard in his hand and shoved the pieces into his mouth. This time it tasted like ozone and limes, and stung the inside of his mouth. In a good way, though.

The rush of energy was the same, and Jason would swear he could feel his frayed edges slowly closing over. Not a real substitute for food or sleep, but sure as hell beat coffee.

He had a couple dozen more ice chips, which he tucked away in the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. The mirror wasn’t supposed to have a cabinet, but it had been easy enough to make one, and so far none of his siblings had found it yet… if they even found this apartment.

(None of them would have been able to resist commenting on the collage he’d made across the back wall of their most “interesting” family photos. Or the little batburger figurines of each of their alter-egos.

Jason had made sure he got the worst ones on the market, and knew their exact positions. If a single one shifted, he’d know.)

It was on the outer edge of Crime Alley, far from the heart his family all expected him to hole up in, and the rest of the building was a completely unremarkable old library which had been abandoned before Jason was born.

Getting himself a well secured home had been easy to slip into the renovation plans; he’d had Bruce “buy” the building through Jason’s funds to start restoring it, keeping it well removed from Red Hood’s name. It was the first project he planned to put his own name on, now that he was officially alive again.

The Catherine Todd Memorial Library.

The building itself wasn’t open yet, the main part of it still being remodelled, but the needle drop off and exchange was already running from the front entrance.

This was home, as much as anywhere ever was. More than anywhere had ever been since Wayne Manor.

Jason tensed against the anger, but nothing rose this time. The ecto-ice had given him a flood of energy, the same almost static clarity, but he still felt drained. Like there was no anger left in him.

It would have been nice if it felt good.

The steam had fogged the mirror now, collecting in the air even against the bathroom’s fan. Shutting the tap off, Jason closed his eyes and sucked in a few more deep, fortifying breaths.

Maybe the ecto-ice had been a mistake. All he wanted to do was fall into bed and sleep, but he wouldn’t be able to for at least a few hours now.

Patrol was out of the question. His body may be revitalized and humming with energy, but his head wasn’t in the game. Even Lady Gotham’s embrace couldn’t pull his scattered thoughts together.

What he needed was some mindless TV, some stupidly indulgent junk food, and a blanket. He’d heard… well, things about the new Sex and the City spinoff. Not exactly good things, but things.

Carrie Bradshaw’s not-problems could be the perfect backdrop to a night in.

Alfred would probably send him cookies if he asked. This being an emergency and all. Although… it wasn’t like they could explain the nature of the emergency without the whole ghost reveal.

… Probably still worth a try though.

His Red Hood phone was still at the safe house he’d slept in, but at least one of his spares for his civilian life should be in the apartment somewhere.

The steam had mostly cleared too, leaving the mirror only slightly foggy around the edges. Jason gave it a careful wipe down out of habit; dots on the mirror didn’t usually bother him, but… he’d put Catherine’s name on the building. He wanted to keep everything in it nice.

(Which was why a lot of stuff was unused.)

It wasn’t until he opened the door that he realized he really hadn’t said anything to Danny before disappearing.

Would he have left? Fuck, that’d be the obvious choice, wouldn’t it? Getting dropped off just inside a stranger’s door, and then they just walk away from you into the bathroom.

Shit, Danny had probably left. That… Jason didn’t know how to feel about that, and the empty hall only confirmed his suspicions.

On the one hand, he really wasn’t up to more talking. He didn’t even want to think about everything that had happened today, and especially not whatever the hell was lose in his city, trying to feed his rage. He couldn’t handle one more gentle reassurance that it was okay to be angry.

On the other hand, he really, really didn’t want to be alone. The noise from the TV and the snacks would cut it in a pinch, but the only thing he actually wanted right now was company. Quiet, nonjudgemental company.

He hadn’t told any of the bats about this safe house. Not even Bruce’s contractors knew he’d snuck it in. He’d wanted it to be safe from them and from everyone else, and now he could keep his fucking secrets at the cost of being alone.

A little heavy handed as a metaphor.

… Fuck, Alfred couldn’t even bring him cookies without knowing where he was.

He turned away from the hall and made for the bedroom to grab the spare phone, though he wasn’t sure who he’d message anymore. Just as he was debating the merits of messaging Cass and getting her to do him a delivery, a noise from the kitchen caught his attention. Hope rose, slowly and uncertainly. Had Danny not left?

… Why was Danny in his kitchen, when he was a self professed fire hazard?

Caution and concern flaring right alongside that hope, Jason backtracked and hurried to the kitchen.

There were not enough dirty dishes.

There was like, a mug, a coffee pot, and two plates. Really, Danny should have been done in minutes and fidgeting for something else to do.

But then he’d been looking for where to put the plates away, and he’d found a really impressive spice cabinet. Right next to the stovetop, made sense he guessed, though personally he preferred to keep the damn plates where they’d be used.

He’d perused a couple of labels on the little jars, mildly amused by how many he absolutely could not even guess at. What the fuck was “marjoram”? Or “zataar”?

So the logical thing to do had been open the jars for a sniff.

All well and good. He didn’t recognize most of the smells either, and couldn’t imagine why you’d put almost half of them in any kind of food, but some of them smelled really good.

But then he’d found the garlic powder.

Danny did not cook, as a rule. Sam cooked, mostly from spite, and she always used fresh smashed garlic. Danny’s youtuber chefs mostly said the jarred chopped stuff was fine, but what the fuck was garlic powder?

And what garlic powder was, was pungent. Really, really strongly scented, and super light. Just opening the jar had puffed up a cloud of the stuff, and Danny had been about to sniff it anyway and took a bigger huff than he intended.

And then he’d sneezed.

And now Jason’s entire kitchen was dusted in garlic powder, including the dishes he’d just washed and left on the counter while he found their homes.

So Danny panicked.

Trying to dust the garlic powder off the counters with his hands only got more of it into the air, and he wasn’t falling for that fucking trap again, no sir. He went ghost again and stopped fucking breathing is what he did, then grabbed a garlic covered towel and tried to wipe the powder into a pile.

No dice.

But Danny was a professional superhero. He calmed himself down. He stopped panicking. He went looking for a dustpan and brush like a sensible adult.

And then he heard the bathroom door open, froze like a deer in the headlights, and reflexively jerked straight off the floor.

Because right, he had fucking ghost powers.

At least he already hadn’t been breathing. Luckily, Jason seemed to need something from the other side of the apartment since his footsteps pretty much immediately moved away, and Danny let out another relieved breath.

He could still fix this. This would be fine. He could telekinetically pick up all the garlic dust, and throw it in the trash because a lot was on the floor and the rest was on him and also Every Other Surface On Earth, and buy Jason more tomorrow.

Before Jason came back from wherever else he was going and realized Danny was a fucking menace. Focusing hard, Danny let his aura suffuse the room and focused on the garlic powder. Willed it to lift off whatever it was touching, and come towards him.

Of course, some of it was now on the clean dishes, and in the mug. Which fell over as Danny pulled its powder coating away.

Jason’s footsteps immediately stopped. And then began hurrying towards him.

And maybe Danny panicked again, just a tiny bit, but the good news was he did not ice over the whole kitchen! He’d grown so much since Ghost Puberty Part 2 Electric Boogaloo! He was totally in control!

He just iced the dishes to the counter and froze the floating garlic powder, which was why Jason appeared in the doorway to see Danny floating like a fucking dumbass in the middle of his kitchen, surrounded by sparkling ice crystals.

Danny raised both hands immediately.

“I can explain.”

So the thing about Spiderheck. The really big pain in the ass thing. Was that every round was super unpredictable, even when you weren’t playing with superheroes trying to adapt their actual abilities to spider bodies.

There really was no way to know what would be a long or short round.

Tucker had tried a couple more times to “fall” early on, only to be promptly followed by one or both of his fellow competitors.

The good news was, they were at least all tied up for now, so he’d gotten more time without anyone asking questions. The bad news was, it was match point. Whoever took this next one, if they didn’t all tie, it would be time for another set.

Aaaaand Conner and Tim were still having fun, and insisted they were just warming up, but Tucker was sweating anyway. He didn’t even know spiders could sweat.

Ancients, had he actually fucked up using his powers for the first time in years when he was trying to show off for Red Robin and Superboy?

He was going to look like a fucking newb. An absolute amateur.

And that was assuming that no one had come looking for them and noticed the empty room and still going game on the TV. Would Batman think he’d kidnapped Red Robin?

Who was Tucker kidding, he totally would. Bruce was paranoid as hell, and while he mostly seemed to be aiming it at Danny, that was probably because he hadn’t realized Tucker was liminal. Did the GIW even know about liminals? There probably wasn’t much documentation for him to freak himself out about with.

Of course, in this case he wouldn’t be wrong. Tim would be trapped. It’d just be because Tucker was a dumbass, not a malicious force. At least Tim and Conner would almost definitely believe him.

Aaaand he’d never live it down. It was only a matter of time before they both noticed he wasn’t really trying to win anymore too. He’d kept up, but that was mostly by accident. He just had a lot of practice being inside the game levels.

A lot of them could kill all the players on their own, no PVP required.

He felt like an absolute caveman when the answer finally came to him, and it wasn’t even his own idea.

Because the last level had been one of those “kill all the players” levels, and all three of them had managed to be thrown into lava close enough that the computer didn’t count a winner.

Tim and Conner groaned loudly before bursting out laughing, because of course that was what happened at their dramatic finale, and then as they’d spawned in again Tim turned to Tucker.

“Hey, can you pause before we get into this one? I just wanna catch my breath a second.”

Which, for a nanosecond, felt like the absolute end of the world, because he didn’t have his controller buttons. Because he was a dumbass.

Luckily, it also snapped him back to his senses, and reminded him of the very first time he’d put Sam and Danny into a game with him. They’d made the same mistake, not leaving anyone their actual console controls, and Danny had begun trying to actually physically break them out before Tucker worked it out.

They were his fucking powers. He could always pause them, whatever they were doing; all he had to do was close his eyes and blank out for like, a minute.

He’d been collapsing in despair that first time, and Sam had kicked him over, sat on him, and demanded he take a nap, and then they were all back in their bodies like nothing had happened.

Keeping them inside the game was the part that was difficult; it was an act of focus, and sure it felt automatic at this point because he did this all the time now, but it was still something he had to actively do. Sure, technically, he wouldn’t be controlling the game from the inside, but they’d be back in their fucking bodies in the real world.

Where the actual console controls were. And then he could reload them in, and not forget his overrides this time, and everything would be fine.

Luckily, while his brain was techno-linked, he was processing in computer-time, not people-time. There was barely a pause after Tim asked the question and the answer came, tension leaving his body so quickly he almost sagged.

He even sounded a little giddily relieved to his own ears as he answered, laughing and already shutting his eyes.

“Well, kinda. Let me just pop us back out, we should probably check the time too. Hang on.”

Luckily, this stage did not seem to have any instant death traps. Tim and Conner fucked around with the crates and the platforms for a couple of seconds while Tucker reached inside, deliberately pulling his disconnect instead of waiting, and then they were all back on the couch, controllers in hand.

He’d never been so happy to see his own hands. Or the Start button, which he promptly hit to pause all three spiders before Tim and Conner’s could swing to their deaths. Even if that would give him the win.

Tim and Conner shifted beside him, getting used to their bodies again. Tucker took the lead there, setting his controller down and stretching his arms up behind his head, the phantom sensations of extra limbs already beginning to fade.

“It stops feeling weird pretty fast, but it helps if you move around,” he explained brightly, still high on that buzz of relief.

Conner made a noise of agreement, standing and stretching his arms over his head, which made his shirt ride up. Tucker had the good sense to turn away quickly, before he got hypnotized.

Not quickly enough that Tim didn’t notice, but Tim Drake-Wayne remained the very coolest person on planet Earth and didn’t say anything. He just grinned knowingly at Tucker and rolled his shoulders, stretching out his neck.

“Okay, that was really cool. Not even a little bit the same, but really cool.”

Tucker grinned back, sheepish but still just happy he didn’t get caught.

“Yeah, there’s always the skill barrier where you can’t do the button combos, but I still feel like it helps? Y’know, understanding how the characters move and stuff.”

“I’m just glad you picked up the TTK that fast,” Conner cut in with a laugh, now bending down to touch his toes, blessedly while facing them.

Tucker swelled with pride.

“I mean, it wasn’t all that complicated. You explained it really well,” he said totally calmly, totally cool, definitely not fawning over the actual demigod in the room.

He didn’t exactly get why Conner shot Tim an entirely triumphant grin or why Tim rolled his eyes, but he wasn’t gonna worry about that. Tonight, he was batting a thousand.

He’d be tired getting back to class tomorrow, and he couldn’t exactly tell his classmates he’d been hanging out with Tim Drake-Wayne and being carried home by actual Superboy, but this was still the best week of his life. And Tim had already been talking about getting him an internship.

His life really could not be finer.

Jason took the mess well. Probably because Danny had a) already been working on it and b) panicked like a startled duckling and explained at a mile a minute, getting the order of events completely wrong at least twice.

Having the garlic powder iced over definitely helped the cleanup too. Jason grabbed a garbage bag, Danny floated what was in the air in, and they both took damp cloths to hunt down any stray garlic powder hiding in crevices.

Danny rewashed the dishes, but Jason dried them with a fresh towel and showed him where everything was. All in all, it was a blissfully domestic moment after a genuinely fucked day.

He could feel an unasked question waiting on the back of Jason’s tongue while they cleaned up, the shape of anticipation and something that wasn’t exactly fear, or even anxiety, just a low grade avoidance. Danny didn’t push it.

That seemed like the right answer too, because when they’d finished and stared at each other awkwardly for a long moment, Jason sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Look, I know you’ve got school tomorrow. If you’ve gotta head out…” he trailed off, resigned-tired filling his aura.

Danny raised both hands to cut him off.

“Hey. I can fly across this city in like, fifteen minutes. It’s not even half eleven yet, so if you want some company I’ve got nowhere else to be. We can talk about whatever, play some more MarioKart, or I can just make you some cocoa and go if you need space?”

Jason didn’t physically sag with relief, but that was probably because he’d already been holding himself carefully to hide the tension. Didn’t matter, because everything else about him screamed it as he raised an eyebrow at Danny, glancing around his kitchen.

“I’m not leaving you alone in here again until you’re Alfred-certified,” he declared sarcastically, and Danny grinned back.

“Ah, so never again. Good to know. It’s probably for the best, I’m a lousy cook for anything I don’t have to wrestle to the ground.” Not that he was any better at cooking it after he’d won the fight; he was just pretty good at the fighting part.

Jason’s eyebrow twitched and then he chuckled, shaking his head and pointing out of the kitchen.

“Tell you what, I’ll make you some cocoa while you go turn the TV on. Remote’s on the end table.”

That sounded like an invitation to stay to Danny! So he hadn’t totally fucked by not booking it out of Jason’s haunt at top speed; good to know.

And maybe he did physically sag with relief a little, because expressing your emotions was cool actually and everyone should totally be doing it more. And it was more fun in ghost form; he actually sunk til his feet almost touched the ground.

Didn’t go all the way when he remembered he was still in his boots. Jason’s other apartments had been pretty well lived in although still generally tidy, but this one was almost pristine. Whether it was new or he was just more careful here, Danny could take a hint.

He gestured quickly at his body while Jason pulled a cartoon of milk from the giant, gleaming blue-black fridge that looked mostly empty.

“Sure, uh… mind if I change?”

Jason blinked, which was fair since Danny had been a ghost for the past couple hours, then nodded.

“Not at all. There’s also some sweatpants and stuff in the bedroom if you wanna get more comfortable, but I don’t have as much of Tim or Dick’s stuff here so you might be stuck in mine,” he added a little shyly, and Danny’s grin widened as he remembered his new favourite shirt.

“You have five minutes to hide any other great soup shirts before I take you up on that,” he teased and Jason grinned back.

“Nah, go for it. I’ll only be a little longer than that with the cocoa though, so don’t do too much snooping around.” It didn’t sound like an actual warning, but he’d also already turned back to what he was doing… which already looked way too complicated.

He had a saucepan for crying out loud. Like Danny couldn’t see the electric kettle and fancy coffee machine. Tempted to stick around to watch just for curiosity, Danny floated back to the front door to change back and drop off his shoes and coat instead.

And hesitated.

Jason had given him permission to go to the bedroom. Change out of his jeans and jacket. He didn’t actually need to; the jeans were pretty comfy, well worn in, but they did have some built up salt, slush, and yuck from walking and driving around Gotham’s streets around the ends.

It was possible the suggestion had been more for the sake of Jason’s couch than Danny’s comfort.

He could just go intangible and let the dirt fall through, but that’d leave a pile which while technically being more contained would still be more mess. And sometimes it was hard to tell what was dirt and what was pants, since they weren’t exactly “his” either way.

He could just do laundry when he got home.

Luckily the bedroom door was open, so Danny didn’t have to poke into any of the other doors from the hall. Just like at his other apartment, there was indeed a separate set of six drawers with Jason’s siblings name on each drawer.

Well, “Dickhead”, “Timbo”, “The Purple One”, “Cass”, “Demon Brat”, and “Best Sibling”. Snickering to himself, Danny considered taking a picture. Or asking Duke what he’d done to be “Best Sibling”.

Unlike the other apartment, each drawer was mostly empty though. Just a pair of sweatpants about the right size, a hoodie, and a shirt that Jason had definitely assigned rather than getting one of theirs. Although Danny didn’t doubt Dick would own a Nightwing hoodie in the least.

The My Little Pony shirt for Damian was… well, Danny didn’t know him well enough to say.

With the clothes that might actually fit located (and honestly Cass’s were probably actually his best bet), Danny snooped through a couple other drawers to see if Jason did have any other fun shirts to steal.

There was actually depressingly little; Jason had plenty of clothes here, just like the other apartments, but all of them were… respectable. Plain. Block colours, simple patterns, normal people clothing.

Danny was just about to give up when he popped open the bottom drawer and stared in awe.

Jason’s regular wardrobe (from Danny’s admittedly limited experience) was kinda basic; plain shirt, sexy jacket, plain pants. Extra sweaters given the weather, but he did also have a pretty good collection of graphic tees with various swearwords usually featured boldly.

Where what had to be the complete collection of every Wonder Woman shirt ever made fit in, Danny wasn’t going to try and guess, but he knew good taste when he saw it.

Unfortunately, if he stole one of those, Jason was probably gonna want it back. Most of them were clearly worn, and just as clearly carefully cleaned to keep them nice. Danny wasn’t good at keeping things nice.

Somewhat reluctantly, he shuffled back to the siblings’ dresser and stole Cass’s hot pink paw print sweats, Steph’s 1000% bootlegged Sex In The City misprint shirt with the purple sparkle dildos painted over the girls, and the Nightwing hoodie. Never let it be said he could put together an outfit.

Fingering the shirt, he made his way back out and to the open plan lounge, his own clothes tossed carefully onto his shoes by the door. Jason had told him to put the TV on… and the worst he could do was say no.

Pulling up the streaming services, Danny went looking for And Just Like That. Mostly for curiosity’s sake, to be honest. He could probably sneak a trailer before Jason got back, just as a sample.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Jason appeared just as Danny found the right service, two steaming mugs of incredible smelling cocoa topped with a mass of whipped cream in his hands and a large bowl of popcorn, skittles, and smarties in his other arm.

Danny couldn’t even complain about not getting to have nice things, because if that wasn’t the epitome of a fantasy walking into the room he didn’t know what was. Hitting pause quickly, he hopped up to take the bowl for purely altruistic reasons.

Definitely not for an early handful, no matter how Jason raised his eyebrows at him. The handful was Danny’s reward for being a good citizen.

“Hey, that smells fantastic! Your family is gonna ruin me for shitty cafe hot chocolate,” he teased through a mouthful of candy.

Jason rolled his eyes but smiled, switching both mugs to one hand to set a trio of coasters on the coffee table. Danny reluctantly relinquished the bowl to the third if only to grab his cocoa and take a sip as Jason sniffed.

“Hot chocolate is to cocoa what instant coffee is to fresh,” he said snootily, like those were words that meant anything. Danny just stared at him, whipped cream on his nose purely for comedic effect.

Until Jason leaned in and wiped it away with his thumb, and Danny’s brain shut down. Unfortunate, since Jason started talking.

“So, uh… you a Sex and the City fan?”

“Huh?” Danny kept staring, pretty sure words had meanings until Jason jerked his thumb in the direction of the TV (which was huge and gorgeous because of course it was. This was the rich son of a bitch apartment Danny would expect of… okay, not a Wayne, it was still way below that level of fancy, but at least someone making a good chunk of change).

Then he shook himself out of it, grinning.

“Oh! No, never seen any.”

Jason cocked his head, eyebrow raised again.

“Then why…”

Danny shrugged, settling himself comfortably back into the couch. He was going to sound like a crazy person anyway, he might as well be comfortable.

“I listen to The Worst Idea Of All Time on my way to classes. And when I’m welding. It’s a couple of guys from New Zealand who watched Sex and the City 2 every week for a year, and a bunch of other stuff. Like, uh… Grown Ups 2, We Are Your Friends, oh and the first Sex and the City movie.”

And, sure enough, Jason looked appropriately baffled.

“What, all at once?”

“Nah, different years. They never did the actual show, but they’re doing commentary on all of the episodes of And Just Like That now that they’re out since they did both movies, which were after the show. Why, did you watch the actual show?”

Jason nodded slowly, and Danny snickered.

“The show’s not canon for the Worst Idea boys. Brady the Rat King is though.” And yeah, he probably could be explaining this more like a sane and reasonable person, but that just made the podcast sound worse.

This time it was Jason who raised both hands, even relinquishing his cocoa to do it.

“There are too many questions, so I’m just gonna start with “why?”” He was already smiling though, so Danny was going to take that as a good sign.

He shrugged cheerfully.

“Schadenfreude is the leading theory from the boys, and to be fair it is fun watching them suffer through the worst movies they can find. They’re both professional comedians though so it is actually really funny, and they’re really positive. Every watch has to have a shining light, which is something you actually liked about the movie that week. I did that with one of my lecturers last semester, a real blowhard, and it helped. Mostly it’s just the aural equivalent of comfort food; nothing challenging, no thought required, just two good soft boys making up crazy stories about movies every week.”

Jason was actually listening, pursing his lips as he considered what Danny was saying. Privately, Danny suspected having actually watched Sex and the City might work against him… although he might have been dead when at least one of the movies came out.

Finally, Jason sighed.

“So you’ve just watched the movies, and none of the show?” He asked, in a tone which told Danny exactly what he thought of the movies. So he might like the podcast after all.

Danny grinned and grabbed another handful of popcorn.

“Nah. They actively discourage us from watching them, even when they do directors commentary. And Just Like That isn’t getting the full season treatment though, so I kinda wanted to take a look just to see the outfits.” A stroke of inspiration struck him, and Danny dropped some of the popcorn into his cocoa.

Getting it back out again was not as easy as he’d have liked, but he got two pieces that were heavenly and was content to let the third wallow under the whipped cream where it had retreated.

Jason totally was not laughing at him, because he was a gentleman. It was the brilliance of Danny’s answers that had him smiling like that, for sure. And when he was sure he had Danny’s attention again, he pointed at him.

“Okay, we’ll watch And Just Like That tonight. But you have to come over and watch the original series at some point too,” he added quickly.

Danny pouted but considered it. He didn’t even know how many seasons there had been. Time for a counter offer.

“Only if you try the podcast.” Which was a totally reasonable offer and absolutely no reason for Jason to make that face as he nodded.

“Fine. I’ll give it a shot on my way to work. Happy?”

“Deeeeee-lighted,” Danny cackled, holding out a hand to shake. Which Jason obligingly shook, then nodded to the couch.

“No spoilers, okay? Unless there’s good hats. I’m just going to run and change.”

He even came back bearing a fuzzy throw from the end of the bed, which he dropped on Danny’s head and imperilled his precious cocoa. It was mostly empty by then though, and then Jason even refilled it for him, so Danny graciously gave him a royal pardon.

Jason graciously told him to shove it up his ass and settled in, and Danny swiped the remote for his impertinence. Long day now finally behind them, it was looking to be a much better night.

Taking a quick glance at both his League communicator and both of his phones, Bruce dismissed about thirty messages from Harley. He might have liked to talk to her earlier, and probably would actually message her back to talk later.

It had only been for a matter of minutes, but even a second of believing that Jason had died again… no. He knew he hadn’t handled it well. If he actually slept tonight, he had no doubt it would be even worse than usual, and plagued by nightmares.

Fortunately for him, he had a new case to distract himself with… or rather, a new direction for his existing case.

Diana was right; she usually was, in matters of the heart. He had to trust Jason, and trust that Jason knew what he was doing with this business in the Infinite Realms.

A year ago, Jason likely wouldn’t even have involved Bruce in the conversation, if it happened at all; he’d have dropped the evidence on Dick or Duke, or just gone around trying to blow up a rogue government agency on his own. That he had brought this to Bruce showed a lot of progress in their relationship. It gave him a reason to hope.

He would have to try and reward the trust Jason had shown in him, rather than punishing it. A proper apology, just between them… if Jason would speak to him.

A few days to give Jason time to calm down would probably help. And, if he was truthful, for Bruce to put his concerns to bed.

He may have been… hasty in leaping to conclusions about Danny Fenton. It wasn’t like him to become so entrenched in an opinion without checking it from at least a dozen more angles; the Mansons and Vlad Masters could only know so much.

Diana had been right again; he had to get to know Danny, to put his fears to rest. He trusted…

Okay. When it came down to it, he didn’t exactly trust his children not to lie to him about the dangers of a potential friend. There’d been one too many secrets-turned-disasters. But he could trust them to fact check and rat each other out if they truly believed their siblings were making a serious mistake.

For the joy of an “I told you so”, if nothing else.

Cass’s first impressions in her debrief had been illuminating. A little more discussion with her and perhaps Steph, their views were often varied enough that between them a very comprehensive picture could be built.

Talking to Danny himself again… Bruce knew himself well enough to know that wasn’t a good idea yet. It would have to happen eventually; he suspected he also owed Danny an apology for his behaviour, although no one else had mentioned it. Which was perhaps another sign of how badly he’d failed Jason.

No, he had to level his opinions on Danny first, make sure he could keep a clear head. Returning to the cave, he made his way directly to the batcomputer and sank into its familiar embrace.

Tim likely hadn’t had time to make the updates that would allow them to read through Amity Park’s data directly, but Tucker Foley had provided them with a respectable amount of downloaded data. Bruce could begin his researches there, and make some travel arrangements as well.

If he couldn’t get into Amity Park digitally, physically would have to do. Likely as Brucie Wayne rather than Batman, although repairing the town’s relationship to the Justice League was a worthy goal while he was there. And while people wouldn’t be as open to giving him information about Danny face to face, he could pick up some native tech and make his own adjustments. That should let him get past their unique protections.

And a better look at these ghosts, and an understanding of what exactly the Justice League Dark were so concerned about.

Hands pausing on the keys for a moment, Bruce briefly considered messaging Constantine again, or Zatanna. He should at least inform them that he was planning to go to Amity Park in person.

After a moment’s consideration, he sent a brief message to Zatanna. As unprofessional as it might be, Bruce knew himself well enough to know he just wasn’t up to spending any more time with Constantine at the moment.

Zatanna could brief him on any necessary etiquette just as well, with far less dramatics. A little space between himself and Constantine could only help as well. Honestly, a few days away from Gotham and all of his current headaches could only be a good thing.

Harley might even be proud of him.

——————

So here we have it! Also, by the way, that nexus thing is actually canon in the DC multiverse, and it is so much fun

#dp x dc #dpxdc #dc x dp #dcxdp #danny fenton dead and loving it #dfdali #dead on main ship #chapter 18 part 2 #so that just happened

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ddarker-dreams · 8 months

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Hellooooo I have been DYING to know this from you 👉👈. You know how there's a lot of tips for writing stuff? Well do you happen to have any tips for reading stuff? I want to read the books you recommend but I fear I'm just too dumb 😭 and won't understand what is going on let alone the themes and philosophies discussed. I feel like I would be insulting Dostoevsky by reading his work looool. We were never taught this stuff in schools ;O

I'm talking about critical thinking and analysis skills, media literacy, being able to picture and visualise sceneries; characters' voices/appearances etc., and just overall being able to comprehend one sentence that doesn't use the most basic active voice structure 😭 thank you if you choose to answer!!!!

SWEET ANON !!!! YOU ARE NOT DUMB !!!!

this is coming from a survivor of the american education system, so it might not be universal, but my experiences in middle/high school made me dislike reading books. no joke. i didn't see the point and thought reading the classics was a waste of time. i'm sure that's partially teenager arrogance, but from the conversations i've had with others, reading was rarely framed in a way that stoked intrigue. we're not given the tools to engage with the text so i'm rarely surprised when i see the worst takes imaginable on a piece of media i enjoy from a 14 year old.

i'm still learning myself when it comes to media literacy, it's an ongoing journey. when i read notes from underground for the first time last year i was literally so confused. i can normally read anywhere from 80k-100k words in one day if i'm motivated enough, but NFU, a novella at around 43k words, took me over a week.

i say all this to reassure you that you're not alone!

some advice that comes to mind when reading a dense work:

do some background research on the author. i know teachers hiss at wikipedia for some reason but reading a few paragraphs about the person's life, beliefs, politics, etc really helps put their writing into perspective.

look into the time period it was written. what were the pressing social issues at the time? who was in charge? what conflicts were ongoing/just ended? what was the predominant religion? books don't exist in a vacuum, a lot of the classics are filled with jabs at ideologies the author doesn't like (i'm looking at you, dante).

if the author's from a different country than you, getting a basic grasp on the culture helps a lot. with reading dostoevsky specifically, historical events like the emancipation of the serfs was an entirely new concept to my american brain.

not everything is going to make sense. sometimes the cultural/historical layers go so deep you'd need to have been alive at the time to immediately get it. fortunately, there are nerds with degrees in book who do extensive research and can give insight. i'll think i maybe understand a book okay, go to read a journal article on it, and go ??????? wat???? page 632 paragraph 3 references euclid's optics?? how was i supposed to know that.

finally, you're not going to like every book you read, even if it's well written. there's a difference between persevering and actively torturing yourself with words. if you dread picking it up again, there are other books to check out instead. there are some classics that i don't care for much (some of edgar allen poe's short stories, the fall by albert camus, no longer human by dazai osamu, to name a few).

ask yourself questions while reading. why did this character do that? is there a reoccurring motif throughout the work, and if so, why might the author be trying to highlight that? what perspective is the work from? is the protagonist lucid, are they an unreliable narrator? what themes are being explored here?

i hope some of this helps dsfhgkdjshgks there's a lot to be said on the subject but i didn't want this post to be miles long.

#answered #Anonymous

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bohemian-nights · 6 months

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https://www.tumblr.com/drakaripykiros130ac/732901209272467456/i-am-just-loving-the-so-called-concern-tg-stans

This is how I find out an anti-nettles tag exists of Tumblr people are so shallow minded and miss the point George's original story people really think just because these dumbass show runner decided the race-bend an entire group of characters for cheap brownie points of representation that it means Nettles no longer matters like no, it may no longer be about race just because the writers are trying to force feminism onto Rhaenyra's character but it's still about class. A low born orphan at just the age of 17 was capable of doing what dozens of well trained knights failed to do. She survived one of the biggest civil wars in Westeros history, she had one of the last surviving dragons of the dance (who cares who's the biggest, oldest, most shiny etc etc it was Nettles and her dragon that outlived them all in the end) AND she was capable if creating an entire culture around herself (the tribes could've easily over powdered her but instead chose to worship and respect her) mind you all she had was a dragon, she had no titles just her name. Also, she's a few of the very few characters in the books that show care and remorse, she mourned Jace someone she barely knew and cried for Driftmark despite having lived a life previously where she was mistreated and starving on the streets. I swear these Dumbnyra stans deserve their names (Dumbnyra), and just because some of us are pro-Nettles, it doesn't automatically make use of team Green, Team Green can kick rocks as well because they are such hypocrites, whining and complaining about how their fav characters were stripped of importance and reduced to a singular thing yet they turn around and strip Nettles's character as a gotcha moment towards to Dumbnyra stans, as if her relationship with Daemon is the only thing important to her character. These stans also need to realize the Nettles is one of George's favorite characters whose stories he'd like to continue.

👆🏽That’s for the fact that this racist(who I should mention I’m blocked by for no reason🤣) actually knows how to tag things properly. I’ll give her that, but who exactly died and made her an authority on Black representation?

Dumbnyra stans this is exactly why people keep calling you people racists:

Do tell me how white a** Alys Rivers(no disrespect, but come on) had more purpose than a girl who shows that Targaryen supremacy is a lie? The girl that shows you don’t need Valyrian blood to claim a dragon.

The girl that George himself said he wanted to write a novella on(never heard him say that about Alys, Addam, Alyn, any of the other dragonseeds, Rhaena, and Baela)🤷🏽‍♀️

They are so blinded by the fact that she “ruins” Dumbnyra(which isn’t what they claim it is which is why they are scared sh*tless of her being on a show they claim doesn’t matter) that they make up lies about Nettles being the most irrelevant character in Fire & Blood.

This can never be irrelevant/unimportant/unnecessary/whatever else you want to say to demean her:

That happened long after the Dance boo boo(when Missy Anne’s a** was long dead 😊).

And if the one who wrote that garbage happens to be reading this(because I know you people are stalking me), f*ck you. I mean that from the bottom of my heart. You've crossed the line.

You’re a bigot. You have no right to speak on Black representation let alone say we are good on representation that doesn’t even affect you and that you have no understanding of.

And you definitely don’t care about representation because if you did you wouldn’t want Rhaena who has her own arc to replace Nettles who according to you wasn’t Daemon’s lover. If she’s just his daughter or his mentee, well then you have nothing to be worried about. Her presence on the show shouldn’t disrupt your putrid little white supremacist ship or make Missy Anne look bad since what happened at Maidenpool was all a big misunderstanding and Mysaria’s fault😊 You shouldn’t give a second thought to her.

Yes, Black people care about this issue(and even if some of us are a part of Team Green because that’s the majority I see from Team Green actually caring about her, then so what🙃).

Do you see how we are portrayed by the media? Do you see what happens to Black characters in TV shows and movies? To Black women characters? Do you see how they are treated by production and the fandom?

What you people are doing isn’t new. Just look at The Bear, Sleepy Hollow, Vampire Diaries, Star Trek, Star Wars, GOT(see how Missandei was done), and Marvel fandoms(there are more than that I’m just too tired to get into it).

The moment there is even a hint of a possibility that a Black woman might be in a relationship with the fandom hottie, hell the moment a Black woman doesn’t have a stereotypical role, all hell breaks loose and you people look for every excuse and spout out the same tired crap on why so and so is irrelevant, is a terrible character, doesn’t need a man, needs to be cut, should be killed off, should be replaced, etc.

So just because you don’t care doesn’t mean we should accept scraps, or our “irrelevant” characters being cut, or swapped out with race-bent characters. Black people aren’t all the same sweetie and we deserve more than what you feel we do.

If that’s too much for your diminutive brain to handle why don’t we just combine Ulf and Hugh? It’s not too late to cut out one of the two’s roles in post-production. After all, they serve the same role and they are both white.

You know what? How about we combine Black Aly and Jeyne Arryn while we are at it😀

Should we view Helaena and Rhaenyra as the same? I have a hard time telling them apart since they are both white and blonde. They should wear name tags that way we don’t get them confused 🙃

Let me stop there.

Sorry for ranting anon, but I’m so tired of the disrespect. Like how does one character who’s supposedly so unimportant cause so much uproar?

I go in on Dumbnyra stans a lot(and that person shows exactly why), but you are right that all sides of this fandom treat Nettles like she’s trash. If it’s not saying she’s a plot device sent to ruin Dumbnyra from Team Black and that anyone Black can replace her it’s how Team Green is so worried about her being abused and how maybe it’s for the best she gets cut.

Their behavior is utterly disgusting. It's anti-Black, but no one takes anti-Blackness and especially not misogynoir seriously.

Nettles may be a secondary character, but she’s the most important secondary character during the Dance. She starts out literally homeless. She claims Sheepstealer by determination, not by blood. She’s the only one to claim a wild dragon. The only non-Valyrian dragonrider that we know of.

She gets the Rogue Prince to fall in love with her to the point where he’s willing to die for her and disobeys his wife’s orders to save her. She survives the Dance with a dragon intake. Becomes a fire witch and is worshipped by a mountain clan in the Mountains of the Moon(she’s still worshipped by them during the main series). Her legacy is cemented.

I love her relationship with Daemon, but she’s so much more than just Daemon’s love. She’s a survivor. She’s the final girl. She would be seen as special as she is if she was white.

A character like her will never not be needed especially in a world where the representation of Black women in media, particularly fantasy stories, is still pretty bleak.

#bnasks #nettles #bnask #anti daemyra stans #pro nettles #just continue to use the anti tag #f*ck 90% of you in this fandom #netty #nettles asoiaf #nettles f&b #hotd fandom misogynoir #yep this is why y’all are called dumbnyra stans

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syrena-del-mar · 11 months

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La Pluie meets Nora Roberts

This week we open up with a shot of Saengtai (who is slowly learning to believe that maybe having a "soulmate" isn't all that bad) reading Nora Roberts.

Now as a former teen Nora Roberts aficionado, I immediately clocked that Tai was reading the first two books of her MacKade Brother quadrology. For those that are unfamiliar with Nora Roberts and this series, it revolves around four brothers, with each brother having their own, separate novel. So it's a little on the nose that Saengtai would be reading this series out of the numerous ones that Nora Roberts has published, especially the books that are based on the oldest and second oldest of the four brothers.

All four novels of the MacKade brothers takes place in Antietam, which if you have any knowledge on the American Civil War, you will likely recognize for being home one of the bloodiest battles of the war. While each brother and their lovers attempt to forge a connection, there is a supernatural element with the restless souls that still haunt Antietam.

The one that Tai was reading was one Robert's bundles, which included only the first two novels, centering around the first two brothers, Rafe and Jared.

I'm going to give a brief synopsis of both books below, before doing a bare minimum dive of the significance I think La Pluie was attempting to draw.

The Return of Rafe MacKade

Here, the main protagonist is Rafe MacKade, who had left his hometown years prior after making a name for himself as the handsome, hot-headed, rebellious, good-for-nothing second-oldest MacKade brother. He's the black-sheep out of the four brothers, yet the incident which drove him away from Antietam, 10 years prior to his return, was one where he was attempting to protect a woman from her abusive boyfriend so he turned to punching the crap out of the man; but y'know how rumors develop in small towns. He returns to his hometown after 10 years as a successful businessman, something that townsfolk couldn't believe which shut them up about all the gossip they used to spread about him. He buys the local haunted house to turn it into a B&B, which in doing so leads him to meet his heroine, Regan, an antique dealer that is helping him decorate the B&B.

At first glance, Rafe and Regan seem to be complete opposites, with Rafe being a 'rough-around-the edges' type of guy and Regan, an elegant and classy dame. Rafe, while being the typical loud-mouth 'alpha-male' guy that is stereotypical in 20th century novellas, you come to find out is just a guy that is unable to fully articulate his own emotions and understand his developing feelings for Regan. Regan, on the other hand, for all her elegance, is a bit arrogant and unapologetically opinionated and definitely not looking to get into a steady relationship, much less with Rafe. They're both two incredibly stubborn individuals that are always butting heads, which leads to both miscommunication and a lack of communication, but they slowly start to learn that they actually need each other, even if they try to deny it.

The Pride of Jared MacKade

The second book revolves around Jared MacKade, who currently works as an attorney who, unlike his hot-headed brother Rafe, is much more level-headed and collected, yet just as prone to being purposefully ignorant to his romantic emotions. Jared is the oldest of the four brothers and had previously been married but ended up divorced, which lead to his distaste and shrewdness when it came to love. His story with his lead, Savannah, first starts when he meets her to let her know that her father had left her some inheritance. Savannah, having been disowned by her father as a teen and kicked to the curb due to her pregnancy, understandably pissed and initially wants nothing to with Jared.

Both Jared and Savannah are stubborn as mules, but their instant connection was undeniable. Jared was a traditionalist in love, which created some conflict due to Savannah's past and what she had to do as a teen mom to survive. The connection between them was palpable, within their second meeting they were already all over each other, making out. Yet, for all their connection, they're both initially a bit skeptical of doing more than toying around. Both Jared and Savannah had to overcome their own obstacles, Jared and his prejudice and Savannah and her hidden insecurities (that arose when she started to work alongside Regan), but despite their rocky road with love, they find a way to make it work.

La Pluie in connection to Rafe and Jared

There are some very obvious parallels that I believe La Pluie is attempting to draw with having Saengtai reading the MacKade tetralogy, but I also think there are some running themes that may be hinting at the future development for our Saeng brothers and their love interests, Phat and Lomfon.

First, the obvious parallel of the four MacKade brothers with the four Saeng brothers.

Second, the first novel, I'd like to argue, seems to hint at the future for Lomfon and Saengtien. From what we've seen so far, much like Rafe MacKade, Saengtien is perceived by almost everyone in his life to be brash, hot-headed, and rather incompetent. We've seen this from how Tien's own mother treats him and even from how Lomfon treated him in the first couple of episodes. Similar to Rafe's brashness, Tien's own brashness tends to spill out either in protection of his family, particularly Tai, or in the midst of his own confusion regarding what he wants. And just like Rafe, Tien is only starting to learn to comprehend the feelings that he's developing when he's with Lomfon. Tien has taken it upon himself to be the backbone for Tai and his family, that in turn he has sacrificed a part of himself. Instead he turns to his brashness as a mechanism to appease everyone, a shield and a distraction of the pain that he is also incurring while caring for everyone.

Lomfon on the other hand, while he seems to have a good grasp of his own self, seeing how he works independently but never seems to be ostracized, rather (seemingly) he chooses who he surrounds himself with, he also hides himself. Lomfon, similar to Regan is opinionated, especially when it comes to the idea that the one you hear during the rain is your soulmate. I'm sure in a society that has attempted to find reasoning to the deafness, that sentiment is likely taboo to express, yet he's willing to against the norm to create his own happiness, much like Regan did in opening her antique shop.

If Rafe's story is anything to go by, I wouldn't be surprised to see Lomfon strongly denying his developing feelings regarding Tien, as he's still primarily focused on Tai. Lomfon's seems to be developing some kind of feelings towards Tien, if the small head caresses and playing with Tien's hair is anything to go by. His feelings towards Tien seem to be slowly developing, even if he doesn't fully realize it. Meanwhile, I think it'll take Tien something big or in the heat of passion to get him to confess to Lomfon his growing feelings, especially once he realizes that Lomfon wants to get in between Tai and Phat. Tien, the ever-sacrificial loving brother that he is, will always put Tai and his happiness over his own, even if that means that he has to argue and destroy his budding friendship with Lomfon.

Tien let's himself be still, let's go of his prickly exterior, only when he's around Lomfon. He needs Lomfon, to provide the quiet energy that allows Tien to just exist for himself and nobody else. Now it's time for Lomfon to figure out how and why he needs Tien as well.

Frenemies-to-lovers is sometimes an even longer slow-burn than enemies-to-lovers, but it's okay, we can play the long game. I have hope that they'll get there.

Thirdly, the parallel of Jared and Saengtai, really comes to their demeanors and their anxiety that develops from impressions of failed love, yet they are still classic romantics at heart. Saengtai, similar to Jared in the beginning of his book, has been burned by the illusions of love. Yet, both, once they meet their soulmates, instantly feel some level of attraction to them. Their attraction is palpable to both of them, but attempting to overcome their own fears and prejudices, even when everything seems to be outwardly alright, can rock the boat.

It's going to be interesting here to see if Phat has some hidden insecurities that arise when he realizes that he has some potential competition. That just maybe Saengtai could be swayed by the man who shares the same interests and that solely being his soulmate may not be enough, even if, for all intents and purposes, he may be the right person for Tai.

Phat and Saengtai obviously feel a spark and found an immediate connection, but it'll be interesting to see if their relationship will end up in shambles, like Tai's parents, or will their bond only serve to be strengthened beyond the idea of just being soulmates.

#la pluie the series #phat x saengtai #phat x tai #la pluie #title tanatorn #thai bl drama #saengtien #lomfon #lomfon x tien #tien x lomfon #lomfontien #thai bl #i really don’t know where I was going with this in analysis my head was just screaming parallels #also I read all these books like a decade ago so apologies if I misremembered some parts of the MacKade books lmfaooo #also i like to add this series was one of the trashier series of nora roberts where there's like suggested r*pe and abuse so like....#don't go into those books expecting to come out happy because i remember being infuriated at many parts #i may not know color theories but I know my trashy romance novels #la pluie meta #nora roberts

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see-arcane · 11 months

Text

The Vampyres (PREVIEW)

Something is culling the dead.

Whether they imbibe blood, leech life, or merely traded mortality away to their devil of choice, the revenants of the world are disappearing. A phenomenon that has been carving its way through the undead like a belated necrosis moving steadily through the past century and more. One which the Vampyre, a possessor of many names and collector of many lives, has been fretting over for some time.

A laughable fear, for he is one of those canny cadaverous few who made a deal for perpetual resurrection. The bitten may crumble, but the bargainer may rise from death after death. So he reminds himself. So he worries is no longer the case.

Not when the old boyar in the Carpathians was one of the first to vanish. Still, the monster from the mountains may simply be in hiding, just as the rest must be. The Vampyre himself is surely jumping at shadows. So he convinces himself for a single night…

…before a Thing known only as ‘Quinn Morse’ makes itself and its work known.

Surprise! I accidentally finished a novella during what was supposed to be a short story break. Whoops. Updates to come.

Below is a preview of the opening chapters. A link to the Google Doc version is here.

Warnings for some grisly imagery. Keep an eye out for some familiar faces (such as they are).

The Vampyres

“Why, this is Hell, nor am I out of it.

Think’st thou that I who saw the face of God

And tasted the eternal joys of Heaven

Am not tormented with ten thousand hells

In being deprived of everlasting bliss?

O Faustus, leave these frivolous demands

Which strikes a terror to my fainting soul!”

—Mephistopheles, Doctor Faustus

The phone came alive at midnight. A fact he would mercifully only become aware of well after two in the morning. He followed at least one form of etiquette at the table by silencing the device from start to finish of each game. He broke no rules in any casino, however polished or derelict. It was what preserved his hobby. The gambling itself he could leave or take.

But the players themselves were excellent sport.

He beggared every starved and bloodshot player hoping to win funds enough to live off for a month, then played as if blind in order to lose it all to whichever moneyed tick needed it least. Considering how equal the misfortune spread across the board for any who played with him—rich or poor, Good Samaritan or giddy sinner—it was rarely too long before even the least credulous in his circles began to shiver when he showed his face. Or so it was in less congested metropolises where the cattle weren’t so bombarded with other distractions that they couldn’t recognize an ill omen when he took a seat at the felted table. It remained true now, as always, that whoever played against him wound up either penniless or slated for an avalanche of misery the moment they spent the money he’d lost to them. A fact that so many of them never bothered to notice even in this age of conspiracy and wildfire gossip living in their myriad screens.

Bless their blunted little souls.

That night he was feeling slightly more at ease than he had in some weeks. Even one of the cocktail girls, whose mind carried a pleasing well of empathy and whose fingernails were still lined with soil from a group tree planting, tickled at his peripheral senses and twitched his appetite half awake. If he wanted, he could talk her number out of her over a drink he would never choke down, perhaps keeping her pinned at a stool with his face and his wallet. He might dance her along for a date or three and then bite her throat out before they struck June. The same could be said for the svelte young man behind the bar who had almost fumbled his showman mixologist pour upon making eye contact with him. He had a tang of hope and action sweating from him, the kind that was destined either to make a hero or a martyr of him someday. It would almost be a mercy to put him down in his prime.

The girl, then.

He flung a little mental nudge her way. Enough to make her turn her head. At the same time, he fished out the phone to play with. Just to have it ready should the exchange come quicker than anticipated. A small mountain of text messages sat fresh and unread there. This was surprising by its own merit, considering how scant his contacts were. Then he saw the name. Irritation broke out on his mood like a rash.

Taking himself to a private corner, he began to read. And read. And read. Irritation grew into something heavier. Sicker.

At the bottom of the reading, he tapped play so he might watch.

When all was seen and heard, his hand twitched, crunched in the phone’s sides, and sent spider web cracks flying across the screen. A ruddy gentleman stopped en route to the toilet in time to see this and mumble something about how he ought to invest in a device of higher quality. The man had this cousin working for a new startup, you see, and if he was so inclined—

The last mote of joy he took away that night was the look on that rubicund face as it met the eyes of something no longer bothering to pretend it was human. A grey eye might be ignored. Not so for a dead one. He left the man scrambling his way to the stalls.

On his way to the doors, he made sure to radiate every deathly ounce of his presence into the air as he could. A quelling cold that made the glee of the night’s winners crumble into a dread of things they could not name. Then he was out and under the moon. He nursed from that pale waxing wedge in a desperate reflex. It was a thin taste here, lost in the searing pollution of streetlights and neon, but he basked just the same. Still basking, he crushed the phone in his fist and dropped the remains down a sewer grate. Then he was gone, one of a thousand streaks of rolling light and metal on the asphalt.

He only ever carried phones as a prop.

In this age and those to follow, it would be imperative to keep one of the aggravating little slabs on hand for the purposes of adding the phone numbers of sundry quarries or engage in the back-and-forth patter that so many of them insisted on in those hours when they weren’t side by side. Fortunately, he’d found himself blessed enough to dodge one of the maladies which others indulging in a healthy unlife hadn’t. True, the form he had bartered for had only so many perks, but opting out of extravagant powers had trimmed down the amount of tells.

Some poor bastards had to walk around without reflections or shadows while grumbling over the barriers of running water and uninvited thresholds. Others only discovered their drawbacks as the 20th century budded, revealing too late that their photographs came out either empty or hideously distorted. Even the audio of their voices came out muted or garbled into static. He’d avoided all of these caveats by trading for a more thinly arcane state of undeath rather than glutting himself on all the powerful options in reach. And why not? It still came with the most desired prize without any need for filigree.

Given blood and moonlight enough, there was no iteration of death from which he could not rebound. Same as any of the self-made devils lurking about in the shadows. Such shadows as were left for things like them. In a lighter mood, he might have enjoyed the notion of picking at the wounds of those who’d not bothered with the foresight of arranging investments and back doors of identification for the centuries to come. Only fools could miss how tight the noose of bureaucracy was becoming. A body loitering among the mayfly mortals had to be prepared and he had once laughed to himself at how many times the sorcerous types had to gnash their fangs and scramble to cover themselves as time ticked on and their lounging hedonism softened into corrosion.

But such amusing thoughts had iced over in recent decades.

He had not gotten as far as he had alive or undead by resting on his laurels. Oh, he might enjoy playing with his food and sowing a bit of casual desolation where it could be nurtured, but he never gambled when it came to things that might inconvenience him. Things like other bloodsuckers, for instance. A few had been proper nuisances of old. The majority of the stray vampiric beauties wandering around crypts and lonely midnights luring gullible lovers into their teeth were invariably the result of irresponsible collecting by the usual harem hoarders. Such carelessness often led to sleeping cadavers staked and slaughtered in their boxes like oversized leeches. Not a concern for himself, naturally—he could enjoy a bed rather than graveyard dirt or casket walls—but the attention itself got too many hackles up.

Enough of them raised about a certain type of person could lead to inconvenience. One of his older worries had been the notion of an outright arrest. A trial. A boxing away into a great stone cage of a prison where he would have no choice but to resort to his teeth rather than his daggers or risk being found out as a perpetually young and deathless inmate. A bloody break out, an escape, some secret place where he could lay under the moon and heal from the bullets, going on the run for a decades-long stint until all assumed he must be dead, all these he could picture…

…but frankly would rather avoid. Hence the need for cannier sorts with this unique condition. Those who knew how to take their fun and their fodder between the lines of human living and laws.

It was not against the law that certain formerly-benign persons around you turned apoplectic with madness, horror, or rage after spending a few months in your company. Nor was it against the law to stamp someone’s empty little head with the alien impression of infatuation, lust, or that softly syrupy joke called romance so that they, like the insect drawn to the pitcher plant, would come within reach willingly; regardless of former commitments or fearful kin. There was no law against trances, against the mystic weight of locking an unwitting brain inside an oath with more power to it than hollow words, against having a seventh sense of awareness when it came to the makeup of a soul.

And, apart from those silly backwards places where superstition still ruled, there was certainly no law against being an accused vampire. Or a vampyre, to go by his preferred spelling. Kate Northcott mocked him for this and other affectations on those sparse occasions when they met.

Her name was not Kate Northcott any more than his was Gordon Williams, but it was the name she was the most attached to.

“I turned into a proper ghost story with it in the 1880s. Back when the mesmerist fad was booming, you know. Popped one little stage magician’s blood vessel right there in the middle of his act.” A dainty finger waggled. “I take offense to people playing with my toys. It’s his own fault for trying to walk my poor John around.”

Her poor John, who had, like every beau before him, been told the exact nature of both their lovely cruel Kate’s being and precisely what she intended to do with them should they go through with marriage and life thereafter. More, that she would see them dead if they abandoned her. Each man had run. Each had died. Perhaps they’d have lasted longer if she ever allowed a trip to the altar before laying out the truth post-honeymoon, but the rules of her own contract demanded the revelation come before any wedding bells. Not a terrible bargain, all things considered.

This in mind, he had posited that she might have better luck keeping a paramour if she used her fine senses to detect one of those lot who would trip over their own aching members for the chance to be an eternal puppet to her psychic appetite and the twitch of her riding crop. Miss Northcott had batted her lashes. As always, the lambent shine of her eyes tried to work their magic on his own will. As always, they’d scrabbled for a grip on the frictionless wall that shielded his mind from all such parasites; dead drinkers of blood or soul or otherwise. Following the expected failure, she had huffed and tittered.

“Now what’s the point if they want it? I don’t see you jumping at the sea of willing victims hoping for unlife eternal draped in your arms at the cost of a hickey and a liquid diet. You could have had a set of twins that one time, no? The brother and sister, whoever they were. The Audreys? The Ambers?”

“The appetizers,” he said with all the pining recollection of an epicure mourning an especially pleasing steak. “They were a pleasant distraction. It’s the most any quarry can aspire to.” So saying, he made a point of revealing one of the daggers he still kept on his person. Antique and bejeweled, he took some small pride in keeping the whole set gleaming and up to the task whenever the latest game came to an end. He’d unsheathed his current pick, admiring the dead grey of his stare reflected in the steel. “I have no interest in collecting sycophants.”

“Likewise.” She had sipped at her cup daintily. Perhaps purposefully, the better to show she was capable of consuming more than the spirit of a collared victim. Whether she could taste anything the café had to offer was not a topic he was interested enough to pry for. “But that begs the question of why you’re suddenly so concerned for your fellows that you would bother with the labors of social interaction to pass the warning on.”

Gordon regarded her stonily over his untouched plate.

“I’m not concerned for any of our ‘fellows’ any more than I’m concerned for you. I have every belief that I am one of the least endangered of our kind and all its branches by dint of having some amount of grey matter dedicated to not flaunting my reality like those idiots who decided to take Bowie and Deneuve as role models. At most, I give you credit for being canny enough to dwell within plausible deniability with your methods. More, you have senses enough to glean for yourself if this threat is in your midst and have enough intelligence to enlist others to help with culling it.”

She muffled a laugh and picked at her croissant.

“Even if I believed you would exert effort to come to my aid, I still fail to see what threat you’ve conjured to be afraid of. Your only evidence so far is that you haven’t been in touch with the others of the old guard in some time. Most have never been keen on letter-writing or trading numbers. The last I checked, the bulk of them prefer the sedentary life to our migratory lifestyle. Castles and manors and villages turned into necropolises and so on. Hermit types by nature.”

“Hermits would be at home. All the places I’ve visited have been empty.” He was surprised at having to keep his throat from bobbing in anxious imitation of a tic from his living years; back when there was need to fret for his life. “And filled with dust.”

Miss Northcott had frowned up at him.

“Dust..?”

“Dust and growth. There were flowers growing in the messes that were fresh enough in their conversions to have flesh leftover. Compost.” He thought back to the surreal gardens left behind in that sequestered corner of Munich that belonged to Dolingen. Then a Serbian village that had been swallowed by a ravenously loving pack of wurdulacs, stopped short of virulence by their rules of homeland borders. Among others. Dust in piles, dust wearing ancient clothes, dust in coffins. And scattered throughout, the bounty of younger fledglings. Meat and bone converted to soil from which wild roses, ash trees, and garlic sprouted in healthy crops. As for the nobler estates?

“The chateaus and mansions are either abandoned, passed on to the wealthy living, or museum pieces now. Maybe their former masters left it all behind in the past hundred or so years to dodge modern eyes scrutinizing the family tree. I’d like to think so. Just as I’d like to think there was a less worrisome reason that all the pseudonyms and auxiliary domains I tried to follow up on had no recognizable owners when I checked in. But even if I were dense enough to convince myself of such, there’s at least one case that suggests—,”

“The Carpathians.” She beamed at him and his stunted oration. “The castle in the mountains has been gutted since 1897, dear. Looted and halfway dismantled to the foundation by the locals. What’s left of it is there for the tourists.” Her slim hand patted his knuckles. “If you’re worried about the handsy old boyar, don’t be. He’s been mobbed and murdered before. A shame about his girlfriends in their boxes, but they were only born of a bite, poor things. No contractual resurrection to fall back on. The Count, if he is still bothering with being a Count, is doubtlessly off haunting some contemporary castle someplace. Probably a nice high rise for him to skitter down or make his batty flights from. Just as the other oldies have likely taken themselves to higher ground. And if their minions really have run afoul of some sterling sorts with hammer, stake, and axe?” Miss Northcott shrugged. “Well, there’s always more pretty chattel to choose from.”

Now she did laugh aloud. A brittle crystalline sound.

“Honestly, I’m shocked that you’d be the one to turn jumpy over such a thing. Supposing there was some active force in the world bumping the lower tier wraiths off, it would still be no more than an annoyance for us. We’ve both had our share of murders to prove as much. The dried-up old conqueror certainly had his fill in the warlord days, if I don’t mistake the legends.”

“He did,” Gordon granted. “And he has reassembled himself plenty of times before. Which is my point. Supposing he is undead and active today, or was a hundred years prior, why would he let the peasants harvest his fortress down into a ruin?”

“Well, he’s obviously left the place,” Miss Northcott shrugged without looking at him. Her attention had gravitated down to her phone. A manicured thumb tapped and scrolled. More appetite than apprehension lived in her gaze. “You can only pass yourself off as your own descendant so long before things start getting sticky. Everyone hits the point where you have to get on with setting up elsewhere. And really, the warlord days are ancient history. If he’d gone out with a flourish of a massacre on the neighboring towns squirming under his eye, it would only have gotten him more unwanted attention. I recommend you start trawling through top mogul names and see if you can’t spot his picture lurking in there, gone fat and happy slurping up interns.” Her lips pursed. “Supposing he was one of the lucky sorts who can have a photo taken.”

With that, the topic was dead. Gordon managed to sit through another quarter of an hour in which she lamented the double-edged factor of her electronic allergy, woeful at never having a decent photo to spare for social media or dating apps, but likewise glad of the identity-baffling glamour it leant.

Chirpily, she reminded him that even those who grew suspicious of her would never be able to take a reliable photo or video of anything but a spectral horror with mist for eyes, unlike some. Better still, no one even spoke on the phone anymore. Bless texting.

He held on until she started regaling him with talk of her latest doomed darling—a Mr. Quinn Morse, the mortuary assistant who she had met in the before and after of her latest fiancé’s funeral—and what a scrumptious psychic treat he was to the palate. She was frankly surprised at herself! He had proven so pleasant a distraction she might not even bother goosing his mind into vomiting out a proposal. Not for a while anyway. Why, she may even take up two-timing the boy just to snack on a fiancé behind his back, ha ha.

Gordon didn’t bother wishing her bon appétit. He picked out a young couple on his way back to the train. Mister and Missus would be found folded inside a dumpster later that evening, chests carved and throats torn. A rejuvenating bout of gluttony that only gave him new energy with which to curse the lack of answers he sat with. Worse still was the lack of competent allies to make up for the former’s deficit. For a while longer he strained to lower his suspicions to the level of Miss Northcott’s confidence.

His main concern was so implausible as to border on impossible, after all.

The turned might be slain, it was true. But those who had commissioned their states from their devil or deity of choice were immune to total destruction by any of the cattle, no matter how endowed in strength or holy accoutrement.

Days and nights were spent rereading these facts in the volumes that still traveled with him to whatever land or identity he haunted. They remained preciously stored in enhanced safes as the centuries ticked on, now handled only with silk gloves and the most delicate turns of cover and page. He scoured the old tongues, some living, some dead, some entirely detached from human script, and took as much solace as he could from the facts laid there.

His contract was one of perpetual function. So long as he drank his dose of blood, he would go on forever. So long as his dead skin was grazed by moonlight, he would shed any injury or temporary death. So long as he was the thing he was, no act of man would have the power to unmake him.

All these were still maintained. He was safe. As anyone else at his level or higher would be. The more grandiose warlocks and dealmakers who’d glutted themselves on fearsome add-ons available to other forms of revenant had simply moved on and were going about their business elsewhere, under new names. Of course. Of course.

“Of course,” he murmured to the yellowed pages. “They all just happened to do so within the last century. On a whim.”

It could be, couldn’t it? Technology and the microscopic examinations of increasingly thorough systems surrounding properties and owners thereof would make it necessary to move on from old roosts sooner or later.

“Without taking any measures to preserve their estates.”

But then what of the villages? The ones full of living peasantry gleefully peeling the properties down to floorboards. The dead spaces where only silence and specific warding flora bloomed. What sense was there to those, if not the fact that something had been and gone and torn the masters of the land out by their bloody roots?

Something.

That was the prospect that worried him most. Something coming to call, something culling the undead and undying, something roaming across borders of land and water to pick them off year by year, decade by decade. Something that may have been active since the boyar in the mountains disappeared. Something which was not human and so did not fall within the parameters of their sundry pacts’ protection.

Gordon grimaced. It would come down to a technicality, wouldn’t it? Be they gods or demons or Folk in-between, there was always some damned loophole built in to ensure a trade was never quite as advertised. Gordon had studied and sworn and dealt with a god wearing the aspect of one of those horrors that passed for divinities in the Mediterranean. One of tripled faces, of lunar light, of words stitched with power. After so many centuries, he had dared to become complacent enough to think he had gotten away with an impenetrable exchange.

But now came this worrisome century and a quarter in which all those dead who lived off the living were dropping out of sight. He might have dared to make an inquiry to Powers beyond mortal matter if he weren’t likewise concerned that this culling was the work of said Powers themselves. Terminating contracts, as it were. Even if this weren’t the case, what more did he have left to barter with for protection from…

From what?

He didn’t know. Still. The result left him twisting unhappily between throes of frustration at his ignorance and grimmer dread of knowledge that might come in the shape of the long-avoided coffin come to collect.

As always, the cure for his own despondency was to share it with others. Hence the casino. The brief high that had almost transfigured into relief.

And then had come the texts from ‘N.’

Even with the phone safely demolished and abandoned, its final bleak gift stayed branded behind his eyes, searing through his thoughts awake or asleep. The first came at ten past midnight:

R. Need help. My arm’s going black. The knife, it

A lull of minutes followed this. The next message came through at 12:15 AM:

It’s real. He’s here and he’s real. Quinn Morse was a cover. I can’t find any of his pictures in the album now. He replaced everything with their markers. All of them.

Another beat. 12:22 AM:

Pick up, damn it! This isn’t a joke! He’s got all the doors and windows cut off and the police won’t be here in time! I already tried to put him down, but he just keeps going. I can’t drink him. I can’t even hold him. He knew he knew the whole time he

Beat. 12:30 AM:

Pick up you bastard

12:31 AM:

Please, R, he’s outside. He’s got my arm. What’s left of my arm. The door’s breaking and h

The next message came at 12:41 AM. A video. Hitting play, the clearest thing throughout the few endless minutes was the background. Miss Northcott’s plush bedroom stood out in crisp relief compared to the two figures in the foreground. One was a vaguely female haze that Gordon recognized as what was left of Kate Northcott. She flickered in and out of the camera’s concept of her reality. One moment she was spectral fog made of hunger and venom. In the next, she was something far more tangible and suffering for it.

Each flicker revealed a new stage of decomposition twitching in a bloodied sundress. Only one arm was left to flail with as the right was missing, swinging only a necrotic stump at the shoulder. The rest of the body was following suit between spasms. Sometimes a glottal noise that could pass for a voice broke through the static. What had been crystal was now a shrill and dwindling rasp. Dimly, Gordon thought it was strange the noise was not wetter—his cuisine almost always gurgled when enduring the kind of wound he saw staining her breast.

A crimson slit, quickly drying to maroon, had opened where her heart would be. Her remaining hand alternated between scrabbling at the wound and trying to wave off the shape throwing its shadow over her from outside the borders of the screen. As she tried to kick herself back along the floor, the reason for her scuttling along the imported rug was made clear: a bullet hole had gone through one knee. The knee itself was now almost obliterated with decay while the calf and thigh on either side were going hideously spongy. Much like the rest of her.

The last noise she made was as close to a scream with dust for a throat could manage—

“Quin—,”

—before a flash of silver-white swept down. It flew in a shining arc from the upper corner of the screen and through the hazy shriveled stem that had been a neck. A moment later there was no haze left. Only the corpse of the thing known as Kate Northcott collapsing in two pieces. The bulk of it flopped to the floor with a gruesome rattle. Her head, the lush tresses now so much grizzled and flimsy white, tumbled away until it struck the nightstand. When it stilled, the sockets revealed that the eyes had dried away to nothing.

Then Quinn Morse stepped into frame.

If Miss Northcott was mist, her killer was a ghost. The impression of a man smeared just out of true. Really, it was the impression of a character; some escapee from a folk legend or a graphic novel. Such was the outline Gordon could make out in the blur of him. He was a strange medley of huntsman and mourner. Sheathed in black, Gordon could pick out suggestions of both the late Victorian and the fantasy of the American adventurer in his attire. Or perhaps he was assuming too much by the hints beneath the hanging duster and the broad brim of a hat dark as charcoal. The only things not some shade of ink were the white fall of hair growing from under the hat in wild drapes and the twin infernos of the eyes floating in the shadowed void where a face should be. Not red, but a sickening grey that might have matched Gordon’s own but for how they burned.

He thought of cats. He thought of foxes. He thought of carrion birds.

He thought of coins not unlike the pair Quinn Morse held up in his gloved fingers. Gold pinched in old leather. They shined just as bright as the long blade gripped in the opposite hand, its helping of blood dripping.

Gordon watched with the camera as Quinn Morse first held the coins up to be seen, then popped one apiece into each of the eye sockets. Finally, a bundle of familiar blossoms and sprigs appeared from the dark mass of the coat. This was tucked neatly into the head’s sagging maw as if arranging a bouquet. Quinn Morse stepped out of sight. The video ended.

A final text message appeared the instant the show finished:

My God, my God! Look not so fierce upon me! Adders and serpents, let me breathe awhile! Ugly Hell, gape not! Come not Lucifer! I’ll burn my books!—O Mephistopheles!

He had wanted to laugh. To roll his eyes. To make himself tap out a reply in mocking returned verse. To inform Mr. Morse that he was lacking for proper material to parrot, especially in assuming his gods and devils brushed anywhere near something so young and gaudy as the Abrahamic.

He could. He would.

But somewhere in these plans he had found himself crumpling the phone to shrapnel and racing home to start clearing out his necessities for a trip to distant quarters. He kept more than one residence as a rule whenever he wasn’t taking one of his gourmand tours. A fact Miss Northcott may have known, but not well enough to have learned his other addresses. Or names.

Gordon Williams was thrown away that night.

Mason Darvell greeted the morning.

#in which I trip and fall into completing an entirely different piece while being distracted from the mountain of other WIPs #I am become Arcane the Clown #anyway #The Vampyres #the vampyre #john barrington cowles #dracula #horror #my writing #tw death #tw gore

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fictionadventurer · 4 months

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Fortnight of Books: Day 1

Overall - best books read in 2023?

Of new-to-me books, the standouts of my year include (in rough chronological order of when I read them):

Endurance by Alfred Lansing: Thrilling and harrowing account of Shackleton's South Pole expedition. It made me very grateful as I went through my day-to-day life--no matter how bad things were, at least I had eaten things that weren't seal meat.

Daisy Miller and Washington Square by Henry James: Short, sad little novellas that drew me in with their compassionate realism and added a new name to my list of favorite classic authors.

A Field Guide to Mermaids by Emily B. Martin: Beautifully illustrated book that provides a detailed world of mermaid species and provides lots of interesting facts about the natural world. Child me would have loved this.

Mary Barton by Elizabeth Gaskell: I hated the ending, and the structure was very weird, but this was a look at a side of Victorian London I rarely see in literature, with some great characters and a really interesting dive into the issues in the background of North and South.

Team of Rivals by Doris Kearns Goodwin: It gave me an obsession with Lincoln's Cabinet. I still sometimes stop and think, "I need to read about some Seward shenanigans."

Destiny of the Republic by Candice Millard: Extremely readable history book that provided a lot of food for my obsession with James Garfield's and Chester Arthur's presidencies.

The Q by Beth Brower: Victorian Ruritanian fiction about a female newspaper tycoon that has a murky plot but also one of my favorite romantic couples of the year, one of the best tributes to autumn I've read, and most importantly (the real reason it's on this list), introduced me to the author of my favorite series of the year (more below).

Desire and The Good Comrade by Una L. Silsberrad: Forgotten turn-of-the-century women's fiction with some great female leads trying to find a place in society. Desire is a bit more literary while The Good Comrade is a bit more fun, but both were just the type of story that tends to make my list of favorites.

The Romance of a Shop by Amy Levy: Fun sister story with some fun romances. Very easy to read and provided a fascinating look at the world of Victorian photography.

The Law and the Lady by Wilkie Collins: I was so invested in the main character, a woman who would overcome anything that tried to stop her from helping her husband.

The Heir of Redclyffe by Charlotte Mary Yonge: The prose is dense and the author's too preachy, but this had some of my favorite characters of the year (Charles Edmonstone my beloved).

Best series you discovered in 2023?

The Unselected Journals of Emma M. Lion. If it weren't for this question, it would be at the top spot in the last list. They hit so many sweet spots for my perfect comfort read--Victorian England, memorable characters, lightly fantastical setting, fun narrative voice, friendships and comedy and heartbreak and literature and just so much fun.

Best reread of the year?

Definitely The Lord of the Rings. I had liked the series after my first read, but my appreciation was mostly bolstered by the fact that I'm surrounded by a huge fandom for it. This year's reread made me truly appreciate it for the masterwork it is and made it a cornerstone of my interior life.

If it weren't for that, this spot would go to A Christmas Carol, because I was shocked to find that it really is good enough to earn its dominant place in pop culture. The descriptions of Christmas are some of the best things in literature.

#fortnight of books 2023 #books #i wanted to start on the first but alas #i think i'll try to catch up over the next few days

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mykindofgeeky · 1 year

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An Exhausting Review of The Wheel of Time

Apologies for the delay. Unfortunately round 2 of @fantasybooktournament ended right before my work week. On top of that Tears of the Kingdom and Gideon the Ninth have been consuming many of my waking hours outside of work. At this moment I am taking a break from both of my current obsessions to try and organize my thoughts about WoT. I will be providing a spoiler free TLDR followed by a more in depth review of the first four books.

SPOILER FREE TLDR:

The Good:

The Wheel of Time is an exceptionally well written high fantasy epic.

It utilizes its main cast well and most of them have satisfying narrative arcs.

The magic is unique and well thought out.

The women of the cast share just as many interesting personalities and skills as the men.

The series plays a lot with gender roles directly related to the magic system.

It has a lot to say about destiny and the heroes journey.

Several interesting mentor figures that all have just as many negative traits as positive ones.

A focus on one character's PTSD that is very believable and taken seriously by both the narrative and the characters around them.

A beautiful ending that still makes me cry when I think about it.

Brandon Sanderson

The Bad:

There are several villains that are sexual predators utilizing brainwashing, violence, and grooming to get their way. Jordan doesn't write sex scenes so none of the acts are recorded in the books but they are heavily implied.

There is exactly one trans woman character and she is a villain. She is also a sexual predator.

There is slavery in this series. It is done by one of the antagonist factions but it is not really resolved by the end of the series.

EXTREMELY LONG.

The insane amount of characters is a lot to keep track of. That said you don't NEED to know every character by name.

Major low point in the series that can be difficult to read due to a dramatic shift in narrative pacing. This starts in Book 5.

While the women are interesting they were still written by an old white guy. A lot of the "strong female characters" we have are described as overbearing, conniving, and arrogant.

The romance is often forced and the end of the series appears to be obsessed with pairing up all the characters without lovers.

Many of the characters have repeating physical habits as well as repeating experiences. Jordan will describe these things the same way over and over. There's a lot of fingering of blades, knuckling mustaches, yanking of braids, and adjusting of shawls.

Jordan clearly takes a lot of inspiration from Eastern faiths and cultures in both his magic system and the religion of the setting. He doesn't represent these things particularly well and it feels very Orientalist to me.

Brandon Sanderson

SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT

The Wheel of Time as a series is the absolute height of high fantasy epics in my opinion. It represents this sub-genre very well with nearly every trope of in the high fantasy tool box being utilized. That said it also carries many of the perceived negative aspects of the genre.

When I said this series was "very long" it is very much an understatement. The main series of books tops out at 4.4 MILLION words spread over 14 novels and 1 novella. It also has hundreds of characters with well over a hundred receiving a POV throughout the books. Yes that's right, this series has multiple characters sharing their perspectives.

The first three books I'm going to call "What if Robert Jordan wrote The Lord of the Rings?" These books are The Eye of the World, The Great Hunt, and The Dragon Reborn. Are these books direct rip offs of LotR? No absolutely not, but they do share a lot of the same structure. The fourth book The Shadow Rising is when things really get spicy.

***

The Eye of the World's primary purpose is to introduce important characters, set the narrative pacing of the series, and establish the setting.

It follows a group of youngsters from the village of Emond's Field; Rand, Mat, Perrin, Egwene, and Nynaeve. Several strangers come into the village for the Spring festival, Moiraine the Aes Sedai, Lan the Warder, and Thom the Gleeman. These characters serve as guides and mentors in the outside world later on. Shortly after this they are forced into a world of adventure after evil creatures called Trollocs attack their home.

The Eye of the World is a great opening to the series. It invites you into the setting and holds your hand through the first day before plunging you into the first night. The juxtaposition between the warm and gentle opening day and the horrifically violent night afterwards is a perfect synopsis of the two opposing forces of Light and Darkness.

It later lays the groundwork for the main characters' arcs that they will go through in the series while leaving room for doubt on if they will make it at all. There is also tons of foreshadowing not only within the book but also for the series as a whole. These are fun to piece together on a first read and even more fun to find on rereads.

The combat scenes are tense and you can really feel the Emond's Fielders panic contrasted with the wizened mentors calm. The social aspects of how the Aes Sedai fit into the world also provides plenty of tension. One of the main antagonistic forces in the series is introduced early on in Perrin and Egwene's travels and they are portrayed beautifully as the cruel bastards they are.

The ending is a little confusing, especially on a first read. Unfortunately Jordan seemed to have a bit of trouble writing around wanting the main antagonist to be in the book and for the main characters to think they've won in the end. It is a short and weird ending but most of the other books get much better endings.

***

The Great Hunt's job is to flesh out established villains and introduce new ones, flesh out some of the major factions, and provide more POVs on these weird ass situations. It primarily focuses on two storylines: "The Boys' No Good, Very Bad Day? Month? Year???" and "Little Witch Academia: Spy Game."

The Boys (Rand, Mat, and Perrin) are chasing down thieves who stole an important plot device called the Horn of Valere. They need this back because there is a concern that the horn could be used by the forces of evil to summon ghost heroes to fight for them. In addition they stole Mat's fucking drugs (an evil ass dagger from the first book) and now he's in withdrawal. The dagger is needed to break Mat's reliance on it.

The Girls (Egwene and Nynaeve; and new friends; Elayne and Min) are learning magic at the White Tower, home of the Aes Sedai. Egwene and Elayne are "Novices" together while Nynaeve has been allowed to become "Accepted" due to her being a bad bitch. Min is basically in a comfy jail cell and bored because she's not a witch. As they are learning magic they have been accidentally recruited into finding secret "Dark Friends" (followers of the main antagonist the Dark One) amongst the Aes Sedai.

Once again The Great Hunt does its job well. We get to learn much more about the world from several POVs. The White Tower is filled with political intrigue. The factions that have been introduced so far get a lot more development and the new ones are interesting. We see an introduction of several significant bad guys including the Seanchan who are really interesting.

At this point we have had a lot of growth with our main cast. They are still scared of conflict but they know how to defend themselves. They become more comfortable with the outside world some willingly some unwillingly. The mentor characters are starting to step away from being mentors which allows them to be more independent characters in their own right. That tenseness from the first book never really goes away. This book has a lot of twists that will have you on the edge of your seat.

The ending is far more comprehensible in The Great Hunt than The Eye of the World. It is extremely epic with an incredible three-way struggle that is referenced throughout the rest of the series.

***

The Dragon Reborn is our epic conclusion to Jordan's Lord of the Rings. Its job is to finish a lot of what was started, and develop our main cast further. It follows four groups of our cast to the city of Tear where The Dragon is to be Reborn: "The Al'Thor Identity (Crisis)," "Nanny Damodred: Manhunt," "Little Witch Academia: Spy Game pt. 2," and "The Guilt Trip."

Rand has been proclaimed the Dragon Reborn by Moiraine after the events of the second book. Rand is not a fan of this. He is so not a fan of it that he decides to try and speedrun this whole "Chosen One" thing. Of he skips to Tear by himself where he is supposed to claim a special sword that proves he's the Dragon Reborn. Reality literally bends around him on his way leaving a pretty clear path to follow.

Moiraine is not a fan of Rand going off leash and needs to chase him down. She takes Lan (who is basically glued to her ass anyway), Loial the Ogier (elves but thicc), and Perrin. He's pretty easy to follow since there's a Rand shaped hole left behind everywhere he goes. On the way Perrin makes two new friends; Gual the Aiel, and Faile (who are now both glued to Perrin's ass).

Nynaeve, Egwene, and Elayne are hunting more dark friend Aes Sedai after there was a theft and breakout of several of them from the White Tower. These dark friends stole several items of power and they must be retrieved. The girls are tracking them down disguised as Aes Sedai which is leading them to Tear unbeknownst to Rand and Moiraine.

Mat has been brought to the White Tower to be healed and separated from the dagger. In addition it is revealed that Mat is now connected to the Horn of Valere due to the events of the second book making him a very valuable asset to the White Tower. Mat nopes the fuck outta that and manages to escape after a lucky run of dicing and finding his old mentor Thom the Gleeman. After traveling to Caemlyn to deliver a letter, Mat becomes aware of a plot to murder Elayne. He knows that she's heading for Tear and decides to go after her.

Overall this is my favorite book of the first three. Its a more complicated plot but its easy enough to follow and every time the POV switches you get excited to learn more about that part of the story. This is the beginning of Rand's "madness" which is a side effect of being the Dragon Reborn as well as being a male witch and I enjoy how its written. You really feel for Rand as he acts like a cornered animal with nothing to lose. Perrin's interactions with his two new companions are fun with Gual being a fast friend who gives good advice and Faile being a compelling romantic interest with an acid tongue. I really enjoy how Perrin really appreciates Faile's beauty over time as he gets to know her. That said they kinda fall for each other really fast out of nowhere. Although they are probably one of the more interesting couples in the series. The girls have a fun roadtrip down to Tear with lots of new characters introduced. They aren't as prominent in this book but once they get to Tear they get to do a lot of cool shit. Mat's roadtrip with Thom is a fun reflection of their trip together in the first book with a far more competent Mat and a Thom who sees Mat as more of a man. We also get to see Mat's intelligence shine in this book which is great because he was more of a side character in the first two books.

The ending is a chaotic mess but in a fun way. All of these characters are smashing into each other by coincidence and foiling each others plans, rescuing each other from danger, and of course getting into arguments. There isn't really a big antagonist in this ending but it doesn't detract from the book at all.

***

OK NOW WE ARE GETTING SPICY! This is where the series really starts to shine bright!

The Shadow Rising is widely considered to be one of the best novels in the whole series. Personally it is my favorite fantasy novel hands down! The Shadow Rising is trying to do many things here but primarily it is: expanding the scope of the setting, circling back to previous plot points/details, increasing our main cast's influence on the world.

The Shadow Rising is the longest book for a reason. It is covering many, many storylines at the same time but I'm going to try and narrow it down. Primarily I'm going to focus on four groups: "Al'Thor of the Three-Fold Land," "Back to the Shire," "Little Witch Academia: Spy Game pt.3," and "How to Stage a Coup: Paint It Red."

Rand has been reading. This is a mistake. He decides that he must go to the Aiel Waste in order to become their chosen one, the Car'a'carn, The Chief of Chiefs. He is joined by Mat, Egwene, Moiraine, and his Aiel allies. During their journeys they are forced to discover more about themselves. Egwene goes to desert witch bootcamp. Mat gets a fancy spear and a new hat. Honestly, everything is coming up Al'Thor so far.

Perrin is worried about Emond's Field and decides to go back home and make sure everything is ok. He is joined by Gaul, Loial, Faile, and two additional Aiel Bain and Chiad who have taken a liking to Faile. They show up to the Two Rivers being invaded by Trollocs and the White Cloaks (who are chasing Perrin). Perrin and friends rally the Two Rivers to fight against both invaders.

Nynaeve, Elayne, Thom, and a new friend from the last book Juilin are still trying to smoke out the dark friend Aes Sedai. They track the traitors to Tanchico and begin searching the city. They end up finding more than they bargained for.

Min is continuing to be an endlessly annoyed guest of the White Tower. She is being used as a spy by the Amyrlin Seat (head of the White Tower) but she soon finds herself in a dangerous situation. Elaida the Red Sister is attempting a coup to claim the Amyrlin Seat for herself. Min manages to fine Siuan (the original Amyrlin) and Leane (her right hand woman) but they are both powerless and can no longer do magic. As they are escaping they also collect the dangerous criminal and False Dragon, Logain.

This is what we were waiting for. This is the true first chapter of the series. Everything up to know has been a prologue in my mind. We get serious character development, expansion of the setting, violence, romance, and so much more magic. If you want to read this series but don't think you'll finish it I BEG OF YOU read to this book. The Aiel are so goddamn cool and their culture is really interesting. The magic fights are getting more intense with them being narrated almost like sword fights. The politics within the White Tower and the Two Rivers is really cool. The drama in the Two Rivers with Perrin is so intense! I just can't praise this book enough.

I think I have to leave it there this is already too damn long. I really hope you give this series a chance and see if it is for you. Happy reading everyone!

“You can never know everything, and part of what you know is always wrong. Perhaps even the most important part. A portion of wisdom lies in knowing that. A portion of courage lies in going on anyways.” - The Eye of the World

#the wheel of time #wheel of time #book review #wot book spoilers #fantasybooktournament

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