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dancedance-resolution · 9 months

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i started a supercorp portrait of a lady on fire au like three years ago. i'm never going to finish it, but the writing style is pretty cool, so i want to share it. so um enjoy the prologue and a bit of chapter one?

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Prologue. Bonnelles, France. 1786.

“First, my contours,” Kara said, her voice soft and level. She looked out upon the dozen or so young women, their eyes darting back and forth from their papers to Kara herself. “The outline,” she continued. The increasingly swift sound of scratching charcoal prompted Kara to further instruct, “Not too fast. Take time to look at me.” She paused. “See how my arms are placed.”

At that moment, Kara saw the painting.

She swallowed and took in a breath; she schooled her expression before letting out the air with a pathetically soft “My hands.” Her students’ gaze followed her verbal direction, now observing as Kara’s fingers curled with remembrance. Their own hands now began to sketch the slope of hers—the slope that had once coaxed breathy moans from a lover, the slope that had once created that very painting in all of its hollow longing.

Kara felt her heart rate accelerating, and her attempts at calming deep breaths only made her shoulders shake unsteadily. “Who brought that painting out?” Her eyes darted around, landing on each possible offender, as she tensed her core and adopted a stern countenance.

Every student dutifully turned to look at the work.

It was an especially young girl who finally lifted her hand. “I brought it. From the stock room. Should I have not?”

Kara’s “no” felt like a brick, its weight threatening to pry tears from her reddening eyes. So Kara took another swallow, a handful of blinks, a few more steadying breaths.

“Did you paint it?” the girl asked innocently. Nia, her name was? She stared at Kara, oblivious to the flood of sound overwhelming Kara’s mind and echoing in the cavern of her heart.

“Yes,” Kara uttered softly, the word barely audible as they fell from her lips. “A long time ago.”

Nia’s head snapped back to examine the painting once more. It stood on an old but sturdy easel, tattooed and scarred but still standing. The artwork itself was brooding, with a white sun bleeding into a dark vignette. Heavy clumps of clouds occupied the sky and caged some of the sun’s rays, so the fire burning behind the woman was bright enough in comparison to create a dragging shadow of her figure. The flames crawled up the back of her windswept dress, bringing sharp tension to an otherwise lulling, melancholy landscape.

“What’s the title?”

The sound of the sea began to swell in Kara’s head. Her lips trembled. Her body unwittingly swayed slightly. “Portrait of a Lady on Fire.”

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Chapter I. The island of Brittany, France, and the surrounding sea. 1779.

Kara squinted into the distance, her face scrunching up a bit as she desperately tried to shield her eyes from the harsh glare of the sun on the water. For all its gorgeous teals and sparkling peaks, it certainly did make her wish for one of those brimmed hats the rowers were all wearing. With every one of their paced paddles, the cork-like little canoe bobbed haphazardly. Kara rather felt as if she were in the wine glass of a thoroughly drunken Marie Antoinette.

At least she wasn’t prone to seasickness.

She still felt quite unsteady, though, being thrown about and forced to pathetically grab onto the boat’s low walls. She leaned forward, trying to regain her balance and ground herself despite the absence of ground.

The wooden pallet holding her canvas was, apparently, as unstable as she was, and the next thing Kara knew, it had been lurched off of the boat like vomit from a drunkard. Kara watched helplessly as it thrashed among the choppy waves, the sea carrying it a few feet from the boat.

The chief rower met her desperate look with exhausted resignation; he ceased his paddling as Kara shed her overcoat and placed a precarious foot on the edge of the canoe.

With a strained creak from the boat’s wood, she jumped into the water, dress billowing behind her. Her first gasp for air upon emerging from the water was audible; she could feel the effort in her throat. Her arms moved in laborious little arcs as she slowly made her way towards the floating pallet and finally made a desperate reach for it. Kara’s fingers grasped onto a wooden board, and she pulled herself up onto it with a grunt.

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The incessant wind upon the sea was certainly not helping Kara. Dripping wet, she wrapped herself up in her overcoat in a pitiful plea for warmth. She held the edges of the garment up to her lips, the sensation of the dry fabric bringing her some comfort as she closed her eyes and left herself to the mercy of the mighty sea.

But the interminable rocking of the feeble boat wouldn’t allow her any rest.

Kara wasn’t very religious, not anymore. Yet, the sight of the cliffs and coast of Brittany moved her to relieved prayer.

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The sun had already begun to set as Kara trekked up the sandy coast. Her legs ached with every stumbling, unsure step—maybe she was a bit seasick after all—and her hands were tired of having to grip her full skirt to keep it out of her way.

She paused on the rocks, taking a moment to manually wring some of the water out of her skirt. She filled her lungs with an arduous breath before slinging the rope holding the pallet over her shoulder. Next came the fabric sling, which housed her trunk of personal items—she positioned it on her back with careful poise.

The journey up the cliffs and towards the trees was exhausting. Kara’s skirt required repositioning every few seconds, the rope was digging into her shoulder, and the pallet and trunk slammed into her back with each wobbling step. By the time she reached the straight path up to the residence, her breaths were heavy and pained, and the sun was nearly fully hidden beneath the horizon.

A soft light emanated from the windows above the mansion’s door, helping Kara feel a bit more secure as she knocked. A short blonde woman answered her summon and introduced herself with a flat “I’m Eve.” She opened the door a bit wider and gestured with her body for Kara to come in.

Eve held a small candle as she guided Kara up the stairs, the sounds of their shoes echoing through the grand yet starkly undecorated hallway. The walls of the stairwell were cement bricks, and the wrought iron bannister was rather plain and geometric.

They came to a stop in front of a similarly void room, bare save a few heavy curtains and a daybed. The raised panels along these walls matched the white-painted wood of the window frames, and they gave the chamber some elegant character.

While Eve entered the comparatively less intimidating room, Kara stayed back a moment, taking in the shafts of muted blue light from the windows and the contrasting warm glow of leaping flames from the central fireplace.

Eve crouched down to poke at the fire as Kara set down her belongings. “It was a reception room,” Eve explained. “Though I’ve never seen it used.”

The fire crackled pleasantly. “Have you been here long?” Kara inquired.

“Three years,” Eve answered, directing her attention back to the fire.

Kara peeled off her overcoat and draped it along the wainscoting. “Do you like it here?”

“Yes,” Eve said simply as she stood up. She turned to Kara, meeting her eyes now as her hands smoothed over her skirt. “I’ll let you get dry.” And with a nod, she was on her way.

Kara watched her every step.

Once the door closed, she hastily began removing her overskirt. It fell to the dark herringbone floor with an unglamorous thud.

---

There was no method or grace to the way Kara wrapped her hand around the rusting crowbar, but with a few jerks, she’d managed to successfully pry the top off of the pallet.

After setting down the wood cover, Kara extended her hand, letting it fall clumsily onto the slick canvas in front of her. It was still wet, and her hand’s small circular movement caused moisture to pool at her fingertips, as if her touch had beckoned the water. So her hand withdrew, and Kara slid the canvas out from its container. Her eyes danced over the surface as she considered how to dry it, holding it in front of herself like the Communion host of an evening Mass.

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Kara decided to accompany her drying canvas, which was now positioned next to the fireplace. Stripped naked, she sat in front of the fire and pulled her legs towards herself—she was vulnerable, sitting there bare and in a new environment, and the action made her feel a bit more small, compact, and safe.

Kara set down her candle so she could light her tobacco pipe with the flames. Her large, smoky exhales grounded her, in a way, with the familiar sight and smell acting as a sort of sedative. And she stared forward, expression blank but unmistakably worn.

---

Kara walked barefoot along the cement floor, making her way through the hall and to the pantry room wrapped in nothing but her robe-like smock.

#again i have no intention of finishing so be forewarned etc #supergirl #supercorp poalof au #i have been feeling a bit weird going through my old work bc. i don't think i've really improved in the three years since starting this???#and i quite literally haven't written anything in 2023 other than like the 1000ish words to finish up this final chapter of tree of my song #&those thousand words genuinely feel worse than my old writing #because i'm out of practice i think #it's weird bc writing is something i think of as super important to me - like in less than a month i'll literally be at community college a #ain despite how bad my experience was last time with it bc i theoretically want to take classes that will make me a better writer #so like blah blah blah do i want to dedicate more of myself and my energy towards writing long term or do i just like the idea of being a #writer.#blah blah blah if i had to do a rose colored glasses on this all it would be. since january i have read 60something books and before this y #ar i hadnt been an avid reader in ages. and most of those books have been in the genre/niche i want to end up writing in #so i was learning writing by reading in that sense #hmm etc etc #i should probably stop taking myself and all of this so seriously lol idk #i'm theoretically back into writing and trying to prioritize it more again so (thumbs up emoji)

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gideonthefirst · 4 months

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2023 Books

favorites bolded, least favorites have an [x], rereads have an *

January

The Flash: The Death of Iris West by Cary Bates, Frank Chiaramonte, Jack Abel, Vince Colletta, Frank McLaughlin

The Only Good Indians by Stephen Graham Jones [x]

When the Angels Left the Old Country by Sacha Lamb

Princess Floralinda and the Forty-Flight Tower by Tamsyn Muir

February

Annihilation by Jeff Vandermeer [x]

We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson

The Love Song of Ivy K. Harlowe by Hannah Moskowitz

March

Go Ahead in the Rain: Notes on a Tribe Called Quest by Hanif Abdurraqib

April

The Assassin's Apprentice by Robin Hobb

May

They're Going to Love You by Meg Howrey

June

July

Where Are Your Boys Tonight?: The Oral History of Emo's Mainstream Explosion 1999-2008 by Chris Payne

The Screaming Staircase by Jonathan Stroud*

Skulduggery Pleasant by Derek Landy, books 1-7*. specifically book 7 gets a [x] for being so bad it killed the reread

Nimona by N.D. Stevenson*

You Feel It Just Below the Ribs by Jeffrey Cranor and Janina Matthewson

August

Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett*

September

Poison for Breakfast by Lemony Snicket

A Little Devil in America: Notes in Praise of Black Performance by Hanif Abdurraqib

Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov

A Punkhouse in the Deep South: The Oral History of 309 by Scott Satterwhite and Aaron Cometbus

October

Trick to Catch the Old One by Thomas Middleton

The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson

Stephen Florida by Gabe Habash

Wage Labor and Capital by Karl Marx

November

Imperialism: The Highest Stage of Capitalism by Vladimir Lenin

Trust by Hernán Diaz

Pale Fire by Vladimir Nabokov

December

The Holocaust Industry: Reflections on the Exploitation of Jewish Suffering by Norman G. Finkelstein

A Master of Djinn by P Djèlí Clark [x]

Prosper's Demon by K.J. Parker

Blackouts by Justin Torres

Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn

The Book of Eels: Our Enduring Fascination with the Most Mysterious Creature in the Natural World by Patrik Svensson [x]

Hangsaman by Shirley Jackson

#books 2023 #i kinda Liked most books i read this year. sort of crazy #personal #my storygraph is kestrells come hang out :]

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daughterofhecata · 4 months

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Reading List 2023

Ocean Vuong: Night Sky With Exit Wounds

Alena Mornštajnová: Hana

Wolfgang Benz: Theresienstadt. Ein Geschichte von Täuschung und Vernichtung.

Jáchym Topol: Die Teufelswerkstatt [org. title: Chladnou zemí]

Ocean Vuong: Time is a Mother

Richard Siken: Crush

Ben Nevis: Die Drei ??? Die Yacht des Verrats

Frank Wedekind: Frühlings Erwachen (reread)

James Ellroy: Die Schwarze Dahlie [org. title: The Black Dahlia]

André Marx: Die Drei ??? und der Puppenmacher

Evelyn Boyd: Rocky Beach Crimes #2. Mord unter Palmen.

Peter Hallama: Nationale Helden und jüdische Opfer. Tschechische Repräsentationen des Holocaust.

Brigitte Johanna Henkel-Waidhofer: Die Drei ??? Späte Rache

Kim Newman: Professor Moriarty. The Hound of the D‘Urbervilles. (reread)

Vera Schiff: The Theresienstadt Deception. The Concentration Camp the Nazis Created to Deceive the World.

Evelyn Boyd: Rocky Beach Crimes #2. Mord unter Palmen. (reread)

Josef Bor: Die verlassene Puppe [org. title: Opuštěná panenka]

Kari Erlhoff: Rocky Beach Crimes #1. Tödliche Törtchen.

Susanna Partsch: Wer klaute die Mona Lisa? Die berühmtesten Kunstdiebstähle der Welt.

Kathy Reichs: Virals #1. Tote können nicht mehr reden. [org. title: Virals] (reread)

Arthur Schnitzler: Reigen (reread)

Evelyn Boyd: Die Drei ??? Teuflisches Foul

Faye Kellerman: Der Zorn sei dein Ende [org. title: The Hunt]

J.D. Salinger: The Catcher in the Rye

Władysław Szlengel: Was ich den Toten las [org. title: Co czytałem umarłym]

Hanna Krall: Dem Herrgott Zuvorkommen [org. title: Zdążyć przed Panem Bogiem]

Ursula K. Le Guin: The Dispossessed

Thomas Mann: Der Tod in Venedig

James Oswald: Natural Causes. An Inspector McLean Novel.

Sylvia Plath: The Bell Jar (reread)

Christoph Dittert: Die Drei ??? Melodie der Rache

Maria Rolnikaitė: Mein Tagebuch [org. title: Ja dolžna rasskazat']

Mark Thompson: Leatherfolk. Radical Sex, People, Politics and Practice.

James Baldwin: Giovanni‘s Room

Christopher Tauber, Hanna Wenzel: Rocky Beach. Eine Interpretation.

Lorraine Vivian Hansberry: A Raisin in the Sun

Jonathan Kellerman: Unnatural History. An Alex Delaware Novel.

Robert Arthur: Die Drei ??? und die Geisterinsel. [org. title: The Three Investigators in the Secret of Skeleton Island]

Evelyn Boyd: Rocky Beach Crimes #3. Eiskalter Rausch.

André Marx: Die Drei ??? Labyrinth der Götter

John Barth: Lost in the Funhouse

Langston Hughes: Selected Poems of Langston Hughes.

Claude McKay: Harlem Shadows. The Poems of Claude McKay.

Jonathan Kellerman: Exit. Ein Alex Delaware Roman. [org. title: Devil‘s Waltz. An Alex Delaware Novel.] (reread)

David Henry Hwang: M Butterfly

James Oswald: The Book of Souls. An Inspector McLean Novel.

Jonathan Kellerman: Time Bomb. An Alex Delaware Novel. (reread)

Manuela Günter: Überleben schreiben. Zur Autobiographik der Shoah.

Birgit Kröhle: Geschichte und Geschichten. Die literarische Verarbeitung von Auschwitz-Erlebnissen.

Alexander F. Spreng: Der Fluch (reread)

Sibylle Schmidt: Zeugenschaft. Ethische und politische Dimensionen.

Sibylle Schmidt: Ethik und Episteme der Zeugenschaft

Kari Erlhoff & Christoph Dittert: Die Drei ??? und die Salztote

Jeanette McCurdy: I‘m Glad My Mom Died

E.T.A. Hoffmann: Der Sandmann

Hendrik Buchna: Die Drei ??? Drehbuch der Täuschung

Michael Scott: The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel #2. The Magician. (reread)

Alain Locke: The New Negro

Mascha Kaléko: Großstadtliebe. Lyrische Stenogramme.

Marco Sonnleitner: Die Drei ??? Der Tag der Toten

Georg Heym: Gedichte [herausgegeben von Stephan Hermlin]

Rose Ausländer: Hinter allen Worten. Gedichte. [herausgegeben von Helmut Braun]

Vladimir Nabokov: Lolita

Paul Celan: Ausgewählte Gedichte. Zwei Reden. [herausgegeben von Günther Busch]

Rich Cohen: Lake Shore Drive [org. title: Lake Effect]

Jan T. Gross: Neighbors. The Destruction of the Jewish Community in Jedwabne, Poland.

Kathy Reichs: Virals #2. Nur die Tote kennt die Wahrheit. [org. title: Seizure]

Jonathan Kellerman: Bones. An Alex Delaware Novel. (reread)

Akwaeke Emezi: You made a Fool of Death with your Beauty

Friedrich Schiller: Maria Stuart

Bret Easton Ellis: American Psycho

Christian Handel: Die Hexenwald-Chroniken #2. Palast aus Gold und Tränen.

Maurice Leblanc: Arsène Lupin und der Schatz der Könige von Frankreich [org. title: L'Aiguille creuse]

E.T.A. Hoffmann: Nussknacker und Mausekönig

Marco Sonnleitner: Die Drei ??? Panik im Park

Ben Nevis: Die Drei ??? Tal des Schreckens

Michael Borlik: Ihr mich auch

Robert Arthur: Die Drei ??? und der grüne Geist [org. title: Alfred Hitchcock and the Three Investigators in the Mystery of the Green Ghost]

Barbara Köhler: Niemands Frau. Gesänge.

Christoph Dittert: Die Drei ??? Hotel der Diebe

Cornelia Funke: Tintenwelt #4. Die Farbe der Rache.

DNF:

Thomas Ziebula: Paul Stainer #1. Der rote Judas.

Faye Kellerman: Mord im Garten Eden [org. title: The Garden of Eden and Other Criminal Delights]

#end of 2023 #reading list #bookblr #readblr #to my utter surprise i just breezed through some books in december and did end up reaching my goal of 80 books #read books that were originally published in: german - english - czech - polish - lithuthian (i think) - french #read more poetry than ever before i think #read some real 'classics' and enjoyed most of them a lot #if you're curious about anything on here or just wanna talk about any of these books *please* send me an ask or something #i love talking about books

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aroaessidhe · 6 months

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2023 reads / storygraph

Something More

YA contemporary about a Palestinian-Canadian girl starting high school, navigating new crushes and accepting her recent autism diagnosis

#something more #jackie kalilieh #aroaessidhe 2023 reads #this is pretty good!#obv it’s not my kind of book but having an autistic MC made it a lot less frustrating than a similar book with an allistic MC would be imo #I thought it was a great representation of a low support needs autistic teen girl #and like. embracing her autism but also it's not the only thing the book is about #Was a bit exhausting the way she keeps going back to this guy even though he’s kinda shitty #though I guess it felt quite transparent that the narrative is partly about recognising unhealthy relationships & what mistakes you should #forgive and what are ongoing patterns. and most of the relationships are like different examples of that #so like that gave me a bit of a step back from all the drama and stuff that would have otherwise annoyed me too much #because it was obvious that that was the point of all that #I think it would have been good to have developed her relationship with her grandmother - 3/4 through something happens #and it has pretty much no emotional punch because I was like wait. she has a grandmother?#Maybe that would have made it too sad when it’s mostly a lighthearted romance but like. you could have made the thing more of just a scare

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a-skirmish-of-wit-and-lit · 10 months

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Book Review: A Most Agreeable Murder by Julia Seales

A Most Agreeable Murder is many things: a regency romp, a comedy of manners, a satire, a subtly teasing romance, and a murder mystery with a side of cozy plus an extra slice of whimsy. It's a clever and inviting debut, bursting full of the lovably absurd characters that you might find in the pages of an Austen or a Heyer novel.

In fact, if Catherine Morland of Northanger Abbey could have penned a novel herself, I think it might've come out something like this--with plenty of folly and fancifulness to spare.

The plot centers around Beatrice Steele, a resident of Swampshire, a small English town in the country, as she attempts to solve a murder that takes place during the Stabmort ball. Though it's not considered ladylike to be interested in such things, Beatrice loves true crime, dreaming about one day being able to solve cases and pursue justice for real. So when Croaksworth croaks (the pun was there, okay?) in the middle of a minuet, she is enlisted to help Vivek Drake, a surly, disgraced, eye-patching wearing detective, solve the mystery and apprehend the culprit responsible.

However, with Beatrice up against the wall with the etiquette demands of Swampshire as well as Drake's facts-first-and-foremost way of investigating, things do not proceed smoothly. Or easily, for that matter. So as the evening continues to descend into madness and mayhem, the storm outside keeping them all locked inside the manor house, will she be able to rise above it all to catch the killer? Will she be able to solve the case before anyone else dies?

I had such a marvelous time with this book!

Even though there were times the satire could be too heavy-handed, I mostly reveled in all of the ridiculous antics (like Miss Bolton and her hats, like Daniel and his rhymes) because it added to the hilarity. It poked fun at all other "dramatic" mysteries of the time period. Plus, the puns were phenomenal - STABmort Park, Edmund CROAKSworth - I couldn't help but laugh.

I also enjoyed Beatrice as a heroine because she's plucky, passionate, and intuitive. She's the type of gal (and investigator!) who follows her gut instincts, which sometimes prove to be right and other times turn out to be fifty shades of wrong...And that, of course, made for half the fun!

She and Inspector Drake were good partners. Well-balanced. A formidable team. They're like the head and the heart of crime-solvers, with a dynamic that is Darcy-Lizzie-esque in nature because it was all bad first impressions, reluctant attraction, acerbic wit, and slowly evolving trust and cooperation. It was fabulous. Truly. As such, the stage was set for their personal and professional partnership to continue in the future, and I, for one, sure hope it does!

A perfect pick for Jane Austen and Agatha Christie fans. Especially ones who don't mind some quirkiness stirred into their regency manners or murder mystery soup.

Special thanks to NetGalley and Random House for the ARC in exchange for my review.

4/5 stars

**Follow me on Goodreads

#ashlee bree's book reviews #a most agreeable murder #julia seales #arcs #historical fiction #murder mystery #cozy mystery #mystery #regency #recs: ashlee approved!#read july 2023 #available now #bookblr #booklr #book reviews #book recs

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raineandsky · 7 months

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#71

The woods are dark—pitch black against the thick shadows of the night. That’s fine, though. Perfect, even. That’s how they both like it.

“I know you’re there, Fangs,” she says to the darkness. “My eyesight’s a lot better than you give it credit for.”

The darkness tuts disappointedly as it shifts under the other’s command. “You planning to maul me?”

“Long as you don’t bite me.”

The man rolls his eyes at her as he steps out from the darkness. “Sunrise is in two hours, Tails,“ he informs her lazily, “and I have things to do. What did you want?”

“To work together.”

His face scrunches up like he’s disgusted. “I like my drinks in a glass, so to speak, and not from a puddle off the ground. Thank you for the offer, though.”

“God, considering you’re hundreds of years old you’re dumb as bricks,” the woman says, much to the other’s blatant offence. “I’m suggesting we address the elephant in the room. You always fancied the taste of the rich, didn’t you?”

The man’s gaze snaps to her, intrigued. “I did,” he says shortly.

She smiles victoriously. She already has him. “I could get you a few drops if you help me tear the bitch down.”

The man tilts his head to the side, his tongue running over his lip thoughtfully. There’s a dull glint of fangs in the moonlight. She can’t help but stare a little enviously—her own teeth are ten times the size of his and a lot less precious about what they’re ripping into.

“Who?”

“The Lady.”

The thoughtfulness freezes. “The dragon?” he says, his voice laden with disbelief. He can only grimace when she nods. “Tails, that’s a death sentence.”

“You’re already dead.”

“You’re not.”

She scowls. “Do you want the taste of dragon blood or not?”

“What’s in it for you?”

“She dies,” the woman says with a shrug, “and I get to wreck her shit.”

There’s a pause in which the man is clearly weighing up his options. “I hear she smuggles jewels in through a secret side door in her tower,” he says eventually, much to the woman’s glee. “Meet me here tomorrow evening. I imagine we can catch her undefended.”

She nods quickly. “Sounds good, Fangs.” She grins, her teeth making it look more like a snarl. The man opposite her is unfazed. “I look forward to working with you.”

He smiles, though it looks more like he’s trying to hold back a laugh. “I can see that.”

“What's that meant to mean?”

“Your tail’s wagging.”

“You—” She glances behind her at the traitor. “I’ll throw you into the sunrise.”

The man laughs, the sound like that of church bells clanging. “You don’t have that kind of power during the day. I’ll see you tomorrow night, Tails.”

And like that he’s gone, swallowed eagerly the gloom.

Get ready, Lady. She stares into the darkness after him, flexing her claws testily. It’s not everyday your nightmares come for you.

#creative writing #writblr #writers on tumblr #writing #writing community #fantasci writing #fantasy writing #hello friends i have some terrible news for the friends in my life #i have a new obsession #finished a marvellous light. in 3 days #which is a record for me it usually takes a week minimum to read a book #im literally feral about it #i closed it and immediately shook it like it owed me money #luckily for yall ive already spent most of my insanity on my storygraph review and crying to my poor friends #best book of 2023 and potentially best book ive read in a long time full stop #read a marvellous light by freya marske if you like queer romance and drama and murder mysteries and edwardian times and MAGIC

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