aelfgiure

[aelfgiure]

[aelfgiure]

reblog to kiss a fanfic writer on the mouth

[aelfgiure]

This has taken hours of work comparing different, yet similar fonts and the book cover titles.

All completely hand drawn. I present my own version of the locked tomb font.

For your own use:

It’s currently only letters right now.

I will update as I work through numbers and symbols.

[aelfgiure]

"Ah, hello Jim, my day was uneventful, thanks, how - "

He interrupted me. Blunt, direct, his focus never wavering. "How long have you worked for the Agency?" His voice was a low growl, totally unlike the mellow, fuzzy person that had rented my spare room.

"Pardon?" I managed. My heart was attempting to beat its way out of my chest.

Jim's response was to hold up a challenge coin, one that I thought I had lost decades ago. "I was moving boxes in the attic and this was stuck under your old sewing machine. I know where these come from, I know why they get issued. Talk."

I couldn't help it, I smiled in relief. "Oh hey, that's where it got to! Thanks, man. Check the date on it before things get more complicated, mkay? I'm gonna start coffee so we can talk. How was your day?"

Much to my relief, he holstered his gun and followed me into the kitchen. Not that he was any less dangerous or alert, but at least now I didn't have to worry about collateral damage.

While the coffee brewed and I set up after work snackies, I started to explain. "So, no shit, there I was, two years into a linguistics and science degree..."

He got the full story, all of it that I could tell someone with enough clearance to recognize that coin. It took enough time that the sun had started to set and the cats were demanding dinner. He had calmed down, finally, and pushed the coin across the table to me, rueful smile making him look more himself again.

"Well, shit. Outed myself for no reason but paranoia." He scritched Inkwell under his chin, paying the little demon tribute. "I suppose I should move out now, huh?"

I shrugged. "So you were a Company man, back in the day. Right now, you're the guy who pays rent on time, joins in on game night, doesn't leave messes in the kitchen, and the cats like you. You don't have to move out unless you really want to, okay?"

Something eased around his eyes and he relaxed. Really relaxed, for the first time since I'd met him. "Well, if the cats insist on keeping me around, I guess I'm stuck here."

Today you just found out your roommate with strange hobbies, like knowing how to pick a lock, knows how every puzzle and cipher by heart, or how to commit tax fraud, and so many other things, wasn't a guy with ADHD, he was an ex-assassin and now you have a gun pointed at your face

[aelfgiure]

Reblog to trample Pong Krell with an AT-RT.

[aelfgiure]

My father died last year. We hadn't spoken in years, I'm very low contact with the birth family for very good reasons thank you for asking. His body gave out, which is understandable after years of not taking care of himself and of course getting both legs amputated isn't a good sign of health, but still.

He's gone. It's so weird that we were estranged and yet I have the dad-shaped hole in my life now. It's hard to process, and I have no idea how I'm supposed to feel about this so the feels are all over the place. Mostly, there's just regret.

He deserved a better life. He deserved parents who loved him instead of the neglectful fuckers who turfed him off to any relative they could, as often as they could. He deserved a wife who loved and supported him instead of that fucking harpy who ran him ragged and drained him of everything and then divorced him while he was in the hospital. He just straight up deserved better.

It's going to take me more than a year to process this. I don't know how to feel this.

What was something significant that happened around this time last year and how do you feel about it now?

[aelfgiure]

TIL that the reason lead levels in children’s blood have dropped 85% in the past thirty years is because of an unknown scientist who fought car companies to end leaded gasoline. He also removed it from paint, suggested its removal from pipes, and campaigned for the removal of lead solder from cans.

via ift.tt

[aelfgiure]

Reblog if you stand against order, civilization, and goodness itself

[aelfgiure]

Santa is on strike due to global warming.  All presents this year will be delivered by Sasha the Christmas Tiger.  Milk and cookies may not be sufficient.

[aelfgiure]

hey if you're scrolling tumblr on thanksgiving you might be going though it so I just wanted to let you know that you are so incredibly loved. also you will outlive the weird family member

[aelfgiure]

The prompt was 'what is your most treasured holiday memory' and i had to share it here.

I was very young, no more than 8 or 9 years old, and it was Christmas Eve. Mom made us nap that afternoon, and woke us up to get ready for church, which was exciting because it was after our bedtimes! and going to church? Pretty neat.

We got there early, and the sanctuary was already mostly full of people dressed up in their best. I was lucky, I had been good so I got to sit on the aisle so I could see everything perfectly.

The altar, oh that beautiful altar, I can't remember how old they told me it was, but it had been handcarved in Germany and shipped to the church before the Civil War, it was decorated, and there were trees on either side of it, in front of the pews that were normally empty but tonight were full of people dressed in white robes. The manger was set up right in front, but empty, the creche elevated to show everyone the whole scene. Everywhere was decorated, the pine roping and ribbons smelling lovely as the heat from all the people warmed the room. The lights were dimmed, which made it all the lovelier for me, and more mysterious.

Eleven pm. 23:00. The lights dimmed further, leaving the only light that one candle by the altar which represented the Light of God which never goes out, and the red EXIT signs over the doors at the front of the sanctuary. The bell up in the steeple tolled, eleven times. There was a hush and I felt a swirl of cold air, and looked to the back of the sanctuary, towards the nave, and saw the two pastors, Hummel and Kretchmann, and other people behind them, and a couple of boys in robes ahead of them.

A single note from the organ gave them their pitch, and then they started. At the head of the procession, one of the older students, all robed in white, swung a censer filled with incense - I remember the smell and know it know, frankencense and myrrh. Following him, another young man carried the cross that rested in a standard holder before the pulpit, and behind him, the two pastors came in, and they were SINGING. Pastor Kretzmann, the elder, carried the Babe, and Pastor Hummel carried the Book. Did I mention they were singing? In harmony, the most amazing beautiful thing I had ever heard, as they processed up the aisle to the altar, and were followed by the choirs that turned and processed to midpoints at either side of the congregation. As they reached the front, the Cross went to its stand, the Book on the lectern, and the Babe into the manger as they all sang, as the same time, "Christ is Born!" It was perfectly coordinated, perfectly timed, they set these things down at the same time, turned to face us and sang that triumphant joyful verse, and then and then the choir in the east burst into song, and that song went around the church from choir to choir to choir all the way around, the music chasing all sorrow and loss away, going deosil around the building three times before they all joined in at once to start the service.

It was Magick. It was High Magick, that I had never imagined or even heard of before and I was enchanted entirely that night. I still remember the smells, the goosebumps that moment raised on my arms. Power in the service of Light and Good, and that night entirely devoted to bringing us all into the Great Mystery and sending us forth awed, and blessed, and made whole again by that Great Power within and throughout all of Us.

[aelfgiure]

"For the last time," the person holding the gun to your head sighs, trying to sound reasonable, "where is Cheengwun? You're only -"

You hear a distinctive popping noise, louder than you were expecting, and the person threatening you gets a funny, confused look on his face before falling to the ground in a puddle of his own blood. Your brain bluescreens for a moment, trying to interpret what happened through the fog of adrenaline and terror.

When you come back to yourself, you're sitting in the kitchen, a cup of tea with cream and honey in your hand. You've downed half of it, it seems, without thinking, and when you look up from the cup your housemate is standing there, regarding you with a look of fondness.

"Need more tea?" he asks, and refills the cup, topping it off with more cream and a spoonful of honey.

"Ah. Dude. What -" you start to sputter, and he holds up a hand to stop you.

"Finish that tea first, okay? It's going to be a minute before you calm down enough to have a coherent internal narrative, let alone rational conversation."

Okay, fair enough. He seems to know what he's talking about, because after you finish the tea and have a shaking fit that feels more like a seizure than anything else, you actually do feel ready to talk.

"Dude. What the FUCK?!" Not the classiest conversation starter, but it's the most appropriate question you can come up with right then. "And do we need to expect more of this shit? Will we have to move? Ah shit, we gotta clean that mess up or I'll never get the security deposit back, what do we do?"

He blinks at you, surprised, then throws his head back and laughs. "oh my god, Jim, you're the best roommate ever. Save questions till the end, okay? It's a long story."

With that, he launches into a narrative that would make Ian Flemming take notes and Tom Clancy swear in frustration that he hadn't thought of it first. By the time he's done, the sun has set and your brain is full, the information sloshing around like Legos in an industrial washing machine.

"You've been a great roomie," he concludes, "and the Agency owes you a big one, not even touching on my personal debt to you. If you want to move out and move on, that's fair. It'll be covered.

"However, you handled that really, really well, especially for a first time. That asshole came after me because my old boss is getting the band back together again, and, um. We could really use a computer toucher on our team now, so there's a job opening, if you want it."

Well.

You think about it. Your day job is customer facing, which sucks (and also explains how you could stare down a gun without flinching, you'd dealt with homicidal douchebags before) and it never paid well. Besides, you liked having him as your roommate. Liked how he would out of the blue start talking about random stuff, or how he would tidy up after himself without being asked. He paid his part of the bills on time.

"Does this come with dental? because yeah, you're cool. I'd like to work with you." You grin at the expression of relief that crosses his face, and stand up. "But first, you're buying me a goddamn steak dinner and a new pair of pants, because damn. That was one hell of a job interview."

Today you just found out your roommate with strange hobbies, like knowing how to pick a lock, knows how every puzzle and cipher by heart, or how to commit tax fraud, and so many other things, wasn't a guy with ADHD, he was an ex-assassin and now you have a gun pointed at your face

[aelfgiure]

The Turkey Story

So it’s 2001, and my family drives from fucking California and like three blizzards to get to Ohio for thanksgiving, becuase my grandparents are moving into a nursing home and it’s their last holiday in that house.  So its a bit bittersweet but ultimately a good thing.

Since it’s their last holiday there, the family pulls out all the stops when it comes to dinner, all the Russian desserts come out, as does the Lethal Bacon Mashed Potatoes and the horrible candied yams with the mini marshmallows dish because not all expressions of love are good, even if they are sincere.  In the spirit of going all-out, Uncle Bobby smokes a Turkey.  

Uncle Bobby started cooking as a boy scout by tossing foil-wrapped potatoes into a campfire and has been addicted since, and now has a hand-made smokehouse in the backyard where he makes various cured meats and other delights.  He seasons the turkey in the traditional manner, but he and grandpa have a shared passion for a spicier mesquite-style bird, so Bobby makes a Cornish Game Hen seasoned that way, for them.

Then Bobby has a Brilliant Idea.  He realizes that he can stuff the turkey (once it has been smoked) with regular stuffing, and there is still plenty of room for him to put the game hen inside THAT, and stuff the game hen becuase why not?  He confers with Mom, and she explains how to cut open the turkey so there’s  dramatic reveal as the stuffing and game hen come out.  It’s Genius.

Except, of course, that my Aunt Sue is attending, Uncle Cliff slouching after her.

So the day of the dinner, tensions are running a bit high, between the marathon cooking, the kids all being trapped indoors due to aforementioned blizzards, and Uncle Cliff deciding that the best way to amuse himself is by hiding from the adults in the basement, getting drunk and rambling about how various ethic groups were destroying America.  Being that I had close Muslim friends that were leaving the country becuase of 9/11, I was near tears from this nonsense and ready to fight a man roughly five times my size.  

Sue, for some reason, keeps coming down and defending him, or telling us we’re rotten children for ‘attacking’ him, becuase she Must Stand By Her Man, even if her man is a hefty bag of dog feces with an ugly mustache.

My sister eventually bolts upstairs to tattle and my grandfather limps down to the basement and brandishes his Hip-Bone Cane, hands rock-steady in spite of the Parkinson’s slowly taking over him.

“Firstly Cliff, It may not be my roof much longer but while you are under it you will be civil, or I’ll beat your skull in.  Also, dinner’s ready, everyone go wash up.”

We go upstairs and sit down, and do the traditional “Name one thing you’re thankful for” as the bread gets passed around the table, and things calm down a bit.  Bobby brings out the Turkey and everyone goes OOH becuase it’s really pretty, them Mom carves it open so that the stuffing spills out dramatically along with the game hen and there’s an appreciative gasp all around becuase it looks cool.

Only Sue KEEPS gasping, in utter horror, before getting up and clasping her hands to her face ala Edvard Munch and shrieks-

“OH MY GOD IT WAS PREGNANT!”

We all stare at Sue.  We all look back at the fully-dressed-cooked-and-stuffed birds that in no way had any internal organs in them or ever gave live birth. Then we all looked back at Sue, trying to figure out where to begin but since she’d been trying to justify Cliff’s behavior she was pretty much free-associating conspiracies and scandals now, and just kept going.

“IT WAS PREGNANT MY GOD WE’VE COMMITTED AN ABORTION WE’RE ALL GOING TO HELL FOR THIS, I’M SO SORRY JESUS-” She goes into full pearl-clutching gibbering horror at this point and falls back into her chair like it’s a Victorian fainting couch only it’s a shitty chair from the Eisenhower administration so it collapses and she slams into the floor, sobbing and kicking her feet like a toddler.

Everyone watched for a moment before my Mom sighs heavily and starts carving and serving the turkey while my grandmother mouths “she’s not coming back”.   

Cliff, reactions delayed by about six beers, finally notices his wife is on the floor and tries to pick her up, falls on his ass himself.  They are assisted by Dad, who is saintly patient man and less immune to this jacknapery at that point. I am stuffing dinner rolls into my face to keep from laughing at this grand spectacle and it’s not working.

“I CAN’T EAT IT, I REFUSE TO PARTAKE IN THIS BARBARISM-”  Sue begins but Dad puts on his best Kindly Father voice (he was heavily involved with the catholic church and even considered becoming a priest before getting drafted but that’s another story) and assures Sue that she need not eat, or even be in the room if she wants.  She nods, placated by being the center of attention again, and Dad goes in for the kill.

“I wouldn’t want you to go hungry.  Can I make you some Eggs?”

“That would be lovely.” Said Sue, joke flying over her head like a boeing 747.  I recall watching my grandmother nearly choke to death on the green beans over that, and everyone pointedly trying to avoid talking about anything poultry-related while Sue sat there and ate the most ironic scrambled eggs in the history of mankind.

Shortly thereafter, Cliff threw up in the sink and they went home, and the party got underway properly, with Grandpa raising a toast to Mom and Uncle Bobby “For marrying well, for a change” “Pregnant Turkey” has been an Ohioan thanksgiving staple since then.  I’ll see if I can hit Uncle Bobby up for instructions but if you decide to make it 1. you HAVE to shriek “OH MY GOD IT WAS PREGNANT” when you carve it open, or it’s not authentic and won’t taste as good 2. Share the pictures with me.

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[aelfgiure]

*bangs on door* WHERE IS MY HOT CHOCOLATEY MILK SPIDER? I DEMAND TO SEE MY BABY AT LEAST ONCE THIS SEASON PLEASE YOU CANT LEAVE ME LIKE THIS

[aelfgiure]

From the moment I was coherent, I knew my family was different. Off, somehow, not normal. It was something in the way my parents looked at me when they thought I was distracted, the way they treated me like I didn't belong. Like I was an inconvenience.

My brother and sisters? So, so spoiled. Between mom's modeling and dad's business stuff, there was MONEY, and my siblings had it lavished on them. Toys, designer clothes - whatever they wanted. They were hugged, cosseted, taken on trips, given actual attention! They had a fabulous childhood.

Not like mine.

There was this undercurrent of resentment towards me that I never understood. I never had birthday parties, the folks were always "too busy", tossing some money my way so I could get a present. It never mattered what my grades were, I handed over the report cards to get signed and that was it. Unlike my siblings - they got pizza parties for not failing classes! but my damn near perfect marks were shrugged off. It was a lonely, confusing life, especially for a little kid.

My solace was in books. (Yep, I nerd.) If it was in print, I'd read it. That empty feeling inside me was soothed when I filled myself with words, stories, information, music. Yes, I taught myself how to read music, too, and how to build and play instruments. The early ones were crap, but I got better at it.

Anyways. I read everything, which led me to the 'occult/spiritual' section of the library and book stores. Right next to the fairy tales and legends, of course, so I read those too because why the heck not? It was ... it was educational. Upsetting. I wandered around the house and saw all the cold iron and silver on every window, every door. The weird herbs growing at every entrance. Keep in mind that I was TEN. Ten years old, trying to understand what was going on with my life, and suddenly figuring out that my parents were keeping something out. Of course, the next thing I did was check my clothes and, surprise surprise, everything had odd things sewn into the hems. Not only was something kept out, I was warded against being Taken.

So, I did what any angsty pre-adolescent would do, and plotted. Come hell or high water, I was going to find out what was going on. For the first time in my life, being ignored worked in my favor. Using the books and stories as a guide, I bought things, ingredients and materials, and worked quietly. Waiting for the night of the full moon.

I was as thorough as only an angry child could be. Opened doors, front and back. Walked around the house widdershins, sweeping away the protective ring of salt and runes. Did I mention I was naked? Yeah, I took a bath and washed myself with a bar of Ivory soap, getting rid of even the smallest trace of binding or charm. Since I didn't trust any of my clothes, or any in the house really, it made sense for me to go naked. To be sure.

The results were impressive. Also terrifying. Two powerful, ancient beings stormed into the house and dragged my parents out of bed, starting a three-way screaming match about contracts, oaths, stuff I didn't understand.

That was when I learned why I was conceived. It hurt, honestly. Learning that I was just a bargaining chip, chattel to be bartered or sold, broke my heart. They kept me warded to avoid issues, they said. They didn't know which being had the first claim on me, and neither one wanted to give up the wealth and beauty they bought with my life.

I was ten years old, and heartbroken, and oh so angry, and I interrupted with a suggestion. The witch and the faerie exchanged a look, before turning to my parents with the same smile on both their faces, one with extra teeth and mischief.

To this day, I have no idea what happened to them. I've lived with my dads for ten years now. Not full time anymore, university is a beeyotch and I live off campus, but every break, I go home.

My family is still kinda off, and different, but my dads love me. They're proud of me, they encourage me to be awesome, and we celebrate birthdays and holidays together. They keep saying that they have to make up for lost time, but knowing they were trying to find me, knowing they never gave up hope - well. They wanted a child to love, and i needed parents to love me. It all worked out in the end.

Your mother sold her firstborn to a witch in exchange for beauty and your father sold his firstborn to a fairy for wealth. Today you are born.