#...but other Rainiers.

[ladysansa]

for your consideration:

Great Smokey Mountains

Grand Teton

Yellowstone

Acadia

Olympic

Mount Rainier

Yosemite

Grand Canyon

[smiledog15578]

Im still delusional to ship cause that's my mental illness aside from everything else wrong with me

[royaielfroot]

"(...) he's also a man alone; he's been on the road for a very long time, and it wears on him."

blackwall/thom rainier for the 2023 @dacreateathon thanks a lot to everyone who participated and to the mods who hosted the event 🖤

[space-writes]

web weaving for Vivien + Rainier from claws

The Tracey Fragments, Maureen Medved | Ramalama (Bang Bang) - Róisín Murphy | on the romance of cannibalism, Silas Denver Melvin | ‘Peripety’ by Jen Mazza | Excerpt from Poem of the End, Selected Poems, Marina Tsvetaeva, (trans. Elaine Feinstein, with Angela Livingstone) | crazy girls - TOOPOOR | “The Hours”, Michael Cunningham | SLUT - Daphne Gottleib

[masked-alien-lesbian]

💍💍💍💍💍💍💍💍💍💍💍

🥰🥰🥰🥰

[cycloplasm]

Decided to give fruitbugs a chest for exclusively transgender reasons, since Futh people (including mammals) don't have anything.

There's more than these three (in order Star Apple, Manchineel and Pippin Apple) but the others either had top surgery, bind, or i like to leave it ambiguous as to whether they're trans or cis men.

[a-pirate]

[jeanrainier]

Some quick sketches for a fantasy setting thing

[kindheart525]

DAMN, THATS ALOTTA KIDS THERE CEDAR!

OUFHDGSGSFS I know right, this is how they were conceived:

/JOKE

[cassie-thorne]

I love kindred.

[yvesdot]

GIRLS LOVE CATS: a parallel post.

“Oh? Like what, Guy-Who-Hasn’t-Read-The-Books? Sorry, Max.” Yves glances down at him, then leaps, catlike, off the table again. They give a sharp yank as if on a lawnmower pull, and the bones fly back up their sleeves.  — Forced Hand, yves.

Sources: Godsong the Ninth by Max Franciscovich, Carmilla by Sheridan Le Fanu, Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir, KAY RAINIER Book Two by yves., Harrow the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir, KB2, HtN, KAY RAINER Book One by yves., HtN, KB2. Plain text under cut.

Was inspired by Max’s @goose-books fanfiction crossover between his series Godsong and the Locked Tomb series (and the iconic cat moment in Carmilla, and the realization that surely the Locked Tomb series itself must have employed the same metaphor, and the knowledge that all my women are kittenish) to make this one. Just a few examples of how women, particularly lesbians, seem to really enjoy the feline—or perhaps simply the domesticated carnivorous—spirit.

Plain text of quotes & sources: 

Godsong the Ninth [fanfiction] by Max Franciscovich (unposted, see Godsong page & DM him for fic)

The Ninth cavalier stalked to the middle of the room with the steady grace of a great cat. Though the skull paint muddled her features, Ambergris could pick out a square jaw, narrow eyes, dark hair chopped off blade-straight just above her chin. She was broader than Felidore, limbs taut with muscle; she stood steady and poised, statue-still in a breathlessly anticipatory way. She did not speak. She bent her rapier blade, as though loosening it like a ligament, and stood at ready position.

Carmilla by Sheridan Le Fanu (edition with footnotes + intro by Carmen Maria Machado highly recommended)

But I was equally conscious of being in my room, and lying in bed, precisely as I actually was. I saw, or fancied I saw, the room and its furniture just as I had seen it last, except that it was very dark, and I saw something moving round the foot of the bed, which at first I could not accurately distinguish. But I soon saw that it was a sooty-black animal that resembled a monstrous cat. It appeared to me about four or five feet long for it measured fully the length of the hearthrug as it passed over it; and it continued to-ing and fro-ing with the lithe, sinister restlessness of a beast in a cage. I could not cry out, although as you may suppose, I was terrified. [redacted]

Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir (book one in the Locked Tomb series)

Naberius toyed with her languidly—he had a trick where his sword licked out like a cat’s claw, immediate, before pulling back again with a measured half step and he kept her at sword’s length, never letting her enter his space. He kept up his litany of parry; quick attack for space; pressure the sword with the offhand until she was sick to death of it.

KAY RAINIER Book Two by yves.

“Now, Atlas,” she says, her tone an indiscreet mix of playfulness and catty calculation, “this is unfair. [redacted] Does this not give [redacted] an unfair advantage?”

Harrow the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir (book two in the Locked Tomb series)

Gideon, watching this single combat, might have better appreciated the anonymous monster called the Sleeper for what she truly was. In life she must have had few, if any, equals. Her people—whoever they had been—must have cherished her as their finest champion. She was a prodigious fighter: fast, brutal, ruthless in exploiting advantages, terrifying in her force and aggression. She had gained a wicked-looking knife with a serrated edge in her left hand, balancing the baton in her right, and she struck with it at eyes, groin, or anywhere else she could reach. The heavy haz suit did not seem to slow her at all, and she had a catlike agility in keeping with her earlier handspring; she kept swerving her body away from strikes and mixing elbow jabs, knee strikes, and even kicks into her overall assault. There was no trace in her of the beribboned show fighter: she fought like she wanted to kill you and she hoped it would hurt.

KAY RAINIER Book Two by yves.

Another smile: this one winsome, almost kittenish in satisfaction.

Harrow the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir

The woman had not died tranquil; her features had settled into an expression closer to determination than the peace of the grave. When rigor mortis developed —would it develop, in this parody of a world?—the whole might harden further into despair. The chin was firm; the jaw stubborn in its lines, the nasofrontal angle of the nose barely present, with flared nostrils like a large cat’s. It was the jaw, and something about the eyes and brows, that kept distracting Harrow.

KAY RAINIER Book One by yves.

“That’s not true.” Atlas heats his hand and runs it through Kay’s hair, experimenting a little. He doesn’t manage to dry much, and it’s still frizzy. “I could see you in a harness... leather pants...” He pauses. “Yeah. Hold on. Wait. That’s a good idea. I can totally—”

“If you buy me a harness, I will see to it that nobody finds your body,” Kay says, and Atlas pulls away to look her in the face. “I cannot even imagine what ‘harness’ means in this context.”

“I can,” Atlas says, giving her a little catlike grin. “You want to find out?”

Harrow the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir

Augustine said, “The eyes have it, John. Those damn golden eyes she always had, like a cat’s. [redacted]

KAY RAINIER Book Two by yves.

[redacted] a need so intense it turns her into someone else, into a motherless kitten, into a child awoken from a terrible dream. [redacted]

[hawkeshep]

Blackwall has a perpetual supply of respect women juice huh?

[20cm]

sorry i know so many of my followers + mutuals on this blog are kpop but like. i need yall to know one of my main Video Game Man Archetypes

[good-night-space-kid]

This is absolutely a petty geologist moment but I do find it kind of funny that shows will always show wimpy little mafic volcanoes with runny lava that frequently when talking about how dangerous volcanoes are when those are like. The friendliest guys in the volcano world. Show me a stratovolcano

[space-writes]

15 questions tag

tagged by @ahordeofwasps a little while back, so thank you! I'm going to fill this out for Vivien from claws, since it'll be good to flesh out and play with his character more outside of unhinged drafting hours.

interview under the cut, with a mild content warning for referenced self-harm and suicidal ideation.

Rainier's done a lot of interviews. Vivien's watched all of them, over and over and over. Sometimes, when he needs to escape his body and mind both, he’ll mouth his own answers alongside Rainier’s. It’s almost like they’re sitting together on the stupid TV sofa, under the bright lights.

“So, are you named after anyone?”

“My dead brother.” He’s always wondered what Rainier would think of that. “Is that weird? I loved him. Now it’s like he’s not dead, even though he is, and he left me.”

Rainier wouldn’t think he was weird. Rainier would understand. Of everyone in the world, he’s sure Rainier would understand.

“When’s the last time you cried?”

Vivien stares at the dark ceiling. His arms are still stinging, freshly scrubbed and wrapped. New scabs to pick tomorrow. “About twenty minutes ago.”

“Do you have kids?”

“If someone ever knocks me up, I’ll kill myself.” The thought of it makes him want to claw his insides out. There’s no-one, not even Rainier, he’d do that for. Would he adopt, though, if Rainier wanted? He’s not good with kids, they make him feel awkward and ungainly, but he thinks Rainier would be a good dad. Maybe that would work.

“Do you use sarcasm a lot?”

“I grew up on the internet, what do you think?”

“What’s the first thing you notice about people?”

“How big they are. How tall. If they could fuck me up if they decided to.”

“What’s your eye colour?”

“Dark brown.” His are darker than Rainier’s. He’s checked. Rainier’s are still brown, but they’ve got warm little flecks of honey in them, and they tint gold in sunlit photos. He could gaze into them for hours.

“Do you prefer scary movies or ones with happy endings?”

“Horror movies are better than any other kind. They show what reality feels like. They’re more real than real life.” He likes the ones that hurt—him or the characters. The ones were everyone dies at the end, or where the ones that survive are ruined forever; stories where you can’t change back. He likes the way it feels, when the terror fades the world out, when it lingers in the dark afterwards, keeping you awake.

“Have you got any special talents you’ve been hiding?”

When Rainier says no, he sounds adorably humble, ducking his head a little with a self-abashed laugh. He’s too busy being the best demonologist in history to have extra talents. Vivien knows he’s good in bed, that’s not even a question, but he supposes it doesn’t really count as a hidden talent. Not one for a morning talkshow interview anyway.

When he says he has no talents, he just sounds pathetic. If he has to interview with Rainier, hopefully they skip this one.

“Where were you born?”

“At home. I was a surprise—surprise baby, surprise birth. I never did anything right, not from conception.” He’d never say where home was, not on TV. Someone might go looking. Someone might go finding.

“What hobbies do you have? What do you like to do for fun?”

“I don’t know, listen to music, I guess? I don’t like going out for it, though, I hate crowds. And loud noise. And drunk people.” Keeping track of what Rainier’s doing doesn’t count as a hobby—that’s a calling. “I can’t really have a bunch of hobbies—they all require money and interacting with people. Is skiving off the therapy your sister keeps making you go to a hobby? Cause I do that and it’s fun.”

“Do you have any pets?”

“I wish. I want a tarantula—they’re so beautiful, so delicate, and I don’t see why I still can’t have one. It’s not like they leave hair everywhere for some other tenant later to get allergic to or whatever.” Vivien sighs, glancing at the many, many printed-out arachnids decorating his wall amongst the band posters. “Besides, I couldn’t afford one anyway. Not like Jaimie would help me pay for it.”

“Were you a sports man? How do you keep yourself in shape now?”

Vivien snorts. “I ditched every P.E. lesson I could. I don’t want to get undressed and then sweaty around a bunch of girls, or deal with a bunch of stupid bullshit because they can’t let me in the boys changing room. Fuck all that. I don’t care if I’m not ‘in shape’. It doesn’t matter anyway if I can’t get surgery yet.”

“How tall are you?”

“Like. Five-five, I think? Five-six? Something like that.”

“I’m sure we can all probably guess, but what was your favourite subject in school?”

“Biology. Seeing how things fit together, how they work—looking at the insides. Doing dissections. Three girls ran out of the class when we had to cut up a sheep’s heart, it was fucking pathetic.”

Not that he got the best results. They rely so much on remembering everything, exactly correct, and it’s not his fault if stuff just won’t stick. He knows what he needs to.

“You have what a lot of people might call a dream job—is it? Or do you dream of working somewhere other than Riess University’s demonology department?”

“I don’t want to work for those fuckers at Riess, I just want…” Vivien stares at the screen, at Rainier three inches high rendered in flat pixels. “I just want to be with you. In whatever way you’ll have me.”

---

Here are the questions for anyone that needs it!

Are you named after anyone?

When was the last time you cried?

Do you have kids?

Do you use sarcasm a lot?

What’s the first thing you notice about people?

What’s your eye colour?

Scary movies or happy endings?

Any special talents?

Where were you born?

What are your hobbies?

Have you any pets?

What sports do you play/have played?

How tall are you?

Favourite subject in school?

Dream job?

claws taglist: @belovedviolence @foxboyclit (ask to be +/-)

no-pressure tagging @loopyhoopywrites @zmwrites and @pens-swords-stuff

[masked-alien-lesbian]

Yeeeessss! The "I'm going off to war, so we should bang, just in case I die" trope... ✅️ but wlw style 😁