#Claibornes missing arm

[4x09]

Horrible no Good Bad time World championship Contenders in here

[literary-motif]

ENOUGH ANGST !!!! AAAGGHHH I HATE ANGST !!!! So after Isis confirmed the bound, Xanthus said that he will now sleep with love in order to keep them safe. After listener gets comfortable and finally falls asleep. Xanthus keeps staring at them, slowly releasing what Isis said and building a deeper connection to love. Just for Xanthus to hug them and rest with love PLSPLSPLS

My Design

Xanthus Claiborne x Reader

There was something very intimate about sleeping together — literally sleeping together. Xanthus was enthralled with the soft rise and fall of your chest, calming him so thoroughly that he feared it might lull him into the land of sweet oblivion himself. Your eyelids were gently closed, hiding the beautiful eyes he had lost himself in quite a few times since meeting you in that alley. 

He could not believe you had agreed to spend the night. Certainly, his lavishly decorated house — nay, mansion — might have something to do with it. It looked rather nice, he supposed. He was proud of the furniture, his collection of little specialties expanding over many centuries until it consisted of the composition of works he decorated his house with. 

There was an original Böcklin in the study, and a letter his old friend Van Gogh had sent him safely tucked away in the cabinet, next to the volumes of now historical pictures a history student might sell their soul for. 

His bed was very comfortable as well. Perhaps that was the reason that got you to stay, or maybe the thunderstorm raging in the night had made the prospect of walking home rather distasteful. Either way, you were here now, and he was glad for it. 

Isis had been gone for two hours, and his mind was still reeling. The bond was as fascinating as it was utterly terrifying. He had spent centuries living alone, not daring to tie himself to another person because they would wither and fade before his eyes, and now he was entangled with someone who was definitely going to die! 

‘Tis a fearful thing to love what death can touch. Yehuda Halevi was right, but instead of the holiness he described at the end of the poem, Xanthus would find insanity when your heart stopped beating. 

How fearful, indeed.

What was this feeling of love he had? How long had he gone without it? Vaguely, he recalled an infatuation at the end of the 19th century — nothing he had ever felt compared to this. 

There was a thread tying you both together, one he could not so easily break no matter how hard he might strain against it. Not that he wanted to, although he supposed part of him did.

Vulnerability never came easy, and now you were his weakness. A weakness. 

You mumbled something in your sleep, and he could not help the fond smile that came across his face. You looked so comfortable with your head buried in the pillows, lying on your side. Unconsciously, you had curled around him, and Xanthus felt the sudden urge to gather you in his arms and make sure nothing mortal or otherwise would ever get the chance to hurt you. 

Something in his chest shifted at seeing your peaceful expression — one that had been missing from his own face for decades. His chest felt warm, and he felt the burning need to protect that had evaded him since he had watched his nephews being lowered into the ground. 

This is love, he realized suddenly, burning, aching, maddening love. What had he become?

What had the bond done to him?

“Xan?” you mumbled, still asleep. His heart could not take it.

“I’m here, love,” he whispered, carefully wrapping his arms around you to pull you against his chest. Your head lay on his chest, and you let out a content sigh, appreciating his affection even from beyond the veil of sleep. “Sleep, I’m here.”

You did not reply, your gentle breathing filling the air again. Distantly, he heard a crack of thunder, lighting striking across the sky in a sudden flash of unloading tension.

Xanthus closed his eyes, listening to your heart instead, hearing it pump the blood through your body. He hoped it would keep beating for a long, long time to come. 

He would make sure of it anyway.

[aestheticpearl]

— can’t catch me now

[𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫] xanthus claiborne

a/n: just a heads up this is not written like my usual fan fictions <3

a cold numbness spreads through xanthus’ body as he watches the scene in front of him unfold. the lifeless body of his lover lays on the floor in front of him. their blood pools around them as xanthus looks up to the assailant with eyes that pierce through their soul. what happens next xanthus can barely remember, the room is flooded with painful screams as they plead for mercy but in the end he now stands over two bodies, covered in blood that is not his. the warmth of his lover has faded and is now only a distant memory. he cradles their corpse in his arms and lets out a wail of grief he didn’t know he had in him.

the next few years tick by agonizingly. the empty feeling hasn’t left him since that faithful day. the hole that his lover left feels as though it grows deeper with each passing month. he sees them everywhere in the little things humans do that resemble them when they were still among the living. it’s always the smallest thing, like the way someone in the distances laughs or a passing smell of a perfume/cologne they had used. their presence lingers in xanthus’ mind always, they’re stuck in his memory.

every person he feeds from leaves a sour taste in his mouth, for in his mind it is not the same. he is drinking to live but before he was once drinking because he loved. each taste is bittersweet and unfamiliar.

‘it’s not fair.’

xanthus thinks to himself as he stares down at passed out body of his latest victim. he wonders why he wasn’t strong enough to defend the love of his painfully immortal life. every waking moment he exists, he is haunted by the ghost of what could’ve been.

xanthus drowns himself in sleepless nights with nameless people trying to feel what he felt before but to no avail. the emptiness is never filled, he remains hollow and feels like a half of him is missing, the better half of him.

unfinished paintings litter the floor of xanthus’ home, all portraits of his deceased lover and each one is painted slightly differently then the one before it. the details of their face are fading in the memory that xanthus was once so proud of. it hurts to slowly forget someone that he once loved. he regrets not taking more photos over them when he had the chance.

he picks up a blank canvas and his brushes to begin on another painting of the face that he once kissed with his own lips. he starts painting the only face of yours that his burned in his memory, unfortunately for him it’s a face that wasn’t living. after only a few hours he stands back from his work and lets his eyes drink in what he has created.

if no one knew the story behind the painting they might say it’s the most beautiful piece they’ve ever seen, but xanthus refuses to let anyone other than him see the worst image he has in his memory. he knows that only he should be the one to live with the pain, since he believes it is his fault for the death of his partner.

hot tears stream down his face as xanthus bares his teeth in anger. he throws the painting across the room in a fit of rage and collapses on the floor in a broken mess.

‘they are gone because i wasn’t fast enough. i was careless.’

the painting lays broken in a mess across from an open window, the draft it creates carries the smell of fresh paint throughout the large building. the moon’s glow floods the rooms and creates a makeshift spotlight on the destroyed painting, which draws xanthus’ attention away from his pity party.

the wet paint glistens in the pale moonlight until a shadow appears on the windowsill, the shadow of a small bird. xanthus looks at it quizzically and carefully shifts to move closer, worried that the bird might flee at the sudden movement, but it doesn’t. the bird remains on the sill even as xanthus looks over it, in fact it even looks up at him to chirp happily.

without even realizing xanthus extends his finger for the bird to perch itself on and it does so with hesitation. he’s confused about this little fearless bird, birds are the definition of fight or flight and yet this one chooses neither.

‘could it be?’

xanthus’ mind fills with delusional hope for in the back of his mind he knows it couldn’t be possible, yet he has no idea why this bird is not afraid; maybe it’s because they never were.

the bird chirps once more almost as if to say goodbye before flying back out of the open window. the moon shines off its wings and xanthus watches as it goes. maybe someday he’ll be with you again, flying together above the trees in the moonlight.

please reblog to show support ✧·˚ ༘ * ༄

i get so many requests about the listener dying so i was like i wonder what xanthus would do with himself after?

.love always <3 pearl

.masterlist

[soscarlett1twas]

Fallen Tree

↳ Lawrence and Nathaniel had a favorite childhood tree. Xanthus returns to the spot 400 years later. ↳ 3k words / also available on ao3! ↳ Inspired by Fallen Tree, a painting by Alexandre Calame

“Please, do be careful.” His voice lifted just above the rushing water, carrying its way to the little boy right above it. 

He giggled. “I am!” 

Lawrence gave a haphazard sigh, crouching down into the grass. His sight didn’t leave his brother, who had begged to go here. 

The clearing was a peculiar place - not far from Claiborne land but not owned by the family, nor anyone for that matter. All but abandoned, the plot had become a favorite of Nathaniel’s. He loved to run and let the weeds, some even taller than himself, graze his fingertips (which Lawrence found adorable). He had proclaimed his ‘discovery’ of this place as a step towards becoming a true adventurer.

And now he’s graduated from running between weeds. Now, it’s tree climbing. Lawrence found this significantly less cute.  

His brother’s tiny frame pushed from branch to branch, smiling all the way. Every time he grabbed a divot in the bark he pointed it out. Lawrence watched on in silent agony. He tensed every time Nathaniel’s frail hands seemed to loosen. He had half a mind to ban him from doing this altogether, but seeing him smile, holes from missing teeth and crooked, made Lawrence shove it all down. How could he take this away from him? 

There was one barrier he put onto the whole ordeal: He was only allowed to climb this beech tree, which stood in the middle of the clearing. Its branches were thick enough to hold his weight, wasn’t too big for any real danger, and its trunk was tall enough so Nathaniel couldn’t climb without Lawrence’s assistance. Granted, the thing was situated right next to a running stream, but Lawrence saw it as a blessing more than anything. Sometimes, when Nathaniel got winded from climbing, they drank its water because he didn’t want to wait to get home. 

Looking up at him, shadows danced across Lawrence’s frame from the shifting leaves. The winds, however calm, seemed to eddy around the clearing. Lawrence took a breath, the sugary smell of honeysuckles wafting into his nose, and felt his unease steady. The kid had never fallen. He was here to watch him. His brother was alright. 

He took a moment to look around him. It truly was a beautiful day. Blue skies peppered with clouds, flowers waxing towards the sun. Bird songs echoed from treetops, some even diving down to sit on bushes, collecting twigs and scrap for a nest. Tranquility bloomed in every crevice. He couldn’t help but smile. 

“Look! Look,” a breathy voice hailed from the beech tree. Lawrence did as it commanded. 

Nathaniel sat on a towering branch, feet dangling in the open air.

“Wow,” Lawrence half-shouted. “You’re quite high up.” 

“I am!” He threw his arms open wide. “I feel like the king!” 

For as adorable as it was, Lawrence felt a bubbling fear in his chest. “Be careful.”

“I know…” Nathaniel began to stand, one arm pushed into the bark to stabilize himself. Lawrence felt his fingernails dig into his palm.

A breeze pushed up at him, hair tickling his ears. “Maybe you should come down now… we can always come back another day.” 

“But I want to keep going!” His brother leaned slightly over the edge to look down at him. His arm was still on the tree, but the other swung at his side. 

“We’ll come back,” he repeated. The wind carried the scent of honeysuckles and streamwater back to him. 

“Come on… just a few branches higher!” 

“No. Come down.” 

“But-” 

“Nathaniel, I said come down!” 

A sudden gust of wind picked up, creating the static noise of rustling leaves. Lawrence watched as his brother opened his mouth to argue more, but lost his footing as the wood began to shake. The boy made a motion to grab the tree but it was too late: He had slipped off. 

Florals and fear mixed as Lawrence ran forward. 

Without thinking he dove into the riverbank, his brother plummeting towards it. 

He held his hands out, and by some miracle of God, he caught him. 

A deep sigh of relief hitched in his throat, almost sounding like a sob as he accidentally collapsed into the water. It rushed into his nose. He may as well have blacked out for a moment before the squirming boy brought him back to reality. 

His clothes were soaked, caked with a layer of grime the water carried. As he waded out, Lawrence was careful to not let a single drop of it touch Nathaniel. 

When they were both safely away from water, Lawrence set him down and promptly rolled into the grass, deep breaths permeating the space between words. “You aren’t climbing again.” 

“...huh? What?” Nathan’s look of adrenaline faded into shock. “You can’t do that.”

“Oh yes, I can.” 

“But…” Nathaniel started. Then he bit his tongue. 

“You could’ve gotten seriously hurt, you could’ve died!” 

“But I didn’t.” A pleading look danced on his face. 

Lawrence steeled. “The answer is no.” He got up and grabbed Nathan’s arm. 

The kid didn’t put up a fight, just allowing himself to be dragged along back to the house. But Lawrence could feel the hostility radiate off the boy. He understood the rage; Not towards his brother, but towards himself. He allowed the climbing, he enabled the fall. 

The water still on his face mixed with his sweat, and maybe even a tear. 

As they approached the beginning of the forest, the only known path back to their manor, Lawrence abruptly stopped.

He took a delicate, curling white flower from a bush and handed it to Nathan. The boy looked on in confusion, then delight. 

He took the end of it - two green leaves from the bush - and pried them off, revealing filament with a singular drop of sweetness. He licked it off. 

He grabbed a few more as they passed and handed one to Lawrence, a silent apology. 

He took it but left it in his pocket. He didn’t have the stomach to eat it. Not when the stench still rang in his nose. 

—

Xanthus stepped over a thick root, careful not to trip into the bramble. Underbrush and weeds had invaded the path, spattering the edges of the dirt with thorns that threatened to cut someone deep. He grumbled to himself something about wearing the wrong attire for a woodland outing. 

He had long gone off the main road. Over the years he’d been gone, these dirt pathways had become rare as most were paved over with concrete and fences, cars moving in place of carriages. Industrialization throttled every part of London the same. Even this deep into the countryside, the sounds of it never left his ears. They buzzed like gnats, unwanted pests that flew around him like he was rot long left out. 

Though, Xanthus supposed, he was rot. Undead rot in a casing of slacks and a sweater, but rot all the same. 

He suddenly became very aware of the fangs in his mouth. He adjusted his jaw. 

Xanthus kept walking, following a vague desire path that seemed ten years overgrown. It had not been set by him - but he knew it well anyway. Farther in he went, the forest swelled. The light dimmed as the trees became thicker, trunks growing greater in circumference than his height. As he passed particularly large ones, he wondered who was older: Him or it. 

In the distance, a rabbit landed. He heard its thump, saw the scurry of leaves around it, and could even feel the pumping blood in its veins. A quick object of focus before swiftly turning his attention to something else. He was used to this darting attention: The abundance of life blended together, less stimulating than the city yet still humming in his ear. He just tuned it out, focused on fleeting memories to trail him back to the clearing. 

It had been so long. Was there even hope in remembering the way? 

He kept going. 

From the ambiance of wildlife emerged the unique purr of human voices. They started small: Indistinguishable from the trotting of deer and whiz of bugs, but slowly rose to stand out among the vibrations. At first, Xanthus neglected this realization, too lost in his mind to pay attention. But they became sharp, pushing their way to the front of the symphony until they were at the forefront of his mind - and though unwittingly and agitated, Xanthus looked up. 

The voices echoed from just beyond the pathway if slightly to the left, beckoning him forward. Déjà vu struck him. They - were there two? The vocals were so similar it was hard to tell - spoke and giggled and yelled. Those were the sounds of children playing in the field. He paused. 

It was a sign to turn back. To never see this place again. One final push to save himself the heartache. But Xanthus followed the voices, one step at a time. Just one. Then another, and eventually another. Until he dragged himself the rest of the hike, and the voices boomed in his ears, and he wanted to leave and never return here or any parts of London or England because what was there even to stay for– 

“What if it breaks?”

The question struck the front of his mind, a thought so clear and strong that for a split second, he thought it was his own. But the voice wasn’t. 

Xanthus honed in on the clearing. This was it. Most of it was the same. Weeds and flower bushes, saplings and stones. But there was no stream anymore, seemingly turned into a pond and then a puddle: Unmoving and dirty. The surrounding forest was noticeably thinner as well, with shadows lighter and allowing full sun. 

Amidst it all, where a beech once grew, was a stump. And next to it was a felled log that cast above the still creek, gutted of branches. 

For a second, Xanthus forgot all else, entranced with memories of an otherwise forgotten time. 

“It won’t! Climb, come on,” buzzed a similar voice. Xanthus flinched, sharply turning his gaze from the stump to the log. On it sat a boy, dangling his feet above the still water. 

“You don’t know that…” Xanthus glanced down. This one stood in the grass, staring up at his companion. 

Xanthus felt himself lean forward, pushing out of the foliage to get closer. 

The boys continued bickering about whether or not the grounded one should mount the log. From their voices, Xanthus guessed they were 12, maybe 13 - certainly from around here, as the accents seemed local. 

The one previously in the grass hesitantly stepped onto a trunk, and Xanthus felt roil in his chest. He took a breath and felt the breeze scrap his teeth. They felt hollow. 

Xanthus watched as he leaped from the stump to the log, trying desperately not to lose balance. His arms shot out, and the giggle of his companion echoed: “You’re fine, you’re a meter off the ground. A fall isn’t going to kill you.”

“It’s still dangerous…” He muttered below his breath, quiet enough for the other to not hear. With every step the hesitancy was clear. Eventually, he shot out his arms in some vain attempt to balance and, however tentatively, he finished the climb and met the other. Almost. 

With one misplaced step, the boy slipped. His foot went straight through some rotten wood, shattering under his weight and taking his leg through the log. Xanthus rushed forward. 

He hadn’t realized he had moved until he was halfway through the clearing, jolted out of his thoughts through stinging sunlight. He stumbled to a stop. His friend had caught his arm, pulling them close, free arms clinging to the other. Their heartbeats echoed together. 

The once-still pool now rippled from the impact of moldered bark, the splash only registering after it happened. A distinctive hole was shot through the log. 

Xanthus pulled himself up from his half-lunge, placing a steadying hand on his chest. Memories boiled up to the front of his mind, distracting him from the painful taper of sunlight on skin, however much more cruel they may be. Something wet grazed his waterline. The warm air felt boiling as he took in two long breaths. 

When he looked up, the boys were less tangled, only their hands still gripping the other's arm. Silently, they watched the pool, breaths and heartbeats calming in tune with the water. The nearly-fallen one slowly turned his head to his mate, a look of incredulous horror painting him. 

The other shrugged, almost slinking away from the gaze: “Well, I got up here just fine…” Skeptical humor dripped from his voice as if he were testing the waters to see if the situation was considered funny or not. It was a tone Xanthus remembered surprisingly well. 

“This is why I didn’t want to do this.” Xanthus squinted, finally registering just what he was looking at. 

“I was just trying to have some fun, I’m sorry; I wouldn’t have gone up here if I knew it was dangerous.” That’s why this was so familiar. 

“Yes, you would’ve!” They were brothers. 

Of course. Wasn’t it obvious? Only siblings could squabble like this while still hooked to one another as if their lives depended on it. That was the very nature of them. Sardonically, Xanthus wondered what it was about this valley that drew in brothers.

Moreover, they were identical. How Xanthus hadn’t noticed before, he didn’t know - but next to each other, he saw the blatant similarity. Same stature, same shape. Hickory brown swept around their heads in waves, slightly unruly in its twists. Not even clothing was an indicator of who was who. They wore the same schoolboy uniform. 

That’s why the voices were so similar.  A huff of laughter left him. 

It took a moment to realize that fast-paced noise was no longer voices, but pumping blood: Did something else happen? Xanthus refocused on the boys, only to be met with their eyes doing the same to him. 

For a long moment, nothing happened. Then the one hardened his grip on the other. 

Xanthus raised his hands. “I don’t mean any harm.” It sounded more sarcastic than he’d like. “I heard the snapping and came running.” Not technically a lie. 

They were not convinced. 

“Then why were you laughing…” One of them muttered. He pretended not to hear. 

“Are you two alright?” He made a show of scaling the fallen log, casting purposeful scorn onto the hole through it. “Do you need help down from there?” 

“We’re fine,” and “Please,” echoed from uniform voices at the same time. They traded a quick look of confusion with each other. 

“What are you doing?” Once again they said it at the same time. 

“We need help down.” 

“No, we don’t. This guy’s a creep.” Xanthus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

“Would you stop being so stubborn? I’m not doing that again. Sir? Yes, could you help me please?”  

A smile of gritted teeth bled onto Xanthus’ face. He truly didn’t care about them. He just wanted them gone, and if hoisting them off the timber would do it, well, he was waiting with open arms. Literally. 

He walked up as close as he could to the log, stepping to the side that they climbed up from, reaching out his hand for the boy to take. The cooperative one started shimmying along the wooden minefield, letting go of his brother's hand in the process. 

When they were close enough to touch, Xanthus grabbed his arm and glided him off the beam, catching him and carefully setting him to the ground. 

“Thank you,” he said through a wavering smile. 

Just behind Xanthus, a thud hit the ground in tandem with a bit of murky water splashing up and onto his shoes. He didn’t even need to turn: The boy stomped around him and stood next to the other, arms crossed.  

A ghostly twitch flickered in Xanthus’ under eyelid. “Where are your parents?” 

“Why do you care?”  

Xanthus took a moment to convince himself not to compel the brat into shutting up and leaving. 

“We’ll be going now, so sorry to disturb you.” 

“What? We were already here, we don’t need to leave.”

“I think it’s best if we do.” He grabbed his arm and pulled him away. 

“I’m not leaving, some guy showed up and took it upon himself to ‘help’ us. This isn’t weird to you? Andrew, please admit this is weird.” Xanthus didn’t even need his enhanced hearing for this, they were just talking right in front of him. 

“You’re berating me for him helping me down? I could’ve – you could’ve – gotten seriously hurt!” Andrew snapped at his brother. His voice was shockingly distraught. 

Those words rang in Xanthus’ ears, ripples of the past resurfacing. He had said that. A long time ago. 

He looked on at the boy and saw a wraith of Nathaniel inlaid in the shocked eyes, the agape mouth. One aching part of him hoped he would argue back, just as Nathaniel hadn’t. 

But he wouldn’t either. 

The boy just looked down at the grass, cheeks getting redder as he thought about what to do.

When he did reopen his mouth, Xanthus raised a hand. 

“It’s alright. Everyone’s fine, just… you two run along.” 

They nodded politely. “Thank you again, sir.” They turned to leave. 

When far enough away, their attempts at whispers flocked to Xanthus’ ears. “I told you none of this was a good idea!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know–”

“That it was rotten and I’d slip? Well, I didn’t either and I still had the forethought to not climb it.”

Xanthus stared unblinking at the boles, frayed and damaged, withering into the dirt. Trees felled to logs. Wood into mulch. Bones in the ground.

He reached into his pocket and thumbed a honeysuckle he plucked on the way here.  

Don’t be cruel, Andrew, Lawrence thought. He didn’t know. It’s alright. He didn’t know. 

[mccall-muffin]

Love vs. Hate - Part 1 // Joe Liebgott x OC

Next Masterlist Summary: Technical Sergeant Olivia Stark knows the military. Raised in a military family, a graduate of military school and OCS herself, she is transferring from the 82nd Airborne Division to the 101st. Between new friends and what appears to be foes, she becomes a part of Easy Company, 2nd Battalion, 506th PIR.

Warnings: Language

A/N: Hello everybody :) Welcome to my "big" Band of Brothers Fanfiction. I put a lot of work in this one and there will be a lot of chapters. Olivia Stark is my OC and we will get through her war days with her. @brassknucklespeirs thank you love, for encouraging me and for the read through of my first chapter! :)

September 1942, Camp Claiborne, Louisiana

"You really have to go?", Harry asks me and I nod slowly. "Yep, Colonel Dunn ordered it. I'm being transferred to the 101st." "Unbelievable," Harry says, shaking his head. "And all because of a little scuffle? I mean Johnson had it coming, if you ask me." "Dunn said if it was only once, he wouldn't have said anything, but... You know... Doesn't really help that my dad gets involved, either." Harry grins at me. "Once a week is more like it." "You don't have to say anything, do you? Mister look-at-me-and-I'll-slap-you-in-the-face! I still can't believe they put you forward for the OCS, and that's after they demoted you, wait... Six times?" "You're not the only one Liv... I still can't believe it, but they just think I have what it takes to lead people." "And I couldn't agree more," I laugh and put my hands on his shoulders.

Harry sighs and then puts on his cap. "I'm definitely going to miss you, kiddo." He takes me in his arms and I wrap my hands around his middle. "I'll miss you too, Harry." "Who knows, maybe our paths will cross again soon." "You never know, that's true." "Depending on where they put me after that and I don't like it, I may come back to you. Maybe your relations will still be useful then." I break away from him and laugh. "Well, I can try. Take care Welsh! And when you finally go to war... don't die, will you?" "Likewise!" He waves at me before I get on the train to Georgia. As I sit in a compartment, I open the window and look at Harry again. "What's the name of the place you're going?" "Camp Toccoa in Georgia, 506th Infantry Regiment as far as I know." "Good luck! And don't let them get you down. You may be a woman... But you're still the toughest son of a bitch I know." "Thanks for the flowers Harry," I grin and give him one last wave as the train pulls away.

September 1942, Camp Toccoa, Georgia

When the train stops, I grab my bag and get off. As I stand on the platform, I rummage in my breast pocket for the information letter from Colonel Dunn and read it through again. "Report to Colonel Sink," I mutter to myself and look around. There is chaos on the platform, as I am not the only soldier who has just arrived. I am used to the strange looks of the other soldiers by now, because I know that most of them have never seen a woman in uniform.

"Sergeant Stark?", I then hear a voice and look up. "Yes?" "I'm Private Barton. I'm supposed to take you to Colonel Sink." I nod and then follow the Private. "Did you have a good trip, Ma'am?" he asks as he leads me through the camp. "Yes. Long, but otherwise quite calm." "I'm glad to hear that, Ma'am." Slightly skeptical, I look at the Private from the side. It's rare that soldiers are so friendly to her right from the start. Most of the time they rather keep their distance and give her funny looks. But maybe Private Barton is just a friendly person.

He leads me further through the newly arrived soldiers, who are still staring at me, and then to a building. He stops in front of an office. "I'm going to take a quick look to see if the Colonel is ready for you yet, Ma'am. Why don't you have a seat," he says, pointing to a chair in front of the office, then knocks on the door and disappears into the room. I take a deep breath and sit down on the chair. My gaze is fixed on the office door, which is marked 'Col. Robert F. Sink'. I let my mind wander as to whether or not my father once told me anything about him. I can't remember. But Dad certainly wouldn't have me transferred here if he had a problem with Sink as a leader.

Suddenly the door opens again and Barton comes out. "The Colonel is ready for you now Sergeant," he says, gesturing invitingly toward the door. "Thank you," I smile and stand up. I enter Colonel Sink's office before Barton closes the door behind me. I stand in front of the desk and salute the Colonel, who also salutes me. "At ease sergeant," he says with a strong southern accent. "Sit down." I do as instructed and sit down in front of Sink's desk. "Welcome to Camp Toccoa and the 101st." "Thank you Sir."

Sink takes out a report and reads through something briefly. "You were transferred here with high recommendations Sergeant. Still, I have to ask: What happened to get you transferred here? It just says miscellaneous incidents." The Colonel looks at me and raises his eyebrows. "Well sir, it has mostly been minor disagreements." "Minor disagreements?" "It may be that in each case these have led to minor brawls." Sink is still looking at me. "You have to know, Sir, in my old company, not everyone was thrilled about having a female sergeant. And some of the men made me feel that. Sir, I'm not a person who gets handsy on my own, but I don't put up with everything either." "I should hope so, Sergeant. Respect is very important to me. Your father speaks only highly of you. I can understand that it's not easy for you and I also hope that you continue to not put up with everything." He takes out another paper. "I have decided to assign you to Easy Company of the 2nd Battalion under the command of 1st Lieutenant Herbert Sobel. He is strict, I can assure you, but under his leadership this company will be the best the 101st has ever seen. Lieutenant Sobel has already been briefed. I must warn you, however. Sobel will not give you special treatment." "I don't want him to, Sir." "I expected nothing less from you. Report to Lieutenant Winters. He will assign you to your barracks and your platoon and explain everything else. Private Barton will take you to him." "Thank you Sir." I salute him and then leave his office.

Barton leads me into another building and then knocks on a door before opening it. "Lieutenant Winters, Lieutenant Nixon. This is Sergeant Stark," he says, and Liv steps into the room behind him. A dark-haired man and a red-haired man stand in front of her and stare at her for a moment before the red-haired one, labeled 'Winters,' clears his throat briefly. "Right, our transfer from 82nd." He extends his hand to me and I take it. "2nd Lieutenant Richard Winters and this is Lieutenant Lewis Nixon", he says and I smile at them. "Sergeant Olivia Stark. Nice to meet you." "Likewise," Winters says, smiling at her. Nixon is still staring at me, which is why I look franged at Winters. "Hey, Nix. Snap out of it, will you?" says Winters, and Nixon shakes her head. "Sorry. I just... I've never seen a woman in uniform before," Nixon then says and I smirk. "I get that a lot. No worries."

"Well, let me show you to your quarters. I assume you are aware that you will be sharing these with the men, right?" "Of course Sir," I say. "This is not the first time. I was in military school and in the company in the 82nd I didn't have any special treatment either. Which I don't even want, Sir." "Good, good. Come with me, then." Winters leads me back outside and then over to some barracks. He opens the door of one and the conversations, which were in full swing a moment ago, immediately fall silent. The men stand quietly by their beds. "At ease soldiers," Winters says, and the men stir. "This is Sergeant Olivia Stark. She was transferred here from the 82nd. I hope you treat her with the respect she deserves. Sergeant Lipton?" he then calls out and a man with brown hair steps forward. "Lieutenant Winters, Sir." "Your responsibility." "Yes, sir." Winters turns back to me. "Sergeant Lipton will explain everything else to you." I nod and salute him. He salutes me as well and then leaves the barracks.

Sergeant Lipton walks up to me and smiles at me. "Carwood Lipton," he says kindly, extending his hand to me. "Olivia Stark," I say, also smiling. "Here, this bed is free," he then explains, pointing to a vacant cot. I place my bag on it and briefly look into the eyes of the men next to me.

On my left, a black-haired soldier has thrown himself back on his cot and is reading a Flash Gordon comic. I look at him briefly, but he doesn't seem to intend to talk to me. I shrug and look to my other side, where a friendly-looking brown-haired man, with equally brown eyes, is grinning at me. "Hi," he says, grinning. "Hello," I return, slightly skeptical. Then he stands up, wipes his hands briefly on his uniform, and then extends one to me. "George Luz," he introduces himself. "Olivia Stark," I say, and he's still grinning. "Got that." "You better change into your OD's now. Sobel is expecting us at the drill site at 1300," Lipton then interjects. "Oh and Olivia, 2nd Platoon, okay?"

I nod and sit down on the bed. As I'm taking off my boots, I notice the soldier across from me looking at me. I look up and look into his brown friendly eyes. He smiles kindly and then stands up before putting on his helmet and following the others. The soldier next to me has also gotten up in the meantime and follows the others out. I quickly change, grab my helmet, my weapon and run out as well.

I stand behind Winters and in front of the men and look briefly at Lipton, who nods barely noticeably. In the heat we stand there and wait. It looks like Sobel is making us wait. Suddenly, however, I hear a voice and stand up straight.

"You people are in the position of attention," calls a rough man wearing a leather jacket who stands in front of us. He lets his gaze glide through the men and lingers briefly on me, but says nothing. Then he stands in front of a small southern-looking soldier. "Private Perconte, do you have your pants over your boots like a paratrooper?" he asks, and the private holds his rifle forward. "No, Sir." "Then explain the creases at the bottom," Sobel demands, and I already know he's an ass. "No excuse, Sir." "Volunteering for the paratrooper infantry is one thing, Perconte, but you've got a long way to go to prove you belong here. Your weekend pass will be revoked," he then says, before moving on to the soldier who introduced himself to me as George Luz. 

"Name," Sobel demands. "Luz, George." "Dirt in the rear sight opening. Pass revoked," Sobel says, then continues walking through the men. At Lipton's side, he stops and I look over at him nervously for a moment. "When did you sew on those chevrons, Sergeant Lipton?" asks Sobel. "Yesterday, Sir." "Long enough to notice this. Revoked." "Sir," Lipton says, and as Sobel continues, he looks at me briefly. I press my lips together sympathetically for a moment.

"Name." "Malarkey, Donald G." I look to the side for a moment and Sobel is now talking to the soldier who smiled at me earlier from the cot across from me. "Malarkey? Malarkey is slang for bullshit, isn't it?" asks Sobel. I have to hand it to these men. They give themselves that shit. "Yes, sir." "Rust on the butt plate hinge spring. Private Bullshit. Revoked." I quickly turn my gaze back to the front, hoping I haven't drawn attention to myself. But I was hoping for nothing.

Sobel stands in front of me and muscles me. Then he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before reading my name tag. "Sergeant Stark, is it?" "Yes, sir," I reply, continuing to stare straight ahead. "Yes, yes... Our transfer from the 82nd... I'm going to tell you something now, Sergeant, and I'm not going to repeat it. If you think you're going to get any kind of special treatment here, I'm going to have to disappoint you. You're a soldier here, just like any other. Understood?" "Yes, Sir." He eyes me again before continuing.

"Name." "Liebgott, Joseph D., sir." I turn my head to see Sobel now facing my other bedmate. Liebgott..."Rusty bayonet, Liebgott. You wanna kill Germans?" "Yes, sir." "Not with this," Sobel says, then steps back in front of the company. "I wouldn't take this rusty piece of shit to war, and I won't take you to war in your condition. Thanks to these men and their infractions, every man or woman in the company who had a weekend pass has now lost it," Sobel shouts, looking at me intensely to make it clear that he doesn't like it at all that he now has to watch me all the time. "Get your PT gear on, we're running Currahee." Sobel walks away and Winters turns to us in front. "Second Platoon, move out. You have two minutes."

I and the men quickly run back to the barracks. A trick, which I already learned in my old company, is to wear the PT gear already under the OD's, then one can take off only the upper layer. My gaze briefly wanders to Liebgott, who is also changing next to me, but continues to ignore me. He is handsome, you have to give him that. I quickly discard the thoughts as I take off my pants and straighten the shorts underneath. Again I feel the looks of the men on me. They have probably rarely seen so much leg of a woman in public. But as Sobel said, I don't get any special treatment here either and that's completely fine, but it also means that the shorts are pretty short and the shirts are too big for me. I look briefly at Malarkey, who is eyeing me, but as soon as he realizes that I know he's eyeing me, he averts his gaze.

"Olivia?" I hear Lipton call out, looking at me urgently. "We're going through the barracks. Come on," he says, and I follow him outside. As I walk, I tie my long blond hair into a high ponytail. I follow Lipton quickly into the barracks next to us, since ours is already complete. "You can call me Liv," I say hastily, and Lipton smiles at me. "Lip," is all he says, and I nod.

We step into the barrack next to ours together. The first thing I notice is that Perconte is in his training uniform but still has his jacket on and is angrily ranting something. As soon as we enter, Lip already speaks up. "Alright, let's go. On the road, in PT formation. Let's move, move, move." His gaze also falls on Perconte. "Perconte, let's go, Perconte." The latter looks briefly from me to Lip before angrily taking off his jacket and throwing it on his bed and walking outside. I look after him with satisfaction, but then my eyes fall on a soldier still in his OD's sitting on his cot. Lip looks at me for a moment before addressing the soldier. "Private White, why are you not in your PT gear?" he asks him, but receives no response. "I asked you a question, Private." Again Lip looks at me and I just shrug. I've heard before that in the Airborne, many of the soldiers don't last. I see Lip take a deep breath and then shake his head before ordering me outside.

Outside we follow the other men who are already getting ready to run. Lip and I walk behind the other men, who seem to be annoyed, but continue anyway. "Ah, Easy Company. Hey, while you're running, don't worry, we'll take your dames to the movies for you," says a soldier from another company. "Yeah, good, they need some female company," Liebgott quickly replies and I can't help grinning, but then the soldier spots me. "Oh hey, maybe we'll just take her out? What do you say, Darling? Then you'd have a real man for once," he says suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows. I frown and look at him. "And that's supposed to impress me now? I wouldn't even go out with you if you were the last man on earth," I just say and jostle him as I walk by, making my men laugh. "That's right! Give it to them," laughs Malarkey, who is now suddenly running beside me.

I look over at him and grin. "You just can't put up with everything," I say, and he nods. "That's right. I'm Don, by the way," he says and I nod. "Nice to meet you. I'm Liv." "I'll tell you one thing. You've got some serious balls coming into this company." "It's not like I have a choice, right?" "True. Still... but you could always leave ." "I could, but I don't want to. I grew up with the Army, which is why all this is only half bad. Even Sobel..." "We'll see about that," Don quips, winking at me. "I'll ask you again after Currahee. You can get used to it. Three miles up, three miles down." "If that's all it is," I wink at Don and he laughs up. "Big mouth, it seems, huh?" "Kind of been trained to be... As a woman in the Army, you have to be, to fight back." "True again. And yet, I think you'll soon wish you'd stayed with the 82nd." "That's where you're wrong Don... I think it's best that I'm with you now. Even though not everyone seems to be thrilled about it." I point my head at Liebgott and Don smirks. "Don't worry about it. Liebgott is just like that... Even he will come around to the idea." "We'll see."

When we get back to the bottom, I'm drenched in sweat. I lie down on my back on the grass and stretch my arms from me. "Okay... you were right Don. This mountain is a fucking bitch!" "Told you so," Don says, propped up on his thighs beside me, breathing heavily. "You held your own, though," a new voice interjects. "The first time I had to run up there, I almost collapsed." I prop myself up on my elbows and look up at the soldier. "That's reassuring," I grin. He holds out his hand and I take it. "Warren Muck, but most people call me Skip," he says with a smile. "Olivia Stark... But call me Liv," I say, also smiling. "Have you asked her yet Malark?", Muck then turns to Don. "No not yet...", he says and then looks at me again. "Asked what?" "We're playing cards tonight and wanted to ask you if you'd like to join us? It's a good way to get to know the men a bit," Muck explains. He's a genuinely friendly guy. "I'd love to... Although if it's poker or blackjack, I'm out... No idea how that shit works." Don and Muck laugh. "Don't worry, you'll learn..."

After dinner we finally have free time. Completely exhausted, I let myself fall onto my camp bed. "Finished already?" George grins next to me and I shake my head. "No, I'm just not used to it anymore, I noticed," I grin back. "Smoke?" he then asks, holding out a pack to me. Gratefully, I accept it and pop it in my mouth. George is quick and lights my smoke right away. "Thanks." "You're welcome."

"Hey Liv... After the showers we're going over, yeah?", Don calls then and I nod. "She's coming?" Liebgott now interjects, looking at Malarkey. "Yeah, why not?" Liebgott doesn't answer, but simply snorts before grabbing his shower gear and walking out of the barracks. "What did I say?" I ask directed at Don as we both look at Liebgott. "After one day, it doesn't count, okay? He'll come around."

After I shower, which is really the ONLY exception where I get special treatment, I brush my hair, tie it into a side braid, and then head back to the barracks. I put on my OD's pants, but a white shirt above them. This is a little tighter than the one from my PT Gear, which is why you can now see my curves very well. Some of the men look up when I open the door and examine me. I throw my shower utensils into the box in front of my bed and then turn back to Don, who also looks at me. "What?" I ask, raising my eyebrows. "Nothing, nothing. Ready?" "Yeah." "Good, let's do it. Penkala? Liebgott? You coming?" he then asks to the back. "Go ahead, I'll be right there," Liebgott mutters to himself, and Don just shakes his head. Another soldier comes out from behind and we make our way to the other barracks. "Liv, this is Alex Penkala," Don introduces him and I give him a friendly nod.

In the other barracks, the game is ready so far. "Poker after all?", I ask Don, looking at me apologetically. "Ah here you are at last. And our guest of honor is here too, perfect. Where is Liebgott?", Muck greets us and the others look at me. "He said he'd be right along." " Whatever... So Liv, are you ready?" "Well actually... I'll sit out for now and watch you guys." "Oh come on," Don says, looking at me. "Don't worry, I'm sure you'll find another way to take away my money," I grin and sit down next to Don. "This here is Bill Guarnere, Joe Toye, and Skinny Sisk," Muck introduces the others who are playing along. "Pleased to meet you," I say, smiling forcedly at them.

When they finally get everything ready, the door opens and Liebgott walks in. As always, he doesn't give me a glance and then sits down next to Muck. The boys start playing and I'm still trying to figure out how this game works. "Where are you from, kiddo?", Bill then asks me and I look up, surprised that he is addressing me directly. "California," I say and he's eyeing me. "Newport Beach, Orange County," I add, which earns me an amused snort from Liebgott. "You got a problem with that?" so I ask him, finally looking at me. His brown eyes bore into my blue ones. "No, I don't. Rich girl," he then says, but in a sarcastic tone. "Don't you dare talk about me if you don't have a fucking clue, got it?" "I know Newport... And I know what kind of people live there, too." "Oh come on Liebgott. Give her a break, will you?" then Don interferes again. Liebgott, who until then was still looking me in the eye, averts his gaze again and shakes his head in annoyance. "I'm out," he then says and throws down his cards, before he lights a cigarette.

Then Bill turns to me again. "West coast, huh? Don't take him too seriously, will you? Just because he's from San Francisco, he thinks he knows all of California," he grins and I have to laugh. I briefly look at Liebgott again, but quickly avert my gaze. "Explain something to me...", Joe Toye then says. "How does a young woman like you end up joining the paratroopers as a sergeant? I'd be interested in that story." He looks at me and frowns. He's not the only one, though, because now I have all eyes on me. I look around and bite my lips for a moment.

"Well, as you know, I was in the 82nd, I was assigned there when I was done with the OCS." "You graduated from OCS? Shouldn't you be a Lieutenant then?" asks Muck, also frowning. "Are you kidding me? I mean... look at me," I laugh and Muck seems confused. "I'm a woman, Muck... Do you really think they would give the rank of Lieutenant to a woman? Not a chance. That's why I'm 'just' a Sergeant," I say, underlining the word 'just' with quotes. "Unbelievable," Muck grumbles, and Toye also shakes his head. "And why did they transfer you here?", Skinny then asks and I smile at him. "Well in my old company there were some who couldn't handle having a female Sergeant, which is why they gave me a pretty hard time. I didn't let it get to me, though, so I kept getting into... well, rackets." The boys look at me, but none of them say a word. "I can fight back, even if I don't look like it. I went to military school and I've been trained in physical combat since I was little. Anyway, my Colonel didn't think this was very funny, and he got into it with Sink, and here I am..."

"I, for one, think it's great. I mean, why not get all the help you can get. And then if she looks like you... With a kiss on the hand," Don then says and smiles at me, which I return. "Suck-up," Liebgott grumbles, propping himself up on one elbow. "I agree with Don," Muck grins at me, and Toye and Bill also nod. "Thanks guys. I hope I don't let you down."

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Honor in Crisis

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam, NTT, Titans, JLI, Arrowfam, Flashfam, GL Corps, Infinity Inc

Summary: Every chapter will focus on one character specifically and then I'll update their statuses in order.

This is a no powers au/fix-it fic for Heroes in Crisis. I wanted to focus on the characters and their healing. I decided that'd be easier to put some of these characters in a fic like this and work on it more from a real-world perspective. I DO want to say that I do not believe healing is linear so don't plan on a clear-cut happy ending. I'd say (and idk for sure) we're gonna eventually get a bittersweet ending for certain characters but nothing tragic.

Chapters: 2/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Kole Weathers, Lilith Clay, Michael Carter, Michelle Carter, Rani Carter, Grant Emerson, Roy Harper, Grant Wilson, Joseph Wilson, Thaddeus Thawne, Bart Allen, Helen Claiborne, President Thawne, Todd Rice, Alan Scott (DCU), Damon Matthews

Relationship(s): Damon Matthews/Todd Rice

Additional Tags: No Powers AU, Canon Divergent AU, Fix-It Fic, Angst, TW // Eating Disorder Mention (please be kind this one was the toughest for me to write personally)

Chapter Two: Watercolor (Kole Weather's POV)

Kole's fingers were stained from the watercolor, but it didn't bother her. Her mind was elsewhere. She took her palm and wiped her forehead, staining her temple. She wiped her hands on a paper towel and picked up the pack of oil pastels. She was startled by the sound of someone knocking a brush washer off the table. "Fuck," they cursed. Kole dropped her oil pastel on the table and got up from the table. She left the room, and a nurse followed her out.

"Kole, is everything alright?" the nurse asked. Kole nodded even though she was trembling from head to toe. The nurse gave Kole a little distance, which she was grateful for, and she closed her eyes and rolled her shoulders back.

Kole was already on edge, and she just wanted to take that as a sign and cancel her plans. She didn't really want her friend to see her. Kole tried to hide the worst of the disorder from her friends, but things had gotten so bad. Kole couldn't remember what happened clearly, but she could recall sobbing because she'd lost clumps of her hair. Never mind the tachycardia and muscle spasms Kole experienced on the floor in the dressing room. She nearly died. That was the last time her friends saw her. That was the image they must've carried in their heads when they thought about her. It happened two months ago, but they hadn't seen her since then.

Kole feared that it'd be too much pressure. She imagined that they'd poke and prod her with all the wrong questions or treat her differently because of what happened. The guilt consumed her. Wasn't that enough? Had the circumstances been different, she would've slipped and refused to eat or hurt herself to stop the panic. Her therapist insisted that it was expected for her to want to self-sabotage in high-stress conditions. At least that's what she remembered. The nurse returned and whispered Kole's name. She snapped back to the present time, and the nurse asked, "Are you ready to go back in?"

Kole nodded. "Yes, sorry," she whispered as she followed the nurse back inside. She sat down in her spot and went back to her art piece. When it was time to move on, Kole went to the cafeteria, and she was met by a friend who immediately lit up upon seeing her.

"I'm so happy to see you," Lilith whispered, "I missed you."

Kole didn't know how to react, but she wrapped her arms around Lilith. Lilith got in line with Kole, and they got dinner together. Kole led Lilith to her usual table, and a nurse sat down next to her. Lilith sat across from her. Kole's hands shook as she looked down at her plate. It wasn't until she heard Lilith's spoon hit the bowl that she looked up. "Can I tell you something? Sister-to-sister?" Lilith questioned as she glanced up at Kole. Kole was relieved to hear that Lilith still considered her a sister. Kole nodded. "I know I'm the first person to come visit, and I know this might seem overwhelming, but I'm grateful that you let me come. I also want you to know that I don't want to rush you."

"Thanks, Lil," Kole mumbled. She meant it.

She started eating, and Lilith started rambling about how a showcase she was in. It didn't bother Kole to hear about it. In fact, she'd been excited to get back to dancing. That was one of the things she had to look forward to. "Sorry, Kole... I'm just so nervous," Lilith chuckled.

"No, it's okay. I was actually—. I was looking forward to dancing with you again," Kole whispered. She tensed, waiting for Lilith to speak. Kole wondered if Lilith would try to let her down easily. She wondered if Lilith would say she wasn't ready yet.

"There's nothing that I'd want more," Lilith replied. They both went back to eating, and for just a moment, Kole forgot where she was. Dinner was surprisingly good for once. Lilith and Kole met eyes while they were chewing, and Kole chuckled. "What?" Lilith laughed.

"This wasn't as bad as I thought it would be," Kole replied after swallowing her food. Lilith smiled at her. Lilith took a sip of her water and smiled.

"Good," Lilith whispered.

Lilith was so good to her despite the issues Kole had with Lilith's mother. They both had problems with her, but that's what made them sisters. After they finished eating dinner, Lilith said her goodbyes, and Kole grabbed her hand. "You'll come back, won't you?" Kole asked. Lilith smiled and embraced her.

"I will," Lilith whispered, "Just let me know when."

As soon as Lilith was gone, Kole felt an emptiness inside herself. She lounged on the couch watching tv. She glanced over at the young man on the other end of the sofa as he mouthed the words to the tv show's episode silently to himself. His hands were burned, and so were parts of his neck and face. "Is this your favorite show?" Kole asked. He shook his head.

"No, I was on set when this was filmed," he replied. Kole looked back at the tv, and he whispered, "He's gone... He's gone to be with the lord," in sync with the tv.

Kole smiled. She thought it was funny that the young man always did that. She sometimes liked to watch the other patients. Things could be dreary, but seeing people smiling and laughing was pleasant. It made her think that she could be happy. Really happy.

She hugged her knees as she sat on the couch and dozed off in front of the tv. She wasn't sure how long she'd been asleep, but someone woke her up in time for their group to reflect on their goals. Kole rushed to her usual seat, and she took a deep breath. She was hesitant to share, but she always forced herself to. Four people went before her, and when it came to her, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "I had dinner with my friend today. She came here and sat in with me... I wanted to hurt myself, so I wouldn't have to see her... But I had fun. I didn't think I would, but I did," Kole whispered. She didn't look up for fear of making eye contact with a specific person in the group.

"So you want to be applauded for what? Not slipping?" a young man in the group asked.

"Dude!" someone chastised him. "Kole, personally, I wish I was ready to have meals with my family."

"Thank you, but it's okay. No one owes me any recognition. I'm just—. I'm proud of myself, and I didn't want to be ashamed of my anxieties," Kole clarified. Standing up for herself. She proudly smiled as she looked down at her lap. It was a good end to a difficult day.

[joanielorraine]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Liz Claiborne.

[franklinbadge]

A Critic's Review of a Psych Ward

It was during my second stint in the behavioral health unit at Newport Hospital when I finally came to the conclusion that, possibly, episodes of psychosis might not be for me. The multiple bruises on my arms from what only could be graded as amateurish IV placements, and the remnants of adhesive from dozens of EKG leads were nowhere near the style of fashion found on the runways from Paris to Milan this season (or any). The bright yellow wristband alerting those in close proximity to my person that I am very likely to be a fall risk is something I may continue to accessorize with, however. An earnest warning to those around me of my clumsy nature, and also a statement piece that will add to any outfit a certain je ne sais quoi; If only it came in a Tiffany blue. The fare was adequately acceptable, if a bit predictable after a few days. The Michelin guide may miss it, for good enough reasons, the plating alone is more assembly line than artisan. But, as with most cuisine in need of a little something extra, it was nothing a little salt and pepper couldn't fix. The accommodations would be, at best, described as spartan. The long twin mattresses in each room covered in sheets with a thread count hovering somewhere in the double digits. The synthetic material were obviously chosen not for it's luxurious comfort, but for their protective properties against any accidents which may occur around those with impaired cognitive abilities. Entertainment offerings were mostly confined to dual television rooms in each of the main hallways.One is in a larger common area with plenty of less than comfortable seating options, and large windows overlooking the harbour with a view of one of the main thoroughfares of the city. The other, a much smaller room offering half of the number of equally ergonomically-lacking chairs, but often times a respite of solitude in the often well-populated unit. The view offered by the single window as the first light of dawn touches the many church spires and treetops as it makes it's way down to the gables of the houses making up the mostly residential neighbourhood of North Broadway is a life-affirming way to start the day. For the remainder of the daylight hours, however, the view of a liquor store parking lot and one of - if not the - least appetizing pizza establishments in the city is little to write home about. But being on the top floor of the highest structure in the city definitely has it's perks come the hours around sunset. The window at the end of the first main hallway has an unmatched view of the Claiborne Pell Newport Bridge. From twilight up until the last light of dusk, the lucky few viewers who situate themselves in that alcove are treated to a slow burn of dazzling colour changes as the sun, clouds, ans atmosphere combine to put on a show with unparalleled uniqueness every time the last remains of the day fall below the horizon. The evening brings a sparkling display of lights on the bridge, with it a peak and slow wane in the ingress and egress of traffic between Newport and Jamestown. It is also around this time that the floor itself livens up, with visiting hours bringing smiles and hugs from outside these walls, breaking up the doldrums of the routine conversations and behaviors of the inhabitants of the unit, no matter how long or brief their stay. As the evening fades, some make their way to an early slumber, some continue the conversations of the day, and other look forward to a televised show or sporting event for the remainder of their night. The still of these late hours only broken up by regular safety and wellness checks by the nurses whose step counts easily reach twenty thousand in a shift. The quiet remains until the break of the next day's morning starts the going on with the floor all over again. I can only give my most highly esteemed rating and recommendation, because I am still here. And I am very glad to still be here. Thank you. ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

[theyearoftheking]

Book Sixty-Three: 11/22/63

I’m going to pull back the curtain a bit here... I am losing my steam. Not my enthusiasm for Steve, just my steam for cranking out these blog posts and reading nothing but Steve. Not sure if my seasonal depression arrived, if I’m just busy doing all the things... I don’t know. But I’ve had 11/22/63 and all the notes sitting on my desk for 2 weeks now, and haven’t done anything with them. My apologies. 

My reluctance is in no way correlated to my feelings about this book. This is THE book. What do I mean by that? This is THE book you recommend to people who turn their nose up at Steve. This is THE book Constant Readers love because of the entire section dedicated to Derry. This is THE book that has you thinking about it long after it’s done. It’s a great selection for reading groups, because the conversations could be endless. What would the world look like if Kennedy had never been assassinated? What about other world leaders? If you found a wormhole to the past, would you use it for good or evil? Would you use it at all? So. Many. Questions. 

This was my second time reading 11/22/63, and I enjoyed it even more because of the references I missed the first time. There’s a whole section dedicated to Bev and Richie learning a dance for a talent show, which I know I didn’t make that connection the first time I read it... Derry and all it’s characters are still fresh in my old-lady brain. Wonder what Derry was like between It’s killing sprees? “I realized that the canal I’d seen must run directly beneath this peculiar sunken downtown, and I was standing on top of it. I could feel hidden water in my feet, thrumming the sidewalk. It was a vaguely unpleasant feeling, as if this little piece of the world had gone soft.” 

Sounds like a great place to raise a family, right? Here’s a complete list of all the Steve universe references:

Not one, but two chambray work shirt mentions

The Takuro Spirit

Castle Rock

Derry (murders in the Barrens, Georgie being found dead, Richie and Beverly’s dance lessons)

Haven

The Turtle

Juniper Hill

Jake Epping is a high school English teacher in Lisbon Falls, Maine (originally from Milwaukee, thanks Steve!); and he learns about a time-traveling portal in the back of his friend Al’s diner. Al has been using the portal to travel back in time and get deals on the meat he uses for his burgers (come to find out, the prices at the diner are so low because of the cheap meat Al buys... NOT cats, like so many whisper). Al has been using the portal to buy cheap meat, and to spy on Lee Harvey Oswald. Al is convinced the current world would be a different and better place if someone was able to stop Oswald from assassinating JFK. But here’s the rub: due to all the time traveling, Al is sick and dying from cancer, so he convinces Jake to take one for the team. 

Armed with some cash, sports betting books (a man’s got to make cash somehow!), and Al’s notes on Oswald, Jake goes into the past. His first stop is Derry, Maine, where he feels compelled to right a wrong. One of Jake’s GED students, Harry Dunning, the high school janitor, wrote an essay about his father killing his mother, and his siblings on Halloween night. Jake sees the potential in Harry, and wonders how his life could have been different had he not witnessed the brutal murders. So, Jake kills Harry’s dad (twice, actually); and heads to Texas to start tracking Oswald. 

He first moves to Jodie, Texas, where he takes a job teaching English and directing plays for the drama department under the pseudonym George Amberson. He’s introduced to the new school librarian, Sadie Dunhill; and they fall in love. Sadie is tall, clumsy, and dealing with the fall-out from her brief but loveless marriage. All of this is dangerous for a time traveler, and a guy determined to kill Oswald. But, George makes it work. He and Sadie quickly become the darlings of Jodie; and their dancing becomes the stuff of Jodie legend. 

But, Jake/George has secrets. He rents an apartment in Dallas, and starts following Oswald and his Russian wife, Marina. Then, Sadie is brutally attacked by her ex-husband, and her face is left deformed. Jake/George learns it’s really hard to commit yourself to committing a crime, while at the same time being a teacher, boyfriend, friend and citizen of Jodie. He’s got a lot going on. Ultimately, he tells Sadie what’s up, and she agrees to help him stop the assassination. 

Ultimately, Jake/George is successful in stopping Oswald, but Sadie is killed in the process. Jackie Kennedy calls him to thank him for his service, the CIA interrogates him, but ultimately lets him go, and Jake/George returns to modern times. 

Or, Armageddon. 

He returns, and finds the world in a nightmarish state. Come to find out, stopping Kennedy’s assassination wasn’t the best decision. So, Jake goes back in time with the intention of going back to Jodie and living happily ever after with Sadie. He’s stopped by the Yellow Card Man, who is kind of like the keeper of the portal, and he explains to Jake that he needs to go back where he belongs. Jake being in Jodie would forever cause unsettling ripples in the universe. Jake knows he’s right. So, he goes back through the portal for the last time. 

The book ends with Jake going to Jodie to celebrate Sadie being named the Citizen of the Century. And they dance. It’s a charming end to a dense, thought-provoking book. If you’re not interested in reading this chonk of a book, I recommend watching the series on Hulu. It’s an excellent adaptation, and stays pretty true to the book. 

Total Wisconsin Mentions: 42

Total Dark Tower References: 61

Book Grade: A+

Rebecca’s Definitive Ranking of Stephen King Books

The Talisman: A+

Wizard and Glass: A+

11/22/63: A+

Under the Dome: A+

Needful Things: A+

On Writing: A+

The Green Mile: A+

Hearts in Atlantis: A+

Full Dark, No Stars: A+

Rose Madder: A+

Misery: A+

Different Seasons: A+

It: A+

Four Past Midnight: A+

Stephen King Goes to the Movies: A+

The Shining: A-

The Stand: A-

Bag of Bones: A-

Duma Key: A-

Black House: A-

The Wastelands: A-

The Drawing of the Three: A-

The Dark Tower: A-

Dolores Claiborne: A-

Nightmares in the Sky: B+

The Dark Half: B+

Skeleton Crew: B+

The Dead Zone: B+

Nightmares & Dreamscapes: B+

Wolves of the Calla: B+

‘Salem’s Lot: B+

Song of Susannah: B+

Carrie: B+

Creepshow: B+

From a Buick 8: B

The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon: B

The Colorado Kid: B-

Storm of the Century: B-

Everything’s Eventual: B-

Cycle of the Werewolf: B-

Danse Macabre: B-

The Running Man: C+

Cell: C+

Thinner: C+

Dark Visions: C+

The Eyes of the Dragon: C+

The Long Walk: C+

The Gunslinger: C+

Pet Sematary: C+

Firestarter: C+

Rage: C

Desperation: C-

Insomnia: C-

Cujo: C-

Nightshift: C-

Faithful: D

Gerald’s Game: D

Roadwork: D

Lisey’s Story: D

Christine: D

Dreamcatcher: D

The Regulators: D

The Tommyknockers: D

Next up is The Wind Through the Keyhole, which is short, but I’m in the front seat of the struggle bus. I gave this book rave reviews when I first read it, and now I’m just bored. I think I was starved for Dark Tower content the first time around, and now I’m just kind of counting down until this project is over. 

Until next time, Long Days and Pleasant Nights,

Rebecca

[willimaniktnwq]

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[literary-motif]

O ma gawd could you possibly do one about after Love dying Xanthus vents his frustration out on his writing or poems or smth and soon breaks down in front of dontis

Lmao the angst is something alright<33

Life Eternal

Xanthus Claiborne x Reader

He supposed it was inevitable. You were human, after all. 

That did not mean he was prepared to lose you. He could not forgive himself for not being at your side and saving you when he had the chance. Even his blood was not powerful enough to resurrect the dead, and as he rushed to you, heart beating on the very verge of breaking, all he caught was your last smile in his direction before you faded away forever. 

The scream of anguish Xanthus had let out as he cradled your lifeless body would haunt Dontis until the end of his days. 

Feeling the bond break was the most painful experience of his life and despite himself, he was happy that it was him suffering through this anguish and not you. It was as if the very air had turned stifling. He could not breathe anymore, every movement hurt, and with every beat of his heart, he was reminded of the part of it that was missing. 

He could deal with the physical pain. He had gone through worse, but what shattered him was the blackness surrounding his heart. It felt like he had died with you and all that was left of him now was an empty shell. 

There was no light in the world. Xanthus did not know himself anymore. Everything felt foreign. 

He looked at his art gallery and saw nothing but an accumulation of things that would soon turn to dust. He walked through his mansion, one he had tended to and cared for for decades, and saw nothing but walls and emptiness. 

The silence was the worst. It made him feel like a void, present but absent at the same time as loneliness, emptiness, and nothingness ate him up from the inside. His sanity was hanging on by a thread and the steady ebb and flow of anguish and sorrow in his mind was wearing him down. 

In the quiet, he heard the echo of your sweet voice, making his heart seize until he doubled over in pain, gasping for breath until he scratched at the walls, sobbing for his lost love. 

He played the piano until his fingers cramped, desperate to fill the silence and push you out of his mind. He longed for a moment of respite from this hell, but even that was denied him. 

How much sorrow could one person take? Had he not suffered enough for his long life?

He gasped when he felt a hand on his shoulder, then a head gently resting on top of his. Xanthus did not dare turn around to face the emptiness where you should be. Instead, he closed his eyes, trying to keep his hands steady enough to continue the piece as tears rolled down his face and his shoulders shook with barely contained sobs. 

It was a different kind of death he experienced, and Xanthus felt buried alive.

“I hate what you did to me,” he said, sitting on the windowsill with his feet dangling in the open air. The fall could not kill him. It would not even hurt. “I hate who you left behind,” he continued, talking to the moon. 

He wished it were you instead. 

The full moon reminded him of the time you went stargazing together. You had curled into his side, leaning your head on his shoulder as you told him about the constellations, marveling at the beauty before you. He had listened with a hum, arms securely wrapped around you as he closed his eyes, focusing on you instead. 

Xanthus sighed, leaning against the wall. The soft night breeze ruffled his hair and he huffed as it dried his tears. “I don’t forgive you,” he muttered, cursing the universe, fate, or whatever else was responsible for the grand scheme of things. “I don’t forgive you for taking them away.”

He stopped counting the days he remained sitting there, gazing into the distance as night turned to day and night again. The passage of time was meaningless to an immortal. What would it matter if he lost a decade like this? What was there to lose now that you were gone? He was dead inside.

“Xanthus?” He blinked, slowly becoming aware of the reality around him when he felt hands on his shoulders, gently tugging him inside.

“What do you want?” he rasped, snatching his arm from Dontis’ grip. “Get out. I don’t want company.”

Dontis looked at him sadly, glancing around at the papers littering the floor. He took in his friend’s ragged appearance. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” he asked, placing a hand on Xanthus’ cheek and tilting his head to look at him. 

The dark circles under his eyes looked like bruises on his pale skin. His eyes were dull and lifeless, fixed on Dontis but staring through him all the same. 

“Leave, Dontis,” Xanthus said quietly, stepping back to shrug off his hand. “I want to be alone.” He turned his back to Dontis, leaning against the windowsill to look at the setting sun.

“I think you’ve been alone enough, Xanthus.” Dontis bent down, picking up one of the papers. 

I find you in the moon,

You’re in the gentle breeze at night.

Each time I see the stars,

I see the past I can’t leave behind.

You’re in the whispers of the keys,

Dancing slowly through the air.

You are the brightness of my life,

How can I see when you’re not there?

Look at the wreck you have made me.

I am falling apart now that you’re gone.

I want to hate you I’ll always love you. Come back to me.

I can’t live without you. Please come back to me, love. 

“Xanthus—”

“I will forever be alone now,” he said, his voice tight with tears, “so unless you can bring them back to me somehow, I suggest you stop robbing me of my solitude without offering real company unless you want me to snap your neck.”

Dontis sighed, setting the paper down on the remnants of the desk. Xanthus had nearly torn it to pieces.

“It will get better,” he said. “With time, you will find yourself again without them.”

“Dontis, I’m warning you—”

Xanthus stilled as his arms wrapped around him, engulfing him in a warm hug. He sighed, melting in the tight embrace. He was exhausted. He was tired of hurting all the time and having this void in his chest. 

“I’ve got you,” Dontis said, tightening his grip and guiding Xanthus’ head to rest against his shoulder. 

Slowly, Xanthus returned the embrace. He felt a fresh wave of tears overcoming him, and he held onto Dontis tightly as he sobbed into his shoulder. “I miss them, please,” he cried, allowing himself to break apart in his friend’s arms. 

“I know. It will get better, I promise,” Dontis said comfortingly, not believing the words himself.

[lowrettaduhvyne]

#CLAIBORNECOUNTY , #Mississippi (WJTV)- The Claiborne County Sheriff’s Department confirms #DarionHill ( #swipeleft ) is wanted for the murder of girlfriend #QuawandaHicks , after the couple was reported #missing Thursday, Dec. 19. According to Claiborne County Sheriff, Hicks was found dead at 2:54 this evening on Willow Road in a ditch on the side of the road. She died from an apparent gun shot wound, according to authorities. Her body has been taken to crime lab for autopsy. A warrant has been issued for Hill’s arrest. He is considered armed and dangerous. Authorities asks if anyone knows the location of the individual to call the Claiborne County Sheriff Department or #CrimeStoppers . #JusticeForQuawanda #protectourwomen #violenceagainstwomen https://www.instagram.com/p/B6kX0ctBhr0/?igshid=1686mzpir9dc1

[joanielorraine]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Liz Claiborne.

[its-just-like-the-movies]

July 2017 Viewing Log

I beat my previous record!! 43 motherfuckers!! And so many 2017 features to boot, too. It’ll be neat to see what happens to my viewing patterns once school starts. Moving in the 10th, semester starts the 22nd. It’ll be a jam.

The Beguiled (17, B): I miss some of the 71′s psychosexual mess but this is a legit interpretation with its own interesting tone and style. - 07/01/17

 Mulholland Drive (01, A): Getting better acquainted with Lynch and seeing this a second time have done wonders for me. I’m in a dream place. - 07/02/17

Practically dares you at all times to question its unreality, its presentation, sometimes beats you to the bunch. But fuck is it real.

XX (17, B): As uneven as any respectable horror anthology, with admirably singular approaches. Clark & Lynskey, Kusama & Kirk stand tallest. - 07/03/17 (review)

Black Christmas (74, A-): Nasty atmosphere has room for zesty textures. Conveys potent thesis on misogyny without prurience. Fuckin’ scary. 07/05/17

The Forbidden Room (15, B-): Never as much fun for me as it was for everyone making it. Impressive as an exercise but I can’t get too worked up. - 07/05/17

Orlando (93, A): How much does & doesn’t change over 400 years? As much Potter’s, Powell’s, Swinton’s as it is Woolf’s. - 07/05/17

Can I say my other favorite thing about Orlando is that is possesses an economy that Woolf, wonderful as she is, clearly did not have.

Dolores Claiborne (95, C+): Script, actresses strive for poignancy that Hackford isn’t dexterous enough to fully match. Flawed, but compelling. - 07/06/17

(talking to someone about Judy Parfitt) So amazing with Bates! And I’m impressed with how well she handled old age. She coulda contended if it was released in November.

Coquette (29, D-): Awkward, garish, strenuous, smacks of inconceivable bullshit applied on every conceivably level, cranked way past eleven. - 07/06/17

Atlantic City (81, A): Whole somehow greater than the sum of its parts. Perfect city to refract its characters. Perfect performers to realize them. - 07/06/17

Terms of Endearment (83, B/B+): Winger/Daniels stuff so my favorite, but the humor & emotional currents of each scene work like a charm. - 07/07/17

Jupiter Ascending (14, D+): Imagination abound, comfy with nonsense mythology, but fuck does it get boring. Badness isn’t even that novel. - 07/07/17

Hustle & Flow (05, A-): So comfy with a seedier protagonist than any music biopic in recent memory. Colorful, vulgar, ace cast, great beats. - 07/07/17 (review)

Godzilla (54, B): Can’t survive most dated effects but still carries plenty of raw power. Photography, score, sound invaluable assets. - 07/08/17

Get Out (17, A-): Look, I’m sure the fall will be stacked, but from here I can’t imagine not putting this goddamn gem in my top ten. - 07/09/17

Marnie (64, A-): Dangerously, perversely unpredictable, in character and plotting, right until the very last minutes. Lord, what the fuck. - 07/11/17

The Void (17, B): Grosser than I’m used to but gory, monstrous, ball-to-the-wall insanity the perfect antithesis for It Comes At Night - 07/12/17

The Bling Ring (13, B+): Crimes as commodified and celebrated as fashions, friendships, fuck ups. Hilarious, stylish, nasty as its characters. - 07/12/17

Bird (88, B-/B): Struggles to do right by other black characters, lighting iffy. But Whitaker and Venora take it a long way. Glad I saw it. - 07/13/17

The Interrupters (11, A-): Honors a group of people who deserve all the praise and attention we can give them. Powerful, brave material. - 07/13/17

That still feels like I’m grasping at straws for how to praise the film. I hope it did wonders for the Violence Interrupters.

Happy Together (97, A): I could just list everything this film did right or how its dangerously oversaturated red says everything. - 07/14/17

Viscerally might’ve been better. Passionately? The way that technically imperfect camera captures and shows the film’s story is such a marvel.

How To Survive A Plague (12, A-): Galvanizing, angry, properly honoring another group of people who deserve all the respect we can give them. - 07/14/17

Shadow of a Doubt (43, A): No wonder Hitchcock loved this one so much, even with all the perfect films he made. Wright, Cotten so perfect. - 07/14/17

A Quiet Passion (17, B+): Meek prologue gives way to an increasingly potent, electric, unwavering dive into Dickinson’s life and mind. - 07/14/17

Davies is a great director, but this film would not work without Cynthia Nixon’s prickly, intelligent, verbally and physically astute performance.

Like Hopkins in Nixon, she dives so deeply into her character she pulls off that rare feat of making the real person look alien next to her work. 

Whip It! (09, B+): Melina has decided her roller derby name will be Hermione Danger and that is that. Also why were Ellen and Alia gays. - 07/16/17

Endlesssly fun. Cast fills the film’s lovingly sketched cliches with warmth, heart, humor. Can’t wait to make all my friends watch it and love it.

Ah!!!!! I loved every minute of it.

In the Loop (09, B+): All the ways it shouldn’t be funny - all the ways it’s sort of terrifying - only make it funnier, and more powerful. - 07/16/17 (review)

Sounder (72, A): As light, tender, and thorough an examination of a family as I’ve ever seen, especially under these circumstances. Tyson!! - 07/17/17

I kept thinking about Cicely Tyson’s big open-armed, open-hearted run in Sounder and fuck if that wasn’t the most I smiled all night (7/23/17)

The Savages (07, B): Entertaining yarn, especially between siblings. Trips a bit. Linney and Hoffman add more texture, warmth than Jenkins. - 07/17/17

Last Men in Aleppo (17, A-): So these are what heroes look like, what survival is in a place like that. Its very existence feels dangerous. 07/19/17

Bottom of the World (17, D-): Hateful, especially around Scarlett. Nonsense logic turns it into a weird object. Bottom of the pile. - 07/20/17

Lovesong (17, C): The kind of pleasant, adeptly-made lightweight that’s as hard to criticize as it is to recommend. Leads help. Neat kid. - 07/20/17

Scott Pilgrim vs The World (10, B): Lapses, sure, but deliriously fun, and a feast for the ears. Such fun edits, cast. My favorite Wright. - 07/21/17

I do think it honors such dense source material, and I can’t even fathom how influential Wallace Wells was on my personality/gayness

The Salesman (17, A-): What’s the gulf between public and private humiliations? Ambiguities give way to even more powerful finalities. - 07/22/17

Dunkirk (17, B): So technically prepossessing it becomes a distraction to the film’s emotional currents. Completely affecting. - 07/23/17

The Lure (17, B-): Delightfully off the wall, with indelible peaks. But frequently feels more like riffs than a fully formed idea. - 07/23/17

The Big Sick (17, B): Would you believe it’s more charming and fun than Dunkirk? Messy, feels longer than it is, but so so worth it. - 07/23/17

Arsenic and Old Lace (44, B-): Works so very hard at fun, zany, and perverse that it has a hard time being any of those things. - 07/25/17

The Act of Killing (13, A-): As terrifying a recreation of history as 12 Years A Slave. And when history is alive, how does it see itself? - 07/27/17

War for the Planet of the Apes (17, B): Handsome. Over-scored but scored well. I like what it’s doing, but doesn’t engender much to add. - 07/28/17

The Player (92, A-): Satire that drowns its Hollywood send-up with such a light, finessed touch. Essential Altman, Robbins, Peroni. - 07/28/17

My Fair Lady (64, C): Wonderfully dressed, set, and scored, but lord is this a misogynistic dinosaur of a film. Every song long in the tooth. - 07/28/17 (review)

So deadly low on energy, and uncinematic. Almost every man a creep, almost every song awful. I liked Hepburn and Nixon. That horrid ending!!!!

Dog Day Afternoon (75, A): Look I’ll think of something more sophisticated later but that’s one of the most perfect films I’ve seen. - 07/29/17

Excitingly interacts with eveyr mode of filmmaking, genre it touches. Packed with energy. Hard to think of anyone realizing it better.

Pacino is astounding, but so it Durning Sarandon, Allen. And, of course, John Cazale. What a run he and Pacino had!

Right Now, Wrong Then (16, A-): Unbroken cuts, rich script, earnest leads and direction create real tension of lives being lived. - 07/30/17

Strange Weather (17, B): Desperate tale of maternal validation compellingly crafted, well-spun, acted to gold by Hunter & co. Great finale. - 07/30/17

[literary-motif]

Yo are so good at writing wowow!

Also I’m sorry to other again but suggestion!

May I ask that you write something where Love is doubting Xanthus’ love for them? He’s trying his best but they don’t believe him?

<33

Whatever Souls Are Made Of

Xanthus Claiborne x Reader

“Xanthus, do you love me?” you asked suddenly, needing to find answers to the uncertainty swirling in your mind. 

He chuckled, missing the heavy seriousness of your question. “I call you ‘my love’ for a reason, don’t I?”

He felt you tense, the peaceful moment spent cuddling on Dontis’ couch — a respite as you basked in the eye of the storm before everything would come to a head a few days from now — shattered as you broke the illusion. 

You sat up, disentangling yourself from his arms. “Yes, but do you love me?” you asked, looking at him with a mixture of weariness and fear. 

There was uncertainty in your gaze, he understood, along with longing and heartbreaking doubt.

“What is this line of question, my love?”

You averted your gaze, knowing it did nothing to hide the turmoil in your chest. You did not know what to believe. “I mean, this is predestined, isn’t it? How— how can you be sure that what you’re feeling is love? How— what if we weren’t bonded? Would you love me the same?”

Your whirlwind of emotions seeped into the bond. Xanthus had felt the creeping bleakness, the crawling uncertainty, approaching like a thunderstorm. He had felt the static in the air around him — thick with unbroken tension. 

This should not have come as a surprise. He should have known better that the human mind always longed to understand. He should have known that the all-encompassing feeling of absolute devotion — the love he had for you, and you in turn for him — was not a gift either of you could accept without question. He had tried to distract himself from the nagging voice in his head sowing doubts, but his research into the bond had been cut short due to obvious present circumstances. 

Fated love or not, he did not want to lose you — could not dare to, if he wanted to keep his sanity. The inquiry about the nature of his feelings needed to wait until the threat on your lives was terminated. 

“Would you?” you pressed, looking at him with pleading eyes. 

He sighed. What was he supposed to say?

“No.”

Your expression dropped. He thought he could pinpoint the very instance in which your heart cracked. 

“Wait, let me finish. I could not love you the same way. The love we have — this feeling shared between us — is something much deeper than common, maddening romantic love. It feels like our very souls are entwined — if something like souls actually exist. It feels like you are a part of me in the rawest sense, as if our connection transgresses the laws of space and time. I cannot breathe without you, and I feel you. When I close my eyes, I can sense you. I see all of you. A feeling so complete is more than love.”

You nodded, a twinge of hurt still nestled in your heart. “I know the feeling,” you said, taking in Xanthus’ soothing smile. 

His hand reached out to brush through your hair. You leaned away, making him freeze.

“But do you love me?”

Xanthus dropped his hand. He looked deep in thought, like one of the countless philosophers he no doubt met, pondering the virtue of morality and the meaning of life. He opened his mouth to reply, hesitating. “I don’t know.”

At least he was honest. 

“Thank you,” you said. “I— I know that we didn’t choose this. We didn’t fall in love, it was just there suddenly. How real can it all be if it is all evoked by some blood magic?”

“It’s not ‘blood magic.’”

“But still! The sentiment remains, and I— I feel the same way about you. I have this urge to be near you at all times. I am scared when you’re not there. I can’t think straight when there is a surge of emotion in me that is not my own. It feels like a part of you is also a part of me — or maybe we’re two parts of a whole — but what autonomy does this give us? Do you think we could fall out of love?”

“We’re not in love. How could we fall out of it?”

His answer made you pause. He was right, on a technicality. It was the sort of detail that turned the argument, and you could not even scoff because he was right, and the philosophical streak in your discussion had made it transgress from a mere exchange of feelings and love-assurances — or lack thereof — to a much broader, more fundamental one. 

“True,” you conceded, leaning against the couch. Xanthus raised his arm in silent invitation for you to cuddle against his side. You accepted, leaning your head against his shoulder and feeling the immediate relief rushing through you at his warm embrace. “My argument for autonomy still stands. How can we trust this feeling between us? Not this love, because it is not it—”

“It’s more.”

“No, it’s different.”

He chuckled, and you felt the sound of it deep in his chest. “How very romantic of you to think of love as the ultimate good. The feeling between us surpasses love. It is more than every other emotion put together and amplified by a thousand — it is different. It is different  because it is more.”

“You mean it is more than an emotion?”

“Yes, I suppose. I think of it as an eternal tie, binding us together like the strings of fate.”

“You don’t believe this thing — the bond — between us can subside? You don’t think, with time, the intensity will diminish?”

“No, I don’t believe it will.”

“Do you think our meeting was fate?”

He paused, giving you a sly smile. The socratic method you applied to the discussion — probing him with questions and analyzing his answers — made him feel as if he was back in the drawing room of Schopenhauer, listening to his long-winded speeches while glancing at the skyline of Frankfurt. 

“Are we branching into Metaphysics, love? It’s going to be a long night,” he said, squeezing you tighter. “No matter what I believe, I know how I feel about you. Where it comes from and why these feelings curse through me is secondary. I love you, for lack of a better term — but when I tell you, know I mean that the same overwhelming feelings you have are reciprocated until the end of time.”

[aion-rsa]

HBO Max New Releases: September 2020

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WarnerMedia’s grand streaming experiment continues apace with HBO Max’s list of new releases for September 2020.

This month, HBO Max is bring some serious dramatic heat with the Ridley Scott-directed sci-fi series Raised by Wolves arriving on Sept. 3. And if science fiction isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, then HBO Max has identified something that is: true crime. The Murders at White House Farm will arrive at a date to be determined in September.

In addition to those intriguing original offerings, HBO Max is making the best of its WarnerMedia library this month. Doctor Who season 12 makes its long-awaited streaming debut on Sept. 1. Also arriving on the first of the month are Clerks, Election, and the hopefully-not-too-timely V for Vendetta.

Recent horror hit The Invisible Man arrives on Sept. 19. It is complemented by HBO Max original comedy Unpregnant on Sept. 10.

Here is everything else coming to HBO Max this month.

HBO Max New Releases – September 2020

TBA

Haute Dog, Season One Premiere

Mo Willems: Don’t Let the Pigeon Do Storytime!, 2020

The Great Pottery Throw Down, Seasons 1-3

The Murders at White House Farm, Season One Premiere

September 1

93Queen, 2018

All The Right Moves, 1983 (HBO)

The Astronaut Farmer, 2007 (HBO)

Badlands, 1973

Ballmastrz: 9009, 2018

Bandidas, 2006 (HBO)

Barnyard, 2006 (HBO)

The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, 2012 (HBO)

Black Dynamite, 2012

Blood Diamond, 2006

The Bodyguard, 1992

The Brak Show, 2000

Butterfield 8, 1960

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, 1958

Caveman, 1981 (HBO)

Charlotte’s Web, 1973

The Cider House Rules, 1999 (HBO)

City Of God, 2003 (HBO)

Clara’s Heart, 1988

Clerks, 1994 (HBO)

Cold Creek Manor, 2003 (HBO)

Congo, 1995 (HBO)

The Conversation, 1974

Cop Out, 2010

The Curious Case Of Benjamin Button, 2008 (HBO)

Date Movie, 2006 (Unrated Version) (HBO)

Dave, 1993

The Devil Inside, 2012 (HBO)

Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood, 2002

Doctor Who, Season 12

Dog Day Afternoon, 1975

Dolores Claiborne, 1995

Election, 1999

Fatal Attraction, 1987

Father of the Bride, 1950

Final Destination 5, 2011 (HBO)

Flight Of The Phoenix, 2004 (HBO)

Forensic Files II, Season 1

Going the Distance, 2010

A Good Year, 2006 (HBO)

Grease, 1978

Harlem Nights, 1989

Harvey Birdman: Attorney at Law, 2000

Heartbreakers, 2001 (HBO)

A Hidden Life, 2019 (HBO)

Honeymoon in Vegas, 1992

Idlewild, 2006 (HBO)

Impractical Jokers, Seasons 5-8

Impractical Jokers: After Party, 2002

Impractical Jokers: The Movie, 2020

Infomercials, 2013

In Good Company, 2004 (HBO)

Jackson, 2016

JFK, 1991

Joe Pera Talks With You, 2018

Journey 2: The Mysterious Island, 2012 (HBO)

Joyful Noise, 2012

A Kiss Before Dying, 1991 (HBO)

The Lake House, 2006

Lassie Come Home, 1943

Lazor Wulf, Season 1

Lean on Me, 1989

Life with Father, 1947

Little, 2019 (HBO)

Little Women, 1949

Lost in Space, 1998

A Man Apart, 2003

Mao Mao, Heroes of Pure Heart, Episodes 1-30

Marathon Man, 1976

The Mexican, 2001

Miracle Workers, Season 1

Midnight Run, 1988 (HBO)

Miracle At St. Anna, 2008 (HBO)

Miss Congeniality, 2000

Miss Congeniality 2: Armed and Fabulous, 2005

Moral Orel, Seasons 1-3

Murder by Numbers, 2002

Netizens, 2018

Observe and Report, 2009

Off the Air, 2011

An Officer and a Gentleman, 1982

OK K.O.! Let’s Be Heroes, Seasons 1-3

The Operative, 2019 (HBO)

The Outsiders, 1983

Over the Garden Wall, 2014

Over The Hedge, 2006 (HBO)

Point Break, 1991 (HBO)

Private Benjamin, 1980

Prometheus, 2012 (HBO)

PT 109, 1963

Red Riding Hood, 2011

The Replacements, 2000

Replicas, 2019 (HBO)

Reversal of Fortune, 1990

A Room With A View, 1986 (HBO)

Sealab 2021, Seasons 1-5

See No Evil, 2006 (HBO)

Shrek Forever After, 2010

Sin Cielo, 2018 (HBO)

The Sitter, 2011 (Unrated Version) (HBO)

Snakes on a Plane, 2006

Son of the Mask, 2005

Squidbillies, Seasons 1-12

Star 80, 1983

Sunrise at Campobello, 1960

Superjail!, Seasons 1-4

Tennessee Johnson, 1942

Three Kings, 1999

Tigtone, Season 1

Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job!, Seasons 1-5

Too Beautiful: Our Right to Fight, 2018

Two Weeks Notice, 2002

V for Vendetta, 2006

Victoria and Abdul, 2017 (HBO)

The Wedding Singer, 1998

Wes Craven’s New Nightmare, 1994

When We Were Kings, 1996 (HBO)

Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, 1966

The Wind and the Lion, 1975

Young Sheldon, Seasons 1-3

September 3

Raised by Wolves, Season 1 Premiere

September 4

Lo Dejo Cuando Quiera (Aka I Can Quit Whenever I Want), 2019 (HBO)

September 5

Spies in Disguise, 2019 (HBO)

September 10

Unpregnant, Film Premiere

September 11

Detention Adventure, Season 1

Huracán (Aka Hurricane), 2019 (HBO)

Make It Big, Make It Small, Season 1

September 12

Coastal Elites (HBO)

September 14

The Third Day, Limited Series Premiere (HBO)

We Are Who We Are, Drama Series Premiere (HBO)

September 15

Re:ZERO, Season 2

September 17

Weston Woods, 2020

September 18

Habla Now (HBO)

La Musiquita Por Dentro, 2019 (HBO)

September 19

The Invisible Man, 2020 (HBO)

September 23

Agents of Chaos Part 1 (HBO)

Agents of Chaos Part 2 (HBO)

September 25

Fandango at the Wall, 2020 (HBO)

September 26

Just Mercy, 2019 (HBO)

September 27

Patria, HBO Europe Series Premiere (HBO)

Leaving HBO Max – September 2020

September 7

A Star is Born, 2018 (HBO)

The Hate U Give, 2018

September 8

The Oslo Diaries, 2018 (HBO)

September 28

24/7 College Football, 2019 (HBO)

September 30

Alita: Battle Angel, 2019 (HBO)

Anna, 2019 (HBO)

Apocalypse Now, 1979 (HBO)

Armageddon, 1998 (HBO)

Blade, 1998

Blazing Saddles, 1974

Bohemian Rhapsody, 2018 (HBO)

The Departed, 2006

The Exorcist, 1973

Free Willy, 1993

Grease, 1978

Gremlins, 1984

Interview with the Vampire, 1994

Journey to the Center of the Earth, 2008

Madagascar, 2005 (HBO)

Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior, 1983

Mrs. Doubtfire, 1993 (HBO)

The Postman Always Rings Twice, 1981

Saving Private Ryan, 1998

Shaft, 2019 (HBO)

Space Jam, 1996

Superman Returns, 2006

Troy, 2004

War of the Worlds, 2005 (HBO)

Wedding Crashers, 2005

The Wedding Singer, 1998

The Wild Bunch, 1969

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