#Might not get the double chap out but I am working on both chap 4 and 5 so who knows

[flurry-of-stars]

I stayed up till like 4 last night writing and woke up remembering I wrote a little thing for the Dad Sigma AU again and went to proofread it.

And all the author's note says is

b(T▽T)

[elminx]

Here in Southern New England, it’s easy to take the mighty evergreens for granted. The forest is, it exists on a very visceral level as a part of my green path, and the evergreens are the natural backbones of our forests. You will find pine, spruce, fir, and hemlock whenever you enter our forests, no matter the season. Evergreens speak to me of endurance and fortitude. When everything else sleeps in the deep of winter, the evergreens are still there. There’s magic in that, magic that I wanted to carry forward with me in the form of a salve.

As I delve deeper into cottage witchcraft, I find myself drawn to long-form projects that require multiple steps with which you can infuse your intention. As I made this recipe, it has three parts. You could skip the first by buying the items you craft with but venturing out to gather what the forest has to give you is a part of the process for me.

For me, the first step began in venturing into the forest to gather fresh evergreens for my project. I knew that I wanted to work with spruce and my partner and I had spied some at a local nature preserve in our town. Since salve goes on your skin, you should be careful to collect from areas that haven’t been sprayed or treated with chemicals that might not be safe to absorb. Here, we collected from a sanctuary surrounding a local water source.

We ended up finding both white and red spruce bunches recently dropped from the trees along this path. The forest provides. We picked the freshest dropped needles, thanked the trees and local land spirits, and went on our way. (Note: I also used Juniper Berries in this work that were not harvested by us – we do have Eastern Red Cedar growing wild around here but have not found a safe harvesting spot…yet)

After I brought home the forest offerings, we washed them lightly and left them to dry overnight. THIS IS IMPORTANT. Any amount of water in your oil infusion will cause spoilage – most evergreens have components that protect your product from mold and bacteria but why risk it?

Once thoroughly dried, I filled a quart jar 3/4 full of spruce branches and then added in a good handful of juniper berries before covering them both with olive oil. I choose olive oil because it was easily accessible – use a skin safe oil that works with your budget and lifestyle.

This is where I added intention into this project – I like evergreen for its endurance and protective qualities. I blessed and asked each item to bring this energy to my oil infusion and then put it away in my cupboard. I let my oil infuse for 4 weeks – I returned to it daily to shake it and reinforce my intention. For this, I choose to repeat a protection mantra that I regularly use to help work my magic.

After a month, my oil infusion was ready to be strained. This was easy because my juniper berries and spruce needles were still whole – strain with a tea strainer or cheesecloth to get any fine particles. This oil can be stored in a sun-protected container or in a cupboard or dark space. It was pretty light in scent – my olive oil was strong and overpowered it but I could feel the protective energy of the evergreens within.

Lastly, I made the salve. I used a basic 2:1 oil to beeswax ration and added in some Juniper and Rosemary essential oils because I wanted my salve to smell like the Forest Bathing that I knew that it would be. I heated both together in a double boiler until thoroughly mixed and then took it off the heat before adding the oils and pouring.

I am very pleased with the result. The salve smells like stepping into the forest on a cold winter day when the snow carries the deep scent of the evergreens with the winds. My partner has already given me two thumbs up on it helping his chapped hands.

[fakeghostpirate]

Generational Timeline

@cyber-phobia

So this isn’t directly related to the question “How did OfA survive as long as it did?” But I was working on it anyways, and the timeline of OfA is in there, and I’ve kind of been stalling on this, so I’m just going to submit this rough draft thing to you, and let everyone else worry about it

EDIT: This timeline is outdated! New version here.

~

Assumption 1: “Generation” as referred to in the phrase “X Generation Quirk” is in reference to “social” generations since the Dawn of Quirks, not how many generations quirks have been in an individual’s family

I’ll be using 25 year generations, because while I could use 30 year ones, the shorter generations make for a nice snug timeline, and I don’t want to do double the math to show both variations of the timeline at once

Inko is 4th generation (Chap. 1, pg 19) and 42 years old in canon (Character bio + birthday)

Izuku is 5th gen. and 16 in canon (bio + birthday)

Assumption 2: The kids in the Remedial chapters are supposed to be the start of the 6th gen (based on the fact that the Quirk Singularity first gets brought up by Mic and Meatball in 166, and basically everyone makes a point of bringing up how powerful their quirks are)

These kids are in primary school, and based off their appearance and the school’s name (translated “precocious brat”) I’d say they’re probably 6-7, 8 at the oldest. I will average this to 7, meaning that the current timeline is approximately 7 years past the start of the 6th generation, which gives us an almost exact timeframe (~132 years)

Now we can start working backwards.

Years ago / Years from the Dawn of Quirks

6 - less than 7 /132-126

5 - 7-32 / 125-101

4 - 33-57 / 100-76

3 - 58-82 / 75-51

2 - 83-107 / 50-26

1 - 108-132 / less than 25

Izuku was born 9 years before the end of Gen 5, or 16 years into it, meaning he’s a mid-5th gen child

Assumption 3: AfO was born during the first year of quirks

Daruma Ujiko is over 120 (Chap. 270, pg 3)

AfO would be in his 60s when he meets the doc in his 50s

I’d also like to point out just how convenient it is for AfO that Ujiko would just so happen to be rendered completely destitute and thus devote himself and his longevity quirk to AfO (chapter 270, 4) right around the time that he’s probably starting to worry about old age doing him in

AfO and OfA are both adults when OfA the quirk is created, so it was likely made approx 30 years after quirks, though I suspect for symbolic reasons it was ~32 years, so that OfA would be exactly 100 years old and that’s the reason it’s “reaching singularity” for Izuku

All Might Rising shows Nana died when AM was 18, then he leaves the country less than a year later

Before that Gran says All for One is OVER 100 years old, which means this is at maximum ~31 years ago, so All Might’s probably 48/49

Also, since he had OfA for ~30 of its 100 years, that means each of the previous holders would have had it for an average of 10 years

Assuming they all (except All Might and Izuku, of course) were adults when they got it, the approximate timeline for when they had it would be something like this:

First: ~100 years ago - ~90 years ago (had it in early-mid 2nd gen) (First generation quirk, obviously)

2nd: 90-80 (mid 2nd/early 3rd) (first generation quirk)

3rd: 80-70 (early-mid 3rd) (1st or 2nd gen quirk)

4th: 70-60 (mid-late 3rd) (2nd gen quirk)

Daigoro: 60-50 (early-mid 4th) (Black Whip, 2nd or 3rd gen quirk)

6th: 50 - 40 (mid 4th) (3rd gen quirk)

Nana: 40 - 30 (mid-late 4th) (Float, 3rd gen quirk)

AM: 30 - 1 year ago (early 5th-early/mid 6th) (4th gen, quirkless)

Izuku: 1 year ago to now (early/mid 6th) (5th gen, quirkless)

Off to another point

Kotaro was 32 some 15-20 years ago before he died (bio + math doesn’t work if he would have been 32 now) when Shigaraki was 5, and we know Tomura’s in his 20s now, which means Kotaro would be around the same age as, or slightly older than, All Might if he was alive

Which raises an interesting insight into his character. Since we know

A. Nana gave him up when he was younger,

B. He would have been around 18 when she died,

C. Nana probably had OfA around 10 years just like her predecessors,

We can get a timetable something like this: Nana gets OfA, AfO kills her husband shortly after, and she gives up Kotaro. Then she goes off to be a (public?) hero for A DECADE, eventually picking up Yagi because he’s around the same age Kotaro would be, before dying. From his perspective that would be around ten years of watching his mother be a hero and not coming back for him, and just as he’s reaching adulthood and maybe coming to terms with things, she dies in a way that almost certainly wasn’t publicized. (If the general public is mostly unaware of him save as an urban legend, there’s no way the government told people he killed her.) Which really puts his whole “Heroes hurt their families to save strangers” thing into perspective.

Now to a different thing,

The Meta Liberation Army had been in hiding “for generations” when ReDestro was a child, and since there’s no way he’s not in his 40’s bare minimum, (the man is balding for god’s sake, even in a high-stress environment there’s no way he’s the same age as Aizawa)(not to imply Aizawa is not in a high-stress environment) that means he’s 4th gen, and the only way things work out is if Destro was 1st gen and the Liberation War was during the 2nd gen. Which probably seems obvious without all the math, but that just helps confirm it’s not baseless.

~

Originally I was going to use this timeline as a backdrop to make a meta about the Quirk Singularity, but it kudzu’d, my focus is whack and you started making timeline posts and I wanted to throw my two cents in, so I’ll just summarize that:

A. The Quirk Singularity refers specifically to the increase in physical backlash from quirks over time, not just increasing power

B. Ujiko was correct that the earliest signs of it were visible in the fourth generation (Endeavor)

C. You can actually track the general trend of the singularity in the manga, based off characters’ ages (this was the part I still needed to get evidence for, but Aizawa’s dry-eye doesn’t seem anywhere near as severe as Shigaraki starting to disintegrate himself during Deika or Aoyama, and Recovery Girl and Gran Torino’s quirks both seem to not have any negative effect on them at all)

[upstartpoodle]

Evens for the WIP meme ask? Thank you! ❤️

Hi, thanks for the ask! Since the number of WIPs I have are well into double figures, I’ll probably just choose a bunch of random ones for these out of the ones I’ve got on my computer.

2. Post a line from your WIP without context.

Once they had returned home, he had wanted nothing more than to head up to his room and hide, but his uncle’s iron grip on his upper arm pulling him into the drawing room had thwarted that wish. He hadn’t dared fight against the man. Uncle Cary had made it quite clear upon his arrival back from school that he expected to be obeyed in all matters, and George knew his future was far too uncertain to risk provoking his only remaining family member with displays of defiance. 

4. Describe the setting of your WIP.

Hmm, I think I’ll go for my JS&MN AU for this one, an extract of which I have posted here. So this is basically an AU set in the universe of the novel Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell--for anyone who might be unfamiliar with it, it’s a book (and a pretty decent TV adaptation) set in a regency England where magic was once frequently practised but has declined after the Raven King, a medieval magician who conquered the north of England with a fairy army, left his kingdom behind to return to Faerie. The fic is set in Poldark’s s1 timeline, so about fifteen/twenty years before the events of JS&MN canon, featuring Dwight, Ross and Francis as magicians, George as a fairy nobleman from a neighbouring Faerie kingdom, and Elizabeth as a magician’s wife whom George ends up taking an interest in.

6. Search for the word “dream” in your WIP. If you find it, paste the line and explain the context.

I haven’t been able to find it in any of the extracts I have on my computer, but I’m sure it’s probably there somewhere in one of my notebooks. Unfortunately the majority of those are in a box over three hundred miles away so I can’t really check through them ha.

8. What is your biggest challenge?

Actually getting anything finished. Honestly, it depends on the individual fic but for a long time it’s been writer’s block. My undergrad dissertation took a lot out of me and I wasn’t really in the mood for writing for a long time afterwards. S5 airing gave me a bit of a kick up the arse writing-wise though, so I’d say my biggest challenge at the moment is trying to figure out where everything goes in my super long post s5 AU where George gets shot by Hanson. At the moment I’ve just got loads and loads of random bits with only a vague idea of what order they go in and how they join up to each other, and it’s getting to be so long I just keep putting off planning it out properly. Also finishing that last chapter of The Cornish Way damn I can’t even remember when I last updated that I feel so guilty about it ha.

10. How would you describe your WIP’s narrative style?

Well, as I’ve already mentioned I have a whooole bunch of WIPs, but I always write in 3rd person (1st person grates on me, both reading and writing, for some reason--I don’t know why). I’ve got several multi-chap fics in the works, some short, some long. Most of my shorter multi-chap fics tend to alternate between Elizabeth’s POV and George’s, but my long post s5 AU will feature the majority of the characters’ POVs at some point, depending on when they’re needed, though since the fic is George-centric, his perspective is the main one. When it comes to my one-shots, they’re usually either from George or Elizabeth’s perspectives, sometimes both if it’s a particularly long one. I tend to lean towards using Elizabeth’s POV for one-shots for some reason, but there’s a fair few from George’s as well, and a couple of angsty ones told entirely from Valentine’s perspective.

12. Which character do you have the least in common with?

Since my post s5 AU includes Merceron, Hanson and Dr Penrose, I’m glad to say that I haven’t the slightest thing in common with any of those three. But if we’re talking about a main character, I’d say probably Ross. The only thing I have in common with him is a tendency to get fed up at parties ha.

14. Have you chosen birthdays for any of your characters? If so, when are they?

Not really--tbh, I’m not sure how many of them, if any, were given birthdays by WG. I tend to headcanon George’s birthday as being in October, but that’s about it.

16. What would your characters be for Hallowe’en?

Well, I’ve got a couple of WIPs set in the modern era which this could work for, but since one of them is a modern witchcraft AU (in which Elizabeth, Caroline, Demelza, Morwenna and Verity live together in Truro as a secret coven of witches, Francis is a melancholy ghost who haunts the building and they’ve never been able to exorcise, and George, their landlord’s nephew, is their baffled neighbour who only puts up with their weird shenanigans because he has a soft spot for Elizabeth), I guess that’s appropriately Hallowe’en-y ha. For that AU, I reckon Elizabeth would probably dress up as something kind of classy, like as an Ancient Greek lady or a medieval queen, something like that. Caroline would dress up as a witch, I reckon, for the sake of irony (Horace, of course, would have a complementary costume :P). Verity, I think, would make a cute angel, and one of those wood nymph/woodland fairy costumes would probably suit Demelza. Morwenna might dress up as a Hogwarts student or something like that, and Francis insists that since he is an actual, literal ghost, there’s no need for him to dress up. George, on the other hand, absolutely does not do Hallowe’en, but they still manage to drag him down from the flat upstairs, put a pair of little Devil horns on him and make him watch scary films with them. Which he hates every minute of. Absolutely. Totally.

18. What’s easier, dialogue or description?

It depends, but I generally find description easier than dialogue. When I have dialogue-heavy scenes to write, I generally write them out in my notebooks basically in script form so I can figure out where the scene is going and once that’s out of the way, I find it much easier to add all the description in around it rather than having to constantly stop to figure out what the characters are meant to be saying to each other.

20. Post a brief excerpt.

So there’s a whole load to choose from, but I’ve decided to go with this one, which is from a ghost Elizabeth AU I’ve been working on ever since the end of s4 and have been really struggling to get on with because there’s so much bloody angst in it ha :--

The days leading up to Christmas dragged slowly on, and with each long hour that passed, George found himself regretting his decision to allow their initial plans for the festivities to go ahead with ever increasing certainty. The Blameys were neither unkind nor insensitive—quite the opposite in fact; their presence seemed to restore some faint but much needed cheer to Geoffrey Charles, and the company of another boy near his own age had restored Valentine to a fraction of his usual liveliness—but he, who had never been a friend to Verity, and was not well acquainted with her husband or stepchildren, felt the constant pressure of their scrutiny, alongside the horrible awareness of his own inadequacy as their host, whenever he found himself in their company. Verity, in particular, had taken to sending him at frequent intervals, whenever she saw him decline a meal, or else stumbled across him staring up at Elizabeth’s portrait hanging above the mantelpiece in the drawing room, what he had come to refer to in his mind as Looks. Verity had always been a kind and well-meaning soul, but there was a distinct pitying quality to those Looks which he had come to both resent and despise. He could have far more easily borne it if she had scorned his conduct. Her pity, however, wounded what little care he could summon for his pride in the wake of Elizabeth’s loss—he had no need to be reminded of the wretched creature he was fast becoming every time he met her gaze.

Finally, after what seemed like an age, the morning of Christmas Eve came. It had snowed once again during the night, and upon seeing the unblemished blanket of white through the window upon waking, Valentine and young master Andrew had rushed outside, accompanied by the Blameys Senior and Junior and Geoffrey Charles, in order to enjoy it. As the young Esther, whom it had not taken George long to discover was somewhat reticent in nature, had elected to break her fast in her room, that, unfortunately, left he and Verity alone together at the dining table, save for little Ursula, who was playing quietly and contentedly with her own feet in her cradle beside his chair. At barely a few weeks old, however, she was not quite an accomplished enough conversationalist to distract Verity from engaging with him. With a barely audible sigh, George reached for a slice of toast despite his lack of appetite in a vague hope of fending off another Look which he was sure was on the verge of rearing its unwelcome head above the horizon.

“I am glad to see that the boys have regained a little of their usual cheer,” she spoke up suddenly, causing George to pause halfway towards taking a bite out of his unwanted toast; a glance her way confirmed that, despite his best efforts, he was being treated to what could only be described as a Look. “It is a terrible thing to lose one’s parent, no matter one’s age, and certainly not a burden one should face so early in life.”

WIP Ask Game

[sraawrats]

🦇🎃Kana’s Halloween Hangover Rec List🎃🦇

Love Halloween? Not ready for it to be over? No worries! Old and new, these are some of my favorite spooky, suspenseful, and supernatural Kylux reads--perfect for drawing out your favorite month a little longer!

which is 100% why i’m posting this on november 1st, definitely not because i didnt manage to finish it before yesterday. nope, not at all

My Baby’s a Devil in the Bedroom | @callmelyss

- E - 4/5 chapters, 14 645 words - “Oh, obviously.” Kylo let out a shaky laugh and ran both hands through his hair. “Wait, no, you’re serious. You’re a fucking demon.”

“Well, yes, not to put too fine a point on it.” Hux smiled, clearly pleased with himself at the joke. “Or more accurately, I’m a succubus. A sex demon.”

—

Kylo has an unusual squatter. He's pretty fine with it. -

This fic is seriously amazing. It’s a super fun idea, the dialogue is hilarious, and it perfectly balances the sweetness and humor with angst/intrigue. Plus, I’m absolutely taken with snarky, smug, candy-tasting succubus Hux <3 <3

strange phenomenon | @brawlite, @kyluxtrashcompactor

- E - 8/8 chapters, 65 756 words - Kylo Ren is haunted by recent tragedy. He answers an ad posted by one Armitage Hux for a roommate, and he thinks a fresh start will help him begin to heal. He brings next to nothing with him from the past when he moves in.Or so he thinks. -

This fic is wonderfully suspenseful, and perfect if you’re looking for something to keep you on the edge of your seat. I also had a lot of Han feels when reading this one. Overall it’s just really nicely well-rounded with heartfelt and genuine characterizations, good spooks, and some searing sexual tension.

Something Wicked | @marlonbookcase

- G - 7/7 chapters, 22 514 words -  Kylo and Armitage have been friends since they were kids. Now in university, they run a semi-popular YouTube channel called "London Below" where they investigate all sorts of haunted and paranormal happenings in and around London and try to answer the question, are ghosts real? When they take on the mysterious and tragic case of the Pendle Witches, they come face to face with the spirit world in a way they never have before. Will they make it out of Pendle alive? Are ghosts real? And most importantly, does Armitage return Kylo's affections? -

I love Buzzfeed Unsolved. I love Kylux. I love this fic. A lot. As it says in the description, it’s not an exact Unsolved AU, but it really captured the format/feel of the “paranormal investigator” genre, so if you’re a fan of that, you’ll love this. Bonus points for some mutual pining and sugary fluff 👀👀

Second Spring, First Fall | @huxandthehound

- T - 5/? chapters, 7 018 words -  Nothing brings people together quite like the holidays. Well, maybe not Halloween... After a scare, Hux has to confront his neighbor. Lucky for him, Kylo might be a little sweeter than his tricks let on. -

A cute multi-chap made of Huxloween prompt fills! Lighthearted, but it’s still got that Halloween spirit. Plus I’ve got a soft spot for sweet modern AU Kylo :))

Some Strange and Unnerving Events | @longstoryshortikilledhim

- E - 10/10 chapters, 158 815 words -  As a boy in a dreary school on the moors, Kylo Ren had only one friend, a red-headed boy whose sharp tongue and wit drew Kylo to him. But that friend was taken from him. Now grown, Kylo goes into the service of the master of Stormfield Hall, the enigmatic Lord Arkanis, who is seeking a tutor for his charge. Kylo's past will come rushing back to him, both in his new employer and some unusual circumstances that bring to the fore powers that Kylo thought long-suppressed. -

This fic hit me like a ton of bricks. This fic hit me like TWO tons of bricks. Start this one when you’re ready to be feeling it for a few days afterwards. It’s an incredible historical AU with magic and a great murder mystery--it basically pushes, like, all of my buttons. And it’s /genuinely/ spooky, I had to start keeping a light on while I read it. Oh, and it features definitely my favorite Millicent ever. If you’ve got the time for something long, go for this one.

Reach Out in the Darkness | unicornsandbutane

- E - 2/2 chapters, 9 321 words - Having spent a decent amount of time researching the history and folklore of Arkanis, Cadet Hux strikes out one chilly evening in search of some legendary creature that's supposed to be extremely powerful. If the myths aren't true, all he's wasted is time. But, if they are based in some actual fact, then what a boon such an entity would be to his cause. He doesn't know what he will find, but he is prepared for any (absolutely ANY) eventuality. -

Tentacle monster Kylo. I am unapologetic. It’s really good.

Witchfeather | Whatever21ism

- E - 14/? chapters, 16 015 words - Armitage Hux is a new witch trying to establish himself in a new town. One day he goes out seeking a familiar, particularly a cat, somehow instead he ends up with a raven who is much more than they appear to be. -

A favorite of mine! Apothecary witch Hux & his crow familiar Kylo. There’s some really nice worldbuilding and crow Kylo is super cute. Possibly abandoned, but defs worth checking out what’s there & showing the author some love.

First Order Investigations | @mistresseast

- Unrated - series, 3 works, 58 094 words, incomplete - Hux and Phasma have been running First Order Investigations since high school, and Dr. Snoke's metaphysical research graduate program seemed like the perfect opportunity to pursue their interests under the protective umbrella of academia. Unfortunately, that meant allowing Snoke's personal project, a taciturn medium named Kylo Ren, to join their team. Hux and Kylo mix like oil and water, or, more accurately, like fire and gasoline, and Hux is convinced that working effectively with Kylo is absolutely impossible. They hate each other, and Hux is content to leave it that way.

But then, a case in the sweltering heat of South Carolina begins to change things between them, and Hux finds himself questioning not only Kylo's feelings, but his own as well. -

Paranormal Investigator AU of the highest quality. The detail and thought put into each investigation site is incredible. I love this fic to pieces, and if you like ghost stories, you will too.

Undead | @heyktula, @splinteredscript

- E - series, 2 works, 6 855 words, incomplete - They’ve been circling around each other for years. Kylo Ren, the most powerful vampire in Supreme Leader Snoke’s house, and Armitage Hux, the human liaison between the world of mortals and that of eternal darkness. Baiting, taunting, the cord between them growing ever tighter.Sooner or later, one of them is going to snap. -

A lovely and dark vampire AU~~ Gives off some real classic Kylux vibes, and is an absolute pleasure to read :D

Fixer Upper | @irisparry

- T - 5/7 chapters, 10 034 words - When Armitage Hux starts with First Order estate agents, he thinks the house on Alderaan Drive is an insult, a patronising set of training wheels for the new boy. He is ... not correct. -

Adorable haunted house AU! I love both of their characterizations in this one, especially shy, grumpy ghost Kylo~

Hair of the Dog That Bit You | @theweddingofthefoxes

- M - 9/9 chapters, 21 597 words -  Ren owns a popular tavern, and Armitage is a respected physician in town and the surrounding villages. Their years-long friendship will survive anything -- even the bite of a werewolf. Won't it? -

Full disclosure, I haven’t actually finished this one-- I have a tendency to get distracted unless I finish something in one sitting, rip. But I remember being SUPER stoked about starting it, and anything by weddingofthefoxes is guaranteed to be a treat, so I’m putting it on here anyway :D tbh now that I’m thinking about it again I’ll probably finish it tonight.

The Eldritch Effect | @generallyhuxurious

- E - 17/17 chapters, 67 899 words - For the last three years Major Donal A. Hux, formerly of the British Army's Parachute Regiment, and Kylo Ren, estranged son of US Defence Secretary Leia Organa, have been tooling around North America investigating "weirdness"- and they're plenty weird themselves. Their latest tip off is leading them towards a haunting in rural Alabama. But first they need to make a stop in Trinity, South Carolina... -

A real goofy Paranormal Investigators AU that I super love (but I also need to catch up on rip). It’s an American Gothic AU, but you don’t need to have any knowledge of the show to follow along (I don’t). It also comes with a series of oneshots set in the universe but outside the main plotline, so when you finish the fic and inevitably want more, you’re covered ;)

blackbird, fly | @acroamatica

- M - 19 265 words - One sunny afternoon in the mountains of Washington state, Ben Organa-Solo walked out into the woods.

He never came home.

Six years later, a journalist specialising in missing-persons cold cases decides to follow his footsteps and see where they might lead. -

This is a sad beautiful horror AU that is very close to my heart. The writing is just gorgeous and the suspense is beautifully done. Also, it about doubled the amount of emotions already attached to the song Blackbird for me (I still get a little heart-squeeze every time I hear it)

what’s real or isn’t | @brawlite

- E - 12/12 chapters, 57 398 words - Hux's new house is not haunted. It isn't. -

Super surreal haunted house AU. There’s also monster sex. This is definitely a staple of spooky Kylux fics :D

How to Kill a Living Thing | hedgerowhag

- E - 10/10 chapters, 25 394 words - It starts like any other horror movie: a young man moves into a strange old house full of relics of the past and becomes haunted by some strange entity. However, Ren doesn't find the monster that he expects. -

This one has got some of the most stunning, spooky visuals I’ve ever read. I could picture every scene and character so clearly. Plus, I love Hux’s characterization--he’s kind of a shit, and it’s beautiful.

Twenty-Six Weeks | @vmprsm

- E (eventually) - series, 4 works, 28 539 words, probably complete - Two mature adults need to do two things: live an a house with a stranger for six months, and keep their secrets to themselves. How hard could that be?

Apparently very. -

The author made a point of trying not to give too much away in the summary/tags, so I won’t either :D I’ll just say it’s one of my favorites, and definitely worth a read if you haven’t already~~

The Brief Wondrous Return of Vampire Boy | @hollyhark

- T - 21 190 words - Two days before Halloween, Hux hears a rumor that Ben Solo is back in town. While Hux does not believe the sensational version-- that his estranged childhood friend/enemy escaped from an asylum and is out for revenge --he is left on edge as to how to proceed. -

One of my favorite Halloween fics; it really encompasses the feel of fall/Halloween but also, like, good ol’ ~teenage bullshit~. There’s a lot of creepy Snoke stuff, some dealing with the fallout, and a nice hopeful ending :))

Ghost Encounters of the Hux Kind | carefulren

- T - 9/9 chapters, 25 610 words - Kylo purchases an old, abandoned house in order to get away from his family. He just wants the chance to be alone for a while, and he considers this house as the start of his new, isolated freedom.

Everything is going as smoothly as possible, until it's not.

Perhaps, Kylo isn't living alone after all.-

A sweet and soft ghost  story AU. I adore the ending <3 <3 

Spookylux Huxloween 2018 | @nofootprintsinsalt

- T - series, 31 works, 36 896 words, complete - Huxloween 2018 - 31 benarmie fics in 31 days -

A series of benarmie fluff/horror for the Huxloween prompts this year! These were so so fun to read throughout the month and I adore the little universe that develops as they go on :))

Of Our Time | @ezlebe

- E - 15 297 words - “Do you know how many people would think it’s weird you walk around in the day?”

Hux grits his teeth in vain against an uncanny sensation, his own words digging and clawing up his throat to leave behind the taste of blood and bitterness thick on his tongue. “I could care less. I was made this way before there were movies – before fucking Stroker. Call me a demon if it makes you feel better.” -

I only read this really recently, and I was BLOWN AWAY. Seriously, this packs so much into 15k--it’s got feels, it’s got lore, it’s got steamy smut. What more could one ask for?

Shiver The Whole Night Through | @theweddingofthefoxes

- T- 5/5 chapters, 7 977 words - Ren's always loved hunting, so when he's told his paid time off won't roll over into the next year, he decides to take a week, get his gun and rent a cabin in the woods. But it takes no time at all for the hunter to become the hunted. -

This one’s very accurately tagged “Mind Games,” which really made it stand out to me--I do love a good spooky woods story~~

The Ghost Under My Bed | @longstoryshortikilledhim

- E - 19 525 words - Amateur witch, aspiring actor and full-time family fuckup Ben Solo discovers that his house is being haunted. Best part? His very own poltergeist, Armitage Hux, is kinda cute. Worst part? Well. He's dead. -

THIS IS THE SWEETEST GHOST STORY. I love it so so much. The sweetness of their relationship set against the sad backdrop of both of their histories gives this one a really unique feel. And the ending is guaranteed to give you the warm fuzzies <3

--

aaaand that’s all, folks! Lord, this post turned into a behemoth lmao. I just. really love supernatural stuff. (on that note, if anyone has read/written anything even tangentially spooky/supernatural, feel free to send it my way. I will happily give it a read ;)))

Happy reading! ^_^

[thinktosee]

JOURNAL – DAVID AND CAMUS – PART 4 – THE FALL

Titian’s Fall of Man, c1550. Image courtesy Museo del Prado, Spain

This journal is a continuation of Part 3, which may be accessed via this link :

https://thinktosee.tumblr.com/post/613609798512115712/journal-david-and-camus-part-3-the-fall

Journal to David

Dear David my Son,

“I always thought our fellow citizens were crazy about two things : ideas and fornication.” (The Fall, p5)

Albert Camus’ monologue of 1956, titled “The Fall” is arguably the most distilled exploration of his philosophical beliefs about Existentialism. The term, “arguably” is applied here as it’s possible you’d disagree. Yes, “The Stranger” is emotionally, yet intellectually stimulating – fused to mine the soul trapped within the reader, rendering it to explode to the surface, as a dramatic offering of our otherwise dormant passions! (1) “The Myth of Sisyphus”? Well, that’s absurd. It is exasperating and predictable like any ritual, religious or otherwise. Besides why do we have to repeat it again and again? Boring. Say what? That’s Life, ain’t it? In Sisyphus, Camus makes us see the folly of our ways, of our life, with a Dante-que’ twist.(2) It’s no doubt a revealing story, I agree. But let’s get back to The Fall, shall we?  That’s the real enchilada there. That’s the story of the fall of man.

Sisyphus, burden and hope – Image courtesy reasonandmeaning.com

The Fall hints at the Garden of Eden when Google, oops pardon me, I mean Knowledge, made its entrance on the camouflaged stage following the supreme feast of the apple. And as in Sisyphus, that original fall is repeated forevermore everywhere, as if perfection and triumph are within our slimy grasp, each time we laboured. But hey, what do I know? You were the Camus-go-to-guy. You were the Existentialist, David (3). I am just following in your footsteps. Hence, our fall? Our never-ending search for Knowledge.

Camus’ The Fall takes the reader through the colourful musings of Jean-Baptiste Clamence, formerly a successful defence lawyer in snooty Paris, to his new digs in “Mexico City” a bar located in so very depressing Amsterdam. What in heavens caused this fall from grace? A couple of things, just like what happens on any given day to many of us, really, when Truth happens to cross our path, like a black cat :

Our copy of Albert Camus’, The Fall. This excellent edition is translated by Robin Buss, Penguin Press, 2006. 

1. One day in Paree, Jean-Baptiste had an altercation with a motorcyclist. It was clear from a legal perspective, that Jean-Baptiste was quite right. However, an observer didn’t see it that way and rudely chastised him for his behaviour. While being distracted by the observer, the motorcyclist took a swing at our kind lawyer and sped off. The incident infuriated and also embarrassed Jean-Baptiste. Where did these negative and violent urges in him originate, he wondered? Wasn’t he a man for the common people? Were his professional and also personal support for the down-trodden superficial after all? Was all this service, for himself, rather than for them? To create and then foster a false image of oneself? The seed of knowledge took root when he began to ponder on these Socratic questions.

2. In the second example, which is recounted in Part 3, Jean-Baptiste’s utter and pathetic failure to act when the young woman jumped into the river, gave him cause to re-examine his bona fides – his life’s assumptions. What in today’s lingo may be dubbed as his “fake news” life. Our contrived persona, really.

With these in mind, Jean-Baptiste migrated, wandering, and finally ended down under. Sitting on a mound in water-logged Amsterdam, he meets a stranger one day. Being expansive, as lawyers tend to be, and over a series of lectures or monologue, he recounts his fall. These accounts trace his “regression” and amplify what the fall is to Jean-Baptiste, as it possibly was to Adam and Eve, or to any one, including me.

The Fall really is about a Socratic exploration to live a life without any pretence, or camouflage. A life of freedom and not dependency. Or as you admonished me to “Be Yourself!” That is the only constant. Adam and Eve’s fall in the Garden ushers the introduction to Knowledge, and away from a blissful dependency and ignorance. So is Jean-Baptiste Clamence’s. So is mine. 

Image courtesy Sanskritimagazine.com

Let Camus tell us then what he means in a few selected passages :

“ ‘Do you want a clean life, like everyone else?’ Of course you answer yes. How could you not? ‘Fine. We’ll clean you up. Here’s a job, here’s a family, here’s some organized leisure’ And the little teeth bite into the flesh, right down to the bone.” (p6)

“There, give up. Mine is a double job, that’s all, just as humans are double.” (p7)

“I live in the Jewish quarter, or what they called the Jewish quarter until our Hitlerite brethren cleared a space in it. What a clean-up! Seventy-five thousand Jews deported or murdered : that’s vacuum cleaning. I admire such diligence, such methodical patience! You have to be methodical when you have no character. Here, the method worked wonders, there’s no denying it : I live on the site of one of the greatest crimes in history.” (p8)

“There is no denying that, at least for the moment, judges are necessary, don’t you agree? And yet I couldn’t understand how a man could appoint himself to exercise that surprising office. I had to accept it, since I saw it, but rather in the way that I accepted locusts….with the difference that the invasions of those orthoptera have never brought me a penny, while I used to earn a living by conversing with people whom I despised.” (p13)

“…but I would also only take their cases on the sole condition that they were good murderers, as others are noble savages.” (p13)

Fortunately, my profession satisfied this call to the heights.” (p17)

“Conversely, the indignation, talent and emotion that I expended relieved me of any debt towards them. Judges punished the crime, the accused atoned for it, and I, free of all responsibility, beyond judgement or punishment, reigned at liberty, bathed in a prelapsarian glow.” (18)

“I mean, relatives and in-laws (what a word!) – it’s a different tune. They find the right word, but it’s usually the one that wounds. They pick up the phone to you like someone picking up a gun. And their aim is on target.” (p21)

“Perhaps we do not love life enough. Have you observed that only death awakens our feelings?” (p21)

“That’s a charming house, isn’t it? The two heads there belong to negro slaves. A trade sign : the owner was a slave trader. Huh, they didn’t mince their words in those days! They came right out with it and said : ‘I’ve got a house on the street, I deal in slaves,  I sell black flesh!’ Can you imagine anyone nowadays stating publicly that that was his business? What an uproar! I could hear my fellow lawyers in Paris from here. They’re adamant on this matter and wouldn’t hesitate to publish two or three manifestos,……I might even add my signature to theirs. Slavery! Why, no, we’re against it! If we are forced to have it in the home or in factories, fine, that’s the normal run of things, but boasting about it, is going too far.” (p28)

“I’m well aware of the facts that one cannot do without dominating or being served. Every man needs slaves just as he needs fresh air.” (p28)

“Just between ourselves, servitude, preferably with a smile, is unavoidable. But we don’t have to acknowledge that fact. If a man can’t help having slaves, isn’t it better for him to call them free men? As a matter of principle, firstly, then so as not to drive them to despair. Surely we owe them at least that compensation? In this way, they will carry on smiling and we can keep our conscience clean. Otherwise, we might be forced to examine ourselves and become mad with grief….” (p29-30)

“The truth is that every intelligent man, as you know, dreams of being a gangster and ruling over society by violence alone. As this is not as easy as one might think from reading novels in the genre, people generally turn to politics and hurry to support the cruellest party. It matters little, wouldn’t you say, to abuse one’s mind if by that means one succeeds in dominating everyone. I found that there were sweet dreams of oppression within me.” (p35)

“There was no deception involved, or merely that blatant deception that they consider a mark of respect. As people commonly say, I loved women - which amounts to saying that I never loved any one of them. I have always thought misogyny to be both vulgar and stupid, and considered almost all the women I have known to be better than myself. However, while setting them so high, I exploited rather than served them. What does that mean?” (p36)

“Otherwise, there would be a solution and one could at last be taken seriously. Men are not convinced of your arguments, your sincerity or the seriousness of your suffering, except by your death.” (p46)

“If we are to end, doubt, we must stop existing, purely and simply.” (p47)

“The most natural idea for mankind, the one that comes naively, as if from the depths of one’s being, is that of one’s own innocence. In this respect we are all like the little Frenchman in Buchenwald who insisted on trying to lodge an appeal through the clerk, himself a prisoner……The clerk and his friends laughed : ‘Useless old chap. There’s no appeal here.’ ‘But, you see, Monsieur,’ said the little Frenchman, ‘mine is an exceptional case. I’m innocent.’ “ (p50)

“But above all because wealth shields from immediate judgement, lifts you out of the crowd in the underground, shuts you up in a chromium-plated car and isolates you in huge expanses of protected parkland…Wealth,..is not actually acquitted, but a reprieve.” (p51)

“How could sincerity be a condition of friendship? A liking for the truth at all costs is a passion that spared nothing and that nothing can withstand.” (p51)

“Dante allows for neutral angels in the quarrel between God and Satan : and he places them in Limbo, a sort of waiting room for his Hell. My good friend, we’re in the waiting room.” (p52)

“What we call elementary truths are the ones we discover after the rest.” (p52)

“I proclaimed my loyalty, yet I think that there is not a single person that I loved whom I did not also eventually betray. Of course, my betrayals did not get in the way of my fidelity.” (p53)

“I began to advise ‘transference of guilt’ as a tactic for the defence. Not that form of ‘transference of guilt’, I said, which has been perfected in modern inquisitions where a thief and an honest man are tried at the same time that the latter can be made responsible for the crimes of the former. What I meant, on the contrary, was defending the thief by bringing out the crimes of the honest man, in the event, the lawyer.” (p58)

“I had always lived a life of debauchery, since I had never ceased to desire immortality.” (64)

“The purely verbal references to God that I sometimes made in my pleas in court made my clients suspicious. No doubt they were afraid that heaven would be less qualified to look after their interest than an advocate…” (p66)

“I realized that the shout that I heard many years earlier echoing across the Seine behind me had not ceased to travel across the world,….I realized too that it would continue to wait for me…”(p68)

“...we cannot be certain of anyone’s innocence, while we can confidently pronounce everyone guilty. Each man bears witness to the crime of all the others.” (p69)

“Believe me, religions are wrong when they start to moralize and sound off with their commandments. We have no need of God to create guilt or to punish. Our fellow men are enough, with our help.” (p69)

“Don’t wait for the Last Judgement, it takes place every day.” (p70)

“But too many people are now climbing up on the cross just so that they can be seen from further away, even if in doing so they have to trample a little on the one who has already been there for so long.” (72)

“Judges are swarming over the corpse of innocence, judges of every species, those of Christ and Antichrist, who as it happens are the same, all reconciled in little ease” (p73)

“What does it matter, after all? Don’t lies in the end put us on the path to truth?” (p75)

“He announced that we needed a new pope who lives among the poor and needy, instead of praying on his throne…” (p78)

“…you see, the main idea is not to be free any longer, but to repent and obey a greater knave than you are.” (p85)

“The judgement that you are passing on others eventually blows right back in your face and may do some damage.” (p86)

“Since we could not condemn others without at the same time judging oneself, one should heap accusations on one’s own head, in order to have the right to judge others. Since every judge eventually becomes a penitent, one had to take the opposite route and be a professional penitent in order to become a judge.” (p86)

“Throw yourself in the water again so that I might have once more the opportunity to save us both!” (p92)

 If only, we have that opportunity once more, David. 

daddy

Sources/References

1. https://thinktosee.tumblr.com/post/177348082353/david-and-camus-part-1-the-stranger

https://thinktosee.tumblr.com/post/177516436953/david-and-camus-part-2-the-stranger

2. https://www.amazon.com/Myth-Sisyphus-Albert-Camus/dp/0848833481

3. https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/existentialism/

[thetravellingvagrant]

Day 4: Lima-Iquitos - In Which I Am Accidentally Quite Racist

We were due to fly from Lima to Iquitos today. Under normal circumstances an 11am flight may just be dancing on the peripheries of being a bit of a faff, what with transportation times to the airport and Sam's absolutely rigid insistence on arriving no later than exactly two hours before flight time under any circumstances, meaning that alarms would generally need to be set for around 8am. This wasn't an issue today, however, as due to the magic of time-zones and the whimsy of sporadic insomnia, we were both wide awake, fully ready to go and honestly, even a little bored by quarter to five.

When the approximate time to leave did finally roll around, we made the short, ten minute walk to the vague location of where the airport express bus was supposed to depart from and then, as is apparently customary in lima, spent a genuinely silly amount of time looking desperately for its exact stopping point - because honestly, even after having now actually caught the bus, I'm still not exactly 100% sure of where that is. According to the website, the pick-up point was outside 'Hostal Torreblanca', a place which, for the life of us, we could not find. Google maps told us that we were standing at it, but there was absolutely no sign that we could make out that we actually were. It wasn't until the bus had arrived to drop passengers from the airport off, before making the circuit around Miraflores to eventually come back and pick us up that we noticed that Hostal Torreblanca was actually right next to us, though had apparently long since either shut down or just stopped maintaining its signage, and allowed all of its letters to erode away, leaving only the faintest outline of the name on its banner. Still though, basically found it first try, even if entirely by accident, so I guess in a way, I win twice?

Passing through airport security was...not a difficult experience. We breezed straight through the security metal detectors, despite me still having a fistful of coins, which I had forgotten to remove, still jangling around my exceptionally cool security-bum-bag, which was thoroughly reassuring and Sam even received a lovely compliment on her bottom from a charming Peruvian security guard, who made a kissy face at her and called her a pretty lady as she bent over to re-tie her shoe. They really do go all out to make you feel special at Jorge Chavez international. Take note, Gatwick.

We boarded yet another fucking flight and were soon whizzing off to the tropical paradise of Iquitos, which to be honest, I was shitting myself over. I decided to spend the lion's share of the flight time working on a blog entry, as, even then, I had fallen quite badly behind schedule – a habit which has clearly only worsened in the following days. I didn't manage to get very much vitriol down on paper, in the end, however, as I was distracted by the genuinely quite impressive view from the window as we cruised over, what I assume was the Pacaya Samiria national reserve.

...It does make writing about being served a plate of squid that you didn’t really want seem a bit silly, I suppose...

After around an hour and a half in the air, staring moon-eyed at the scenery like some giant man-sized bush baby we landed in Iquitos and walked directly into the airport and also a torrential tropical downpour. I've got to say, I enjoy the rain at the best of times - to an almost freakish degree, it has been said - but this jungle deluge really was absolutely choice rain. Premium drizzle, it was. Premiere sprinklage. I walked as slowly as I could without looking properly fucking mental into the airport, with Sam shooting me a look back at me the entire time, as if to say that I'd have to walk a little faster than that to convince her. Once inside, we looked for a stall for the company Taxi Green, which we had been informed by the never-ever-wrong-about-anything Tripadvisor forums were the safest bet in order to not get ripped off or killed and have your still twitching corpse dumped in a storm-drain. We could not, however, actually find any trace of Taxi Green in the airport and so Sam, being the patient and measured person she is, immediately asked the first vaguely trustworthy looking person (i.e. one with a badge) to take us to the city, proper, after – of course – pre-agreeing a price (Which was, as it turned out, double what we should have paid, anyway, so fuck even trying, I guess.). We were whisked away through the storm to his taxi immediately and, crucially, before I could connect to the airport's WiFi to regain my google maps signal, so we really were at his mercy, which was nice. Sometimes it's good to relinquish any control in a scary and unfamiliar place. Keeps you on your toes. Or perhaps dead in a storm drain. It can really go either way

Driving through Iquitos in the rain was pretty cool, though. It's very unlike anywhere I've ever been (because it is) and travelling during a torrential downpour really did make the place seem immediately very tropical (because... it is).

I'm sure you've figured out by now, that the taxi driver did not murder us and leave our still twitching corpses in a storm-drain; instead he delivered us right to the front door of our hostel an even unloaded our bags for us and everything. If he hadn't ripped us off, I might even have called him a gentleman. But he did, so he isn't. Prick.

We buzzed the door of The Amazon Within; the hostel in which we were due to stay a single night before venturing into the actual, for real jungle which would definitely be great and not at all scary. Around a full minute later, a shirtless, gruff man, who looked a bit like a brown Jerry Stiller answered. He said nothing. Unsure if I had buzzed the right place, I told him I had a reservation. After a brief moment- although still far too long a pause for it to have been comfortable, given that I didn't know if I was talking to the right person – he answered back

“Ah, si, reservation, come inside!”

Phew.

He unlocked the door and ushered us in to the building. As it turned out, brown, shirtless, gruff Jerry Stiller was named Julio and he was actually a treasure of a man. He was affable, helpful and welcoming beyond any expectation I would normally have had while checking into a hostel and we spoke for around thirty minutes about the twenty five years he had spent living in both London and Bournemouth (which he pronouncd Baown Mut). Not once did the conversation feel particularly forced, or awkward, or like he was putting on heirs for his guests, it was just very nice and very genuine (A bit of a rarity out here, I feel, as it does seem a little bit like everyone is either trying to get you to give them money for something, or hamming up basic Peruvian culture to a ridiculous degree in order to impress the gringo, usually.)

However lovely Julio was, though, the room he had given us more than ...whatever the opposite of made up (made down? Surely not) for it. It wasn't by a very long way the worst place I have ever stayed (that crown still goes to the Bosnian fire ant palace), but it was certainly not among the top either. It was sparse; four plain white walls and a single, half-broken fan plugged into a crackling socket was all that we had to play with in the bedroom. The bathroom sported a little more colour in the form of brown tiling and with a shower that seemingly was only ever designed to pipe out cold water. Given how absolutely maddeningly hot and humid it is in Iquitos, I suppose a cold shower wasn't the worst thing in the world but still, a little heat, purely so I didn't have to acclimatise each part of my body individually to being under the shower head, would have been nice.

Seeing no great reason for us to hang around in what was definitely starting to remind me of a Colombian prison cell, we ventured out to the hostel's patio, to soak up a little sun, before heading out to a supermarket for some toiletries and a restaurant to eat some food.

We hadn't been sat for more than a few minutes before we were approached by an American lady, whose name I instantly forgot. She spoke at us for a while about her experiences in Peru and how long she'd been travelling and how life-changing doing Ayahuasca, the hallucinogenic peruvian drug tea, had been and so on. All very friendly, yet still somehow utterly intolerable. Eventually though, she got bored of us after realising that we didn't really want to talk about drinking a mind-breaking soup with her and toddled off to sing Tom Petty songs to herself, whilst occasionally loudly affirming just how good Tom Petty is. Again, to herself.

With her out of the way, the coast was clear for us to be bothered by some of the other guests. A chap from Edinburgh and his Irish girlfriend struck up a conversation; him having overheard that we were from Glasgow. He asked what part of it I was from and I told him. He didn't know it. We briefly discussed how it was hotter in London a few days ago than it was in Iquitos and then he told us all about all the travels he had been on, continuously for the last year and a half; only ever venturing back to Scotland once every few months to get his mum to do his laundry for him or something. It was all incredibly boring and nearly exclusively an excuse for him to talk about himself; a subject about which I categorically did not care. Soon, again, the conversation fizzled out. I turned to Sam and asked if she wanted to head out, she replied in the affirmative. As I did, Edinburgh man turned to his own girlfriend and loudly exclaimed “fucking people, man...”. Now, I have no idea why he might have said such a thing, nor to be honest, if that was directed at us or not at all, but if it was, I would very much like to use this blog as a tool to reach out to that man to apologise for not single handedly, artificially keeping the deeply tedious conversation you were having at me, about all the places you've been and drugs you've done afloat. That was wrong of me. If you're reading this, please email me a list of both of those things and I will make sure I read every single entry. Namaste, brother.

Now slightly perplexed, but with a quiet confidence growing that we had accidentally booked ourselves into a proper wank-hostel, we left to go to the supermarket. Neither the heat, nor humidity of Iquitos was sitting well with me. I immediately began to feel quite woozy, though, now I think about it, inhaling the exhaust fumes of about a million tuktuks, all driving around on any bit of the road (and sometimes off it) they damn well pleased and honking their horn non-stop as if trying to appease a giant, angry goose god, probably wasn't helping me feel any better, either. Either way, I was sweaty and unhappy (which you'd imagine I'd be used to by this point in my life, but somehow it still came as a surprise)

After a quick traipse to the supermarket, via the main square (which, while lovely, I did not take any pictures of for fear of having my phone snatched off me by a crime man), we doubled back and walked along Malecon Maldonado; the very, very very touristy little riverfront boulevard, wherein we found the restaurant Dawn On The Amazon, which Sam had heard was highly recommended and was- and this is just a little flavour here-founded by an English man, who had since died in a flood. The food was delicious, though, as was the banana, coffee and chocolate smoothie I accidentally ordered and the view across the Naney river (not quite the Amazon river, but probably close enough to count)

...Acceptable...

Was a genuine delight to eat across from, even if I did end up losing eleven of my twelve pints of blood to mosquitos in the process of sitting outside to look at it.

During our meal, we were approached by (and I swear this is pertinent to the story) a brown man. He asked us if we were going into the Amazon jungle. It being Peru and both Sam and I being on edge about everyone trying to sell us something or steal our money, we told him politely, yet firmly that we had already booked our excursion, thank you very much. He looked baffled and asked

“...So you're going, right?”

We again told him we were so we didn't need to book anything with him. It was only then that I noticed that his accent was very clearly quite Indian. Sam had apparently noticed as well.

“Oh, no, I'm not trying to sell you anything. I just wondered if you had any advice about what we should take into the jungle?” he gestured to his wife, sitting at the table directly behind us.

Fuuuuck. Is that racist? Pretty sure that was at least a little racist. I'm not totally sure what a micro-aggression is, but I was pretty sure I just committed one.. regardless, he took it in good stride, laughing it off and telling us he was proud that he could pass for a local, which, if anything, only made me feel worse. Sam, as helpfully and politely as she could explained to them what they might need in the jungle and then we quietly finished our meal as quickly as humanly possible and left, to pull our own skin off in embarrassment. The only solace that either of us could find in the entire situation was that we would definitely, definitely never see either one of them ever again in all our lives. This is foreshadowing. Did you get it? It was terribly clever.

After a warm, sticky walk back to the apartment, during which my low ebb of health somehow ebbed even lower, we took a couple of lovely ice cold showers and, excited for the adventure the following day (Sam) and/or positively shitting ourselves at the thought of sleeping in the spider capital of the world (me), headed straight to bed.

...For about two hours.

I woke up, coughing. My head was spinning, my body aching, I was drenched in sweat (like, an unusual amount of sweat, even for being in the amazon) my throat glands were inflamed, swallowing was painful and my sinuses were jammed up to all buggery. There was no denying it any more; what I thought was some innocent run-downedness (Which, unlike anality is definitely not a word) was actually something far more sinister. I had the flu. The jungle flu... (Note: not malaria; just a regular flu that I happened to catch in the jungle; calm down, mum.).

The rest of my night consisted of getting around two hours of sleep at a time, followed by my getting up to refill and then completely consume the entire contents of my water bottle from the communal supply, take another freezing cold shower and empty the frankly unusual amount of effluvia that had collected in both my sinuses and bladder, over and over again, before finally my alarm went off and it was now basically fine for me to stop pretending that I was able to sleep. Good thing I had nothing strenuous planned for the next day...

[yougoatthis]

got assalted last night

so we went to the bar last night eh...u might have seen a couple of my snaps... i was pretty lit took a couple muscle relaxants couple advil and half an anti anxiety pill with bunch of drinks. i was feeling pretty loose... pretty on fleek..found some Minnie mouse ears some jumbo glasses in the snow was wearing them having the trillest time in the bar. Couple girls sitting down and one dude i was chatting up and the dude across the table was taking my pic with his friend haah bla bla bla.... anyways these girls at same table ask if i have a lighter..i currently did not for some reason and was like "no sorry i dont"... then they asked if i could get them one...and well i was kinda like damn these chicks hella lazy but im not doing anything so yea ill be a bro.... i go out to smoke balcony ask around..one guy says he has one but its his last so he would want it back... i said no problem i think these girls only need it for a bit...i didnt have any change so i gave him a 5 dollar bill as a deposit and said ill come back in 15 or 20 min. he was chill with that...i go back to the girls and one guy, hand them the lighter and say "here u go but just to let u know i need to give it back to this guy i gave a 5 dollar deposit ahah"... they said okay yea no problem.. i also let them know that the smoke pit was closing in 15 minutes to which they replied "yea no thanks come back in 15 and well give it back".....so 20 minutes goes by i come back.... the three of them havent seen to have moved at all... i say hey look balcony is closed now can i have the lighter back or u guys going to use it outside.... the girls said we gave it to our friend and pointed to guy behind me walking to to the table so i turn around and ask the guy "hey bro u got that lighter your friends here gave to you" he said "nah i never got a lighter i think its that guy who has it" points to another guy on my left walking up to the table.... i ask him same thing but also adding that i just gotta give it back to guy i borrowed from.....meanwhile im still standing at the table so the girls can hear all this and but are ignoring and talking to that one guy whos been sitting down the whole time...the last bro though says listen buddy the girls are fucking with you they have the lighter.... so now im looking at the girls and the guy sitting down and these two other guys who have also sat down and im standing... i say "hey listen i dont usually care that much its just a lighter but i went and got it for you and gave a guy 5 bucks who's expecting it back and i know one of you has it so can i have it back please and ill help u get a light later in the night when u actually plan on having a smoke"...one bitch faced dumb cunt looks at me and says "you are not getting your lighter back so just fuck off" at this point i am flabbergasted that 5 people who seemed chill are just letting this happen like its completely normal...so i walk off stunned not sure what to do..... i then sober up enough to realize what they did is not okay and this shit will not stand. i was however not by any means sober at this point... as i am walking i see salt and pepper shakers but u know like in corona bottles. i take the salt one pop off the lid walk back and to table pour a big fat line on their table that was empy and say "Heres seven years of bad luck motherfuckers!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" i start briskly walking away but i didn't get more then a step before first bro that been there the whole time splashes his drink all over me from across the table throws his glass at me which smashes at impact with my cranium.. i am but a dazed, smelling like rum and coke soaking wet still walking off... i quickly realized i am severally outnumber 5 to 1 but like 3 to 1 cause girls dont count .... an idea pops into my head.... if im going to get the shit kicked out of me i need one of two things.. some back up... or my buddy to snapchat it/ upload to worldstar... i spot my friend from across the bar.. he is 6'5 and a real bro... i make my way to him tell him i might be in some trouble. we look over to other side across the whole bar at the table and i see this blue shirt roided out glass thowing motherfucker making his way through the swarm of people his eyes locked on my minnie mouse ears...i am ready, more than ready i am stoked.. i know how lit i am right now that this is going to be good i can take this fucker shits going down.... im thirsty for some blood... revenge flowing through my veins in the sea... a trickle of blood on my head from the glass ......who does that... douchbag of the year thats who.....he makes it right up in my face.. im waiting for him to strike first he gives me shove.. i step back one.. feeling the energy flow through me i am charged ready to go full force fists are clenched here we fucking go BUT WAIT!!!!!!! he pulls out a quick attack!!. its a trap card! in my brief moment of hesitation he has time to pull the salt bottle from behind his back and sprays it in face like a squirter getting double penatrated and finally cums ...its everywhere mate im fucking blind there is salt in my eyes i cant see shit it burns... one eye seems to be functioning enough to watch this coward ass bitch run back to his table....looks like i dunked my whole head in salt.. a little bit got on this bro behind me to and he is chapped... i tell him its that blue shirt fuck across the table.. hes fucking livid.. im blind in one eye but raging like a bull... the march is on. we start making our way back across the bar...all bets are off anything goes,. someone is going down hard tonight.... and hes wearing a blue shirt. 20 feet away now...15...10...fuckkkkkk bouncer is right between us talking to the girls while the blue shirt is sitting down back at his seat like nothing happened.. bouncer looks at me..hes got questions... im at 100 right now.... things need to change.. i open my mouth pull my tongue out and look at it.... yes its fucking silver. its my time to shine. time to bullshit like ive never bullshitted before. i bring myself down to 1... he says "these girls are saying u poured salt on all over them bud its time to fucking leave" i say " listen man thats not what happened, but i have no problem grabbing my jacket and leaving i dont want any trouble or confrontation but that guy behind you just came across the bar and poured salt in my face for no reason" thesed girls are now bitching in his ear he shushes them then tells them to go sit down back with blue fuck. bouncer says "did u pour salt all over them first though".... i say "buddy does it look like i poured salt on them.." he turns his head around to no joke like 10 feet behind us the three of them sitting at their table talking to each other pretending like nothing happened and they had won. they all looks fine. actually they look good... finely groomed... blue fuck is probably soaked between the legs with shit running down to his ankles but u cant see that the table is in the way... he looks back at me, my eye is watering face is fucking red shirt soaked salt all over me in my face hair ears on my shirt.. like fucking everywhere he says okay.. he believes every word im saying.. i can see it in his eye..he feels bad for me..he wants justice.. he asks me which guy i said that guy right behind u...in the blue..... he starts walking to go around the table.. meanwhile i step forward to across the table... stick out my hand and say loud enough that they can all hear including the bouncer who is now but a couple steps away walking around backside of this big table..... i say hey bud no hard feelings.. lets just be cool as my hand is extended waiting for a shake i fucking know will never come... and as i say it i wink right in his eyes and put a huge smirky grin on my face...... i see flames bursting out of his ears.. ive tipped the scale... he is about to explode foaming at the mouth. To little to late bud the bouncer puts his hand on his shoulder. blue fuck snaps throws his hand out of the way and stands up.... i retract my hand take two steps back and bring out the popcorn.... bouncer doesnt fuck around. Grabs him by the legs lifts him up and body slams down hard... im grabbing my ipod trying to snapchat its not woprkign its not working!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i just enjoy the moment.. bouncer fucking elbows this kids face so hard into the floor headlocks and starts dragging him out... i raise my hands start the slow clap. it feels so fucking good.. one girl is crying other is screaming. im practically laughing right back in there stupid cunt faces. One of his buddies thought hed step up to plate takes a swing at another bouncer.. bouncer hits back guy hits back again damn this sit looks even...bouncer charges fucking tackles him throws him across the table. he rolls onto chairs gets up 4 more come in and fucking sedue the guy smashed his head into the wall dragging him out by is feet... i am in tears laughing my crew is behind me now watching the whole thing. ... i turn to the bitches and say..... "thats what u get for bic'in me...guess your bad luck has already started"... one chick kicks me in the shins and they both go running off....... and that is some of the best 5 bucks ive every spent... like i said... i got asSALTed

[greatdrams]

The Great British Bar Hunt. Part Two: Reading

Reading’s great. There, I’ve said it. (The town East of London, not the bibliophilic activity, should there be confusion. Though I actually love both.)

I’ve been here a year now, and in honesty I had my doubts to begin with. Descriptions I heard prior to moving featured “grey”, “dull”, “functional”, and “close to Slough”.

Happily, those descriptions must have been conjured by people who hadn’t spent any meaningful time in Reading, or who hadn’t been bothered to look around properly. (Though it is close to Slough). Because thanks to the superb food blog Edible Reading, and the discovery of a drinking companion whose alcohol tastes were as small-‘c’-catholic as my own, I’ve rather got to know my new home town. And you know what? I like it.

But it doesn’t really have a whisky bar.

Ok, caveat: it has The Purple Turtle. And I’m still not sure what to make of that place, but you can read about a previous misadventure here. The problem is, it has a superb selection of US whiskey...but I’m really not sure who goes there to drink it. Other than me that one time.

It just isn’t the sort of place you go for a quiet drop of something fancy. Because – and I must be blunt here – if I’m having something fancy, I’d quite like to be sober for it. And if you go into the Turtle sober then may God have mercy on your soul.

But I wanted to be proven wrong. I wanted to discover some tucked-away gem where exciting whiskies and creative cocktails were just waiting to dazzle and mildly befuddle me. An online perusal didn’t raise my hopes much – both Slug and Lettuce and TGI Friday’s were suggested by Dr Google.

So instead I picked the brains of my Reading-drink-scene consigliere, Liv, and a rain blattered Sunday afternoon saw the two of us make our way to a place called Caffeine & Cocktails...

Caffeine & Cocktails

5, The Walk, King’s Road, Reading. RG1 2HG

Might as well get something straight right away. This is not a whisk(e)y bar. It has 13 or 14 bottles, some of which, such as Nikka From The Barrel and Rittenhouse 100 proof, I rate very highly. But nothing that a mildly enthusiastic whiskonaut won’t have stumbled upon before. Put it this way: I don’t have the wallet to be a collector. But even my collection is bigger than Caffeine & Cocktails’

That aside, it’s a nice place to sit. Fairly high roofed, which alongside the glass-panelled walls give the impression of airy spaciousness. I’ve never been to C&C to eat (or indeed drink caffeine) before, but my understanding is that they’re pretty good in both respects.

Oh, and they have Happy Hour on Cocktails a lot.

From Monday to Saturday between 4pm and 7pm, and for the whole day on Sunday a good range of Cocktails are just £4 each. This being the South of England, that works out around the price of a pint, and I make that pretty good value. (The cocktails, not the pints – don’t get me started on the price of pints in the South.)

Should you venture to C&C outside of Happy Hour (saying “Hour” seems to really undersell them incidentally!) their cocktails range from about £7.50 to £8.50. That’s the same range that last month’s Jenny’s and Berry & Rye worked in, and which I’m coming to think of as “appropriate value for a decent cocktail.” Because I don’t live in London.

There’s a broad selection, including a double page spread featuring caffeine-based cocktails, which seems appropriate. Oh, and for what it’s worth, C&C wins many points from me for their cocktail name puns!

Anyhow – to business. I opted for a Tom Collins, not wanting to go too hard at 3pm on a Sunday, and Liv picked a Bellini. (They have several Bellini options – Liv had peach.)

This may not be the usual thing to comment on in a bar review, but I ought probably to mention in passing that the graffiti in the toilets may not be to your taste. Liv thought the offerings in the ladies’ was pretty funny; the writing in the gents’ is a little sexist for my taste. Takes all sorts, I know, but seems a little unnecessary. Happily it’s confined to the toilets, and I suppose you can always just cross your legs...

The cocktails on arrival were well worth £4 each. My Tom Collins was just the right side of too sharp, which is exactly the level I like. Liv’s Bellini was...a Bellini. In honesty, they always leave me a little cold. The overall verdict was that we probably wouldn’t want to pay £7.50 for them, but at Happy Hour prices no complaints whatsoever.

Our visit was short and sweet – a little like the Bellini. It’s a nice place to sit; I’ve never been at what you might call ‘peak time’, but I’d definitely recommend stopping by during Happy Hour. If you’re after the upper echelons of mixology, or a challenging and bewildering range of Aqua Vitae, however, you may want to look elsewhere.

Which is what we did next, in the shape of Cerise Bar, at the Forbury Hotel.

  Cerise Bar

The Forbury Hotel, 26 The Forbury, Reading. RG1 3EJ.

I’ve been to Cerise before, for my birthday meal last year, and can confirm that the food there is smashing. My mother rated her dessert the best she’d ever eaten, which is high praise indeed.

It is, however, not somewhere you go when you’re after saving a few pennies. Its website claims that it is becoming “the place to be seen outside London,” which rather says it all. The interior – and staff – are very smart indeed; Liv and I aren’t exactly scruffy, but we felt pretty underdressed until a chap helpfully bowled in sporting a hoodie.

The restaurant is slightly separate from the bar, and there’s a particularly comfy-looking lounge into which you can take your drinks, should you feel so inclined. Their outdoor area is also worth mentioning, as it’s a gorgeous place to sit, with a high wall and a fountain. It’s even covered during the rain, and sufficiently heated to make it almost worth sitting outside in the winter.

That being said, to get into it, you have to go through the restaurant. That wasn’t a problem on this occasion, as it was still a little early for diners, but I’d feel slightly awkward swinging through, Old Fashioned in hand, if groups of people were tucking into their grouse. (Other fine dining options are available.) But perhaps that’s just me.

I say Old Fashioned because that’s what I ordered, whilst Liv opted for an Espresso Martini. And here I encountered a quibble. The menu doesn’t specify which whiskey they use in their Old Fashioned, and when I placed the order the barman asked me if I had a preference.

Now I know this is my fault. I know that the cheap answer here is “just the house one, please”. But that’d be a little dull, so instead I opted for Knob Creek. What I hadn’t accounted for was quite how expensive the Knob Creek would be, compared to whichever their standard bourbon is.

Which brings me neatly to the selection and prices of their whiskies. Size-wise, it’s medium, to medium-light. It’s not a whisk(e)y-focussed bar, but the bottles they have include some interesting juice: Dalmore 25, Talisker 18, Yamazaki 12, Hibiki 17 etc.

But their pricings are absolutely all over the place. There’s no consistency to the markup; Yamazaki 12, which costs about £90+ online is £9 for a single. That’s not bad. Talisker 18, however, which with very little effort you can pick up for £70 a bottle, they charge £19 a throw for. I did the maths, and that’s about a 700% markup. And those are just two examples.

Cocktails took a little longer than anticipated, given the bar was relatively empty at the time. That being said, they were very good. Ironically, having been fussy about the whiskey in my Old Fashioned, I actually preferred Liv’s Espresso Martini. But both were excellent.

The thing is though, they weren’t any better than those at Berry & Rye, covered last month. And they were considerably more expensive. Once the 10% discretionary service charge had been added, the two came to just shy of £27. That’s more or less what I paid for a round of four in Liverpool.

It’s unquestionably a lovely place to sit, Cerise. The food is stunning and the drinks are very well made. But the bar prices are inconsistent, and I’m simply not sure that you always get your money’s worth. Happily they have a menu which details the selection – something none of the Liverpool bars offered – but you do need it, because otherwise there’s a chance you’ll end up burned.

I’ll probably go back, because there aren’t many restaurants like it in Reading. And I’ll probably have a cocktail with my meal. But if I’m asked what my spirit preference is, I’ll probably just say “just the house one, please,” next time. And for a spirits enthusiast that’s a pretty sad admission.

Liv and I left it at that for the evening, as the third bar I wanted to inspect doesn’t open on Sunday. So at this point we flash forward to Thursday evening to find me back in town centre after work, and heading for Milk.

  Milk Bar

8, Merchants Place, Reading. RG1 1DT.

Milk is my favourite bar in Reading. It actually leads a double life, because during the day it is Shed, which holds a special place in my heart for making My Favourite Sandwich In All The World.

But come evening the ciabattas are cordoned off, the outrageously good Jerk Chicken refrigerated, and the building throws on its cowl to become the spirits bar Reading needs.

Unfortunately for me, that spirit is Rum.

In a parallel universe I suppose there is an Adam who sets out his stall as The Rum Pilgrim. That Adam would go to Milk and say “yes, my search is over. This is the bar I wanted Reading to have.”

Because it’s a fantastic place. Usually busy, but seldom overcrowded; the staff are brilliant; service, despite the number of cocktails being made, is efficient and friendly, and their Rum selection is indeed prodigious in breadth and variety.

But wasted on me. There may come a time when neat Rum and I set aside our differences and become bedfellows, but it is not this day. An hour of sugar and Caribbean exoticism, but it is not this day. This day I am the Whisky Pilgrim, and Rum doesn’t quite do it for me.

They do have whiskies. Indeed they offer a ‘Rum and Whisky Wednesday’ service, with discounts and everything. (Which begs the question: why was I there on a Thursday?) Occasionally they get brand ambassadors in, which means that from time to time something more interesting appears on the shelves. (Or rather, lurks behind the first row of bottles; whisky visibility is set to “foggy” at Milk – not much tiering I’m afraid.) But again, the 20-bottle-strong bunch at Château Wellsy is – forgive my bragging – superior.

Milk’s cocktails are also decent. Rum-focussed, of course, but other spirits, whisk(e)y included, get a page each. Prices largely sit around the Caffeine & Cocktails mark, and to this taster the quality is slightly higher. But I fancied something neat, and opted for a Balvenie 14. Which, needless to say, is finished in Rum casks. Call it my concession...

  So: drinking in Reading.

Hmm.

On the one hand, a good night out is to be had. Something carefully selected and pretty well made in Cerise to begin with, followed by what’s left of Happy Hour at C&C. Then on to Milk for its fantastic ambience and friendly feel. Hell, I might even give Rum another chance sometime.

The thing is, I can have a good night just by going to The Allied Arms, which is a really first-rate pub in the town centre. But that’s not really the point of The Great British Bar Hunt.

I’m after a place with an exciting and broad whisky selection; with decent prices, and perhaps a good cocktail range. I’m after somewhere I’d pop into two or three times a week if I lived close by, spend a few hours there each time and gradually get to know the bottles and the staff. I’m after places that prove London doesn’t have a monopoly on interesting drinks.

A few onths ago a few whisky friends from The Smoke had made their way west and asked for bar recommendations since I wasn’t around in person. I wanted to send them to Milk – I genuinely think it’s the best bar in Reading. But these chaps wanted a whisk(e)y range, so with a heavy heart I directed them to The Purple Turtle.

Because however incongruous it seems at half past one on Saturday morning amidst the mingling whiffs of Jäger and sweat and bad judgement, Turtle has Reading’s premier whisk(e)y selection. It just does. Some of the Bourbons and Ryes there are first rate; prices are very reasonable, and the range is vast and growing.

I want to take that range and re-house it in Milk. I want Reading to have a chilled out bar somewhere that I can make my own, excitedly point friends towards, and continuously explore. But it just doesn’t.

So perhaps the answer is to go to The Turtle at the time of day and week that you feel least inclined to drink whisk(e)y. To specify that you don’t want your double to be served in a pint glass, and to quietly and solitarily enjoy the liquid treasures on offer.

But somehow that doesn’t quite seem like strong consumer advice.

Sorry Reading – I still think you’re great. But nowhere’s perfect.

Cheers!

[gallery type="rectangular" ids="23679,23680,23681,23682,23683,23684,23685,23686"]

The post The Great British Bar Hunt. Part Two: Reading appeared first on GreatDrams.

from GreatDrams http://ift.tt/2lJsL7y Adam Wells

[antics-pedantic]

RALLY CO. #4: THE GATE TO WITHIN, PART 3 / FINALE

Esmerelda was double-checking the impellet guns. They had plenty to take down several cryptids back home, under less pressing circumstances. But here in this subterranean world, they had to make every shot count. Likeminded, Tycho was carving spearheads and tying them to sticks with twine. He’d also figured to knot some grass together into ropes. Katrina was trying to focus on using her telepathy to reach Solomon and inform him of the situation. 

“Anything?” asked Felix, as she kept watch. She’d mostly just spotted some pterodactyl-like creatures flapping their wings, swooping by without noticing the adventurers below.

Katrina just shook her head. “I do not know if I am blocked or if we are too greatly out of range, Felix. I’m so scared.”

Felix didn’t speak. She just put her hand on Katrina’s shoulder for a moment, before moving back over towards Ez. 

“Any plans yet, fearless leader?” asked Ez. Felix flinched.

“We find one of those gates. One of them has to lead back to the surface. No matter where we end up, it can’t possibly be as bad as being lost down here.”

“And if it doesn’t?” said Ez. That was when Tycho stepped up to pass them the spears.

“I’m with Felix on this one. We’re on uncharted territory here. We have no idea who or what else lives here besides them beasties. We book an extended stay an’ we’re as good as mincemeat.”

Felix glanced down at Tycho, who gave her a nod. 

“Felix, c’mon. Let’s you an’ me take point this time. Ez, ye think yer brave enough to defend yourself an’ Katrina while me and Felix talk shop?”

Ez scoffed.

“Then go on monkey boy! I don’t see an accordion, so try not to disappoint Felix with your little dance, will you?”

Tycho just scoffed. Felix waved him along. They wouldn’t stray too far from Katrina and Esmerelda, but they needed to talk.

“She’s got doubts. I can tell.” said Felix.

“You an’ me both, Basra.” retorted Tycho. “She’s been known t’be real vexing.”

“No, I mean—she knows I’m not 100% about where to go or what to do next. And I don’t blame her, Tycho.”

“You’ve led us just fine so far.”

“Maybe by luck.”

“Yer a bloody detective! A damn fine one in the making, as Mr. Solomon Callahan used to praise ye! Out of yer element ye might be now. But lots of fellers who ain’t got half the wit you do have scraped by. I says ye’ll do ‘em all one better, ‘cause you’re not just any sleuth. You’re the take-charge flatfoot what organizes our little outfit. And I suppose it only helps ya leaps and bounds to have me around. I may not know all there is to this damned labyrinth, but I’m ready to learn—and my foundations have always been in the ways ‘o life in the wilderness.”

“… Thank you for your confidence, Tycho.”

“No better gut feelin’ t’follow than Gallagher family guts. Let’s rejoin the others and see about navigatin’ these burrows.”

As they did, the familiar—instant stress source that was the sound of gunfire. And something like water, but with an almost metallic quality. As they approached, the group took care not to be spotted: For they had come across Ruprecht Mueller and Dieter Leistung. 

“Mein Gott in Himmel!” cursed Dieter. “Whatever it was, it damaged the gateway!”

“Enough of your panic, Herr Leistung!” spat Mueller, before gesturing to a group of uniformed soldiers. “The spirited young folk of the Arkavalian infantry have come to support us! We’ll need to find another one of those contemptible gates around here. Or perhaps, convince this chap’s lot to assist us, ja?” 

“Arkavalia?” said Tycho quizzically, looking to the others after he was finished peering over the jutting stone he used for cover. It was Katrina who looked shaken to her core. 

“A smaller nation, tucked away within Europe. Before I properly moved in with Solomon, there was much news of dissent and disarray there. And then in newspapers, Solomon and I learned a new political party had taken power.”

“Seems they want to expand their borders…” said Ez. “I may not be leading an army behind me, but I wish I could do something about tinplated varmints like those.”

“Perhaps we can.” said Felix, waving for the others to follow her. “It’s a small enough operation that if we can get the jump on them, perhaps we might be able to foil it. They don’t seem well versed enough in this territory, and if we can capture them then Arkavalia’s tyrant masters will have been set behind a thousand steps! Who’s with me?”

With a nod from the others, Rally Co. tailed after the Arkavalian troop as quietly as they could. Tycho had fashioned together some sticks and foliage. Something large enough, whose shadow from overhead would be both large and accurate enough to a similar creature he’d observed passing overhead earlier. Katrina could handle making it glide with her telekinesis, fast enough to produce a blur. On Esmeralda and Felix’s timing, they launched it in a divebomb swoop, throwing the Arkavalian troops into a panic. A cover that Esmerelda and Felix could use to pull away two inexperienced troopers lagging behind the rest of their band. 

Dual *CRACKS!* went off as Felix and Esmerelda were forced to knock the two out cold immediately. Their impulse was not to fight, but rather to try and cry out. Alert the rest of their ilk to their disappearance. 

“That was close.” said Felix. “Quickly: search their things, and then throw them back to the rest without their guns.”

“That’ll give them quite the fright!” chuckled Esmerelda. “Suppose we’ve shaken them up enough that they couldn’t tell between us and that pterodactyl off-shoot?”

Katrina was quick to it, helping Felix search for whatever they could. Each soldier had a very standard set of equipment: Rifle, knife, rations and a canteen of water, that sort of thing. They had also been provided each a compass, but theirs were going haywire down here in the inner world. But what redeemed the search, was a small attachment: Still in its little wrap and packaging, with a small set of instructions detailing how to attach it to an existing compass. 

“We’ve got it!”

At those words, Tycho and Katrina helped to lift the two soldiers up, throwing them back to their lot as Rally Co. scurried off. Seeking hiding spots until they could work the devices they acquired.

X

Meanwhile, back on the surface world…

“I don’t like this, Funske.”

“Enough of your bellyaching, Jansen!”

Two Arkavalian agents in plain clothes disguises were in some other part of Arcadia. They had observed the lost-gate they had painstakingly assembled fail utterly. When that occurred, they were told to reconvene with other operatives in the city and determine which gates were still operational in order to retrieve their wayward infantry expedition, and perhaps something more. 

The meeting was held at the uppermost levels of a building in the business district: Some powerful shareholders and stock traders were sympathetic to the Arkavalian regime, and saw fit to aid its clandestine efforts with the many resources they possessed. 

“Funske, Jansen.” said another agent. “We received your phone call, and the succession of dialing the others occurred as we practiced.”

“Excellent.” said Funske. “We can confirm our attempt at building a gateway has been disabled from the other side. Master-Agent Mueller is still on the other side. Otherwise, everyone else is here.”

“Splendid!”

“Fortunate.”

“Efficient!”

“Haha!”

“Wait. Who was that just now?”

“Who was who?”

“I am on third.”

“Base?”

“Seat!”

“You fools!” spat Funske. “We are infiltrated! Find the interloper at once!”

The agents all searched together, but had no luck: In fact, by the time it was too late they had discovered the doors into the place were locked-- Or rather, were barricaded from the outside. And then, mocking laughter echoed from just about every direction: Their time had run out! 

Sidearms and a couple of shotguns were produced. Makeshift melee weapons would be made of the office chairs and so forth. Sweat slicked the brows and hands of these scheming agents. Each and every single one of them jumped and jolted when they heard a sound beneath the conference table. The only recourse was to poke holes through the heavy wooden furniture with a cacophony of gunfire. 

“Haha-- hahaha!” cackled Funske. “You are naught but an upstart! We do not fear this country or its foolhardy cowboys!”

The only response was the *FSSSSH!* of punctured canisters. A smokescreen filled the room as they all fell into unconsciousness. All save for Funske, who was dragged out of there by one mitten-hand of a round, clay construct, as Blockhouse’s other hand waved through the smoke, and closed the door behind himself. They went up to the roof, where Solomon Callahan awaited with a bucket of ice-water, splashing it on the spy. 

“The gates. You’re tampering with dangerous forces.” scolded Solomon.

“W-We are well aware!” said Agent Funske, halfway dazed and the other half desperate to run. “I do not fear you! Perhaps you are not a complete charlatan, occult detective… but my nation needs me. It has trained me to defy torture, to dispose of targets discreetly! Force my back to the ledge, but I will not--”

Funske barely registered that he had been yanked from Blockhouse’s grip. The lime-green, glowing lenses of the Junker’s flight goggles gave him an unblinking quality, his lips the only view into how he felt, and it was a hard line that uttered no plea for negotiation. Solomon and Blockhouse were trying to pull him back.

“W-Wait, I’ll talk!” exclaimed Funske.

“I don’t need useless variables like you mucking up this equation.” spat Junker. “You had your chance to talk. And you squandered it like the rest of your miserable life, fascist! I’m going to toss you off this damn ledge, and if you’ve got a cyanide capsule-- then you may die that death too.”

“And a thrashing he deserves, we’ll see to that!” exclaimed Solomon. “Listen here, you filthy so-and-so: It won’t be long before our mystery man recalls a method of leverage, by way perhaps of judo, and forces off myself and the construct. Speak quickly!”

“Lest ye take it to the grave…” said Blockhouse, ever the somber sardonic. 

“Arkavalia has discovered a world within the one whose surface we dwell!” cried Funske. “And the gates are a means to travel to that space-- always have, according to the supreme lorekeepers of our research commission. We thought we could use it to plan sudden, unforeseen invasions of our enemies!”

“You’d need a bigger gate for all the tanks and troops. Show us where your most powerful gateway is?”

“Okay, okay!”

Junker got free at last. Not by force, but he had relaxed. Still, he kept his eyes on Funske, more than ready to tear him apart. But instead he entrusted Blockhouse to keep tabs on this fiend and his ilk.

“I’ve got to go prepare something in the event we have… big trouble.” said Junker. “Follow Funske and don’t let him lead you astray.”

“You can count on us--” said Solomon. But that earned what passed for a glare from those goggled eyes. Ever-watching, ever-judging. Only Blockhouse was exempt from that.

“I wish you could stay, old chum.” sighed Blockhouse.

“If only wishes could be granted so... freely. Comfortably, with an air of trust.”

And with those final, bitter words Junker disappeared into the night. Solomon and Blockhouse started to restrain the other Arkavalian agents for capture, save for Funske who would show them a path to their friends.

X

The strange instrument the group had acquired the means they needed to get the advantage over their militaristic foes. Tycho and Katrina had collaborated to figure out Subterranean travel using Tycho’s talent for navigating the outdoors, and Katrina’s telekinesis to map short stretches ahead to figure out which tunnels and under-plains to traverse.

“Has anyone noticed another gateway around here yet?” said Esmerelda. 

“Still ongoin’, shyster!” snapped Tycho. “I don’t see ye formulatin’ no kinda way to make this process easier.”

“I don’t think slapping duct tape over your mouth will qualify, much as it should.” retorted Esmerelda. Felix stood by Katrina, making sure to protect the psychic in the event of any surprise dangers. A couple of times, the Arkavalian troops had nearly stumbled upon the Rally Co. group, and Felix was always quick to find a hiding spot before they scurried along with great haste to make some more distance. 

Eventually, they stumbled upon the remains of some once-great structure. Within which, an antechamber housed damaged carvings and items reduced to rubble. All that remained was a section of the building that seemed to host a larger variant of the lostgates they had used to get to this strange place. 

“The Arkavalians must have entered through this gate.” said Felix, inspecting the area. “The damage resembles the caliber of bullets they used earlier in shooting that poor Subterran inhabitant. I also see bootprints and a few discarded things like canteens and walkie talkies.”

“An’ this gate’s big enough for a whole brigade o’ them blighters!” exclaimed Tycho, stating the more obvious. “Leads right back outside into the larger hollows. They could get vehicles and artillery in. Maybe they won’t be able to wipe out all the beasts, but they could learn to get around ‘em, keep ‘em at bay… maybe even direct ‘em to their advantage. Nobody could attack underground bases like this so easily.”

“Aye, they could run many foul experiments, or perhaps hold prisoners without hope of rescue!” said Esmerelda. “A nightmare in the making…”

“And those that lived here are in danger of losing everything…” said Katrina, wiping a tear from her eye. “The artifacts here have been damaged so badly. The terror they inflict is… it is most awful!”

“There is nothing to lose, and only everything to gain!”

Just then, Ruprecht Mueller had arrived with his soldiers in tow, keeping Duke Luke and Dieter Leistung close so they would not escape either. 

“Step away from the gate, children.” said Ruprecht. “You may have eluded me before, but you’ve got no clay construct to protect you now.”

Rally Co. were prepared to move, but did not for fear of a hail of gunfire erupting for anything more than a nervous twitch. Duke Luke was gradually turning from fear to a twisted sense of excitement, as he hopped forward.

“Yessirree, Mr. Muller sir! Start with their leader-- the junior detective! The rest will break down at the sight of her corpse once it’s riddled like swiss cheese.”

Of course, before the guns could be fired, the Earth around them began to quake.

“What?! A tremor?!” cried Mueller.

“No, worse sir!”

A trooper had turned away to begin firing their submachine-gun upon an evolutionary off-shoot of one of the best known of the dinosaurs.

“Semper fidelis tyrannosaurus!” yelped Tycho, trying to get the gate to work. 

“Ever-faithful, terrible lizard?” said Esmerelda. “I didn’t know you practiced latin!”

“Anyone practiced opening one of these blasted gates?!” exclaimed Felix. “If not, then make for the nearest burrow!”

The whole Rally Co. team raced out of the ruined structure and into the underground plains, trying to find the nearest wall-tunnel they could scramble into. The tyrannosaurus off-shoot had knocked several Arkavalian troops aside with a swing of its tail. Just then, the larger lostgate had activated: Duke Luke was sprinting for it to escape the great monster. Felix didn’t want to waste a moment in pursuing him for his secrets of the Golden Shadow and the assassin’s whereabouts. But that was second to evacuating her team-- her friends. 

“Everyone, through the gate!” she ordered.

“What do you suppose is on the other side?!” said Esmerelda. 

“Dear sweet life!” cried Katrina. “I’ll not argue with Felix-- I believe someone from the surface has done it to save us!”

Just before they could make a move through, something with a spinning propeller tore through the gate, swooping into the spacious underground plains, and some of the larger tunnels when the Arkavalians and subterranean wildlife tried to attack, by tooth and bullet. Likewise, the unmarked aircraft belonging to no nation returned fire, performing expert aerial maneuvers in order to maintain the plane’s continued operation. Certain nothing else would come through the portal, the Rally Co. group dashed through to find themselves within a warehouse whose doors had been open to the outside, revealing the Arcadia harbor. 

“Fortunate development!” cried Blockhouse, who had just been in a hurry to open the doors of the warehouse, likely for the plane that had just gone through the larger lostgate. “I’d feared gravely for the lot of you!”

“It’s good to see you too, Blockhouse.” said Esmerelda. “Soon as we’re all home I’ll have to take a look at the composition of your clay. It can’t possibly have been that long since you shielded us from that chem laboratory explosion!”

“But who was that… that sky daredevil that appeared?” asked Katrina. “Will they be alright?”

“Plentifully!” said Solomon, walking back into the building with Duke Luke in tow. “As soon as they’re back through the gates, we’ve got to dynamite this whole blamed thing! Hurry along, everyone!”

The motion was seconded across the board: The group was far too frazzled to argue. In a haze of smoke, the unmarked fighter plane eventually zipped back through the larger lostgate, some smoke rising from a spot it was damaged. Tycho was setting the last explosive charge when he saw the bloodied maw of the tyrannosaurus off-shoot halfway through the gate, about to clamp down on him. Or at least it would have, had Blockhouse not stepped in with a haymaker punch, forcing the monster back into its domain as the two hurried away to watch the fireworks from a safe distance. 

“Now!”

Esmerelda hit the detonator. The larger lostgate was done away with. Sighs and hysterical laughter were exchanged, until the group glanced up to see the unmarked fighter plane making one last pass: They could see in the cockpit was none other than The Junker! And surprisingly, he had offered the group a thumbs up before flying off into the night. 

“I thought I’d lost you all!” exclaimed Solomon. “Blessed be this day. Is everyone alright?”

“In dire need of a shower, perhaps sir!” groaned Esmerelda. “Shall we all get along then?”

“I want a cream soda and a hoagie is what I want.” said the frowning Tycho. “And lots of naps between each bite. Pull up the radio or the television to my bedside!”

But as everyone shuffled towards Solomon’s roadster to begin the journey home, too exhausted to even consider any sort of follow-up on this case the next day, the ever-inquisitive Felix walked at a pace matching her mentor.

“There are more gates like this. We’ve not seen the last of that strange realm?” said Felix. Solomon just nodded.

“I’m afraid so. But if we should ever need to traverse that mysterious place, I’ll not have you do so without being packed more preparedly than the finest expedition. And perhaps, with reinforcements of some sort!”

Felix chuckled. Solomon smiled, but then he took on a serious demeanor for just one more spiel.

“Now Felix… I recognize that fellow The Junker has been appearing prominently. I’m not certain he’ll address me given my reputation and semblance of authority… but if he communicates with any of you, will you keep me updated? Ah! Blockhouse too of course.”

Without a second thought, Felix had nodded in agreement. It was only after that gesture that she realized she had put a great deal of trust into Solomon at a time when he had been acting oddly about the group. Not that his enthusiasm was out of place, but it seemed as if mentioning the mystery man fostered doubt in the older occult detective.

“And once he’s out of shock, we’ll grill that mercenary you’ve captured for his information.” said Solomon. “Another step closer to that Golden Shadow and his wily assassin. Malika would be terribly proud of you.”

The suspicions would have to wait. Felix had finally gotten hold of a much desired lead on her dreadful opponents. Every step forward now had to be taken carefully, wary of danger yet quick to snatch up opportune clues. 

X

Leistung had finally eluded Mueller and his men. 

It was not difficult to find another one of the smaller, regular-sized gates that individuals could pass through. But he needed something like what that fighter plane used earlier. Not so much for an invasion, but ideas formulated in his head that only colleagues could confirm with their greater geological expertise, and powerful patrons could bring to life with a steady flow of funding. A chance to carve something out… not to invade Subterranea right away, but to hide a veritable wonderland where his research could finally achieve its full potential. 

Now that he was back on the surface world, it was time to put this newborn plan into motion before the jackbooted ranks of Arkavalia, the nuisance of Rally Co., the terror of The Junker-- any human hindrance really, could stand in the way of this new frontier. 

FIN

[glorioussoulwerewolf]

The Switch part 4

The Switch

Part Four

After showering and having breakfast, Jake handed Jonathan a pair of cross trainers, socks, mesh shorts and a t, and told him to get dressed in them.  Harold came in to announce they had a visitor; a Mr. Anthony was there for Jonathan.  Jake asked Harold if everything was ready and was reassured that it was.  

They entered the study to find Anthony standing there.  He had removed his shirt and was the perfect fitness specimen with his large ripped arms and legs, as well as his firm, tight ass and wash board abs that popped from his chest.  He looked at Jonathan and asked him if he was the one who needed a trainer.  Confused, Jonathan did not know how to answer. Jake explained to Anthony that it was important for Jonathan to have a body like his; well shaped and defined. He wanted his 42" chest to expand to 48" while his waist was to decrease from 36" to 30"; his legs and arms were to double in size.  Money was not an object and he had secured the condo below them to be used as a gym.  Anthony put his arm around Jonathan and said "We're wasting time here. Let's get started."  Harold accompanied them to the elevator and brought them to the new gym.  "I do trust you will find all of the equipment you said you would need here Sir.  I do apologize but the mirrors will not be installed later today."  Anthony asked if he was to juice Jonathan up and was told to do whatever is needed to prepare Mr. Jonathan to meet Master Jacob's specifications.  

Anthony injected Jonathan with HGH and gave him a protein shake.  "You will drink three of these a day and I will inject you before each workout.  Shakes are to be consumed before our morning workout, before our afternoon workout and one afterwards. They're vanilla flavored but you might want to add a banana or berries to them and whip them up in the blender."  Jonathan nodded in agreement.  They began their workouts with Jonathan barely able to bench press 135 pounds.  "That will change as you get stronger.  Don't worry about the amount of weight; it is all about form for now." Anthony told him.  They met daily at 8 am and worked out for four hours, stopped for a light lunch that Harold would bring to them, and then continued to work out for another four hours, repeating this regimen seven days a week.  Jonathan would take his supplements as well to include injections of HGH, Creatine shakes with weight gainer added in, and vitamin supplements religiously.  After dinner, his evening routine was the same - put on his chaps, sit on the new machine Jake bought him and have his hole opened wide.  Then he would kneel before Jake who was dressed in his tuxedo and suck the cum out of his cock.  

Every morning, he would wake up and immediately shower and dress to head down to the gym.  Harold would have his breakfast ready for him down there consisting of oatmeal, his shake, a platter filled with bacon and eggs, and a large bowl of fresh fruit.  Jonathan would consume it all.  His appetite kept increasing daily as he worked out and his evening schedule changed.  For the next couple of months, Jake would be "otherwise occupied" as Harold would say, so Jonathan would get fucked by the machine and head to bed. The dildo on the device had to be increased in size several times as his hole opened wider and wider.

A month had gone by and Jake saw Jonathan come up from the gym. "You hair is getting long and you need a dye job." he told his brother.  "And look at those legs - you have hair on them.  I am contacting Bruce at the salon and having him come over with a team this evening to have him take care of it.  Put your black silk suit on this evening with your black sequin bowtie and black and white checked silk shirt.  I want you to look especially nice for dinner.  By the way, have you noticed?  You are getting bigger.  Your shoulders seem wider."  Jonathan smiled at his brother.  He was right he thought to himself.  He did notice his dark roots were showing and his hair was getting long.  

Jonathan went to change and put his shirt on.  Before he could even button it, he found his shirt was a bit tight across the shoulders and as he put his pants on, he noticed they were getting loose.  He attached a set of black braces to hold them up and started to pull his shirt across his body to button it up.  He heard a tear in the back but said it would have to do, that he needed to get dressed the way Jake wanted.  He put on his cufflinks, tied his bowtie, fixed his hair, added a pocket silk and lapel flower to his jacket and slid it on.  He couldn't button it as it would not fit properly across his shoulders but went to the dining room anyway.  "I see we need to get you measured for some new clothes." Jake remarked as he saw his brother.  "But for now, this will do."  Harold brought out a three pound roast.  Jake watched as Jonathan loaded his plate with meat, veggies and potatoes, and then had a second plate, and then a third.  This new workout routine had increased his appetite significantly and he could not believe how much Jonathan was now eating without gaining weight around his waist.  In fact, Jake noticed how thin Jonathan was getting and smiled as he knew Anthony was worth every penny he was being paid.

After dinner, Bruce arrived with several members of his staff.  He instructed Jonathan to change into a robe and meet him in the bathroom. The team went to work reshaping Jonathan's hair, dying it platinum, waxing and dying his brows, giving him a mani/pedi, and a full body wax.  He was given a curling iron and shown how to use it to put marcel curls in the front and along the sides, helping him to have more of a 20's hairstyle.

This became the routine for the year.  Jonathan and Anthony would work out religiously and Bruce would bring his team over every three weeks to refresh his looks.  To make things easier, Jonathan had moved into a room in the flat downstairs but the only clothes he kept there were his work out attire and silk pajamas for that was all he needed.  Anthony had Jonathan start using a tanning bed as well and today was the grand unveiling.  Jake came down to the other flat to see his brother.  His abs were harder and popped more than Anthony's.  He now had tight washboard abs .  His arms were huge and well defined with veins popping from his shoulders to his hands.  His back muscles had grown and were now popping out.  His chest was well developed and he was now a rock hard 48. He had no waist and no fat.  In fact, he now had a 28" waist which made his upper torso look very formidable.  As for his legs, the muscles and veins popped out there as well.  With his blonde hair and bronze tan, he looked like a Greek God.  Jake was pleased as he looked as his brother - muscled, tanned and oiled.  Jonathan kept flexing in the mirrors as he stared at himself.  He couldn't help himself as he was able to wiggle his pierced breasts.  He was in love with how he looked.  He was no longer that scrawny guy saw as he looked at his brother. He was tanned while his brother was ash white.  It was a dream come true.  Harold handed him one of his old silk shirts and Jonathan could not get his arm in either sleeve so Harold cut them off.  Jonathan slid the shirt on and flexed, only to tear the shirt across the back.  He was worried Jake would be upset but Jake only smiled and handed him another shirt telling him to do it again.

While Jonathan was training every day, Jake had mastered his signature and had taken control of all his assets.  He had his looks and dressed in Jonathan's old style, always wearing a bespoke suit, tailor made shirts, braces, sheer socks with garters, well polished shoes, a pocket silk, lapel pin, and one of his signature bowties.  He could not help himself.  He could not bring himself to wear a necktie - he felt he had to wear bowties and suits from morning until he retired for the evening.  Even when he went to church, he was now dressed more appropriately.  He never went to church before he moved in with his brother and now he was a deacon, donning a morning suit with a large bowtie, gloves and top hat. Everyone there knew him as Jonathan and he loved the attention.  He would take walks around the park after church dressed that way, carrying a diamond studded walking stick, tipping his hat as he passed a lady even though he no longer had any interest in them.   He was never found without a suit on, even while sitting in his study.  Yes, his study as he was now the only Jonathan Baxter.  

He determined having two men with Jonathan Baxter's face would not suffice but he wished no harm come to his brother.  He looked at the new Jonathan with that fantastic body but still saw his face. "I have to do something about his face.  I can't have him going out looking so fit and masculine  with my face." he told himself.  He was already working on a new identity for Jonathan with a new name but needed to do something about the face as he would soon be known as Gordon Locke, after his golden locks of hair.  And this flat with all of the athletic equipment would become Gordon's new home.

Anthony was also pleased with the new body Jonathan had developed and asked Jake what he thought. "You did a remarkable job with him. I have your check here.  Thank you for all you did!" Anthony told Jake that Jonathan should continue with the shakes but discontinue the HGH, and that it was important that he continue to work out daily.  "I will make sure it happens."  As Anthony went to leave, Jonathan said his good-byes and thanked him repeatedly.  Both men could not help but notice that Jonathan now spoke with a lisp.  

Jake suggested to his brother that it was now time to get him some new clothing and asked what he would prefer.  "Leatherzzz would be great.  And I do like how the silk stuff feels on my body."  Jake instructed Harold,  "Obtain the services of the tailor we last used for Jonathan's wardrobe to come to the upstairs condo immediately.  I believe his name was Armando.  Tell him we have a challenge for him as my brother can no longer fit into anything off the rack."  Armando arrived with swatch books and a tape measure in hand.   He and Jake spent the day selecting suit and shirt swatches for Jonathan's new clothes as Jonathan stood by and watched.  When Jake suggested he wanted a full rack of leather clothing for his brother, Armando suggested they not only look at black but tan and blue, and that Jonathan start wearing piercing blue contacts as they would look wonderful on him.  He ordered an assortment of leather pants in black, blue and tan; some with stripes. As for shirts, they were all long and short sleeve leather with shoulder straps in matching colors.  For the pants with stripes, the shirts had matching piping. High leather boots, a Sam Browne shoulder strap and belt, leather bow tie, cap, jacket, and trench coat, all in leather, all in colors matching the pants were ordered.  "You do understand this will all have to be custom made", Armando told Jake and he said that would be fine.  He then ordered some silk shirts in an assortment of colors and patterns, and said Jonathan will also need several new tuxedos as we as suits for special occasions.  Armando suggested a black double breasted tuxedo, a navy with black satin trim single breasted with a shawl collar, and a black three piece tuxedo with a peaked collar. Jake loved the choices and had them added to the order.  As for his suits, he ordered all 2 piece suits with peaked lapels in solid bright blue, light grey, and black, and a blue plaid, a grey with large pink checks, and a blue sear sucker.  All of his ties were to be bow ties.  Pocket silks, shirts, sheers, sock and arm garters, and lapel pins completed the order. Jonathan was excited over his new clothing and couldn't wait for them to arrive.  For now, he would continue to dress in his mesh shorts and t's.  

The two men retired for the evening.  Unknown to both of them, Harold continued with their training by playing tapes in their bedrooms once they were asleep.  They were becoming the men Harold wanted them to be.

[missytina1974]

The finish line is near..

Apologies, a lot of catching up to do on here so here goes... Saturday 8th April I was invited by the charity fundraiser at Ty Hafan to participate in a meet and greet 10km run today in Bute Park. The idea to meet other marathon runners and share our stories I think. I went along but have to admit was slightly apprehensive. As I've said before, I'm a slow runner and for this reason generally prefer to run on my own so I don't feel the pressure of keeping up with others or feel a bit rubbish at how slow I am. I'm also very shy, particularly around people I don't know so had to take a double dose of courage to go along. There were only 4 of us, another marathon runner like me called Chris and the Ty Hafan chap (James) with his partner (Jen). I have to say when I first saw Chris I thought all my fears had come true; he was obviously quite a seasoned runner based on his appearance. When we set off on our run the pace was quite fast, as I suspected it might be, so we quickly separated into two groups of two, me and James and Chris and Jen. I was quite relieved if I'm honest. James by his own admission is not a regular runner so I think he was also glad to run alongside me. We took a route through the park that also took in part of the local park run route so we were cheered on several times by some unknowing course marshals which was really nice. The sun was beating down on me for large parts of the run despite being relatively early in the morning and I have now decided that I'd much prefer clouds and/or rain on marathon day. Despite the heat, we covered 9.3km and amazingly I recorded my fastest ever run. I really enjoyed myself and am so glad I made the effort to go along. Tuesday 12th April As I'm officially on tapering down, there was no long run this week. My husband and I went on a city break to Ireland on Monday for a few nights and for the first time ever I actually went for a run whilst on holiday and what's more my husband came out with me too. We both stayed completely sober throughout the day so that we could go for an early evening run which for a break to Ireland is harder than you might think. There are literally pubs at every turn, heavens knows how they all manage a profit. Rather usefully there was a running route card in our hotel room with a selection of options (4, 5 and 12km). We chose the 4km route which looked fairly straightforward however it became quickly apparent that we'd gone the wrong way but carried on anyway. It was quite pleasant alongside the university campus and then following the river. Whilst I enjoyed the run, my right knee was a little sore and the top of my quad also reminded me of its presence continually. Miraculously we did actually cover just over 4km but the time we returned to the hotel. We then headed straight for the hotel pool and it was here that for about five minutes I thought my marathon dream might be over. As I was getting changed out of my running gear and into my swim suit, I rather stupidly kicked my foot against the lovely wooden benches and took a chuck of skin off one of my toes. It hurt so much I could've swore that I'd broken my toe. Thankfully I hadn't and it was just bruised and grazed. Friday 14th April Back home now and not at work due to the bank holiday, so I headed out for a run this morning. Still feeling a little wary about my knee and quad, I decided to take it steady. My knee didn't bother me at all today and my quad wasn't as bad either so I'm hoping that they'll last out to get me round the marathon course. I think the audio books really do help to focus my attention away from aches and pains as I didn't have it on for my last run when they seemed so bad. I did just over 7km which was about what I was supposed to do according to the training plan I'm loosely following. Also had a trip to my chiropractor this afternoon who worked her magic and stuck pins in my muscles! Finally, I'm absolutely astounded by the generosity of family, friends and colleagues who have donated to my just giving page meaning I've already surpassed my initial target 🎯

[psychotherapyconsultants]

5 Red Flags Your Relationship Is Toxic

Do NOT miss these signs.

When we’re in the thick of our day-to-day life with an *******, we don’t see the long-term negative impact our relationship has on our mood, self-esteem, self-confidence, values, goals and our other meaningful relationships. We can transform from a motivated, healthy, happy person into a miserable, sniveling wreck no one wants to be around without even knowing it’s happening.

The 10 Biggest Mistakes Men Make In Relationships

This is reminiscent of the story of the frog who is put in a pool of cool water. He doesn’t realize it’s actually a pot on a stove that is slowly coming to boil. He’s cooked and ready to eat before he even knows it. And I don’t think we want to turn into a delicious pair of frog legs on our toxic roustabout’s silver platter.

Here are 5 signs you’re in a toxic relationship that show through changes in yourself.

1. Friends and Family Don’t Like Who You’ve Become When With Your Man.

It’s a red flag when your family doesn’t like your guy, but that reaction can cut both ways. Have you ever had someone who really loves you, someone who truly has your back, say something like this to you: “It’s not that I don’t like your boyfriend/lover/spouse. It’s just that I don’t like who you become when you’re with him. I feel like you’re not being your true self”?

I can’t tell you how many times I heard some variation of that line from friends and family while I was dating each of my heartbreakers. But I was in denial because I was neck-deep in an oxytocin-dopamine tsunami of addiction to the relationships and didn’t want to look too closely at what they were costing me.

My relationship with The Greek God encompassed most of my college years. And along with the damage he did to my body image, he dinged me in other ways, too. After several months of dating, he began having questionable relationships with other women. Consequently, I morphed from a carefree, fun-loving, popular co-ed to an isolated, loner who developed spy skills on a par with the CIA, doing those patented, codependent 3 AM stakeouts.

This was accompanied by digging through his personal papers and letters, driving hours to see if he was really where he said he was, then driving back without him even knowing I’d been there. My friends and family noticed how I transformed into a neurotic Geisha when my guy was around and a complaining harridan when he wasn’t in sight.

They tried to intervene, which made me pull away from them. And once I’d marginalized the closest people in my life, I further isolated myself in the toxic relationship.

2. You Become Unreliable and Inconsistent.

When the man we love is inconsistent and unreliable, we can often mirror him, becoming unreliable and inconsistent with everyone except our Romeo. For him, we’ll make ourselves available at a ping, waiting hours or days for him to deign to see us. But then we start being late for or canceling appointments with friends, family, and colleagues in order to be forever on-call for our unpredictable *******.

And as we wait at the beck and call of our lover, other meaningful relationships fall by the wayside. People stop calling because they know we’ll throw them over the second our rascal crooks his little finger. Pretty soon our lives become small, insular and lonely. And isolation is the worst thing that can happen to a relationship addict.

3. You Do Weird Things to Manage or Affirm the Relationship.

If you live in Venice Beach, as I did, you might seek the wisdom of a Shaman, a psychic, or a hypnotist. Anyone might predict a wonderful future for you and your heartbreaker if you can just figure out how to control him. Worse, you might rely on the wrong self-help book that affirms your choice to stay in your heart-stomping situation with the false belief you can influence your man by applying the tools presented within.

For a time John Gray’s still-popular Men are From Mars, Women are From Venus was my Bible. I’ll give you an example of the absolute time wastage that occurred when I invested in using the tools in Gray’s book.

Gray writes:

“When a Martian (men) gets upset, he never talks about what is bothering him. He would never burden another Martian with his problem unless his friend’s assistance was necessary to solve the problem. Instead, he becomes very quiet and goes to his private cave to think about his problem, mulling it over to find a solution.”

Gray explains that Venusians (women) need to be patient and let men come out of their cave when they’re ready. So I waited. And waited. And waited.

What I didn’t realize was that when you’re the only one scratching and fighting for the relationship, Gray’s advice can prolong your tolerance for very bad behavior and keep you in purgatory indefinitely. The reality is, a relationship is only as good as the person who tries the least.

4. You Turn the Narcissist’s Breadcrumbs into a Rustic Loaf.

The longer we stay in toxic circumstances, the more we deplete our jet fuel and self-worth. Until soon we’re giving the scoundrel credit for doing the absolute minimum to keep our relationship slogging along. Women trapped in soul-numbing situations are extraordinary bakers. They can take their chap’s breadcrumbs and whip them into a rustic loaf because they desperately want to justify staying with him.

For example, Caroline moved in with Toby, her boyfriend of three years, because she was certain that grappling him into a shared domicile would evolve into a marriage proposal. Toby, a non-committal, workaholic, traveling salesman, was emblazoned with red flags. But Caroline thought getting Toby to the altar would solve all of their problems.

Toby’s moping, lying, cheating and stonewalling would disappear, as would Caroline’s nagging, bitching, spying and auditioning for a wife. Predictably, once Caroline moved in, Toby’s moping ramped up. He hedged like a hedgehog against making plans with Caroline’s family and friends. And his workaholism doubled.

If You Do These 10 Things You’re Headed Toward Lasting Love (Yay!)

Their first Christmas together, Caroline tried to harangue Toby into helping her decorate their house for the season. She thought that if they hung tinsel, wreaths, and garlands together they’d morph into a “real” couple. Toby managed to be busy whenever Caroline wanted to decorate. With Christmas Eve fast approaching, Caroline decided to decorate the tree and house alone. She then scolded Toby for not helping her.

The next morning, she found Toby heading off for an extremely early work meeting. Caroline rolled out of bed to start another painful, obsessive, tiny little day. Then she discovered Toby’s contribution to their holiday home. There on the mantel, above their fireplace, he’d hung a teeny, tiny, fig leaf-sized Christmas stocking. He’d helped her decorate! That diminutive red stocking, with the white faux fur trim, made Caroline’s heart swell.

Sweet Jesus! He was trying! He loved her! He wanted to make her happy! Just look at that microscopic, imperceptible little boot! Any infinitesimal gesture on Toby’s part was a gem polished to a fine luster in Caroline’s heart until she began to expect less and less and less… until she finally gave him credit for almost nothing at all.

I’m happy to report that Caroline pulled herself up by the Christmas bootstraps and moved out of the home she made to catch Toby. She spent last Christmas decorating with her new roommate, minus drama, with lots of delicious hot chocolate and mildly inedible fruitcake.

5. You Become Addicted to the Cycle of Abuse.

It’s important, that I make it very clear that I’m talking about emotional abuse. If you’re in a physically abusive relationship put this down right now and immediately seek help. The National Domestic Abuse Helpline is at 1-800-799-SAFE.

This guest article originally appeared on YourTango.com: 5 Signs You’re In A TOXIC Relationship (That’s Going To End Badly).

from World of Psychology https://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2017/03/13/5-red-flags-your-relationship-is-toxic/