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moonmaiden1996 · 2 years

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Claiming his Queen

Taking a break from the real world and wanted to write a random idea I needed to get out after watching the Sandman. I loved the book but the casting was amazing. I am literally dying with how good it is. REQUESTS OPEM

Soulmate Fic

Summary- You spent your summers at the Burgess Manor with your parents, but stumbling upon captive in the basement is going to change your life forever.

Slightly dark fic- Warnings include imprisonment, possessive thoughts, pain and soul branding.

You remember playing at the Burgess Manor as a child. The gardens were stunning, a sea of green against the glimpses of colour. You spent many days happily frolicking outside as your parents attended the meeting within the house. Many staff had whispered about the devil trapped in the basement behind the Grand Magus's powerful spells. Some said the Grand Magus himself had discovered the secret to eternal life and hid it behind the door. One staff member even said it was a vampire who would creep upstairs in the dead of night and steal away his victims.

There was a sort of glee at taring around the ancient house, discovering secrets, chasing the ghosts and battling monsters. As you grew older, the monster did not lose their appeal; it was more that you had discovered everything that could be discovered, apart from the mystery of what was in the basement. In the long summer breaks away from school, you spent great lengths observing the guards disappearing and not reappearing till they changed in the early morning. Was it the demon? Buried treasure? Or something more?

The summer humidity clung to your brow as you absentmindedly perused one of the many books in the library. The ruckus from the party had long ago distracted you from reading. Your parents were regular attendees of the Burgess coven meeting; as a child, the cloaks and candles held some romantic notion, but as you grew older, you saw what it was, a chance for bored people to play dress-up and dance around naked.

'You should get to bed.' The soft voice of Paul pulled you from your musings.

'Come on, Uncle Paul, it's early.' You smiled, sliding the book off your lap as you stood.

'Hmmm, well, I won't tell if you won't; there is some chocolate in the study; I think I can trust you not to get caught.' Paul wagged his finger.

With a new sense of glee, you abandoned your attempts to read, slipping into the library unseen, eyeing the bright pink box lined with cherry cordials. Yet it wasn't the chocolates that distracted you; it was the guards. Normally they never emerged outside their shift hours, but the hot night drove them above stairs. Quietly, munching on your chocolate, you watched as the squat men shuffled away.

Biting your lip, you suckled the smears of dark chocolate off your fingers as you hurried along the hallway. Carefully, you pried the door open, willing the squeak away. The staircase of crumbling stone was dimly lit, and the smell of mould and dust loitered in the air, tugging at your nose. Crouching down on the steps, you surveyed the open recess of the room. A frown tugged at the corners of your lips. It was empty save for an out-of-place Ikea desk next to one of the walls. Then something under the white neon lights caught your attention. Moving down the stairs, your eyes adjusted to the almost blinding light. No wonder the guards sort to escape the intense heat given off by the strips of bulbs that hung above you.

Your eyes flickered back to the strange glass ornament in the middle of the floor. For a moment, you thought your eyes were playing tricks. In the centre of the orb sat a naked man, skin almost translucent in the light. Only his ebony black hair seemed to show that he was there. Moving forward, you could not help but let out a horrified gasp. The man was almost painfully thin and painfully naked; you thanked all the gods that he was crossed-legged.

'Hello? Are you ok……' your voice stuck in your throat as the man's head snapped up to meet her gaze, his steely silver eyes piercing through you, drawing you in like a magnet.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

Even behind the thick glass of his prison, Morpheus felt a sharp sting pierce his soul. His eyes greedily watched as a shiver ran through her body as the invisible thread between them bound them.

A fire had been lit inside him, and hunger he had never felt before clawed up from within him. His gaze had her transfixed; their connection fizzled, desperate to touch. Morpheus always believed that love always ended in pain. Experience had given him definitive proof; Nada, Goodrich, Eric, and Susana all ended in betrayal or anguish. It was messy. Humans were proof. Their love was not real, a fleeting respite from the loneliness, a belief they clung to. Real love was rare. Soulmates were extraordinary magic that the creator bestowed onto humanity at the beginning. It was the only pure magic left in the world. It was strange magic that none of the endless cared to fathom. Why would they? Soulmates were gifts to humans, not the endless, yet there she was—his soulmate.

His silver eyes watched as she moved hypnotised across the short distance. Even through the thick glass, the hum was violent, deafening, and maddening. Lifting his hand, he placed it over the glass beckoning to her.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Your body felt free, impossible light as it surged forward towards the man. You weren't sure he was real; he was pale and perfect like he had been chiselled out of a piece of alabaster marble. A painful jolt passed through your open palm every step, yet it spurred your movement until your hands met, the glass separating them. It was almost too hot to hold your hand in place, but your body refused to flinch.

His eyes burnt into yours, engraving themselves onto the back of your mind. The swirling silver spheres were the last thing you saw before your body crumpled to the ground.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The soft mumble of voices was what broke through your unconsciousness, and for a few seconds, your body felt light and free before the heaviness sunk into your bones. The searing pain surged across your left palm and arm until it finally rested in your heart.

'What happened?' Your voice was weak and raspy.

'You were electrocuted, sweetie; you were told never to go down into the basement.' Your mother whispered. 'The burn… is only small. Not worry.’ Her voice cracked a little as her gaze rested on the tightly bandaged hand.

'I….The glass. There was a man.' Your voice sounded so strange to you, so rough and weak.

'There was no man, sweetie. You touched one of the exposed cables; we are lucky Alex found you.’ T

'But there was a man…I…’ you tried.

‘Shhhhh sweetie, we will be home soon. Rest. ’ Your eyes felt too heavy to fight against the command, but they stayed open just long enough to see the look of guilt past your parent's faces and the worry that set deeply in Alex Burgess’s eyes.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After that, you saw your parents less and less. They never did return to the Burgess Manor, and neither did you. All mention of the man in the sphere was forbidden. You had skin graft after skin graft, but nothing could cover the red mark on your hand. A reminder of the man in the sphere. As if you could ever forget. He scared you, the silent creature. In her mind, he was always watching, never speaking, but his eyes seemed to devour you, drawing you in. You wonder if that is how sharks get their prey. They wait for a careless swimmer, too mesmerised by the eyes to notice the teeth before it is too late. You wonder if he has cursed you. Then you wonder if it is too late to save yourself. But you know, it's too late anyway.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The travel back to the Burgess estate passed quickly. It was almost a relief to see the ominous grey house standing proudly against the green lawns. It was hard to believe ten years had passed already; everything still looked the same, apart from Paul. He stooped a little more now, and his hair, you think, is much greyer than you remember.

'I’m glad to see you again, but you have come at a rather bad time; Alex has had one of his nasty turns.' Paul started.

'I didn't want to see him. I want to see you.’

There was a flash of understanding over his face as he took your arm, leading you away from the house, across the lawn and into the maze that hung off the side of the house, not stopping till only the top of the manor could be seen.

'It's about the man in the basement…’ you began.

'Dear child…’ Paul sighed, interrupting you, but you remained strong in your goal.

'I am not a child anymore. You can't explain it or ignore my questions anymore. I know what I saw…what gave me this.’ You rolled up your sleeve to reveal the angry raised burn that decorated your hand. ‘You can't keep him chained down there anymore.'

'I know…I know… but I can't. Alex… is delicate; you don’t know the power of that thing' he sighed, sitting on the little bench he had walked you to.

'I know exactly. This mark is proof of that. I dream of him; he haunts me. No matter what I do, I still feel that burn through my veins. I cannot get rid of it. …It…it hurts. And I can’t… won't bare it anymore.’ Your bite out the last part as you look down at the man you once tenderly regarded as an Uncle.

He gazed up at you with weary eyes. Only now did you see how old he looked, the worry lines that wreaked his beautifully dark skin.

'You know, in the beginning, I feared him getting out, but now, after all this time, is there anything that he could have done worse than all this?' Paul shook his head as they watched the birds glide across the sky. ‘We should have done more for you, helped you somehow, but Alex was so scared….’

‘What's done is done; just please help me now.’

Paul said nothing, but you saw the slight nod of his head.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

'You know she came by the house today. You remember her, don't you? She has grown into a rather pretty young woman. You can have her; all you need to do is promise.' Alex Burgess was an older man now, made feeble by time and despair.

Often, the man would talk to Morpheus about the future Queen of the Dreaming, forcing pictures of her in front of him like a cruel taunt. Endless questions about the mark, Morpheus’s mark on her skin. Promising to give him her name, not that it mattered, she was HIS Queen, or she would be soon.

The more time passed, the more arrogant his pleas became. The mere fact that he thought he had permission to speak of her insulted Morpheus; the pathetic man thought he could use his future Queen as a bargaining chip. It was an offence the human could ill afford. The King of Dreaming would bide his time and have his revenge on the Burgess before he claimed his future bride and Queen.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

News of Alex Burgess's sleeping sickness came not long after you visited the manor, and the world seemed to fall into some sort of madness. Mass murders, strange weather, people who had been asleep for decades suddenly waking up.

You nibbled your bottom lip. Maybe asking Paul to release his captive was a selfish thing to do. People had died, and for what? That feeling clawing up from within you was still there. Your tanned palm was unchanged; the burn remains like a brand of ownership. It seemed you were still damned, and now the world was in utter chaos. With silent tears rolling down your face, you laid back against the mountain of the pillow and willed yourself away to the only place you found peace, your dream.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

You still dreamt of the silver-eyed man, but the fever and pain seizing your soul were gone. This dream was one of your favourites. It was comfortable and snug. Where nothing mattered because nothing happened, it was just you and your dream. Till you heard the voice. Dreams were always silent, or at least that was how you remembered them. But the low, velvety voice was clear, invading the silence. So deep and rich, it had to be a dream.

It floated around you till it you. Faceless arms stretched around your waist, pulling you against a hard body. Lips ghosted across the nape of your neck and drifted across the plains of your shoulder, working their way back toward your throat.

'My Queen.' The thick voice growled.

The lips were small but soft, worshipping a spot at the base of your neck. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the familiar mop of black hair that haunted your dreams. A wanton moan escaped your lips as your eyes fluttered shut, knees weak as their teeth scrapped just in the right place.

'Soon, my love, soon. After I complete my unfinished business, I will come for you.'

You woke with a start, a desperate wetness gathering between your plush thighs, the voice echoing across your mind sending shivers of desire across your body as you remembered the gruff voice. You had dreamed about his lips, face and boy before, but never had he spoken.

Wearily, you ran your hand over your neck, freezing as you stared down in disbelief at the angry purple hickey that stained your skin.

Anyone for a smut-heavy part two?

#Morpheus #morpheus x y/n #morpheus x reader #morpheus x you #the sandman #dream #king of dreams #the endless

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strangeandoff-putting · 4 months

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why I'm happysad that they let Numa be the narrator in Society of the Snow.

So if you, like me, have been more than a little obsessed with the story of Uruguayan Air Force Flight 571 for a very, very long time, your stomach probably dropped like mine did when the narrator introduced himself as Numa Turcatti. (My immediate thought was, "why would you do this to us?!") If you went in blind, I feel for you!

But while the film gave us a version of Numa, since it's from his perspective what it doesn't really give us is the group's perspective on him. He comes across a bit like an outsider, and although, yes, his only surviving friend was Pancho Delgado, he wasn’t an outsider for long at all. On the contrary. So, here are a few excerpts from the books that tell you more about what he was like and how much they all loved him, because I feel like that’s important.

From Alive, Piers Paul Read:

Next to Parrado, Numa Turcatti was the most generally beloved of the boys. [...] Since he had known few of the boys before leaving Montevideo, it was proof of his strength, simplicity and complete lack of malice that he became so loved and respected by them.

On celebrating Numa's birthday while trapped under the avalanche:

The boys gave him an extra cigarette and made a birthday cake out of snow. [...] Many would have liked to give him a better time on his birthday, but instead it was he who improved their spirits. "We have survived the worst," he said. "From now on, things can only get better."

From Society of the Snow, Pablo Vierci:

‘When I talk about Numa, I can’t help but cry,’ says Coche Inciarte. ‘He’s the best person I’ve ever met in my life. However tenderly I cared for those who were losing heart, Numa did it much better because he never got tired. He was constantly aware of everyone else’s distress. He radiated peace, he never gave up, and when he came near me, I felt like Jesus Christ himself was among us, with such mercy and compassion in his eyes. I don’t know where he got his strength.’ ‘I could never imagine him living in everyday life, because I met him and I loved him in that torment of the Andes,’ says Coche. ‘He had a hard time eating, like I did. We ate the bare minimum in order to survive. I lost one hundred pounds, he lost more. And just like me, his leg became infected after the avalanche. We operated on our legs together with a razor blade. But he deteriorated more quickly than I did, because he had given so much more; he had been too generous.’

Moncho Sabella:

Numa taught us about the anonymous heroism of giving more of himself to others than he reserved for himself. In that balance between solidarity and selfishness, which decided whether you lived or died, he tilted the balance in favour of the others to the detriment of himself. [...] And when the avalanche came and covered the plane, the one who worked the hardest, the one who removed the most snow so that we could come back to life, was Numa. Again, he was exceeding his own limits. [...] In the end, his immune system was so devastated that he got one infection after another. We gave him antibiotics and the doctors on the mountain attended to him every day, but finally he left us. And with him, we all died a little more.

Gustavo Zerbino:

I always remember Numa up there, full of despair, when he told us that he would rather die watching the sky, walking, instead of ending life immobilised in a cave of broken metal. For that reason, after the avalanche, he kept digging and removing snow without rest until he burned himself out with exhaustion. He always thought that his time had come but he wanted to work until the final moment, doing whatever he could to help. I cared for him all those days; I saw how he was hurried to the brink of death, with no defences, getting one infection after another. I went up to him and first I gave him a kiss on the cheek to greet him and asked him how he was doing. He just stared at me with a kind of infinite peace. He never complained. But Numa was quickly deteriorating: from that physical strength and vigour he had had at the beginning, he finished as a skeletal dying boy. He held on to his characteristic qualities until the end though. He was that same stoic guy when he was strong and when he was wasting away.

‘Gustavo Zerbino didn’t tell us the whole truth [about the expedition] because he didn’t want us to be discouraged. When I asked Numa about it, he couldn’t lie and he told me: “As far as we went, all you could see were more mountains.” But even so, he always wanted to be an expeditionary. “I want to go,” he told me, even though I knew at once he could never go, he was too exhausted and too hurt.’ So Numa approached Daniel Fernández, knowing that he had influence over the others, and he tried to convince him: ‘I can do it, Daniel, please believe me. I can do it.’ Daniel recalls, ‘When I told him that his injury made it impossible, he started working even harder than ever, like a bull, shovelling snow to unbury the plane after the avalanche to show that yes, he could do it.’

Finally, from Alive, after Numa died:

On this particular afternoon, Javier Methol lay at the back of the plane. "Be careful," he said to Coche as he rose and stepped over Numa's body. "Be careful not to step on Numa." "But Numa's dead," said Parrado. Javier had not realised what had happened, and now that he understood his spirits dropped completely. He wept as he had wept at the death of Liliana, for he had grown to love the shy and simple Numa Turcatti as though he were his brother or son.

I'm not sure the Numa we see in the film is quite the same person that he actually was on that mountain, but I'm so, so glad that he got a voice. He fought so hard for them all.

So, yeah. In the immortal words of Jake Peralta,

#numa turcatti #society of the snow #alive #andes plane crash #Uruguayan air force flight 571

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britany1997 · 1 year

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Let’s Motor

I genuinely wasn’t expecting the response to Rev Your Engines that I got, I was feeling very insecure about my writing when I posted it and I’m crying that y’all loved it so much😭 (read part one here)

I’ve also decided on subsequent fics to indicate when I won’t be writing any more parts, so this will be the final part to this series:) hope y’all love it!

Pre-read by my motorcycle expert adopted brother @pixielostboy 🥰

Poly! Lost boys x GN motor expert reader

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

You rolled out from under your 1953 Buick wildcat, smearing your hand across your face as you attempted to wipe it clean of oil.

When you’d finished your shift for the night, your boss was kind enough to let you use the shop’s tools to fix up your own ride.

The tune ups were going well, but you still took your Harley to work instead, hopeful you’d run into the strange group of rockers from a few days ago.

You checked your watch and sighed. Lately you’d tended to drag your feet, just in case the biker boys did drop by, but after days of waiting, you’d finally decided they weren’t coming.

That is until you heard the familiar mumbling of four motors pulling up behind you. You chuckled to yourself as you pulled a bandana from your back pocket to wipe your brow and turned around.

Your face fell as you realized the sight in front of you was not the four weirdos you were hoping to meet again, but another group of leather clad bikers.

You sighed and turned back to pack up your things.

“Expectin’ someone?”

You whipped your head around to lock eyes with a smirking Paul, leaning against a broken down truck one of your coworkers had been fixing up.

“Hello again,” you raised an eyebrow as you wiped down your tools, “where ya been?”

“Been busy sugar,” he explained, “didn’t mean we didn’t wanna come.”

Your lips turned up against your will as you shrugged in reply, “maybe I wanted to see you guys too.”

Paul’s face lit up at your words.

“Why didn’t I hear your bike pull up?” you asked.

“Got one of those silent mufflers, bike don’t make a sound,” he told you.

Your brow furrowed in confusion. Silent mufflers? “What?”

“Kidding babe, just didn’t wanna move the bikes from the boardwalk, I uh walked over.”

You scoffed, “isn’t it like a five mile walk?”

Paul rubbed the back of his neck nervously, “yeah I uh, I walk fast.”

You snorted, “whatever Paulie, you want a ride back on my bike?”

“Yes please,” he sing-songed as he practically skipped over to your side.

You mounted your Harley before Paul slid in behind you. “Hold on tight yeah?” you told him.

“Don’t gotta tell me twice sugar,” he said as his arms slid around your middle. He squeezed your sides gently causing you to flinch.

“Maybe not that tight,” you laughed.

Paul moved his hands to rest on your hips as you nudged up your kickstand with your heel before reving your engine and taking off down the road.

The short drive to the boardwalk gave Paul’s hands many opportunities to wander from your hips, but luckily for him you didn’t mind too much.

You parked your bike to the side of Max’s video as both you and Paul slid off and walked toward the three other boys loitering near the pier.

“Well, well, well,” David smirked as he took a drag, “just couldn’t stay away could ya?”

You scoffed in mock offense, “excuse me, but this one,” you jerked your thumb towards Paul, “tracked me down at work for you idiots.”

David threw his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out, “maybe we needed you to fix up one of our bikes again.”

You snorted, “they look fine to me.”

Dwayne rolled his eyes, “sorry about him, we really did just want to see you.”

You blushed as your gaze fell to the gorgeous brunette man’s shoes, “I kinda wanted to see you guys again too.”

“Wanna race?” Marko blurted out, bouncing on his heels in excitement.

Your head snapped up, “race? Race where?” you asked.

“Hudson’s bluff,” David spoke up, “you know it?”

“Yeah I know it,” you paused for a second, “what does the winner get?”

“A kiss from you,” Paul said smirking, as he leaned an elbow on your shoulder.

You rolled your shoulder, causing his elbow to slide right off you, “and what do I get if I win?” you asked.

“Four kisses,” Paul winked.

You rolled your eyes, “if I win I want…” you trailed off as you thought to yourself.

A lightbulb went off in your head, “I want that,” you decided as you pointed at David’s long black trenchcoat.

David’s jaw dropped, not usually one to be caught off guard, “…you want my coat?”

He regained his senses, “absolutely not, no.”

You pouted in mock sympathy, “scared you’re gonna lose Davey?”

He scoffed, “never.”

You shrugged, “then you’ve got nothing to worry about right?”

David bit his lip and weighed his options. There were four of them and only one of you. How could one little human beat four vicious vampires? You didn’t stand a chance.

David smirked and stuck out his hand, “deal.”

You smiled as you shook his hand, “alright then.”

It didn’t take the five of you long to clamor onto your bikes and line up parallel to each other.

“You’re going down,” Marko whispered from the left of you as Dwayne counted down.

You smirked, “we’ll see.”

As soon as Dwayne bellowed “go,” you were off.

You whipped through the beach, kicking up sand as you rode and making a mental note to clean your wheels later. Paul and David had an early lead, with you and Marko not far behind.

Dwayne trailed behind the four of you, but you suspected it wasn’t for lack of ability but more to teach David a lesson. Either way, you appreciated it.

As you turned off into the forest you pulled past Paul, flicking a wave in his direction as you left him in the dust. You smiled as you heard a soft gasp behind you from the shocked blond boy.

You leaned forward, your brow furrowing as you accelerated until you were neck and neck with David.

“Give up? You could still keep your coat,” you taunted him, keeping your eyes trained on the road.

“Not on your life.” he spit through gritted teeth.

“Suit yourself,” you replied as you pushed forward on the throttle, weaving in front of David and pulling up at the edge of the cliff.

David pulled to a stop in disbelief, “you…how did you…” he sputtered as he tried to make sense of what had just happened.

You smiled, “increased the size of my rear sprocket by two teeth awhile back, helps the bike accelerate quicker,” you explained.

“Why didn’t you say anything babe?” Paul inquired as he parked next to the two of you.

You shrugged, “you never asked,”

“Pretty smart if you ask me,” Marko admitted as he joined as well, “I woulda done that too.”

“Looks like you’ve got a jacket to hand over huh David?” Dwayne teased as he came around to David’s side, playing with the hem of the coat.

David’s face flushed red as he realized. He moved to take the coat off when you stopped him, placing a hand on his.

“No need,” you assured him, “the look on your face is a good enough prize for me.”

David grumbled as the other boys dissolved into fits of laughter.

“You’re a good time babe,” Paul nudged you with his elbow, “we live just down there if you’d like to come in for a drink,” he offered smoothly as the others exchanged knowing glances.

“Sure,” you smiled, “I could go for a drink.”

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

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chubbyreaderchan · 1 year

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We Aren’t A Joke | Poly!Lost Boys x Plus Size! G/N Reader

Warnings: Fatshaming, self-hatred, touchy vampires, nothing else. They/them pronouns but can be read as any gender really, no editing,

A/N: This might end up being its own little thing because there’s more I want to write but this just needed out of my head. I think I want to have blurbs with this reader and the boys and such.

The boardwalk was practically empty. The holiday season had passed and the lull between Christmas and spring break was in full swing. David was in an almost trancelike state, staring at no one, in particular, his belly was warm and full from the hunt the night before. Truly, a night of relative quiet for the rowdy bikers.

David tossed his cigarette over the side of the pier into the water below, he opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by Paul.

“Holy shit,”

David looked at Paul and then in the direction he was staring, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. The cool wind picked up just then and he had to hold back an animalistic groan at the smell that washed over him.

Hell, he could practically feel all of his mates grumbling at the smell. David hadn’t realized he’d shut his crystal blue eyes until they fluttered back open to see what he knew was the next member of their little family.

He wanted them. He wanted them… now.

They hadn’t even looked at him and his boys, their plump little future mate was enticed by a table of trinkets. David couldn’t resist raking over their sexy body, taking in each soft curve and dip. Cute. Very cute. They were in a thick sweater, one much too big on them which was only slightly disappointing for David, hugely disappointing for Paul who was practically bouncing to get to them.

In fact, David watched as Paul bounded over like a golden retriever.

“Hey, sugar,” he said into their ear. “You all alone tonight?”

They backed up in surprise and glanced behind Paul at the other boys who were watching in love-sick awe. David could hear their heart race.

“I’m not interested,” they said quickly.

Paul looked like he was gut punched.

“Aw, come on babe. We can go for a ride. Get something to eat,” He almost sang out.

David had a feeling he should have been the first one to talk to their mate, not Paul. David and the other boys began to close in on the two.

“I just don’t want to be a part of… whatever this is… joke… dare…. Whatever.”

“Joke,” David seethed. “You think we’re a joke,”

They bit their lip. “Not necessarily you. I’m the butt of the joke here,”

Dwayne looked at them, thinking. He had a bad feeling about this whole situation, and he could feel the radiation of rage off of Marko. All of them would fight for any of their mates, but Marko was always the first to jump in. Swing fists and fangs and ask questions later.

“We just want to get to know you, sugar. You are just… irresistible,” Paul smiled. “At least tell us your name?”

Despite their better judgment and past experience in these situations, they gave in.

“I’m…(Y/n),” they said awkwardly. “And I don’t want to be part of the ‘dare the friend to ask out the fat person’ game,”

They were getting frustrated; they could feel their usual reaction starting to build. They could all feel it. David moved, pushing Paul back and running a leather-clad hand over their plush cheek. His blue eyes felt like they were reaching inside their soul.

“Sweetheart,” he said, leaning into their ear. “I promise we aren’t going to hurt you,”

His breath was cold, or perhaps the night chill got to them. They tucked their hands around their middle, trying to shield themselves from the cool Santa Carla wind.

“Come on, princex,” David encouraged.

He had them, he just needed to pull them in.

“I-I don’t even know you,” they said with a soft sigh.

They pulled back from David’s grasp, causing him to growl slightly. He didn’t like that. Not at all, even if it’s just from some silly human insecurity. They belonged to him and his boys, they were going to keep them if he had to drag them back to the cave by force.

“I’m Dwayne,” spoke the quietest. “That is David. Marko. And Paul. We promise we aren’t going to hurt you, princex,”

His words were so sincere. The way he looked at them made their heart flutter.

They sighed, defeated. Marko smiled approaching them and throwing an arm around them in whatever way he could reach. His fingers pressed into their soft flesh and he wanted to die at the softness. Hell, he would die for their softness, and he barely knew them.

“Dove, we are going to keep you safe,” the cherub said.

“I’m sorry, but how often do four very beautiful men come up to a fat person and really want to be around them… in any capacity? I don’t want to be abandoned in some parking lot in the middle of nowhere just because it’s funny to mess with ‘piggy’” they air quoted.

“The fuck?” Paul said loudly.

“Yeah, what the actual fuck. Who did that?” Marko was gripped onto them tighter, almost bruising the soft flesh.

David snaked his arm around them nudging a silently protesting Marko away. They began to walk, their human in the middle as they flanked them.

“Why don’t we go for a ride, kitten? I’ll prove that we want nothing but the best for you, sweetheart,” David promised. “You’ll ride with me,”

“Ride?” they were in front of four motorcycles that seemed to reflect each boy’s personality. “Oh, I’ve never--,”

A gentle pinch at their ribs caused them to squeak adorably, Marko walked around them with a smirk.

“Don’t worry, it’s fun.” The smallest of the group said.

He had a devilish grin that (Y/n) couldn’t help but find heart-meltingly cute. Without warning, David wrapped his arms around their middle, as if they had been dating for years and it was the most natural thing.

“I promise to keep you safe, just trust me,”

The scruff of his facial hair rubbed against their tender skin, and they could have sworn the bleach blonde took in a deep breath of their scent.

David mounted his bike and held out his hand to help them onto the back of his. Once on, he grabbed their hands and forced them to press directly against his back wrapping their arms firmly around his middle.

They just felt… right.

#the lost boys x reader #poly lost boys x reader #david x reader #paul x reader #marko x reader #dwayne x reader #tlb x reader #tlb x you #tlb imagines #lost boys x chubby reader

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disasterarea-podcast · 1 year

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So given the writer’s strike, some people are concerned about their shows and movies being postponed or canceled, and aside from the fact networks have already BEEN canceling shows for no reason for years (I still maintain a healthy anger about what Netflix did to Sense8), I thought I would suggest some books on disasters you might want to read if you’re into that sort of history. Which you are if you’re here, I imagine.

Note: I’m suggesting these books because most books on disasters don’t get a huge audience, and so I recommend them because this sort of writing can be hard on the writer and requires a bunch of research. We throw so much money at true crime, we can spare a few bucks for the stories of people who died in disasters.

Also, please check with these with your local small bookstore or library. Amazon can be great, but let’s lend a hand to those who need us more.

Recommended books:

“The Circus Fire,” by Stewart O’Nan - This is one my favorite books on a disaster, because the whole thing creates a very vivid image of the circus prior to the fire in Hartford in July of 1944. There’s one specific line in the book which always makes me pause because it’s so affecting, about how everyone who escaped being able to hear the sounds of the animals screaming as they died - except all of the animals were out of the tent by then.

“The Only Plane in the Sky,” by Garrett Graff - This, I highly recommend you get on audiobook. It’s an oral history of the events of 9/11 with a full cast, and it’s incredibly affecting to listen to.

“Ada Blackjack: A True Story of Survival in the Arctic,” by Jennifer Niven - Ada Blackjack was a badass: flawed and weak at times, but hardy and steady when necessary. Half of her story is how she survived, but half is how she was exploited following her rescue. Both stories need to be known.

“Alive,” by Piers Paul Read - If you’re watching “Yellowjackets,” this should be required reading. If you’ve seen the movie adaptation from the 90s, there is WAY more you don’t know. The story of Uruguayan Air Force Flight 571 is a tough read, but a worthy one.

“A Night to Remember,” by Walter Lord - This is to disaster nonfiction what “In Cold Blood” is to true crime. It’s not a long read, but it’s a great one. Lord had the advantage of writing the book while many of the Titanic survivors were still alive and could give a very good description of what they went through.

“Dying to Cross,” by Jorge Ramos - I recommend this not just because it is good, but because it is timely. Nineteen people died in an un-air-conditioned truck as they were attempting to make their way into the states from over the Mexican border. It’s a horrific story, and one that humanizes an issue for whom some people need to be faced with the humans involved and what they go through.

“Bath Massacre: America’s First School Bombing,” by Arnie Bernstein - Harold Schecter also wrote a very good book on the Bath school massacre called “Maniac,” but I have a preference for this version. It’s a good reminder that schools in the U.S. didn’t just become targets in the last twenty years or so.

“Into Thin Air,” by Jon Krakauer - I feel like this is a gimme, but it’s a fantastic book from someone who was actually on Mount Everest during the 1996 disaster and knew those involved very well. I happen to like Krakauer’s work anyway - I even like “Into the Wild” despite my feelings about McCandless and his legacy - but it’s understandably my favorite.

“And the Band Played On,” by Randy Shilts - The one thing I will say is that Shilts’ treatment of Gaetan Dugas is *rough* to say the least and outright wrong on some points, God knows. But it’s still an amazing book, and if you come out of it not wanting to dig up Reagan and punch him a bunch I’m impressed at your restraint.

“Triangle: The Fire That Changed America,” by David von Drehle - The Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire is one of the disasters I am most interested in, and I would argue this is the definitive book on the subject. Also, if this book introduces you to both Clara Lemlich and Frances Perkins … I mean, talk about badass women.

“The Radium Girls,” by Kate Moore - Look, I’ll say this. If you know of the Radium Girls, this is a great book on their story. If you don’t know, go in blind and prepared to be horrified.

“Red Famine: Stalin’s War on Ukraine,” by Anne Applebaum - Ukraine has always been a target. During the Holodomor, they were victims of one of the worst genocides in history.

“Midnight in Chernobyl,” by Adam Higginbotham - Like the miniseries? This is a great source for more information for what happened at Chernobyl and all of the ass-covering involved.

"Boston Strong: A City's Triumph Over Tragedy," by Casey Sherman and Dave Wedge - If you’re interested in the Boston marathon bombing, I really thought this book did a good job of connecting the stories of the victims, the authorities searching for the killers, and the killers themselves.

“Show Me the Bodies: How We Let Grenfell Tower,” by Peter Apps - As I understand it, Apps did a lot of covering the Grenfell Tower fire for the British press, and it shows. He provides a mountain of information, and you will come out of reading this book absolutely LIVID about what authorities allowed to happen in Grenfell and so many other council estates in the UK.

“Dark Tide: The Great Molasses Flood of 1919,” by Stephen Puleo - I feel as though the molasses flood gets treated like a joke a lot of the time, but y’all, twenty people died. That area of Boston was *wrecked*. The photos of the devastation are terrifying. Puleo treats all of this with the proper respect it deserves.

“In the Heart of the Sea: The Tragedy of the Whaleship Essex,” by Nathaniel Philbrick - Forget the movie. Read the book.

“The Great Influenza,” by John M. Barry - Want to read about the 1918 flu epidemic? Want to be mad that a hundred years later we didn’t learn a damn thing?

Now, that’s just a start. If anyone wants, I can always post photos of my disaster book collection on Kindle and next to my recording desk. Or if there’s a specific disaster you’re interested in, I may know of a good book about it you can read.

But just remember if SAG and the directors’ guild joins the strike too - there is so much out there to occupy your time until they come back. Entertainment work is work, and it deserves to be supported financially and fairly as such. Rock on, WGA. ✊

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bradshawsbaby · 5 months

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Letters to My Love // Part X

Rosie the Riveter

Series Masterlist

JOIN THE TAGLIST!

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female Reader

Summary: When you signed up to volunteer with the USO, you never anticipated that you would meet a man like Ensign Robert Floyd. Fate brings you together one balmy spring evening in Charleston—the night before Bob is set to ship off across the Atlantic. Pen and paper become your only means of sharing your heart with the naval aviator who’s captivated it, igniting a correspondence that spans the distance between you. Can love blossom even as war rages and thousands of miles keep you apart?

Word Count: 2.9k

Author’s Note: I'm so sorry for how long it's taken me to update this story! One of my goals for 2024 is to get this series completed. Although it's taken me so long to update, Bobby and Peach are never far from my mind and are always in my heart. I hope you enjoy this latest installment of their story!

Set the Mood: If you’re looking for some 1940s vibes, check out the playlist I made to pair with the story.

The title of this chapter is obviously a tribute to the iconic figure of Rosie the Riveter. But it was also inspired by the song of the same name by The Four Vagabonds, which you can listen to here!

Dedication: As always, this story is dedicated to my dear friend, Clara (@luminousnotmatter). She was the first person to listen to all my endless ramblings about this universe, and she has never stopped supporting me or believing that I can get it finished. Thank you, Clara!

Warnings: Alternating POV, references to casualties of war and grief, slight angst, lots and lots of fluff.

July 8, 1943

My Dearest Peach,

I want to start by saying that I’m terribly sorry it’s taken me so long to respond to your last letter. I think I’ve worn down the paper to nearly nothing with how many times I’ve read it, but it’s been hard to get a free moment to sit and write you the response you deserve. Things are really heating up over here, and we have to be ready to move at a moment’s notice. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sat down to start a new letter, only for us to be called up just as I set my pen to the paper.

To set your mind at ease, I want you to know that I’m alright. I’m not sure how much information they’re sharing with you all back home, but I know one of the fellas got a letter from his wife recently and she told him that three different families on their street got notified that their boys had been killed in action in just one week. It made her real scared that she was going to be the next one getting a knock on the door. I won’t lie to you, Peach, because I don’t think that’s fair—we’re losing a lot of men over here. It’s scary to think that any day now, it could be me they’re sending a flag home for.

I hate to start this letter off so morbidly, but there’s been something weighing on my mind lately, especially since my buddy got that letter from his wife. If anything happens to me over here, you won’t know. They’ll tell my family, sure, but not you. And I can’t stand the thought of you waiting for another letter that isn’t going to come. So I’ve spoken to Paul, Tommy Boy, and Benny about it. If anything happens to me over here, Peach, they’re going to write to you and let you know. It gives me some comfort to think that their words will be a little softer and kinder than the formality of Uncle Sam.

I hope this doesn’t make you sad, Peach, although I admit it makes me a bit sad to write. The truth is, I’m quite alright right now, like I said, and I don’t plan on letting anything happen to me over here. We have to take that drive to Folly Beach and get ice cream on the pier, after all. I tell you, that thought alone is enough to get me through even the hardest days over here.

Alright, enough of all this. Time to get back to your lovely letter. They’re calling us for dinner right now, but as soon as I’m finished, I’m coming right back to continue this letter. Nothing’s going to stop me from getting it to you.

I’m back, Peach. All the fellas were teasing me in the galley because of how quickly I scarfed down my dinner, but I didn’t care because I knew I was getting back to you and your sweet words, and that means a whole lot more than the crummy food they’re serving over here. Boy, I tell you, I sure do miss home-cooked meals. They even had—I’m not lying, I promise—they even had peach cobbler for dessert tonight. It made me think of you, but I’m sure it’s nowhere near as good as the cobbler your family makes, so I didn’t even bother giving it a taste.

Now I do have to say that you’re right, of course. I hate hearing you call yourself shy and mousey. If that’s the way you feel when I call myself boring, then I certainly promise I won’t ever do it again. It’s a deal—neither of us will talk about ourselves like that anymore.

Nothing you say could ever sound silly to me, Peach. Even though we only got to spend a few hours in each other’s company, your letters have made me feel like we’ve known each other for years and years. I’m honored that I’ve been able to make you feel seen. I do see you, Peach. You’re the most beautiful, interesting, intelligent girl I’ve ever known, and I hope you can see that in yourself. For what it’s worth, you’ve helped me to come out of my shell, too. Paul was just saying the other day that I look like a new man—that I’m standing taller and seem more confident than he’s ever seen in all the years he’s known me. I had just finished reading one of your letters when he said that. I don’t think that’s a coincidence. You’re turning me into a new man, Peach, and I like it. I like it a lot.

I’m glad that you passed along my well wishes to Emily. Even though part of me still thinks her fiancé is a dunce, I do wish them all the best. Has she heard from Eddie? I don’t know where he’s stationed, but if you’d like to find out and send the information to me, I can try to keep an ear out. How has the wedding planning been going? I’m still confident you’re going to make the prettiest bridesmaid.

I did pass along your invitation in my last letter home to my family, and my mother said she would certainly inquire after the Sheridan residence should she ever happen to find herself in Charleston. I think she’s happy that you and I are still writing to each other. She’s even happier about the thought of swapping recipes with you. Watch out—if the two of you ever do meet, I think she’ll hold you hostage in the kitchen all day.

Now I am very proud to hear about all the fine work you and Dottie have been doing with your Victory Garden. I’m sure there must have been a lot of progress since you last wrote to me! I eagerly await news about the beans, carrots, cucumbers, and tomatoes. I’m sure you’ve been able to make lots of hearty soups and healthy salads. My mouth is watering at the notion. Like I said, the food in the galley has been pretty crummy lately.

I’m sorry to hear there’s been some trouble back home. I’m sure it can’t be easy for anyone, with all the rationing and the fear and the worry. I promise that we’re doing our best over here to bring this war to an end quickly so that life can return to normal for all of you over there. For us, too. We really can’t wait to be home again.

Peach, I want you to know that it is our duty, our honor, and, quite frankly, our privilege to be fighting for you over here. I know the other fellas would agree with me saying so. So I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything at home to “earn” us fighting for you. That said, I think it’s incredible that you want to contribute to the war effort in that way. I’m sure you haven’t been waiting for my response or my approval—which you shouldn’t, by the way—but I give a wholehearted yes to you applying for that position at the air station. We just recently saw Mr. Norman Rockwell’s illustration of Rosie the Riveter on the cover of the Post, and I have to say that I think you’d wear those coveralls a hundred times better.

I’m so proud of you, Peach. I want you to know that.

Speaking of the war effort, we have a couple big campaigns coming up very soon. I can’t say much more than that, but your well wishes and prayers for success would be very much appreciated. I’m always thankful for them.

Until next time, Peach! I’m already counting down the days until your next letter arrives.

Most Truly Yours,

Bobby

P.S. I almost forgot! I told Paul how much you loved the fact that he sends drawings home to Clara and Paul, Jr.—by the way, that reminds me, how is little Frankie doing?—and he was more than happy to create a few illustrations for you. He did a couple portraits—one of me and one of you, based off your beautiful photograph. He said to apologize that he’s too much of an amateur to capture all of your beauty. He did say that he thought he did a fine enough job capturing my likeness—I’m telling you, Peach, I think my friends officially like you better than they like me. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

July 31, 1943

My Dearest Bobby,

Please don’t ever feel like you need to apologize for how long it takes you to write back to me. I can only imagine how difficult it is to find the time to write with everything that must be happening over there, and yet you always find the time to pen the most thoughtful and wonderful letters. I cherish each and every one of them, and I promise that I’m more than content to read your old letters as I await the new ones.

I’m so sorry to hear about how many of our boys we’re losing. Just last week, our neighbors, the Pattersons—you remember I mentioned Mrs. Patterson had helped me and Dottie with our Victory Garden?—received news that their son, Clarence was killed in action in France. It was devastating. Dottie and I had just been coming home from the grocery store when we saw the officer standing on their front steps with a telegram in hand. We knew what that meant. Mrs. Patterson has been inconsolable since. Mr. Patterson is equally devastated, but I think he’s trying to be strong for her. Dottie and I have been taking turns cooking meals for them and spending some time over at their house. We just want them to know that they’re not alone.

I admit, Bobby, that every time I hear news of someone else being lost in this war, I immediately think of you. It feels selfish, but I’m always so relieved when the news is about someone else and not you. I don’t know how I would bear it. I pray every day that I never have to receive that letter from Paul or Tommy Boy or Benny, but I am touched that you’ve thought about how I could be notified. Oh, Bobby, I hope more than anything that your parents never have to experience what the Pattersons are going through.

But you’re right—you’re going to come home safely. We have too many plans for you to do otherwise!

I’m sorry to hear that the food aboard your carrier has been so crummy lately. I wish that I could whip up a home-cooked feast and send it in the mail with my letters. Every time I sit down to dinner now, I think of all of you, and I count my blessings. Things aren’t perfect on the homefront, but I know that we certainly have no room to complain with all you boys are going through. I promise to have a peach cobbler waiting for you when you come home—and a pumpkin pie, for good measure.

If I’m turning you into a new man, Bobby, then you simply must know that you’re turning me into a new woman as well. I hardly remember the girl that I was before I met you. Can you believe that it’s been over a year now since our paths first crossed? I feel like my life is totally different now. The way that I see myself, the way I interact with others, the way that I’m not so terrified to step out of my comfort zone anymore—so much of that is thanks to you, Bobby. I’m still me, of course. But I feel like I’m a stronger, braver version of myself now. I like it, too.

It’s so kind of you to offer to keep an ear out for Eddie’s infantry! Emily received a letter from him around the same time that I received my letter from you, and he seems to be doing well, same as you, thank goodness. Eddie is part of the 1st Infantry Division. Emily said that last she knew, he was stationed somewhere near the Rhineland. The wedding planning has been going very well. Pretty much everything is set now—all we need is the groom. Emily can’t wait for Eddie to come home for good. Once he does, they’ll be able to officially set the date. Us bridesmaids are going to be wearing lilac-colored dresses. Dottie says she already knows how she’s going to style my hair. I hope that you’re home, too, when the wedding finally happens. Emily said that I could invite you to be my date. Only if you’d like that, of course.

I would be very happy to be kept hostage in the kitchen with your mother! I’m sure there’s so much I could learn from her, and it sounds like a splendid way to spend the day. I look forward to meeting her one of these days!

Oh, the Victory Garden, Bobby! You wouldn’t believe how it’s grown! Trust me, no one is more shocked than me and Dottie. Well, maybe Paddy. He knows firsthand what brown thumbs my sister and I normally have. At first, we weren’t so sure what was going to happen—the cucumbers seemed a bit small and some of the tomatoes didn’t really take. But by the end of June, everything was thriving! It’s been such a joy to watch, and I have to admit, both Dottie and I are feeling extremely accomplished. Frankie loves to spend time in the garden with us, although he spends a bit more time digging in the dirt than helping us pick vegetables, I’m afraid. Now that we’re in the middle of summer, we’re experimenting with zucchini and eggplant. We might also try radishes and turnips. We’re turning into quite the farmers! If your mother has any recipes to share, we’d be more than grateful and happy to try them out!

Now I admit that I’ve saved the most exciting news for last. At the beginning of June, I decided to go for it and I applied for the position at the air station in Goose Creek, the one Paddy told me about. I’m sure being his sister-in-law gave me a bit of an advantage, but it only took a couple days for me to hear back from them. I got the job! I’ve officially been working on the assembly line since the middle of June. It’s hard work, and I’ve never been so tired in all my life, but I have to say that I’m really proud of the work we’re doing. It’s funny that you mention Rosie the Riveter—my job these past few weeks has actually been to fasten pieces of the planes we’re assembling with rivets! So I guess you could call me Peach the Riveter. Doesn’t have quite the same ring though, does it?

I know that the chances are small that anything I’m helping to build is going to reach you specifically, Bobby, but I can’t help but smile every time we finish a new part, or get a new plane put together. I imagine you and Paul, or Tommy Boy or Benny hopping inside and it brings me more pleasure and pride than I could possibly explain. I feel like I’m doing something important, something meaningful and special. If spending hours riveting until my fingers turn numb brings you home even a day faster, then it will all have been worth it. And it gives me a real sense of purpose, driving to work each day with Paddy. I feel proud of myself.

I’ve made some new friends at work, too! Florence and Virginia—we call them Florie and Ginny—are the loveliest, kindest girls. They had already been working on the assembly line for a few months before I got the job, so they’ve been showing me the ropes and teaching me everything they know. They’ve made me feel so welcome, so a part of things. I have to admit that I was terrified my first week or so, terrified that I was going to mess something up or make a fool of myself. But I’ve settled in quite well, thankfully.

It means a lot to me to know that I have your support, Bobby. Truly, it does. Thinking of you and all that you’re doing to protect us is what really motivated me to take this job, so thank you.

Of course I’m sending all my best wishes for the campaigns you have coming up! Wherever you are right now, I pray that you’re safe and that your missions are successful.

You’re so brave, Bobby. Have I told you that lately? Even if I have, you deserve to hear it again. I’m so, so proud of you. You’re my hero.

I hope this letter gets to you soon. I wish it could grow wings and fly to you. I know time is going to pass so slowly until I’m holding a new letter from you in my hands. But until then, Bobby, I’m thinking of you and holding you in my heart.

Most Truly and Affectionately Yours,

Peach

P.S. Paul is quite the artist!!! I now have his portraits hanging right beside the photographs you sent me. Please tell him how talented I think he is, and how much I love the drawings he made for me! I was especially touched by the little note he wrote me on the back of your portrait. I hope he’s doing well. Send my best to him and Tommy Boy and Benny!

TAGLIST: @teacupsandtopgun @saturnsbabe69 @gigisimsonmars @marchingicenotes7 @high-speed-r @cadencebeat2662 @up-thereinthesky @lostinthefandoms11 @strangerparks @sweetwhispersofchaos @callsign-magnolia @the-wayward-daughter @becks-things @jostyriggslover96 @solo-pitstop-vibes @wretchedmo @muddwheelz123 @ryebecca @lewmagoo @withahappyrefrain @rhettabbotts

#robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #x reader #x female reader #top gun #top gun: maverick #WWII AU #1940s AU #lewis pullman

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myemuisemo · 13 days

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Part 10 of "Letters from Watson" of The Sign of the Four starts with Sherlock Holmes enthusiastically infodumping.

He appeared to be in a state of nervous exaltation. I have never known him so brilliant. He spoke on a quick succession of subjects,—on miracle-plays, on medieval pottery, on Stradivarius violins, on the Buddhism of Ceylon, and on the war-ships of the future,—handling each as though he had made a special study of it. His bright humor marked the reaction from his black depression of the preceding days.

I wondered "why these topics in particular?"

Miracle plays were, in 1890, the subject of a new book by Alfred W. Pollard of the British Museum. It received a positive review in The Spectator.

The Arts & Crafts Exhibition Society had its first exhibition in London in 1888. While handicrafting, the William Morris aesthetic, and such, had been around for a while by then, this was the big organized push for public attention. Not only did the Arts & Crafts movement draw on medieval influences, but many a UK pottery maker was on the site of a medieval kiln and interested in medieval techniques.

Stradivarius violins are, of course, the sought-after antique violin. There were at least two donated to the Musée de la Musique in Paris shortly before the time of this story, as well as a number getting heard by important violinists in important orchestras. Even more interestingly from Holmes' point of view, a factory in Germany had just started making Stradivarius copies.

Buddhism in Sri Lanka had lapsed into torpor in the early 19th century but was, by 1890, well into a resurgence. The kick-off, back in 1866, had been Buddhist monk Mohottivatte Gunananda challenging Christian missionaries to a debate. In 1890, he had just died; but he had founded a political movement.

As for war-ships, in 1889, the Naval Defense Act had passed. It called for the UK Navy to be maintained at least twice as large as the combined navies of the next two largest powers (then France and Russia). War ships -- both quantity and design -- had doubtless been in the news for a while.

These aren't obscure hyperfixations (though I'm all for obscure hyperfixations!). These are conversational topics appropriate for a well-read gentleman of the era: the sort who gets three or four newspapers, reads the book reviews, and then reads the books reviewed. This explains how Dr. Watson and Athelney Jones set him off, or even participated in the conversation.

We also, while on a boat, get the return of Winwood Reade's Martyrdom of Man (making it Chekhov's book reference?). Says Holmes of Reade:

“He remarks that, while the individual man is an insoluble puzzle, in the aggregate he becomes a mathematical certainty. You can, for example, never foretell what any one man will do, but you can say with precision what an average number will be up to. Individuals vary, but percentages remain constant. So says the statistician."

Statistics was not new -- scholarly sorts had become engaged with statistics during the Enlightenment -- but it was in the early stages of being systematized into the mathematical field we know today. Holmes sounds like he would have been a fan of Francis Ysidro Edgeworth's Metre-like: Or the Method of Measuring Probability and Utility, published in 1887, since it attempted to use probability as the basis of inductive reasoning.

Then we have a boat chase.

I love the boat chase. I feel like the boat chase might have contributed to inspiration for the train chase in Nicholas Meyers' The Seven Percent Solution, though I also feel that a train chase needs no justification other than "we have two trains and a problem."

Our heroes leave from Westminster Wharf, which I'm assuming is roughly today's Westminster Pier, which had not yet received its statue of Boudica. (Westminster is conveniently southeast of Marylebone, where Baker Street is located.) So that long gentle curve is the river past St. Paul's and the Tower of London and under multiple bridges. They pick up the Aurora about where the river heads into that first shallow down-curve and chase it up and down, around the Isle of Dogs, up past Greenwich, and around the down curve at Blackwall. So they must catch it as the river starts to straighten and widen.

A pleasure tour from Westminster Pier to Greenwich today takes about an hour, but those are the boats their launch was passing like they were standing still. The Eva, a Thames Steam Launch of the appropriate era, was one of the speediest of the time and could achieve 16.5 miles/hour.

Then... I really would have preferred an actual monkey. We've now had in this chapter so many reminders of the achievements of European, particularly English, civilization that the avalanche of adjectives framing the Andaman Islander as primitive stands out as a deliberate counterpoint, despite the inclusion of Ceylon and Winwood Reade. Will we ever know what the Andaman Islander Accomplice's motivations were? (If yes, will I wish even more fervently that we'd just stuck with a monkey?)

I love the boat chase, though.

#sherlock holmes #letters from watson #the sign of the four

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lantur · 3 months

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trip updates part one: Tokyo

It was a mercifully smooth 12-hour flight from Minneapolis to Tokyo! The seat next to me was unoccupied, so I could stretch my legs out, sleep a bit, read, and watch my shows. I finished Black Friend by Ziwe, which I loved, and Alive: The Story of the Andes Survivors by Piers Paul Read. I also watched the first five episodes of Succession, season one! I'm so into this show.

It was so easy to navigate Tokyo via the subway. I took the train from the airport to my hotel, dropped my stuff off, and had time to visit Senso-ji Temple that evening. Visiting a religious site is something I like to do as soon after landing as possible. Senso-ji in the evening, lit up, was beautiful. I wandered through the temple grounds to look at the pagodas and the stone Buddha statues, while listening to the clinking of people dropping their coin offerings into the metal collection area. I found a little ramen spot nearby, and the ramen was incredible and very comforting after 12+ hours of travel, going through customs, navigating around a new city, etc.

The next day, I found a cute little cafe right next to my hotel where I could start my day with my caffeine fix. I headed to Tsukiji Market, and I LOVE a market. Normally I hate crowds, but when there's food involved, that hatred goes away. :) I explored the food stalls and ate all the seafood my little heart desired - crab legs, eel, scallops, a sashimi bowl.

I went to Meiji-Jingu shrine, in the middle of Yoyogi Park, which is very forested. One of the coolest things about this location was seeing a wedding ceremony that was taking place, with the couple and family dressed in traditional Japanese clothing. It was a lovely area to explore, and after I inevitably got lost in the park and found my way again, I had sakura flavored soft serve ice cream as a treat.

The Hamarikyu Gardens were an unexpected stop for me, while I waited for my evening kabuki show to start, and I'm so glad I went. The flower field there was yellow as far as my eyes could see, and there were tons of hummingbirds around.

The kabuki show was a cool experience - I loved the music, and the body language of the actors!

Other highlights of the rest of my time in Tokyo:

Matcha lattes and pancakes at the cafe near my hotel

Seeing cherry blossoms at Ueno Park!!

The collection of art and artifacts at Tokyo National Museum

The food - ramen, katsu curry, pho!

Soaking in the large, hot public bath at my hotel, which I had to myself that night.

One thing I didn't expect:

The weather! Coming from one of the coldest places in the United States, where it gets to be -30 F, I didn't think that Japan in spring would challenge me. And yet, it did. I brought my mid-weight spring coat, which has been working fine for me at home. For some reason, I found Tokyo very windy, and the wind cut right through me. I was very uncomfortable walking around, and finally, I had to buy another coat at Uniqlo here, as well as a scarf. I got both for ~$40 USD so it didn't break the bank, at least. :)

I got to Kyoto yesterday morning and I have more to journal about that, but I will do so in a separate post. :)

It has been amazing to be on vacation. To not have to worry about work, or grocery shopping, or cooking, or getting my workout done before work starts, or anything. I love my job and it still feels AMAZING to not work.

Oh, also, I almost forgot to add - I got an email as soon as I landed in Tokyo, confirming that I have been accepted at the university I applied for, and will be starting my MSW in fall. It's been a lovely celebratory trip!

#lanturing

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miracleintheandes · 10 months

Text

The Survivors (Part 1)

In alphabetical order.

The photos and some of the information are from Sociedad de la Nieve

Born on April 19th 1948, “Fito” Strauch used to play for the Old Christians rugby team, but he didn’t at the time of the crash. He was invited on the trip by his cousin Eduardo Strauch.

He was part of the trio known as “the cousins” (Fito, Eduardo and Daniel Fernandez). Fito and Eduardo were double cousins, as their mothers were sisters and their fathers were brothers, whose sister was Daniel’s mother.

The cousins played an essential leadership role in the mountains, as they took the responsibility of cutting the meat off the dead bodies and rationing the portions.

Fito had many brilliant ideas. The boys had a hard time melting snow, as shaking handfuls in a bottle was far too arduous and tiring in the rarefied air of the mountains. Fito figured out that each plane seat had a piece of aluminum that could be folded into a device filled with snow, which was then left in the sun to melt. The resulting water would then be poured into a bottle.

He also came up with the idea of tying seat cushions to their feet so they could walk on snow without sinking to their waist. As if those were not enough, he manufactured sunglasses with pieces of nylon taken from the seats and glass cut from the front windows of the plane (the ones in the cockpit, which were a shade darker than the windows in the cabin)

Born on November 1st 1947, “Pancho” Delgado was a law student. He was invited on the trip by his friend Gaston Costemalle, who played for the Old Christians rugby team.

Due to his eloquence, the other survivors asked him to address the journalists in the press conference held upon their return to Uruguay and explain their decision to eat the bodies of their dead friends.

The book “Alive” by Piers Paul Read paints an unfavorable picture of Pancho, claiming he already had a “lawyer’s mind” and hoarded food behind everyone’s back. In his own book, however, fellow survivor Nando Parrado comes to his defense, saying that all survivors - due to the desperate circumstances they found themselves in - tried to take advantage of the others at some point, but Pancho was resented the most because he got away with it more often.

Pancho had a girlfriend at the time of the crash, Susana Sartori. The couple eventually got married and had four children (María Federica, Alfredo, Joaquín and Agustina).

Born on March 31st 1953, Alvaro wasn’t part of the team nor did he attend the Stella Maris private school as most of the survivors. He knew some of the other passengers on a superficial level, as they lived in the same rich neighborhood in Montevideo. I have yet to find out why he was on the trip at all, but as soon as I do I’ll update you guys.

He broke his left leg when the plane crashed. Fellow survivor Roberto Canessa, a medical student, did his best to put the bones back into their places. Throughout the 72 days, Alvaro remained close to Canessa, who was very protective of him.

Alvaro had a girlfriend at the time of the crash, Margarite Arocena. The couple got married and had four children.

Born on July 24th 1953, “Tintín” played rugby for the Old Christians and stood out for his physical strength. His volatile personality caused some fights, but he never questioned the group’s decisions.

Because of his strength, Tintín was initially enrolled as one of the survivors who were to leave the fuselage in search of help. After three days, however, his fellow expeditionaries (Roberto Canessa and Nando Parrado) realized the trip was gonna be much longer than anticipated and sent Tintín back to the fuselage so they could keep his portions of meat.

Born on November 23rd 1951, Bobby was a Stella Maris alumnus and played for Old Christians. He had a very passive attitude towards the whole ordeal, as if he didn’t care whether he lived or died. As soon as the fuselage stopped its descent down the mountainside, Bobby exited the wreckage, sat on the snow and lit a cigarette.

He melted snow when the others forced him to, but didn’t do much else. When the cousins threatened to cut off his supply of meat, Bobby shrugged and said “That seems fair”.

Bobby had six children (Roberto, Federico, Sofía, Josefina, Milagros and Diego) and now lives a quiet life as a farmer.

Born on October 31st 1953, Carlitos was the son of a famous Uruguayan painter, Carlos Páez Villaró, who searched non-stop for the wreckage of the plane and did not rest until his son was found.

Carlitos was a very spoiled boy (he had a nanny!), but the experience in the Andes built his character and soon enough he was in charge of important tasks such as building a wall made of chairs and suitcases to protect the severed fuselage from the cold and praying the rosary every night with his companions. He also knew how to sew, which came in handy when the survivors decided to make a sleeping bag for the expeditionaries.

Several years after the accident, Carlitos struggled with addiction, but he fortunately bounced back. He has two children, Maria Elena de los Andes and Carlos Diego (named after his deceased friends Gustavo Diego Nicholich and Diego Storm).

Born on February 12th 1946, Daniel is the second oldest survivor. He was unharmed in the crash.

As previously mentioned, Daniel and his cousins played a key leadership role after the death of team captain Marcelo Perez. Daniel’s serenity, in particular, calmed the others down when fights erupted.

Born on August 13th 1947, Eduardo was a Stella Maris alumnus and confounder of the Old Christians, as well as a former player. Nicknamed “the German” due to his ancestry, he was an Architecture student and the most worldly of the group, as he had previously traveled to Europe.

Eduardo invited his cousins Adolfo Strauch and Daniel Fernandez on the trip.

Stay tuned for PART 2!

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