#bloody mackenzie

[lunasazuladas]

Nuevo video sobre el cementerio Greyfriars y sus leyendas

[hyacinth--girl]

FINALLY I WIN

[dollsome-does-tumblr]

saw speak no evil last night, which i really enjoyed! it proved to be my very favorite kind of stressful movie, i.e. a slowburn thriller where people go to a beautiful and remote location and then Things Go So Wrong! it reminded me a lot of other faves ex machina, men, 10 cloverfield lane, the menu, ready or not, the recent blink twice, etc.

just some thoughts about this movie (spoilers!)--

+ i really enjoyed all the gender role stuff going on in this one a whole bunch. this is, of course, a classic gothic romp in my eyes. therefore, watching the dad -- down on his luck, feeling emasculated by his female family and by life not favoring him as much as it was supposed to! -- get seduced by the alpha male andrew tate-y bs embodied by james mcavoy's character, like the dad was but a shrinking naive gothic heroine missing or even lusting after all the red flags, was SUCH a fun subversion to me. yes! yes!!!

+ every time that mackenzie davis's character tried to establish boundaries and they got run over and then she let it slide to be palatable, i viscerally FELT THAT. there was, of course, a big element of 'privileged people wanting to appear woke so they keep being boundlessly pityingly nice to the poor people', but even deeper than that, i think this was a great portrayal of how women in particular are expected to constantly accommodate and ignore their intuition. the bit with making her eat the goose. D: and it got worse!

+ i also really liked how in the big showdown, the mom and the kids were the ones who actually took out the enemies, and the dad was the only one without a 'kill' to his name. (though he did sacrifice himself by jumping off the roof, mirroring Accomplice Wife's self-sacrificial death!)

+ gosh, the dark implications re: Accomplice Wife's character were so harrowing - the victim becoming the abuser - and the fact that the little girl was being primed to follow in her footsteps ..... D:

+ i enjoyed that the kids were the ones who had the sort of Big Finding Bluebeard's Closet Of Dead Wives Reveal. (my bf pointed out that this is a bluebeard story, and it so is! my favorite!) that sort of ASOUE-y feeling of kids having to make it on their own because adults aren't a guaranteed source of safety. MAN, poor ant. :'( that kid had a HORRIBLE time. i really admire his persistence in keeping on fighting and trying to communicate.

+ i saw someone in the reddit discussion thread say that couple vs. couple is an underrated trope, and i agree! would love to see more of that in cinema.

+ love how the title operates both on the level of "this kid can speak no evil about what we do because we cut his tongue out" AND "don't ever say anything mean to people or you might hurt their feelings and what could possibly be worse than that (oh, this, i guess) 😬"

+ can't believe they did nick miller's favorite song cotton eyed joe so dirty like that. :( that scene honestly brought tears to my eyes from pure misery. the fact that some parents really do treat their kids like that ...................... (even if that wound up not being totally the situation in this particular movie). disgusting and heartbreaking.

+ the most a+ "eternal flame" use since gilmore girls.

+ after i watched the movie i read up on what the original film was like, and may i just say: that would have broken me psychologically in the movie theatre. thank god i didn't have to see that. THANK GOD! sometimes american optimism really works for me, honestly. if it's a gothic, then in the gothic, they've always got to make it out at the end!!! bruised and bloodied and haunted but still standing! so i'm really glad they did!

+ it honestly never occurred to me that people would thirst over james mcavoy in this movie, because he's so gross and horrible, but it takes all sorts to make a world, it turns out. the internet teaches me that every day!

+ anyway, i had a great time watching this! would definitely watch again! but gosh, was it a special kind of fun and stressful to watch it unfold the first time.

[philtstone]

jaime/claire -- holding the other's chin up

after literally one million years i finally finished this. this is not technically an om-shanti-om au but it's not not one, either

On Wednesday morning, Jamie and his Ghost had a row.

It is now Thursday afternoon, and Jamie is sitting in a hospital room, covered in muck from head to toe and wondering if this isn’t God’s great punishment for daring to leave his bloody flat.

He’s not sure when he started referring to the Ghost as his. Traditionally, if you’re the sort to believe in such things, ownership of ghosts runs through 1) ancestry or 2) a familial home. His aunt Jocasta, for example, had an ornery old Frenchman in the cellar of the MacKenzies’ old brick tower who had no relation to any of them, but wouldn’t let the damned house go generation after generation; Jocasta claims the bastard had been the mysterious lad who seduced that one grand-cousin of theirs into batting for the other side, which led to his divorcing his wife and moving to Cuba – and who is Jamie to have his doubts, really, when he’s got a ghost of his own.

The argument could be made that Jamie’s ghost has taken up residence in his flat — hence his turn of phrase. But he’s only renting after all, and more than that, he’s got a weird feeling she never snooped through the previous tenants’ bookshelves or sock drawers or anything either.

Now she won’t speak to him. It is four months to the day Jamie moved in, and, not two hours later, made her acquaintance while having an angry cry on the toilet. It’d been a rough go of it – between the accident and Jenny and Da —

Jamie had, at that time, resigned himself to the inevitability of his flunking out of graduate work before he’d ever started it. He’d barely been making it to his physio appointments when the Ghost appeared, let alone his classes; either he wouldn’t answer Jenny’s calls or she wouldn’t answer his; and in the twenty four hours he’d been in his new flat, the upstairs neighbours had already had audibly angry sex twice, which was two times too many for Jamie’s fragile mental state (not to mention his resounding lack of girlfriend). It was amidst all of this that The Ghost materialized.

The Ghost glows like a firefly, speaks like she stepped out of a World War Two-era black and white film and can’t seem to stay in one spot long enough for Jamie to see her face properly. She hasn't got a name, has given no indication of a family, and won’t tell him how and where she died. She’s miserable when she isn’t cracking laughs out of him by snooping through his old copy of Descartes and wondering aloud whether he actually reads the books he owns. She herself has no patience for reading (though she accidentally knocked a lamp over exclaiming at his battered copy of Lord of the Rings), endless patience for his sporadic monologues on morphological theory, and a complete fascination with his mobile phone. Also, the soapy mess that is Grey’s Anatomy, which was playing on the telly once. 

“How old were ye,” Jamie asked one day, blowing on his instant noodles, which the Ghost had been eyeing with great skepticism for the latter half of the last fifteen minutes. He supposed she had every right to judge, if she were once a twentieth century housewife, but very little about her suggested an abundance of housewifely skills.

“What are your thoughts on knitting?” asked the Ghost, apropos of nothing.

“I asked first.”

“Did you.”

“When ye went, I mean. How old were ye?”

For a moment it was hard to look directly at her, because she was suddenly far less clearly formed than before. Then, quick as a wink, she was young and mostly corporeal again.

“Terribly,” said the Ghost. “I had white hair and everything.”

He mulled this over. “I can imagine it must’ve been quite somethin’ tae behold,” he says. “Sorcha.”

She smiled, all brilliance, all tenderness – very different from the sadness that lingered around her otherwise. Slowly she floated over, under his silent observation, and with hands that were not fully there and made of the stuff of nightlights cupped his face, lifting his chin. There in his sad little kitchen she glowed. Jamie kept blinking behind his glasses, like maybe if he did it hard enough, he could finally see her. Did she have a husband she missed? Jamie thought. Was it paining her something awful to be stuck in his sad little studio, with the two plants left living and the little grey cat no one in the building would properly claim ownership of? 

Then, “Knitting,” she said. So Jamie confessed what little his Mam had taught him as a kid.

She knows all the scientific names of the bones and ligaments and tissues in his body that were damaged in the accident, and – perhaps due to her ghostly nature – can preternaturally guess when each thing is paining him. It upsets her to realize that her hands are not solid enough to sooth the hurts, and gladdens her when he assures her companionship is taking his mind off things a bit, before – incomprehensibly – she looks miserable again. She swears like a sailor and would probably fart in her sleep, were she not an incorporeal being with a transmutable form not in need of traditional rest.

She’s the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen. Nevermind he can’t really see her; Jamie just knows. Her hair is one large amorphous cloud of curls and she stares at him with such unspeakable sadness and makes a little humming noise when she’s at rest, like the singing of a hundred little stones. And there is a soft sort of buttery halo around her, which was enough to stun him into silence at their first meeting and has become oddly soothing now, enough that he gives her that silly little nickname, and he’s lonely, something feckin’ awful. 

It’s not like he’s not self-aware. Problem is, now she might be gone forever, and it’s all his fault.

He keeps playing it over and over in his head. He might’ve been a little churlish, sure – he was tired from his early lecture, he’d kept his contacts in too long, the anniversary of Da’s passing was coming up on Friday and Jenny kept insisting that he ought to come for a visit …

That was it, wasn’t it? Jamie didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to go home, and the Ghost in all her sort of sad floaty care for him snapped in the way of a brittle little twig. She had an awful temper sometimes. He’d heard her yell at the kitchen wall once when she found she couldn’t float through it. 

“James Fraser,” she said in her posh little accent, “are you going to continue wallowing in this miserable fucking flat or are you going to get up off your arse and face the bloody world like a man?”

Jamie found this somewhat infuriating. He had left his flat, thanks very much – he went to class now, and he was making real progress in physio, and, well, sure, he’d turned down the lads the last few times they invited him out for a match, but maybe he’d go this time – there was no proof he wouldn’t! So it wasn’t feckin’ fair of her, to talk down to him so. Jamie refused to be called a coward in his own flat.

By a ghost, no less.

“It’s no’ like you ever leave either,” he’d snapped in response, the discomfort of being seen rankling under his skin and sharpening his tongue into something rude. 

“I’m dead,” said the Ghost.

“Aye,” muttered Jamie mutinously. “Well.”

“Don’t be an arse.”

“Ye’d be fair lonely wi’out me here tae keep ye company, would ye no’?”

“I’d – read your books,” she defended, unbelievably. “You – you just – don’t you want a happy and vibrant life?”

“What do you think?” he picked up his books, which were strewn over the living room couch, for something to do.

“Well, I don’t know! You keep hiding!”

“I’m no’ hiding!”

“Yes, you are!”

“Mary, Michael and – why do ye care so much, ye irritating apparition!”

“I care because I bloody well have to!” 

Had he not been so caught up in his own irritation, he would have noted the odd strand of desperation in her voice. 

“Fine,” said Jamie, waving about An Introduction To Language And Linguistics, Third Edition with finality. “Well. I’ve plenty of reasons to be a homebody, ken -- right ones, real ones. But if that’s the case, then yer whole existence is sad.”

“I beg your pardon,” said the Ghost. 

“Aye,” Jamie was really working up to something, he’d thought, “Ye clearly havenae anywhere else to be, hangin’ about this dump.”

“Where else would I bloody well go?”

“I dinna ken, do I?” He couldn’t see her properly – the details of her face were always a mystery, but now she kept glowing in and out of focus as a general ill emotion build within her in the far corner of the room, “as ye tell me nothing about yerself and spend half the day actin’ like a time traveller and the other half the day lookin’ at me like ye’re about tae cry! I don’t think I’m the one wallowing here, Sorcha, and at least my presence is wanted by the feckin’ landlord! No one asked you tae show up!”

Perhaps he had gone too far; something about the Ghost’s presence blanched, like he’d given her a true fright. Then, after an awful moment of strangulated silence … she snapped back.

It devolved pretty quickly from there. In between the mutual screaming, Jamie got the feeling that she would have thrown things, could she have gotten her incorporeal hands on them properly enough to harness physics.

At some point, he had run out of steam, stormed out, and slammed the door behind himself, intent on finally taking up the offer of rugby with his friends.

Too bad about the torrential downpour. Too bad Rupert tackles like a giant lout, and Jamie slid five feet on the grass before slamming down directly on his shoulder and popping it out of socket.

He sighs, miserably. The hospital room is cold, mostly because he remains so thoroughly damp; his hair is plastered to his forehead and his jeans cling to his legs. So much for going out and partaking in the wide human world like a man properly recovering from a year’s worth of back to back traumas. Hmph. Jamie sniffs and wipes at his glasses (smudged) with his free and un-dislocated arm. He supposes he is recovering, sort of. It’s been easy to miss, given how simple the Ghost has made everything feel, but he feels exceptionally more human now than he did mere months ago. Jamie of September would never have dislocated his shoulder, because he was too busy being depressed.

He squirms in place. He ought to go home and check on the Ghost. What if all the yelling caused her to simply vanish? What if she’s hiding from him, indefinitely? He doesn’t think Edinburgh local business bureau has any reliable sort of ghost hunting service listed on its website. When Angus stopped by to pick up Jamie’s laptop so he could at least get his readings done for class tomorrow via hospital room, he responded to Jamie’s possibly-deranged Ghost-related line of questioning with an honest, “I’ve looked everywhere, mate. Cannae see hide nor hair of any ghostly lassie. D’ye think she’s gone tae her sister’s, perhaps?”

Even if this were a helpful question, Jamie hasn’t any idea whether the Ghost has any siblings at all.

Shite. He groans. It’s bad enough the shock’s worn off, and his shoulder is starting to properly hurt now. He hangs his head and leans his forehead against his uninjured wrist, squeezing his eyes shut against the mess everything’s become. He’s still facing the ground with his eyes shut when the faint sound of heeled footsteps swells louder and turns the corner, entering the room with a neat swish of hospital bed paper and curtain.

“Mr. James Fraser, is it?” says a light, distinctly British female voice, evidently scanning over whatever chart they’ve got set up for him, “that’s a nasty glenohumeral dislocation you’ve got there. You wouldn’t have happened to be playing rugby in the rain like an idiot, would you?”

Jamie cracks his eyes open specifically to roll them. He doesn’t get very far: the doctor standing in front of him is a tall young woman, with a mass of thick, dark curly hair tied out of her face, wry laughing eyes and an upturned little mouth that makes it very clear they are both supposed to be in on whatever joke she’s trying to make. She has a slender neck, a very competent set to her brows, and could be described as somewhat twiggy in figure save for her wonderfully curved arse, which Jamie gets an unexpected view of as she leans over the chair in the corner to close the bed’s curtain properly.

Jamie unsticks his throat with a bit of effort. “Hm?” he says, very eloquently.

“I asked, are you feeling dizzy at all? Nauseous?”

“No, I feel fine. ‘Tis just my arm, Sassenach.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Between the dislocated shoulder and the woman in front of him it could really be anything that’s causing his complete discombobulation – enough to put his foot in it, it seems – but something about the tone and inflection of her sharp little question has Jamie’s head spinning more than the rugby tackle.

“Er – Doctor Sassenach, I mean. Or rather – jest Doctor, but I didnae mean it as an offense – it was just an observation. Granted, we’re in Edinburgh, so it wouldn’t – but I’m from – that is, my family, I grew up far North, so …” he trails off; she is now very industriously poking and prodding at his collar bone. Oh, right – he does remember her saying she was about to do that. “I meant no offense,” he concludes.

“No offense taken,” says the Doctor. She sounds like she’s on the verge of laughing, this time at him.

“Ye’ve got a very gentle touch,” Jamie says, like a right idiot.

“Thank you,” says the Doctor. “Now, I’m going to reset your arm – there’s nothing else for it, it’ll hurt like hell for a minute. But you’ll be alright Mr. Fraser.”

They go through the motions together; Jamie follows her instructions, marvels at how strong and precise she is with skinny arms and small hands, and only blacks out a little when his shoulder pops back into place.

“God,” he gasps, blinking. In front of him, the Doctor is looking over him with concern. 

“Everything alright? How are you feeling?”

“A little bit like someone’s punched my lights out, I willnae lie.” She laughs, but her hands remain on him, gentle first on his chest, then neck, pushing him upright.

“An expected feeling,” she says. “Hold still a moment, I’m going to properly check you for a concussion.”

And before Jamie can protest that he’s fine, she has taken his chin in both hands and gently tilted his face up towards her, so as to better shine the little flashlight into his eyes.

It’s as if a giant multi-metric tonne train has slammed into Jamie at twelve hundred kilometers an hour. The nice Sassenach doctor is glowing like a firefly and eyeing his ramen with skepticism and asking him about knitting and crying and yelling and touching him so gently because now her hands can actually touch him and he knows her, he swears he knows her deep deep deep in some inner place inside of him and quite possibly he is in love with her, and maybe has been, forever.

Jamie comes back to Earth. She is making an altogether undignified face as she moves his chin back and forth and examines his reaction time. Her tongue sticks out a little. Bits of frizz have popped out of her ponytail and are decorating her hairline like a halo.

“Hi,” Jamie says breathily, like a fool.

She stills, and looks over to meet his eye, and for a moment they stare at each other like that, nose to nose. 

“Hello,” she says. 

Then she pulls away and marks something on her notepad; the interaction is all but over. Off to her next patient, probably. “Alright. Well, no concussion, from what I can tell. I’ll ask you to self-monitor, though, and I’ll prescribe you some pain meds for the shoulder. I’d go home and get some rest if I were you,” she hesitates, and in a curious sort of way adds, “is everything alright, really?”

“Fine,” says Jamie. “Only, just now I felt like I’d seen a ghost.” He laughs, and it’s an overall strangled sound, which can and should be forgiven. “Ye ever felt anything like that, Sassenach?”

She is halfway to the door already, and he’s sure she will call him a nutter on the way out, even if in that wry way of hers. But she stops. Turns back. Smiles at him – not quite radiant, nor tender, but curious and familiar.

“You know … I think I do?”

“Aye?” 

“It’s Claire, by the way.”

He blinks. “Your ghost?”

“No,” and now she really is laughing at him. “My name. Dr. Claire Beauchamp. But if you must call me an outlander, James Fraser whose family lived in the North, then I suppose I am alright with that, too.”

She leaves Jamie grinning more widely than he has in months. He’s got the odd feeling that whenever he gets home, his flat will be empty. Strangely, this is not an upsetting premonition. He’s more concerned with somehow getting Dr. Claire Beauchamp’s phone number – and somehow, he’s pretty sure the Ghost would approve.

[welcome-to-ratterrock]

Sorry to bother but can we get more of the cast's personalities or some short description about it or will it be a bit of a spoiler for the story? Thank you! And keep up the great work!

You’re not a bother at all! It’s wonderful to have people interested in this story. To answer your questions…

In a world beneath our own, after the horrors of World War 1, a string of murders in the seaside city of Saltscratch force Sage Locke, a brilliant if unorthodox consulting detective, to infiltrate the Bloody Hearts, a notorious criminal gang that fights to rule the island rats have claimed for themselves. Of course, given his personal history with the leader, Padraic Regal, that’s going to be bloody difficult…

A murder mystery with dark romances, betrayal and bloodshed, gangsters and outcasts, steamy scenes and social commentary, featuring a cast of queer rodents. The sea washes away much, but not your sins…

Welcome to Ratterrock.

And as for our characters, here’s the core cast as our story begins:

Sage Locke: A brilliant and unorthodox consulting detective, Locke finds it far easier to deal with data and dangerous criminal investigations than society and sentiment. His life is his work, and he has gained both admiration and adversaries. 

Padraic Regal: The eldest sibling of the Regal family and the leader of the fearsome gang the Bloody Hearts, Padraic is determined to get the power and respect his name deserves by any means necessary. With his staggering intelligence, endless charisma and utter ruthlessness, he makes a fearsome enemy but a far more dangerous friend. 

Sorcha Regal: Like the diamonds she favors, Sorcha is dazzling, cool and always polished, her stunning beauty only matched by her cunning and charm. As the second in command of the Bloody Hearts, she has earned her reputation as the most dangerous woman on Ratterrock. 

Lorcan Regal: A born brawler, Lorcan is the rowdy and reckless muscle to the Bloody Hearts, happily obeying the commands of his eldest siblings. Ferocious in all his appetites - boxing or booze, men or women - Lorcan is all heart and endlessly loyal to his family. 

Randall Clifford: The Chief Inspector of the Saltscratch Police Force, Clifford is determined that the criminal underworld won’t escape the power of the law. He handles both his position and the unusual methods of one Sage Locke with well earned confidence and efficiency, and is a well respected figure. 

Bogdan Nightshade: The stern and stoic leader of the Night Court colony, Bogdan isn’t one for trifling distractions, keeping his time occupied with ensuring his family's safety and stability. Between helping his beloved mother and keeping his wild brother out of trouble, Bogdan doesn’t lower his grim guard for anything or anyone. 

Casimir Nightshade: An unfortunate incident with some downed wires left Casimir wildly unpredictable and deeply dangerous both to himself and others, much to the concern of his eldest brother. Utterly uninhibited, Casimir tends to bring chaos wherever he goes, whether he intends to or not. 

Marilla Mackenzie: The only child of one of Saltscratch’s most wealthy and esteemed families, Rilla is a free spirit who wants nothing more than to live life on her own terms: dancing, flirting, and fun. As one of the most beautiful and blue blooded of Saltcratch’s debutants, she’s looking at a future that doesn’t have any of that. 

Luella Woodmouse: Quiet, competent and determinedly demure, Luella works as a governess to the upper class of Saltscratch and prides herself on her calmness and courtesy. Despite her best efforts to keep out of trouble, she will often end up on “adventures” with one Miss Marilla Mackenzie. 

Brigid O’Broin: Tough, gruff and fearsome, Brig is a dockworker and boxer who has had to fight her whole life to survive. Once the best mate of one Lorcan Regal, she keeps to herself and out of trouble as best she can. 

More characters will be joining the story, and we’ll be adding character profiles on our official website when it is out of development, which will be updated as the story continues.

Thank you so much for the questions!

[realmackross]

PARTIES:@longislandcharm; @realmackross (Brody) TIMING: Takes place while this thread is happening. SUMMARY: Brody visits Winter to ask a big favor and to say goodbye. WARNINGS: head trauma tw

In the blink of an eye a regular day in Wicked’s Rest could change from just that to a life changing experience. Winter knew that. She was well aware that she could be in the middle of searching her cabinets for her missing oreos when the most unexpected thing could happen. The cold chill ran down her back and she assumed that Henry had come back from wherever he’d been in the house, her voice low as she grumbled. “First my eggs, now my cookies? What? Is there some sort of snack fairy in town that thrives on stealing my food?” It wasn’t beyond the possibility, she didn’t think anything was anymore, but it had only been a fleeting thought spoken out loud so that Henry could weigh in if he wanted to. There wasn’t a reply though and the medium turned her head to question why he was so quiet.

But it wasn’t Henry standing behind her. Her body went completely cold as she took in the ghost standing there. His clothes were torn, bloody, but everything else in her vision was almost exactly as it had been before he’d died. His skin was perfect save for it being more translucent than when he was alive but even if he still held all of the marks of his death she would have recognized him anywhere. 

Her heart sank as Winter slowly turned from the open cabinet, afraid to take her eyes off of the man standing in front of her in case he decided to disappear. Why was he here anyway? They had been friends, yes, but he should have been going to see someone else and she was sure she would have heard if he’d paid a visit to her. They were both silent as if waiting for the other to speak, to break the tension that was lingering between them, until she couldn’t keep it in anymore. She needed to know what was going on but for once in her life she could only think of one lame question to ask as if she didn’t already know who he was.

“Brody?”

—

“Hey, Winter.” The words were somewhat raspy and soft as a small smile crept over his features. It had been what felt like a lifetime ago since Brody had spoken to her. Though, just like with Mackenzie, he had been watching her from a distance. Trying to know when to make the right move. To make his presence known. But now was the time, “I know this must be a shock huh? Seeing me like this?” He didn’t dare turn around. Most of his appearance he had managed to nurse back to something less shocking, but there was still a small place in the back of his head that hadn’t fully “healed”, if you even wanted to call it that.

The night Brody died had been one out of pure violence and torment. It wasn’t anything he had ever fathomed the love of his life could do, and when his spirit had separated from his body leaving him as nothing but a mere spectator to his own demise, Brody was left in shock. But it was the way he watched as Mackenzie had immediately felt remorse when whatever trance she had been in soon disappeared that had kept him from harboring an immediate rage, and possibly the biggest thing that had saved him from wanting revenge on the woman he loved.

From then on he lingered with her seeing the coverup, the move to Wicked’s Rest and everything that had taken place over the course of the year with Mackenzie. He had seen her lose control. He had seen her and the immense remorse she carried from the night she had killed him up until recently when he watched Jade try to end Mackenzie’s undead life. He had been there for all the nights alone when she had mourned her future without him, without the possibility of kids, and even watched as she began to form a relationship with Elora. Brody had seen it all, and he knew the one thing that was holding her back from living a full life, as much as that was possible, was her guilt for his death.

“I need your help. I want to talk to Mackenzie.” His eyebrows raised in a pleading sort of manner, “I know I could face her on my own, but I want to ease her into this interaction. And I think you can probably help with that.” Brody motioned towards the living room of her house in reference to Henry.

—

She took a shaky breath when the ghost answered her, tears springing to her eyes. Had she ever really mourned Brody? Thinking back on it, Winter didn’t feel like she’d had a chance. At first, she had been too worried about Mack to fully process his death and then the actual ghosts showing up in her life took precedence. She hadn’t even been able to process it all when Mack told her she had been the one to kill him, too busy trying to avoid her best friend and work through the fear that had suddenly plagued her. No, Winter hadn’t been able to mourn him because she hadn’t had the chance but she also wondered if she would have even tried or if she would have buried the emotions away like she usually did. The surprise of him showing up out of the blue took her off guard, gave allowance for one tear to slip down her cheek before she wiped it away and did just what she expected would have happened to that grief when he’d first died; she buried it deep within herself.

“You mean without the teeth marks?” The harshness in her voice surprised her as well, remnants of that grief pushing her towards anger as if it was his fault her best friend was a total mess now. Rage was her default after all. “I assume you know what…or I guess who did that to you.” She gestured up and down the length of his body with a shaky hand, Winter hating that it was giving away how fragile she seemed to be. Even in death she didn’t want anyone to think of her as weak. “Or have you completely hidden in the shadows of wherever you guys go to when you’re not around?” 

She was just about to tell him to go to who he really needed to go to when he started to explain why he hadn’t yet. Again, her anger flared inside of her, the reliability of it so comforting. “I really hate when people so close to me put me in such weird fucking positions. Do you know how upset she’s going to be knowing you came to me first?” She really wasn’t sure if Mack would appreciate being eased into this or not but this aggression building inside of her had to be directed somewhere. He was just the unfortunate recipient. It was just like a human to blame their grief on the dead. 

—

Brody hadn’t expected the welcome he had gotten from Winter. In all honesty, it had surprised him. She figured the woman would’ve at least been mournful, but not outright angry at him. And while he wasn’t here to play the blame game, something he did have to work to come to terms with, he had at least expected Winter to be, well…not so Winter. But she was right in one thing. He was coming to her and not Mackenzie. And maybe there was some part of him that was afraid to face his former love. After all, his death had been such a violent one. A death that anyone could rightfully expect a vengeful spirit to come out of. But not Brody. Brody was the exception, because of how much he loved Mackenzie. 

“Retract the claws, Winter. I’m not here to argue with you. And yeah, you’re right, I should be going to Mackenzie, but considering how angry you are with me, what do you think she’s going to be like?” Honestly an unfair question since Mackenzie wasn’t anywhere around to defend herself. “Look, I don’t want to cause any problems, okay? And you’re her best friend. The one who's always been there for her. If you don’t want to be any part of this, then that’s fine. But just be there in the aftermath, okay? Please? That’s all I’m asking. I’ve been watching her since the night…since I died, and I know that my death is eating her up inside. I just want her to be happy. To find peace and move on with her life, since she still has that chance as a zombie.” It sounded like something out of a movie he had been in. Calling his fiance a zombie. And he was a ghost. It was ridiculous, but somehow this had become their fate.

—

“Yeah, they don’t do that. Claws are there for a reason, why hide them?” Winter crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes boring into the ghost at his question. A stupid question. “She may have a bark, Brody, but we all know I’m the one with the bite. She couldn’t be angry at you if she tried.” Mack could never. She was the reason he was dead and she was well aware of that so how could she be mad at having him back, and not as a vengeful spirit at that? No, she would feel that heartbreak, that sorrow, that guilt all over again and maybe lash out but never any anger. And really, Winter wasn’t even angry at him but she couldn’t stop the hostility coursing through her. 

The realization of why dawned on her. This appearance after so long was going to be too much for Mack. She was already going through it with everything that had happened since becoming what she was. She was already struggling with her actions and the consequences of them. She had already loved and lost again. Did she really deserve another heartbreak? Winter wouldn’t meet Brody’s eye when she voiced the thought aloud. “You’re going to break her.” Which he knew. He wouldn’t be asking her to pick up the pieces he left behind if he didn’t. That made her anger so much more tangible.

In the back of her mind she knew. She was well aware that Mack’s former fiance telling her he still cared for her despite everything was a need, not a want, but she still wasn’t ready to be the one sitting in the aftermath of it. It was hard enough now, hard enough to let Mackenzie feel the things she needed to feel while being by her side for it, and Winter couldn’t imagine how much harder it could get before things started to get better. Worse, living Mack’s grief with her would force the medium into it herself. There was no way she would escape it all without her own emotions clawing toward the surface. She was being selfish with all of this and she knew it but didn’t it matter if she wasn’t ready to grieve Brody herself? “I don’t know how to do this, Brody. I’ve walked through this process with so many people but never with someone I was close to. Never helping them with someone…I cared for too.”

—

“I’ve missed you, Winter. And your sassiness. No wonder Mackenzie loves you so much.” In life, he had always loved to pick on Winter. Get the so-called claws she was talking about to come out just a little. But banter had been something for the living. For Brody, he had one mission to complete, and it was more important than shooting the shit with Winter. No, this was something that he needed to do, because Mackenzie’s undead life depended on it. And if he had to do this alone, then so be it.

“Look, I'm sorry. I didn’t ask to be put in this position either, Winter. It just happened. You know that. I would love to be back in California right now breathing, spending the rest of my days and starting a family with the woman I’ve loved for most of my life. But, not to be cliche in such a delicate time, you can’t always get what you want.” He paused and looked down.

Brody knew none of this was fair to Winter, and he felt genuinely bad for it. But he couldn’t be there for Mackenzie like he wanted to. There was no way possible, and if he were able to move on after approaching the woman he loved, Mackeznie would be left alone again, and that was the last thing he had wanted for her; the thought causing his spectral heart to break all over again.

—

Her eyes softened just so at his words but she was still in that position that clearly stated her walls were up. Even knowing that he probably wouldn’t be around for long she couldn’t allow herself to show a different side. Why couldn’t she do that? Why was it so hard to show she cared? Mackenzie seems to have been the only one to break through those perpetual walls, getting a side of Winter that no one else ever could. She wanted to know how she allowed herself to be real with her best friend but couldn’t bring herself to do the same with other people she cared for. Even when death had their claws in them.

Shit. Maybe she really did need therapy.

She raised an eyebrow at him, mouth set into a thin line with his Rolling Stones reference, but she said nothing. Sometimes the way she showed that she cared was by keeping her lips sealed. Winter knew Brody would know that. She also knew what he needed from her. Rolling her eyes, she lifted her hand so that she could inspect her nails, the act of nonchalance broken by the words she finally spoke. “Ask me again.” Ask her to stay by her best friend's side. Ask her to pick up the pieces of a broken woman that they both cared so deeply for. Ask her to be a human being for someone who would never hesitate to do the same for her. “Ask me again, Brody.”

—

He watched as the expression on her face softened, but he knew exactly what she was doing, when she requested him to ask again. She wanted him to beg. Wanted Brody to really feel what he was doing. And though ghosts couldn’t feel physical pain, he could feel the pain of heartbreak and grief. Regret and remorse. All of which, he knew she knew a thing or two about as well, but because this was Mackenzie’s life at stake. Her morality. The belief that good things could still happen to her, so he gave into Winter’s request without any second thought. He even stepped in closer and got down on his knees.

“For you, Winter, I’ll beg, because this is for Mackenzie. Not me. I’m not going to lie and say it was never about me, because if none of it had been, I would have revealed myself the day she killed me, but she was already putting herself through enough, and she didn’t need the reminder of what she had done by a mangled corpse struggling to adjust to the afterlife.” Brody looked into her eyes pleading, “So please, will you be there for her. If me revealing myself to her sends me off to wherever ghosts go when they’ve completed whatever unfinished business they have, I don’t want her to be alone in this. In grieving my death all over again, because I can’t stay with her. Because we both know our girl is just ambitious enough to believe in a future with a ghost.” He laughed softly, but there was a sadness laced throughout.

—

Eyes widened as he got on his knees, Winter’s arms falling to her side. She was a little insulted that he would think she wanted him to beg for this but at the same time she couldn’t really blame him, could she. She was a cold one sometimes, it was why her name was perfect for her. “I’m not asking you to beg, asshole.” Her voice was low but there was humor lacing the words. “I can’t believe you think I’m that petty.” Yes she could. “I just wanted you to ask me again so I could give you a proper answer.” She’d already made up her mind, after all, but now she wanted to prolong giving him the answer to see how far she could take this.

‘It isn’t the time for this, Winter.’ No, this was supposed to be serious. He was dead, Mack was hurting and needed to grieve, it was not the time for her to tease the hell out of him and string him along. She rolled her eyes at him and gestured for the ghost to get up. “Have some dignity, damn.” 

She laughed with her last comment but all the humor started to fall away. In a rare occurrence, Winter grew quiet while she looked Brody over. There had never been any question as to whether or not she would be there for Mack. It was inevitable, like the tides. Winter would never have left the woman stranded while she worked to bring back a better version of herself, to heal, even if she would be terrified the whole time. Maybe that was another reason she had been angry with him. that he would even dare question her loyalty with something like this was an insult to the friendship she held with Mackenzie. Still, it was kind of sweet in a way she supposed. “I’m going to be there for her, okay? It shouldn’t have even been a question. But I know you wouldn’t take any chances when it came to something like this.”

—

If this had been their life before, like when Brody had come to Winter needing her help planning his wedding proposal to Mack, he would have laughed. Let her carry on this charade of making him beg, but this situation was entirely different. It was one that he had both longed to finally put into action, but one he had so greatly dreaded. And as he continued to stare into her eyes, he knew that she realized the gravity of the situation.

Closing his eyes and letting out a breath of relief, Brody slowly stood back up; a small snort escaping his lips when she told him to have some dignity. And as he found his footing again, he looked back into Winter’s eyes, “For the record, I don’t think you're petty. I think you have a lot going on in your life too, that unfortunately Mackenzie hasn’t noticed, because of her own stuff, and I know if she wasn’t so lost in herself, she would be there for you.” He reached out and gently laid a hand on her shoulder, making sure not to press down too hard. “And I know you will, Winter. I have no doubt about that, but you needed to know what was about to happen, because we both know how much of a wild card she is, especially when it comes to running away from things.”

—

She swallowed, her eyes on the hand that she should be feeling the weight of on her shoulder as the lack of it seemed to make things so much more real. Of course she’d known he was dead, saw the aftershocks from it all, but it was a different thing entirely to see his immaterial body. “We all have shit going on.” Her heart wasn’t in the comment, Winter looking away from him towards a random spot in her kitchen just so she didn’t have to see the evidence anymore. “Don’t worry, okay? I’ve got her back and she’s not running away from me again. I chewed her out so much the last time I’m sure she won’t want to hear my mouth again.” 

She took in a breath as she thought about what was coming. This conversation was ending sooner than she wanted it to, the girl not having realized how much she missed him through her anger from earlier. This was the part she hated. Facing the emotions that came with goodbyes, allowing herself to feel the hurt that she so desperately didn’t want to feel. But if it was the last time she would see him then she had to, didn’t she? She could already feel her eyes welling up but she willed the tears back. Just because she was doing this didn't mean she had to cry. “I miss you.” 

Gritting her teeth, Winter finally looked at him again. “You always saw things that others didn’t. You may misinterpret my meaning with certain things but you always seemed to know when something wasn’t right with me even through all my bullshit….I hate this, Brody.” And she knew that he did too. He’d much rather be sitting next to her in her kitchen talking about his next movie or listening to Winter roast him as much as she could. Instead he had to go give his undead fiance a pep talk before possibly disappearing forever. “It’s right, though. I mean, that you’re doing this. You shouldn’t stick around longer than you have to.” Winter bit into the inside of her bottom lip, hiding behind a roll of her eyes. “I love you, you idiot.”

—

Brody could feel the shift in Winter. He knew that what she had been fighting was coming to the surface. He had so greatly wanted to spend more time with her. Shoot the shit like old times. Tease Winter about Spirit Speak and some of the people who seemed so gullible, but now that he knew it was all real, he had felt kind of bad. But despite it all, he had loved Winter like a sister, and saying goodbyes had never been an easy thing for him, but in this moment, he knew he had two coming. Two he wasn’t ready for, but had to be.

“I miss you, too, Winter. Even through all your teasing and snake bite attitude. You keep that about yourself okay? Don’t let that go, and don’t ever let anyone try and take advantage of you. Not like they’d ever get a chance to, but I won’t be around to kick their ass if they do.” He could feel what felt like tears of his own coming to his eyes, and when it had first happened, the night he saw Mackenzie wracked with guilt, he couldn’t understand what was happening, but now he could, “I love you, Ice Queen. You take care of our girl, yeah.”

With a smirk and a nod, Brody quietly left Winter’s house. And as he stood outside on the sidewalk looking back in, he recalled all the moments he had with the woman. The laughter, the tears, playing jokes on each other, dinners, parties, and even playing peacemaker between her and Mack. An entire lifetime's worth of memories flashing through his mind in the single beat of a heart. But as much as he loved Winter, he knew the real test was coming. And whoever said a ghost’s heart couldn’t break was full of shit.

[scotianostra]

The 1st of May 1690 saw Battle of the Haughs of Cromdale.

Please note some sources say this happened on April 30th, and where I agree with them, the battle was a two parter over that day and May 1st, .......

Jacobite Clansmen were defeated by Government Forces under Sir Thomas Livingstone. Despite being a relatively minor encounter, this little known battle marked the effective end of this particular Jacobite rising.

By this point the Jacobites were led by Sir Ewen Cameron, who supported King James. The Jacobites requested aid from King James who was engaged in resisting a threatened invasion of Ireland. He sent arms, ammunition and provisions but also a few Irish officers including Major-General Thomas Buchan, who James instructed would lead the Jacobite forces.

At a meeting at Keppoch of the Jacobite Clans in support of King James agreed to continue with the war but only after the spring. In the meantime Major-General Thomas Buchan and 1,200 infantry would attempt to weaken the British Government forces.

Major-General Thomas Buchan decided to march down through Strathspey in order to try to gain support from clansmen within the Duke of Gordon’s country in Moray. A number of his men deserted reducing his men to 800. A number of his Scottish officers advised him to not advance past Culnakill, however Buchan ordered his men to march down the Spey as far as Cromdale, where he encamped on the last day of April.

Government forces and Clans in support of them, included a 600 strong contingent from Clan Grant, met the Jacobite forces at Cromdale. They were led by Sir Thomas Livingston who commanded a garrison at Inverness. As the Government forces approached, the Jacobites made a brief stand, but on realising they were outnumbered they retreated. A mist came down from the hillside, which allowed most to make their escape resulting in 400 casualties.

James Hogg wrote about the battle in his "Jacobite Reliques" he added some artistic license.......

HAUGHS O' CROMDALE

As I came in by Auchindoun, A little wee bit frae the toun, When to the Highlands I was bound, To view the haughs of Cromdale, I met a man in tartan trews, I speir'd at him what was the news; Quo' he the Highland army rues, That e'er we came to Cromdale.

We were in bed, sir, every man, When the Engligh host upon us came, A bloody battle then began, Upon the haughs of Cromdale. The English horse they were so rude, They bath'd their hooves in Highland blood, But our brave clans, they boldly stood Upon the haughs of Cromdale.

But, alas! We could no longer stay, For o'er the hills we came away, And sore we do lament the day, That e'er we came to Cromdale. Thus the great Montrose did say, Can you direct the nearest way? For I will o'er the hills this day, And view the haughs of Cromdale.

Alas, my lord, you're not so strong, You scarcely have two thousand men, And there's twenty thousand on the plain, Stand rank and file on Cromdale. Thus the great Montrose did say, I say, direct the nearest way, For I will o'er the hills this day, And see the haughs of Cromdale.

They were at dinner, every man, When great Montrose upon them came, A second battle then began, Upon the haughs of Cromdale. The Grant, Mackenzie and MacKay, Soon as Montrose they did espy, O then, they fought most valiantly! Upon the haughs of Cromdale.

The Macdonalds they returned again, The Camerons did their standard join, MacIntosh play'd a bloody game, Upon the haughs of Cromdale. The MacGregors fought like lions bold, MacPhersons, none could them control, MacLaughlins fought, like loyal souls, Upon the haughs of Cromdale.

MacLeans, MacDougals, and MacNeils, So boldly as they took the field, And make their enemies to yield, Upon the haughs of Cromdale. The Gordons boldly did advance, The Frasers fought with sword and lance, The Grahams they made the heads to dance, Upon the haughs of Cromdale.

The loyal Stewarts with Montrose, So boldly set upon their foes, And brought them down with Highland blows, Upon the haughs of Cromdale. Of twenty thousand Cromwell's men, Five hundred fled to Aberdeen The rest of them lie on the plain, Upon the haughs of Cromdale.

As I said about the artistic license, by the time Hogg wrote this Montrose was long dead, having been hung in Edinburgh in May 1650, Cromwell also died in 1658. That aside it is a cracking song, if historically incorrect. Despite the muddled history the song remained popular and many a Highland regiment has marched to the tune of this song, The Corries, as always, do it justice.

[sassenach77yle]

Where are we going?

Red Jamie won't get far, but... but you. I can save you, and I will.

Well, we can leave together. Now. We could sail somewhere, anywhere. The country is roused. The ports are closed. I'm no afraid to die, Sassenach. A musket ball, maybe a blade. It's better than the hangman's noose or the wrath of the MacKenzies. I'm a dead man already, so I choose the battlefield.

No. Then I will stay here with you.

No, no, you won't. At the witch trial, if I'd have gone to the stake with Geillis, would you have left me? Left you? I would have gone to the stake with you, to hell and beyond, if it had gone to that, but I wasn't carrying your child.

You can't know that. It's much too soon. It... Oh, Sassenach, you have not been a day late in your courses in... in all the time since ye first took me to yer bed, but it's been two months now. You kept track? In the middle of this bloody war, you kept track? Aye. How long have you known? Not long. This child... this one is all that will be left of me... ever. But now, we must go, so I beg you, Claire...

No, no, I can't leave you.

You heard me give my word to Rupert, and you made me a promise to spare Randall's life. You... you promised me that if it came to this, ye'd go back through the stones, back home.

But you are my home.

And you are mine, but this home is lost. And now you and the bairn... you must go to a safe place. To a man... A man that could care for you both. No. No, I... Claire. Claire, there's no time.

How will I explain all this? How can I go back? To Frank.

All that I leave to you. Tell him what you will about me... About us. It's likely he'll no want to hear, but if he does... Tell him I'm grateful. And tell him I trust him, and tell him I hate him to the very marrow of his bones. The buzzing. It's so loud. I'm not ready, Jamie. I'm not ready. Come with me. Come with me through the stones.

Na, I can't. You could try. You hear it, right? The buzzing? I don't hear anything, Claire. Even if I could... go back through the stones... It's not my place. My destiny lies on Culloden Moor.

But I'll find you. I promise. If I have to endure 200 years of purgatory... 200 years without you, then that is my punishment that I have earned for my crimes, for I have lied, killed, stolen, betrayed... And broken trust. But when I stand before God, I'll have one thing to say to weigh against all the rest.

Lord... you gave me a rare woman... And God, I loved her well.

It has begun.

Our wedding gift from Hugh Munro. You keep it with you.

Blood of my blood. And bone of my bone. As long as we both shall live.

Come on. This... belonged to my father. Give it to the bairn, when he's old enough.

I will name him Brian, after your father.

I love you. I love you.

And I you. Good-bye, Claire.

Outlander 2×13 “Dragonfly in Amber”💔

[renee-writer]

Frank Chapter 16

AO3

“Bloody hell!” He shouts out as his thumb is smashed by a hammer. He doesn’t see her standing there until she giggles.

 

“It isn’t funny.” He grouses.

 

“Aye, not to you. But your proper English accent swearing in a Scottish stable, it is a bit funny. They say you are a professor? Not used to using your hands, eh? I have too. Mrs. Fitz be my grandmother. Been working in the kitchen since I was a wean.”

 

“Why aren’t you now then?”

 

“Wanted to see the English man everyone was talking about. They say you’re a spy. Are you?”

 

He laughs. “Now if I was, would I tell you…”

 

“Laoghaire. Laoghaire Mackenzie. I guess not.”

 

“No, Miss Mackenzie.”

 

“Then why are you here, an English lad?”

 

“That is an excellent question.”

 

“The English lass, she is at least a healer.”

 

“My wife.”

 

She makes a face. “Truly? They say she is witch that seduced you, before they said she was just a whore. Is she really your wife?”

 

“She is.”

 

“To bad. You aren’t like the other lads here.” She walk up to him, laying her hand on his chest. His eyes are drawn to her heaving chest.

 

“Laoghaire! Leave him alone. Your granny is calling for you.” Alec storms into the stable. She moves away.

 

“I will see you later.” She walks away and he watches her.

[a-flickering-soul]

got any book recs?

mm! always and forever!

Tender Morsels by Margo Lanagan was a very interesting read if you like dark fairytales. Inspired loosely by "Snow White and Rose Red", which is a fairly underrepresented tale as they go and she has an interesting take on it. About the life of a poor, abused girl who manufactures her own fairy tale without considering the consequences. Also, men in bearskins, sympathetic witchcraft, and the agonies of motherhood. I can't tell if I would thoroughly recommend it or not, but it was incredibly interesting and the author has a very compelling way with words-- I can't place exactly what compels me so much about it, but there's a certain bloodiness I find appealing. Please mind the trigger warnings for this book-- would be happy to give a list if DMed or asked. I could describe it as a lighter, more spatially-complex partner read to Otessa Moshfegh's Lapvona. Great to read on a cold winter's night.

The Last Tale of the Flower Bride by Roshani Chokshi is delightful. It's like Bluebeard but if Bluebeard was a beautiful and insane Asian woman. A man realizes his wife is not who she says she is and works to unravel the past she refuses to let him ask about. If you grew up on fairytales this is for you because the patterns, motifs, cycles, and superstitions shown will scratch your brain like no other. It's written in an incredibly lush sort of style that just blankets your brain the same way humidity does on a hot summer night. The twist is predictable but no less satisfying and horrifying for what it is. I found this to be exactly the kind of book I hoped it'd be. To me, a hot and sticky summer evening kind of read, when everything feels so beautiful you feel like you're hallucinating.

The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue (and related books) by Mackenzi Lee is my current favorite YA light read. It's a silly romp through Victorian England following the aristocratic Montague siblings and their various escapades all over Europe as they chase their respective dreams. Monty is clearly my favorite (I love a short idiot bisexual guy) but I think the author does a great job of fleshing out each of the trilogy's protagonists despite the fact that Monty is also very clearly her favorite as well. It deploys magical realism with a pleasingly light hand, has an endearing sense of humor, and has a lot of heart. It's not that deep and doesn't need to be. It's just exactly what you want all YA of that type to be. Perfect for a beach read.

In the House in the Dark of the Woods by Laird Hunt is insane. It's another fairytale-styled novel (I've been on a bit of a kick lately) but the narrative is insanely dense and the semi-whimsical narrative voice is an absolutely bonkers contrast to how convoluted and dark the plot is. It's set in colonial America and focuses on a housewife trying to break her own day-to-day dullness by venturing into the woods surrounding her husband's house. I read this a bit ago and there are many images and motifs that still live rent free in my head. If this book was a color it'd be a deep green so rich and dark it'd be almost black. It is so dense and chewy and has so many tantalizing little details and edges of other stories that you keep wanting to pull on, but the main narrative is so convoluted and tense that you have no other choice but to stay on the path. A good fall book in front of a fire.

[a-solitary-sea-rover-backup]

The Greatest Sailing Movie (N)Ever Made

Discussions of sailing movies online tend to circle around the same dozen names or so. How many errors did you spot in All is Lost? Was Master and Commander just too jargon-heavy to be a hit? Wind— love it or hate it? And just how bad is Waterworld?

But a recent discovery in the archives of Universal Studios revealed how close we almost came to having another name— or two?— in Hollywood’s somewhat dubious pantheon of the sport. While sorting old personnel files for digitization, archivist Tasha Durak discovered extensive material in the files of now-retired Universal screenwriter Avril Debile related to a project called Sunny Sets Sail. The documents suggest that Debile first got the idea for the story when visiting San Diego in 1991, during preparations for the following year’s America’s Cup competition.

Sunny Sets Sail (some documents use the title Sunny: America’s Pup) was to be a children’s sports comedy in a style common in the 1990s, combining cameos from real pro athletes with the hilarious antics of a fictional group of children— and, naturally, their adorable dog.

The story centered around Hannah, a young Navy brat recently moved to then-contemporary San Diego after spending most of her life overseas. Trying to help her feel more at home, Hannah’s parents give her a Newfoundland puppy named Sunny for her birthday and enroll her in lessons at a local sailing club. When Sunny tags along with Hannah to her first lesson, the instructor reluctantly allows the dog to accompany Hannah and her friends Jenny and Robby, noting the Newfoundland breed’s famous swimming abilities.

As the weeks pass by, Hannah, Jenny, and Robby discover Sunny is a natural crewmate, following commands to shift weight and pull on lines with her mouth. As there is nothing in the sailing club’s rules to prevent canine crew, the three compete in a junior racing series with Sunny onboard, and end up winning.

The prize is presented by Robby’s parents, Frank and June Arnold (apparently based on Peter and JJ Isler), who are both sailors for an American syndicate preparing to defend the America’s Cup. Sunny and the kids are invited to come watch the racing. They meet both the American team and the challengers, the usual sports movie band of villainous rivals, this time wearing an Australian coat of paint. (One draft which badly attempted to write out their dialogue phonetically was rejected by an editor for its potential to cause an international incident, as it sounded closer to a hideous mix of Cockney and Bostonian accents.)

The worst of them, of course, is challenging skipper Charlie “Crusher” Mackenzie, a bleach-blond meathead in sunglasses, introduced stepping on Sunny’s tail during a visit to the American compound and barking “Bloody mutt, I outta throw you overboard to the shahhks!” when she whines.

(Although few concrete references to the history of the America’s Cup are made during the script, Robby’s comment “The Australians. They won once before and they want it back.” seems to indicate a recent history vaguely like the real world’s.)

After Sunny jumps onboard the American IACC boat during a practice session and proves to be as adept at following commands as big boat crew as she did on the kids’ dinghy, Hannah and Robby suggest she become part of the American crew. At first, the skipper says no, but after losing the first two races of the match to the Australians, he relents.

Sunny, in a dog-sized windbreaker and ballcap with earholes, assists the Americans in the Cup match, and performs a traditional Newfoundland rescue when Mr. Arnold falls overboard during a maneuver. (In the first draft, she improbably swims fast enough to bring him back to the racing boat itself, in later drafts she more realistically drags him to a chase boat.)

As we might all hope, there indeed is a protest room scene where a white-haired old yachtsman adjusts his reading glasses, clears his throat, and declares “Nowhere in the America’s Cup Deed of Gift does it state that a dog cannot be part of a racing crew!”, followed, according to stage directions, by “swelling, triumphant music”.

Champagne being not-quite G-rated, the final victory scene features the spraying and guzzling of orange soda, and Sunny being showered with kibble poured out of the America’s Cup.

Avril Debile visited the 1992 and 1995 America’s Cups while researching the script, making connections with most American teams involved. The file contained a transcript of a research interview with the Islers and an educational brochure from the PACT 95 syndicate. Both Dawn Riley and Dennis Conner expressed interest in playing themselves in the film, although Conner wrote to Debile to request more lines.

While the commercial failure of Wind initially caused Universal to doubt the project, eventually Sunny Sets Sail was set for a tentative Summer 1996 release, a year after the America’s Cup, to help keep enthusiasm high for the next edition in San Diego. However, with Team New Zealand’s victory in the 1995 competition, the plot suddenly seemed dated, and production was shelved. A story with the heroes traveling to New Zealand as challengers was judged too complex for young audiences to understand. This was still the pre-Lord-of-the-Rings era in which American knowledge of New Zealand, among both children and adults, was judged to be nil. Avril Debile moved on to other projects, but the only one of note to sailing fans was the similar Tsunami: Extreme Cat. This film, created with input from Cam Lewis, would have covered a cat named Tsunami who stows away aboard a trimaran attempting the Jules Verne Trophy in her owner’s seabag. Although charming and with fewer scenes that strain belief, this script had the misfortune of being submitted to the studio in August 2001, just weeks before the 9/11 attacks changed national concerns. With the 90s extreme sports fad now out of fashion, Tsunami was also cancelled.

It’s easy at a distance of a quarter-century to look on these projects with regret, thinking of how they might have raised the public profile of sailing in the USA. As cheesy and corny as the plots sound— surely if they had been made, “Sunny the dog” and “The Deed of Gift does not forbid dogs!” would be as much of a running joke on Scuttlebutt as “The Whomper”— they could have made the sport of sailing part of the childhood of an entire generation of young people.

Our cold comfort is that it is widely suspected that the scripts for Sunny Sets Sail that were passed around Hollywood in the early-mid 90s could have inspired other films of the era about improbable animal athletes, such as Air Bud, Racing Stripes, and MVP: Most Valuable Primate.

“Avril” is of course French for “April”, and “Débile” means “Stupid” or “Foolish”.

[readingoals]

Books I've hauled in the last couple of months. Unfortunately the day after I took these I bought another one 😬 list of books below the cut.

Sadgirl Novel by Pip Finkemeyer

Carnage by Mark Dapin (non-fiction)

Silver Nitrate by Silvia Moreno-Garcia

Clarke by Holly Throsby

Blood Sugar by Sascha Rothchild

After She Wrote Him by Sulari Gentill

One Year of Ugly by Caroline Mackenzie

The Fair Botanists by Sara Sheridan

The Drop-Off by Fiona Harris and Mike McLeish

Baking Yesteryear by B. Dylan Hollis (cookbook)

The Other Side of Mrs Wood by Lucy Barker

The Birdcage Library by Freya Berry

Winter's Gifts by Ben Aaronovitch

His Bloody Project by Graeme Macrae Burnet

The unpictured book I bought the next day is: The Woman In The Library by Sulari Gentill

[fluffypotatey]

I've been reminded that Wukong can cut off his own head and grow it back <- crazy plan for removing the new circlet, and I'm once again baffled that Macaque thought he could kill Wukong in the first season like...yeah, I don't think that was ever his real goal sometimes. My good monkey, he is seven times immortal you're never winning this.

The Six Eared Mackenzie’s logic: if…if i absorb SWK’s power that he somehow and totally shared with this 100% mortal dude….then THAT means i can hit him enough to kill him!

1+1=3 i guess 🤷🏻‍♀️ like sir. i don’t think that’s how his immortality works. you could bludgeon him into abandon to get that anger out of you, but his bloody and broken face will only be temporary

so. it is truly worth it?

[bloody-wonder]

PLEASE provide some book recs!! I'll take anything, but if it helps narrow it down, maybe the books you really loved but haven't spoken much about on your tumblr? I've already started reading the lymond chronicles, thanks to you!

Or books with good representation of women? So many booktok books are either: full of classic misogyny or girlboss feminism. I am so tired. Please save me 😅

yaaay i'm so glad you're reading the lymond chronicles! good luck lol

okay two books i wish more people would read are gentlemen and players by joanne harris and confusion by stefan zweig so definitely check them out if you like dark academia. they're low on women tho. underrated women-centric dark academia books on the other hand imo are beasts by joyce carol oates and the lake of dead languages by carol goodman - the whodunnit in the latter is pretty easy to guess but it was a fun and atmospheric read nevertheless

do you like sad girl books? i recently read conversations with friends by sally rooney and was surprised by how much i liked it. if so then maybe you'll be into the books mentioned in this post. myself tho i prefer unhinged girl books like boy parts by eliza clark, the grownup by gillian flynn and big swiss by jen beagin which i recently read and found hilarious.

i'm currently reading my brilliant friend by elena ferrante which is the og codependent female friendship novel. a similar book from ukraine is felix austria by sofia andrukhovych - the english edition just came out but idk how accessible it is or how good the translation is. both are very immersive historical novels. a historical romance i can recommend is a lady for a duke by alexis hall, featuring a trans heroine.

on the horror side of things i'd recommend we have always lived in the castle by shirley jackson and the bloody chamber and other stories by angela carter - both are beautifully written, thought-provoking books that center women, both classics at this point. if you're more into icky freaky body horror try things have gotten worse since we last spoke by eric larocca. but you didn't hear this rec from me lol

in terms of ya fantasy i have to reiterate my appreciation for the aurelian cycle by rosaria munda and its main female character who has her girlboss moments but is much more complex than that. i also love felicity from the montague siblings series by mackenzie lee but her book is the second one and you have to read them in order. if you're in the mood for ya that is Old and Weird check out fire and hemlock by diana wynne jones and the perilous gard by elizabeth marie pope - both are compelling reads which might offend modern sensibilities tho.

my favorite female protags in adult fantasy come from spinning silver by naomi novik and the regency faerie tales by olivia atwater - these are women notable for their resourcefulness and strength of spirit rather than wielding swords but they still find ways to triumph over the patriarchal and classist circumstances they grew up in. the same goes for lady trent, the titular character of the memoirs of lady trent which i'm working my way through this year. this series, too, is rapidly becoming a favorite thanks to the narrative voice of its adventurer/dragon researcher mc, among other things. i'm not big on sci fi but i enjoyed lindsay ellis' axiom's end so that's a rec for if you'd like to read about a sad girl having a romance-adjacent arc with an alien.

some of these books are set in the past or in fantasy worlds imitating it so they feature period typical misogyny but never in a *this was clearly written by a man* way. and i do consider some of these heroines to be girlbosses but not in in a derogatory way. your mileage may vary tho🤷‍♀️

p.s. also check out this post with an assortment of random books i seldom talk about

[whimsicaldragonette]

Blog Tour and ARC Review: By Any Other Name by Erin Cotter

Welcome to my stop on the By Any Other Name book tour with Colored Pages Blog Tours. (This blog tour is also posted on my wordpress book blog Whimsical Dragonette.)

Book info:

TITLE: By Any Other Name AUTHOR: Erin Cotter PUBLISHER: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers RELEASE DATE: October 10, 2023 GENRES: Young Adult, Historical Fiction, Fantasy PAGES: 464 REPRESENTATION: Queer MCs

Goodreads StorygraphBlackwellsAmazonBarnes & NobleBookshop USOther Retailers

Synopsis:

A down-on-his-luck actor and an English lord reluctantly team up to solve the murder of Christopher Marlowe in this Shakespearean-era young adult romp perfect for fans of F.T. Lukens and Mackenzi Lee.

London, 1593. Sixteen-year-old Will Hughes is busy working on Shakespeare’s stage, stuffing his corsets with straw and pretending to be someone else. Offstage, he's playing a part, too. The son of traitors, Will is desperate to keep his identity secret—or risk being killed in the bloody queen’s imperial schemes. All he wants is to lay low until he earns enough coin to return to his family.

But when his mentor, the famous playwright Christopher Marlowe, is murdered under mysterious circumstances, Will’s plans are hopelessly dashed. What’s worse, Marlowe was a spy for the queen, tasked with stalking a killer rumored to be part of an elusive order of assassins, and his secrets and untimely death have put Will under a harsh spotlight. And so, when Will unwittingly foils an attempt on the queen’s life, she names him her next spymaster.

Now, to avoid uncomfortable questions, prison, or an even more terrible fate, Will reluctantly starts his new career, which—yes—will secure him the resources to help his family…but at what cost? Adding insult to injury is the young Lord James Bloomsbury, Will’s new comrade in arms, whose entitled demeanor and unfairly handsome looks get under Will’s skin immediately.

Together, the two hunt the cunning assassin, defend the queen’s life, and pray to keep their own...all while an unexpected connection blossoms between them.

Author Bio:

Erin Cotter writes young adult fiction. Originally from Buffalo, New York, she currently calls Austin home. When not writing she spends time with her partner and pets, eating tacos, and searching for Golden-cheeked Warblers in the Texas Hill Country.

Author Links:

Goodreads WebsiteInstagram

My Rating: ★★★★

*My Review, Favorite Quotes, and Tour Schedule below the cut.

My Review:

I can’t give this five stars because I didn’t love it and I definitely wouldn’t read it again, but it absolutely deserves four for how very much I didn’t love the setting - purely a case of personal preference - and at the same time how much I loved the characters. It takes skill to pull such a visceral response of dislike from me and at the same time endear the characters to me so strongly.

The thing I like least about this book, and the thing that makes me admire the skill of the author the most, is the rawness of life in this medieval world. These characters live in filth. They are accustomed to it. Humanity here, from the aristocrats to the peasants, is only a step away from animals. Life is unpredictable, brutal, full of disease and filth and crassness and betrayal. And no one bats an eye.

It reminds me of Catherine Called Birdy (a book I still vividly remember viscerally hating when I had to read it for school all those years ago) in the way it portrays a world of casual brutality and scrabbling in the mud for a life. Honestly it’s probably at least in part a bit of germaphobia that makes me hate this world so.

Will and his friends go through so much over the course of the novel, and there are so many plot twists, that I was constantly surprised by events and by their tenacity and determination to survive. I never saw a single thing coming in the course of the assassination and murder investigation. I could see, after each piece had fallen into place, exactly how it fit, but not how it got there.

The characters and events were melodramatic and sometimes strained credulity, but it all fits with the underlying theme of plays and players. Shakespeare and Marlowe are even characters. Will begins as an actor playing girls on stage in Marlowe's plays, and he keeps all of those actor characteristics to his personality throughout the story.

Will is likable no matter his selfishness and many faults, and i found myself continually rooting for him and his star-crossed love. And I came away loathing the nobility, especially Elizabeth. Her court was rotten and she was the worst of them all.

The way the story played out was very satisfying and wrenched a lot of feelings from me. Not least of which was the conviction that I absolutely positively never want to visit this world.

Seriously though, James' sister Catherine deserved so much better. Her part of the story is the one thing that really disappointed me.

*Thanks to NetGalley, Colored Pages Blog Tours, and Simon and Schuster Books for Young Readers for providing an early copy for review.

Favorite Quotes:

Goddamn it. I’ve been trying not to let these two become my friends, but they became my friends anyway.

---

Whatever lack of experience Bloomsbury claims he has, his inspired performance as the most vexing person I’ve ever met is certainly coming from somewhere.

---

To hell with Marlowe and Bloomsbury and all the other people who tug me into their dark intrigues and give me no lantern to light my way. I am tired of being left in the dark.

---

“We don’t need your coin!” Maggie snarls. “’Tis coin. We always need coin,” Inigo amends in a small voice.

---

Should I fail, the stakes are dire; impersonating a man of the noble class is a crime punishable by death. Though to be fair, most of the crimes in England are punishable by death.

---

’Tis a brave and dangerous thing to go about this world having dreams. A dream is even more fickle and fleeting than a life.

---

“So we’re not here to have fun?” I say, to be cetain I’m understanding Foxwell correctly. Because it very much appears as though we’re in the midst of fun.

---

’Tis Reamonn, the swashbuckling pirate lad. He prickles with knives like an adorable, bloodthirsty hedgehog.

Tour Schedule:

October 4th

@monikasbookblog - Review + Favorite Quotes

raavenreads - Review Post

October 5th

Yourlocalbookreader - Review + Reel

@monarchsandmyths - Review + Favorite Quotes

October 6th

_perpetualpages_ - Review Post

Whimsical Dragonette - Review + Favorite Quotes

October 7th

ofpagesandprint - Review + Reel

@moyashi_girl - Review Post

October 8th

@poatic.library - Review + Reel

@gingerly_reading - Review Post

October 9th

Readreviewcoffee - Review + Favorite Quotes

Spacey Ghost - Review Post

October 10th

​​@rubyraereads - Review Post

Bangalimeyreads - Review + Reel

[a-krogan-skald-and-bearsark]

Also 🎵 for both because why the hell not.

We have received responses to this query from both parties via HPG.

From Donncheadhn Mac A Phearsian, Captain, Kungsarmé,

Well now. I'm a fan of old Celtic and Gaedhlig folk music. There's one as was an anthem of my clan back before Terra. No the cheeriest tune, but they rarely are. I likes the fourth verse the best.

Oh what is death, but parting breath

On mony a bloody plain

I've daur'd his face, and in his place

I scorn him yet again.

And from Star Colonel Jehan MacKenzie, Ghost Bear Touman.

I must admit music is not something I gave much thought to before Operation: Revival, but some of my Bondsmen and Bondswomen introduced me to what is called in Rasalhague "Folk Metal" and I am quite fond of it. It has an interesting blend of traditional and modern styles and techniques. I have developed a fondness for some classical pieces in the genre, particularly a band called Turisas, who hailed from a region of Terra called "Scandinavia" before space flight.