#cloud searchers

[readtilyoudie]

Amulet: Cloud Searchers (Vol 3)

[finalgirlsamwinchester]

The Searchers (1956) dir. John Ford | SPN 1.18, 'Something Wicked' | SPN 1.14, 'Nightmare' | Jean Baudrillard, Simulacra and Simulation | Frederick Jackson Turner, 'The Significance of the Frontier in American History'

[mean-vampyre]

we need to start posting vid edits to ao3 because I youtube search function is soooo bad

[pulpmusicals]

The test of time rarely comes at the best of times… PULP MUSICALS Episode 4: The Searcher in the Shadows, drops from the clouds on Monday, September 9th. Cover art by @jackiehorrorshow

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Air dates - including reruns of previous episodes - coming next week. All characters in this audio drama are voiced by James Tolbert, Mariah Rose Faith Casillas, Curt Mega, Natalie Llerena, Kim Whalen, Jesse Bhamrah, Virginia Vass, Jackie Franco, and Matt Dahan.

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The format and presentation of a Pulp Musical is the mid-20h century radio show, so the launch of Episode 4 will once again honor the past - with a modern twist. Starting on the date of the album release, each of the radio musicals’ three half-hour parts will “air” on the Pulp Musicals YouTube channel and be kept live for a full 24 hours before being removed. As your narrator, I will be on the airwaves and in the chat to talk all things Pulp as we broadcast to the world from 1874. I will also be on Instagram Live after each episode for an ‘After-Pulp’, diving into what just aired and answering questions… who knows what special guests might show up?

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Don’t be scared of the dark… that is where the dreaming starts. - M

[morbidology]

12-year-old Muriel Drinkwater from Penllergaer, Swansea, Wales, was the youngest of four sisters. She attended the local grammar school and went to Sunday School. She was also a member of the Nightingale Patrol of the Girl Guides. Muriel had a habit of singing everywhere she went; she would later be nicknamed “little nightingale.”

On the 27th of June, 1949, Muriel caught the school bus back to her home. She hopped off the bus and started walking the short distance home. The route she took back home meandered through Penllergaer Forest. 13-year-old Hubert Hoyles walked past Muriel on the path after he purchased some eggs from her parents’ farm.

When she didn’t arrive home that afternoon, her mother searched the village before calling police. By that night, a search party was assembled. Torrential rain pummeled down on the searchers; as her parents called her name, their voices cracked with panic.

At around 10:35AM the following morning, PC David Lloyd George spotted something in the undergrowth in Penllergaer Forest. It was a blue school coat and red gloves. As he approached the brightly coloured items, he spotted her. Muriel Drinkwater was laying on her back, one arm outstretched by her side and the other slightly raised. Her eyes were wide open and her skin was as white as a sheet.

Just a few weeks short of her 13th birthday, she had been beaten, sexually assaulted and then shot twice in the head.

The murder weapon - a US Army Colt .45 pistol - had been dropped at the scene. It had a distinctive butt that had been customised with a checkered pattern Perspex grip. A photograph of the gun was projected on the screen in local cinemas and a nationwide appeal was made in the hopes that somebody could identify it.

It was eventually discovered that it had been manufactured in the Springfield Armoury in 1942 and then shipped to US forces in Europe. Unfortunately with so many weapons in circulation at the time, there was no record of which soldier it had been issued.

In 2008, forensic scientists were able to retrieve a DNA profile from a semen stain found on Muriel’s coat. While no match was found in the national DNA database, it ruled out Hoyles who had fallen under a cloud of suspicion after being the last person to see Muriel alive. The case still remains unsolved.

[its-short-for-jackalope]

THE SEARCHER IN THE SHADOWS

☆ Thoughts On Part One ☆

I have many thoughts and feelings and I am definitely not gonna be able to wrangle every last one in here, but I can do my darnedest to hit most of the big ones!

Dropped From The Clouds

The contrast of this first song compared to the start of TGOA makes me a little insane. Both songs are full of questions and uncertainty and take place after the characters have been teleported to another time and place, but When Are We? has the comfort and assurance of being with friends while Dropped From The Clouds has Rose isolated and alone without any familiar faces, and the parallel just reminds me of how much has changed and how quickly things are continuing to change. When are we going to slow down? Not now, it seems.

Dakkar's introduction, oh my god — "I'm nobody." [mildly threatening Radiance noises] "Give me the orrery." — and then he immediately goes into science mode. I need to draw him so bad. Also, side note, I already adore Jesse Bhamrah's voice.

He was/is a Traveler and a Searcher? so it seems the titles aren't mutually exclusive, then. I wonder if his unclear status as a Traveler has anything to do with whatever he's got going on that we heard in Transmission 14.

Fast Friends

CAPTAIN ADDISON ARVAD!!!!!! THE SCREAM I WANTED TO SCRUMPT!!! (also Natalie Masini sounds amazing)

"Lower your weapon, for God's sake." "The gun was your idea." I love them, your honor

So Dakkar and Addison were absolutely taking precautions in case Kal had possessed Rose, right? That's the vibe I get, anyway. Maybe they know he's capable of doing that sort of thing (maybe Sia has seen it happen? or, y'know, ✨️seen✨️ it) and that's why they wanted to check if she knew the GAD's publication date—Kal doesn't seem to automatically gain his host's knowledge, like when he didn't seem to know Morgan had already been sent away, so if he was possessing Rose then he probably wouldn't have known the date.

...Actually wait, you know what? Maybe it was Itzal they were worried about. We don't really know anything about what magic he could have at his disposal—maybe he can also possess people or change his form. and since he's a bigger, badder threat, I think it could make more sense for them to avoid saying his name rather than Kal's. 🤔

ADDISON IS A ROSE FAN???? ROSE IS PRETTY FAMOUS ON THEIR ISLAND??!? THEY HAVE A BRICK FROM TOWNSHIP NUMBER 9??!!?! Rose deserves the hype 100% of course but I have so many questions

okay I didn't expect Rose to meet Addison the very hour she arrived 2 weeks in the past, so I did not consider the fact that she and the crew would be here and they wouldn't have disappeared yet. I am now deeply afraid, because I know something happens to her. I have been so afraid of how the time travel will hurt me irt the twins that I didn't think about how many OTHER ways the time travel could hurt me.....

AND ROSE CAN'T WARN HER!!! So she just has to keep her mouth shut and let it happen and Addison must know that something happens, she and Dakkar didn't seem surprised that Rose didn't know who she was, but she's gonna go in blind anyway... 😭😭😭 okay wait, what if Addison and Sia's plan was for them to leave the Antikythera drifting for the others to find, but instead of returning to Lincoln Island Addison and her crew disappeared??

Destiny Strange and Sublime

...well now I just feel silly for not even considering that Dakkar would be the Searcher in the shadows 😂

I can't quite tell if the people he mentions he'd been unable to save is like... a personal thing, as in he actively failed to save them because of his own mistakes, or if it's more of a shared grief for the Blazing World and all its inhabitants. the first interpretation is definitely more angsty, lol.

I wish I had more coherent thoughts on this one but at this current time it mostly boils down to ohh pretty music, Dakkar is cool, Jesse Bhamrah is awesome, et cetera.

Arrival, part 1

HELLO PART 1 SONG!!!! I am excited to see how parts 2 and 3 may emotionally devastate me in the coming week!

so many people from the Blazing World! pleasantly surprised my island of refugees theory was correct. then again, I've spouted off enough theories that odds are at least some of them gotta be right, lol

Ahlaam my beloved!!! Virginia's voice is gorgeous, omfg.

The different creatures and plants from all over the world.... have the Searchers been looking for things that remind them of the Blazing World and bringing them back to the island to make it feel more like home? Crafting a facsimile of the Blazing World from pieces of Earth? (aough, and I thought "Ipomoea, just like home!" couldn't hurt any more than it already did...)

the phrasing of "OUR planet's biggest ocean" is interesting to me. Is the Blazing World connected to Earth somehow, thereby making it the same planet in some way, or is it just that this island has been home long enough for Ahlaam to feel attached? Or. Or. If the Blazing World is on the moon, then it would make sense for Ahlaam to refer to the Earth as her planet because the moon revolves around it and it's the moon's planet. (yes, hi, hello, it's a new pulp episode, we are once again in the Overthink Everything And Fire Off A Bazillion Theories era <3 )

They've been waiting for Rose for YEARS? ...would that be since 1835, or 1829? and we know they've been waiting for Margaret because, well, duh, but have they been waiting for Samuel and John, too? or are they all just Rose stans?

the crew of the Antikythera....... 😭😭😭

I love that a good portion of this song is basically just Ahlaam going "check out our sweet digs" lmao

The nights have been dark but this is the spark that will set the whole lighthouse ablaze — YELLING RIGHT NOW, oh my god. lighthouses are guides through darkness and stormy weather and they also cut through fog, I want to bite something (/pos)

this has got to be both very nice and very overwhelming for Rose, lol.

Addison & Dakkar and Ahlaam & Dakkar are both very fun dynamics

A Spell Is Just A Rule Made With Magic

THE FOG IS FROM A SPELL!!! ITZAL CAST A SPELL AND CORRUPTED HIS PEOPLE! "It saturates the heart with darkness 'till you forget life before the blight" oh my god, he convinced all of them that the fog is how they always were & were meant to be? No wonder Kal considers Sia and Margaret traitors. So when Kal says "soon the Blazing World will meet its end" he might not be talking about an actual place—in his mind he's probably talking about the traitors' movement & the ridiculous, dangerous ideas they have about replacing Itzal's world with one of light...

"A spell is just a rule made with magic, and any rule can be broken" AOUGH. CHILLS.

ooh they believe Rose is the key? aw man this adds more weight to "I was a hero and the heroes win — don't they?" in Vanishing...

"Capital." oh my god Mr. Dahan you can't do this to me. The similarities between Dakkar and AJ have to be intentional, right?? ...oh god, is Dakkar gonna make a bad deal to save lives? Is he gonna sacrifice himself in some way to save his people?

Two Weeks

I love this montage, it's such a nice way to go through this part. also I just really like how this whole first part is structured, having this entire part dedicated to Rose in this time is a great way to handle the time travel without being confusing by jumping back and forth, AND it gives us time to get to know the new characters a little bit! It's also a bit of a breather after how hectic the end of TGOA was. (I feel like part 2 is going to get super intense super quickly, lol.)

So they start with science and testing her mind, giving Rose access to all their research to see if she figures out anything there. And then they go to the volcano and scan her, starting to test her body for evidence that she might be able to help them in some magical way. (They're probably still going over the research too, ofc. Those were a lot of books, Dakkar.)

Day 9!!! Sia is here!!! I desperately want to know exactly what she and Addison were talking about. I think it might be a plan to abandon the Antikythera for Margaret and the others to find in a few days, but that's mostly speculation.

also Sia seems so much more relaxed and at ease here. maybe it's because she's at home with her people and she can be less secretive than she was on the satellite? (and because she isn't in a literal magic battle, lmao.)

Dakkar mentions phase three and they go to the lake to try doing stuff with illusion magic—do they want to try using magic on Rose to see if they can get her to activate whatever magic she may have? Or maybe how Rose reacts to the illusion magic could reveal something...?

Rose not wanting to go in the water, aoughhh 😭 and Sia helping her when she's scared 😭😭😭

Dakkar's Grotto / Mobilis In Mobili

when I saw this scene during the premiere I said "holy sci fi" and I stand by that. this environment is so cool. I wonder why the rest of the island isn't like this when they're clearly people with a lot of knowledge and technology... it's probably a matter of supplies. They fled to this island from Itzal and his spell, so they wouldn't have had time to pack a lot of stuff. I imagine whatever they did manage to bring and/or build is all dedicated to their efforts to find a cure and protect everyone.

we know they haven't found anything yet because they're still testing Rose's blood. man, that's gotta be stressful for her. (And the Radiance folks, yeah, but c'mon. so much pressure on Rose right now and she's brand new to all this. 🥺)

The Nautilus is here!!! and it's a spaceship!!! AHHHH!!! 🤩

SHIT IS GOING DOWNNNNNNN! Margaret is radiating and I am going to be Thinking about what it means that Sia can sense it—is it a part of her precognitive abilities? is it part of whatever bond they have that allows them to combine their power?

Rose blurting out a warning about the fog and Ahlaam and Sia immediately getting more concerned.... I hope that maybe since she waited until right before Sia left it won't influence anything negatively, if at all—it's only a very small part of the present that will be influenced and it's not like they totally altered their actions across two weeks to accommodate for that information so I'm sure it's fine. hopefully.

Rose is worried about Samuel almost drowning like she did (and is/will be)... she is not going to like hearing about the dangers he's actually facing. well, if anything is gonna wake up potential magic in her, learning that one of the bad guys attacked & has been harassing her baby brother will probably a good contenderrrrroh fuck I had a thought. uh, stay tuned, we'll get there.

oh god the Ellen Austin will be arriving soon and Samuel and Rose will reunite (they BETTER REUNITE ASAP) and Rose is going to be two weeks older and I am going to perish

not the little reprise of The stars appeared... that made me so sad last time.... 😭 I love how this version of it is positive. the parallels,,,,,,

Rose and the Stars

IT'S HERE AT LAST!!!!

The past stays soaked into our skin 😭

we are lit by suns that shatter through the dark.....

WE TRAVEL WITH THE SPIRITS THAT WE KEEP — ough, makes me think of the ghost of all my yesterdays in Behind Me. also the change from "Don't spend a second looking back" in ep 1 to "only looking back to see how much we've grown" has me feeling things idk how to describe rn, lol

THE CONSTELLATIONS TURN INTO A CROWN!!!!!! 🗣🗣🗣🗣🗣

Rose will shine again 🥺😭❤

A Few More Thoughts

Is the day Sia arrives also the day Addison and her crew left the island? we don't hear from her after this, and her disappearance isn't mentioned in the rest of part one but Sia knows that something happened to the crew when she confronts Kal on the Ellen Austin. If they had a plan for the Searcher crew to return to Lincoln Island and leave the ship for the others to find & investigate to kickstart Margaret's memories, but then the crew just didn't show up, I would think it would be mentioned? Unless they didn't want to overwhelm Rose and distract her from her work, or maybe they avoided discussing Addison & the Antikythera with her because of time travel rules...

oh and it is gonna take me a bit to grasp the time travel rules, lol. (sorry Matt, I haven't seen any Back To The Future since I was a kid.) I am going to be pondering the timeline for a while, particularly where Sia is involved. I feel like they probably want to avoid going back into the past as much as possible just based on how they are with Rose and how they put a lot of effort into not altering the present with her information about the future, but I don't think Sia would have gone from 1835 and skipped right ahead 39 years and stayed there? Like she has people to take care of and plans to make, she probably wouldn't just disappear on them for such a long time? maybe the Travelers who are experienced in abiding by Time Travel Rules are able to navigate backwards in time with more freedom because they know what they're doing. idk, like I said it's gonna take me a bit to wrap my head around this. maybe parts 2 & 3 will make it a little clearer.

OKAY, CONTINUING MY SAMUEL THOUGHT FROM EARLIER: Sia and her bunch believe Rose is the key. What if Itzal and Kal think Samuel is the key? What if that is why Kal was interested in Samuel on the Ellen Austin and why he seemed to really delight in antagonizing him? If Kal was hanging around long enough beforehand to see how close Margaret and Samuel are, then that could have convinced him that Samuel is Important™ to the Blazing World and that Margaret knows he is important to them. And maybe both sides are only halfway there, maybe it's both twins, together, who are the key, and that's why they haven't made progress towards the cure with Rose over their 2 weeks.

okay there are probably plenty of things that I'm missing and more that i could come up with and tack on, but I've been working on this post since last night and i want to finish it and get to other things so I am calling it here, lol.

...that is a horribly long sentence but I am not editing it. hope you enjoyed. <3

[cyberlights]

Amulet Rant Time

Okie dokie Waverider is out and thus has concluded the series…so it’s time for a little…bonfire, we’ll call it.

Now don’t get me wrong. I still love this series and always will. I’ve been in the fandom since about Prince of the Elves. I literally have grown up with this series in my backpack from the moment I checked it out of my school’s library. I spent my first summer job paycheck buying all the books out at the time. This series holds a very special place for me.

I also understand that after Book 5(? I’m typing this out on mobile so I can’t verify), Kazu got very sick and lost a lot of his memories, which affected how he wrote Amulet and thus the rest of the story, so I’m not going to say he was a trash author.

There are just certain things that just…have not worked out post Escape from Lucien. And honestly, this is going to be more of a venting ramble than anything, so for the new readers coming in, take it with a grain of salt. You can still enjoy the series, fall in love with the characters, etc. That’s why we enjoy it.

Now I’m gonna do everything else under read-more so spoilers ahead.

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We good? Okay, good.

I already stated that I give Waverider a 1/10. It actually is not my least favorite book, to be honest. (That “honor” goes to Supernova)

Trellis leaving the throne?

As others have pointed out, after Escape from Lucien it made no sense for him to just up and skedaddle. That boy was adamant he was going to lead his people. That’s what his whole plot was in the book, and him accepting more of that role in Firebird/the beginning of Supernova. Heck, they even pointed out that Gabilan, even though… voted in(?) as the new king was not doing a good job of it. Gabilan himself fully expected Trellis to take back the throne (albeit by force which is not really Trellis’ style). It felt very much like unnecessary step back from three books worth of development.

I can’t say much about Gabilan because while he did establish in The Cloud Searchers he wanted to be king, it didn’t feel right. Like there was nothing driven past that, that would say he wanted to be king. Honestly besides a tiny bit in Firebird he didn’t get as much character development as he should have, if at all. Which is why, if he was planned to take over from a while ago, probably should have had happened sooner.

Ronin and her Students

Speaking of introducing sooner, this is where I feel having a whole ‘nother two books would have helped the story, because this was just…so terribly executed.

I can’t tell you a single thing about her students except one turned into a turtle and another Cthulhu. I can’t even tell you anything about Ronin beyond her “I was right” mentality (and the mask, not sure why she was wearing a mask).

They all felt very shoe-horned in. I have no attachment to these characters, no real interest in seeing them succeed. They were brought in to fill a plot hole, while simultaneously making another plot hole in their wake.

Overall Problems with the Series

Genre Confusion

I think we’ve already established that Amulet would have been better off as a fantasy series than sci-fi. That is honestly my biggest problem with Supernova, was that was a giant Sci fi wedge in what was predominantly a fantasy series (I know we started more in Escape from Lucien and Firebird, but this is where I feel we veered too off course)

We honestly could have completely cut the sci-fi bit, changed a few things around between Escape from Lucien and Firebird, cut out most of Supernova -which yes, would have wrecked Navin’s sideplot, but there was different options that could have happened.

We don’t need the additional aliens/planets. Those characters could have easily just been Alledian on different parts of Alledia and we would have never known. We don’t even know what most of Alledia looks like because we’ve only been to a handful of places that predominantly look the same.

Which brings me to

Ikol and his Masters

I was so confused by the end of their story. They’re aliens but not. They were created by Silas but they have been around for eons. Everything was Made by Silas to Protect his Family. I just…*sigh*

It felt like they were beating the already dead piñata (pun partially intended).

Silas died in the first book. The consequences of his actions were established to be that he got a bunch of students killed and he ended up passing a huge burden onto Emily that should have gone to her mother. I don’t know why he had to be brought out as this.

Ikol could have very much remained a Chaotic Entity that thrived on the turmoil, his “masters” being a lie to convince Emily that he too was not in total control of the situation so he could slip her more into his control. We already know he likes collecting powerful stonekeepers who are vulnerable enough to fall sway to his side.

Heck, he comes back every 500 years to wage war with the elves and probably (should he have remained the entity) thought of it as one big game.

Having him turn into a somewhat malevolent AI that was just following orders to a T just…does not make sense to me. Especially if he was causing havoc with the elves for so long as implied.

Time-Travel

Okay honestly this is my biggest gripe with the later books.

We established, Books 4 and 5, time-travel was not possible.

All it does is send them back to interact with their memories. They don’t actually change anything about their lives outside the Void.

So having Future Emily and her son come back and save Present Emily throws all of the continuity out the window. And Future Emily’s little interaction with Ikol where it’s implied that they’ve done this over and over? Felt so weird after they actually dealt with Ikol. It felt like a useless little tag on that we ended up not actually needing. (Again, Supernova is my least favorite book for a lot of reasons)

Stonekeepers Good but Bad

*sighs again* Yes. This part would feed into the Problem of Too Many Characters Amulet has going on. But. We were not shown examples beyond our current group (Meaning Emily Trellis and somewhat Vigo) of good stonekeepers.

The Guardian Council that ruled over most of Alledia for centuries? Corrupt.

Silas? Self serving. (Despite being called hero numerous times, we were not actually shown anything he did besides stopping the rampaging stonekeepers back in The Stonekeepers Curse, and even then we weren’t actually shown, just told he did it.)

The Elfking(s)? Corrupted by their stones.

Most of Alledia in the early books respect Stonekeepers enough to kinda hold them in reverence. But we’re not shown anyone (beyond a couple panels of someone building stuff) notable enough to say Yes. Stonekeepers good. Anyone else who is mentioned is “Yeah, they were good, but they listened to their stone and turned into a rampaging monster” (Honestly Gabilan has more of a point here)

I get that’s why Ronin and hers were introduced, but they were introduced way too late into the series for it to feel that there could be some sort of balance.

Emily is one big outlier too here. She’s good but because she feels she has to be and has been told she has to be. Firebird honestly put a nice spin in this because we do see her fall. But Supernova kinda nixed that development sooooo.

*cough*ThisiswhatOCsarefor*cough*

Conclusion

Now those are the biggest ones that have bugged me for a while in addition to the new stuff from the new book. @motherstone has already touched upon multiple times some of the other issues that I tend agree with (go check them out, their art is amazing and I love their ideas. Also looking forward to their rewrite!)

Is there some technical issues with the books as well that bug me? Yes. (The later books are very over saturated in comparison to the older ones and it kinda shows, and I believe that Motherstone already touched upon the “smoothification” that started taking place about book 4/5, and there were quiet a few panels that felt very unfinished in the later two books)

Am I sad to see the series end? Yes. But Kazu at least finished as best he could to the end instead of half assing it or completely dropping the series altogether, and I can respect that.

Do I already have my own post-book 6 AU that I’m willing to ramble about at the drop of a hat? Also Yes. (May also heavily be influenced by some OCs)

Overall, I enjoyed Amulet enough to see it through the end. Books 3-5 will remain my favorites. I still will cherish the characters that we got. Amulet is probably the first thing that actually got me into interacting with Fanart and Fandom, so I’d say it’s a pretty big part of what developed me. And for the newbies. Hi! I see you! I look forward to seeing what you do with the series!

See y’all around!

(And btw, if you drop something in my ask box, I’ll apologize in advance if I don’t get to it. I tend to forget I have one)

[anon-e-miss]

At Waiting's End - 6 Safe Landing

Though his originator had commed Prowl when he had boarded the last shuttle, Prowl waited on the tarmac as it came into land. Camshaft was no in anyway an impulsive mech but he was one with a deep sense of duty. If in the last moment he spotted a straggle, an unknown survivor of the carnage, Prowl knew his originator would go after them, even if that meant ordering the shuttle to leave without him. There had been no contact but there may not be due to the continued threat of the Decepticons to the transports. It had taken five mega-cycles to evacuate the ten thousand plus survivors, largely due to the need to ward off not only ground but air attacks against the transports. To Prowl’s great relief, not a single transport had been lost and this was the last one. His spark had not stopped racing for joors.

“Don’t worry, Prowl,” Bluestreak said, giving his servo a squeeze as he stood beside him. “The transport will land soon.”

The mechling had served as a good distraction. He was traumatized, how could he not be, but he was still the sweetest young mech. His entire family had been murdered, procreators, grandprocreators, uncles, aunts and cousins. There was no next of kin to contact to take custody of him. Bluestreak’s family had farmed that simple plot of land for millennia and none in their history had ever seen reason to leave. Prowl had taken formal custody of him, alongside Jazz. He was comfortable with them, both of them, but when someone spooked him, he always ran to hide behind Prowl’s doorwings, as Praxians sparklings were coded to do. Autobots, as they learned of him, wanted to spoil the war orphan but as a whole, they scared him, but none more than the Seekerkin. For now, Prowl guarded Bluestreak from the well-intention-ed and noisy with equal measure. He had heard himself called broody, as though there was something wrong with how he guarded Bluestreak and Smokescreen. It did not matter at all to him what they thought. Though, it seemed to matter to Jazz. No one raised a glyph of criticism against Prowl when Jazz was in hearing, not after Jazz had made an example of the first few.

Prowl smiled as he turned his optics to the sky. The transport was just a speck among the clouds but with each nanoklik, it came closer and clearer into view. They were not the only ones waiting on the tarmac. The youngest, the oldest and the weakest had arrived on the first transport. Still, Fixit was there to do triage and a quick visual exam of this final transport. Autobots would remain in the ruins of Praxus for another quartex or so, if they could maintain control of the area, to continue searching for survivors. There would not be many, if any. It was incredible how complete the destruction of Praxus had been but Prime would keep searchers there until his spark told him it was time to lay Praxus to rest. Perhaps it would be the wisdom of the Primes, or simply reality setting in, Prowl was not prepared to debate the legitimacy of the Matrix at this point.

The pilot landed the transport perfectly smoothly. Prowl watched the ramp descended and stared without ventilating as Autobots guided the last of his grim and resolute compatriots off the vessel. Finally, finally, Prowl saw his originator at the same moment as Camshaft saw him. He broke from the Autobots’ gentle corral in a blink. They would not know how he had done it, how they had not even one of them raised an arm to stop him. He bypassed Fixit and his medical team and the administrators in place to direct these mechanisms to their new homes. Prowl clasped his servo around his originator’s elbow as Camshaft stopped in front of him and cupped Prowl’s helm with both servos as he brought their crests together. They did not speak. For both of them, losing Smokescreen or losing each other had been the fear that had followed them with every step. Finally, they could ventilate. Camshaft lowered his helm to brush his crest against Smokescreen’s tiny helm before he looked over to Bluestreak. He knelt.

“You’re Bluestreak?” Camshaft asked.

“Uh huh,” the mechling replied. “You’re Camshaft, Prowl’s ori. I’m very pleased to meet you.”

“You are a treasure,” Camshaft replied and he brushed his crest against Bluestreak’s. “You won’t find cause with us to forget it.”

“Do you wish to wait for Fixit to finish with the others before you see him?” Prowl asked. His originator scoffed and Prowl smiled over at Jazz who gave him a questioning look.

“I know when I need a medic,” Camshaft replied.

“So that’s somethin’ ya got in common,” Jazz said and Camshaft smiled.

“If anything,” he said. “I am worse than Prowl.”

There was not much space in Jazz’s habsuite but Camshaft but there was a sofa berth in the living room. Jazz tried, he tried hard to convince Camshaft as they made their way home, that he could take the sofa berth, originator and creation could share for now. Camshaft had refused, insisting the sofa berth would be perfectly fine for him and that Jazz should be close to Prowl and Smokescreen in case they needed him. Prowl did not tell Jazz it was a losing battle from the beginning, they needed to learn each other’s quirks and Prowl knew his originator had a few. He, as Prowl had known he would, preferred to leave the emergency housing to those who really needed it. Iacon was a large territory but finding homes for ten thousand was still a strain. Temporary accommodations were being provided by the Academy, permanent housing would take longer.

Prowl was in no hurry to chase his originator away. In the stellar-cycles they had spent sabotaging Nightstalker’s purge and hiding from his security forces, they had become that much closer than they had ever been and they had always been close, as close as an originator and creation could sanely be. At least Prowl knew that Jazz would understand this attachment; he was very close to his originator and twin. Their habsuite, as Jazz insisted he should think of it as theirs, would be extra crowded when Punch arrived in the coming mega-cycles. But Prowl absolutely did not begrudge Jazz’s originator his excitement. He was thrilled to know he had a grand creation and desperate to meet not only Smokescreen but also the foundling Bluestreak. Cramped as the catacombs had been, Prowl thought the crowd would be even a little comforting.

[angelasscribbles]

The Dark Kingdom Chapter 1: Escape

Series: The Dark Kingdom

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: None yet.

Word Count: 1,053

Rating: MA for series just because themes could get darker

Warnings for this chapter: vague mention of abuse

A/N: Esseri is a catch-all term for all humanoid creatures that aren't human (vampires, shifters, demons, etc)

A/N2: Well I was going to wait for Tumblr to unmark my blog as explicit to post but as it turns out, I don't have that kind of patience. I'm really, really annoyed about it, but it doesn't keep me from posting so I'm doing it.

I thought about waiting until I finish Dark Elf but again, ADHD and no patience. Hopefully no one is confused by two different paranormal fics going on at the same time.

My other stuff: Master List.

The girl ran through the night, heedless of her torn gown and bare feet. She was fleeing for her life and there was only one place she could go, only one place no one would dare follow. One place she could disappear into.

The Black Spire Mountains.

The sounds of pursuit faded behind her as she climbed. Jagged shards of rock pierced her hands and feet as she hauled herself painstakingly, but determinedly up the side of the cliff face.

The sound of the royal hounds baying as they gave chase transformed into yelps and whimpers as the dogs drew close to the foothills.

The horses stopped of their own accord, refusing to cross the invisible barrier between the world ruled by men and the one ruled by monsters.

“She couldn’t have gone in there!” The captain of the King’s Guard spat, “No one is that stupid! Fan out! Search the riverbank, the woods, and the old ruins! Find her! Go!”

Hooves clattered as riders scattered in different directions to do their leader’s bidding.

Riley had no idea how long she climbed but finally, she pulled herself over a ledge and collapsed onto the ground, heaving the cool night air into her burning lungs as she gasped for breath.

Something howled in the distance. Werewolves? Dragons? She didn’t know and she didn’t care. The real monsters were down below. She would take her chances with the Esseri.  

When she could draw breath comfortably again, she rose to her feet and took in the sights. The darkness coalesced around her, and thick tendrils of fog obscured her vision. She glanced behind her, shuddering at the steepness of the cliff face she had just scaled. She listened, but the searchers had either moved on or she was too high up to hear them. Either way, she couldn’t go back down so she moved across the plateau, the wet grass soft on her bloody feet, a welcome change after the unforgiving rock.  

She hesitated when she reached the tree line on the other side of the clearing. The moon was obscured behind a cloud, the dark of the woods in front of her was deep and thick. Something moved through the underbrush, the snapping of a branch echoing through the stillness of the night like a shot.

Fear gripped her as she stumbled back away from the edge of the forest. A rabbit darted past. Relief surged through her, followed by a new jolt of fear as she found herself face-to-face with a lynx. The large spotted cat abandoned the rabbit to investigate its new prey. Its ears twitched as it regarded her. She could hear her own heart thundering in her chest as the predator crouched down preparing to pounce. She took a step back steeling herself to turn and run, but before she managed the maneuver, the lynx made a screaming sound as it spun and fled back into the forest.

Her respite was short-lived. A pair of powerful arms grabbed her from behind. A menacing laugh cut through the quiet, “Ohhhh, what have we here!”

“Let me go!” She struggled in his arms, kicking and flailing to no avail.

“Okay!” He released her and she lurched out of his embrace, running for her life back the way she had come. She never saw him move past her, but he was suddenly, inexplicably in front of her, “Boo!”

She whirled and ran back the other way, crashing into another man. This one didn’t try to grab her. He just stood in front of her, arms crossed, immovable. The collision sent her sprawling to the ground. The first man was behind her now and any chance of escape was rapidly dwindling.

The first man bent over her as the fog lifted, giving her a clear view of blond hair and soulless blue eyes, “What could possibly have possessed you to come here, human? Do you have a burning desire to be eaten?” The grin that spread across his face was bone-chilling, “because that can be arranged.”

“Knock it off Leo,” the second man still hadn’t moved but his tone brooked no arguments. Her eyes moved to him, taking in the chestnut hair and copper eyes that glinted in the moonlight. He seemed more human….barely.

“Ah, come on, Drake! She’s here, in our territory looking helpless and delicious, let me have a bite!”

“What happens to her isn’t up to you. There are treaties to consider.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! She broke the damn treaty the moment she crossed the partition and I saw her first so that technically makes her mine!” He turned his attention back to her, his head tilting to the side as his eyes ran hungrily over her form, his stance not much different than the lynx that he had scared away.

“You will abide by the rules,” the second man replied evenly, “We will take her back to the keep. The dark lord will decide her fate. No one else.” Finally moving, he reached out one hand and pulled her to her feet as if she weighed nothing, “Let’s go.”

“Thank you,” she mumbled as she stumbled into him.

“For what?” He steadied her as his eyes fixed blankly on her face.                   

“Saving me from him!” She moved closer to him, seeking safety in his nearness.

He continued to regard her with an inscrutable expression before shaking his head, “I am not your friend. I’m merely doing my duty, and by the time the dark lord is done with you, you may well wish I had let his brother eat you.”

Her blood ran cold as her eyes darted back to the blond. His brother was the dark lord? Her eyes closed as she swallowed thickly. What the hell has she gotten herself into? Then her eyes fluttered open, and her head turned back toward the edge of the cliff she had just climbed, the memories of her life before solidifying her resolve. She filled her lungs with air as she pushed her shoulders back and thrust her chin out. Making direct eye contact with the one called Drake she nodded, “I’m ready. Take me to him.”

Whatever awaited her in the dark kingdom could be no worse than what she had fled from, she was sure of that.

[missholloween]

Went to listen to The Searcher in the Shadows (as one does) and didn't noticd that the random was put on. So imagine my face when, after Dropped from the Clouds, ARC OF HISTORY starts FUCKING PLAYING.

[13thpythagoras]

favorite ancient Greek philosopher after Pythagoras? Just curious

-@new-hampshire-real

I'm gonna have to go with Heraclitus, given that Socrates was Plato's sea lioning sock puppet and Plato was highly problematic. I actually need to learn more about Heraclitus, but he was a fave of one of my favorite modern philosophers, Nietzche, via this relevant write up:

""Nietzsche's Archetypal Philosophers: Pythagoras (the Religious Reformer), Heraclitus (the Solitary Searcher), and Socrates (the Eternal Investigator)

In the summer of 1872, Nietzsche taught a seminar under the curious and defiant title of “Pre-Platonic Philosophers with Interpretations of Selected Fragments”. The central thesis of the course was deliberately unorthodox, as it defied the traditional historiographic division between presocratic and postsocratic philosophers. Nietzsche, in contrast, believed that Socrates was the last philosopher of a tradition that ended (ironically) with Plato. This paragraph expounds the main argument of Nietzsche's lectures:

Now it remains to be explained why I am considering “pre-Platonic” philosophers as a group and not pre-Socratics. Plato is the first grand mixed character both in his philosophy and in his philosophical typology. Socratic, Pythagorean, and Heraclitean elements unite in his theory of the Ideas: it should not, without further qualification, be called an original conception. Also, as a human being he possesses the traits of a regally proud Heraclitus; of the melancholy, secretive, and legislative Pythagoras; and of the reflective dialectician Socrates. All subsequent philosophers are of this sort of mixed philosophical type. In contrast, this series of pre-Platonics presents the pure and unmixed types, in terms of philosopheme [sic] as well as of character. Socrates is the last in this series. Whoever wishes to do so may call them all “one sided.” In any case, they are genuine “discoverers.” For all those afterward, it became infinitely easier to philosophize. They [the pre-Platonics] had to find the path from myth to laws of nature, from image to concept, from religion to science. (p. 5)

By the summer of 1872, Nietzsche had already published The Birth of Tragedy (January 1872) and had therefore become a problematic figure in classical studies:

I am lecturing on the Libation Bearers to 6 students at the University, to 10 students on the pre-Platonic philosophers. It’s pathetic! Our worthy colleagues are still silent about mv writing; they don't make so much as a sound. (letter to Edwin Rhode)

This testimony from a student is very revealing:

Nietzsche was giving a sort of introduction to Platonic philosophy. He let the so-called pre-Platonic philosophers pass before my inner eve in a series of fascinating personalities. Since he also quoted them directly, he read slowly and let the deep thoughts in their statements penetrate all the more into my spirit. They moved along grandly and majestically, like a shining cloud… But one of those lofty forms detached itself with clearer profile from that dissolving flow. Here the lecturer's voice also was overcome by a gentle trembling, expressing a most intimate interest in his subject matter: Heraclitus!!! I will never forget how Nietzsche characterized him. If not that lecture, at least what he had to say about the sage of Ephesus will be found among his posthumous papers. I always feel a shudder of reverence when I think of the moving end of that lecture. Words of Heraclitus! According to Nietzsche they summed up the innermost motive of the Ionian philosopher's thought and intention (and his own?). He drew a breath in order to pronounce the sentence. It resounded then fully in the harmonious tones of the Greek original text. More tonelessly yet understandably in German. Nietzsche folded the pages of his manuscript together as he said: “I sought myself!” (p. XLI)

The young Nietzsche found a great predecessor in Heraclitus. Nevertheless, I suspect Nietzsche would later find himself in the other two. But let us first read what he meant by this “philosophical typology”:

We must designate these three as the purest paradigms: Pythagoras, Heraclitus, and Socrates — the wise man as religious reformer; the wise man as proud, solitary searcher after truth; and the wise man as the eternal investigator of all things. (p. 58)

PYTHAGORAS: THE RELIGIOUS REFORMER

We detect in him the religious reformer; it is absolutely certain that he shared the doctrine of the transmigration of the soul and certain religious observances with the Orphics, [although] Aristotle and Aristoxenus know of no physical and ethical doctrines. He seeks spirituality in the more profound significance of the long worshiped chthonic gods. He teaches to conceive earthly existence as punishment for a prior transgression. According to one account, a human being is reborn eternally in ever-new bodies. Piety, practiced in secret ceremonies, to which his entire life complies by holy customs, is able to extract one from the circle of eternal Becoming. (p. 47)

HERACLITUS: THE PROUD SOLITARY SEARCHER OF TRUTH

What we have seen from his political behavior shows us every characteristic of his life: the highest form of pride, from a certainty of belief in the truth as grasped by himself alone. He brings this form, by its excessive development, into a sublime pathos by involuntary identification of himself with his truth. Concerning such human beings, it is important to understand that we are hardly able even to imagine them; in itself, all striving after knowledge of his essence is unsatisfactory, and for this reason his regal air of certainty [Überzeugheit] and magnificence is something nearly unbelievable. We observe the entirely different form of a superhuman [übermenschlich] self-glorification with Pythagoras and Heraclitus: the former certainly considered himself an incarnation of Apollo and acted with religious dignity, as Empedocles records. The self-glorification of Heraclitus contains nothing religious; he sees outside himself only error, illusion, an absence of knowledge — but no bridge leads him to his fellow man, no overpowering [übermachtig] feeling of sympathetic stirring binds them to him. We can only with difficulty imagine the feelings of loneliness that tore through him: perhaps his style makes this most obvious, since he himself [uses language that] resembles the oracular proverbs and the language of the Sibyls. (p. 55)

SOCRATES: THE ETERNAL INVESTIGATOR OF ALL THINGS

He is a self-taught ethicist; from him proceeds a moral flood, an incredible force of will [Willenskraft] directed toward an ethical reform. That is his single interest: “Whatso'er is good or evil in an house.” What is most remarkable about this moral reform, however […], is the means. The means, knowledge (ἐπιστῆμη), distinguishes him! Knowledge as the path to virtue differentiates his philosophical character: dialectic as the single path, induction (ἐπαγωγικοὶ λὀγοι) and definition (ὁρἰζεσθαι). The struggle against desire, drives, anger, and so on directs itself against a deep-lying ignorance (ἀμαθἰα). He is the first philosopher of life (Lebensphilosoph, and all schools deriving from him are first of all philosophies of life (Lebensphilosophien). A life ruled by thought! Thinking serves life, while among all previous philosophers life had served thought and knowledge: here the proper life appears as a purpose; there proper knowledge [is seen as] the highest. (p. 144-5)

I wrote this post because I suspect Nietzsche later realised that he, like Plato, had also become a “grand mix character”. (This might explain the powerful ambivalence Nietzsche felt towards the Athenian). Like Pythagoras, Nietzsche sought "spirituality in the more profound significance of the long worshiped chthonic gods" — not in vain is Zarathustra's main commandment "Remain faithful to the Earth". Like Pythagoras, Nietzsche would postulate a "circle of eternal Becoming" (yet a very different one). Nietzsche's rebellion against any form of metaphysics does contain undertones and fervors that seem "religious" (in the rhetoric of Zarathustra) and the fiery ambition of a "Reformation", his "campaign against morality". (Ecce Homo)

Like Heraclitus, Nietzsche would find that "no bridge leads him to his fellow man, no overpowering feeling of sympathetic stirring binds them to him." In other words, he would also find a great (but painful) solitude in his renunciation of pity. What Nietzsche wrote about Heraclitus would also be written about him: "We can only with difficulty imagine the feelings of loneliness that tore through him". Like Heraclitus, Nietzsche would indulge in a rhetoric that "resembles the oracular proverbs and the language of the Sibyls" in his Zarathustra. Nietzsche's prophet and his eagle would also convey "the highest form of pride, from a certainty of belief in the truth as grasped by himself alone."

Finally, like Socrates, Nietzsche's works from Human, All Too Human and Daybreak onwards would strive after a "philosophy of life" driven by "an incredible force of will directed toward an ethical reform. That is his single interest". In hindsight, Nietzsche's Pre-Platonic lectures were the programatic blueprint of an ambitious philosophical project that would occupy him for the rest of his life.""

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

A Year and a Day

My second piece for the Winter Solstice event!

Sandman fandom, Hob x fem!reader x Morpheus (implied future)

Warnings: language, brief violence, injury

*While you can enjoy this on its own - there's gonna be more. It's gonna be a drabble series in all likelihood.This is becoming my de-stress fic. Mostly fluff, and lots of shenanigans, so let me know what you think. <3

A Year and a Day (the first part of many)

The frigid evening wind cuts through the alley, and Morpheus feels it. He feels the cold, the broken asphalt scraping his palm, the blood cooling on his chin.

A year and a day of mortality.

He wonders if he’ll survive the first night.

As the curse had taken effect, and he’d hurtled into the waking world, he’d done all he could to aim for London. With his power bleeding away and his body closing tight around his severed awareness of the Dreaming, a single name flashed at the forefront of his thoughts: Hob Gadling. His friend. Although several mortals know enough of his nature as an Endless to be of some assistance, Hob is the only one he trusts to actually offer it.

If he does not escape this alley, however, he’ll never put that assumption to the test.

A kick lifts him away from the pavement for a moment, and he collapses on his side, coughing. The men above him loom like tall shadows, backlit by anemic streetlights. Two pounce, rifling through his pockets as he struggles to catch his breath, and he once again thanks John Dee for crushing the Dream Stone. It can never be stolen again. Never be abused. Though, apparently, he can still be parted from his power.

Once they determined he has nothing to give them, one of the searchers swears and kicks him again, this time in the back, and Morpheus arches, teeth gritted in a fresh wave of pain.

“Nothing. Man’s got nothing. No wallet. No cash. No phone.”

The third man, ostensibly the leader, stands closest to the street, pointing a knife to warn their victim against screaming in case Morpheus should recover the wind they’ve kicked from his lungs. He shakes his head. “Dressed like that? Whatever. Coat’s worth something at least. Looks nice. Check again. Rich assholes have hidden pockets – hollow shoes, you know, like on tv.”

The hands return. Rougher. Grabbing and pushing as they try to work his arms out of his coat without letting him up from the pavement. Still breathless, he bares his teeth, reaching for abilities stripped from his grasp. He can’t even sense them. His mind is mortal, too, at least as much as it can be, and he’s left to his assailants’ mercy as he fights to regain his equilibrium.

But he has a long memory, and he will remember their faces. They may not pay for their insult tonight, but they will in due course. He promises them silently. He promises himself.

A flash of light illuminates the alley. Two more. Three more bursts of sun. Like lightning without thunder, without rain or clouds.

All three men turn to look at the source just as a clear, feminine voice calls from the opposite end of the alleyway, “I just sent pictures with all your faces to my friend.”

The one with the knife manages three long strides before the voice stops him.

“If anything happens, my friend will show them to the police. Oh, and I just dialed 999, so I suggest you scarper.”

A suggestion. Through his pain, Morpheus smirks.

Highway robbery is an often romanticized but a less than rewarding career. It has always been thus, but desperation and idiocy lead men down familiar paths, from one eon to the next. These robbers freeze like deer when the woman flicks on her phone’s flashlight, giving the scene a more permanent illumination. More prey than predator. Aggressive when they had the upper hand, certainly, when it was three against one. But they hadn’t planned on an interruption, and now a third party they can’t threaten with their knives and knuckles has their faces. Their true colors leak through.

The quiet one who’s been searching him twists away from the light and runs.

“Fuck this.”

That’s the second.

The ringleader stands his ground long enough to make a weak pass at intimidation.

“Bitch.”

The woman behind the light shrugs, the tell-tale light lifting with her shoulders. “Twat.”

For a moment, Morpheus thinks the man will charge her. He angles his head down and spreads his feet, like he’ll take his chances and sprint over to stick his knife in her throat.

This time, Morpheus hears the phone’s camera app click, and the last attacker bolts after his friends. Too much evidence, not enough loot to justify the risk. An old tale often repeated.

The immediate danger has passed.

He has a destination in mind, but he finds himself struggling to rise. Every ache and burn lingers as he leverages his hands under his chest, pushing himself up to his knees and groaning from the effort.

Light steps approach. Not running. Not hesitant, either. Purposeful.

A hand with short, black nails appears before his eyes. He looks up, blinking away the runny watercolor blur from his eyes to find his savior of the hour, a small woman in a flower-print sundress – thick leggings below and a heavy sweater above to ward off the cool breath of autumn. A strange knight errant, but he is hardly in a position to choose.

Still, he does not take her hand.

Pulling himself upright inch by agonizing inch, he cradles his bruised ribs and offers a brief nod to express his gratitude. Though he is short on options, he is shorter on trust. Mortals are treacherous, often without meaning to be, and he is painfully aware of his vulnerability.

“I dialed but didn’t connect to 999,” she confesses, looking directly into his eyes, ignoring the wounds on his face or his ginger stance. “Do you need me to call an ambulance? Family? What do you need?”

He needs Hob Gadling. And possibly medical attention. In that order. How far can he depend on this little stranger to aid him?

“Thank you.” He scrutinizes her, frowning, and she bears it unflinchingly, waiting for him to choose his course. Her squared shoulders and tilted chin suggested she’ll help him down whichever path he chooses. His pride rages against the idea, but his very mortal body feels like it may collapse if the breeze pushes any harder.

He cannot call to mind everything he would know about this tiny hero if he were fully himself, but a whisper of an impression lingers. An extra sense. The three men jumped him before he could pick up anything from them, and all he’d gathered during the assault was the anxiety and anger fueling their rage. But now – now he has a moment, and she has a core of moonstone. A fixed, determined thing all but glowing with dreams and hope.

Decided, he speaks quietly, wary of the new hurts along his abdomen, careful not to aggravate them further. “I am trying to reach the New Inn. My friend, Robert Gadling still owns it, I believe.”

Her eyes light up, and she presses half a step closer. He nearly flinches away, startled by the spark of enthusiasm.

“Hob?” She lifts her phone.

She has Robert Gadling’s name in her phone as “Hob Goblin” and something sparks in his chest that isn’t jealousy.

As she waits for the call to go through, phone pressed to ear, she says, “I was actually on my way there. We’re just a couple blocks away. I’ll help you, but I should give Hob a head’s – Hey! Hob, I – No, I’m fine. There’s – Yes, I’m sure. I just ran into – Hon, I love you, but shut the fuck up. Sorry. Yeah. Bumped into a friend of yours, and he’s a little roughed up. Asked for you, so I thought I’d bring him to the New Inn. Wanted to give you advance warning… Okay. See you in a minute.”

The endearments course naturally through the dialogue, and he wonders what he has missed in Hob Gadling’s past year. But when she hangs up and stashes the phone away in her messenger bag, she gives Morpheus a brilliant smile, like all is well and they’re simply on their way to visit a mutual friend.

“Alright. Let’s get you to the Inn. Would you mind leaning on me?”

The nature of the question makes it easy to agree. He lets her pull his arm over her shoulders, and one little hand settles on his back, like she has the strength to support them both if he stumbles.

They work their way down the quiet street, and she doesn’t fight the silence. Their steps and breath mingle with the hoots of nightbirds, distant arguments, and the occasional passing car. She does not ask him why he is on his way to the New Inn, though she clearly had plans of her own with the owner. She does not demand he waste his breath assuring her he is well when he clearly is not. They walk together, and she makes sure he does not trip and fall on the way.

It is appreciated.

When they reach the New Inn, Hob meets them at the door, eyes wide but unsurprised when Morpheus manifests out of the gloom with his small, colorful crutch.

“It is you.” He rushes out to assume the savior’s burden and helps Morpheus into the empty bar. It’s well past closing, he assumes. “I thought it might be, but I wasn’t – what happened?”

Morpheus glances sidelong at the young woman lingering near the door, and she catches the look, quickly straightening with a fresh smile for Hob and excuse to disappear on her lips.

“I’ll head up now. You two must have… a lot… to – let me know if you need anything.”

She moves to the back of the establishment and slips through a door marked “Private.”

Morpheus turns his look on Hob as the man pulls a first aid kit from behind the counter. His son died in a pub brawl, he recalls. The kit is extensive, and while Morpheus is glad to know he does not need a defibrillator or some of the other supplies contained within, a newly-familiar warmth blooms as he considers his friend.

His injuries, though painful, are not serious enough for a hospital. Hob assures him no ribs are broken after a careful series of pressing touches over his chest, back, and sides. The former soldier finds no evidence of internal bleeding, either.

“I’d suggest we go anyway,” he says, apologetic as he sorts through his collection of salves and bandages, “but I don’t think you have an ID or, you know, the kinds of things they’d ask about. In a hospital. And I doubt you want the police involved.”

“No.”

“Right. Okay. Right.” He flounders, clearly unsure of himself as he tries to care for the entity he still knows so little about. “Well, this should be good enough. We can sort something out down the line if…”

The silence pulls taught over the rustle of Hob’s work, and the whole man’s face is bent in concentration. Morpheus can see the thoughts ticking over his open face. Wondering if he can ask. Wondering what to ask.

“What happened?”

What indeed. There is another story, a long one, one he will not share at this time. He does not feel he has earned this punishment, and he will not give another room to comment.

“A curse.”

“What?”

“I am mortal, Hob Gadling. For a year and a day.”

“That’s…” Hob has to stop and think before new words will grow on his tongue, and Morpheus takes the initiative to press ahead.

“I had thought I may ask for your assistance during this time,” he explains. His eyes turn towards the ceiling. “But…”

Hob snaps back to himself, shaking his head and overflowing with reassurances. “You’re more than welcome to stay! I have a guest room in my flat. She doesn’t live with me. Not really. She’s in the smaller flat, and – uh – yes, you are more than welcome to stay. Please.”

So Hob has not taken another wife. It would be a strange arrangement for a courting couple as well, and he fixes on the topic as a distraction from the way his heart beats in his bruises. “Who is she?”

Hob murmurs her name with a smile, flicks his eyes to meet Morpheus’s, and clears his throat. “Well, she’s a friend. We met online, playing games during the pandemic, and she was on the other side of the Atlantic, so I started staying up all hours just to make sure I caught her.”

Adjusting his position in his chair, he leans in, full of a story, and despite the terrible evening he’s had, Morpheus finds himself falling back into old habits. Here they sit in a tavern, the Endless listening to the immortal man’s continuing life story.

“It was just so easy with her. Talking. Playing. Just enjoying ourselves. And then, about three months ago, she told me she was coming to England for work. Asked if I’d like to meet. And I had the empty flat, and I thought… why not? So here she is. Here we are. And,” he chuckles to himself, a smile pulling his face into its sweetest shape, “I don’t really know what to do with myself.”

Morpheus doubts that very much as he holds the man in a steady gaze.

It is strange.

He cannot know her as he would usually know a mortal, but she treats him with the ease of a friend, and as soft creaking above reveals her as she goes about her business, he feels the lines of a story twisting into new forms, as they had many hundreds of years ago when a foolish mortal declared in the presence of Death herself that he wouldn’t die.

Well. He has a year and a day to understand.

[pulpmusicals]

Episode 4: The Searcher in the Shadows will drop from the clouds on Monday, September 9th. The schedule for broadcasts, reruns, and other Pulp-month activities is coming very soon.

.

Thank you for your patience as Pulp 4 comes together (and I apologize for it not coming out in August as I had originally hoped!) I promise it will be worth the wait, so stay tuned - M 🏝️

[arthur-lesters-intestines]

Tagged by: @nonbinarytoast @arthur-lesters-coccyx hey bby 😘

Rules: answer plus tag 9 people you want to get to know better and/or catch up with

Favorite color: orple. Like. Any purple. Pink and orange are great too 👍

Last song: Last listened too: Beautiful People (stay high) - The Black Keys, Last sung: Give The Mule What He Wants - Queens of The Stone Age, What i want to hear as I die: Sail - AWOLNATION (specifically played at my funeral because it would be the funniest fucking thing to me and the people need to laugh.)

Currently reading: Honestly? Fanfic. A REAL answer: Amulet Book 3: The Cloud Searchers (I believe in Lugar supremacy. SURE HE TRIED TO MURDER CHILDREN BUT HE IS JUST A SWEET OLD MAN. HE DID NOTHING WRONG)

Currently watching: nothing. But I am going to watch, ELECTRIC DREAMS BABYYY

Currently craving: NUTRIENTS (back in character for this one 👈👈)

Coffee or tea: both. Both is good.

Any hobby you would like to try: Crocheting. Those wobbles look neat. I'd like to cop me some of the Minecraft ones.

Any discipline you'll follow during the Olympics: naaahh. But if I were, probably snowboarding or any of the ski stuff.

Any AU you're plotting for: more likely to not pursue due to just not having time, but I have thought about one where Kayne partially follows up on his deal, he gives Faroe back, but John is still entwined with Arthur. They have Faroe for a while (shes 14 or 15 at this point) Things go well till Kayne comes back to fuck up things in good ole Kayne fashion and makes Faroe question Arthur's strange habits, it boils down to the point she questions if he even is her real father. Arthur has to fess up and tell her the truth about everything. (There's a lot more I can add to this, but this is becoming longer than this should be. Maybe I'll make a separate post explaining more if people are interested.)

No pressure tags: @arthur-lesters-small-intestine @faroes-music-box @morbid248 @aroacecowboy @izzythedemigod @arthur-lesters-inguinal-masses @arthur-lesters-receding-hairline @platypus-with-interests @buried-in-the-archives

[mahayanapilgrim]

When I watch the thoughts as they arise,

The watcher vanishes.

I search for it but nowhere is it found.

Neither is the searcher seen -

There is just freedom from conceptual elaboration.

There's no agent, there's no object of its action.

I have come to the primordial state,

Which is like space, immaculate.

There is no going back, and where might I now go?

I have reached the place of the exhaustion of phenomena.

No more coming to Samsara can there be.

And where I am now, none can see.

Knowing this, I want for nothing else.

Whoever comes to this freedom

Has, like me, cut through delusion.

Now I have no further questions;

The ground and root of mind are gone.

There is no goal, no clinging;

There's no ascertaining; there's no " it is this ".

Openness, relaxedness, equality.

Now that I have realised it, I sing my song.

Stainless rays of light have this shone out

And revealing it, have now departed.

This Vajra Song, illustrates the kind of realisation that is devoid of center or limit.

When this level of realisation occurs, whatever arises subsides into the ground nature, like clouds melting away in the sky.

The primordial expanse of the minds nature and the primordial wisdom( the Spontaneously arisen state of openness and freedom) mingle together.

When this happens, there is no retreating from the nature of one's own mind, for there is nowhere left to go. The point of exhaustion of all phenomena is reached.

One has escaped the dangerous path of the mind that adventitiously clings to, or rejects, things through taking them to be truly existent.

It is at this point that the field of ultimate reality beyond coming and going is reached.

Where else then, can one go?

There is nowhere.

Yogis who reach such a state have left behind the land of delusion, and they will never again return to the city of samsara.

For they have reached the space-like ground.

~

Finding Rest In The Nature Of Mind.

Longchenpa.

Longchenpa's "Finding Rest in the Nature of Mind" offers profound insights into the nature of self-realization and spiritual awakening. In this essay, we will explore the key elements of Longchenpa's teachings and the profound implications they have for seekers on the path to enlightenment. The passage begins with the disappearance of the "watcher" and culminates in the attainment of the "space-like ground" beyond samsara, providing a roadmap to understanding the nature of mind and its ultimate freedom.

1. The Disappearance of the Watcher:

- Longchenpa begins by describing the process of observing thoughts as they arise. What is the significance of this observation?

- Explain how the act of watching leads to the vanishing of the watcher and the fruitless search for it.

- Discuss the concept of freedom from conceptual elaboration and the absence of agents or objects of action.

2. The Attainment of the Primordial State:

- Elaborate on Longchenpa's analogy of the primordial state being akin to space and immaculateness.

- Examine the idea that once this state is reached, there is no possibility of regression or returning to samsara.

- Discuss the exhaustion of phenomena and the profound implications of this realization.

3. Freedom from Delusion:

- Explore Longchenpa's assertion that reaching this state is synonymous with cutting through delusion.

- Describe the transformation from a state of questioning to a state of contentment and clarity.

- Analyze the implications of the disappearance of the ground and root of the mind, and the absence of goals, clinging, and ascertaining.

4. The Unity of Primordial Expanse and Wisdom:

- Explain how the primordial expanse of the mind's nature and primordial wisdom merge.

- Discuss the idea that this state is irreversible, and there is no need for retreat.

- Explore the concept of ultimate reality beyond the cycle of coming and going.

5. The Realization of the Space-like Ground:

- Investigate Longchenpa's assertion that once this realization is achieved, there is nowhere else to go.

- Elaborate on the significance of transcending the mind's dangerous tendencies to cling to or reject things as truly existent.

- Discuss the attainment of the space-like ground and its implications for spiritual liberation.

Conclusion:

Longchenpa's teachings in "Finding Rest in the Nature of Mind" offer profound insights into the nature of self-realization and the ultimate freedom of the mind. This journey from the disappearance of the watcher to the realization of the space-like ground represents a transformative spiritual path that leads individuals beyond the cycle of samsara. It is a timeless message of hope and liberation for all seekers on the spiritual journey, emphasizing the infinite potential of the human mind to transcend its limitations and find lasting rest in its true nature.

[warmerthanhotcoco]

to live for

Draco apparates to “Where Dobby is”, only to find said elf’s grave. At least Aunt Trixie’s knife didn’t hit Potter… Who turns up right when he’s about to leave. So he decides to stay a while longer with this… newfound friend/secret lover.

Tags: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Golden Trio, Post-Malfoy Manor, Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, RIP Dobby, mild angst with comfort, gay wizard fluff, ✨Their First Kiss✨, just a lakeside Drarry date

A/N: To all this beautiful gayness in the world. Lol- And to my gay bestie. Faun, you'll always be the most casually beautiful, Pinterest-worthy girl in the world ✨ Have a lily from Drarry xx 💐

It was late at night, he could tell that much from the cold breeze humming from the lakeside. The Golden Trio had just returned from their first and probably last visit to Malfoy Manor. Harry Potter had just climbed into bed after a most tragic burial, and lay there staring up at the canvas roof of the tent. 

Merlin’s pants, it had been one mad rollercoaster ride. From being nearly caught by Greyback’s searchers… to Hermione’s hex-disguise on him… to Malfoy lying to save him… to Pettigrew meeting his long overdue end… to Dobby's sacrifice... 

Harry hardly had tears left tonight. 

The grief and exhaustion was too much. It was so bad for his friends that both had fallen asleep fast. Somehow, he was the only one up.

Nothing new there, I suppose.

The after-effects of Bellatrix Black's torture had been enough to make Hermione pass out onto Ron's lap over dinner. He'd left them both to their own side of the tent, a tinge of satisfaction at the whole ordeal bringing the two closer. 

But he couldn't ignore how it only made him feel lonelier. 

He shook his head and sat up, giving himself a slow moment of silence to see if he might just feel drowsy. Sleep never came. 

He slipped out of the sheets, dragged his feet outside. They had run out of whatever sleeping potion Hermione had, and the muggle sleeping pills were left at their last hideout.

Hands in his pockets, feet buried in the gravel (he ditched his shoes, too much noise), he took in a deep breath of the moist lakeside air and looked up at the sky. The crescent moon hung low overhead, lighting up the blanket of dark grey clouds. The sky wasn’t half as gloomy here as it was back in England. It felt nice. The warmth and brilliance of the moon was sort of a reassurance that he was safe here. That his friends were safe here. 

All at once, he was aware of a presence that radiated a feeling of security: a strong feeling of “I’m safe now” washed through him. 

Which was new given all he ever thought about was his friends’ safety. Others’. Most of whom he lost. 

Ugh, quit brooding, Harry. Let’s just… take a breather, he chided himself, walking across the banks to the little elf's grave. He could feel the warm presence still though he convinced himself it was merely the moon. His fingers wrapped tight around the wand just in case the presence was... deceiving. Another lie. 

Nothing had happened by the time he subconsciously stopped beside Dobby's grave. "Hello, Dobby."

The clouds cleared up a bit to shed more moonlight along the lake banks, and that was when he saw. Strings of elegant, shimmering flowers were strung around the headstone, wrapping up the rock firmly and yet tenderly. They were creepers of the finest, sparkliest lilies. The green of their stems and leaves, however, were an oddly familiar shade of dark green... and the flowers themselves had a magical glow to their even more familiar pristine, platinum white.

Years of duelling and fighting took action and made Harry grip his wand ever so tight ––

But one day of seeing the hidden truth kept him from attacking. 

So this was the “comforting presence” lurking in the dark… he lowered his wand. 

Harry heard a soft exhale. “You're not going to Sectumsempra me?”

“...you saved my life.” 

“Hm. Pity.” 

“What are you doing here?" The burning question spilt out of his chapped lips. What abominable reason could possibly bring... HIM... of all people... to this place, at this hour?

Draco Malfoy scoffed. “He was my elf before yours.”

Well, he had a point. Harry waited for any other remarks, any of the usual snarky comments... but none came. So he nodded, sat cross-legged on the sand, subtly shifting to the side. Draco walked into the light at last and Harry caught a glimpse of green turtleneck sweater and black coat. Draco pondered for a minute before sitting right beside the Gryffindor. 

Silence.

Both wizards sat there on the sand, staring at the white lilies glowing in the moonlight. Both are nothing but young boys being shoved into a war, left without a choice because of their parents. Both are young adults that were once merely children playing with Dobby secretly, in Malfoy Manor or Privet Drive: because neither family would have allowed it. 

Perhaps they both saw this at last. Perhaps they finally grew up. Perhaps that was why Harry waved his hand for a quiet wandless Accio charm. 

"Show-off," Draco mumbled when a Firewhiskey bottle flew somewhere out of Ron's secret stash and into Harry's grip. Harry held it out to his once arch-nemesis. The latter hesitated, staring silently at the dark, calloused hand before him.

Harry placed the bottle down, rolling up his sleeves.

“Those flowers—“

“They’re called lilies, scarhead.” 

“Right. They’re… nice.” 

“If that’s your best attempt at complimenting my magic then no thank you.” 

Harry sighed, shaking his head and taking another sip. He HAD to be drunk to be doing any of this. “They’re beautiful. Very.” 

“…Thanks.”

“But honestly, what’s with the green sweater?” Harry grinned. “Your mania over your house is far from just pride at this point—“

“It’s my favourite colour. For other reasons. Got a problem?” 

“What reasons to make the lilies look that greenish?”

“That was for you, you blasted idiot.” 

Green to signify Harry being Dobby’s closest friend? Or green lilies to comfort him? The way this is going, I’ll never know, the green-eyed son of Lily thought to himself, gulping down another two sips of Firewhiskey to calm his spinning head. 

Back to the silence. 

A slow breeze washed over them, splashing the string of lilies with a bit of moisture, sweeping over the grave. Both Gryffindor and Slytherin watched the draught glitter gold with sand; waltzing across the lake, away from them, over to the hillside. The lakewater splashed against the rocks, tide rising a little with the wind current. The gust of wind took away a lot more than just a pile of sand. Hatred… Coldness... 

He downed some more alcohol to hide the sudden smile. Silence was exactly what worked with the both of them, he concluded. They’d probably never be able to talk like normal humans.

“What are you, daydreaming?” 

Yep. This is exactly what I meant. “No, I realised we can’t ever talk without sounding like we’re duelling.” 

“‘Duelling’. A decent way to phrase it. I’d vote for ‘murdering each other’.” 

“Well what do you want me to do, apologise? You started it!” 

“You’re the idiot who decided to go against all Slytherins just because of whatever we did as eleven-year-olds on the first day of school!” 

“Well I’m sorry but you were being ridiculously rude—“

“I just wanted to befriend you, but all you did was scowl at me, what—“

“Draco.” 

“… stop that,” the blond looked away, tossing a handful of grass at him. 

Harry blinked in confusion, seeing the tips of the other’s ears gleaming red. “I’m sick of calling you your father’s name, it’s stupid,” he shook his head, delighted he really was drunk. “You’re nothing like him.” 

“He reminds me of that everyday, thank you very much.”

“Ugh, I meant you’re more…” Better? Understanding? Handso— What— Harry, get yourself together. “Humane. Than him. You’re better.” 

The red crept a little down his neck. “Whatever. Don’t expect me to call you Harry.” 

“That would need a miracle,” Harry laughed. “But Draco, I did want to be a friend, you know. I was new to the world, and you were the first I saw at Diagon Alley. When I saw you again at Hogwarts, I was happy, actually.” He scoffed sourly. “Until you decided to ridicule my first friend, that is…” 

Draco remained silent, drawing doodles on the sand, having plucked off all the grass nearby.

“You know, your sticky glossy hair never helped your impression, I hated the sleek look.” 

That won a laugh. “Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah. Looks much better now though.” 

Draco laughed again, nervously ruffling the back of his head. “You’re drunk bad, aren’t you?” 

Harry shrugged and offered the bottle to him. 

“I don’t want Firewhiskey.” 

“Then what do you want?” 

The sparkling platinum head snapped up in surprise, eyeing him to see if he was joking around or if the tone really did mean anything this time. Draco found the eyes a bit too intoxicating, more so than the whiskey bottle below, so he diverted his gaze away from their sharp green and down to the pink, injured lips.

…Bad idea.

“Eyes up here, Draco,” Harry smirked. 

“You’re seriously more drunk than I am,” Draco shook his mane. “If you’re such a bloody Gryffindor and you know what I want then I dare you to—“ 

His slurring words cut off as a pair of hands cupped his face, pulling him closer. Soft, chapstick-covered lips crashed against chapped, dry ones. On reflex, Draco punched his shoulder and grabbed him by the collar, but when Harry didn’t relent — or rather kissed him a little harder — he let go. Let go of the eight years of tension and sat there, eyes shut, drinking it in. He couldn’t help but smirk: Harry seemed to be enjoying himself. 

“What are you grinning for? Am I that bad at it?” Harry whispered, pulling away panting. 

“Hm, fairly tolerable.” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“Means you need more practice,” the Slytherin laughed. Wrapping one protective hand around the back of his head and the other cupping his chin, he pushed him onto the sand. Lips felt each other at first, before their tongues danced in a frenzy, like the draught of wind with its pile of sand. Harry found himself straddled and locked in place by a pair of perfect pearl-white arms. 

Not that he wanted to move away from this anyway.

Draco didn’t stop either, not until Harry tapped his back to come up for air. The blond rolled off the body underneath him and sat on the sand. Harry sat up to find him deep in thought, head hanging, skin aglow from the rising sun. “Draco?” 

“I have to go.” 

Harry felt his throat constrict, but nodded his agreement nonetheless. “You can’t stay? You’re not really with them… right?” 

Draco shook his head, openly denying it for the first time in his life. “I have no choice, just like you. Mum…” he bit his tongue. 

As it finally dawned on Harry why Draco was doing all this, he sighed. “I see. She’d be looking for you then,” he pointed to the specks of sunlight dotting the horizon. 

Draco nodded. “I…” He didn’t know what to say, or rather how to. So he rose to his feet, dusted off the sand. 

Harry stood too. “Erm,” he held Draco’s shoulders still to leave a light peck on his cheek. The Slytherin blushed hard, punching him lightly in the stomach while the other laughed. “I’ll see you around, Potter.” 

“Someday,” Harry nodded back.

And just like the wind, he disappeared.

“Thank you, Dobby,” he whispered, patting the grave. Because had it not been for Dobby, the Gryffindor hero who lost almost everyone, had just found another person to love, to live for.