#elke magazine

[seraphinesaintclair]

“Walker of Ancient Dreams” by Seraphine Saintclair from The Winged Moon magazine print edition 1

[shiftythrifting]

Found in an antique shop in Cullen, Scotland. From left to right, top to bottom:

A taxidermy beaver; taxidermy owl; a kangaroo pelt; (terrifying) bunny bookends; a shark's jaws (actually kinda cool); taxidermy elk leg made into a doorstop; an extremely heterosexual publication for extremely heterosexual men; and some booze cans disguised as books.

[70ssmut4]

[gameraboy2]

"Another Man's Poison" Elk's Magazine, June 1937 Illustration by Alex Raymond

[tomoleary]

Paul Stahr (1883-1953) “Lady Liberty” Elks Magazine cover (February 1928)

Source

Not stated but this does appear to be a preliminary painting, as the final cover shows.

[artemholubievgolubev]

Megaloceros giganteus - Irish elk canvas wall art prints

Unique home decor Irish elk in mountains of Europe canvas wall art prints. Megaloceros (also known as "Irish elk"), fifth in the "Big Five" Ice Age animals. The owner of some of the most impressive antlers of any deer, reaching 3.7 meters in length. Like other deer, these antlers were shed every year.

Above bed wall decor for him. Extra large mens wall art from ukraine sellers. Also, these paintings will help you in the design of a scientific gallery, museum exposition, educational presentation, scientific work, publication of a scientific article in a magazine. You can choose these images for your brand logo, product branding. This exclusive and unrepeatable painting can be purchased here:

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Lens Flare

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Description: Over the past three months, your career has grown by leaps and bounds. Yet at the same time, you can't help feeling dissatisfied. A lot of your feelings stem from what you did the last time you saw him. Jake Seresin. Lieutenant Jake Seresin. It had been fun, in the hangar, under the dead of night - passionate and hot. So too had been the video you filmed and the pictures you'd snapped. But hindsight, well, maybe there is a reason why they say "Hindsight is Twenty-Twenty". Because Jake hasn't called, despite how badly you want him to. A new assignment in North Island might have the potential to change everything for Jake and our Shutterbug, including how they approach everything they hold dear.

Warnings: Once again, this is just some porn with plot. The feral plot bunnies ran away with me, I fear.

Word Count: 8502

A/N: Hiya everyone! I'm baaack! Enjoy this sequel to my fic Photo Finish. It's just as smutty and gorgeous as the last one!

This fic is brought to you all by the constant support of @horseshoegirl, @sarahsmi13s and @desert-fern. You're all my heroes and I love you to bits for keeping me from ditching this story before it even started! I couldn't have written it without you!

AO3: Cross-posted Here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted Here!

An old photography teacher of yours once told you never to submit photos with lens flares to any publication, magazine or contest. He considered lens flares the biggest mistake for a rookie photographer. He’d declared, quite adamantly in front of your entire class, using your pictures as examples, how lens flares made photos look cheap and low quality. Given his dislike of the trick of light, he’s also taught you a plethora of tricks to prevent them. Over the many, many years since you left his class, you’ve started to relax and deviate from the rigid rules of photography he once taught you. For a large portion of your career, you've been photographing subjects which cannot be posed in a studio, which helps. Every snick and whir of your camera feels like you are letting go of rules and embracing your art.

You’ve always heard wildlife photography has a tendency to relax photographers' attitudes. It’s a truth you’re very thankful you had the chance to experience. After all, there are no rules when it’s just you, your camera and what feels like the entire world a hair's-breadth away from your camera lens. It’s hard to be frustrated with the sun glancing across your camera lens when it highlights fox kits gamboling in dewy spring grass. Or elk on a frost-bitten winter morning with clouds of their breath dissipating into the clear air. Those pictures were once-in-a-lifetime shots, perfect in their imperfection and richer with the sparkling halos of light.

Being back in New York after years of traveling has made you appreciate the photographs you took even more. Now you feel like you can fully appreciate the wilderness in them. New York is wild in an entirely different way. It’s louder, greyer, more populous, yet just as vibrant. In New York, you’ve been able to capture human nature, snapping minuscule interactions between people who are always in a hurry and always moving. But you also have to work to make enough money to fund your passions. Not having to travel helped bring some stability to your passions. But of all of the things you thought you'd be photographing, fashion models and clothes were never an option. In a way, photographing fashion and fashion models is capturing another kind of wild animal in your lens sights. Models and designers are wholly proprietary and protective over what they consider theirs, whether their clothing or their aesthetic appearance. You’ve had to shoot and reshoot, as well as touch up your photos more than you've ever had to before. Of course, in this case, your primary objective is to make the models and the clothes they are wearing look otherworldly and incredible. 

At first, the thrill of doing something new was alluring and exciting. But after a year, trapped in New York City, doing the same thing and working with the same people day in and day out, you can’t help but miss wildlife photography. It's like a persistent ache below your breast bone, something calling you back to the life you lived before. You're missing traveling in arid deserts and verdant forests even more now. And then the US Navy came calling. Now, while you miss the wilderness, you think you might just miss something else, more.

It’s late, half-past three in the early hours of the morning, and you’re sitting out on the balcony attached to your overpriced shoebox of an apartment. You’ve found yourself sitting out here more and more as the summer heat turns into the cool of fall. Your balcony is so small there’s only room for a single chair, and your feet are propped up on the wrought iron railing. New York’s the city which never sleeps and the crackle and groan of the city resonates around you. Your oldest camera, a Canon you bought in college with the pennies and dollars you’d saved from tips earned from waitressing, sits on your lap. All night, you’ve been trying and failing to chase away how unsettled you’ve been feeling by peering through the viewfinder and trying to see things from a different perspective. 

But it hasn’t worked. You've been feeling discomfited of late, unsettled and restless. Maybe your listlessness has something to do with your next assignment. You can’t lie, not even to yourself no matter how hard you try. It has everything to do with your next assignment. You should be excited. You should be asleep, because at least if you were asleep, the time would pass sooner. For once, you will not be photographing a new designer collection. In the morning, you're flying to San Diego to take pictures at North Island Naval Base for a follow-up piece sanctioned by the US Navy. Your team is joining you, which should be a comfort, albeit slight and slim. There will be more planes to photograph and possibly shots you can take from within the cockpit or from up in the air.

It took three months to publish the article on the US Navy’s newest hotshot aviation squadron. There had been countless revisions and rounds of approval with the US Navy's Office of Public Relations to greenlight the endeavor. It's been exactly the same amount of time since you met the Dagger Squadron, too - only three months after you edited the photographs, focusing maybe a little too much on one face in particular. Three months after you took the biggest risk of your life, professionally and personally. Three months after you made a sex tape with a client. It doesn’t help that he was a memorable client, too - and how you haven’t been able to forget him.

It's only been two weeks since the magazine hit newsstands with your picture of the Daggers in all their finery near one of the jets on the front cover. Everywhere you go, it seems you see their faces - his face. Your phone has been ringing off the hook ever since. Everyone wants you to take professional portraits of their clients. But your phone has never had the voice you so desperately want to hear on the other end of the line. It's a nationally distributed magazine, after all, and like everything nowadays, published both physically and digitally. The magazine had also mailed special copies to each member of the squadron which was your subject. So he has to have seen it. So why hasn't he called? It's the one question on your mind. It may be the only question on your mind, but it's far from the only thought in your mind. 

Chances are, he doesn’t want to talk to you at all. After all, why would he want to?

You couldn't silence the thoughts if you tried - and you have tried, repeatedly. Getting drunk made you maudlin, going out had you seeing his face in every stranger’s and getting laid had made you wish you were with him rather than anyone else. Over and over again you’ve found yourself thinking about those last few moments with him, agonizing over every detail, from the kisses and touches to the last time you saw him. Maybe you hadn’t been entirely clear in your note to him. You can recall the note as if you wrote it yesterday, the note you'd affixed to the flash drive you handed him.

Sure, you told him to call you when he was in New York next. But really, you wanted him to call you, period. Or text you. Something, anything to show you’re lingering in his memory in the same way he lingers in yours. You thought your dalliance had been memorable enough. You hoped you were memorable enough. After all, it's not every day you let a man fuck you up against his jet and record it, forget a man you’ve known only for a few days. Maybe it’s a little silly how attached you’ve gotten to him, given the short time frame, after what should have been completely meaningless sex. 

But it’s not meaningless anymore, at least not to you, after how many times you've seen the video since you last saw him. Your camera hadn’t hidden a single thing when you made your little home movie all those nights ago. You’ve seen how his hands had been gentle, his eyes soft. Your entire countenance had been beckoning, beguiling in the throes of passion, needy in a way you’ve never let yourself be before with anyone else. He’s also spoiled you for any other man on the planet - or at least in New York. You haven’t hit the same heights since him, and a part of you is sure you never will again. And now you have to enter the lion’s den, venture right into enemy territory with your head held high and only a camera to shield your too-hungry gaze.

A thump on the railing drags you out of your reverie. Your neighbor’s escape-artist black cat makes himself at home on the railing, paws flexing as his tail lashes through the humid night air. Like you’re in a dream, you lift up the camera and peer through the viewfinder. Tonight, everything seems to be coming back to lens flares. The neon lights fracture in your camera lens, softening the visage of the cat on the railing, green eyes luminescent. With reflexes born of years of wildlife photography, partially stunted after nearly a year of fashion photography, you depress the shutter with a soft snick and a near-silent whir. What you’re left with is a long exposed image - neon lights blurring in the background as one shines behind the cat’s head. Even his fur is blurred, only green eyes in focus, piercing into your soul. It’s perfect, as expected, and you hope it’s an omen for the days to come while you’re in San Diego.

Green eyes, different from those of your neighbor’s cat, haunt you, even more, the following day as you pile out of one of the minivans the studio rented for you and your team, as well as all of your equipment, on the tarmac at North Island. The humid, sticky air stinks of jet fuel and salt water. The wind brushes past you, snatching at your hair and ripping your sun hat right off your head. It's hot as it brushes by, providing no relief to the insistent heat.

Your team just laughs as you chase, bedraggled and exhausted, after your hat. The wind pushes you towards the hangars at the end of the tarmac, colossal doors thrown open while rows of jets stand gleaming. For the first time, you think you understand why Jake is so in love with being up in the air in his jet, how close to the elements he must be with adrenaline coursing through his system. You raise the camera resting against your chest, leaving your hat to fly where it wants, because you have to capture this.

When your camera focuses, you start snapping with abandon, capturing the sun-drenched metal and heat waves rising off of the pavement.  You’re not sure what pictures the editors will select to go with the article the journalist is going to write. Regardless, you’re stealing the time to take some filler shots now, when it’s bright out still, and blindingly golden outside. Your team is far behind you, still clustered by the cars, as you trail between the shining metal hawks, cockpits closed and emblazoned with names and callsigns. Your heart stutters in your chest when you see his jet, the text dark and fresh, announcing he’s been promoted. So, he's still operating out of Naval Air Station North Island. 

Faintly, you can hear voices emanating from one of the open hangars, so you creep closer, your old Canon camera clutched to your chest like it can protect you. Twenty-four of the US Navy's best aviators are saturated in gold, settled in creaking plastic chairs. Jake’s at the podium, laser pointer in hand, completely relaxed as he talks about things you couldn’t understand if you tried. The light glints across his face, catching angelically on the burnished strands of his hair. A singular fluffy lock has broken free of his hair gel’s hold, trailing softly across his forehead. It makes your fingers ache to push it back into place. But you can’t, because you won’t interrupt or embarrass him. So you take pictures instead, breathlessly, silently, framing the aviators limned in gold like they’re deities waiting to go to war.

You’re not sure when it happens, but he sees you - bright green eyes colliding with yours, a nearly imperceptible frown creasing his brow before the skin smooths. He doesn’t look happy to see you. In a way, it makes sense. You were just a one-night stand, something sexy to indulge in - not someone he'd want to keep forever. The look lances through you, skewering you in place as the wind and sun stick your blouse to your back. He doesn’t acknowledge you but for one curiously blank look, and you’re mortified as you walk silently back to your crew, who are now grouped around the jets in awe.

As expected, Adam and Lea, your stylists extraordinaire, are already scribbling away. Lea's flicking through the tablet in her hands. If you were a betting woman, you'd bet good money they are already planning outfits to take advantage of the blue, gold and white theme of North Island.

“Hey, Boss!” Amy, your assistant, is nearly bouncing in place with her excitement. You're not sure how she's so energetic despite the heat and the hours of travel. “Our liaison should be joining us soon. They'll give us a tour of the base and then show us where we'll be setting up shop this week.”

She doesn’t notice how frozen your smile feels and how mechanic your nods are. All you can think about is Jake. He must have known, right? What are the chances he didn’t know you were coming to North Island to take more pictures? There must have been some briefing or notice informing the aviators why you're here. After all, you’re here to photograph the Dagger Squadron. Then why was his face so blank when he saw you earlier? Thinking about him is driving you crazy, but you're not sure you can stop. All you want is to know whether he could ever feel as strongly for you as you do for him.

When your liaison walks up ten minutes later, you’re pleasantly surprised to see you have not one liaison, but two. Neither of your Navy appointed liaisons is Jake, something which you should have expected, but you were still hoping for regardless. Lieutenant Commanders Trace and Floyd are smiling from ear-to-ear as they greet your team by name. Lea and Katie seem especially enthused at seeing the soft-spoken bespectacled WSO again. Lieutenant Commander Trace is her same unflappable, cool, collected self. Her presence and dry sense of humor has you in stitches as you and your team follow behind her like a herd of ducklings. There are familiar faces around what seems like every corner of the base. But none of the faces are the face you still want to see so desperately.

Jake Seresin shows up again as you’re oooh-ing and ahh-ing over the big hanger, burnished yellow, orange, red and pink in the light of the sun. You’ve got your camera up to your face, lips pursed in concentration, eyes squinting as you peer myopically through the viewfinder. It's his voice you hear first. Just hearing it, with the same rough timber, makes you remember what he told you, before you fell into his arms and headfirst into this situation with Jake Seresin.

God, baby. You killed me this morning. Wearing that pretty little skirt and those high heels. I wanted to bend you over and fuck you until you were leaking my cum.

It’s not a good sign, is it? How you’re unable to even look at his face without giving yourself away. The evidence of your feelings must be on your face, which feels uncomfortably hot. The heat is completely unrelated to San Diego's sky-high temperature and you shy away from eye-contact when you pivot and face the rest of your team, and the trio of Lieutenant Commanders. The sight of him hits you in your solar plexus, robbing your breath and leaving your palms uncomfortably clammy.

“Hi.” 

It’s a quiet greeting, your voice swallowed by the sight of him. It feels like your tongue is two times bigger than it should be in your mouth, unwieldy as you force it to move like you want it to. He doesn’t hear you, or even acknowledge you standing there waiting for him to notice you. Standing there, you finally realize how big a gulf there is between you and Lieutenant Commander Jake Seresin.

It's a sharp contrast. He's standing there in his khaki uniform crisp and new, blond hair dark at his temples from the shower he must have taken. In contrast, your shirt is covered in wrinkles, your hair is frizzy with flyaways escaping your braid and your worn jeans are butter soft but have definitely seen better days. He ignores you for the rest of the afternoon. It hurts, of course it does, when he doesn’t notice you in the same way you notice him. But you have a job to do. You can’t - you won’t - jeopardize your career for a man, not even a man as beautiful as he is.

The now-trio of Lieutenant Commanders shows you the Officer’s ready room, where you'll be setting up for the interviews. Each member of your team is also given a badge on a lanyard allowing you limited access to certain areas of base. Soon enough, you're left to survey the ready room and prepare your team for the days ahead.

“I know it's been a long day already for you all.” Your smile is a little wry as you continue, “It's been a long day for me too. All I want is to unwind and get out of these heels!”

You let the scattered chuckles from your team peter out before continuing.

“Before I can do so, we need to sync up on what we're going to be focusing on over the next few days.”

“First and foremost on our list? Getting pictures of the Daggers while they are being interviewed. The interviewer is an old friend of Admiral Kazansky's and will be spotlighting each of the Daggers. As a part of the interview, we will be expected to get photos of each member of the squadron in their flight suits, their khaki uniforms and their dress uniforms.”

You raise your hands up to stall any questions. “I'm aware this isn't exactly the type of photo shoot we're used to. Katie, you’ll be on hand to help with their make-up during the interview. We're keeping it light and subtle. For the interview photos, we want the aviator's uniforms and medals to shine.” 

“Seb and Kris - the two of you will be measuring the light levels in this room during various times of day and setting up artificial studio lights as necessary. I'll also need you both to check on the lighting situation in the big hangar we were in with the desks and the United States flag on the wall.”

“Adam and Lea, it may not sound like it yet, but I will need you both on your A-games. By special request of Admiral Mitchell, we've been asked to stage a beach bonfire. He wants this interview to echo the beginnings of this squadron. They became a team on the beach and now they are a family. I'm thinking we need cozy textiles and bright winter-toned colors. I'll leave the color palette to you both. All I ask is we have a cohesive palette for the squadron as a whole. As always, measurements for the aviators are included in this dossier. One of the minivans is yours. Our office in San Diego knows to expect you both.”

It doesn’t surprise you at all when Adam and Lea make a beeline for the doors as soon as you’re done with them. You’ve worked with them both long enough to know how they operate. They’ll be downtown and looking through the clothing on display before you can blink.

“Ames, while I run point with the admirals,  you'll be sourcing the beachfront we can use for the bonfire. I'm not sure who you'll need permission from, but there might be a bar owner who can give us permission.”

Before long, it feels like you're the only island of calm in the entirety of base. Seb and Kris wander in and out of the room, measuring the light and carting in and out lighting equipment. Even the teleconference you have with the Admirals, both of whom are in Hawaii, due to fly back in a couple of days, goes smoothly.

Over the next few days, you find yourself building on the rapport you created with 6 of the aviators in the Dagger squad in the following days. You also meet the other half of the Dagger Squad. But at the same time you are building a relationship with the other Daggers, it feels like you're losing the relationship you once had with Jake.

The only time you see him during the four days of interviews and pictures is when he is being interviewed. Even then, he spends more time chatting with Amy and Katie than you. Even when you address him directly, he's silent, content to play puppet to your puppet master and then disappearing to an area off base you don't have access to. It hurts, and you’re starting to get weird looks from the other Daggers. They’re all too polite, or too cognizant of their positions in the Navy to ask you any prying questions. At least, until the bonfire.

It hadn’t been difficult to organize at all, in the end. All Amy needed to do was speak to the proprietress of The Hard Deck, a little bar a few miles off base. Penny had been more than happy to hand over the usage of the beach outside her bar for the night. The combination of good food, even better alcohol, and of course, no interviews relaxed the Daggers enough for you to get the candid shots the magazine was looking for. Halos of light spark across your screen with each snap you take - lens flares sparking to life, again and again.

“Why aren’t you hanging out with Jake?”

The question makes you jump and nearly chuck your lens cap into the bonfire. You fumble awkwardly as you try to collect your composure.

“Lieutenant Commander Trace. What can I do for you?”

Your voice is a little shaky as you wheel around and face her.

“You don’t have to do anything for me!” She’s smiling at your discomfort, something wicked curling her lips. “And anyways, didn’t I tell you to call me Natasha three months ago?”

 You’re smiling despite yourself at her antics.

“It’s good to see you again, Natasha.”

“Forget about me. Why aren’t you talking to Jake?” 

You should have known she wouldn’t be able to let it go.

“Three months ago, you could barely keep your eyes off of him and the same was true of him. He went out of his way to chat you up every chance he got. And now? Something happened between the two of you after we all left the hangar, and now neither of you is talking. You were fine when you showed us the pictures the next day. But now?”

You shrug, lifting your camera up to snap another couple of pictures of the squadron having fun.

“Oh my god. I can’t with the two of you. Either you walk over there and talk to him, or I’m going to get him to talk to you!”

You grab her arm before she can march away.

“I can’t, Natasha.”

You try grabbing for her, but before you can, she’s already gone. His eyes cut over to yours the more she speaks, and you’re not sure you like the way he’s glancing over at you. Your heart is in your throat as he skirts around the bonfire and sidles up to you.

“What are you doing here? Natasha has this crazy idea you’re heads over heels for me, but the way you’ve been acting says differently. So what are you doing here?”

His voice is so quiet you can barely hear it over the crackling bonfire. His face doesn’t change its expression once the entire time he’s speaking to you, barring one tiny, blink-and-you-miss-it smirk. Once again, you have to thank Adam and Lea for their work because the Lieutenant Commander looks good enough to eat in his sweater and butter-soft jeans. But you know he's not happy to see you. The disappearing act he's been pulling ever since he saw you outside the hangar four days ago is proof.

“You know what I’m doing here, Jake.” 

“You're taking photos for another article. I know, I know.”

His smirk deepens, eyes twinkling maddeningly as he prowls closer to you.

“But between you and me, it’s just the official excuse, isn't it?” He tugs at a strand of your hair, reeling you closer to him. “But unofficially, I bet you want more of me. Maybe you want to make yourself another home movie? See my handprint on your ass cheeks again?”

His words have heat rising to your face, never mind how your skin already feels too toasty from how you've been huddling near the bonfire all night to keep yourself warm. Form-fitting dresses are not beachwear, especially not in late November. But you’re dressing to impress, wearing sharp blazers and business frocks. Add to the dress the camera and purse you’ve got over your shoulder, and you’re definitely not equipped for the beach.

“How do you know what I want?”

Your voice is thready and light, and your head spins the closer he gets to you. It's weird. You've been aching to have him this close to you all week, but now, when he is actually close to you again, you feel like it's too much, like he's too much. Every night in your hotel room, you've been coaching yourself to ignore him. You’ve had to in order to compartmentalize and be professional while on base. Yet, after only a few minutes in his presence, all your defenses are shredded like tissue paper.

“Because you're looking at me like this.”

Wafts of fragrant wood smoke drift by you and him as you stand mere inches away from each other. You can’t refute his statement. Not even a little bit, not even at all. You've never been able to mask your emotions, wearing your heart on your sleeve and your feelings in the pursed set of your mouth and the raise of your eyebrows. But you’re still not sure what you can say. If he’d propositioned you with the same vulnerable look in his eyes the first day you were in North Island, when he first saw you again, you would have folded like a cheap lawn chair. Then, you probably would have been more than content to pass on your expensive hotel room and make his lonely base apartment a little warmer. But he didn’t, and you’re not sure you can take the risk anymore.

Jake’s shoulders hunch, sinking into the impossibly soft cashmere of the sweater at your lack of response.

“I…” His smirk flattens, something like his Hangman mask taking its place. His shoulders never drop past his ears the longer you stand there with him at arm’s reach and pretend like you’re having a blast at this beach photoshoot turned bonfire party.

“I’ve read this all wrong, haven’t I?”

His sigh is gusty and almost too loud. “I was waiting for you to say something, because I’ve been dying to see you again. But then you ran away when you were taking pictures of the Top Gun class. Afterward, I - I didn’t know how to say I missed you, which is weird, I know. We only knew each other for a singular night.”

If your jaw isn’t on the floor already, you know it will be soon. Already, you’ve been getting too many questioning glances from your team and the Dagger Squadron. Then there is Natasha’s well-meaning meddling from a few minutes ago. Even the admirals have glanced over every once in a while at you and the normally cocky Lieutenant Commander standing in near silence. It’s not a conscious thought which has you whirling around in the silky sand and snagging a hand into his sleeve. You’re not sure why you’re doing it. All you know is if you’re having this out now, you need to have it out in private where it will not be injurious to your career or his.

Thankfully, Jake doesn't fight you as you pull him towards a corner of the parking lot. Your face feels flushed, and your chest heaves with panic at the thought someone could know what you and Jake did.

“I…” 

You cover his mouth with your hand, pretending the feeling of his skin on your hands doesn't burn, like you’re not completely aware of the masculine heat emanating from his skin. For several long moments, you stand in the shadows between two pick-up trucks in the parking lot. Each of your muscles is tense, waiting for someone to realize you've disappeared with Jake Seresin, of all people. You don’t want to think about the possibilities they were assuming. The prickling, uneasy sensation doesn't pass with the moments but does fade a little.

“What was that about, huh?”

You just glare in response.

“I thought it was better to have this conversation where we were less likely to be overheard, is all.” 

Your voice is prim, and your nose is tipped upward. It's obvious Jake doesn't feel the same way you do about this conversation, if he’s asking you questions like this.

“C'mon, sugar. If you wanted to let me down, you could have just said it by the bonfire. I promise I won't harass you.” His brow is furrowed as he thinks through all the implications of your statement. “Then or now.”

“I…” You fling your hands upwards, feeling this sudden urge to rage at the stars above you. How have things gotten so twisted? In your head and between you and Jake? 

“I don't want to let you down, Jake.”

You growl, then, because you know what you feel, but the words aren't coming out of your mouth the right way. He's patiently waiting for you to figure it out, lips pressed into a thin line, and green eyes scorching through you.

“I’m not rejecting you, Jake. When I came to North Island Naval Base and saw you standing in front of the lectern, I wanted you to smile when you saw me. I wanted some indication you felt the same way I did. I also wanted to kiss you, but it wouldn’t have helped then.”

You're smiling again, just a slight curve to your lips, a smile Jake is mirroring.

“Then you pretended I didn't exist. You pretended I was just someone you worked with before. Not someone who you were intimate with. Not someone whose life you changed with your stupid smile and your piercing eyes and your big, gentle hands. I…” 

To your embarrassment, you're sniffling and fighting back tears. “I didn't know why, or how to deal with it, so I just pushed back all my feelings. I pretended the same thing you did, and tried to ignore how much it hurt.”

“Fuck.” The quiet expletive echoes around you. “I messed this up, didn't I?”

He's pacing now, back and forth in front of you, shoes sliding through the gravel as he marches. He's ruffling his hair, face scrunched up in anguish at your words.

“I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. I've watched our video so many times, I know my favorite parts. Fuck, sweetheart, I even took the picture of your ass with my handprints on it with me when we were deployed a month ago. I was nearly given so many demerits because of how hot that picture is.”

Your heart seems like it’s going to burst out of your chest, beating as hard as it is. 

“So why didn’t you call?” The same plaintive, sad tone is in your voice again.

“What could I have said?” He’s finally stopped pacing back and forth at least. He flings his hands out from his hips “Sweetheart, I want you, I need you. I wish I could fly to New York right now to taste you again?”

You have to snicker at the sarcastic, sardonic note in his voice. 

“It’s a little melodramatic, but I would have taken it.” 

Just as quickly as you snicker, the laugh peters away into a gentle sigh. “All you had to do was tell me you missed me, Jake. All I wanted was for you to tell me you wanted to see me again.”

“Would it have mattered if I did?” 

He’s stepped closer again, close enough you can feel the heat of his skin against yours. One of his big hands cradles your jaw as he looms over you.

“I asked you a question, pretty girl.” There’s a smirk on his face as he ghosts his lips over yours.

“Why would my answer matter then?” You’re not sure where the sass is coming from, but it’s making Jake smirk even more. “Knowing the decision you made?”

Thankfully, you don’t have to think of a response with a brain wholly occupied by the man drawing you into his arms. You melt into the kiss like it's something visceral you've been missing. His hair still feels the same against the pads of your fingers, golden silk, as you wrap your arms around his neck. He still tastes like you remember, too, cinnamon and smoky spice intermingling on your tongue as he licks into your mouth. Your heart sings when he gently positions your camera so it isn’t crushed between the two of you.

You whimper when he pulls away, chasing after his mouth like you're addicted to it. He still kisses like he flies, you note dimly, thoughts far away. The car at your back is cool, the metal searing into your skin as the sun has long since set. But the cold temperature of the car has nothing on the man crowding you up against it. His eyes are lidded, gaze hot as he takes in the sight of you. The dual temperatures are enough to make you shudder.

“Look at you, darling.” His hands are just as hot as his gaze as he trails his hands down your sides. “A single kiss, and you’re aching for me.”

You can’t deny the effects this man has on you. In truth, the time for denial would have been some time before you made the movie at the hangar. You’re so far down this path there isn’t a way to turn back. 

“You want me just as much.” 

Your voice is quieter than the rush of the waves, yet loud enough you can see the impact as they hit his ears. He’s still just as fit as he was three months ago, all hard, hot muscle as he presses up against you, cedar and plum wafting through the air off his skin. You can feel the jut of him against your hip as he muscles you even further against the car, spreading you out like a meal he wants to eat. He transfixes you with a glare when he pulls away, even as he smirks at your breathy moan. You watch, eyes lidded, as he opens the truck door and sets your things on the broad seat. You’re panting with need when he comes back to you, body shivering as he leans into you again. His hands find their home against the curve of your waist, fingers still nimble as they focus on tracing your curves in a way which might be driving you just a little mad. You almost wish you were wearing a blouse and skirt again like last time, because at least then you could feel his hands spread across your ribcage, searing their heat into your bones.

You’re lost in him, utterly captivated by the way his tongue tangles with yours, the way he makes you moan. Unlike the rough, claiming kisses of your first sexual encounter with Jake Seresin, these kisses are tender and sweet. They’re searching and tasting, like he’s trying to learn what makes you tick and what makes you moan. In truth, it feels like he’s trying to take you apart only to put you together again. This time, you’re not sure you’ll ever be the same, forever changed by the man in your arms. 

“Fuck…” The word is an exhale pressed to your pulse-point, sticky, sweet, and blindingly hot. “Baby, let me take you somewhere other than this dusty, dirty parking lot. I think I really need to see you spread out on my bed this time.”

“Yes, please.” The words leave you in a strung out moan as you tug him closer, fisting your hands in his hair and sweater as you see fit. You’re past caring so long as he’s pressed so perfectly against you.

When he finally steps back from you, you’re gratified to see he looks just as rumpled and debauched as you feel. For a few moments, you stand there, drinking him in, hands aching to draw him close again, to touch him again. He takes your hand, entwining his fingers and yours. His hand dwarfs yours, skin slightly rough as his hand cradles yours. You let him lead you to the truck and help you in, because a part of you isn’t sure you’re going to be able to let him go even when you have to.

It’s silent, but for the sounds of the road as he starts his pickup, one hand never leaving its spot on your thigh. Your hands find the camera again, snapping with abandon the vista blurring past the windows and the man driving you. The streetlights halo through the lens view, speckling the pictures with circles of golden-butter light. It seems like time slips past in a slow trickle. You’re still looking through the camera when the engine cuts off, the sounds of the night trickling slowly back into your ears.

Jake’s eyes sear through you when you carefully gather your camera and bag up, legs shaky from that look alone as you step onto the pavement. His hand finds yours again, as you follow his broad back up a flight of stairs and through an unassuming white paneled front door. You’re surrounded by the cedar and plum of his cologne as you step in, the scent lightly drifting through the air. Jake crowds you against the door as soon as it closes, hands divesting you of your things even as his mouth slants over yours again. The heat sparking between you ignites again, a flame bursting to life in your chest, fed by the soft moans leaving his lips as you kiss him with wild abandon.

For much of the way to his bed, your eyes are closed. You trust Jake to lead you the right way, not to hurt you as you stumble and shudder your way through the apartment in his arms. His lips don’t leave yours once, moans ripping out of your mouth as he leaves you breathless. He’s far from quiet too, softly grunting when you tug on the hair at the nape of his neck, gasping open mouthed into yours as you rub at his bulge. Arousal bubbles in your veins, crashing over and through you. You squeal when he pushes you onto his bed, the mattress so firm it's almost hard as you bounce against it. Your hands shake as you fight with your clothes. Adrenalin makes you clumsy as you nudge your shoes off and fight futilely with the zipper at your back. Eventually you give up, choosing to lean back on your palms. When you look up, Jake’s staring down at you, eyes trailing from the curve of your mostly exposed legs up to your chest and back down again. He’s got his lower lips between his teeth, brow furrowed as he shrugs the sweater off.

Once again, you remind yourself to thank Lea for her work, because if you thought the shirt looked good buttoned up, it looks even better as it slips off his arms. He’s still wearing his dog tags, the silver chain glinting in the moonlight through the windows as he prowls over you.

“You’re still prettier than the pictures you take, baby.”

You feel like you are barely breathing as Jake licks into your mouth. The heat of his body grounds you, the points of contact just enough to tell you this is real.

“Breathe, beautiful.” His hands draw you up until you’re kneeling on the bed, your hands on his shoulders as you peer up into his eyes. Your resulting exhale is shaky as you drag in breaths with just enough oxygen to keep your head from spinning.

“Let’s get you out of this pretty dress, huh?”

“Jake.” His name falls out of your mouth like a prayer. His hands are practiced, sure as they drag the zipper down from the nape of your neck to the base of your spine. The fabric of your dress gapes forward until it’s around your waist.

Jake's eyes seem to glow in the moonlight as he takes in the simple black bra you're wearing, hands tender and hot as they drag over your bare skin, mouth wet and sharp as he drags his teeth across your collar bones.

“Mmm, baby.” His moan has you gasping, your body listing into his as he purrs the words into your skin. “I'm going to make you feel so good.”

When he lets go of you, your nipples are firm peaks in the cool air. When he removed your bra, you're not sure. All you know is you want him, desperately, urgently. Your panties feel like too much material as they cling to you, the gusset damp. Your hands are clumsy as you wrench the dress off, shaking as you peel your panties away from your skin, you flush as Jake's chuckles echo in your ears.

Divested of your clothes, you're faced with one of the prettiest sights of your life. Because, Jake’s standing there, with his belt unbuckled, and the jeans unbuttoned. His cock bulges out through the v-shaped opening, and your mouth waters as you look him over.

“God, Jake, please.” Your voice is a whine as you reach for him, fingers resting against his taut abdomen, back arched as you wait on all fours.

“I’ve got you baby.” 

His promises drip over your bare skin like hot and gentle summer rain. Your eyes close as he cups your jaw, the rustle of fabric foretelling his bare skin joining yours on the bed. You let him position you where he wants, drugged by the sensations of his big hands. You steal the opportunity to kiss him again, palms splayed over his pecs, and the cool chain of his dog tags brushing against your fingers. Falling into him is too easy. It’s just a series of kisses, a sweet tangle of tongues as you let him cradle you in his arms. Sparks of need, of want traverse your moon-stained skin, hips canting against his thigh in need.

“How long has it been since you’ve cum, sweetheart?” 

There’s amusement in his tone as you wrap your arms around his neck, breasts pillowed against his chest as you nudge his nose with your own.

“Just a couple of days ago.”

His chuckle makes you pout. 

“And how did you cum?”

He rolls you over, ghosting a kiss over your lips as he peers down at you. “Was it some guy you brought home? Who didn’t know how to make these pretty moans spill out of your mouth? Did he make you think of me the whole time?”

When you moan, it’s because he’s pressing into you, the stretch of him making your toes curl.

“N-no.” You screw your eyes up, trying to string the words together. “It was just me. With a vibrator, watching our video.”

“Fuck, there’s my good girl. Waiting for your Lieutenant Commander to make you scream, right?”

You’re so far beyond words all you can do is tug him down, fisting your hand in his hair until you can kiss him again. He’s just as eager to pull you in, hitching your legs up until they’re propped over his arms, keeping you spread open as he pistons his hips until you see stars. 

“Please, please, please.” 

You’re babbling, your orgasm crashing over you with each sharp thrust. Your moans intertwine with Jake’s guttural grunts as his hips stutter at their steady pace. It feels like you’ve been set on fire when you cum, pulsing waves of heat washing over your body. Jake’s shivering as he slumps over you, blanketing your body with his. His hair is sweat-damp as you card your fingers through the fluffy strands.

“Missed you, Jay.” 

“Missed you too, sweetheart.” The words are languid and soft, syrupy and sweet. 

It feels like you could fall in love with Lieutenant Commander Jake Seresin as he gathers you in his arms for what must be the hundredth time tonight to clean you up. Every glimpse of the man you see when he's not putting on his Hangman mask intrigues you more. There's a gentleness to him when he's like this, a secret softness shining past his imposing exterior. You want to know more. You have to know more. 

The realization of how little time you have left with Jake eviscerates you. Only two days left. Two days to love this man as much as you can. You can’t tell him how close you are to falling for him. Looking at his apartment, you have a feeling it would just scare him away. His apartment is almost austere, the off-white walls blending into the pale cream carpet on the floor. Everything is bare, with no pictures on the walls and no personality. It’s a trend throughout the entire space, everywhere but the bedroom. There's a cheery quilt at the foot of the bed. It's the only vibrant color in the apartment, the one thing which screams home.

“It's pathetic, isn't it?”  You jump at his words, gripping at the footboard of the bed in an effort to keep from falling.

“It's not pathetic, Jay. Just…” You turn, clad in the soft tee he'd pulled over you after the shower. “Just different than I expected.”

“I know what it looks like, sweetheart.” The same sad soft tone is in his voice again. “It looks like I don’t have any roots. Like I’m scared to let people in.”

He slides his arms around your waist, pressing a kiss on your shoulder, his golden hair dripping as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. “Maybe that is the truth.” 

Your heart breaks a little at the soft surety in his voice, even as he does his best impression of a koala around you.

“Because like it or not, I’m going to leave one day. I’ll have to leave one day. Another deployment. Another mission. And chances are, I may not be coming home.”

You clutch at him tighter, because right now, you’re not sure you can think about him not being in San Diego the next time you’re here.

“I was okay with my reality.”

When you wrestle your way out of his grip, you’re maybe a little too rough, evidenced by the grimace on his face as you walk away. You’re not sure where you’re going but away has to be enough. You’re not sure you can face him after he’s said something like this. After all, here you are, ready to risk it all in a sultry cross-country romance, ready to give your heart to him, possibly years of your life to him. Then there he is, admitting so callously he might not be coming home one day.

You’re staring unseeingly at the stars when he slides his arms around you again.

“Are you okay, Shutterbug?” 

You lean back into him, because he feels perfect against you still.

“Shutterbug is new.” You’re trying to change the subject, because if he’s insistent about it, you’re going to explode.

“Nuh-uh.” His hands turn you around until you’re looking at him again. “Tell me what’s bothering you, pretty girl.”

“You’re so callous about how you’re ready to never come home again! Why would you say that to me, Jake? I’m ready to risk everything for you. A cross-country relationship, half here, half in New York or really, wherever it’s convenient for us to meet. If you’re not willing to do the same, then what is the point of what we just did?”

You’re choking back a sob as you stand in front of him. Your eyes are screwed closed, hands wringing the hem of the t-shirt clothing you. 

“Why does it matter that you missed me, and that I missed you?”

“It matters, because, sweetheart, you didn’t let me finish what I was going to say.”

Your arms wrap around his waist easily as he tugs you closer.

“I was going to say, I was okay never coming home before you. You’ve been running around in my head, the center of every thought, the subject of my every dream for three months. You kept me going when we were deployed, too. All I wanted was to come home safe so I could fly out to New York and see you again.”

“Now, at least I know I’ll be welcome when I come by.”

You’re smiling from ear to ear as you kiss the underside of his jaw.

“Yeah, you will be.”

You're still smiling as you walk into the Officer's Ready Room at North Island the next morning. You've got the same swagger you had in your step the first time you and Jake crashed together. Only this time, you have his phone number on your phone and the promise of a romantic dinner for two tonight. You'd be lying if you said you weren't still worried about the long distance relationship, spending half your life in New York and half here. But more than anything, you're ready for the challenge and excited to. At least you know who you're going home to - and, he knows who he is coming home to, as well.

Taglist:

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I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN ON AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR ON TUMBLR BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR TUMBLR, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

[theladyregret]

Drow Name Tables

Something I did as a special favor to @kimmurielsscryingmirror (@eldritchmist ) who showed interest. Because it’s...pretty big I decided to make it into it’s own post.

These are a few Drow naming tables that were originally found in an issue of Dragon Magazine. It’s two d100 tables of prefixes and suffixes commonly used in first names. The second couple of tables is a list of common house name prefixes and suffixes.

EDIT: Just a little something for those who care which I didn’t add before because it took me so long to finish the transcription I just wanted to post it lol. The gender difference is noted in the related Dragon Magazine article as being significant. Non Drow may not notice but a Drow will notice the difference. Female names sometimes borrow parts that are normally only considered male and this is considered fine...but a male with a name that borrows a typically only female part would be seen as extremely taboo.

Prefix (Female/Male) - Meaning

Akor/Alak                 beloved, best, first

Alaun/Alton             lightning, powerful

Aly/Kel                     legendary, singing, song

Ang/Adin                  beast, monstrous, savage

Ardul/Amal               blessed, divine, godly

Aun/Ant                   crypt, dead, deadly, death

Bae/Bar                      fate, fated, luck, lucky

Bal/Bel                       burned, burning, fire, flame

Belar/Bruh                 arrow, lance, piercing

Briz/Berg                    graceful, fluid, like water

Bur/Bhin                     craft, crafty, sly

Chal/Chasz                earth, stable

Char/Kron                  sick, venom, venomed

Chess/Cal                  noble, lady/lord

Dhaun                          infested, plague

Dil/Dur                         cold, ice, still

Dirz/Div                       dream, dreaming, fantasy

Dris/Riz                        ash, dawn, east, eastern

Eclav/Elk                      chaos, mad, madness

Elvan/Kalan                 elf, elven, far, lost

Elv/Elaug                     drow, mage, power

Erel/Rhyl                      eye, moon, spy

Ethe/Erth                    mithril, resolute

Faer/Selds                   oath, sworn, vow

Felyn/Fil                       pale, thin, weak, white

Filf/Phar                     dwarf, dwarven, treacherous

Gauss/Orgoll              dread, fear, feared, vile

G'eld                              friend, spider  

Ghuan                           accursed, curse, unlucky

Gin/Din                         berserk, berserker, orc, wild

Grey/Gul                       ghost, pale, unliving

Hael/Hatch                   marked, trail, way

Hal/Sol                           deft, nimble, spider-like  

Houn/Rik                       magic, ring, staff

Iiv/Dip                             liege, war, warrior

Iim                                   life, living, spirit, soul

Illiam/Im                         devoted, heart, love

In/Sorn                           enchanted, spell

Ilph                                  emerald, green, lush, tree

Irae/Ilzt                           arcane, mystic, wizard

Irr/Izz                               hidden, mask, masked

Iym/Ist                            endless, immortal  

Jan/Duag                       shield, warded

Jhael/Gel                       ambitious, clan, kin, family

Jhul/Jar                         charmed, rune, symbol

Jys/Driz                         hard, steel, unyielding

Lael/Llt                           iron, west, western

Lar/Les                          binding, bound, law, lawful

LiNeer/Mourn            legend, legendary, mythical  

Lird/Ryld                   brand, branded, owned, slave

Lua/Lyme                       bright, crystal, light

Mal/Malag                     mystery, secret

May/Mas                         beautiful, beauty, silver

Micar                                lost, poison, widow

Min/Ran                           lesser, minor, second

Mol/Go                            blue, storm, thunder, wind

Myr/Nym                       lost, skeleton, skull

Nath/Mer                        doom, doomed, fate

Ned/Nad               cunning, genius, mind, thought

Nhil/Nal                 fear, gorrible, horror, outraged

Neer                                  core, root, strong

Null/Nil                             sad, tear, weeping

Olor/Omar                       skin, tattoo, tattooed

Pellan/Relon                    north, platiunum, wind

Phaer/Vorn                      honor, honored

Phyr/Phyx                        bless, blessed, blessing

Qualn/Quil                        mighty, ocean, sea

Quar                                   aged, eternal, time

Quav/Quev                        charmed, docile, friend

Qil/Quil                               foe, goblin, slave

Rauv/Welv                         cave, rock, stone

Ril/Ryl                                 foretold, omen

Sbat/Szor                           amber, yellow

Sab/Tsab                            abyss, empty, void  

Shi'n/Kren                          fool, foolish, young

Shri/Ssz                             silk, silent  

Shur/Shar                          dagger, edge, stiletto

Shynt                                 invisible, skilled, unseen

Sin/Szin                              festival, joy, pleasure

Ssap/Tath                          blue, midnight, night

Susp/Spir                           learned, skilled, wise

Talab/Tluth                        burn, burning, fire

Tal/Tar                         love, pain, wound, wounded

Triel/Taz                           bat, winged

T'riss/Teb                           blade, sharp, sword  

Ulvir/Uhls                           gold, golden, treasure

Umrae/Hurz                       faith, faithful, true

Vas/Vesz                            blood, bloody, flesh

Vic                                       abyss, deep, profound

Vier/Val                               black, dark, darkness

Vlon/Wod                           bold, hero, heroic

Waer/Wehl             deep, hidden, south, southern  

Wuyon/Wruz                      humble, third, trivial

Xull/Url                                 blooded, crimson, ruby

Xun                                       demon, fiend, fiendish

Yas/Yaz                       riddle, spinning, thread, web

Zar/Zakn                             dusk, haunted, shadow

Zebey/Zek                        dragon, lithe, rage, wyrm

Zes/Zsz                              ancient, elder, respected

Zilv/Vuz                             forgotten, old, unknown

Suffixes (Female/Male) - Meaning

a/agh                  breaker, destruction, end, omega

ace/as                                savant, scholar, wizard

ae/aun                             dance, dancer, life, player

aer/d                                    blood, blood of, heir

afae/afein                         bane, executioner, slayer

afay/aufein                        eyes, eyes of, seer

ala/launim                          healer, cleric

anna/erin                            advisor, counselor to

arra/atar                             queen/prince

aste                                      bearer, keeper, slaver

avin/aonar                           guardian, guard, shield

ayne/al                       lunatic, maniac, manic, rage

baste/gloth                         path, walker

breena/antar                   matriach/patriarch, ruler

bryn/lyn                               agent, assassin, killer

cice/roos                             born of, child, young  

cyrl/axle                               ally, companion, friend

da/daer                                illusionist, trickster

dia/drin                                rogue, stealer

diira/diirn                             initiate, sister/brother

dra/zar                                  lover, match, mate  

driira/driirn                         mother/father, teacher  

dril/dorl                                 knight, sword, warrior

e                                           servant, slave, vessel

eari/erd                                 giver, god, patron

eyl                                       archer, arrow, flight, flyer

ffyn/fein                               minstrel, singer, song

fryn              champion, victor, weapon, weapon of

iara/ica                                 baron, duke, lady/lord  

ice/eth                                 obsession, taker, taken  

idil/imar           alpha, beginning, creator of, maker

iira/inid                                 harbinger, herald

inidia                                     secret, wall, warder

inil/in                                     lady/lord, rider, steed

intra                               envoy, messenger, prophet

isstra/atlab               acolyte, apprentice, student

ithra/irahc                         dragon, serpent, wyrm

jra/gos                                 beast, biter, stinger

jss                                          scout, stalker

kacha/kah                            beauty, hair, style

kiira/raen                              apostle, disciple

lay/dyn                               flight, flyer, wing, wings

lara/aghar                         cynic, death, end, victim

lin                                         arm, armor, commander

lochar                                   messenger, spider

mice/myr           bone, bones, necromancer, witch  

mur'ss                                   shadow, spy, witness

na/nar                                 adept, ghost, spirit

nilee/olil                             corpse, disease, ravager

niss/nozz                           chance, gambler, game

nitra/net                              kicker, returned, risen

nolu                                 art, artist, expert, treasure

olin                                   ascension, love, lover, lust

onia/onim                           rod, staff, token, wand

oyss/omph                       binder, judge, law, prison

qualyn                                 ally, caller, kin

quarra/net                           horde, host, legion

quiri/oj                                  aura, cloak, hide, skin

ra/or                                     fool, game, prey, quarry

rae/rar                                   secret, seeker, quest

raema/orvir                         crafter, fist, hand

raena/olvir                            center, haven, home

riia/rak                       enchanter, mage, spellcaster

ril                                 bandit, enemy, raider, outlaw

riina/ree                     enchanter, mage, spellcaster

ryna/oyn                         follower, hired, mercenary

ryne/ryn                      blooded, elder, experienced

shalee/ral                 abjurer, gaze, watch, watcher

ssysn/rysn          artifact, dweomer, sorcerer, spell

stin/trin         clan, house, merchant, of the house

stra/tran                             spider, spinner, weaver

tana/ton                           darkness, lurker, prowler

thara/tar                             glyph, marker, rune

thrae/olg                          charmer, leader, seducer

tree/tel                         exile, loner, outcast, pariah

tyrr                    dagger, poison, poisoner, scorpion

ual/dan                                speed, strider

ue/dor                                  arm, artisan, fingers

uit/dar                                  breath, voice, word

une/diin                         diviner, fate, future, oracle

uque                              cavern, digger, mole, tunnel  

urra/dax                       nomad, renegade, wanderer

va/ven                             comrade, honor, honored

vayas                         forge, forger, hammer, smith

vyll punishment, scourge, whip, zealot  

vyrae/vyr                     mistress/master, overseer

wae/hrae                           heir, inheritor, princess

wiira/hriir                           seneschal of, steward

wyss/hrys                          best, creator, starter

xae/zaer                             orb, rank, ruler, sceptor

xena/zen                         cutter, gem, jewel, jeweler

xyra/zyr                             sage, teller

yl                                          drow, woman/man

ylene/yln         handmaiden/squire, maiden/youth

ymma/inyon                      drider, feet, foot, runner

ynda/yrd        captain, custodian, marshal, ranger  

ynrae/yraen                       heretic, rebel, riot, void

vrae                                   architect, founder, mason  

yrr                                         protector, rival, wielder

zyne/zt                                finder, hunter

House Name Prefixes - Meaning

Alean                        the noble line of

Ale                             traders in

Arab                          daughters of

Arken                        mages of

Auvry                        blood of the  

Baen                          blessed by

Barri                           spawn of

Cladd                         warriors from

Desp                          victors of

De                               champions of

Do'                              walkers in

Eils                              lands of

Everh                         the caverns of

Fre                              friends of

Gode                          clan of  

Helvi                          those above

Hla                              seers of

Hun'                           the sisterhood of

Ken                            sworn to

Kil                               people of

Mae                           raiders from  

Mel                            mothers of

My                              honored of

Noqu                         sacred to

Orly                            guild of

Ouss                           heirs to

Rilyn                           house of  

Teken'                        delvers in  

Tor                               mistresses of

Zau                              children of

House Name Suffixes - Meaning

afin                              the web

ana                               the night

ani                                the widow

ar                                   poison

arn                                fire

ate                                the way

ath                                the dragons

duis                              the whip

ervs                              the depths

ep                                  the underdark

ett                                 magic

ghym                            the forgotten ways

iryn                               history

lyl                                  the blade

mtor                             the abyss

ndar                              black hearts

neld                              the arcane

rae                                 fell powers

rahel                             the gods

rret                                the void

sek                                 adamantite

th                                    challenges

tlar                                 mysteries

t'tar                                victory

tyl                                   the pits

und                                 the spider's kiss

urden                             the darkness

val                                   silken weaver

viir                                  dominance

zynge                             the ruins

[blowflyfag]

ECW Magazine: February 2000

FLIGHT OF RAVEN

Raven returns to ECW roost and brood about life

By S. Connor

RAVEN RETURNED TO EXTREME CHAMPIONSHIP WRESTLING on Aug. 26 and shook the foundation of the promotion. At the first TNN taping at Elks Lodge in Queens, N.Y., he paired with longtime nemesis Tommy Dreamer and beat The Dudley Boyz to claim the ECW world tag team title. 

In the following interview, Raven talks about his days in World Championship Wrestling, his childhood and his motivation for returning to ECW.

A CHILLING CHILDHOOD

Q. WHAT KIND OF CHILDHOOD DID YOU HAVE?

A. A miserable one. No one liked me. I was very unpopular and I was staved for attention because my dad never told me he loved me. I was extremely outgoing, loud and obnoxious just to get any kind of attention.

[Raven pulls Rhino off Tommy Dreamer]

Q. DO YOU HAVE ANY BROTHERS OR SISTERS?

A. I have an older sister but she had mental problems of her own. In fact she has emotional problems that are bad enough that she gets disability from the government. She also has very poor health problems, but she’s a great person.

Q. WAS THERE ANYTHING YOU COULD HAVE DONE TO MAKE YOUR CHILDHOOD BETTER?

A. I probably could have stopped picking on her and abusing her. I was embarrassed by her problems and I took it our on her. It wasn’t her fault she was that way, which left me with even more guilt for being cruel to her because I thought she was embarrassing me. It just snowballed.

Q. DO YOU BLAME THESE PROBLEMS ON YOUR PARENTS’ LACK OF ATTENTION?

A. Yes, complete lack of attention. I also have a fragile brain chemistry to begin with. My sister is actually unipolar. She’s just depressed. I’m bipolar, I’m manic/depressive. I needed more attention than your basic kid to begin with but i got less than your average person so it was a double whammy. My parents were so wrapped up in my sister’s problems they didn’t give me any attention. I had problems just as bad as her but apparently I hid behind an armor that was thick enough and it was such a good act that nobody saw though it. But they should have seen through it. They are my parents. My I.Q. was 143 and they should have realized how special i was. If not special, then I should have been treated like any normal person. I often envied kids that at least got beat by their parents. If they got beat, at least they knew that their parents cared. Mine were indifferent. Indifference is the greatest cruelty of all. 

[Unlikely tag team: Tommy Dreamer and Raven]

ABOUT RINGMANSHIP

Q. HOW IMPORTANT ARE MICROPHONE SKILLS IN WRESTLING?

A. The greatest interviews in the history of the business were Mankind’s interviews as Cactus Jack in ECW. I don’t think anyone will ever cut promos better. Like a Seinfield episode, he went all over the place, but at the end the whole story came together in a neat little bundle. Cactus was always teaching you something. Austin is tremendous. In World Championship Wrestling, as far as charisma, I’m a big fan of Kannan. He is one of the most charismatic guys ever. Rey Mysterio Jr. is one of the greatest pure athletes I’ve ever seen in my life. In ECW, Axl Rotten is absolutely remarkable. Rotten can actuallt wrestle scientifically as smoothly and as well as anybody. If he dropped 30 pounds and Paul  Heyman [owner of ECW] have him a chance to really prove himself, all of a sudden you’d have a new major star.

WCW STRIKES OUT

Q. WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR CAREER IN WCW?

A. I was never allowed in the “big 10” of WCW. I wasn’t popular enough and I didn’t get my shot. Anybody who truly has seen my work with an unjaded and uncynical eye would probably include me in the top 10. I haven’t drawn money in the major territories because I’ve never been in the position. 

Q. SOME OF YOUR GIMMICKS: SCOTTY THE BODY, JOHNNY POLO, SCOTTY FLAMINGO. WERE THEY REALLY YOU?

A. Yes they were. I’m a manic depressive! Scotty the Body was a character I created. The World Wrestling Federation gave me Johnny Polo and Dusty Rhodes gave me Scotty Flamingo - offshoots of Scotty the Body, one of my original names. I wanted to be the most flamboyant, obnoxious, abrasive, loudmouth chickens—heel I could be because I knew it would give me the attention I craved. If i didn’t get the attention at home, I wanted the adulation of strangers. I found along the way it’s no substitute, but it does to an extent alleviate some of the anguish and pain. If you talk t the boys in the WCW locker room. Konnan, Saturn or Disco Inferno would say either I am the most moody pick on the planet to the most wise ass goofy bastard you ever met.

[‘My parents were so wrapped up in my sister’s problems they never have me any attention.’]

RAVEN-DREAMER SAGA LIVES ON

SINCE RAVEN RETURNED TO EXTREME CHAMPIONSHIP WRESTLING ON AUG. 26, HIS LEGENDARY FEUD WITH TOMMY DREAMER HAS BEEN REVIVED. 

AS KIDS, THE TWO WERE BEST FRIENDS UNTIL A GIRL NAMED BEULAH CAME BETWEEN THEM. DREAMER STOLE BEULAH FROM RAVEN, EVEN THOUGH HE DIDN”T REALLY WANT HER. WHEN SHE CAME BACK INTO THEIR LIVES IN ECW, OLD HATRED BETWEEN RAVEN AND DREAMER ROSE UP AND DROVE THE TWO TO FIGHT THEIR BATTLES IN THE RING.

DESPITE THEIR HATRED, THE TWO BECAME ECW WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS WHEN RAVEN RETURNED TO THE FEDERATION ON AUG. 26. THROUGHOUT SEPTEMBER AND OCTOBER OF 1999, DREAMER WAS BARELY ABLE TO DEFEND THE TITLE BECAUSE OF AN INJURED BACK. RAVEN ONLY INVOLVED HIMSELF IN THE MATCHES AT THE END TO ENSURE THE TWO UNLIKELY PARTNERS KEP TTHE TITLE. HOW LONG DREAMER AND RAVEN CAN CONTINUE IN THIS DYSFUNCTIONAL MANNER IS ANY FAN’S GUESS.

SUCKING UP?

Q. WHAT WERE YOUR DAYS LIKE BEHIND THE SCENES FOR WWF?

A. When i was working for Vince McMahon [owner of the WWF] as associate producer of RAW, Vince made me put on a suit and tie. It was killing me. As soon as I was done producing, the sh-t would come off and I would put on a pair of ripped up jeans, a pair of boots, a T-shirt and leather jacket. That’s who I am. Me and Shane McMahon became really good friends. I was an original member of the Mean Street Posse, because me, Shane, Rodney and Pete Gas used to hang out all the time. I think it’s kind of amusing that Raven’s actually a Mean Street Posse member and they all dress in their ivy league clothes. Me and Shane are really close friends. I can’t say anything bad about him. We used to hang out constantly. It was funny because all of the boys would say, “You’re just  sucking up to Shane so you can get over with Vince,” and it’s just the exact opposite. What would happen is I’d get total heat with Vince because I’d have Shane out all the time, back when I used to drink. I quit drinking two tyears ago. I had Shane out every night of the week partying and Vince thought I was a horrendous influence on his son. 

[I’ve been to a couple psychologists.’]

BACK ON THE COUCH

Q. DID YOU EVER SEEK OUT HELP FOR YOUR PROBLEMS?

A. I’ve been to a couple psychologists. I found one phenomenal one who really helped me through my baggage. My father’s passing away recently - he was very ill so it was the best thing for him - took a lot of that baggage away. I don’t by any means glorify his death, but it enabled me to turn my life around.

Q. DESCRIBE RAVEN NOW COMPARED TO THE ONE WHO APPERED JAN. 8, 1995.

A. I came out in January 1995 as dark and as bleak and as miserable as one could possibly be. A lot of people say I left the character consume me, but what they don’t understand is it was already consuming me to begin with. I just found the forum to play it out. It was cathartic, it gave me release. By the same token, a lot of the negatives that accentuated it had a detrimental effect on me. It took a long while to work through all of that as well. What you see now is probably the most stable and happy I've ever been. Raven now is cruel, hateful and malicious, but bot as brooding and not as sullen. Fans will see a more sarcastic edge. Raven is 75 precent of the brooding bastard and 25 perfect of the glib, wise ass prick that Scotty the Body was. 

FROM ECW TO WCW AND BACK AGAIN

Q. HOW DID YOU COME TO THE DECISION TO LEAVE ECW THE FIRST TIME?

A. I didn’t want to leave and to be honest, I begged Paul. I said, “Please, I don’t want to leave.” Eric Bischoff [then vice president of WCW] offered me a lot of money to go to WCW. Of course ECW’s pay scale has jumped since then, but at this time it was a very hefty contract. I begged Paul to give me half of what Bischoff offered, but he couldn’t he just didn’t have the money. I had to leave and it broke my heart. All the boys said, “You got to go.” Now that ECW is on national TV with the TNN deal, I’m like: “well, I cant let them go on national TV without me. I got to be there for it.”

Q. BUT DIDN’T BISCHOFF ASK YOU TO LEAVE WCW ON AUG. 23?

A. I didn't really have a choice. Bischoff called a meeting and said, “Raven, start working through our attorney outside. You’re not happy with the company so you can leave right now.” I said, “bye” and walked out the door. Later Eric said, “I think you should think this over, I think you should stay. What are you going to do, go work for Paul E.?” I said, ”No, I’m going to Vince.” He said, “You are not going to Vince.” I said, “You said I got a release. I would think that implies I could go wherever I want.” Eris said, “I’ll let you go to ECW but you can’t go to Vince.”

Q. HOW DO YOU GET ALONG WITH BISCHOFF NOW?

A. I like Eric a lot, I think he’s a great guy. I know there’s a lot of horror stories of how badly he treats all the wrestlers, but he’s always treated me with a lot of respect. He always made time for me.

[trip-the-cal-fantastic]

Danny Wagner x F!OC (Bailey Parker)

Warnings: None really. Fluff. Use of pet-names, i.e. ‘Bubba/Bub, lady, pretty girl, and baby’. 

She calls him ‘DJ’, like, ya know, Daniel Jr. 

Word Count ~ 1k

Bailey Parker had a long, but productive, day. She was a photographer for a travel guide magazine, currently capturing the country of Finland. Specifically Helsinki, Finland.

Danny had gotten home from tour the day after Bailey had left for Finland, so they just missed each other. He hated how much they both had to travel, but it was all worth it when they actually did get to see each other. 

They had decided early on in the relationship to move in together. The amount of time spent with each other in the house was less than the amount of time spent on the road, playing shows and taking pictures. 

It was getting late in Helsinki, and Bailey was getting ready to retire for the night. She heard her phone buzzing on her bedside table as she crawled under the blankets. She checked the caller i.d, grinning to herself as Danny’s name flashed across her screen. She answered as she made herself comfortable in bed. “Hi, Bubba.”

“Hey, lady.” Danny smiled down at his phone as Bailey’s face came into frame. He puttered around his kitchen, putting something into the cabinet and listening to the rustle of Bailey’s blankets through the phone. “How was your day, pretty girl?”

“It was great. Got quite a few good pictures. I got a really cool picture of these two brown bears just off of a path in the forest. There were elk, a couple of buffalo, and I’m pretty sure I saw reindeer. It’s crazy how close they were to town, and no one seemed to care. The city is beautiful, too. Even with all the rain. And, the people are super friendly. I had this amazing blueberry pie at some little bakery. Oh, Danny. You would’ve loved it.” Bailey recounted her day, her face glowing with pride. It was clear that she loved what she did.

Danny listened intently as she somewhat rambled on, a small and adoring smile on his face. “That’s awesome, Bub. Sounds like you’re having a great time. But, make sure you’re not in the rain too much. You’re not coming home to me with pneumonia.” It was then that Danny noticed she was wearing his maroon Foo Fighters sweatshirt with her dark hair swept up into a loose ponytail and tucked into the hood.. “So that’s where my hoodie is!” Danny playfully shook his head. “You’re lucky I love you, baby. Whatcha doin’ now?”

“It keeps me warm.” Bailey giggled. “And, in a way, it makes it feel like you’re here. Anyway, I’m getting into bed. It’s like 11:15 at night here, DJ.”

Danny’s eyebrows rose in slight shock. “Wow. Really? It’s only 3:15 here.” He walked to the living room, propped his phone up on the table next to the couch, grabbed his mandolin, and sat on a pillow on the floor. He made sure he was in the frame before finding a pick and strumming the strings a couple of times.

Bailey’s soft, green eyes lit up when she saw the instrument in Danny’s lap. “Ooo! Is it concert time?” She giggled and smiled at Danny through the screen as he nodded. Her smile softened as he began to play, the sound of the mandolin washing over her. 

Bailey admired the way Danny looked at that moment. His unruly curls tied into a bun and stuffed under a hat that sat backward on his head. His white Modern Drummer shirt. The way the sunlight streamed through the windows, giving him a glowing halo. His two necklaces that he would never take off, not that he could, with them being permanent. The way he would look down while he played, as if he was shy. 

Bailey decided to capture his natural beauty, taking screenshots of Danny while he was looking down. As he finished his song, Danny looked up, finally noticing the flash of the screen and trying to hide his smirk. “Bailey…”

“What? You look cute, DJ.” She giggled and pulled her blanket up to her chin. “That sounded amazing, Bubba. I loved it.” Bailey sighed as she turned onto her side. “I miss hearing your voice.”

Danny smiled and huffed a laugh through his nose. “Bub, you’re hearing my voice right now. But, I get what you mean. I want you home already.” Danny’s smile widened as Bailey yawned and covered her mouth with the back of her hand. 

“Only a couple more days. I promise, DJ.” Bailey blinked slowly as she ran her hand over her face. “Tell me about your day, Bub. What have you been up to so far?”

“Not very much honestly. Sam and I had lunch. But, other than that, I’ve been messing around with the mandolin…” he strummed the strings for added emphasis. “...and wishing you were with me.” Danny placed the mandolin back on its stand and sat down on the couch, bringing his phone with him.

Bailey let out a sleepy giggle. “You big cheeseball.” She yawned again and snuggled down into her blanket. “I miss you, too, Dan. Are you doing anything later tonight?”

Danny shrugged. “I think the boys wanted to go out. I gotta double check with Jake about that. Dinner and drinks, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Have fun, DJ. Tell my boys I miss them, too.” Bailey took a tired deep breath. “I am absolutely wiped, Bubba. I have got to go to sleep.”

Danny chuckled as he smiled at Bailey through the phone, a look of pure love on his face. “Goodnight, pretty girl. I love you so much, Bailey.”

Bailey hummed. “Mmm… I love you, too, Daniel. Goodnight, Bubba.” She pressed a kiss to the tips of her pointer and middle finger, then pressed them to her screen. 

Danny’s smile widened once more as he copied the gesture. “Bye, baby.”

“See ya, DJ.” Bailey pressed the ‘end call’ button and plugged her phone in, placing it on the nightstand next to the bed. She let her eyes flutter shut on their own, a content smile playing on her lips.

taglist:

@tripthedharmadivine

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this story from Anthropocene Magazine:

It’s nice to hike through the woods with a few friends, feeling a little closer to the natural world. Perhaps you even entertain the idea of being in harmony with your surroundings.

It turns out, you might be more like a chainsaw at a chamber music concert.

The noise of a group of chatty hikers, it turns out, can set off panic among nearby animals. Their response is even more intense than if you drove a 4-wheeled offroad vehicle. And the effects can echo through the wilderness a week later, as wildlife avoid the site of even a small number of noisy human intrusions, according to new research.

“Noise from recreation can carry far beyond a trail system, so understanding how noise alone can affect wildlife is important for management,” said Mark Ditmer, an ecologist at the U.S. Forest Service’s Rocky Mountain Research Station who helped lead the study.

The woods are likely becoming a noisier place, as more people head outside to play. Last year a record 168 million Americans took part in outdoor recreation, according to the Outdoor Industry Association, a trade group. The pandemic lockdowns that closed many indoor venues is credited for boosting a trend that had already taken hold years earlier.

Outdoor recreation is often portrayed as leaving a light imprint on the natural world than. Sporting goods companies such as Patagonia tout their environmental credentials. The backcountry motto of “Leave No Trace” suggests humans can pass through a place without a mark.

But there is a growing realization that even the most low-impact activities can still affect wildlife. Increased human presence near wildlife is associated with a spike in stress hormones, abandonment of some habitat and drops in reproduction, among other things.

The scientists set up a series of experiments in the forests of western Wyoming, which draws thousands of visitors to nearby places like Grand Teton and Yellowstone national parks. They set up video cameras, audio speakers and motion detectors along trails created by wild animals, at least 650 meters from any place regularly traveled by people. When a creature passed a point on the trail, a video camera would start recording and a speaker located 20 meters away would begin broadcasting an audio recording of people engaged in an outdoor activity. That included hikers, mountain bikers, runners, and people riding offroad vehicles. In some cases, the audio was of a small group of relatively quite people. In others, it was groups of more than four talking a lot. The recordings lasted for up to 90 seconds.  All told, the speakers were triggered more than 1,000 times, with video capturing the reactions of mule deer, elk, moose, red fox, black bears, pronghorn antelope, cougars, coyotes and wolves.

When the scientists reviewed the images, it became clear that the sounds of outdoor recreation had a major effect. Wildlife was between 3.1 and 4.7 times more likely to flee when hearing those recordings than when they heard recordings of nature or nothing at all. They also showed signs of being more guarded and vigilant for 2.2 to 3 times longer after hearing recreation-related noises, the scientists reported last week in Current Biology.

[mybeingthere]

A colourful world of Elke Trittel, 2023:

“I'm a mixed media artist of German origin who lives in the South of France with my family. Having travelled across all the five continents over 15 years, i have gathered so many images in my head that i take all my inspirations from that unique experience. I use different techniques and medias for my art, from acrylic paint, inks, pencils, oilcrayons to paper mâché (fibrite) including metal, sand, found objects, silver and gold leaves, recycled paper, magazine collages, strings, wires, wax, scews, nails, buttons , almost everything that falls into my hands...

I hope you enjoy this journey into the land of colours!”

[torillatavataan]

Hi, the Finnish Duolingo course has the phrase, "this band/song grooves like a moose" (Tama bändi svengaa kuin hirvi). Is that a common phrase in Finnish?

Tämä bändi svengaa kuin hirvi.

I personally have never used it and barely ever heard it, but it is technically a real phrase at least. I don't know where it comes from, though. I found an "ask anything" library service saying it comes from the Finnish dub of Disney's The Jungle Book, but somebody has commented below the answer that this cannot be the case because music magazines had used it at least 12 times before the film was released in Finland. He suspects it's an inside thing from jazz circles (because an album review basically says so) and that somebody translating the film had heard it.

In Europe, we usually speak of elks (from British English) rather than moose.

[3rdeyeblaque]

Today we venerate Benjamin Rucker aka Black Herman on his 134th birthday 🎉

Heralded as the greatest magician in U.S. history, Black Herman was brilliant for his fusion of performance magic with occultism & superstition, and his strong Separatist & militant Pan-Afrikan ideologies (Marcus Garvey x Booker T. Washington). He proclaimed that it was his mission to promote Black Power.

Born in Amherst, VA, as a teen, Black Herman learned the art of illusions from his mentor, Prince Herman. They ran a medicine show, performing magic tricks to attract curious passersby to their "Secret African Remedy". When Prince Herman, 17yr old Rucker was determined to carry on the show; this time using only magic. He then took on the name of, "Black Herman"; in honor of Prince Herman & as an homage to Alonzo Moore, the famous Black American magician who was known as the "Black Herrmann".

In Harlem, Rucker established himself as a pillar of the community. He was often seen in Garvey’s massive Harlem parades & is believed to have offered Garvey spiritual counsel. He befriended preachers, intellectuals and politicians, many of whom met at his home for a weekly study group. He was an Elk, a Freemason, and a Knight of Pythias. He used his success to make loans to local Black businessmen/organisations, established scholarship funds, & performed for free to help churches pay their bills. He expanded his wealth by purchasing a printing plan to establish a monthly magazine, "Black Herman’s Mail Order Course of Graduated Lessons in the Art of Magic". He acquired real estate, bought shares in two cotton plantations, gave personal consultations, & started herb/root gardens in a dozen cities.

Black Herman famously claimed that he was immortal & directly descended from Moses of the Bible. He asserted that our people could elude Klansmen & their descendants by escaping the limitations of mortality & simply outliving them. He'd also sell protective talismans to combat racism. He inserted his Afrikan heritage into his performances. One of his specialties included the “Asrah levitation.” He'd produce rabbits & doubled the amount of cornmeal in a bowl. Many of his tricks were "secrets taught by Zulu witch doctors". Some of his tricks were parallel to miracles from the Christian bible. He'd cast out demons from his assistant or brother hidden amongst the audience, then offer a special tonic for sale & offer a psychic reading address their “problems”.

Yet none compared to his most famous act of all, "Buried Alive". He would be interred in an outdoor area called "Black Herman's Private Graveyard", in full view of his audience. He'd slow his pulse by applying pressure under his arm, & pronounced "dead" on the spot by a local "doctor". As the coffin was lowered into the ground, Herman would slip out unnoticed. For days, people would pay to look at the grave, buidling the suspense over the fate of Black Herman. When the time was up, the coffin was exhumed with great drama and fanfare, and out walked Herman to lead his audience into the nearest theater, where he performed the rest of his show.

Eerily enough, his must famous act foreshadowed his own death in 1934 in which he collapsed on stage due to a massive heart attack that many audience members took to be part of his act. After the crowd refused to believe that the show was indeed over, Black Herman's assistant had his body moved to a funeral home. The crowds followed. Finally, his assistant decided to charge admission as one final farewell & homage to Black Herman's legacy. People came and went by the thousands; some even brought pins to stick into his corpse as proof of his death. His burial made front page news in Black newspapers across the country. Today, Black Herman rests in the Woodlawn Cemetery in NYC.

In 1925, he published a book, ghostwritten by a man named Young entitled, "Secrets of Magic, Mystery, and Legerdemain"; a semi-fictionalized autobiography that offers directions for simple illusions, advice on astrology & lucky numbers, & bits of Hoodoo customs and practices.

"If the slave traders tried to take any of my people captive, we would release ourselves using our secret knowledge." - Black Herman during his rope escape routine.

We pour libations & give him💐 today as we celebrate him for his love & service to our community/people & for his legacied contributions to Hoodoo Culture & History.

Offering suggestions : read his literary works, libations of whiskey/rum, Pan African flag, coins & paper money

‼️Note: offering suggestions are just that & strictly for veneration purposes only. Never attempt to conjure up any spirit or entity without proper divination/Mediumship counsel.‼️

[hoursofreading]

In his first, jointly written article for the Crimson, Buttigieg urged his fellow students to view not only community service but also political engagement as a valuable form of extracurricular activity. Buttigieg himself had worked briefly in a shelter for battered women during the summer after his freshman year. But as was happening elsewhere, a rift was opening at Harvard between students committed to such work, or to tutoring students or volunteering at homeless shelters, on the one hand, and those committed to political action on the other. In the Crimson article Buttigieg expressed alarm at how few young people were voting, working in campaigns, or participating in demonstrations. “In a nation where a lifetime of honorable work in direct service could be wiped out by a single stroke of poor policy from an elected official or legislature, the absence of our generation’s voice from the political process is a hazardous reality for anyone committed to social progress, and a red flag for democracy itself.”

That commitment brought Buttigieg to my classes in his senior year. The course he took in the fall semester, Social Thought in Modern America, was described by the Crimson as “the toughest humanities class at the College, combining soul-crushingly dense and difficult material with a will-breaking workload.” In other words, it was a class for people like Pete, Previn Warren, their friend and fellow IOP stalwart Ilan Graff, and fifty-two other smart, intellectually ambitious students keen to study the relation between ideas and politics in post–Civil War U.S. history. Because the course involved a great deal of class discussion, and student demand exceeded the number of names I could learn—and I believe teachers should know their students—I limited enrollment. Instead of choosing the class by lottery, as many professors do in such circumstances, I preferred to decide who should enroll.

To inform my judgments, I required interested students to write an essay explaining why the course was important to their studies at Harvard and, if possible, to their plans afterward. I also required interested students to meet with me, after I had read their essays, to discuss their reasons in greater detail. Because the course involved three discussions a week—twice a week for half of the ninety-minute lecture meetings, and once in the smaller discussion sections run by graduate students—I wanted to know which students were willing to stay on top of the readings, write the required three essays, and prepare for midterm and final examinations that involved identifying passages from the readings as well as writing synthetic essays.

Tempting as it is to contest the Crimson’s characterization, the course was, and has remained, demanding. The readings in 2003, which averaged 250 pages a week, included works of philosophy, social and political theory, religion, literature, and cultural criticism. Writers included the usual suspects for a course in American intellectual history: William James, John Dewey, and W.E.B. Du Bois; William Graham Sumner, Edward Bellamy, and Louis Brandeis; Chief Joseph, Helen Hunt Jackson, and Black Elk; Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Charlotte Perkins Gilman, and Jane Addams; Gertrude Stein, T. S. Eliot, and Walter Lippmann; Reinhold Niebuhr, John Courtney Murray, and Martin Luther King, Jr.; Ralph Ellison, Langston Hughes, and Malcolm X; Clement Greenberg, Allen Ginsburg, and Betty Friedan; Samuel Huntington, Daniel Bell, and Irving Kristol; Judith Butler, Robert Putnam, and Kwame Anthony Appiah; and others. Students wrote essays on topics such as the impact of science on post–Civil War culture; the role of ethnic diversity and racial differences in shaping twentieth-century American politics and ideas; varieties of American feminist thought; and the relation between pragmatist philosophy and democracy. In short, the course was not intended for those who, in the words of New York Times columnist Ross Douthat (himself a survivor of the course), were looking to “skate through” Harvard.

[waheedawolf]

things i enjoyed reading/watching/listening to this september:

articles

shah rukh khan and masculinity in the modern age by prathyush parasuraman

kudmayi's rousing outro in rrkpk is indicative of pritam's shifting sensibilities by prathyush parasuraman

when will tamil cinema give us a happy queer romance? by deepan kannan

a few favourite things by baradwaj rangan

the spirit of rangeela, at 25 by baradwaj rangan

tribute: hrishikesh mukherjee by baradwaj rangan

review- "omkara" (2006) by baradwaj rangan (heed spoilers if you haven't watched this film)

‘jawan’ is being called a ‘mass movie’ – but what does this term really mean? by nandini ramnath

tollywood's kingmakers by rohitha naraharisetty and divya kandukuri

youtube

how to survive a writers' strike by entertain the elk

in defense of nicolas cage by in praise of shadows

hunger hurts: cannibals and why we're obsessed with them by lola sebastian

sofia coppola shares her rich film archival by w magazine

weaponizing aaliyah and the culture of female rivalry by yhara zayd

beef: a response to toxic positivity by quality culture

'super shy' and 'new jeans' are like nothing i've ever seen by jordan orme

behind the scenes of 'some like it hot': secrets, scandals and marilyn's mystique by matt baume

baaje payal with meenakshi seshadri by DD National

the making of 'valley of the dolls' parts 1 & 2 by be kind rewind

movies

"Guide" (1965) dir. Vijay Anand

"Puss in Boots: The Last Wish" (2022) dir. Joel Crawford

"Band Baaja Baarat" (2010) (rewatch) dir. Maneesh Sharma

"A Nightmare on Elm Street" (1984) dir. Wes Craven

shows

The Afterparty (2022-)

Moral Orel (2005-08) (rewatch)

(my serializd account)

music

"Guide" by S.D. Burman (the Spotify version sucks, every song sounded better remastered and visualised on the big screen)

"Bollywood Bops for Manwhores" by meeeee :p <3

"Dil Se" by A.R. Rahman

"The Land is Inhospitable and So Are We" by Mitski