#hazel wd

[namedafterflowerstournament]

Botanic Tournament : Hazels Bracket !

Round 2 Poll 2

[wanderingtheark]

fuckin BNUUY

[dandunn]

Not ready to get up yet...

[baylardian-1]

*twirls hair* SO ABOUT THOSE CURSED SESKA SHENANIGANS

IM LOOKING INTO YOUR SOUL RN 👁️👄👁️

I haven't even started DABBLING with it really, but the Kazon seem like they'd be pretty easy to adapt into like, antagonistic rabbits for the AU haha. Considering they're nomadic bullies. And all the fun stuff that goes along with Seska's arc. Is THAT stuff as easy to pull off haha nooooooooo... 😂 Only because the rabbits in WD are so like, relationally nonchalant with each other; usually the only instances you see of relationships are like, some rabbits choosing to mate solely with one other rabbit; there's never any drama if your buddy mates with this doe you're close with (Which is why incorporating Threshold is so PAINLESS 😈). But having a traitor rabbit seems fun. :) Plus I need more "maquis" bunnies haha. And yeah she can have a litter that's ambiguously maybe Chakotay/Hawk's WHY NOT.

But omg thinking about adapting Maneuvers with Hawk going solo to confront this group of rabbits Seska has betrayed them for (somehow lmao) and getting captured and beaten up sounds soooooooooooo fun. :~) AND YOU KNOW WHO GETS TO RESCUE HIM. and Investigations with Tom/Buttercup pretending to dessert AGAIN just to infiltrate the "Kazon"... Like EVEN BASICS like thinking about the "Kazon" taking over their Warren and they have to win it back or something. The Kazon (and Seska) just have a lot of episodes that seem easily workable into the AU for me. :) And I love problematic fave Seska.

[dragimal]

finally read the book Watership Down several months ago, after having only watched the movie for the last like, two decades, and I keep mourning what was lost in adaptation. this isn’t a dig at the movie at all, I know they had to work within a very small timescale, and I still love it very much, it’s just like

ok so you have this pretty linear movie about rabbits living their lives and experiencing both violence and hope. ok got it

but then the book? there’s an entire extra third of content (maybe even double??) that’s purely Prince Rabbit stories. and at first it’s like, wow this is really cool! we’re seeing more rabbit culture through these stories: what they think about other species, traits they value, the ways they use these stories to soothe one another or learn or connect, etc.

but THEN. then. the very last Prince Rabbit story in the whole book, detailing all of Hazel’s adventures with his original group... and his memory is so gone that he doesn’t even recognize the story as his own

that alone recontextualizes EVERYTHING. it’s not even just that every Prince Rabbit story we heard previously was probably a retelling of a real event, that’s a given. but more fundamentally, there’s this theme that every rabbit’s story is remembered as Prince Rabbit’s story. that El-ahrairah is not just one individual, but the the collective spirit of rabbits to survive and continue on. that every rabbit carries a bit of El-ahrairah in their soul-- his wit, his speed, his loyalty to his warren. that these stories connect so many different El-ahrairahs-- and rabbits as a whole-- across time and space. that in many ways, rabbits are themselves  stories

I really wasn’t expecting a new favorite metafiction from WD, but I’m glad I finally picked it up

[lepurcinus]

You guys may be tired of seeing me say the same thing all the time, but what the heck, WD is basically the second main topic of this blog.

I really can't stand to see the tag and find people always talking about the movie as the main medium, ignoring the existence of the original book and referring to other adaptations as "remakes" or similar (I saw someone referring to the Graphic Novel as "Novelization" as if it was adapting the movie lmao).

And maybe it wouldn't bother me if it wasn't the same movie that gave this story that reputation of being about "bloody bunnies". I read an analysis someone did a while back that I strongly agree with. Saying how the movie preferred to go for the basics of horror by adapting the scary/gory scenes concentrating on pure shock instead of trying to go deeper into why those moments are distressing to the characters. While it's true that explaining something with words is not the same as seeing it directly represented, the animated format at least gives more depth to the characters. For example, something this person mentioned is that the scene of Fiver falling in anguish during Efrafa's attack does not give the same feeling as in the book. In the book the scene is really scary because of how Fiver to talk nonsense and not to mention how he manages to practically traumatize several soldiers to the point of making them run away and/or surrender to him.

While in the movie you only have a rabbit in a state of epilepsy emitting strange moans that manage to half disconcert a couple of soldiers only for them to immediately ignore the issue and go on with their own thing.

Or the famous dog chase scene where the angst and tension on the part of the rabbits in charge of guiding him is left aside to concentrate on animating the massacre of soldiers in detail.

It may also have to do with the practical lack of personality and background of most of the characters except Bigwig, Hazel and Fiver (and with these two I still have my doubts). Woundwort has no backstory so here he's just a bad, wild rabbit only because yes, for example.

They always come out with this "bloody bunnies killing each other" thing when, ok. It's true that in the book the rabbits seem to have the option to kill as something relatively normal, at the same time in the novel it's shown how it's not really the first thing they think of when faced with a threat. Usually before thinking about killing (except for particularly aggressive rabbits) they always go to dialogue. More aside most deaths of one rabbit to another, if not incidental/provoked by a third party (ahem, the fox, the wire, the dog, the train), are executed by a rabbit seen as "bad" and not something that is particularly praised.

Does it sound like I hate the movie? Not really, I appreciate it even with everything. But I do hate that the vision it gave to this story was not the best. You can justify to me in a hundred ways why the movie is fine the way it is or that you like it, but I'm sorry, my opinion on this is going to remain the same.

By the way, if you want to read the analysis I mentioned above here it is.

It explains the whole thing much better than I ever could:

https://ravingsanity.wordpress.com/2015/02/14/a-series-of-uncorrelated-events-watership-down-and-how-it-relates-to-adaptation-theory/

[sparrowminder]

Clangen time!

I'm playing the latest developmental branch, since it's been a while and I need to refamiliarize myself with the game. I have the contributor role on the discord but I never fully finished coding the last feature, so I need to get up to speed on the new stuff and then recode it!

I am doing a "genetically accurate" challenge, (which I am far from the first to do), where I make sure my founders are genetically plausible, list out their colors and known genes, and edit any kits to make them accurate. I'm gonna keep the posts here pretty intermittent, but I'm also gonna be making a thread in the clangen server for more active liveblogging.

Founder cats under the cut!

Bleakstar - Black smoke point with blue eyes. L- / XoY, B-, D- / aa, --, --, -- / I-, cscs, ww

Raggedclaw - Red classic tabby with pale green eyes. L- / XOY, --, D- / --, mcmc, --, tata / ii, C-, ww

Turtleblink - Blue spotted tabby with high white and yellow eyes. L- / XoXo, B-, dd / A-, Mc-, Sp-, tata / ii, C-, WsWs

Forestrapid - Blue classic tabby with dark blue eyes. L- / XoY, B-, dd / A-, mcmc, --, tata / ii, C-, ww

Bitternpaw - Chocolate rosetted tuxedo with yellow eyes. L- / XoXo, b-, D- / A-, Mc-, Sp-, tata / ii, C-, Wsw

Murkpaw - Dominant white with hazel eyes. L- / X-X-, --, -- / --, --, --, -- / --, --, Wd-

Basilkit - Blue and white with pale green eyes. L- / XoY, B-, dd / aa, --, --, -- / ii, C-, Wsw

[nep-2-une]

recently finished wd: legions and decided on writing a possible fanfic set in the wd universe with my operatives as another dedsec cell in the world?? anywho here are my babies who i have grown very attached to:

in order (L2R): Quinn Keegan (29), Roos Zevenhuizen (19), Sam Pandey (22), Samuel Kamau (20), Hazel Darrell (32), Silviu Paraschiv (30), Elpida Vasiliadis (24), Meara Cunningham (28), Miao Yang (22)

[themissinglynx]

ooh for the fandom ask thing, of course we all want to hear your warriors opinions lol, but if you're tired of that I really love Watership Down and love to hear people talk about it 🥺

I'm rereading Warriors right now (testing out my first time reading order, currently at Outcast), so some things will be pretty spotty/incomplete if anyone asks about that

As for WD...

blorbo - this is likely the basic bitch answer, but Hazel is just The Watership Down Rabbit; he's hard to not think about

scrunkly - probably Pimkin, the adorable little goober.

scrimblo bimblo - Captain Campion. all I remember about him is his name but I have a vague impression that he was a cool guy under sucky circumstances and I like that in a character

glup shitto - give it up for Clover, guys, gals, and nonbinary pals, you're only important for two scenes and I appreciate you for it

poor little meow meow - idk if there are any controversial characters, all of them seem to be pretty good and serve their purpose one way or another

horse plinko - these are rabbits, do they need more tormenting?

eeby deeby - I've sat here for like five minutes not knowing how to answer this you know what prince rainbow idk he doesn't count

[spinderella-umbrella]

15 questions | 15 tags

rules: answer the questions & then tag 15 people

Thank you!! @thatsbitchcraft for the tag<3

Are you named after anyone?  Sure, Sebastian came from Bastian, the MC in Never Ending Story. Mum always said it was the name she would have given me if I were a "boy", so here we are.

When was the last time you cried?  I... Tuesday. I finally got pushed through for an autism assessment.

Do you have kids?  No.

Do you use sarcasm a lot? Do I?

What’s the first thing you notice about people?  Uh. Their shoes? I'm not great at faces or eye contact, so this is what I use to identify someone.

What’s your eye colour? Hazel, not really more one colour than the other. Sometimes more green if I'm feeling strong emotions.

Scary movies or happy ending? Uhhh. Is that like saying, anything without a happy ending is a Scary movie? Honestly though, Scary Movies. But like, horror and gore, not paranormal.

Any special talents? Jack of all trades, master of none. It's the AuDHD, sir.

Where were you born? Arrente Country

What are your hobbies? Writing, Drawing, Art in general

Do you have any pets? I do not, I'm afraid

What sports do you play/have you played I used to play Netball, WD. Uh, I also used to play baseball.

How tall are you? 5'8"

Favourite subject at school? English Lit. You'd think it was art but the portfolio's with the proposals and development and theory ruined it for me.

Dream job? Writer, Artist

no pressure tags, I've no idea who hasn't been tagged or would even want to be and tbh 15 is a lot ok, feel free to ignore :')

@nightshift-clocking-in @anemicc-royalty @stonedregulus @basicallyahedgehog @fiendishfyre @queerregulusablack @siriuslythatbitch @chelonie @deadgayfurrywizardsinthe70s @edenofeddie @polyjuicedpadfoot @jegulusofwesper @soloorganaas @salty-wench @soupy-george

[namedafterflowerstournament]

Botanic Tournament : Hazels Bracket !

Round 1 Poll 1

[thelightningthatjumpsbetween]

Twenty Seven

RE8 | Wintersberg | Romance, Slow Burn | Action, Sci-Fi

Sequel of Winters and the Beast, a Resident Evil: Village Story

Table Of Contents

Ethan studied the dark blue-purple clouds as he pulled up Lily’s hood; he cursed at the rain clouds and then pulled out the rag he’d taken from the trunk.  At first the cruise on the highway north out of LA was beautiful; a sunset full of colorful, cotton candy clouds, and then, as California did, it decided to downpour on him.  

He’d hoped he could make it to the next fuel station, but the engine’s power weakened with every hill.  Finally it stalled, and he tapped out here on this sandy overlook, where the Pacific loomed nearby.  It was still storming over the sea, and Ethan watched while chewing nervously on his lip as lightning licked the deep water from low, full clouds.  It was far away on the horizon, but the wind was pulling those clouds inland.  

He wasn’t out of the storm yet.  

He bent forward, stroking the rag along the lengths of the spark plug wires.  As was his custom, (and probably many other men’s) he cursed a string of quiet expletives at nature, water, and everything else he could blame for this unnecessary detour; he was supposed to be having fun, dammit.  

“Distributor?” came a singsong voice, and Ethan straightened so abruptly that his blond head hit the hood; he cursed again and ducked away, reddening as the handsome, soft face popped up from the passenger side, eyeing both Ethan and the engine with a ravenous curiosity.  

The blond rubbed the back of his head.  “Uh, probably, yeah. I…”

The brunette had pretty much already elbowed his way to the front of the vehicle, and his green eyes lit up happily.  “A Hemi swap!”  He whistled, and now leaned very far forward, leering at everything under the hood.  Auburn hair fell over his face as he seemed to inhale the scent of hot metal and rain.  

Ethan frowned.  “Do I….wait…don’t I know you?”

“We met a while back, not that it matters,” the stranger nodded, and removed the distributor cap.  Ethan nearly hissed at this, and when the other nodded affirmatively at the moisture there, Ethan finally pushed himself between the car and the man.  

“Sorry, but I don’t remem…ber…you.” 

What had started as righteous anger melted as he was suddenly very near the other man; where Ethan looked smart in his khakis and Venetian loafers, this man wore a simple white linen shirt and something that could have resembled birkenstocks; Ethan’s hair was still perfectly styled despite being stranded in a rainstorm fifteen minutes ago, and this man’s was not styled at all: long, wild in the wind, catching the last bits of sunlight.  

He had dark skin and a spray of freckles across his face.  But all of these were just side notes that spoke to his strange, almost bruteish, handsomeness.  What had caused Ethan’s voice to catch and falter was the feeling of familiarity.  

“Dontcha?...”  The voice was teasing, his lips suggestive of a smile.  “Ethan.”  Eethun.

The shock hadn’t quite worn off Ethan’s face, but he saw the other’s gaze flicker from Ethan’s own hazel eyes, down to his lips, and back.  The brunette reached past Ethan, still eyeing him intensely, and picked up the distributor cap without even looking at it.  He took the cloth from the blond and began wiping away the moisture, his smirk never disappearing.  

In a singsong voice he chastised, “You really should WD-40 these, yanno.  Makes ‘em–” 

He was cut off by Ethan’s rapid remembrance, and the subsequent rush of the other’s lips on his.  

—-----------------------

The memory of that meeting, the long evening they had in the car, passed through Ethan’s mind like pages of a book, punctuated by long peals of thunder and his own ragged gasps of breath, responses to Karl’s touch.  The purple storm clouds turned deep grey around them in the backseat, another downpour delaying Ethan’s ride into town.  Not that it mattered; he wanted every second to count, here.  

But then he’d woken, just as abruptly, into the true memory–he was alone. 

Alone, and in the backseat, napping.  Someone had tapped on the window.  Or had they?  Ethan frowned, sitting up, pulling his jacket hood over his head as he prepared to step out of the car.  That’s right, he remembered now–he had distributor problems that whole trip.  It happened after his breakup with Mia, but Karl had never been there.  Bleary eyed, the blond fumbled with the door handle and finally exited, realizing it was night, and raining furiously. 

Karl had spent his scant time in the Mold infiltrating his memories, he thought with a grumpy smirk.  The bastard.  But this wasn’t part of the real memory either.  What had really happened was a simple unexplained moment on the side of the highway in California.  Ethan had been sleeping, waiting out the rain, and a knock on his window awoke him.  He’d been too scared to exit the car and see what it was, so he feigned sleep and ignored the sound. 

Now he stood outside, staring into the darkness, reluctant to leave his car.  He’d done that in Dulvey, hadn’t he?  Always regretted that moment.  The blond put his hand on the hood as he stepped forward as if promising her he wouldn’t leave her.  He squinted into sheets of rain.  

Where the hell was the road?  Where the hell was anything? 

Lightning flickered and he saw a yawning void where the ocean should have been; Castle Dimitrescu rose, a silhouette-very near– and his blood ran cold.  Ethan heard the quiet whispers in his ears, whispers of voices that seemed to choose when they communicated with him.  Go. 

Go what?  He had his own reservations about pulling away a catalogued Dimitrescu, with or without her crystallized form (hers, and Moreau’s, sat high in a closet after the Duke had handed them over at his last visit.)  But even if he wanted to awaken her next, he had clear instructions from Godric.  Moreau was supposed to be the helpful one–not that Ethan had any real faith in this.  

The crypt south of the tower of worship.  

This string of words seemed pressurized, forced into his ears by many whispering throats, and Ethan awoke with a start.  Gasping, he realized that thunder was rumbling all around him, and lightning did illuminate, but it illuminated the welcoming, sleeping form of Karl next to him.  Karl stirred in his sleep as a response to Ethan’s gasp.  The blond sat up, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the dark; he was surprised when they easily did.  

Ethan’s vision panned across the dark master suite-turned-workshop.  The shadows made the room with all its shapes and tools doubly eerie.  He saw two plates at the nearby work table.  Had he eaten food?  He had no memory.  Actually, he had no memory of anything after visiting Godric; Ethan frowned and closed his eyes, trying to sense the location of others.  

Rosemary was sleeping; not in her own room, but sprawled out on the floor in a makeshift fort with Maricara’s daughters and Donna all laying around as well.  They were all asleep.  No, he corrected himself.  Donna was awake, eyes wide, focused on the room’s television set.  Ethan could hear the Twilight Zone theme playing faintly.  

Then a voice whispered in his ear. 

Ethan.  

He almost yelped, but clapped a hand over his mouth.  It was Eva; she had appeared outside the door–he wasn’t sure if she had actually spoken, or communicated inside his mind.  Ethan slipped out of bed as another strobe of lightning crossed the room, and pulled open the heavy wooden door.  It was with some humor that he realized his legs were still unsteady and he had to focus with all his might on making it to the wall, where he leaned. 

Eva’s face was quizzical, perhaps slightly worried.  She whispered so quietly it seemed only her mouth moved. 

“Did you have a dream?”

“Sorta,” he whispered back with a frown.  “I saw the–”

“Castle?”

His eyes lit up.  “And the voices said–”

“To go to a crypt?”

He nodded.  She chewed on her lip, and then leaned against the door frame, mimicking his posture.  “What do you think?”

Ethan looked dubiously back at Karl.  “I think I’m still too fucked up to even consider an adventure like that.” 

“You feel the same as I, then…it was the voices.  But why?  Since when do they give advice on this?  What do you think?”

He shrugged helplessly.  “As long as it’s not helping Miranda, I don’t really care.  I’ll do whatever I hear, just no more…stepping in ponds.” 

She frowned again, and then patted his arm.  “Moreau tomorrow, like Godric said?”

Ethan made a disgusted face, sticking out his tongue, and rolled his eyes as she disappeared, like a ghost.  Apparently her tolerance for ancient-king-drug-wine was higher than his; Ethan felt as if moving so abruptly would leave him puking.  

But as he toddled back toward the bed a warm smile came across his face anyway; he still felt the jovial afterglow of the last few hours.  He appreciated what Godric had done, even though the events of the time eluded him; he remembered how it felt to be fun and carefree in a place that slowly–perhaps begrudgingly- became home to him.  

Home, he thought with a strange sense of satisfaction.  He almost toppled over one of Karl’s work stools and edged past it, hissing as his toe caught the end.  Escaped death and took down a bioweapon–two, kind of–and now he was embracing his inner darkness while finally mourning, and he would still find the peak of utter despair in stubbing his toe.  Ethan’s dance of pain subsided and he finally landed at the bed again.  

He studied the sleeping engineer on the bed.  Karl was nude as usual, and the blankets were off his chest.  He slept as he carried himself while awake; flung as if by a very strong wind, and yet heavy as a mountain.  His arms were splayed out, face half hidden in shadow, hair wild.  Ethan dropped to his knees to get a better view of the rare serene expression on Heisenberg’s face and he felt a tug at his own chest when his gaze drifted over the familiar-but different while sleeping-features.  

With his lips slightly parted and long eyelashes down, Heisenberg didn’t look intimidating or animalistic or deranged or any of the things that Ethan saw in him regularly.  He also didn’t look preoccupied, or thoughtful, or curious.  He simply looked innocent, almost childlike, which made the scars that lay over his nose, lips, cheeks, forehead, seem sinister: signs of harm that he’d likely never consented to.  

Ethan felt as if he could watch the man sleep forever, and contented himself doing so for the next several minutes, gripping his own arms with his fingers so he didn’t reach for the tangled greying strands; doing so would likely break the spell.  His own expression grew calmer as he studied the other man.  If death was ever present, surrounding Ethan, then maybe too was life, and he would have to go looking for it in new ways, in places where the untrained eye saw the mundane.  

There was nothing mundane about Karl sleeping, Ethan decided; he was almost angelic.  He could have been a painting in the castle’s gallery, with moonlight and the occasional pulse of lightning over his gentle face.  The blond began to ponder what else might be hidden in the mundane, and how much of his life he’d spent seeking these small moments and being denied them, whether it was due to lies or uncertainty.  

When this thought made him exhale slightly, it woke Karl; the cherubic expression changed as yellow, luminescent eyes focused on the strange sight of a kneeling Ethan in front of him.  Heisenberg studied the other for a moment, raised an eyebrow, and then blinked.  

“What the fuck are you doin’, Ethan.” 

Ethan giggled, refusing to feel embarrassed, and wordlessly crawled into bed with the other.  He moved into the now-familiar crook of Karl’s arm and chest, and held the brunette close.  Karl’s hesitant reciprocation showed his sleepy confusion.  

“You uh…feelin’ better?”

“I don’t remember much,” the blond said happily, “but the next time he gives us a goblet of whatever that is, you’ve gotta try it.” 

Karl actually chuckled, a welcome surprise.  When Ethan turned his head to stare expectantly, the engineer said in a voice still thick with sleep, “I’m already a barrel of fun, no adjustments needed.” 

“Do you remember when you showed up to help me fix my car?  In my memories.” 

“Several times,” Karl corrected him, and Ethan snorted.  “I did it myself, you know.  In reality.  That was all me.”

“Uh huh.  You were doin’ great, sittin’ in the rain for an hour, not wantin’ to get wet,” Karl joked, closing his eyes.  

“Will we be able to do things like that? After all this.” 

“I don’t know, Ethan.  Guess I figure, once Miranda was gone, especially now that you got your ticket out, that you’d be…out.  No reason to stay.” 

“What about you?”

“You really want the truth?” Karl said it with a hint of humor, that Ethan completely missed, as he had no recollection of their earlier conversation.  

“I always want the truth.”

“I never really thought I’d get out alive.  Never planned for an after.  Had my sights on one goal, one huge gigantic bitch of a goal–even bigger than the original big bitch, as it turns out–an’ I never thought past that.  Never wanted to.  You complicate everything.” 

“I’ve heard that before,” Ethan said quietly, thinking of the many times Mia had expressed frustration about being torn between her work and their relationship.  For a moment, he felt small, but he blinked the feelings, and his own tears, away.  

“Are you thinking about it differently now?  Now that…you know your brother is out there?  Now that you have, maybe, a future?  Me? And..”

“Rose?”  The name fell off Karl’s lips easily, lovingly.  “Guess so, yeah.” 

“Good.”  Ethan hugged the older man more tightly, feeling his warmth.  He was still burning hot, but either Ethan was getting colder, or Karl was.  Some of the heat was missing between them.  It was scary.  “If you die, I will fucking kill you.”

“Noted,” Karl chuckled, and began threading his hands through Ethan’s hair.  “Good job on the uh….death, acceptance.” 

“I’m still working on that,” said Ethan matter-of-factly, “But that doesn’t mean you’re allowed to die.  That’s still not acceptable.” 

When Karl heaved a sigh, Ethan moved his head up to the other’s neck, planting a kiss among the scruff.  The sigh turned into a gruff rumble, and Ethan ruined the moment by asking, “How would you feel about us bringing back Moreau tomorrow?”

“About the same as if you dropped my hammer on my foot,” Heisenberg grumbled, but he stretched, and returned the nuzzle to Ethan’s ear, his beard causing the blond to shiver.  “Can we not talk about him when you’re turnin’ me on?” 

“Wait,” Ethan said again, trying to focus, realizing he was still dizzy.  He closed his eyes, remembering the poem in the back of Rose’s book.   The poem was even more morbid than the children’s story.  That stupid story that should have done its job warning him of the stupid village in the first place.  He tried to focus on the poem, using his photographic memory to turn through the lines as he had skipped through moments in his dreams.   

I approached an Iron Steed, adorned with gold. 

And I grabbed what I thought was mine. 

Long, long ago

I did not know who I was

And in the deepness, I was lost, and now

Hello, sorrow

Because of you, I am who I am

The poem spoke of all the Lords, but Heisenberg last, and then sorrow afterward.  There was that fucking word again.  Heisenberg, and then sorrow? Ethan swallowed nervously, his eyes still closed.  

“What?” Heisenberg sounded mildly curious, mostly sleepy.  

“Do you think that….sorrow makes someone who they are?”

Karl was silent in the dark, and rain on the window was the only sound while he stroked Ethan’s hair.  Just like Godric, Ethan realized with some amusement.  He’d never say that, but he would enjoy knowing it anyway.  He had almost forgotten he’d asked such a somber question until Karl answered.  

“Guess so, least with me.” 

[dandunn]

I forgot i started drawing a furry of hazel WD i think i got possessed

[thealmightyemprex]

So I was listening to the 1981 LOTR radio drama......And found that three of the actors were in the animated film Watership Down

Michael Hordern played Frith in WD and Gandalf in LOTR

Richard O'Callaghan was Dandelion in WD and Merry in LOTR

Michael Graham Cox was Bigwig in WD and Boromir in LOTR

Bonus

Michael Grham Cox was also in the 1978 animated films of both LOTR and WD ,with John Hurt costarring in both films as Aragorn and Hazel

@ariel-seagull-wings @goodanswerfoxmonster @themousefromfantasyland @the-blue-fairie @princesssarisa

[ghostjelliess]

I'm so sick of being the "interesting" patient to various general healthcare people. Dentist, orthodontist, oral surgeon, optometrist, general doc, everyone. They all gotta say something about how interesting my body is, as if I don't know that's code for "fucked up."

What's it like going anywhere for normal human maintenance with a working vehicle? I wouldn't know, I was born the modern equivalent of a 1957 amateur restoration project: guts out. It's only been wear and tear downhill since. But at least as an adult they stopped bringing all their friends in to look at the anomalies on the big projector screens in front of me so I could hyper fixate on all their big science words before bed for months.

Now when they bring their friends in, when they video conference and hold their phones to my face, flash-on, I call them my team and am much less embarrassed cus I know how weird all bodies are. But still, it must be nice to have been born with a make/model that matches your generation, or I guess to have had the expert mechanic to restore everything well, the investor to keep the timeline on-track.

Jokes on me though, cus there was no normalized procedure before, I was part of the experiment, I was lucky to be in the later batches that survived well enough to be handed over to normal doctors. This is good, I am grateful, but it's a weird third-culture kind of intersection. I guess in this metaphor I'm actually a UFO spaceship that the generalist-specialiats are a little confused and excited by. Cus the oral surgeon didn't even blink at the trauma lines in my mandible—man spends every single early morning surgery slot reconstructing spaceships, was not phased. Everyone else though? Everyone else gets a little too excited, and I'm just feeling a little self conscious about that today.

I guess this is why people stick with one person, cus then you only have to explain once. Unfortunately, explaining once is not an option in the New England healthcare landscape, cus even the optometrist I've had for six years forgets everything cus he has a billion patients. I'm known as "special hazel girl" and it doesn't sound weird in his old man accent, but we both know the special is just another word for interesting, and they both mean shaken, not stirred. I don't call him "my optometrist" either. I do, however, know his name.

Anyway, I have my first general dentist appointment next week after three years of reconstructing from a traumatic injury (as in: caused by blunt force trauma) that happened when I was ten. I'm never going to be able to not explain, no matter how much I look okay now, no matter how faint or hidden the massive scars become, or how many times I circle this country like a drain, because they're written on my bones, and sometimes it's embarrassing, but mostly I like it. No matter how I grow and recover to overcome twenty years of duct tape and WD-40 handcrafted poverty-solutions, the evidence remains. The suffering endured is still visible, but rather than a fresh bruise or a new line of stitches patched with those stupidly fat white square bandages, it's flexible, maybe even wise. I can think of myself as a classic and move on the road with ease, and maybe it's not so bad that the enthusiasts stop at gas stations to applaud the reconstruction, and maybe it's not the worst when amateurs ask what happened in that surreal gawk. Maybe it just means I'm still alive enough to endure the attention and aware enough to feel a little embarrassed by it. At least the guts are on the inside now, and doing pretty okay given the mileage.

But twenty years is a long time to run a malfunction, and now I'm learning what all these new dash lights mean. It's overwhelming. The stories are anticlimactic, the mental trauma recovered long before the physical, maybe numbed into acceptance, and caused different kinds of staccato bruises as I dragged myself up ladders. But now, the healthy and stable results I'm currently experiencing (not done, but almost there) gave me a functioning cloaked spaceship, and continue to confirm everything I knew. Angry road rage-y people have passed by my whole life while people around me said things like "that wasn't because of you, you can't even tell, it looks fine, if it still hurts, take some more Motrin," and now it doesn't hurt and it does look fine and you actually can't tell much if I don't want you to, and people don't road rage past me anymore.

I'm mad about it. I'm mad they lied to me, I'm mad I knew they were lying, and I'm mad I was right. It doesn't matter if the physical recovery allowed me to get up to speed and move more confidently or if the cloaking worked and people stopped rubbernecking past me, either way, my daily experience in the world is drastically changed. It's overwhelming and underwhelming in aggravatingly equal measure.

Except that when I go into the doctor or dentist or optometrist, I still become interesting and special. Maybe someday that will be a comfort, but right now it's still an anxiety-inducing irritation. Not because I don't want to be interesting or special, I was born a spaceship, it's fine, but because of the endless novacaine needles that follow, the exhausting choices to intentionally mutilate and endure pain because of improper healing and patches on patchjobs that have molded into me for decades and the other damages of coping for so long; to face the consequences of choices made for me, to trust the medical professionals standing over me despite a history of shoddy snake-oil promises by others wearing the same coats and charging half the price. I'm angry that people lie, to their children and themselves and each other in the name of comfort, and they never have to endure the repercussions. No matter how curious I am, I won't know the whole story of my own anomalies, and it's exhausting to walk into the same offices and be eroded with the same tidal questions: why is it like this? Why did they do that? Why didn't they try this? Why did this happen?

I don't know. I'm just a spaceship. Maybe this isn't even my home. Please don't hurt me if you don't have to. Please let me be mundane and uninteresting in the ways that don't matter to me.

But also, thank you.

[thereluctanthousewife]

The Eye: A Short Story, Chapter One

It was only chance that made him look up from his phone. He normally wouldn’t.

She’d been looking down, too. But he saw her glance his way, giving him a slight nod in acknowledgement before taking up a spot in the back of the elevator.

He pretended nonchalance, even though her appearance made him want to straighten. He wondered if she lived in the building, or just visiting friends. He hoped to have more opportunities to bump into her.

The doors opened with a whoosh on his floor. He straightened and was about to take a step when the girl swept past him. Ryan was surprised. It hadn’t occurred to him to check what number she’d pressed on the control pad.

His heart skipped a beat. Perhaps the chance encounter will happen sooner than he expected. He extended his long legs and deliberately focused on keeping his stride leisurely. It wouldn’t do to seem eager. She was an attractive girl. She was probably used to men falling all over themselves to meet her. He was already socially awkward at the best of times, without adding a surprisingly beautiful girl into the mix.

Ryan stopped by his door, twisting his backpack to grab his keys. He looked up to do so, and he saw she was only a few doors down from him – in one of those newly refurbished apartments the building administration maintained themselves. There were a few of them scattered throughout the complex. Ryan’s unit, for his part, was leased directly from a friend of his parents who had invested heavily in real estate just before the boom. This allowed him to pay rent at a reduced rate. He wouldn’t be able to live in this place, on his salary, otherwise.

Their gazes met for a quick second. She was even more striking than he initially thought. She looked at him directly, and she gave him a polite smile – just a quick pursing of the lips. Ryan felt his pulse pick up. Even with the distance, he could see her hazel eyes.

Ryan pushed his door open. It emanated a screech. He really must make time to either scrape some of the paint off from the door or buy a can of WD-40. He wondered if the girl heard the annoying sound and he grimaced slightly at the thought.

He nudged the door closed with his foot, crouching to greet his cat, Sunny, as she approached him with a purr. She wove through his legs as he straightened.

“Hi, girl. You hungry?”

He opened a can of tuna, Sunny leaping into the counter in her eagerness for the meal.

Ryan quickly scarfed down his dinner – just a simple Spam, egg and cheese sandwich. His mom would roll over in her grave if she saw the way he ate. All those years of buying and cooking organic meals had no chance against his need for convenience.

Ryan heard his computer beep from his room. His friends were already waiting for him online.

“Be there in a few,” he typed. He needed a quick shower. He had done a double shift down at the diner, and he smelled especially greasy today.

Ryan’s real passion was computers. But his mom’s sudden death and his dad’s depression meant working and saving enough money to finish his education.

Ryan heaved an inward sigh. With the water pouring down his shoulders and hair, Ryan hung his head. This certainly wasn’t the life he’d dreamed of when he was little. He didn’t mind the hard work, but the loneliness became crippling at times.

On a brighter note, a few more shifts at the diner, and he could save enough to finish his last year of college. His dad’s new meds seemed to be working, too. Things were looking up.

Ryan left the shower, rubbing his hair vigorously and swiping his body dry. He remembered the girl from the elevator, and he smiled. She sure was pretty. Even if he never got to talk to her, seeing her around was enough to brighten anyone’s day.

He heard his computer ping continuously from his bedroom.

“Hold your horses, I’m coming!”