#jo serpent

[feel-the-fire]

Saw a reaction video to The Last Wish and apparently the subtitles show the Serpent Sisters names as Jan and Jo, Jan being the black haired one and Jo being the braided brunette. Nice to know they were given actual names.

[twisting-echo]

Am I seriously the only one who thought of the Stabbington Brothers when the Serpent Sisters were on screen? just me?

Anyway, new ship, you guys!

[la-artist322]

Jo's singing that old song again where in the distance, "Big" Jack Horner is coming at her dumbass.

Jo Serpent, "Big" Jack Horner © Puss in Boots, Dreamworks Art © Me

[smolvenger]

This tweet: OMG! They look so SIMILAR!

When this is literally them:

[thedoctorwhocompanion]

Richard Franklin (1936- 2023)

Richard Franklin (1936- 2023), #DoctorWho's Captain Mike Yates

Richard Franklin, who played UNIT’s Captain Mike Yates in Doctor Who, has passed away, aged 87. The actor passed away in his sleep after fighting a long-term illness on Christmas Day morning 2023. Yes, it has taken longer than it should have done to report his passing, but obituaries are funny things, especially for those people we really care about. Acknowledging someone important isn’t part of…

[2t2r]

Des tutoriaux pour réaliser des origamis de tortue, de canard, d'aigle et autres [vidéo]

Nouvel article publié sur https://www.2tout2rien.fr/tutoriaux-origamis-tortue-canard-aigle/

Des tutoriaux pour réaliser des origamis de tortue, de canard, d'aigle et autres [vidéo]

[heartkaji]

WINBRE BOYS + THIRSTY TWEETS !

inc : sakura haruka, suo hayato , ren kaji, togame jo contains explicit language + celeb au

SAKURA HARUKA !

“ume’s left ballsack says : do you think sakura’s pubes are white or black or are they divided into both like his hair ?”

kill sakura now.

he’s a red cheeked mess of sweat & nervous system shivers. he’s practically hyperventilating as you laugh beside him, melting into a puddle of molten blush cheeks & ultraviolet bone. he shakes at a frequency not unlike ultrasound.

“oh my fucking god sakura—well ? what do you have to say to the fans ?”

you elbow the quivering boy. if you were any less of the devil you are you’d forcefully refuse the question or at least answer it in his place—you did know the truth firsthand after all. but you’re the serpent in the garden & seeing sakura squirm is like an apple down your throat. sakura is still blinking eyes & flushing nose & palms bleeding sweat bullets so you’ve had to grab the phone from his hands in fear it might fall from the way they quake & quiver.

“ what the fuck kind of question is this ? where are your parents ? guardians—?”

“baby, that question could apply to you too.”

“shut up !”

SUO HAYATO !

“slut4suo69 says : i need to know what’s under suo’s eyepatch. is he blind ? does he have some cool sexy scar ? does he have no eye at all ? not that i care. i’d fuck the shit out of his empty eye socket — three holes are better than two !”

“oh.”

you burst out laughing. this is the first time you’ve seen dagger mouthed suo hayato speechless. his mouth is hung agape as he seizes the phone from your hands & reads the tweet over & over again as if it’ll cause the digital ink to melt off & fly away. each time he reads his mouth gets drier & you swear you can see blisters bruling on his tongue.

“this is the most vulgar thing i’ve ever seen.”

“so true ! now answer it.”

you tuck your hair & dip your head over suo’s shoulders to get one last look at the tweet before facing the camera.

“though i can’t match your freak with the whole eye fucking thing, i too, slut4suo69, would absolutely love to know what’s under my boyfriend’s eyepatch.” you bat your lashes at the bedazzled brunette & loop an arm around his elbow. “the fans & i wanna know, suo. do tell.”

“i’m pretty sure i’ve told you this before, angel—“

“aht aht ! no thousand year old dragon bullshit, hayato. we promised to answer all the questions truthfully, remember ?”

suo heaves a sigh, breath heavy & chest tight as you rest your head on his arm. his thumb traces lazy swirls & zig zags over your knuckles.

“i see. if the fans wanna know, who am i to refuse, hm?”

REN KAJI !

“isagi solos your fave says : i need kaji to suck me the way he sucks his lollipops. hear me out y’all—his tongue swirling over your clit, teeth grazing your folds as he—“

“aight that’s enough,”

you giggle as kaji pulls out the phone between your palms. you reach over his lap for it, pathetic attempts to grab the device from his hands while kaji raises it higher & higher. his palm burns against your stomach to keep you away.

“i fucking hate the internet, bro. don’t y’all have hobbies ? friends ? occupations ?”

you’re giggling & snorting as kaji cusses out the camera. “and i swear, word to my mother that whoever wrote this is is like, twelve. what in the wattpad is this ?”

kaji pulls out the cherry red sucker resting in his cheek. “this shit don’t even taste sweet anymore, man.” he flings the candy angrily into a silver can sitting across the set.

you bury your head in the sleeve of his jacket, a red nosed, puffy faced mess of sweltering eyes & plum heavy cheeks. your snorts are muffled in the linen of his sleeves. “heaven knows i love my fans but fuck, i cannot wait for some of you to rot in hell.”

“god ren,” you clap your hands in between teary eyed giggles. “i’m trying to breathe baby please stop..!”

“fuck no. you horny bitches need to be euthanized. eradicated. like hello ? is this what our lord and savior jesus christ died for ? are these the kind of sins he repeatedly has to forgive ? he’s better than me for real cuz i can’t take this anymore.”

kaji walks off the set but you’re too busy wiping tears & sniffling nose to follow. “somebody ! tell him to come back..!”

TOGAME JO !

“kubzscouts is my wifey says : fellas is it gay to want togame jo to slide into you slowly, teasing your entrance with light strokes as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear like ‘you can take it baby, that’s a good girl’ as his big fat coochie crusher69 slips into—jo i don’t want to read this anymore.”

you look up at him with pretty peach painted lips bent into a pout. his palm stops teasing at your thigh momentarily before picking up again, “m’ not quite sure i want you to read it either, pretty.”

you report the account without even waiting for togame’s approval. he cracks a smile when he notices your cherry drenched cheeks & red dyed ears.

“someone seems jealous.”

“and i know that someone isn’t me jo, so which of your other a-b-c-d looking ass bitches are you talking about ?”

togame whistles playfully, palms trailing further up your thigh. his touch is a ghost burying your nerves in sap & soil. you pretend your skin doesn’t ache from the way he draws hearts on your knee.

“now, now. i think we both know i’m a loyal man, yeah ?”

“who’s we ? kubzscouts over here is describing bedroom you with awful precision.”

he lets out a boyish laugh. “she missed a few things, though. don’t i always kiss it first ?”

© ─ heartkaji ; do not steal, copy, edit, translate or reupload

[yourjughead]

Attack Dog

Sweet Pea X Reader enemies to lovers

Synopsis: You return to Riverdale to find your best friend Jughead has joined a gang he said he never would. A certain member of said gang takes an interest in you in return

A/N: This was a draft from years ago. It's set when the Serpents join Riverdale high (a throwback) but also somehow their senior year....

This is very long, apologies.

Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You piled your books into your locker, the Monday dew still cascading the halls. Groggily going about your business but happy to be finally back in Riverdale High. You had moved back on Friday night with your family and had already seen most of your friends that same night. After moving around so much with both your parents in the army it was nice to finally replant your roots.

“Ah yn, how I have missed you standing there" Archie threw himself against the locker smiling.

“I missed you too Archiedoodles, do you think we can go see Jughead today?” Archie had decided to keep you away from Jughead for as long as possible, he didn't quite think you'd want to see who had become. 

“Emm I don't know, he's kinda busy lately” 

“Too busy for me...did you hear that?” It was like a scene from a film. The banging of the hallway doors and entered the Serpents, their new school. You and Archie looked to see the swarm before Archie could see who was leading them.

“Oh hey YN look at this locker door” he turned you against the lockers by the shoulders.

“Archie what the hell” you laughed pushing against him to turn and see Jughead striding past you 

“Juggy!” 

“Yn!?” You ran over to him, interrupting his new hard core image, giving him a giant hug. 

“What the hell are you doing back?” he smiled greatly shock still colouring him.

“Mom's done with the Army so she moved us back, dad still has a few more years but that's okay, I'm back! What are you doing here Arch said you moved schools?”

“School moved us”

“Us?” It was then you noticed the sward behind him and the leather jackets they wore. You took a step back, all of them eyeing you.

“Oh….umm” Archie joined your side, the group glaring at him harshly. 

“I thought you said you'd never jo-”

“-uh yn this isn't the place for this conversation” Jughead interrupted you.

“Well then make it the place Jughead” a chorus of oohs from behind him followed.

“Come on yn let's go, you must meet Veronica” Archie wrapped an arm around you breaking the stare off you and Jughead were having.

~

The day flowed on and you avoided Jughead as much as possible, until the final bell rang and he cornered you outside your car.

“Yn we need to talk”

“I'd love to talk to Jughead, let me know when you see him will you?” you opened the car door but he closed it again, almost catching your fingers in it. You sighed loudly at his action.

“Yn it is still same the Jughead-”

“Really?! I remember a Jughead who hated the Serpents and what they did to his dad and how they're basically the reason his family is in two! I remember a Jughead who promised he'd never get caught up in that world! Because you sir, are not him!” you jabbed your finger into his chest.

“Hey Jones you coming?” A tall serpent called from across the carpark.

“Just a second! Yn this shouldn't be a big deal, so I have a family now, it doesn't matter!”

“You have a family now?! What am I then?! And Archie and Betty?! We were your family, your friends….” you looked down at the ground and he looked desperately at you, the tall Serpent called him from the background again before beginning to stride over. 

“YN, I don't want to have this conversation in front of the Serpents, I have to keep a strong front for them” you rolled your eyes at him as Sweet Pea reached his side. You couldn't help but glare at him and he gave a small laugh. 

“Jones, who's the attack dog?”

“Listen here Snake Brain-” 

“YN, leave it!” Jughead cut across you earning another laugh from Sweet Pea, you began to seethe at your old best friends defence of his new family member. 

“Just call me when you feel like being yourself again” you breathed out the words until your lungs nearly emptied, moving to open the car again to be stopped by Sweet Peas voice 

“i think the snake skin is him Princess-”

“Don't you have some drugs to deal to children or something -” you cut across him this time.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Sweet Pea raised an eyebrow, smile now long gone. Jughead looked between the two of you

“I meant what I said, or is the leather jacket cutting off the blood flow to your ears”

“Listen I don't know you Princess but you're not exactly making a good impression-”

“I don't give a fuck what you think about me, you seem to care a lot about what I think about you though” more Serpents seemed to join around, panic began to rise in Jughead, his attempted to stop Sweet Pea but Sweet Peas voice came harsher.

“You're seriously misguided Princess” 

“And you're seriously what's wrong with Riverdale” you said through gritted teeth, receiving scoffs from the gathering Serpents but Sweet Pea stated unreadable eyes fixed on you. 

“Guys just relax, YN I'll call you later” Jughead reached for your arm but you moved took a step back.

“Don't bother”

~ 

For the remainder of the week you avoided Jughead and the rest of them, instead spending time with your friends you missed so much. Catching up with all the chaos that had gone down since you left 3 years ago, and there was a lot. It was nice to feel like a senior around your friends, how it should be. You were shocked that for the most part everyone was understanding of Jughead joining the Serpents, you couldn't really understand it. Jughead continued to try to text or call you until you had enough. You needed a break from it, leaving your phone turned off on your dresser before putting on your runners. 

You tried to process how you felt as you jogged through Riverdale, trying to remember your old route. You were zoned out of the world as your legs took you from a jog to run, the burn growing from your thighs down to your shins. You had been out for an hour or so now and by the third wrong turn you landed out of your subconsciousness and back to the world in front of you. Lost. How could you forget the town you grew up in. Suddenly you became very aware of the dark night that had closed around you. You looked around for anywhere still open, only a gruby bar was in your sights. They probably had a phone you thought, walking right past the fading sign of the Whyte Wyrm. 

Upon approach you noticed the large amount of motorbikes outside the door.  Then the amount of Serpents jackets and their owners flowing in and out of the bar. Shit you thought. You turned to leave back through the carpark you just walked through and instead crashed directly into an older Serpent and his pint of larger, sending it all over him. 

“What the fuck?!” He half yelped at the cold hitting his chest. You stuttered apologies as you moved to walk past him. Instead he caught your wrist with bone crushing force. Without realising what you were doing, you sent the heel of your hand straight up and into his nose, contorting it completely. He shouted before releasing you and you moved from his shadow, other Serpents witnessing the incident and gathering quickly. You begged your tired legs to bring you running back to the main road as some began to follow you shouting. 

Sweet Pea walked around the wall of the car park boarder and was immediately confused by the several Serpents beginning to run towards his direction. You didn't even take notice of him as you ran past, your leg then spasming, sending you my into the pavement. He didn't know where to look. You pulled yourself cursing behind the pillar of the entrance, resting your head again the cement of its support, preparing to get mangled by Serpents. 

“Sweet Pea!” An older woman shouted his name bringing his attention from you and your attention to him. 

“Ehh yes Penny?” 

“Did you see a girl, Y/C/H, this tall or so” the woman made a guestimate of your height with her hand. You held your breath as Sweet Pea fought every instinct to not look down at you. 

“Emm I did see someonel go over the hedges towards the back there, maybe thats her?” 

“Great, she just broke one of the Seniors noses, girls dead meat” shock painted Sweet Peas face and he tried not to laugh at the thought. The woman then gave a wave before running off with the others in the direction he sent them. He exhaled loudly, looking at where you once were sat, now empty. Sweet Pea looked quickly to find your shadow hobbling down the road you think you came down. He gave a small laugh, rolled his eyes and began to jog to catch up with you. 

Part 2

[coinandcandle]

Cernunnos Deep Dive

This was a requested deep dive on Hermes, you can request a deep dive on my ko-fi for $5!

Unfortunately not much is known historically about Cernunnos. Scholars seem certain, however, that he was an ancient Gaulish deity.

Let’s get to know this elusive deity!

Parents and Siblings

No attested parents or siblings

Lovers or Partners

No attested partners

Children

No attested children

Epithets

As far as we know, no ancient or historical epithets of Cernunnos have made it through the passage of time. That said, we have some epithets given to him from more modern times.

Lord of Beasts (Anne Ross)

Patron of Prosperity (Anne Ross)

Lord of Animals (Proinsias MacCana)

Lord of Living Beings (David Rankin)

Lord of Beasts and Fecundity (Miranda Green)

The Horned God*

More potential epithets listed in Jess South’s text referenced below.

Keeper of riches

God under the earth

Antlered serpent, Horned serpent

Clearer of paths

Sitter-at-the-crossroads

Sitter-between

Liminal one

God undying

Notes

*In depictions of Cernunnos, his head is notably adorbed with antlers, not horns. This epithet is also the name of the two primary deities of traditional Wicca. It is also shared among many other deities who are depicted with horns.

The name Cernunnos has appeared only once throughout history—on the Pillar of the Boatmen.

Though he is sometimes known as a god of animals or beast, Ceisiwr Serith (or David Fickett-Wilbar) makes the case that although he is depicted on the Gundestrup Cauldron surrounded by animals, only two are looking at Cernunnos, the stag and the dog. Plus there are other deities present on the cauldron.

Cernunnos’ depiction as a “Lord of the Wild” likely comes from his imagery, a man often sitting cross legged and with antlers on his head. This may denote a more spiritual, natural theme for Cernunnos. However, he is not depicted with vegetation or plants

Often depicted wearing a torc, Cernunnos is sometimes considered a god of wealth or fortune. Torcs were known to be a sign of wealth.

He is also seen as a cthonic deity or a psychopomp. Jo Forest makes the case that due to his imagery with snakes—creatures often associated with the underworld—and his relation to the ram due to the ram's horn. Rams were often sacrifices in ancient Indo-European practices.

Cernunnos is likely not a fertility god. This idea may come from his conflation with the Wiccan Horned God, as mentioned earlier.

Cernunnos has been considered to be related to masculinity, but this is also likely due to the conflation with Wicca’s Horned God.

Depictions of Cernunnos with domesticated and prey animals may suggest him being a god of hunting or hunters.

Jess South makes the case further for Cernunnos’ associations with liminality. Between man and animal; hunter and hunted; life and death.

This also points to him possibly being a god of balance or dualities. See Jess South’s “Liminality and Dualities, or “Paired Opposites”’ portion in the text referenced below for more.

Modern Deity Work

Not much is known about Cernunnos or how he was worshipped in the past, but any of the more historically-attested correspondences will have an explanation with them!

Correspondences

Rocks/Stone/Crystals

Gold, silver, copper, iron, and bronze (torcs were made of these metals)

Herbs/Plants

Ferns

Oak

Mushrooms

Mosses

The following plants are associated with liminality, trancework, or hedge-crossing which is why I have included them. Do not consume a plant that you’re unfamiliar with, and be careful touching them. Keep them out of reach of children and pets.

Foxglove

Mugwort

Nightshades

Animals

Stag (depicted looking at him on the Gundestrup cauldron and the silver bowl from Lyons, also he is often depicted with antlers like a stag)

Dog (depicted looking at him on the Gundestrup cauldron and the silver bowl from Lyons)

Ram-horned snake (often depicted holding a snake)

Symbols

Torc (often depicted wearing and holding torcs)

Snake

Antlers

Offerings

Torcs

Imagery of the animals associated with him

Wine

Beer

Antlers

Food

Bones

Feathers

Coins

Acts of Devotion

Explore liminality--what this means is up to you!

Take time to appreciate the balance between man and nature, see how you can participate.

Go hunting--this isn't required but if you're up for it, go for it! Just make sure to do so in an ethical way.

Meditate in the forest, or forest bathe, or just hang out in a woodsy /natural area

Quite frankly, since he is a god heavily associated with liminality, it may be a good idea to test the waters with gender expression!

Read up on him, the following section has a lot of really interesting takes and history on Cernunnos!

Get into cthonic magic

Consider learning more about hedge witchery

References and Further Reading

Cernunnos; An In-Depth Look by Jo Forest

Cernunnos: Origin and Transformation of a Celtic Divinity

Cernunnos: Looking a Different Way by David Fickett-Wilbar

Not Your Mother’s Horned God: The Cernunnos Primer by Jess South (“thebloodybones”)

Britannica

Wikipedia

Mythopedia

ΚΑΡΝΟΝΟΥ: to CARNONOS

[whencyclopedia]

Hausaland

Hausaland, sometimes referred to as the Hausa Kingdoms, was a group of small independent city-states in northern central Africa between the Niger River and Lake Chad which flourished from the 15th to 18th century CE. The origins of the Hausa are not known, but one hypothesis suggests they were a group of indigenous peoples joined by a common language - Hausa - while another theory explains their presence as a consequence of a migration of peoples from the southern Sahara Desert. The cities prospered thanks to local and interregional trade in such commodities as salt, precious metals, leather goods, and slaves. Islam was adopted by many of the rulers and elite of the city-states in the 14th and 15th century CE but was also one of the reasons for their loss of independence when the Muslim Fulani leader Usman dan Fodio (r. 1803-1815 CE) launched a holy war and conquered the region in the early 19th century CE.

Geography & Origins

The name Hausaland derives from the Hausa term Kasar hausa, meaning the 'country of the Hausa language', although the area also included other peoples such as the Tuareg, Fulbe, and Zabarma. The term 'Hausa' was in use only from the 16th century CE as the people called themselves according to which specific city-state or kingdom they belonged to.

Hausaland was located in the Sahel region between the Niger River and Lake Chad in north-central Africa in what is today northern Nigeria. The Sahel is the semi-arid strip of land running across Africa between the Sahara Desert in the north and the Savannah grassland to the south. Hausland, specifically, stretched from the Air mountains (north) to the Jos plateau (south) and from Borno (east) to the Niger Valley (west). This region saw the development of towns by the Hausa-speaking people from 1000 to 1300 CE.

The exact origins of the Hausa cities are not known, but theories include a migration of peoples from the southern Sahara who, abandoning their own lands following the increased desiccation of that area, established new settlements in what would become known as Hausaland. An alternative theory suggests that the Hausa people originally lived on the western shore of Lake Chad and when the lake shrank (as a consequence of the same climatic changes that affected the Sahara) they occupied this new and fertile land and then eventually spread to the immediate north and west. There is as yet, unfortunately, no archaeological evidence to support either of these two theories. As a consequence, there is a third hypothesis, which is that the Hausa had not migrated from anywhere but were indigenous to the region. Support for this theory lies in the fact that there is no tradition of migration in Hausa oral history.

There is, though, a foundation legend, known as the Bayajida or Daura legend, although this probably dates to the 16th century CE and reflects the increased influence of Islam in the region at that time. According to this tradition, Bayajida, a prince from Baghdad, arrived at the court of the ruler of the Kingdom of Kanem (or the Bornu Empire as it became by the 16th century CE). Receiving an unfavourable reception, Bayajida headed eastwards until he came upon the city of Daura. There, the queen and her kingdom were being terrorized by a great snake. Bayajida stepped in and killed the troublesome serpent and promptly married the queen. Together they had a son called Bawogari who then went on to have six sons of his own, each of which became the king of a Hausa city-state. Meanwhile, Bayajida had another son, this time with one of his concubines. This illegitimate son, called Karbogari, had seven sons, and these went on to rule seven other Hausa cities. This story neatly explains how the various cities were established but not, of course, just where Daura and its queen came from.

Continue reading...

[deadboyfriendd]

Cochise IV: Laudanum

Summary: Today, Michael Doten would die. Today, old graves would be exhumed and a mirror image will be held in front of you. Today, you would have to speak your husband’s name. 

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Outlaw/Doc Holliday!Eddie Munson x Reader, wild west/Tombstone!AU, drug use, drug overdose (apparent suicide), death of minor character by hanging, period-appropriate death and violence, angst, fluff, smut

My content is 18+ Minors DNI

Word Count: 2.5k

Author's Note: Thanks Drac @dr-aculaaa and Jo @jo-harrington for listening to me vent and keysmash about this and let me get emotional about starting to wrap up Cochise. Love you guys <3 this one is for you <3

On this day, you wore white. 

Fingers sift past black gown and black gown again, burning a little less when it brushes the taffeta silk of your wedding gown. Dry knees scrape against soft fabric– much too soft for you. Untouched cotton catches on the hair of your legs. It squeezes at your middle much like that ugly dreadful serpent rattled its warning cry into the hollows of your ears and coiled itself tight and ugly into your ribs once more. 

On this day you wore white because, the last time you wore black, you felt the ripples between your husband’s fingers one last time. You ran your thumbs over the creases of your own to remember what his were like. Your heels sunk soft into the powdery grains of the sand outside of The Whispering Sands, a tomb trapping the hollow of your body on this day. You felt the sun on your skin almost immediately, the same way it had day after day after day– though, today it felt more like a sting. You stood outside, but felt the tether thick and winding against your back, reeling you deeper into The Sands until you pulled so hard it snapped. 

Today, you would watch another man die. 

Your footsteps were deafening as they crunched over compacted gravel, softening again as you transitioned from roadway to nothingness again, the crowd silent and tense in wait. There was not a gallows with a trap door on this side of Cochise county. Instead, a monstrous ironwood hung dry and ravenous over the west side of the city like a claw protruding from beneath the surfaces of Hell– several hundred yards out. 

The trial was fast, nothing ever happened in Cochise county that wasn’t. You’d have half a mind to call a kangaroo when you saw one, though, it was hard to argue killing a government official while the whole town watched. 

The sheriff and the plaintiff, a regal man from the state commissioner’s office, sat still and hollow-faced. The sheriff stared off in the distance, eyes rimmed red with unshed tears. You had it in your heart to knock on his door later. You would stew in silence together. You would fix him a meal and serve him a drink and refuse the money that he would inevitably leave on the counter, and you would dab at his knuckles as they seeped a deep red blood– just as he had done for you. 

Michael stood atop a stool, perpendicular to the flanks of a a broken Salt River mare, less slovenly. More sober than you had ever seen him in this lifetime. He blubbered a mess and immediately you were saddened. A man reduced to pleading. A man broken of pride and envy. 

“Just shoot me. Lord, please just let me go fast.” 

“Mr. Michael Doten,” The commissioner began, voice monotonous and stale. He had done this too many times, “You have been tried by the state of Arizona, Cochise County, and found guilty of the crime of Murder. On the evening of twenty-first day of August, in the year of our lord 1894, you fired a single shot that ended the life of State Marshall, Milt Kilmer. This crime was witnessed by Sheriff Steve Harrington, Mr. Edward Munson, and multiple other witnesses…”

“Please, Lord. An eye for an eye. Please just kill me fast.”

“Michael Doten, by the power vested in me by the state of Arizona, I hereby sentence you to death by hanging. May the lord be with you.” 

“Please, Lord.”

Soft cries of prayers ring poignant in the stale air. A broken man’s last pleas for forgiveness. Steve mouths a soft, “I’m sorry.” to Michael, before placing a rucksack over his head, pulling the noosehead over his throat and squeezing his shoulder. The mare is commanded to run. Prayers turn to chokes and then bittersweet silence.

There is a gilded line between life and death. In that moment, the sun shines too bright, the hum of the earth becomes deafening. The desert respires one heavy and pungent sigh. And all is silent again. A saguaro congregation stands in the distance, their joshua tree choirs bow their spiny heads in reverence. A silent prayer washes over the desert. 

You haven't prayed in years, but you bow your head and say a silent prayer for Michael Doten. You aren’t quite sure what for. Peace in death, maybe. Or even the blissful dissonance for silence would suffice. By the way he chokes his final breaths, you know it is too late to hope for painlessness. 

You look up, and lock your vision into a familiar warmth. You know Eddie can feel it, too. 

He is walking this line. He is standing over an old grave, just the same as you are. He is up North, cool, damp soil slipping between numb fingers and falling over a casket, how desperately he wants to peel it open and feel her chest once more for breath– how desperately he wants to crawl inside and lay himself next to her. How desperately you yearned to do the same. 

His movements are swift and sudden, rhythmic and graceful as he pulls himself on to his stallion and rides off towards the south mountain in a blind rage. The crowd dissipates at a sickeningly slow rate, and you push through hordes of black gowns and coats in search of him. You knew The Sheriff would be okay, you knew he would need his time to fester. Instead, you ran after him, toes kicking up clouds of powdery sand that sprayed behind you in clouds. 

By the time you reached the south mountain, you were breathless. The white ruffles had torn at the seam, hanging down ragged and dirty in the sand beneath you. 

It was spring, and the spring superbloom hung heavy in sheets on the mountain. The sun casting a pale gradient haze across the sky, orange mallows bleeding their bloom into the end of day, a royal hue and a vibrant pink mixing into a farewell song. 

“I felt it, too, Eddie.” Even now, you feel it. He looks at you, face angry. Just for a second, you’re afraid he might yell. “Like you’re there again, like you–”

“You’re standing over a grave?” 

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.” 

The silence was deafening, tension like bitter aspic encasing you in a mould inescabable. The seconds that passed by as you waited for him to say something were stretched like taffy. You waded through the quicksand of these moments, thrashing and drawning yourself deeper in tension. Finally, you spoke:

“Y’know, when Wilhelm died…” It’s the first time you speak his name. He feels real again, like he’s standing in front of you. You reach for his hand but find Eddie’s instead. “...when Wilhelm died I felt like I died with him. Or at least, something did. It felt like I just up and left a big fat chunk of my right there in the ground with him.” 

You squeezed his hand, firm, yet gentle, “You would have liked him.”

“Really?” He squeezed yours back.

“Yes.” It wasn’t an explanation, but it was enough. 

“You would have hated Christine.” 

“Really?”

“Yes, ma’am, you are too much like each other.” 

“What was she like?’

“Beautiful,” He started with a smile, “Pretty as a mink stole, but stubborn to Hell and back again.”

 He goes on like this, and you can see her in front of you. Barefoot and dancing in the orange mallow, firey hair against a vibrant wash of color in the background. She glows. Heavenly and celestial. Her feet are light and nimble. She never sleeps, she says, she says she will never die. She is dancing, dancing. She says that she will never die. 

“She sounds wonderful.”

It does not seem like a suffice enough answer. To be compared to something so lovely– so grand, as something so plain and mended. 

“She was.”

“Wilhelm was too.” and he was, tall and beautiful and lively as she. He is also never sleeping. He is also dancing. He also says that he will never die. 

“You know, you never say anything about him.” He says to you, turning in your direction, finally. 

You shrugged, allowing yourself to meet his eyes for just a moment, “I guess I’m just so used to the whole town knowing everything about me.”

“Well, I’d like to know about you, too.” 

He is close now, impossibly close. Decadently close. A closeness you have not felt since Wilhelm. It was sickening to know how close you felt to both of them. 

“I’m just a widow. I run a bar.”

“But it wasn’t always that way.”

“No, not always.” 

“Then tell me about him.”

“He was tall. The tallest man I had ever met.” You go on like this, describing to Eddie in full detail the discrepancies and your favorite, beautiful details of your beloved, then, finally, you spoke of his death, “That night, a handful of bandoleros came into The Sands. They took everything. They cleaned out the humidor. The last thing they wanted was his ring– h-he, he wouldn’t give it up.” Your voice wobbles, you don’t stop the tear from rolling down your face. 

“Christine died in her sleep,” He starts, and it is confiding and all-encompassing, “I like to think that she was finally at peace with whatever she was fighting. Maybe herself. They said it was laudanum. They said we wouldn’t ever know if it was an accident or not.” 

You’d have half a mind to ask him what he thought. It was better saved for another day. But you would always wonder. 

“I’m sorry, Eddie.” You chided, it felt long-winded, insincere, even. Maybe because you had heard it so many times yourself. But by the nature of practicality it felt correct. 

He shrugged at the insincerity. If he felt it, he would never say it aloud. There was a pause, in which he completed his next words carefully. You were past informality now, just as you were past Edward or Wilhelm or Christine. 

 “We aren't so different, y’know.” You begin, backtracking on that ugly, overused phrase like a tar. He is looking outwardly into the distance. You wonder if he sees her dance too. 

He turns towards you, purple overtaking the sky in a solemn pitfall of night, “But we are” 

“And how is that?” You ask, almost snide. A smile curls at the corners of your lips. Orange and yellow overtake the bowl of mountains to the west. 

“Ma’am, I feel like I could love you.”

“Not the same way you loved her.”

“You can’t love me the same way you loved him.” 

“But I could try.” 

He is walking this line. He is standing over an old grave, just the same as you are. He is up North, cool, damp soil slipping between numb fingers and falling over a casket, how desperately he wants to peel it open and feel her chest once more for breath– how desperately he wants to crawl inside and lay himself next to her. How desperately you yearned to do the same. But this time, he finishes the pile and sets it with his hands. A final goodbye to Christine. 

He pulls you from the sand where you lay, pulls you into the bed of orange mallow and lays you to rest upon your back. 

He is slow to undress you, planting his lips like glue upon your skin to mend whatever pieces he can find. His fingers are nimble and fumbling as he pries apart the button snaps of your dresses with more force than necessary. Desperate to feel your skin– quick to take his time. 

He nips gentle marks across your chest, flesh gathering between teeth like ruffles. You do not yelp or cry out like Christine did. Instead, your breathy sigh washes over his face like a spring breeze, and your back arches to give leeway for his hands to find purchase. 

He is relentless in your dresses, pulling underclothes over the soft hair of your legs and feeling his way up again with wide, warm palms. His clothes come quickly after.

He undresses you in your entirety, then pauses to look over your body. You are not a woman who cowers away from his gaze, not a woman who slinks from his touch. You do not move your arms to cover yourself, instead, you let the waning heat of the sun bathe your skin in an ambergris orange glow. 

For a moment you stare at each other, taking in his form. Really, he is beautiful. Alabaster skin against a bleeding purple sky. He does not cower from your gaze, nor does he flaunt himself for you in a ridiculous masquerade of masculine offense. Instead he looms over you like the sun, warming your skin with his radiance. 

In him you do not see Wilhelm. Instead you see yourself. 

Mimicked faces of ecstasy mirror over when he pulls two gentle fingers through you, plunging them in a slow, methodic rhythm. It is soothing as much as it is arousing. A thumb rolling circles over the right places, placating a birdsong of quiet, breathless sighs not unlike his own. 

His skin is soft against yours when he enters you, flesh against flesh creating a warm friction masked by sand and sweat. 

His head is against your shoulder, teeth grazing over the flesh there and taking it in gently. His hands have purchase against your waist, keeping you grounded in place as he continues. His hair is soft against your neck, lye pungent in your nostrils as he encompasses your grief in his own jar and shelves it for another day. 

This evening, you will lay naked in the sea of this spring’s superbloom. He will roll the petals of the orange mallow over your skin and you will laugh as he twists the flower in circles. You have not laughed like this since Wilhelm. He has not laughed like this since Christine. 

On this day, you wear white. Married to your grief and eloped to this place.

On this day, you watched another man die, but you also breathed life into another man through nimble whispers and breathless sighs. 

On this day, you walked the plane between life and death. You held a man’s breath in your hands, so thick with his spirit you felt you could store it in a jar until you were ready to forgive him. 

On this day, you spoke Wilhelm’s name, and severed the tie that bound you to grief. 

You would not be healed today, but you say you will never die. 

[mylordshesacactus]

Suncrest Campaign Wrap-Up: The Duality Of Session Titles

Our player-notes document is a communal Google Doc, where everyone (including the beleaguered DM) can hop back to check details from earlier sessions--highly recommend this system, honestly. And, for ease of reference, every week after the session wraps up I go in and give the session a title, so that we can use the gdocs Table of Contents feature to easily jump between entries.

In general, I try to make these at least somewhat informative--I try to match the tone of the title to the overall tone of the session, and reference something that'll make it clear in six months what the hell I'm talking about.

So, in honor of the party reaching the campaign endgame: A final write-up of all our session titles over the course of the campaign.

A Long Time Ago In A Campaign Setting Far, Far Away (Level-1 Adventures & The Doppelganger Arc):

1: You Meet In A Tavern Fire 2: Patience Is A Virtue (in which the party got what was meant to be mid-campaign reveal information in session 2 due to excellent restraint and investigation, and also met long-term NPC Virtue Chirelli) 3: Secrets Of Shroudpost 4: Nightfall 5: Jumping At Shadows 6: Teamwork Makes The Dream Work

Both Parts Of The Name (Abandoned Temple Quest Arc)

7: Stories & Stoves (the party meets Arlette, who runs a magic-and-general-store called Staves & Stoves, and is given a quest) 8: Indiana Jones & The Temple Of Realistic Consequences 9: D&D A-Bridged 10: This Temple Is Weird (the party fights a water weird) 11: Big Fucking Dragon 12: Max and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Campaign, or: The Gang Gets Obscenely Rich

Night Hag Arc

13: Once More Into The Breach 14: #WWFD? (What Would Farrah Do--her player was absent that week) 15: The Power Of Friendship And These Tits I Found 16: GAH, Or: Wake Up There's Hags 17: Now With 33% Less Hag! 18: Hag-gling Over Loot 19: Good Thing We Didn't Leave Those NPC Guards Unsupervised

Werewolf Arc

20: Trouble In Thistledale 21: Family & Forestry 22: First Blood 23: There Wolves 24: Protectors 25: Assassin's Creed This Shit 26: The Silverlight Hounds 27: Overwhelming Force 28: New Moon 29: Firelight Festival

Election Fraud Arc

30: Political Theater 31: Landlords & Other Bloodthirsty Monstrosities 32: Hashtag Escapism 33: Of Mortgages & Murder 34: A Dish-tressing Discovery (a friendly NPC was almost murdered via sleep deprivation using a cursed goblet) 35: Jackoff And The Giant Beanstalk 36: The Key To Success

Requiem Arc

37: Directionality 38: Brought To You By The Letter 'N' 39: Long Rest 40: Please Do Not Bother The Violet Guard 41: Crimes 42: MASQUERAAAAAAAAADE 43: Everything Goes Completely Tits-Up 44: Breadcrumbs 45: A Suspiciously Well-Maintained Passageway 46: Foul Water 47: Several Discussions Of Traps 48: In Memoriam (the TREATY puzzle; the party learns everything about the day the world ended 50 years ago) 49: This Is Fine 50: Sax And Violince 51: You Have [36] New Messages

The Siege of Suncrest

52: Storm of Vengeance 53: Andromeda Gets Drugs From The Cops 54: Mindboggling (the party fights boggles) 55: The Siege Of Suncrest 56: What, Like It's Hard? (the party defeats what was meant to be a session-long boss fight in two rounds) 57: Breach 58: Your Stunned Silence Is Very Reassuring (death of a beloved NPC; the party was so stressed that nobody took a single note in the doc) 59: Tallyho 60: Release The Hounds

Faewild Arc

61: Crossover 62: The Tortoise And The Almost Perfect Aesop Reference (the party rides a dragon turtle and meets rabbitfolk) 63: Warren Of The Shining Wires 64: The Next Step 65: Perfect Time To Get Stoned (party fights a gorgon) 66: The Feathered Serpent 67: Plan C: Jo [the DM] Kills Us In Real Life 68: Frostfire 69: Wolves of Winter 70: Do It For The Vine

Endgame

71: [Preposition] The Hedge (the party begins infiltrating the Palace of Summer, which sits at the center of a giant hedge maze) 72: The Dread Gazebo 73: A Wolf A Goose A Cabbage And The Concept Of Summer Walk Into A Bar 74: Domination 75: In Which Nobody Touches Anything (the wizard, after spending the entire session of sneaking through several different trophy rooms frantically trying to keep the party from touching anything, pockets a legendary item off a display case without telling anyone) 76: The Hand Of Fate 77: Hold Fast 78: The Fall Of Summer 79: The Distant Light

[la-artist322]

Suggestion by @candycandyboo

Jan and Jo ended up in a large T-shirt due to some sisterly fighting.

Update; I forgot their backhairs, damn it.

Jan and Jo Serpent © Puss in Boots, Dreamworks Fanart © Me

[smolvenger]

Me Every time despite my tags a W*ll R*nsome gif pops up unfiltered on my Tumblr dash in a positive way or shows something about him and C*ra’s “love story”🤢🤮

[thatbanditqueen]

Jam Session @ Graceland

A short snippet from Chapter 4 of No One Walks Out On Big Daddy, dedicated to @whositmcwhatsit​ because she puts up with me and makes me blush when she shines her brilliance my way and @stylespresleyhearted​ because she MADE this beautiful mood board for me and is the sweetest baby girl in the world..... and for @woundmetender​ and @powerofelvis​ because without them i am nothing... and anyone ever who reads or comments or likes or reblogs because your support and thoughts make this work what it is good, or bad... it’s your fault not mine see what your love makes me do (yes i both relate to elvis and want to fuck him....)

Listen to this song to set the mood

Warnings: Excessive fluff and some jealousy

***************************************************************************************

The chords from George Jones’ and Tammy Wynette’s hit duet “Something to Brag About” met Elvis ears as he thumped downstairs, and he stood at the entry of the den, noting the three empty beers on the coffee table and watching Becky take a sip from her beer as Charlie’s finger played the guitar while he sang,

But I've got something to brag about Something to brag about Something to brag about in you

Becky held her drink, closing her eyes as she sang out Tammy’s verse vigorously to the green carpeting above her head, the deep emotion in her voice warmed Elvis entire body as he watched her with the keen eye of a voyeur. He felt the prickle of desire buzz along the back of his neck as he gazed at her singing and bouncing up and down freely. The curls on top of her head seemingly had a life of their own, animated by the intensity of her delivery.  He liked the feeling of power he got watching her from doorway, knowing she had no idea he was there, she wasn’t responding or performing for him. Just existing in the world as the free spirit that she was.

When you're with the fellas, I know You start braggin' 'bout My hour glass figure and my big brown eyes

Becky giggled, moving her hands over her body as she sang.

Then a you tell your girlfriends 'bout my Sweet, sweet lov—‘

Just as Charlie started to sing the word lovin’ he looked at the door and gulped, his hands froze while the last chord still reverberated through the den’s acoustics. He knew the power of that star all too well, and the horror on his face showed his recognition.

Becky turned her head upside down, leaning back over the wooden serpent armrest,  that second beer had made her back impervious to its  hard ridges. A goofy smile spread across her upside down lips.

“Heyyyyy daddy!”

Elvis stepped forward, towering above her. His jowls hanging down as he tousled Becky’s hair from above, then pulled her single dress strap up the side of her shoulder from where it threatened to slip off and release Becky’s heaving bosom.

“Mmhmmm … hey baby…don’t let me interrupt y’all…” The edge in his tenor went over Becky’s head as she giggled, a dreamy look on her face as she blew a kiss up at him,.

Leaning back as she was, Becky missed Charlie’s nervous glance at Billy, and she pulled herself up, slapping Charlie’s knee. “C’mon Decatur,where were we.”

“Ummm, uh… I uh, forget how it goes from here…” Charlie coughed out.

Elvis staggered around the sofa behind Charlie, leaning down on his hands at the back of the couch.  “Hmmm….. maybe it’s time ta let a professional take over…?”

Becky guffawed, slamming down her beer on the coffee,  she raised her hands out for the guitar. “Don’t let him talk to ya that way, Charlie… I can play if you... if you forget how it goes from here….” Charlie shot Becky a weak grin, and leaned over to hand her the guitar as he shakily stood up.

“Thanks darlin, but uhhh,  need to use the John anyhow… y’all go on with out me….” Charlie twisted to look over his shoulder as Elvis plopped down in one of the large arm chairs across from the sofa. Billy sat in the other one, his face was blank and inscrutable as he nodded at his cousin, and squeezed Jo’s shoulder where she leaned into him from the green carpet.

Becky looked down at her hands, finding the chords on the neck of the guitar, then smiling at the others as she strumming lightly. Her voice was solemn and sad as it lifted up into “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Old,” pausing at the chorus to yell out, “C’mon on y’all, sing it with me….”

The night they drove old Dixie down And the bells were ringing The night they drove old Dixie down And the people were singing They went, "Na, na, la, na, na, la"

Jo joined in exuberantly, and elbowed Billy into singing. Elvis grinned, and pulled out a cigarillo, waiting as Billy paused his “na na nas” to hastily jump up and light Elvis’ cigar.

Becky laid the guitar down on the couch next to her when she finished the sing and stood, walking around the coffee table to sit on Elvis’ lap. He looked up at her, blowing his cigar smoke to the side,

“Dontcha know… that’s a man’s song?”

“Hmmm…” Becky purred as Elvis belly bounced into her and she leaned into his face, her fingers edging around Elvis’ cigar, pulling it out of his grasp to her own lips, a sly smile as she spoke. “Oh ya know…. I like…” she sucked on his cigar,  then exhaled as she finished her thought. “Men’s things….”

Elvis pulled his cigar back from her fingers, his lips hovered below her chin. “Already know that…”

Becky leaned her forehead down against Elvis’, his left hand jiggled her closer, and chuckled up into her mouth, his eyes danced behind his sunglasses.

“You know, you have a sad melancholy in that voice a yourn….” He murmured just to her, pulling Becky in the warm enclosure of his arms, a world where only the two of them existed and they spoke to each other in hushed, intimate voices as if no one was around. Billy and Jo looked at each other and shrugged awkwardly.  

Becky didn’t notice.

“You don’t like my voice?” she stammered, her lower lip trembling.

Elvis brushed his lips over her chin, closing his eyes as he tilted his forehead into her nose and growled into her breasts below. “Honey… I don’t like your voice……” he paused for effect, his left hand grabbing the back of her hair, loosening the bobby pins that held it up with the force of his fingers. His jowls vibrated as he intoned, deeply. “I loooove your voice…..”

Charlie coughed as he walked back in, and picked up the guitar to put it back with its stand against the wall. Elvis’ eyes shifted, momentarily brought out of his trance, but he left his head resting against Becky’s chin.

“Hand that over here, son…. nah, give it to Becky … ya a better gee tar player than I am any how…”

“Liar…you just lazy and wanna smoke that cigar...”

“Shut your mouth and get to playin’,” he blew his cigar smoke in her face.

“You still ain’t the boss a me… ”

His left hand lowered down to slap her side. “Hesh woman… c’mon, what are we singing…”

Becky grinned, and played the opening bars twice as she asked, “You know this one?”

“Ohhhh baby, I had that stuck in my head since the first night I met ya….” Elvis confessed, stubbing out his cigar in the green glass ashtray stand next to his chair.

“Alright, I’ll count us off.. one, two three…”

Then their voices roared together in unison as they sang the opening stanza of June and Johnny’s “Jackson…” Elvis’ face lifted up to Becky’s, her breasts bounced as she strummed and his left hand drummed out a fast rhythm on the bottom of the guitar from where it squeezed her waist. Her body rocked back and forth into his belly and she belted out a “HA!” as he sang this verse.

When I breeze into that city People gonna stoop and bow (hah) All them women gonna make me Teach 'em what they don't know how

Charlie looked at the others, his eyebrows raised, and Billy shrugged again, his eyes conveyed a knowing weariness. Neither Becky nor Elvis noticed this exchange, their eyes were otherwise occupied, and Becky leaned her nose down to nuzzle Elvis’s as she breathed out the next verse into his face through simpering amusement. Her warm breath sent a lightening bolt across Elvis’ body, which only increased with each thump of her bottom against his tummy, swelling up even more when his lungs expanded to sing.  He kissed the top of her shoulder softly as she leaned into him, finishing her stanza.

Yeah, go to Jackson You big-talkin' man And I'll be waitin' in Jackson Behind my Jaypan Fan

Becky purred along as Elvis sang the last chorus, swaying back and forth over his lap, and his arms closed tight around her as they hummed the last few notes together. They stayed in the den for hours singing, long after Billy and Jo found their children and said goodnight, Charlie tottered after them with a farewell. Their voices joined in happy harmony, mingling in the air was they started, stopped, paused, laughed and crooned together the melodies for “I Saw The Light,” “Don’t Think Twice,” “Louisiana Women, Mississippi Man,”  Elvis changed the words to Alabama woman in this last one, to which Becky responded with a chuckle, which made him laugh and they giggled into each other’s cuddles on the furry arm chair.

*****************************************************************************************************

I am 14K into this and on the last section....  my plan is to post this tomorrow morning, giving you the time you needed to recover from @precious-little-scoundrel​ and @everythingpresley​ gifts yesterday and before @elvisabutler​ sends everyone into a rebid frenzy with Spark.......

xoxo

noraHHHHHHH

[devoutjunk]

Novel Syllabus 2024

This coming year I think I'm going to be on here more often than I am on twitter or elsewhere, and as part of that, I'm going to start documenting the process of writing my novel more actively. I want to return to/resurrect the momentum and energy I had while writing the first draft and be more intentional about setting aside time to work, even when it's difficult. Below are my writing goals for the coming year as well as my reading list of texts for inspiration, genre/background research, comps, etc. Would welcome any suggestions of texts (any genre/discipline) pertaining to Antigone, death & resurrection, Welsh and Cornish myth and folklore, ecology & environmental crisis, and the Gothic.

Writing Goals

Reach 50k words in draft 2 overall

Finish a draft of Anna's timeline

Finish a draft of Jo's timeline

Polish & submit an excerpt for the Center for Fiction Prize

Reading

* = reread

Sci-Fi, Fantasy, & The Apocalyptic

The Memory Theater (Karin Tidbeck)

Who Fears Death (Nnedi Okorafor)

Urth of The New Sun (Gene Wolfe)

Slow River (Nicola Griffith)

Dream Snake (Vonda McIntyre)

Black Leopard, Red Wolf (Marlon James)

Notes from the Burning Age (Claire North)

Invisible Cities (Italo Calvino)*

Frankenstein (Mary Shelley)*

The Last Man (Mary Shelley)

The Drowned World (J.G. Ballard)

Strange Beasts of China (Yan Ge, trans. by Jeremy Tiang)

City of Saints and Madmen (Jeff VanderMeer)

Freshwater (Akweke Emezi)

The Glass Hotel (Emily St. John Mandel)

Pattern Master (Octavia Butler)

Sleep Donation (Karen Russell)

How High We Go in the Dark (Sequoia Nagamatsu)

The Magician's Nephew (C.S. Lewis)*

The Golden Compass (Phillip Pullman)*

The Green Witch (Susan Cooper)

The Tombs of Atuan (Ursula K. Le Guin)

Black Sun (Rebecca Roanhorse)

Gideon the Ninth (Tamsyn Muir)

Lives of the Monster Dogs (Kirsten Bakis)

Brian Evenson

Sofia Samatar

Connie Willis

Samuel Delaney

Jo Walton

Tanith Lee

Retellings

A Wild Swan (Michael Cunningham)

Til We Have Faces (C.S. Lewis)

Gingerbread (Helen Oyeyemi)

Circe (Madeline Miller)

The Owl Service (Alan Garner)

Literary Myth-Making, Mystery, and the Gothic

Nights at the Circus (Angela Carter)

Frenchman's Creek (Daphne Du Maurier)

Possession (A.S. Byatt)*

The Game (A.S. Byatt)*

The Essex Serpent (Sarah Perry)

Wuthering Heights (Emily Brontë)

The Secret History (Donna Tartt)*

The Wild Hunt (Emma Seckel)

King Nyx (Kirsten Bakis)

The Name of the Rose (Umberto Eco)

The Lottery and Other Stories (Shirley Jackson)

Beloved (Toni Morrison)

The Night Land (William Hope Hodgson)

Interview with a Vampire (Anne Rice)*

Sexing the Cherry (Jeanette Winterson)*

Night Side of the River (Jeanette Winterson)

Bad Heroines (Emily Danforth)

All the Murmuring Bones (A.G. Slatter)

The Path of Thorns (A.G. Slatter)

Gormenghast (Mervyn Peake)

Prose Work, Perspective, and Stream of Consciousness

The Chandelier (Clarice Lispector)

The Waves (Virginia Woolf)*

The Years (Virginia Woolf)

The Intimate Historical Epic / Court Intrigues

Wolf Hall (Hilary Mantel)*

Menewood (Nicola Griffith)

Dark Earth (Rebecca Stott)

A Place of Greater Safety (Hilary Mantel)

Research

The Mabinogion (trans. Sioned Davies)

Le Morte D'Arthur (Thomas Malory)

The Collected Brothers Grimm (Phillip Pullman)

Angela Carter's Collected Fairytales

Mythology (Edith Hamilton)

Underland (Robert Macfarlane)

The Wild Places (Robert Macfarlane)

Wildwood (Roger Deakin)

Vanishing Cornwall (Daphne Du Maurier)

Lonely Planet: Guide to Devon & Cornwall

A Traveler's Guide to the End of the World (David Gessner)

The Lost Boys of Montauk (Amanda M. Fairbanks)

A Cyborg Manifesto (Donna J. Harraway)

A Treasury of British Folklore (Dee Dee Chainey)*

The First Last Man: Mary Shelley and the Postapocalyptic Imagination (Eileen M. Hunt)

Antigone's Claim (Judith Butler)

Theories of Desire: Antigone Again (Judith Butler)

Ecology of Fear (Mike Davis)