#just thought my fellow tumblr horse people should know

[saturnvs]

tomorrow i'm visiting a stable where i might start having equine therapy eventually.. nervous but excited!!

[thorraborinn]

tumblr rec'd you to me and i pleasantly surprised to find a fellow Heathen in Lenapehoking/NYC! what are your thoughts on the local pagan/polytheist/Heathen communities?

So I don't actually live in NYC, I used to spend a lot of time there but rarely for heathen stuff and I don't think I've set foot in it since 2019. But there are a lot of cool heathens there, and it's actually a very young scene (NYC used to be basically run by Theodish and it was so toxic that it turned the scene into a smoking crater for years, but the people who eventually filled the gap are entirely different) that has been good about keeping away folkish and other bigots from the very beginning instead of needing to kick them out like a lot of other communities in the US. They used to have a lot of public events, partially so they could vet people and make sure they're not racists or transphobes or whatever before letting them get closer. I haven't really kept up with them though so I don't know what's going on these days, but if you wanted to make contact, I'd expect they'd be at Pagan Pride day in September, and if you don't want to wait you could get in contact with the NYC Troth Steward (you don't have to be Troth or interested in them or whatever).

The broader east coast regional community is fairly similar. Heathen social networks around here are mostly informal, but a major focal point is Northeast Thing in eastern Pennsylvania (previously East Coast Thing; there's also a separate thing now called East Coast Thing), a yearly gathering that whether or not you actually go has a big impact on the scene because it's forming and refreshing connections. That means that its rules about inclusion and Covid safety become the de facto standard for the area.

There used to be a much heavier folkish presence, and I assume they're all still here, but as far as I can tell all their stuff is word-of-mouth only now so you don't really have to worry about running into them by mistake. PA and northwest NJ used to be overrun with AFA but I don't think any of them still have public-facing presences (though they are definitely still around). Anyway the point is, you're very unlikely to have any chance encounters with racists these days, you should still vet people but it won't take a lot of work anymore and everyone will make their position unambiguous.

The whole area used to be very anti-Loki but changed very rapidly over the course of a few years. A very small handful of people locally are cool with Fenrir but the community at large is not. It would be very difficult to find people who are okay with, like, Surtr. The Troth just changed their policies to be inclusive of these figures and there's a bunch of whining about it happening locally. I have no horse in this fight but it's important to some people so I figured I'd mention it.

Personally I get very jaded when I do too much in-person heathenry outside of my close friends. I have pretty extreme philosophical and political differences from the average heathen and my religious beliefs are so intertwined with those that I usually end up feeling more alienation than connection. Really, this is my fault for having unrealistic expectations, but I honestly don't feel like I'm missing much anyway. I think maybe in-person heathenry is built around serving needs that I don't actually have myself, and I'm glad others find something in it even if I don't. My religious impulses are satisfied when I'm with my anarchist friends, and I do have close friendships with heathens who I met through the scene that transcend the problems I have with the scene in general.

I have had very little contact with non-heathen pagans and I can't really say much about them.

[birdstooth]

This is a true story u guys.

So, several years ago, I got to be a contestant on one of those gameshows where they give u random tasks like “convince a fellow grocery store customer to buy 20 cans of dog food”. I can’t say the name of the show bc it didn’t end up airing and I signed an NDA. Anyway, on my episode they sent us to this fancy soirée and we had to try to get one of the of the other attendees to go out with us - but we could only use ONE (1) pick up line that we had written earlier.

Even though we were told that the pickup line should be multipurpose like a Swiss Army knife, I chose to go with “Are u a lawyer bc this is a great horse divorce” (a play on the mispronunciation of “hors d’oeuvres”).

They set us loose at this party and I’m very strategic about my targets. The first person I chose is the grandma with the sword we’ve all seen in the Tumblr ads, but this is before she was chosen to be in the Tumblr ads, so she was a bit younger. I knew she was the hostess because I could see several portraits of her ancestors holding similar bedazzled swords around the house.

I asked the servers where I might find her and they tell me she’s upstairs in the “crystal room”. I didn’t know what that meant but I head for the stairs, only to be met by a bunch of paramedics coming down with a stretcher. Apparently, our hostess had taken too much meth and needed to go to the hospital. I refrained from saying my pickup line out of respect as the stretcher is wheeled past me.

Next, I head to the kitchen. The second person I have chosen is the chef, and I know he’s the chef bc I recognize his face from the Chef Boyardee cans at the supermarket. I go up to him and say “Hello Mr. Boyardee it is an honour to meet u, I didn’t know u did catering”

He says, “u can call me Hector. Boyardee was my parole officer’s name. And yes, I do cater private events. People just don’t eat as much beefaroni these days - the money isn’t rolling in like it used to”

I am not surprised because I rarely see ads for Chef Boyardee products anymore but I pretend to be sympathetic to make him more receptive to my pickup line.

I say, “that’s a shame because the food is so authentic and Italian. By the way, are you a full time chef? Just wondering bc I thought u might be a lawyer since this horse divorce is so great”. Then I take out a ravioli from my pocket and eat it to show my appreciation for the horse divorce.

Hector is stunned, and asks the camera crew to stop recording and leave. They don’t. He then whispers to me, “does anyone else know my ex wife is in the ravioli?”

Confused, I ask “are u saying your ex wife is a horse?”

He shakes his head, tears spilling from his eyes, and croaks, “she… she WAS a horse” before bursting into tears.

I look at the camera crew behind me but they have all fainted. The camera, however, still had that blinking red dot so I know it’s still filming. I shut it off and toss it in the deep fryer. Turning to Hector, I say, “No one knows your ex wife is in the ravioli. I was only able to tell because this isn’t my first rodeo”

He stops crying and looks at me in fear, “are you… are you saying this isn’t the first time you’ve eaten a horse?!”

I tell him I used to eat copious amounts of glue as a child and he trembles at my feet and begs for his life. I consider it, but then decide the world is better off without beefaroni and toss him in the deep fryer as well.

Exiting the kitchen, I see some of the other contestants conversing with the party guests, and remember what I came here for. I go back into the kitchen and pull Hector out of the deep fryer. He’s still alive bc the deep fryer was not set up so there wasn’t any oil in it and it was off the whole time.

Hector is still crying so I tell him to shut up and bring his sharpest knife and biggest bowl upstairs, along with a chef hat for me because I’ve always wanted to wear one. He tells me that he’s the only one allowed to wear the Chef hat so I take his. I tell him that from now on, he will address me as Chef Boyardee, and I will address him as Ratatouille. He looks resigned and agrees.

We head upstairs to the crystal room where I make him harvest the largest, bluest chunks of meth from the walls and put them in the bowl. Then we climb out the window, but he is off balance bc he’s unused to moving around without the weight of the chef’s hat on his head, so he falls to his death.

I finish climbing down, and look at his body, then the bowl of meth in my hands, and back at his body. An idea strikes me I and take the cash and ID from the wallet in his pocket, as well as his phone. I use his still warm thumb to unlock the phone and compose a text message and cc all of his contacts. It reads: Chef Boyardee is back baybeeee! We will be rolling out an all new “beefaroni” recipe later this year with a special ingredient! Look for it in the canned foods aisle at your local supermarket!!💙”

[dragonstepp]

Hi, ya'll

Sorry I haven't been here in all my "wisdom", but my internet went down over the weekend and I didn't get to call them until today. I have a landline, which comes through my WiFi box, and I had to gothi

I have been thinking about so many things these past few daysoh City came out on top in their league; I don't actually have a fave team, but two of my friends love them, so I was happy for them; I also watched some golf from the PGA; wow, that fellow named Block made a really cool hole-in-one: watched some stock car racing at a venue which had been renovated, but there are few drivers left that I know much about; and I watched the Preakness, but no triple crown this year. I watched Mage win the Kentucky Derby - I chose that horse just because I loved his name; I believe, as a pagan, in high spirituality, but also in magic. But he came in third in the Preakness.

I also thought a lot about all the mass shootings. I have been alive for many wars America got involved in: WW II, Korea, Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan. You know the saddest thing I have ever known is that all those wars were fought in other lands. Our military seems to have the idea that destroying other places is what we should be doing. Only two wars have been fought on this country - the Revolution and the Civil war (that is a real oxymoron). Even George W.Bush said we go there to keep them from coming here.

So even though it is not exactly the same thing, the actions of these so-called white supremacists with their mass shootings may be wear us down a little. However, the damage to buildings so far seem to be only the twin towers and the Oklahoma City bombings back in the 90s seem to be only physical damage to properties. But we sure did some damage elsewhere; I think about Dresden a lot.

However, the white supremacists seem to be carrying on what has been problems for a long time; starting with the native Americans, through all the years of blacks/African Americans/whatever name they prefer to be called, against spiritualities other than christianity, Asians, Latinos - it just doesn't stop.

I had a bit of a quarrel with what some of these christians are saying; that the Ten Commandments should be in every school and public buildings. Don't these idiots know what they are saying? They are saying Hitler was right to go after the Jews. But the Ten Commandments were written for the Hebrews/Jews. If they want to want everyone to believe them, they should be paying attention to the Beatitudes. Oh well, I am a pagan.

I am fed up with the beliefs that corporations and other organizations want us, we the people, to follow their rules. They want us all to become faces in the crowds. Individuality is not looked on with favour. I suspect there are a lot of people here, on tumblr, who feel the same irritation I do over those thoughts. Toe the line. I think I have found here a lot of folks who believe as I do, that we are all individuals who deserve to live our lives the way we want, not be sheep. I got suspended from Facebook, and I am thinking it was a blessing. I like this site, and I like Instagram.

So thank you to all who have decided to follow me. I imagine that time will show me there are a lot of people I need to start following in return.

I love you all.

Carol in Austin, Texas

I would blaze this, but I don't have enough money in my checking account to pay for it.

[theskywaslookingback]

tma fic recs please ? 🤲🏽

Oooooo yes! I never get asks like this, thank you!

[my tumblr fic recs tag is here for browsing]

I had to put it under a cut because it got...entirely too long barely half an hour into making it, sorry.

Under 5k

means of cartharsis by orphan_account [G] [965]

“You’d think – you’d that at this point nightmares would be second nature for me, hm?” Martin says, forcing a smile even as he tugs the blanket tighter around his trembling shoulders.

It’s meant to be a bit funny. Instead of laughing, though, Jon frowns.

“No,” he says simply, and matter-of-factly wipes the moisture from Martin’s cheeks with a tissue like he’s a crying child.

A Proper Sleepover by Goodluckdetective (scorpiantales) [T] [1.4k]

In a different world, one where Elias is not waiting for them outside the Lonely, everyone has a chance to savor a moment of respite. As much as they can get these days. If only to talk about things that long need to be spoken.

“Basira says we should all sleep in the same room tonight,” Jon says without looking up. “Safer. So we can keep an eye out for intruders and also each other.”

“So we’re having a proper sleepover then?”

Jon scoffs. “Technically we’ve been having a proper one for months.”

where i go, when i go there by rainny_days [T] [1.7k]

Martin wants Jon to hold his hand. Martin doesn't want Jon to hold his hand.

It's complicated.

all the other ways by AptlyNamed [G] [2.2k]

Jon loses his first soul mark when he is eight years old.

a palace from ruin by bibliocratic [G] [2.2k]

"What're you sorry for?” Martin asks.

“I should have asked,” Jon says finally. “I'd never.... you were always so private about him, so I mean, at first I wasn't sure he was even yours, but then – when you, when you went with Peter, and I – he was so small, and I thought he was h-half-dead. S-so I picked him up and I carried him. And I'm sorry.”

interiors by doomcountry [T] [2.7k]

In the doorway, he fumbles with his keys. Their sound is loud in the silent stairwell. You don’t remember getting here.

searching for a light (for a right) by Kalgalen [T] [2.7k]

Some people make the mistake of assuming he's naive about sex, for the simple reason he hasn't dated in a while. Tim has called him a prude, at one point, and implied that he was somehow afraid of the intimacy required by the act; he wasn’t entirely wrong, but this definitely isn’t the reason for Jon's disinterest and general bafflement toward what most people seemed to consider as "what makes them human".

Jon simply hasn't found the right person. That is all it is: high standards, and a reticence to let people in.

(In which Jon finds out society is wrong about what a romantic relationship should be.)

how to plant a garden in rocky soil by treeprince [T] [2.9k]

Sometimes you just need a good pair of hands to work out all the kinks in your life.

Good thing Martin has two.

A Weather In The Flesh by cuttooth [G] [3k]

"There is a span of years where Jon doesn’t touch anyone other than the occasional hand shake. It’s not so bad. He’s never been someone who’s needed physical affection."

*

Jon has never been any good at making people want to stick around.

I'll bring the motion by callmearctus [T] [3.1k]

A long series of kidnappings and international flights leaves its own special mark on someone. Before the Unknowing, Jon is a mess.

Martin helps.

A Bread Made In Heaven by Againstme [G] [3.3k]

Martin moves over and watches how his boyfriend handles the dough. He's awkward with it, tentative and gentle, as if he's scared of hurting it somehow.

"Is this, uh, am I doing this right?" Jon asks, still slowly stretching out the dough and folding it onto itself.

"Well," he says shifting closer to Jon again, "you could be applying more pressure. Here, let me help you out, dear."

Martin moves fully behind Jon, and reaches around him, putting his hands on top of his boyfriend's. Jon inhales sharply, but doesn't say anything else, just lets Martin's hand rest on top of his.

Martin's hands are bigger, but not big enough to entirely envelop the other's hands, and Jon's hands are much, much warmer than his own are. To see what they're doing, Martin moves his head to look over Jon's shoulder. Though he can't see his boyfriend's face from this angle, he can see how it is slowly growing red at the edge of his vision. He decides not to tease him on it, instead content with letting a smile spread across his face and slowly guiding their joined hands in the proper motion.

Or, Martin teaches Jon how to make bread.

stumbling and spinning by lady_mab [G] [3.3k]

“Things happened,” Jon says demurely, trying to untangle Gerry’s fingers, but it only results in him getting pulled in so Gerry can kiss him properly. “It’s not all that bad.”

“I suppose not,” Gerry says with a sigh, sitting back upright. “You somehow managed to snag an incredible boyfriend out of it.”

It takes a solid few seconds before realization clicks in Martin’s brain. “You mean me?” [...]

“You have to admit, Jon has great tastes,” Gerry teases.

nothing sweeter than local honey by beeclaws [T] [3.4k]

So Tim is content, one arm leaned into the spray, waiting for the water to warm, enjoying the feeling of homecoming underneath the gentle fuzz of jetlag, when he hears gasping, panicked breaths coming from the other room.

Tim and Jon, in the aftermath, relearning how to be okay.

When Words are Inadequate by Mugatu [T] [3.8k]

Meals and the preparation of are, for want of a better word, informative. Fact gathering. A place where they can fill in the gaps of their knowledge of the other.

Jon cooks for Martin, and they learn more about each other.

go softly by doomcountry [T] [4k]

And there is nothing else besides this.

Imago by cuttooth [T] [4k]

“Jon?” he asks tentatively, tightening his grip around the poker as it slips against his sweaty palm. The antennae twitch, and suddenly Martin knows that it’s Jon, the knowledge sliding into his mind in a surge of desperate affection, the same profound love he felt that first time he truly saw Jon in the fog of the Lonely.

“Oh,” he whispers. “It really is you.”

*

Jon changes, but he’s still the same to Martin.

shoreline by bibliocratic [G] [4.1k]

“Martin," Tim says kindly, tipsily, only mildly slurring. "Dearest, dearest Martin. You're wankered, babe. Last train to Stockwell fucked off hours ago because it is now piss off o'clock in the morning, and there's a sofa with your exact name on it at my place. Thought you said you wanted some handsome fellow to take you back to his tonight?”

Or: The OG Archive crew go drinking, Martin comes out, and gets some well deserved TLC. In that order.

get your epitaph right by bibliocratic [G] [4.2k]

Martin's daemon has tried on the shape of dogs and lizards and snakes and horses, and even – once, when he was younger and Mum took him to the seaside, a fish.

Martin's never seen his soul in the dressing of a spider before.

i've known the warmth of your doorways by beeclaws [T] [4.2k]

'I’m always in pain, Jon wants to say, even as he dismisses the thought as melodramatic. Between his growing collection of old wounds and scar tissue, the supernatural hunger for statements that hasn’t been truly satiated in months, and the unpredictable aches and strains his body threw off day by day long before he ever set foot in the Institute, some level of pain and discomfort follows Jon wherever he goes now. He is used to being in pain. He’s not used to someone holding his hand as he suffers through it.'

Jon catalogs the comforts he receives, and wonders how long he will be allowed to keep them.

lay down your weary head by Zykaben [T] [4.6k]

Jon has been running himself ragged, searching for every scrap of information he can possibly find about the Unknowing. He's exhausted and sleep-deprived but he can't bring himself to take a break, not now.

Luckily, Tim and Martin are there to make sure that their boyfriend gets the care and rest he needs.

only the sweetest words remain by bluejayblueskies [T] [4.6k]

This isn't how things are supposed to go, right? Jon remembers those ratty paperbacks from the charity shops, dime-a-dozen romance novels with broken bindings and yellowing pages and words that spoke of love and passion and sexuality in prose that was more than a bit too mature for someone whose age hadn’t yet reached double digits. Stolen glances turn into dinner dates turn into passionate kisses turn into…

Well, he’d never actually read those parts of the books, because it had all seemed so deeply uncomfortable and gross. But he got the picture.

Or, Jonathan Sims, on being loved

5k-20k

and they keep not letting go by Marianne_Dashwood [G] [5k]

It’s an electric feeling, something strange and new and familiar all at once, even though he has been holding Martin’s hand for most of the day. His stomach swoops, like he is standing on the edge of the precipice of realisation and staring into the void of unknowing. But at the same time, he does know. In this instant of contact between them, the last few years of cups of tea and small smiles and momentary glances, of panic and fear and only feeling safe with Martin’s solid presence in the room, despite his paranoia, rush into him, and oh, oh oh.

ready to call this love by yewgrove [G] [5.6k]

How is Martin supposed to tell Jon that he panicked, stupidly, when the lovely old lady down the village asked him what they were doing in this part of the world? Got the shopping! Oh, by the way, we're married now! Whole village thinks we're on our honeymoon, hope you don't mind!

Prenons-nous la main by luftballons99 [T] [6k]

They still haven't talked about it, any of it, not even to pass the time on the long train ride to Scotland. Instead, Martin fell asleep in the seat next to him, pressed into his side from shoulder to knee, and Jon thought about love confessions and verb tense and how the two fit together when you think you're dying.

or: Good cows, mediocre poetry, and other crucial topics of discussion.

This Must Be The Place by cuttooth [T] [6k]

“You said – you said we were going home,” Martin says softly.

“I did,” says Jon, and is grateful that Martin doesn’t comment on him calling the Archives home. “I – I don’t really know where to go. I, uh, I don’t have a flat anymore, I don’t think. We could find a hotel?”

“Let’s go to my place,” says Martin. His hand squeezes Jon’s, more gently than before. Most importantly, Jon notes, he doesn’t let go.

*

Jon and Martin go home for a little while.

Small Things, Simple Acts by ZaliaChimera [T] [6.6k]

Even after leaving London, Jon and Martin are not free, not really. Maybe they never will be.

But for now they can be themselves, and maybe in the end, that's enough.

house by tomatoes [G] [9k]

Martin can take care of himself.

roses, roses, roses by acetheticallyy (judesstfrancis) [T] [9.3k]

Rose scented laundry detergent. Running into Jon in the breakroom. Running into Jon on his way back to his desk. Rose scented detergent. Running into Jon. Roses. Jon. Roses, roses, roses.

a deeply annoying child by ajkal2 [G] [9.6k]

Jon is hiding under the desk.

----

There's a child in the Archives, who shouldn't be there.

Inseparable by voiceless_terror [T] [10.3k]

“You can stay.” The voice interrupts his internal panic, and he looks over to find Jon studiously avoiding his gaze, staring hard at a neighboring bush. Martin wonders what caused his sudden change of heart. “But you have to sit on the other side. And don’t talk to me.”

Jonathan Sims and Martin Blackwood meet as children. Some things change, others do not.

i'm almost me again, you're almost you by gruhukens [G] [12k]

After a second Jon steps in towards him, close enough that Martin flinches, but all Jon does is put two fingers under his chin with his free hand and raise it until Martin can’t duck away. Jon has never touched him so casually before – at least, not until today, and it raises a lot of thoughts and feelings that Martin is trying very hard not to process.

Much like a lot of other things that have happened, he thinks. Not that it’s horrible or terrifying or numbing like everything else has been: it’s just another thing on the list of things he doesn’t have the capacity to deal with.

---

In the wake of the Lonely, there's a lot that Martin doesn't really want to think about.

hello my old heart by firebirdsuite [T] [15.8k]

Peter’s wrong, of course. When it’s all over, Martin does still want to tell Jon everything. It’s just—well, there’s a few things they need to work through first before they can get there.

Martin and Jon find each other again in Scotland.

Over 20k

The Kindness of Strangers by TheOestofOCs [M] [23k]

It was easier to treat Jon like a monster when he wasn’t shivering against his back, brokenly humming—wait, was that…

“Are you trying to do ‘Hey, Jude’?” Tim demanded.

Jon stopped, stiffening. “Mm hrmh mm mmh hm,” he said defensively.

“You really can’t hold a tune, can you, boss?”

*

It was just an ordinary walk to a restaurant. Tim had insisted that if they were going to talk, there would be no tape recorders or weird Archives ghosts listening in. A bit of fresh air wouldn’t kill him, Tim had said. What could go wrong?

By the time Jon spots the white delivery van, it’s much too late.

The Stranger kidnaps Jon. Tim comes along for the ride.

Misjudged by ShastaFirecracker [T] [36.5k]

Martin's been a longtime listener of What the Ghost, so when Georgie gives a shoutout to her flatmate's Twitch channel during a Q&A, he checks it out - only to discover that her flatmate is also his most terrifying coworker at his new job. The first time they crossed paths, Jon yelled at him for incompetence. But on the streams, Martin sees an entirely different person - someone fun and relaxed, engaging and unfairly attractive. Over time, Martin begins to find that Jon buried inside his dour, awkward coworker. He also learns to live with the fact that his crush is painfully one-sided... or is it?

if we make it through the night everyone is gonna hear us (Series) by skvadern [Ratings Vary] [42.4k]

In which Sasha survives the NotThem (with a little help from a certain Distortion) and she and Jon spend s2 working together to try and make sense of everything that's happening to them. It goes...interestingly

the garden of forking paths by bibliocratic [T] [49.7k]

Whatever he had predicted might happen, Jon wasn't expecting to survive upon demolishing the Panopticon. He certainly wasn't expecting to be rescued.

Instead, he wakes up in an alternative universe where he's never been the Archivist, and Martin Blackwood doesn't exist.

Martin Blackwood wakes up somewhere else entirely.

it's only forever by lady_mab [T] [50.9k]

“The castle at the center of the labyrinth,” Jon breathes, recalling again the words from one of the past conversations with Martin. “He’s there.”

“Turn back, Jonathan,” the Goblin King says, and Jon is surprised to hear a slight edge of desperation in the tone. “Turn back before it’s too late.”

“I can’t,” Jon answers with the same tone. “You know that I can’t.”

The Goblin King’s grin is gone completely, and he regards Jon with a degree of pity before that melts into resignation.

Yesterday is Here by CirrusGrey [T] [53.3k]

"Who the hell are you?" Jon could feel his hands shaking. The man laughed, taking a step forward and raising a hand to point at him. "I'm you, from the future!" he said, then swayed, eyes going unfocused, and collapsed to the floor in a dead faint. -------- Post-season-four Jon and Martin time travel back to the season one Archives.

A Home For What Loves You by TheWrongShop [T] [151k]

It was completely fine that Jon was following up on this very normal, non-supernatural statement at midnight on a Friday. He was going to find nothing at all, and then he was going to go home and sleep for fourteen straight hours and feel absolutely no qualms about moving case #0150409 directly into the filing cabinet marked "discredited".

Or; Jon and Martin end up investigating Carlos Vittery's basement and finding the entity formerly known as Jane Prentiss together.

RATED E *MINORS DNI*

A Look And A Voice by cuttooth [E] [6.9k]

“Do you want to have sex with me?” Jon asks bluntly, and for a second Martin can’t breathe.

“It - it doesn’t matter what I - ” he begins valiantly, before Jon interrupts him.

“Because I want to have sex with you, and frankly it doesn’t matter if you think it’s for the wrong reasons. I’m an adult. I can make my own decisions. The only thing that matters is if you want to as well.”

*

Martin meets a guy in a bar and takes him home.

Warms The Coldest Night by cuttooth [E] [11k]

"Flame that warms the coldest night Bring to us the waxing Light, Be with us on Solstice Night." Gypsy - Bring Back The Light

There is mistletoe hanging in the doorway to the Archives when Jon gets in.

Curiosity by ShastaFirecracker [E] [11.6k]

“You know that conversation we had the other day about how one of the most important things for queer youth to learn is that it's okay to change their minds, because identity and self-discovery are always fluid?”

Behind him, Martin slipped oven mitts over his hands and pulled open the oven door. The scent of garlic and rosemary flooded the kitchen. “Yeah?” he said.

“I, um... I'd like to revisit the topic of sex.”

At the Interim (Series) by Rend_Herring [E] [41k]

A Measure Outside the Lines and The Residuum

triptych (Series) by Stacicity [E] [44.9k]

A collection of Jon/Tim/Martin fics

a steady hand, a delicate man by callmearctus [E] [52.8k]

Martin is the proprietor and manager of a very discrete and fairly exclusive brothel situated between Belgravia and Chelsea. Blackwood House excels at special requests and pleasing any client.

Except for Jon, who probably has never been pleased a day in his entire life.

Despite that, he still comes back. It eventually begs the question: how do you solve a problem like Jon Sims?

[bigfrozenfan-fanfics]

Chapter 14 - Changes

Links: Chapter overview, Character list, Map, Glossar Rating: M over all Publishing cycle: each Friday at 6:00 pm CEST dst/UTC +2:00 on (link) Remarks: all my chapters contain carefully selected music tracks. It’s your own decision if you want to use them or not while reading. The purpose is to musically support the respective mood of the plot. If you can please use a browser for reading (not the Tumblr app) due to the text formatting and music.

Yelana caught the two boys from behind as they were telling jokes and laughing out loud instead of watching the herd. She cleared her throat audibly and the heads of both of them drove around scared. They both looked at her serious face and went white as a sheet.

Yelana's gaze wandered back and forth between them, then shrugged and said in a friendly voice, “You've got nothing to worry about, boys.” Their posture then relaxed a little. Then she pondered for a moment, swayed her head in her typical manner and finally looked at them a little arrogantly. “I need a reindeer, preferably saddled and harnessed, if possible please. I'm not that young anymore.”

The surprise reaction of the two of them was priceless for Yelana's taste, but didn't let on and grinned inside herself instead. The boys stood there frozen as if rooted to the ground and could not believe their ears.

“Come on, you two, I haven't got all day!” She made a wagging gesture and frowned apparently in annoyance.

The boys started moving and less than five minutes later a saddled reindeer was standing in front of her.

She took a closer look at the animal and the saddle and nodded contentedly at the end. Then she pushed her rod under the straps of the saddle and mounted. “Take good care of all of you,” she said to the boys standing there waiting and gave them a motherly look. Then she sighed and rode off without looking back another second.

“What did she mean by that? And why is she riding away anyway?” one of them asked.

“I haven't the faintest idea. I didn't even know she could ride,” replied the other.

Both gazed after her completely perplexed.

~~~

The wagon rumbled along and nobody spoke a word. Even Olaf remained silent and looked at the passing landscape with a transfigured look. Everyone was lost deep in their thoughts except Elsa, who had fallen asleep next to her.

How could she sleep so calmly; Anna thought, and pondered the upsetting events as she absent-mindedly watched the sunset. On any other day she would enjoy it, but today it seemed to her as if it announced a night of mischief.

What would this Kolgrimr do with the Northuldra once he realized that they were already long gone and he could no longer carry out whatever plans he had in mind. She feared for the people there and if Honeymaren was right in her suspicion, they could not defend themselves against his magical powers. They would all be helplessly at his mercy.

Slowly but constantly anger rose in her. Couldn't anything go right for once in her life? Did something terrible always have to happen to them and ended up being involved? She looked over to her sister and envied her. Elsa's face seemed completely relaxed, she even smiled slightly. Was she dreaming of Honeymaren? What was between them? Of course she would not mind if a romantic relationship developed between the two of them. She knew that Arendelle was quite open-minded about relationships of this kind, there was even a married female couple, Ada and Tuva Diaz with two adopted children. What was most important to her was Elsa's well-being and she wanted nothing more than the happiness for her sister.

And now someone thought he had the right to get revenge for something they were both not to blame for. Anna cursed and at the same moment, frightened by her behaviour, held her hand over her mouth. The next moment, she looked into Kristoff's eyes, who had turned around to look at her with a raised eyebrow.

“You curse? About what?” he asked curiously.

“Oh nothing, it's not that important,” she replied quickly, waving off and feeling the situation as embarrassing. Kristoff now raised his other eyebrow, too. Apparently he didn't quite believe her assertion.

“You know you can tell me anything, honey. Just say it out loud. If I don't know what it's about, I can't help you.”

Anna sat down and nodded her head a little bashfully at last. “Yes, dear, I know, and cursing isn't usually my style either. I was just thinking about this Kolgrimr and why it is always us who are in the middle of the action and risking our lives. What do you think about this whole thing? You have been quiet all the way back and don't seem particularly frightened to me.”

Kristoff shrugged his shoulders. “We made it out of the woods in time, if all this is true, and we'll be home soon.” Then he remembered the conversation with Ryder when he warned him and he said, “I'm not worried about myself, Anna, but if there's anyone I really care about, it's you, honey. If anything happens to you, that would be the end for me, I  love you.”

Anna smiled, stood up briefly and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Kristoff, my love. I love you too.”

They looked at each other in love for a while, and Anna actually forgot her worries about it. Eventually, he nodded with a smile and turned around again. She herself leaned back and closed her eyes. Maybe she could get some sleep after all; she thought.

~~~

They had not yet completed a third of the way home when Kristoff saw a covered wagon approaching in front of him at some distance. He turned around and pointed it out to the others.

“Wake up, folks! Look who's coming.”

Anna and Elsa startled up, then stretched their heads and looked ahead while Olaf climbed forward beside Kristoff. “Mattias is here!” he exclaimed excitedly and pointed forward.

“They were pretty fast, though,” Anna murmured and rubbed her stiff neck because she had dozed off in an uncomfortable position.

“You haven't told me much about him,” Elsa replied without looking at her. “Except that he rode back specially to get help for me.”

Anna looked at her smiling. “The General is one of the most loyal people I know, and a fine fellow too. You'll like him.”

Elsa nodded, “I'm already very curious about him.”

A few minutes later the two vehicles, standing now directly opposite each other, stopped. The two drivers sitting on the coach box looked quite surprised. Mattias rode past them and jumped briskly out of the saddle when he was next to Anna.

“Your Majesty!” he shouted joyfully and bowed to Anna, who was now standing up at the back of the wagon. “You guys are already on your way back so soon, then I presume your sister's doing well again?” He peered past Anna to have a look at Elsa. Elsa bent over, looked past Anna and waved at the General with her arm half raised. “Hello, General Mattias.” She smiled at him and mustered his appearance with quick glances without seeming immediately curious.

Trygve and Kristina rose as soon as they saw their queen, smiled and bowed to her while reciting the usual greeting. Anna nodded to them in a friendly manner, but suddenly her worries came back to her mind and her face darkened.

“I am very happy that you are feeling better, Elsa,” said Mattias and returned her smile. Then he looked up at Anna again and his smile faded when he noticed her concern in her face. “Queen Anna, are you alright? Has something happened?”

She nodded, sat down again to be largely at his eye level and said, “Unfortunately, yes, General. We were informed by Honeymaren of a serious threat and had to flee in haste. Someone is trying to kill us.”

Mattias tore open his eyes and gasped, “What? Who? Please tell me everything!” Anna explained in short words what she knew, and his face successively expressed his moods, from amazement to serious concern to clear anger.

“The Council must be informed immediately, and the garrison put on high alert. This can't be true!” He clenched his fists and turned to the covered wagon. “Turn the cart around immediately. We must return as quickly as possible. We are in imminent danger.”

Trygve's and Kristina's jaws dropped and they stared first at him and then at each other in disbelief. Kristina finally nodded and jumped off the trestle. The trail wasn't too wide here so she took the horse by the harness and pulled it slowly around to realign the cart. Then she got back on and waited for Mattias to would ride ahead of them to set the pace. She looked at Trygve with concern and he put a hand on her arm reassuring her.

“Your Majesty, if you agree, we will refrain from equipping Elsa with the camouflage clothes we brought with us, because of the hurry. We yet could also do that shortly before Arendelle.”

Anna nodded and looked briefly behind her. “I think you are right about this, Mattias. We are still near the Northuldra area, so we should hurry.” She gave her sister a quick sideways glance and squeezed her hand before looking at Mattias again. “But we are not yet returning to Arendelle. We have to make a little detour first.”

Mattias raised his eyebrows questioningly. “A detour? Where to?”

Anna bent over to him, looked at him with big eyes and replied quietly, “To the trolls, Mattias, to the trolls.”

The general's jaw dropped and he couldn't say anything more. The day had started so beautifully, and from one moment to the next, everything turned into a nightmare. Trolls ... this can't be true; he thought, and shook his head in disbelief.

~~~

He could have taken her to Gyda. Instead, he chose his hiding place by the river. He preferred not to take any risks and Honeymaren as a hostage was very valuable, even in two ways; he thought, when he recalled the scene on the beach with her and that Arendelle bitch. He grinned as he nudged the young woman in front of him to make her hurry up.

“Faster! Don't dally like that.”

She took a quick look over her shoulder, both angry and anxious. Her hands were tied behind her back and she almost tripped forward when her attention was briefly diverted. But she caught herself in time.

“Don't try any tricks,” he said in a low but threatening voice. She nodded, but didn't say a word. That's good; Kolgrimr thought, as long as she was afraid it was easier to keep her at bay. Less work and more time to make new plans.

He couldn't get that boy out of his head, that brave little guy and brother of his captive. How could it be that he had not sensed the slightest thing, not even when he had actively and intensely tried; he thought. It was almost as if a ghost apparition had stood before him. He gritted his teeth and clenched a fist. That was not good by any means. Not at all. Even with this strong-willed half breed from Arendelle, he was able to get to her spirit with a bit effort. But with him? There was absolutely nothing. Nothing at all. And that worried him immensely.

~~~

At nightfall they reached a small, well hidden kota. Light fog was in the air and a soft splash told Honeymaren that they had to be near a river. She also knew roughly in which direction they had gone, although she herself had never been in this part of the forest. Then she suddenly became aware of exactly where they were and she drew in the air sharply. The home of the earth giants!

She looked around briefly to Kolgrimr and he just nodded wordlessly in the direction of the kota. She walked to the entrance and stopped in front of it. He reached past her, pulled the flap open and pushed her in roughly, so that she fell to the bare ground inside. Then the flap closed again and she was sitting in the dark. She heard him tie the loop of the flap to the outside of the hut, then it was quiet.

She tried to spot something inside the kota, but all she saw was a pale shimmer in the opening above her. She tugged at her shackles but Kolgrimr had been very meticulous and she could not loosen them. If only she had her knife now, which she always carried hanging by her side; she thought. But he had taken it from her, of course.

She struggled herself up into a sitting position, crawled around and systematically searched the floor, hoping to find something useful. But there was nothing, not even a fur, that usually came with every good kota equipment. All right; she thought, let's try the walls. She stood up and moved along the wall with her shoulder as long until she felt like she had reached the starting point again. With her head she had also cautiously checked the wall in addition. But there was no hook and certainly not anything hanging to it to discover. She sighed unnerved and stayed stood leaning against the sloping wall for a while.

What was he up to? What would he do with her? Would he use brute force? Most likely, the way she judged him. She wasn't usually the frightened type, but she felt her eyes get wet and soon after that tears started to flow again. She sobbed softly and finally sank back to the floor. There was no escape for her, it seemed. She decided not to exchange a single word with him. She would remain mute. Even if he should slap her, he wouldn't get anything out of her.

The minutes passed in the silence of the darkness and the minutes became hours. It already had to be in the middle of the night when the rain started. At first she could only hear the soft sound the drops made as they dripped down onto the kota from the branches of the tree above. But it didn't take long and the sporadic dripping turned into a steady hissing as the sky finally opened its sluices completely.

The monotonous noise sounded very calming and soon it made her very tired. So she curled up on the uncomfortable, hard floor and fell gratefully asleep shortly afterwards.

~~~

---

I hope you have enjoyed this chapter! Please leave a comment if you liked the story, I would be pleased to read your opinions, even criticisms. If you want to be tagged as soon I publish the next chapter please let me know, except you are already tagged :-)

Tagging: @karma26 @whether-near-to-me-or-far @annaofthenorthernlights @igotelsapregnanthelp @the-fifth-spirit-elsa​

[darlingpetao3]

Thank You For Ruining My Life: An Homage to Tom Cavanagh

“You’ve ruined all my future expectations of men.”

The costume-clad woman had the courage of steel to say this to the then 53-year-old actor, Tom Cavanagh of The Flash, in front of a ballroom filled with a couple hundred people. This brave utterance was spoken during the 2016 Fan Expo Vancouver convention during a Flash question and answer period with actors Tom Cavanagh and Candice Patton. In its third season, the show was undoubtedly still hitting its stride in popularity, and the room was packed to hear these two speak.

The brave woman whose turn it was at the microphone was referring to Tom’s role as Ed Stevens on the NBC 2000 hit, Ed. I had not known of this show previously, but having now heard such a proclamation intrigued me. “You’ve ruined all my future expectations of men.” That was a tempting notion, and as I continued to listen to this disarmingly charming and wittingly funny man steal the stage, Tom intrigued me even more. I’d watched him play three different versions of Harrison Wells on The Flash since the show’s premiere date, yet I hadn’t truly noticed him in a “life-ruining” way before.

Little did I know that Tom Cavanagh would not only eventually ruin my expectations for men as well, but he would change my life in other ways, too.

After the Q&A, I had this urge to buy a S.T.A.R. Labs T-shirt from one of the vendors at the convention. In my head, I thought I would purchase something so that I could have an excuse to talk to Mr. Cavanagh at his signing booth. Again, he intrigued me, and I wanted to experience more of his incredibly likeable personality. So, I dragged my friend with me to wait for what was maybe ten minutes in a queue. Shortly, I was paying the assistant for my autograph I would soon acquire. They wrote my name on a sticky note so that Tom would know how to sign a personalized message to me. And then, it was my turn.

His eyes sparkled when he turned his attention to me. I instantly had a feeling this was just the way he was naturally. Oh yeah, and I swear to God I’d never seen eyes that blue in my entire life. It genuinely stunned me.

“Hi!” he greeted me.

“Hi!” I responded, equally as thrilled. Tom admired the T-shirt I had brought and took note of my name on the piece of paper. I remember us joking together about the extremely lax security in and around S.T.A.R. Labs on the show, which prompted his message to me on the heather-grey cotton. He wrote my name, [followed by a heart!] and a very welcoming, ‘Come on by, just walk right in!’

I had official clearance from Harrison Wells himself.

I thanked him very much, leaving with my treasure folded over my arms. My friend and I walked towards the hall’s exit, and I couldn’t shake this feeling inside me. It felt strange—I couldn’t name it for the life of me. It felt like an odd fluttering with a simultaneous yet contradictory slightness of breath. My head was confused and would continue to be so for the rest of that weekend.

As I waited at my gate in the airport on that Sunday evening to head home, all I knew was that the moments at the con featuring Tom were the highlights of the weekend for me.

And that I was going to begin watching more of the other films and television shows he’d been in. What was the show the brave cosplaying woman had said ruined her expectations of men? Oh yeah, Ed.

Maybe I’ll start there…

***

Feliz Navidad, Feliz Navidad…

In my house, it’s never really Christmastime until Michael Bublé croons through the speakers of the wooden stereo system in the living room. It felt especially festive as it was now Christmas Eve—a month and some change since the con. It was late, possibly ten o’clock. I was lying on the floor in front of the Christmas tree with my trusty laptop, a word document open. I was writing three holiday-song short stories featuring the new muse in my life, Harrison Wells. I wanted to be able to post them the next day, so my fingers were taptaptapping away.

I had written a handful of things before 2017, most of which had been Marvel-related, under my second, ‘rebirth’ pen name online. I was a little fish among all the grand and fabulous writers on Archive of Our Own, and in many ways, I still feel like that little fish. I was only just learning and feeling out the psyche of the Wells characters. Each one is so different. In my rewatch of the previous seasons of The Flash, I’d taken diligent notes, and as I’d later learn with each following rewatch, I would know them all—what they think, how they talk and behave—like the back of my hand. It was fun to suss out these guys, and I found that I was growing to love the act of writing even more.

One month later, in January, I would post all the stories I’d written thus far on Tumblr. I’d just created an account and, who knows? Maybe I’d get a wider range of readers on here, too.

Might as well give it a shot, right?

***

Wild horses couldn’t keep me from attending Fan Expo Vancouver 2017, especially when the big news dropped. Not only would Tom Cavanagh be attending again, but so would Carlos Valdes, Danielle Panabaker, Candice Patton, and the convention-elusive star of the show himself, Grant Gustin.

Before the moderator for the Flash cast’s Q&A panel could utter the final thanks to the actors at the end of the session, I bounded from my seat and sped down to the photo op booth where the cast would be taking “Team Up” photos with fans. ‘Sped down’ has to be the most appropriate couple of words because I indeed felt like a true Speedster dressed head to toe as the small screen’s adaptation of Jesse Quick, the angsty and brilliant daughter to Harrison Wells turned superhero.

After waiting in a queue that felt like ages, I was next to stand with Team Flash. As I took a step forward, all of the actors’ and actresses’ eyes—the people I spend time with every Tuesday evening—were on me. I heard a familiar voice approve of my costume. It was Danielle.

“Tremendous.”

Grant even joked that he thought for a second Violett Beane, the actress who plays Jesse Quick, had shown up to surprise them. “I was like, what’s Violett doing here?” he said.

I stood in the back row, happily sandwiched between Tom and Carlos. I dared to let my hands rest on their backs, and I couldn’t contain my joy. Shortly after, when I received my near-instant physical photograph of the moment, I saw Tom had pointed at me. In my mind, it felt as if in his gesture, he meant, hey, look at this cool person. Haha. I couldn’t be further from it.

I would go on to further be uncool in public as I later found myself virtually shaking and almost hyperventilating in line for a one-on-one photo op with Tom. The guy dressed as Kid Flash behind me gave me a few encouragements of the “it’ll be okay” variety. As my turn finally arrived, the lovely man of the hour greeted me with a bright smile in recognition of my Reverse Flash T-shirt (I had done a quick change before this photo op because I had worn a Flash T-shirt for a photo with Grant).

“Great shirt!”

The internet comes up with many hilarious and fitting words, but none such so than the term “Cavanarms.” One of the said Cavanarms found its way around my shoulder in such a casual way. My hand rested on his back, and I have told anyone who will listen about how soft his sweater was. What was approximately a five-second interaction will stay with me forever. And to this day, I will always regret how I’m standing beside him in the picture—there’s a distinguishable gap between us. I could have been closer—should have been!—but I like to use the fact that I felt as if I’d combust into flames if I were any closer to the man.

Maybe I’d have another chance to combust later again that day because, believe it or not, this fan hadn’t had enough of seeing Mr. Cavanagh in person. And since he was appearing at the con for this day only, there was no way I was going to squander any opportunities. Besides, there was still one final thing left on my convention docket: the autograph. In my mind, going to get his autograph was an excuse to get to talk to him and simply be in his presence for longer than five seconds. Here, take my money. I’m a sucker, and I’m proud of it. I saved all year for this kind of thing, and Fan Expo has always been my ultimate nerdy Treat Yoself Day.

Plus, this year I came equipped with a question for Tom (something for which I may have prepared a little too far in advance).

“Which of your characters would win in a lawyering battle: Ed or Miles?”

Miles was Tom’s latest character from his newly released project Darrow & Darrow, a fellow lawyer as Ed Stevens (remember, the man who ruins women’s expectations of men?), whom he portrayed almost two decades prior. What I loved about Tom when I got to ask him this was that he was silent for a moment following the question. He was genuinely putting thought into my question. As he pondered, Tom continued to autograph the photo of us together taken mere hours ago.

“Ed. He would wipe the floor with that other guy. Like, Miles is great, but Ed has a rapier-sharp mind, you know?”

I wholeheartedly agreed with his answer and felt relieved inside for some reason. We thanked each other (as politely as two Canadians can) before I left him to pay attention to the next lucky soul in line. I made the mistake of casting my eyes downward at the signed photo.

Tom had signed two little hearts over the I’s in my name. He really needed to stop adding hearts to my things, or I was just going to melt to the floor. In fact, I started to make these strange noises as I tried not to completely maul everyone in front of me while exiting. My friend ushered me as fast as physically possible on our way out of the main hall. One man took one look at me and asked, “Are you okay?”

No.

“Yep!”

The second I made it out of the herd, I broke out into open space. First came the minor hyperventilating. Then came the squealing followed by laughter. Top it off with various fangirlish comments of, “He’s so beautiful!”, “His eyes are so blue!” and “I love him!” and I was probably quite the sight to see (but at a convention, that’s considered normal!). My friend smiled on as she let me express everything that I had to keep inside until I had the right time to expel my emotions. I was on cloud nine. Ten, if at all possible.

The next day would be the con’s final day, which I would attend alone. My friend needed to catch the ferry in order to prepare for her courses the day after. I did a scan of the convention hall one final time in case there was something I missed purchasing. Afterwards, I sat on the cold hard flooring of the convention centre hallway for a bit of a break. I was wiped out. With my phone in hand, I smiled at the messages from this one Tumblr blogger who had been following my posted adventures at the con. I had seen and replied to many of her comments on my stories I’d written thus far, and I enjoyed her matching enthusiasm for Tom and The Flash in general. I felt her to be a kindred spirit. I had no idea then that I was chatting with one of my future best friends, L.

***

I spotted her.

She was wearing an identical shirt to the one I had on—a light grey T-shirt with a sequinned Spider-Man mask in the corner, which around it read, We met on the Web. A giddy me couldn’t wait for the short escalator ride to end. Her back was to me and facing the baggage claim, so here was my chance to surprise her instead.

I towered over my friend, E, and donned a low, authoritative voice.

“Excuse me, Miss, can you come with me?”

She squealed a greeting to me and I returned it as we hugged for the very first time after two and a half years of online friendship. We would still have about two hours to kill until our mutual Tumblr best friend, L, touched down at Chicago’s O’Hare Airport from across the Pond.

Something I noticed was that E and I carried on talking during our wait like it was second nature, that we hung out like this all the time. Whereas when I met L in person for the first time the year previously, our first meeting was that of quiet, delighted shock, unknowing how to react to one another’s physical presence. It almost felt like a fantasy. The closest thing we’d ever gotten to this was visiting over video chats! I’m not sure what each of these different reactions in these separate meetings meant, but what I do know is that I’ve never had such strong female friendships such as these—so full of uplifting support and love for one another. They are the greatest ladies I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.

And as a searching L eventually turned the corner to meet us in the Arrivals terminal, I caught sight of her Tom & Grant bandana tied around the handle to her carry-on bag. It was an item she had received in return for helping fund the short film produced in 2018 (I’d bought the ringtone). Seeing the accessory jolted me to remember that the former of the titular short was the reason for this long-awaited get-together holiday in the Windy City in the first place. Tom Cavanagh, unbeknownst to him, had just officially united three online friends, each from a different country, to spend six full days of in-person bonding and a whole lot of fun.

***

I should have been shelving books.

I should have been doing a lot of library-related tasks, but my head was elsewhere. Anywhere other than the small-town public library where I work. Instead, I sat on the carpeted floor of the Junior/Young Adult section with my phone in hand and a dreadful article title staring back at me.

“The Flash: Carlos Valdes and Tom Cavanagh to Exit after 7 Seasons.”

My world felt like it was falling apart.

Tom was leaving? There had been rumours and wonderings spreading around the fandom regarding whether he was leaving the show. With a storyline ending with a monumental sacrifice and a time-travelling man saying his farewells, it all seemed to point to the fact. I should have known… I could have rivalled Supergirl as being the Paragon of Hope after all the optimism I doled out to my followers and friends who would come to me worried Tom would exit the show. I would always give reasons to deny such a thing could happen, claiming that I’d believe when I saw it.

Well, there it was, and I definitely saw it.

One could feel the ripple effect over the internet of the shards of broken and riled-up hearts around the world.

Tom’s exit was on his terms, having not felt challenged by his character’s plotlines, as mentioned in a recent Entertainment Weekly article. As a viewer—and I am a viewer (Mike and Tom Eat Snacks, anyone?), it has been increasingly difficult to look past the missed shots made by story editors and showrunner, so understandably, the actor would want to seek something more exciting and meatier. That said, Tom has always shone on-screen and taken what he’s been given in stride. He turns unearthed material into diamonds and indeed shines on screen. Steals it, even! Tom easily makes the episodes he’s in better, and when he’s missing, you feel the loss. The few episodes of Season 7 without him only give us a tiny hint at how the show will be without him going forward. It much resembles when you might bring out your favourite jigsaw puzzle, only to find that the one piece you need to complete it isn’t there.

***

On a personal note, as I write this, I am roughly 20 followers away from reaching a milestone of 2,000. I have written well over 200 stories for The Flash alone (whether they be short or long, one-shots or chaptered), and goodness knows how many words I’ve generated altogether over the course of these many years with inspiration from the show and my favourite character. I’ve written and co-written novel-length stories, one monumental Wellsian story of which was done alongside L and E (almost solely done through alternating text messaging in the app, Line) that reached over 108,000 words and consisted of 42 chapters. And when I’m not writing for my blog, I’m also working on trying to accomplish my dream of becoming a published author. Just as I thought before I launched my Tumblr blog, I think again now: Might as well give it a shot, right?

***

I have watched virtually everything Tom has been in that I could get my hands on, both physically and electronically. Sure, a few titles are out of my reach and probably lost to the very early 90's forever, but from what I've seen through Tom's filmography is enough to know that he can do anything. He can play the romantic leading man that will make you fall head over heels for him or a deranged killer that will have you genuinely scared of him. That is talent. Tom always brings something new to the table from each role to the next, and (when he's not playing those psycho killers) you can't help but admire his craft.

Not only is his acting stellar, but from what we as fans have gathered on the man, Tom has got to be one of the kindest men in the business. His humour and sheer ridiculousness could get anyone through a tough time (we��ve seen plenty of bloopers and behind-the-scenes videos to prove this!). He has clearly bottled and stored an endless supply of Fountain of Youth™ and each year continues to wow us with his handsomeness. Tom is charming, dedicated, and yes, arguably holds the world record for Bluest Eyes.

In my eyes, Tom Cavanagh gave me the two best friends I could have ever asked for, as well as plenty more lovely friends I’ve continued to make online. (One day, I hope to meet him again so that I can tell him in person how because of him, I’ve met such very important people in my life). Through Tom, I have truly found my passion for writing, and in doing so, segued me to dare to dream of becoming a published novelist. I wholeheartedly believe all of this would not have happened if it weren’t for those first series of events that led me to meet Tom and love and admire him immensely. He is indisputable proof that there are indeed men like him out there. Indeed, he did ruin all of my future expectations of men. He ruined my life in the absolute best way and I am eternally grateful.

I am very much looking forward to what Tom will do next. I think it’s rather needless to say that I will follow him in his career, as he has gained a devoted fan for life. He represents so much to me and so much of it I have gained since meeting him that fateful day, when I thought to myself, Maybe I should buy this T-shirt and get this guy to sign it. Wherever Tom goes in life, I’ll be here to cheer him on.

I have a pretty good feeling plenty of others will, too.

[sodalitefully]

It’s hazardous to breathe... [GNR Mad Max AU, pt. 1]

This is the first half of a AU inspired by the movie Mad Max: Fury Road that @smokeandmirrorz and I came up with after he posted some awesome art for a Mad Max AU!  This oneshot very loosely follows the plot of the movie, it may make less sense if you haven’t seen the film. I split it into two parts so it would be more readable on tumblr, the second part is here and the whole fic is also on AO3.

*Contains mpreg, character death, and plenty of unpleasant things from the Mad Max universe, including implied/referenced sexual violence, some regular violence/gore (more so in the second part), and Immortan Joe.*

----

It wasn't often that the wives were brought outside their chamber.  Less often still that Steven got to be present when they were – so he considered himself lucky to be in the same room when the Immortan's only surviving wife emerged from the biodome to watch Immortan Joe send off his top Imperator on a mission to recruit more valuable full-lives after the untimely deaths of his other two wives.  

It was a little known truth that Steven and Slash had history.  'Little known,' because if the Immortan caught wind that the two had become close when Slash was first brought to the Citadel and Steven was just a War Pup, he would be toast.  As little as they'd talked in the years since then, Steven still considered Slash... if not a friend, at least an acquaintance.  And that's more than he could say about his fellow War Boys.

Being allowed in the same room as Slash was the first step to reigniting their friendship. Now, if only Slash would acknowledge him...

"Steven." Slash's voice was barely loud enough to hear.

"Yes?" Steven perked up, encouraged that Slash hadn't forgotten about him after all.  

"I need you to do something for me."  Steven nodded eagerly.  "I need you to go to Imperator Stradlin, and tell him to come visit me as soon as possible.  Can you do that?"

"Of course.  Anything for the Immortan!"

It wasn't for the Immortan, but Steven didn't need to know that.

"One more thing – It's top secret.  You can't say a word to anyone else, alright?"

--

Getting to the wive's chamber wasn't hard for Izzy: all he had to do was convince the guards he was on official business, and then once he was inside the vault, the soundproof walls would take care of the rest.  All the same, he did not have a good feeling about this "meeting."  Whatever was going on, it was going to be trouble...

The thick vault door swung open, revealing a scene straight out of a dream, so serene it seemed impossible that it could exist in the same world as things like gas wars, and tumors, and the Wasteland.

Sunlight streamed through huge semi-opaque windows and illuminated the smooth sandstone walls.  Green plants and relics of the old world surrounded a pool of crystal-clear water.  And in the center of it all, clothed in the purest white, was the Immortan's most prized treasure:

"Slash... the Desired."

"Imperator."  The wife looked him dead in the eye; his hair was restrained in a ponytail and draped with the same white fabric as the rest of his body.  It was the first time Izzy had ever seen Slash's face completely clear of dark curls, and the first time he'd seen him with enough clothing to cover the rest of his skin.  

“Why did you ask me to come here? Does Joe want something from me?”

Slash’s mouth twitched into a frown at the name, but he responded in a carefully level tone:

“I have a proposition for you.”

Izzy raised an eyebrow. What could a wife possibly have to offer him? Besides the obvious, of course, and that... that was more trouble than it was worth.

“I can’t stay here any longer,” Slash explained.

“You’re crazy if you think he’ll just let you leave,” Izzy replied with a startled laugh. It was inconceivable, but Slash was looking at him with complete sincerity.

“He won’t. But you want to leave too.”

“Do I?” He did, but Slash definitely wasn’t supposed to know that.  

“Please, you hate it here, it’s obvious.  You want to leave, and I want you to take me with you."

“Fucking hell – don't you think I would have left by now if I could?  And why would I help you anyway?  How do I know you're not just testing my loyalty to the Immortan?"

"Don't be ridiculous.  Me, doing favors for Joe?"

"Alright, fine. Then what if I betray you? I could be rewarded for... keeping the Immortan's property safe."  

"What if I tell everyone you took advantage of the Immortan's absence to take his one and only wife for a test drive?"

"Fuck. You're not as pure as we've been led to believe, are you?"

Slash snorted.  "Not by half."

"But that doesn't change anything.  The Immortan would rip my throat out with his horse teeth for trying to steal one of his breeders –"

“Don’t call me that!” Slash snapped.

For a moment, Izzy was reminded of a younger Slash, fresh from the Wasteland and ready to bite at anything that got too close.

But Slash quickly composed himself, trying and not entirely succeeding to recapture an air of calm assertiveness.  "Look, just... Just think about it, alright?  We have a chance, I know we do, and really... How much more of this do you think you can take?"

Izzy sighed. "I'll think about it," he conceded.  

"Thank you."

Slash did his best to hide his disappointment, and Izzy wasn't about to stick around and make things worse by trying to console him.  He turned around to leave the wives' sanctum, but hesitated before he reached the doorway.

"Slash... What really happened to the other Wives?"

"One... One miscarried. The Immortan wasn’t happy about that. The other tried to..." his lips faltered at the worst profanity in the Citadel, "... abort her pregnancy, it didn't end well. The Organic Mechanic couldn't do anything but give her something for the pain.  They give us a serum, sometimes, to help us sleep.  I gave her my dose."

--

The scouting party brought back a feral! they said.  Full-life and raving mad, driving an Interceptor, can you believe it?

No, Izzy couldn't believe it.  Couldn't believe that Axl Rose, MFP legend turned Road Warrior, could get taken down by a pack of half-dead War Boys.  But the proof was in front of him, shivering in a cage, starving and in dire need of a shave.  

"...I-Izzy?"

His voice was exactly the same as it always was, the respirator that Izzy cobbled together a lifetime ago couldn't hide the low timber that sometimes still appeared in his dreams.  

He'd made a mistake when he thought he could play it safe at the Citadel.  He should have listened when Axl told him they were better off on their own.  The Citadel was a shrine to depravity, and he wouldn't let Axl become another one of its victims – he needed to get them out of the tower walls and far away as soon as possible. It would be a challenge to escape unnoticed... but Izzy knew the perfect distraction.  

--

"I'll make a deal with you, Slash."

Slash didn't have the decency to look shocked when Izzy barged into the biodome uninvited – or the decency to put on the thin white shirt that lay discarded on the floor.

Actually, Izzy was the one looking shocked when his eyes fell on Slash’s bare belly and his carefully planned proposition died in his throat.

“What’s the deal?” Slash asked, but Izzy was more concerned with his unfortunate new realization:

“You didn’t tell me you were pregnant! What were you thinking, asking me to help you? The Immortan is going to shred me to pieces!”

“He’d shred you anyway, this won’t change anything,” Slash gritted out. Pregnant or not, there was no way he was about to let Izzy back out, not now. “What’s the deal, Stradlin?”

Izzy hated to be caught off guard, but he could use this to their advantage.  Joe would never risk hurting a potential heir, making Slash an even better shield than before.  And once he and Axl split off, there was no way Joe would waste time and resources going after a twice-disgraced Imperator and a feral bloodbag before he got his pregnant wife back, giving them a valuable head start – if it came to that.

"I'll take you with me on my next supply run.  Ten days from now.  We'll go to the Buzzards' territory, trade guzzoline for another vehicle.  Then we part ways, got it?  I'll get you out of here but I'm not babysitting you or your sprog for the rest of my life."

"You don't want to get caught with me, you mean.  Stopping to deal with the Buzzards will give the Immortan time to catch up to us.  I'm fucked on my own."

Izzy didn't respond, and tried to look like it didn't matter to him whether Slash took his offer.

"Fine.  If they catch up... At least I'll die historic on the Fury Road," Slash said with a sardonic smile.  "But I have a request – I need you to find me a driver.  Someone who doesn't serve the Citadel, someone no one will notice is missing."

"There is no one like that."

"Really?  All those people down there, and none of them can operate a car?"

"If they could, they wouldn't be there."

"There must be someone," Slash insisted.  Izzy sighed.

"I'll see what I can do in ten days.  But what the hell do you need them for?"

"Well... I can't drive."

--

On his third visit, Izzy had spent enough time in the biodome to say that stepping inside the pristine vault always made him feel like a dirty rag, used to wipe away sweat and grime then left out to stiffen in the dusty waste.  

But if he was a dirty rag, then Duff was roadkill.  He was a half-life, one of the Wretched who clung to the sides of the Citadel like barnacles, bathing in dust while the Immortan bathed in Mother's Milk.  He was lanky – no, skeletal, nothing but sunburned skin and bone.  He carried the Wasteland with him wherever he went, tracking dust with each step.  Izzy bit down on the irrational urge to warn him not to touch anything in the vault.

The black leather collar around his neck marked him as a former denizen of Gas Town, one who had likely outlived his usefulness if his rickety prosthetic leg and the cluster of nasty tumors half-hidden by his hair had anything to say about it.  Clearly, he was in no shape to labor in the refinery.  Rumor had it that The People Eater was a cannibal – as his name suggested – but evidently Duff had escaped that fate, perhaps because he had no meat on his bones to speak of, and instead sought out clean water, abundant food, and fresh air at the Citadel.  Hah.

Slash stared at them over his shoulder, wide-eyed and seated in the shallow pool in the center of the room.  Tiny bottles lined the edge of the pool, and the scent of flowers wafted in the air.

"A bath? Now, really?"

"It might be the last chance I get," Slash countered, but he rose from the water, the beads on his skin already drying in the inescapable desert heat.  Izzy averted his eyes as Slash wrapped a length of gauzy white cloth around his waist, tugged a loose shirt over his head, and bent forward to twist another cloth around his damp hair.  Then, finally, he turned to face his guests. "Is this...?"

"This is Duff, the Wretched.  Not a War Boy.  He came from Gas Town, so he can drive."

"Good."  Duff was staring at Slash like a mirage, but Slash knew how to get on a person's good side: "Do you want some water, Duff?"

--

"How the fuck did you get in here?!" In a heartbeat, Izzy's handgun was aimed at the War Boy's head.  He saw movement out of the corner of his eye.  "Slash, get away from him."

"No! You can't kill Steven!"

"He knows too much, he's a liability.  Kill him and let's go," Axl advised.

"No! Stradlin, who even is this guy?" Slash demanded, but once again, he received no explanation.  

"Slash, what's going on, where are you going? Please don't leave me!"

"Steven, I –"

"Take me with you! I can help!"

"Slash, I'm serious.  Step away." Izzy inched closer, his gun unwavering.  War Boys were unpredictable, Kami-crazy.  You never knew what they might do when backed into a corner.  

But Slash was crazier – he pushed Steven back, placing himself between Izzy and his target.  Izzy recognized the steely glint in his eyes before Slash even spoke: "He's coming with us."

--

They were curled up in the hold of the War Rig, surrounded by food and supplies that would never make it to Gas Town like they were supposed to.  Duff was happily munching away at a carrot, and Slash was sitting with his legs curled up to his chest.

"Are you scared?" Duff asked.

"... Yes," Slash admitted, barely audible over the roaring engine.  "Are you?"

"No."

"Why not?  If we get caught, you'll be punished too, for helping me.  And he doesn't care about taking you alive."

Duff shrugged.  "It doesn't really matter, does it?  I've got a few months left, at best."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be.  I've had my whole life to come to terms with it.  Well, half-life."

It was a terribly morbid joke, but Slash still laughed.

“So... You’re not afraid of anything, then?”

“Well, I don’t know – When Izzy brought me to you, I was scared. It was like he’d taken me out of the real world and dropped me in a fantasy. I thought if I touched anything, I’d destroy it; if I spoke, I’d break the spell and wake up in the Wasteland, half dead with a crow pecking at my tongue. I thought if I got too close to you, I'd pass on my illness, and if I looked at you too long, I'd go mad and start believing in things like beauty and health and the goodness of humanity."

Slash could have laughed at the momentous gap between Duff's perception of the biodome and his own.  Instead, when Duff finished his recollection, Slash crawled across the middle of the hold and pressed himself against Duff's side.  

Duff tried to scoot away, but Slash entangled him with the soft touch of fine cloth and uncalloused hands. He wrapped his arms around Duff’s thin torso and laid his head on his shoulder.

“No, don't go.  You don't have to be scared, Duff...  You're the cleanest person to touch me in a long time."

Hesitantly, Duff reached up and let his good hand rest on Slash’s back. Slash’s hair brushed against his collar, even softer than his clothes, and when Duff breathed deeply he could still make out the sweet scent that filled the room when they first met.

For a moment, Duff let himself get lost in the fantasy world that still surrounded Slash, even in the hold of the War Rig, miles from the Citadel. He could forget about the danger they were in, the cruelty they’d experienced, and even the ticking time bombs in his own flesh.

“Do you think your baby will survive?”

“I don’t know.” Slash didn’t sound optimistic, he toyed with his sleeve and avoided Duff’s gaze.

“I’ve never seen a completely healthy baby before, I didn’t think it was possible. But then I saw you, and you’re perfect, so maybe...”

Slash scoffed.

“The Immortan is toxic. He taints everything: the water, the people... and me. If I was ever perfect, I’m sure as hell not anymore, and neither is this baby.”

Duff hugged Slash closer, and slid a hand down to his belly.

“We’ll see.”

----

[part 2]

[a-dragons-journal]

My Experiences of Nonhumanity

I get asked about “what makes you/people in general feel you’re/they’re otherkin” a lot, and while the answer is far from simple and my experiences are anything but universal, I figure it deserves a write-up once in a while. A friend asked about it a couple nights ago, so I wrote up a huge long message on Discord, and decided to rewrite it into a Tumblr post for posterity. This’ll be a long one, folks; hit J on desktop to skip.

It’s worth noting ahead of time: none of these things are required to be otherkin, and none of them automatically mean you’re otherkin. In fact, most of them are little more than mildly “weird” quirks when they occur in isolation, and only start to push outside the range of “normal human experiences” when many of them occur together. You can’t look at someone (including yourself) and say “they like collecting things, they must be dragonkin!” It’s not that simple. You have to take the individual as a whole even as you examine each specific experience in more detail - don’t lose the forest while you’re studying the trees. This is just a description of my personal experiences.

Shifts

- Phantom shifts/supernumerary phantom limbs: Probably the most obvious thing and the hardest to brush off, although I still managed to do so for years. Phantom shifts, aka supernumerary phantom limbs, are the experience of feeling limbs or body parts that do not and never have physically existed. In my case, the most common phantom limbs to show up are my wings and tail; other body parts, such as digitigrade legs, horns, snout, and paws/talons, also make appearances less frequently. While my phantom limbs almost never attempt to replicate tactile sensations/interactions with the physical world, they’re often defined by very vivid proprioception (ability to tell where your body is in space, mainly via muscle stretch receptors), and I can tell where each part of the limb is at any given time - it’s not just a shapeless sense of “weight,” or it wouldn’t be phantom limbs. I can also move them at will, typically. My phantom shifts are typically spontaneous and involuntary, but they’ve been induced artificially a couple different ways as well, though I can’t typically do it at will.

- Sensory shifts: Still not something I’m totally sure I experience, but there are definitely times my sense of smell becomes insanely strong compared to usual even for me, which fits the definition of a sensory shift.

- Astral shifts: While I’m far from an adept astral traveler, when visualizing “traveling” within my own mindscape, I shift form fluidly between human and dragon - although I almost always have wings at the very least.

- Cameo shifts: Mentioned only because it’s relevant to my phantom shifts. I realized at some point that the reason I get cameo shifts of canine/feline ears sometimes is because they usually show up when they’re pricking/flattening to express emotion, and the muscles that move to do that action are basically the same as the ones that do those actions with the crest that runs down my neck, and because of my obsession with cats/dogs/horses as a young child and because that’s not a particularly strong phantom shift for me usually, I connected the dots a little wrong and created a false association.

- Self-image: This isn’t technically a shift, but it’s going here anyway because it doesn’t really fit in any other section either. My body image/self-image is weird. I know, consciously, what I physically look like. However, my instinctive self-image is... hmm. What I “expect” to see doesn’t always match up with what’s actually there when I look in the mirror. Teeth are a huge point of fixation for me for some reason; I always expect them to be larger, sharper, stronger. I expect my neck to be longer, my face to be... different. I expect scales in places. I expect claws. Even knowing consciously that of course it won’t be there, it’s still strange sometimes that it’s not. There’s sometimes some mild disconnect when I see myself. (Sometimes not. But sometimes.)

Homesickness

(Or, the sense of missing something you’ve never had - not of “I want/want to be [x], and it makes me sad/upset that I don’t have/am not that,” but of “I should have/be [x], and it is fundamentally wrong that I do/am not.”)

- Flight: I have always wanted to fly, and for a long time I thought everyone ached for the sky the same way I did. Most people don’t, as it turns out. Yes, everyone’s fantasized about flying, but most people don’t feel bones-deep, crushing, physical pain in their chest thinking about it. Most people don’t lift up onto their toes instinctively straining for the sky. I’ve felt that aching longing for it for as long as I can remember.

- Connection to dragons: For as long as I can remember knowing about dragons, I loved the idea of them and even when I was very young, when I’d only really been exposed to media where they were the great evil for the hero to defeat and received no more character development than “evil, destructive, fire-breathing beast,” I was always on the dragon’s side and wanted to learn more about them. That hasn’t faded. I’ll watch an absolutely terrible movie or TV show that I otherwise loathe if it has good enough animation and sound design on the dragons. (Looking at you, Game of Thrones.*) I would commit arson to see one of those Isle-style dragon survival games actually go through and finish production. (Holding out hope for the Dragon Game Project on YouTube; go check them out if you haven’t already.) I’ve also used dragons to represent myself for pretty much as long as I’ve had an online presence - years before I ever heard of otherkin, I was calling myself Dragonheart.

- Dragon-like creatures: Snakes, crocodilians, and dinosaurs all fall into this category - all of them give me a similar heart-and-breathing-pick-up, aching familiarity to dragons. They’re not perfect, but in a snake’s scales and a crocodile’s bellows and a dinosaur’s spectacular reptilian size I see echoes of us and I have always loved them with a passion, even before I quite knew why.

- Dragon/”monster” noises: Sound generators, creature sound design, real animal noises, etc. that are meant to be monstrous and that most people find unsettling or even frightening, I find comforting and relaxing. Alligator bellows, “monster noise” soundscapes, etc. all apply here.

* No shade on anyone who likes Game of Thrones, I’m just not a fan. :P

Behaviors/Instincts/Urges

- Hoarding: I’m still not sure how much of the crystal thing is "monkey brain say Shiney Colorful," how much is a witch thing, and how much is a dragon thing, but some of it is a dragon thing.

- Territorial/possessive nature: I can get... extremely territorial over my stuff and my home. This can extend right into being ridiculously protective of my people too, although I do try to rein that in to a reasonable amount. This also extends into games like Capture the Flag, because put me on defending the border during middle and high school and I got frighteningly territorial. (Fun fact, this extends to spiritual protection stuff and it has almost gotten me in trouble a few times on that front.) The other main side effect is my brain trying to claim completely inappropriate things as “mine,” like every piano I have ever touched or, that one time, the entire city of Portland.

- Prey drive: Going on a walk in the woods with me will always be an exercise in stopping every twenty seconds because I heard a small animal move in the brush and froze instinctively to track it. Prey drive ranges from "okay I can indulge this enough to track-stalk-chase without actually intending to catch-kill-eat" to "this is entirely inappropriate and needs to Stop Right Now" depending on the day and the situation - sometimes it’s fairly low-key and innocent, but sometimes it's also being confronted with the sudden and completely serious/genuine thought of grabbing someone or something by the neck/around the body with your jaws and hunt-prey-kill-devour when it's completely inappropriate and kind of disturbing or even sickening. It’s one of the more annoying things, although it’s not like it’s severe enough that I’m an actual danger to anyone - it’s just a gut thought that gets filtered out at the conscious level without significant problems. This also bleeds into games (I get... maybe a little overenthusiastic during tag) and even watching TV shows or gaming videos - most of the time at least part of me is rooting for the hunter because I relate to them as a fellow predator, even if the audience is supposed to be rooting for the prey - I mean, protagonists.

- Basking/heat-seeking: Probably only partially a dragon thing, but despite the fact that I hate heat in general, radiant/sun heat and heat from a heated surface are both fantastic feelings provided the ambient air temperature isn't too high. I'm guessing this is at least partially a reptile brain thing.

- Height-seeking: Give me a chance to climb up on top of something - a rock, a cliff, a chair, a table, a bunk bed - and look out over everything else, and I'll take it in an instant. Getting to climb up on the roof is the best thing that's happened to me this entire quarantine.

- Flight instinct: Being mildly leery of cliffs not because I am afraid of falling, because I'm really not, but because there's always some part of my brain that goes "jump, fly, this is a perfect takeoff spot" and I have to squash that before I do something particularly stupid. This manifests in other ways, but that's the most dramatic (and annoying) one. This is also one of the things I noticed as definitively not normal long before my awakening. (The Grand Canyon was fun.)  Similarly to the prey drive thing, it's not like I'm actually in danger of throwing myself off cliffs, it’s just - there's a not-insignificant part of my brain that thinks "hey we should go run and jump off and take a quick flight," in the same way I might also casually think "hey I should stroll across to the corner store for a bag of chips" before I consciously decide whether or not to do that. It’s the exact same type of thought process, despite the fact that one of those things is something I might do on any given school day, and the other is, you know, physically impossible.

- Combat instincts: I get in a fight and my pure instinct is to bite or claw, not kick or punch or whatever it is humans do instinctively. I have those reflexes now courtesy of Krav, but I had to train them in - if you’d thrown me into a fight before, I absolutely would have resorted to claws/nails and teeth immediately (and I still will, when pressed into a corner). Sometimes, unfortunately, this goes off completely unwarranted, either in an anger situation that does not deserve a physical response, or for no apparent reason whatsoever. It's one of the more problematic things, but once again - it’s not like it’s a compulsion, just a gut-emotion thought that gets filtered out at the conscious level.

- Scent focus: Who knows how much of this is environmental influence and how much is instinctive, but I always have and still do focus on scent more than most humans seem to. I can identify people by scent, I seem to pay more attention to it than most people do. I also seem less bothered by natural body smells than most people do, but considering the responses when I asked around in the otherkin community once about that, unclear whether or not that's connected.

- Nonhuman noises: I make just a bunch of weird nonhuman noises, and always have. Growls, hisses, croons, hurrs, throat-clicks, chirps, etc. I've never met any human who does them instinctively like I do except my half-sister (whom I didn’t meet until a couple years ago), and she was just as surprised to hear me do it as I was surprised to hear her do it.

- Affection: Face-rubbing, light head-bonking against someone’s shoulder/body/head, and love nips/bites are all perfectly acceptable ways to show platonic affection, to dragon brain. Human society disagrees. The instinct to do these things is so strong that I definitely do give into the first two with people I’m close with, and I have physically had to catch and restrain myself when I was about to unthinkingly bite/nip someone’s skin because I wasn’t paying enough attention.

- Movement: Moving on all fours just feels better than moving on two legs, even though it’s objectively physically uncomfortable because humans aren’t built for that. I also have the instinctive want to be a lot more flexible than I’m capable of being, in ways I’m not capable of being - curling all the way around something or someone to squeeze them tight in the coil of my body, turning my head a hundred eighty degrees because my neck Should Be Longer.

- Expression: Baring one’s teeth when frustrated, irritated, or angry is not a particularly human instinct. I realize it’s something a lot of primates do do, but. *gestures at society* Humans ain’t one of them, at least not anymore. Even in Krav Maga, which is a self-defense style that focuses on being vicious and “dirty fighting” to survive a real street fight, every single time I have a new partner (and most times I have a partner I’ve worked with before) and I get tired enough to get snarly, they respond with some variation of “god that’s scary”. See also: gesturing at things with my nose because it should be long enough to make that a much more dramatic gesture than it ends up being.

- Den/lair/small spaces: I never feel safer than when curled up in a tiny alcove just big enough to comfortably fit my body curled up into it. The only position I’ll prioritize over it is getting up onto a high space.

Past Life Work

Unlike every other bullet point on this list, most of these didn’t apply until I started actively seeking them out, because, you know. Past life memories are like that.

- Past life regressions: I’ve got a tag for these, but tl;dr I take anything I learn from a past life regression or similar meditation/visualization with a whole spoonful of salt, forget “a grain,” because I know for a fact my brain is very good at making stuff up with these types of exercises. Unfortunately, they’re the only way to get information on certain things, like appearance.

- Tarot: Got a tag for that too. I use tarot to ask questions and confirm or reject suspicions.

- Spontaneous memories: I don’t have many, but they’re clear as day when they do appear. I don’t count something as a “true” memory unless it includes senses I can’t reproduce through imagination - smell and touch, mainly. Mostly these are quick flashbulbs, nothing cinematic or anything like that.

- Noemata: Again, I don’t have much in the way of noemata, but what I do have is persistent and consistent. I know things about my wing shape and flight style despite not having really experienced that in detail during past life regressions. That particular set of noemata has been confirmed to fit with real-world physics and bat wing shapes (the closest wing type to mine that exists or has existed on Earth).

[carriagelamp]

Book Review - Summer Summary 2020

I didn’t get around to doing an individual post for the books I read in June/July/August, so I decided to choose a dozen that I read over the summer... I’d separate the wheat from the chaff for you so to speak. Though like you’re about to find out, that doesn’t necessarily mean they were all good by any means...

Crave

My girlfriend got this for me to “tide me over until Midnight Sun”. Between you and me, I think she was taking the piss. Anyway, Crave is very... standard fare paranormal YA school romance with the added flare of being written by an adult erotica writer, meaning the rhythm and tone of this novel is fucking bonkers. If you want to read the novel without reading the novel, just take Twilight and the entire Vampire Academy series, shove them in a blend, and force down the sludge you get from that. Normal Average Girl Goes To Secret School In Alaska For Vampire, Werewolves and Dragons. That’s this book. It is so big and so so so bad. I finished it out of spite, please don’t do that to yourself. Unless you are really craving (hurr hurr) some top tier trashy paranormal romance, in which case... no judgment.

The Last Firehawk

The Last Firehawk is a Scholastic “Branches” series, written for beginning readers (grade 1-3ish, depending on the child’s reading level). It has short stories, big text, and awesome pictures on every page. Guys. I unironically am adoring this series. It’s simple and is introducing children to a number of classic elements in the fantasy quest genre, but it is so charming. Friends Tag and Skyla discover a firehawk egg, and species that is supposed to have disappeared long ago. When Blaze hatches from it, the three are tasked with going out and finding the magical ember stone which was hidden long ago by the firehawks and which could be used to defeat the evil vulture Thorn and his dark magic... I read the first two books to second graders who ate it up and read the next four books because I personally wanted to continue the series. If you have young readers in your life (or just want a fun kid adventure) then please try these they’re the literary equivalent of nibbling on a chocolate chip cookie.

Lupin III: World’s Most Wanted #3

All the kind people that still follow my tumblr and haven’t tried to murder me because of my Lupin obsession are not going to be surprised by this one. I finally read one of the manga for this series and honestly I’m delighted. Somehow even hornier than the show, but hilariously funny. I felt like I was reading a more adult version of Spy Vs Spy. It’s a bunch of short, individual bits/adventures with lots of visual gags and an artstyle that is really different and delightful.

River of Teeth / Taste of Marrow (American Hippo series)

I’ve talked about River of Teeth before, but I finally finished the American Hippo duology and need to sing its praise. This is an alternate history series composed of two novellas that explore the question What would have happened if the States had decided to import hippos as livestock...? Anyways, my pitch for you: queer hippo cowboys. That’s all it took for me to read it. You have a gay gunslinger who loves his hippo to death, a nonbinary explosives-expert / poisoner who is the main love interest, a fat con artist who spoils her hippo and is the only voice of reason in this entire series, and a latina mother-to-be who is the scariest assassin in the entire series and is obviously scheming. The four of them are brought together on a job to deal with the Mississippi’s feral hippo problem.

IT’S A QUEER HIPPO COWBOY HEIST NOVEL GUYS I DON’T KNOW WHY I’M STILL TALKING AND YOU HAVEN’T JUST GONE TO READ THIS YET.

Petals to the Metal (The Adventure Zone series)

The graphic novel adaptation to the McElroy family’s DND podcast The Adventure Zone. Most of you are probably aware of this? It’s a great adaptation, it hits all the important beats, shows off the characters really well, and still gets lots of good gags in even while condensing entire arcs into single book stories. This one is probably my favourite so far just because Petals to the Metal was one of my favourite arcs in the show... but you can also see how the art has improved and the chaos of the race is fun to see drawn out.

If you like The Adventure Zone but haven’t tried the graphic novels yet -- would recommend! If you’ve always wanted to listen to The Adventure Zone but don’t have time for such a long series or struggle to focus on podcasts then pick up the first book of this series (Here There Be Gerblins) and try reading it! It really is an enjoyable adaptation.

Pony to the Rescue (Pony Pals series)

I continued my April/May theme of reading old-school chapter book series to combat Covid Brain Fry, so I picked up a few Pony Pals books. I read these as a kid and always enjoy them -- there’s just something so appealing to a child about having a horse. It gives your child characters a level of independence and ability to explore that you wouldn’t get otherwise. These books definitely read young, but they were nostalgic to revisit.

Small Spaces

A really cool middle grade horror novel I picked up. Maybe it’s because I live around a lot of corn fields, but farm/scarecrow themed horror absolutely does it for me. One evening, after seeing a woman try to destroy a strange, old book, eleven year old Ollie doesn’t stop to think, instead stealing the book and running. That’s how she becomes wrapped up in the strange, sinister story of a cursed family and creature called the Smiling Man that seems to live out in the foggy fields. While unsettling, Ollie tries to remind herself that it’s just a story... but this becomes more challenging when her school bus breaks down one day out their own set of fields, and a fog is rolling in...

“Avoid large spaces. Stick to small.”

Snot Girl #1 - #2

A Canadian graphic novel series by the creator of the Scott Pilgrim series! I love his work so I decided to give Snotgirl a try, even though it’s not generally my genre. I’m glad I did! First book took a while for me to get into, but by the time I hit the second I was really wrapped up in the mystery and character development. Snotgirl is about Lottie, a self-consumed fashion blogger whose biggest struggles are dealing with her allergies, frustration with her fellow-blogger friends, and how entirely her self-esteem is tied to her “beauty” and how people view her. But everything shifts in strange and horrifying ways when Lottie starts taking a new allergy medication, meets a new friend... and then witnesses that girl’s death. Or does she?

Seriously, or does she? I have no idea, I need to read the third book. This book is full of intrigue, complicated relationships, murder (or not?), and a healthy dose of magical realism to keep you guessing. If you like slice-of-life, crime, and abstract reality then this series is world a try. Plus the art is gorgeous.

Summer Wars #1 - #2

I recently rewatched Summer Wars (still one of my favourite movies) and decided to read the two-book manga adaptation. It was a really neat little adaptation. The creator of the movie gave the writer free range to tweak things to fit better in a manga format, which means some movie elements were allowed to fade into the background, whereas other aspects were fulled into the forefront and fleshed out to a greater degree. It was very cool, it kept the same story but gave you new things to think about which I wasn’t expecting. Reading this as a stand alone works just fine, but honestly if you’ve never watched the movie Summer Wars you should give it a try! It’s a great mix of slice-of-life, sprawling family dynamics that I relate to a little too well, cyber adventures, and fantasy. Super feel good.

This One Summer

Okay, last graphic novel, I swear. This One Summer was... weird and intense. It’s a coming-of-age Canadian graphic novel that follows a pair of pre-teens who meet up like they do every year at their family’s summer cottages. You see them both in the awkward phases between childhood and growing up to become teenagers, as they’re confronted with things like maturity, friendship, self-esteem, family problems, and sexuality. A beautiful read, but probably the heaviest out of all the books on my list.

Wild Thornberrys Novelization

I rewatched The Wild Thornberrys movie with my girlfriend earlier this year, and decided I wanted to hunt down the chapter book novelization because I’m kind of a sucker for novelizations. Honestly, this was about what you would expect from the era. 90s/00s novelizations, especially young novelizations, are generally just a transcript of the movie without much thought or effort put into them to make them anything but. That’s what this was. It was fine, and it really let me revisualize the entire movie, but honestly you’re probably better off just rewatching the movie unless you also really deeply love The Wild Thornberrys.

The Willoughbys

I saw that Netflix had done a funky looking adaptation of The Willoughbys and I decided I needed to read the book first before watching the movie. This was a little bizarre, I’m still not sure how I feel about it. Over all, I think it was a net-positive experience. It’s an obvious satire on classic children’s novels, especially the likes of Mary Poppins (real Mary Poppins, not the Disney version) and while a little heavy-handed, it does a Series of Unfortunate Events vibe that redeems it. The story is about a group of horrible children (The Ruthless Willoughbys) who decide they are sick of their parents and would rather become Worth Orphans... and to do that, they’re going to have to dispose of their inconvenient parents, obviously. Conveniently their parents are also sick of having children and decide to do away with them as well. The Willoughbys sets up three (or four?) different subplots that are gradually woven together through a series of schemes and exploits. It’s definitely more ruthless (hurr hurr) than the Netflix version, which tried to make the children more sympathetic, and in some ways I think that’s a definite point in the novel’s favour. I’m not sure I would go out of my way to recommend it, but it was a fun romp if you want something short and off the wall (and a lot more fleshed out than the Netflix version).

[thesunnyshow]

Name: Kim Age: 26 (27 in September) Writing Blog URL(s): @jinterlude​   

Nationality: Filipino-American Languages: English  Star Sign: Virgo MBTI: ISFJ-T Favorite color: Any shade of blue  Favorite food: Ah, I have so many, but I really do love ramen & this Filipino noodle dish my grandma makes. Favorite movie: West Side Story. A close second is Pride & Prejudice (2005) Favorite ice cream flavor: Rocky Road  Favorite animal: Pandas Go-to karaoke song: Upside Down by A*Teens (I think I just dated myself) 

What fandom(s) do you write for? Mainly BTS, but I have written for SVT, EXO, GOT7, Monsta X, B.A.P, & NCT

When did you post your first piece? Oh dang, when? Hmm… I want to say Oct. 2016 (?) on my first blog (I had deleted and came back to Tumblr).

Do you write fluff/angst/crack/general/smut, combo, etc? Why? I mostly write a combo because it just happens that way! My main genres are: fluff, romance, & humor/crack. 

Do you write OCs, X Readers, Ships...etc? I mainly write OCs stories because that’s what makes me the happiest when it comes to writing, but I still write x reader fics for drabbles and oneshots. 

Why did you decide to write for Tumblr? Funny story. The reason why I started writing for Tumblr is because an old group of friends said that I should write a funny story based on a college class of mine, so I did and here we are. 

What inspires you to write? Usually, it’s my imagination, but other times it’s either the song I’m listening to or even the show I’m currently watching. Right now, my inspiration draws from anime. 

What genres/AUs do you enjoy writing the most? Genre wise, I love writing fluff & romance. AUs wise, I’m a sucker for Royal/Royalty. Mafia/Gang & Soulmate AUs would be a close second. 

What do you hope your readers take away from your work? Oh, wow. I honestly never thought about that before. I think for me, the one thing I hope my readers get from my stories is at the end of the day, please do something that will make you happy. Your own happiness should always be a top priority for you. 

What do you do when you hit a rough spot creatively? I take a break! Instead of forcing myself out of the creativity slump, I just take a break and let my mind recharge. Then, I go back to my outline and look over while listening to music that I know will spark some creativity juices. 

What is your favorite work and why? Your most successful? My favorite works (yes, I couldn’t pick just one) are my Royal!AU Seokjin series (Fight for Me & Our Second Chance). I love the amount of time and effort I put into those two stories, and I’m simply in awe at the world and characters I created. My second favorite is my latest Seokjin oneshot, Protecting Each Other. It’s my first story that exceeded 10,000 words, and I’m just proud of how that turned out. Successful wise, I would say it’s, This Little String. It’s a Soulmate!Taehyung oneshot based around the red-string of fate, and every other month, I see someone like and/or reblog it, so I say that’s pretty successful!

Who is your favorite person to write about? Seokjin hands down. I mean, not only is he one of my ultimate biases, but for some reason my creative banks dishes out ideas and inspiration for him like it’s nothing. 

Do you think there’s a difference between writing fanfiction vs. completely original prose? I personally don’t think so. You are still writing original content that derails from the source material (or adds to it), all you have to do is just replace your idols’ name with an original character name, and there you go. What do you think makes a good story? For me, I’d say that if you’re honestly proud of the end product, then that story is good, and your readers will see that. What is your writing process like? First I get an idea, or I like to call it, “it appeared to me in a vision,” then I outline it (if the idea lingers in my brain), and then I start writing and editing. Sometimes I’d sprint with my fellow writers on a server I’m in, and other times, I’d put on music and just let my brain go wild. Most of the time, I’m sprinting with friends. 

Would you ever repurpose a fic into a completely original story? If I had the time, probably. I can see my Royal!AU series becoming an original story with different characters and an expanded plotline. What tropes do you love, and what tropes can’t you stand? I am a sucker for F2L I (friends to lovers)! I just love the idea of dating someone who’s your best friend, so why not date your best friend, if the feelings are mutual of course! As for tropes, I dislike, I can’t say that I have any. I think it’s because (and I feel so bad for this), I don’t really read much stories other than what my mutual friends have written. 

How much would you say audience feedback/engagement means to you? It means the world to me because I do like knowing if I’m doing something right or if I need to go back and edit something for clarity. Mainly, I get likes and reblogs (with no feedback), and while it’s still nice of someone for taking the time to like and reblog something, I would like some feedback, please. I’m still grateful no matter what, though!

What has been one of the biggest factors of your success (of any size)? I think it’s the support of my amazing group of friends/mutuals! It’s thanks to their support that my work is reaching a wider audience, and it just means the world to me that they read my blood, sweat, and tears. I love them so much, especially my close friend, Jey (softjeon on Tumblr)!

Coffee or tea? What are you ordering? For coffee, my go-to is a Caramel Macchiato with Soy Milk (from Starbucks), but lately I’ve been using my Keurig, so I just Peppermint Mocha and 3 tsps of Sugar (I can’t stand bitter coffee lol). For tea, I really like Mango green tea from Gongcha (another boba place chain). 

Dream job (whether you have a job or not)? My dream job is to be an elementary school teacher, however, I am currently working on becoming a social worker where my population will still focus on children/students. So, it’s a good compromise!

If you could have one superpower, what would you choose?  If I could have one superpower, it would be cryokinesis aka ice manipulation!  

If you could visit a historical era, which would you choose? Oh, that’s a tough one, but if I had to choose one, I would go for the 1960s so I can see the Beatles live!

If you could restart your life, knowing what you do now, would you? No, because it’s thanks to those life lessons that I grow up to be who I currently am. Sometimes you have to go through those harsh experiences to be a better version of yourself!

Would you rather fight 100 chicken-sized horses or one horse-sized chicken? One horse-sized chicken, then I can feed my family for months. 

If you were a trope in a teen high school movie, what would you have been? Oh, hands down, I would be the stereotypical geek/nerd. Though, I was called a “preppy” in 9th grade, so that was a first. 

Do you believe in aliens/supernatural creatures? Yup, especially ghosts! 

Fun fact about yourself that not everyone would know? I can say the alphabet backwards! 

Do you think fanfic writers get unfairly judged? Oh, hands down, especially when it comes to writing smut. I’ve seen other blogs condemn writers who write smut about real people, but my thing is that these idols are merely face claims for a character that the author is writing about. 

Do you think art can be a medium for change? I think so! Every artist has a voice, especially with what’s going on recently, we need to be able to use our voices to spread light on certain issues. 

Do you ever feel there are times when you’re writing for others, rather than yourself? I used to think that way, especially when it came to writing x reader inserts since I know that’s what “sells” to the Tumblr audience. Now, I’m perfectly happy with writing x OC stories, and I’m content with my stories getting at least 5 notes. If it breaks 10 notes, then that’s a success!

Do you ever feel like people have misunderstood you or your writing at times? If they did, then I wouldn’t know. Most of the time, I think my writing is okay with people. 

Do your offline friends/loved ones know you write for Tumblr? Yes, my soul friend managed my old blog once upon a time and actually read one of my smuts. I was so embarrassed! But at least he said it was tastefully written, so that’s a bonus? 

What is one thing you wish you could tell your followers? Always remember that it is okay to take breaks/go on hiatus! 

Do you have any advice for aspiring writers who might be too scared to put themselves out there? My advice to those who want to start writing but are too afraid put themselves out there is to simply go for it. I was that person who was afraid to put their writing out there for the world to see, especially with some already established BTS writers on Tumblr, but I went for it. At first, it might be discouraging but know that your mutuals/friends will always be your number one supporter! Use their support as a motivator to keep writing and finding your groove! Then, eventually, all of your readers will start trickling in and showering you with the love and support you deserve!

Are there any times when you regret joining Tumblr? I wouldn’t say regret joining but more like allowing my life to be revolved around it. At one point in my life, it felt like a second job/chore for me, and Tumblr should never be that type of site! 

Do you have any mutuals who have been particularly formative/supportive in your Tumblr journey? Oh, I have so many! The ones that come to mind are definitely Jey (softjeon), Beanie (jinned), Nina (j-sope), Kenz (parksfilter), Renae (mygsii), Atlas (astraljoon), & Niah (randomkoalablog) to name a few! I love these amazing people so much and cherish their friendship to the moon and back!

Pick a quote to end your interview with: "Around here, however, we don’t look backwards for very long. We keep moving forward, opening up new doors and doing new things, because we're curious … and curiosity keeps leading us down new paths." - Walt Disney

[boogiewrites]

Choking On Sapphire 83

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Genevieve (OFC)

Title & Song: Baby Says

Summary: Alfie and Genevieve face the troubles of her day to day life. Genevieve gets some surprise visitors that help give Alfie some insight into her past and their future.

Warnings/Tags: Mild Language. References to assault and violence. PTSD. Fluff. Reunions. 

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.) Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!

Arm in arm Alfie and Genevieve walk on a Saturday morning in her garden, in full bloom and lush this time of the year. Gen was freshly out of the bath, her hair starting to curl and bounce in the early summer wind. Her face was unbothered, her limp almost entirely gone and the more superficial of the bruises had disappeared. Her ribs only caused her pain when exerting herself at this juncture and when Alfie was around he made sure she did not. He’d fallen into the habit of treating her much like a child, but in his defense, she was acting much like one. Still prone to bouts of crying, sometimes with clear triggers and others not. The ones without were the hardest, she would sob and scrawl down that she didn’t know why she was so upset and Alfie was left to put on his all too frequently worn mask of indifference and guide her through it.

But this particular light and lovely morning was about to take a turn for the emotional for Genevieve. But in a much-welcomed way.

“Mr. Solomons, sir!” a maid that held his favor calls from the edge of the house. “Miss Durand has visitors!” she shouts with a bright smile.

“Don’t know why she’s bloody smilin’. Told her no one was to see you.” he grumbles, bringing Genevieve around slowly as her glazed eyes looked up at him, silhouetted by sunrays. The red in his hair and beard was standing out in the sun, his freckles coming in across his nose and the tight trim on his beard and hair showing off all the handsome planes of his face. She smiles up at him and hums, still medicated and not speaking except for the occasional vocalizations of happiness or upset. “Take her to her room.” he orders gently, a hand rubbing over Gen’s fluffy mane before another maid chirps and takes her arm. “I’ll be with you in a bit, love.” he calls out and she gives him a slow nod before turning back to the maid who says something to make her smile. At least she was doing that again. “Who the fuck is here? I told ya no visitors.” he mutters with a low brow at the young woman.

“I knew you’d want her to see these visitors.” she keeps the same broad grin on her face, practically beaming at him.

“Why are you so fuckin’ happy? Has the savior returned?” he snorts and chuckles.

“They’re waiting for you in your study.”

“Least they got fuckin’ manners. Tells me it’s not the bloody Shelby’s” he grumbles to himself. His footsteps are heavy and none too happy to be making the trip down the hallway. He hated surprises. Someone coming and demanding they see him without prior invitation or forewarning, who did they think they were?

“Fuck me.” he says with a mouth wide open, revealing Altar and Alma standing and chatting in front of his desk. “Forgive the language Miss Lafitte, I am... ya bloody well surprised the old boy.” he laughs with a shake of his head.

“No offense taken. I rather miss the sort of fellow that would curse in front of a lady.” she smiles and reaches out to take his hand and sighs heavily before patting his cheek and kissing it just as lightly and sweetly. She smelled like flowers just like her daughter.

“You’re looking mighty well for what you’ve gone through, lad!” Altar booms with a big hug and pat the back for him that he swears pops a few things.

“Well I’ve got to keep up appearances, innit I?” she shrugs. “What on earth brings you here? Or HOW I should ask in your case, Miss Lafitte.”

“It’s Alma. I’ll be your mother some day. Almost was a lot sooner if the devil hadn’t intervened I hear.”

“Yes, ma’am. She disappeared the night I was set to ask her.”

“Shame, that.” she shakes her head. “But you found her. You brought her home.” she coos and hugs his neck tightly.

“Yes ma’am I did. Just as I promised.”

“He’s a man of his word Alma. No need to worry about Solomons.” Altar gives an approving nod.

“Might I see her? Is she well enough to see me?” Alma's wide eys inquire.

“I wouldn’t keep you from her even if she weren’t.” he replies happily. “She’s going to cry, fair wairing to ya, love, she’s very emotional already, poor little bird. But she’s been doin’ well this mornin’. And she innit speakin’ yet, throat got damaged the doctors say,” he informs with polite and a quick catching up as he walks her to the door.

“I’d like to see her as well, of course.” Altar smiles.

“‘Course. Best one at a time. Let the lady first then you file in once she’s certain she’s real ‘n that.”

“Real?” Alma asks with a high inflection.

“The medicine she’s on can make her hear and see that what aren’t there. None of it this mornin’ so far, it comes and goes.” he waters down the truth and Altar can sense it but Alma is just so excited to see her daughter she overlooks it.

Genevieve sits perched in front of her vanity, a silver brush in her hand, slowly dragging through her hair. The glow of the Morphine causing her to overlook the last of the bruises on her arms, the high neck of the gown covering those left underneath. Her hair now to her waist she watches it bounce with its natural curl as she releases it.

Alma, the giver of that hair stands in the doorway as Alfie files in first, catching her attention with a loud and happy signal of her name. “Genevieve my love you have visitors.” He calls out and she sets the brush down slowly, turning towards him with a small smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth and half-lidded eyes of contentment in her druggy fog. “It’s someone you haven’t seen in a very long time.” He warns her and he sees her eyes shift, an inkling of curiosity piqued and he sighs with relief. “Are you listening, love?” He asks just to be sure and she nods slowly. “Genny love... your mum is here.” He states while maintaining eye contact to see it sink in.

Her eyes go wide and she reaches up to grasp his forearms which were holding her shoulders. “Muh?” She manages and he feels her shake.

“Yes, love can ya-?” He begins to make sure she can handle such excitement. But she catches sight of her and much to his surprise stands and shoves him out of the way to get to her. The entire showing was rather impressive.

She can’t speak but she cries, oh does she cry. Until her eyes are as red as the sun and dry as the desert, she cries. She makes an awful sound trying to form words as she rushes towards her mother and collapses into her arms, sobbing and wailing.

“There my beautiful girl, let me look at you! It’s been too long little Lily, yes?” She holds her now red and splotchy face as Genieve blubbers, but Alma pays no mind and kisses every bit of her face, telling her how she was more beautiful now that she was grown than she ever had been before. The I love you's begin, Genevieve a weeping child in the embrace of her mother as she directs her to the couch in front of the fire. She shooshes her and cries herself, whispering only sweetness and praise, kissing her daughters dizzy head as she cries softly in her bosom like a baby.

Altar sneaks in after the initial explosion. Moving over to Alfie who stayed back on the other side of the room at her vanity watching the display. He didn’t think the reunion would’ve gone down much differently if she’d been herself.

“I wanted to thank you, Alfie. For handling all this.” Altar gives him a nod and a pat to the back.

“It’s all part of the life innit?” He responds, keeping an eye on her to make sure she was still okay.

“I hear you’re back at work already?”

“Yeah I had to, ya understand. I was going crazy here, worrying about her constantly. Had to keep fings togetha for both of us now. So I just work until the afternoon hours and come home before tea. Off on Shabbat and that.” He explains with the same low tone Altar speaks.

“So she is well enough to leave?” The concern in his voice evident.

“With the girls here yes. If she were on her own, no. I’ll be honest with ya Altar this is going far better than I thought it would.”

“So she's been worse? And I would appreciate honesty. I need to know what future we’re looking at here.”

“She’s been much worse." a flat delivery that tells altar all he needs to know. "Glad you caught her on an up day. She’s been very emotional, all over the place. Nightmares of course, can’t bring up what happened or she cries. She talks to herself, or rather mouths and chases after children what aren’t there. I’ve been told that most likely the medicine though. Morphine. Nasty stuff, yeah? Still too soon to know the long term effects on her mind. Needs the medicine for the pain, but it keeps us from knowin’ the state of her. It’s frustratin' I’ll admit.”

“And I thank you for not running. To speak candidly. Our lives are hard enough without adding...things like this to them.”

“I innit runnin'.” Alfie swings his head. “As long as I have hope she can be herself again some day I’m stayin’. And she is makin' progress. Small but... it’s there.” He groans.

“And I was told you were known for your lies.” Altar grins.

“Nah mate. I tell the truth. Just people don’t know how to listen to me words yeah? I’ll tell 'em what’s goin' down right? But it’s up to them to interpret it. I never make no promises in business. Only contracts and agreements. None of that whimsical horse shite.”  He mutters,

Altar chuckles. “I do hope she is herself again. And that it finds you in  good time. These things... the mind... all very tricky.”

“That it is.”

“Her brother reacted similarly after the war.”

“George is it? She told me 'bout him.”

“They were close growing up. She helped him, believed in him. Patience was key.”

“It is in most fings.”

“Yes. It is.” He laments, knowing the road was still unclear on the horizon for his niece. “Thank you for your candor Alfie. I only have second-hand information and hearing to from you is more than reassuring for an old man I’ll have you know.”

“So you know what happened?”

“I know she was taken from her home and held captive for almost 4 days by Horne. That he was killed in a shoot out and now she’s at home.”

“I can tell ya more.” He offers with a frown.

“Do I want to know?” Altars broad mouth forms a tight line.

“Would you rather know the truth or hear people talk like I have? Because I’ve been well miffed 'bout what I’ve been hearin’.” He replies with clear anger on his voice.

“Then yes, please tell me.”

—-

“Your house is so lovely Genevieve. Just like the drawings you used to keep as a girl, yes?” Her mother coos, Gen now only having the hiccups that sent pain in her chest every time as she recovered from the tears. “...and your hair has gotten so long.” She strokes it back. “And the man you have chosen is a proud Jewish one. One that sought me out after you were taken. He speaks of you with such passion, cheri. I am so proud of your choice. And you were working towards your bat mitzvah I heard as well? You are becoming everything I could’ve dreamed for you, my darling girl. Your mum is so proud. You’ve come so far haven’t you?” She continues her string of praise, Gen now nuzzling into her mother lap and feeling rather sleepy. Alma strokes the hair back from her daughters face just as she had as a child, the other hand gentle on her back where she rubs small circles just like she used to, to calm her. She could sense her spirit was a bit lost and desperately needed the comfort.

When she was young and took to her fits of crying she would throw herself around dramatically, making grand sweeping statements of woe and agony. There were no words this time, but she felt the same raw wildness when she looked into her wounded daughter's eyes. She had never been a stranger to the dramatic, but Alma hadn’t minded. It reminded her of her mother, of that power in getting swept away by her emotions. She felt so deeply and completely she could live no other way, and those around her would either be drowned in love or burned by hate depending on her mood, It seems Genevieve was just as sensitive a soul as her bubbie had been. For the line of work her daughter had chosen to go in, the true line of work and not Abeille, she wondered how she managed. Perhaps much like Alma, she locked parts of herself away to cope. That’s what she’d done being with George. But at least her daughter had a man with a sound mind of her choosing, a rare and heartwarming thing for a mother to know.

“I haven’t seen her so quiet and still in weeks.” Alfie states, walking over to Alma who was looking down at her contently.

“Sometimes a girl needs her mother,” she answers softly, leaning to look upon her face. “I see she has finally fallen asleep.” she lets out a huff of a laugh. “Just like when she was a child.” she sighs happily. “Circles on her back, gently stroke her face and hair, tell her all the praise she deserves. She’ll always come back to you.” she looks up at Alfie with pinked eyes from the shared tears.

“Good to know.” he thanks with a nod. “Would you like anythin'? We can move her to the bed if you need.”

“No, no. I’m staying close the whole time I’m here. Some tea by the fire sounds lovely though.” she announces reaching out and patting his hand that rests on the couch arm. “Bring us all some, would you? We need to discuss some things.” she speaks with a still kind face but a more purposeful tone.

“‘Course Miss.” he nods and gives Altar one as well as he heads over to the couch and Alfie goes to fetch tea.

-----

With the Aggie reunion with Alma already passed before Alfie even saw her into Gens room, the older woman kisses her head as she hands her her tea she still takes the same way after all these years. Alfie settles in with Gen’s mother and uncle in the set of chairs in front of the fire. Gen was laid out with her legs in Altars lap, her head in her mothers as Alfie takes the armchair to the matching pink hued set.

“I suppose the best place to start would be why we arrived together.”

“I was more than curious, yeah?” He responds with a smirk.

“I’ve moved out of George’s house.” She speaks with the same decisiveness that he misses from the childlike woman in her arms.

The surprise on Alfies face is clear.

“Yes, I made the same expression when she showed up at my door.” Altar snorts.

“After you came by, I had to reevaluate some things. Perhaps I’d been in denial about how one-day things would work out. But time kept passing, my children kept growing and changing and I was not around to see it as I would like. I had to do something. Seeing the poor condition of George in the face of real danger, his own most trusted servant betraying him and the watching and infiltrating of our estate, I saw the end was closer than I anticipated.” She delivers plainly and without drama, her hands still loving on her daughter. “I’m at the point now where I knew what I could lose or what could happen to me was lesser than what I’d suffer if I went on without my most wild daughter. Knowing she was fighting to become everything I always wanted for her… I would be damned if I’d miss her wedding, the birth of a child, being able to be at her side during something like this.” She sighs deeply. “My little wildflower.” She strokes her face lovingly and Altar gives a soft smile, reaching out and patting his sister's arm. “She was always so rebellious. I see that was not passing phase for her now. It is who she is and I could not be more proud of her for sticking to her true self.”

“It’s something you never got a chance to do, little one.” Altar says with an affectionate and soft tone he reserved for speaking to the women in his life. “There is so much more Lafitte in her than any of your other children. She’s so much of you sister, she had no choice but to follow her heart did she?” He smirks and gives her cheek and soft pinch and she smiles in return. “This one was just as wild in her youth. Don’t let that Christian repression they beat into her fool you.” Altar chuckles after wagging a finger Alfie's way.

“I cannot and will not make an argument I cannot win.” She grins to herself, another forlorn sigh as she dotes on the sleeping woman in her arms.

“Wish Genevieve had taken after you on ‘at.” Alfie jokes and it makes Altar laugh out loud.

“She is more rebellious for the sake of drama. She is a theatre in and of herself that Lily. I knew it the moment I first held her.” Altar reminisces.

“She always had a taste for it.” Alma murmurs with fond memories playing behind her soft eyes.

“Hasn’t changed a bit.” Alfie reaches over and gives Gens chin a squeeze. “Will you be living with Altar now? If you mind my asking.”

“Not at all, cheri, yes I will. He has plenty of room, and dare I say he could use the feminine influence.”

“They say a man is not complete without one.” He teases. “And what of you Solomons?” He turns a strong face his way. “Do you still have the same intentions with our Genevieve? Even now?”

“Same as ever.” Alfie announces with confidence. “Only in ritual is she not mine, she is in ‘ere ‘n ‘ere.” He points to his temple and chest. “I almost went bloody' mad when she first got home. Watchin' over her. I was bloody scared is what I was. I don’t wanna lose that one.”  He points and sighs. “I love that hellion. That little Lily of yours. And once she’s better. Once this awful process is behind us I will make her my wife. Same intention as ever. I’m here for her now and always. As I said, only in formality is she not mine. In my eyes.”

“That is a relief to hear.” Alma admits. “I admittedly was concerned when I heard about the state of her. Most men would leave.”

“I am no coward to a challenge. And ‘ats what ‘is is. I like to think she would do the same for me. Fuckin' ‘ell she has to a degree if you must know. Gettin’ shot, negotiations behind me back to keep me alive. She’s a proper little nurse, that one.” He looks at her with fondness, perhaps needing to be reminded of all she had done for him after such a rough spell as they were in.

“She never did shy from the blood and violence as a child. Never phased her. Just fetching boiling water and flannels when the boys would come in hurt.” Alma shares with a gentle expression.

“Always been fearless, that one. Suspect that’s how she came to be here. Like this. But it’s also what kept her alive. I have no doubt.” Altar gives her small ankles a pat.

“A lesser man would’ve caved and perished.” Alfie agrees with a hard expression.

“Little fighter.” Alma whispers, leaning down to give her a kiss to her fluffy head of curls. “Perhaps everything will turn for the better. One can only hope and pray. She’s never given up before, let’s hope that holds up this time around.” she looks to Alfie with sad eyes. “But I did want to thank you, for getting her back. For taking such severe and swift action against the person who did this.”

“As I told her, I would burn down the whole fuckin’ country for her. No one messes wif a Solomons. And she is. If ‘ats how they want to treat her then she is to me.”

“I approve of your retaliation.” Altar lets him know. “Not only from an uncle’s standpoint. But from a man who has had to make many of the same decisions. If they come for your heart, you go for their head. Take them out and leave him no choice. Can’t show weakness in this sort of life.”

“My sentiments exactly.” Alfie nods solemnly. “I went for his livelihood. All the businesses and properties in his name. Gone. But this one here...she’s the one what killed him.”

Altar beams proudly. “My little Lily.”

“As much as I hate the idea of her having to do that, I can only approve. Revenge is something so few women get on their abusers.”

“Time will come for us all, dear.” Altar gives her a supportive rub on her back. “Even little George will have his day. He’s busy digging his own grave so we don’t even have to do anything at this point.” he rolls his eyes.

“He’s been in decline for some time. Which is what I assumed brought him to act so swiftly towards our Geneieve. He needed an outlet for his anger at his own shortcomings. His selfishness is coming back to bite him. He doesn’t have the power or the money like he used to. Too many poor decisions. No one wants to work with him because all this is rumored among his peers. He’s a weak little man, now both physically and mentally. Used to he was a stout thing, but in his old age his black heart has made him decline so quickly.”

“Good.” Altar gruffs out. “Bastard deserves worse.”

Alma shrugs. “It is true. But time will come for him. And I leave it to the higher powers to decide now. I am taking my life into my own hands, on my own terms now. My darling here gave me that push to do so. I can’t imagine having to do it at such a young age with no experience.”

“Luckily she came to me.” Altar adds.

“So true.” Alma agrees. “And now I am as well.” her face is still a frown, but a hopeful glint in her eyes. “We won’t be staying long, I’m afraid. I don’t want word to get out that we’re staying here and have George do something moronic about it. But we will be only a phone call away. I know it was a chance coming here, people seeing or hearing, but…”

“She will be better for it. Thank you.” Alfie says reaching out and placing his hand over hers. “As you said. A girl needs her mum sometimes. And now she needs all the help she can get. I’ll be sure she knows you’re well, and with Altar when she’s a bit more herself. She’ll be happy to hear it. Expect letters.” he ends on a light-hearted note and giving her a charismatic smile.

“I expect many.” she beams in response, a gulp and giving his hand a squeeze. “I’m leaving you with my most precious belonging, Solomons.”

“And she is mine as well. Have no doubt. I will always do what I think is best for her, for us. Not only out of respect for you and our laws but as a man who loves her. Who understands her and wants her to thrive. I would never act against her interests. Be sound knowing I will do everythin' in my power to keep your little girl safe and healthy. Her wellbeing in mine now.”

“And you will let me know the moment the wedding planning begins. I must be involved.” she adds on a lighter note.

“Of course.” he smiles softly. “We would have it no other way.”

“I knew there would be little traditional about my daughter's life once she left, but if I still can’t help but have the same wants of tradition when it comes to her wedding. She already skipped the planner and chose her own groom.” she chuckles. “So amuse an old woman and let her be a good Jewish mother for the first time.” she grins.

“What old woman?” Alfie says with a smirk.

Altar laughs loud enough for Gen to stir before he reaches down to rub her back to soothe her. “Told you he was cheeky. Same as Lily. No wonder you found each other. A couple of charismatic to a fault little buggers.” he chuckles.

“Altar!” she scolds and shoots him a look.

“No, no. As usual he is right. Both stubborn as hell but we’ve got our humor.” Alfie confides.

“She gets both from you.” Alma side eyes Altar.

“Oh but if you were only honest with yourself sister.” he laughs. “Us birds of a feather. We will always find ourselves in others and flock together won’t we?”

“Even when we aren’t looking for one another. As in our case.” Alfie’s adds a touch of sentimentality.

“Like bubbie said, when you aren’t looking for it.” Alma begins as she knows Altar will continue.

“That’s when you find it.” Altar finishes with a charismatic grin.

Alfie recalls Gen saying something much of the same sentiment. One night on her wine, lips on his jaw and fingers in his beard. She was never looking for him, for love. But against all odds it found her. Disguised for so long as something else, trying to run from her and hide, she carried on. She said she would change nothing that brought her to him, that kept them together. He wonders if she would say the same after this was over. Would she still not regret finding him, falling in love with a man like him and letting more danger into her life? He wasn’t a praying man, but he did hope that she wouldn’t regret the path they were on together now. ‘As long as it leads me to you.’ she would say. He truly hoped that would still be the case.

-------

After tearful and grateful goodbyes, Gen remaining lucid and not embarrassing herself or Alfie while her family was there he was breathing easy for a lovely moment in time.

Gen felt a rush of energy within herself, unsure of how to elaborate on it or process it she finds herself restless. The excitement sending too many signals off in her brain for her to calm down hours after they’ve gone. With Alfie asleep in their bed, a soft mess of dark gingery hair and a still hard looking face even at rest she slowly creeps out and into the bathroom.

She looks at herself in the mirror, facing herself truly for what was the first time since the incident. She didn’t remember each mark or bruise, and she truly didn’t want to. She wanted to never remember. Recalling the feeling of Horne’s brain as her nails dug into it when she killed him was enough for her. If he deserved that he wasn’t worth remembering.

A soft snort comes from the bedroom, a welcome change of thought. She leans against the doorway, her temple to the gilded frame. The past weeks were a fog to her, but she did remember Alfie always being there. She sighs and hums with a contented feeling as she watches him. The noise surprises her after the fact. She hadn’t heard herself speak except for her own thoughts since she came to in the hospital. But she hadn’t really tried, only pushing out the first syllable to indicate the severity of her words. Another snore from Alfie’s full and chapped lips as he rubs his face into the pillow. The sun would be up soon and so would he, or as soon as he discovered she wasn’t there. She decides to thank him for his dedication during all this chaos. Full days she didn’t remember, spans of trauma she didn’t care to remember that were still locked away in her brain, only coming in dreams and unwanted, uncontrolled flashes at random times. The medicine had helped those it seemed. It kept her impassive, kept everything with a lovely fuzzy frame of numbness around it. It was how she preferred to exist. The pain was still too much, both the physical and the mental. The morphine was a calm sanctuary she could return to when she needed, when things started to feel sharp and edged, she could go back to the cozy comfort of numbness. The morphine was becoming her best weapon.

But in these wee morning hours, before Alfie had to get up to make the drive to London, she rubbed her throat and tried to clear it as she felt muscle control coming back with the first dose of morphine taunting her in the near future. Reminding her it’d been hours and they were due for another rendezvous. But with her control, she warms up her throat and tries to speak. By the hour Alfie should rise, she would give him something to show she was trying.

She tasted blood but she didn’t care. Her voice light and raspy, but there. An odd soreness to her tongue she’d never felt before, her neck ragged but functional. She sits on her throne of pillows in the big elaborate bed with her various accouterment of medicinal devices and tonics around her. She waits, the light from the sun filtering through slightly, soon to rouse the sleeping bear she gently stroked that lay next to her, sprawled on his stomach.

A deep, sleep-filled grunt escapes him and she smiles. Fingertips over his nose and temples, waking him more.

“Mmph.” he blubs out with flared nostrils. Alfie loved being up before everyone else, the feeling of getting a head start on every other lazy fucker who was still in bed. But the act of waking itself he was not a fan of. He hadn’t realized how integral Gen’s practice of waking him gently had helped ease him back into the plane of reality until he no longer had it. He’d awoken to a still woman next to him, sleeping through him getting ready most mornings. But he’d forgotten all that time in the dim light alone for a moment as he crawled from the shelter of sleep with the tickle of her fingertips on his skin. “Mmph?” he asks with a clear question.

Gen remains soft, covers pulled up over her to her stomach, nails now on his scalp.

“Mmph. Genny?” he asks while rubbing his eyes. “Ya should be asleep, love.” he mutters and tries to focus.

“Matin.” comes from her mouth and he almost misses it. Easier to speak for her than the English greeting, she whispers it to him, leaning closely.

With a stiff grunt, he raises his head up fast, a pop of his neck as he does so. “Wha-?” he mumbles, and rolls to her side, reaching out to take her hand into his, holding it in the warm spot where he’d slept. “Genny love what are you doin’?”

“Good...morning.” she forces out, a childish expression on her face, hoping for happiness and praise.

“Fuck me…” he whispers, sitting up and giving her a more focused expression. “Ya talkin’ again?” he questions with a deep throaty noise of approval, reaching over to cup her face.

“Good... morning... Alfie.” she says slowly.

“Oh, pet. Little French flower, my darlin’...” he coos at her, caught up in her wide eyes that met his and the subtle smile and closed eyes that nuzzled into his hand as he held her face. “Don’t ya be pushin’ yaself too much. Stubborn thing.” he grins and kisses her forehead. “Ya know I am weak for my name from your lips, love, don't be exploitin’ a man now.” he gives her a warm smile and kisses her cheek and she happily hums. A sound besides one of pain for the first time he recalled after touching her in such a way.

“Good morning... Alfie.” she says again, a rough delivery but her voice most certainly.

“It is, love. It is.” he says before giving her the most chaste and innocent of kisses that he feels her reciprocate. A brief moment in time where everything was light and hope-filled in his sleepy brain. Something he would think back on when her condition was questionable. This small moment that meant so much to them both. They both felt as one again. No matter how fleeting these moments could be.

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[homiegeesus]

The Year of Magical Thinking, Ch.1

Summary:  Francis Sinclair believed Arthur Morgan had not finished living. In a second chance at life, Arthur discovers what it means to love himself.

At the edge of a precipice and nowhere to run, Arthur concedes defeat. In an extraordinary turn of events, he is sent through the ether to another time where his path crosses with a group not too unlike his own family. After discovering the fate of those he loved before, he races to find a way back. But what if he realizes that there is something worth staying for in this new world? Can two people separated by nearly a hundred and twenty years of living find their happily ever after?

________________________________________________________

So…Super nervous posting this. It’s the first time in a few years that I’ve written anything (the first fandom-centered work I’ve written since like 2005 lmao; Gilmore Girls anybody?) and it shows. But, alas, I’ve been incredibly inspired by RDR2’s story and the way other authors on Tumblr & AO3 have expanded on it. Shit guys, dunno if anybody is even going to read this, but I’ll push it out of the nest and into the world regardless. This may be the stupidest idea ever, but whatever, I’ll let y’all decide. A warning: This is not beta'd, but I reread it like 50 times. Still, I apologize for my terrible grammar. And, yes, I have shamelessly lifted the title from Joan Didion’s fantastic book. It just fit. So. Well. I’m terribly uncreative, so please forgive me Joan. Also, my only knowledge of 1920s-speak comes from F. Scott Fitzgerald, Clara Bow movies and Googling. I don’t know if anybody ever really said ‘old sport’, but what the hell. On another note, there will be a few things taken from the GTA universe, but it's minimal (San Andreas/Liberty City do not exist). I'll be explaining through a secondary character how states in RDR became the modern states that we know. And finally, constructive criticism welcomed and appreciated!! Anyway, here's Wonderwall...

AO3 Link

Warning: This is me working through my “stuff” vicariously through Arthur Morgan and co.

The Year of Magical Thinking

Chapter 1 - Prologue (or A Dream of Arthur Morgan)

Roanoke Valley - 1899 Peace settled over Arthur Morgan like a warm embrace; the rattle in his lungs that had invaded his every waking moment these past few months now a distant feeling. With each labored rise and fall of his chest, drowning in his own blood, he spared but one final thought.

It’s over. It’s finally over and death would soon come for him.

This wasn’t how Arthur had envisioned his death. No, he had always thought he would die with a bullet in his chest and cordite in his lungs. Not at the behest of disease and treachery. Such a shame that wisdom should only come to him on his deathbed. If only…

That’s what it came down to, that’s what it always comes down to. If only, if only, if only, his mind repeated nonstop. Regrets, Arthur had plenty of them. For months, he had been sinking so far in regrets, he could scarcely breathe. What could he have done differently that would have given a better outcome? How had he not seen Dutch’s descent into mania? Arthur supposed that maybe he had seen but chose to ignore, because when had Dutch ever led them astray.

Micah. Arthur had so many regrets about that goddamn snake. Micah had attached to Dutch like a leech and sucked every drop of the very lifeblood of the gang. He had played on all of Dutch’s insecurities and weaknesses. Arthur’s eyes were finally open, for all the good it did him now. But that rat was only one of the last in a long line of regrets he would have in his life. Arthur’s craving for penance started long before Micah came along.

Maybe Arthur himself was the leech, a disease – an infection. Death and pestilence followed him around like an acrid smell. It was something that seeped into his skin, clawed its way inside like a cancer until it reached his soul, the very center of him. Not happy with just him, it carried through the air and infected everything he had ever cared for or loved. His mother, Hosea, Mary, Eliza and –

Isaac. Arthur still had trouble even saying his name, so wrapped up in guilt as he was. During the rare times he found himself alone, thoughts of the little towheaded boy would invade his mind. Being rightly familiar with cowardice, he would press the tips of his fingers to his skull until they felt like ten dull knives, as if to physically rid himself of the painful memories. Of course, this rarely worked and he was resigned to suffer through the punishment he subconsciously forced upon himself. And now, as he laid on the jagged gravel of this cliff, he finally welcomed the comforting mental images of his son.

Feeling the weight of a life lived recklessly lift slowly from his mind, Arthur turned his head towards the setting sun, his final thought being: I gave it all I had.

___________________________________________________________

Francis Sinclair had one rule:

Don’t mess with the timeline.

It had seemed so easy in its simplicity. In the beginning, that is, until it wasn’t. He hadn’t counted on Arthur Morgan. For a bad man, he sure did a lot of good. Probably more than he realized. When Francis had asked the outlaw to find the futuristic rock carvings, he hadn’t expected Mr. Morgan to deliver. Especially not in a matter of months. Chronos himself probably would have found the task trying.

So, in 1932, when Francis had read about the fate of the Van der Linde Gang in a new hit novel by J. R. Miller, he learned that the coppers had closed in on his ole friend, and well, that just wouldn’t do. He understood that he wouldn’t be able to find Mr. Morgan in the time needed to prevent the most unfortunate aspects of his fate, but he could prevent the ultimate one. What he didn’t expect was to find the man with one arm in a Chicago Overcoat.

Francis pulled the horse-drawn buckboard to a stop in a clearing next to the crag and hopped down. The air was calm and filled with the late evening chatter of the local fauna. He jogged the incline of the rock until a recumbent figure came into his field of view. It wasn’t until he was a few feet away that he noticed the extent of the man’s injuries. His blue shirt stained brown, gone was the desperado’s worn black leather hat, in its place a matte of blood and dirt in his previously honeyed blonde hair. His once handsome face gaunt, his ashen skin a mess of bruises and cuts. One eye was swollen shut, blood trickling down the corner of his mouth. Was he even breathing? Francis was running out of time.

“You’ve a lot more living yet, old sport,” the red-head crouched down and placed two fingers against the outlaw’s throat finding a slow, but steady pulse. “Yes, a lot more.”

Mr. Morgan groaned.

“Come on, we gotta find a way to get ya on your gams, ya follow?” Francis grabbed the man’s arm and tried to pull him into a sitting position. Morgan was having none of that.

“Let me– let me die, damn you,” he wheezed on an exhale.

“No, no you poor little bunny. Can’t do that. Now up you go,” Francis pulled once more, this time succeeding.

In a broken voice, Arthur pleaded, “Goddamnit, jus’ let me alone. ‘M so damn tired.” When he finally raised his head and opened his good eye, a look of recognition passed over his face. “You– “

“Yes, me. Now, let’s scoot. You don’t have much time, Mr. Morgan.” Francis placed the man’s arm over his own shoulders, Arthur allowing himself to be hauled into standing.

Arthur weakly protested, “’M dyin’, Mr. Sinclair. I’m a dead man. Ain’t no use in helpin’ a dead man.”

Francis just laughed and replied with the strain of half-carrying a grown man in his voice, “No, Mr. Morgan. As I said before, you’ve a lot more living left to do. Now, conserve your strength.”

Likely out of exhaustion, the outlaw did not say another word. They barely made it to the buckboard before Arthur collapsed. Just before Morgan would have fallen to his knees, Francis used the momentum to haul the man into the back of the wagon. As Francis grabbed each of the larger man’s legs to swing into the bed, Arthur’s breath rasped in his throat, “Why you doin’ this?”

Francis regarded him for a moment before saying, “Because you helped me get outta a pretty big pickle.” He paused, then smiled, “And because you’re terribly important to a lot of people, baby.” And with that, Francis climbed back up to the seat and flicked the reigns.

___________________________________________________________

Well, shit.

Arthur’s plan to die in peace had been upended by a curious red-haired fellow in a blue sweater. With no energy to ruminate further, he resolved to die in the bed of this damn wagon. As the cart trudged backed to the main road, Arthur’s worn body felt every mound and stone the wheels rolled over. Finally, on a relatively smooth surface, he allowed himself to observe his surroundings. Tall pines and hemlock blurred into each other passing in his periphery as he stared at the spattering of stars visible through dark clouds. The sun had officially set in the last thirty minutes and all that remained a reddish orange hue near the horizon. Above him though, what a sight indeed. Bright stars twinkled along the Milky Way, like God himself spread them with a paintbrush across the sky.

Why had he taken all this for granted? So many nights spent under these same stars, but Arthur never really paid them any mind except for navigation. How many years before the artificial lights of the cities overpowered their natural beauty? Unable to ponder any longer and continue the fight to stay conscious, Arthur resigned to close his eyes and place complete trust in the relative stranger.

What felt like moments later, or hours Arthur was unsure, cold droplets of water forced his good eye open once again. A murmur of thunder rolled in the distance. Mr. Sinclair finally turned around, his voice deafened by the creaking of the wagon and heavy breathing of the horses.

“We are just a minute away. I think we’ll make it before the worst of the storm hits.”

But like an omen fitting of this night, Sinclair was wrong. What began as random drops here and there crescendoed into a torrential downpour. The red-haired fellow should have known that hitching his wagon to the outlaw would herald an abundance of bad luck. Unable to shield himself and too tired to care, Arthur welcomed the deluge as if it would wash him away.

Mr. Sinclair halted the horses and hopped down from the buckboard once more. He appeared in Arthur’s line of sight as he unlatched the tailgate, setting down a lantern and grabbing the larger man’s arms in another tug-of-war to get him sitting. Water poured down his face and converged at his chin.

“We just have to ankle about ten feet to the opening,” Sinclair hollered over the rain. “You ready?”

At this point, Arthur would have conjured up his most intimidating mien but there was no energy for that. “No,” he answered defeated.

Unperturbed, the younger man smiled, “That’s the spirit.”

Grabbing Arthur’s arms, Mr. Sinclair placed one across his shoulders. When he hauled the outlaw into standing position, Arthur’s world tilted. Feeling unable to breathe and so lightheaded, he launched into a series of hacking coughs. Blood splattered against his hand and mixed with the rain, diluting until it turned into a river of pink down his arm. He looked to Sinclair. Wet hair plastered to his forehead; the cold of the rain made the strange man’s curious birthmark stand out all the more against pale skin.

“When you gonna see that I’m already dead?” His weakened voice barely heard above the storm.

The redhead looked at him, “Please, just trust me.”

They began their short journey to wherever it was they were going, walking only yards but feeling like miles. By the time they reached what appeared to be a cave entrance, Arthur’s knees buckled and his vision went black. He would have felt hitting the ground, if he’d been conscious. Coming to seconds later, he became aware of his arms being tugged above his head. Mr. Sinclair was apparently dragging him. Deep down, Arthur briefly admired the man’s grit. However, the sentiment was soon replaced by annoyance and near-agony as the sensation of what felt like an elephant settled atop his chest. In and out of consciousness, Arthur realized they had stopped when Sinclair crossed the threshold to grab the lantern at the mouth of the cave. The red-haired man set the lantern between the outlaw and the cave wall and then perched above his head, grabbing both of his arms by the wrists. Arthur could see the younger man’s mouth moving but could not discern the words, only comprehending ‘listen’ and ‘your hands’.

Sinclair then placed Arthur’s large hands against the cool stone wall. Even in his delirious state, he recognized the carvings he had previously found for the peculiar fellow. He could feel the vibrations of the man’s voice behind him in what felt like a chant, but he still could not determine the words. To Arthur’s astonishment, the outlines in the rock began glowing a mute bluish color. What began as a slight tingling in his fingertips turn into full body experience. Reality dissolved into nothingness and became a pure void. And then –

Everything.

Every single moment in his hard life experienced again but in hundred times the speed. This must be it, Arthur thought. God must be forcing him to relive every chapter of his rotten existence before He banished him to the fiery pits of Hell. Familiar faces began to permeate his view. Arthur tried in vain to reach out at the image of his mother. Beatrice Morgan may have been alive for only a small portion of his life, but he would carry her memory with him forever in the form of a flower at his bedside. Unpleasant memories began to flash as Lyle Morgan pervaded his vision. The son of a bitch had been a vile presence in his young days, a man who Arthur would live in fear of until the moment they finally hanged him. Arrested for larceny, his death hadn’t come soon enough.

And then Hosea appeared, someone Arthur had thought of as more of a father than even Dutch. The man had been convinced by the raven-haired outlaw to take a chance on a scared gangly boy who had just tried to rob their room. Starved and desperate for family, Arthur had latched onto the men soaking up anything they would teach him. And teach him they had.

More memories raced by, and Arthur caught sight of a beautiful brown-haired girl. Mary Gillis, the visage of her still enough to stir his pulse, laughed and blushed like a young woman in love. Even in the inevitability of their parting, Arthur had still carried the hope that they’d one day reunite and ride off into the sunset together. If not for Guarma and the mess that had come from the robbery in St. Denis, that may have been his future. Not the hellfire that awaited his damned soul.

And then, Eliza. A young girl of nineteen, Arthur had found comfort in her embrace in the wake of heartbreak. Intent on forgetting Mary, he foolishly took advantage of a girl’s infatuation and followed her to a room above the saloon where she worked. What had come from the union was a beautiful gift but more a curse. Isaac had his mother’s hair and his father’s eyes. A happy baby from what Eliza had told him. Until a group of transients killed them both over ten dollars. Arthur had just whipped up a tidy sum from some cattle rustling and had set his compass to visit his secret family, fully intent on giving Eliza all of the hard-earned money. What greeted him would harden his heart and set him on a path of wickedness. All he had to see were the two graves to understand what had happened.

Like a moving picture, the entirety of his life played before him. If this was what the devil had in mind for his punishment, it would be a hellish eternity. Forced to relive every mistake and misstep he’d ever made; it was what he deserved. But as the memories neared their end, he began to feel a weightlessness. Every atrocity and sin that had weighed heavy on his shoulders suddenly lifted. Again, everything went black.

But then –

Stars. Billions of them. Clearer than any night sky he’d ever seen. Galaxies and distant worlds powdered his vision like puffs of freshly picked cotton. No longer held under the burden of sickness, he took a deep and easy breath. He hadn’t felt this well in months – no, years. Was this heaven? Could God forgive a lifetime of misdeeds? Arthur may have never been a good man, but he did try to be better – in the end. But, no. He was irredeemable. This was a final punishment. A peek at the peace and serenity that redemption would have gifted, before God cast him from the light.

The answer was seemingly given when an unnatural force dragged him back through the ether. Again, hundreds of images flashed in his sight, but this time the memories didn’t belong to him. Too fast to discern individual frames, he could only pick out one reoccurring subject. A woman with dark blonde hair and a bright smile that formed two apple cheeks. Strangely familiar, his memory told him he didn’t know her, but his subconscious shouted in recognition. Then she was gone and with her the remainder of his vision.

Everything turned to black once more.

[amplesalty]

Day 5 - Frankenhooker (1990)

I think you’ll find it’s called Frankenhooker’s Monster

We’re branching out into the wider filmography of Frank Henenlotter today. He’s primarily known for Basket Case, which was one of the entries in the early days of this blog. I had a weird moment before watching this in trying to remember if I ever saw Basket Case 3 as I didn’t seem to mention it on here. Evidently I watched it during my attempt at the ‘365 movies in 365 days’ challenge in the mid 2010’s, which seems a little odd for me as normally I feel like I would have normally left it until Halloween, especially since I discussed the first two movies.

As the title might suggest, we’re very much dealing with the ‘Frankenstein’ tropes in this, with a whole bunch of gratuitous nudity thrown in from the hooker side of things. ‘Ol Tor has his work cut out today.

We start out by meeting Jeffrey, an oddball sort of fellow that dabbles in a little bit of mad science on his kitchen table. He follows the more Jeremy Clarkson school of tool selection as he does his mad science with hammers. Neither his fiancé or family seem to mind this and just casually carry on enjoying the birthday party they’re throwing around him. Would you mind passing me the ketchup whilst you’re performing invasive surgery on your brain/fish thing, honey? I don’t know what that thing is and they never explain it. I guess it’s just a quick way to introduce the fact that he’s able to create life in some weird ways.

He later moves it into a fish tank, at least it’s more roomy than just being a brain in a jar. Plus it has neighbours! Do you think it eats the fish food as well?

It reminds me of Arrghus from A Link to the Past, only without the tentacles or the little creatures satelliting around it.

This party takes a turn for the worse when his fiancé demonstrates the remote control lawnmower Jeffrey invented by turning it on and standing in front of it whilst it runs her over. What is it with people in Hollywood who are too stupid to take a sidestep out of incoming danger? Seriously, just a few feet either way but no, she just stands there and screams whilst the machine cuts her down.

This is an event summed up on the evening news in a manner rather lacking in any tact or dignity, proclaiming the young woman’s ‘personality’ was chopped up and rained upon the party guests like some sort of human tossed salad.

This Prison Break reboot looks a bit odd. And as much as I am curious to see if muscular and flesh level nudity would flag up Tumblr’s censors, I’ll play it safe here.

No, those are just Jeffrey’s plans to make things right again; like Doctor’s Frankenstein and West before him, he will restore life.

I say West because there is a bit of a low rent Jeffrey Combs vibe going on here. Actor James Lorinz is a bit cheesey in his delivery at times but it probably doesn’t help he spends half the film spouting exposition to himself. He has the look down though, with some good facial expressions and looking like he hasn’t slept in a week. Puts me in mind of the guy in Nightmare on Elm Street 2 as well actually. I keep going on about that bloody movie.

See, Jeffrey was only able to salvage a few body parts before the cops did their clean up. The most important thing is he got the head so he can just put that on a new body and he’s back in business.

A head that he likes to enjoy candlelit suppers with.

I must say, these fake nude images were a lot cruder before the invention of Photoshop.

The only trouble is, where to get a donor body? Jeffrey is wracking his brains but can’t think of anything so, bizarrely, he drills into his own head which seems to tap into some wickedness like tricking a bunch of stewardesses off a plan by dressing as a maintenance man and saying there’s a fault. He doesn’t think they’ll fall for that though so he figures he’ll just go kill a bunch of hookers.

I don’t know what the deal is with the drilling thing. It’s like something out of the middle ages, trepanning. He uses it later on and seems to act as some sort of relief to him. See, Dr Spengler had it right, it would have worked.

Forget all this dealing with tragedy and grief business, it’s sexy hooker party time! The girls think this is just some weird roleplay fantasy that Jeffrey has, with his white gown and stethoscope, but really he’s just sizing them up as suitable donors.

Things go slightly wrong though when they find the bag of super crack he’s being cooking up and they just go to town on it. That’s the problem with crack, it’s really morish.

Mr Stark…I don’t feel so good…

It also has the slight side effect of making you explode. The crudity of this scene really makes it, just take a load of dummies, strap some fireworks to them and just watch the show. I shouldn’t jest, there are dozens of people that spontaneously combust every year, it’s just not really widely reported.

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Jeffrey scoops up the body parts and takes them home. I think this shows the kind of neighbourhood he was in that he can drive around with his trunk rigged open, with body parts spilling out, and no one bats an eyelid.

You got these titties but then you got like this whole tray full of titties and that’s just too many titties. You need like some well rounded female characters in the titties to make titties sweeter.

Those aren’t the kind of bolt ons that most women elect to have surgery for…

Like when Dr Frankenstein created the bride for his creature, so to does Jeffrey have to deal with a rebellious streak within his creation. When she finds out that he doesn’t have any money, she shows him the back of her hand and heads off into the night. Forget being a hooker, she should be running the show with a pimp hand like that!

See, the slight problem with the new body that Jeffrey has put together is that it has infected his fiance’s mind, no longer the sweet, innocent girl he knew, now she’s taken on the personality of one of the hookers, just going round asking if people want a good time and if they have any money. For all the gore and breasts on show so far, you have to give the movie credit for finally delving into the sort of deep, metaphysical questions that I’m sure Mary Shelley had in mind when she wrote the original story. What makes us who we are? Is it just our thoughts and memories or is there something more, a soul within our body?

Eh, who am I kidding? Bring on the ungodly creature effects from all the reanimated hooker body parts!

[sistertzipster-blog]

Hello my fellow Tumblr, if you are in the mood to have read a taste of my upcoming novel Once She Called Me Darling I have posted both the synopsis and random excerpt from this  tale of tragedy, love and magic! 

Any feedback negative and positive are welcome! Thank you 

Synopsis: 

Many stories begin their tale with a dialogue, an introduction of an event or scene, or a voice that narrates the story in one’s mind waiting for it to unfold into the unknown. My story has been written many times over, it has been produced onto the stage such as Broadway and even journeyed to Hollywood and has been re recreated many times with slightly different twists and subplots.....however despite peoples attempts to portray me in the magical, whimsical, mischievous sense, no one has ever asked ''who is he, how did he become the person he evolved to be?''

Most people are quite content to believe that I was born selfish and disturbed; others simply don't care enough to even entertain the question. They are perfectly happy with that I was a born monster.....someone who his parents abandoned as an infant and left me somewhere. If that were the case I wouldn't be writing any of this....if it were true I wouldn't have gone the great lengths to find myself a home, a haven, the only place I belonged and at great sacrifice.

Some of you probably have guessed my name, and maybe some are left wondering who this very person is dictating their tale onto these pages.....

My name was William Pennington; born in England 1665 the son of a wealthy barrister....we will start when he is at the nice age of sixteen in his childhood home, Cambridge 1681....

Excerpt from Chapter One: 

I woke up to find myself yet again on the mysterious island. Titom was always there to welcome me...''Ah William it is always a pleasure to see you return'' said Titom in greeting. ''Yes'' I exclaimed happy to see my old friend. ''You know, today is my birthday, and I have invited all the creatures here to celebrate with me, would you like to join?'' asked Titom. I nodded excitedly. ''How do creatures such as yourselves celebrate birthdays?'' I asked my curiosity and excitement brimming....''Oh! It is great fun, we play music, build a bonfire, dance around it and eat as many berries as possible! I think you will like it...'' replied Titom. ''I am honored to attend when should I come by?'' I asked. ''We will begin at sunset, you can come with Grigorn, he knows where to meet everyone'' with that said Titom walked away. I felt my blood rushing through my body, I was not only thrilled to be invited to an island event but the atmosphere of the island accelerated me once more and as tradition would have it I ran through the jungle; I even swung through vines, climbed trees and jumped from branch to branch....when I went to the pond to drink some water I had found the goblet sitting there, I assumed I absently left it there and it was sitting by the edge of the pond waiting for me....I picked it up and filled it with the water. I then realized that I should bring some sort of a gift. Although I didn't know if it was custom here to bring gifts I decided to think of one anyway. I tried to imagine something that he might appreciate from England, however nothing seemed to fit.....I decided to walk around the jungle, perhaps it would clear my head and I would come up with an idea.....it was a bit colder today than it was the last time I was here....so I gathered some sticks for a small fire. Even though in England I had never made a fire or camped in the wood I somehow understood survival skills only on this island....when I had gathered enough wood I was about to dump it where I wanted the fire to be....I then noticed something about the sticks I picked.....they were perfect, smooth, and a deep shade of chestnut.....my mind suddenly felt a rush of an impulse a drive that I could not explain.....I placed the sticks down and ran back to the beach.....I collected a few of the most beautiful rocks I could find and tore off a few vines. I went back to my spot and was glad to find that the sticks were still there. I sat down and realized that I needed a small knife and lo and behold a knife appeared in my hands. It was an exquisite carving knife, the hand seemed to be made of some bone and ivory with blue, black and purple designs.....I then began my project. I cut the sticks so that the ends were even, I then placed the sticks I selected all beside each other and cut them to size but each one was taller than the other....I then took each stick and made them hollow.....I set my knife down and began crushing the rocks, this did take some time but eventually the powder was a beautiful shade of green.....I shaved the outer layer of the vine and cut it to the length of the sticks sitting beside one another, when I was satisfied by its size I dipped the vine into the powder and covered it and shook off the remainder dust.....I didn't think it would work but somehow the powder stuck to the vines perfectly and the color was mesmerizing.....I wrapped the vine around sticks and then shaved another part of the vine to create a string like material and tied the green belt around the sticks. They weren't sticking together as I hoped and tried to think of a way to make everything glue together. From the corner of my eye I felt something dripping onto my head. I put my hand on my head and felt something incredibly sticky. I looked up and saw that it was coming from the tree I was sitting under. I thought fast, I grabbed my knife and poked a small hole from the tree and a gush of tree sap flowed out. I didn't need much of it....I then picked up a leaf and used it as a brush that I dipped into the sap and was able to stick all the wooden pipes together plus the vine belt....I was happy with my creation. I then wanted to see if I indeed made a real instrument. I held whatever it was in my hand and began to blow into the pipes. Nothing came out except for air.....I tried again and indeed nothing.....I was disappointed but it still was a nice decorative piece. The earth began to tremble beneath me, I wasn't sure what to do....was this an earthquake? I then heard loud hoof beats and slowly turned to find the centaurs stampeding. I was still holding my instrument in my hands and was cognizant not to drop it as I jumped out of the way. The centaurs must have recognized me for they stopped abruptly. ''You can come out William'' shouted Rumus, the centaur who was close to my age...at least in centaur years. I clambered out and greeted all of them. ''Hi Rumus, how are you?'' I asked, Rumus was one of the friendlier centaurs. He had long brown hair that glistened in the sunlight and his eyes changed colour depending on his mood, that was common amongst the centaurs. ''What brings you to our island?'' asked Rumus. ''I don't know, I just like to visit often I guess'' I replied. It was hard to describe that I was just dreaming and how Rumus wasn't actually real....how would you describe that to a centaur? ''You must be here because it's Titoms birthday!'' remarked Rumus. ''Yes, I even made him a gift'' I said proudly holding up my wooden instrument. Rumus peered at it, and smiled. ''I don't know what it is, but it certainly is quite lovely, I think Titom would like it very much'' exclaimed Rumus. ''Are you attending his celebration?'' I asked. ''Yes, of course, all the creatures celebrate each other even if we don't know them personally'' commented Rumus.....''Would you like to ride on my back today William?'' asked Rumus. I nodded and hopped on. ''So that your extraordinary gift does not break I have a string, made out of centaur mane, how about you tie it around my neck'' offered Rumus. I nodded and placed my gift onto the string, it was very thick but felt silky nonetheless. Once it was secured Rumus immediately took off along with his herd! It was no different than riding a horse, however Rumus seemed to float rather than the bumpiness of a horses gallop. We ran through meadows, streams, and climbed mountains....centaurs ran up mountains with ease as if it were a mote rather than a mountain. This was a unique quality of the centaur, they can gallop up mountains without breaking a sweat, the best though was yet to come....Once we reached the peek of the mountain all the centaurs stood close to its edge. Unlike horses centaurs could jump with grace and with little effort from mountain top to mountain top! The leader always starts and lunged himself and the rest followed. I held onto Rumus terrified yet didn't want to back down. ''Are you ready?'' asked Rumus. ''Yes I squeaked'' Rumus smirked. ''Do not worry human, just hold on tight and if you do fall just simply believe and you can fly yourself to safety.....now lets go!'' Rumus jumped and time seemed to run in slow motion....my stomach flopped and my grip on Rumus's neck tightened.....I was amazed and petrified of the view, I was at eye level with the clouds that were pink and yellow....the mountain tops were far below me yet I could see the exotic flowers waving in the breeze and the rocky terrain. I suddenly felt a diving sensation when Rumus soared downward toward land. I screamed in horror and the most amazing feeling that always felt new even though this wasn't the first time doing this with Rumus. I marvelled at how centaurs could be hundreds of meters in the air and still land on their feet....I fell off of Rumus and laid down on the grass. ''I can always catch up with my herd later, lets take a break!'' said Rumus. We laid on the grass together and gazed up at the sky. ''Do humans have a world like this?'' asked Rumus. ''Not at all, my land is much more boring, we do have creatures there but there is no magical aspect'' I replied. ''Sounds extremely dull'' Rumus remarked. ''Yes, it can be at times, but there we have other yet simpler amusements'' I said. Rumus and I both dozed off, I woke to the hoof of Rumus...''Wake up William.....it is time!'' I then remembered Titoms birthday and quickly made haste. I jumped onto Titoms back and the two of us journeyed to the center of the island. When we arrived I clambered down from Rumus and observed the scene.... I noticed Grigorn and his flock sitting on the grass relaxed, there was the rest of Rumus's herd mingling with the Pegasus. I also recognized the unicorns, griffins, chimeras, jackal-opes and the mermaids, who have the ability to come on land and their fins turn into legs! It was marvelous seeing all the island creatures together in one place. Titom was being assisted by a few jackal-opes with setting up the bonfire. I walked over to him. ''Happy birthday Titom!'' I said. He turned and beamed at me and came over to me. ''William it certainly is an honor to have you at my festivities....come, help me with the bonfire'' Titom suggested. I helped with the bonfire and when it was ready to light a dragon appeared, his name was Kelisius as I recall from my visits beforehand.....he lit the bonfire and the flames danced in the darkness. Other fauns appeared too holding small drums and what seemed to be fiddles, which is when I remembered my gift. I found Rumus and lifted the pipes from the centaur hair that was holding it. I then approached Titom....''Titom, in my land it is tradition to hand a friend a gift for their birthday, thus I made you this'' I then presented it to him. Titom seemed quite amused. ''It is certainly a creative and decorative piece.....it seems like its an instrument?'' Titom asked. ''Yes, yes it...well was....I tried making music from it by blowing into the pipes, but I couldn't perhaps you can'' I said. Titom smiled and began blowing into the pipes.....the music that came forth from the instrument was extraordinary, I had never heard music such as that. Just then the other fauns began tapping their drums and Titom played the pipes merrily. All the beasts began dancing around the bonfire and singing along to the melodies. The tunes were light and full of joy and mystery. Kelisius even did wonderful tricks and visuals with his fire, scenes of fauns dancing jigs, and beautiful dragons dancing an ancient dance from thousands of years ago.....the intriguing mystical images remained in my mind in times to come. 

[esseastri]

Megan Reads Oathbringer (part 9)

Happy New Year, y’all.

“Heavy Fuel” by Dire Straits is a punk!Dalinar song, sorry, I don’t make the rules.

Part 9 encompasses pages 666-753 (previous parts)

Pray for the mountain internet, please, that it lets me do this liveblog without dropping tumblr every five minutes.

okay, but Elhokar is drawing a map and I’m suddenly vaguely desperate for Elhokar/Eshonai map buddies.

I s2g every time someone calls him “the bridgeman” I just hiss protectively. HE HAS A NAME

oh snap his baby’s name is Gavinor. that’s... listen bud, your dad doesn’t deserve to have anyone named after him, sorry.

“Nice work, Elhokar.” *Gloryspren* THIS CHILD NEEDS MORE ENCOURAGEMENT, PLS, HELP HIM. BE KIND TO HIM. HUG HIM.

“Storming lighteyes, Veil thought as she watched [the food distribution].” YEAH HON, THAT GOES FOR YOU TOO, NORMALLY.

Okay, no, not quite--Shallan would probably not go so far as to send her servants to get food that could be given to the poor instead of rich people, but like... the principle stands. Shallan does not recognize her own privilege half the time, and I guess?? that “Veil” noticing it... might? be a step in the right direction? But... probably not until she fuses her multiple identities back into one person.

And that doesn’t seem like it’s happening any time soon.

HOID

WHY ARE YOU WEARING SADEAS COLORS? 

aw yis. storytime.

Aight, can Hoid see through Lightweaving, or can he just recognize Shallan by like... her stance and the way she moves or? HOW COOL IS HE, IS WHAT I’M ASKING HERE.

“You look like you could use the opportunity to buy me something to eat.” HOID, PLS.

“I’m not stupid enough to get mixed up in religion again.” Again. Hoid, wth does that mean.

but dear god, Hoid as a Herald would be hilarious.

THE LAST SEVEN TIMES HE’S TRIED IT. WTH, HOID, OH MY GOD.

“The sum total of stupid people is somewhere around the population of the planet. Plus one.” “Plus one?” “Sadeas counts twice.” GOD BLESS, WIT.

wait, so he wasn’t lying about the promise? About “always being there when needed” but not always knowing where or why? hm. Interesting concept. That I kind of love and wish I’d thought of first.

“Who came with you?” “Kaladin, Adolin, Elhokar, some of our servants.” I thiiiink the other bridgemen would take offense at that, but sure. Whatever.

I’m...intensely amused that chapter 69 is titled “Free Meal, No Strings.” Because I’m eleven and crude as fuck.

Idk, Kaladin, they have a point: the world is ending, so you might as well party. You can be miserable and afraid, or you can be partying and afraid. I’d go with the second.

OH OOOHHHHH OH ADOLIN CALLED HIM “KAL” AND I DIED A LITTLE BIT INSIDE

MY BOY’S GOT FRIENDS AGAIN AND HIS FRIENDS ARE ADOLIN AND I’M CRY

(but dear god, the Kadolin is real)

Also, Adolin being stupidly happy about getting a new wardrobe is giving me life, I LOVE THIS RIDICULOUS FASHION BOY

HEHEHEH Adolin is going to bring Skar and Drehy pastries from the lighteyes party, that’S SO CUTE I LOVE THIS

“What?” “What what?” “You’re going drinking with bridgemen?” “Sure. Skar, Drehy, and I go way back.” “We spent some time keeping His Highness from falling into chasms.” I’M LIVING MY CROPS ARE FLOURISHING MY SKIN IS CLEAR THIS IS ALL I EVER WANTED THIS IS THE BEST THING THAT’S EVER HAPPENED TO ME I LOVE THIS I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS.

“He felt good lots of days. Trouble was, on the bad days, that was hard to remember. At those times, for some reason, he felt like he had always been in darkness, and always would be. Why was it so hard to remember? Did he have to keep slipping back down? Why couldn’t he stay up here in the sunlight, where everyone else lived?”

The Megan-and-Kaladin-Think-the-Same-Exact-Way-and-It’s-Both-Comforting-and-Terrifying Trend continues. 

Sometimes people ask me why he’s my favorite and I just. Have literally never related more strongly to another person ever, real life or fictional. It’s wild.

ADOLIN COMING TO CHECK ON KALADIN WHEN HE FALLS BEHIND WORRYING.

THERE IS TOO MUCH. STORMING. KADOLIN. IN THIS BOOK.

I love that the phrase “and you’re lighteyed today” is a normal thing now. That it changes and he can just. change it. and they’ve all accepted it. I love it.

PUNCHY GUYS.

IT’S THE ACADEMIC TERM

SWORDY FELLOWS OR SPEARISH CHAPS. AXALACIOUS BLOKE.

bless these two nerds

“Adolin Kholin was simply a good person. Powder-blue clothing and all. You couldn’t hate a man like him; storms, you kind of had to like him.”

YOU REALLY REALLY DO. He’s infectious, this sunlight boy. And I adore him.

oh no

“Should have just gone to the party” YES YES YOU SHOULD HAVE. I’M WORRY.

also, why did the illusion wear off????? Shallan, what you do?

“The stew didn’t smell anywhere near as good as Rock’s.” HEHEH Nothing does, I’m sure.

I loooooove that Kaladin gets to tell the truth about Amaram now. Drag him, my boy.

the over-friendly wall guards are makin me nervous

I’m sure there are some good men here, and a lot of good soldiers, but... who are they and where did they come from and why are they all lighteyes and.... I have sooo many questions.

......I don’t remember if the squires’ eyes turn light when they’ve been flying with Kaladin.

I don’t think they do, but I don’t remember, and now I’m thinking...maybe the highmarshal is. some kind of Radiant whose squires are all...lighteyes?

hm

AAHH!!!!??? AAAHH!!???? A LADY SHARDBEARER!!!!!?? A LADY!!!!

Okay. That was a pretty dang good speech.

But who is shhheeee

Is she a radiant or is that an Honorblade???

Mmmmmm, Kaladin also thinks she’s a Radiant, but WHICH KIND? If she’s got a bunch of squires, it could be Windrunner, but... dangit, I just... really want to meet a Stoneward.

“In every way, she was the perfect Alethi wife--and her unhappiness crushed his soul.” IT SHOULD. SHE DESERVES BETTER.

I’m reaaaally glad that Evi recognized the Thrill as a bad thing. A monster crouching in her husband’s body.

“...the Thrill was your reward.” Reward? Dalinar, listen to your wife. Please. That is not a reward.

Dalinar, look at you go. You did try this before, the talking thing. You are talking to this angry kiddo, and you’re bad at it, but you’re trying. This isn’t very punk!Dalinar of you. I like it. I can see the bits of presentday!Dalinar poking through the Thrill-encrusted shell of punk!Dalinar. I like it.

This is such interesting character movement, gaahh.

Evi still deserves better though. “Because of a good woman’s tears” ugh the fridge doors are slowly swinging shut, aren’t they?

whhhhhhhhaaaaat

I mean, I’m not surprised, because it’s Sadeas and he’s Sadeas and of course he’s a fucking traitor, but

whhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaat

...........gross.

Shallan needs to stop getting killed, please. This is really gross.

NO, DON’T TRY TO TALK WITH A CROSSBOW BOLT IN YOUR FACE PLEASE THIS IS REALLY UNNECESSARY

I DID NOT ASK FOR THIS LEVEL OF HORROR NOVEL PLEASE TAKE IT BACK, BRANDON.

Kaladin “Good at Making Friends” Stormblessed being all sheepish at making friends easily when it took so much effort to make friends with Bridge Four, like... listen, buddy. YOU are excellent at making friends and these guys were all ready to be friends with you. The Bridge was not ready and you had to wear them down with your charm, and you did, and doesn’t that make it all the more precious that you are friends with them?

Also, I miss them. Are my boys okay, Brandon? How are they doing?

omg, Adolin, pls. Yellow?

The Wall Guards making fun of Adolin’s new wardrobe is DELIGHTFUL.

Kaladin: HELLO, FELLOW LIGHTEYES, FOR I AM SURELY A LIGHTEYES, YES INDEEDY, LOOK AT MY VERY LIGHT EYES.

Hi, I love Kaladin, I am not sure you know this about me.

“Yes, his suit was a little bright--but if they would merely spend five minutes talking to him, they’d see he wasn’t so bad.”

Kaladin.

Babe.

You’ve come. So. Far.

I’m so proud of him, oh my god.  

mmmm this food shipment stuff is so weeeiiirrd. where is it coming from? why is it going?? uuugghhhhh

Part of me is like, “I love that they call Azure ‘sir’ and use male pronouns because there is no gender on the battlefield! Everyone gets treated equal!” and most of me is like “fuck this, she’s a fucking lady in command and she deserves to be known.”

also, wtf, she had them attack a monastery? Okay, I get it, you want to control the Soulcaster, but like.... you didn’t just go in there a kill a buncha monks for it, did you?

OKAY, SO MAYBE IT IS AN HONORBLADE THAT WAS DEF MY THOUGHT

but which one.

We have the Skybreaker one.......so whose is this?

Unless it’s not.

I’m

confused. and worried.

Tell me things, Brandon!

OH. But then she wouldn’t need the Soulcaster...if she had an Honorblade for Soulcasting... so she went and got the Soulcaster to...keep up appearances? Hm.

....is it awkward that Stormlight Archive has, so far, been the story of several people slowly becoming atheist (Jasnah, Dalinar) or agnostic (Kaladin) as their lives fall to pieces around them and they slowly rebuild?

Kaladin is a Good, guys.

The best.

omg, okay, but the Swiftspren is just.... LISTEN, BRANDON, YOU CAN’T GO MAKING SHALLAN A ROBIN HOOD. DON’T DO ME LIKE THIS.

I feel so bad for Elhokar.

Buddy just needs some hugs, okay.

Okay, I know logically that Roshar is Bad At Horses, but somehow it never occurred to me that they wouldn’t have archers trained on horseback. Mounted archer is just... such a very Alethi thing, especially non-Shattered Plains Alethi. I didn’t realize, but of course they wouldn’t have that. Horses are too rare.

aight, I didn’t really think Sadeas had betrayed them THIS early on, but STILL, I was so hoping...

Still, rockslide ambush is... a pretty solid strategy for dealing with a Shardbearer.

Sucks for his elites tho. They did not deserve that. That’s shitty.

“They must know the punishment for broken oaths.” Huh. Even back then...

“for none shall remain to weep.” #YIKES, my dude. y i k e s.

punk!Dalinar needs to take a chill pill.

And maybe get some sleep.

Listen, if the Thrill is telling you not to sleep, yOU SHOULD PROBABLY SLEEP.

also, any time you are actually LISTENING to SADEAS? You should probably rethink your life and your choices.

Just saying.

So... presentday!Dalinar had a conversation with Taravangian, about sacrificing the few to save the many. That’s...sort of what Taravangian’s entire plan for world domination salvation rests on. But now here...at the Rift. This is 100% Sadeas’ argument: sacrifice the ten thousand commoners living in the Rift to make an example of their highlords to stop any rebellion further down the timeline that might result in more soldiers’ deaths. Which gives ...a really fascinating insight into just how incredibly far Dalinar has come. past!Dalinar is literally employing the exact plan that Taravangian is trying to do on a worldwide scale, and so he knows it. He understands the consequences that Taravangian can’t know and can’t anticipate and refuses to consider. And present!Dalinar learned from this, and knows what end these means lead to and...refuses. To do it again.

It’s SUCH an interesting character progression. And it’s absolutely fascinating to see it laid out in this order--to see the good, honorable man we know and love first and to see this...monster that he was and see exactly how very much he’s grown... It doesn’t excuse this bad period, the good he’s doing now, but maybe it explains it a little bit. Dalinar is getting a redemption arc and we didn’t even realize that he needed one until he’s almost done with it.

And that’s some badass non-linear storytelling for you.

Also past!Dalinar can get fucked by a cactus, holy shit, what an unbelievable fuck.

nooooo wonder Kadash leaves and becomes an ardent.

hoooooly shit.

“We’ve gone too far.” YA FUCKING THINK??

Meanwhile, Sadeas: “Nonsense!”

Fuck Sadeas, uuugghhhh I’m so glad he’s dead. UUGGHHH

what

the

fuck

THAT JUST HAPPENED.

Fun facts, y’all, the refrigerator is now on fire.

hoooollly fucking shiiiiiiit

WELP