#the women of thunder bay

[away-ward]

A list of things we know to be true about the Horsemen's parents:

In no particular order - Not an exhaustive list - Feel free to add

Evans Crist had Schrader Fane killed, and paid Martin Scott to do it.

Schrader Fane knew the truth of Damon's birth and, knowing how cruel Gabriel Torrance could be, gave Damon the key to the Carfax room.

Gabriel was also involved in Schrader's death when he learned that the Fanes intended to tell Damon the truth after he turned 18.

Katsu Mori did not inherit his wealth, but built it himself. Worked full time while going to school so his wife could stay home and raise Kai.

Katsu hated Gabriel and Evans, but did not hold that against their sons.

Vittoria did come from a wealthy family but gave it up to be with Katsu. Her family refuses to acknowledge Kai.

(dropped after Corrupt: Katsu has a brother who owns a construction company in Thunder Bay.)

Christiane Alder Fane married her husband at 18, and moved away from her extensive family in South Africa (who are apparently close enough for Rika to leverage to convince Damon his children can have a large family, but not close enough to know that something was wrong with Christiane).

Gabriel originally owned the Delcour and sold it to Evans.

Will's father, Will (Jr?) had two sons before he decided to pass on the family name (risky move, bro)

Caroline Grayson likes movie marathons, and the actress Doris Day.

Will Jr (?) has at least one younger brother, Matthew. (actually wanna call Will's dad Aaron. Do we know what he goes by?)

A.P. (may have) murdered his best friend.

A.P. (may have) shipped Evans off to Blackchurch and had him killed.

A.P. looked like he was in his 50s when he was in his 80s (he's either vain and had surgery, or has got some darn good genetics. Based on what Emory said about Will, I'm guessing the latter).

A.P.'s personality is more similar to Misha's, but Will is his favorite (Will is everyone's favorite according to Will).

Griffin Ashby cut Schrader out of a few business deals (and this was apparently enough for Rika to give Damon information to take him down over a decade after his death, despite not wanting to hurt Winter.(How do you send your attack dog at some one and then be surprised when they attack?))

Adam Scott moved into his wife's childhood home to raise their family. Presumably, his in-laws never left.

Adam and Paige Scott died during a hurricane.

Emory's grandmother moved from France to New England in the 1930s, when she was a toddler. Her father built the house Emory grew up in.

Emory's grandmother was wild as a teenager. She'd been hurt somehow. Her husband was a patient man.

Margot Ashby had an affair with Gabriel.

Natalya Delova Torrance was Winter's first ballet teacher.

Lucinda Evers sold her daughter to Damon for $9462, a Rolex, and emerald earrings.

Lucinda tried to get Damon to give Nik back.

[savannahdmx]

Used the app called prequel. Used the ai filter called cartoon+ 🥰😊 it’s cuteeee.

Follow me on instagram @ savadarien 🙈 I’ll follow back;3 ✨✨✨

[azureandcrimson]

LMK Headcanons!!

Just some (a lot of) headcanons of mine I wanted to share! :] ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Wukong can sleep through a full on war, in any position any place. Macaque absolutely can not, he has to be somewhere safe, quiet, and he has to feel protected to get any sleep. Macaque and Redson have Sensory Issues.

Redson has gold blood. Macaque trained and/or adopted Spindrax (HER NAME TRANSLATES INTO PRINCESS SHADOWS IN JAPENSE AND INTO PHANTOM SPIDER IN TAIWANESE, HOW COULD I REFUSE THE CHANCE?!) And he also adopts or is a Mother/Father figure to Bai He (Mamacaque) Macaque, Redson and Mei all have burn scars, Macaque from Diyu, Redson from his fire powers and Mei from the Samadhi Fire. Wukongs ex's are Spider Queen and Azure, and, Macaques ex is Scorpion Queen. Mk is Trans Masc and Gay. Macaque is Trans Masc, Non-Bianary and Bisexual. Wukong is Trans Fem, Gender-Fluid and Pansexual. Redson is Gender-Fluid and Bisexual. Sandy is Pansexaul and Asexual. Mei is Lesbian. Spindrax is Lesbian. Pigsy is Bisexual. Tang is Gay. Bai he is Trans Fem. Macaque, Princess Iron Fan, Chang'e and Mei. They all meet up and gossip, have a texting group too (There going to go to jail for what they text to each other if it ever get's out to public) Macaque and Wukong got shoved into Sandys cat therapy by Mei, Chang'e, Mk and Princess Iron Fan after Season 4, (Then Mk also started to go after Season 5) Macaque has a pet Flerken named Estelle (I'M BREAKING THE MULTIVERSE, YOU CAN'T STOP ME) Macaque's a Pyromaniac and has burned himself on purpose has a record for Arson!! :3 After Macaques revival. He doesn't have a heartbeat anymore, and, he's always has a freezing cold temperature, he's cold no matter how hot it is outside, or how many blankets he has, he can only be warmed by other body heat (but he's touch averse) or fire (That's how he got obsession with fire). Then you have Wukong and Redson who are like personal heaters 24/7. After LBD. Macaques head was fuzzy, his memories we're all over the place, he didn't know real from fake, he eventually had breakdowns, trying to figure out right from wrong. Wukongs War Form. (WE NEED TO SEE IT HELLO??) I think it would have three tails, three heads, four arms, a gold color with red accents + White eyes and Claws. Mk also has four ears, three tails he can hide in his monkey form. Macaque can hide his emotions really well, but when he's feeling uneasy, nervous or panicked his Shadow Powers will swirl around him and flicker. Some Headcanons of their Favorite Songs!! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Macaque - Girl With One Eye, Contards Solution, Drunk-Dazed, Dead Girl Walking (HE'S THE ULTIMATE BILLIE ELISH AND AYESHA AND ISABEL LAROSA FAN!!) Mk - Mr Sunshine is dead, Juliet Redson - Alejandro Wukong - Ex's & Oh's, UNBELIVEABLE, Everybody Loves Me. Mei - HOT TO GO! Some Headcanon Fears!! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Wukong - Fear of Death. Fear of being Forgotten. Fear of Small Spaces. Macaque - Fear of Failure. Fear of Thunder/Lightning. A small fear of Small Spaces. Fear of being Abandoned. Fear of Losing Control (He's already lost control once. He can't afford to do it again.) Mk - Fear of Spiders. Fear of Abandoned. Tang - Fear of Women/jk, I'm joking I swear. Fear of being left behind. Redson - Fear of Failure. Fear of Imperfection. Fear of being Abandoned. He had a fear of Water that Mei and Mk helped him get over. Fear of Being Alone (Sense the Samadhi Fire when he was young) Mei - Fear of being Forgotten.

[spnfemslashbang]

Title: Dark Magic

Author: fathersalmon

Artist: @hawkland

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Amara/Rowena Macleod

Warnings: No Warnings Apply

Additional Tags: Post-Series, The Empty, Getting Together, BAMF Rowena, BAMF Amara

Summary: They’re the two most powerful women in the universe: Rowena, Queen of Hell, and Amara, the Darkness. Surely, they would be even more unstoppable (and sexy) together. When the Empty refuses to go back to sleep, marking its claim over Jack, it’s up to both of them to take it down. Amara has been on the front lines keeping it at bay, while Rowena’s magic holds the key to its eternal slumber. After that, what’s next? Their previous connection has shed new light on their relationship. Amara feels untethered now that she is no longer fighting for a place in the world but it’s Rowena that shows her that more adventures await. If they could just open their eyes.

Posting on July 18

Keep reading for a short excerpt!

She is just as beautiful as Rowena remembers. Pale skin, almost bright in the midst of all this darkness, her tall figure enveloped in that grey dress, which looks more like smoke than anything. Her thick brown hair frames her face, which is set in a determined stare, eyebrows furrowed, eyes dark and dangerous.

Amara’s arms whip back and forth, slinging blows of thunderous smoke against the figure, creating a whirlwind around them. Rowena’s shield is the only thing to break through it, and she mutters a staying spell, which keeps the shield locked around her without her needing to strain herself. Jack’s powers thrum with confirmation, imbibing her with strength and a hint of courage. She silently thanks him and runs towards Amara, who’s now realized her presence, but her offense does not falter.

“Witch,” she says, not unkindly, pushing her arm out to shoot a trio of shadowy tendrils, pointed and sharp. “You are not supposed to be here.”

Her eyes are just as cold and piercing as Rowena remembers, and she imagines her soul trembling at the memory. With a swallow, Rowena stares back, her peripherals catching the tendrils land on their target, the Empty bowling over in pain as it explodes into a puddle, but regenerates just as fast.

Her fists open and close by her sides. She flicks her head to feign nonchalance. “I came to help.”

Time seems to slow like molasses, the Empty now aware of the brief pause between Amara’s attacks. Rowena flicks her gaze over to it, watching it tilt its head in curiosity, black goo dripping from its head and onto its shoulder. The black goo then shifts and morphs into skin, its height shortening and body growing stouter until it becomes something so familiar that Rowena has to fight back a gasp.

[roga-el-rojo]

A Two-Spirit Journey - Ma-Nee Chacaby

Hello friends! For my next recommendation for Pride Month and National Indigeous History Month, I’ll highlight another text describing the intersections of anti-queerness, settler colonialism, and queer indigenous resistance in the form of an incredible memoir: “A Two-Spirit Journey: The Autobiography of a Lesbian Ojibwa-Cree Elder” by Ma-Nee Chacaby, edited by Mary Louisa Plummer. Ma-Nee Chacaby is a Two-Spirit Ojibwe-Cree writer, artist, storyteller, activist, and elder from “Canada.” She lives in Thunder Bay, where she mentors individuals and groups including Wiindo Debwe Moesewin and Not One More Death, both organizations that tirelessly ensure safety for all people in the area. Chacaby shares Anishinaabe teachings and stories, and continuously supports access to ceremonies for 2SLGBTQ+ Indigenous peoples. Mary Louisa Plummer is a social scientist and a long-time friend of Ma-Nee’s. Much of her professional work has focused on public health and children’s rights. “A Two-Spirit Journey” is a book by Ojibwe woman Ma-Nee Chacaby, who was born in 1950 in a tuberculosis sanatorium. Chacaby's story is divided into chronological order, with chapters divided by life stages. The book aims to record her experiences and understanding for a broad audience, focusing on her unique perspective as a poor, recovering alcoholic, visually impaired, and lesbian two-spirit woman. Plummer adapts Chacaby’s words into this written narrative, using Ma-Nee's original terminology to maintain her distinctive voice. Some of the themes which were incredibly thought provoking were her experiences challenging Christian heteronormativity, surviving residential schools and a forced marriage, attempting to recover her kids after achieving sobriety, and embracing an affirming lesbian identity late into adulthood while helping others on their journeys. If you’re interested in heart-rending and thought provoking auto-biographies that share unique perspectives on the experiences of Indigenous women in Canada, providing insight into the impact of racism, homophobia, violence, substance abuse, and poverty. Chacaby's story of resilience and healing against great odds is for you!

[autism-purgatory]

WIP tour tag

thanks for the tag @the-golden-comet! I’ll pick OLO, here’s a map of Neretia for reference :)

Let’s start off with the main island…

⛵️Gorga🎋

Ah, gorga, home to the kingdom’s capital, also named Neretia. If you’re looking for a more urban, populated city with lots of things to do, Neretia is the place! It’s also the biggest place of trade in all of Ouria! Plenty of cultures across the lands have called this island their home (except for the Fae Empire). You might not want to go out of the city, though. If you want to visit Perka or Styx Bay, you’ll have to get there by boat. Plenty of incomprehensible horrors lie in the jungle of towering trees and bamboo. Also the massive sprawling primeval chasm but shhhhh

Next up…

🏔️The Shield! 🗡️

The Shield is known for its beautiful mountainous sights and lack of monsters due to its rocky terrain, perfect for hiking! You might not want to go near any of the forts or too far from Iris bay, though. Legend says that before the Dragon gods of rain and thunder left, they created the shield to protect Neretia’s inhabitants from the sirens.

Speaking of…

🌴Pheroma🎶

Pheroma is the home of the sirens, don’t go to it. It’s never been fully mapped out. If you hear a choir of women singing in an unknown language, RUN.

Next…

🌊Ponta🗻

The tallest mountain in all of Ouria. Many adventurers and explorers have died trying to reach the top. Many primeval structures and even ones of unknown origin lie everywhere. Only two coastal cities lie at the bottom of the mountain. It’s also known for its chilly climate and diverse animals! All of them are docile and friendly towards humans. Blue penguins, turtles, arctic foxes, yeti crabs, etc. It’s recommended to leave them be. Blue whales are known to encircle the island as well, hence why no sea serpents go near it.

Next up…

🌋The Ashen Islands🔥

Don’t go there. Just don’t. You’ll last about an hour before suffocating from the ash and smoke from the constantly fuming volcanoes.

But don’t worry, you’ll have better luck with…

☀️Typhona ⛰️

Its namesake, the massive mountain, was originally an active volcano, and its theorized that Neretia used to be one landmass, but split apart when Typhona activated. Its dark, sandy beaches and many vistas are perfect for a small getaway! Minus the magma spewing demons and lizards- what who said that? Oh, and the dozens of dragon fossils in the mountain, that’s a cool sight too!

Tagging @willtheweaver @moltenwrites @illarian-rambling + open tag!

[omegaremix]

July 21, 2022.

The biggest music haul ever had been made. So big that I needed two visits to the same store, Jesus, and fucking Mary to pull it off. High Fidelity’s stock has gotten so stuffed that there were piles and piles of disorganized vinyl records, discs, and cassettes all over the place. Under the bins, on top of the bins, on the floor, up high on the wall that you can’t reach. Mark the owner was so bad with overstock that he moved two blocks down to a bigger space and that wasn’t enough. His downstairs stock room he once boasted was off-limits and even a stack of vinyl records almost fell on me from above. It was a literal death hazard - but I survived. You’d think that two round-trips and $893.00 spent would be the penultimate event to cap off another intensive record-store victory tour. No.

There were two other stores I’d yet to visit. Plainview’s Vinyl Bay 777 and Amangansett’s Innersleeve Records. The one time I went to Vinyl Bay- was when I walked out empty-handed because they marked all of their stock three to four times more what other stores sold. There was no reason for me to pay more than I should for a vinyl record I could find elsewhere for a third or fourth of the price. Vinyl Bay was disqualified. That left Innersleeve Records a place of interest. I didn’t go in the previous round and had considered making the ninety-minute trip out to the East End to check it out - until I saw their latest social media post. Ouch! Their prices were even higher than that of Vinyl Bay’s and on new pressings. Vinyl-price cockfighting at its finest. I wanted no part of it. That moment I declared my island run of stores done. Nope. That’s it. I don’t want to hear it any more. La la la la la la fuck you.

Though, there was one store in New York City I was meaning to visit. That was Greenpoint’s Captured Tracks. My show Omega WUSB had just done a three-hour label tribute about the feel-good label and we always played their artists when we found them. They were around for years with no sign of stopping, so why not come take a ride and check it out? Let’s have another bonus round with another city jaunt, shall we?

Late July’s weather isn’t the most colorful but it’s certainly the brightest when it has cloud cover. I stood at the Central Islip platform and look up to see the lit white skies in 80*F weather. I board the train westward to Penn Station and…what a surprise? It’s thunder-storming and raining mercilessly. I didn’t see this coming, so I have no choice but to deal with it.

Deal with it I did. God didn’t give me lemons but instead gave me a 9/2 offsuit. I arrived at Penn Station and transferred to catch the ‘E’ line. It was insufferable. This was a sneak preview of the 7th Circle Of Hell. Everyone dealt with post-rain humidity in a limited underground space and were dying like dogs. I was drenched in sweat and felt like my clothes were falling off. The ‘E’ arrived and what a saving grace. I felt the cold chill of the air conditioner settling on me, erasing the half-an-hour of disgusting unease. The ‘E’ ended its travel and I transfer to the ‘G’ line to Greenpoint. In five minutes it was all over.

I walk up the stairs to Manhattan Ave. and I see nothing but hazy blue skies and sharp sunshine beaming on me, as if the rainstorm never even happened. I’m back at my element. I walk south on Manhattan Ave. to observe and breathe in what was Brooklyn to me. Two blonde women in Polish tongues walk past me as I process the storefronts, the graffiti, sticker vandalism, and cramped crooked sidewalks. I approach and turn the corner on Calyer Street only to learn that I walked past Captured Tracks?! I turn around and I finally found it. The way to The House of Mike Sniper was downstairs. It was a dream, was it? I never had to take a downwards path to any establishment. I hobbled below and here we are: a dense but neatly-packed music store with plenty of boxes of 45”, pricey first- and rare pressings, bins to fumble through, and several lower shelves of records not for sale designated for their Discogs store. It was going to be another intense day digging in the bins.

Three hours and $117.00 later, I finally declared my record-store victory tour of ‘22 finished for good. Nothing else fitting to cap it off with another perfect day in Greenpoint. I walk up Manhattan Avenue with my tote of vinyl records away from the clear sharp sun as its intensive rays bake into my skin. The skies bluer and the air much dryer. Then I notice something I didn’t expect to find: Sunshine Laundromat. Here’s another place I was dying to visit since my post-operation; one which my radio station friends decided to go without me. I’m here, so why not? I’m about to walk into a surreal dream - in reality.

I walk in and I couldn’t believe it. It’s the first time I walked into a laundromat since my stay in Lindenhurst. I walk down the narrow space past the rogue pinball tables and there was the secret door disguised as stackable units that led into the back room arcade. A speak-easy if I ever saw one. All that stood between me and that Murphy door was the nice lady who ran the place. She told me they would re-open the pinball speakeasy as soon as the city OKs their alcohol license. Sounds hopeful if you ask me. I thanked her for the good news and walked out knowing there will be another reason to come back to Brooklyn.

I head on to the ‘G’ to transfer and ride on the ‘E’ line back to Penn Station. It’s 7PM and the visible sun is coming down for the day; slowly sinking against the perfectly clean sky blue backdrop with no clouds in sight. I board the train back home and take a window seat moving backwards. The train motions and the blinding sun peeks through the window as I feel the frigid blanket of the air conditioner. There’s a sparse placement of riders in the same car as me. I can sit and relax knowing that my entire run of spending money all over New York City and Long Island has come to a satisfying end.

New Mexico Stargazers: “Santa Fe Cruiser”

Did You Die: “We Can Do Whatever”

True Dreams: “Reaching”

Vasco Rossi: “Siamo Soli”

Queensway: “Return To Dirt”

Pinch Points: “Am I Feeling OK?”

Public Service: “O Sabine”

Offset: Spectacles, The: “Snags”

Grimes: “Shinigami Eyes”

Schedule 1: “Show Your Children”

Mom: “Things Come Into Place”

Paper Dollhouse: “Swans”

Bad Kiss: “Gimme Action”

Strangers With Guns: “Somebody Needs A Hug’

Offset: Spectacles, The: “Color”

Offset: Spectacles, The: “Dead Air”

Deeper: “Only A Shadow”

Totally Unicorn: “All”

Paper Dollhouse: “Moon”

Spellling: “Queen Of Wands”

Krallice: “Crystaline Exhaustion”

Daniel Johnston: “In A Lifetime”

Sasami: “Say It”

INVSN: “Slow Disco”

Traps PS: “Voids”

Life In Vacuum: “9 To 5”

Jesus Fucking Christ: “Sadistic Madness”

Black Dresses: “Hertz”

Free Love: “May You Be The Mother”

Belk: “Question Of Stress”

Michael Berdan: “God Won’t Help Me (Cause Man Won’t)”

[hannahburley]

canadian women’s soccer players suck???!!? i know this child is five but you can’t just let that stand unchallenged. she is from thunder bay she’s not allowed to disgrace all-time top soccer scorer christine sinclair like this!!!

[dramatisperscnae]

@arobinwithoutbatman [x]

He wasn't, that was kind of obvious. It was also incredibly worrying. Dick didn't let people see that he was cracking. Tim himself had only seen it maybe three or four times; right after that first confrontation with Jason and he'd finally woken up in the medical bay, during Bruce's funeral and once during an especially heavy thunder storm. Which he didn't even know Dick didn't like storms. Plenty of people disliked the sound of thunder, Tim included. The pressure messed with his ears and he could always smell rain coming before it actually began. Mental tangent. He's starting to panic himself. Focus, Tim. He quickly glanced around and spotted a small overhang so dragged Dick towards it to get out of the rain that would be starting in a minute. Petrichor was already in the air. Once under some shelter, Tim reached into his pocket and pulled out one of his panic snacks. "Extra sour. Not a pleasant eating experience but it's surprisingly good for keeping you present in your body." He said, holding the packet out to his brother.

On the one hand he should trust Tim's advice. The kid had far more experience with such things than he did, and he could already feel his tenuous grasp on self-control starting to slip. It really shouldn't be this bad, but here he was, all but hiding beneath an overhang as the first quiet rumble of thunder sounded overhead. Fuck…

Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't heard those two women talking. Overhearing comments and conversations were nothing new on patrol; some people even called out encouragement - or criticism - as they passed, but just as often they'd catch sight of him or the others and make some comment to someone else not realizing they could be overheard. Generally Dick could mostly ignore them, but tonight…?

It had been lucky Tim had been a block over, on his way to the rendezvous point, or the moment would have been even more awkward; Dick did not need his little brother hearing what other people would like to do to him - or him to do to them - in that sense, ever. Paired with the overly touchy woman at the gala last night, maybe things had just hit exactly wrong tonight.

He took the snack without a word, making a face even before it touched his tongue; Dick had never much cared for sour things without a heavy dose of sweetness to balance them out. It did its job, though, considering Dick was now far more aware of his tongue than he had ever wanted to be. Good timing, too, given the rain chose that moment to start.

[away-ward]

Rank the compatibility in real life of the DN couples. Suppose if they were not based in Thunder Bay which was their "playground ", would the dynamics change... like if Banks and Emmy were on financially equal level with Kai and Will... would the stories still play out the same way?

hmmm. That's a difficult one because you're asking to change some of the fundamentals of the characters. At the same time, there's an element of 'fated', as there usually is with these types of stories. There's no logical reason that as a three-year-old, Michael would be completely obsessed with a new born and remain obsessed for the rest of his life. So, of course changing some of the fundamentals is going to change some of their compatibility. But. . .

Kai and Banks are probably the most compatible, removing them from the circumstances of the story. At their core, Kai likes to hunt and Banks wants to feel wanted and desired. Whatever else is going on with them, that will always be true. Kai and Banks also have had the most change in their circumstances. Both had a life in Meridian, a much larger city, before coming to Thunder Bay, and both had a period in life when they didn't have money. So changing either of these things would be something they could roll with. Taking them real world, I think they'd be fine.

But i now love the idea that even in Meridian, even without money, these two would have found each other. In the bonus scene, Kai mentioned that he went to a party in Meridian. That's the perfect set up for an au.

Removing the abuse, the financial inequality, I still think Will and Emory are compatible. They fall into the golden retriever bf/black cat gf, or as it's known in the real world: the classic extrovert/introvert couple. This is a very real dynamic and usually works pretty well. I've talked about how Will is more of a nerd than he appears. They're both movie lovers, both like adventures, and are artistic. Giving Emory less of a reason to be angry and defensive just means they get together even sooner and without the drama. Check out my high school willemmy headcanons because I think they're fun.

Rika and Michael are you're typical power couple. Both rich, both did fine outside of Thunder Bay, both have degrees in business. They don't need the town to make them work, they just do. Not really understand Rika and Michael means that I don't get what makes them compatible, but I don't think they have many incompatibilities. They're the most basic of all the couples. Still, that compatibility is not enough to keep them together. I think they might suffer from Michael's ambition and Rika's lack of direct but refusal to be controlled. Taking away the obsession aspect between them, the friction might be too much for them to survive in the real world, but not impossible.

Damon and Winter need Thunder Bay the most to make them work. You start removing the foundation of their story, they start to crumble.

Part of Damon's obsession is because of their interaction as children. But if Damon's not being abused, if his father throwing his weight around a small town and intimidating the other families, Damon is not hiding in a fountain and Winter has nothing to teach him. If she's not blind, she doesn't get sent away and then she's not brought back to be the shiny new thing in TBP. At that point they're more similar to Rika and Michael, in that they grew up watching each other. But even removing the town dynamic, Gabriel is still Gabriel and Damon a Dark Prince and Winter his ballerina. I think they'd be a couple that worked, but you wouldn't know why just by looking at them. On the surface, they're incompatible. However, Winter being a successful ballerina might take her away before they could really fall for each other, and if Thunder Bay isn't a place that Damon has a particular draw to, he might not be inclined to stay. It brings their relationship and it's longevity into question.

I try not to let my biases get in the way, but having a better understanding of Willemmy and KaiBanks is kinda why I like them more, so it's probably inevitable that it seeped in. I'd be interested in knowing how other people are ranking their compatibility as real world couples.

Ko

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

“REDS CONDUCT TWO MARTYRS TO GRAVE,” Montreal Star. April 29, 1930. Page 6. ---- Huge Demonstration Precedes Burial of Strike Agitators ---- STREETS ARE LINED --- Communist Army Out in Full Force at Port Arthur ---- PORT ARTHUR, Ont., April 29. (CP) - Determined to uphold to the last the theory that the two lumber strike agitators, Voutilaine and Resvall [sic: should be Rosvall and Voutilainen] had died martyrs to the cause. A Communist army yesterday paraded through the streets as the two bodies were borne to the cemetery.

Out in the thousands to view the eclipse of the Sun, Port Arthur residents watched the great procession move slowly through the darkened streets. Nearly 2,000 men, women and children marched, a display of Communist sentiment beyond any ever be fore seen in the two cities of Port Arthur and Fort William.

BOTH DISAPPEARED Last Fall two lumber worker organizers, sent out to organize the men in the camps for a strike, disappeared at Onion Lake. Provincial police investigated and reported they had probably met death by falling through the ice while attempting to cross the Iake against advice. The explanation was not accepted by the Reds and letters were written to the Department of Justice at both Toronto and Ottawa asking further inquiries.

This spring the bodies were found. The talk of foul play was renewed and sensational charges made public, given circulation in red-ink circulars spread about the two cities and in a Finnish paper published at Sudbury. Three surgeons instead of one as usual, attended the post-mortem examination preceding the inquest to assure those interested on the point of foul play. One was a nominee of the Communists. The Coroner's Jury found accidental death by drowning on the basis of the medical men's report. 

Yesterday the Reds paraded in strength through the streets, taking Rosvall to the cemetery, where interment was made without religious ceremony of any kind, in keeping with the cult. The army was assembled from Port Arthur, Fort William and West Fort. 

The cortege was headed by a brass band, playing funeral dirges. [AL: Very unsympathetic news report on the largest funeral in the history of what is Thunder Bay, Ontario, that repeatedly calls the Communist Party, very influential among the Finns of the Lakehead, a cult.  Rosvall and Voutilainen’s mysterious deaths were sensational stories then, and local legend held they had been murdered by thugs hired by the logging camp bosses. Read more here.]

[killerandhealerqueen]

Rules: List the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!

Thank you for the tag @sunriseverse

1. As Long As We Both Shall Live

It was a loud and boisterous evening in the entertainment of Jing’an as brothel workers and other beautiful women dressed in beautiful outfits called out to passersby from where they were standing outside or from up in the windows of the brothels that lined the street.

2. Promise to Keep

Yun Tianhe was a hugger.

3. Monster Like Me

It was a loud and boisterous evening as Detective Jiang Yuelou of the Jing City Police Department leaned up against the bar of a rather exclusive club, a glass of whiskey in his hand as he looked over at a couch where a tall young man with light skin, brown eyes, and dark brown hair dressed in a three-piece crème suit was sitting, a few bodyguards surrounding him.

4. Hyperventilation

“Alright, all together now! Cheers!” a loud voice inside of a restaurant boomed before a group of men clinked their glasses and drank, all of them letting out loud noises of content before they began talking and throwing playful quips at each other.

5. KeixYaku: Abunai Aibou

It was a calm and rather boring morning for Detective Jiang Yuelou as he made his way through the Jing City Police Department when his superior, Commissioner Bai Jinbo, suddenly appeared before him.

6. Roses are for Lovers

It was a quiet evening as Jiang Yuelou, former member of the 天狗吃日, was walking through the streets of Jing City, lost in thought.

7. Our Dining Table

It was a rather quiet and peaceful morning as Jiang Yuelou, a police chief at the Jing City Police Department, walked through the city on patrol.

8. 药剂师日记 | The Apothecary Diaries

It was a bright and beautiful day as Chen Yuzhi, a young doctor, made his way through the red-light district of the city, medicine kit in hand.

9. Wild Roses and Pretenders

It was a dark and stormy night as a tall man with light skin, brown eyes, and short black hair tossed and turned in his bed, his face pinched in agony just as thunder cracked outside, causing him to shoot up from his slumber with a loud gasp, his chest rising and falling heavily.

10. The Triad Leader I Rescued Has His Eyes on Me?!

In a quiet countryside town full of greenery, where children ran around and old women gossiped in the field, a tall young man with light skin, brown eyes, and dark brown hair by the name of Dr. Chen Yuzhi was walking through the streets, a small smile on his face as he headed towards his clinic, listening to the hustle and bustle of the town around him.

Tagging: @kpopfantasywriter @godotismissingx @clawbehavior @fourth-quartet @hils79 and any other writer friend who wants to play!

[chromiumagellanic06]

The Silver Knight: Warrior, Princess, Wife

Daemon Targaryen/Original Fem [Targaryen] Character

Chapter 20: Letters

MASTERLIST

Summary: Naera visits her chambers in an attempt to find the traders' letters but learns something new. Rhaenyra makes a decision.

Word count: 2.9k

Warnings: nothing, really

There was a storm, one that started small, but inflated and grew, and barrelled off Shipbreaker’s Bay, and wrecked and shattered all that lay in its winding, twisting path. Even in the Norther lands, far enough into the Crownlands, even over the Bay of Blackwater, there were winds, whistling, blighting and marring crops, ships, and homes.

Every door in the Red Keep was guarded shut, every shattered window replaced by wooden planks, but the storms whistled through even that, blowing off papers in every noble’s solar, and every fallen leaf in the gardens and woods.

The Sky was grey, announcing rain, thunder, and lightning. Naera was set to depart before the storm reached the Blackwater, that very eve, in fact, to arrive at Dragonstone and settle this dispute. She was almost eager to meet Avidius again, not as much to hold an audience with the Qartheen emerald seller. Yet, something irked her, incensed the tug of madness in her mind, exasperated her, antagonised her. She had never received a letter.

The maids noticed her aggravation—she had snapped at them whilst flipping through every last letter she had gathered in Rhaenyra’s quarters. Nothing. She needed to prove it, to let it be known that this wasn’t an error of hers—that she wasn’t to blame, even if none on the Small Council had really stated it in so many terms.

After doing through every last letter, she knew the only way to prove—she didn’t want to. She could wait it out, until he was away, sneak into the solar and go over all the gathered nonsense. It would be so easy. No, no, no, she needed to leave earlier. She’d have to do it.

Walking through the passages in the Red Keep was strange—everything was deserted, in wake of the storms, the open corridors assaulted by heavy winds, cold, wet and strong. Naera pulled the edges of her red and black cloak closer to her shoulders, silently thankful for her choice of dark trousers for the journey, but more glad for the silver blouse she had chosen. Never forget who you are.

Naera chuckled, her silver hair braided sternly behind her, Melisandre’s words coming back to her, the regality in you must never be hidden from me, hastening her steps, the gale piercing like needles against her face, every prickle freezing like snow. Every step felt off-tune, akin to a warning, an endless maddening harmony of discordancy and errors.

Her smile fell as she approached Daemon’s chambers.

Naera knocked before she entered her own quarters—her old quarters, she’d insist, but they were very much still in her name. She knew that he’d still be in, but she needed to ask him, to be sure that she had not committed a grievance against the Crown, against those women who were raped and those men who were slaughtered.

Daemon responded gruffly, in his usual way, unaffected, “Come.”

Naera opened the doors slowly, quietly, armouring herself, steeling her face, and building a façade. She will not be bothered. She will not think of that night, she will not speak of their spat. She will behave as though all was dandy.

Upon entering, she made straight for the solar, ignoring his surprise, and entered the room to find it in various stages of disarray and disorganisation. The stench of stale liquor was thick in the room, with an edge of fire and sharp brimstone. It smelled like Daemon, like Dragons. Another cruel joke, she supposed. Ha. Wisestone?

The read letters she had held onto were scattered across the room, her journals lay open, near the hearth, by the windows, on the desk, her old, old journals, and the newer ones, from her journeys, and from her time in King’s Landing. She glanced over at one of them, recognizing the words and inks from her days in the Shadowlands. He had been reading. He had been reading her journals 

Civility—she wouldn’t say anything. She wouldn’t do anything. Naera only stated, “I didn’t know you read for passing time.” I thought you needed to be coerced. She walked past the piles of papers thrown haphazardly around, past the embers of the flame that was almost out, past the candles she had always demanded be lit—they still burned. They had been changed. Why? She threw another log into the flames, watching the fire flicker and lash out.

Daemon wasn’t afraid of the darkness. He believed himself to be above those silly, petty, human flaws.

No.

She put the thoughts aside. She had a purpose, a mission, and an agenda. She needed to leave.

“Did you—did you see any letters?” The urge to prove still lived. “From some jewel merchants? There’s a dispute over the Blackwater.” Naera took for herself a glass of water, gulping it down all at once. She seemed to be just thirsty as of late. She flipped through the letters—Astapor, Astapor, Yunkai, Pentos, the Reach, the Vale, Dorne? Ha. She’d have to open that later. Nothing from the Blackwater—nothing from Rhaenyra, even. It was strange.

She glanced up at the wall of paintings, still intact, apart from one. Melisandre’s portrait, the very work of art she had spent nights and days, perfecting, was missing. Her heart ached, and throbbed in her chest, lips pressed into a thin line. Red eyes, red lips, red woman. Where was her Red Woman? She looked around the room, spotting it resting against the mantle by the hearth, the painted side facing the wood, hidden away. Guilt.

What had he done?

“No.” Daemon clicked his tongue, “No, I didn’t see any letters.” What? Naera looked up, eyes narrowed at her husband. That was too many words for him, however strange it may sound. Hm? No. That was his standard response. He did not go above and beyond in his speech—his actions meant more to him, and he had done enough.

“What have you done?” She asked. There was no point in playing games, dangling and dancing around words and phrases and ideas. There wasn’t time, and she wished to spend none of it with him.

“Nothing—I didn’t see any letters.” Hesitation. He was a terrible liar. “Are you going to talk? What about th—”

“I don’t believe there is anything to say.” She had chanted her truth to him, and he had bashed her for it. She had told him all she had to say and he had faulted her for believing that he could be honest, and nice, and kind, and human, for just a moment.

She stood, trailing steps to the hearth that burnt vibrant and bright, watching the orange, the red, the yellow—the colours of the Martells, she supposed—flicker and change and morph into a thing of beauty. She watched the flames, on, and on, thinking and thinking. There were no letters—but letters had been sent.

Where had the letters gone?

There. In the flames, she saw. She saw paper, with writings, scrawling, small, rounded letters—a squire’s writing, in dark inks, and she saw words. Avidius. Amber. Dragonstone. Blackwater Bay. Naera Targaryen. Arbiter.

No.

She saw.

In the flames, in the lapping, dazing, burning light, she saw words and figures circle and morph, as she once had in the flames of Asshai. She saw the dark figure of a man, headless, or perhaps with a head of light hair—Daemon? She saw the paper, burning, browning, tearing from the edges, collapsing and crumbling onto dust and ash, left to be brushed away by a maidservant. She saw smoke, dark, ash-coloured smoke, blowing up, up, up chimneys and pipes and reaching the outside air.

He had burnt the letters.

Why?

R’hllor, show me why.

She watched eyes—red, red, and purple, closing, opening, circling, burning, blinking away and it was gone. She saw people—red, red and silver, circling, hands joined, and she saw bodies, naked and pure, white, ivory skin, pale as death, and a kiss on that skin of fire, and of blood. She saw more paper—it was paper, the same shade as any, but sealed in red wax with the emblem of the fire priests and priestesses, and she saw, within, in scrawling, looping, twisting hands was written a beauty, an oldness, a fear and a mystery. Darkness.

He had burnt Melisandre’s letters.

He was the one. He was the one who tried to keep her away, to send her down ages of agony and pain and confusion and worry over her state, over her being, over her action, or the lack thereof.

“What had it said?” She asked, turning to face her husband.

Daemon raised an eyebrow, and she saw through his own façade. Gestures give us away. She saw fear, and hesitation, like a child caught stealing a cookie, or a priest of the Faith of the Seven caught committing adultery. Guilt. Guilt. Guilt.

She saw with clarity, the way he sweated and fiddled with his collar, the way he refused to look her in the eye, the way he leaned against the doorframe, steadying himself, and the way the great Daemon Targaryen, Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, the Rogue Prince, the former King of the Narrow Sea felt guilt and regret and shame. She wondered what life he must have led to never have felt it before, for any person who knew the worth of another would never commit such an action, she was sure.

“What?” He tried to defer, to claim innocence. Liar. Cheater. Deceiver. She turned back to the flame, watching the small, intricate latices she saw—hexagons—circling, spinning, expanding and contracting, and growing smaller, and smaller, and smaller, wavering and bending with the strokes of the flames. She saw things.

Finally, she saw things in fire, and not just in dreams. She saw things in fire, and not just in that of a dragon’s.

Finally, R’hllor had blessed her.

“The letters that you burnt, what had they said?” She wouldn’t play along. She’d resist, and run, and be done with him. She didn’t understand his fears. They were done, after what he said, after what he did.

“Naera, I…” How did she know? That was his question, only because he did not want to think of the answer. She knew. She knew the reality, she saw it in the flames. Look into the flames, she had told him. The Lord of Light showed me. The Lord of Light. Dreams. Burning letters. How did she know what he had done? No, no, no. She couldn’t have been right.

What is the power of dreams, against that of dragons? Nothing. It is nothing.

Dragons soar the sky. Dreams are only fantasies. Dragons are reality.

“Just answer the question.” He flinched at her voice. It had changed. It was calm, so, so very, very calm, unlike her, unlike anything that would be expected in such a place. The draughts and hurricanes hammered against homes and bricks and empty fields outside, shaking the very foundation of the lands. It was the calm before a storm, a dull blue fire burning hottest of them all, and if provoked, if shaken, would consume everything, and everyone.

Lightning struck. It was white, just for a second, and another, encompassing the dim solar in a flash of electric light, white and silver and grey, with a distant cry of skies breaking, heavens falling, hells rising.

It was the flame of a dragon—her dragon. Cold and dull, until the moment came, and when the last hour was upon them, he felt his heart shudder and shake, he felt his hands tremble and his voice break. He remembered their wedding day when she had defeated him with ease, with grace and poise and elegance and he remembered that other night, as he watched her gaze into the flames in the hearth, somehow aware of things she couldn’t possibly know, and it made him fear. What if she had been right? What if she had seen it all?

What if the end of the world of men was destined?

What if it was all true?

His instinct, his beliefs told him that it wasn’t so—they were dragons, not soothsayers. They were mighty conquerors, not dull-eyed storytellers. Yet, the facts lay before him. He remembered Helaena’s words, spool of green, spool of black, dragons of flesh weaving dragons of thread, and then was her, his beautiful, brilliant, wonderful, powerful Valyrian bride, who dreamt. She knew.

She knew, and she said nothing to him. She only stared at the fire, hands loose, shoulders were thrown back, ice and lightning, and fire—the ugliest fire. She was angry.

“I’m…Naera, I…” he forced his stuttering lips to bend to his mind, treading forward until he leaned down to watch the flicker of golden flames in her lilac eyes. She wouldn’t even look at him, he whispered, “I am sorry, I know that I—” that I fucked up, horribly, possibly irredeemably, for he had failed her before, and he shall probably do it again. He raised a hand, just to brush back the loose strands of silver-white hair that fell out of her near dozen braids clasped together, but he couldn’t.

Don’t touch me, she had said. He watched the ring of yellowed bruises on her neck, below the ash black cloak and silver blouse, all with high collars to cover the injury, but the damage was done.

“I don’t care.” Plainness laced her voice, simplicity, and a lack of argument, of hope, of resistance, “What did the letter say?” Naera watched the flame, circling, growing, shedding and glowing, and she saw so much, from her blessing, from the Lord of Light. He showed her dragons, obsidian and horrendous, with vast scaled wings and fleshy masses, and one was larger than any of them, with the greatest wings, and the farthest flights, and she saw it fly, quiet, leering, seething. Vhagar. She saw the beast fly, into clouds of storm and rain, dark and shadowy—as dark as night, and full of terrors also, and screeches echoed in her mind—distant, as though the sounds were distorted by a film of water, in a different realm, a different time.

“She awaits at Pentos.” Pentos. Pentos. Pentos. It shall be Volantis, to High Priestess Kinvara, and then to Pentos, to her Red Woman, to her love, and her delight, and her pleasures. “She—Lady Meli—”

“Don’t.” You do not deserve to speak her name. He said it wrong, Naera always thought, the way he spoke her name made it sound just as wrong as he spoke her name right.

“Naera, don’t—” There. He knew how to say her name, make it sound complete, in one piece. Daemon knew how to speak her name, and he did beautifully, with sensation, and appearance, and excellence and marvel.

It did not change the facts. It did not change what he had done, what he continued to do, with every word, and every glance of his that burned her, and made her wish to die, every day, always.

“She waits by the ports for a Dornish ship—A Martell ship, and she does not know when it shall arrive.”

A Dornish Ship. Pentos. Melisandre. The Long Night, the Breaker of Chains, Khaleesi, Targaryen Blood, Stannis, and that a red priestess shall support him, and be wrong to do it. Kinvara shall support the Breaker’s claim, and those who don’t believe shall burn in Light.  

“I am sorry, Naera, I—” no, no, no, “I’ll do anything, anything—I am sorry.” Anything to regain her favour, to regain whatever trust she had put in him, to touch her again, he’d do anything.

“Very well,” she stepped away from the hearth, away from him, eyes snapping to the curtained windows. “Inform His grace that you shall not be accompanying me to Dragonstone.” She gathered whatever letters she could, pocketing the one from Dorne,

“Dragonstone?” He asked her, as she made for the door. We’re done, her words echoed in the silence, uttered days ago.

“To detangle the mess you created.”

Dearest Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra sat in her solar in Dragonstone—the princess’ solar, as they called it now, having put her boys to sleep.

“Laenor,” she called. Her father had written to her, strangely enough, it would be important. Laenor stuck his head into the room, eyebrows raised, and entered at her behest. “Viserys has written.”

“What is it?”

She inhaled, “Dearest Rhaenyra, you should expect two in the coming days—one, a Lord Avidius from Asshai by the Shadow, an amber merchant, and another…” she squinted, “Xoreo Sorraar Daxon, from the Walled City of Qarth, an emerald merchant. They had undergone a disagreement, and have requested Princess Naera as their arbiter.”

“Naera?” Laenor narrowed his eyes, lips left unparted as he recalled every interaction with his stony and silent good sister. Naera? Arbiter?

Rhaenyra attempted to refresh her mind, thinking back to those dozens of letters from her times in the East.

“She spent a long time in Qarth, from whatever I can recall.” She had ruled in Qarth for some time, if she recalled well, but had decided that it hardly suited her, and left. “And in Asshai, something with the fire priests and priestesses.” She had spent a long time in Asshai, so it made sense. She was educated and learned and perfectly adept in the Laws of the sea, and of the King, but it made no sense, still.

“Surely, she has relations with these people, but—” But.

Rhaenyra sighed, silent, reading through the next few sentences. They were details of the disagreement, the number of ships lost, what the Crown could gain, and on, and on. Unimportant. She only had a single question roaming her thoughts. It was a legal matter, and an imperial, or royal matter of exceeding importance. Sure, the King couldn’t waste his days on that, but shouldn’t it be her? The Princess of Dragonstone? The Heir to the throne who spent half her time going over palace maintenance on a little rock island off the Eastern coast?

It was a joke—her life was a joke.

“It should be you.” Laenor did always speak his mind when it came to this. “We shouldn’t have left King’s Landing, its her.” Her, her, always her. Alicent. She had succeeded, Rhaenyra supposed, in manipulating her father, turning him against her, to forget about her, undermine her, dismiss her.

She has poured honey down Viserys’ ears—and Viserys was a weak and old fool. He had succumbed to the lies and deception. Yet, she had turned to Dragonstone to take half the court with her, to ensure that her boys wouldn’t have to live with those ugly rumours.

Hah. Rumours. They just never stopped. The more mouths, the more talk, the proverb went. Ugly, disgusting rumours about the illegitimacy of her children, about Daemon, about the King’s failing health that all seemed to paint her in the dirt, and never the shining, pious, responsible Alicent, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, once, her friend, but hardly any longer.

She could never quite forget what had been uttered on the day Joffrey was born. Do keep trying, Ser Laenor. You’ll eventually get one that looks like you.

She was a cunt, and a wench, and whatever else she could be, but behind a face of gold, glimmer, innocence and chivalry, all her flaws faded into the shadows. 

Then, there were the other rumours—that Naera had turned to Aemond and Helaena back in King’s Landing, that she had begun training her enemies, making them stronger, giving them more warriors. Her dear sister, who she had always taken to have been assigned the same punishment for her royal birth—a husband not of her choosing, a life not of her preference, but that was hardly it.

Oh, not Naera. Her life was brilliant. A Dornish Prince who she had grown to love—truly love, and not just befriend, like she had Laenor—and years of exploration, and wonder, and then Daemon. It was all a joke, wasn’t it?

“What will you do?”

Rhaenyra shook her head. She wouldn’t blame her sister, she wouldn’t hate her for something entirely out of her control, and she won’t do it. Naera had never wanted to stay, she had only come for her, to protect her claim, to work for her welfare, and that of the Blacks.

She turned her eyes back to the letter.

“Daemon won’t follow.” She smiled—that would be a relief, to just have Naera, her sister, her friend, and not him around her, a constant, blazing symbol of her grief.

Her joy did not last. “They’ve been facing problems. I trust you to solve them, Rhaenyra.” Ha. She tossed the letter down onto her desk. “Who does Viserys think I am?”  

Her father was as oblivious as always, it seemed. Never understanding, never remembering, never knowing anything well enough. How could he expect Rhaenyra to work for their marriage, when her own was failing? How could he expect her to help Daemon, to help Naera, after what had happened, all those years ago?

“Rhaenyra, I…” I failed you, as his words always echoed. Laenor had failed her, as a husband, as a companion, and as the father of their children. He shall forever hold onto that guilt, of never being able to provide his best friend—his wife, the thing she needs the most. A true heir. It had been why they left King’s Landing in the first place, after Viserys’ command—the rumours, the chatter, the disgrace and disrespect she was forced to face every day.

“No. That had been our agreement.” He could fuck his fill of squire boys and enjoy his life, and she’d do the same with Harwin. Oh, had they only known the consequences of their deeds beforehand—they would have tried better, and worked harder to conceive. “You haven’t failed me, Laenor.” Her face darkened, thoughts returned to the dragonrider, the princess, oh, but she wasn't the first and weak with the second. “Naera has.”

She was helping the greens, her own sister, working for Alicent’s gain, probably already bent to her will. She had got Daemon—and that wasn’t enough; she needed power, and claim, her lost little sister, left wandering the East, fighting, learning, venturing, pleasuring, and she was left here—with contested heirs and draining authority.

“Rhaenyra…” Laenor looked away, his own heart heavy, his own fears solidified, cold, realised. The blood of the dragon ran thick, he knew, and the fire in Rhaenyra burned the hottest of them all.

“I think it’s time we returned to the politics.”

MASTERLIST

[libidomechanica]

“Its blood and tuneless chords do from fiction wheneer he”

A Soyl ungrateful every crime.     Acknowledge aught except thou have heard from thee; and as her     bodice green hill in an echo in another line: so     long and fiddle. Afternoon and descend, no True Successions     were design’d. Shall call

me ungentle, unfair, I long’d     so heartily the rivulet at her into an     elegant extract much less fancies be. Which of the Danger,     never anchors; it’s no sooner presume? Seen beautiful,     the sweet golden close by

thousand fresh Forces in, and in     the balmy time, which in the Moon, the spot, where blowes both     with the lamplight, undespoken light almost addressing     what? Who in his Distance from that can everywhere. Th’     inhabitants of

necessary to the heart-inflaming     brand, whilst many nymphs, but to keep thy credit as a     monk may do the sun: where the five, six, and afterward beat     back without much better for this.-Wealth, by my Paternal     name.—Nay, their virtue advance;

but on the same route, and turn     the spot they never be? Or, had thought till now unshaken     like a sweet unrest, still afford; resolved to tie her up     for praise; now pray shut up their Passion could novels, after     Day, Design, nor am

I Mary Magdalane, was shaped     like a Lyon, Slumbring in sense flows in which some a little     like a weeping by starts, and simple Rustic to a     Cunning Power unpleas’d with smiles that a faux pas in this     is different seizure—as

with curses struck within his Book;     but, if a mightier arm could we know that was in his     careless nerves and heir—and one enormous shout of wedlock     and kick your fixed subject: a brave to burn and blood of the     Cavalier, ’ just as all

the altar whence they Prove: for this     Achithphel Unites the Malecontentedly, without     Title while sore than a stanch one; but now should he gain, his     figure fit to what this cap and sculk’d behind their fruit and     the just sit on the silent

sea, and birds twitter, thicker     than shedding seas of gore. Th’ Egyptian stones of the     cold, their talk with greenish matter than shedding seaward on     the parapet, rampart, and, from the silver shows that roll     in yonder bay? Beauties

I said, he never broke promis’d     land survays. Than true, you Draw; and Self-defence, so form’d his     pipe quite enough to fly from, as from faults, and even at     the law. Pardon a’ our single head was spared me: yet I     name, thou shalt taste the rising

under your breathed upon a     fray, and shadow where you great and white, and fresh Glories, whether     a sky’s or Eden’s bowers were apart; yet, day by     day, I bade it keep the wheels. With new meanings—through there’s     no describe. ’Ve walked

too alien to know it: when     the pearl-gray lightest splinters, among mankind, to feverish     pulse each in our youth, as an attendant lord, one whole     ranks: however she might make haste! Whose far-fet helps be such,     who though not prodigal

of Ease? Combing the scenes—though long,     to Persuade, that sings no Titles and briers, because I feel     it Mayakovsky got down that is it? Friends and to your plate;     time for one kneaded of Evil—Well, could marry, if I     can no more difficulties,

which made Solomon a zany.     It is what the hollow women could sleeps so peace and     having there was more of honest fame, than Ajax or     Achilles, and quaint, stopp’d as is the Root he grew more silent,     sullen, were heard the thornless

good broadsword he weapons: match’d     our Elders to praise the morning; but the King to Build and     set my true each sence holds a part potential: i’ve seen or     ponder what each upon its back afraid I’d slip through     thunder, and ways? Its blood

and tuneless chords do from fiction     whene’er he can make, what Prudent men and a term is     shown through and heaven and arrow-straight, thought of dread them leave     the pity oft will shoe my bonny ship, and shun the serpent’s     head, smoking tobacco

on a little dross, and out,     as thy present case: up Johnson came, with some summer-night,     condemned, not by our feeling t is true he shrank not from     Oblivion, the swell of twelve sweet express, still Dear to     teach though Ireland’s present

to hear your doubt if men seek her     notion, and the air sick, and in extremes between; your magic     lanterns, or aught of early risers after Sorrow.     I turned me this; say the lake doth changed my life a person     without a friend of Gold!

[danceteaching]

Apollo

apollo and the muses on parnassus - andrea appiani

apollo is the greek god of the sun, the arts and prophecy. he's also associated with healing, plague, archery and knowledge.

major symbols of apollo include the lyre, bow and arrows, laurel wreaths and pyhtons.

worship

the most important festivals of apollo's were the pythian games, which were held every four years at delphi. the games included athletic and artistic contest events, and unlike other evens in ancient greece, women were also allowed to participate in most competitions.

hyperborea is the mystical land of eternal spring. the people of hyperborea always sang and danced in honor of apollo, and they hosted the pythian games. apollo spent the winter months among the hyperboreans, and his absence from the world caused coldness and the season winter. during this time, prophesies were not issued. his return to the world marked the beginning of spring.

mythology

apollo is the son of zeus, the god of the sky and thunder, and Leto, goddess of motherhood. he's also the twin brother of artemis, the goddess of the moon and archery. after leto became pregnant by zeus, hera cursed her to not give birth anywhere on land or sea. she had to give birth to her twins on delos, a floating island surrounded by swans that moved the island around. artemis was the first twin to be born, and helped her mother give birth to her brother. later on zeus secured delos to stop it from floating around, and it became sacred to apollo.

in ancient greek myths, pyhton was the serpent-dragon living at the center of the earth sent by hera to kill leto. python did attack leto, but didn't manage to kill her, as apollo got in its way. he killed the serpent at delphi with the bow and arrows hephaestus had given him. pyhton, however, was a child of gaia, one of the primordial goddesses. gaia proceeded to banish apollo from olympus for nine years, which he then spent serving king ademetus as a shepherd.

table of associations

planets: the sun, mercury

animals: raven, swan, crow, hawk, wolf, griffin, grasshopper, mouse, snake, dolphin

symbols: the lyre, plectrum, laurel wreath, python, bow and arrows, tripod

trees: bay laurel, cypress, palm

day: sunday

_____________________________

these are some of my notes from my quick dive into greek mythology! for those that don't know, i am a dance pedagogy student, and i'm working on a choreography that's pulling from the myths and worship of greek gods and goddesses 💃🏻 the process is still in the very early stages, so i hope you will follow along my journey!

wishing you motivation and academic success!

~p

[myhauntedsalem]

Ships Myths

Today’s technology allows for much safer sea travel but these advancements in communications, navigation, and weather forecasting tools have not been around very long.

For centuries, maritime travel was extremely risky and the loss of ships and lives was common.

Sailors for hundreds of years had only a set of superstitious practices that they strongly believed would protect them from the sea’s deadly storms. They did not take these beliefs lightly for they felt if adhered to faithfully they would up their chances of survival.

Today most of these superstitions have been set aside but some are still practiced more out of tradition than belief. Here are just a few.

Storms at sea took lives so practices that insured they would not be stirred up were common. Sailors never whistled while at sea–it was believed that this stirred the wind causing a storm to hit.

While at sea sailors would never throw stones into the water for this was considered disrespectful to the sea. It was believed this action would cause a storm.

It was believed cats on board ships were useful in predicting the weather. Sailors believed that if a cat walked toward them this meant good luck but if a cat approached them but then retreated it meant misfortune.

If a cat was seen licking its fur against the grain this meant a hailstorm was imminent, if a cat sneezed rain was on its way and if they were frisky, the wind would soon blow

Some sailors even believed cats could incite storms with the magic in their tails. On the other hand, opposite to most superstitions black cats was considered good luck for a ship.

Clapping on board was said to bring the thunder. Umbrellas were never brought on board a ship–it was said this tempted fate.

Many superstitious practices were followed to avoid bringing bad luck or doom to a ship.

Crew members with red hair were believed to bring a voyage bad luck. The only way to avoid this misfortune was for another crew member to speak to the redhead first before they spoke.

It was considered a double whammy if a crew member with red hair whistled while at sea.

Many captains would not allow their crew to wear green sweaters while on board for this also brought bad luck. The color black was also considered bad luck. Sailors would not carry their belongings around in a black bag or wear black clothing.

Priests with their black robes were also considered bad luck.

A classic maritime superstition involves a woman on board ships. This was considered very bad–this belief was based on the fact women tempted or distracted the crew from their duties–which could doom a ship.

On the other hand, naked women were believed to calm the sea–thereby keeping storms at bay. This is why so many ships had a naked women as their mastheads.

Birds could bring either good or bad luck to a ship. Swallows when seen were said to bring good luck while curlews and cormorants were bad luck.

If a sailor was to kill a gull or an albatross this was especially troubling for it was believed these two birds held the souls of dead sailors. This belief was also connected to dolphins.

If dolphins were seen swimming in front of a ship this was said to bring good luck, if sharks were seen following a ship this was considered a harbinger of death.