#they eventually go back to herman

[ald3r-wolfcak3]

Starshine rewrite, but oh no, Starshine missing;

Lisa get a phone call middle of the night. It's Alex. As she picks up, the other girl almost screaming, Starshine went missing. Lisa running to the stables, where she meet not only with Alex but with Anne also and Mr. Herman.

They find a message on Starshine's stall. It's an adress for an abandoned Dark Core yard. Mr. Herman drive the girls to the yard. Thanks to Alex's experience to breaking into guarded placies the girls can enter the place. But as they go deeper and deeper, they have to split up, since the place way to big to search it. Of course Lisa is the one who find Starshine insode one of the buildings. The horse inside a huge cage, which protecred by a code-lock. She tries to break the code, she really tries, but she can't. She extreamly stressed out, she shaking and crying and Starshine tries to calm her down, talking to her and saying everything will be alright she lost it. She collapses to the ground and non-stop crying. She can't do anything. She lost everyone she loves and care about, she not strong enought, not talented and fuck up everything. And then, someone touchies her shoulder. It's Mr. Sands. Why is he here? The man talking, she knows the man talking but can't understand. Then, the lock open up.

"Help him" the man says as he slowly turn around and walks away "And then go...It's not the right time yet...soulrider"

Lisa enters the cage and as before at the stable, she put her hands from of her. The pink star shows up and she slowly closes her eyes. She sees a memory from her childhood. It's her mom and dad. The three of them went to riding to for a picnic. When she pens her eyes Starshine standing fron of her. She hop on his back and they left the building. Starshine is healthy and strong and even thou she riding bareback she doesn't affraid of falling down. But as they left she hear a horse behind her. It's a pure black horse, a fresian with falming hoofs. The rider wearing black cloths with a red cape, it's covering up their face. Starshine run into the woods, Lisa asking him what's happening Starshine answears;

"It's them! It's them! I don't want to die yet!"

The woods are dense and gladly they able to espace the unknown rider behind their back. As they slow down they see rune stones. It's like a meadown but with stone Lisa come down and check the stone under her feet.

It has four simple picture. Each has a human and a horse with four different symbol. One of the symbol is a star, the same star she saw when she healed Starshine.

"It's them" Starshine says "The four guardian of this island. The four champion of Aideen"

"Who is Aideen?" She asks.

"The godness who helped to cage up the monster from beyond the starts. The one who made sure man and horses to be able to bond"

"So who are the guardians"

"It's you" and Lisa sure Starshine is smiling at her "A soulrider who ride under the circle of star. Heal the injured and free the oppressed"

"And you? Who are you?"

"I am you" Starshine says "And you are me. You and I are the same soul. I am protecting you and you are protecting me. We are the embodiment of Aideen's gift. The first champion of her..."

[tanadrin]

Imagine that a century or two from now, the eastern half of the United States is conquered by the Canadian Empire, its intelligentsia deported, its land colonized by Canadian immigrants, and its remaining people mostly gradually absorbed into a Neo-Canadian identity. The West reorganizes, developing a new political and cultural center, and comes to regard itself as the "true" United States, with the remnant culture of the East (by now much changed by Canadian rule) as representing an unchanged tradition stretching back to the time of George Washington. The holdout western half is subsequently conquered by the Reformed Mexican Empire, and while most of the population remains in situ, its elite is taken to Mexico City. There, for three or four generations, they do their best to maintain their distinct American identity, focusing on the American "civil religion," the distinctive political ideals and cultural features that mark them out as Americans, and come up with a new way of interpreting their history that allows America to be a perennial idea, something not directly physically tied to the territory of the United States, which no longer exists. They compose a body of historical works based on Washington Irving's rather fabulistic approach to early American history, the half-remembered popular versions of the stories of Columbus and the Pilgrims, the First Thanksgiving, even the Revolutionary War. They don't have access to the original texts anymore--let's say this is all taking place in a post-Collapse North America where long-range travel and communication is difficult and a lot of history has been lost--but they do their best. They append to these books, or include in their text, of history a copy of the Constitution, big chunks of the United States Code, and Robert's Rules of Order.

Subsequently, the Empire of Gran Columbia invades, conquers southern and central Mexico, and its Emperor lets the captive Americans go home. They return north, mostly to California, find that the version of American history and civics that is remembered there isn't the same as the version they have (not that the Californian one is correct--the Mexican Empire has suppressed English-language education and high culture in its Aztlani provinces), and set about reforming and reorganizing the Western States (as they're now called) to be more in line with the forms they brought back from the exile. In the meantime, other bits of important literature start being kept in libraries next to copies of the received histories: some bits of early American literature, like Hawthorne, the Song of Hiawatha, some highly abridged Herman Melville, Thomas Paine--heck, even some John Locke, and quotes or fragments from Shakespeare. Some traditionalists now argue the capital of the United States has always been located in San Francisco, and that Washington, D.C. only because the capital later, under the influence of Eastern heretics.

In the following centuries, the Western States retain their independence for a time, but eventually become a secondary battleground for a lot of other empires--the Mexicans, the Canadians, the Pan-Pacific Federation, and so forth. American culture remains distinctive, insulted in part by its unique traditions, though now everybody speaks Future Spanish, and only learns English to read the old texts. In this period additional material, including later compositions, continues to accrete, forming a distinct body of sacred American scripture, although it does not exist in a single canonical form. Attempts to reconcile distinct sources, like more literal and historically-grounded accounts versus the simplified narratives of figures like Irving, produce hybrid texts that sometimes are full of internal conflicts.

Oh, and through all this, some institutions of American government like the Supreme Court still function, although their rulings only apply to Americans, and there isn't much in the way of a federal bureaucracy.

Finally the Great and Sublime Brazilian Potentate conquers most of the Americas, sets up an American client state that roughly coincides with the heartland of the old Western States (California, Oregon, most of Washington and Nevada), and allows the Americans to elect their own President (subject, of course, to Brazilian approval). During this period, an apocalyptic street preacher from Los Angeles claims to have inherited the authority and power of George Washington, and is executed by the Brazilians; his later followers point to the prophecies of Emperor Norton, and out-of-context bits of a Quebecois translation of Moby-Dick and some Mark Twain stories to say no, really, he was George Washington. Inexplicably, a version of this religion becomes the dominant faith of the Brazilian Empire before it collapses. But long before then the American state in California fails, crushed when it tries to revolt against Brazilian rule; the remnant Easterners likewise dwindle down to only a few hundred souls living in a village in Alexandria, Virginia. Centuries from now, as the descendants of the descendants of the Brazilians colonize Mars, they will point to the sacred Americanist scriptures, the Neo-Americanist narratives of their prophet's life, and the letters written by the early leaders of Neo-Americanism, and say, "all of this was written by the spirit of George Washington, and is free from contradictions." Meanwhile the remnant Americanists, who have been writing about Americanism and how it applies to their everyday lives in the centuries since, and whose commentary has formed around the copies of the last editions of the U.S. Supreme Court Reporter (SCOTUS managed to outlast the final American state by a hundred years or so) plus the thoughts of the remaining Americanist community in Mexico, continue to regard their traditions as the unbroken and unaltered practice of American culture, politics, and ideals as they existed since the Revolutionary War.

This is, as far as I can tell, approximately how the Bible was composed.

[just-wublrful]

only one of you is going to make it and you’re afraid it's going to be you, or, alternatively: you are standing by the tragic hero and it is looking rough out there-

( @lasilhouetteinbianco i did it there’s moby. whoo)

A History of My Brief Body, Billy-Ray Belcourt | Antigonick, Sophokles trans. Anne Carson | The Little Prince, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry | Doña Juana “la Loca” (1877), Francisco Pradilla | Giovanni’s Room, James Baldwin | THE TRAGIC HERO UPON REACHING THE END OF THE SCRIPT REALIZES HE HAS BEEN DEAD THIS WHOLE TIME, Joan Tierney | Wishbone, Richard Siken | Orpheus and Eurydice, George Frederic Watts | Bitter Water, The Oh Hellos | Sonnet 116, William Shakespeare | YOUR LOVE FINDS ITS WAY BACK, Sierra Mulder | Nymphs Finding the Head of Orpheus (detail, 1905), John William Waterhouse |  Wishbone, Richard Siken | Richard Siken, in an interview with James Hall | Moby Dick, Herman Melville | Weeping Nude (1913-14), Edvard Munch | Love and Pain (1895), Edvard Munch | Metamorphoses, Ovid

[ID: An assortment of various quotes, lyrics, and paintings from a variety of sources.

1. To love someone / is firstly to confess: I’m prepared / to be devastated by you.

2. Ismene: I can help you suffer. // Antigone: No. // Ismene: I can give you reasons not to die. //  Antigone: No.

3. And he took me by the hand. But he was still worrying. “It was wrong of you to come. You will suffer. I shall look like I was dead, and that will not be true...” I said nothing.

4. A painting of a young woman dressed in black. She stands in blank despair beside a casket in an open field. She is surrounded by a procession of numerous mourners, as smoke from a behind her rises into the air.

5. What are we staying here for? How long do you / want to sit in this house, eating your heart out?

6. You are kneeling at the water’s throne / When preparing for an ending scene / It’s important that / Swords drop like anchors / Yours will never rise again / I am watching from the cowberries, or / From your mother’s curtains, as if / Through a burial shroud, or

7. And it’s another wrong-man-dies scenario / and we keep doing it, Henry, / keep saying until we get it right... but we / always win and we never quit.

8. A painting of Orpheus and Eurydice at the entrance to Hades. Orpheus, in a toga, reaches out to catch Eurydice as she goes limp and pale, soul having returned to the Underworld. In the background a dead tree trunk can be seen.

9. I am not a fool entire / No, I know what is coming / You will bury me beneath the tree / I climbed when I was a child

10. Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, / But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

11. My throat is a beehive pitched into the river. Look! / Look how long my love can hold it’s breath.

12. A painting of Orpheus’ head floating down a river after being torn apart by the Maenads. His face is turned upward, with pale skin and long red hair. His lyre floats beside him, alongside numerous lily pads and lilies.

13. See, we’ve won again / here we are at the place where I get to beg / for it where I get to say, Please,

14. Eventually something you love is going to be taken away. And then you will fall to the floor crying. And then, however much later, it is finally happening to you: you’re falling to the floor crying thinking, “I am falling to the floor crying,” but there’s an element of the ridiculous to it — you knew it would happen and, even worse, while you’re on the floor crying you look at the place where the wall meets the floor and you realize you didn’t paint it very well.

15. “...Sleeping? Aye, toil how we may, we all sleep on the field. Sleep? Aye, and rust amidst greenness; as last years scythes flung down, and left in the half-cut swathes — Starbuck!” But blanched to a corpse’s hue with despair, the Mate had stolen away. 

16. A painting of a nude woman sitting upon her bed, hunched over with her head in her hands and legs sprawled. She appears to be weeping. Her long, dark hair, spills around her shoulders and into her lap.

17. A painting of a woman and a man embracing each other. The woman has warm skin and long red hair, which spills over and contrasts with the man’s pale, grey skin. She buries her face into his nape, and he into her arms.

18. But when she saw him in his hapless plight, / though angry at his scorn, she only grieved. End ID.]

[findafight]

STOBIN AS DRIFT COMPATIBLE BESTIES FIGHTING KAIJU!!!

OKAY OKAY BUT. post canon au where the Breach opens in the early nineties instead of 2013, and eventually when the Jaeger Program is just in the fledgling stages, right at the start when they figure out the drift and sharing the load, some American government goon looks at another, and they're both thinking the same thing. They know a couple chucklefucks who are scarily in tune with each other that already have monster fighting experience. The problem is of course the chucklefuckery and also they. Hate the government.

But they figure yknow. May as well try to get the actually very good at killing monsters the military can't clowns. They need people willing to go into deathtraps and fight giant monsters, and those two have done that a few times before. They need people that can connect to each other while also fighting without dying, and figure those two are a prime example. So after a lot of government groveling and Robin and Steve slamming the door in multiple suits' faces, they eventually agree to at least...see what it's all about. Because they heard about the attack in San Francisco on K-day, about Manila and Cabo San Lucas and Syndney, and it was all bad, and as much as they dislike and distrust the government and military...they do want to help (and the pay is...good). It was probably only a matter of time before their luck in avoiding monsters ran out anyway. At least this way they had some control of how.

So Steve and Robin are in the Jaeger Academy almost as soon as it opens. It's...an adjustment. They're obviously not the regular type to join, mostly its a bunch of men who were maybe ex military or something, and they stick out. Training is a pain in the ass, they've spent the years between the upside down closing lounging and working and starting to relax, and so there's the expected heckling.

(I want them to meet Newt and Herman so bad like. they'd be around the same age as them (because we are bumping everything in PR canon back for this) and I think the combo punch of Newt and Robin being themselves would be hilarious. They're all kinda outsiders in the macho militarism of the Academy and i think the chaos would just be. unimaginable. )

But anyways. I think during the testing to see drift compatibility, Steve is called up and looks the scientist/military guy (because it's early days there aren't really "instructors" yet) and says "If you even think about putting me in one of those fucking things with anyone other than Robin, you've lost your mind and forgotten we're only here because you asked us to be together." Everyone is like ooooooh but then he squints at them and they shut up like oh damn okay sorry yeah.

And that's the end of that discussion.

There's something about being in the drift with each other that makes all that complaining and speculating and wishing to combine when they were teenagers seem half-assed. It's...not like anything either of them can describe. It feels right, like they were always meant to be that way. If they lived in each other's pockets before the Drift, they're in each other's skin now. Silent communication is expected for long-term drift partners. Residuals of the bond, dream sharing, but Robin and Steve, even among other pilots are exceptional. There's entire discussions happening in brief eye contact. They move in sync outside the Jaeger just as well as if they were still in the Drift. They've only had one RABBIT incident, and they pulled out of it fine. It's...eerie for some people to watch them, even other Pilots. (also the fact they'll casually mention shit like "well at least the air isn't toxic" or "hey. don't call this torture, that's offensive. I've been tortured!" or even "can't believe i survived evil bats for this shit." which is mildly offputting)

They end up on the Pacific northwest and into southern B.C. with a Mach 1 called... something like Midwest Deluge or something idk. They're media darlings the first Kaiju they kill two fifty kilometres off the coast of Washington. Robin is quirky, and Steve has all his midwestern boyish charm, and together they entrance people with the Drift. There's interviews and talkshows and then at some point action figures? (Dustin does not let this go. By this time he's also working in K-sci. [obviously??] but he's still annoying little brother shaped.)

Steve is usually one of the first quoted to describe the Drift, in his first interview having said "When I first met Robin --became friends with her--it felt like we'd known each other our whole lives. Now we have." Robin is also sometimes quoted with "There's probably nowhere I'd rather be, than in Steve's head."

Of course, with them being in the media, being kickass, and also being part of a program that emphasizes compatibility, there's questions on whether or not they're dating. Because while the Drift isn't romantic by nature, my god people would romanticize it. And when two hot people of opposite genders that are not related to each other in any way are piloting the Jaeger, and are just *gestures to all of stobinisms* assumptions abound.

They're in an interview after their third kill when it happens. It's a few years into their tenure as Pilots, maybe '96? (if the Breach opened in '91 and they were recruited in 93?) The host asks "So. romantically. You two have always denied that attraction, but working so close together, literally in each other's heads, isn't there a chance that has blossomed into something else? Something more?"

They roll their eyes. Steve says "there's nothing more than what Robin and I have. Romance isn't more it's just something else."

Robin goes "Plus..." Before Steve looks at her, eyebrows raised. "I think so" she says, obviously to a question Steve asked that only she heard. "What are they going to do? Fire me?" they both laugh.

He shrugs. "if you're sure..."

Robin hums. "Yes, well. I agree with everything Steve said. The Drift isn't romantic, it's connection. It's knowing. All sorts of relationships can be Drift compatible. Steve's and mine is Platonic. Capital P."

"You gonna actually say it anytime soon?"

"Shut up."

"I dunno it seems like you're stalling."

"Christ, Steve. I'm getting to it. Let me tell the world I'm a lesbian without nagging, goddamn." She turns to the interviewer. "anyways yeah I'm a lesbian so it was never going to be romantic between me and Steve. I'm just obsessed with him."

There's a pause, before they lean into each other and giggle. Steve whispers "good job" that's barely picked up by his mic.

They get a stern talking to by their Marshal but Robin was right. They can't get fired for it. They're too good and pilots are too valuable for plain ol' homophobia to get in the way. (It's seen as a cornerstone moment in queer history, a Jaeger Pilot, someone the world can do nothing but respect, came out! casually. with an already supportive loved one sitting beside her, ready to laugh with her.) And while some people act weird or distant about it, most move past it pretty quick, considering the Midwest team is well respected and there's obviously the bigger problem of underwater aliens trying to kill everyone. You either get over it and work with them or you leave or get people killed.

By the time of the events of the movie, they're old-timers. They've upgraded once to a Mach 3 after a brutal fight with a high category than expected made Midwest Deluge inoperable. They're in Hong-Kong because where else would they be? They need to end this. Just like they needed to see the Upside Down to the end. Their whole lives have been dominated by fighting for their lives and to protect their home and the world. One last push. They aren't even forty yet.

and then the breach is closed and the world is saved and they can retire with their massive pensions from being the best monster killers ever <3

[mossy-rainfrog]

Build A Cowboy Round 5!

Hi good evening sorry for vanishing OK SO i mentioned in the tags of my first poll that this cowboy is not just going to be a vaguely historical cowboy, but from a Very specific time frame, because of the fic that his partner Javi exists in. That being said, there is a lot to unpack here with this! The time period exactly is 1841, the setting is Texas (because I am texan and we are predictable) and oh my god this is one of the most insane times for a character to be from texas 😭

Our cowboy will have in fact lived through the Mexican War of Independence (1810-1821), the Texas Revolution (1835-1836), tx's CRINGEFAIL attempt at self governing, rapidly approaching our annexation into the US in 1844-5, and then coming right up on the fuckign CIVIL WAR in 1861. These guys deeply understand the concept of "get me the fuck out of the interesting times, im sick of the interesting times". im so sorry cowboys, you can blame Herman Melville for this.

anyways yall didnt come here for a history lesson but you are in fact going to get one because i am insufferable first and an artist second :) and also as a note, race and backstory are always intertwined things but Especially when it is fuckign 1841 so. yeah exercise caution, there will be discussion of racism, medical close-calls, and anti-indigenous genocide. PLEASE ACTUALLY READ THE BACKGROUNDS BEFORE CHOOSING ONE! you dont have to read the sources. those are just there because i have autism. 👍

DETAILS BELOW THE READMORE BC I GOT WAYYY TOO WORDY⬇️

BACKSTORY A: Black Cowboy fled Texas* to Oklahoma with his family after the revolution, now travels up the trade routes breaking wild horses, passing along abolitionist messages, and assisting refugees. A miracle baby surviving a cleft lip with limited surgery and sustained permanent hearing damage as a result, he took up the trade of horsebreaking with flying colors, keeping right up with his older brothers. A sharp shot, keen eye, and a talented horseman, his best trained horses help him identify sounds that he otherwise can't hear. Loosely familiar with PSL, but primarily used a mix of lip-reading, localized/community generated sign growing up.

* After the US aided Texas in staging a coup against Mexico and declaring independence, an ordinance passed in 1836 that fully banished free Black people from the region unless they had personal pardon from Congress. This ordinance was not passed without pushback, and it changed shape and restriction over the years as people of color such as Joseph Tate, John and Charity Bird, Diana Leonard, Allen Dimery, and more all fought for their right to their own lands and lives. The law eventually settled into what was known as the Ashworth Act in 1840, which allowed free Black people to stay IF they had been residing in the state before 1836. It certainly wasn't the victory many had hoped, and even though many free Black persons in Texas were granted pardon to stay, like the Ashworths who the act was named after, many others were forced to leave after their allotted time was up, and were threatened with the future of slavery should they return. thank you texas history for being a vile piece of shit 👍

BACKSTORY B: Mexican/Tejano Vaquero from West Texas whose family has been ranching and cattle driving for decades. Has no interest in moving post-revolution, fuck you very much. If the borders are going to cross his family without asking*, then there's no need to cross them back. Technically lives with his family, but spends extensive periods of time away from home on cattle drives. Steady-handed, steadfast, quick to keep his herd safe. Miraculously survived a cleft lip as a baby and sustained permanent hearing damage** as a result, but that didn't stop his father from teaching him everything he knew, nor our man from taking to it like a fish to water. Knows more about cattle driving than you will ever forget.

*Some brief notes on the borders shifting and alienating people in their own rightful land.

**There was no official sign language of Mexico until the first Deaf school was established in 1869, but he and his family likely have a community-based one that works for them.

BACKSTORY C: Coahuiltecan (specifically Payaya)* cowboy, farrier, and leatherworker. Picked up the line of work as family was pushed to assimilate, one of the few still claiming Coahuiltecan identity at this time**, and has made a good living for himself and his sisters with it. Like the others, miraculously survived a cleft lip as a child but sustained permanent hearing damage as a result. Knows Plains Indian Sign fluently, and also relies on the direction of his horse for picking up sudden sounds before he can spot them. Tries to keep his work as local as possible to avoid separation from family for long, and whenever that is necessary, makes sure to come back soon.

*Note: Coahuiltecan is a term referring to several northern-Mexican and southern-Texan autonomous groups with distinct cultural differences. However, since Spanish and French colonizers lumped these groups together, an immense amount of distinguishing knowledge has since been lost.

** Also note: the Tāp Pīlam Coahuiltecan Nation is still very much around today (check out their site!) but nearing the mid 19th century, people at least claiming/listing this heritage on legal documents dwindled immensely for a variety of reasons.

[inky-escapism]

Jealously makes the heart.... beat faster?

“You’re spending too much time in the library, don’t you think?” Riftan looked at Maxi through the mirror as he combs her red hair.

“Well, I like reading books.” Maxi blushed from the attention. “And you know that..” she whispered, giving Riftan a soft smile.

The truth is, Maxi has been mumbling in her sleep, calling out a certain name he couldn’t work out and it’s bothering Riftan so much he couldn’t sleep.

For a few weeks now, Riftan’s insomnia has kept the knights enervated, especially Hebaron. Being the only knight who could kept up with Riftan, Hebaron, the sacrificial lamb, endured through the rough waves of drills till dusk. And it doesn’t help that the weather was getting warmer as summer months creep in. “Sir Nirta, come back here!” Uslin hissed, feeling frazzled with the sun shining harshly on his perfect face. Being the vice commander, Hebaron used to oversee the training of squires with Uslin before Riftan’s unease.

“Save me.” Hebaron mouths to Uslin, as Riftan drags Hebaron further away from Uslin’s group.

“Why, why? Why do I have to do this alone?” whingeing under his breath, Uslin repeats this same question for the umpteenth time. Tired and annoyed, Uslin looks up and shouts to the knight carving his own arrows. “Gabel, you come here then!”

“Noisy. Again.” Ruth comments, rolling his eyes as he hears Uslin calling out to Gabel on his trip to the library.

Back at the castle, Ruth was on his way for another lesson with Maxi. ‘Looks like I’ll have to conjure another shield to keep their nonsense out.’ Ruth sighs as he pushes the door open.  

“My lady, you’re early.” Ruth yawned, cracking his fingers.

Maxi jumped from his sudden comment and hugged the book tightly in her chest.

“Don’t bother, I know what you’re reading. No books of spells are in that colour” Ruth giggled.

 “It’s just too intriguing. Do you think the forgotten princess will eventually find out that her new guard was that hero from her childhood? Will she get together with Sir Herman in the end?’ Maxi squeals.

“Lesson 394, My STUDENT.” Ruth taps the blackboard with his chalk sternly as if to bring Maxi back to Anatol, knowing her soul was transported to the Land of Roses with Ser Herman and the maiden, rumoured to be the forgotten princess.

‘Yes, yes, Mage Ruth..’ opening her books while taking a sip of the tea Rudys left before leaving the library for her other chores.

Ending her lessons with tons of homework, Maxi dragged her spell books out of the library. Her small built made her had no choice but to leave her novels behind and come back to get them again after.

“Back from your book club activities with Ruth?” Riftan questioned in bemusement, not expecting his wife to be back this early.

“Where’s Rudys?” Riftan asked as he took over the pile of books from Maxi.

Panting, Maxi waves the questions away with her lady hands as she sat on the bed, trying to catch her breath. Taking a huge breath in, Maxi proceeds to leave for the library again to get her novels.

“Where are you going? Don’t tell me you’re going to the library again! Just how many books are Ruth trying to bury you under? I’ll have a talk with him.” Riftan said as he pulled Maxi’s arm back.

“No, it’s not that. It’s something else. I’ll be back soon!” Maxi chirps as she pecked Riftan goodbye.

“You’re not having dinner with us tonight?” Riftan questions behind Maxi, as she runs off with her puffy dress that can be seen bouncing in far end of the stairs now.

“I’ll see you at the dining hall!” Her little lady voice trailed off, as she hurried back to the library. “Rudys!” Maxi exclaimed. Glad that she caught Rudys in time, before she tidies up the library.

“My lady, please do not run along the corridors. You might fall and injure yourself.” Rudys warmly greeted Maxi with a worry.

Maxi blushed as she bashfully remembered her blue-blacks from her falling and knocking onto the walls whilst reading. It was good practice for her too, on her healing spells.

“My books, they’re not back on the shelves, are they?” Her wide eyes scanning the table.

“No, My Lady, they’re here. I was about to bring them back to your room after cleaning up Mage Ruth’s mess on the floor.” Rudys smiled tightly, her certain dislike for Ruth can been sensed.

Maxi let out a sigh of relief, “Thank you Rudys! That’s very sweet of you!” Maxi exclaimed as she hugged Rudys tightly.

“Let’s go for dinner now, Riftan is waiting!” Maxi collected her books from Rudys, laughing while chatting as they head to the dining hall.

Even at the door, the scent of hot gravy and roasted meat perfumed the air.

“My lady, would you like to join us?” Elliot asked, as he spot Maxi coming through the door. He was standing at his seat, splitting servings of the roasted boar for the table.

“Yes, Sir Elliot! It smells wonderful!” Maxi grins, happier than ever as she realized her stutter has improved dramatically. ‘Not an extra syllable, today!’ Maxi smirks to herself.

Moving their bottoms along, expecting Maxi to naturally take the seat beside their Lord Commander, Maxi saw the empty seat beside Hebaron and just took it. Unbeknownst to her, Riftan wasn’t too pleased with her decision.

‘She knows which pubs I go to.. I can’t just go to any pubs now. I hate drinking in the castle.’ Hebaron was brooding over his avoidance in the local pubs. ‘It’s so boring here… I want to go out there, and drink with the other lads.’ Tilting his head towards the window, Hebaron stares into the night sky whilst Gabel steals his cuts of meat.

A cold breeze sneaked in as swiftly as it went out, causing Maxi to shudder from its sudden visit. As she was directly in Hebaron’s line of sight, Hebaron thinks nothing of it, and took off his vest, putting it on Maxi. ‘Don’t get a cold, My Lady’. Hebaron adds as he got the squires to close off the windows before going back to his dwelling.

Across the table, a darken Riftan was seen stabbing his meat, giving it a second death. ‘Why is he looking at Maxi like that?.. Is it Hebaron?’ Riftan envisaged in his thoughts.

“Sir Hebaron, why are you not eating?” Maxi questioned as she joins Gabel in shrinking Hebaron’s mountain of meat. Jealous at this slight action, Riftan immediately plates more roasted boar for Maxi. ‘I’ll get more meat for you if you want, all you have to do is ask. Why are you getting it from him?’ Letting his jealously run his thoughts, Riftan narrows his eyes at Maxi and Hebaron, frowning so much that his eyebrows are almost touching.

“Start eating or there’ll be none left.” Uslin warns Hebaron as he hastily swats Gabel’s fork away. Getting the cue, Elliot sighs as he stands up again, cutting more meat to fill up Hebaron’s plate.

“I’m not hungry.” Hebaron states, shocking the whole table. “I’ll go to bed now.” Hebaron put his fork down and pushes his plate towards Maxi. “Here, you can have them, My Lady.” Hebaron smiles as he pats Maxi’s shoulder, gesturing her to eat up, before leaving the table.

“Is he alright?” Maxi asked, her eyes following Hebaron as he walked away.

‘Is he alright?! What about me? I’m not alright. Why do you keep looking at him instead?’ Riftan grumbled in his head.

“He’ll be fine, My Lady.” Uslin assured, waving a kitchen maid over. “Bring this and more ale to Sir Nirta’s room.” Uslin instructs her as he hands her a stacked pile of meat on a clean plate.

“Work wife indeed.” Ruth’s comment boosted a great deal of hilarity along the table. However, Gabel and Elliot shut their laughter immediately upon receiving Uslin’s side eye.

Maxi smiled at their interaction, as she continued to stuff her face with dinner, leaving nothing on her plate before she retreated to her room with Riftan.

“Carry me, I can’t walk. I’m too full..” Maxi whimpered, tugging on Riftan’s sleeves. Sighing in defeat, the jealous husband picked his wife up in his arms.

“Am I heavy?” Maxi asked, her fingers fidgeting with Riftan’s top.

“No.” Riftan replies cooly.

“Then why are you grimacing? Your face’s wrinkly.” Maxi pouts as she cautiously cups his face with her hands. Her touch softened his mood.

“It’s nothing.” Riftan kicks the bedroom door open and lays Maxi gently on the bed. Not letting go of Riftan’s top, Maxi used all of her energy to pull him closer for a kiss.

“Silly girl.” Riftan finally smiles as he ruffles her hair, joining her under the sheets. Maxi quickly fell asleep in his arms, with her tummy full of roasted boar.

Unable to sleep, much like the past few nights, Riftan started analysing his thoughts, running through the information as if to plan a combined attack on the field. Misusing his talents as a warfare strategist, Riftan connected the string of words Hebaron told him the other night, that how it was impossible for Hebaron to be with the innominate lady and how rumours will start flying like flies in the sky, with the name Maxi kept muttering in her sleep. Starting with a H, and seems to end with a N.

Piecing 2 wrong puzzle pieces together, Riftan jolts out of bed angrily, as he stormed towards Hebaron’s room with his tirade of nonsensical thoughts.

‘Hebaron, get up.’ Riftan whispered loudly as he fiddled with the doorknob.

Getting impatient, Riftan crushed the doorknob in anger and the door creaked open. Astounded by his own anger, Riftan strut into Hebaron’s room only to find it empty. Not even a soul behind his cloaks this time around.

‘He’s not here?’ Riftan sat on Hebaron’s bed, feeling bewildered with his paranoiac thoughts at the helm. ‘My wife and my best friend?’ Just then, a small shadow on the walls outside of Hebaron’s room caught his attention. “Maxi?” Riftan calls out.

The small shadow on the walls flickered, as Maxi quivered at the sound of his voice, not expecting to hear it at this corner of the castle. She carefully pushed the half-opened door, where the sound was from and was shocked to see Riftan standing in front of her. His hair was in a mess and his body, radiating an unusual amount of heat.

“Riftan, your heart. I can hear it from here. Are you okay? It sounds really fast. It’s beating much faster than usual... ” Maxi questioned with a concerning look in her eyes, her hand reaching out to his chest.

[author's note: have you guys realized that my stories are linked? ٩(⁎❛ᴗ❛⁎)۶]

[pansythoughts]

Back with more meta, got a curious cat asking for my thoughts on Herman Balsa. I, predictably, had a lot to say.

Oh, boy, have I got Herman analysis.

I want to be really clear up front that I have two caveats to any Herman analysis that I could do that readers must keep in mind. The first is my strong bias here—I don’t care for Herman as a character as he presented in both Luca and Alva’s narratives. The second is that with that, I exclusively ship Halva as a thing that happened in the past. I do not have thoughts or feelings on Halva as an evolving ship or thing I actively enjoy; all my halva thoughts are part of my Alva character analyses and color the way Alva thinks about his current story relationships (which for me usually means alvaluca, platonically or romantically).

That said, the most important thing in my read of Herman is that he was a very selfish man. The kind of selfish where you are incredibly self-involved, and have no idea that you are. He didn’t think he was a bad person, he wasn’t trying to be cruel or malicious, and he genuinely thought his work was going to change the world and that’s why he sacrificed everything to it. But it cost him every relationship he had, all his money and time, and eventually his life.

Herman, I think in his own perspective, always thought he was doing good, or at least doing what was expected, but didn’t concern himself with the people around him or how they were feeling about his actions. You can see that in Alva’s story, about how he doesn’t bother to tell Alva about his family, or where the money for their research is coming from, or about his more dangerous experiments. He valued Alva as a research companion, and calls him the only one who understands him, but doesn’t let him in—largely, I think, because he never thought to. I think it never occurred to Herman to let Alva further into his life, because he was so focused on his own work and desires to pay attention to Alva’s.

And we see this more with Luca, from how Herman treated his son and his wife. From everything we have, Herman was a neglectful father—he doesn’t seem to be around, and her certainly doesn’t seem to be providing for his family. Neglect is a form of abuse, and Luca’s story and reactions to his father in both the main narrative and events make a lot of sense looking at him through the lens of abuse survivor. And here too, I don’t think Herman ever intended to abuse his son, because he didn’t consider himself a bad person. But he didn’t care about his son or his wife and their lives as much as he cared about his desires and his work. He wasn’t around to care about them, and didn’t think of how spending all of their family’s money would affect them, because they were always secondary considerations.

The fascinating thing about Herman is he’s the ultimate villain in both Alva and Luca’s stories, right? He fucked up Alva by holding him with guilt and withholding information, and then dying before he could ever make it right. He fucked up Luca by never being there in the first place. And that difference reflects how both men feel about him—Alva resigned and bitter but missing him, and Luca forever angry about him even as he longs for him and follows in his footsteps. Herman’s flaws are so utterly human, and it makes him compelling and believable. I can see why people are drawn to the sketch of a character we get from the holes he left in Alva and Luca’s stories, even if I’ll never like him.

[satashiiwrites]

wip wednesday/whenever

tagging @monsterrae1 @rosieposiepuddingnpie @tkboopsdumbassassins @outtoshatter @missanniewhimsy @whimsyswastry and anyone else who wants to play along! No pressure as always.

Graphic by me (because I have writers block).

Title: Breaking Up in Furniture Mart, Chapter 2: Making Up

Fandom: 911

Pairing: Endgame buddie, mentions of prior Buck/Natalia and Eddie/Marisol

Fic summary:

Couch shopping leads Buck to a personal realization that has far-reaching consequences.

Or, the couch theory wins.

Tags/warnings: couch theory endgame. AU as of season 7. Buck is going to get hit by a clue-by-four eventually. Eddie has known™️ for a while and been silently suffering.

Eddie is helpful when they arrive at Herman’s. Herman’s is much like Furniture Mart—a vast open showroom with furniture as far as the eye can see and a wide selection of everything you could possibly want furniture-wise. They are heartily greeted by Nando, who Eddie must have tipped him off and told him they were coming. 

“Hey, Buck, Cuz,” Nando greets them with a handshake for Buck and a slap on the back for Eddie. “You looking for a deal?”

“Yeah, I am,” Buck says. 

“Well, I can’t believe Eddito didn’t bring you around here first,” Nando says, winking at Eddie and nudging him hard in the ribs with an elbow.  

Eddie rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest to protect himself from more ribbing, hands tucked in his armpits. “You said something about the family discount?”

“I mean, even though you haven’t managed to make Buck an honest man yet, sure,” Nando agrees saucily before pointing them in the direction of the living room furniture. “Everything on that side is couches, sectionals, and sleepers. I’ll let you guys browse, but if you have any questions, let me know.”

Buck thanks Nando, and they wade into the sea of couches.  

Eddie shops a lot like Buck when it comes to couches, throwing himself down on them and immediately determining a sprawl rating—aka, how comfortable it is to lounge across. Points are subtracted for being too short in width, depth, and height, as well as how firm the cushions are. Eddie prefers the cushions to be detachable for cleaning, and Buck appreciates the practicality, too. Most of the models they start angling toward are available in a multitude of different fabrics and leather, so they are grading purely on comfort. 

Buck finds himself in agreement more often than not with Eddie, which makes narrowing down choices much more straightforward. Why hadn’t he gone shopping with Eddie first? He should have known that letting Natalia help was the road to disaster after what happened with the couches that Ali, Taylor, and his mom had picked.

It occurs to Buck that there’s a trend here, and it itches at the back of his brain as Eddie flops down on a couch that is modern without being ultra-modern, vaguely inspired by midcentury modern without screaming it. Eddie sighs and wiggles, his legs sprawling as he hugs a pillow. 

“You like this one?” Buck says as he takes the opposite corner. The couch isn’t quite oversized enough for both of them to lay on, but they can sprawl in the corners, and there’s enough room for Chris to take up the middle for movie nights, so it’s perfectly sized. The cushions are firm but not overly so, the tight weave of the upholstery is practical, and colored charcoal grey that Buck likes but thinks would look better in navy like Eddie’s. 

“I think I could nap,” Eddie admits, eyes closing. 

[alexilulu]

Books I Read in 2024, #8: Moby Dick (Herman Melville, Independent Publisher (originally Harper & Brothers), 1851)

A sprawling narrative of the narrator Ishmael's time on the whaling ship Pequod, Moby Dick is the story of Captain Ahab's obsessive quest for revenge upon the whale that maimed him. Drawing upon elements of contemporary naturalist writing of the world and whaling, Ishmael paints a sharp picture of the whaling culture and industry of the time and it's foibles and the world it brought into being.

You'll be able to tell eventually based on my to read list, but Limbus Company is partly to blame for my reading this one. I'd long thought about going back to classics, and have done so plenty in the past, but the game by one of my favorite developers drawing upon 12 different classics of literature from across the world was a pretty good reason go step it up a bit more.

And in fact, this one was meant to be posted before Wuthering Heights, but I got swept up in how good that book was and posted it first right after finishing it. Which is not to say that this isn't good. Moby Dick is a fucking banger. Truly crazy. May have given me some grist to work with in some other projects, even.

Moby Dick is a sprawling bastard of a novel, at times lapsing into stage direction, epistolary and direct address of the audience by Ishmael, our near-silent and yet deeply wordy narrator. It feels like the production of a hyperfixation (which on some level it is) and a genuine love for the material, a piece of rock carefully sculpted around a vein of gold that gives you glimpses of what lies underneath without simply laying it all bare. Moby Dick is a novel of small, momentous moments.

Famously, Herman Melville made significant changes to the novel after speaking with Nathaniel Hawthorne (author of Mosses from an Old Manse) to deepen it and draw in elements of human nature, more directly drawing a parallel between Ahab and Moby Dick as a war between Man and God. It's probably felt the strongest in the beginning and the end, when faith and circumstance are both questioned the most. Ishmael is warned against the black end that is coming for the Pequod by Elijah but cannot begin to fathom the reason why, but by the time they arrive in the seas of Japan to hunt Moby Dick, Ahab has forged a harpoon quenched in blood in the name of Satan to slay his foe.

Much of the body of the novel is an exhaustive, frankly beautiful description of the circumstances of whaling, oceangoing and the process of whaling across the world. It would be a mistake to say that this is not necessary to the narrative, though I can imagine so many teens being forced to read this in high school english finding the task tedious in the extreme. And yet, it informs the story directly. Without these things, you would not come to an understanding of Ishmael himself, though it would seem superfluous. It's a labor of utmost love for the people who do this frankly insane and borderline suicidal thing, something that was considered necessary for the time by society at large and represented unerringly in its brutality and horror.

And yet, the novel understands that the pervasive whaling is on some level evil. Moby Dick is a punishment by God himself, a brilliant white avenger of humanity's evil. It strikes like the wrath of god when other whalers engage in the act against other shoals, utterly devastating and driving off the virtuous and sinful in equal measure. The other boats that encounter Moby Dick all survive because they fear it, the representative of God upon the ocean. Only Ahab's singular obsession drives him to ruin, even in the face of being offered the opportunity to repent in the form of the Rachel, the opportunity to turn away from ruin in the pursuit of saving a human life imperiled before them.

The fault lied within you all along, Ahab.

[bcolfanfic]

young vets au bagram background world building no one cares about except for me (probably) - roomates edition

from my research it appears that it was 4 to a room (w/ two bunk beds) in bagram so. this is where my head's at.

room 1

to start: curt and dickie, and 2 people that curt sweet talks into getting thrown somewhere else to make room for gale and bucky when they come in from africa.

after curt and dickie are in the IED explosion (new ppl: gentle remember curt indeed lives in this au!) rosie and nash show up and get moved in there. kinda a shit show at first bc nash and bucky bump heads, and bucky is already kinda 24/7 agitated bc not knowing them well means he's back to sleeping on the top bunk. at a time when he *really* needs his gale </3. but eventually its talked out and obv nash and rosie are chill guys. bucky feels bad for bein' so belligerent to nash when, well. alex shows up and gets moved in there after that spot becomes open.

room 2

douglas, demarco, croz and bubbles. very left brain right brain vibes going on in there. one side is women from magazines taped on the wall and the other is snowglobes LMFAO. bless em, they all become buds.

room 3

brady, blakely, bailey, and quinn. bailey annoys the hell out of them in a very "i love you brother but PLEASE go the fuck to sleep" way lmfao. quinn is always corralling him to shushhh and go night night and brady and blakely jokingly (affectionately) call him his doting wife.

when bailey and quinn end up going home macon and daniels come in. brady and blakely joke about finally some peace and quiet, but they do actually quite miss bailey and his wifey!

room 4

ken, herman (if you are thinking 'who'? he was ken's ground crew buddy!), crank, hambone.

ken and crank are the yappers in this room. hambone whips a pillow across the room at ken one night and gets him right in the face, hard. whoopsies.

(if your blorbo is missing just assume they are also there, choose your own adventure about where. babyface also exists in this au but i do fear he is a part of the 'since i let curt live' tax)

[bracketsoffear]

Hunt Leitner Reading List

The full list of submissions for the Hunt Leitner bracket. Bold titles are ones which were accepted to appear in the bracket. Synopses and propaganda can be found below the cut. Be warned, however, that these may contain spoilers!

Blackwood, Algernon: The Wendigo Boucher, Chris: Last Man Running Brooks, Max: World War Z

Christie, Agatha: And Then There Were None Connell, Richard: The Most Dangerous Game Crichton, Michael: Jurassic Park

de France, Marie: Bisclavret Dostoevsky, Fyodor: Crime and Punishment Doyle, Arthur Conan: The Hound of the Baskervilles/Sherlock Holmes series

Fletcher, David: Hunted: A True Story of Survival

Household, Geoffrey: Rogue Male Hunter, Erin: Warrior Cats

Kavan, Anna: Ice King, Stephen: Cujo

Lem, Stanisław: The Hunt London, Jack: Call of the Wild

Mallory, Thomas: Le Mort D’Arthur Manifold, John: The Griesly Wife Melville, Herman: Moby Dick Messingham, Simon: The Doctor Trap

Nisneru, Alexandra: Hunt

Ólafsson, Bragi: The Pets Orczy, Baroness: The Scarlet Pimpernel

Perkins, Stephanie: The Woods Are Always Watching Perrault, Charles: Little Red Riding Hood Pierce, Tamora: Huntress Pinkwater, Daniel: The Werewolf Club Povey, Jeff: The Serial Killers Club Pratchett, Terry: I Shall Wear Midnight Pratchett, Terry: The Fifth Elephant Preiss, Byron: The Secret

Schenkel, Rudolph: Expressions Studies on Wolves Sheckley, Robert: The Seventh Victim Shusterman, Neal: Red Rider's Hood Sin, Damien: The White Tiger of Kalimantaro Stine, R.L.: The Werewolf of Fever Swamp Stoker, Bram: Dracula

Takami, Koushun: Battle Royale Thompson, Hunter S.: Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas Traditional: Actaeon

Van Allsburg, Chris: Jumanji Vega, Danielle: Survive the Night

Yoshitomi, Akihito: School Ningyo (School Mermaid)

Blackwood, Algernon: The Wendigo

In the wilderness north of Rat Portage in Northwestern Ontario, two Scotsmen – divinity student Simpson and his uncle, Dr. Cathcart, an author of a book on collective hallucination – are on a moose-hunting trip with guides Hank Davis and the wilderness-loving French "Canuck", Joseph Défago.

While their Indian cook, Punk, stays to tend the main camp, the others split up into two hunting-parties; Dr. Cathcart goes with Hank, while Défago guides Simpson in a canoe down the river to explore the vast territory beyond.

Simpson and Défago make camp, and it soon becomes clear that Défago senses – or at least thinks he senses – some strange and fearful odour on the wind. That night, Simpson wakes to find Défago cowering in terror from something outside the tent. Later Défago runs off into the night, forcing Simpson to go and look for him. He follows his footprints in the snow for many miles, realising that Défago's are not the only set of tracks. The larger set of footprints are not human, and gradually it seems that Défago's own tracks have metamorphosed into smaller versions of the larger set. Eventually, both sets of tracks vanish, and Simpson believes he hears Défago's distant voice calling out from somewhere in the sky above: "Oh! oh! This fiery height! Oh, my feet of fire! My burning feet of fire ...!"

Simpson finally manages to make his way back to the main camp, where he is reunited with the others. Dr. Cathcart and Hank go back with him to search for Défago, and when camping once more out in the wilderness, Défago – or some hideous parody of Défago – appears before them before vanishing once again into the night.

Conflicted and disturbed about what they have witnessed, they return to the main camp to find that Défago – the real Défago this time – has made his own way back, suffering from delirium, exposure, and frostbite. He dies soon after, and the three men are left in a state of bafflement and uncertainty about what has occurred. Punk alone could have explained it to them, but he fled home as soon as he caught the terrible odour that Défago carried with him. As an Indian, he instantly understood that Défago had seen the Wendigo.

Boucher, Chris: Last Man Running

Synopsis: "Eager for solitude away from the TARDIS and the endlessly inquisitive Leela, the Doctor steps out onto a benign-looking planet. But the apparent tranquillity hides a terrifying secret...

The TARDIS has arrived on a world of violence, where hideous creatures hunt and kill endlessly, vying for supremacy at the top of the food chain. But is evolution on the planet natural or engineered by some higher power? And why has an aggressively suspicious alien police force sent a secret mission here?

With no one safe from the planet's tireless predators, Leela's warrior instincts are tested to the full. The Doctor, meanwhile, begins to suspect that there is a scientific purpose to the planet — one married to a sinister intelligence.

Whatever the data being collated from the planet, the Doctor soon realises its usage may have far-reaching consequences for all humanity... "

Why it's Hunt: The TARDIS has arrived in what essentially amounts to a supersoldier training ground, where everything in the environment is hostile and out to kill them.

Brooks, Max: World War Z

Zombies will chase humans for as long as it takes to catch them. A zombie will chase a human into the sea, over a cliff, into a raging inferno, it doesn't matter. A zombie will go after any living prey that it can find, and eat it to death. In the chapter where the astronaut from the International Space Station is interviewed, he mentions one zombie that chased after a small animal in the desert. When the animal burrowed under the sand, the zombie started digging for it, even as sand continued to pour back into the hole, filling it just as fast as it was dug. The zombie was digging nonstop for five straight days before it apparently lost the animal's scent and gave up.

Christie, Agatha: And Then There Were None

"First, there were ten—a curious assortment of strangers summoned as weekend guests to a little private island off the coast of Devon. Their host, an eccentric millionaire unknown to all of them, is nowhere to be found. All that the guests have in common is a wicked past they're unwilling to reveal—and a secret that will seal their fate. For each has been marked for murder. (...) When they realize that murders are occurring as described in the rhyme, terror mounts. One by one they fall prey. Before the weekend is out, there will be none. Who has choreographed this dastardly scheme? And who will be left to tell the tale? Only the dead are above suspicion."

Spoilers: So this book's plot is the last great hunt of a Hunt avatar: Judge Wargrave. Who did the typical hunt avatar thing of joining the law to get his feel and now lets himself go all of springing a trap on his prey and playing with them like a big cat.

***

Ten people, trapped on an island, all of them murderers who escaped justice. They are slowly picked off one by one as judgement for their crimes, causing them to search desperately for the killer before turning on one another, evoking themes of paranoia and betrayal akin to MAG 176: Blood Ties. {Spoilers: The killer was the judge, who had gone into law enforcement to sate his desire for killing and punishment, much like Daisy Tonner did)

Connell, Richard: The Most Dangerous Game

A ruthless hunter named Sanger Rainsford is stranded on Ship Trap Island and meets General Zaroff. Zaroff, a hunter who is bored with hunting animals, hunts Rainsford for sport.

***

Big-game hunter Sanger Rainsford and his friend Whitney are traveling by ship to the Amazon rainforest for a jaguar hunt. Rainsford falls overboard while investigating the sound of gunshots in the distance and swims to Ship-Trap Island, where he finds General Zaroff and his manservant Ivan. Zaroff, another big-game hunter, knows of Rainsford from his published account of hunting snow leopards in Tibet. Over dinner, he explains that although he has been hunting animals since he was a boy, he has decided that killing big game has become boring for him. After escaping the Russian Revolution, he purchased Ship-Trap and rigged the island with lights to lure passing ships into the jagged rocks that surround it. He takes the survivors captive and hunts them for sport, giving himself handicaps to increase the challenge. Any captives who can elude Zaroff, Ivan, and a pack of hunting dogs for three days are set free; to date, though, Zaroff has never lost a hunt. Rainsford denounces the hunt as barbarism, but Zaroff replies by claiming that ‘life is for the strong.’ Zaroff is enthused to have another world-class hunter as a companion and offers to take Rainsford along with him on his next hunt. When Rainsford staunchly refuses and demands to leave the island, Zaroff decides to hunt him instead. Rainsford uses traps and cleverness to outmaneuver Zaroff, killing Ivan and one of the dogs before jumping into the sea. Disappointed at Rainsford's apparent suicide, Zaroff returns home, but finds Rainsford waiting for him, having swum around the island to evade the dogs and sneak into the chateau. Zaroff offers congratulations for defeating him, but Rainsford prepares to fight him, saying that the hunt is not yet over. A delighted Zaroff responds that the loser will be fed to his dogs, while the winner will sleep in his bed. The story abruptly concludes later that night by stating that Rainsford enjoyed the comfort of the bed, implying that he killed Zaroff in the fight.

Crichton, Michael: Jurassic Park

Big hungry dinosaurs vs. small tasty humans. Muldoon commented that the raptors were cruelly intelligent and liked to hunt for sport as much as for food. It was actually justified because (as Malcolm realizes) the raptors discovered that humans are an easy meal and become a favored prey. Meanwhile, the Tyrannosaur seemed to be stalking Dr. Grant and the kids in particular, even leaving behind a Hadrosaur kill to pursue them down a river. At one point it's even waiting at the bottom of a waterfall with its jaws open, hoping they'll fall inside.

de France, Marie: Bisclavret

Covers several common themes of the Hunt -- loyalty, betrayal, and werewolves. Bisclaveret is a werewolf trapped in his lupine form by his wife's treachery, and is hunted by his king, who does not know his identity.

Dostoevsky, Fyodor: Crime and Punishment

The whole book is about feeling certain that your crimes are about to be uncovered, always looking behind you for the pursuing policeman, the hand of justice that is sure to catch you at any moment.

Doyle, Arthur Conan: The Hound of the Baskervilles/Sherlock Holmes series

As per this post: "I know he's already been in the Eye Poll, but trust me, he's such a Hunt guy. All of his observational skills aren't Eye (he'd probably think that was cheating), but the result of a finely trained mind and keen, Hunt-enhanced senses. He's relentless in his pursuit of criminals, trekking for miles through city and country alike to track down a suspect. He gets bored and listless without the thrill of the chase, as Watson has so often remarked, as though something was sapping his energy. Feed your god, or it will feed on you."

Fletcher, David: Hunted: A True Story of Survival

The author is pursued for the entire book by a furious mother bear after he kills her cub in a series of escalating cinematic attacks and escapes.

Household, Geoffrey: Rogue Male

A bored, upper-class British sportsman is found on the grounds of an unnamed European dictator's residence with his hunting rifle in hand, and subsequently arrested. His claim, maintained under torture, that he was stalking the dictator purely as an exercise in the skill of the hunt and that he had no intention of firing is so audacious that it is almost believed — but nonetheless he cannot be allowed to live. To execute such a well-connected Briton would cause an international incident, so his captors decide to kill him by throwing him over a cliff so that his body will show injuries consistent with accidental death. Though badly injured he survives and manages to make his way to the Channel and from there back to England. Where he discovers that home does not mean safety, nor an end to the pursuit.

Hunter, Erin: Warrior Cats

this book series has inspired children for year after year to run around pretending to be feral cats on the playground. it's hunt.

***

This book was made for The Admiral

***

The concept of your housepet running off to join a feral cat society just feels Hunt-y to me.

Kavan, Anna: Ice

The book follows a male protagonist who feverishly pursues a young nameless woman from country to country as society collapses due to a beginning of a new ice age. People flee their cities to go south, so a lot of the scenes take place in the wilderness and the forests. The protagonist often fantasizes about the woman being torn to shreds by wild animals as she flees a pursuer, and often compares her to prey animals.

King, Stephen: Cujo

A formerly friendly St. Bernard turns into a killing machine after being bit by a rabid bat.

Lem, Stanisław: The Hunt

A runaway is chased by humans with dogs. As the story evolves, it becomes clear that it is a robot, an intelligent machine, one of many created by humans to be hunted. For this reason it was endowed with wit and strength and an ability to be afraid, so that it would run away and make a hunt interesting: "... a tangled plot full of surprises, a forest strategy, a duel of cunning, of tactics, including laying double trails, dodging, looping the scent back on itself, crossing white-water streams and aerial bridges formed by fallen trees". A little girl helps him to hide, but eventually it turns out that her goal was to lay her hands on a gun and shoot the hunted robot herself. It is well known that Lem was ruthlessly burning his unpublished works, and the researchers were puzzled why Lem kept this one. Stanisław Bereś attempts to explain this as follows. Lem never wrote and seldom spoke about his life during World War II in Nazi-occupied Lwow. However one can decipher subtle hints about his experiences of that time in various Lem's works of fiction. Bereś points out an obvious parallel of the runaway's hopeless struggle for his life from The Hunt story, with the experience of the Jews during the Holocaust, including Lem's own. Therefore Bereś suggests that Lem felt overexposing himself in the story, therefore he set it aside and eventually wrote another, a more entertaining version and possibly forgot about the older manuscript.

London, Jack: Call of the Wild

The story follows Buck—a mix of St. Bernard and Scotch collie—throughout his journey as a sled dog. Buck’s story begins at the house of Judge Miller in Santa Clara, California. Here, Buck is a beloved domesticated pet, living comfortably. However, after gold is discovered in the Yukon territory of Canada, Buck is stolen by one of Miller’s gardeners as the demand for sled dogs increases. The gardener sells Buck to dog traders and makes a profit, and Buck is soon shipped north, abused and beaten as he goes. Along with a sweet, unassuming dog named Curly, Buck is sold to two government couriers, François and Perrault, who put him to work as a sled dog. Buck is soon overwhelmed by his surroundings, particularly when he sees a group of huskies attack and kill Curly. As Buck is forced to adapt to the wild, his primitive instincts begin to surface. It is during this time that he makes an enemy of the lead sled dog, Spitz. The two fight a number of times, and Buck consistently undermines him in the hopes of diminishing his authority. After a final, decisive battle, Buck kills Spitz and appoints himself as the new lead dog.

Mallory, Thomas: Le Mort D’Arthur

Large portion of it is about the Quest for the Holy Grail and how all the knights keep setting out to find it and failing

Manifold, John: The Griesly Wife

A poem in which an abusive husband chases his new wife through the snow -- until she changes into a wolf and turns the tables on him. http://mohammadmirzaee.blogfa.com/post/527/Poem-The-Griesly-Wife-By-John-Manifold

Melville, Herman: Moby Dick

Ahab goes on a mad, doomed hunt for a white whale that may or may not be an eldritch abomination and represents God/nature/life, despite the numerous signs that he should give up on his quest and live a fuller and happier life. Unsurprisingly, everyone except Ishmael gets killed by said whale, with Ahab getting tangled in his own harpoon line and dragged down to the depths (in an ironic echo of his own words about how a drowning creature stays down the third time).

Messingham, Simon: The Doctor Trap

Sebastiene was perhaps once human. He might look like a 19th-century nobleman but in truth he is a ruthless hunter. He likes nothing more than luring difficult opposition to a planet then hunting them down for sport. And now he's caught them all - from Zargregs to Moogs, and even the odd Eternal...

In fact, Sebastiene is after only one more prize. For this trophy, he knows he is going to need help. He's brought together the finest hunters in the universe to play the most dangerous game for the deadliest quarry of them all. They are hunting for the last of the Time Lords - the Doctor.

Nisneru, Alexandra: Hunt

Monsters are real. For Emily and Jeremy, the price of this truth was extremely high. Ten years after their mother's death, they hunt these creatures. But every once in a while, they become the hunted. When Emily finds herself in trouble, who will save her?

Ólafsson, Bragi: The Pets

Back in Reykjavik after a vacation in London, Emil Halldorsson is waiting for a call from a beautiful girl, Greta, that he met on the plane ride home, and he's just put on a pot of coffee when an unexpected visitor knocks on the door. Peeking through a window, Emil spies an erstwhile friend - Havard Knutsson, his one-time roommate and current resident of a Swedish mental institutionon his doorstep, and he panics, taking refuge under his bed and hoping the frightful nuisance will simply go away.

Havard won't be so easily put off, however, and he breaks into Emil's apartment and decides to wait for his return. Emil couldn't have gone far; the pot of coffee is still warming on the stove. While Emil hides under his bed, increasingly unable to show himself with each passing moment, Havard discovers the booze, and he ends up hosting a bizarre party for Emil's friends, and Greta.

Orczy, Baroness: The Scarlet Pimpernel

"They seek him here, they seek him there / Those Frenchies seek him everywhere / Is he in heaven, or is he in hell?/ That damned, elusive, pimpernel."

Perkins, Stephanie: The Woods Are Always Watching

Bears aren't the only predators in these woods.

Best friends Neena and Josie spent high school as outsiders, but at least they had each other. Now, with college and a two-thousand-mile separation looming on the horizon, they have one last chance to be together—a three-day hike deep into the woods of the Pisgah National Forest.

Simmering tensions lead to a detour off the trail and straight into a waking nightmare; and then into something far worse. Something that will test them in horrifying ways.

Perrault, Charles: Little Red Riding Hood

You know why

Pierce, Tamora: Huntress

Corey wants to fit in with the cool kids at her school and ignore her family's oddball religious practices. However, the group of popular kids that Corey has befriended regularly hunts people for sport. They try to hunt her when she refuses to participate, only for the Goddess that Corey's family worships to appear and hunt them instead.

Pinkwater, Daniel: The Werewolf Club

A boy whose parents raised him to be a dog inadvertently joins a club of actual werewolves.

Povey, Jeff: The Serial Killers Club

When our unlikely hero runs into a murderer, he ends up killing the killer. Then he goes through his attacker's wallet and finds another shocker: an invitation to a party hosted by Errol Flynn. Errol Flynn? Isn't he dead? Intrigued, our hero crashes it - and discovers the Serial Killers Club. Its mission: share thrills and make sure members don't target the same victims. With aliases from old Hollywood, they include "Tallulah Bankhead", "Richard Burton", and soon, "Douglas Fairbanks Jr.", our hero himself. But "Dougie" isn't going to waste the innocent. Instead, he plans to knock off the "stars" one by one. And when they notice their numbers dropping, he'll have to answer a killer question: is he one of them - or not?

Obviously there are some strong Hunt element here, killing killers, questions of morality, becoming the monsters that you kill, etc. But also, "Okay, I know how it sounds, but Murder Club wasn’t supposed to be like this."

Pratchett, Terry: I Shall Wear Midnight

The villain of this novel is the Cunning Man, the spirit of a witchfinder who sows suspicion of witches among the people of the Disc in hopes of reigniting the witch hunts.

Pratchett, Terry: The Fifth Elephant

"The Scone of Stone, an ancient dwarven artifact, has been stolen, and without it, the new Low King of the Dwarfs cannot be crowned. It's up to Sam Vimes and the Ankh-Morpork City Watch to travel to Uberwald and unravel the dark conspiracy surrounding the theft. Also, Vimes fights werewolves."

Not the strongest contestant, but Vimes does spends a chunk of time being hunted down by werewolves

Preiss, Byron: The Secret

This book contains 12 gorgeous, detailed paintings. Each painting contains clues to the location of a treasure box. Originally published in 1982, only 3 of the treasure boxes have been found. For over four decades, people have been possessed by obsession with finding the treasure boxes, a hunt being passed down by parents to their children. This is very reminiscent of the Hunt ritual we see in MAG 133: Dead Horse. The promise of a treasure pulling people in to a neverending hunt.

***

The Secret is a treasure hunt created by Byron Preiss. The hunt involves a search for twelve treasure boxes, the clues to which were provided in a book written by Preiss in 1982, also called The Secret. These boxes were buried at secret locations in cities across the United States and Canada that symbolically represent events and peoples that played significant roles in North American history. Anyone who uncovered one of the treasure boxes was entitled to exchange it with Preiss for a precious gem; after Preiss died in 2005, his estate assumed the responsibility of honoring the terms of the treasure hunt. As of 2024, only three of the twelve boxes have been found. Preiss kept no record of the treasure boxes' exact locations before his death, leaving it a possibility that the remaining boxes may never be recovered.

Schenkel, Rudolph: Expressions Studies on Wolves

This is THAT study. The one that was conducted on a tiny sample of wolves in captivity, yet so quickly taken up by pop culture? The one that gave us the Omegaverse, but also a whole new hierarchy for toxic dudebros to measure themselves up against.

Sheckley, Robert: The Seventh Victim

Takes place in a world in which society that has eliminated major warfare by allowing members of society who are inclined to violence to join The Big Hunt, a human hunting game in which participants alternate between being a "hunter" and a "victim". The protagonist is surprised to learn that his intended victim is a woman, something which he has never heard of. As he tracks said victim down, he begins to fall for her -- but will love or death rule the day?

Spoiler: It's death. But not hers!

Shusterman, Neal: Red Rider's Hood

In this second entry in Neal Shusterman's Dark Fusion series, he twists the familiar fairy tale of Red Riding Hood into a brooding story about a city plagued by gangs. Red, a boy famous for cruising around in a blood-colored Mustang, takes on the Wolves after they rob his grandmother He decides to beat them by joining them to learn their weaknesses After a while, however, he finds himself drawn to the pack. At the next full moon, will Red take up their murderous ways or will he take them down?

Sin, Damien: The White Tiger of Kalimantaro

Two retired ex-cops travels to the Indonesian jungles to hunt a divine white tiger, only to realize the tiger to be old, mangy, lice-ridden and ready to die of age and disease. They kill it anyway, along with several other animals that they encounter along the way, in gruesome detail. Then the real white tiger shows up, and it turns out to be a god-like entity the size of an elephant possessing supernatural necromantic powers, given how it resurrects the old, slain tiger into a tiger zombie...

Stine, R.L.: The Werewolf of Fever Swamp

There's something horrible happening in Fever Swamp. Something really horrible. It started with the strange howling at night. Then there was the rabbit, torn to shreds. Everyone thinks Grady's new dog is responsible. After all, he looks just like a wolf. And he seems a little on the wild side. But Grady knows his dog is just a regular old dog. And most dogs don't howl at the moon. Or disappear at midnight. Or change into terrifying creatures when the moon is full. Or do they?

Stoker, Bram: Dracula

Dracula is all about the hunt and the hunted. Dracula hunts the innocent for their blood, stalking them and draining them to turn them into hunters in their own right. The protagonists, in turn, hunt Dracula. A Leitner version of this book would probably turn anyone who read it into another Trevor Herbert.

***

Famous for introducing the character of the vampire Count Dracula, the novel tells the story of Dracula's attempt to move from Transylvania to England so he may find new blood and spread undead curse, and the battle between Dracula and a small group of men and women led by Professor Abraham Van Helsing.

Dracula has been assigned to many literary genres including vampire literature, horror fiction, the gothic novel and invasion literature. The novel touches on themes such as the role of women in Victorian culture, sexual conventions, immigration, colonialism, and post-colonialism.

Takami, Koushun: Battle Royale

From Goodreads: "(...) a class of junior high school students is taken to a deserted island where, as part of a ruthless authoritarian program, they are provided arms and forced to kill one another until only one survivor is left standing. (...)"

I mean, the concept of hunting each other until only one person remains in video games did get named after it, so it's a prime Hunt candidate for me.

Thompson, Hunter S.: Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

Gonzo journalism featuring Thompson and his Samoan lawyer on the hunt for the American Dream by way of semi-biographical of a road trip, reporting on a biker race, a lot of booze and drugs, and deliberate confusion.

Traditional: Actaeon

(Summary via Wikipedia) Artemis was bathing in the woods when the hunter Actaeon stumbled across her, thus seeing her naked. He stopped and stared, amazed at her ravishing beauty. Once seen, Artemis got revenge on Actaeon: she forbade him speech – if he tried to speak, he would be changed into a stag – for the unlucky profanation of her virginity's mystery. Upon hearing the call of his hunting party, he cried out to them and immediately transformed. At this, he fled deep into the woods, and doing so he came upon a pond and, seeing his reflection, groaned. His own hounds then turned upon him and pursued him, not recognizing him. In an endeavour to save himself, he raised his eyes (and would have raised his arms, had he had them) toward Mount Olympus. The gods did not heed his desperation, and he was torn to pieces.

Other versions of the myth suggest his fault was bragging that he was a better hunter than Artemis, not seeing her naked.

Van Allsburg, Chris: Jumanji

A Leitner version of this book would cause the jungle to manifest physically in your home, with new animals escaping to hunt you down with every page turned.

Vega, Danielle: Survive the Night

Julie lies dead and disemboweled in a dank, black subway tunnel, red-eyed rats nibbling at her fingers. Her friends think she’s just off with some guy—no one could hear her getting torn apart over the sound of pulsing music.

In a tunnel nearby, Casey regrets coming to Survive the Night, the all-night underground rave in the New York City subway. Her best friend Shana talked her into it, even though Casey just got out of rehab. Alone and lost in the dark, creepy tunnels, Casey doesn’t think Survive the Night could get any worse . . . until she comes across Julie’s body, and the party turns deadly.

Desperate for help, Casey and her friends find themselves running through the putrid subway system, searching for a way out. But every manhole is sealed shut, and every noise echoes eerily in the dark, reminding them they’re not alone. They’re being hunted.

Trapped underground with someone—or something—out to get them, Casey can’t help but listen to her friend’s terrified refrain: “We’re all gonna die down here. . . .” in this bone-chilling sophmore novel by the acclaimed author of The Merciless.

Yoshitomi, Akihito: School Ningyo (School Mermaid)

A horror manga / anthology series by Akihito Yoshitomi about Japanese school girls who really want boyfriends. But rather than going through the trouble of getting the attention of a boy, talking to them and just being themselves, they decide on a much quicker way to do so... By hunting mermaids in their school and eating their flesh.

[omegaremix]

April 5, 2018.

A venture into New York City is always a good thing. Give me any reason - a doctor’s appointment, family, or a show in Greenpoint - and I’m there. This time it was a check-up on the pricier Lower East Side. I asked the team to give me an early time because I knew something else was going on behind the clinic. I know because my old man drove me home all the time and took a specific rote to do so.

The chilly 35* temperatures bit like any early April would. The sharp white sun constantly cut across the passing white clouds drifting through the dry blue sky. I stand at the Deer Park platform for a few minutes and anticipate its’ arrival. The iPod Classic (160GB) is still holding up. It’s been my only companion that comes with me for Christ knows how long, ever since it’s not-as-capable brother (30GB) took it’s first ride with me supplying Whitehouse’s Racket, Vincent Gallo’s When, and various Boards Of Canada and Roy Ayers cuts. That was another springtime trip where Cath- and I joined forces at Penn Station to go to the Brooklyn Museum and back home on the Ronkonkoma line for what was one of the most significant days ever lived. I loaded up the 400 or so finds to it of songs I never heard of before, songs then in the auditioning phase for Omega WUSB’s airplay. Train rides on the Deer Park line are usually prime-time to cycle through it all with no distractors around. My other companions? A Sony kit and a tripod.

I board and sit on the outer left aisle facing forward. No window seat this time. Public Image Ltd.’s “Poptones” couldn’t have come at a better time as the Deer Park line slowly rolled down through Farmingdale. None more fitting when those loopy dangling notes of Keith Levene’s Veleno moved perfectly with the slow floating crawl of the car. I’m not even paying attention to the motion blur of the graffiti or the industrial buildings usually experienced when looking out of the window. Another song plays, it’s The Plugz’ “Satisifed And Die”. It was a gift from Holly, a Brooklyn goth girl who followed me here. She’s made me roused and stimulated like no other. We been trading recommendations for a couple months based on our equivalencies of industrial, noise, punk, and other artists. I never heard of Plugz until she told me that “Hammy” from The Pee-Wee Herman Show was in the band.

The music still spun in my ears. Each song that played was saved to the day’s on-the-go playlist. No skips or fast-forwards. Eventually there’ll be seven or ten songs out of thirty that will follow me around forever out from the 400 chosen for April 5th. They kept going, and so was I on the way to Penn Station. Final track to end the ride? “Hold On To Your Genre” from Les Savy Fav, a band I’ve heard about over the years, and maybe a mention from former selector Xtina who used to run The All Ages Show before I took over her timeslot. Holly’s hits kept on parading through.

Penn Station here. I save my energy taking the A/C/E connecting me to the N/Q/R/W line to Lexington Av. and walk up 3rd St. to the clinic. Here I am! I’m directed to go upstairs and angle myself for some x-rays before heading downstairs to see the silver surgeon who saved my life eighteen months ago.

“Wow! What’s that?” excitingly ask Renee, the surgeon’s assistant. She saw my kit and tripod and told her I was going to shoot after our appointment. She was happy to see me. They’ve seen them all come and go during all their years in practice. It was a treat for them to see me have this new energy from when I was either blacked out on the hospital bed or frustrated and itching ready to go. But here I was. That’s the most important thing for all of us, right? Silver took his hand and pressed his tips on my shoulder to feel any changes. Looked over the film and saw no changes. Asked me how I was doing with this British / Irish roll and was pleased to hear that I was doing great. An hour later, I was good to go. Show’s over for now. See you in six months.

I haul my inventory out of the clinic and head towards where my old man would start our path home. It’s the Grand Army Plaza at the southeastern corner of Central Park. Look up and you’ll see the golden monument of William Tecumseh Sherman riding high on a stone pedestal with Victory guiding the way. I take several photos of all their heroic glory. A few horse-and-carriage jockeys were all around me with their furnishings dressed in white, red, and purple with gold trim. I see many overseas families make the best of their time taking photos for mementos forever to be remembered by, not knowing if and when they’ll have another opportunity to return again. But I don’t stop there.

Forward I go into Central Park, because I had all the time in the world to tread into uncharted territory. I walk past the disused zoo and end up at the Balto statue. How cute. I stop and snap away for more test shots before some former aspiring Aron Kay wanna-be rode his bike past me and said something about Balto being a liberal conspiracy, and self-declared it a debacle that was worse that seeing Oprah’s goatse. I walk away from his trailed stench of shit and dried blood and now here I am walking right down the middle of The Mall and Literary Walk. It literally welcomes you in with its pathway, where its generousity is measured by its wideness.

It was at that exact point where I started feeling euphoric again. I’ve beaten cancer to see my final benefits loaded into savings. Three paychecks in March, the tax refund hit, and our company gave us full-timers a surprise $1,000 bonus. Minimal and synthwave finds connected me with some of my best followers here, good times with me and twenty of my other co-workers at my neighborhood arcade, and the record-store victory tour just started. All of my on-going projects at Ω+, VMFX, and WUSB kept me going and proud. My nerves straightened themselves out and for once in my life I was on top of everything. There were no worries, no stress, no pressure. There was only hope. I hit the sweet spot that I been trying to acquire for so long and this was it. I felt like I was the person I always wanted to be. Keep going.

To my right is the Naumburg Bandshell where I did my best to preserve whatever dynamics it presented me with a press of a button. Further I go and I encounter the Besthesda Terrace, a dazzling array that’s been around for almost 175 years. Greeting me is its accompanying fountain where The Angel Of The Waters looks over all of us. A Danish family of four wanted their picture taken together so they asked me kindly to snap them with their camera, which I happily obliged.

It’s 5PM. Joggers and bikers are imminent. Young couples are sitting on the hills admiring the skyscrapers to the south and west side. I let myself get lost as I head north. I reach the Bow Bridge to see a young Filipine couple in their wedding threads have their photos taken. I continue to wander through all the winding pathways and steep hills to find myself at Belvedere Castle which was gated off and closed indefinitely. A few thousand feet later, I stop short at the 86th Street Transverse to catch my breath and pause to experience the current moment of clarity. Robert Viger’s “Limpidite” started to play. The sun’s about to set and it’s getting dimmer. Now was the time to head back.

I didn’t remember the path I took to get here, so what fun I had when I got lost and realized I had to walk the equivalent of thirty city blocks to even reach East 59th Street again which I returned to. I was exhausted and was tempted to take the N/Q/R/W line back to Penn Station, but no. It’s rare for me to be in the city, so why not make the best of it and walk it all back to Grand Central? My time was limitless because I didn’t have to be at work until 1PM the next day. Let’s reverse the process.

I take part in the crowded hustle and bustle of Manhattan. I walk 30 blocks south back to Penn Station for the ride home eastward, still bathing in the new euphoria and pending Spring renewal I just felt. I arrive five minutes to my train, but no big deal. I’m more than happy to re-hydrate with a $2.50 bottle of water and wait around until the Ronkonkoma line arrives. I have another relaxing 65-minute train ride back to Deer Park to cycle through more auditions and selections for the day’s forever soundtrack before it’s gone forever. I arrive on the Deer Park platform and step off the train. I step off the platform and walk through the aluminum overpass and steps onto the parking lot. I get in my car and drive away to sweep up the rest of the way home through the Brentwood streets. 10:30PM and I’m home for the night.

**********

There’s a message waiting for me after I walked in. It’s Holly. She asked how my day was and what I was up to. It was real nice for one of my all-time favorite followers to even ask. I had to reply to her before heading to bed. I also sent her the day’s photos and then asked to see if we could finally meet up. The momentum was stronger and now more essential than ever. I’m thriving for more.

Ghost Spell: “People On The Street”

This Is Hell: “Anarchy On The Atlantic”

Stars Are Insane, The: Versus

Ramleh: “Soundcheck Changeling 2”

Alan Shearer: “Dark Is The Color”

Public Image Ltd.: “Poptones”

Ghost Spell: “Tzz”

Plugz, The: “Red Eye #9″

Jan Jelinek: “They Their”

Pan Daijing: “Female”

Candy: “Rain In Spetember”

Pierre-Alain Dahan & Slim Pezin: “Slim Bertha”

Pisschrist: “Fatal Control”

Alan Shearer: “Only For One Girl”

James Clarke: “Silent Summer”

Thomas Leer: “Saving Grace”

Paul Dupont & His Orchestra: “Lovelorn”

Boy Harsher: “Modulations”

Zola Jesus: “Bound”

Errorsmith: “Superlative Fatigue”

Pisschrist: “Fuck The World”

Alan Shearer: “Generation V”

Joanna Brouk: “The Space Between”

Grey Hairs: “Emergency Banger”

Hogan’s Heroes: “Drugs”

Plugz, The: “Touch For Cash”

Kap Bambino: “More Machine“

Leon Gardner: “Farm Song”

Les Savy Fav: “Hold On To Your Genre”

Marijuana Deathsquads “All Deep”

Red Apollo: “Knife Party”

Stars Are Insane: “I Stayed Up All Night Thinking Of You” (ver.)

Wolf Alice: “Sad Boy”

76% Uncertain: “Coffee Achievers"

Kedr Livanskiy: “Sunrise Stop”

Haircut: “Shutting Down”

Keiji Haino: “See That My Grave Is Kept Clean”

Cabaret Voltaire: Extended Play EP

Candy: “Bears”

Frumpies, The: “I Just Wanna Puke On The Stereo”

Pan Daijing: “Overdose”

Ajax: “Paper And Steel”

Les Savy Fav: Inches

Robert Viger: “Limpidite”

[lycanlovingvampyre]

MAG 150 Relisten

Activity on my first listen: mowing the lawn.

JON: "Statement of Herman Gorgoli, regarding his period trapped alone in a suburban area of Cheadle. Original statement written 9th November, 2014." Hmmm... "Statement of Laura Popham, regarding her experience exploring the Three Counties System of caves with her sister Alena Sanderson. Original statement given November the 9th, 2014." So, what does happen if two statements were given on the same day? Apparently nothing, if you missed the fact that they're given on the same day xD But if you don't even give it a case number "officially", then you'll get case #xxxxxxx-A or -B. (Also, it's funny that it's MAG 15 and MAG 150. Like, just added a 0 xD)

So I looked up Cheadle. I don't think I've ever seen a neighborhood like this on the mainland of Europe! These almost identical rows and rows of houses is something I've only encountered in the UK on this side of the pond. We totally have neighborhoods with rows of houses here, but every house looks different in shape or color or even style, all have different driveways, houses are positioned differently on each lot etc.

"I’ve never seen people happily living in a place so obviously dead." Oh static. Tell you what, I live in something that’s structurally build like a suburban neighborhood (I don't know what you actually call that in English...), just not near a city, it’s in a village on the country side. God I wish it was dead. There’s always so much going on, so noisy, it drives me crazy sometimes. And it's not like the other people living here seem unhappy, they like the buzz, they love getting randomly talked to by their neighbors and make stupid small talk...

"I didn’t even try to hide it, not really." Not really-counter of S4: 18!

"Every time I thought I’d found a main road that led out of this weird looping suburbia, a one-way sign seemed to spring up, directing me back into the sprawl. I did U-turn after U-turn as I was channeled into one dead-end cul-de-sac after another, until eventually I decided to simply disregard the one-way signs completely." This could just as well have been a Spiral statement!

"She was talking, or at least it sounded like she was, the cadence and the sounds were so much like English that it took me almost a full minute to realize that she wasn’t actually saying words." This is an effect that already happened in MAG 48 in the Lonely crowd!

Why did all the Road, Street, Way etc. get static but not the "BUY NOW"? I think that should have gotten supernatural attention too!

"I stumbled over my legs, still weak, and grabbed the handset which should have been long out of battery, and I stared at the glowing screen. It was Alberto. He was calling me." Why was that call able to come through? Was the statement-giver a victim because he lost all contacts? Was it the impression that nobody would ever think of him again? But then, his ex Alberto actually thinking of him and reaching out to him cut through that Lonely mantle?

"We’re working on it, the two of us. We’re not exactly back together yet, but I think it’s going well." Glad to hear something like this at the end of a statement. I don't think I would be able to get over a situation like this, cheating I mean, but some people can work it out and that's good for them!

"I checked to see if I could find anything about Yotunde Uthman, and I did find a few old social media profiles, but I wasn’t able to get through to any family or friends. As far as I can tell she disappeared a year ago and nobody noticed." Yeah, that sounds like the quirk of this particular manifestation was about people without anyone left to think of them, to worry about them, to care about them in any way or shape, even if it was just anger.

JON: "The Lonely is possibly the most insidious of the powers, I believe." Totally not biased right now xD (I'd say that the Web is the most insidious. Very subtle, gets you when you least expect it, plays the long game...)

JON: "even the spiders seem to have a hard time matching it for sheer seductiveness. (hmph) Time to yourself. Self-care. Putting yourself first." Yeah, that sounds more like it. The Lonely certainly has an appeal which is passively working.

JON: "Not being a burden on those you care about. Doesn’t even need to tell you any lies – just waits for the lies you tell yourself." Yeah :/ (This also sounds kind of Spiral-y. You don't need to get gaslighted constantly, it's enough to do it a few times to get the ball running and then it just happens on its own.)

MELANIE: "Look. (pause) I’m not going to do my job anymore." JON: "I am not sure I follow you. We can’t quit, we’ve all tried." MELANIE: "I didn’t say I was going to quit, I said I’m not going to do my job. No researching, no filing, no field trips, nothing that is going to help the Institute in any way. I’ll still be around, I just… I can’t be a part of this anymore. If – if I get sick, I get sick, and – and if I die –" Totally fair, if you can't get fired, why still playing their game... I'd assume none of them are actually "working" any more and are mostly doing their own research. Feels hard to believe they would still file fake statements for example xD Still, this begs the question whether not doing work for the Eye would make them sick. Staying away from the Institute did that to Tim (MAG 90).

JON: "What about the Unknowing? We saved the world." MELANIE: "Did we?" Does that count as foreshadowing?

MELANIE: "And he’s still doing harm. You ever think that maybe this whole ritual business is just an excuse, and that we’re all part of some huge, miserable fear machine?" JON: "I’ve… considered the possibility." Does THAT count as foreshadowing? xD

MELANIE: "Right, well. If I’m just another cog, maybe I can’t leave the machine, but from this moment I’m not turning. I’m jammed." Too bad she already fulfilled her purpose... But if it hadn't been Melanie Elias or the Web would have found another solution.

JON: "Melanie, could you – could you describe your therapist for me?" MELANIE: (laughing) "What, you think I wouldn’t notice if she had cobwebs down her face?" That was quite a mean red herring. We heard a brief section of a therapy session in MAG 136, a Web statement featuring Annabelle.

JON: "Okay. (sigh) It’s just… the Web can be subtle, you understand?" MELANIE: "And? For all you know its plan is to paralyze you with indecision. Leaving you sitting here, terrified that everything you do is somehow all part of its grand plan." Does THAT count as foreshadowing?? xDD

And last but not least we get Daisy trivia! Very good, I like! 

@a-mag-a-day

[betterbooktitles]

I was standing in the green room of the posh comedy club in Chelsea where I’d been hired as a publicity assistant. I was waiting to go on, taking deep breaths. The room, like the rest of the club, was unnecessarily fancy. Most green rooms are the size of broom closets. Most comedy green rooms are broom closets. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve eaten chicken strips from a red plastic basket while standing up, the basket resting at eye-level in front of me on a stack of extra chairs, next to a bucket and a mop. Why not? That’s what a comedian is. Another piece of furniture in the utility closet. The important part is that people come out to drink, not if the talent is happy. I know a comic who was asked to mop the floors at a club after a particularly bad set. What a business!

As I breathed in deeply and counted backward from ten, I was staring at the long purple padded bench along the wall with its too-tall back and its too-small seat. The only way to sit comfortably was to have perfect posture, and even then, half my ass hung off the front of the bench. So I stood and I sweat and I panicked. At 20, I was not ready to go in front of a packed room of strangers in a Manhattan nightclub that happened to employ me during the day. The feeling that I was not ready was verified a few minutes later. I didn’t bomb per se, but when I look at old tapes from this era, I not only cringe at my delivery but also at the exhausted and forced laughs from the crowd. It wasn’t bad. But I wasn’t good either. If people saw me in the bar after these sets, they’d look at me with baffled recognition like I was a character actor from a TV show they had seen years ago but couldn’t quite place, rather than the bland guy who was talking at them about “how Facebook is weird” from the stage less than an hour ago. I was forgettable.

A fancy dressing room is not required for comedy. Neither are high ceilings or good food in the showroom. Often, those flourishes are a detriment to a good comedy space. You want a cramped but air-conditioned hole in the wall. The backroom of a bar. A tiny theater. The club where I worked felt like someone had built the Titanic on land a few blocks from where it was supposed to make port at the Chelsea Piers. The mirror that covered most of one wall, the cabinet space, and the ornate but un-sittable benches all felt like Herman Melville’s description of fireplaces in bedrooms: they were “the luxurious discomforts of the rich.” It was a nice green room and a nice club by any standard, but knowing how sad and cramped the basement office space was, how much it smelled of dead mice down there, how the black seats in the showroom looked comfortable but felt spongy when you sat on them, how the show was never as electric as it should be, all added up to a feeling of unease. It all felt like money thrown at a problem that didn’t exist. Comedy was doing fine in worse venues. This place could not last. The space felt like most of what I discovered while working in Manhattan: it’s awe-inspiring, charming, and jaw-droppingly expensive, but eventually, you remember that parts were built on literal trash or a swamp. The rats are creeping in, the basement is flooding.

In the swanky green room, a toothy radio personality and sometimes-comedian was giving me unsolicited advice, holding my shoulder to relax me. I was wearing a bright red American Apparel shirt and black skinny jeans, my uniform for all of 2007. The only time I wore anything else was the day I ran out of clean laundry, so I bought a ThunderCats t-shirt on the way to work. My coworker, a perpetually hungover nightlife photographer asked me multiple times if my shirt had a Bacardi logo on it. “No, man. Much sadder. It’s a cartoon I barely remember.”

The radio DJ kept trying to talk me out of my visible nervousness. He was giving off a lot of step-dad-trying-to-earn-my-trust energy. He kept saying I was going to be great. He squeezed my shoulder and leaned in like he was about to softly tell me “I want to say one word to you, just one word: plastics!” He kept emphasizing his speech by using his other hand to tap me lightly on the chest with three fingers as he spoke.

“You need to calm down. All that matters is that crowd, man. All you need to do is listen to that crowd. They’ll tell you what’s right.” 

It took me a decade to realize that advice is bad. Crowds are notorious for having subpar ideas and executing them in terrible ways. Crowds are responsible for the Reign of Terror during The French Revolution. Crowds love public executions and storming federal buildings and silent discos. Real psychotic stuff. I’m not a big believer in the Oscar Wilde adage that “everything popular is wrong.” I love the NBA and Egg McMuffins. But anytime a big crowd is focused on something besides sports or music, I am wary. Specifically, I’ve seen a lot of comedians who are one bad breakup away from turning a stand-up show into a Men’s Rights Activist meeting, and crowds adore them.

Read the rest of the essay here

[frog-artz]

HermAlva/HalVa headcanons because they're plaguing my mind (sorry it's long, like, it's their entire before manor lore):

Alva was the shy one

Herman was the first to confront Alva; they were both researching the same thing and Herman was like, "hmmm, he's cute, let's talk to him."

They became friends and there was always mutual feelings but none acted upon them

Herman met Maria(Luca's mum) and Alva watched sadly as Herman started his own life with Maria. He was never the less there for him tho

He met Luca before, when he was born to be precise. I don't care what NetEase says, it's my turn making the lore

Herman and Alva started the invention but suspicion started arising since they spent so much time together, alone, so Alva found a woman to marry who was in the same predicament

Alva and his wife made the mutual agreement they could see others in secret since they weren't in love but simply married for the social status

Herman took Luca with him to the lab sometimes

Herman cheated on Maria with Alva

Alva wanted to stop it, but he adored Herman too much

When Maria died Herman was heartbroken, of course, he did love her, but he stuck with Alva

Herman decided to say f you to society and chase a relationship with Alva

Alva was hesitant but agreed if they stayed together in secret

Luca grew up with the two of them taking care of him

Herman and Alva were pretty much Luca's dads

Herman kept trying to persuade Alva to run away with him and Luca but Alva declined, not wanting to throw everything they made together away

After an argument Herman took Luca and left, saying they just needed space

Alva was heartbroken and tried to do his best to get Herman to come back, or at least make sure he's living happily

Miscommunications happened and they lost contact, leaving Alva alone and heartbroken, with not even a proper wife to go back to

years later Luca came to his lab and asked to be his apprentice, claiming to have heard all about him from his father and having his biggest wish to work with him

Alva gladly accepted and Luca was surprised with the acceptance

Alva soon realized he didn't have memories of the two from when Alva helped raise him

Alva didn't stop treating him as his own son though

Eventually Alva tells Luca about their past and more misunderstandings happen

Alva protected Luca and died doing it

[unrivalling]

P4 TORTURE FIC P4 TORTURE FIC AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

I can help with that 👀 (content warning for...uhhh...mock execution)

“In light of these contradictory confessions, I have no choice but to conclude that you were all equally responsible for the events at Weston College.”

“The Queen’s Guard Dog mentioned extenuating circumstances. However—” He raised a hand and signaled one of the guards. “—there’s only one sentence for murder in Her Majesty’s England.”

The guards swiftly drew back the curtain, revealing the rest of the room.

A cold fist clenched around Herman’s heart when he saw what awaited them.

Gaslights on either side illuminated the timbers and beam of a gallows, itself built lengthwise over a deep pit in the floor. The room seemed to bend around and towards it, like the way the sun warped the air on a hot day. Herman’s own vision wavered and blurred as his eyes settled on the four hempen nooses hanging overhead.

The silence was broken by the sound of Redmond whimpering, then starting to cry.

“No…” He said. “No, you—you can’t do this to us!” Redmond stood up, though Herman didn’t know where he thought he was going to go. “Help! Somebody! Please!” Before he could even take a couple steps towards the door, he slammed right into two waiting guards, who caught him by either arm, like dogs descending on a fox at the end of a hunt.

“There’s some mistake. Please, please no! God, no!” As he struggled, the guards forced him down on the desk, bending his arms back around behind him and clasping irons around his wrists. “You can’t do this!”

“I can,” Grey said, “and I will.”

“No!” Redmond yelled, half muffled by the table. “I don’t—it’s not supposed to end this way! I don’t want to die like this!”

Bluer, in contrast to Redmond, had not risen from his chair, and instead just gazed ahead, his eyes blank, his legs looking weak and rubbery out in front of him. His lips were moving, faintly, though he didn’t seem to be saying anything. Attempts the guards made to get him to his feet only resulted in him going limp, and eventually two of them had to pick him up like a ragdoll. 

As Redmond fought and screamed and Bluer froze, the suddenness of it all seemed to pacify Herman and Violet, who didn’t resist when guards came to guide them out of their seats. Herman stood still as they cuffed him, was distantly aware that they were tight, that the metal was biting into bone, yet at the same time was not seeing or feeling anything. He dared a glance over at Violet, who was doing his best to disappear into his sheet of dark hair, and failing. His face was blank, save for the way he bit his lower lip.

Herman wanted to say so much, but he could barely put one foot in front of the other, could barely manage to keep his composure as his accompanying guard walked him up the short flight of steps and placed him in front of one of the waiting ropes.

Herman understood. Talking hadn’t saved them. Now, nothing would.

His friends were going to die because he’d killed those people.