#Book a table Cornwall

[superblysubpar]

<- part two | part four -> | series masterlist

chapter summary: You don’t like Steve Harrington.

the song: Hypotheticals by Lake Street Drive

also for your listening pleasure: Alone by Heart

3,349 words | please see masterlist for gen warnings / alcohol consumption & mentions / thunderstorm mentions / wearing steve’s clothing, but size isn’t mentioned | my blog is 18+

AN: sorry for the delay, and for another “cliff-hanger” type ending, but I promise this next chapter, chapter four is meaty, and long, and I hope makes up for it. Also, I’ll probably post two chapters this next Monday, since I was late with this one. Thanks for your continued support, comments, messages, reblogs. I had this story locked away since December and really doubted it, and I really can’t express how much finally sharing it and you all reading it means! Thanks for being here 💛

A house on Cornwallis Street - Monday

  Steve shifts against the leather seat, wet denim making a squeaking sound that’s loud enough to be heard over the rain pelting the windows and the faint piano intro that has you reaching towards the radio on impulse. 

  As the turn signal clicks rhythmically with the wipers, your hand stalls halfway to the dial when Steve looks over at you. 

  He nods his head towards the radio, relaxed as he makes the turn onto his street, though his fingers hold the steering wheel at a responsible ten and two. 

  “You can turn it up, doesn’t bother me. S’good song.”

  You hum some sort of agreement, nudging the dial a touch louder, so Heart’s ballad can be fully heard. 

  His head tilts, thumb tapping the leather of the steering wheel in perfect time with the beat of the song. 

  The lyrics aren’t lost on you, and instead of wondering if Steve also knows all the words, you turn to look out the window. 

  Right at the wrong moment. 

  The flinch of your shoulders is involuntary, and so is how the jerk of your head to face forward again makes the wrap of his fingers around the wheel tighter. Passing the house makes his stomach churn more than yours, especially when your whisper is almost lost to the wailing lead vocals of the chorus. 

  “Forgot you lived on the same street.”

  “Yeah.” 

  Steve bites his cheek, unsure of what else to say. Should he say he’s sorry, all these years later? Will that just make it worse? Should he make a joke? But would you think that means he doesn’t care?

  You’re lost in memories of a car not unlike this one. Of a humiliating night at a house on this street. Of a beer thrown in a face and a pair of heels left in a yard. 

  So when your name is spoken softly, quieter than he usually is, you’re shocked to see the car is in park in a driveway of a large house, off, and Steve’s lips are parting under eyes that are looking at you with the same pity he had that night.

  You quickly unsnap the seatbelt, and practically fling yourself out of the passenger door, squinting under the heavy drops of rain smacking your face as you run up the pavement towards a front door you never thought you’d be entering. 

  Steve is right behind you, breathing heavily as he shakes his hair out like a wet dog, rubbing a large palm down his face as he shoves a key in the lock. 

  Stepping inside the foyer of Steve Harrington’s house is surreal. 

  Not only because you’re standing in the home of the man you’ve sworn you hate, but it’s picture perfect. It’s one of those houses that feels like it belongs in a magazine or one of those books your parents used to keep on the coffee table. There’s sparse wall decorations and furniture, though all of it high end - rich woods and soft neutrals, abstract art. There’s a ton of natural lighting that you can see is casting his home in a soft blue glow even through the storm. 

  Steve flicks on the entryway lamp, warm light illuminating where he hangs his family video vest on a hook. He kicks off his Nike’s that squish and squelch as the toe knocks against the heel then the floor. 

  He starts to step out of the foyer, calling over his shoulder, “I don’t care, but my mom will most likely murder you if you leave your shoes on.”

  You’re not sure if he means he doesn’t care if you leave them on and it’s your choice whether to risk the wrath of Mrs. Harrington, or if he doesn’t care if she kills you.

  The thought of leaving your feet trapped inside wet leather boots for who knows how long makes you shudder, so you’re quick to unlace them and leave them next to Steve’s muddied sneakers. 

  Your vest is removed next, hung next to his with a frown as you watch it drip onto the hardwoods. When you glance up to ask if you should move them to somewhere less prone to water damage, Steve is gone. 

  “Harrington?” you call out, arms wrapping around yourself as you risk a step further into the house. 

  “In here!” he yells, past the staircase and around a corner.

  Venturing deeper, wet socks leave darker marks on cream carpet in a small den. A cozy and large green armchair and desk, and dark wood bookcases that sit mostly empty frame a wide set of sliding glass doors that look out at a pool. The bright and normally calm turquoise surface interrupted with the rain, ripples running across it to tiled edges. 

  Opening and closing of wood doors from behind you pulls you from your trance in front of the pool, spinning to see Steve standing in a kitchen that’s just as nice as this room. White tiled floors contrast with a green walls and warm wood cabinets. He’s pulling a bag of pretzels from a cupboard, a jar of peanut butter, and Oreos. He drops the snacks in a heap on the large center island before he looks up at you. 

  “Figured we might need some snacks while we wait it out. Want something to drink too?”

  Before you can respond, he’s already spinning towards the other end of the room, speaking with his hands about how peanut butter always makes him thirsty. 

  You drip on the tiles of the Harrington’s kitchen, shivering as Steve speaks into the fridge.

  “Do you want…shit, um, I have beer? Or water? A thing that I think is a tomato? Which isn’t really a drink so I don’t know why I’m still talking about it…”

  His shoulders flex under the damp light blue cotton of his shirt, his hand runs through his hair before he reaches in to grab something. 

  When you remain silent, he looks over his shoulder, and you’re sure he’s caught you staring at the sliver of his stomach that became revealed when he stretched for the beers now in his hands. 

  But then he quickly stands up straight, fridge door swinging shut behind him as he carelessly lets the two cans slide onto the counter top. 

  “Shit, I didn’t even…I’m freezing so you must…and I’m sorry, I-“

  A crack of thunder that seems to come from inside the house makes you both jump, bringing forth two sudden realizations to your mind. 

  The first, found out from the way Steve’s hands shake again, and the way his gaze darts out the windows showing inky clouds against an eerie, almost green tinted sky. 

  Steve Harrington is nervous. 

  The second realization comes from your step towards him. Maybe you were on your way to comfort him, maybe it was to punch his shoulder and taunt him. Either way, the step reminds you that you’re dripping water and making a nice puddle all over Mrs. Harrington’s pristine tiles. 

  Which just so happen to be the same lovely shade as your shirt.

  And maybe both the white cotton and the pink lace that sits beneath it leave little to the imagination when frigid AC and damp clothing combine against sensitive skin. 

  Your arms slowly cross over your chest, hugging yourself as you finally manage to let out a breathy exhale and the words, “I love beer.”

  Steve’s lips twitch, lifting on the left in a lopsided smile, a far away look as he stares at you from the other side of the kitchen and quietly asks, “Yeah?”

  Despite what your nipples would like to convey, his stare heats you from the inside out, convincing you that lightening has struck the house and you’re on fire. So you don’t really think you’re lying when you say, “And I’m not cold.”

  Steve’s cheeks are pink as he gestures to the counter top, “Okay, sure. Well I’m hard,” he squeezes his eyes shut and quickly corrects, “Cold! I’m cold, and I’m, um, if you wanna carry that stuff, I’m gonna grab clothes and we can go down to the basement.” 

  He quickly shuffles around the island, making sure he leaves the three feet of counter between you till he slips out of the room with cheeks darkening to the color of your bra. He goes so fast he misses the way you bite your lip and hide a smile. 

  But as his feet pound on the stairs, you stand up straighter and slap your hands to your cheeks. 

  No.

  Nope.

  Not. Happening. 

  You don’t like him. 

  Settling the beers and snacks against your chest and in your arms, you head back the way you came, slowing as you see photos on the shelves.

The typical posed family portrait, hands on his shoulders, Steve stiff in a white button down shirt and tie at various ages. But there’s one that catches your eye - tucked behind a larger frame. It rests behind the dusty glass off center, at an angle, edges worn. 

  A much younger Steve faces the camera, one eye squinted shut, holding up an ice cream cone proudly, with chocolate smeared across his lips and cheeks. And then you see the building behind him, the little girl leaving the frame, the back of her hand just visible - showing off a painted and sparkly tiger that matched her green nail polish. 

  You don’t like him. 

  “Hey,” he calls from the hallway, pulling you away from spiraling thoughts. Steve stands in the doorway, holding clothes in his arms, his eyes look at the picture, then back at you. He nods his head towards the door behind him and swallows, “It’s getting pretty dark and spooky out there, think we should get down to the basement?”

  Without the thoughts of a hot summer night and a cute boy who offered to share his ice cream with you, and that same boy who ruined everything that same night clouding your vision, you now see the sky has gone almost black, the pool water calm and undisturbed. 

  You can’t look away, wanting to sit and watch the storm continue to roll in, to see what it destroys. Like an accident, you can’t help it. Thunder rumbles, lightening flashes, and Steve says your name softly, pleading, and it snaps you out of it. 

  His arms that hold the clothes flex, blue cotton tightening on his shoulders as they hunch when the crack of the thunder makes you jump and him clear his throat. 

  He opens a door opposite the room, flicking on the light before turning to make sure you’re following him. Once you close the door behind you, you continue down the creaky stairs, until Steve stops abruptly and spins, his face level with your chest as he looks up at you with a winced, “Before you yell at me, there’s something you should know.”

  “What,” you laugh, shifting awkwardly on the dimly lit staircase, “The thunderstorm isn’t real, all lab created and fake movie effects done by the little twerps that follow you around because you promised them free rides for life if you helped seal this bet’s fate?”

  Steve groans, hanging his head backwards before he faces you again with a smile. “Shit. Why did I not think of that?”

  “Because you’re an idiot,” you whisper, ignoring the way your hand itches to touch the three freckles that crinkle next to his eye when he smiles. 

  “Right,” Steve nods, “As we established during fake-tits-gate. But no,” he laughs, turning back around, “I have a bunch of stolen rentals down here that Keith and you have been asking about for like two months.”

  You don’t know if you want to smack him for saying the word tits, or laugh and sort of turn into a gooey puddle because of it, or yell at him for the clear work violation. 

  So you settle on none of it, only admitting a small sigh and then mumbling, “What am I gonna do with you?”

  “Fuck me? Sure would help me out with this whole bet thing.” He spins with a grin and you narrow your eyes. But he persists, raising a right hand, “I swear, it’ll be great for you. I’ll do all the work. Scout’s honor.”

  “You were never a boy scout,” you accuse, ignoring the way your heartbeat seems to sound a little louder down here. How it’s definitely colder and that’s why your nipples are hard again. 

  Steve hums, dropping the pile of clothes on a worn coffee table. His fingers flip through the stack, glancing up at you as he asks, “Oh? And how do you know? Keeping tabs on me, babe?”

  When you don’t respond, he looks up again, finding you frowning with shoulders hunched. 

  “Shit,” he whispers, “I was doing so good too. You really don’t like me calling you that, huh?”

  You roll your eyes, blinking profusely as you busy yourself with setting the snacks and beer on the coffee table. He almost misses it when you murmur, “It’s just cause he called me that. Before…Brendan…” 

  Not caring to finish the sentence attached to the memories swirling around inside your head, you move towards the opposite wall where a small box TV and stack of tapes sit. “So, what terrible taste in movies do I have to endure?”

  “Hey.”

  “It’s fine, Harrington, real-“

  He says your name, interrupting you and when you look up at him, he knows this is his chance to say what he should have said a long time ago.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Steve says the words with so much sincerity, a wrinkle between his brows making something inside your stomach tug, like your body has a visceral reaction of needing to go over and smooth it away. He stands across the room from you, next to a ratty brown couch, holding sweats, dripping water as he shakes his head, looking the most genuine he ever has. 

  “I’ll never call you that again, I promise.”

  This time, you’re absolutely sure you are on fire. Warmth flows from the top of your head down to your socks and all you can do is mumble a measly, “Okay.”

  It feels like an entire hour and no time at all passes while you stare at each other, opposite sides of the room, but for once, there’s a common ground between you, an unspoken wave of flags, a line drawn in the sand being kicked and smoothed out. Neither of you knowing what’s supposed to come next. 

  So naturally, Steve ruins the moment. 

  “So, like,” he blows out his breath, tilting his head, “Honey, baby, sweetie okay? I just wanna make sure. You know, for when we’re having sex.”

  His smile tells you that he’s kidding, he’s making a joke to lighten whatever mood you’ve both trapped yourselves in. So you avoid his gaze and push a tape into the player, not even reading the name as you wave a dismissive hand. “Go change already, you smell like a wet dog.”

  Steve backs away, towards a small bathroom and hums, “Seems like you’re just trying to get me out of my clothes faster.” He nods towards the coffee table as you approach it, “Oh, and I did bring some clothes down for you too, if you want them. I know you said you weren’t cold but…”

He flips the light on in the bathroom, facing you, the glow behind him creating a halo on top of his caramel highlights as he grins in a way that’s the opposite of angelic. 

  “Your boobs have been telling a very different story.”

  The throw pillow you chuck at the door with a scoff misses him, smacking the wood that manages to close just in time, not doing much to hide his pleased laughter. 

  “I hate you!” you call out, arms crossing over your chest as you look at the clothes. 

  “Really?” he calls, “Cause your boobs have been-“

  “No! No more! Or I steal your car and drive home!” you can’t help but laugh around the threat, so you know he knows you’re not serious, but he remains quiet. 

  Despite it being easy for you to become irritated with him, you’d much rather this Steve than the quiet or nervous Steve. Or now, sincere, Steve, who you have no idea how to act around. This is all normal territory, the water you both know how to tread. This is able to be navigated. 

  Or so you thought. 

  You hate to give him the satisfaction of being right, but you are cold. So you grumble to yourself about taking your clothes off in Steve Harrington’s basement. Your jeans stick to your legs as you kick them off, making a pile with your white shirt. A laugh huffs out of your nose as you slip on plaid pajama bottoms, wondering how to make some sort of joke about them, when you’re halfway through pulling a sweatshirt on.  Your arms and head pause inside the gray material, and you inhale. 

  Your knees are replaced with jello. 

  You’re in the woods, mint toothpaste, cotton laundry, and something so undeniably Steve Harrington, you can’t help but take another large inhale. 

  In your scent frenzy that’s not unlike a cat with catnip, you don’t hear the bathroom door open or Steve’s sharp breath in. 

  He swallows, seeing you standing in his clothes, arms raised and halfway through his sweatshirt, your bare lower back, pink lace band of your bra shown off. 

  His knees are replaced with jello. 

  Steve clears his throat, and you quickly pull the sweatshirt down, neither of you admitting your moment of indulgence, and neither of you daring to ask if the other caught it. 

  You sit next to each other on the couch, Steve hands you a beer, and neither of you speak.  All you can think about is how to actively stop yourself from ducking your nose into the collar of the sweatshirt and taking another large inhale, and all he can think of is a curious thought that tugs and tugs and begs to know if your underwear matches your bra. 

  It isn’t until the lights flicker, and thunder growls that either of you moves or says anything. 

  Steve flinches, wiping a palm on his thigh that sits too close to yours and you go for a joke, trying to return once more to already mapped out communication points. 

  “I had no idea the king of Hawkins was afraid of a little rain.”

  When you pop open the beer and Steve only grimaces, flinching again when thunder claps overhead, you’re brought back to another night, sitting next to the same boy, with the roles reversed. 

  Sweaty fingers had smudged your tiger, but it was worth it, to have someone to hold while your heart rate returned to normal. So you look at Steve now, who’s eyes watch the TV screen but aren’t really seeing it, who’s shoulders tense, who’s been far quieter and genuine tonight than you’d yet to see from him ever, and make a decision. 

  “Wanna squeeze my hand till it’s over?” 

  Steve exhales, lacing his fingers with yours as he laughs nervously, “Jesus christ, I thought you’d never ask.”

  “Sorry,” you murmur, adjusting your arm against his and shifting into the couch deeper, ignoring the way his thumb swipes once over yours and what it does to your stomach. “Thought you were nervous because of me. You know,” you laugh, taking a sip of your beer before continuing, “Seeing nipples for the first time is a lot for a guy. You did good.”

  “Ha-ha,” he says dryly, squeezing your hand on the next rumble. “Seriously, don’t tell anyone?”

  “That you haven’t seen a woman’s nipples before? Because I will absolutely be telling anyone who will listen.”

  Steve doesn’t say anything, just turns his head, cheek resting against the scratchy brown couch, taking in your smiling profile. 

  You don’t dare to look at him as you sigh, squeezing his hand back. 

  “Secret’s safe with me, Harrington.”

  You don’t like him. 

Tag List - thank you for your continued support and patience! 💛

@ash5monster01 @madaboutjoe @foreverinwanderlust @the-fairy-anon @scarletwitchgf

@curlsincriminology @siriuslysmoking @redbarn1995 @starry--sarah @starksbabie

@taccobelle @angst-lasagna @blckburd @crownofdecit @torntaltos

@sanniegirl1214 @yourmommilf

[gringolet]

GAYEST ARTHURIAN TEXT BRACKET ROUND 1:

propaganda:

Le Morte:

- “Perhaps not the most obviously gay text out there but has some underrated moments. 'Everyone is in love with Lancelot', 'hoole book' edition, where this time the author is too! But more specifically, Lavayne. My guy sees his sister literally prepared to die of love for Lancelot and says 'yah same'. Luckily for him he is a MAN so he can just hop on a horse and follow him. Sorry Elaine. Specific quote: 'She doth as I do: for sythen I saw first my Lorde Sir Lancelot, I cowde never departe frome hym, nother nought I will and I may follow hym.', ”

-

- also gawains entire final letter written in his own blood hello??? hello??? «  I, Sir Gawaine, knight of the Table Round, sought my death, and not through thy deserving, but it was mine own seeking; wherefore I beseech thee, Sir Launcelot, to return again unto this realm, and see my tomb, and pray some prayer more or less for my soul. And this same day that I wrote this cedle, I was hurt to the death in the same wound, the which I had of thy hand, Sir Launcelot; for of a more nobler man might I not be slain. Also Sir Launcelot, for all the love that ever was betwixt us, make no tarrying, but come over the sea in all haste » hello???

- also of course the greater cornwall polycule (tristan dinadan palamedes isolde lamorak lancelot brangaine isolde 2 etc etc)

- the whole ill made knight ill starred knight thing is so queer like thats so insanely transgender

SGATGK:

- “kissing”

-“Gawain getting kisses from Bertilak’s wife and kissing Bertilak is very bi”

- “I'm back with another answer. Obviously the kissing game is iconic. The scholarship about this poem is unparalleled. The people cannot get enough of submissive kissy face Gawain & frankly neither can I. He definitely fucked that couple. Or perhaps it's more accurate to say, they fucked him. Easy litmus test for a retelling is how they handle adapting this. Only cowards write around the kissing. Real ones make it even gayer.”

- “Gawain kisses a man in this”

- “3some, poly, bi conduit, gay kiss, gawain”

- “i'm going to kill myself i had a few paragraphs of propaganda typed up and accodentally deleted it all. holy ahit. anyways i have no doubt that this has been submitted before but it is my moral duty to say so again. even excluding the fact that lord bertilak sets up this game of exchange of winnings and sends his wife to seduce gawaine—knowing that gawaine will have to return whatever he recieved unto bertilak—and their kisses and embraces (which are technically 'excusable' under medieval homosocial behaviour), there's a sort of erotic fascination with the green knight everpresent throughout the text, the author, the pearl poet, even taking, what, five (? give or take a few. my memory fails me) verses to describe how green and big and beautiful the green knight is. the green knight kneels before gawaine, letting gawaine take the blow to cut off his head, and later, the green knoght takes a blow to cut off gawaine's head. it's all about reciprocity and exchanges and submission. it's SO erotic . i just. yeah :)”

- ill also say the way gawain is framed in parallel to the lords hunting scenes making him a pursued animal and the wife the pursuer who has him at her mercy is very interesting gender dynamics and role reversal

[hometoursandotherstuff]

What a beautiful home! 1860 home with a mansard roof in the lovely town of Cornwall on Hudson, NY. 4bds, 4ba, $1.25M.

The front door is stunning. It looks like black patent leather.

Center hall with original stairs.

To the left is a very spacious sitting room. It's so bright and cheerful. Look at the wainscoting wall.

To the right of the hall is a pretty dining room. It can accommodate much larger furniture and more pieces.

Look at the cute little mousie detail on the baseboard.

Isn't this the most delightful guest powder room?

The kitchen remodel is lovely. The stove is in front of the original fireplace.

The kitchen is open to the gorgeous sun room.

I still feel that you can't go wrong with striped wallpaper. It always looks great. This main floor primary bedroom is stunning.

Love baths redone with reproduction vintage fixtures.

At the top of the stairs is a bright sitting area.

This beautiful bedroom has a separate sitting room. It could also be the primary.

Like that they left this brick remnant.

En suite shower.

If this is a guest room, it's wonderful. A small table, sitting corner, books to read, and a fireplace.

This bath looks retro. So attractive.

Beautiful basement stairs.

The rec room has a bar that can accommodate the whole gang.

Very professional, well-equipped bar.

Guests can go across the hall to the pool room.

There's also a comfortable movie room.

Large yard with a deck and pool.

Lots of parking, plus a garage.

It looks like a picture in the snow.

So pretty lit up at night. The lot is .58 acre.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/296-Hudson-St-Cornwall-On-Hudson-NY-12520/89600935_zpid/

[lexie-squirrel]

Sherlock Holmes is autistic

- “...he had contrived, with that cat-like love of personal cleanliness which was one of his characteristics”. (HOUN) -  “I have [...] an abnormally acute set of senses” (BLAN) - “My friend, who loved above all things precision and concentration of thought, resented anything which distracted his attention from the matter in hand” (SOLI) - “I was never a very sociable fellow, Watson, always rather fond of moping in my rooms and working out my own little methods of thought, so that I never mixed much with the men of my year" (GLOR) -  “Who could come tonight? Some friend of yours, perhaps?” “Except yourself I have none, - he answered. - I do not encourage visitors” (FIVE) - “...his disinclination to form new friendships...” (GREE) - “Without having a tinge of cruelty in his singular composition, he was undoubtedly callous from long over-stimulation. There was no trace then of the horror which I had myself felt at this curt declaration, but his face showed rather the quiet and interested composure of the chemist who sees the crystals falling into position from his over-saturated solution” (VALL) Low empathy - “He was a man of habits, narrow and concentrated habits“ (CREE) - “He had a horror of destroying documents, especially those which were connected with his past cases [...] Thus month after month his papers accumulated, until every corner of the room was stacked with bundles of manuscript which were on no account to be burned, and which could not be put away save by their owner” (MUSG) - “He appears to have a passion for definite and exact knowledge “(STUD) - “...never have I wondered at it more than upon that spring morning in Cornwall when for two hours he discoursed upon celts, arrowheads, and shards” (DEVI) special interest/infodumping - “'My dear doctor,' said he, kindly, 'pray accept my apologies. Viewing the matter as an abstract problem, I had forgotten how personal and painful a thing it might be to you. I assure you, however, that I never even knew that you had a brother until you handed me the watch” (SIGN) low empathy - “Arrest you!' said Holmes. 'This is really most grati - most interesting. On what charge do you expect to be arrested?” (NORD) low empathy -  “We were residing at the time in furnished lodgings close to a library where Sherlock Holmes was pursuing some laborious researches in early English charters” (3STUD) special interest - “My friend's temper had not improved since he had been deprived of the congenial surroundings of Baker Street. Without his scrap-books, his chemicals, and his homely untidiness, he was an uncomfortable man” (3STUD)  - “Holmes could talk exceedingly well when he chose, and that night he did choose. He appeared to be in a state of nervous exaltation. I have never known him so brilliant. He spoke on a quick succession of subjects - on miracle plays, on mediæval pottery, on Stradivarius violins, on the Buddhism of Ceylon, and on the warships of the future - handling each as though he had made a special study of it” (SIGN) special interest/infodumping - “His studies are very desultory and eccentric, but he has amassed a lot of out-of-the-way knowledge which would astonish his professors” (STUD) - “He is not a man that it is easy to draw out, though he can be communicative enough when the fancy seizes him” (STUD) - 'Holmes is a little too scientific for my tastes - it approaches to cold-bloodedness. I could imagine his giving a friend a little pinch of the latest vegetable alkaloid, not out of malevolence, you understand, but simply out of a spirit of inquiry in order to have an accurate idea of the effects” (STUD) low empathy - “He appears to have a passion for definite and exact knowledge” (STUD) - “He seized me by the coat-sleeve in his eagerness, and drew me over to the table at which he had been working” (STUD) personal space problems - “With an apology for my intrusion, I was about to withdraw, when Holmes pulled me abruptly into the room, and closed the door behind me” (REDH)  personal space problems - “...his long, nervous fingers tapping upon the arms of his chair...” (DISA) stimming - “He paced restlessly about our sitting-room in a fever of suppressed energy, biting his nails, tapping the furniture” (BRUC) stimming - “He began biting his nails and staring blankly out of the window” (STOC) stimming - “Yes, I have been guilty of several monographs. They are all upon technical subjects. Here, for example, is one "Upon the Distinction Between the Ashes of the Various Tobaccos." In it I enumerate a hundred and forty forms of cigar, cigarette, and pipe tobacco, with coloured plates illustrating the difference in the ash” (SIGN) special interest - “'Well, he's that strange, sir. After you was gone he walked and he walked, up and down, and up and down, until I was weary of the sound of his footstep” [...]  “I was myself somewhat uneasy when through the long night I still from time to time heard the dull sound of his tread...” (SIGN) stimming - “...in his nervous restlessness, he could not sit still, but paced the carriage or drummed with his long, sensitive fingers upon the cushions beside him” (THOR) stimming - “He appears to know every detail of every horror perpetrated in the century” (STUD) special interest - “When left to himself, however, he would seldom produce any music or attempt any recognized air. Leaning back in his arm-chair of an evening, he would close his eyes and scrape carelessly at the fiddle which was thrown across his knee” (STUD) stimming? - “But this is my special hobby, and the differences are equally obvious. There is as much difference to my eyes between the leaded bourgeois type of a Times article and the slovenly print of an evening halfpenny paper as there could be between your Negro and your Esquimaux” (HOUN) special interest - “'You are hungry”, I remarked. “Starving. It had escaped my memory. I have had nothing since breakfast”.''Nothing?'' “Not a bite. I had no time to think of it” (FIVE) eating problems - “...for days on end he would lie upon the sofa in the sitting-room, hardly uttering a word or moving a muscle from morning to night” (STUD) a shutdown? - “My friend had no breakfast himself, for it was one of his peculiarities that in his more intense moments he would permit himself no food, and I have known him presume upon his iron strength until he has fainted from pure inanition” (NORW) eating problems - “But how do you know that it is hereditary?” ''Because my brother Mycroft possesses it in a larger degree than I do” [...] “He has an extraordinary faculty for figures, and audits the books in some of the Government departments“. [...] . There are many men in London, you know, who, some from shyness, some from misanthropy, have no wish for the company of their fellows. [...] My brother was one of the founders, and I have myself found it a very soothing atmosphere”. [GREE] autism run in families - “We had a pleasant little meal together, during which Holmes would talk about nothing but violins” (CARD) special interest/infodumping - “For two hours the strange business in which we had been involved appeared to be forgotten, and he was entirely absorbed in the pictures of the modern Belgian masters. He would talk of nothing but art, of which he had the crudest ideas” (HOUN) special interest/infodumping - “I remember that during the whole of that memorable day he lost himself in a monograph which he had undertaken upon the Polyphonic Motets of Lassus” [...] “As to Holmes, he returned refreshed to his monograph upon the Polyphonic Motets of Lassus, which has since been printed for private circulation, and is said by experts to be the last word upon the subject” (BRUC) special interest - “Kindly look her up in my index, Doctor,' murmured Holmes, without opening his eyes. For many years he had adopted a system of docketing all paragraphs concerning men and things, so that it was difficult to name a subject or a person on which he could not at once furnish information” (SCAN) - “Sherlock Holmes sat moodily at one side of the fireplace cross-indexing his records of crime” (FIVE) - “The first day Holmes had spent in cross-indexing his huge book of references. The second and third had been patiently occupied upon a subject which he had recently made his hobby - the music of the Middle Ages” (BRUC) special interest - “An anomaly which often struck me in the character of my friend Sherlock Holmes was that, although in his methods of thought he was the neatest and most methodical of mankind, and although also he affected a certain quiet primness of dress, he was none the less in his personal habits one of the most untidy men that ever drove a fellow-lodger to distraction” (MUSG) - “Sherlock Holmes was a man, however, who when he had an unsolved problem upon his mind would go for days, and even for a week, without rest” (TWIS) sleep problems - “The mere sight of his excellent appetite was an assurance of success, for I had very clear recollections of days and nights without a thought of food” (VALL) eating problems - “You are knocking yourself up, old man,' I remarked. 'I heard you marching about in the night”. ''No, I could not sleep”, he answered” (SIGN) sleeping problems - “I do not know how far Sherlock Holmes took any sleep that night, but when I came down to breakfast I found him pale and harassed, his bright eyes the brighter for the dark shadows round them” (NORW) sleep problems

[wolfstarhaven]

Happy birthday remu!

My favourite little man of all. To celebrate, here are some lovely fics with some very special remus characterisations!

Berlin Angel,

by de_sire (90k)

Berlin is absolutely miserable in February. Or it’s just Sirius.

Alternatively: A story of how Remus Lupin stepped into Sirius’ life, flashed his trademark grin, and reminded him that life is a beautiful thing meant to be enjoyed. No risk, no fun!

A muggle!au, slow burn strangers to lovers (Sirius is so stupidly oblivious!! I love it!!). Remus is literally sunshine in a person. A very different take on Remus, and I love him so very much!

take a shot of holy water,

by pinkpalaceapartments (73k)

a year after cutting ties with his family and taking steps to improve his life after coming to terms with his role in the tragic death of his best friend, sirius black reconnects with his past at an engagement dinner for a friend he thought he’d lost and the family he’d left behind. there he meets a priest named remus lupin, who is about to change the course of his life forever.

A fleabag au. Remus is the hot priest. *gulp*

Rourke,

by sreka (27k)

When wildlife filmmaker Sirius Black arrives on a remote Antarctic island for a year-long assignment, he isn't phased by the freezing wind, the perpetual darkness, or the hostility he meets from some of the biologists at the research base. He is used to living an itinerant existence. He is comfortable with unforgiving conditions. He expects the world to treat him harshly. But he does not expect to fall in love.

A wonderful muggle au that gives us scientist!remus. Let’s say he’s not the biggest fan of people. (I feel you darling)

A Brief History of Dragons,

by eyra (23k)

Sirius moves to Cornwall for the summer and meets a rude, beautiful boy who is writing a book that may or may not be about dragons.

A very special remus that holds a permanent spot in my heart. He is everything.

from white-hot anticipation to cold-blooded fear and back again,

by drowsyanddazed (20k)

Remus is a storm blowing through Sirius’ small town and Sirius is laid out on the waterlogged cobblestone streets waiting to be washed away.

A Hogwarts era fic in which Remus is a confident Ravenclaw. He’s got rizz, as the TikTok people say. Sirius, naturally, doesn’t stand a chance.

Tidal Pull,

by Deya (10k)

Sirius sees a handsome stranger picking along the mud of the Thames foreshore and he needs to know more. He encounters Remus Lupin a man obsessed with the history buried in the London mud. Together they share moments and small treasures and grow together.

A beautiful fic in which Remus is mudlarking nerd. We love him.

Fine Motor Skills,

by femme_de_lettres (6k)

Sirius Black's car needs work—again. Meanwhile, Remus Lupin is amused to see his favorite customer back at his mechanic's shop.

A meet-cute in which Sirius owns a book shop and Remus is the mechanic—how the tables have turned! Adorable.

Happy holiday to all those who celebrate today<3

xx elliot

[gawrkin]

The Death-song/Elegy of Uther Pendragon: New Translations

(Credit to @wandrenowle (awesome person) who gave me this excerpt from a recent translation of The Book of Taliesin)

A few points to make:

There's a certain ambiguity about whether or not the narrator here really is Uther Pendragon himself.

The part where Uther is named "Shining Armor" - I believe this is the translation for the original word in the poem, "Gorlassar". From what I can research online, "Gorlassar" could also mean "Bright Blue/Very Blue" or even "Higher than the sky". I've heard some theories online before that Geoffrey of Monmouth created the character "Duke Gorlois of Cornwall" from this epithet of Uther's.

If so, that means the possibility of Igraine always having been Uther's wife and Igraine only ever had one husband. Huh.

Wow, apparently Arthur is not as badass as his dad, being only a ninth of Uther's prowess. This is the very same Arthur who, in Welsh Myth, can destroy armies by the hundreds, go toe-to-toe with giants and is the standard of comparison for warrior excellence ("...although he was no Arthur"). This elegy implies Uther is leagues more powerful than that.

It reminds of Sir Branor, the Dragon Knight, from Palamedes, a 120-year old knight of the Round Table from Uther's era. When he shows up to Arthur's court, he challenges everyone in Camelot, including Lancelot, Gawain and Tristan, and soundly kicks their asses. The general impression is that however OP King Arthur and his knights are, Uther and his boys are waaaaaay more OP. Very Anime.

(It also has shades of Nestor from the Iliad, talking about how the heroes of the "Seven against Thebes" would kick anyone's ass in the Trojan War)

The part where Uther boasts of his Poetic Prowess - "as great as that, of seven score poets". This, in particular, fascinates me. See, in an older translation, that particular segment is phrased as such:

There is a tradition Uther Pendragon really does magical abilities:

In the new translation, Uther is primarily hyping his skills in the Bardic arts, but personally, I think that doesn't preclude Uther's magic powers.

In Celtic Myth, Bards, because their status as lore-keepers, often had magical powers, like Prophecy, shapeshifting (Taliesin and Myrddin/Merlin) or having the power to harm and curse using satires:

I believe there's even a term for Bardic Prophecy in Welsh: "Canu Darogan".

This sort of loops back to "Uther>Arthur" again, seeing as how Arthur is one of "the Three Frivolous Bards of the Island of Britain"

Jeez, can imagine being at your death bed, and like, decide " I'm gonna write an entire poem about how awesome I am and how my prophesized, magic son ain't shit compared to me"

[vwritesaus]

The drawing room in 102 Cornwall Gardens is perhaps Alastair’s favourite room in the house. Aside from the bedroom, where he spends his mornings counting freckles on Thomas’s cheeks and nose, and listening to his lulling heartbeat in the evenings, it is the one room that lends itself to a life of peaceful leisure: of card games that go well into the night, of tea and sandwiches with family and friends who come to visit, of deep and meaningful discussions laid out upon cushioned sofa corners and warm arms, and of chai lingering on the tongue and on soft lips.       It’s a room decorated in hues of crimson and burgundy and a touch of olive green, with a large Persian rug and a handsome bookshelf in one corner. There are armchairs and sofas in viridian green, tables and chairs of polished walnut wood, and Thomas’s overflowing writing bureau. Alastair has fond memories of watching him hunched over a moleskin journal, chewing on a thumbnail and frantically scribbling with a thoughtful frown gracing his forehead, and will no doubt have many more in the years to come. On the other side, a cabinet reserved for spare weapons sits by the door, housing Alastair’s spears and daggers—for the favoured ones with their beautiful handles have their own special storage space in the bedroom—and Thomas’s swords, as well as some extra seraph blades.       Needless to say, in the grand scheme of things, the drawing room is the perfect space. Alastair wonders what the point of all the other rooms is when he is of the opinion that he can happily spend all of his time in here. Which is precisely what he’s doing right now.       He’s curled in the corner of one of those viridian green sofas, holding a book in between his fingers. His legs are in Thomas’s lap, and a beautiful tartan blanket—a housewarming present from Sophie Lightwood—covers them both. It’s a rather miserable night to be outdoors, the weather cold and windy and on the precipice of some kind of snowstorm, if one has to hazard a guess. But it provides the ideal ambience, complemented with a roaring fire in the grate and the heady scent of cardamom-spiced tea wafting from Royal Doulton china.       Unlike his beloved, Thomas has not joined in with a book of his own. Rather, he is dozing, his neck resting on the back of the sofa and his eyes shut, thick eyelashes casting soft shadows on his cheekbones. His waistcoat lies open, fully unbuttoned, as well as the first couple of buttons on his shirt. How he’s not cold like this, Alastair has yet to understand. Though Thomas has been this way for the past twenty minutes regardless of feeling cold or not, and Alastair would think he’s properly fallen asleep if not for the way his fingers gently stroke Alastair’s legs over the blanket.       Alastair grabs the moment to take in the way the fire’s golden glow splashes over Thomas, highlighting the smattering of freckles on his face and the backs of his hands, the soft dip of his upper lip, and the thick eyebrows that grace his forehead. He’s studied them in great detail this past year, learning how they appear in natural sunlight as it quivers into existence through the bedroom curtains, or under moonlight on a stroll home or on patrol. He’s come to know the lovely and stupid things that come out of Thomas’s mouth, how his brain works and the words he writes, the melodies he hums and the Spanish he mutters when he thinks Alastair’s not listening. He’s an expert on how the rough calluses on Thomas’s hands feel against his skin, in his hair, against his palms and equally callused hands, and on the care behind every touch, every rendition of I love you, and every kiss.       He’s tattooed Thomas Lightwood onto his soul, and even now he thinks just how lucky he is.

continue reading on ao3

~

just a quick little thomastair fic i wrote for @drunkonimagination that she insisted i post kajshdasd

i know i'm late to the christmas/end of year holiday celebrations, but here, have a cosy post-canon thomastair oneshot ft. seasonal vibes :>

more fics to come soon, and that's a promise. this year i'm determined to write as much as humanly possible 😤

~

tag list: @alastairstom @thomastaircompassrose @faithfromanewperspective @ferrari-go-vroom-vroom let me know if you’d like to be added to or removed from the tag list!!

[twola]

Devil’s Backbone - Owanjila III

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x FemOC/Reader POV 

Tags: Longfic, Slow Burn, Smut (18+), Violence, Canon-Typical Injuries

Limpany’s burning was a lot more than meets the eye. Deception, greed, and murder follow everyone touched by Leviticus Cornwall. A story where the Van der Linde gang gets even more inescapably involved in Cornwall’s dealings, with the survivor of the massacre at the heart of it all. Slow burn. Pre-Blackwater and beyond.

Owanjila III: Be Not A Fool For Love

The gang continues to get back on its feet after the ferry robbery. Meanwhile, in Blackwater, the law is picking up the pieces after the massacre. Abigail, try as she might, cannot let her concern for John go.

➵ AO3 Link ➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ Previous | ➵ Next

“No, no, Fraulein, you’re forgetting the interest on the loan. The amount should be much higher.”

The older man leers over the book you’re writing in, his glasses low on his nose. You frown, looking up at him, “I did add interest, Mister Strauss.”

“At what percent?”

“Ten…?” You state, but by the end of the syllable, your tone sounds much more unsure.

“What do you think we are, a church? No, no - we keep these people out of debtor’s prisons - and we need to be paid for the good work we are doing.” Strauss eyes you critically, then points at a figure you wrote next to a name, “Make it thirty percent.”

“ Thirty ?!”

“Yes. They know what they are getting into when I provide them the loan. And what it expected to be collected.” The man waves his hand dismissively as you go to recalculate your figures. The sums were not huge, but asking a desperate man for another thirty percent…? That seemed… predatory.

You breathe out your nose, adding and multiplying numbers in your head to redo the loan ledger. Five lines, currently , with the names and amounts owed written in neat cursive. “Here, Mister Strauss.”

He leans over the table, having seated himself in the chair opposite you, and slides the ledger over to his side. His eyes dart around the page, and his frown lessens before he looks back at you, the sunlight glinting off the lenses of his glasses. “Yes, these figures look correct. Now we must collect.”

“Collect?”

“Yes, but not us. People are much more likely to take a loan from someone like me, or you,” He waves his hand at you, “But are more likely to repay someone a little more menacing.”

“Ah.” You say, the logic being sound in your head.

“Speaking of which,” Strauss sits up, and points off in the direction behind you, “Herr Morgan, come here. When you have a chance, Miss Shaw has a list of collectors for you to visit.”

You turn in your seat, to see Arthur striding toward you, a persistent scowl on his face. Indeed, Strauss was right - Arthur was menacing - tall and broad, his arms bursting with corded muscle…

You blink, catching yourself, and look back at the ledger, watching Strauss tear out the page you wrote on and fold it, holding it out for Arthur as the man approached. “Got another sucker pulled into your loansharking there, Herr Strauss?”

“Hosea said Miss Shaw here had bookkeeping experience. A rare find among this group.”

“And somehow it's always me that you find to do your collecting - despite the abundance of bull-headed muscle in this group.” Arthur takes the paper from Strauss’s hand, scowling as he tucks it into his satchel on his hip. “Y’done with her now? Or you have more money to count?”

Strauss gives a dismissive wave as he closes his ledger and walks toward his wagon. You stand from your seat, eyes following the older man for a moment before turning back to Arthur as you straighten your skirts.

“Dutch seems to think loansharkin’ is beneath us for some reason - he prefers robbin’. But money is money.” Arthur drawls, grabbing a cigarette from his satchel and leaning over to strike the match on his boot, cupping his hand around the cigarette to light it before tossing the match to the ground.

“I suppose. I guess usury is less bloody though?” You ask, rubbing at your arms somewhat nervously.

“Depends. If I’m collectin’, it tends not to be.”  

You wait for him to say he’s being sarcastic. But no, he’s dead serious.

Arthur doesn’t notice the tumult in your eyes. He takes a drag of the cigarette, holding it between his thumb and forefinger, before leaning back and exhaling a cloud of smoke to the side. 

“You ready to go shoot? Or you got somethin’ better you’re working on?” He turns back to you, and fortunately, you’ve mostly regained your composure.

“N-no. I can shoot.” You say, eyes shooting to the gleaming revolver on his hip.

“C’mon then. We’ll head a bit north of here, round the lake.” Arthur motions for you to follow him, and you both pace slowly toward his tent, where the gang’s weapons and ammunition are stored. 

“Y’ever shot a gun? I mean, besides when you almost blew my ears out a few weeks ago?” He asks as he reaches the wagon, letting down the back hitch and looking over the numerous firearms within a long crate in the bed of the wagon.

“I’ve shot a game rifle before if that’s what you’re asking.” You say, trying not to be annoyed by his jab.

Arthur drops his cigarette on the ground, crushing it under his boot, before grabbing a small rifle from the crate and holding it out to you. “Like this?”

You take it, looking it up and down, and nod your head, holding it back out to him.

He slings it over his shoulder and grabs another gun from the crate, holding it out for you to take, and you do, taking his lead and pulling the strap of the gun over your head, letting it fall across your chest, the firearm hanging across your back. Arthur grabs a box of cartridges and tucks it into his satchel.

“Alrigh’, Missus Shaw. I’ve got the varmint rifle and a repeater. Reckon we’ll start you on those.”

You eye one of the revolvers within the crate for a moment before the slamming of the lid shut loudly jolts you.

"C'mon, over to the horses. We'll get a little bit outta camp. Bit north of here there's plenty of things to shoot at." 

You follow him to where the horses are tied up, to that old roan Walker that Arthur was still riding. He grabs your waist without giving you much of a chance, heaving you up on the Walker’s rump. You scowl down at him, “You do know I can get on a horse myself.”

“Oh, well then be my guest next time, Missus Shaw.” Arthur snipes back as he pulls himself up into the saddle.

You murmur a curse under your breath as he digs his spurs into the horse’s side, leading him down the side of the hill toward Owanjila, then hooking northward after crossing the small mountain stream that fed the lake.

The rest of the ride is relatively silent until you reach an area to the north that almost looks burned-out, where the tree trunks are white and sparse in an eerie silence. Of course, this is where Arthur decides to stop the horse, swinging himself down and holding up a hand to you. You grasp it and slide yourself down from the horse, only realizing later that he offered you help instead of simply grasping your waist and pulling you down himself

Little steps, one at a time.

“So… what are we shooting?”

Arthur grunts and pulls a half-drunk bottle of Kentucky bourbon from his satchel, uncorking it and unabashedly polishing off the liquor as you stare in disgust. He's drinking it like water - completely unfazed by the burn of the alcohol going down. You'd think he was completely unaffected by it were it not for him swallowing and gritting his teeth slightly before walking several steps away and placing the bottle upon the flat surface of a stump from a fallen tree. 

"There y'go. Go on and stand o'er there," He points several steps away, which you stride over to dutifully, holding the rifle in your hands. You feel your palms start to sweat in nervous anticipation. Truth be told, you can't remember the last time you shot a rifle like this. Several years ago, at this point. Back when you were another woman.

Arthur stands to the side, holds his hand out in invitation, and you sigh and orient yourself toward the bottle several feet away.

You hold up the small rifle ahead of you, the butt of the gun against your shoulder as you point it toward the bottle. Closing one eye, your finger hovers for a moment over the trigger, and then you take a breath and squeeze.

A snap rings out after a moment, dust on the stump swirling upward. You lower the barrel, opening your other eye and frowning to see the bottle intact. 

"Y'hit the stump, at least. Give it a few more tries." Arthur stands to the side, thumbs wound around his belt buckle, swaying back and forth slowly as he glances between you and the bottle.

You do. Four more times you pull the trigger to the small rifle, to varying degrees of success, on the last round you swear you can hear the pellet clink against the glass. You frown and look at Arthur, dripping in weaponry, sure that he could hit this target not ten steps away with his eyes closed.

“Ain’t half bad with that.” Arthur nods, taking his hand off his belt and pointing at you, “Now take that repeater from your back and try that. Won’t kill anything bigger than a jackrabbit with the varmint rifle.”

“What do I need to shoot bigger than a rabbit?” You ask as he holds out his hand for the rifle. You pass it to him and start to swing the repeater over your back.

Arthur takes the varmint rifle, placing it on the ground next to him. He lowers his head, the shadow of an ironic smirk peaking out from under the rim of his black gambler hat.

“Men like me, Missus Shaw. You gotta be ready to shoot men like me.”

You frown in return, before glancing back to the bottle, hefting the repeater ahead of you, heavier than the game rifle you had just shot with.

You hold the repeater up, settling it into your shoulder as you aim at the bottle balanced on the tree stump paces away. You close one eye, the gun swaying slightly before pulling the trigger. 

The sound hits you before the recoil, slamming your shoulder back as you stumble half a step. You have no idea where the bullet went, but the bottle was completely unfazed. A groan escapes your lips as you lower the repeater.

“Not bad, but look ‘ere,” Arthur steps up behind you, reaching around you to grab the rifle and bring it to position again. You hold in a gasp as his large hands move over yours and you feel his barrel chest flush against your back. 

His arms hover over yours, and your thoughts from before come racing back - his corded muscles straining the blue cotton of his work shirt…

Stop it, damnit.

God, hopefully, he doesn’t notice the flush blooming on your cheeks and down your neck. You grit your teeth within your mouth for a moment before the searing pain in your chest returns, as if he pointed that big old revolver straight into your heart and pulled the trigger.

You’re a widow. Not even three months gone. You were still in mourning, Frederick’s gold ring tucked away safe among your sparse belongings. Wasn’t it him behind you, telling you to aim at a stupid-looking clump of Spanish moss outside of Saint Denis all those years ago?

You could almost hear him, rasping in your ear, holding that old game rifle up and following where he pointed to.  You only got one shot off before the man had fully wrapped his arms around you, nibbling at your earlobe, laughing in the summer sun…

You frown, trying to bring yourself back from the edge of melancholy.

“Both eyes open.”  Arthur rumbles, jerking you back to the present, and you open your other eye, not even realizing you had closed it.

Arthur’s arms pull away from yours, and the warmth emitted from his frame retreats as well.

You breathe in. You breathe out.

“Go ahead, Missus Shaw.”

You pull the trigger.

-

The bell on the door rings, the warm air blowing into the small lobby of the office from the street. Springtime has fully settled in, with blustering winds rolling through the town from the south.

“Be right with you!”

From the hallway comes a stout, middle-aged woman, with dark, braided hair and a work apron over her dress. She stops in the small lobby, sizing up the stranger who walked in as she wipes her hands on her apron.

Tall, dark-haired, and mustached, the man in a fine suit holds his hat in one hand as he waits for the woman to settle herself.

“Do you need to see the doctor?” She asks, noting that this man does not look sick or injured.

“I am looking for Doctor Smith, yes. I need to talk to him. And his wife. Do you happen to be Rosalia Smith?”

Rosalia purses her lips slightly, her eyebrows furrowing. “Let me get my husband.”

A silver badge gleams brightly on his chest.

She turns and walks down the short hallway to the examination room, where her bespectacled husband cleans a scalpel in the sink.

“Amor, a man is asking for you up front.” 

The doctor turns around, smiling tiredly. “Thank you, Rosa. Did he tell you what’s wrong?”

Rosalia shakes her head, but it is obvious by her expression that she isn’t telling him everything.

The doctor purses his lips, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

“Un hombre de la ley,” She whispers, “Says he wants to talk to both of us.”

He frowns, wiping his wet hands on his apron while walking past his wife and down the hallway. He reaches the lobby, finding the tall, imposing man waiting patiently.

“Silas Smith,” He reaches his hand out to the man, who grasps it and shakes heartily, “My wife said you were looking to speak to me?”

“Yes, yes.” The man replies. He places his hat on the windowsill and pulls a field notebook from his jacket’s inner pocket, opening it to a pre-marked page.

“My name is Angus Carmody, agent with the Pinkerton Detective Agency. I have the understanding that you two were one of the last people to see a Missus Ruth Shaw about a month ago.”

Rosalia gasps at her husband’s side, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. “Missus Ruth! Is she alright?”

Silas places a hand on Rosalia’s back to calm her. 

“No one has seen her. We are trying to track her down to…” The lawman swallows, pulling a pen from his pocket, “Straighten out some business details from her late husband’s estate. For her benefit, of course. There are funds that Frederick Shaw had set aside that can be used for the care of his widow.”

Angus Carmody clicks his pen open, licking his thumb to turn the page of his field notebook to a blank one. He hopes that these people bought his story and that Shaw hadn’t told them about Limpany, Cornwall, or their incident out in Tall Trees. 

Silas frowns, shaking his head, “I’m sorry - she was boarding the ferry for Saint Denis the same day we went to Mexico. We’ve only just returned yesterday. We haven’t heard from her - I would have to think she’s in Saint Denis.”

“Unfortunately,” Angus looks at Silas, then at a horrified Rosalia, “She did not board the ferry that day. We have reason to think she may be in danger.”

“¿Peligro?” Rosalia gasps again.

“Yes. Please let me or another Pinkerton Agent know if you hear from Missus Shaw.” Carmody produces a printed card, handing it to Silas, “We’ve set up office in the old tailor’s shop next to the police station. Someone should always be there.”

Silas takes the card and nods. “We will be sure to reach out should we hear anything. We certainly want Ruth to be found safe.” He places his hand on his wife’s back, her face pale.

Carmody nods, placing his field notebook back into his vest pocket. “Thank you for your help. I’ll be sure to inform you should we find Missus Shaw.”

“Doctor, Ma’am.” The Pinkerton nods again in thanks as he reaches for the door.

“Agent,” Silas replies in farewell as the door closes and latches behind Carmody.

“E-esa pobre mujer… tiene mala suerte…” Rosalia breathes out slowly, placing her hands over her forehead as if to stave away oncoming pain.

Silas has no response, simply continuing to rub his hand over his wife’s upper back, watching the Pinkerton continue down the dusty Blackwater street.

-

“Unfortunately the Doctor and his wife had no leads on Shaw.” Carmody rubs his brow as he stares at the worn wooden floor. He knew that answer would not satisfy his supervisor. Nothing but that woman on a silver platter would satisfy Milton, and even then, he would still find a way to be cross about it.

“You should be happy that Cornwall’s attention is now on this robbery.” Andrew Milton sneers up from his desk, which was full of newspapers, handwritten notes, and a map of West Elizabeth. 

Carmody remains silent, his eyes flitting to the papers on the desk.

“It was Dutch Van der Linde and his gang.” Milton leans back in his chair, cracking his knuckles together. “The man that the city police picked up? That was Mac Callendar.”

“Was?” 

“He was going to die anyway. Full of bullet holes. I did the merciful thing and put him out of his misery… after he made it clear he wasn’t going to give us anything.” Milton says, very nonchalantly for speaking about killing a man.

Carmody’s mouth pulls into a tight line.

“Anyway - Edgar Ross and I are going to run this Van der Linde thing. Evidently, the money that was on board that ferry included Cornwall’s payroll for workers trying to expand his rail line toward New Austin.” The senior agent stands, rolling his shoulders before rounding his desk to stand in front of Carmody.

“You,” Milton points his finger at Carmody’s face, “Are to find this damn woman. She’s not in Blackwater. I’ve locked down this damn town and have had agents and the police interview every damn person around, and nothing. ” 

“I’ll expand my search,” Carmody states, his eyebrows setting as he seems to gain some sort of annoyed confidence,  “Strawberry, Valentine. The agents in Saint Denis are keeping me apprised if she should end up there.” 

“Take two or three men with you. Between the contingent here and the Blackwater police, we should have enough.” Milton replies as he turns around, pacing toward the coat rack where his black suit jacket hung. 

He slides his arms into the jacket and pulls it on, adjusting the sleeves to his liking. Looking up again, he narrows his eyes at his subordinate as Carmody places his hat atop his head.

“You do know that continued failure will result in your being sent back to Chicago.”

Carmody nods. “Yes, sir.”

Milton turns his back on Carmody as he hears the door open and close. Letting out a breath, he smooths his pomaded hair down on top of his head before stepping toward his desk again. Leaning on his fists, he overviews all of the scattered paper on the desk, mind hard at work connecting events and leads and where the hell an entire outlaw gang fled to…

The door opens again. Instead of one of his agents, an older man, in the dark woolen overcoat of the Blackwater Police, gold badge gleaming against the light of the lamp hanging from the ceiling of the dusty old room.

“Ah, Chief Dunbar. Come in. Do you or your officers have any updates?” Milton waved the elder lawman in, noting the dark bags under his eyes, the tired look on his face, and the tension held in his shoulders.

Oswald Dunbar, who looked like he had been doing this job for far too long, in Milton’s opinion, stepped forward and took a heavy seat in the chair in front of the desk.

“Unfortunately not, Agent Milton. Been dealin’ with the McCourts. That poor girl. Half her face blown off.” The aged policeman ran his hand down his face, smoothing down his large mustache.

“I’ve developed the information that it was Van der Linde himself that pulled the trigger.”

“Just find them. Whole town is on edge. Hell, whole state is on edge. Blackwater isn’t supposed to be some wild west town where shootouts happen. It’s supposed to be civilized.”

Milton grinds his teeth behind his lips. “Civilized.”

Dunbar nods his head. “I know we ain’t Saint Denis. But this town - it’s gonna be the gateway to the West. New Austin. Even to California. But things like this happen, and we’re no different from any cowtown full of outlaws.” 

“Rest assured, the Pinkerton Detective Agency has made this a priority,” Milton states, attempting to assuage the police chief’s unsettled mind.

“We will make this area civilized. The days of lawlessness are over.”

-

It’s been days. Several days. And as much as she didn’t mind not having to scream at him for ignoring his son, Abigail’s patience had begun to fray. Fear crept into her chest, clutching around her heart like a set of claws of some ragged beast.

It was a lie, deep down she knew, to say that she didn’t care for the outlaw - of course she did. Despite his scraggly hair that she constantly wanted to cut, his gruff demeanor toward his son, the lack of ardor between them… John Marston had placed his claws into her heart long ago, ones that she was not able to release. Maybe he was the ragged beast.

“You alright? That’s the fourth time you’ve sighed this morning.”

Abigail blinks, staring over the table where you stand opposite, chopping carrots for the evening’s meal. The potatoes she was supposed to be quartering remain whole, her hand on the knife.

She stares back down at the table, placing the knife down and placing her hand on her forehead. She sighs, again, and you raise your eyebrows, placing your knife down as well. She looks up at you, a guilty, concerned look in her eyes.

“It’s John… he’s been gone for days now ‘nd…” She trails off, looking over her shoulder to see Jack laying in the grass, playing with the wooden horse toy that seemed to take up the boy’s attention recently.

Abigail exhales a ragged breath. “Ain’t no love lost between us, I know - but he’s my boy’s father…”

You round the table and place your hands on her shoulders. “C’mon - maybe we can go talk to Dutch and he’ll send one of the men to go look for him.”

Abigail lets out a heavy breath, steeling herself, and nods. You let your arms from her shoulder and take one of hers in your own, walking toward the middle of camp, to the leader’s tent.

Your voice gets low as you lean in next to her, “Do you want me-…”

“No, I got it,” Abigail says, unlacing her arms from yours and stepping ahead of you without a trace of the reservations from earlier. 

“Dutch.”

The outlaw looks up from his chair within the large tent and places the book he was reading face down on the cot opposite of him. Molly O’Shea sits upon that cot, her cold eyes regarding Abigail with disdain as she enters.

“Abigail, my dear,” Dutch stands up, placing an arm on Abigail’s back, leading her a step away from the tent, “What can I do for you?”

He walks them to the campfire, where you have taken to standing next to where Hosea sits, feeding kindling to the fire. Arthur polishes his pistol across the circle.

“It’s John, Dutch.  He ain’t been back. I… I’m worried.”

Dutch frowns for a second, then a smile returns under his mustache.

“John can fend for himself, Miss Roberts,” Dutch waves, almost dismissively, “He was just going up to scout.”

“It’s been days , Dutch. And in Strawberry there was talk of a blizzard that rolled through.” Abigail pleads, near uncharacteristic for the rough and tumble woman. You make eye contact with Hosea, whose mouth is drawn in a tight line.

Frowning, your brow quivers as you stare at him, and you know your face betrays worry on behalf of the poor woman.

“Dutch…” Hosea calls out to the retreating man, “It has been a while. If the weather’s as bad as they are sayin’ in Strawberry, the boy may need some help.”

Arthur, whose arms are now crossed and a scowl set in on his face, takes the opportunity to enter the conversation. “Sure, let’s all go save little Johnny Marston, damsel in distress.”

You’ve stepped closer to Abigail, placing your hands on her shoulders, trying to provide a bit of comfort, “ Arthur,” You snap, feeling Abigail tense under your fingers.

Dutch surveils the scene, the distraught Abigail pleading for the father of her son, you trying to console her, Hosea obviously taking Abigail’s side. And Arthur, perpetually annoyed at anything to do with John.

“I know the area.” You rub at Abigail’s back, trying one last attempt to convince the outlaw to help, “I traveled south through the Grizzlies about a year ago with my husband. There’s an abandoned mining town where someone could take refuge.”

Dutch purses his lips in thought.

“Dutch, please,”  Abigail begs, one final time, wringing her hands.

“Alright, alright. Miss Roberts, we’ll go find John. Ruth, you’re coming with us,” He points to you and you nod, “Arthur, go grab Micah and Javier.”

Arthur scowls, his eyes falling on you and Abigail. You glare in return, turning Abigail away and starting to walk her toward her own tent, where Jack lies atop a blanket, playing with his wooden horse.

“We’re gonna find John. ‘Nd you and he can get back to squabbling just like normal.” You say lightly, hands upon her shoulders. Abigail laughs mirthlessly.

By the time the two of you reach her tent, Abigail turns to face you, eyes downcast on the ground. 

“I guess it looks kinda silly for me to be beggin’ to bring him back when all we do is yell at each other.”

You shake your head, “He’s the father of your son. And somethin’ tells me Jack didn’t come from only one night.” 

Abigail snorts, another mirthless laugh under her breath. 

“Well, if you’re goin’ up north with them, at least let me give you my coat, ‘nd you need a scarf. And gloves.” She says, changing the subject before she opened herself up to further vulnerability.

You nod, and follow her over to the small chest of her clothing, preparing you for a ride north into the Grizzlies.

[grandmaster-anne]

The King’s cousin David Linley on his new career

The Times article by Lisa Grainger | Published 25 January 2023

The Earl of Snowdon talks to Lisa Grainger about his book on English crafts, and mentoring future creators at his furniture-making college at Highgrove

There aren’t many people who’ll admit that crafts can reduce them to tears. The Earl of Snowdon is one of them. At one event, he recalls, musicians including Jeff Beck, Mike Rutherford and the Clash were invited to meet and interact with “incredible luthiers, who make violins and guitars and cellos”. It was “just magical”, he says. “It really did bring a tear to the eye . . .”

Since David Linley, King Charles III’s cousin, became the first royal to follow a vocation — producing handmade furniture — and set up an eponymous business, he has been one of Britain’s most vocal champions of crafts. Which is why he wrote a book, Craft Britain: Why Making Matters, co-authored by Helen Chislett, to bring attention to extraordinary craftspeople around the country.

The glossy tome, with an erudite introduction by the design writer Stephen Bayley, is not only a directory of all the key crafts organisations from Cornwall to the Hebrides but a compendium of some of our nation’s most remarkable makers. It takes in embroiderers based in Hampton Court Palace and chair craftsmen from Orkney, leather sculptors and cobblers, marquetry specialists and even a whip-maker.

Sadly, Chislett says, some crafts were left out of the book because the skills have died out. For instance, England no longer has a cricket ball manufacturer even though the game was invented here, “and we probably won’t make bats for much longer”. Hand-stitched kilt-making is on the Heritage Crafts Association Red List of Endangered Crafts, as is neon sign-making; even bell-making is on its way out, with churchgoing declining.

On the other hand, there are crafts that are growing. Ceramic-makers, for instance, have sprung up in the southwest of the country. In Newcastle metalworkers whose families previously might have made ships are constructing metal furniture. Chislett adds that crafts fairs are becoming increasingly popular, particularly with the younger generation. “They’re a lot more into sustainability . . . and you are less likely to throw something away if you know who made it.”

There’s a growing appreciation of bespoke objects at the very high end of the market, Linley says. At his furniture company (from which he resigned in November) clients loved coming in to commission bespoke pieces with little quirks: a secret drawer with a martini shaker in it, or an inkwell filled with a specific colour of ink. “You can fantasise about what you like and get someone to bring it to life,” he says.

His own London home — “a little flat, which I am very lucky to have” — is filled with handcrafted items that have meaning: a pair of candlesticks that belonged to his theatre-designer uncle Oliver Messel; cushions embroidered by British seamstresses; tables turned by fellow carpenters; a pair of bespoke British shoes made “in precisely the colour and style and shape I like”. Each of them feels special, because “there is something rather lovely about a piece that’s come from the hand of a human”, he says. “It resonates with the human spirit.”

The next part of Linley’s professional journey, he says, will be nurturing others who want to work with their hands. At Street Farm at Highgrove, the Gloucestershire home of the King, an old barn has been converted into the Snowdon School of Furniture, where Linley is going to help to mentor the next generation of furniture-makers. “I am 61 now,” he says, “and it’s time to step back and allow the young people at Linley do things how they want. I have worked all my life creating a brand. And I can now do things for the Prince’s Foundation that are enjoyable and freeing.”

Having made furniture for almost 40 years, Linley says he’s relishing the fact that crafts are becoming more mainstream. “Today you’ll hear Tracey Emin talk about craft, and even sportsmen. This morning on Radio 4 a commentator was talking about a footballer as a craftsman and comparing him to Picasso. That might have been a comparison too far — but there is now far more recognition of the skills needed to do something well. And that can only be a good thing.”

[headcanonsandmore]

'Glad All Over (Cake By The Ocean)', Chapter Seven

Summary: Pride has finally started in Tregonnereth! Nyssa and Tegan's relationship becomes deeper, owing to Nyssa's dad and step-mum arriving in town, and Mel may just find herself getting that kiss from a certain Ace McShane. In other news no-one is surprised by, Barbara is beloved by all and Benton has to deal with Mike Yates being interminably unreliable.

(Special thanks to my awesome friend @serenbex for helping me with the Welsh lingo in this chapter; much appreciated, mate!)

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

Read on AO3.

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

Sunday was noticeably less stressful, especially for Nyssa. After having a leisurely breakfast with Tegan, the two had popped into the town and had seen Romana off, with the blonde woman giving them both a hug before climbing into the crew’s people-carrier.

‘Romana’s cool,’ Tegan said, as they headed over to Nyssa’s place.

‘Always has been,’ Nyssa agreed.

‘Kinda hot too-’

‘Tegan!’

‘Oh, so you ogling Peri is okay, but I can’t admire-’

‘I did not ogle Peri!’

‘So, you were ogling her sunglasses that were tucked on top of her-’

Nyssa cut Tegan off with a kiss, and promptly pulled her by the front of her top through the front door. There was a delighted squeal from the Australian as the door closed behind them.

*

‘Ace and aro spectrum lecture?’ Nyssa said, reading the pamphlet that Tegan had dropped down onto the table. It was later that morning, and two of them had been enjoying the rare morning of the week that they both had free. ‘You want to go to this?’

‘Sure,’ the Australian replied, reaching into the cupboard and pulling out plates. ‘It’s due to start in about an hour; we can have some lunch and then pop over. I think it’s being hosted in the town hall.’

‘As long as you’re sure.’

After lunch, the two women headed through Tregonnereth to the town hall. The lecture was being hosted by an activist from Cornwall Pride. Nyssa found the lecture very informative, but not as much as Tegan did. The Australian was nodding along throughout, clearly engrossed in what the activist was saying. She had even gone up afterwards and discretely asked a question. Nyssa had been looking at the books and leaflets at the time, so she hadn’t heard what Tegan had been enquiring about.

Apparently satisfied, Tegan had joined Nyssa by the books.

‘All sorted here?’

Nysa nodded.

‘Did you want to get anything? All the profits go back into Pride.’

‘Alright…’

Tegan bought two keyrings, one in the lesbian flag and the other (which she promptly gifted to Nyssa) in the ace flag.

‘You’re such a sweetie,’ Nyssa giggled, pressing a kiss to Tegan’s cheek. The Australian’s face blushed slightly as she smiled. ‘Did you enjoy the lecture?’

‘Yeah,’ Tegan replied, as the two women headed outside. ‘I didn’t know there was a whole spectrum of identities regarding asexuality and aromanticism, so it was interesting.’

‘And you’re not just saying that because I’m asexual?’

‘No!’ Tegan said, as Nyssa giggled. ‘It’s important to know this stuff! Although… I did want to make sure.’

‘Make sure of what?’

Tegan’s face burned.

‘Well… we’ve been going at it like rabbits lately, and I was a little concerned that you were just doing it for my sake.’

Nyssa stared at her, mouth hanging open.

‘I… I hope that you’re enjoying it too,’ Tegan said. ‘And, from what they were saying, ace people can engage with and enjoy that stuff, so that’s… awesome. I mean, I want you to be having as much of a good time as I am.’

There was a pause, before Nyssa chuckled.

‘How long were you fretting about this?’

‘Er… well, the night that you told me you were ace was also our first together so…’

Nyssa giggled, and wrapped an arm around Tegan’s shoulders, pecking the flustered Australian on the cheek.

‘Oh, Tegan; why didn’t you say anything?’

‘And how was I supposed to broach that subject? “Hey, Nys; do you enjoy me sitting on your face or what?”’

Nyssa spluttered with laughter.

‘Well, in answer to your question, yes. Very much so, yes.’

Tegan blushed further, grinning happily as Nyssa intertwined their fingers.

*

Nyssa and Tegan rose early on the Monday morning. Tegan had stayed over at Nyssa’s place, and -rather unusually- had brought an overnight bag this time.

‘I thought pyjamas might be a nice idea,’ the Australian said, as she brushed her hair. ‘Your room hasn’t got a lock; I don’t want Mel walking in and accidentally seeing me half-dressed.’

‘Good thing this place has two rooms,’ Nyssa said, who was stood next to her and brushing her own hair. ‘Otherwise we’d be staying over at yours all the time.’

‘You say that like it’s a bad idea.’

‘It isn’t. But I’d never get any wear out of my nightdresses.’

‘Good point,’ Tegan said, casting an eye up and down Nyssa’s eighteenth-century style nightie. ‘You really do suit those, love.’

Nyssa blushed, and pressed a kiss to the Australian’s cheek.

‘Thank you. Although I’m glad I don’t have to keep doing up the front around you now.’

Tegan grinned, raising an eyebrow.

‘We have the opposite problem now, don’t we?’

With a laugh, Nyssa nudged her shoulder against Tegan’s.

‘By the way,’ Tegan said, as a sudden thought occurred to her. ‘Has your dad sorted out when he’s coming down?’

‘Probably sometime mid-morning on the Saturday. Around eleven-ish, I think. Kassia arranged for them to take the late night train on the Friday.’

‘Kassia… your step-mum, right?’

Nyssa shrugged.

‘She only became my dad’s partner when I was in my late teens, so “step-mum” is a little… redundant. I was already mostly independent by that point.’

‘Is she alright?’

Nyssa smiled.

‘Yes. She makes him happy, so she’s fine by me.’

The two smiled at each other, and continued in silence for a few moments.

‘Hang on,’ Tegan said, a grin forming on her face. ‘You said… eleven-ish.’

Nyssa stared at her.

‘So?’

Tegan’s grin grew larger.

‘Someone’s going native.’

Nyssa giggled.

‘Oh, stop it; it’s only a word.’

‘We just need to get you a Cornish Pasty for lunch and you’d basically be a Cornishwoman!’

Nyssa chuckled, and pressed a kiss to Tegan’s cheek.

‘C’mon; let’s get breakfast. We both need to get to work.’

*

That evening, Tegan invited Nyssa over to her place, and the two women had first eaten dinner together, before watching an old film. “Brief Encounter” was something Nyssa had enjoyed watching as a child; something about the gentle heartbreak of lovers unable to be together had struck her.

Maybe she should have realised back then that she wasn’t heterosexual.

Once the film had finished, Tegan had turned to Nyssa.

‘So… “Professor Mysterious”?’

‘You want to watch it?’

‘Well, you like it so…’

Nyssa giggled, and pressed a kiss to the Australian’s cheek.

A couple of hours later, they were watching one of Nyssa’s favourite serials from the classic era of the programme. From the early eighties, to be specific. The Fifth Professor had always been one of her favourites. Unfortunately, this particular serial was also the final appearance of one of the characters.

Tegan promptly pointed at said-character.

‘Nys, why is she wearing lingerie?’

‘No idea,’ the dentist replied, with a shrug. ‘Pretty sure the actor still doesn’t know. Although, knowing the showrunner, it was probably one of those “for the dad” costumes.’

‘I dunno…’ Tegan said, offhandedly. ‘I think she looks rather lovely.’

‘Tegan!’

‘Oh, so you can fancy Felecity Kendal but I can’t admire this lady?’

‘Not when you’re got your hand on my thigh.’

Tegan didn’t reply, choosing instead to continue watching the episode in an attempt at dignified silence. However, as Tegan and Nyssa watched the two women on screen hug -both characters breaking down into tears- the Australian’s mouth fell open.

‘Wait,’ Tegan said, very softly. ‘So these two friends of the professor are gay for each other, right?’

‘The eighties were a different time,’ Nyssa replied. ‘But… yes. They definitely are.’

‘Knew it! Good grief, the subtext is off the bloody chart!’

‘Given that more recent showrunners have made them a canon couple, I don’t think we’re the only ones who noticed.’

‘Great!’ Tegan exclaimed. ‘Wow; I never realised how queer-friendly this show is.’

‘You’d be surprised,’ Nyssa chuckled. ‘The Thirteenth Professor even had a sapphic romance recently.’

‘Let me guess; did it have a tragic ending?’

‘Depends on your definition of tragic. Neither of them died, but it would have been nice to have seen an on-screen kiss.’

‘Probably the Beeb interfering,’ Tegan muttered. ‘Didn’t they bring back the Tenth Professor recently? Now, that guy got snogged by everyone...’

After finishing the serial, the two of them headed upstairs and got changed.

They had intended to share a bath. Unfortunately, Tegan’s free-standing model was not as big as they had hoped. Eventually, after a lot of water had been splashed onto the floor tiles (and both women had tried in vain to fit in comfortably together), they had ended up deciding to have separate baths.

Nyssa had gone first. While she would have preferred sharing, bathing whilst Tegan watched her appreciatively was rather wonderful. The Australian happily perched herself on the edge of the bath, wearing a robe and a positively glowing smile.

Tegan stroked a finger down Nyssa’s leg. The dentist gave a giggle.

‘Enjoying yourself?’

‘Very,’ Tegan replied. ‘Not sure why you needed to use so much bubble-bath, though.’

‘I have to leave something to your imagination,’ Nyssa said, with a giggle. ‘Besides, I like a pamper on occasion.’

Tegan smiled, softly.

‘You’re not getting cold?’

‘No, but now you mention it… could you pass me a towel?’

Tegan nodded. Nyssa stood up in her water, and took the proffered towel, drying herself off as best she could before climbing out of the bath.

‘I can feel you staring,’ she said, as she wrapped her head in the towel.

‘Stop the presses,’ Tegan cheeked, before walking over and giving Nyssa a squeeze around the middle. ‘I’ll just hop in now; you go and get comfy in the bedroom.’

Nyssa smiled as the Australian disrobed, and took the opportunity to give Tegan’s rear end a soft squeeze, causing the older woman to give a heady laugh. Nyssa watched her settle into the bubbles for a moment, before leaning over and pressing a kiss to Tegan’s forehead.

‘Would you like me to make us some cocoa?’

‘You’re an angel but no thanks,’ Tegan said, smiling. ‘Besides… I don’t want to ruin my appetite for-’

‘Tegan!’

‘Oh, do you not want to this evening?’

‘That’s not what I meant.’

Tegan grinned, leaning over to rest her arms on the side, placing her head on her upturned palms.

‘Course it isn’t.’

Nyssa bit her lip to stop herself giggling. She settled for a kiss to Tegan’s lips, and headed out of the bathroom.

In the bedroom, Nyssa dried her hair off as best she could, and slipped into her nightdress. She could hear the sound of Tegan humming in the bath in the next room. The dentist amused herself for a moment as she listened, before giggling.

She was going soppy.

With a roll of her eyes, she turned to survey herself in the mirror nearby.

Once again, she found herself unsure as to whether she looked… attractive? She could tell that she was probably (on-balance) rather cute in her nightie, especially with her hair loose. But as to anything else, she was utterly at sea. What did people do in these situations? Read a book? Check their social media?

Maybe she ought to focus on looking inviting to Tegan for when the Australian had finished her soak. Yes, that would be a nice idea.

Nyssa lay down on the bed, awkwardly perching her head up on her elbow. She gave a quick kick of her leg, so that her nightdress hung nicely off. She had remembered not to do up the front, meaning that the material drooped softly off her shoulder. And some other places too. She arranged it all just so, hoping that with a bit of luck, Tegan would get a nice eyeful.

At least, that’s what she thought might be good. She had never really done this sort of thing before. It wasn’t as if she could wear a corset to bed, after all. But she knew that Tegan liked her nightdresses. And, while Nyssa had been tipsy, Tegan had gotten flustered when she’d had to do up the front of the garment.

Did this position help the nightdress hug her curves? Maybe she should sit on the edge of the bed instead? That way her hair would dangle nicely over her shoulder. But she didn’t know if she could keep leaning in that position for very long. Oh, this was all so complicated. Who would have thought there would be so much preparation for a night in and hopefully a good-

‘Nyssa, what are you doing?’

The dentist froze.

Tegan was stood in the doorway, wearing a robe and a knowing look. How long had Nyssa been fretting over this? She could have sworn it had only been a few moments since she’d put her nightdress on.

‘N-nothing,’ Nyssa said, plastering on a smile. She awkwardly hoisted herself along the bed, so that she was lying (elevated on her elbow) near the pillows.

‘Really?’ Tegan replied, as she crossed the room and nestled herself down beside Nyssa on the bed. ‘Looked more like you were overthinking things again.’

Nyssa felt her face burn.

‘I… am I really that obvious?’

‘Yes, and it’s adorable,’ Tegan replied, pressing a kiss to Nyssa’s lips. ‘But, love, you really don’t need to. Just you being here is wonderful; you don’t need to worry about how you look when I enter a room.’

‘I… I want this to be special.’

‘It is,’ Tegan said, very softly. ‘Nyssa, it is. So please stop worrying that I’m gonna lose interest if you don’t look gorgeous at all possible times. Which is ridiculous, because -to me- you are gorgeous all the time anyway.’

‘You… you mean it?’

‘Nys, you could be wearing an old potato sack and I’d still be besotted with you.’

Nyssa giggled, and kissed the Australian on the lips.

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Point taken. Did you have a nice bath?’

‘Would have nicer if you’d been sat near. I got to see you soak, after all.’

‘I would have ended up in the bath with you, knowing what we’re like,’ Nyssa said, placing a hand on Tegan’s side. ‘And we already had to clean enough water off the floor.’

‘True,’ Tegan giggled. ‘Still, the sight of you in my bath was pretty great, not gonna lie.’

‘Happy to help. Er… Tegan?’

‘Hm?’

‘Er…’ -Nyssa’s cheeks flushed- ‘Can… can you wear your wetsuit?’

Tegan stared at her. The dentist’s hand was now gently stroking up and down Tegan’s thigh.

‘What? Why? Did you want to go surfing? It’s half-nine at night-’

‘No, I-I mean,’ Nyssa said, with a giggle. ‘Can you wear it… for fun, as it were?’

Tegan grinned.

‘You got a thing about seeing me in a wetsuit, Nys?’

‘Well, it is what you were wearing when we first met. And… well, I suppose I’ve developed an appreciation for seeing you wear it.’

‘Oh, really?’

‘Tegan, the other day you were practically drooling over me in a corset; is a wetsuit really so shocking?’

Tegan grinned.

‘Fair point. Although my liking for the corset was helped by it giving me a lovely view of your gorgeous cleav-’

‘Tegan! Wetsuit, hurry!’

Laughing, the Australian bounded off the bed, and charged downstairs. She grabbed her wetsuit from the hobby room, dumped her robe on the floor and-

Realised she could hardly put on the bloody thing without any knickers. That would just be unhygienic.

Thinking fast, Tegan wrapped the robe around her torso and inbetween her legs. She then zipped up the wetsuit, and scrambled up the stairs. Grinning excitedly, she charged back to the bedroom.

Nyssa’s eyes sparkled as she sit up on the bed to stare at the Australian. She giggled, and patted the space on the bed next to her.

Barely a few second later, the two women had their arms wrapped around each other. Tegan’s fingers were cupping Nyssa’s thigh through her nightdress, and Nyssa’s hands were already working feverishly at the wetsuits back zipper.

‘Geez, Nys,’ Tegan chuckled, against the dentist’s lips. ‘You sure weren’t kidding about liking this, were you-’

‘Shut up and keep kissing me.’

So Tegan did. Amongst other things.

*

~Guess who I just met on the bus back from Plymouth?

~Who is it THIS time, Jo?

~Benton, you’re no fun; it was Nyssa’s father!

~Oh, has he come for a visit?

~Yes! Him and his wife are in the West-Country on holiday, and he’s coming to see Nyssa while they’re in the region!

~How are they both?

~Tired but otherwise in good spirits. Oh, I hope he likes Tegan; that would be awful if he didn’t approve.

~Jo…

~What?

~Did you tell him about them? You KNOW that’s up for Nyssa to say!

~I didn’t say they were together! I’ll leave that reveal to the couple themselves!

~The couple that we don’t actually know if they’re couple or not?

~Oh, they’re in love; we all know it! And now Mr Traken will know too. I mean, I HAD to tell him that, at the very least. Otherwise he’ll be all shocked like we were at first.

~JO!

~Jo, that wasn’t something you needed to tell him.

~Agreed. Jo, we don’t even know if they ARE in love.

~You lot are no fun :(

~I’m telling Barbara.

~BENTON, YOU MEANIE!

*

‘Nyssa!’

The dentist was pulled into a hug from her father. He still smelled of tea and old books. Kassia was stood a little back, smiling as she watched them hug.

It was the Saturday, and Nyssa had gone to meet her father and step-mother at the bus stop. The weather was still as lovely as ever, although it had been threatening rain the previous evening. Nyssa had chosen to wear a light blouse and one of her favourite hand-made long burgundy skirts. Tegan had chosen a blue button-down shirt and a pair of chino shorts.

‘Hello, Nyssa,’ Kassia said, as she gave the dentist a hug too. ‘Lovely to see you again.’

‘Lovely to see you too,’ Nyssa replied, smiling. ‘Did you have a pleasant journey down?’

‘More or less,’ Kassia chuckled. ‘But this old socialist kept going on about collective bargaining-’

‘The rail strikes are important, love,’ Tremas said, without a shred of embarrassment. ‘It’s great to see so many people standing up to the fat cats in charge...’

Of course, Nyssa and Tegan had begun speaking in fluent Welsh as they walked through Tregonnereth. Kassia brought up the rear, chuckling to herself as the father and daughter engaged in their normal conversation topics; trade unions, independent music, hand-crafted clothing (Tremas knitted most of his own jumpers and socks), and the family back in Wales.

Nyssa pushed open her front door.

‘Croeso, tad,’ she said, waving Tremas into the house. ‘Croeso, Kassia.’

‘Diolch cariad bach fi,’ Tremas replied, grinning as he placed his suitcase on the ground. ‘Ty pert, eh?’

Nyssa smiled.

‘Nyssa, is that you?’ Tegan’s voice called from the kitchen.

Nyssa felt her stomach squirm with nerves as footsteps approached the hallway.

‘Pwy yw hwnna?’ Tremas asked, eyebrow raised slightly. ‘Nyssa… dy gariad?’

‘Tad!’ Nyssa exclaimed, face burning. ‘Stopiwch! Er…ti'n gweld…’

Tegan finally arrived in the hallway. Her face was the picture of confusion, and she was staring between Nyssa and Tremas with apparent bewilderment.

‘Er… Nyssa?’

‘Oh, sorry,’ Nyssa said, quickly. ‘I forgot you don’t speak Welsh. Dad; this is Tegan.’

Tremas’s eyes widened in recognition.

‘Ah, yes,’ he said, slowly as he looked at Tegan. ‘Mel mentioned you a few times.’

‘You’ve been talking about me with Mel?’ Nyssa exclaimed. ‘Since when?’

‘Nyssa, you moved halfway across the UK and Mel was the only person that I knew who knew where you were,’ Tremas replied. ‘Forgive me for reaching out to make sure you were alright. Anyway… Tegan, eh?’

‘That’s me,’ Tegan said, with a nervy smile.

Tremas looked between the Australian and his daughter.

‘Your partner, yes?’

Tegan and Nyssa’s eyes met, as if in slow motion. Nyssa’s stomach suddenly exploded into nerves again. They hadn’t really discussed it. They had been… an item since that fateful evening two weeks prior, but they hadn’t really put a label on things yet. Nyssa suspected that Tegan was just as nervous about the whole thing as she was; worried that putting a term on this new aspect of their relationship would make things more complicated and even more fragile.

But… Tegan’s smile crinkled slightly at the edges, and Nyssa took that as a positive.

‘Yes,’ she said, softly. ‘She’s my partner.’

Tegan’s cheeks flushed as she smiled, and Nyssa felt herself unable to contain her own smile.

‘Nice to meet you,’ Tremas said, shaking Tegan’s hand. ‘I take it you’re going to make an honest woman out of my daughter-’

‘Dad!’ Nyssa exclaimed, feeling her face burn.

Tremas laughed.

‘I’m just messing,’ he chuckled, his beard quivering with mirth. ‘How about giving us a tour of the town, eh?’

Nyssa slipped her hand into that of her partner (her partner!) and the two women nodded.

*

Of course, Tremas had to start talking about collective bargaining during their meal in the cafe.

‘Er… United Voices Of The World,’ Tegan said, answering Tremas’s question to her.

Nyssa stared at her.

‘Tegan, you never mentioned this before. You’re a union member?’

‘Course,’ Tegan said, with a shrug. ‘Gotta be, nowadays.’

Tremas smiled in approval.

‘Union man, I take it?’ Tegan asked, cheerfully.

‘And proud,’ Tremas replied. ‘Always have been.’

Tegan grinned.

‘Now I see why Nyssa was so determined to help us out in Tregonnereth,’ the Australian said. ‘You’ve raised her well.’

Nyssa found herself blushing at the praise.

‘I like to think so,’ Tremas said.

‘You did a wonderful job,’ Kassia agreed, patting her husband gently on the arm. ‘He’s ever so proud of you, Nyssa; always mentioning you starting up your own practice so a community could keep their local surgery.’

Nyssa smiled at her dad.

‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘Tregonnereth is such a lovely place.’

‘It’s lovely cause Nyssa’s here,’ Tegan said, smiling at the dentist and putting her arm around her shoulders. ‘The sun didn’t turn up until she did.’

Nyssa laughed, feeling her cheeks flush. Tegan squeezed her gently.

Tremas smiled quietly to himself.

‘I know you two haven’t been a couple for very long,’ Tremas said, amicably. ‘But -the way you both look at each other- it’s difficult to tell.’

Tegan and Nyssa smiled.

‘As for Tregonnereth… yes, I thought I recognised it,’ Tremas said, softly as he stared out over the harbour and the beach. ‘We were on holiday here, weren’t we? Before your mother got sick.’

Nyssa sighed, suddenly looking less cheerful. Tegan’s eyes flicked between the dentist and the old Welshman. Without thinking, she intertwined her fingers with Nyssa’s, giving her hand a soft squeeze.

‘Yes,’ Nyssa said, quietly. ‘That’s… that’s how I ended up here, really. I needed space and I thought… well, it was the last time we were happy before mum got diagnosed.’

Tegan was startled to see tears beginning to form in the dentists eyes.

‘S-sorry,’ Nyssa said, letting go of Tegan’s hand and standing up. ‘I’ll be back in a moment. Please continue eating…’

She hurried away, letting herself of the front door of the cafe.

Without thinking, Tegan stood up and hurried after her. She could hear the sounds of Kassia slapping Tremas irritably on the arm as she left.

Nyssa was drying her eyes as she sat on a seat outside.

Tegan sat down beside her.

‘Er…Nys?’

‘I’m s-sorry, Tegan,’ Nyssa said, reaching over and squeezing her hand. Her eyes had gone a little red from crying. ‘I… I didn’t want to bring it up, considering how things are between you and your parents.’

‘Hey, it’s okay,’ the Australian replied, putting her other hand over Nyssa’s and squeezing gently. ‘I… I never realised that was your reason for coming here in the first place.’

Nyssa smiled, sadly.

‘Mum… got diagnosed with cancer that winter,’ she explained. ‘This was before survival rates got better. Hers was terminal, so we couldn’t go on holiday after that.’

Tegan blinked quickly, feeling tears springing to her eyes. She didn’t say anything. What could she say?

‘She… passed away about a year later,’ Nyssa said, quietly. ‘She was in hospice care for the last month of it.’

Tegan wiped her eyes.

‘God, Nys,’ she said, feeling a lump in her throat. ‘I’m… I’m sorry if I made you feel like you couldn’t tell me.’

Nyssa shrugged.

‘You didn’t make me,’ she said. ‘It’s just… well, I was a child at the time. I’ve had twenty-odd years since it all happened. But, here in Tregonnereth, it was where we all happy last. So… I suppose I was worried you’d think I was being morbid.’

‘M-morbid?’ Tegan exclaimed, reaching over and squeezing Nyssa’s arm softly. ‘Nyssa, that’s not morbid; you wanted to be reminded of that happy memory. Don’t… don’t ever think of it like that, ‘kay?’

Her eyes sprinkling with tears, Nyssa leaned over and pressed a kiss to Tegan’s cheek.

‘Thank you, Tegan,’ she said, softly. ‘Truly.’

*

‘Sorry, love,’ Tremas said, a few minutes later. He had sat down on Nyssa’s other side. ‘I didn’t mean to-’

‘It’s fine, dad,’ Nyssa said. ‘I think I’ll check with Kassia about your train times; you don’t want to miss the bus to the nearest station.’

With a small smile, Nyssa got up and walked back inside the café.

Tremas sighed.

‘I buggered that up,’ he said, mostly to himself. ‘Couldn’t keep my mouth shut.’

Tegan didn’t say anything; she didn’t even know if she should head back inside.

Tremas turned to her.

‘You care about my daughter a lot,’ Tremas said. It was a statement of fact, and Tegan nodded.

‘Nyssa’s got a good heart,’ Tegan said, softly. ‘She opened up her practice here because she found out we didn’t have one. She’s… she’s the loveliest person I’ve ever met. Too good for this world.’

Tremas smiled.

‘I was always worried,’ he said, quietly. ‘When she was growing up. She didn’t make friends very easily, and she was always the kid without a mum. Back then, she used to have more of a Welsh accent, so she stuck out even more in the south of England.

But… here, she seems happy. Like she’s found her place in the world, with people who care about her. Thank you.’

‘I-it wasn’t just me,’ Tegan said, feeling very awkward. ‘There’s Barbara, and Mel, and Jo, and Benton, and Liz, and-’

‘But you were the one who convinced her to stay,’ Tremas finished, and patting Tegan gently on the arm. ‘You have my thanks.’

Tegan blinked quickly, not sure quite how to respond to that. Tremas stood up and headed back inside, and Tegan followed a few moments later.

*

Nyssa and Tegan collected Tremas and Kassia’s suitcases from Nyssa’s house, and then met them at the bus stop. They had chatted some more about where the older couple were planning on visiting around Penzance, and then the bus had arrived.

‘You sure you don’t want to stay for the rest of the Pride events? Apparently, Mike Yates is doing a drag show.’

‘Normally, I’d love to,’ Tremas said. ‘But we already booked our train tickets down to Penzance.’

Nyssa gave her parents a hug.

‘Thank you both for stopping by,’ she said, grinning. ‘If you want to pop in on your way back up-country, just let me know.’

‘We may just take you up on that offer.’ Kassia chuckled.

‘Yes,’ Tremas said, smiling at his daughter. ‘You’ve built a good home here.’

Tegan squeezed Nyssa’s hand, and the two watched as Tremas and Kassia climbed onto the bus with their cases. Barely a minute later, there was a few final waves and the bus was gone.

‘Your parents seem cool.’

‘Yes,’ Nyssa said, softly. ‘I suppose they are.’

*

‘Oh, your dad mentioned you used to have a thicker Welsh accent.’

Tegan and Nyssa had decided to wander back into the centre of Tregonnereth, over to where the main Pride parade would be starting from. En-route, they had stopped at Nyssa’s place, to grab their respective flags, get changed, and apply some rainbow-themed glittery make-up.

‘Did he?’ Nyssa replied, putting long streaks of rainbow colours on her cheeks, careful not to let any drop down onto her blouse. ‘Yes, it used to be more pronounced when I was a child. I think living for so long in London dampened it a little; I was surrounded by English people for a long time. You probably noticed that my accent sometimes comes out when I’m feeling strong emotions.’

Tegan grinned, wrapping an arm around her partner. Nyssa enjoyed the feeling of Tegan’s denim shorts against her own cargo pair.

‘Is that why you gasp “Ie!” when you’re almost at the point of-’

‘Tegan!’

Tegan chuckled again, before yawning, stretching her arms up above her head, muscles straining as she did so. Her purple crop-top rose up, showing off her stomach and giving a hint of the tan-lines that were already developing from the summer sun. Nyssa could even see the line from where her sports bra normally sat.

Nyssa felt her face burn and looked away, her brain suddenly full of various choice Welsh words.

*

The Pride events (including the parade itself, the various drag shows, and a ton of different local comedians and guest singers) had gone along pretty swimmingly. With one notable exception.

Mike Yates had somehow managed to knock himself unconscious. As a result, Benton -ever the practical sort of person- had quickly stepped in as the main master-of-ceremonies for the Pride events, although he had insisted that Mel deputise for Ace for the security duties.

Nyssa had to admit, the image of Benton dressed in full drag (complete with enormous high heels, huge eyelashes, and a bouffant wig) wasn’t something she had been expecting. But the man seemed to be enjoying himself nonetheless, especially with his ace and aro pins attached to the front of the green dress he was wearing.

‘How’s Mike doing?’ Tegan asked, as Barbara came to stand beside her and Nyssa.

‘He’s coming around a little,’ the teacher replied. ‘Jo’s sitting with him, along with the professor from her teaching course.’

‘The one with the frilly shirt and curly white hair?’

‘The very same.’

‘And the results of our poll have arrived!’ Benton declared, as Liz handed him an envelope.

‘Poll?’ Barbara said, turning to Nyssa in confusion. ‘What poll was this?’

‘The winners,’ Benton declared. ‘Of “Tregonnereth resident heart-throb” are… Ian and Barbara!’

Barbara’s mouth dropped open, and her face turned red.

‘What?’ she exclaimed, as her and Ian were gently pushed towards the stage. ‘When…’

‘By a large majority,’ Benton continued, reading from the results. ‘At least 94% of those polled confirmed that they had fancied Barbara and/or Ian at least once!’

Barbara, still blushing scarlet, was duly handed a large bouquet of flowers, and a sash was dropped over her shoulder (Ian, grinning adoringly at his flustered wife, was given a matching sash). Nyssa smiled as she clapped along with everyone else. Ryan’s friend Yaz was stood nearby, arm linked around a blonde woman that was presumably her partner.

‘You didn’t fancy Barbara, did you?’ Tegan said in an aside to Nyssa, as the still-flustered Barbara began to stammer a thank-you speech into the microphone that Benton had just handed her.

‘No,’ Nyssa said. ‘She’s almost like… well, she’s very motherly, isn’t she.’

‘For some people, that’s not a turn-off.’

Nyssa slapped Tegan playfully on the arm, as the two women laughed.

*

Midway through the afternoon, Benton had called for Tegan and Nyssa’s help with something backstage, and the two women had entered the area behind the main stage. A young girl -wearing a leg brace- was sat dejectedly on a chair.

‘Hey,’ Tegan said, bending down next to the girl. ‘Susan, what’s wrong?’

The girl couldn’t have been more than thirteen years old, and had a distinctly miserable expression on her face.

‘I broke my leg yesterday,’ she said. ‘And now I can’t do my performance. I promised grandfather I would.’

‘Your grandfather is the man I drove up to London the other week, isn’t he?’ Nyssa said, recognising the facial similarity. ‘You’re Susan Foreman, aren’t you.’

‘Yes, Ms Traken,’ said Susan. ‘He really appreciated that, but he’s not the best with… people, generally.’

Nyssa nodded.

‘How about this?’ she said, kneeling down on Susan’s other side. ‘I can do some dancing while you sing your song?’

‘Me too,’ Tegan said, with a grin. ‘C’mon, Susan; what do you say?’

The girl smiled.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘That would be wonderful.

About half an hour later, Nyssa had placed a foldable chair onto the stage while Tegan helped Susan limp over. The two women helped the girl into the chair, and Benton handed her the microphone with a friendly smile.

Nyssa smiled, as she got into position a few feet away from Susan, with Tegan a few feet away on the girl’s other side. She had done a bit of dancing in her time. Knowing what teenagers listened to nowadays, she imagined it would be a sweet love song with some nice piano in the background.

The speakers began to play a beat. It was surprisingly fast, Nyssa noticed. Maybe Susan had chosen a quicker tempo song-

“Oppa Gangnam Style…”

There was a large laugh from several of the audience members. Nyssa and Tegan slowly turned their heads towards each other. Surely…. surely this wasn’t what Susan wanted them to dance to, was it?

It was.

As Susan began the first verse, Tegan was already chuckling to herself. Nyssa plastered a smile on her face, feeling her cheeks burn as she started the horse jockey dancing.

*

‘What is she doing?’ Mel asked, squinting her eyes in confusion.

‘No idea,’ Ace chuckled. ‘Tegan seems to be enjoying the performance, though.’

Nyssa was now miming the shooting of a gun, and Tegan was moving her head back and forwards in time with the music.

‘Oh, such a silly pair,’ Mel giggled. It was rather adorable, seeing the two women like this together.

‘Agreed,’ Ace said, before resting her head on Mel’s shoulder.

The redhead felt her cheeks flush, and (unsuccessfully) tried to bite back the goofy smile that threatened to spread across her lips.

*

‘Urgh,’ Nyssa said, putting her head in her hands. The two of them had just helped Susan off the stage, where her grandfather had arrived to give her a big hug. Tegan had then quickly pulled her partner away and into the backstage area. ‘There goes my good reputation.’

‘Nys, you were amazing,’ Tegan said, wrapping an arm around the dentist and pressing a kiss to her cheek. ‘I thought you danced like a pro.’

‘You’re biased, that’s why.’

Tegan chuckled, and gave her another kiss. From the stage, they could hear Benton beginning to sing an eighties pop song.

Looking from a window above, it's like a story of love… can you hear me…

‘Well, we’re partners, aren’t we,’ Tegan said, cheeks flushing a little. ‘Ride or die, right?’

All I needed was the love you gave… all I needed for another day… and all I ever knew… only you…

Nyssa smiled, unable to contain the flush that spread over her own face.

‘Exactly, my darling.’

*

‘One mint choc chip,’ Ace said, handing the cone over.

‘Ta,’ Mel replied, smiling. The two of them were sat on the top of a hill overlooking the town. Ace had suggested that the redhead accompany her to help set off the fireworks, and Mel had readily agreed. ‘I still can’t believe you got permission to release fireworks.’

‘I thought it best to ask permission,’ Ace said. ‘Er… last time, people with pets weren’t very impressed.’

‘Definitely not,’ Mel giggled.

The two sat in silence for a while, eating.

‘I am glad I moved here,’ Mel said, softly, after she had finished her ice cream. ‘It’s… oh, it’s like another world here.’

‘Yeah; badly paid jobs and almost no local services.’

‘Er… well, yes,’ Mel said. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t’ve-’

‘Nah, I should have just kept my mouth shut,’ Ace said. ‘Sorry, Mel; I… I ruined that, didn’t I.’

‘No!’ Mel said. She leaned forward and wrapped her hand around Ace’s. ‘Ace, you couldn’t ruin anything. You’re… you’re wonderful!’

Ace’s face burned, and she gave a shy smile.

‘You… you really think so?’

‘Definitely,’ Mel said, looking towards the sea and gesturing with her arm. ‘I mean, you chose this location to set off the fireworks from, and… well, it’s a beautiful view!’

‘Yeah, it is.’

Mel turned. Ace was staring directly at her.

The redhead blushed.

‘Ace, if you keep saying things like that, I’m going to-’

Ace leaned forward, and pressed her lips to Mel’s. The redhead gave a happy moan, and returned the kiss in kind, gently cupping Ace’s face as she did so. It was… indescribably sweet, and not just because of the lingering taste of ice cream.

‘That…’ Mel said, as she eventually pulled away. ‘…was definitely worth the wait.’

‘Hopefully, there won’t be too much waiting from now on?’

‘Well…’ Mel said, feigning uncertainty. ‘I suppose we could… maybe go back to yours? For… a coffee?’

Ace smiled, and intertwined their fingers.

‘That sounds absolutely wicked, Mel.’

*

Eventually, the Pride celebrations finished. Mike Yates (still looking pale) had been awkwardly helped onto the stage to give the final thank-you speech, and everyone had cheered. At some point, Tegan and Nyssa had lost track of where Mel and Ace were, but they had been reliably informed by Barbara that Mel had gone with Ace to help get the evening fireworks spectacular set up.

‘Oh, that’ll be fun,’ Tegan said, as the two women sat down on the beach. ‘Ace loves her fireworks.’

‘And Mel loves Ace.’

‘That’s a given, not to mention vice versa.’

Nyssa giggled, resting her head on Tegan’s shoulder. The Australian gave a sniff.

‘Is that… the smell of steak and onion? Nys, did you have a Cornish Pasty finally?’

‘Yes, alright!’ Nyssa said, with a roll of her eyes. ‘I know I should have had one weeks ago, but I never got around to it. A certain dashing Australian has been distracting me.’

Tegan grinned, and squeezed Nyssa around the middle.

‘I should bloody hope so, love.’

Nyssa chuckled happily.

‘How about that cake?’

Tegan nodded, and reached into her bag, pulling out two slices of rainbow cake wrapped in kitchen roll.

‘Bit sugary, isn’t it?’

‘Nys, it’s cake; what did you expect?’

The women giggled, and began eating. Nyssa had to admit, a bit of sugar was nice on occasion. She would have to brush her teeth more firmly later on, but she found it difficult to care much. Lately, she found it difficult to worry about a lot. Something about Tregonnereth made her heart-rate slow to a calmer rhythm.

Or maybe it was just the wonderful woman sat next to her. As Nyssa stared at her, she found herself unable to comprehend just how much happiness she currently felt. Happiness, peace of mind, and a deep sense of calm. Yes, that was how Tegan made her feel. Like she would happily spend the rest of her life with this woman, and would know that -despite anything the world could throw at them both- they’d be happy. Oh, so happy.

Without thinking, Nyssa leaned in and pressed a kiss to Tegan’s cheek.

‘Oh, I do love you, Tegan.’

There was a very long pause. The two women stared at each other, as the effect of Nyssa’s words sunk in. A chunk of cake fell out of Tegan’s mouth into the kitchen roll.

‘You… you do?’

Tegan’s mouth had now stretched into a wide smile, as if she could scarcely believe it.

‘Yes,’ Nyssa said, softy. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have sprung that on you like this. You don’t have to say it back; I know it’s early-’

‘I love you too, Nyssa,’ said Tegan, eyes sparkling. ‘God, I bloody do.’

Nyssa smiled, and rubbed her fingers softly along Tegan’s cheek.

‘Happy Pride, Nyssa.’

‘Happy Pride, Tegan.’

Their lips met.

BANG!

Nyssa and Tegan sprung apart, Nyssa’s arms reaching round her partner protectively as they both startled where they were sat. Above, in the night sky, was the opening salvo of the evening’s fireworks display.

*

Giggling, Mel kissed Ace on the lips again, and Ace quickly unlocked her front door. Mel’s red hair was already decidedly unruly, and Ace’s neckline bore several marks of lipstick. Of course, neither of them minded especially much at that given moment.

Suddenly, from down at the beach, there was a loud cry that echoed up the high-street.

‘ACE MCSHANE! YOU AND YOUR BLOODY FIREWORKS!’

Still giggling, Mel grabbed Ace by the hand and pulled her through the door, which swung closed behind them.

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

Thanks for reading, everyone! Hope you enjoyed the penultimate chapter of the fic! We will return to Tregonnereth one last time for a soft epilogue with Nyssa and Tegan. 😊😊

[valiantsword]

FROM: @bokketo RE: ❛  i don’t usually just walk up to strangers but my friends set me up to it.  ❜ ( maya ) STATUS: accepting

new york was still taking some getting used to. then again, every time he was in the states all arthur felt like he did was readjust himself to the noise, tall buildings, and copius amount of vehicles. this was something of home now, though. sure quinjets could take him to and from cornwall so he could go to his house but that was entirely too flashy for his liking. so, studio in one of the busiest places in the world it was.

he was sitting about a block from the tower, right in front of one of the little coffee shops. even if he wasn't so close to the gaudy thing he'd probably be able to see it anywhere in the damn state. so, he stayed close just in case a call came in. or, in case he wanted to seek refuse behind the giant glass walls.

a cappuccino sits next to small plate with a half-eaten croissant. in front of both of those is a hard cover copy of something nat shoved in his hands. better than staying in his apartment and blasting music. well, maybe not. only time would tell.

and time produced unexpected yet beautiful company. logic reminded him it could be some kind of rouse. the world was more dangerous now. politics and mind games seemed to seep into every corner of his life. much like rogers, arthur didn't have the patience for it. so, he tended to only play when there was absolutely no other choice.

" well then, " a grin tugs one corner of his lips. the book, pastry, and coffee are all moved to give her half the table should she want to use it. " we should really sell it to them, shouldn't we? " the blonde extends a hand. " i'm arthur. "

[greatdragonorion]

A Short Excerpt of Sarah Cornwall on March 24th, 2024

13:52:33 – Sarah Cornwall walks into the Timetable Database and requests the book documenting her life. After showing her driver’s license and birth certificate, she is given a leather-bound book containing 998 pages weighing approximately 15.3 kilograms. 13:56:25 – Sarah Cornwall makes it to a table and drops the book. She lets out a sigh before sitting down in a chair. To confirm the book’s accuracy, she opens up the book to the first page detailing her birth on August 4th, 2002 at 15:43:26. This is done despite already knowing that the book is accurate. She finds it reassuring. She begins quickly flipping through the pages. 13:58:54 – Sarah Cornwall stops on page 303, approximately 3 years from the current date. She looks away from the book, closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath before gazing back down at the book. She is hesitant to read it but begins regardless. 14:00:02 – Sarah Cornwall reads the timestamp 14:23:22. It regards her broad smile the moment she was speaks the words: I do. She gives a slight smile at seeing this but that quickly fades. She reads it 6 more times before she begins to cry.

14:12:13 – Sarah Cornwall wipes her eyes further smudging her eye shadow. She then speaks the name of her current partner, Alex White, before softly asking herself why. She begins crying again. 14:14:43 – Sarah Cornwall ceases crying and takes a deep breath before flipping to page 267. She reads aloud the entirety of March 4th, 2024. She stops for a brief moment for each mention of Alex White. Upon reaching the timestamp 23:42:35, she stops entirely. 14:26:43 – Sarah Cornwall flips to page 269 and begins reading the entry for May 23rd, 2024. She stops upon reaching the timestamp 09:14:47. At this point, tears have once again filled her eyes. She lets out a short sob. 14:38:51 – Sarah Cornwall flips to page 278 and begins reading the entry for February 13th, 2025. This time she is much slower, each word coming out shaken. She stops at the timestamp 19:24:13. She asks herself why she stays. She asks herself what she did to deserve this. She begins crying again.

14:42:08 – Sarah Cornwall flips to pages 283, 286, 288, 294, 298, and 302. She does not read any of these pages, but simply stares at them.

14:45:59 – Sarah Cornwall flips back to page 303. She does not read it. She asks herself why after so much abuse does she stay. She asks herself why she doesn’t leave. She knows why because it is documented in the book. She slams the book shut.

14:47:03 – Sarah Cornwall thinks of the fights that will and have occurred. She knows of every insult and punch that will occur. She knows she will endure it. She knows that she will bounce back. She knows that it will happen. She cries once more knowing she cannot change it.

[imaginefinneganswake]

Sir Tristram, violer d'amores, fr'over the short sea, had passencore rearrived from North Armorica on this side the scraggy isthmus of Europe Minor to wielderfight his penisolate war:

Finnegan's Wake - James Joyce

ChatGPT explanation:

This passage is from the opening of Finnegans Wake, James Joyce's most complex and experimental work. As with much of Finnegans Wake, this sentence is packed with multiple layers of meaning, historical and mythological references, and linguistic play. Here’s how we can break it down for a group of university students:

Context in the Novel

Joyce begins Finnegans Wake with a dense, dream-like sentence that sets the tone for the entire book. The text is written in a highly experimental form, where language is malleable, meaning is fluid, and the boundaries between myth, history, and everyday life are blurred. The novel itself deals with cycles—historical, mythical, and personal—and this passage introduces many of these ideas.

1. Sir Tristram

"Sir Tristram" refers to the legendary figure of Tristan, one of the knights of the Round Table in Arthurian legend, best known for his tragic love affair with Iseult. By invoking Sir Tristram, Joyce is bringing myth into the narrative, which will be a recurring theme throughout Finnegans Wake. Tristan is associated with both love and war, making him an emblematic figure of human struggle and passion.

This mythological reference situates us in a world where historical and mythical characters coexist in a fluid, dreamlike narrative, reflecting Joyce’s interest in myth as a way to explore the cycles of history and human experience.

2. "violer d'amores"

This is one of Joyce's many portmanteau words (a blend of words with multiple meanings). "Violer" could be a reference to "viol," a stringed instrument, linking Sir Tristram to music, and "violer d'amores" can be interpreted as "violist of love" or "violator of love."

The phrase "d'amores" means "of love" in French, suggesting Tristan’s role as a lover. This wordplay emphasizes the duality of Tristram as both a lover and a fighter, a key figure who embodies the contradictions and struggles that will be played out through the novel.

3. "fr'over the short sea"

This phrase compresses "from over the short sea," referring to Tristram’s journey from Cornwall or Brittany (also known as Armorica) across the sea to Ireland. The "short sea" is likely the English Channel, placing Tristram in a historical and geographical context while also blending myth with real-world locations.

The use of "fr'over" instead of "from over" exemplifies Joyce's play with language, reducing and reshaping words to create new sounds and meanings.

4. "had passencore rearrived"

"Passencore" is a blend of "pass" and the French "encore," meaning "again"—so this can be understood as "had once again arrived." This highlights one of the key themes of Finnegans Wake: the cyclical nature of events, where things are constantly repeating and returning, echoing Giambattista Vico’s theory of history as a series of recurring cycles, which heavily influenced Joyce.

"Rearrived" further underscores this idea of recurrence, as Tristram (like many characters in the novel) is not simply arriving for the first time but constantly returning, much like the events of history.

5. "from North Armorica on this side the scraggy isthmus of Europe Minor"

"North Armorica" refers to Brittany in France, which is associated with the Arthurian legends. By mentioning this, Joyce connects the mythological with the geographical.

"Europe Minor" could be an imaginative reference to a more mythical or smaller version of Europe. Joyce often plays with geography in a metaphorical way. The "scraggy isthmus" refers to the idea of a narrow and rugged landform, but it could also symbolize a kind of barrier or transition in time and space, reflecting the passage of Tristram between mythological and historical worlds.

6. "to wielderfight his penisolate war"

"Wielderfight" combines "wield" (as in to wield a weapon) with "fight," reinforcing the image of Sir Tristram as a warrior engaged in battle. This duality of love and war—Tristram as both a violer d'amores and a wielder of arms—is central to his identity in both myth and in Joyce’s retelling.

"Penisolate" is one of Joyce's wordplays, blending "peninsula" (referring again to the geographical region of Brittany or Cornwall) and "isolate," suggesting loneliness or separation. The phrase could also be interpreted as containing a subtle reference to "penis," adding an element of sexual imagery, typical of Joyce’s work, which often mixes the bodily and the geographical.

The "penisolate war" could refer to Tristram’s personal conflicts in love and war, or more broadly, it could symbolize the idea of isolation in battle, both emotional and physical.

Key Themes Introduced in the Passage

Cycles of History and Myth: The repetition of phrases like "passencore" and "rearrived" suggests the idea of recurrence and eternal return, which is a core theme of the novel. Tristram is not just a figure of the past but part of a cycle that repeats throughout history.

Blurring of Myth, History, and Geography: Joyce mixes mythological characters with real historical and geographical details, suggesting that history and myth are intertwined, and that the boundaries between the two are fluid.

Language as a Tool of Play and Complexity: The language of this passage is highly playful, blending languages (English, French, Latin) and creating new words (like "penisolate"). Joyce uses language to create multiple meanings, making the text rich in allusion and ambiguity.

Duality of Love and War: The reference to Sir Tristram as both a lover ("violer d'amores") and a warrior ("wielderfight") sets up one of the central dualities of the novel: love and conflict, which recur throughout the narrative in various forms.

Discussion Points for University Students

How does Joyce’s use of mythological figures like Sir Tristram contribute to the theme of cyclical history in Finnegans Wake?

What is the effect of Joyce’s use of portmanteau words and multilingual puns in this passage? How does it change the reader’s experience of the text?

How does Joyce blend the personal (Tristram's love life and battles) with the universal (the recurring cycles of history) in this opening sentence?

What does this passage suggest about Joyce’s approach to narrative structure, time, and memory? How is this different from conventional storytelling?

Conclusion

This passage from Finnegans Wake introduces us to the novel’s highly experimental style, its themes of cyclical history, and its playful use of language. Joyce’s dense, layered prose challenges readers to see history, myth, and geography as intertwined in a fluid, dreamlike narrative where time and meaning constantly fold back on themselves.

[brookston]

Holidays 5.1

Holidays

Agriculture Day (Haiti)

Americanism Day (Pennsylvania)

Amtrak Day

Anxiety Disorders Screening Day

Armour Day (India)

Ayrton Senna Day

Batman Day

Chimney Sweeps Day

Couple Appreciation Day

CSS Reboot Day

Dipping Day

Doctor’s Day (Canada)

Empire State Building Day

EuroMayDay

Executive Coaching Day

501st Legion Day

First Responders Day (Ontario, Canada)

Frequent Flyer Day

Gambrinus’ Teufelstisch (Midnight Feast at the Devil’s Table; Germany)

Garland Dressing (UK)

Global Developmental Delay Awareness Day

Global Love Day

Go Fetch! National Food Drive For Animals

Gujarat/Maharashtra Day (India)

Half-O-Ween

Hobby Horse Parade (a.k.a. ‘Obby ‘Oss; Cornwall, UK)

International Day of the Podenco

International Doodle Dog Day

International Franconi Anemia Day

International Jockstrap Day

International Mesh Awareness Day

International Samoyed Day

International Sunflower Guerrilla Gardening Day

International Victims of Communism Day

International Workers’ Day

Iodized Salt Day

Kallemooi (The Netherlands)

Keep Kids Alive! Drive 25 Awareness Day

Keep Pounding Day

Kevadpuha (Spring Day; Estonia)

Labour Day (Mexico)

Lei Day (Hawaii)

Loyalty Day

Maharashtra Day (Gujarat, Maharashtra; India)

Marvin Gaye Day (Washington, D.C.)

Masonic Awareness Day

Mati-Syra-Zemlya Pregnancy Day (Mati-Syra-Zemlya, Slavic Goddess of the Earth)

May Day (see below)

Mici Day (Romania)

Mother Goose Day

Moving Day (Colonial New York City)

National Black Barber Shop Appreciation Day

National Blessing Day

National Bubba Day

National College Decision Day (a.k.a. College Signing Day)

National Dance Day

National Day to Prevent Teen Pregnancy

National Fitness Day

National Heatstroke Prevention Day

National High Potassium Awareness Day

National Infertility Survival Day

National Love Day (Prague, Czech Republic)

National Mantra Day

National Pole Dance Day (UK)

National Purebred Dog Day

National Show Your Smile Day

National Silver Star Banner Day

National Testing Coordinator’s Day

New Homeowner's Day

’Obby ‘Oss Parade (Padstow, Cornwall, England)

O’Donohugh’s Ghost Day (Ireland)

Pack Rag Day

Patient Empathy Day

Phone in Sick Day

Plant A Flower Day

Play of Saint Evermaar (Belgium)

Repentance Day (Scotland)

Riding of the Bounds (Berwick-upon-Tweed, England)

Rite of Vigyld (Elder Scrolls)

Sainfoin Day (French Republic)

Santacruzan (Philippine Girls' Festival)

Save the Rhino Day

School Principals’ Day

Silver Star Day

Skyscraper Day

Spring Astronomy Day [Saturday at or before 1st Qtr Moon]

Staffordshire Day (UK)

Stepmother’s Day

Take Out the Garbage Day

Tammany’s Day

Teacher’s Day (Jamaica)

Therapeutic Massage Awareness Day

Traditional Fertility Festival

Unity Day (Kazakhstan)

Walpurgis Night (Central & Northern Europe)

White Rabbit Day

World Lyme Day

World Naked Gardening Day

World Push-Up Day

Worthy Wage Day

Zuni Green Corn Dance

Food & Drink Celebrations

Bread Pudding Recipe Exchange Day

Cheerios Day

Chocolate Parfait Day

Exaltation of Ribeiro Wine (Spain)

Louisiana Breakfast Dressing Day

Mild Ale Day

National Kosher Food Day

National Rotate Your Beer Day

National Salad Day

World Sauternes Day

1st Wednesday in May

Book Buddy Day [1st Wednesday]

Great American Grump Out Day [1st Wednesday]

National Anxiety Disorders Screening Day [1st Wednesday]

National Day to Prevent Teen and Unplanned Pregnancy [1st Wednesday]

National Domestic Violence Remembrance Day (Australia) [1st Wednesday]

National Interpreter Appreciation Day [1st Wednesday]

National (Deaf) Interpreter Day [1st Wednesday]

National Skilled Trades Day [1st Wednesday]

National Travel Advisor Day [1st Wednesday]

Occupational Safety and Health Professionals Day [1st Wednesday]

Project Aces Day (All Children Exercise Simultaneously) [1st Wednesday]

Water Professionals Appreciation Day (Georgia) [1st Wednesday]

World Carnivorous Plant Day [1st Wednesday]

World Maternal Mental Health Day [1st Wednesday]

Weekly Holidays beginning May 1 (1st Week)

Choose Privacy Week (thru 5.7)

International Mariachi Week [thru 5.5]

National Pet Week (thru 5.7) [1st Week]

National Physical Education and Sports Week (thru 5.6) [1st Week]

National Wildflower Week (thru 5.7) [1st Week]

Independence & Related Days

BlueSkies (Declared; 2010) [unrecognized]

Constitution Day (Marshall Islands)

Convocation of the Constitutional Assembly Day (Latvia)

De Witt (Declared; 2020) [unrecognized]

Fellovia (Declared; 2020) [unrecognized]

Gujarat Formation Day (India)

Kingdom of Nána (Declared; 2017) [unrecognized]

Maharashtra Day (India)

Royal reformed States of America (a.k.a. RrSA; Declared; 2009) [unrecognized]

Scotland (from England, 1328)

Union of Scotland and England (Proclaimed; 1707)

Yeblon (Declared; 2021) [unrecognized]

Festivals Beginning May 1, 2024

Armadillo Festival (Hamburg, Arkansas) [thru 5.4]

Cheltenham Jazz Festival (Cheltenham, UK) [thru 5.6]

International Short Film Festival (Oberhausen, Germany) thru 5.6]

Palo de Mayo (Bluefields, Nicaragua) [thru 5.31]

Spirit of Speyside Whisky Festival (Aviemore, Scotland) [thru 5.6]

Feast Days

Acheolus (Christian; Saint)

Acius (Christian; Saint)

Adelsteen Normann (Artology)

Amator, Bishop of Auxerre (Christian; Saint)

Andeolus (Christian; Saint)

Asaph, Bishop of Llanewy, in North Wales (Christian; Saint)

Augustin Schoeffler, Jean-Louis Bonnard (Christian; Part of Vietnamese Martyrs)

Beltane Festival (Celtic Book of Days)

Beltane (Starza Pagan Book of Days)

Benedict of Szkalka (Christian; Saint)

Brioc (a.k.a. Briocus of Wales; Christian; Saint)

Calends of May (Ancient Rome)

Catherine the Great Day (Church of the SubGenius; Saint)

Efisio (Christian; Saint)

Faint-Hearted Fairies May (or May Not) Ball (Shamanism)

Festa Del Serpari (Procession of the Snake Catchers; Italy)

Festival of the Hare

Floria (Goddess of Flowers; Ancient Rome)

Frederick Sandys (Artology)

George Inness (Artology)

Illuminati Day

Jacqueline Comerre-Paton (Artology)

James the Less (Anglican Communion)

Joseph Heller (Writerism)

Joseph the Worker (Roman Catholic)

Jules Breton (Artology)

Klymentiy Sheptytsky (Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church

Maia Festival (Ancient Rome; Everyday Wicca)

Marcouf (a.k.a. Marcon, Abbot of Nanteu, in Normandy; Christian; Saint)

Maya Monster (Muppetism)

May Day [1st Day of Summer in Many Traditions] (a.k.a. …

Araw ng Manggagawa (Philippines)

Beltane, Day 2 (Celtic, Pagan) [3 of 8 Festivals of the Natural Year]

Beltane (Northern Hemisphere)

Calan Mai (Wales)

Dag van de arbeid (Suriname)

Darba Svetki (Latvia)

Den na Trudot (Macedonia)

Día Internacional de los Trabajadores (Cuba)

Dia Mundial do Trabalho (Brazil)

Dita Ndërkombëtare e Punës (International Labor Day; Albania, Estonia)

EuroMayDay (EU)

Fiesta del Trabajo (Spain)

Första maj (Sweden)

James the Apostle (Christian; Saint)

Jum il-Haddiem (Malta)

Kevadpüha (Estonia)

Labour Day (everywhere but U.S., Canada & Bermuda)

Law Day (US)

Majdoor Divas (Nepal)

Morning Dew Day (UK)

Praznik Rada (Croatia, Serbia)

Samhain (Southern Hemisphere)

Staatsfeiertag (Austria)

Swieta Panstwowe (Poland)

Vappu (Finland)

Workers’ Day (Ghana)

Ziua Muncii (România)

No Pants Day (Pastafarian)

Peregrine Laziosi (Christian; Saint)

Philip (Positivist; Saint)

Philip the Apostle (Anglican Communion, Lutheran Church)

Race of the Old Men Day (Ancient Greece)

Richard Pampuri (Christian; Saint)

Rodonitsa (Feast to the Ancestors; Asatru/Slavic Pagan)

Romaine Brooks (Artology)

Sigismund of Burgundy (Christian; Saint)

Tamenend (Christian; Saint)

Theodard of Narbonne (Christian; Saint)

Ultan (Christian; Saint)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Lucky Day (Philippines) [24 of 71]

Sensho (先勝 Japan) [Good luck in the morning, bad luck in the afternoon.]

Premieres

Ain’t We Got Fun (WB MM Cartoon; 1937)

Alice’s Wild West Show (Disney Cartoon; 1924)

All the Pretty Horses, by Cormac Mcarthy (Novel; 1992)

Avengers: Age of Ultron (Film; 2015)

Battle for Terra (Animated Film; 2009)

The Bold Eagle (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1969)

Bridge Ahoy (Fleischer Popeye Cartoon; 1936)

Chili Con Corny (Woody Woodpecker Cartoon; 1972)

Citizen Kane (Film; 1941)

Commander Great Guy (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1968)

The Compleat Enchanter, by L. Sprague de Camp (Short Stories; 1940)

Crime and Punishment, by Fyodor Dostoevsky (Novel; 1866)

Crime on My Hands or Hickory Dickory Drop (Rocky & Bullwinkle Cartoon, S1, Ep. 46; 1960)

David Copperfield, by Charles Dickens (Novel; 1849)

Desk Set (Film; 1957)

Donald Gets Drafted (Disney Cartoon; 1942)

Dream Walking (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1950)

The Elephant Mouse (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1951)

Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere, by Neil Young (Album; 1969)

Eye of the Needle, by Ken Follett (Novel; 1978)

Fall Out, by The Police (Song; 1977)

Featherweight Champ (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1953)

Fever, recorded by Little Willie John (1956)

Fool’s Train Ride (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1959)

The Foolish Duckling (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1952)

Foundation, by Isaac Asimov (Short Story; 1942)

Foxed by a Fox (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1955)

Gaston is Here (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1957)

Gaston Goes Home (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1958)

G.I. Pink (Pink Panther Cartoon; 1968)

The Girl from Ipanema, by Antônio Carlos Jobim (Song; 1964)

Give ‘Em the Works or Rocky Around the Clock (Rocky & Bullwinkle Cartoon, S1, Ep. 45; 1960)

The Great Gatsby (Film; 2013)

The Happy Cobblers (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1952)

The Hard Way, 10th Jack Reacher book, by Lee Child (Novel; 2006)

Haunted House Cleaning (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1966)

Hot Pursuit, by Stuart Woods (Novel; 2015)

The Inspector General, by Nikolai Gogol (Play; 1836)

The Itch (Modern Madcaps Cartoon; 1965)

I Walk the Line, by Johnny Cash (Song; 1956)

Johnny Corncob (Animated Hungarian Film; 1973)

The Kitten Sitter (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1949)

Legend, by Bob Marley and the Wailers (Album; 1984)

Les Misérables (Film; 1998)

Little Ol’ Bosko and the Pirates (Happy Harmonies Cartoon; 1936)

Lonesome Road, recorded by Tommy Dorsey (Song; 1939)

The Lords of Flatbush (Film; 1974)

Love is Blind (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1957)

The Marriage of Figaro, by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (Opera; 1786)

Mary’s Little Lamb (Ub Iwerks ComiColor Cartoon; 1935)

A Merry Chase (Heckle & Jeckle Cartoon; 1950)

The Ministry of Fear, by Graham Greene (Novel; 1943)

Mint Men (Heckle & Jeckle Cartoon; 1960)

Murder on the Links, by Agatha Christie (Mystery Novel; 1923) [3]

Musical Madness (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1951)

My Life as a Dog (Film; 1987)

Mystery in the Moonlight (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1948)

No Exit, by Jean-Paul Sartre (Play; 1944)

No Parking Hare (WB LT Cartoon; 1954)

Nothing But the Tooth (WB MM Cartoon; 1948)

Oceans of Love (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1956)

Off to the Opera (Heckle & Jeckle Cartoon; 1953)

Oscar’s Thinking Cap (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1971)

Peck Your Own Home (Noveltoons Cartoon; 1960)

Phony News Flashes (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1955)

The Pine Barrens, by John McPhee (Novel; 1967)

Playful Puss (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1953)

Plumber’s Helpers (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1953)

Reaper Man, by Terry Pratchet (Novel; 1990) [Discworld #11]

Rebel Trouble, featuring Deputy Dawg (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1962)

The Red Swamp (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1969)

The Remains of the Day, by Kazuo Ishiguro (Novel; 1989)

Riverboat Mission (Hector Heathcote Cartoon; 1962)

Roadside Picnic, by Arkady and Boris Strugatsky (Novel; 1972)

Rocket Ship Galileo, by Robert A. Heinlein (Novel; 1947)

Rogue Male, by Geoffrey Household (Novel; 1939)

Rolling Stones, featuring Farmer Al Falfa (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1936)

Ruth Is Stranger Than Richard, by Robert Wyatt (Album; 1975)

Quantum Solace, by Ian Fleming (James Bond Short Story; 1959)

Satisfied Customers (Heckle & Jeckle Cartoon; 1954)

The Secret Life of Plants, by Peter Tompkins and Christopher Bird (Book; 1974)

Short-Term Sheiff (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1964)

Silly Science (Noveltoons Cartoon; 1960)

Small Gods, by Terry Pratchet (Novel; 1991) [Discworld #13]

Smoke on the Water, by Deep Purple (Song; 1973)

Snakes & Arrows, by Rush (Album; 2007)

Something in the Air, by Thunderclap Newman (Song; 1969)

Soul Music, by Terry Pratchet (Novel; 1994) [Discworld #16]

SpongeBob SquarePants (Animated TV Series; 1999)

The Strange Case of Peter the Lett, by Georges Simeon (Mystery Novel; 1931) [1st Maigret]

Survivor, by Destiny’ Child (Album; 2000)

Sweets from a Stranger, by Squeeze (Album; 1982)

The Tall Tale Teller (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1954)

Tea Party (Hector Heathcote Cartoon; 1963)

Thief of Time, by Terry Pratchet (Novel; 2001) [Discworld #26]

Traffic Trouble (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1967)

Tricky Business (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1942)

Tusk, Tusk, featuring Sidney (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1960)

Upload (TV Series; 2020)

Weather Magic (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1965)

The Wee Free Men, by Terry Pratchet (Novel; 2003) [Discworld #30]

The Westing Game, by Ellen Raskin (Novel; 1978)

White Fang, by Jack London (Novel; 1906)

The Wise Quacking Duck (WB LT Cartoon; 1943)

Woodland, featuring Farmer Al Falfa (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1932)

X-Men Origins: Wolverine (Film; 2009)

Today’s Name Days

Josef, Staatsfeiertag (Austria)

Ermen, Ermena, Maya (Bulgaria)

Jeremija, Josip, Prokul, Sigmund (Croatia)

Svátek Práce (Czech Republic)

Jacob, Philip, Valborg (Denmark)

Valba, Valbe, Valli, Volber (Estonia)

Valpuri, Vappu (Finland)

Brieuc, Florine, J��rémie, Tamara (France)

Arnold, Berta, Josef (Germany)

Filosofos, Isidora, Jeremia, Tamara (Greece)

Fülöp, Jakab (Hungary)

Brunella, Efisio, Giuseppe (Italy)

Ziedīte, Ziedone, Ziedonis (Latvia)

Vydmantė, Zigmantas, Zigmas, Žilvinas (Lithuania)

Filip, Valborg (Norway)

Aniela, Filip, Jakub, Jeremi, Jeremiasz, Józef, Lubomir (Poland)

Ieremia (Romania)

Berta, Florinda, Jeremías, José (Spain)

Valborg (Sweden)

Jeremiah, Jeremy, Tamara (Ukraine)

Mae, May, Patience, Sigmund, Sigmunda (USA)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 122 of 2024; 244 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 3 of week 18 of 2024

Celtic Tree Calendar: Saille (Willow) [Day 18 of 28]

Chinese: Month 3 (Wu-Chen), Day 23 (Yi-Chou)

Chinese Year of the: Dragon 4722 (until January 29, 2025) [Wu-Chen]

Hebrew: 23 Nisan 5784

Islamic: 22 Shawwal 1445

J Cal: 2 Magenta; Twosday [2 of 30]

Julian: 18 April 2024

Moon: 50%: 3rd Quarter

Positivist: 10 Caesar (5th Month) [Demosthenes]

Runic Half Month: Lagu (Flowing Water) [Day 7 of 15]

Season: Spring (Day 44 of 92)

Week: 1st Week of May

Zodiac: Taurus (Day 12 of 31)

Calendar Changes

May (Gregorian Calendar) [Month 5 of 12]

[brookstonalmanac]

Holidays 5.1

Holidays

Agriculture Day (Haiti)

Americanism Day (Pennsylvania)

Amtrak Day

Anxiety Disorders Screening Day

Armour Day (India)

Ayrton Senna Day

Batman Day

Chimney Sweeps Day

Couple Appreciation Day

CSS Reboot Day

Dipping Day

Doctor’s Day (Canada)

Empire State Building Day

EuroMayDay

Executive Coaching Day

501st Legion Day

First Responders Day (Ontario, Canada)

Frequent Flyer Day

Gambrinus’ Teufelstisch (Midnight Feast at the Devil’s Table; Germany)

Garland Dressing (UK)

Global Developmental Delay Awareness Day

Global Love Day

Go Fetch! National Food Drive For Animals

Gujarat/Maharashtra Day (India)

Half-O-Ween

Hobby Horse Parade (a.k.a. ‘Obby ‘Oss; Cornwall, UK)

International Day of the Podenco

International Doodle Dog Day

International Franconi Anemia Day

International Jockstrap Day

International Mesh Awareness Day

International Samoyed Day

International Sunflower Guerrilla Gardening Day

International Victims of Communism Day

International Workers’ Day

Iodized Salt Day

Kallemooi (The Netherlands)

Keep Kids Alive! Drive 25 Awareness Day

Keep Pounding Day

Kevadpuha (Spring Day; Estonia)

Labour Day (Mexico)

Lei Day (Hawaii)

Loyalty Day

Maharashtra Day (Gujarat, Maharashtra; India)

Marvin Gaye Day (Washington, D.C.)

Masonic Awareness Day

Mati-Syra-Zemlya Pregnancy Day (Mati-Syra-Zemlya, Slavic Goddess of the Earth)

May Day (see below)

Mici Day (Romania)

Mother Goose Day

Moving Day (Colonial New York City)

National Black Barber Shop Appreciation Day

National Blessing Day

National Bubba Day

National College Decision Day (a.k.a. College Signing Day)

National Dance Day

National Day to Prevent Teen Pregnancy

National Fitness Day

National Heatstroke Prevention Day

National High Potassium Awareness Day

National Infertility Survival Day

National Love Day (Prague, Czech Republic)

National Mantra Day

National Pole Dance Day (UK)

National Purebred Dog Day

National Show Your Smile Day

National Silver Star Banner Day

National Testing Coordinator’s Day

New Homeowner's Day

’Obby ‘Oss Parade (Padstow, Cornwall, England)

O’Donohugh’s Ghost Day (Ireland)

Pack Rag Day

Patient Empathy Day

Phone in Sick Day

Plant A Flower Day

Play of Saint Evermaar (Belgium)

Repentance Day (Scotland)

Riding of the Bounds (Berwick-upon-Tweed, England)

Rite of Vigyld (Elder Scrolls)

Sainfoin Day (French Republic)

Santacruzan (Philippine Girls' Festival)

Save the Rhino Day

School Principals’ Day

Silver Star Day

Skyscraper Day

Spring Astronomy Day [Saturday at or before 1st Qtr Moon]

Staffordshire Day (UK)

Stepmother’s Day

Take Out the Garbage Day

Tammany’s Day

Teacher’s Day (Jamaica)

Therapeutic Massage Awareness Day

Traditional Fertility Festival

Unity Day (Kazakhstan)

Walpurgis Night (Central & Northern Europe)

White Rabbit Day

World Lyme Day

World Naked Gardening Day

World Push-Up Day

Worthy Wage Day

Zuni Green Corn Dance

Food & Drink Celebrations

Bread Pudding Recipe Exchange Day

Cheerios Day

Chocolate Parfait Day

Exaltation of Ribeiro Wine (Spain)

Louisiana Breakfast Dressing Day

Mild Ale Day

National Kosher Food Day

National Rotate Your Beer Day

National Salad Day

World Sauternes Day

1st Wednesday in May

Book Buddy Day [1st Wednesday]

Great American Grump Out Day [1st Wednesday]

National Anxiety Disorders Screening Day [1st Wednesday]

National Day to Prevent Teen and Unplanned Pregnancy [1st Wednesday]

National Domestic Violence Remembrance Day (Australia) [1st Wednesday]

National Interpreter Appreciation Day [1st Wednesday]

National (Deaf) Interpreter Day [1st Wednesday]

National Skilled Trades Day [1st Wednesday]

National Travel Advisor Day [1st Wednesday]

Occupational Safety and Health Professionals Day [1st Wednesday]

Project Aces Day (All Children Exercise Simultaneously) [1st Wednesday]

Water Professionals Appreciation Day (Georgia) [1st Wednesday]

World Carnivorous Plant Day [1st Wednesday]

World Maternal Mental Health Day [1st Wednesday]

Weekly Holidays beginning May 1 (1st Week)

Choose Privacy Week (thru 5.7)

International Mariachi Week [thru 5.5]

National Pet Week (thru 5.7) [1st Week]

National Physical Education and Sports Week (thru 5.6) [1st Week]

National Wildflower Week (thru 5.7) [1st Week]

Independence & Related Days

BlueSkies (Declared; 2010) [unrecognized]

Constitution Day (Marshall Islands)

Convocation of the Constitutional Assembly Day (Latvia)

De Witt (Declared; 2020) [unrecognized]

Fellovia (Declared; 2020) [unrecognized]

Gujarat Formation Day (India)

Kingdom of Nána (Declared; 2017) [unrecognized]

Maharashtra Day (India)

Royal reformed States of America (a.k.a. RrSA; Declared; 2009) [unrecognized]

Scotland (from England, 1328)

Union of Scotland and England (Proclaimed; 1707)

Yeblon (Declared; 2021) [unrecognized]

Festivals Beginning May 1, 2024

Armadillo Festival (Hamburg, Arkansas) [thru 5.4]

Cheltenham Jazz Festival (Cheltenham, UK) [thru 5.6]

International Short Film Festival (Oberhausen, Germany) thru 5.6]

Palo de Mayo (Bluefields, Nicaragua) [thru 5.31]

Spirit of Speyside Whisky Festival (Aviemore, Scotland) [thru 5.6]

Feast Days

Acheolus (Christian; Saint)

Acius (Christian; Saint)

Adelsteen Normann (Artology)

Amator, Bishop of Auxerre (Christian; Saint)

Andeolus (Christian; Saint)

Asaph, Bishop of Llanewy, in North Wales (Christian; Saint)

Augustin Schoeffler, Jean-Louis Bonnard (Christian; Part of Vietnamese Martyrs)

Beltane Festival (Celtic Book of Days)

Beltane (Starza Pagan Book of Days)

Benedict of Szkalka (Christian; Saint)

Brioc (a.k.a. Briocus of Wales; Christian; Saint)

Calends of May (Ancient Rome)

Catherine the Great Day (Church of the SubGenius; Saint)

Efisio (Christian; Saint)

Faint-Hearted Fairies May (or May Not) Ball (Shamanism)

Festa Del Serpari (Procession of the Snake Catchers; Italy)

Festival of the Hare

Floria (Goddess of Flowers; Ancient Rome)

Frederick Sandys (Artology)

George Inness (Artology)

Illuminati Day

Jacqueline Comerre-Paton (Artology)

James the Less (Anglican Communion)

Joseph Heller (Writerism)

Joseph the Worker (Roman Catholic)

Jules Breton (Artology)

Klymentiy Sheptytsky (Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church

Maia Festival (Ancient Rome; Everyday Wicca)

Marcouf (a.k.a. Marcon, Abbot of Nanteu, in Normandy; Christian; Saint)

Maya Monster (Muppetism)

May Day [1st Day of Summer in Many Traditions] (a.k.a. …

Araw ng Manggagawa (Philippines)

Beltane, Day 2 (Celtic, Pagan) [3 of 8 Festivals of the Natural Year]

Beltane (Northern Hemisphere)

Calan Mai (Wales)

Dag van de arbeid (Suriname)

Darba Svetki (Latvia)

Den na Trudot (Macedonia)

Día Internacional de los Trabajadores (Cuba)

Dia Mundial do Trabalho (Brazil)

Dita Ndërkombëtare e Punës (International Labor Day; Albania, Estonia)

EuroMayDay (EU)

Fiesta del Trabajo (Spain)

Första maj (Sweden)

James the Apostle (Christian; Saint)

Jum il-Haddiem (Malta)

Kevadpüha (Estonia)

Labour Day (everywhere but U.S., Canada & Bermuda)

Law Day (US)

Majdoor Divas (Nepal)

Morning Dew Day (UK)

Praznik Rada (Croatia, Serbia)

Samhain (Southern Hemisphere)

Staatsfeiertag (Austria)

Swieta Panstwowe (Poland)

Vappu (Finland)

Workers’ Day (Ghana)

Ziua Muncii (România)

No Pants Day (Pastafarian)

Peregrine Laziosi (Christian; Saint)

Philip (Positivist; Saint)

Philip the Apostle (Anglican Communion, Lutheran Church)

Race of the Old Men Day (Ancient Greece)

Richard Pampuri (Christian; Saint)

Rodonitsa (Feast to the Ancestors; Asatru/Slavic Pagan)

Romaine Brooks (Artology)

Sigismund of Burgundy (Christian; Saint)

Tamenend (Christian; Saint)

Theodard of Narbonne (Christian; Saint)

Ultan (Christian; Saint)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Lucky Day (Philippines) [24 of 71]

Sensho (先勝 Japan) [Good luck in the morning, bad luck in the afternoon.]

Premieres

Ain’t We Got Fun (WB MM Cartoon; 1937)

Alice’s Wild West Show (Disney Cartoon; 1924)

All the Pretty Horses, by Cormac Mcarthy (Novel; 1992)

Avengers: Age of Ultron (Film; 2015)

Battle for Terra (Animated Film; 2009)

The Bold Eagle (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1969)

Bridge Ahoy (Fleischer Popeye Cartoon; 1936)

Chili Con Corny (Woody Woodpecker Cartoon; 1972)

Citizen Kane (Film; 1941)

Commander Great Guy (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1968)

The Compleat Enchanter, by L. Sprague de Camp (Short Stories; 1940)

Crime and Punishment, by Fyodor Dostoevsky (Novel; 1866)

Crime on My Hands or Hickory Dickory Drop (Rocky & Bullwinkle Cartoon, S1, Ep. 46; 1960)

David Copperfield, by Charles Dickens (Novel; 1849)

Desk Set (Film; 1957)

Donald Gets Drafted (Disney Cartoon; 1942)

Dream Walking (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1950)

The Elephant Mouse (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1951)

Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere, by Neil Young (Album; 1969)

Eye of the Needle, by Ken Follett (Novel; 1978)

Fall Out, by The Police (Song; 1977)

Featherweight Champ (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1953)

Fever, recorded by Little Willie John (1956)

Fool’s Train Ride (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1959)

The Foolish Duckling (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1952)

Foundation, by Isaac Asimov (Short Story; 1942)

Foxed by a Fox (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1955)

Gaston is Here (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1957)

Gaston Goes Home (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1958)

G.I. Pink (Pink Panther Cartoon; 1968)

The Girl from Ipanema, by Antônio Carlos Jobim (Song; 1964)

Give ‘Em the Works or Rocky Around the Clock (Rocky & Bullwinkle Cartoon, S1, Ep. 45; 1960)

The Great Gatsby (Film; 2013)

The Happy Cobblers (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1952)

The Hard Way, 10th Jack Reacher book, by Lee Child (Novel; 2006)

Haunted House Cleaning (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1966)

Hot Pursuit, by Stuart Woods (Novel; 2015)

The Inspector General, by Nikolai Gogol (Play; 1836)

The Itch (Modern Madcaps Cartoon; 1965)

I Walk the Line, by Johnny Cash (Song; 1956)

Johnny Corncob (Animated Hungarian Film; 1973)

The Kitten Sitter (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1949)

Legend, by Bob Marley and the Wailers (Album; 1984)

Les Misérables (Film; 1998)

Little Ol’ Bosko and the Pirates (Happy Harmonies Cartoon; 1936)

Lonesome Road, recorded by Tommy Dorsey (Song; 1939)

The Lords of Flatbush (Film; 1974)

Love is Blind (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1957)

The Marriage of Figaro, by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (Opera; 1786)

Mary’s Little Lamb (Ub Iwerks ComiColor Cartoon; 1935)

A Merry Chase (Heckle & Jeckle Cartoon; 1950)

The Ministry of Fear, by Graham Greene (Novel; 1943)

Mint Men (Heckle & Jeckle Cartoon; 1960)

Murder on the Links, by Agatha Christie (Mystery Novel; 1923) [3]

Musical Madness (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1951)

My Life as a Dog (Film; 1987)

Mystery in the Moonlight (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1948)

No Exit, by Jean-Paul Sartre (Play; 1944)

No Parking Hare (WB LT Cartoon; 1954)

Nothing But the Tooth (WB MM Cartoon; 1948)

Oceans of Love (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1956)

Off to the Opera (Heckle & Jeckle Cartoon; 1953)

Oscar’s Thinking Cap (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1971)

Peck Your Own Home (Noveltoons Cartoon; 1960)

Phony News Flashes (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1955)

The Pine Barrens, by John McPhee (Novel; 1967)

Playful Puss (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1953)

Plumber’s Helpers (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1953)

Reaper Man, by Terry Pratchet (Novel; 1990) [Discworld #11]

Rebel Trouble, featuring Deputy Dawg (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1962)

The Red Swamp (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1969)

The Remains of the Day, by Kazuo Ishiguro (Novel; 1989)

Riverboat Mission (Hector Heathcote Cartoon; 1962)

Roadside Picnic, by Arkady and Boris Strugatsky (Novel; 1972)

Rocket Ship Galileo, by Robert A. Heinlein (Novel; 1947)

Rogue Male, by Geoffrey Household (Novel; 1939)

Rolling Stones, featuring Farmer Al Falfa (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1936)

Ruth Is Stranger Than Richard, by Robert Wyatt (Album; 1975)

Quantum Solace, by Ian Fleming (James Bond Short Story; 1959)

Satisfied Customers (Heckle & Jeckle Cartoon; 1954)

The Secret Life of Plants, by Peter Tompkins and Christopher Bird (Book; 1974)

Short-Term Sheiff (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1964)

Silly Science (Noveltoons Cartoon; 1960)

Small Gods, by Terry Pratchet (Novel; 1991) [Discworld #13]

Smoke on the Water, by Deep Purple (Song; 1973)

Snakes & Arrows, by Rush (Album; 2007)

Something in the Air, by Thunderclap Newman (Song; 1969)

Soul Music, by Terry Pratchet (Novel; 1994) [Discworld #16]

SpongeBob SquarePants (Animated TV Series; 1999)

The Strange Case of Peter the Lett, by Georges Simeon (Mystery Novel; 1931) [1st Maigret]

Survivor, by Destiny’ Child (Album; 2000)

Sweets from a Stranger, by Squeeze (Album; 1982)

The Tall Tale Teller (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1954)

Tea Party (Hector Heathcote Cartoon; 1963)

Thief of Time, by Terry Pratchet (Novel; 2001) [Discworld #26]

Traffic Trouble (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1967)

Tricky Business (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1942)

Tusk, Tusk, featuring Sidney (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1960)

Upload (TV Series; 2020)

Weather Magic (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1965)

The Wee Free Men, by Terry Pratchet (Novel; 2003) [Discworld #30]

The Westing Game, by Ellen Raskin (Novel; 1978)

White Fang, by Jack London (Novel; 1906)

The Wise Quacking Duck (WB LT Cartoon; 1943)

Woodland, featuring Farmer Al Falfa (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1932)

X-Men Origins: Wolverine (Film; 2009)

Today’s Name Days

Josef, Staatsfeiertag (Austria)

Ermen, Ermena, Maya (Bulgaria)

Jeremija, Josip, Prokul, Sigmund (Croatia)

Svátek Práce (Czech Republic)

Jacob, Philip, Valborg (Denmark)

Valba, Valbe, Valli, Volber (Estonia)

Valpuri, Vappu (Finland)

Brieuc, Florine, Jérémie, Tamara (France)

Arnold, Berta, Josef (Germany)

Filosofos, Isidora, Jeremia, Tamara (Greece)

Fülöp, Jakab (Hungary)

Brunella, Efisio, Giuseppe (Italy)

Ziedīte, Ziedone, Ziedonis (Latvia)

Vydmantė, Zigmantas, Zigmas, Žilvinas (Lithuania)

Filip, Valborg (Norway)

Aniela, Filip, Jakub, Jeremi, Jeremiasz, Józef, Lubomir (Poland)

Ieremia (Romania)

Berta, Florinda, Jeremías, José (Spain)

Valborg (Sweden)

Jeremiah, Jeremy, Tamara (Ukraine)

Mae, May, Patience, Sigmund, Sigmunda (USA)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 122 of 2024; 244 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 3 of week 18 of 2024

Celtic Tree Calendar: Saille (Willow) [Day 18 of 28]

Chinese: Month 3 (Wu-Chen), Day 23 (Yi-Chou)

Chinese Year of the: Dragon 4722 (until January 29, 2025) [Wu-Chen]

Hebrew: 23 Nisan 5784

Islamic: 22 Shawwal 1445

J Cal: 2 Magenta; Twosday [2 of 30]

Julian: 18 April 2024

Moon: 50%: 3rd Quarter

Positivist: 10 Caesar (5th Month) [Demosthenes]

Runic Half Month: Lagu (Flowing Water) [Day 7 of 15]

Season: Spring (Day 44 of 92)

Week: 1st Week of May

Zodiac: Taurus (Day 12 of 31)

Calendar Changes

May (Gregorian Calendar) [Month 5 of 12]

[bike42]

Tuesday September 26, 2023

I was awake before six, so I got up and did a full yoga session before breakfast - felt great after eating so much yesterday! We had a nice breakfast and time to spare before Route Rap at 9am this morning.

Thirty minute shuttle to Portloe, was a tiny fishing village, but now a bit taken over but vacation rentals. Conservation laws preserve the character of the village. Mike, the professor/historian joined us again for the day - his family descended from here since the 1500s.

Most of the land we walked through today is part of the National Trust - land acquired by donations. It’s a charity/ non-profit. Many aristocrats after WWII couldn’t afford their estates, so they were often donated, and they’d be allowed to live in a wing. While some land is used for grazing, it’s mostly kept wild with access for hiking. Cale had told us this morning that much of the land is also designated as AOAB - Area of Outstanding Beauty, which puts restrictions on how land can be utilized (one third of Cornwall falls into that category).

It was great to have Mike along to talk about the history of the area. He recommended a book called “White Gold” - telling the story of a million people taken from these shores by Barbary pirates. What I hadn’t ever learned or considered, is that Cornwall has Gaelic ties much like Ireland and Scotland and is closely affiliated with the Brittany region of France, across the English Channel but closer than London! Like Scotland, there is a nationalist movement that seeks greater autonomy within the UK. Also like what we saw in Ireland and Scotland, the original language, Cornish in this case, had all but died but a revival is taking place and it now appears on road signs and is being taught in schools.

We hiked to a point called Nairs Head - during WWII, they built a fake city in order to lure the Germans into bombing there versus a real city. This area was heavily bombed before the Blitz, over 100 attacks here 1939-1940. Now the site of a 1950’s Cold War bunker, with an amazing view of the huge harbor.

The morning was a 4+ mile hike to Carne Beach where Joel had a table set up with snack, local ales and ciders for sampling. The day turned sunny, and actually HOT for the first time in weeks for us. I was hiking in a sleeveless shirt! The guides had talked about swimming at lunch, so I had packed my suit and towel in my pack. I went behind a rock to change, Jeff decided to swim in his boxers. We went out into the cold water with Mike, Perry and Cale. It was probably to coldest water I’d ever dove into, but super refreshing too. The waves were really awesome, the kind we like to dive into. But just a few dives and we were out of there! Mike does a cold water swim every day, so he stayed in longer.

We dried off, sampled some cider, changed our clothes and walked up to a restaurant above the beach for an awesome lunch, outside on the patio enjoying the day. Jeff and I sat with Mike and enjoyed swapping stories. He was very curious about what “work culture” and benefits are like in the US compared to the UK. He said Europeans look at the Britons as working too hard, and the Britons think of the US as working too hard. Interesting.

We walked another 3.5 miles down the coast, a smaller group of 8 as others opted to shuttle back after lunch. Beautiful scenery, with ups and downs. Once the trail brought us to a beautiful beach where no one was around - amazing!

As we approached Portscathos, there was a Coast Guard shack that has been converted to CoastWatch - manned by volunteers every day, mainly looking for wildlife. We also came upon the “Hidden Hut,” a cute bar / cafe over a secluded beach, which we learned had been a great outdoor hang out for many during COVID.

We ended in Portscathos at an adorable pub - Plume of Feathers, and had a round of Gin and Tonics before our 20 minute shuttle back to St Mawes.

Port = harbor

Scatho = boat

I soaked in the tub for a bit, then we dressed warm for our Seafood BBQ on the patio overlooking the harbor. Gorgeous evening, with the moon rising. Food was bleh, but ambiance was over the top.

Sounds like the remnants of another hurricane are about to hit bringing rain and high winds to our trip once again, so our leaders are scrambling to ensure we can do a safe hike tomorrow … we’ll probably stay off the cliffs!