#DrumBeats

[galoogamelady]

Since y'all call any Dragonborn character "Dark Urge" now

[coloursofunison]

I'm delighted to welcome Julia Ibbotson to the blog with her book, Drumbeats #HistoricalFiction #Romance #Mystery #WomensFiction #BlogTour #TheCoffeePotBookClub #CPBC

I'm delighted to welcome Julia Ibbotson to the blog with her book, Drumbeats #HistoricalFiction #Romance #Mystery #WomensFiction #BlogTour #TheCoffeePotBookClub #CPBC @JuliaIbbotson @cathiedunn @julia.ibbotson @thecoffeepotbookclub

I’m delighted to welcome Julia Ibbotson to the blog with her book, Drumbeats Here’s the blurb It’s 1965, and 18 year old Jess escapes her stifling English home for a gap year in Ghana, West Africa. But it’s a time of political turbulence across the region. Fighting to keep her young love who waits back in England, she’s thrown into the physical and emotional dangers of civil war, tragedy and…

[splashes-into-books]

#CoverReveal for The Drumbeats Trilogy: Drumbeats, Walking in the Rain, Finding Jess by Julia Ibbotson

#CoverReveal for The Drumbeats Trilogy: Drumbeats, Walking in the Rain, Finding Jess by Julia Ibbotson @JuliaIbbotson @rararesources

Very happy to join in this triple cover reveal today, Three stories following Jess and the roles she has to play. From gap year student, experiencing war and turmoil To bride with surprises and relationships to foil. Her experiences in Ghana impact on her life Will returning there help stop her personal strife? Three stories, three different adventures, its true About her life and what she goes…

[eggwishing]

sans looking at ice or something

[blamemma]

daniel ricciardo prepares for the race | 📍circuit de barcelona-catalunya, spanish grand prix, media day | 📸 peter fox

[notbecauseofvictories]

I'm watching SurrealEstate, because "what if real estate was haunted as a matter of law, and also haunted haunted" is a good premise, even if the show is fairly boring in execution.

[dhaaruni]

[silverlininghills]

for anyone else who thought backslide sounded familiar i uh. i think i found out why

[baronessblixen]

Not because I have nefarious intentions at aaaaaaaaaaall but what's your favorite piece of classical music? :DDDDD

Omg, why do you need to know? 😅 I have several and my problem is that I can never remember the titles and Spotify isn't much help either.

One of my faves is Vivaldi's sonata "La Follia" Op. 1 n. 12 RV 63. I'm currently obsessed with the classic Peer Gynt Suite No. 1, Op. 46: IV. In the Hall of the Mountain King. I also love Mendelssohn's Violin Concerto in E Minor, Op. 64, MWV O14: I. Allegro molto appassionato and Bruch's Scottish Fantasy is always great too. There are so many 😭

[goldensunset]

elesa’s supermodel fashion show catwalk gym >>>>>> elesa’s rollercoaster gym

[daisychainsandbowties]

Can't stop thinking about Tomb Raider AU, Ava's first kill which is more of an accident really. The man on top of her, squeezing tight at her throat. A rock to the temple, maybe the broken end of one of her arrows parting the soft stretch of flesh right under his jaw. A spray of blood - arterial? - on her. Her first reaction even though he was doing his best to kill her, to try and stem the flow. A red rain on her fingers, staining her soul with the unspeakable sin of a life cut short.

Ava scrubbing her hands with whatever she can find after. The fast waters of a stream running downhill, swirling pink. Maybe it's the blood. Maybe just the sunset.

Beatrice, meanwhile, methodical and ruthless, compartmentalizing each death but still keeping score. Secret, unholy tally engraved into the back of her occipital bone, and she can almost feel each ghostly notch whenever she cups the nape of her neck, working to loosen muscles turned to stone by another night spent on the ground.

Growing more frantic as the days go by, trying to remember how many rations they put in each pack, telling herself that at least there's plenty of water. Ava has to be alive.

And then stumbling onto the place where Ava had been ambushed. Her stomach dropping when she spots the body, prone. Relief after she turns it over, her eyes alighting on the arrow that juts out of the man's throat. Gray and blue fletching that she'd recognize anywhere. She'd been the one who introduced Ava to a bow, who'd taught her how to make her own.

The arrow, a bloodied, broken compass to guide the both of them home.

Ava, who rescues rats from the bowels of the ship and lets them off on shore. who touches even Lilith so gently when she sidles past her in the kitchen, even when she notices Lilith grinning as she sips from-

“MY FAVORITE MUG?”

gentle Ava who washes up on the beach alone in the middle of the storm, who waits for morning to go up into the trees.

Ava, pinned underneath a man snarling at her in Portuguese but no breath in her lungs to say “wait, i can understand you."

and just- lashing out, lashing up. a star reaching its way back into heaven, or Icarus crawling out of the ocean dragging his broken limbs and his broken wings behind him.

blood on her face, in her mouth, gumming her lashes together - and what did Bea say about it? how arterial blood is bright brilliant red and venous blood is darker, breathless, deoxygenated. she thinks of it in brushstrokes, limping away through the trees, scrubbing at her eyes with her forearm until the skin is streaky and red.

is this how Icarus felt? tilting his chin to kiss Apollo as the wax ran molten down his arms, as his wings unfurled and then unfurled.

she used to sit on the deck with Beatrice when her intrepid archaeologist needed air and light. how she would sink slowly into Ava’s side. a different kind of capsizing.

nothing to be afraid of.

Ava staring up at the sky and telling her, “if we were sailing in the 1600s i’d be a rigging monkey.”

“mmm?” soft, sleepy, turning her face to look at Ava with that sly strand of hair slipping down to touch her cheek.

“yeah, flitting through the ropes and the sails and the mast, dangling up there in calm weather or in windy weather.” she closed her eyes, "i'd be so unbelievably sexy."

a soft huff. not a denial.

“rigging monkeys were fragile things.” Bea unpicking Ava’s fingers where she held them in a loose fist.

maybe they’d had a beer, or two, and in that moment Bea looked as fascinated by the shape of Ava’s knuckles as she did looking at her books, or the horizon. “they…um… often fell into the water, or down onto the deck. from such a height…”

she trailed off, looking troubled.

Ava swallowed the urge to dip down and kiss her forehead, to smooth those lines of worry with her mouth. “yeah but in this scenario you’d be our navigator, so you’d never turn us toward a hurricane or a lightning storm. we’d just breeze right along and i’d get to sunbathe on the mainmast.”

Beatrice paused, her thumb poised to run over the slope of Ava’s fingers. (she’s just tactile, that’s all. there’s nothing else to it)

“sometimes you have to sail into a storm.” Bea shook her head, folded her hands back into her lap, “otherwise the storm will catch up to you.”

Ava ran from the beach as soon as she could walk, run, snatching Bea’s backpack from a pile of washed-up cargo. she’d heard gunshots in the night, huddled under the broken hull of a rowboat with crabs shifting in the shadows.

she thought about smashing one of them with a rock, to eat, but she couldn’t do it.

and she tried to outpace the storm, but it found her.

a body lurching out of the trees, quiver of arrows on his back, beating her down with the slope of the bow. straddling her and how she beat helplessly at him like she used to strain against the stubbornness of her body as it healed, as sensation returned and the nuns it as an excuse to pinch, to scratch her with their nails.

screaming, wordless, savage. trying to reach his eyes and then the tightening of his hands around her neck. Bea telling her the count you start in your head when someone strangles you.

“pfft, i can hold my breath for ages.”

“your brain can’t.”

reaching up - and she’s always reaching up. guilty dreams of Beatrice slowly dipping down to capture her mouth.

Ava reaches, feels something snap off in her hand. later, she’ll turn it over and over in her hands. an arrow, poorly made, with wet wood, but the head sharpened like someone went at it with a stone night after night. it makes her think of prayer, of what she might pray for here if she didn’t have the hazy hope of bea, bea, bea.

she tried to plug his face with her hands, fingers grazing up against broken teeth as he coughed gouts of blood down onto her. hands around her throat loosening and that first flood of breath threaded with the leak of his life.

the weight of him crushing the air from her lungs. so she hooked her legs around his like Beatrice showed her, using her hips to flip him onto his back.

and then he drowned.

on his own blood and she should have known, should have thought of it, but she just ripped up his shirt with bare bloody fingernails and pressed it into the wound. his eyes - dirty blue like the water under piers - roaming wild over her face.

and then he died.

she pushed off his body, falling back into the leaf litter. sticky length of arrowhead still clenched in one fist.

back in the orphanage, she used to spend hours just thinking. clinging like fire to every fact she learned, every paragraph Diego struggled to read to her.

daylight dreams of Michelangelo lying flat underneath his ceiling, paint dripping into his eyes, squinting at the shadows. the absolute quiet sometimes, at night maybe, holding up a candle to see the colors without the bruising brightness of god’s eye.

he’s looking now, she thinks, dipping her hands into the cold tonguing motion of a stream. leaves flicking past in the current, blood ribboning into threads of muted gold.

[dinonisiusrex]

Music By Dinonisius Rex .·. d;)’(0 .·. -@-

[coloursofunison]

I'm excited to be revealing the covers for The Drumbeats trilogy by Julia Ibbotson on the blog today #histfic

I'm excited to be revealing the covers for The Drumbeats trilogy by Julia Ibbotson on the blog today #histfic @rararesources @JuliaIbbotson @JuliaIbbotsonauthor @Julia.ibbotson

Here’s the blurbs Drumbeats It’s 1965, and 18 year old Jess escapes her stifling English home for a gap year in Ghana, West Africa. But it’s a time of political turbulence across the region. Fighting to keep her young love who waits back in England, she’s thrown into the physical and emotional dangers of civil war, tragedy and the conflict of a disturbing new relationship. And why do the…

[you-are-joking]

just finished watching hannibal. quick question why is it LIKE that

[vimbry]

oh the "the king is half-undressed" BANGS why have I not been listening to more jellyfish sooner