#FALL OUT BOY ALIVE AND WELL AFTER THE TWO WEEK DROUGHT

[thnksfrthmmrs]

photos from summer sonic 2023

[adsosfraser]

The Stone’s Toll - Chapter Ten

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“We can’t stay here.” 

 “No, we can’t.” Jamie pulled his wife onto his bare chest. “And wee Hamish has sent a letter, requesting his cousin’s aide. Though he was vague on which, I’m sure he wasna comfortable writing Jamie Fraser on something the English could see.” 

 “So we go to Leoch with Fergus?” 

“I willna put ye in danger, the travel there will be treacherous now wi’ the English on our throats everywhere.” 

 “Well, I’m certainly not leaving you, James Fraser. Have you forgotten I’m wanted too? We go together. And, with us gone, Lallybroch will be safer, we’ll be safer for a while. But…” 

 “What is it Sassenach?” 

 “I know you and the sea aren’t close friends, but ports shouldn’t be as monitored as they were right after Culloden. The islands will be safer, Charles even fled to the Isle of Skye to go to France. In the future, some islands are even able to retain some of their culture, their tartan. We can always go there, it would be safer while we wait… for a pardon.” 

 “A pardon?” He was shocked. 

 “Yes. When I returned I placed three letters in the post at Inverness. Copies of historical letters I assume. They may give us the freedom we want.” 

 A sharp breath escaped his lips and he slumped back on the chair. “Christ, a pardon. You know how well that went the last time.” 

 “But this time there’s no more war, we’re done with that horror.” 

 “Aye, we’ll seek Hamish, then if we canna stay, we’ll bide on one of the wee islands.”

 “What’s this about ye up and leaving Jamie Fraser! And dinna think I’m not cross wi’ ye too Claire!”

 “Jenny,” Claire took her hand, “you know it isn’t safe for us to stay here. We got lucky the last time.” 

 “And I’ll no’ have my wife sleeping in a cave.”

 “Well, ye two eejits could at least wait ‘til yer goddaughter is christened! Ye dinna ha’ to leave wi’ yer tails tucked between yer legs so soon.” 

 “Goddaughter.” Her heart warmed and she squeezed Jenny’s arm.

 “I ken yer already her aunt, but ye’d make a fine goddaughter to the lass. I suppose that would make yer daft husband her godfather. Puir lass.” She feigned pity for the tiny girl in her arms. “Would the both o’ ye wait, jes’ one more day?” 

 Claire looked back at Jamie but already knew their answer. “Of course.” 

 The ceremony was brief, the priest wasn’t prepared to perform it so soon. Caitlin gurgled up at Claire in her arms. The holy water was sprinkled over her tiny forehead in the small kirk near Lallybroch. Other than the slight cry from the chill of water, Caitlin was a perfect baby. The Frasers and Murrays all joined back together to Lallybroch to celebrate. They enjoyed a small stew of rabbit and potato, the most filling one in weeks. Father Ross had the death certificate for Fergus ready to sign, but on seeing the boy alive and healthy, he walked towards the fire in the Great Room. 

 “Wait,” Claire shouted to his back. “Don’t burn it. Jenny, will you sign that?” 

 “He’s clearly no’ deid Claire, are ye off yer heid?” 

 “No, it’s just, it’s important that the document isn’t destroyed. I can’t explain how.” 

 “Verra weel.” She plucked it out of the Father’s hands and went off to the study. She mumbled, knowing long ago not to question her sister's strange nature. 

 Claire had ripped through the fabric of her dresses and the contents of her leather bag to pull out every piece of gold, silver, and jewellery that was left during the hours waiting for Father Ross. It was little less than three years’ salary in her time, but now it would support Lallybroch for years to come. She dumped it all out on the dining and the jewels, gold, and silver scattered and clattered against the wood surface. She had put away some for her and Jamie of course, enough to be comfortable on their journey, but even with the small dent into the funds on the table, it was still an astounding sum. Jamie spied her wedding ring on a chain within the pile and raised a brow to her, but she shrugged her shoulders in reply. 

 “A christening gift.” 

 Everyone at the table stared dumbfounded at the treasure disorganised on the table. A ‘Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ’ was supplied by her son. 

 “How Claire?” Ian piped up. 

 “I didn’t steal it if that’s what you're asking.”

 “Well, how on earth did ye find so much?” Jenny yelled, exasperated. 

 “It was my inheritance from my parents and uncle. And the man whose advances I turned down…gave some of it to me.” 

 “Jesus, Mary, and Bride, ye’ve been hiding this away all this time?” 

 “No, I’ve just recently acquired it myself. But now, it can be put to good use instead of rotting in some bank. Take it, Jenny, use it to save Lallybroch from the famine, clearances, and drought to come.”

 Jenny planted a sloppy kiss onto Claire’s cheek and handed Caitlin over to Ian. She grabbed her arms and began jumping excitedly. Claire even thought she heard a squeal from the small woman. Displays of affection from the woman were rare, and Claire felt so happy and touched that she included her in it. 

 “Claire ye have no idea how this will help us.” 

 “I have some idea.” 

 Their packing was done, and the horses were all lined up for the journey. Jenny embraced Claire, and she was reminded of the parting before Culloden all over again. 

 “Ye come back to us sister,” she raised her voice to a shout so Jamie could hear, “I dinna care much if this oaf does.” 

 “I love ye too Janet.” He pulled her from Claire into a giant hug. 

 “Och, ye ken I love ye too, a bràithair. Now, try to come back to us as quick as ye can. Lallybroch will be missing her Laird.”  

 A plant along the trail made Claire pause. It was a forget me not, and though it was only the beginning of March, it was blooming brilliantly against the grass of the glen. It couldn’t have been a coincidence that they were so close to the standing stones when she found it. She knew they needed to go back together, for closure. So she jumped off her horse and scooped her hands into the dirt. 

 “Jamie I want to go to Craigh na Dun before we stop into Inverness.” 

 Jamie pulled back on the reins of his horse and stalled in the middle of the path before Claire. He looked down at his wife and the flowers in her hands.

 “If you don’t want to that’s fine, I just wanted to plant these there, and we might never get another chance to do so.” 

 “Aye, we’ll go.”

 He dismounted his horse in one swift move. Carefully, Jamie helped Claire back up to her horse without crushing the delicate flowers in the process. Jamie passed the reins of his own horse to his son and climbed up behind his wife on her mare. 

 “Fergus, be a good lad and find a place to shelter in Inverness. Something not too in the open, or conspicuous either.” Jamie pulled out the bag of coins and tossed it to him. 

 “Oui, milord. I shall not fail you.” 

 Milord and papa, milady and maman, had become as interchangeable to Fergus as Jamie’s Sassenach, mo gràidh, mo nighean donn, and the countless other affectionate names he could come up with for his wife. 

 “Now off wi’ ye son, we’ll be shortly after.” 

 They held tight to each other, not able to bear even a second of lost connection. Fog clung to the air surrounding the tall monoliths and blocked the vision to the moor below. 

 “I wish I could punch it. But it won’t even let me do that.” 

 “How about this one to the side. Not too much danger of falling in fer yer wee hand.”

 She pulled slightly apart from him for the first time since they created the hi together. Her arm trembled as she reached out to lightly touch the stone closest to the centre one. Though it had become an unwitting victim of its brother’s actions, it would have to do. Lining up her arm, she delivered the first blow that jolted from the cold surface to the bones of her arm and shoulders 

 “Fuck you!” She screamed a gut-wrenching cry as she slammed her fist into the rock. “Fuck you! Fuck!”

 Her breath hitched and Jamie gathered her once again in his arms. He kissed her skinned knuckles. Giving her a few minutes to calm her racing heart and heaving lungs, Jamie cradled her tight to his chest, one arm under her knees and the other supporting her back. How many more tears would she cry, for something that was only the size of a blueberry? She knew she’d never lose the feeling of grief, but it would become more manageable most days. With her husband there to bear it with her, she knew it would be a certainty. 

 “I’m ready.” She patted his chest. “Are you?” 

 “Aye.” 

 “Do you want to punch it too?” 

 “No, that bastard stone’s taken too much from us. I won’t give it the satisfaction of flesh and blood from my hands as weel.” 

 She wanted to reach out and cradle the voice she had once heard to her chest, protect her against the violence of the stones. But it seemed it was her daughter instead who protected her. Digging the small hole into the ground by the outer stones, she smiled tearfully. Jamie’s strong hands were right beside hers, guiding the dirt away. Together they scooped the small plant into their hands, a mismatch of Jamie’s on top of Claire’s and then Claire’s on top of Jamie’s. They patted the dirt mound and encased the stems in the nutrients. With the task finished, Claire fell into Jamie’s lap and began to weep. She stroked his shirt with dirtied hands and left stains on the white linen. He rubbed the fabric on her back and Claire felt the moisture fall onto her hair and slowly down to her scalp. She offered him her sgian dubh and he etched into the centre stone with sharp angles, leaving the blade there as a gift.  Baby Fraser.  Claire’s hand trembled in his grip and she was almost consoled by the fact that she could feel his shaking too; he didn’t hide how it affected him as well. “I trust yer grandsire and grandmam are keeping ye out o’ trouble  a leannan . I love you. Tell Faith I love her too, and I ken she protects ye up there, but jes’ because she’s older doesna mean ye canna protect her as weel. Jes’ like I do fer yer auntie. Ye mind what yer family says, and we’ll meet again soon enough.” 

 Claire knelt down and gently cradled the small flower in her hand. “I love you, my baby girl. We love you so much.” 

 Jamie ripped off a strip from his sark and wrapped it around her bloodied knuckles with a kiss. They stayed to talk to the stone for a while. Jamie laughed with Claire after sharing an incident from his boyhood about a goat, some string, a bucket of shite, and his sister. Claire pulled out the photos from within her pockets and shared her child-self to their daughters, and the interesting marvels of the future. Jamie was proud he recognised the ‘airyplane’ from when Claire brought out the black and white pictures in the cave. He was bewildered of course at first, cursing the strange magic, but once he saw the brilliant smile of his Sassenach he knew the depiction couldn’t hold any evil. He especially liked seeing her as a bairn, with pigtails and a pink frilly dress and how the photos showed the change from cute baby to mature woman. She set one into the plastic wrap, a photo of her, her parents, and her uncle and buried it beneath the earth. 

 “Your family is with you always, my darling girl.” 

 With one last glance, they rode back to Inverness holding each other on the saddle. 

 Their short stay in Inverness was that: short. After the first night of full bellies and a warm fire, the innkeeper alerted the travellers to the presence of redcoats fifteen miles away. It gave them time to prepare themselves, instead of another hasty retreat to Leoch. 

 It was not nearly as strong of a fortress as it had once been. 

 Claire was put to use straight away, mending flesh and bone. Jamie was spirited away as well to advise his cousin in the Laird’s Tower. The only bright spot was the wonderful Mrs. Fitz. Fergus spent much of his time messing around the surgery and playing with the medicines, much to Claire’s annoyance. No matter how many times he insisted it would not happen again, his nimble little fingers were constantly filching items off of shelves and tables. So she sent him off to the kitchens.

 The ledgers had become impossible, and Leoch was close to ruin from partially funding the Jacobite cause. They felt the sharp absence of those who had fought bravely alongside them. None were left. Most of the men residing in the lands were either too old, too young, or too crippled to fight. There was talk of taking up a deal with the British, to leave Leoch and settle somewhere comfortable in America. Hamish was inclined to that option more and more each day. The Lairdship was not an easy thing for a twelve-year-old, let alone under such stress of a post-war climate. So, it was decided that the MacKenzies would sell Leoch to the British for land somewhere deep in Virginia. As much as it pained them to leave their culture and homeland in the hands of those bastards, they had no other choice. The lands produced nothing, the woodlands sparse, and their supplies pilfered by roaming soldiers. Claire felt guilty for the small amount of gold tucked into her dresses, but she told herself the amount she was left with couldn’t save them all. They stayed in constant communication with Jenny through letters and informed her of their impending move. Jenny wrote back to her cousins,  Alexander and Elizabeth Malcolm , just as often, if not more eager to know they were safe. 

 In the blistering heat of the summer, Claire, Jamie, and Fergus travelled in the safety of the band of MacKenzies. Virtually no redcoats bothered them on their way, patriot to king and country as the Laird most certainly was in their eyes. 

 At Ullapool, they said their last goodbyes as they split to different destinations. Jamie couldn’t possibly survive a month-long journey across the water. They purchased passage on the  Serendipity  and waited. 

 Jamie wretched off the side of the gangway as the ship made port. Stornoway, and from there they would hopefully find somewhere to settle down. A croft, north of Stornoway soon came to their attention. Most of their money went to purchase the land outright, they weren't too keen to rent one out as other crofters did, knowing the clearances would hit Scotland hard. So, Alexander Malcolm, his wife, and his son, began to build a home out of the small abandoned cottage. They hoped it would be temporary but would be fine if it wasn’t, for they had all they needed already: each other.

[purplecatdad]

Carry On

Part of the RDR Character Mash I had "Charles Smith" and "Post-Apocalyptic" General Fic | Teens and Up | Zombie-AU | CW for suicidal thoughts AO3 Version It was the fifth day of yet another heat-wave and Charles Smith felt ready to die. He had thought about it before - after his old little colony had been run down by the Zombies, half of them eaten alive and the rest turning into monsters he had to get out on his own. He had been 17 back then. Weeks on his own, falling in and out with other groups but never quite fitting on. It had hardened him and left him with little joy. The marks on his arms still told the stories of the battle with himself, one that he almost had lost weren’t it for some kind strangers who had found him back then. A couple, Dutch and Hosea. They had patched him up and he had ridden with them for a while. Until they had been taken out by the real monsters in this mess - the big communities that were making their own laws. Now he was alone again, his horse Taima his only - and best - companion. But it was hard, living like this. And lonely. He looked at the sun that had started to set. His goal for the day had been to find a source of water as his canteen had run dry by now but so far he didn’t have any luck. The heatwaves had become worse each year, there always was a drought and he hadn’t had time to seek out the north for a few weeks because he had been holed up, staying away from patrols roaming the streets to take in loners as bait for the zombies. Taima snorted, she was tired and as dehydrated as him. They both needed water … but Charles also had to make camp soon. It wasn’t safe to stay out in the dark, especially not alone. Then he noticed something. Smoke on the horizon, signs of a fire. He frowned, wondering how good his chances of a safe encounter would be. It always was dangerous to approach strangers, always a risk. But today it felt like it was worth taking - what had he to lose? He brought Taima to a trot, mumbling an apology to the tired mare. He felt how tired she was and swore to himself that she would get any treat that he could find, just to make up for it. He had to cut through a line of trees to get to the source of the smoke and decided to get down from the horse for that. He didn’t want to seem like too much of a threat. When he was almost through the trees he realized that it was a cabin he was walking towards, one half of the wall torn down but covered with some canvas. “Anybody there?” he called out. He didn’t see anybody but suspected that somebody was watching the fire. Suddenly he felt the barrel of a shotgun, pressed between his shoulder blades. “What’d ya want?” He heard a stranger say right behind him. Charles raised his hands, slowly not to startle him. He was surprised that somebody had managed to sneak up to both him and Taima like that but he suspected it was because of the heat and the exhaustion. “My name’s Charles, I just need some water for my horse and me. Her name’s Taima. We’re just tired.” He spoke in a soft voice, his tone as kind and calm as he could muster. “A horse, pa! Look how pretty!” The voice of a kid, Charles didn’t see him so he had no idea how old he was but he heard the man behind him curse under his breath. “Told ya to stay away, Isaac! This is a stranger!” But Isaac didn’t seem to listen. Charles saw a boy with blond hair walk up to Taima, offering her his hand to smell on. He looked up at Charles for a moment, then his gaze wandered back to his Pa. “He ain’t bad, I can tell, Pa. We have to help them.” The boy said, almost pleading. Charles couldn’t imagine raising a kid like him in this mess and wondered if these two were all alone. “You try somethin’, you’re dead”, he heard the stranger whisper, probably trying to shield his boy from the harsh truth they were living in. “Alright.Thank you”, Charles said and he felt how the gun was taken away from his body. At least for now. “There’s a well behind the cabin, can have a drink there. Got some beans left, too and a bedroll for the night”, the stranger walked around him, eyeing him up before extending his hand. “Name’s Arthur, by the way.” Charles took his hand, offering the stranger a smile. “Nice to meet you, Arthur.”

[theparanormalperiodical]

French Nuns And Newspaper Clippings: The Real Stories That Inspired The Exorcist (1973)

The year is 1632.

We are in a remote commune in Northern France. The situation is bleak: an outbreak of plague has started snatching lives again, and King Louis XIII is ordering the walls around Loudon to be torn down. The locals are more divided than ever.

But things are about to get worse.

Way worse.

The local nuns are beginning to act strange.

It started when one young nun claimed she had a vision of a dead priest. Suddenly, all 17 clergywomen are reporting similar visions. They then begin cussing, shouting, and displaying more and more aggressive behaviour.

17th century nuns do not act like this.

Oh no, this was something unholy. This was demonic possession.

331 years later, this little-known historic tale would feature as one of the main inspirations behind horror’s most iconic movie.

Yep, the film that still gives you nightmares of young girls walking down stairs crustacean-style is based on a true story. But it’s worse than that. It’s based on two tales of alleged possession, several real-life people, and a demon many still worship today.

*nopes the f*ck out*

Let’s Talk About The Exorcist

Let me just clarify something: the exorcist is not the creepy, possessed ‘lil girl. An exorcist is a person that performs exorcisms - so here, it’s the priests.

The Exorcist was originally a book written by William Peter Blatty. Adapted to a film series (and a TV show) starting 2 years later, they both shared a close plotline. Well, to begin with, anyway.

A statue of a demon is found in an archaeological dig of northern Iraq. The discovery unleashes a mysterious spirit/demon/god called Pazuzu. On the other side of the world, a young girl begins exhibiting strange behaviour. Regan, a typical 12-year-old American girl, refuses to eat or sleep and becomes aggressive. All the while, strange things happen around the house.

The doctors provide no answers to her behaviour, so the mother of the supposedly-ill child turns to religion instead. She finds help in the form of a priest who is experiencing a crisis of faith and consequently doesn’t believe this is demonic possession. But a couple chats with the girl convinces him that yep, she’s bunged up with a demon. So, he asks the bishop if he can perform an exorcism. A priest fresh off that dig in Iraq is shipped over and they get to work. During the final exorcism, one of the priests opts to save the possessed girl by asking the demon to possess them instead. The possessed priest chucks himself out of the window and as he falls to his death, regains his faith in God.

The Exorcist is one of the most famous horror films - if not, the most iconic - of all time, from the traumatic FX makeup of a possessed Regan to sequences ‘80s America wasn’t ready for.

But The Exorcist was not a stand alone film. Contrary to popular belief, what followed was 4 (soon to be 5) sequels ‘n’ prequels that unravelled a deep, dramatic plotline. There’s a reason we don’t hear about them.

In the following films we see the aftermath of Regan’s exorcism and emerging doubts about whether she was in fact really possessed. Political and theological themes rise to the surface, looking deeper at the priests that conducted the exorcism rather than the victim. At the same time we take part in an archeological dig, meet a serial killer, and get a front row seat to a battle during WW2.

It’s a wild ride. But this ride is brimming with reality.

Blatty directly cited inspiration from a number of sources, most famously the 1949 demonic possession of Roland Doe that he first heard when studying at Georgetown University. But he has also claimed that many of the characters who navigated the possession of Regan were based on real people.

Take Father Merrin, the exorcist leading the exorcism: he was based on a British archaeologist that excavated the caves where the Dead Sea Scrolls (ancient manuscripts written in Hebrew) had been found.

But the nature of the exorcism that filled out a majority of the film were informed by the work for Father William S Bowdern, a Jesuit priest who exorcised Roland Doe himself.

However, it wasn’t just the mortals that were inspired by real, historic figures.

Pazuzu Is An Actual Worshipped Demon

Without Pazuzu, there would be no possession. Without Pazuzu, there would be no exorcism, nor the need for an exorcist.

We only see the demon in flashes - but these moments inherit a history that takes us back as far as 3500BC. Pazuzu was an ancient Mesopotamian or Assyro-Babylonian god that was the king of the demons of the wind. He brought storms and drought, and although recognised as an evil spirit, he also drove away other evil spirits. He strives to protect us from plagues and misfortunes, and his rival, Lamashtu, causes harm to mother and baby during childbirth.

He is known as both a demon and a god, but in The Exorcist is recognised more as the former.

We do catch a couple glimpses of Pazuzu, but we only see his face clearly when he begins to take over young Regan. The pasty white face and blood red eyes don’t fit ancient lore: Pazuzu is traditionally depicted as having the head of a lion, the body of a human, the talons of an eagle, a pair of wings, a scorpion’s tail, and a ‘serpentine penis’ (I can’t work out if this is the penis of a snake or a penis that looks like a snake and like I don’t wanna know k).

The Exorcism Of Roland Doe

It’s one of the most famous cases of possession - and we don’t even know who the victim actually was.

In 1949, American newspapers began to pick up on the story of an exorcism in Maryland. A teenage boy was at the centre of mysterious poltergeist activity after the death of his spiritualist aunt. She was the one that first introduced him to an ouija board.

After typical paranormal activity took place, priests were summoned to exorcism him. During these exorcisms, furniture began to move by itself, the boy began to attack priests with rogue bedsprings, he began to speak in an unknown voice, the mattress he lay on began to shake, and words like “evil” and “hell” began to appear in scratches upon his body.

It was a very similar state to the one Regan was in during The Exorcist.

Roland Doe (a pseudonym, obviously) to this day has remained anonymous, and - if alive - he would be 86 years old.

Despite this being the most known case of alleged possession - rivalling only that of Anneliese Michel - it has received a large dose of skepticism and debunking. The supposed location of the exorcism and some personal details of Roland Doe have been contested. Plus, many believe Doe was actually a spoiled, attention-seeking bully who simply repeated Latin phrases heard at school in order to create some elaborate prank.

Regardless of whether it was real or not, it is a landmark moment in paranormal history.

And 300 years before a 14 year old lutheran began to growl Latin at his family members, a group of women began to show similar signs of a haunting.

The Possessed Affair Of Loudon And Aix-en-Provence

I’ve already introduced you to the possessed nuns of Loudon. But it turns out The Exorcist also took inspiration in another French convent: Aix-en-Provence.

The nuns of Loudon pinned their possession on the demon Asmodai and gave a number of different answers as to who summoned it. Some claimed it was either a priest named Peter or Zabulon (a biblical figure). But a week after this, a man named Urbain Grandier who had amassed a lot of power and a strained reputation in the community was considered the culprit.

Soon after the nuns first exhibited strange behaviour, they were hidden away and the symptoms stopped.

The accusations levelled against Grandier were clearly inspired by political motives as he had publicly attacked the cardinal’s work and the taking down of the wall. But locals say he would appear at random in the convent with no one sure as to how he got inside. It was even claimed that he had made a pact with the devil - from which a physical contract was supposedly uncovered - and that he had attended witch’s sabbat.

The priest was executed for sorcery and given ‘the boot’ (a method of torture).

Loudon and Aix-en-Provence are considered cases that fit in well with wider witch trials taking place across western Europe in the 17th century. The possession of the Ursuline nuns of Aix-en-Provence were similar to that of Loudon - but were just a tad more mental.

20 years before Grandier was convicted, a young woman, Madeleine de Demandolx, confessed to the superior of the convent that she had been intimate with the local priest. She was sent away to Aix-en-Provence to get some distance but soon began to do some rather out-of-character things.

She would have convulsions and soon the other nuns began to do the same. It appeared to be contagious.

But things got hella weird when the nuns gathered together in a holy cave that Mary Magdalene was meant to have once lived in (Sainte-Baume) to be exorcised. Instead of just shaking, they all tried to outdo each other in symptoms of possession.

Once would cuss fervently; another would speak in a deep, demonic voice.

A political story soon unravelled full of accusations, executions, and even Madeleine being released from jail at 77 for her alleged witchcraft.

So - are you ever going to watch The Exorcist after this?

(Me neither.)

If you liked this post, go on and let me know with a like ‘n’ a reblog. And if you want to hear somethin’ spooky every Saturday, go on and hit follow!

[heartbreak-of-a-marauder]

Rogue (2)

Title: The Vanishing Girl

Pairing: Loki x fem!reader

Summary: Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.

Words: 2020

Note: Thank you to everyone for the immense amount of love for the first part! It blew me away! The taglist is still open, the previous part is linked below:

Part One 

y/n = your name  ●  y/e/c = your eye colour  ●  y/h/c = your hair colour

<- 2 ->

~*~*~*~*~

Age 15

Fireworks explode overhead, igniting the inky black sky in vibrant patterns of blues, pinks, reds, greens, golds and white. You sit transfixed by their beauty. The detonation created a rumble deep within your chest, some fireworks boom so loud you nearly cover your ears while others fizz as they sparkle. The true majesty of Asgard seems to come alive in the brief moments of light, the water beneath reflects each one perfectly, carrying the colour across its gentle ripples. A tincture of gunpowder travels on the slight breeze, tickling your nose.

Your knees begin to ache, complaining that you’ve been knelt on the scarcely padded window seat for too long. The stone of the windowsill is rough beneath your palms as you wiggle from side to side attempting to find a more comfortable position, your eyes never leave the fantastic display. The fireworks would happen twice a year without fail, and for as long as you could remember, you had sat and watched them. You had no idea why they happened but that never stopped you from looking forward to them.

A myriad of green fireworks cut through the night, dimming the stars, making them seem like they were only a backdrop made to enhance the brilliance of colours. They curved in streaks and lines of green, gold and white growing wider with each blast. A final crescendo echoes deafeningly across Asgard as the display reaches its climax, and just as soon as they had illuminated the sky, they fade to blackness leaving a blanket of smoke to descend on the city below.

You rest back on your heels feeling the way your heart hammered in your chest. Asgard comes back into focus through the smoke, lanterns create a soft glow in the night. From your window seat, you can see the main courtyard glowed brighter than the rest, the ringing in your ears takes a few minutes to dissipate, when it does you’re able to hear the music and laughter that drift from there. They were having a celebration of sorts, glancing to the sky again you wonder if that’s why there were fireworks.

The satin of your dress is creased and your legs are stiff and you manoeuvre off the window seat. Closing your eyes you try and focus on the sound of the gathering. You had never been invited to an occasion like that, they sounded like they were having fun.

Your steps are quiet at you shuffle back towards the workbench, the wood of the stool creaks beneath you as you settle back into your seat. An air of melancholy settles around you as you resume your work. Your mothers’ pestle and mortar sit abandoned across from you, no doubt she had gone to gather more ingredients for the remedy she had been working on. You finger the sprigs of dried lavender that lay forgotten beside you, you had no desire to continue to work on your vial of soothing. Despite having moved away from the window, the sounds of revelry still reached you, calling to you, making you less willing to work.

The music seemed to whisper your name, distracting you further. Reopening your recipe book, you flick through the aged pages, perhaps having the instructions in front of you would make you concentrate on something different. It didn’t matter that you had made hundreds of vials of soothing before, nor did it matter that you knew the recipe by heart, it gave your brain something else to do than dream up fantasies of what the party would be like.

Despite having the book in front of you, images of finely crafted dress swishing as their wearers danced continued to preoccupy your mind, so much so you hadn’t noticed your mother return.

You’re brought from your musings by the sound of your mothers’ pestle clattering against the table. Would she let you go if you asked? You chewed your lips as you thought, it didn’t take you long to arrive at the solid conclusion of ‘no’. Why should this occasion have a different outcome to any of the other times you had asked. You thumb absently through the pages, already hearing the responses your mother would give you.

She had given you an almighty row after you had met the prince a few years ago. You scowl at the memory. The punishment had never matched the act. How were you supposed to know one of the princes of Asgard would be wandering the corridors at that very moment? No supper that night and bed at sunset for two weeks definitely made a mountain out of a molehill.

Your frown lessens as you focus on the page you had landed on. ‘Draught of Sleep’. Your eyes dart nervously between your mother and the page as an idea pops into your head. Scanning the ingredients list you realise you had most of them out already. The only thing missing was poppy seed extract, but you knew exactly which cupboard and shelf it was kept on. It was risky and incredibly reckless to even be considering this, but what mother didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her?

Right?

“I’m going to make some tea, would you like some mother?” Already you can feel how sweaty your palms are.

“I’d love some, thank you, dear,” Looking up from her work, she casts you a warm smile. You try to return it in kind but the feeling of guilt welling up inside you dampened it.

Standing you palm the necessary ingredients off the table, hoping your mother wouldn’t notice. When you reached the tea set, you hastily shove the ingredients you had been carrying into the drawstring tea bag. You sidestep to the cabinet beside you, flicking away the buds of lavender that had stuck to your palm. Your eyes quickly scan the jars that sat unprotected on its shelves, you take a cautionary look over your shoulder at your mother before reaching for the one you needed.

Returning to the tea set, you carefully add 5 drops of the poppy seed extract, counting each straw-coloured droplet as it hit the bottom of your mothers cup. Tendrils of stream curl upwards as you pour generous amounts of hot water into each one, making sure to thoroughly soak the herbs and flowers you had added to your mother’s cup.

‘Here goes nothing’.

It had taken ingesting the entire brew before your mother finally succumbed to sleep. She slept hunched over, her head touching the table. Guilt and excitement began to bubble in your chest as you softly drape a blanket over her shoulders. The drought had worked wonderfully, and you finally got your chance to go to the party. But you did not enjoy deceiving your mother like this.

You give yourself a customary once over check before heading out of your chambers. Unsure of the exact way to go, you follow the sounds of revelry and smells of rich food and perfume.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Everyone around you was having such an amazing time. The conversations and music were so loud around you it made your skin tingle. Laughter rang out from somewhere; you could barely hear it over the roar of chatter. You felt giddy and hot. You had expected polite conversation, wine and those silly little appetisers carried around on trays, but what you had found was beyond what you could think up.

Since arriving you had learned this was, in fact, a party celebrating the 18th birthday of Prince Loki. It was a fitting celebration for his entrance into manhood.

You danced lazily through the corridors of the palace. Your blood was still alive with music and more than one goblet of wine. Already, you were wishing you could stay for longer. You would have a difficult time removing the grin from your face. Twirling on your toes once more, your eyes following the hem of your skirts as they whirl around you.

“Y/n?” Someone asks, making you teeter mid-turn; off-balance.

Wildly you reach out grabbing nothing but air, you were going to fall and create a scene. They knew your name. The thought assaults you as you land in a heap on the floor. The cold of the tiles seeps through your skin and into your veins. There were very few on Asgard who knew you, those who did also knew your mother.

‘She’ll skin me alive’, you think, oblivious to the hand being extended down to you.

“Y/n, are you alright?” The voice asks again, chuckling.

Clenching your jaw, you prepare your meanest gaze to direct at them but stop when you see who stood before you.

Loki.

Everything about him was almost the same. His dark hair had grown, tucked away behind his ears. The timeless beauty of his pale complexion made his eyes appear more vibrant, they twinkled with something more, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. You grin to yourself, noticing he still wore his characteristic green though his chest and shoulders were broader now. He definitely wasn’t a little boy anymore.

“I- Yes, I'm… How are you?” You ramble awkwardly, only making him grin more.

“Well, I must admit I’m a little surprised,” His larger hand envelops yours as he tugs you to stand. “You disappear for three years, only for me to find you dancing around the corridors,”

You feel your face begin to flame.

“Where have you been?” He mutters softly, asking himself more than you.

“It’s late, I must be getting home,” Reluctantly you slip your hand from his, taking a few retreating steps.

“Wait!” He frowns at your avoidance, catching up to you in one large stride.

“Yes, your highness?”    

“Where are you going?”

“Home?” You ask in confusion, pointing behind you.

“Haven’t you heard? It’s my birthday, stay a while!” He gestures with open arms.

“I really must be getting back,” You grimace. “I hope your birthday wish comes true, your highness,” You wave before setting off again, you had stayed longer than intended and were anxious to get back before your mother awoke.

“Obviously it can’t,” Loki calls down the corridor to you, you fight the urge to turn around and ask why. “Because you’re leaving,”

You whirl around to face him, your mouth opening and closing as you floundered. Why were you his wish? He was a prince who could have anything, surely, he was more imaginative than that.

“Because I’m leaving?” You repeat dumbly.

“You’re a mystery y/n. The vanishing girl, no one knows you and yet here you are,” he cocks his head to the side observing you.

“I’ll disappear forever if you do not let me leave,” You offer, hoping to throw Loki off. You suppress a shudder realising that threat might become a reality if you were ever caught. Goodness knows what your mother would have in store for you.

“Then make me a promise… promise me you’ll let me solve this mystery, one day, y/n,”

“Okay, deal,” you thrust forward your fisted hand with your pinky extended. Loki stares at it for a moment, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.

“To easily broken,” he states, shaking his head.

You sigh harshly through your nose. Your hands cover your face, you didn’t have time for this. Clasping them against your chest a small cynical voice tells you that yes, now is a good time to start praying. You feel the cool surface of your Celtic knot pendant brush against your thumbs, looking down, an idea pops into your head.

Gripping the necklace in your hand you pull, releasing the catch. Gathering it in your palm you offer it towards the prince.

“Here, something physical, a tangible promise,”

“One day?” Loki asks, taking the necklace from you.

“One day,” you repeat before slipping away.

As you round the corner you holler a quick ‘happy birthday’. Neither of you knew when that would be, but you doubted it would be soon, for as thrilling as tonight’s little excursion had been, you didn’t feel bold enough to attempt it again.

Yet.    

~*~*~*~*~

TAGLIST: @hellethil @icunee @bloatedandlonly @khadineberry @abrunettefangirlnerd @whothehellsbucky @dark-night-sky-99 @nonsensicalobsessions @batsdothings

[scottspack]

My Wife Has An 18 Hour Drive Fic Rec Roundup

I wanted to make a fic rec post for the insane amount of Untamed fic ive been reading anyways, and Chi @got2ghost​ is driving halfway across the country tomorrow, so there’s no time like the present to put all of the really great fics ive read over the past couple of weeks in one location! Let’s get it poppin!

Ones That Chi Already Read:

A Lot of Edges Called Perhaps by hansbekhart (Wangxian, E, 21k)

The funny part is - and it is a little funny, even if Wei Wuxian has no one left to share the joke with - they never have. Not anything. He has never kissed any part of Lan Zhan besides his slim hands; never been even partially undressed with him anywhere besides a miserable, xuanwu-infested cave. It’s always been like this between them, this simmering need, this desperate understanding: a knowledge so deep that it lives somewhere in his bones, that if he wanted to have Lan Zhan he could have him, and if Lan Zhan wanted Wei Wuxian he could have that too. But they never have.

I found this fic on someone’s blog when they said that it was the definitive fic to read directly after finishing the series so i saved it, read it directly after finishing the series, and felt completely and wholly fulfilled by the resolution found in this fic. 10/10 cant recommend enough. 

One Rouge Spark In My Direction by hansbekhart (Lan Wangji/Xiao Xingchen/Song Lan E, 5k)

He’d thought, in Yueyang, that they’d seen something in each other, something familiar. That maybe they’d recognized something in him. But it’s been many years, and many things have happened since, and he’s guessed wrongly at other people’s hearts before. Lan Wangji looks back down at the table, at his steaming, bitter tea. He’ll beg if he has to.

In “A Lot Of Edges Called Perhaps” Wangji mentions that he has had sex before and this is the in-universe story of that time and WHEW BABY!!!! AHHHHHH!!!

Gathered Herbs & Sweet Grasses by hansbekhart (Laz Sizhui & Lan Wangji, G, 19k)

Later, when he’s older, it’s this that A-Yuan will remember most: the stretch of silence, the two of them both dirty and shaking with fever, as he looked at Brother Rich, and Brother Rich looked back at him.

This is a fic about Lan Wangji raising Sizhui from when he brings him back from the Burial Mounds until they bring Wuxian back to Cloud Recesses after he’s resurrected. It made me cry about 18 times and I consider it fully canon in relation to the show. I reread this fic at LEAST once a week. *chefs kiss*

Seldom All They Seem by Fahye (Wangxian, E, 25k)

or, one hundred and thirty-three principles of the Gusu Lan, pertaining to the state of marriage

***

He bows to Wei Wuxian, sword in hand, sleeves falling properly. Wei Wuxian bows in return, and the sect leaders begin the opening courtesies, and for all of ten minutes Lan Wangji is under the impression that he is betrothed to a boy who is perfectly normal and acceptable apart from an unfortunate tendency to fidget with his clothes.

That impression does not last.

A canon-divergent fic exploring “what if Wangji and Wuxian were betrothed from when they were young like Yanli and the peacock?” It’s extremely good and very compelling and also made me cry multiple times. (The confrontation in the rain doesn’t get any easier even if they’re betrothed!)

Half Cloak & Half Dagger by Fahye (Lan Xichen/Meng Yao, E, 13k)

Jin Guangyao lifts his head and smiles. "I'm considering a problem."

"Can I be of any assistance with it?"

He drops a kiss on Lan Xichen's chest. With the nail of one finger he lightly traces the characters for irony on Lan Xichen's side. "Not this one, er-ge."

In the “Seldom All They Seem” universe but focused on xiyao. Has hands down the best written characterization of meng yao in any fic ive read so far. I continuously come back to this fic just to read the absolutely genius way this author writes the Head Bitch In Control of the cultivation world.

Hurricane by gdgdbaby (Wangxian, E, 6k)

"Haven't you heard?" Nie Huaisang replied, clicking his tongue, though he was clearly pleased that he could be the one to break the news. He leaned in to announce with a dramatic flourish: "Lan Wangji just took emergency family leave this past weekend."

WANGXIAN AS SPIRK STAR TREK PON FAR AU!!!!!!!!!!!!! WEEWOO WEEWOO WEEWOO!!!!!!!! This was actually recced to ME by CHI and I have not stopped thinking about this fic for a full month. It’s like author gdgdbaby sat down one day and was like “Tumblr user Liv Scottspack deserves everything she wants in this life.” and then wrote this fic. Thank you author gdgdbaby, I love you.

Ones That Chi Has Yet To Read:

My Age Has Never Made Me Wise by idrilka (Wangxian, E, 63k)

“We hear that His Excellency might be married by summer’s end,” the merchant’s wife says and Wei Wuxian freezes, his heart in his throat. “The Gusu Lan sect has been buying enough red silk and brocade that the merchants in Caiyi can’t satisfy the demand.”

He feels himself grow brittle inside, like a flick of a finger to his temple might make him shatter. His ears are ringing.

“Who’s the lucky bride?” he asks despite himself. His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth.

Or: The story of a marriage.

I LOVE THIS FIC. The absolute best kind of slow burn and I think such an extremely accurate representation of the canon material. I’m always surprised by the authors in this fandom’s ability to write shit that is so concretely grounded in the universe. This could and should be a real companion novel. Amazing. I love it.

The Year of Drought by idrilka (Wangxian, E, 24k)

Wei Ying could not be contained by the walls of the Cloud Recesses, alive again and overflowing with it, bursting like a dam in spring with the force of two lives unspent. And so he had to go. Lan Wangji understands that—he understood it when Wei Ying told him of his plans, looking at Lan Wangji above the rim of his cup with an apologetic smile, like craving freedom was something to apologize for.

Wei Ying would go, and Lan Wangji would see him off; this has always been the only way it could be.

Or: In the absence of Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji waits.

The previous fic but from Wangji’s perspective. Absolutely required reading if you read the other one. Wangji baby.......i love you.....

A Civil Combpaign by Ariaste (Jin Ling/Lan Sizhui, T, 20k)

“And,” said one of the pompous ministers, “there’s the matter of a marriage to consider as well!”

Jin Ling, who at the beginning of that sentence had expected to slam into the very last wall of his patience and lose his temper entirely, paused. “A what?”

Thing was… it wasn’t such a bad idea.

Jin Ling gets it in his head that as sect leader he should get married and sets his sights on Lan Sizhui. I cannot stress enough how FUCKING CUTE this fic is!!! Sizhui being the best boy! Jin Ling having more uncles than he knows what to do with! Jiang Cheng being the worst at relationship advice! It’s so fucking good it love it so much.

Anyway, Here’s Wuji by kakikaeru (Lan Jingyi/Lan Sizhui, T, 18k)

The melody gets a little clearer when he breaks out of the trees, and Jingyi changes course with certainty, barreling down the back hill and through the Cloud Recesses, dodging scandalized disciples left and right. He throws open the doors to the Receiving Hall without announcement and bows nearly double, eyes on the floor instead of on the shocked faces of the Mei delegation and the impenetrable gaze of the Chief Cultivator.

"Forgive this disciple," Jingyi shouts, because he's going to get punished for rule breaking regardless. "From the back hill, Hanguang-jun, there is a song in the wind!"

Lan Jingyi comes of age.

A Jingyi-central fic about Jingyi growing up and falling in love and being a hero and being the second best boy of my heart right after Sizhui. Not only is this fic sweet and romantic but it’s another one that explores a lot of interesting things within canon and all of the supporting characters are written very well and are just as interesting as second best boy Jingyi.

Ok, JiuJiu by kakikaeru (Jin Ling/Ouyang Zizhen, T, 16k)

Uncle's jaw works in the way that suggests he's about to say something irredeemable. Jin Ling, in a move of diplomacy he hopes the Chief Cultivator appreciates, distracts him with spicy food and his favourite subject: the incompetence of his own officials.

"I hear the lakes in the south east are having drainage problems?" he asks nonchalantly, sticking three big slices of braised pork belly into his Uncle's bowl.

Jin Ling just wants to get through the Discussion Conference with his Sect, his dignity, and his heart intact.

A follow up fic to “Anyways, Here’s Wuji.” I LOVE the Jin Ling/Ouyang Zizhen dynamic of Jin Ling having been raised by Jiang “I keep all my emotions right here and then one day I’ll die” Cheng being hopelessly charmed and smitten with Ouyang “President of the I Love Love Romance Novel Book Club” Zizhen! I LOVE IT! EXTREMELY CUTE!

This Side of Paradise by greenfionn (Wei Wuxian/Wen Qing, E, 3k)

Wei Wuxian does some very quick math in his head that goes something like this: He is pretty sure he’s in love with Lan Zhan - Lan Zhan is not here and likely never will be here - Wen Qing is here, not to mention very hot and let us not forget, actually interested in sex with him - there’s a solid chance he goes genuinely crazy or dies, or both, in the next few months and really, who wants to die a virgin?

Listen.......the fic premise is “Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing, noted bisexuals, figure life sucks enough at the Burial Mounds, they might as well have any fun they can before they die” and........I Am Looking Directly At It. It features Wen Qing bossing Wei Wuxian around and Wei Wuxian’s canon he-wants-to-be-pregnant kink. It’s........I liked it.

To The Act of Making Noise by words-writ-in-starlight (Lan Sizhui & Lan Wangji, G, 19k)

His father in white plays the song late into the night, and when A-Yuan wakes up confused and afraid, the guqin lulls him back to sleep.

Lan Sizhui hears his father play the same song every night for his whole life, and never, ever get an answer.

Another very moving and heartwarming fic about Lan Wangji raising Sizhui and Sizhui figuring out Wangji’s past and then eventually reconnecting with Wei Wuxian. It’s cute and soft and Sizhui is my best boy!

History (Proud To Call Your Own) by words-writ-in-starlight (Wen Ning, G, 5k)

“A-Yuan? Um—Lan-gongzi,” Wen Ning corrects, trying to set a good example. The children are young, seven and eight, exactly a dozen of them lined up in two crisp lines of tiny blue and white robes. Wen Ning can feel them staring at him, even though most of them have already mastered that Lan trick of neutrality. The smallest, a little girl with liquid dark eyes, is clinging to her nearest shijie’s sleeve and half-hiding. “Can I—what can I do for you?”

Wen Ning gets himself recruited for services, while he and Sizhui are visiting Cloud Recesses. Wei Wuxian gets a fan club.

Set in the same universe as “To The Act of Making Noise,” a very cute fic about Wen Ning finding his place in the post-canon world and being proud of his cousin Sizhui and being the world’s best substitute teacher. As the official Wen Ning Fan Club President, I had to include this.

Lan Sizhui's Guide to Courtship by Kimblydot (Lan Sizhui/Lan Jingyi, T, 23k)

In which Jingyi is a little oblivious, Sizhui is patient (and should have said something in the beginning), and everyone else is resigned to watching them dance around each other for far longer than necessary.

(Or: five things Sizhui tries to do in his courtship, and the one time Jingyi realizes there was one happening in the first place.)

I’ll stop describing fics about the juniors as being “cute” when they stop being SO FUCKING CUUUUUUUUUUTTTTTTTEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!

Grow by cafecliche (Lan Sizhui & Wei Wuxian, T, 14k)

“Okay,” Jingyi says, as Sizhui puzzles this out aloud. “Okay! So the demon has been turning its victims into children.”

“I think so,” Sizhui says.

“To make them easier prey,” Jingyi says.

“Yes,” Sizhui says.

“So—” Jingyi’s voice cracks here, “this kid is Senior Wei.”

Wei Wuxian, still tangled in his own massive robes, blinks politely at them.

(Or: Wei Wuxian is cursed on a night-hunt, and the junior quartet rapidly finds themselves in over their heads.)

What I expected to be a goofy, silly fic turned out to be extremely emotional and made me FULLY CRY! It’s a very moving fic about Sizhui coming to understand himself and Wei Wuxian a lot better AND features all of the juniors arguing over who’s turn it is to hold 6 year old Wei Wuxian. A true win/win of a fic.

Your Name, Safe In Their Mouth by astrolesbian (Lan Sizhui & Wei Wuxian, G, 10k)

“You’ve got a fever,” Wei Wuxian says soothingly. “You just keep still as well as you can. We’ll have you fixed up soon.”

Lan Sizhui recognizes his tone—this is the voice that Wei Wuxian uses on hurt people and young children, a very calm and no-nonsense voice that has none of the mischief and cheer of the way he sounds the rest of the time. Lan Sizhui looks up and meets his eyes, and they are dark, stormy gray, muddled and concerned.

“I’m all right,” he croaks.

“Hush,” Wei Wuxian says, in a low croon, like someone quieting a baby. Then he blinks, and looks away, awkward. “I mean—you shouldn’t speak. You’re tired. Rest if you need to.”

or: lan sizhui gets sick on a night hunt. wei wuxian comforts him. they both have a lot of feelings about it.

The Wei Wuxian and Sizhui bonding fic that I so desperately desperately needed to read. Scratched the very particular itch of “but have they REALLY talked about what it means that they’re reunited after 16 years???”

Stainless by Fahye (Wangxian, E, 6k)

"I'm starting to feel," says Lan Xichen, "that this was a counterproductive suggestion."

Wei Wuxian looks down onto the pristine, tranquil cold springs of the Cloud Recesses. Sitting in the water, their bare shoulders rising like dumplings carefully spaced in a steaming-basket, are a large number of Lan disciples.

"They seem to be doing better," he says, encouragingly. "If they--oh, no, I see what you mean."

At the near bank, someone has pressed someone else against the rocks and is kissing them frantically.

It’s smut! What is getting into a new pairing if not an excuse to read sex pollen in new and exciting ways!

Sweet Night by thejillyfish (Wangxian, E, 10k)

It was like coming back to life again, like being restitched into existence, cell by cell, nerve by nerve. From the surface of his skin to the marrow of his bones, everything new and purposeful. Like being pulled back from oblivion into an embrace of pure light. A feeling of absolute asylum.

That’s what it felt like, to realize Lan Wangji was in love with him.

In-show au of “what if they just admitted they’re in love and fucked during episode 43?” Soft and romantic and hot!

Shadows In The Sun Rise by Yuu_chi (Wangxian, E, 25k)

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, voice slow and a pitch too quiet. A second later Wei Wuxian understands why. “I cannot hear.”

Or; Lan Wangji is cursed into internal isolation. Their ability to understand one another remains as unwavering as ever.

OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD. I have been thinking about this fic nonstop since I read it. It is.....fucking incredible. One of the best qualities of wangxian is that they’re so in tune with each other and able to work so cohesively with little communication and this fic is like “what if we take that and DIAL IT UP TO ELEVEN” and i was like AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!! 

WHEW OKAY that’s enough for right now!

I’m constantly reading new fics all the time so maybe eventually I’ll make a second one if Chi actually reads/likes any of these (they’re picky!), or if anyone else likes this list and wants updates.

TO CHI: Thank you for getting me into The Untamed! I love you! I had the best time texting you every thought that passed through my head while I watched it. I’ve loved all of the content you’ve sent me from the book and the comic. I’ve loved making fun of Yibo with you. I’ve loved being your fic taste tester. Life sucks right now but at least we have wangxian!

TO EVERYONE ELSE: If you read any of these fics please come to my DMs and talk to me about them! I have a lot of feelings and love to cry over fics! Thank you!

[aprilfayelikes]

So I’m reading TGCF... (part 4)

Welcome to the 4th part of my TGCF readthrough. I’ve just finished the first book, and let me tell you, this is the cruelest ending ever! So naturally, I had to continue my lovely suffering with the second book... (If you can’t tell, I really love this story:D) Warning: SPOILERS!  Stick around if you have already read TGCF from chapter 58 to chapter 74

Chapter 58

(We’re back in the past at the Shangyuan Festival. The crown prince is late but he plays the part of the God-Pleasing Martial Warrior, so the Guoshi is very angry. Mu Qing who plays the ghost reports that Xie Lian promised to be there on time and they should just start the show. So they do. The crown prince arrives and everything goes according to plan, but a small child falls from the city wall, and Xie Lian abandons the play and his mask to save him) - FCUK! You’re joking, right?! We’re reminiscing?! Right now?! No way! Please, no! Why now? After that awful cliff-hanger?! This is torture! - Not like I wouldn’t be interested in the backstory, but still... - FUCK! Let me cry in the corner for a short minute or hour or day..... T.T - ‘K, I’m done. - No, I’m not! *goes back to the corner to cry* T.T - This amount of praise must put a lot of pressure on someone. I’d break under the weight. Like you constantly have to live up to the expectations. And the expectations are sky-high. - Nice catch!:D

Chapter 59

(Not only does he lose his mask, the parade circles the city three times, which only guarantees three years of peace for the country, so the Guoshi is not happy. But it turns out, that the crown prince did send a message about why he will be late, but the Guoshi was busy playing cards and his subordinates hate Mu Qing thus they didn’t let him through. The kid he saved is kind of weird, but they let him go) - Xie Lian is very spoiled. He’s a nice and naive prince who’s completely detached from reality. - I love these three together. They are fun:D Xie Lian is fun. He’s too carefree and definitely spoiled but fun:)

Chapter 60

(The bad omens keep piling up. The kid dirtied Xie Lian’s clothes and he also lost one of his earrings during the performance. Feng Xin and Mu Qing get into an argument. Mu Qing thinks the other one is accusing him of stealing and storms off. Xie Lian tells Feng Xin about how he got to know Mu Qing.) - So he was supposed to be looking fluid in gender as a god? I love this idea. And it somehow suits Xie Lian, as well:D - Also he pierced his ears just for the performance:) - ‘He really didn’t bring a lot with him. Only two carriages full of books, and two hundred treasured swords.’ Pft... yeah, that’s not much AT ALL.

Chapter 61-64

(They go after Mu Qing and see him being bullied. Xie Lian not only helps him out but invites him to keep him company while visiting the palace. In the palace, we realize that although he loves his mom, his not on great terms with his father. Qi Rong is also a little troublemaker. He got a carriage for his birthday and he almost trampled pedestrians but doesn’t even care about it. The crown prince demands his mother to confiscate the cart. Qi Rong throws a fit and almost charges at Mu Qing. Then later when Xie Lian offers to visit Mu Qing’s mom, they see Qi Rong dragging a human body behind his carriage. The boys stop him and Xie Lian finds out, he captured the kid he rescued and whom his cousin blames for the misfortune of the Shangyuan Festival. While Qi Rong tries to attack the kid, Feng Xin breaks his hand)   - Mu Qing is being bullied. I start to understand where his complexes are coming from. - How can the crown prince casually stroll around in the slums? Does no one want to capture him? Does no one recognize him? Does no one want to steal from him? - Qi Rong was also disgusting as a human. - Poor kid! His name is Hong, that’s cute. :) Hong Hong-er:D - When did this happen? When did I get to the 64th chapter? These chapters went by so fast.

Chapter 65

(They take the kid back to the palace, he’s called Hong and is 10 years old. The king, however, demands Feng Xin to be punished for raising his hand on a member of the royal family. So Feng Xin has to break his on hand as an atonement) - Oh, the unimaginable hardships of a prince... (He definitely has an incredibly easy life, tbh) - Uh... Feng Xin’s hand is broken. Poor angry boy.

Chapter 66

(They head back to Mount Taicang, but the crowd circles them. Instead of blaming him for what happened at the festival, the people are cheering for Xie Lian. He feels he did the right thing saving the kid. So when the Guoshi says otherwise...) - Say what?! So he either kneels before the wall and prays, or the child should lose one of his senses? Why? This makes absolutely zero sense. Chapter 67

(... he cannot accept any penalty and cannot let them punish the kid either. But suddenly, as he is being lectured, all the evil ghosts they kept imprisoned get out and start to circle the kid. The Guoshi says that the kid carries bad luck and no one should touch him, but Xie Lian still holds him and comforts him.) - It’s not your fault, baby Hong, don”t cry! Poor kid! I really can’t. - Sry I don’t know what to write. These chapters are not funny, and you can feel that misery is coming.

Chapter 68

(Xie Lian cannot accept that the kid was born to be unlucky and the Guoshi tries to lecture him again. But he’s stubborn and is willing to oppose even the heavens if he knows, he’s right. The Guoshi feels the crown prince needs more worldly experience, so he lets him descend the mountain to go on an adventure. The kid escapes that night, and not much later Xie Lian ascends) - Yeah, that master is saying something... Xie Lian is very compassionate and lovely and good-natured and stubborn, but also incredibly naive and wants to shoulder everything on his own. This road leads to tragedy.

Chapter 69-70

(Three years later they are building the 8000th golden statue of the crown prince. Qi Rong also visits the shrine and offers prayers, but on the way out, he sees an unkempt man who wants to get to the royal palace then tries to fish out some golden coins of the shrine from the lake. He beats him. Xie Lian interferes; he pushes down his own statue, which is a very bad omen. The man is from Yong’An, the area is suffering from drought and he came for help from the king. He carries the body of his dead child on his back. Xie Lian helps him to burry the child) - I love how the tragedy of a nation is shown through the tragedy of one man. It is shocking and touching and just goes to show how much of a dick Qi Rong truly is. - I finally understand how the conflict between Yong’An and Xianle broke out. - But I also refuse to believe that there were no solutions whatsoever. I mean I get it, it’s hard, but the solution the king chose is definitely not the best one.

Chapter 71

(Xie Lian doesn’t know how to help. The Guoshi warns him that he is a god, not a crown prince, mortal matters shouldn’t concern him anymore. He also mentions that he believes Xie Lian ascended too soon. Since his bloodline is still alive he can’t help but to be concerned and that is going to bring bad luck on him and the kingdom, as well) - Why don’t you just ask some elemental god to help out. Aren’t you like... all in the god club? If you can’t help, somebody else can!  - Aaaand thank God he also realized this. At least the idea is there.

Chapter 72-73

(Xie Lian tries to collect information disguised as an ordinary human when it starts to pour down. He is mesmerized by the rain but hides in a small shrine that happens to be built for him. A small kid is a regular at that shrine. He changes the flower in the hand of the statue every day. Xie Lian becomes invisible and listens to the child’s prayer. The child asks him what should he live for. And he answers: Live for me. This child happens to be the same child he saved years ago.) - Small Hong is really cute~ - And Xie Lian is really stupid. I understand him and his desperation, but he is too young. His head is full of ideas. His childish. But he tries his best:( I feel for him.

Chapter 74

(As it turns out Xie Lian didn’t have the time to make friends with the other gods yet due to his fast ascension, so no one is willing to help him. He visits the Rain Master, who is not very nice, but he lends him his godly device. However, all this takes too long and a week passes) - Lord Rain Master seems like a dick, too. There are many dicks in this story.

[thenovelist101]

Wandered

Chapter One

The village was alive and buzzing with town talk. In the village of Founder, there was a huge feast in honor of the burning of all magic beings in the land. It was a grand day to chat, laugh, eat, and perhaps get drunk. Vince however, didn’t care for this day. Not one bit.

He had sweaty brown hair plastered with narrow brown eyes. Your average teen on the verge of manhood. He was normal, which was good. The male came from a heated day of chores and work, all for just a few coins. Vince carried a large basket filled different fruit—that he bought from the market—walking past the village square where people were setting up tables. Children ran around with dolls of stuffed witches.

He saw a boy and a girl pretending to play a magic hunter and witch. Magic Hunters, were certified huntsmen or women who dealt with the extermination of all things magic. “Why do I have to be the witch?” The boy complained. He flailed his arms dramatically. “I’m not a girl!“ he cried. The girl interjected him. “You’ll be a witch because I’m stronger than you! All witches should go bye-bye! And you have no intention of living in this world!” The girl seemed to be in character, because she then jabbed her wooden sword into the side of the boy. “Ahh! I’m dying!” The boy fell and pretended to be dead, sticking his tongue out. The girl giggled and told him to get up. Vince couldn’t help but laugh at it, they were only children that only knew what their parents did.

In Vince’s opinion however, he didn’t understand why people in this society didn’t like magic. No, not just this society. All of the societies in Fraintess didn’t like magic. It was something Vince could never understand. It wasn’t the children’s fault for acting this way, but still. He wondered if there was ever going to be change.

While Vince was walking, people greeted him saying “Happy Burning Day” and “I’ll see you at the feast” All to which Vince smile and nodded. People seemed to know him for no reason. It was an odd thing. Perhaps they know me because I’m supposed to be the lone wolf of this village. Of course he knew many people, since he was an apprentice of the Blacksmith Patis, who was either in a good or bad day. Mostly bad days. His teaching ethics were to drill Vince to do many things that his old apprentice would never let him do.

Vince went up to the gate that led to the outskirts of the woods. There were two guards were keeping watch, each standing on one side of the gate door. Vince knew both of them, Austin on the left snoring away on his spear, drool leaving his mouth. He was skinny and blonde. Cedar was on the right remaining scary and kept a look that he would kill you if you crossed the line. He was big, muscular, and had tan skin.

Just a few feet away, Vince put on his best scared smile and went up to the gate. “Good evening gentlemen.” He said. Austin replied with a snore. Cedar stared at Vince and then at the basket. “You aren’t going to the festival? And what is with a big basket of fruits for only one person.” His voice was hollow and cold, as usual. To the village perspective, Vince lived alone outside of its’ gates. The young male gulped and held the basket tighter. “I’m very faint and quite dizzy at the moment.” He pretended to cough. Cedar continued to glare at him. Vince made up another lie. “I’m quite the eater, if I do say so myself. Never to late to stock up in case of a drought.” Cedar rolled his eyes and opened the gate. “Just go.” “Thank you kind sir.”

Vince held his breath until he was on the other side and the gate was shut. He sighed. It seemed that nothing bad happened when he held his breath, so he would keep that superstition as long as he lived.

He followed the pathway he had made for himself over the past year. After twenty minutes of walking he went over a log and found a small hut that he had somehow built (bless the lords that he was granted enough knowledge to build one). He went inside and closed the door, and made sure the windows were closed. Then he pushed his bed out of the way to reveal a hidden trap door.

The small hut was a kitchen, bed, and couch in one big room. He opened the latch to the trap door and took the basket with him. “Hey, it’s me. I finally got food after a week.” Vince walked down the staircase making a creak on each step. He should really fix that someday. When he got into the cold stone floor he put the basket down and started to untie the lid.

In the middle of the room was a dim candelabra providing light to the whole room.

There was a dark image in the background, watching him and taking a stroll towards him. The person had quiet footsteps towards Vince. She tugged at his shirt and said “Boo.” Out of instinct, Vince whirled around to hit whatever there was behind him. The girl tumbled to the floor. “Ouch.” She said. Once Vince realized who it was, his shoulders slumped back down in relief. “For Pete’s sake, Mirai. Don’t scare me like that.” Vince’s younger sister rubbed her cheek which had a new profound bruise. She shrugged. “Okay okay, I’m sorry. You have a stronger punch now.”

The man rolled his eyes and threw her an apple. “Eat.” He said. Vince was taking out some fruit and placing it on a big cloth from his pocket. Mirai took a bite of the apple. She realized how hungry she was and finished the whole things within a minute. Mirai stood up and looked at the apple core or a moment.

She concentrated on it and tossed it in the air. It levitated. She smiled to herself in victory and let the finished apple glide over Vince and hit his head. She let it poke him a couple of times. Vince flung one of his arms in the air, trying to ward off the fruit like an annoying fly. “No magic.” He said.

Mirai frowned and let the apple fall to the ground. She went up to Vince and sat on the floor. “Its an awful lot boring down here. Can you get me something else to do from the village?” She took another apple from the bin and took a bite of it. “If I bring you many stuff at once people will get suspicious. You know that guard at the gate I was talking ‘bout?” Mirai nodded. “Well he’s on to me. I don’t know how but he is.”

Vince tied the cloth (that held berries and an orange inside) and gave it to Mirai. “For tomorrow” he said. She nodded. “I don’t think Magic Hunters will be coming by anytime soon, though. Can I-“ “No.” Vince said. The girl looked aghast. “But you didn’t even let me finish!” “You can’t get up there. It’s too-“ “Dangerous.” Mirai finished. “Exactly. Why don’t you play with your doll or something?” Mirai rolled her eyes. “I’m twelve. I don’t really play with toys any more.” “Okay sassy pants.”

Her older brother closed the basket together. He leaned his body against it for a moment. His vision blurred and his bones suddenly ached. He felt this feeling before and he simply shook it off. He was fine. Or at least that’s what he told himself.

Mirai got up and put the tied cloth next to her lousy mattress of hay. Her brother may have been a good house builder, but he was terrible at furniture.

“At least Mother and Father let me walk around.” She mumbled. “Tch, barely. What did we say about talking about them? There erased from our lives for as long as we know. They can’t hurt us. Or rather, you.” Mirai nodded. The thought of being locked isolated in a shed made her shudder.

Vince rubbed his eyes. He gripped onto the basket. He felt his face heat up. Mirai watched him. “You look tired, go to bed big brother.” She said. There was no need to keep her guardian awake. She could only imagine how much stress he endured in the day, and to keep her alive and fed was another ballgame for him. Vince nodded. “Go to bed. Think about something other than home.” He said. “I will.” She lied. Vince went up to her slowly and patted her head. “Night.” He said. “See you later Vincent Rowan.” “Shut up.” He grumbled. He went up the stairs and closed the latch to the trap door.

Vince dropped the basket and fell onto his bed. He never slept this early before and he was utterly exhausted. Was this what being an adult felt like?

Under the hut, Mirai went to her mattress that was in the corner of the cobblestone basement. She hugged at her doll that was waiting for her near her pillow. It was the same one she escaped with. The doll’s faded smile seemed to look at her. Mirai grinned back.

The candelabra that was in the center of the room was still alight with fire. She imagined wind blowing on it and the flames died down.

She sighed to herself. She knew today was Burning day. Vince wouldn’t tell her that, obviously. There was a feast being held any second now. It was a shame Vince didn’t go...he could have got wicked good food for free. That didn’t matter right now. She lied down and stared at the ceiling. She prayed for no dreams, but of course, nightmares were her best friend.

[littleredinmotion]

Top 10 Klaroline Fandom Moments

This is it guys. Tomorrow is the beginning of the end. With Klaroline coming back tomorrow, I’ve been thinking a lot about the past 7 years and all the great memories I’ve made in the Klaroline fandom and I thought it’d be cool to flashback to some of my favorite moments this fandom has been though starting with number 10 and counting all the way back to number 1...

10. The Originals

More like the announcement of The Originals. Ever since they were introduced, fans (especially Klaroline fans) had been begging for the Original fam to get the spotlight they deserved. When it was first announced that the Originals were getting a spin off, I was the first person to say how excited I was because 1) Klaus is my favorite and 2) it opened the gate to making Klaroline more that just a supporting ship. Many other people in the fandom agreed. There were so many fanmade trailers and manips that kept the hope for Klaroline alive even though the writers stupidly tried to keep them apart for 4 seasons. I mean who can forget the iconic fanmade Klaroline/Originals poster that made it in an actual magazine! 

9. Comic Con 2016

Probably the most unexpected attack of Klaroline feels I’ve ever had in my life was in 2016 when Candice and Joseph were at the same SDCC party together much less ENDED UP IN 3 DIFFERENT PICTURES TOGETHER. No one was expecting Jodice to interact because... well... the cast hates giving us what we want. But out of the blue we were graced with these horribly lighted and Persia filled pictures that to any other fandom may have been nothing but to us it was HUGE that they were even breathing the same air!

8. The Meltdown Post 5x11

Watching 5x11 live for the first time is still one of the best times I’ve had watching TV in my entire life. Seeing Klaus and Caroline kiss after YEARS of waiting was the most rewarding experience (even though they havent breathed the same air since). I remember so vividly watching that scene and screaming and crying and jumping up and down and I don’t think and moment of TV will ever give me that level of excitement ever again. But to make it better, I loved seeing everyone else in the fandom react to it as well. Knowing that after all the years of waiting that we all rejoiced together at the same time was such a cool thing to experience that I’ll cherish forever. 

7. British Acting Lessons

This video was iconic and legendary in the Golden Age of the Klaroline fandom. Oh how I wished they would have made a part 2...

6. TVD endgame

Going into the TVD series finale the only hint from Julie about Klaroline is that we would “sort of” see them which was easily taken to mean “you’re gonna be let down” because we had been let down so many times that it was almost second nature... BUT BOY WERE WE WRONG. Seeing that Caroline’s last scene on TVD being her smiling at a letter from Klaus with Alaric saying “that’s the beginning of another story” was more than I could have even dreamed of. With no promise that The Originals would even be picked up for season 5 or that Candice would even crossover at all, in that time, the entire Klaroline fandom took that ending as a sign of endgame in the future. The promise that Klaus was still waiting “however long it takes” and that their story was only just beginning wasn’t a “and they lived happily ever after” ending but it was pretty dang close which was more than I could have ever imagined. 

5. Shooting the end of Season 4

Along with the British Acting Lessons, Joseph and Candice made it so clear that big things were in store for Klaroline. Knowing that they were shooting 4x13, 4x14, 4x17, 4x18, 4x19, and 4x23, the fandom was in full swing and we were THRIVING. Seeing all the BTS photos and watching slowly to see how all this new Klaroline content would unfold was such a thrill. There was always new content from the creators and the fans and it really was the most fun time to be in the Klaroline fandom. Of course with it all ending with Klaus intending to be her last love and waiting for her however long it takes, that was more than enough to sustain us throughout the Great Klaroline Drought that is finally almost over. 

4. The Summer Before S4

This time was so especially important to me and I am so thankful for it because this was the time when I hastily binge watched all of TVD SPECIFICALLY for Klaroline. Before I even watched the show, I can say I shipped Klaroline. If it weren’t for this amazing fandom with their fan vids I never would have known about this beautiful ship or even watched the show at all. I remember watching a Klaroline vid and thinking “wow they have so much chemistry and seem like something I would totally ship I need to check out this show.” I without a doubt watched this entire show solely to see Klaus and Caroline interact and I still do to this day. I remember waking up at like 5 in the morning one day in August before school just because I had finally gotten to the episode where Klaus appeared and I’ve been hooked to that man ever since. Though I didnt join the fandom until season 4, I am so thankful for the fans that came before me because it was THEM that led me to Klaroline and have absolutely changed my life. 

3. The Date

Finding out that Klaus was gonna be Caroline’s date to Miss Mystic Fall put the entire KC fandom into a frenzy. I remember everyone speculating about what would happen and while most of our headcanons never happened, those scenes are still some of my absolute favorites. During that time the whole fandom was so positive about Klaroline becoming canon and everything was going our way and it was so much fun. We’ve been though so many hard times as Klaroline fans but the weeks before 4x07 were definitely some of the greatest times in the Klaroline fandom when things were actually going our way. But I’ll never forgive Plec for cutting out that scene where apparently THEY KISSED and all we got from it was that iconic still....

2. Shooting The Originals 5x13

Knowing that Klaroline was gonna be in more scenes together and SEEING THEM ACTUALLY FILM THEM are two completely different things. I remember when the videos from them filming in NOLA were released that I actually couldnt believe it. It had been so rare to see Candice and Joseph in the same picture together and have it not be a manip but to have actual footage of them playing Klaus and Caroline in the TO finale was such a triumphant moment. Knowing that no matter what the final episode of The Originals will end with Caroline in NOLA just like Klaus said he wanted in the pilot was such a great way to bring things full circle. Seeing the videos it was like I could feel the fandom rising from the ashes. I’m so thankful that the KC fandom never once gave up on them but we finally are getting the respect we deserve. 

1. The Australian Promo

If you’ve been in this fandom for a while you already know how ICONIC this promo was. Before 5x11 aired, all we knew was that Klaus was making an appearance and that he was gonna have at least one scene with Caroline. THEN the Australian promo for 5x11 dropped and THE FANDOM WENT NUTS. Before the promo a couple optimists guessed that maybe Klaus and Caroline would finally kiss but after how horrible the writers of TVD and TO had been to us since The Originals started, most of the fandom was super doubtful. But about 24 hours before the episode actually aired the promo dropped in Australia what confirmed that in fact Klaroline was gonna kiss. Usually I hate spoilers but having a 24 hour notice before your OTP officially becomes canon gave way to the best experience in fandom I’ve ever had in my life. The entire fandom was so HYPE and we were all 100% prepared for the Klaroline kiss we had been waiting YEARS for (lol we WEREN’T ready for the hot Klarosex though). Seeing that tiny glimpse of Klaus and Caroline leaning into kiss in that iconic gif from the promo still gives me chills. I have never seen a fandom so excited and hyped as I did in those short 24 hours and honestly it was my favorite experience as a Klaroliner.

It’s been a great 6 years being part of this fandom. I can’t wait to see how it all will end. Let me know some of your favorite Klaroline fandom memories and why! I’d love to reminisce all the good and bad times we’ve been through together. I can’t wait to take on this one last ride with my Klarofam. 

[newstfionline]

Sunday, May 23, 2021

As US schools resume testing, large numbers are opting out (AP) Standardized tests are returning to the nation’s schools this spring, but millions of students will face shorter exams that carry lower stakes, and most families are being given the option to forgo testing entirely. With new flexibility from the Biden administration, states are adopting a patchwork of testing plans that aim to curb the stress of exams while still capturing some data on student learning. Some of the nation’s largest districts plan to test only a fraction of their students as many continue to learn remotely. In New York City, students must opt in to be tested this year. In Los Angeles, most students are not being asked to take state exams this year. Other districts are scaling back questions or testing in fewer subjects. As in the past, parents are polarized. Some are demanding tests to get a sense of their children’s progress. Others see no need to put their children through that kind of stress.

Their Own Private Idaho: Five Oregon Counties Back a Plan to Secede (NYT) Political divisions in Oregon can to a great degree be measured by a river, the Deschutes, which winds its snaky, circuitous way through the state’s midsection. The river divides the high prairies of the eastern half—agricultural and politically conservative, largely—from the wetter, woodier western half, which has long been more populated and more liberal. The statewide shutdown orders that accompanied the coronavirus pandemic last year deepened those divisions, crippling businesses at a time when some rural counties had few cases. The protests and riots over race and police conduct in Portland, the state’s largest city, widened the gap further still, and the defeat of former President Donald J. Trump, who won most counties but still lost the state by a big margin after President Biden’s strong showing in the cities, capped off a litany of frustrations. This week, all of that led thousands of east-bank residents to a single resonant but highly improbable word: secession. A majority of residents in five eastern counties said in nonbinding votes that they would like to leave Oregon and join with their more like-minded conservative neighbors further east in Idaho. “Those of us in rural Oregon are written off,” said Mike McCarter, a retired agricultural nursery owner who has led the secession drive.

After an absence, New England’s ticks are back—and hungry (AP) A late-summer drought virtually eliminated ticks in parts of New England but they’re back with a vengeance this spring. Dog ticks, which do not carry Lyme disease like deer ticks do, have been especially active since early spring in Maine, New Hampshire and Vermont. And people who’ve been getting outdoors because of the pandemic are discovering the arachnids on themselves and on pets. The busy spring for ticks has been sending more people to the emergency room in Maine. Maine Center for Disease Control and Prevention reported 176 tick-related emergency department visits for the week that ended May 16. Last year, there were 91 tick-related ER visits in the same week. “Tickborne diseases remain a serious threat in Maine,” Maine CDC said in a statement.

COVID-19 deaths in Latin America surpass 1 mln as outbreak worsens (Reuters) The death toll from COVID-19 in Latin America and the Caribbean passed 1 million people on Friday, according to a Reuters tally, with the pandemic worsening in the part of the world with the highest per capita death rate. From the dusty highlands of Bolivia to the Brazilian metropolis of São Paulo, the pandemic has swamped underfunded healthcare systems after spreading fast across nations where many people survive hand-to-mouth and have been unable to enter lockdown. With cases falling in Europe, Asia and North America, and flat in Africa, South America is the only region where new infections are rising rapidly on a per capita basis, according to Our World in Data.

Lula Starts to Rekindle Old Magic in Brazil Souring on Bolsonaro (Bloomberg) They came by the dozens in solicitous clusters from the left but also the center and right to a Brasilia hotel suite this month. They smiled and fist-bumped. They tweeted. The man whose attention they were seeking, Luiz Inacio Lula da Silva, received them, pope-like, surrounded by exhilarated aides. Lula, the Brazilian shoeshine boy who founded the Workers’ Party, became an epoch-defining, wildly popular president, then was jailed for corruption and cleared by the supreme court, is emerging as the main challenger to President Jair Bolsonaro in next year’s election. As the country of 212 million reels from the death toll and upheaval caused by Covid, driving down Bolsonaro’s approval to 24%, interviews with a dozen political leaders indicate that Lula, who was president from 2003 through 2010, is rapidly uniting a vast chunk of the political spectrum around his expected candidacy. As his Workers’ Party president, Gleisi Hoffmann, said in an interview, after pressing for more vaccines and aid to the poor, “Our main role is to organize as many forces as possible to face the greatest evil that is Bolsonaro.”

BBC faces questions of integrity after Princess Diana report (AP) British broadcaster BBC, seen as a respected source of news and information around the world, is facing questions at home about its integrity following a scathing report on its explosive 1995 interview with Princess Diana. Britain’s justice secretary said Friday that the government would review the rules governing oversight of the BBC after an investigation found that one of its journalists used “deceitful behavior” to secure the interview and the corporation obscured this misconduct for 25 years. Princes William and Harry, Diana’s sons, excoriated the BBC late Thursday, saying there was a direct link between the interview and their mother’s death in a traffic accident two years later as she and a companion were being pursued by paparazzi.

Bienvenidos! Tourists invited to rural Spain to save dying villages (Reuters) Instead of the traditional sand and sea holidays, foreign tourists are invited to enjoy the charms of the Spanish countryside, Prime Minister Pedro Sanchez said on Saturday, launching an ambitious plan to save Spain’s dying villages. The 10 billion euro ($12.18 billion) plan aims to save rural life in a nation where 42% of villages are at risk of depopulation compared to a European Union average of 10%. From Monday, Spain will open up to tourists from outside the European Union deemed low-risk for coronavirus, notably Britain and Japan, who will not be required to show a negative test. The left-wing government plans to increase internet access in rural areas, improve transport routes, offer grants for young entrepreneurs and small businesses and launch a rural Erasmus educational scheme. Sanchez said that Spain’s 47 million people occupy just 12.7% of the land, compared to 67.8% of the territory populated in France and 59.9% of German territory.

2 separate China quakes cause damage; 3 dead, dozens hurt (AP) A strong, shallow earthquake shook southwestern China near the border with Myanmar, killing at least three people and injuring more than two dozen, while a separate, more intense quake early Saturday collapsed a bridge and caused other damage in central China. The first, 6.4 magnitude earthquake hit Yunnan province late Friday. The second 7.3 magnitude quake occurred hours later in the southern part of Qinghai province, about 1,000 kilometers (621 miles) to the south, according to Chinese measurements. While no deaths have been reported so far in Qinghai province, the quakes tore up roads and bridges, with one collapsing completely, broken into segments.

After the Cease-Fire, Gaza Wakes to a Sea of Rubble (NYT) The skies above Gaza and Israel were silent for the first time in 10 days on Friday night, after a truce between Israel and Hamas, the militant group that runs Gaza, took effect early Friday. But while Israel could quickly rebound, with the authorities reopening roads around Gaza that had been closed during the conflict, the scale of the destruction in Gaza will not allow a return to normality for some time. Central thoroughfares in Gaza City looked like a dystopia. A sea of rubble, several yards high and dozens wide, spread across several streets, blocking half their breadth. A vast crater filled a wide intersection, a burst sewage pipe gurgling at the bottom. A burned-out white car, hit by an airstrike this week, remained on the same spot at the seaside traffic circle where it was struck, forcing drivers to edge around it. Israeli airstrikes killed more than 230 people, destroyed more than 1,000 housing and commercial units, rendered more than 750 uninhabitable, and displaced more than 77,000 people, according to tallies compiled by Gazan officials and the United Nations. Seventeen clinics and hospitals were damaged, as well as three major desalination plants, power lines and sewage works, leaving 800,000 residents, or nearly half the population, without easy access to clean drinking water, the United Nations added. More than 53 schools were damaged.

Boko Haram Leader, Responsible for Chibok Schoolgirl Kidnappings, Dies (WSJ) Abubakar Shekau, the fundamentalist warlord who turned Boko Haram from an obscure radical sect into a jihadist army whose war with the Nigerian state has left tens of thousands dead across four nations, has died, according to officials, mediators, phone calls intercepted by a West African spy agency and internal intelligence memos seen by The Wall Street Journal. His death, which Nigeria’s military has erroneously reported at least three times before, was confirmed by five Nigerian officials who detailed how he detonated a suicide vest during a confrontation with rival insurgents to avoid being taken alive. It removes one the world’s most brutal and effective terrorists, who plunged four nations, including Africa’s most populous, into a religious war. Globally, he was best known for kidnapping nearly 300 schoolgirls from the town of Chibok on the night before their final exams.

Volcano erupts near Congolese city of Goma; residents flee (AP) Congo’s Mount Nyiragongo erupted for the first time in nearly two decades Saturday, turning the night sky a fiery red and sending lava onto a major highway as panicked residents tried to flee Goma, a city of nearly 2 million. There was no immediate word on any casualties, but witnesses said that lava already had engulfed one highway that connects Goma with the city of Beni in North Kivu province. Mount Nyiragongo’s last eruption, in 2002, left hundreds dead and coated airport runways in lava. More than 100,000 people were left homeless in the aftermath, adding to the fear in Goma on Saturday night. “We are already in a total psychosis,” resident Zacharie Paluku told The Associated Press. “Everyone is afraid; people are running away. We really don’t know what to do.”

Fungi (Scientific American) We are likely to think of fungi, if we think of them at all, as minor nuisances: mold on cheese, mildew on shoes shoved to the back of the closet, mushrooms springing up in the garden after hard rains. We notice them, and then we scrape them off or dust them away, never perceiving that we are engaging with the fragile fringes of a web that knits the planet together. Fungi constitute their own biological kingdom of about six million diverse species. Fungi break rocks, nourish plants, seed clouds, cloak our skin and pack our guts, a mostly hidden and unrecorded world living alongside us and within us. That mutual coexistence is now tipping out of balance. Fungi are surging beyond the climate zones they long lived in, adapting to environments that would once have been inimical, learning new behaviors that let them leap between species in novel ways. While executing those maneuvers, they are becoming more successful pathogens, threatening human health in ways—and numbers—they could not achieve before. Surveillance that identifies serious fungal infections is patchy, and so any number is probably an undercount. But one widely shared estimate proposes that there are possibly 300 million people infected with fungal diseases worldwide and 1.6 million deaths every year—more than malaria, as many as tuberculosis. Just in the U.S., the CDC estimates that more than 75,000 people are hospitalized annually for a fungal infection, and another 8.9 million people seek an outpatient visit, costing about $7.2 billion a year. For physicians and epidemiologists, this is surprising and unnerving. Long-standing medical doctrine holds that we are protected from fungi not just by layered immune defenses but because we are mammals. That may have left us overconfident.

[re-branding]

Some of us who live in arid parts of the world think about water with a reverence others might find excessive. The water I will draw tomorrow from my tap in Malibu is today crossing the Mojave Desert from the Colorado River, and I like to think about exactly where that water is. The water I will drink tonight in a restaurant in Hollywood is by now well down the Los Angeles Aqueduct from the Owens River, and I also think about exactly where that water is: I particularly like to imagine it as it cascades down the 45-degree stone steps that aerate Owens water after its airless passage through the mountain pipes and siphons. As it happens my own reverence for water has always taken the form of this constant meditation upon where the water is, of an obsessive interest not in the politics of water but in the waterworks themselves, in the movement of water through aqueducts and siphons and pumps and forebays and afterbays and weirs and drains, in plumbing on the grand scale. I know the data on water projects I will never see. I know the difficulty Kaiser had closing the last two sluiceway gates on the Guri Dam in Venezuela. I keep watch on evaporation behind the Aswan in Egypt. I can put myself to sleep imagining the water dropping a thousand feet into the turbines at Churchill Falls in Labrador. If the Churchill Falls Project fails to materialize, I fall back on waterworks closer at hand -- the tailrace at Hoover on the Colorado, the surge tank in the Tehachapi Mountains that receives California Aqueduct water pumped before -- and finally I replay a morning when I was seventeen years old and caught, in a military-surplus life raft, in the construction of the Nimbus Afterbay Dam on the American River near Sacramento. I remember that at the moment it happened I was trying to open a tin of anchovies with capers. I recall the raft spinning into the narrow chute through which the river had been temporarily diverted. I recall being deliriously happy. I suppose it was partly the memory of that delirium that led me to visit, one summer morning in Sacramento, the Operations Control Center for the California State Water Project. Actually so much water is moved around California by so many different agencies that maybe only the movers themselves know on any given day whose water is where, but to get a general picture it is necessary only to remember that Los Angeles moves some of it, San Francisco moves some of it, the Bureau of Reclamation's Central Valley Project moves some of it and the California State Water Project moves most of the rest of it, moves a vast amount of it, moves more water farther than has ever been moved anywhere. They collect this water up in the granite keeps of the Sierra Nevada and they store roughly a trillion gallons of it behind the Oroville Dam and every morning, down at the Project's headquarters in Sacramento, they decide how much of their water they want to move the next day. They make this morning decision according to supply and demand, which is simple in theory but rather more complicated in practice. In theory each of the Project's five field divisions -- the Oroville, the Delta, the San Luis, the San Joaquin and the Southern divisions -- places a call to headquarters before 9 AM and tells the dispatchers how much water is needed by its local water contractors, who have in turn based their morning estimates on orders from growers and other big users. A schedule is made. The gates open and close according to schedule. The water flows south and the deliveries are made. In practice this requires prodigious coordination, precision, and the best efforts of several human minds and that of a Univac 418. In practice it might be necessary to hold large flows of water for power production, or to flush out encroaching salinity in the Sacramento-San Joaquin Delta, the most ecologically sensitive point on the system. In practice a sudden rain might obviate the need for a delivery when that delivery is already on its way. In practice what is being delivered here is an enormous volume of water, not quarts of milk or spools of thread, and it takes two days to move such a delivery down through Oroville into the Delta, which is the great pooling place for California water and has been for some years alive with electronic sensors and telemetering equipment and men blocking channels and diverting flows and shoveling fish away from the pumps. It takes perhaps another six days to move this same water down the California Aqueduct from the Delta to the Tehechapi and put it over the hill to Southern California. "Putting some over the hill" is what they say around the Project Operations Control Center when they want to indicate that they are pumping Aqueduct water from the floor of the San Joaquin Valley up and over the Tehechapi Mountains. "Pulling it down" is what they say when they want to indicate that they are lowering a water level somewhere in the system. They can put some over the hill by remote control from this room in Sacramento with its Univac and its big board and its flashing lights. They can pull down a pool in the San Joaquin by remote control from this room in Sacramento with its locked doors and its ringing alarms and its constant print-outs of data from sensors out there in the water itself. From this room in Sacramento the whole system takes on the aspect of a perfect three-billion-dollar hydraulic toy, and in certain ways it is. "LET'S START DRAINING QUAL AT 12:00" was the 10:51 AM entry on the electronically recorded communications long the day I visited the Operations Control Center. "Quail" is a reservoir in Los Angeles County with a gross capacity of 1,636,018,000 gallons. "OK" was the response recorded in the log. I knew at that moment that I had missed the only vocation for which I had any instinctive affinity: I wanted to drain Quail myself. Not many people I know carry their end of the conversation when I want to talk about water deliveries, even when I stress that these deliveries affect their lives, indirectly, every day. "Indirectly" is not quite enough for most people I know. This morning, however, several people I know were affected not "indirectly" but "directly" by the way water moves. They had been in New Mexico shooting a picture, one sequence of which required a river deep enough to sink a truck, the kind with a cab and a trailer and fifty or sixty wheels. It so happened that no river near the New Mexico location was running that deep this year. The production was therefore moved today to Needles, California, where the Colorado River normally runs, depending upon releases from Davis Dam, eighteen to twenty-five feet deep. Now. Follow this closely: Yesterday we had a freak tropical storm in Southern California, two inches of rain in a normally dry month, and because this rain flooded the fields and provided more irrigation than any grower could possibly want for several days, no water was ordered from Davis Dam. No orders, no releases. Supply and demand. As a result the Colorado was running only seven feet deep past Needles today, Sam Peckinpah's desire for eighteen feet of water in which to sink a truck not being the kind of demand anyone at Davis Dam is geared to meet. The production closed down for the weekend. Shooting will resume Tuesday, providing some grower orders water and the agencies controlling the Colorado release it. Meanwhile many gaffers, best boys, cameramen, assistant directors, script supervisors, stunt drivers, and maybe even Sam Peckinpah are waiting out the weekend in Needles, where it is often 110 degrees at 5 PM and hard to get dinner after eight. This is a California parable, but a true one. I have always wanted a swimming pool, and never had one. When it became generally known a year or so ago that California was suffering severe drought, many people in water-rich parts of the country seemed obscurely gratified, and made frequent reference to Californians having to brick up their swimming pools. In fact a swimming pool requires, once it has been filled and the filter has begun its process of cleaning and recirculating the water, virtually no water, but the symbolic content of swimming pools has always been interesting: a pool is misapprehended as a trapping of affluence, real or pretended, and of a kind of hedonistic attention to the body. Actually a pool is, for many of us in the West, a symbol not of affluence but of order, of control over the uncontrollable. A pool is water, made available and useful, and is, as such, infinitely soothing to the western eye. It is easy to forget that the only natural force over which we have any control out here is water, and that only recently. In my memory California summers where characterized by the coughing in the pipes that meant the well was dry, and California winters by all-night watches on rivers about to crest, by sandbagging, by dynamite on the levees and flooding on the first floor. Even now the place is not all that hospitable to extensive settlement. As I write a fire has been burning out of control for two weeks in the ranges behind the Big Sur coast. Flash floods last night wiped out all major roads into Imperial County. I noticed this morning a hairline crack in a living-room tile from last week's earthquake, a 4.4 I never felt. In the part of California where I now live aridity is the single most prominent feature of the climate, and I am not pleased to see, this year, cactus spreading wild to the sea. There will be days this winter when the humidity will drop to ten, seven, four. Tumbleweed will blow against my house and the sound of the rattlesnake will be duplicated a hundred times a day by dried bougainvillea drifting in my driveway. The apparent ease of California life is an illusion, and those who believe the illusion real live here in only the most temporary way. I know as well as the next person that there is considerable transcendent value in a river running wild and undimmed, a river running free over granite, but I have also lived beneath such a river when it was running in flood, and gone without showers when it was running dry. "The West begins," Bernard DeVoto wrote, "where the average annual rainfall drops below twenty inches." This is maybe the best definition of the West I have ever read, and it goes a long way toward explaining my own passion for seeing the water under control, but many people I know persist in looking for psychoanalytical implications in the passion. As a matter of fact I have explored, in an amateur way, the more obvious of these implications, and come up with nothing interesting. A certain external reality remains, and resists interpretation. The West begins where the average annual rainfall drops below twenty inches. Water is important to people who do not have it, and the same is true of control. Some fifteen years ago I tore a poem by Karl Shapiro from a magazine and pinned it on my kitchen wall. This fragment of paper is now on the wall of a sixth kitchen, and crumbles a little whenever I touch it, but I keep it there for the last stanza, which has for me the power of a prayer: It is raining in California, a straight rain Cleaning the heavy oranges on the bough, Filling the gardens till the gardens flow, Shining the olives, tiling the gleaming tile, Waxing the dark camellia leaves more green, Flooding the daylong valleys like the Nile. I thought of those lines almost constantly on the morning in Sacramento when I went to visit the California State Water Project Operations Control Center. If I had wanted to drain Quail at 10:51 that morning, I wanted, by early afternoon, to do a great deal more. I wanted to open and close the Clifton Court Forebay intake gate. I wanted to produce some power down at the San Luis Dam. I wanted to pick a pool at random on the Aqueduct into the Bureau of Reclamation's Cross Valley Canal, just to see how long it would take somebody over at Reclamation to call up and complain. I stayed as long as I could and watched the system work on the big board with the lighted checkpoints. The Delta salinity report was coming in on one of the teletypes behind me. The Delta tidal report was coming in on another. The earthquake board, which has been desensitized to sound its alarm -- a beeping tone for Southern California, a high-pitched tone for the north -- only for those earthquakes which register at least 3.0 on the Richter Scale, was silent. I had no further business in this room and yet I wanted to stay the day. I wanted to be the one, that day, who was shining the olives, filling the gardens, and flooding the daylong valleys like the Nile. I want it still.

Joan Didion; Holy Water (January 1977)

[thedenfantasyleague]

The Den Fantasy League Recap: Week 9

Fellas, 

I’ll say what we’re all thinking: things are starting to get interesting.  

El Commish v. Wilmore Cinderella

Less than 24 hours before kick-off, JP and Gabe made a trade to shake things up. JP definitely benefitted from said trade. He came out strong with good games from Jameis (20.2), Lindsay (15.2), and his newly acquired players in Sutton (12.3) and Hyde (14). JP had one of his better weeks in memory as he’s trying to fight his way into a playoff spot. I, for one, went the opposite way. Having one of my worst weeks of the season, no one performed except Henry (21.9). Not a single other player reached their projection this week while I had two of my go-to starters on bye. JP’s win helped him get back into the hunt and we’re both just trying to survive becoming the Cabana Boy.

Debbie Rowe v. Stick With Us PVO

Speaking of the playoff hunt, we have one team that is pretty much the team to beat and a team still searching for its identity. Jake’s team only has two losses on the season and I can’t really see him getting any more. Led by Deshaun, McCaffrey (34.6), Lockett (27.2), and Butker (18), Jake was once again the highest scorer on the week. I’m hoping Jake doesn’t get too greedy in the next few weeks as he’s already declared he’s going for the scoring record. Jake may be going for the scoring record but none of that will matter if he falls early in the playoffs. Dylan, again, is like his Browns. A team with a lot of promise but can find themselves underperforming. Right now, Dylan sits one game below .500 which isn’t terrible, but not great. In his defense, he’s had great scoring outputs but unfortunately, those good weeks get overshadowed by great ones from his opponents. Dylan was led by Russ (39.2), Jarvis (11.1) and Cooper (14). Dylan still has some time to turn things around and fight for a playoff spot.

The Perfect Ten v. Team Timshel

Like last year, we find our previous (and two-time) champion flirting with last place. E, like Dylan, has put up respectable numbers and then some. In fact, E’s lowest point total on the season is 83.2 with every other game being 93 and up. These are the frustrating seasons. E had his second-lowest game of the season with 93.8 points and was led by big games from Stafford (MVP, 24.8), Ingram (12.4), Tyreek (20.5), and Marvin (18.6). Mike, after a long drought from the win column, was able to bounce back and secure the win over E with 106.8 points on the week. Mike was able to get five of his players into double figures with good games from Gay (11), AP (13), Sanu (14.1), and massive games from Melvin (22.9) and Dak (21.5). Mike moved back to a game over .500 and was able to push E closer to the Cabana.

Hank Mardukas v. VP

Speaking of Cabana, we had two teams face off this week that flirted with it last year. Scott, who also seems to be a powerhouse, secured his seventh win on the season. He was led by Lamar (28.6), Jacobs (24), Golladay (19.2), and DK (21). Scott’s team is definitely playing well at the right time, despite his bench’s production falling off. Vinny, who has had a couple wins in the last few weeks, came back down to reality as his team took another L. I’m sure Vinny felt good after a big start to his week on Thursday night with good games from Sanders (17.2) and Drake (24.2). Unfortunately for him, that pace wouldn’t continue. An injury to Brisset and some wrong plays took Vinny out of the game. Vinny had two backs on his bench that combined for 33 points and a defense that got 19. If there is any solace Vinny can find in his loss, it’s that his bench outscored Scott. A marvelous feat.

Professor Remus Lupin v. Kalabar’s Revenge

Remember that trade we mentioned earlier? There’s always to sides to it. As Gabe mentioned in the chat, he sacrificed this week for the long-term and sacrificed he did. Although he had two of his normal starters out on bye, he put a respectable squad out there. Unfortunately, the embarrassed the franchise that hadn’t taken a loss since week 3. This is an unofficial stat but Gabe didn’t have a single player reach their projection, a first for the league in 2019. Gabe’s only players to come close were Darnold (12.5, USC Trojans - Fight On) and Zeke (13.9). Gabe’s hoping his trade can help him bounce back but only time will tell. Speaking of bouncing back, G needed this win. After a piss-poor October, Kalabar got his first win since Week 5. He was able to put up a respectable 103.8 and got his win with his star QB in the lineup. G was led by Carr (19.6), Montgomery (19.6), Kittle (13.9), Cowboys D (19), and Boswell (16). G did his best to survive without Patty so we’ll see if he’s able to bring some more life back into his lineup.

Fire Jarn v. Virg. Gardening Minmaxers

This was our Yuck-fest of the week. Al, who had only one win leading up to this week, earned his second with HIS THIRD LOWEST SCORE OF THE SEASON!!!! Al put up 63.6 points and was able to somehow beat a spiraling Robbie. Al had two players reach their projections: Duke (14.1) and Ertz (16.3). Al bought some time in the Cabana Boy race. Now to Robbie. I mean, I knew we’d see him implode but my goodness. After winning his first three, Rob has now lost four of his last six. He hasn’t even surpassed 64 points since Week 6. Rob only had two players in double figures: Rodgers (12.9) and Williams (11.3); only one of which met his projections. Robbie hasn’t been the same since Kamara went out, interestingly enough, in Week 6 and now is suffering after the loss of Kerryon from his lineup (the injury occurred in Week 6). Even Godwin, who was the #1 fantasy receiver, hasn’t reached double figures since (you guessed it) Week 6. If you haven’t picked up on it by now, week 6 was a turning point for Team Fire Jarn.

Cabana Boy Clinch:

Scott and Jake have officially clinched their absence of being Cabana Boy. Al’s win kept hope alive for him not being CB and some other teams who suffered losses didn’t get the separation they were hoping for. At this point, there are four weeks left in the regular season. The numbers below are based on Al’s current record of 7 losses and if he were to win out.

Magic Number: CLINCHED: Debbie Rowe CLINCHED: Hank Mardukas 2: Professor Lupin 2: Team Timshel 2: Fire Jarn 2: Kalabar’s Revenge 3: El Commish 3: Wilmore Cinderellas 3: Stick With Us PVO 4: The Perfect Ten 4: VP Virg. Gardening Minmaxers: 2-7

Week 10 Matchups:

Virg. Gardening Minmaxers (2-7) v. El Commish (4-5) Wilmore Cinderella (4-5) v. Debbie Rowe (7-2) Stick With Us PVO (4-5) v. The Perfect Ten (3-6) Team Timshel (5-4) v. Hank Mardukas (7-2) VP (3-6) v. Professor Remus Lupin (5-4) Kalabar’s Revenge (5-4) v. Fire Jarn (5-4) - GAME OF THE WEEK

Good luck to everyone as we get into crunch time. Things are getting stressful so be sure to keep your cool as we only have a few more weeks left.

P.S. - In an effort to see if this recap is worthwhile, I’d like anyone who made it to the end to throw these words in the group chat: “Rob sucks”.

Your beloved Commissioner,

Jared R. Mosqueda

[memento-rpg-blog]

Ravenswood Legend

Thunder Mesa 

The land on which Big Thunder Mountain sits was once serene wilderness inhabited by the Shoshone people. They believed Big Thunder was protected by the great thunderbird, a powerful and ancient spirit. Anyone who dared to disturb the mountain would be punished by the spirit who could cause storms, droughts, and earthquakes. The land was forever changed when a rich vein of gold was discovered in the red rocks of the mountain. Streams of settlers flooded into the area seeking their fortune. The natives tried to warn them of the great misfortune that awaited anyone who angered the spirit. Despite the warnings, the Big Thunder Mining Company was founded by Henry Ravenswood and the land quickly transformed into the thriving gold-rush town of Thunder Mesa.  

Henry

Initially, Henry was a simple prospector whose reputation was covered in red. It all started when he cheated during a duel against his own brother. A lovely southern blossom named Martha was the cause of their dispute. Martha had been in love with the brother for many years, Henry had been in love with her. Henry challenged his brother to a duel, claiming that he’d rather die than watch Martha marry another. Before the draw, Henry turned around early and shot his own brother in the back, winning the right to Martha’s hand.

When he discovered the gold, the fortune it brought him changed everything. Like most who happen upon such a grand amount of wealth and success, greed began to consume him. He had his hand in almost every aspect of Thunder Mesa’s creation. He established financial dominance over the mining operations in the area by founding the Big Thunder Mining Company. It was by his authority only that anyone was granted access to the mine. Every family in town had at least one person working for the mining company. No one saw a nugget of gold in their pocket without a percentage going into Henry’s. Since the mountain seemed to have limitless amounts of treasures, no one complained.

In order to show off his exuberant success, Henry built a stately manor atop of Boot Hill, overlooking the town and river beyond. This manor was home to Henry, his wife Martha, their daughter Melanie and a large staff. Most of the townsfolks thought little of this decision. However, some felt a twinge of anger at such a blatant statement of hierarchy.

During the decade of the company’s success, things were changing for the Ravenwoods household. Henry’s relationship with his wife became strained. They never had the picture-perfect marriage, but the more successful they became, the more they clashed. Being such a powerful man brought him attention. It was the attention of their maid, Anna Jones, that drove Martha to drink.  If it wasn’t for Melanie, Henry would have cast Martha out into the tumbleweeds with the rest of the drunks.

Martha

Poor Martha. Unfortunately, those two words sum up the entirety of Martha’s life. Nothing, and that’s not an exaggeration, ever went her way. She grew up with severe middle child syndrome, always forgotten or purposely excluded. Her first choice of husband was killed by his own brother then she was forced to marry his murderer. Her dream wedding was a small quiet ceremony on her family’s plantation; her wedding was held in the middle of a bustling city with over four hundred guests. She desired a husband who would be kind and loyal; she wound up with Henry. She’d always wanted a son; she had Melanie.

When Henry’s true colors began to show, all Martha could do was hold on for the ride and try not to be in the line of fire. Ever so slowly the woman who still gave a damn gave up. Alcohol became her only comfort. She loved Melanie, sure, but after a while, even Melanie couldn’t phase her. Arguments, rumors, and women came and went through her front door and all she could do was pour another drink. Poor Martha.

Melanie

For most of her life, Melanie was doted on by her wealthy parents, especially her father. He adored her and ensured that every luxury available was bestowed on her. Melanie, however, enjoyed simple things. She enjoyed the company of the “common folk” in town her parents stuck their noses up at. A simple slice of pie from the Café was just as good as the prestigious meals served in the high-end steakhouse. As the years passed, she began drawing the attention of many suitors and this displeased Henry immensely. He became very overprotective and skeptical of anyone who showed interest in her. Melanie’s hopeless romantic spirit began to clash against her father’s controlling one.

Mysterious Deaths

There were four men who attempted to court Melanie. All of whom mysteriously met tragic ends.

Barry Claude was an oil-field salesman who knocked on the door of Ravenswood manor in hopes to make a sale. Instead, he found himself falling head over heels in love with Melanie. Their courtship began as smoothly as any other. But the more time the young couple spent together the more Henry began to realize that he was losing the only person he truly cared about. Barry was in no way good enough. Paranoia sunk in quickly. It’s not clear how exactly he arranged the bear to maul Barry to death during one of their picnics in the gardens. But that should have been the first warning sign for the rest of the men to stay clear.

A man of much higher stature, Captain Rowan D. Falls, was the next to fall in love. Rowan was the captain of the town’s prestigious riverboat. Surely the man in charge of something used almost exclusively by the upper-class residents was worthy of Melanie’s hand. Unfortunately, it was not to be. In a strange turn of events, the captain was in a rowboat that was sent barreling down a waterfall.

Rumors circulated about the mystery of the first two deaths. But that didn’t stop Sawyer Bottom from trying his hand to win Melanie’s. Sawyer owned the local saw-mill factory that partnered very closely with the Big Thunder Mining Company. When Henry learned of Sawyer’s infatuation with his daughter, all business ties were immediately severed. Still, Sawyer bid for her attention. Before they could go on their first official date, however, Sawyer was in a factory accident that ended in him being bifurcated with an industrial buzz-saw.

Lastly, an explosives manufacturer named Ignatius “Iggy” Knight came into the picture. He also worked closely with the mining company as he made the explosives used in the mine. Iggy was barely able to have more than a single conversation with Melanie, though his intentions were very clear. The morning after he and Melanie spoke, the newspaper headlines were filled with news of a building blowing up by an accidental TNT explosion. There was only one casualty. Poor Iggy.

Jacob

Jacob Evans was a train engineer that worked for an associated business to the mining company, Big Thunder Mountain Railroad. When she met Jacob, she was determined to make sure it would last. Throughout the years no one in town really suspected that Henry was the mastermind behind these deaths. Melanie, however, was pretty convinced by Iggy’s death that He was behind it all. Melanie confronted her father and told him if anything were to happen to Jacob, she would cut him out of her life and leave town.

Henry played nice for a while, keeping tabs on the boy and looking for “convenient opportunities” to destroy Jacob or, at the least, the relationship. Melanie could not have been happier with Jacob. The two quickly made plans to wed. Surprisingly, Henry consented to the union. But things immediately changed when he found out that Jacob planned to take her away from Thunder Mesa. He was outraged and vowed to do whatever it took to stop the wedding.

The Earthquake

Before any wedding could be destroyed, a terrible earthquake hit the town causing major devastation and damage. Ravenswood Manor was damaged but left standing. Both Henry and Martha were killed in the catastrophe along with hundreds of townsfolk. A large portion of the town surrounding Boot Hill collapsed into a canyon, no survivors were found.

The legends of the Thunderbird had never been respected by most people but that changed after the earthquake. Most of the town was fully convinced that the earthquake was the spirit of Big Thunder’s revenge on Henry Ravenswood and the rest of the mining company who ignored the warnings. Some believed the earthquake was caused by another TNT accident within the mountain. Either way, the mining company was permanently shut down. Fortunately, other staple businesses survived. The Big Thunder Railroad was able to turn Thunder Mesa into a trading town which allowed it to continue to thrive.

The Wedding

Despite the loss of her parents, Melanie and Jacob continued with their plans to marry and leave town. The day of her wedding came, and the blushing bride eagerly anticipated her groom's arrival, but he never came. Even after all of their guests had left, Melanie refused to believe that he would abandon her. Melanie stubbornly standing at the altar awaiting her love to show up was the last time anyone in town saw her alive.

Through the stories of the staff, the events of that night were attempted to be put together. The footman confirmed that Jacob had arrived at the manor well before the time the ceremony began. The butler was the last person to see him. He claimed to see Jacob wandering around the upstairs corridor mumbling about a voice. The butler had deduced it Jacob had a few pre-wedding jitters and left him to clear his head. When he didn’t show up in the Grand Hall, the staff who’d seen him thought he’d fled. 

Rather than give up hope, Melanie continued to wait. Days turned to weeks, to months, to years and Melanie locked herself up inside the manor pining for her fiancé. Some people said Melanie was mad, but most of them believed that perhaps she couldn't leave even if she wanted to; that some force, be it her broken-yet-faithful heart or something more malevolent, kept her there indefinitely.

The staff did not have the heart to tell her about discovering Jacob’s body swinging from the rafters in the attic. They decided it would be better for Melanie to at least think Jacob was alive somewhere out there, then to know he was dead. They buried Jacob in the gardens and prayed Melanie would move on quickly. They could now all hear the voice Jacob had been muttering about and strange things began happening all across the estate.

The Phantom

The stories of the goings-on in the manor did not stay contained within the gates very long. Many of the staff fled their employment in fear. Legends of the Phantom who now haunted the manor were more circulated than the ones of Big Thunder Mountain.

It was said that the Phantom not only disturbed Ravenswood manor but also the region beyond Boot Hill. When reconstruction efforts were made to the portion of the town that fell into the ravine, all progress was undone by the next morning. With no logical explanation, the Phantom was blamed. The area became known as Phantom Canyon and the townsfolk avoided that area entirely. After a while, the same thing happened to the manor itself. Some felt that such a beautiful place should not be left to rot but all restoration progress was reset overnight.

No one seems to be entirely sure what became of Mélanie. Most assume she passed on, as it's hard to believe she would still be alive after so many years. Yet locals claim they still can hear her singing on the evening air when it's quiet, along with sinister laughter and the sounds of an unseen party drifting from the old Ravenswood estate.

Return to the Mansion

[hottytoddynews]

Josh Hinson may look like an Irishman, but he is devoted to saving the Chickasaw language.

The Meek School faculty and students published “Unconquered and Unconquerable” online on August 19, 2016, to tell stories of the people and culture of the Chickasaw.

The Chickasaws know that to lose their native tongue would be to lose a big slice of who they are. And the clock is ticking.

Josh Hinson looks like an Irishman. In fact, in the Chickasaw tribe’s annual Three Sisters Festival, he plays the role of the white trader.

“It’s my burden. It’s my cross to bear. The whitest guy who can talk Chickasaw.”

Despite appearances, Hinson is part of a small army of people devoted to rescuing the Chickasaw language from the approaching threat of extinction.

In fact, most would consider Hinson the general of this army – a role for which he is respected within the tribal community.

“Yeah. Speakers are like rock stars,” he says.

He is referring not to himself but to fluent speakers of the Chickasaw language, those who learned to speak it first, before learning English. There are fewer than 50 alive today.

The language is in a dire state. With the youngest fluent speaker already 70, the Chickasaws face the threat of not only losing their native tongue, but the ancient knowledge and cultural understanding so deeply embedded within it. To lose a language is to lose a large piece of a tribe’s cultural pie. Time and mainstream society have greedily eaten away at it. But the Chickasaws are determined to piece together the crumbs that are left.

Sixty-five years ago, Stanley Smith walked from home to a one-room schoolhouse. He was a young Chickasaw boy in Allen, Okla., and it was his first day of school.

It was also his first encounter with the English language.

Smith was just one of 50 Chickasaw classmates. There were around six white students. The teachers spoke only English.

Along with Indian students who were mostly kinfolk, they struggled to learn the strange language their lessons were taught in. They struggled to communicate with classmates. They struggled to assimilate into the new culture being forced upon them.

“It was hard. But we all helped each other,” Smith said.

In 1880, the U.S. government began requiring Native American children to attend boarding schools or neighborhood schools aimed at casting off tribal influence and assimilating them into mainstream American culture. In these schools, many of which adhered to one founder’s slogan, “Kill the Indian, save the man,” children were often forbidden to speak anything but English. At the time, these trials led many Chickasaws to view their native language as a burden. Many eventually quit speaking it.

This tale is the tale of many tribes sent to government schools after removal to Oklahoma. As a result, the Chickasaws are just one of many on the verge of losing their native tongue because of the struggles students like Stanley Smith faced. Those struggles led to a burning desire to make life easier for their children. And to them, easier meant speaking English. And only English.

When Stanley Smith was a young boy, his grandfather told him never to forget how to speak his beautiful language.

Now that Chickasaw isn’t being taught in every home, it’s up to people like Smith to teach people like Hinson all they know before time runs out. And the clock is definitely ticking.

Easier said than done. Learning Chickasaw entails learning a poly-synthetic language. Whereas English is analytic with a noun, then a verb, and so on, Chickasaw consists of a verb that sits in the middle of a huge word with other stuff attached to it. This one word may be a couple of sentences in English.

For example, ‘Ilooittibaa-áyya’shanattook’ means “we all, more than three, were there, in that place, in an ongoing way, a long time ago, more than a year ago.”

“Turning that over in your head and thinking that way is tough,” Hinson says. “If it takes 15 hundred contact hours to be really good at communicating in Spanish, it takes probably 6,000 to 8,000 contact hours to be really good communicating in Chickasaw. It’s easily as hard as any of the most challenging world languages like Russian or Mandarin Chinese. It’s harder.”

So what possessed him to devote his life to learning and teaching such a difficult language?

Born and raised in West Texas, Hinson grew up removed from the tribe and its culture. What little knowledge of the language he held came from Granny Meme. She couldn’t speak much of her native language herself, but gave her grandchildren Chickasaw dictionaries for Christmas when Hinson was around 8 years old. His copy sits in his office today.

“We would give ourselves names and try to make up sentences… ‘cause we didn’t know what we were doing.”

He’s come a long way. Studying art history for his master’s degree at the University of New Mexico got Hinson interested in the language. He started learning in 2000, went to work for the tribe in Oklahoma in 2004, and says he was able to communicate “pretty well” by 2006. He has four sons—two adopted, two biological.

“When my first biological son was born, I just started really seriously picking up the language. It seemed like a good way to sort of figure out the cultural side of things,” he says.

Unlike the many Chickasaws who stayed in Oklahoma surrounded by their culture, when Hinson moved there, he felt disconnected from the tribe.

“Yeah, like an outlander born and raised in Texas,” he says. “No significant cultural knowledge. Getting the language just sort of, like, sucks you to the center… where it doesn’t matter.”

His job title is director of the Chickasaw Language Revitalization program, in which Smith is also active. Smith taught Hinson, and now together they strive to teach others. It is an increasingly urgent mission.

“We have to get good really quick. We don’t have time to mess around,” Hinson says. “We need to get good, when we can sit right next to fluent speakers and they can say, ‘Well, you might want to say, like, this.’”

The Chickasaw Academy is an intense, full-time language program in which tribal members immerse themselves in the dialect: a two-year long program, five days a week, five hours a day. For those who can’t participate in the revitalization classes, a Rosetta Stone program is being produced, the first 40 lessons of which will be released in fall, 2016. Additionally, the Chickasaws have created apps for tribe members to learn on their own anywhere, anytime. Andrea Kihega is a student in the immersion classes. Having always been interested in her heritage, she decided to study her native language. Kihega and the other students are encouraged not to use notes, only their memories. And while she says that she has struggled to break out and become confident in speaking the language, four years have made her knowledgeable enough to text in Chickasaw.

“I am so thankful today that I can still speak my own language,” Smith says. “I can remember Grandpa told me when I was 6 or 7 years old … ‘Don’t ever forget your language.’ I always think about that and how Grandpa said it’s a beautiful language.”

Andrea Kihega is a student in the immersion classes. She now knows enough to text in Chickasaw.

When Smith and other Chickasaws sought to make life easier for their children by not burdening them with two languages, they never dreamed that it would so quickly lead to today’s drought of fluent speakers.

Once, Hinson was somewhat the same way. He regrets that he wasn’t prepared enough to teach the old language to his newborn.

“I was a coward when the baby was born. I just didn’t feel I was proficient enough to raise him in it. He didn’t have the opportunity to be immersed in it ‘cause I just didn’t feel like I was qualified.”

In a world ruled by English, it will prove difficult, if not impossible, to develop a large core of people who speak Chickasaw first, English second. But perhaps the seed planted within the five people in Hinson’s immersion program can ignite a desire to learn that spreads throughout the tribe. The thought brings a smile to Hinson’s face.

“If we could just get, like, one percent before I die, one percent of the tribe as conversational speakers… Man, that would just be, I can’t even imagine, it’d be super,” he says.

Then, with squinted eyes, he starts pointing and bouncing fingers and running through the math.

“Shoot. It’ll never happen. That’s my wildest dream.”

Reality strikes and he lowers the bar a little. “You know, I’ll just take, I’ll take 10 right now. If we could get 10, highly proficient, second language learners.”

And with the vigorous efforts being made, it looks like he can prevail. More importantly though, the lesson has been learned. The severity of how much tribal culture is bound by language has been realized. If you don’t understand the language, you can’t fully understand the culture.

“There’s really something, sort of this world view, about how our ancestors, and our traditional people view the world that you just can’t have access to in some ways without knowing the language,” Hinson laments.

Walk the grounds of the spacious Chickasaw Cultural Center, a colorful, informative repository of tribal history, and you will frequently hear people offer greetings in Chickasaw. Here and there, more often, people use phrases and sometimes a sentence or two. There is a definite charge of hope running through the Chickasaws today. And maybe Hinson arrived at just the right time to be a big part of that.

As he thinks about it, a big smile spreads across his face.

“The traditional folks don’t care that I don’t look how an Indian ought to look. Because I can speak Chickasaw.”

By Kate Hayes. Photography by Chi Kalu.

LEFT TO RIGHT: Ariel Cobbert, Mrudvi Bakshi, Taylor Bennett, Lana Ferguson, SECOND ROW: Tori Olker, Josie Slaughter, Kate Harris, Zoe McDonald, Anna McCollum, THIRD ROW: Bill Rose, Chi Kalu, Slade Rand, Mitchell Dowden, Will Crockett. Not pictured: Tori Hosey PHOTO BY THOMAS GRANING

The Meek School faculty and students published “Unconquered and Unconquerable” online on August 19, 2016, to tell stories of the people and culture of the Chickasaw. The publication is the result of Bill Rose’s depth reporting class taught in the spring. Emily Bowen-Moore, Instructor of Media Design, designed the magazine.

“The reason we did this was because we discovered that many of them had no clue about the rich Indian history of Mississippi,” said Rose. “It was an eye-opening experience for the students. They found out a lot of stuff that Mississippians will be surprised about.”

Print copies will be available October 2016.

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