#John C. Havens

[mote-historie]

STARS Song, Vocal Popular Sheet Music, Lyrics by James Lamont Haven Gillespie, Music by John Alden, Van Alstyne & Curtis Music Publishing Co., New York, Chicago, 1921.

Art Deco Cover Stars Art Illustration by C. K. Agnew.

[thaoworra]

The Science Fiction and Fantasy Poetry Association recently released the poems that made it to the finalist stage for consideration for the 2024 Rhysling Awards for Short and Long Speculative Poems of the year. Congratulations to all of the nominees! This will be the 46th year these awards have been conferred!

Short Poems (50 finalists)

Attn: Prime Real Estate Opportunity!, Emily Ruth Verona, Under Her Eye: A Women in Horror Poetry Collection Volume II

The Beauty of Monsters, Angela Liu, Small Wonders 1

The Blight of Kezia, Patricia Gomes, HWA Poetry Showcase X

The Day We All Died, A Little, Lisa Timpf, Radon 5

Deadweight, Jack Cooper, Propel 7

Dear Mars, Susan L. Lin, The Sprawl Mag 1.2

Dispatches from the Dragon's Den, Mary Soon Lee, Star*Line 46.2

Dr. Jekyll, West Ambrose, Thin Veil Press December

First Eclipse: Chang-O and the Jade Hare, Emily Jiang, Uncanny 53

Five of Cups Considers Forgiveness, Ali Trotta, The Deadlands 31

Gods of the Garden, Steven Withrow, Spectral Realms 19

The Goth Girls' Gun Gang, Marisca Pichette, The Dread Machine 3.2

Guiding Star, Tim Jones, Remains to be Told: Dark Tales of Aotearoa, ed. Lee Murray (Clan Destine Press)

Hallucinations Gifted to Me by Heatstroke, Morgan L. Ventura, Banshee 15

hemiplegic migraine as willing human sacrifice, Ennis Rook Bashe, Eternal Haunted Summer Winter Solstice

Hi! I am your Cortical Update!, Mahaila Smith, Star*Line 46.3

How to Make the Animal Perfect?, Linda D. Addison, Weird Tales 100

I Dreamt They Cast a Trans Girl to Give Birth to the Demon, Jennessa Hester, HAD October

Invasive, Marcie Lynn Tentchoff, Polar Starlight 9

kan-da-ka, Nadaa Hussein, Apparition Lit 23

Language as a Form of Breath, Angel Leal, Apparition Lit October

The Lantern of September, Scott Couturier, Spectral Realms 19

Let Us Dream, Myna Chang, Small Wonders 3

The Magician's Foundling, Angel Leal, Heartlines Spec 2

The Man with the Stone Flute, Joshua St. Claire, Abyss & Apex 87

Mass-Market Affair, Casey Aimer, Star*Line 46.4

Mom's Surprise, Francis W. Alexander, Tales from the Moonlit Path June

A Murder of Crows, Alicia Hilton, Ice Queen 11

No One Now Remembers, Geoffrey Landis, Fantasy and Science Fiction Nov./Dec.

orion conquers the sky, Maria Zoccula, On Spec 33.2

Pines in the Wind, Karen Greenbaum-Maya, The Beautiful Leaves (Bamboo Dart Press)

The Poet Responds to an Invitation from the AI on the Moon, T.D. Walker, Radon Journal 5

A Prayer for the Surviving, Marisca Pichette, Haven Speculative 9

Pre-Nuptial, F. J. Bergmann, The Vampiricon (Mind's Eye Publications)

The Problem of Pain, Anna Cates, Eye on the Telescope 49

The Return of the Sauceress, F. J. Bergmann, The Flying Saucer Poetry Review February

Sea Change, David C. Kopaska-Merkel and Ann K. Schwader, Scifaikuest May

Seed of Power, Linda D. Addison, The Book of Witches ed. Jonathan Strahan (Harper Collins)

Sleeping Beauties, Carina Bissett, HWA Poetry Showcase X

Solar Punks, J. D. Harlock, The Dread Machine 3.1

Song of the Last Hour, Samuel A. Betiku, The Deadlands 22

Sphinx, Mary Soon Lee, Asimov's September/October

Storm Watchers (a drabbun), Terrie Leigh Relf, Space & Time

Sunflower Astronaut, Charlie Espinosa, Strange Horizons July

Three Hearts as One, G. O. Clark, Asimov's May/June

Troy, Carolyn Clink, Polar Starlight 12

Twenty-Fifth Wedding Anniversary, John Grey, Medusa's Kitchen September

Under World, Jacqueline West, Carmina Magazine September

Walking in the Starry World, John Philip Johnson, Orion's Belt May

Whispers in Ink, Angela Yuriko Smith, Whispers from Beyond (Crystal Lake Publishing)

Long Poems (25 finalists)

Archivist of a Lost World, Gerri Leen, Eccentric Orbits 4

As the witch burns, Marisca Pichette, Fantasy 87

Brigid the Poet, Adele Gardner, Eternal Haunted Summer Summer Solstice

Coding a Demi-griot (An Olivian Measure), Armoni “Monihymn” Boone, Fiyah 26

Cradling Fish, Laura Ma, Strange Horizons May

Dream Visions, Melissa Ridley Elmes, Eccentric Orbits 4

Eight Dwarfs on Planet X, Avra Margariti, Radon Journal 3

The Giants of Kandahar, Anna Cates, Abyss & Apex 88

How to Haunt a Northern Lake, Lora Gray, Uncanny 55

Impostor Syndrome, Robert Borski, Dreams and Nightmares 124

The Incessant Rain, Rhiannon Owens, Evermore 3

Interrogation About A Monster During Sleep Paralysis, Angela Liu, Strange Horizons November

Little Brown Changeling, Lauren Scharhag, Aphelion 283

A Mere Million Miles from Earth, John C. Mannone, Altered Reality April

Pilot, Akua Lezli Hope, Black Joy Unbound eds. Stephanie Andrea Allen & Lauren Cherelle (BLF Press)

Protocol, Jamie Simpher, Small Wonders 5

Sleep Dragon, Herb Kauderer, The Book of Sleep (Written Image Press)

Slow Dreaming, Herb Kauderer, The Book of Sleep (Written Image Press)

St. Sebastian Goes To Confession, West Ambrose, Mouthfeel 1

Value Measure, Joseph Halden and Rhonda Parrish, Dreams and Nightmares 125

A Weather of My Own Making, Nnadi Samuel, Silver Blade 56

Welcoming the New Girl, Beth Cato, Penumbric October

What You Find at the Center, Elizabeth R McClellan, Haven Spec Magazine 12

The Witch Makes Her To-Do List, Theodora Goss, Uncanny 50

The Year It Changed, David C. Kopaska-Merkel, Star*Line 46.4

Voting for the Rhysling Award begins July 1; a link to the ballot will be sent with the Rhysling Anthology, as well as with the July issue of Star*Line. More information on the Rhysling Award can be found here.

[blakeswritingimagines]

How He Makes You Feel Better

Quinn Hughes: He views his partner as his world. He would do everything and anything for you. No matter his partner, he will never hurt you on purpose, and if he does, he is extremely gentle with you. He is respectful towards you and can get very protective of you. He tends to be playful and somewhat clingy

Jack Hughes: He adores you, you fill him with an indescribable feeling that he can only describe as overwhelming joy. Seeing you brightens up his day, and when you're together, even the darkest clouds disappear. He finds himself constantly finding ways to make you smile, and your laughter is like music to his ears. Every moment you spend together is a precious memory waiting to be created, and he wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. You are the missing piece in his life, and he is irrevocably and hopelessly in love with you.

Luke Hughes: He sees you as a ray of sunshine. He'll do anything to make you laugh and feel good. He has a soft spot for you and he can't deny it. It's his first serious relationship, so he does struggle at times to be completely open about his emotions. And he can't help himself feel a bit overwhelmed sometimes by your big feelings and open display of your emotions.

Nico Hischier: He views his partner as an equal but also someone that he has to protect. He will not only make you laugh but also cry at the same time but will also be there for emotional support. He sees you as someone he's not just in love with but also his best friend, because that's what real love is, being best friends with the person you adore.

Timo Meier: Timo views his partner as his precious treasure. He cherishes your kindness, strength, and compassion. He admires your intelligence and is always in awe of your ability to handle every situation with poise. He admires your loyalty, and your ability to take care of others. He loves the way you laugh, and the way you get excited about small things. He could watch you doing a mundane task such as reading or cleaning and feel like it's the most beautiful sight he's ever seen. Timo loves his partner with his whole heart.

Dawson Mercer: Dawson views his partner as a source of comfort, a safe haven where he can be himself without fear of judgment. He cherishes your company above all else, always looking for ways to make you laugh or smile.

John Marino: He would view his partner as a treasure he never thought he could find, and as someone who was sent to him from heaven itself. He would do anything for you, and his whole world would spin for you. He would love you till the very end, and you would be his sun, his moon, his stars, his everything.

Kirby Dach: Kirby views his partner as the most important person in his life. He is fiercely protective and caring, always making sure to put your needs before his own. He admires your intelligence, kindness, and determination and often finds himself in awe of your strength and resilience. Kirby is incredibly devoted and committed to making you happy and providing a stable and loving relationship. He is constantly looking for ways to show you how much you mean to him and cherishes the time you spend together.

Juraj Slafkovsky: As a person who he cares about immensely and would protect from any harm, he thinks highly of his partner and your judgment and is loyal and dedicated to you. And he tends to get quite shy around you. He thinks you are attractive and likes your company, he cares for you and gets protective if you are in danger.

Arber Xhekaj: Arber can come off as aloof, distant, cold, unapproachable, cynical, and jaded at times. With his partner, he is the polar opposite of who and how he presents himself. He’s tender, sweet, and incredibly protective. He will love you endlessly and unconditionally. He would give you the world if he could. He’s a firm believer of the love language; ‘actions speak louder than words’ and will do anything and everything he needs to do to make you happy, safe, and comfortable.

Cole Caufield: He views his partner as the most important person in his life. He is completely devoted to you and takes great pride in being protective, supportive, and caring. He loves spending quality time together, whether it's going on adventures or simply cuddling up for a movie night. He's willing to put in extra effort for you and always puts your needs first.

Trevor Zegras: He views his partner as his equal and loves you immensely, in his eyes you can do no wrong, and he’d do anything for you. he’s constantly giving you flowers or little gifts and surprises, and he finds you absolutely gorgeous. he can’t spend too long apart from you as he always aches to be around you.

Jamie Drysdale: Jamie sees you as his equal, someone with whom he can share life's adventures and moments. He values your opinions and ideas, looking forward to hearing your perspective on things. To him, you are his rock, the person he can rely on in good times and bad. Jamie is also attracted by your appearance and personality, finding you both beautiful inside and out. He tries to express affection through small gestures, giving you gifts, or showing affection in public. Jamie enjoys having you by his side and can't imagine a life without you.

Matt Rempe: He sees you as his source of calm, comfort, and contentment. He sees his partner as his safe space, a person he can trust with his thoughts, dreams, fears, and insecurities. He values your opinions and advice and often seeks to include you in his decision-making process. He often finds himself looking forward to your interactions, as he feels a sense of peace and happiness when you are together. He also adores your little quirks and cute mannerisms.

[babsharrison]

Safe Haven - John Wick

(Chapter four)

Pairing | John Wick x Original Fem! Character

Summary | In search of a breath in his tumultuous life, John Wick finds himself in a charming bookstore where he meets a sweet and welcoming woman. As they grow closer, John questions whether she can love him despite the dark secrets he carries. While battling the shadows of his past, he must protect the love that is blossoming and discover if hope and redemption are truly possible.

Word Count | 2.6k (maybe..)

A/N | Hey guys, I’ve been really busy lately. I was trying to focus and write a good chapter, but I think this one turned out terrible 😭 idk, I just feel that way😭

Previous chapter!

As the cold rain fell, John couldn’t shake Mia’s touch from his mind. It was gentle, like a distant memory of something he had forgotten or perhaps something he had never meant to have. Her softness didn’t belong to the world he inhabited, a world stained by blood and darkness. But somehow, she had breached his defenses, breaking down the walls he always kept up.

He stopped next to his car, his eyes fixed on the bookstore. A small place, almost insignificant at first glance, yet it had a massive impact on his life in recent days. Every time he thought of Mia, he felt something dangerous awaken inside him. A longing for something he had locked away long ago—a chance at normalcy, at peace.

Mia was different.

She wasn’t part of the brutal world he knew. Her kindness, the way she smiled with an almost innocent gentleness, the way she offered coffee every day... it all stood in painful contrast to who he was. The man didn’t understand why she could be so kind to him. It left him confused, but it was something so intriguing that he wanted more. He knew he should stay away. But he couldn’t.

The coffees offered with nothing in return intrigued him even more, and he wanted to talk to her, to try to understand if she was pretending or if she really was that sweet. Did Mia know anything about the world he inhabited? Perhaps she had avoided him, or was she truly immune to the darkness surrounding him?

Sighing, John took one last look at the bookstore, his hand hesitating on the car door handle. He felt a dangerous urgency inside him, a battle between what he knew he should do—stay away, keep her safe and out of his life—and what he wanted to do. He wanted to understand. He wanted to know why Mia treated him with a kindness he didn’t deserve.

With one last sigh, he got into the car, his mind still caught up in her touch, in the softness that didn’t match his world but, somehow, he couldn’t leave behind.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

The next day, John woke with the weight of restlessness still on his shoulders. The echo of Mia’s soft voice seemed to linger in every corner of his mind, even as he dressed and prepared to face another day at work. He should have been focused, as always, but the distraction was constant. Mia. Who was she? Was the image he had built of her wrong? Was there something hidden beneath that unassuming kindness? Curiosity grew with each passing hour, eroding the logic and control he always maintained.

After finishing his commitments, with the late afternoon light tinging the sky a faded orange, John decided to return to the bookstore. He had no plans to enter. He just wanted to observe. Perhaps from a distance, he could see beyond that mask of innocence she wore—if it was indeed a mask. Maybe Mia wasn’t as pure as she seemed.

He parked a few meters away on a narrow, dimly lit street, where the streetlights barely touched the wet ground from the rain still draining into the gutters. He sat there, hands firmly resting on the steering wheel, as his eyes fixed on the bookstore ahead. Inside, Mia moved with the same carefree grace as always, arranging books with almost ritualistic care. The soft lighting of the shop created a warm aura around her, as if time inside that place moved at a different pace than the rest of the world.

John squinted, trying to catch any movement that suggested something out of the ordinary, any hint that she wasn’t as innocent as she appeared. But there was nothing. She just went about her work with the same serenity as ever, as if the world outside those doors was merely a spectator to the private universe she had created inside.

The rain continued to fall gently, its drops forming small rivers on the bookstore windows. Every movement Mia made was calm, her gestures calculated and simple, yet devoid of coldness. She didn’t seem to carry the tension that John felt within himself, as if she were oblivious to the shadows that hovered around his life. It unsettled him.

After a while, Mia stepped out of the bookstore, balancing some bags in her arms. John instinctively followed her from a distance, his heavy boots making almost no sound against the soaked ground. She walked lightly, her hair still slightly damp from the previous drizzle, gently swaying over her shoulders. He watched her turn the corner, entering a cozy café, the place illuminated by warm lights that contrasted with the cold dampness of the street.

Outside, John remained in the shadows, watching her. She greeted the barista with a genuine smile, calling him by name. She sat at a table near the window, where the fogged glass reflected the city lights. The smell of fresh coffee wafted through the door every time someone entered or exited, and John felt it, mingled with the chill of the night.

He watched her sip her coffee, each of her movements so natural that it made him even more uncomfortable. There were no secrets, no ulterior motives. Just Mia, living her simple life like an ordinary person. The more he watched her, the more he noticed the discrepancy between her and the world he knew. She was a woman immersed in simple routines, unburdened by malice or suspicion, and it left him disturbed. How could someone like her exist?

The discomfort grew within him. He felt like an intruder, a shadow lurking around something he shouldn’t. The tension in his shoulders tightened, but still, he couldn’t stop. It wasn’t in his nature to follow someone like this, but Mia intrigued him in a way he didn’t understand.

When Mia finally stood up, ready to leave the café, it was at that exact moment that her eyes, for a brief instant, met his. John’s stomach twisted. He had let himself get too close.

Mia hesitated for a second, but to his surprise, she smiled. Not a forced or curious smile, but the same warm and kind smile as always. That smile disarmed John completely.

“Mr. Wick?” she called, her voice tinged with soft surprise, yet filled with familiar warmth.

His chest tightened with embarrassment. He had been caught. And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t know what to say. “Hi,” he replied, his voice hoarse, struggling to maintain his composure. He knew there were no excuses for what he was doing, and the discomfort burned within him. It was as if he were a shadow disturbing the tranquil balance of her life.

“What a coincidence! Are you okay?” Mia asked, genuinely concerned, stepping closer without hesitation. Her face showed no distrust, only a sincere curiosity about him, as if he were just a customer she knew.

John stood frozen, immobilized by her transparent gaze. “Yeah... I was just around,” he said, the barely disguised lie in his voice. He was trapped by his own impulse, unsure how to escape the situation. The weight of his decision to follow Mia left him restless, as if he were invading a space that didn’t belong to him.

Her smile, however, remained. A gentle smile that echoed her touch from the day before. “I was going back to the bookstore,” she said casually. “If you want, you can join me.”

John, still confused and unsettled by the simplicity of the invitation and the embarrassment burning within him, nodded slowly, unable to refuse. As they walked together through the wet streets, the sound of their footsteps echoed between the buildings, and the air was heavy with a cold humidity, but Mia’s presence seemed to soften the weight of the atmosphere. She walked calmly beside him, with no questions, no demands.

He, on the other hand, felt an internal battle. Mia was exactly who she seemed to be: simple, kind, and without malice. The perception of her authenticity made him even more uncomfortable. And as they walked together, John realized that deep down, the true mystery wasn’t her. It was him. And how he didn’t deserve the peace she offered with each smile.

The walk to the bookstore felt like an eternity, but it was also a moment of silent discovery. The rain had diminished to a light drizzle, and the streets were wet, reflecting the city lights like fragmented mirrors. John walked beside Mia, his heart beating irregularly. He tried to ignore the strange feeling of being in a place that wasn’t his, but at the same time, he found himself wishing that this moment wouldn’t end.

Mia talked about her day, her enthusiasm contagious, while her damp hair swayed gently in the breeze. “Today, I got a new shipment of books! There’s a poetry collection I’m excited to organize,” she said, her eyes shining. Each of her words was like an invitation into a world he barely knew—a world of hope, simplicity, and beauty that seemed distant from the reality he inhabited.

“Poetry?” John asked, keeping his voice neutral, even though curiosity prodded at him. He had never been very interested in books of that kind. To him, words were weapons, not a refuge. But seeing the sparkle in Mia’s eyes, he allowed himself a slight smile. “It’s not my type of reading.”

She laughed, a musical sound that made his chest tighten. “Oh, you don’t know what you’re missing! Poetry can be so powerful. It captures moments in a way that prose often can’t.”

John watched her, a mix of admiration and confusion washing over him. How could someone so full of light exist in such a dark world? And why did she seem so comfortable by his side, someone who represented everything she probably avoided?

When they finally arrived at the bookstore, Mia opened the door and waved for him to enter first. He hesitated at the entrance, remembering his life outside that bubble of tranquility, where violence and distrust were constant.

“Come in!” Mia said, gently pushing his shoulder. John felt her warmth, a touch so subtle that it sent a wave of electricity through him. He stepped inside, trying to remember how to act normally in a place like this.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Mia began talking about her plans for the new poetry collection, but John was distracted, watching her. The way she spoke with passion, her hands gesturing as she described the book covers and the stories they contained. It was as if she was sharing a piece of her soul with him, something he wasn't used to receiving.

“You really love this, don’t you?” John commented, his voice softer than he intended. The sincerity in her expression was contagious, and he began to wonder what it would be like if his life were like that.

Mia stopped and looked at him with unexpected seriousness. “Yes, I love it. It’s my refuge. For me, books are like friends. They’re always here, welcoming me when I need it.” She stepped closer, her eyes locked onto his as if she wanted to see beyond the surface. “And you? What makes you feel comfortable?”

He wanted to lie. He wanted to say that everything was fine, that he had control. But there was something in the way she looked at him that made him hesitate. “I… I don’t know,” he finally replied, the honesty weighing on him. “I guess I’ve never had a place like that.”

Mia smiled, a genuine smile that seemed to light up the surrounding atmosphere. “Well, then you’re always welcome here. You don’t have to be afraid.”

He felt a lump form in his throat, his jaw tightening. Her innocence affected him in ways he wasn’t prepared to handle. How could she be like this? How did she not realize how much he could drag her into the abyss?

“I can’t promise I’ll always be good company,” he said, almost as a warning, trying not to get swept away by the wave of emotions her presence was provoking.

“Everyone has their dark side,” Mia replied, her gaze unwavering. “I believe the important thing is what we do with it.”

John felt the urge to laugh, but he couldn’t. He was used to hiding his darkness, using it as armor. The idea of sharing it, even with someone so welcoming, was a daunting concept. “Maybe you’re right.”

As they talked, something in the atmosphere changed. The phone in the bookstore rang, breaking the moment of connection. Mia turned, and John saw the tension rise in her shoulders. She picked up the phone, and her expression shifted. “Hi, Fletcher’s Bookstore. How can I help?” Mia's voice, once warm, was now tinged with concern. John watched her, realizing that the weight of work and responsibilities was also present in her life.

After a few minutes, she hung up, a thoughtful look on her face. “Sorry, that was a customer. It seems some books were delivered incorrectly. I’ll need to sort this out,” she said, turning back to him with a faint smile that couldn’t hide her worry. “Do you mind waiting a bit?”

“no, it's okay,” John replied, even though his mind was conflicted. He wanted to stay. He wanted to know more about this woman who seemed like a breath of fresh air in his dark life. But at the same time, the weight of reality followed him like a shadow, and he knew he should pull away.

As Mia moved away to handle the issue, John leaned against a bookshelf, lost in thought. He looked around, observing the titles of the books, but his mind was still focused on her. Deep down, he knew her life was a bubble of safety — a place he shouldn’t invade. But the closer he got to her, the more he wondered if he could be part of something that wasn’t just a shadow.

But as the phone rang and reality seeped into the tranquility of the bookstore, John realized that the truth still haunted him. He couldn’t just enter Mia’s world. There were dangers she didn’t know about, and deep down, he feared she would end up paying the price for his curiosity.

As Mia moved away, John allowed himself a moment of reflection. He looked out the bookstore window, where the rain had now turned into a fine mist. The streets were calm, and the city lights shone softly, creating an almost magical scene. But amid that beauty, reality pulled him back.

He thought of Mia’s words about the dark side everyone possessed. Those words poked at him in a way he hadn’t expected. In his world, darkness wasn’t just a part of him — it was his only companion. And as he watched Mia move among the books, her presence was a constant reminder of everything he might never have.

Suddenly, the sound of a car revving cut through the air. John turned his head, and his sharpened instincts immediately sensed something was wrong. A dark vehicle stopped abruptly in front of the bookstore, and strange figures got out, laughing in a way that sent chills down his spine. He recognized the tension in his stomach, the alert his mind had learned to identify — an unwanted presence.

“John?” Mia’s voice brought him back to the moment, and he saw her approaching. There was a glimmer of worry in her eyes, and he knew her innocence could make her a target. He couldn’t leave her vulnerable, not after everything.

“You should stay here,” he said, taking a step forward. He felt the protection he could offer her slipping away, and the need to act quickly grew. “Wait a moment.”

“Why? What’s happening?” Mia questioned, but John didn’t have time to explain.

He looked through the window again and noticed the figures moving closer. He couldn’t allow them to get near her. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

Without waiting for her response, he strode toward the bookstore door, his instincts on high alert. He knew getting involved could complicate things, but he couldn’t ignore the situation unfolding outside.

He had no idea what was about to happen, but he was determined to keep the chaos from spilling into her world.

Next chapter!

[life-imitates-art-far-more]

John Martin (1789-1854) "The Bard" (c. 1817) Oil on canvas Romanticism Located in the Yale Center for British Art, New Haven, Connecticut, United States

[whencyclopedia]

Edward England

Edward England was an Irish pirate who operated in the Caribbean, the Eastern Atlantic, and the Indian Ocean between 1717 and 1720 during the Golden Age of Piracy (1690-1730). Captain England’s successful but brief pirate career came to an end when he was marooned by his crew on the island of Mauritius in 1720.

Early Career

Captain England has his own chapter in the celebrated pirate’s who’s who, A General History of the Robberies and Murders of the Most Notorious Pyrates, compiled in the 1720s. The book was credited to a Captain Charles Johnson on its title page, but this is perhaps a pseudonym of Daniel Defoe (although scholars are still debating the issue, and Charles Johnson may have been a real, if entirely unknown pirate expert). As with many other pirates, the General History is an invaluable source on England’s career, even if there are fictional additions to the factual information laboriously garnered from such sources as court records, official documents, and letters of the period.

Edward England’s real name was possibly Jasper Seager (or Seegar). Like many pirates of the period, England was obliged to join a pirate crew after the ship on which he was serving was captured. England had been an officer on a Jamaican sloop when it was taken by Christopher Winter, who was based at the pirate haven of New Providence in the Bahamas. The General History gives the following not unfavourable assessment of England’s character:

England was one of those men, who seemed to have such a share of reason, as should have taught him better things. He had a great deal of good nature, and did not want for courage; he was not avaricious, and always averse to the ill usage prisoners received: he would have been contented with moderate plunder, and less mischievous pranks could his companions have been brought to the same temper, but he was generally over-ruled. (114)

Following the successful attacks on pirates in their haven at New Providence (now Nassau) by Woodes Rogers, Governor of the Bahamas from 1717, England sailed across the Atlantic to continue his piracy elsewhere. Several merchant ships were captured in the Azores, Cape Verde Islands, and off the coast of West Africa.

In 1718, England himself obliged an otherwise honest man to turn pirate when he captured the Welshman Howell Davis who had been chief mate on a slave ship, the Cadogan of Bristol. The captain of the Cadogan was murdered, and Davis was given command of the slaver despite refusing to formally sign England’s ship’s articles and become a part of his pirate crew. Impressed with Davis’ courage, England allowed him to sail off. Davis ended up in Barbados where he was captured. Davis managed to escape prison, and he continued a pirate career on both sides of the Atlantic, a spree that ended with his death on Principe Island in 1719.

England was, for a time, an associate of the most successful of all pirates in the so-called Golden Age, Bartholomew Roberts (aka 'Black Bart' Roberts, c. 1682-1722). In the relatively small world of pirates, Roberts had taken over the crew of Howell Davis after the latter’s death. Roberts and England operated off the coast of Guinea, West Africa. England operated two ships: his own sloop and another prize renamed Victory. Command of the latter was given to John Taylor and together they raided the western coast of India and took more prize ships. When required, provisions were taken on board at the pirate base on Madagascar.

Continue reading...

[mapsontheweb]

McDonald's Restaurants by Magnitude of Mountain Backdrop / Rut

by u/Gigitoe

Eating a Big Mac® while gazing at Big Mountains is an experience that millions of Americans can relate to. But little do we ask ourselves, which McDonald's restaurants have the biggest, baddest mountain backdrop?

So I set out to answer this question, using rut, a topographic metric that does particularly well at identifying cities with badass mountain backdrops. (For more info, check out this Mercury News article by John Metcalfe, or my research paper)

Roughly speaking, this is how rut works:

The higher the mountains rise above a restaurant, the more impressive they appear, and the greater the rut.

The more steeply the mountains rise above a restaurant, the more impressive they appear, and the greater the rut.

Here's a tier list that shows the rut of the ruttiest McDonald's restaurant in various cities. The cutoffs are rather arbitrary, so please don't poison me with a Grimace Shake if your city doesn't get the tier you like :)

S tier - rut > 400 m (i'm lovin' it. would visit just for mountain views)

Palm Springs, CA (647 m) | Weed, CA (624 m) | Springville, UT (609 m) | Lone Pine, CA (521 m) | Rancho Cucamonga, CA (503 m) | Kailua Kona, HI (432 m) | Salt Lake City, UT (404 m)

A tier - rut between 200 to 400 m (impressive, but probably wouldn't visit just for mountain views)

Colorado Springs, CO (383 m) | Gatlinburg, TN (273 m) | Tacoma, WA (267 m) | Tucson, AZ (246 m) | Juneau, AK (223 m) | Tucson, AZ (209 m) | Albuquerque, NM (215 m) | Las Vegas, NV (209 m)

B tier - rut between 100 and 200 m (mountains nearby, or distant big mountains, or very distant huge mountains)

Anchorage, AK (192 m) | Seattle, WA (185 m) | Manchester, VT (166 m) | El Paso, TX (160 m) | Los Angeles, CA (153 m) | Portland, OR (144 m) | Denver, CO (126 m) | Boise, ID (106 m)

C tier - rut between 50 and 100 m (big hills nearby, or distant mountains, or very distant big mountains)

Rutland, VT (99 m) | San Diego, CA (84 m) | Asheville, NC (75 m) | Middlesboro, KY (70 m) | Phoenix, AZ (67 m) | Roanoke, VA (46 m)

D tier - rut between 25 and 50 m (hills nearby, or distant big hills, or very distant mountains)

Billings, MT (40 m) | Rapid City, SD (37 m) | Dalton, GA (38 m) | Hot Springs, AR (37 m) | Pittsburgh, PA (33 m) | San Francisco, CA (30 m) | Portsmouth, OH (26 m) | Greenville, SC (26 m) | Huntsville, AL (25 m)

E tier - rut between 10 and 25 m (small hills nearby, or hills in the distance, or very distant big hills)

Syracuse, NY (21 m) | Concord, NH (20 m) | Duluth, MN (20 m) | New Haven, CT (14 m) | Cincinnati, OH (13 m) | Wausau, WI (13 m) | Portland, ME (10 m)

F tier - rut between 0 and 10 m (flatter than a patty)

Nashville, TN (8.5 m) | New York City (4.3 m) | Kansas City (2.8 m) | Miami, FL (1.7 m) | Houston (1.6 m), TX | Chicago, IL (0.6 m)

For more locations, here's a spreadsheet with the rut of every McDonald's on this map.

----------------

Note: a rut of X doesn't mean the surrounding mountains rise a height of X above the restaurant. Instead, a rut of X means that a restaurant's mountain backdrop is as impressive as a restaurant at the base of a vertical cliff of height X. The less steeply the surrounding mountains rise above the restaurant, the lower the rut.

Also note: rut only considers rise above surroundings (relative height differences and angle of elevation). it does not consider absolute elevation, nor the "aesthetics" of a mountain, nor visibility (or lack thereof) due to weather or smog.

Attributions: Gavin Rehkemper (locations), FABDEM (elevation model), Google Earth Engine (calculations), ESRI (basemap), Kai Xu (rut metric and map)

If you like rut, you'll probably like its older brother jut even more. Jut measures how impressive, spectacular, or badass a mountain is—considering both its height above surroundings and steepness. If you want to find the most impressive mountains near you or worldwide, you may find the link above to be useful.

Let us know if you have any questions or comments—I'm happy to address them!

[beautiful-belgium]

Southern Netherlandish School - A Vanitas with a skull in a niche, an interior in the background (c. 1530)

“This intriguing picture had long been attributed to Cornelis Engelbrechtsz., until it was recently recognized by Prof. Dr. Jan Piet Filedt Kok, formerly of the Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam, to be a work by a Southern Netherlandish. Both he and Dr. John Oliver Hand, of the National Gallery of Art, Washington, have pointed out that the painted skull would originally have comprised part of a folding diptych as the outside cover of one wing (see also Hélène Vergoustraete, 'Diptychs with instructions for use', in J.O. Hand and R. Spronk, eds., Essays in Context: Unfolding the Netherlandisch Diptych, Cambridge, New Haven and London, 2006, pp. 156-171).

One of the earliest examples of a skull being depicted on the outside cover of a diptych is found in theoeuvre of Hans Memling - a skull in a niche can be seen on the verso of a depiction of Saint John the Baptist in the Alte Pinakothek, Munich, which used to form a private diptych altar together with an image of Saint Veronica, now in the National Gallery of Art, Washington (see Hand, Spronk and C. Metzger, eds.,Prayers and Portraits: Unfolding the Netherlandish Diptych, Cambridge, New Haven and London, 2006, pp. 170-7, no. 25). Jan Provoost painted a similar skull on the outside cover of a diptych with 'Christ carrying the Cross and A portrait of a fifty-four-year-old Franciscan', now in the Sint-Jan-Hospitaalmuseum, Bruges (seePrayers and Portraits, op. cit., pp. 210-7, cat. 31). While both Memling and Provoost depict their skulls in a feigned niche, the present lot appears to be an unprecedented iconographic novelty, with a detailed and delicately-painted view of an interior behind the main subject.” - Christies

[artandthebible]

"I Was in Prison and Ye Came Unto Me" (Matthew, 25:36)

Artist: John Trumbull (American, 1756–1843)

Date: c. 1834

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: Yale University Art Gallery, New Haven, Connecticut, United States

Matthew 25:36, NIV

'I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’

[artist-issues]

if someone wanted to really understand you, what would they read, watch, and listen to?

Read:

The Abolition of Man- C. S. Lewis

Anne of Green Gables - L.M. Montgomery

Little Women - Louisa May Alcott

The Tenant of Wildfell Hall - Anne Brontë

The Chronicles of Narnia - C.S. Lewis

The Were-Wolf - Clemence Housman

Invisible Ink - Brian McDonald

Watch:

Lilo & Stitch (2002)

Signs (2002)

Beauty & the Beast (1991)

Rebel Without a Cause (1955)

Sunset Boulevard (1950)

Saving Mr. Banks (2013)

Cinderella (2015)

East of Eden (1955)

Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014)

Listen To:

Blue Flower - The Gray Havens

Addict With a Pen - Twenty One Pilots

Heavydirtysoul - Twenty One Pilots

Vignette - Twenty One Oilots

Holding Onto You - Twenty One Pilots

Hometown - Twenty One Pilots

The Producer - Travis Whittaker & Tyler Joseph

Washed By the Water - Needtobreathe

How It Sets You Free - Gable Price & Friends

I Need You - Gable Price & Friends

Dust - Kings Kaleidoscope

Do Not - John Rueben

[queenaeducan]

six song soundtrack

tagged by @inquisimer & @pickelda

If you're tagged, make a new post with links to music and/or lyrics describing the following: 1. An event that defines your character's past 2. How your character sees themselves 3. How others view them 4. Their closest relationship (platonic or romantic) 5. A major fight scene 6. End credits song

This one goes out to Thora Cadash! Brief explanations under the cut.

Eat Your Young by Hozier

Q.U.E.E.N. by Janelle Monae

Our Lady of the Underground from Hadestown

Heroes by David Bowie

Sleeping Giants by The Crane Wives

Hammering Heart by John Mark McMillan

An event that defines your character's past.

Come and get some Skinning the children for a war drum Putting food on the table selling bombs and guns It's quicker and easier to eat your young

Thora joined the Carta at a young age, destroying parts of herself (and her childhood) to make a living with one of the few paths open to her. It also comes to reflect how she feels about her own lyrium smuggling, the preying they do upon addicts or exploiting free mages for coin.

How your character sees themselves

Hey sister, am I good enough for your heaven? Say will your God accept me in my black and white? Will he approve the way I'm made? Or should I reprogram, deprogram and get down?

A big reason this is on her playlist tbh is "vibes" and "b/c i like it" BUT. One of Thora's struggles in Inquisition is becoming accepted for who she is, in all her oddities and idiosyncrasies, while also being the face of a quasi-religious movement. Q.U.E.E.N. I think speaks to her successes on that front, and the questions she asks in the exploration of those ideas.

How others view them

Wipe away your tears brother Brother, I know how you feel I can see you're blinded by the sadness of it all But look a little closer and Everything will be revealed

I admittedly struggled with this one, and I'm still not entirely happy with the choice because the themes of Hadestown as a musical don't align with what I have in mind for her story. That being said, Thora is deified and idolised by many, so a song sung by a goddess is fitting. Like Persephone, she is associated with the underworld and the world of the living, a return to normalcy, even if that isn't what she necessarily provides.

Their closest relationship (platonic or romantic)

We can be heroes Just for one day We can be heroes

This was my tag for Solas and Thora on my rp blog for her even before the trailer used a cover of it. It doesn't really take a lot of the original meaning of the song into account, but I do think it speaks to their friendship. Like a) Thora has done things that she thinks are wrong (keeping Celene around, drinking from the Well) but doesn't think it means tomorrow she can't make the right choice and b) she thinks the same can be true for Solas. They CAN be heroes!!! Thank u.

A major fight scene

I feel the mountains I feel the mountains shifting under me The sleeping giants Are finally waking, waking finally My pulse is clear, rushing in my ears I hear something calling me

This, to me, is the Corypheus fight song at the end. Thora does The Descent before the end of the game because I Do What I Want, so she goes into the game knowing that the Stone is real. It's beneath her feet, it's over their heads, larger than them both. She's been to Cadash Thaig. She knows her ancestors, now, and the things they did to keep the people they loved safe. She isn't the woman desperate to survive Haven's onslaught, and she's read to face her enemy head-on.

End credits song

The force of the sun Pounds the earth asunder The torch of her strength None can escape Like the hammering heart of The Maker

A low-key song which sings about really loud, awe-inspiring things that just fits Thora well and is a good song to lead out out!

Tagging: @dreadfutures, @nomorecaffeineforyou, @theshirallen, @valorcorrupt, @salesmain

[gogmstuff]

Early 1730s dresses (from top to bottom) -

1730 Tea Party at Lord Harrington's by C. Phillips detail (Yale Center for British Art, Yale University - New Haven, Connecticut, USA). Probably from Wikimedia; fixed spots with Pshop 1247X1623. There are many caps and veils, square necklines, and laced bodices with revers. But full-blown panniers are not to be seen.

1730 Marquise de Gueydan as Flora by Nicolas de Largillière (Musée Granee - Aix-en-Provence, Bouches-du-Rhône, Provence-Alpes-Côte d'Azur, France). From cutlermiles.com/portrait-of-marquise-de-gueydan-as-flora-nicolas-de-largilliere/ 1908X2484. She wears a stout Swiss belt and cleft coiffure that harken back to the late Louis XIV era.

ca. 1730 Empress Elisabeth Christine by Johann Gottfried Auerbach (auctioned, probably by Lempertz). From Wikimedia trimmed 1715X2352. She wears a round skirt and a scoop neckline.

ca. 1730 Polyxena of Hesse-Rotenburg, Queen of Sardinia by Maria Giovanna Clementi (location ?). From tumblr.com/blog/view/jeannepompadour; enlarged by half 1053X1385. Her dress has a deep V neckline filled in by a modesty piece.

ca. 1730 Rhoda Apreece, Mrs Francis Blake Delaval attributed to Enoch Seeman the Younger (Seaton Delaval - Seaton Sluice, Northumberland, UK). From artuk.org; enlarged by half 994X1200. The ruff makes this a Van Dyck revival dress. The laced vest and jaunty hat lend a casual air to the portrait.

ca. 1730 Robe volante (Musée de la Mode - Paris, France). From fripperiesandfobs.tumblr.com-post-139802377452-robe-volante-ca-1730-from-the-palais-galliera 1140X1620. Dresses before the 1750s often had cuffs that could be substantial like these.

1731 Die Liebeserklärung by Jean François de Troy (Sanssouci, Stiftung Preußische Schlösser und Gärten Berlin - Brandenburg, Germany). From artsandculture.google.com/asset/die-liebeserklärung-jean-françois-de-troy/XAFpCyLiWrxHZw?h 3074X24.12. Known in the Anglophone world as “The Declaration of Love. The large patterns mark this as early century. The robe à la française is firmly established in the form it would take until the late Louis XVI period.

1731 Infanta Maria Teresa Antonia de Borbón by Jean Ranc (Museo del Prado - Madrid, Spain). From their Web site; removed spots and streaks with Photoshop 2621X3051. Spain was ruled by Borbóns after the last Habsburg was cleared out in the early 1700s.

1731 Julia Calverley, Lady Trevelyan, by Enoch Seeman the Younger (Wallington Hall - Wallington, Northumberland, UK). From nationaltrustcollections.org.uk/object/584399; erased navigation marks in corners & fixed spots w Pshop 1616X1992. Clasps replace lacing to close this bodice.

1731 Lady by John Vanderbank (location ?). From the Philip Mould Historical Portraits Image Library 920X1214. The dress is Van Dyck revival similar to the one worn by Rhoda Apreece.

[art-portraits]

Lady Jane Mathew and Her Daughters

Artist: Unknown artist eighteenth century, formerly attributed to John Downman, 1750–1824

Date: c. 1790

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: Yale Center for British Art, New Haven, CT, United States

[pearlsoflongago]

March Days

The Newest Season

Calligraphic Galleon, Ottoman, by Abdul Qadir Hisari

Cargoes

Quinquireme of Nineveh from distant Ophir, Rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine, With a cargo of ivory, And apes and peacocks, Sandalwood, cedarwood, and sweet white wine.

Stately Spanish galleon coming from the Isthmus, Dipping through the Tropics by the palm-green shores, With a cargo of diamonds, Emeralds, amethysts, Topazes, and cinnamon, and gold moidores.

Dirty British coaster with a salt-caked smoke stack, Butting through the Channel in the mad March days, With a cargo of Tyne coal, Road-rails, pig-lead, Firewood, iron-ware, and cheap tin trays.

--John Masefield

Buttonwood Farm by N. C. Wyeth

A Fairy-Tale Spring

And then she danced….

Where are you, Hyacinth? There is a lover waiting for you somewhere, my dear.

It is the first of Spring. The blackbird opens his yellow beak, and whistles cool and clear. There is blue magic in the morning; the sky, deep-blue above, melts into white where it meets the hills. The wind waits for you up yonder—will you go to meet it? Ah, stay here! The hedges have put on their green coats for you; misty green are the tall elms from which the rooks are chattering. Along the clean white road, between the primrose banks, he comes. Will you be round this corner?——or the next? He is looking for you, Hyacinth.

(She rested, breathless, and then danced again.)

It is summer afternoon. All the village is at rest save one. "Cuck-oo!" comes from the deep dark trees; "Cuck-oo!" he calls again, and flies away to send back the answer. The fields, all green and gold, sleep undisturbed by the full river which creeps along them. The air is heavy with the scent of may. Where are you, Hyacinth? Is not this the trysting-place? I have waited for you so long! . . .

She stopped, and the watcher in the bushes moved silently away, his mind aflame with fancies.

—A. A. Milne, from Once on a Time

Lovers in a Landscape by Muhammadi

Spring

VII

O Eyes, go forth the Spring to view, That smiles upon our Plains anew. A Heavenly Child in cradling Flowers, Sweet Breath from Skies unclouded drew. The Morning Breeze his Nurse, that rocked His Cradle, with soft Lullings due. The Baby feigns to sleep, and blinks, Shutting his little Eyelids two. And when the Lids are oped again, The Eyebrows drip with sparkling Dew. The Bees hum round and busy sip The Nectar, and make Honey new. O come, and let the Baby's smiles And Laughter, pierce thee through and through. O come, and leave your wintry Cell, And let Heaven's Light thy Life renew. And build new Cells with honey'd Wax, Plann'd like the Bees' six-sided, true. And warmed by radiant Fire of Flowers, Old Winter's reign of Death undo. Regret is dead; Love lives again; New Life transforms the Landscape's Hue. Bold enter, then, green Spring's loved Haunts, And drink fresh Wine, nor fear to rue. And drinking full Love's sweetest Draught, The glowing Heart new Love shall woo. Love wakes afresh in Earth and Heaven; The Rose in green, the Sun in blue. O Nightingale, behold thy Rose! O Eagle, thy bright Sun pursue!

—Jeláleddín Rumi, translated by William Hastie, DD

Woman with a Spray of Flowers from Safavid Iran circa 1575

[of-tatooine]

DULCE PERICULUM. | CHAPTER VIII - COMFORT

abandon hope, all ye who enter here.

(John Wick x Reader, Santino d'Antonio x Reader)

full work

Over the course of trips around the sun, New York City had grown to be a lot of things to you - sometimes, everything all at once.

It was a place of new beginnings, and of closing the door to potential ones.

A place of fiery warmth, and of an icy cold seeping in through your veins, making your teeth clatter. A place of fluttering hearts, beating against each other. A place of recklessness, of endless crimson liquid flowing through glasses. A place for silent admiration, lost in the cacophony of the external.

Above all, it had been a home.

The neon lights blended in with the softer hued ones as the chauffeur made headway through the city - shining through the darkness, red bricks a pleasant backdrop to the people roaming the streets with their coats fastened up tight. An acquainted sense of solitude would dawn on you from the moment the entrance of the historic building appeared in your sights, the vehicle pulling up to let you off seamlessly.

Your security detail had occupied the entrance to the penthouse, no matter how much you insisted offering them a small break to freshen up and have some sustenance.

“No, signora, grazie - this is my duty.”

This was Camorra - the only way to unity, to success was through the most loyal of men. Without unquestioned, ever-growing loyalty - you were as good as another gang off the street, not that there was a shortage of them.

Santino must have talked to them good.

Accepting defeat, you would then ensure in the following moments the chef sent down some of the freshly prepared late dinner.

The private elevator doors opened to the foyer, the vast expanse of diagonal windows overlooking the bustling city from above visible through the arches leading up to the living area. It must have been the feature that sold the not-so-humble abode to the d’Antonio family, yet another addition to the network of safehouses around the globe.

A hotel room had not been a need for the longest time.

Unless you were with him.

The remodels had been specifically conducted to your taste, over the course of many revisions - Santino had spared no expense as you had browsed through catalogues of design elements, furniture and décor, catching onto which ones your eyes lingered just a little bit more on.

Collections of various items from the countless travels you had been on around the globe, placed meticulously on the floor to ceiling display cabinets lining up the hallway. A study encircled with shelves and shelves of books, custom-made sleek leather furniture to add a modern contrast.

The makings what would eventually become a home for you both.

A gentle hum of a low aria emanated through the wooden paneled walls, speakers embedded in every corner of the ceiling to never cease the ambient music as you walked across the apartment. Soft melodies always helped calm you down, relax your senses and unwind - as much as you could with the daunting task in front of you.

Failure had not been an option when a marker was involved, with the invisible threads of the High Table looming above you - ever seeing, ever knowing.

A much welcome distraction then appeared. Light taps of shoes against hardwood, then marble as he approached the foyer resounded throughout, a smile on your trusted helper Enzo’s face - always sharp in a smart black suit, short black hair perfectly coiffed. The staff must have been instructed to await your arrival in New York, as the pleasant smells of delicacies managed to escape the kitchen.

It was a relief to see familiar faces in your safe haven, always ready to help and feed you - yet it was an unknown just how much your stomach could handle.

“Buonaséra, signora. Benvenuta.”

“Grazie mille, Enzo.”

“Is Signor d’Antonio accompanying you this evening?”

A brief shake of your head was the answer he needed, yet you offered him as kind a smile that you could while taking off your coat and handing it over, your body grateful to step into warmth.

“Sono sola stavolta.”

That night, you were alone. Only the silent contemplations, tangled up pieces of information - and maybe some wine.

“Certo, signora,”  your trusted Enzo would reply before retreating slowly to the kitchen - he had been your eyes and ears when in the New York penthouse, whenever you had the chance to find solace there. Always there to assist, with any need you might have had, he would remind you as he reached for the duffel bag your security had placed on the floor.

You were grateful, as always. Your limbs would have betrayed you had you attempted to do anything else but recover, your raging worries draining the energy out of the already weakened body from constant travel, changing timezones as fast as breeze.

“I will rest up in the lounge for the evening. Please, ensure everyone is fed.”

His dark eyes glinted slightly with concern for the wellbeing of Camorra’s lady in front of him - cheeks hollowed from the fatigue, eyes threatening to close. Enzo, with all the good intentions in him over the years of serving your chosen family, tilted his head as he spoke with a soft tone.

“Signora, con tutto il rispetto - food can only help you feel better.”

If only he knew.

As you slipped out of your tailored suit jacket, you did not have it in you to tell him no - instead responding with the conceding shake of your head, a tired smile stretching your lips.

“Bene.”

Sleep had finally found it’s way to you that particular night, merely in the form of passing out on the expansive leather lounge framing the living room - the moonlight seeping through the tall uncovered windows, the crackle of fire encased in glass. Leather boots haphazardly laying on the floor. A soft woven blanket draped over you, still in the suit that you had arrived into the continent with, sans the jacket, a few buttons unbuttoned on your blouse.

A state you would not have wanted anyone to find you in.

Crystal wine glass filled with only a couple more drops of red. The notebook left open on the last page you had been scribbling on, noting down any details on the targets as you could remember. Some names familiar, some less of an acquaintance. A draft of a graph with lines drawn between each target, tracing their potential links, with all the information you could recall. Countless question marks adorning the pages.

Whatever knowledge you had - it was not much. It would never be enough.

The incessant buzz of the cellphone placed face down on the marble coffee table had woken you up from your not-so restful slumber. With a sigh, your fingers reached to grab the device.

“Sì?” you would answer, trying to rub the sleep off of your eyes, slowly getting into a sitting position with your legs folded sideways under you.

“Amore mio, mi dispiace. I did not want to wake you - I can call in the morn-”

It was still a phenomenon of unknown origin - just how, even a moment of hearing his rich voice over the phone, instantly calmed your senses.

“No, Santino, va bene,” you would reply as softly as you could with your slightly muffled voice.

“Mi manchi.”

Oh, how he had missed you. Days seemed like individual eternities to him whenever you had been away, having to go through each incessantly as he thought of you.

There was no one else he could spill his heart to like this, no one who he could divulge all his worries in. Calling you had been a motor movement at that time, with emotions and thoughts colliding in his mind. Your felt presence, even through the static of the phone, was the light at the end of the tunnel.

“And I, more. Ascoltami, amore - I need to tell you something.”

Worry was etched into his whispered words - the underlying suffering, the love, the hurt, all blending in to form the clouds in his soul, blurring his green gaze.

In an instant, you could come up with a couple of things that might have followed the words - none of them good. Anticipation clawing into your mind, nails digging into your being.

“Sta peggiorando.”

You sensed your heart drop within you, it was almost as if you could feel his constrict as well.

“No.. Come?”

Last time you had visited il Padrino a mere couple months ago, the old man had clung onto your hand with a hearty smile, telling you tidbits of just how much of a troublemaker Gianna and Santino had been when they were little - stealing lemons and breaking precious plates. It felt like yesterday that you had seen the sparks of nostalgia in his eyes, as if longing to be with the memories once again, and not bound to the ring on his finger.

Santino sighed, his footsteps over stone echoing through the call, the faint voice of hissing leaves and a sole bird chirping - he must have stepped out into the vast gardens of the estate to talk privately. You knew he had his hand running down through his curly locks, pushing them back - a reflex developed purely out of stress.

“The doctors are saying it’s not looking good - that it had developed further.”

As his words resonated with fear of the unknown, your thoughts went to the other d’Antonio, wondering what she would do had she been there.

“Non so che fare.”

That made two of you.

How could he know what to do? It was his blood, his lifeline, slowly dissipating right in front of him, mother nature gently lulling in the due ones to their rightful slumber. With full knowledge of the facts of life, due to his quite risky occupation - Santino knew when the day came, it would never be easy.

It had not crossed his mind that it could have been this soon.

“Ce la farà, amore,” flowed out of your lips in habitual reassuring, voice echoing a reduced mess of conflicting thoughts. The moonlight hit the diamonds still attached to your wrist, gentle reflections swaying across the vast living room ceilings, a welcome distraction.

Would he really make it?

Winston’s words flashed into your mind instantly, echoing through the thoughts, the relevance of the advance quite uncanny.

“Go home to him.”

It was the sole correct action to take - to fly back home, back to the estate, to accompany your partner who had been there for you for worse moments, ever since you could remember. To be with him, providing him comfort - whether in the form of a warm embrace, a shoulder to lean on, or a comfortable silence. To whisper to him, in the faintest of voices that everything would be just alright.

Just like he had, too many times to count.

There would have been absolutely no hesitation on your part, if you had not been scheduled to meet Mr. Wick himself the following day for updates on his assignment.

Knowing just how much the raven haired assassin controlled the shape of your thoughts even years after, did nothing but scare you - and in some twisted way, you had been looking forward to seeing him again, in the corners of your subconscious that resurfaced every so often. Maybe, just maybe, a faint voice within told you - it would be another excuse to gaze into his dark eyes again, no matter how unreachable they had always been to you.

Hearing Santino’s scattered breathing on the other end, made you slowly come back to your senses, quietly scolding yourself for the brief moment of dissonance.

How could you even think of anything else, at a moment like this?

“I will be over there tomorrow. Non ti lascerò solo.”

A promise that he made it easy to keep - that you would not leave him alone. His relieved sigh vibrated off of the phone, his tone apologetic for keeping you away from your duties. As you excused yourself to catch on couple more hours of sleep, an anxious, empty feeling in your stomach accompanied you while you tried to lull yourself back to rest for the journey ahead.

John would just have to wait this time around. 

[lyledebeast]

Abigale vs Abigail

Since the theme of this semester's end's procrastimeta is finishing old Turn/The Patriot metas, here's another!

The enslaved woman in the Culper ring known as 355 is given the name Abigail in Turn. History has not recorded her actual name, and "Abigail" was clearly a popular name in the 18th C. Still, I can't help wondering if her sharing the same name as Benjamin Martin's housekeeper, with one letter's difference in the spelling, is entirely a coincidence. What the two women have in common is being very emotionally connected to the families they serve. Abigail is genuinely fond of Anna, Andre, and Peggy, and devastated when she realizes that her information played a role in Andre's execution. Abigale uses her body as a human shield for the Martin children when Tavington draws his pistol on them, which is as much as their own father does. The difference is that Abigail feels like a fleshed out person with her own desires and motivations and Abigale, like everyone else in the movie who isn't a White adult man, feels like a prop. However, if we look beyond the surface, maybe these two women have more in common than initially appears.

Turn is much more deliberate than The Patriot about demonstrating the power differentials between Black and White women. While Abigail is best besties with Anna and Peggy most of the time, the White women each remind Abigale that they can do anything they want to her with impunity: Anna when she wants to manipulate Abigail into letting her into John Andre's house and Peggy when she wants in on the plot to kidnap her husband. Of course, they go right back to being friends later, which is both likely and not at all suspect . . . hmmm. And in spite of only agreeing to help Anna spy to assure that she will care for Cicero in Long Island after Abigail goes to Philadelphia, Abigail and Cicero continue to risk their lives sending information to the ring after they are reunited. Akinbode, having failed to convince her to bring Cicero and come with him to Canada, asks why she is staying to help people who care nothing for her. An excellent question, and one the show unfortunately never answers.

While Abigail is more loyal to the Patriot cause than she has any reason to be, Abigale's loyalty to the Martin family undergoes a little . . . blip. After Tavington's crime spree at the Martin farm, she is apparently taken into British custody with the other Not Slaves. But then she appears later in the sea islands with the Maroons. She has either escaped her British captors, or been set free, but she does not go to the plantation where everyone in South Carolina knows Benjamin Martin has stashed his children. Why?

First, being the only free Black person is a household full of slaves would be far too delicate a situation for this movie to handle with any care at all. In that same vein, having Abigale in the sea islands saves the writers the trouble of creating a new Black character in a speaking role. Two of those is surely plenty for a movie set in a colony where the overwhelming majority of the population was Black in the 1780s, right? While acknowledging these limitations, I'd like to offer a much more fun, unhinged possibility.

Abigale . . . is a spy for the British!

They set her free on the condition that she provide them with information about the militia's activities. Obviously, she didn't agree to that right away. She said, no thank you, I'm done with Whites of every nationality after all these shenanigans. But then those children turn up in her safe haven with their enslaver aunt and . . . well, damn. And then they have a big Maroon-themed wedding and, a few days later, a goodly number of the White guests at that wedding are burned up in their church. How does Tavington know this community has given aid to Benjamin Martin and his rebels? It's because Abigale was sitting in a dragoon tent the night before telling him and Captain Bordon all about those treacherous Howards. I hope he paid her well. She deserves it for all she's been through.