#Shade sail material

[shadeworx]

 Selecting the Right Fabric for Your Shade Sail

Transform your outdoor space with the ideal fabric shade sail! From UV resistance to weatherproofing, find the perfect fabric to suit your needs and style. Say goodbye to harsh sunlight and hello to comfortable outdoor living with our expert tips. Whether you're seeking durability, breathability, or aesthetic appeal, we've got you covered. Create a shaded oasis where you can relax, entertain, and enjoy the great outdoors in style. Elevate your outdoor experience and make the most of your backyard, patio, or garden with a Fabric Shade Sail that provides both functionality and elegance. Start your shade sail project today and discover the difference it makes in your outdoor lifestyle.

[dinobxt]

Contemporary Landscape in Los Angeles

Photo of a mid-sized contemporary desert and full sun backyard stone fence formal garden with decking in summer.

[underdark-dreams]

I'm finishing up a Rolan proposal fic for a very patient anon & ended up with this little scene between Rolan and Dammon that I don't think I'll use. Thought I'd post it here as a drabble! 💗

Rings

Rolan commissions a very particular piece for his beloved from the infernal blacksmith. [541 words]

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

“Are you sure it’s the right size?”

Rolan turned the smooth metal over in his hand, trying to compare it against his own fingers for reference. The material gleamed luminous and silver-blue even under the shade of Dammon’s open workshop.

“It’ll fit,” Dammon told him with surety. He wiped a hand on his apron and watched with no little pride as Rolan examined his past weeks’ handiwork. “I forged a few pairs of gauntlets for them back in the day. I’d like to think I know a thing or two about Tav’s hands. Professionally,” he hastened to add, perhaps noting the way Rolan’s brow twitched.

“Maybe so, but—”

“I know, I know. Tav deserves perfection.” Dammon gave his placid smile.

“Yes.” A bit chagrined by the obvious strength of his feelings, Rolan made no other response. As he turned the band over again, his eyes caught very fine lettering engraved around the inner surface. He peered closer—the marks were Infernal.

“Ah.” Dammon shifted nervously on his feet. “I hope you don’t mind the addition. It just—came to me.”

“‘Strength in Unity’,” Rolan translated under his breath. He glanced up at Dammon. “The watchwords of Elturel?”

Dammon rubbed the back of his neck in a characteristic gesture, but a shadow passed over his face. “You know, in terms of cities and their mottos…that one always rang a bit hollow to my ear. After everything.” He exchanged a long glance with Rolan. “If anyone deserves to reclaim the words, I thought it ought to be the two of you.”

Rolan stared back down at the ring on his palm. In a rare moment, he found himself rather lost for words. Then he slipped it carefully into the pouch at his belt and began counting out gold pieces.

The smith raised a hand, but Rolan cut him off before he could start. “Dammon, whatever the hells you’re about to say, keep it to yourself. This is fine work, and I’ll be damned if you don’t take the other half of the fee.”

“Couldn’t you consider it a wedding gift? For the two people responsible for getting me to Baldur’s Gate in one piece. Or even,” Dammon proposed hastily, “a reward for letting me work with such rare material.”

“Then keep what’s left over,” Rolan told him. He tucked his coin away as the idea for a compromise sprang to mind. “Make something incredible from it.”

“That—” Dammon’s eyes grew wide for a moment. “That’s quite generous. Do I even want to know how you found such a pure chunk of mithril?”

“We have friends in the Underdark,” Rolan answered tersely. “I may have…funded a small expedition.”

Dammon only gave a low whistle. If anyone could grasp the cost of such an undertaking, it was a blacksmith. Then he extended a calloused hand, and Rolan clasped it in a wordless agreement.

Finding the matter resolved, Rolan turned toward the front gate of the forge. The gleaming ring stored at his belt had introduced a very distracting flurry of butterflies into his stomach.

“Hold on there—” Dammon stooped to fetch something from underneath his work bench. As he straightened, a small hide bag sailed through the air into Rolan’s surprised grasp.

“You’ll be needing the other one.”

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Love in the Dark: Chapter Four

Love in the Dark: You discover an intense connection with an enigmatic dream lover, yearning for a love beyond physical appearances. As your encounters blur the lines between the waking world and the Dreaming, your grapple with the complexities of desire, friendship, and mortality. Can you truly love in the dark?

Warnings: Explicit Language, Explicit Material.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x NAMEDFem!Reader.

Word Count: ~3.6k

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You sit cross-legged in the heart of Fiddler's Green, the sun dipping low on the horizon, casting a golden hue over everything. The grass beneath you feels like velvet, soft and cool against your skin. The trees around you rustle gently in the breeze, their leaves whispering secrets only they can understand but you like the tune.

Your friends are scattered, each caught up in their own dreams and duties and that leaves you alone. But you aren’t truly alone, not really.

For a moment, you close your eyes and let the tranquility seep into your body. Here, in this haven of dreams, you feel at peace. The worries of the Waking World seem distant, almost forgotten.

A soft hum draws your attention, and you open your eyes to see a butterfly fluttering nearby. Its wings shimmer with iridescent colors, catching the fading light in a dazzling display. You reach out a hand, and it lands delicately on your finger, its tiny legs tickling your skin.

"Hey there," you whisper softly to the butterfly, smiling at its incredible beauty. It flutters its wings once more before taking off into the sky, leaving you behind.

You lean back on your elbows, gazing up at the sky as it shifts from blue to shades of pink and orange. The clouds drift lazily overhead, morphing into shapes that spark your imagination. You see castles in the sky, dragons soaring through the clouds, and ships sailing on an ocean of air. Dream minds are active tonight.

Your mind drifts to him—the dream or nightmare who has captured your heart without ever showing his face. You think about his voice, how it makes a blazing warmth erupt in your belly. How his touch ignites something deep within you that you've never felt before. How terribly you miss him when he is gone.

Sighing, you lean back, letting the cool grass cradle you as your eyes flutter shut. The warmth of the setting sun blankets you as your imagination continues to think of him. You imagine his presence beside you, a shadowy figure you can't quite see but feel deeply.

A gentle breeze brushes against your cheek, and you imagine it's his fingers, tracing the curve of your jaw. Your skin tingles with the phantom touch, and you let out a soft sigh, sinking deeper into the fantasy. The trees around you fades, leaving only the sensation of him.

You can almost hear his voice, low and resonant, whispering in your ear. "My love," he murmurs, each word a caress that makes heart quickens, and you ache for more.

His hands move with deliberate slowness, trailing down your neck and over your shoulders. You can feel the heat of his palms through the fabric of your dress, each touch igniting a fire within you. You arch into him, craving more of that intoxicating connection.

The grass beneath you shifts as if responding to his presence, cocooning you in its embrace. You tilt your head back, exposing the vulnerable expanse of your throat. He takes advantage, pressing his lips to your pulse point in a series of slow, lingering kisses. Always adoring you, always worshipping.

Your breath hitches, and you grip the grass beneath you as if it can anchor you to this fantasy. His mouth moves lower, kissing along your collarbone and down to the sensitive skin just above your chest. Fiddler’s Green pulses with the rhythm of your heartbeat.

You lose yourself in the sensation of him—his touch, his voice, his presence. It's all-consuming, and for a moment, you're not just dreaming; you're living in this perfect moment with him.

"Stay with me," you whisper, not caring if it's a plea or a command. You just want him here, now.

"Always," That word rings out in the clear and you audibly gasp, jerking into a sitting position. The moment you open your eyes you can't help but be disappointed when there is nothing in front of you. Get a hold of yourself, Kora. You rise to your feet, feeling the intimacy you desire fade. With a resigned sigh, you prepare to wander off when a hand darts in front of your eyes.You let out a noise of surprise, your hands grabbing the wrist of the hand covering your eyes as you're dragged back against a chest.

The solid warmth against your back is unmistakable, and your heart races as you feel the familiarity of his touch. You don't need to see his face to know who it is; his presence is as distinctive as the hum of his being you can feel against your spine.

"Kora," he whispers, his voice a soft murmur in your ear, blooming shivers across your flesh. "Did you think I would leave you wanting?"

"You have a job," You say, feeling his fingers trail over your eyelids, gently tracing the curve of your lashes. And then, everything goes dark as silk replaces flesh.

"I also crave you," His words glide over your neck and tickle your ear. Then hands are tracing the curves of your body over your clothes, needing to touch your skin but hindered by fabric. You gasp as his hands move to the hem of your shirt, rather than bring it over your head, the material disintegrates beneath his touch. A whine softly sounds within your throat and a chuckle tickles your ear.

His body presses against your back, the heat of him radiating through the thin layer of your remaining clothes. His hands, now unhindered, move with purpose, exploring the newly exposed skin with a slow, deliberate touch. His fingers trace along your sides, and you whimper from the sensations that bloom.

He leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, "I want every part of you." His lips follow the path of his breath, placing soft, teasing kisses along the curve of your neck. Your head tilts back, giving him better access as his hands travel higher, caressing the soft skin just beneath your breasts.

Your breath hitches when his hands slide around to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over the fabric of your bra in such a way that you can feel his touch. The sensation is electrifying, and you arch your back, pressing closer to him. His lips find that sensitive spot just below your ear, and he nibbles gently, drawing a moan from your lips.

"Do you feel this?” he murmurs, his voice a low drawl that always makes you melt within his arms. "That is how much I need you." His hands continue their exploration, one sliding down your stomach, dipping lower with each passing second. Your body responds to his touch all too eagerly while your skin tingles with anticipation.

When he slides a finger along the waistband of your shorts, you wonder if those, too, shall be disintegrated. You couldn't complain. But he doesn't rid you of your shorts, instead, his fingers snake into the waistband. His fingers dancing along the edge of your underwear, tracing the delicate lace before dipping beneath it. His lithe fingers caress your flesh before ultimately sliding through your folds. Another whimper departs your lips as his touch ignites a spark of pleasure within you.

“Gods,” you breath, your breath beginning to catch in your throat. His fingers seek out the most sensitive parts of you. He knows each and every one. You arch your back, pressing your hips into his hand, desperate for more. With each stroke, the sensation builds, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

Your toes being to curl into the soft grass beneath your feet and your thighs clench. How does he know precisely where to touch you every time so that you crumple beneath his ministrations? His other hand gently grasps your breast still trapped within your bra. That doesn't stop him from adoring the softness, massaging your tender breast.

Your nails dig into the smooth flesh of his wrist while you gasp and moan, your sounds only growing louder when he begins to rub slow circular motions against your clit. He alternates between soft and firm pressure until your legs begin to tremble, your knees buckling slightly. His strong arms hold you upright.

"So beautiful," he whispers in your ear, brushing his lips against your skin as you wriggle in his grasp. "You're so responsive, my love. I can feel how much you want me."

His words send a fresh surge of need through you, and you moan softly, your hips rocking harder against his hand. You are feeling greedy, but who wouldn't in your situation? With more than pleased smirk upon his lips, he matches your rhythm, his fingers moving faster, applying more pressure as he brings you closer and closer to the edge.

"Let go," he commands, his voice firm but gentle. "Give in to the pleasure, Kora."

With those words, you can't hold back any longer. Your body tenses and a powerful orgasm washes over you. An exaggerated moan departs your lips, leaving you weak and shaking in his arms. Pleasure consumes you. He holds your tighter against his body, nuzzling his face into your neck.

"I crave you," he repeats, his voice filled with satisfaction as your legs tremble so violently you need himto support you to stay standing. "And I shall never stop."

You feel his hands gradually trailing up your chest once more, toying with the clasp of your bra. His fingers dance along the fabric, delicately unhooking it before slowly slipping the straps down your arms. He reaches around to cup your now-naked breasts, and circles your nipples in a hypnotic rhythm.

"So exquisite," he groans, his voice barely above a whisper . His hands move in a steady, sensual motion, alternating between gentle squeezes and feather-light touches. He makes your skin light on fire, your body aching for more of his touch.

You moan softly, leaning back into his harder as he tweaks your nipples between his fingers. The sensation is almost too much to bear, and you can feel your cunt throbbing for more. He chuckles softly at your reaction, lightly bucking his hips against your body.

"Shall we continue?" he asks, his voice low and husky. He doesn't wait for your response, instead, guides your hands down to the waistband of your shorts. You hesitate for a moment, unsure if you're ready to take things further. Naked? In Fiddler's Green? The poor aracna… But the desire in his voice is contagious, and your fingers find themselves picking at the button and zipper of your shorts.

You unbutton and unzip your shorts, letting them slide down your legs and pool at your feet. Stepping out of them, the cool night air brushes against your bare skin and somehow, warms your cheeks. You can hear the quickening of his breath, the subtle shift in his posture as he takes in the sight of you.

"You're even more beautiful than I remember," he says, his voice a reverent whisper. His fingers dance along the edge of your underwear, teasingly dipping below the hem before retreating once more.

"You saw me two days ago," You breath out, one hand gripping his wrist and the other pressing against your breast. Right over your racing heart.

"An eternity," he defends, his voice a low murmur that wraps your body in a silken caress. A dramatic response, surely, but you loved him for that. His intensity, his passion, it's all part of what draws you to him. His fingers pull at the band of your underwear and you feel a tingling sensation around your hips. The fabric vanishes, leaving you completely naked in his embrace.

Your breath catches the moment you feel his fingers slip between your legs once more, gently parting your folds to reveal the wetness he had already pulled from you. The heat of his desire burns like an inferno, and your own body responds to the flames, your need for him consuming you. His fingers slip away from your slick folds, leaving you aching and wanting more of his touch. Always so teasing.

"Stop teasing me and just fuck me already," You breath out in frustration, the lips against your neck twitch in amusement. Then he bites. His bite sends a shockwave of pleasure and pain coursing through your body, your yelp echoes throughout the clearing. He chuckles softly for but a moment before his tongue darts out to soothe the mark he left behind.”

Impatient, aren't we?" he murmurs, his voice a seductive purr that makes you squirm back against him. He lowers you to the ground and your hands feel his body, stroking his chest while tracing the muscles you can feel. The grass beneath your back is cool and the heat from his body as he positions himself between your legs is agonizing. Anticipation builds within you as you wait for his touch, your heart racing with excitement.

When his lips brush against the inside of your thigh, you let out a miserable moan, knowing that he wasn't going to give you what your body throbbed for any time soon. "So impatient," he murmurs, his voice a low purr that only exacerbates your position. .

Slowly, deliberately, he traces his tongue along your inner thigh, collecting the moisture of your release with a groan of ecstasy. Your taste is better than the finest of ambrosia. Your hips buck involuntarily, cunt craving his touch and desperate for more than just the lick of his tongue the heat of his mouth. He chuckles softly, clearly enjoying your growing need.

Teasingly, he flicks his tongue against your clit, a fleeting touch that leaves you gasping for more. "Please," you whisper, your voice hoarse with desire. "I need you." But he only laughs, a beautiful, haunting laugh.

"You will take what I give, beloved," his words purr over your throbbing cunt and you buck your hips again. Patience is a crock of shit. His lips finally close around your swollen clit, and you cry out in ecstasy as he begins to suckle gently, his tongue swirling around your sensitive flesh. Your hips arch upward once more, seeking more of his touch, more of his mouth on your aching cunt.

Your nails are caught between clawing at the soft grass beneath your body and his back, sinking in while pleasure rips through your already pleasure soaked cunt. When you whine because you are so close, he begins to lave your clit with his tongue, alternating between soft, teasing licks and firmer, more insistent sucks. You can't help but wish you knew what name to moan when your fingers tangle in his hair and you push his face closer to your pulsating cunt.

You feel your orgasm teetering at the brink, the sensations growing more intense with each pass of his tongue. Oh god this is going to wreck you! Your legs tremble, your body straining towards release. Just as you're about to reach your peak, he stops, pulling away from your flesh.

"No," you cry, your body throbbing with unfulfilled desire. But he only chuckles darkly. You flop against the soft grass in frustration and wilt.

"So close," he whispers, "but not yet. I want you to discover your pleasure when my cock is lodged within you so deeply that all that escapes your lips are moans of rapture."

While you lie there, panting and trembling, he traces his fingers over your bare stomach, swirling them up to your breasts so he can pluck at your nipples. You feel his words echoing through your body and frustrations swirls with the clenches of your displeased cunt. He knows exactly how to tease you, and it's driving you insane. "Please," you beg.

"Not yet," he says, his voice low and sultry. "I want to enjoy this as much as you do." He leans in closer, his hot breath tickling your ear as he whispers, "I want to feel every shudder and tremble as I make you come apart in my arms."

Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your heart pounding in your chest. You can't help but wonder how much more you can take before you explode with desire. But he's in control, and all you can do is surrender to the sensations he creates.

He moves on to tease your nipples, and you feel your body growing more and more sensitive. Each touch sends electric currents through your veins, making you gasp and moan uncontrollably. Gods so much pleasure but nowhere near  You're so close to the edge, but he won't let you fall.

"Soon," he promises, his fingers skating lower, down your stomach and towards the apex of your thighs. Every touch is exquisite torture, driving you closer and closer to the brink of ecstasy. But never reaching that peak. Your head drops back in blissful agony and tears soak into your blindfold.

"Why are you so cruel," You whine, fingers ripping up strands of grass. You can feel the change in his muscles just from your words.

"Oh beloved, you think this is cruel?" His lips murmur before teeth scrape the tender flesh of your neck. "I promise you, this is nothing."

"Threat?" You whisper in question. Teeth sink into your neck, biting down until there will surely be indents. A strangled squeak emerged from your lips.

"Promise," he growls against your skin, his voice a mixture of dark amusement and raw desire. His teeth release your neck, leaving a lingering burn that will ache for days.

You feel his weight shift, and suddenly he's on top of you, his hard cock pressed against your thigh. Your breath catches in your throat as he positions himself at your cunt. In one motion, he thrusts himself inside you, filling you completely. You cry out in shock and pleasure, the sensation of being stretched and filled beyond belief sending waves of ecstasy through your body. He doesn't give you a moment to adjust, though, as he begins to move, his hips savagely pressing against yours with relentless intensity.

Each thrust sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you, making your toes curl and your fingers dig into the soft earth beneath you. His grip on your hips tightens, holding you in place as he drives into you with increasing fervor.

He leans down once more, this time his lips brushing against own as he whispers, "I told you this would be cruel." The combination of his rough words and the exquisite torture of his thrusts is almost too much to bear.

Your whine beneath him as he continues to fuck you, your orgasm building fast within you, the tension growing tighter and tighter with each passing second. You can feel your muscles clenching around him, desperate for release, but he shows no signs of slowing down.

His pace becomes even more frenzied, his breath hot against your lips as he grunts with each powerful thrust. Throwing your head back, you writhe against him, hands clawing at what they could find. When you press your cheek against the soft grass, and then proceed to jerk within his arms as a bolt of pleasure ricochets up your abdomen, you feel the blindfold come loose.

His fingers gently press against your eyes, and the silk slips away from your head, engulfing you in complete darkness. All that remains are the sensations of his body moving in unison with yours, guiding your every motion. His hips pressing against yours. ”Beloved," he murmurs softly in your ear, his hand still shielding your eyes. "Does it matter than you cannot see me?"

You don't hesitate, not even for a moment, as you feel his cock surging through your clenching walls. "I'd have looked by now if it did," you gasp, your fingers tugging harshly on his hair. He growls with satisfaction, his remaining grip on your hip tightening as he increases the depth of his thrusts. You arch your back yet again, crying out when the pleasure intensifies.

"Then let me give you a taste of my darkness," he growls, his voice low and rich with intense desire. Suddenly, you feel his hand slip away from your eyes. Your eyes fly open in wonder of what he is speaking of, but you are caught off guard when all you see is black. The absence of sight heightens your other senses, making every touch, every sound, every scent more intense. You can feel the heat of his skin against yours, the roughness of his hands on your hips, the softness of the grass beneath you. The surges of his cock within your throbbing clenching cunt. The palpable adoration and worship exuding from him.

His lips find yours once more, and you kiss him desperately, your tongues dancing together in a frenzy of passion. His thrusts grow even wilder, driving you closer and closer to the edge. With a final, powerful thrust, he fills you completely, his release triggering your own. You wail against his lips, a sound he greedily devours as your body convulses beneath his.

You slump in place, your chest heaving as your orgasm subsides. He collapses on top of you, his breath hot against your neck. The darkness that surrounds you cradles you in it's embrace, caressing your skin just like your lover. You air out a sated sigh and loosely wrap your arms around him as he shifts his weight. When you are lying on your side, he makes sure to pull you flush against to his chest, wrapping his arms around you protectively as you catch your breath.

In the sea darkness, you feel his lips brush against your forehead. "I love you, Kora," he whispers, his voice filled with raw emotion. "And I always will."

Date Published: 9/27/24

Last Edit: 9/26/24

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[wraithdance]

I'm sure it's just because of reading your fic and watching "Caped Crusader", but had a vision of Gaz as Batman/Bruce Wayne - no clue how that AU would work, but it's nice to ponder!

Ohohoho My friend, I don't think you know what you’ve just done! I moonlight as an amateur comic artist/writer so I saw this notification at five in the morning and shot out of bed. I have not known a moment of respite since then you big brained evil genius!!!

Give me a couple hours and I’ll tag you in something else I got cooking for this lil brain worm 🐛💖

CW: AFAB!Reader but no gendered terms used, non-con ( I think the first bit counts as slight non-con?), Mentions of extreme violence, reader being mugged, I have a potty mouth so lots of F-bombs, MDNI there's a bit of nsfw because I’m a slut and blacked out at the end there.

[the 5 Year Plan Gotham City AU] 

How could you be so Stupid. 

The man making a mess of your purse is taking his time scattering things out into the alley carelessly. Your Fenty lipgloss, tossed near the dumpster with your phone. The knock off Gucci shades you’d found at a swap meet, sailing in the air and landing with a definitive crack on the wet blacktop. 

When he ignores your wallet to continue his violating search through your belongings you protest. Thrashing your body in an attempt to escape the hands that clutch you in a vice grip.

Blunt nails dig into the fleshy fat of your upper arms hard enough to leave indentations that burn. The whimper you let out echoes in the darkened alley before you can bite it back.

Stupid, Siggy. Unbelievably STUPID!

“Oh? I think I liked the sound of that moan sweet bird. Why don’t you do it again?” He’s squeezing tighter and it takes all of your reserves to not give him the satisfaction of another single sound.

His partner lets out a laugh, pausing from his searching to watch you squirm.

“I think you’ve got a tough one there Charlie.”

“Yeah, think so, sweet birds got some nerve.” The one named Charlie hums in your ear, huffing out a throaty laugh. 

The stench of tepid beer and old meat on his breath is foul. He nuzzles his unkempt beard against the skin of your throat, the sensation makes angry tears cascade down your face without reprieve. 

You send an elbow into his gut, yelping when he presses his hard cock against your plump ass in return. 

“Be nice, soft thing,” He whispers, hot breath sending shivers down your spine “What about I keep you, hm? Come home with me and Brucie boy and you won’t have to walk so late at night, wot about that?”

You think there’s no fucking way in any planet or alternate universe where you’d agree to that and you say so.

“Let me go you stinking bastard! Just take my money and leave me alone for fucks sake!”

In a flash there’s a big hand letting go of your arm to grip your jaw painfully. Your head is pulled back to meet the unfocused rheumy blue eyes of Charlie. With a glare your lip curls back in visible disgust, refusing to back down.

It was probably the cherry on top of the stupid sundae you’d made, but you can’t bring yourself to be submissive against this unwanted violation. You’d been followed from the office by the two drunken louts. 

One had distracted you with his catcalls, you’d been focused on staying steps ahead of him before you realized you’d been corralled into the darkened alley. The other man had materialized at the other end of the narrow space before you’d had the chance to weigh out if running in heels would be a fruitless endeavor.

The one named Bruce had wrestled your bag from you when you’d turned to run the other way. There’s slight satisfaction when you look at the already discolored skin beneath his eye from where you’d decked him. 

Bruce notices your attention and sneers at you. “Little bitch is more trouble than it’s worth to carry ‘em home.” 

His hands stop digging into your bag and you know the second he’s got his hands on the satchel tucked deep into the inner lining.

Fuck!

“Oh wots this?” Bruce opens the velvet pouch and his eyes widen at the sight of your boss's diamond necklace and earrings.

You really do hate yourself for being so senselessly dumb.

Should have taken the damn taxi instead of being a cheapskate.  ‘It’s only a couple blocks to the jewelers’ you’d thought, ‘be there in a jiffy and home in no time, no need to spend the £7.60!’

An absolute dumb arse of a decision to make.

You’re about to beg that they at least put you out of your misery when they leave. Anything better than the impending death of your career and livelihood if you make it out of this preventable situation alive, when you see something dark flash at the mouth of the alley.

Charlie sees it too and stiffens behind you.  “Who’s there!” He barks out into the night, pulling you back against him tighter. Bruce looks up too, jewels in hand, searching. There's silence before you hear the sound of a bottle clattering. Charlie hisses out a low ‘fuck’ before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a switchblade with a flick of his wrist. 

Your eyes widen like saucers because you had just been joking about dying! 

“Come out!” Charlie shouts “Or I’ll stick the bird right between the ribs.”

You make a strangled noise in the back of your throat, struggling against the arm that now bands across your chest. What the fuck happened to taking you home?! Creeping Jesus all the men in London were sweet talking, lying sacks of SHIT and you were so fucked!

After a moment Charlie shifts, looking at Bruce and jerking his head to the side. Bruce nods and spirits his own knife in hand from his jacket. Much to your indignation he stuffs the jewels into his pocket as well. 

Bruce shuffles to the other end of the alley slowly, Charlie and you watch on with bated breath. The fattest rat you’ve ever seen darts out from out of the shadows and Bruce yelps.

“Fockin’ hell!” Bruce jumps back as it races between his legs, squeaking in terror. He looks back to you and Charlie with a laugh. “Just a fockin’ mouse-”

The kick to his chest is sudden and loud, the crack of his ribs writs the air with a sickening pop. 

“What the fuck!” you cry out.

A masked man in blue-black spandex steps out into the dim light, standing over Bruce’s gasping body. He’s absolutely massive. At his hips is a cache of indistinguishable weapons including a small metal rod. You watch as he lifts a powerful thigh up and rams his boot covered foot into Bruce’s nose, sharp and definitive.

Screw this.

There's no fucking way you were sticking around for whatever this had become, you think as you watch the blood arch from Bruce’s broken nose. 

Charlie yells out when you stomp his foot with a stiletto of your heels. You don’t make it far from his grasp when he snakes a hand out and clutches your arm, whirling you around. He’s dropped the knife in your pursuit of escape, it leaves his hand open to strike across your cheek in a slap that leaves you dazed.

He shoves you down to the ground harshly and your hands shoot out in front of you to break your fall. Hissing at the stinging pain in your palms, you can only try to scoot back as you watch Charlie reach for the discarded knife at his feet. 

He doesn’t make it. 

You can’t look away from the masked hero raining blows like thunder over Charlie's face and body. Charlie tries to fight back but is overwhelmed by the barrage of attacks that come in rapid fire succession. When Charlie finally goes down you’re torn between shock and relief before it turns into worry about whether the newcomer means you his own form of harm. 

You get your answer when the masked man extends a hand to help you to your feet. He doesn’t make a sound at the effort to pull you up. His hand rests across your back for support as you wobble unsteadily on your heels.

He doesn’t let you go when you’ve caught your balance. You tilt your head up to look at him, one hand placed on his covered bicep and the other resting on his chest. You can feel his heart beat in a staccato through the thick material of his suit. 

“Close your eyes.” He says after a moment.

Your brow furrows in confusion thinking you misheard. 

“What?” 

The masked man crowds you in until you’re up against the brick wall of the alley, his solid chest millimeters from your own. You can feel the heat from his body emanating from beneath the spandex suit. He smells like smoke and hearth. You think there's something else beneath, familiar and it causes your brain to buzz with energy. You inhale deep.

Bergamot and notes of Cedar wood. 

Your brows furrow trying to place the niggling memory that comes up when his gloved hand makes contact with your cheek. The touch is soft and light, fingers trail along the place you’d been slapped by Charlie. You can’t see his eyes from behind the flat black holes of his mask but you can feel him search your face. 

“Said, close your eyes luv.” 

He tilts his head and watches your lips when you dart a tongue to wet them. After a moment you do as he asks and shutting your eyes.

Your gasp is wheezy to your own ears, jerking at the feel of his breath on your cheeks. You are squeezing your eyelids shut so as not to open them. When his lips brush against yours, you gasp once more, belly swimming with butterflies. He takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, sucking your tongue and stroking with his own in tandem. Mind finally catching up, you chase after the foreign intrusion with a demand for more, always taking a mile when given an inch.

The pressure of the mask where it’s been pushed up against the bridge of his nose, tethers you to reality before you're swept away in the taste of him. Your senses are bombarded with the roll of his tongue and you give as good as you get, fighting him for dominance.

His hand rests at your throat, firm but relenting. He squeezes once when he nips your bottom lip and you shudder when he pulls away with an anguished groan.

You peek beneath your lashes and see the brown skin at his adam's apple before he can cover his face again. You know he’s smiling beneath the mask when he calls you a cheeky thing. He cups a hand over his cock pressing down as if to relieve the ache. 

Your thighs clench together. ‘Fuck.’

“What's your name?” You ask when you’ve finally caught your breath.

He hesitates and you think he’ll deny you. 

“You can call me Rook.”

You thank him for saving you, saying his name softy. He swipes his gloved thumb across your lips before he taps your chin twice with an index finger. 

“Go straight home, I’ll be watching.” The low timbre of his voice is an aphrodisiac. The promise of his watching is supposed to ease your frazzled nerves but instead sends heat flushing through your body in other ways. Your core is throbbing and slick against your undergarments when you shiver.

Stupid and horny, you think sadly as you watch him back away into the shadows. You don’t leave the alley until you can’t see him anymore. You turn to glance at Charlie and Bruce’s prone bodies and shake your head.

Stupid, stupid decisions Siggy.

When you wake the next morning you make eye contact with your boss’s diamond jewels on the side table next to a note. He’d been inside your home when you were sleeping. 

Your concern for your mental sanity is only a side thought when you're reaching beneath the covers to slide your fingers against the slick pooled inside your cunt. One digit, then two gliding over your clit and then past the knuckle into your soaking sex.

Your moans are stuttering, keening things, as you chase your orgasm. It’s dangling at the precipice of where your fingertips roll across the textured nerves of your G-spot. Back and forth you stroke until you’re cumming with a broken cry, mind going white with the force of your orgasm.  

‘I need to see him again’ you think as you lie in bed boneless. Your thighs are still shaking, cunt still clenching around nothing when you reread the note.

Don’t walk home in the dark anymore. I’ll know - Rook

[youuuimeanmee]

Nol and Shinae's Dance Analysis.

I heard from some people, Quimchee planned the entire night sequence on December 21st to be filled with hints and set ups for events and character dynamics in the future. Though I don't know how far Quimchee is gonna put the hints since it's past Dec 21st already, but hey, Quimchee always insert some symbolisms and foreshadowings anyway so I wanna analyze this one particular scene because it has a lot of foreshadowing materials, and try to predict their dynamic in the upcoming Chess Game.

Analysis

1. Nol with the blindfold. He is hiding his eyes from crying so much. But why is he crying in the first place? One can only guess the reason, but we know the phrase: Eyes are the window of the soul. It immediately reflects our emotions, our fears, and our deepest emotive shades. Nol is hiding his true feelings (whatever it is: love, relieve, heartbreak, fear, anxiety) from Shinae. He is closing his eyes, ignoring whatever reality in front of him, and chooses to live in the moment with her --regardless of the consequences that might come after.

2. The head band covering Shinae's neck --or the delicate part of the body that must be protected, as Nessa once stated. Nol took it away from her. He also told her to take off her shoes earlier. Combine these two, and you have Nol basically rendering Shinae naked vulnerable in front of him. She believes Nol's excuse to play things fair without question; even without the blindfold, Shinae is pretty blind herself, because she couldn't see he's not fine at all.

3. Their outfits. They're both vulnerable in their own ways; Shinae without her shoes and her headband, and Nol in hospital gown with the bandages that covered his wounds. But, while Shinae's neck is out in the open (completely open with her feelings), Nol's neck is wrapped in bandages (hiding his feelings completely). They're not seeing eye to eye; it's not fair.

4. The dance movement. Nol is twirling Shinae around. Even in blindness, he had Shinae dancing at the palm of his hand. By lying and hiding behind a mask, he had her under his control. (Not that he has any malice --he just wants to make happy memories with Shinae before he's gone, but from here, we get a glimpse that Nol is capable of manipulating his partner to move like he wants to.)

5. The color. Rand said he has faith in his team. His words are in red in black, signifying power. He has conviction they won't lose to Yui. And sure enough, the duo is dancing without a care, they're building their team play. But notice the background color when they danced; they're not in the light (hope), but it's not completely dark either. It's basically grey. Despite Rand's hope, the situation seems bleak.

Nol who is blind, is guiding Shinae who is blind. You know what could happen?

This is the worst scenario though, I hope it won't happen.

The blind is leading the blind. One of them has to open their blindfold if they don't want to fall together. Fortunately, Shinae is quick to open her eyes from Nol's tricks. She saw Nol's tear stains and she immediately took the rein; she stopped their dance. Once it stops, we can see the light returns (even if it's not as bright as before).

Discussion

Nol and Shinae's dance has been teased for a long time, and we finally get to see it now. It's been teased from episode 5, when Nol proposed Shinae to be his partner. There has been many hurdles, but now that Shinae has fully accepted Nol's hand, they finally embark on a new journey as partners. Their dance represents their new partnership and how they work together as a team. And of course, being their first time, it's not all smooth sailing.

Nol and Shinae is a unique pair. They're almost like a mirror. Whatever Nol do that night, Shinae is able to keep up with him.

Nol and Shinae have the potential to be impeccable liars. They both can make nasty jokes that can cut their opponents deep. Like Nol's prank that reminded Shinae of her father in-coma, and Shinae's prank that reminded Nol of his abused days in the Hirahara Hospital.

They are capable of stealing. Nol stole the yearbook to investigate Alyssa to give Shinae the justice she deserves. Shinae stole some balloons from the poor, tired man to give Nol a happy birthday he deserves.

They both can equally be manipulative if they want to. Shinae doesn't want Nol to bolt from her since he seemed ready to do it anytime, so she lured him out using sweet words, shared her painful past to try to relate to him, and asked him to dance in Min-Hyuk's room so she could be with him longer. Nol doesn't want Shinae to bolt from him again since she seemed ready to do it anytime, so he listened to her music together, played around with her finger dance, asked her to dance --even taking away her shoes, and smile as Yeong-Gi so she won't run away from him anymore.

Whatever wholesome or nasty things, they could do it together. They'd be such a great partners-in-crime. But sometimes, because they're so matching, they often find themselves in unfavourable condition when they're not in synch. For example, like the first time they meet. Both of them were riled up by the mean guy's mockery; they stood up to teach him a lesson at the same time. But, because they had different idea on how to do it and they're not aware of each other's presence, Shinae ended up hindering Nol by spilling the juice on him --or Nol hindered Shinae by getting in the way, whatever floats your boat. Yes, it is an accident, but I believe Quimchee has been setting up their dynamic from the very start.

You get the gist. For the upcoming chess game, they need to fix their teamwork. And to get a nice teamwork, they need to be in synch. They already prove themselves they're capable of doing that, like their first prank and their tag team against Sang-Chul. But if they want to win against Yui, they have to do better. It's clear they're not there yet, because Nol is hiding too much from her. In fact, Nol is too smart for his own good and he hates putting his loved ones in dangerous or uncomfortable situation, it's possible he would "manipulate" Shinae in their partnership; he'd let her help him enough, but not enough to drag her into the mud with him.

I found this comment and I agree with this, though realistically, I'm not too hopeful Shinae could turn things around so quickly when this is just the very beginning of Nol-Shinae's partnership.

It's been hinted no matter how much Shinae is seem to be able to catch up to Nol, Nol is always one step ahead from her.

On their first "dance" in the Arcade Arc, what Shinae lacked is stamina. Right now what she lack is knowledge. Knowledge about Nol's past and the sticky situation surrounding Hirahara. Unfortunately, Nol is not ready to share it yet. Not at all.

Nol has always been in constant survival mode. Years of being preyed by Yui has build him to never show his weakness to anyone. Not to his friends, not even Nana --to some extent. Today, he just made a huge leap by crying on his loved one's shoulder instead of crying alone, but he's not ready to reveal it to Shinae. He has yet to process his feelings. It takes time. Things are gonna get complicated, especially when it's been foreshadowed that Nol is going to leave for a long time. If he does leave, it'll be a challenge to stay in contact and get close to him. And in the future, there will be much more things that Nol is keeping secret from Shinae. We already have Nol's investigation on Alyssa, for starters. Shinae has stated she doesn't like surprises and she doesn't like it when someone is going overboard for her sake. If she find out Nol has been manipulating her, doing all sort of things behind her back, and shouldering everything alone.... Welp. And she is capable of hurting Nol too, so... Yikes. I pray things won't get that far, I hope they won't hurt each other too much in the process.

I do hope we'll get a parallel of episode 65 on the next episode --Nol admitted to Shinae he's not fine at all, but since Nol is hard-headed, I don't dare to hope too much.

On (un)related topic, Rand, the Black King, has ordered Shinae, his Black Pawn, to inflitrate the opponent's den. Well, even though I said ordered, it's more of an advice on how to play the game. Shinae has the right to decide whether she chose to involve herself in this game or not. To make the decision, she needs to know what is exactly she's up against, and for who she's fighting for. And for that, she has to be aware of Nol's circumstances. Once she heard everything about Nol, there's no going back.

If Nol won't talk to her, I hope she can talk to Nana; I hope the two of them will meet. Yujing is currently brewing her article. If Shinae could learn about Nol's past from Yujing, it'll sting since she didn't learn it from Nol himself, but at least it'll start some conversation with him. Hell, she could even try to ask Rand if she's desperate enough. Nol is the same. If he wants to stand on equal footing with Shinae in the chess game, he needs to face himself, take a leap of faith and try to open up to her, little by little. He needs to believe Shinae is not as fragile as she seemed; she can take his burden and she won't leave him either.

If, in the future, Nol ever find himself immersed in his Antihero role for too long, or he's into his revenge plot too deep, Shinae needs to stop him from hurting himself. Maybe she even have to resort to some brute force if he keeps being stubborn.

Shinae and Nol have different stats in nature, so she has to get creative and proactive with her ways to make up for her weakness, if she wants to stand by Nol's side equally.

Just like Nol who has the capability to manipulate anyone -- including his partner -- if he wanted to, Shinae is just as capable to take the rein of their relationship, like the way she accepting and stopping their dance when she found something wrong. It's up to her if she want to continue the dance --letting her partner be blind, or stopping the dance completely if it means she could get him to open his eyes (come in terms with his feelings).

...

Maybe this is why Rand has so much faith in Nol and Shinae (especially the latter). Despite their flaws, despite their bleak situation, they can overcome anything as long as they're together. In due time, of course.

[popculturelib]

Haunted States of America: Michigan

Haunts of the Upper Great Lakes (1997) by Dixie Franklin

A bit of superstition haunts most of us -- a remnant perhaps of the memories of chillingly scary ghost stories told to us in our childhood. Northern Wisconsin and Michigan's Upper Peninsula have more than their share of ghosts and haunted spaces: from Lotta, the mysterious 'shady lady of the night' in Hurley, Wisconsin; to the ghost of Mary Green, who apparently thinks she is still the captain of the Delta Queen, an elegant paddlewheel boat that sails the Mississippi River today; to the mystery light that appears along a lonely road near Paulding, Michigan; to the various shades and ghostly occupants of homes and inns on Mackinac Island and across the Upper Peninsula and northern Wisconsin. There are haunted lighthouses, haunted mansions and inns, and haunted woods -- all waiting for you in Haunts of the Upper Great Lakes!

Check out these other books about haunts in Michigan!

Haunted Houses of Michigan (1998) by Karen Hoisington Donaldson

Haunted Michigan: Recent Encounters with Active Spirits (2000) by Gerald S. Hunter

Ghost Stories of Michigan (2002) by Dan Asfar

The Browne Popular Culture Library (BPCL), founded in 1969, is the most comprehensive archive of its kind in the United States.  Our focus and mission is to acquire and preserve research materials on American Popular Culture (post 1876) for curricular and research use. Visit our website at https://www.bgsu.edu/library/pcl.html.

[pmpmyread]

This piece is dedicated to the lovely @rahuratna, for your birthday!

If you've ever shared something you've created on here, and had the wonderful delight of having Rahu comment on it, then you know exactly how her lovely words always elicit wonderful sentiments that you simply want to bottle up and selfishly keep forever. Thank you, Rahu, for your beautiful writing, for your kind interactions over the last few months, and for being you. Happy birthday and I wish you an amazing year ahead, full of love and comfort! 🩵

Kindred

As a wandering traveler, yours was an unstructured, solitary journey, punctuated by the small discoveries you accumulated over time.

It was a deep, inexplicable curiosity that saw you, one day, roving within a forest you’d stumbled upon, its aura having both drawn and compelled you to canvas it in its entirety, in search of the answer to a question whose clarity evaded you.

Your intuitive draw proved to bear fruit when your exploration led you to discover a hidden gem, in the form of a stunning clearing, a serene and bright oasis buried deep in what was an otherwise dark and shaded forest. Before you’d even fully entered it, you knew that you’d finally found what you were yearning for over the past few days.

No longer blocked out by the tall centuries-old trees, sunlight filtered down easily here, brightening the vibrant orange-colored pockets of wildflowers that scattered around. The sounds of a stream of water nearby mingled with those of the birds in the distance. At the opposing end of the entrance, you found a rocky structure whose natural erosion formed a nearly unnatural-looking seat for its visitors, and you almost heard it calling to you.

For a moment, you just sat and immersed yourself in the soothing atmosphere, allowing its calming balm to relieve you from pains you did not even know yourself to carry.

After a while, you felt the unrelenting pull to make this area known, to share this with others. Everyone should get a chance to experience this, you told yourself.

You retraced your steps back to an area you’d mapped to be more or less central to the forest. You carefully set up a fire pit there, establishing what would serve as your new home base for the next little while, and you began to brainstorm on your new mission to guide visitors to the clearing.

After combining items you’d dug out from your humble arsenal of supplies with anything you could gather from the forest ground, you sprawled your tools and materials before you: twine, clay, wood, stones, candles, and a knife. And after a moment of reflection, the vision clicked in your mind, and you settled on your solution: Lanterns hung on trees to form a path throughout the dark forest and towards the clearing.

The idea sounded fantastic, at first. The winds of inspiration powered your sails as you spent hours, meticulously designing the concept, right down to the pressed flowers that decoratively adorn your creations.

But as you got into the thick of the work, doubts began to cloud your mind. You realized that you only had enough materials to create three lanterns and wondered if you’d be able to draw a sensible path with so few; you questioned the degree of structural integrity you could realistically bring with such flimsy materials, and wondered if other visitors would even appreciate the clearing as much as you have.

You remembered the unmatched sentiments you felt at the clearing and tell yourself that if there was even the slightest sliver of a chance that your efforts could lead one person to find the same, that it would be a chance worth taking.

It was only once you'd achieved what you deemed to be the lowest possible level of dissatisfaction with your handiwork that you set out for the clearing, placing the three lanterns at the three different junctures you found to be the most practical and hoped for the best.

Shortly after you’d returned to your home base, you spotted a figure approaching you just as you were packing up and preparing to resume your travels. You suspected from her presence here and her allure that she was a fellow traveler; her weathered hiking shoes and a backpack that appeared to be worn by countless miles all but confirmed as much.

It was not uncommon to run into other wanderers. You always greeted them, some with a nod, others by exchanging brief words in quick yet meaningful connections that conveyed a shared silent understanding of what it meant to choose to walk these paths, and to do so alone.

When the traveler who stood before you now opened the interaction by sharing that she’d just come from the clearing, having discovered it through your path of lanterns, you realized that this exchange would be unlike the others. You invited her to sit by the fading fire pit you’d just put out and to extract its lingering warmth before heading back on the road.

As she described her experience in the clearing, you bask in the thrill that the vision you had in mind somehow worked in practice, and even more delighted to learn that the effects of the clearing appeared to have been the same on this kindred traveler as they were on you.

But she doesn’t stop there.

She then described, in great detail, her experience on the path that led her there, she spoke of the strategy behind the placement of the lanterns, she decomposed the lanterns down to their parts, and commented on the merits of each of the materials that composed them. And in that moment, you questioned why you ever doubted your plan.

You sat in awe as you listened to your reasoning expertly dissected and laid bare as you witnessed a perceptiveness that divulged a deep shared understanding of both the destination represented by the clearing and the journey involved in creating the path leading to it.

There is an added layer to this deep level of perceptiveness; it was found in the rich vocabulary she employed to paint a portrait of her experience, it was in her kindness, that only a long, storied journey could carve into a soul.

At the end of her commentary, before you part ways, she thanked you.

But it was you that wanted to thank her.

For proving that the comforting warmth from that clearing could exist beyond its boundaries.

[pureamericanism]

It's an almost banal truism that classic science fiction was largely a projection of the Frontier Experience - and, more broadly, the whole world-shaking events of the European Age of Discovery - onto an imagined outer space. Less frequently remarked is that the reverse is also true.

I grew up devouring Golden Age science fiction novels, and was a fervent believer in Mankind's Destiny Among The Stars. Well, the Space Age - like all the great dreams of thr 20th century - has turned out to be something of a damp squib, but I still want stories of fantastic voyages of exploration, adventure, science, discovery, and intrigue in a vast new world of far-flung outposts separated by titanic distances. So to scratch that itch, why not just...go back to the source?

If you want something like a story about an isolated asteroid mining colony, you can just read the memoirs of a surgeon at a Hudson Bay Company outpost! Why bother with Heinlein when you can just read the diaries of pioneer women, the tales of Yankee filibusters in Latin America, the authentic exploits of desert-island buccaneers, or the early adventures of the Portugese in the Indian Ocean? Do you want fraught tales of inteigue and war and high politics that extend to the farthest reaches of known space? A good book on any of the big 18th century wars for empire will satisfy. And can Star Trek remotely compare in imagination and excitement to the voyages of Cook and La Pérouse? "Strange new worlds, new life, and new civilizations?" Boy howdy, we got 'em! If you look at these things with fresh eyes, with the eyes of a science fiction fan rather than those of someone with access to an infinitide of pictures of them online, nothing could be more surprising than a dugong, a platypus, a redwood, a southern continent of solid ice.

All of this is really just an overly long preamble to my main point, though. Which is that I believe the story of Hernán Cortés, Montezuma, and the Conquest of Mexico to be possibly the greatest one ever told. The themes...bro, the themes! There is here a richness, a complexity and depth surpassing almost anything I can think of in legend or literature.

It is, of course, a science fictional First Contact story, in which two shockingly different civilizations who know nothing of each other suddenly find themselves facing each other down. And indeed, like any good First Contact story, one of the principal characters, La Malinche, is an interpreter! See how the resulting clash of civilizations eludes simple stereotyping - sure, it's easy to see the Spaniards as brash young interlopers into the sophisticated and urbane world of the Aztecs, whose capital was perhaps as much as an order of magnitude more populous than any city in Spain. But equally it is possible to see the Aztecs as provincials, isolated from a wider, older world that suddenly irrupts into their narrow one. Consider that Cortés supposedly got practical advice on political machinations and military strategy by - studying Caesar! Access to ancient wisdom penned by dead hands in far-off lands provides material aid to him.

Then there are the religious themes. It can be seen as a story about the triumph of Christianity, of the Church Triumphant, but what does it mean for a religion founded by a suffering martyr to become militarily triumphant? And what does it mean for thr religion of a suffering martyr to become triumphant over a religion of human sacrifice to the gods? This is a complex and multi-layered irony that spares no one. And consider the strange foreshadowing of the legend of Quetzelcoatl returning from over the sea. Shades of Frank Herbert, here, even (especially?) if the tale is a post-conquest invrntion.

And the role of technology in the tale. Yes, the steel and shot, the horses and hounds, the ships and sails were all powerful allies for the Spaniards, but these would not have sufficed without the smallpox virus - a reversal of Wells that still underlines the power of biology and of the very small even in the face of all our mastery over the brute world. But the conquest also would not have been possible without the alliance with the Tlaxcala and other local rivals and adversaries of the Aztecs. There are very pointed lessons in the social, political, and diplomatic sciences being demonstrated here. Some are obvious, and others very subtle - look at the ways these differing civilizations reacted under the extreme stress of this brutal war to see what I mean about the subtle ones.

I could go on, I could mention the strange aesthetic touches, such as the similarity in climates between the Valley of Mexico and inland Spain, and the parallels between Spain's role to Rome and Mexico's to Spain; or I could talk about the fascinatingly ambiguous characters of all the major players in this story, and the surprising arcs they go through; but not only am I already going on rather long, but I fear I may be making too light of what were, after all, real events, real events that resulted in piles of corpses, and whose tremendous human consequences are still felt deeply by tens of millions of people.

But I stand by my statement that it is one of the richest, profoundest stories I know of. The gods may be cruel, monstrously cruel, but they are artists, too.

[shadeworx]

(via Budget-Friendly Options for Durable Shade Sail Fabrics)

[sanisse]

Can I ask a potentially silly question?: as someone who hasn’t been able to get through the silm yet (despite my valiant efforts), why is Russingon such a popular ship? No shade to the ship at all, I just literally don’t know what it is or what makes it so common (canon interactions I’m assuming?) and I figured you be able to help me given the on enjoyment of Russingon and your knowledge of the lore

Please help 😂😭

Ohhh I'm late to this but I can give you the short answer and the longer answer.

Short answer is doomed romeo-and-juliet-esque romance is very juicy and makes ship brains go brrr. Maedhros being the firstborn of Feanor and Fingon being the firstborn of Fingolfin means that there's just a lot of potential there for "our dads are fighting and disapprove of us but we're still going to be friends/lovers because fuck what anyone else says" and that's just...hngg. And of course then there's the whole sailing to Beleriand & the Oath and Angband and Fingon's death...

But in any case. The long answer is that they're really really close in the text.

 “Long before, in the bliss of Valinor, before Melkor was unchained, or lies came between them, Fingon had been close in friendship with Maedhros; and though he knew not yet that Maedhros had not forgotten him at the burning of the ships, the thought of their ancient friendship stung his heart.” (The Silmarillion, Of the Return of the Noldor, p. 124)

It's Fingon who rescues Maedhros from his torment in Angband, and as the text goes: “Thus he rescued his friend of old from torment, and their love was renewed; and the hatred between the houses of Fingolfin and Fëanor was assuaged.”

And while I'm not saying this makes them canon, I think it's very interesting that Tolkien inserted a new subheading for this story of Fingon’s rescue of Maedhros from Thangorodrim: “Of Fingon and Maedros” (HoME XI, Later Quenta Silmarillion, p. 177.), which is very similar to three other titles in the Silmarillion: “Of Aulë and Yavanna”, “Of Thingol and Melian”, “Of Beren and Lúthien” all of whom are married couples.

And that doesn't even take into account the fact that Maedhros and Fingon have a tight alliance when Fingon becomes high king, and that they pretty much rule together. And beyond that, Maedhros and Fingon exchange a LOT of gifts, which from LaCE is a bit of a romantic gesture.

Maedhros and Fingon also share two motifs with Beren and Luthien and Aragorn and Arwen. Like Beren and Luthien, Maedhros and Fingon have a rescue that involves Song (fun to note that Sam and Frodo are an echo of this as well). And post Fingon's death, Maedhros goes to dwell in his grief on the hill of Amon Ereb. Post Aragorn's death, Arwen goes and dies on a hill.

I don't think Tolkien intended for them to read this way any more than I think he intended for Sam and Frodo or Legolas and Gimli or Turin and Beleg to read the way they do, but it's a popular ship because the text tells us over and over that they're extremely close and gives us a lot of ... uh... interactions and parallels which are just ripe ground for romantic ship material.

And yeah, height difference and doomed romance make ship brain go brr.

[lazarusphenomenon]

festus + piper

i was asked to make this public / rebloggable.

Piper couldn’t blame them. The dragon was huge. It glistened in the morning sun like a living penny sculpture —different shades of copper and bronze—a sixty-foot-long serpent with steel talons and drill-bit teeth and glowing ruby eyes. It had bat-shaped wings twice its length that unfurled like metallic sails, making a sound like coins cascading out of a slot machine every time they flapped. “It’s beautiful,” Piper muttered. The other demigods stared at her like she was insane.

tlh pg. 140

Piper couldn’t breathe. Poor Leo. The idea of never seeing him again almost destroyed her. Khione must’ve seen it in her face. “Alas, my dear Piper!” She smiled in triumph. “But it is for the best. Leo could not be tolerated, even as an ice statue…not after he insulted me. The fool refused to rule at my side! And his power over fire…” She shook her head. “He could not be allowed to reach the House of Hades. I’m afraid Lord Clytius likes fire even less than I do.” Piper gripped her dagger. Fire, she thought. Thanks for reminding me, you witch. She scanned the deck. How to make fire? A box of Greek fire vials was secured by the forward ballista, but that was too far away. Even if she made it without getting frozen, Greek fire would burn everything, including the ship and all her friends. There had to be another way. Her eyes strayed to the prow. Oh. Festus the figurehead could blow some serious flames. Unfortunately, Leo had switched him off. Piper had no idea how to reactivate him. She would never have time to figure out the right controls at the ship’s console. She had vague memories of Leo tinkering around inside the dragon’s bronze skull, mumbling about a control disk; but even if Piper could make it to the prow, she would have no idea what she was doing. Still, some instinct told her Festus was her best chance, if only she could figure out how to convince her captors to let her get close enough…

hoh pg. 272

“You remember our dragon?” Piper asked. Khione scoffed. “This cannot be your secret. The dragon is broken. Its fire is gone.” “Well, yes…” Piper stroked the dragon’s snout. She didn’t have Leo’s power to make gears turn or circuits spark. She couldn’t sense anything about the workings of a machine. All she could do was speak her heart and tell the dragon what he most wanted to hear. “But Festus is more than a machine. He’s a living creature.”

hoh pg. 278

Before the goddess could go after the sphere, Piper cried, “Our secret weapon, Khione! We’re not just a bunch of demigods. We’re a team. Just like Festus isn’t only a collection of parts. He’s alive. He’s my friend. And when his friends are in trouble, especially Leo, he can wake up on his own.” She willed all her confidence into her voice—all her love for the metal dragon and everything he’d done for them. The rational part of her knew this was hopeless. How could you start a machine with emotions? But Aphrodite wasn’t rational. She ruled through emotions. She was the oldest and most primordial of the Olympians, born from the blood of Ouranos churning in the sea. Her power was more ancient than that of Hephaestus, or Athena, or even Zeus. For a terrible moment, nothing happened. Khione glared at her. The Boreads began to come out of their daze, looking disappointed. “Never mind our plan,” Khione snarled. “Kill her!” As the Boreads raised their swords, the dragon’s metal skin grew warm under Piper’s hand. She dove out of the way, tackling the snow goddess, as Festus turned his head one hundred and eighty degrees and blasted the Boreads, vaporizing them on the spot. For some reason, Zethes’s sword was spared. It clunked to the deck, still steaming. Piper scrambled to her feet. She spotted the sphere of winds at the base of the foremast. She ran for it, but before she could get close, Khione materialized in front of her in a swirl of frost. Her skin glowed bright enough to cause snow blindness. “You miserable girl,” she hissed. “You think you can defeat me—a goddess?” At Piper’s back, Festus roared and blew steam, but Piper knew he couldn’t breathe fire again without hitting her too.

hoh pgs. 279-280

Fortunately, Festus had been listening. He faced front and blew a plume of fire. The ship’s engine clattered and hummed. It sounded like a massive bike with a busted chain—but they lurched forward. Slowly, the Argo II headed toward the shore. “Good dragon.” Piper patted Festus’s neck. The dragon’s ruby eyes glinted as if he was pleased with himself. “He seems different since you woke him,” Jason said. “More…alive.” “The way he should be.” Piper smiled. “I guess once in a while we all need a wake-up call from somebody who loves us.”

hoh pg. 358

“Coach!” she said. “It didn’t happen like that at all. I couldn’t have done anything without Festus.” Leo raised his eyebrows. “But Festus was deactivated.” “Um, about that,” Piper said. “I sort of woke him up.” Piper explained her version of events—how she’d rebooted the metal dragon with charmspeak. Leo tapped his fingers on the table, like some of his old energy was coming back. “Shouldn’t be possible,” he murmured. “Unless the upgrades let him respond to voice commands. But if he’s permanently activated, that means the navigation system and the crystal…”

hoh pg. 361

tagslist:

@partiallypearl

[ladyluscinia]

Tell me if you've seen this one.

You're watching a romcom. A beautiful woman with a wealthy, city-boy fiancé goes to visit family in a small town. (Let's be honest... It's Christmas. It's basically always Christmas.) While there, she has an instant connection with the film's hot small-town love interest and starts reevaluating her city life. Does the fiancé work too much, or not like dogs? (Does he not understand the joy of Santa Claus?) At the movie's end, she makes a dramatic choice to break off her engagement, quit her job, and move back home to date the guy who was obviously the only love interest in play all movie long.

It's a very standard romcom love triangle.

It's also the kind of love triangle that OFMD is setting up, with Izzy and Stede antagonizing each other and representing two possibilities for Edward to choose... all the way down to how the final choice has been pretty obvious from the start. He's going to end up with Stede. (And hopefully have an overall better written arc than the one described above. That's a standard romcom, but not often a good one!)

Now, this works because love triangles are a narrative tool. They can be purely a source of shipping drama (especially in a drama genre) like tumblr fandoms seem to define them as, but that's only one variation, and far from the most interesting. Or even, I would argue, the most common.

So let's get into what love triangles actually are, and how this applies.

---

I would say most stories - especially character focused ones - use a love triangle as a way to take an abstract choice the protagonist needs to make, and give it some grounded symbolism in the love interests.

Hell, even in its most basic forms, there is a reason the most classic love triangles are a man choosing between Good Girl "Betty" vs Bad Girl "Veronica" or a woman choosing either the Respectable Gentleman or the Sexy Scoundrel. Which love interest the author makes endgame will correlate pretty strongly with whether the story ends on social conformity or encouraging passion, and social conformity always has the edge. This comes through even when the character differences are mostly personality, but it will get a lot more blatant if something like "finding a spouse" is a major plot point and we start getting material concerns like finances involved.

OFMD, though, is not really being basic about this - the ship for a "social conformity" option has long sailed, for one - so what are some more complex choices?

First, we can loop back to the small town Christmas romcom from the start. The men are potential lifestyles. The protagonist starts in very career / finance focused place with a partner from the same. They won't have children or be planning for them. The new guy is small town living - community, family, holidays, etc. He's got a respectable working class job. Maybe a kid. He'd be traumatized by an urban public transport map but he can probably ride a horse. These movies are targeted at small town housewives, so the "better" lifestyle is that one.

Or, another great example, the options can symbolize political or moral values. This also gives you a nice out from the love triangle when one love interest proves their unworthiness by finally crossing a line the protagonist won't. The Hunger Games had shades of this and fans definitely picked up on it (though I definitely remember being a "ditch them both" truther myself, lol).

And what about character growth? This can come into play when a story is about a protagonist fixing their life or self-improving. It's why - seemingly paradoxically - the established relationship is almost always expected to lose out to the new person in their life, despite being, well, established. They end up paired with the one who knows them as who they are becoming, not who they used to be.

...I think I've made my point about symbolism.

So. Back to OFMD! You'll probably notice all of the above could apply to BlackBonnet - Stede being the better lifestyle and values is kind of his whole thing, what with the acceptance boat culture and all (even if Stede himself needs to work on practicing as he preaches). Plus Edward is on an arc of self-improvement to fit into that culture. This is why absolutely nobody is going to be shocked that he doesn't end up with Izzy. But I do think (or at least hope 🫠) that the writing is good, and that's probably going to entail a bit of complexity in the choice.

The choice being "Stede, Stede, 100% definitely Stede, why would I even hesitate?" is rather boring. Especially since they have to make Edward hesitate so the show has a plot and stakes, and that's how you get plot contrivances and drawn out drama between two people (despite framing them as perfect for each other).

Conversely, if choosing Izzy aka his current life (the competing love interest angle is barely subtextual with the wife comparisons) actually has some appeal for Edward, then even though the endgame is obvious, it still makes sense why he's hanging back. It gives him a conflict with Stede / Stede's life that can take time to resolve, and one that will slot really nicely into the main story beats of a romcom. Edward is struggling a lot with identity, so tying the two men to different aspects he needs to choose between for himself is very compelling. (I'm just gonna drop my main Edward meta here.)

And, finally, how they handle the choice part is going to inform what they do with Izzy once Edward picks Stede. Yeah, there are the love triangles that make the bad option a horrible person, destroy their life, and skip away to the happy ending, but those can be kind of fucked up? And I think an unsympathetic ending for Izzy is unlikely for a few reasons... But that's a different meta.

(Maybe they should just OT3 for us??? 😆)

Anyway... This is why anyone starting from the stance that OFMD is not doing a love triangle because there's not actually a chance of BlackHands endgame has fundamentally misunderstood the argument being made, which unfortunately has been a common point of dispute. And with Season 2 coming I imagine it will come back with a vengeance, so I'm getting this out of my drafts now. 😘

Here's to love triangle shenanigans!!!

[myheartalivewrites]

24 reads in 24

Hey @suseagull04 thanks for tagging me in this! You KNOW books are my favourite thing in the world, and I'm kind of into the idea of writing this list and giving myself a little accountability in tackling the massive TBR pile that lives by my bed 😬. Maybe I'll update it and tick off the ones I've finished as I go.

Here we go then, 24 books I want to read in 2024 (in no particular order):

The Daughter of Doctor Moreau, by Silvia Moreno-Garcia (ok, I started this last night but I’m only 10 pages in, so it’s going on the list)

Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe, by Benjamin Alire Sáenz

A Power Unbound, by Freya Marske

Fire Island, by Jack Parlett

News from Nowhere, by William Morris

A Darker Shade of Magic, by V. E. Schwab

Tipping the Velvet, by Sarah Waters

Wolfsong, by TJ Klune

Boyfriend Material, by Alexis Hall

The Testaments, by Margaret Atwood—which means rereading👇

The Handmaid’s Tale, by Margaret Atwood

The Silence of the Girls, by Pat Barker

Her Majesty’s Royal Coven, by Juno Dawson

Hunger, by Roxane Gay

Beautiful World, Where Are You?, by Sally Rooney

Love Marriage, by Monica Ali

Captive Prince, by C.S. Pascat

The Ruin of a Rake, by Cat Sebastian

Friday I’m in Love, by Camryn Garrett

Trouble, by Lex Croucher

Olive Kitteridge, by Elizabeth Strout

A Nobleman’s Guide to Seducing a Scoundrel, by KJ Charles

The Charm Offensive, by Alison Cochrun

Uprooted, by Naomi Novik

BONUS: The Pairing, by Casey McQuiston. It's not on the pile yet, but it will be.

Ok, some of you I know are big readers but I'm not sure about everyone so tagging @cha-melodius @ships-to-sail @stereopticons @missgeevious @nontoxic-writes @kiwiana-writes @indomitable-love @14carrotghoul @zwiazdziarka @orchidscript but if I haven't tagged you and you also love reading PLEASE do this and tag me so we can chat books! 😘

[myfavouritelunatic]

The Blacksmith

To everyone who has read, liked, and/or reblogged this story... THANK YOU! ❤️

There’s trouble on the horizon...

Pairing: Halbrand/Sauron x Female Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Very light physical violence, but otherwise none.

Links to Chapter One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, and Fourteen!

Chapter Fifteen

It wasn't long after he departed that your curiousity got the better of you, wanting to see what he was helping this Lord Celebrimbor craft. Once you found and entered the forge, a glorious sight was before your eyes. Halbrand was at the centre of the room, no longer dressed in that azure coloured outfit from earlier. He still wore blue, but this fabric had a grey shade mixed in with it, and was lined in silver beading that matched the metal torc wrapped around his neck, resting on his collar bone. He was also covered in a leather apron and gloves to protect him as he worked, sweat and grime staining his skin where it could be seen. He looked incredible, and you knew this was exactly how he felt when he saw you in your crimson dress.

Halbrand beamed as you entered his vision, and he stopped what he was doing. Grabbing the attention of an elf close by him, he urged them to come over to where you stood. It was the same elf that had been present with Elrond during your emotional arrival in Eregion. "Celebrimbor, meet the love of my life." "I thought smithing was your love." Celebrimbor spoke in jest. The three of you shared a knowing laugh. "Well one cannot make smithing their queen. But I can be its king." "What pray tell are you making, Lord Celebrimbor, that requires the assistance of my love?" The elven smith and Halbrand glanced at each other excitedly. "We have been charged with making something that will save the elves of Middle Earth." Celebrimbor answered you. "Save the elves? What do you mean?" "Their light is fading. This is the only hope they have, my love. Otherwise they shall make for the grey havens and sail to Valinor. Never to return." explained Halbrand. "Does that include Galadriel?" Halbrand nodded gravely. "The object we craft will restore the elves to their full power. Then they can remain here and not dwindle into relics." 

"Forgive us, my lady, but we must return to the task at hand." said Celebrimbor, and you gave a slight nod, then Halbrand kissed your forehead, and you retreated into the shadows of the room to watch them work. You found yourself completely transfixed by what was happening before you. Thoughts of your first meeting with Halbrand appeared in your mind, memories of how easy the small tasks you had given him were, and how he still relished the work despite that. Yet that was nothing compared to this. The focus on his face, the deliberate and concise movements he made with the equipment, his interactions with Celebrimbor and the other elves in the forge. You could sense the feeling in the room, the feeling of vital importance that surrounded their quest to bring forth the saviour of the elves in material form. Hours passed by with you simply content watching your man work. Every now and then he'd shoot you a quick glance from across the room. And each time he looked back to what was in front of him, you noticed a smile on his face. He was very pleased you were witnessing this. You wondered if you were a distraction maybe, but given no one had asked you to leave, you assumed you were right to stay.

Then suddenly, an explosion wrecked the building. You used your arms to shield yourself quickly, but thankfully no major debris was flung in your direction. As the dust and smoke cleared, you and Halbrand ran to each other to be certain the other was unharmed. He clasped his hands over your arms and studied your body furiously. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?" "I'm fine, I'm fine. But you?" you asked frantically, more concerned for him. "I'm okay, my love. Celebrimbor?" he called out with worry. "Yes. All good here." the elf spoke between coughs. It was then that Galadriel and Elrond entered the room. "What has happened?" she asked, shocked at the fallout before her. "The mithril is proud." answered Celebrimbor. "It refuses every effort to bond it with lesser ores." Elrond spoke up then. "Tapping into the powers of the Seen and Unseen world seemed to soften the boundaries between the two." Celebrimbor sighed in frustration. His predicament was vexing him, but not Halbrand. You could tell by his face his mind was searching for the answer they needed. "Doesn't make any sense. We used enough pressure to fuse the heavens with the earth. It should have held this time!" The elven smith’s anger was clear. "Patience. This is a journey." Elrond offered his counsel. "Not every step we take will be forward. It may take time." "Time? We don't have time!”

“Perhaps that is enough for today.” Galadriel declared, hoping to cool the temper that had risen within Celebrimbor. “Perhaps we've been pushing ourselves too hard?" Her words were stern. It was then that your love interjected, and you watched the cogs tick over behind his eyes, as the solution finally presented itself to him. "'Pushing ourselves too hard.' Supposing that's the trouble. Supposing we've been using too much force?" "Meaning what?" asked Elrond, unsure what Halbrand meant. Celebrimbor was now putting it together himself. "Meaning that the metals shouldn't be forced to join but more... drawn or coaxed together. Now, if that's true we've been... we've been doing it all inside out!" He laughed in his bewilderment, and Halbrand grinned gleefully. "Quickly." Celebrimbor motioned to his new smithing partner. "Dismantle this. We start again."

You looked to your love, hoping to catch his excited expression at this new approach, but you caught something else entirely. For Halbrand's eyes were not on you then, they were on Galadriel. Following his gaze to her, you watched as an elf handed her a large scroll. You noticed Halbrand turn away back to his work, but you decided then to follow Galadriel, and discover exactly what she had been given. If it had piqued the interest of your king, then it was worthy of yours as well. Based on your earlier conversation, you had hoped that within this scroll there lay the answers to what treachery was plaguing Halbrand and yourself. That had to be it.

Catching up with her on the stairs that lead down and out of the forge, you began your interrogation. "What is that, Galadriel?" The elf however said nothing, only kept walking. Once the bottom of the staircase was reached, she grabbed you by the arm and lead you into a nearby room, closing the door. She then unrolled the parchment, studying it intensely. You saw how her demeanour changed from hopeful to sheer anxiety. "Galadriel... what is that?" you repeated your earlier question, praying she would enlighten you. "Galadriel!" you shouted her name, pressing her. It was then a single tear quickly fell from her eyes, and her fair skinned face turned even paler. She could not look at you as she spoke.

"The line... was broken... Halbrand is not the king of the Southlands." "What?!" you practically yelled the word. "What do you mean?" "The royal line was severed... over a millennia ago..." "That can't be right." you said, not believing a word from her. "Let me see that." You approached her, snatching the scroll from her hands. Unfurling it before your eyes, you followed the royal ancestry of the Southlands, one descendant after another until... there were no more. You threw the parchment on the floor in disgust. "This is a lie. A fabrication. Treason!" you spat these words at your elf friend. She let your name pass her lips, her voice quivering. "It is no lie. These records are precise." Galadriel sighed then, almost in defeat, and finally looked you in the eyes. "Halbrand... is not who I have proclaimed him to be. He is no king."

Your eyes widened in shock at her words, refusing to believe her. "How dare you!" you screamed at her, and pushed her back up against the wall. Looking at Galadriel, you knew who she was, what she meant to you, to Halbrand, yet the anger within you now made you wish you had your dagger to her throat. Halbrand wouldn't lie, not about this. You couldn't believe Galadriel would let herself be deceived by such a falsehood. "You have made a grave error, elf." your voice was sharp, and tinged with the darkness you could no longer keep at bay. "Halbrand is the king of the Southlands. And I am to be his queen. I pray you find another scroll that speaks this truth, because this one is faulty. Something has gone awry." The next words you spoke were wrapped in your malevolence, and they were loud. "Don't you dare betray us!" Your rage was blinding you, but somehow, there was still an inkling within you that told you maybe Galadriel was right. And that you were using your words against her, to convince yourself.

"Release me." the she-elf hissed through gritted teeth. You reluctantly did so after a moment, and Galadriel picked up the discarded lineage before composing herself. "It seems the woman I thought my friend is gone. I could not save her in time." It was bizarre to hear her speak of you this way, to you as if you were not in the room. Suddenly a sharp pain rippled out from your chest. "But what could I have saved... when he already had you." Galadriel let another tear fall, then she took her leave of you, and the pain grew until you were sobbing in agony. You wanted to rip your heart from your chest to make it stop. It was then you realised the pain was not physical, it was mental. Your heart was breaking. Galadriel seemed lost to you. The one and only true being that had been by your side since the moment you met her... had abandoned you. Or rather, it appeared, you had forced her away.

Could she have been right? Because a bigger question crossed your mind then: why would Galadriel lie? Was Halbrand a deceiver? You knew him to be capable of concealing truths, maybe even speaking in double meanings, but to actually lie to you... Your stomach dropped as a realisation hit you. Could this revelation about his heritage have been what he was about to tell you? He had been seconds away from finally revealing all he kept hidden within. Was this it? Or was there something else entirely at play? Regardless, your tears consumed you, the grief of losing a friend taking hold. Suddenly you didn't care anymore. You wanted answers, and you wanted them now.

  Storming out of the room, you took the steps up two at a time, making haste. Reaching the forge, you realised instantly that Halbrand was no longer there, uncertain as to why. However, Celebrimbor was nearby, so you strolled up to him, inquiring as to the whereabouts of your love. "Why he went to fetch Lady Galadriel. There has been another thrilling development." "What's that?" "We have come to the conclusion that, in order to achieve the desired outcome, we cannot stop at one object. For there would be too much power held within it, and that is too great a risk. We shall be forging two rings." "Rings?" you repeated, surprised. All this fuss for two tiny circles of metal. "And they will be great rings of power indeed, unlike any this world has seen." Celebrimbor's eyes were glowing, his joy almost palpable. "Two rings... that will save your people?" you asked sceptically. "Of this, I am certain." His conviction was unwavering, and you smiled at him warmly. If you were no longer to be saved, as Galadriel had said, then you were glad something could be. Deciding not to wait for Halbrand's return, and fearful of what Galadriel was going to confront him with, you bid farewell to Celebrimbor, letting him return to his work. Something in you told you to head for the river, as it seemed a place Galadriel found peaceful, or at least it was a place she felt comfortable with confrontation.

On your way to reach the banks of the Glanduin, the object of your desire appeared. Halbrand was without his smock and gloves now, that gorgeous blue grey outfit on display. It might have been your favourite thing you'd seen him wear thus far. However, there was something off in his demeanour. You knew instantly that something had transpired between him and Galadriel. And since she was not present, you didn't know what to think. "Halbrand, whatever she showed you... it is a fiction." He only smiled at the words you said, before taking you in his arms and bestowing upon you one long kiss. You melted into his touch, like you always had, and always would. When he let his lips part from yours, he spoke low and closely into your ear.

  "Galadriel is right, my love. Although... I am a king... just not the king she thought." "Halbrand, you're not making any sense. Is this what you were going to tell me earlier? About what lies underneath?" "Yes, my love." And as he pulled himself back so his face was in your view, you gasped in horror. His eyes were not his eyes. They were the eyes of the Halbrand you had dreamed about. The one consumed by his darkness. Your love let a small smile appear on his face. "I am the one they call... Sauron."

Tagging: @starlady66 @denzit @chimeracuddles @restless-tides @hikarielizabethbloom @anemarie @coraleethroughthelookingglass @mordorgp 

[invincible-selfxmade-punk]

A friend of mine at work told me she loved reading my stories. I will periodically put a few anecdotes on Facebook and this is what she was talking about. So as an end of the year gift I am putting together a lot of my essays As I did, it inspired me to write something new.

This was on my mind as I go to visit my Uncle Tony this weekend.

Long

post

ahead

@beckywiththegoodhijab

@albrechtstarkarm

@gifsbysimplysonia

@senor-plume

@elderberriesandarsenic

We remember the dead by telling their stories, so a part of them lives on in whoever reads it.

My father and uncle had a rift that never healed,

Before I tell the story, ut first I must describe to you their mother's home,

It was built in the 1920s by my grandfatger, the furniture was last updated bought 1950s on and was never changed. There were bedrooms with two beds each in them and then a master bedroom the kitchen, a dining room, a large living room and the most beautiful yet compact bathroom I have ever seen. There was both a back porch and then a small patio type wallpaper was of Fantastical things l with gazebo like overhead beams for hanging plants that look over a garden . There was also true incredibly large storage units all the property including a garage and also a seller . The house itself was up on a hill just High Enough that you could see most of the neighborhood and if you looked to the east you could see the highway that ran all the way through town . And my teenage years , in the summer, I was tasked with maintaining the enormous yard . In those days there were more trees that I can count, bushes, and grapevines. Many nights were spent watching the lights of the Town link on while you two played on my boombox sitting on the concrete patio ..

The walls of the room were covered in the most fantastic wallpaper. I had never seen designs like these before or since : Japanese sailing ships, gold on a background of gray. Huge Golden Rose blossoms on a brown background, & other designs I cannot remember.

Both curtains and lamp shades were of heavy fabric and ringed with tassels, It gave the living room a dark, exotic, otherworldly feel and an aura like stepping back in time to a distant foreign land.

I can't recall the flooring type but it was not carpeted the surface was shiny and made of whatever plastic material, but just like the walls, the patterns were singularly artistic, flat, smooth and colorful. My earliest memories are of sitting on that floor as a toddler, playing with felt covered wind up mice my grandfather kept.

The pantry was always full and while my Maw Maw was a wizard at Lebanese cooking, every cracker cookie chip and candy in her house tasted like it was decades old. The tastes of my memories there are of taboule, cabbage rolls, spaghetti with slices of rost beef instead of meatball, and conversely, the cloying taste of staleness.

In almost ever room, above almost every door, was some type of cross and three quarters of the walls displayed the most horrifyingly realistic images of Christ suffering. I will never forget them because they were the illustrations for my first lesson in shame and embarrassment.

When I was around 7 or so, my rich, teenage cousins from El Paso came to visit. I was the poor, half-breed relation and I guess they just wanted to mess with me.

“Hey do you know who that is?”, they asked, pointing to one of the depictions of our Lord and Savior.

I had no freaking idea.

Because of his Catholic upbringing, my dad despised religion, religion in any form, but most is specially Catholicism.

My mother, while a churchgoer on and off for most of her life, thought that Catholics were snobby and stuck up. Looking back, my father's family was probably the only example she had to go on, so of course she thought that.

When I said I didn't know as they pointed to one of the many Christs on the wall, they howled

“YOU DON’T KNOW JESUS?!”, and then pointed to every single Jesus plaque and picture

“HIM!? You don't know HIM!?”

I remember saying “...Well…. he looks like he's in a lot of pain ….”

I remember this was met with laughter.

It's pretty funny because looking back, I can't remember one single thing they told me about Jesus. However, I will never ever forget the shame I felt. I was obviously the only person on Earth whose parents didn't love her enough to tell her about our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. What the hell was wrong with me ?!

That was a pretty heavy thought for a 7-year-old.

My father had two brothers, Tony and Johnny. Both of them were younger and Johnny was born so late and Maw Maw's life that he was stuck with the mentality of a 5-year-old. This combined with the fact that he towered over me, caused me enough fear as a child that I avoided him when possible.

I don't know what kind of relationship my dad and Uncle Tony had as children. All I know is what my father told me in what I was able to observe on my own. My father and Tony were both expected to help out and take over with the clothing store that my grandfather built by hand. He literally went from being a door to door salesman to building his own store.

Whether my dad had any ambition on his own I will never know because he was the dutiful son who toiled loyally with his father. Uncle Tony however, was not so inclined. He wanted to work at electronics. My father said this was fine, Tony could go off to school, get a degree, in return and make his own TV repair shop in town. That way he would be close enough in case his father needed him. And possibly he could still help out his father when necessary.

Again, I will never know if my father wanted to go off to college but Uncle Tony was the son that got to. But once he got his degree he did not return. He took a job in El Paso for Texas Instruments building calculators and he never looked back.

He never returned to help my grandfather nor my father even when my grandfather passed away. After that things between Tony and my dad became very strained. If Tony tried to contact Dad by phone he was told my dad was busy or not there at all. If he came to visit in one of his fancy new cars throwing his money around, my dad simply disappeared, saying he was running errands and would not return until my uncle left.

This left me to stand in for my dad, and my uncle insisted on taking me out to dinner. Of course my dad's Pride would cause him to give me money and insist that I pay for the meal.

Yes, as an awkward adolescent, undiagnosed autistic child I was expected to stand up and insist on paying for everything. That absolutely never happened because I was terrified. So of course I allowed my uncle to pay, I went back and assured my father that I had paid for it and pocketed whatever money he gave me because I could not think of any other way out of it.

Several years later Uncle Tony decided that it would be best to move Maq Maw and Johnny to El Paso to live with him.

I'm not sure what he told my father but I could guess it was along the lines of “I'm richer and I can take better care of her than you.”

I honestly do not know how old she was at the time. She had always been old as long as I can remember, a small plump woman in long dresses and aprons who spoke no English, only Arabic and Spanish.

She had lived in the same house, had the same friends, gone to the same church, in the same neighborhood, her entire life. I doubt she was in any shape to even go to El Paso much less be moved there. No matter how much my dad protested Tony insisted and so that was what happened.

Less than a year after the move, she died. Being left to his own devices, Johnny drank himself to death a few years later.

That was the last straw: dad never forgave him and rightfully so. Dad still refused his calls, and if Tony tried to contact him by mail, dad instructed me to write: Return to Sender– addressee deceased on the envelope.

They did not speak again until Dad was on his Deathbed.