#T. Thornes

[wutbju]

The Sword of the Lord included this tiny little ad from African American pastor Thomas Thornes from Fairfield, Alabama. “Tithing: The Sure Way of Receiving Abundant Blessing” is clearly a health-and-wealth message. 

Thornes pastored Galilee Baptist that split so severely they went to court!

[pastelpaperplanes]

I am hungry

I have been hungry

I was born hungry

[forsapphics]

A Thorn Amidst the Roses (1887)

James Sant (1820 – 1916)

[sapphicslaylist]

Slay The Princess Borrower Fic, Anyone?

Life has never been safe for a Borrower in a world governed by humans. Viewed as evil omens, any power-bearing “Fae” find themselves prey to black market circles where their fates are drawn to the highest bidder. And sometimes, the winners prefer to place them into the ring and hedge their bets even higher on a gladiatorial fight against something much, much worse.

As is the fate of a pair of escaped siblings, surviving in the woods by the skin of their teeth. But when evading their opponent proves too challenging, it may take deciding between trusting the owner of a nearby cabin or trying to outrun an enemy that can’t be killed.

But the tenants of that safe haven have one damning condition: they must reveal themselves to him first to be granted shelter. In order to make peace with the present, it may take unraveling the horrors of the past and the entwined destines between them all to save who still remains of all Borrowers, Cryptids, and Fae - and perhaps even the very forest itself.

When on Borrowed paths, some things cannot be returned.

Info on the series, its inspiration, and the intended message of the fic are under the cut! You do not need to know anything about Borrowers to understand the story; just think “Princess Tiny.”

Please take care of yourself while reading. Themes of Realistic PTSD, STP-Typical Violence, Internalized Ableism, and Childhood Trauma are all major factors in this work. While I can promise a kinder ending, much like Slay The Princess itself, have heart and see the horrors through. This is a love story about how to trust again.

Was very determined to have the first of these up in the fandom and it appears I managed to do so! For those unfamiliar with the Borrowers, the basic gist of the series is that they’re mouse-sized people who live underneath the floorboards and survive off of lost objects. The original series does depict their plight with humanity (“beans”) and survival of genocidal practices including extermination, imprisonment for entertainment, and otherwise dehumanizing aspects. Combined with the elements of Slay the Princess which often stand for feminine survival of abuse, these two themes clicked together nicely for a properly dark and heartfelt exploration of survival and recovery. All are properly researched and/or experienced, and maintain respect to victims.

I’ve often found myself dissatisfied by how quickly Borrower fics tend to have the beans & borrowers mingle, or how romanticized the brutalism is on people who stand as reference for marginalized communities. For this reason, this work is done as a depiction of their existence in contrast to these actions, and all trust build (handheld elements, interaction of free will, and other prominent soft tropes in this fic) are built up to vs gained immediately. Expect some slow burn and relationship conflict which will be resolved.

I do hope you enjoy it!

[yuarose]

Some work ✍️ PNGs scrapped out of the intro, kinda put them together, so here. 🤡

[ogpromiscuouspaperplanes]

a mood... I mean what? I mean yea, I mean what? I mean I would , I mea-

+18 Version Here

[tobinsonny]

sonnett vs portland 11/10

[xxvalkyriesxx]

Labyrinth of the Night - Chapter One

She laid broken and bloody in the street one moment and the next she was whole again, but now her humanity was lost forever.

OR Rhys hits Feyre with her motorcycle and in order to save her, turns her into a vampire.

Next Chapter

Read below or on AO3

AN: Hi Everyone! Welcome to my first Feysand fic! I'm trying to complete this spooky fic before Halloween (which I know is under a week, so we'll how well this turns out)

Please be aware that this fic features Sapphic!Feysand. And some Tamlin slander.

CW: Blood, cheating (not main characters)

Mood board made by me :p

Snippet:

Little thoughts came to her mind as she felt everything slow down. Death was here, and it was going to sweep her away like Elain. Feyre expected Death to be the grim reaper with a ratted cloak and a scythe, not a woman with ink black hair braided in a fishtail and eyes like the twilight sky.

“Darling?”

Her voice was husky, maybe even flirtatious, but Feyre couldn’t tell anymore. She was dying. And this woman had to be an angel.

At least I’m not going to hell.

**

“Feyre, please. This is my fifth time apologizing. Can’t you just forgive me?” Tamlin asked as he watched the young woman stuffing a backpack filled with clothes, some snacks, a tablet, and chargers.

Blue gray eyes glared daggers into his sunlight green ones. She watched him cringe and look away. Feyre’s gaze glanced at a nearby photo frame of them last year around the holidays. Feyre’s smile was so dim while Tamlin’s was bright and big.

“Feyre, I didn’t mean to do this. But what could I have done? You haven’t been home much recently.”

“Do you hear yourself? You just admitted that you’ve been cheating on me with the owner of the gallery that I’ve been working for the last three years. And you’ve been sleeping with her for at least the last two months.”

Feyre continued. “Not only that, but she’s stolen two of my own collection themes in the last year. And when I finally get a spot in the gallery, you end up fucking her!”

“And on top of all of that, two of my painted canvases are missing.” Feyre pointed to the few pieces she had left from her gallery from last week that rested on her unorganized desk. Most of her pieces had been surprisingly bought by an art collector. But there were still some left when she uninstalled her show as it was only running for a short time. 

“Are you implying that Ianthe stole them?”

“They didn’t just walk off on their own!”

Tamlin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Ianthe warned me about this.”

Feyre sneered. “About what? That you think I’m crazy? That you dove in between her legs without a second thought?!”

“It didn’t start off like that. You were complaining about wanting to have your own collection, so I asked her to give you a spot in the gallery and she said she would think about it. When you finally got your space, you ended up staying so late in the studio.”

Tamlin laid a hand on his chest, over his heart. “I was lonely. And Ianthe was there, and she took care of what I needed.”

Her mouth dropped slightly. “You asked Ianthe to give me a spot in the gallery? The one woman I’ve been working my ass under for years? Did she let you fuck her before or after you asked?”

Feyre held up her hand as Tamlin went to explain. “Don’t fucking answer that.”

Tamlin approached Feyre as she took a step back, closer to the front door. 

“Feyre, this is all in the past now. Your collection finished last week. Now we can focus on our relationship.”

Feyre shook her head. “No. I’m tired of feeling this way, Tamlin! You’re draining everything out of me.” She grabbed her phone off the nearby table, the percentage in yellow as it read under 30%.

“I’m not going to hear you out. I’m not going to forgive you. This was the last straw. I should’ve listened to Nesta.”

Tamlin growled. “Your whore of a sister is a waste of life. You left your family because I provided a future for you. They couldn’t even take care of you.”

Feyre squeezed her eyes expecting more tears, but there was none left in that moment. None left for the man she was in love with. No, the man she thought she loved. When Feyre didn’t answer, Tamlin raised his voice. She hated how her knees buckled slightly in fear.

“So what, you’re going to leave me? Go to your sister? She’s all you have now since your other sister is dead. Do you even know where Nesta is? Is she even still in the state?”

“Fuck you, Tamlin.” 

Quick as she could, Feyre turned the door knob of the front door before bolting out of the townhouse into the rainy night of downtown Baltimore.

**

“Fuck, why won’t you pick up?!” Feyre yelled into her phone as the automatic voice said for a third time that the phone number had been disconnected.

She hadn’t spoken to Nesta in years, not since the morning she left her two sisters in their family home on the Eastern Shore of Maryland.

“Feyre, just think about this for one second. You’re barely nineteen. This guy is almost thirty. And you’ve known him for what? A month? Maybe two? Just because dad’s dead doesn’t mean you can just make any and all stupid decisions.”

“Oh shut up, Nesta. I want out of this awful house. I hate everything about this house!”

“No you don’t, Fey. You’re being a child.” Nesta stated as she went to reach for Feyre’s hand.

“No! I’m not staying in this house for one more second. I hate it! I hate you!” Feyre yelled.

Instantly Nesta stepped back and for a fraction of a second Feyre swore there were tears in Nesta’s eyes but in a flash, they were gone.

“Fine, go with your boyfriend. Do whatever the fuck you want. Why would I care?” Nesta sneered as she turned her back before heading back inside, slamming the front door.

“Fey, Nesta is right on this. Can’t you just stay for another month or two. You’re young,  and we haven’t even met this guy yet.” Her other sister, Elain said. 

Elain stood slightly timid from the heated exchange of her sisters. Her big doe eyes pleaded with Feyre.

“Please, Fey?”

“No. I’m not staying here. I need out, Elain. Go see Nesta or something. She needs to be comforted more than I do.”

Feyre watched as her second older sister shook her head in shame before she stepped back and went back into the house. This time the front door shut quietly, but the quietness was drowned out by the loud squeals of tires as a car stopped at the curb of the front yard.

“Ready to go, Thorns and All?” A man with long blonde hair said as he peered from the driver seat. He used Feyre’s username from reddit.

“Rose Court?” Feyre asked. She blushed slightly as the man stared a bit too long at her chest.

“The one and only. But like I said in our text, call me Tamlin, Felicity.”

“It’s Feyre.”

“Right, sorry. The trunk’s opened so put your bags in there. Hurry up too, I want to beat all of the traffic on 50 and 95.”

The thought of Elain painted Feyre in pain. Her sister had died in a freak accident with her car falling off the Bay Bridge into the shallow waters of the Chesapeake. Her body was never found, and Feyre never went to the funeral.

“It’s tragic, but your sister didn’t help take care of you, right?” Tamlin asked, knowing the answer.

“Ellie is my sister, and she’s dead.” Feyre sobbed into his chest.

“I know, Thorns. But listen, she never took care of you, so why waste your breath on her? Let her soul rest. Maybe we can visit her gravestone when the commotion has died down.”

She died over two years ago, just a year after Feyre moved out. No matter how hard Feyre tried, Tamlin wouldn’t let her go visit. Elain’s graves was in their hometown of Berlin. He always mentioned the bridge was dangerous and that they’ll go together at some point but they would have to take the long route of cutting through Delaware to get there.

But they never did.

Feyre also never got her licenses and from Baltimore city, that trip was at least two hours one way by bus and standard traffic. Tamlin would notice if she was gone too long. And if he didn’t know where she was at all times, he would freak. He would accuse her of cheating on him. Ironic.

The rain was only pouring harder as Feyre reached the Inner Harbor. It was late enough that some of the stores had closed, but a few restaurants and bars were still opened. Feyre glanced at her phone again seeing the battery at 15% now.

“Shit.” I need to get to a bar fast to charge my phone.

Feyre thanked every star that she ended up buying a waterproof backpack a few months ago. She was caught in the rain one night as she went from the studio to the townhouse.

I don’t even know if the house is still there in Berlin. I don't even know how to get a hold of Nesta.

Feyre didn’t want to think of the reality that she literally had no one in her corner. For the last three years it’s only been Tamlin.

Don’t cry! Crying makes everything worse. Focus, Fey! I can cry later. 

Not far from her, a nearby bar’s lights shone brightly in the darkness of the city sky. Feyre felt hope flutter in her chest. She picked up the pace wanting to get there as fast as possible. It was reckless to ignore the red stop light for pedestrians, but the sooner she was out of the rain, the sooner she could come up with a plan.

But then a bright light engulfed her before she felt her body leave the ground. Dazed by the rain clouds as her body smacked into the asphalt of the road, broken and bloody.

Little thoughts came to her mind as she felt everything slow down. Death was here, and it was going to sweep her away like Elain. Feyre expected Death to be the grim reaper with a ratted cloak and a scythe, not a woman with ink black hair braided in a fishtail and eyes like the twilight sky.

“Darling?”

Her voice was husky, maybe even flirtatious, but Feyre couldn’t tell anymore. She was dying. And this woman had to be an angel.

At least I’m not going to hell.

**

Rhys knew better than to be speeding down the streets of Baltimore, but to be fair she needed to be back in Frederick before the morning and still had to make a few stops in Catonsville and Ellicott City before she could venture home.

Driving the motorcycle seemed pointless to her cousin. She always asked her why ride it when they were just as fast, if not faster.

Rhys didn’t want her cousin to be peering too closely into her thoughts so she mentioned technology had evolved over the centuries, so should they. But what Rhys withheld from her cousin was that riding was one of the closest things she felt to being human again.

And now that feeling was stripped away as an almost dead woman laid feet from the crosswalk.

“Fuck, fuck. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Rhys ran over to the woman and her eyes widened just a bit. “Darling, are you hurt anywhere?”

The rain poured over their bodies but Rhys saw the familiar blue gray eyes that she’s seen every day for the last two years, only these eyes didn’t glare at her, but stared in wonder as they took in their final sights.

“Nesta is going to kill me” Rhys mumbled underneath her breath.

She pulled the woman into her arms. The rain had diluted some of the spilled blood already. Rhys held her breath for a moment, trying to soothe the ache of her hunger clawing at her throat and mind.

“I’m not letting you die today, Feyre darling.” 

Then Rhys leant down to Feyre’s neck and sunk her fangs right near the fading pulse.

[belle-keys]

Gothic Fantasy/Folk Horror Books: 10 Recommendations

Uprooted by Naomi Novik

Spinning Silver by Naomi Novik

Juniper & Thorn by Ava Reid

The Wolf and the Woodsman by Ava Reid

A Far Wilder Magic by Allison Saft

Down Comes the Night by Allison Saft

Not Good For Maidens by Tori Bovalino

The Bear and the Nightingale by Katherine Arden

Nettle & Bone by T. Kingfisher

The Gathering Dark: An Anthology of Folk Horror by Tori Bovalino and others

[the-star-and-the-smols]

Rb and put in the tags a song that makes you think of g/t

[tvckerwash]

you know a trait I wish we would've gotten to see more of post recollection is Sneaky BastardTM wash who has a plan on top of the real plan and he doesn't tell anyone about said real plan until the last possible second, essentially forcing those around him to participate against their will in one way or another. get moved around like pawns on a chess board idiots.

[gen-0]

Okay I might be the only one seeing this but hear me out-

Look at how he’s looking at Amy right now, a slightly sad expression with his ears flopping forward, wanting to comfort her

But then….

She closes her eyes, and he lets every emotion scatter across his face, he looks at her with such a soft expression as he hold out his hand to try to comfort her

But as soon as Amy opens her eyes, that soft expression is gone, as if a wall was built up, and the hand begins to drift away, as if he doesn’t want her to know just how much he cares about her

[sapphicslaylist]

Pspsps You Should Read My STP Borrower Fic

We have great shenanigans like this (Chapter 10 WIP)

[yuarose]

Finalised love interests refs! 💚🖤🧡

[leifandthorn]

Made a bunch of Leif & Thorn characters with the Stardew Valley Portrait Maker!

[trainingdummyrabbit]

theres something about the temporary nature of death and general impermanence in the pmoonverse thats driving me fucking crazy but i dont know if i have the mind to dissect it

like... in lobcorp, death just happens. its background noise. its sad, sure, but you get used to it. you dont really get anything from caring about it other than being a little sadder than usual. if your favorite guy dies, you can just try the day again. and repeat, over and over, until you get what you want this time. its easy to fuck up, but its easy to fix, if you have the mind for it. textually, nobody Really dies there, though; given the records team's deal. everyone is always recorded, retrieved, removed at a whims notice. if you miss someone, you can put them back. or not. it doesnt really matter. its a face to a function, mostly.

and similar goes for ruina-- though theres less of an ability to truly "lose" someone. the library holds tight to those in its wings, as anyone can simply be put back together if something were to happen to them. and if things dont go right, you can simply try again. and again, and again, and again; you have all the time in the world, really, and the patience to wait for them to inevitably come back. decay doesnt really exist in a place like that, does it? even those that became books were simply put back somewhere-- Somewhere, but as they were. the library appears and then disappears just as quickly; leaving a mark intangible, not unlike a dream, but a mark nonetheless.

and with limbus, turning back the clock is the entire name of the game. you can fuck up however you want to, react however you want to, and well. if you die, dante will just put you back. easy peasy. theres caveats this time, but more or less, death is pretty much just a smack on the wrist at this point. a little more than that for dante, but well, theyre fine, so. whatever, right? of course. i cant speak for them as much as i can the others, but its very much there. look at it, its on the ceiling, and all.

and like, its. well its obvious from a gameplay standpoint, it makes the whole thing Work. but due to the diegetic nature of the whole thing, it weaves a strange sort of sensation. doesnt matter what happened, doesnt matter what mark it leaves-- youre fine. get up. again. especially with the framing character-- dante is the only one who kinda has to deal with the direct fallout of these actions (though, the narrative seems to stop looking at it after a point, which is understandable, but also still paints a picture.) x and angela mostly tend to overlook the whole process, directing rather than personally experiencing the whole thing.

idunno. these concies sure dont quence, or something