#a true wild west queen

[enjoy-my-swearing]

I HAD TO

@ramblingoak

[mysticstarlightduck]

Villain Sneak Peek (Supernova Initiative) - Eldora Thalax

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☆ ・・About/General Info ・・☆

A violent and ruthless woman, Eldora was banished by her people for wanting to indulge in a warmongering effort against the Junction's galaxies, seen by the Elders - including her mother, who was heartbroken by this realization - as too dangerous. And they were right. Leaving with a burning rage in her heart, Eldora sought out to collect as many conquests as she possibly could, amassing an army that rivals that of most known warlords - in hopes that one day, her mother would "see her potential" and welcome her back. She married a young nobleman named Damen in a political alliance to increase her military powers and eventually took his family's lands for herself through a coup. Eldora's violent nature showed her true colors once more when she proved herself to be an extremely abusive woman to both her husband and their child, Kye Thalax, something that would lead to the incident that sparked Kye's vengeance arc later in the main story.

☆・・More Info ・・☆

Pronouns - She/Her

Age - 43

Current Role - Antagonist, part of the Main Villains

Appearance - Eldora is a fearsome woman with a lithe stature and striking features, her presence being one that strikes uncertainty and fear into the hearts of those around her. She has long, bright silver hair - the trademark hair color of the females of her alien species - which she often ties into a sharp ponytail, styled with silver and gold ornaments. Her attire is practical and bulletproof, being both dangerously beautiful and invulnerable like the armor she often wears, appropriate to a General/Warlord of her reputation. Instead of nails, she has sharp, charcoal-black claws. Eldora also has a cruel, violent gaze.

Picrew (note, she has pointy ears, typical of anyone from her species, but I couldn't find that option in this picrew)

Personality Types -

✶ Enneagram: 5w6

✶ MBTI: INPT

Occupation: Warlord, General/Commander of Armies, Killer

Species & Place of Birth: Khylet; Thypsiell

Sexuality: Straight

☆・・Extras・・☆

✶ Character Playlist (A full Character Playlist is still To Be Made)

Belle's Villain Song - Lydia The Bard

True as it can be Watch the petals fall Desperate as you crawl On your knees to me It's your final page Fairytale complete You see in this world we're merely players But the truth is I'm your beauty, you're the beast [...] You thought we were a match Sweetheart, I am far smarter than that There is no one living that can challenge me You’re unworthy and that, love, is a fact [...] You are nothing but a monster to me Less than nothing you're not worth my pity Not even one of you Is a rival to what I can do Underestimated all this time Don't you get it this is my design I've made all my moves Seconds from the truth

Bad - Jake Daniels

Bring me down to the dark, muddy waters I think I need my soul cleaned Got a saddle full of miles, and a shot gun on my side That I'm not afraid to wipe clean I'm a bad, bad man everybody knows my name From the dirt all the way to the sea If you wanna try your chance, at a one way dance to the depths, come straight for me 'Cause I'm bad, oh I'm bad, 'cause I'm bad 'Cause I'm bad 'Cause I'm a doctor of the wild wild west Where the bad men are wanted and the law don’t rest I'm a simple man, but my fingers on the trigger Didn’t have no choice, I'm just a stone-cold sinner In the valley of the shadows ain’t no land of the free Best believe that I'm gunning if they come for me I don’t got a way out, but I had a way in Guess I'm gonna have to live in the life full a sin

Through War - HalaCG

I'm the queen of the cold and you'll learn to bow to me Cause the strong rule a world where the weak aren't built to breathe And are you blind or what? Look at all I've got and love me I've seen your strength pretty boy, pretty boy You'll be with me you don't get a choice [...] Armies kneel when I blink, no resistance stacks to this hey It takes less than you think to make a dog out of a prince And I know what don't think l will stop until it's won [...] We'll have everything Or go be a shadow I'll show you everything that I am If we have to be this know: even through war I'll reach your hand

Mother Knows Best (Reprise) - Tangled

Just proves you're too naive to be here Why would he like you? Come on now, really! Look at you, you think that he's impressed? Don't be a dummy Come with mummy, Mother - [...] No?! Oh. I see how it is [...] This is why he's here! Don't let him deceive you! Give it to him, watch, you'll see! Trust me, my dear That's how fast he'll leave you I won't say I told you so

・・・

✶ Tags:

#wip supernova initiative #oc: eldora thalax

・・・

Supernova Initiative Taglist (-/+): @ray-writes-n-shit, @sarandipitywrites, @lassiesandiego, @smol-feralgremlin, @kaylinalexanderbooks,

@diabolical-blue @oh-no-another-idea

@cakeinthevoid, @clairelsonao3, @sleepy-night-child

@thepeculiarbird

@the-golden-comet, @urnumber1star, @ominous-feychild, @anyablackwood, @amaiguri, @lyutenw

@finickyfelix @elshells, @thecomfywriter

Let me know if you'd like to be added!

[shannendoherty-fans]

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/07/17/opinion/shannen-doherty-gen-x.html

The New York Times — Opinion

We Owe Shannen Doherty an Apology

July 17, 2024. By Jennifer Weiner

Shannen Doherty was difficult.

If you were alive and sentient in the 1990s — whether you, like me, were a devoted fan of “Beverly Hills, 90210” and E! or you were just the most casual reader of People magazine — you knew this to be true. The sky is blue. The earth is round. Shannen Doherty, the star of multiple hit movies and television shows, is difficult. She was, per the tabloids, a volatile, unmanageable diva, and that reputation was only reinforced by the pouty, prima donna roles in which she was so often and so brilliantly cast.

Ms. Doherty died on Saturday, at the age of 53, of the cancer that was diagnosed in 2015. Since the news broke, the tenor of the conversation around her has changed. Instead of being an eye-roll-inducing wild child, Ms. Doherty is now being praised for the sensitivity and candor with which she discussed her cancer diagnosis and her time in the spotlight. And those ’90s tabloid stories? They’re hitting differently. The glee with which they were once consumed no longer feels appropriate. Ms. Doherty made her fair share of mistakes, but Gen X’s quintessential bad girl no longer looks all that bad.

If this reassessment feels familiar, it’s because in death, Ms. Doherty has joined the growing ranks of female celebrities whose scandals and legacies are being reconsidered by a newly sensitive culture.

In 2002, when Britney Spears’s high-profile relationship with Justin Timberlake ended, she was a train wreck, a bad joke, a problem. Eventually, her career and her money were placed under her father’s control. In 2008, Katherine Heigl went from queen of the rom-com to Hollywood purgatory for the sins of taking herself out of Emmy contention and having the temerity to say that “Knocked Up” was “a little sexist.” In 2009, Megan Fox got slammed — and fired — for calling out Michael Bay, her director on “Transformers,” for a desire “to create this insane, infamous madman reputation.” (OK, maybe she did also compare him to Hitler, which never ends well.)

Today, so many of the former tabloid mainstays do not look like punchlines or cautionary tales, but like regular young women enjoying the pleasures of fame. Some even look like role models. Ms. Spears emerged as a hero, not a villain, and it’s her ex who’s the target of comedians’ jabs. Post #MeToo, Ms. Heigl and Ms. Fox look like truth-tellers, not ingrates. Ms. Doherty, sadly, did not live long enough to enjoy her restored reputation.

A former child actress, Ms. Doherty was only 19 when she landed a starring role in “Beverly Hills, 90210.” She played Brenda Walsh, half of a set of fish-out-of-water Midwestern twins navigating the halls of West Beverly High. She left the show after four seasons, reportedly after feuding with co-stars, including Jennie Garth and the boss’s daughter, Tori Spelling. When Aaron Spelling hired her again, giving her a three-season run on “Charmed,” tensions with a co-star reportedly led to her being fired a second time. She was separated from the other actors as though she were an irrational toddler rather than a skilled, valued employee.

Those high-profile roles, along with her talent and her beauty, made her a star. But the conversation about her often made it seem as if her real job was to be fodder for the tabloids and a target for late-night comedians.

To be sure, Ms. Doherty gave them plenty to work with. There were the feuds and bar fights, a pair of quickie marriages and a D.U.I. arrest. Producers complained that she showed up late to the set, hogged the spotlight, bailed on the Emmys. A former fiancé filed an order of protection.

Ms. Doherty was eviscerated for this behavior in a way that indecorous male actors were not, at least at that time. A People magazine cover labeled her a “hard-partying, check-bouncing bad girl.” A zine called Ben Is Dead published an “I Hate Brenda” newsletter, complete with the “Shannen Snitch Line,” where informants could call in reports of unaired bad behavior.

In a 1992 cover story, People asked “TV’s brashest 21-year-old” why she, “alone among ‘90210’ co-stars and teen idols,” got stuck with the “difficult” label. Is she “one of those women who rhyme with rich? Is she, as the tabloids have gleefully reported, impossible on the set? Is she a prima donna? Also: After hours, does she party too much?”

Years later, Ms. Doherty copped to some of her misdeeds. “I have a rep,” she told Parade in 2010. “Did I earn it? Yeah, I did. But, after awhile you sort of try to shed that rep because you’re kind of a different person.”

So what drove the scandal? Blame it on youth. “90210” begat a whole generation of shows with ensemble casts of teenagers. Ms. Doherty was not the only one who needed time to grow into her outsize prominence. “We were locked in this sound stage for 14 to 16 hours every day,” Ms. Garth, who was also just a teenager, said years later. “There were times when we loved each other and there were times when we wanted to claw each other’s eyes out.”

Blame it on a desire to typecast female celebrities as heroes and villains, sweethearts and shrews, and the time-honored tradition of setting women against each other.

Or blame it, if you like, on plain old sexism. Ms. Doherty said the first time she was called a bitch was when she called out a male cast member on the set of “Heathers” for taking advantage of an extra. “I’m a strong woman,” Ms. Doherty told People. “There are still some people out there who can’t deal with that.”

Today, maybe more people are equipped to deal, more likely to look askance at misbehaving men instead of the women who call them out. Instead of the coy, “is she a rhymes-with-rich?” of early ’90s People, a Rolling Stone tribute is headlined “Nobody Could Break Shannen Doherty, and Everybody Tried.” “Shannen Doherty was irresistible, underrated and permanently shackled to misogynistic speculation,” wrote Adam White in The Independent. The headline on an opinion piece in Vogue read, simply, “Team Brenda Forever.”

The reassessment is more than just a desire (sincere or otherwise) not to speak ill of the dead. It’s a result of a few tough decades that have taught us what real bad behavior in Hollywood looks like: not impolite ingénues but Harvey Weinstein. Or Bill Cosby. Or Danny Masterson.

Maybe Lindsay Lohan and Paris Hilton and Tara Reid were not hot messes, but just girls being girls, the same way we’ve always allowed boys to be boys. And at least their misdeeds were largely victimless, unlike the missteps of so many male counterparts or superiors.

Maybe showing up late to the set, while not ideal, is not completely unexpected from a teenager adjusting to sudden, unimaginable wealth and fame. Maybe the bitches and the bad girls were giving voice to inconvenient truths about men with power and the sexist scripts they greenlighted, the abusive film sets they ran and the bad behavior they indulged in or ignored. Maybe the difficult women like Ms. Doherty are the ones we should have been listening to all along.

[jedineedlove]

Spider Queen?!!

I've been rewatching LMK again for more research and I noticed something odd. It started in Season 1 in Noodles or Death.

These are some of the major issues I have with Spider Queen's Story we see in other episodes she debuted, especially in Revenge of the Spider Queen we have lines like.....

"Monkey King tore me from my throne and took everything I owned." She said to LBD in her host form.

"would be queen of spiders." From Bull King as he was tied up mocking her.

"after all I've won and lost and won again." She says as she threatens MK

In other episodes like 72 Transformations

"I was meant to rule, I would have been a good queen," she says more to herself than to MK

These lines all together tell me a story. I am not claiming at all that this is at all true. I am just saying it like I see it.

Her empire in the east doesn't necessarily mean this was her only empire. This could have been a part 2 of her empire of the west. After a defeat from Wukong, she tried to restart in the east. After a probably short rule was defeated again and those or the ruins of that empire.

The story doesn't end there with Bull King's comment of her being a would-be spider queen and her reaction to Wukong calling her princess. The fact that he uses the title princess to get under her skin says something like she wants the queen title but may have been only able to reach the princess statues. Says that perhaps officially she is not THE Spider Queen. In the JTTW she had sisters. Imagen will you, that after living with sisters and one or two of them being seen as more spider queen and you are only being seen as a spider princess. You want more power so you try to prove yourself as the rightful spider queen but as you are in the prime and are at the tip of the world your plans are foiled by the Monkey King. You are dethroned and shamed No longer able to raise your head high you look for a new start to prove others wrong that you can be a "good queen." So you travel far to the east where you hope no one has heard of your defeat. You find a wonderful spot by the coast to set up shop you enact your plane and after reviving your title as Spider Queen you are once again trampled and this time everything you worked for is plummeted into a sinkhole and then buried.

Now the one thing is the time frame of all this as seen in slide one we see modern people and in her lair in slide 2, there is modern or at least sub-modern piping in her lair. With all the webs it has not been touched in ages though and there are parts of modern above-ground plumbing down there like it was above ground when her empire went down as well as during their fight in Noodle or Death the crew fall deeper then Spider Queen's lair into more sewers that lead to the ocean.

That goes into part two of the theory. That her second rain and second defeat happened years ago just not in ancient China ago we see one man in a t-shirt and paint and one person had brown hair not black. That none of them had old hairstyles like we have seen before like in the pilot a hero is born. So the jab at Spider Queen from Bull King was about her first fall not her second because he would have been buried by then and it also means that her second defeat was not by Wukong but by someone else cause one again in A Hero is Born Wukong had not been seen since Bull King was sealed 500 years prior. You must be wondering who could have stopped her well here is a wild card just a major theory what about one of the dragon clan members one of Mei's ancestors not as ancient as Ao Lie or the dragon of the wasn't but her entire family even without the dragon blade have dragon powers that could have defeated her in a more modern aera.

That's that theory please leave your thoughts in the replies. Also, just as a side thought not a real theory, might make one later. LBD coffin and seal were found under the foundry under Megapolis like Spider Queen why was this Journey of the West character defeated state found in the far east. Perhaps after a smaller defeat in the west she came back for revenge and hunted him and the monk after the Journey to the homes both in the east and was stopped by them then. She was then buried and forgotten.

Please leave comments and your thought I would love to hear them. My brain hurts from all this. :)

[bohemian-nights]

What We May Mend (Chapter 1)

Word Count: ~6,908

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen × Laena Velaryon

Warnings: Difficult Childbirth; Attempted Suicide

Description: In the year 126 AC Lady Laena Velaryon survives her difficult in a foreign land surrounded by strangers. With a second chance to mend their fractured marriage she and her husband Prince Daemon Targaryen return to Westeros with their children in tow as chaos unfolds around them.

AN: Basically, no one is writing for them(which is a crime if you ask me). I’ve gotten multiple asks about them so here is my attempt at giving Laena the happy ending she deserved😊 Keeping that in mind, this is a multi-chaptered work based on show canon(which means physical descriptions including the lack of violet eyes among others will be left out). I'm planning around 5-7 chapters, but that may change 🐉

Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

Death was a foreign concept to her. As foreign as the Golden Empire of Yi Ti, whatever lay west of the Iron Isles, or even the wild plains of the barren North. Driftmark was a fortress of life. Neither melancholy nor illness plagued her childhood. Her parents had not been taken away before their time from battle nor sickness. Her brother, cousins, and uncle had been blessed with good health and fortune as well. There was laughter, adventure, and childish mischief to be found in abundance.                                                  

Lady Laena Velaryon had known that many girls could not count themselves half as lucky as herself. Not even her cousin Princess Rhaenyra whose mother had died before she had reached her fifteenth nameday, but the silver-haired cooper-skinned Velaryon girl had not given much thought to death. The stranger had rarely visited the isles' rocky shores and all but once entered the white stone walls of High Tide to call home its inhabitants. On that one occasion, Lady Jocelyn Baratheon had been enveloped in the stranger's embrace.                

Laena was but five when her grandmother passed on to the realm beyond that of the living. ‘Twas on the eve of her sixth nameday. She could recall the tall once black-haired woman whose hair had turned gray in the final year of her life well enough at that moment when she was closer to the Stranger than death itself. 

Age had not withered her regal continence nor rendered her unable to speak fondly of the early days of her elder half-brother's reign, the old king Jaehaerys, Laena’s grandfather though she could not recall, who had passed on a mere year past. True enough the Baratheon lady had never fully forgiven the man for his slight against Laena’s mother, but perhaps it was nostalgia that caused her to look upon those days with longing wistfulness. The world is always brighter when viewed from afar. 

It was those early days that were happiest. That seemed as if the Old King's golden reign would stretch on for an age. That the fate of the blood of the dragon, the last dragonriders of old Valyria was assured at long last, but those days had turned sour. Leaving behind only the bitter taste of ruefulness on the tongue. 

Jocelyn Baratheon was the last of the old lot. Her brother, Lord Baratheon, who was as fierce a defender of her daughter as she herself, had gone shortly after the Old King.  Her beloved husband, the crown prince, the only man she had ever known, her Aemon, was taken before his time at the hands of vipers. She was to be his queen and yet he never wore his crown.

Her half-sister Good Queen Alysanne, her only sister, more a mother than a sister for she was the only mother she had ever known, she had died of woe long ago from all her heartache. 

All were gone. She alone was what remained of them. Of a time that had faded away and lived on only in the memories of the few. 

The once great Baratheon lady had grown weary at a court she no longer recognized. The faces had changed, but she had not. She had come to Driftmark to be among her family. The house of her mother who had given her life to bring her into this world would be her final resting place. Her refuge. 

“You have his eyes.” She had given Laena a half smile as she lay in her bed wheezing. A frail hand the color and shape of bone reached up to touch her cheek. Her lady grandmother had caught a chill that she could not shake. The first time she had struck ill, Laena was told, since she was sick with the shivers as a wee girl an age ago. She had taken to reading to her every night while her mother braided her hair. Easing her mind while she slipped away from her flesh.

It had been peaceful when she finally passed on. Dying in her sleep. A look of contentment upon her pallid face when a serving girl found her the next morning. A natural end to a full life. It was Laenan’s mother's wails reverberating off the walls afterward that made it so sorrowful. She had taken to her own bed for the fortnight that followed. Her sobs drowned out the waves that crashed on the shore. 

Not even her father's sweet temptations with little trinkets, a fool, and singers from all the seven kingdoms and across the Narrow Sea bring back light to her eyes. Not even his boisterous laughter or that of her uncle, the gossip of her aunt, or the gaggles of her cousins filled their halls, and soon enough the sea called with the waxing oh the moon for her father and he went with it. She and Laenor did their best to cheer their dear mother up in their father’s absence, but the stranger was a cruel foe. Their home became as quiet as a tomb for that short time.  

Her mother only dared to venture out from chambers when Laenor had received a gash and sprained his ankle when he had done what all growing boys were prone to do. Sought for action where there was none in a castle that had fallen victim to the Stranger. “Get down from there, Laenor.” She had said running to a tree at the mouth of the cove. She had flown out of the castle like a bat fresh out of the seven hells. Her long silvery-gray hair once had been black trailing after her. Hazel irises widened with panic. A mother's fright, one Laena would know well in time. 

“Come to me.”  She had motioned him to climb down from the ledge where he had fallen to.  “That's it, my love.” When Laenors leg had been set to right and her mother's fears abated that night, laughter returned to Hide Tide once more, and death remained an ever-present shadow looming in the background. Waiting for the moment to strike once more.

No matter how foreign the stranger may seem, Laena supposed her life was shaped by death. If her grandsire had not been killed before her grandsire had died her mother would be the queen. She may be heir to the Iron Throne or rather Laenor would and she would be his queen in the tradition of their Targaryen forbearers. Though the thought of that minor detail made her stomach roll even now. 

Though she supposed whatever would’ve happened, whatever way the dice had landed if she were she would not be here right now. In a foreign distant land. Among strangers. Bleeding out upon white sheets. Her lifeblood steadily slipped away from her. As sure as the sands empty into the bottom of the hourglass. Grain by grain. 

It was a strange experience. Laena could not see the stranger, but she felt him there in these humid chambers. Right there beside her. Over her shoulder. Breathing down the back of her neck. Causing the hairs on her damp neck to stick up and stand on their ends. Death clung like a second skin. Waiting for the pain to run its course and drain what was left of her before he called her back with him. 

She had known pain before. A broken arm from falling off a tree. Climbing to see the last of her father's warships head off to the Stepstones. A cut upon her foot from Laenors first sword grazed the skin when she had dropped it, not realizing how heavy it would be to wield it. The cramps radiated out from her abdomen when she got her moon blood and was bedridden for the first night. A bruised rib when she made her maid lace her stays tight enough to show off her figure during the visit of a visiting Sealord and his son from Bravos who later be engaged to for a time. and the hundred times after that for each suitor that came to Driftmarks rocky shore all ending with one. 

She had known the pains of the birthing bed well enough. Laena had taken to it twice now. The first time had been long and rather taxing. She labored for a day and a half. She had not thought she would make it lying there upon sweat soaked and the Gods know what else sheets, twisting herself into a ball, but then out came Baela. Her fearless girl. A little red squalling babe with a set of lungs upon her that alerted the whole manse of her arrival. 

Rhaena’s labor had been quick. A mere two hours after her pains began did she pop out into the world. A tiny thing she was. Smaller than her sister, quieter too, but just as precious in the eyes of her young mother. Where her birth had been easier than Baela’s, what followed afterward had not.   

Laena had bled for a fortnight straight. Apart from short jaunts to take a turn around the gardens she was regulated to the confines of her chambers for a moon. Much to her displeasure, she was too weak to feed her daughter from her own breast. A wet nurse had to be called for while she spent her days in bed.

The recovery had been a slow one, but she had recovered. She had become herself again, her girls blossomed, and the pain of the birthing bed had become a distant memory. This, however, was different. 

The Stranger had visited with the night this time. Such pain he brought. Laena could feel him in her bones. Exhaustion seeped through every pore. As if every muscle in her body craved to give in. To give up. To meet the stranger who held his hand for him to join her in his cold embrace. 

Never before had she felt so unlike herself. Tired. She was so very tired. She could no longer push. Been instructed not to push even if she could. Her legs were numb. Her silver curls painted to her clammy forehead with her own sweat. 

Her eyes desperately wanted to shut. Calling for rest. A moment of respite. Her arms ached from holding herself up hunched over the bed. From the near-death grip of the midwives hand. Even lifting her fingers to inch up the bedpost for a tighter hold was a strain. 

Laena burned with something she could not name. A foggy bog that she seeped into overpowering her, but some part of her kept her in a hazy state of half-dream half-wake. A candle flickering in the wind. The past and the present intertwined in its dimming glow. 

She could hear the waves crashing back on coming in from the open window that had meant to cool her down. The room frayed. Faces came in and out of view. Switching between her mother's smile and the nurse's worried pallid face as she wiped the beads of sweat off her brow. Voices muffled and low as if they came from the other end of a cavernous tunnel and yet she kept a hold to the last shreds of her wit and strength. A tiny ember. The last snuff before the light went out. 

“My brave girl.” She could make that out with startling clarity. It came from her princely husband. They stood huddled up in a half-shadowed corner of the chamber whispering to themselves, the healer having left her side. He was a swarthy man who sweat like a pig. If he did not open his mouth one would think he was Dornish. Laena was not particularly fond of him. 

There was something in his person,  in his manner of address which, how he always deferred to her husband which made her uneasy. She wished to be back within the safety and care that could be found at her father's house, surrounded by her cousins and aunts who would fuss over her, with her mother by her side who, or at least have a maester who knew her body better and would not act as if mere paranoia was the cause of her woe, but she had little choice in the manner of her present circumstances.

“The magister has healers who will take care of you Laena.” Daemon had replied when she confronted him in the library where he spent his days. Obsessing over their family's history twirling a glass of sweet wine from the magister's cellars in his hand. 

It was a final plea, a desperate plea for she had asked him a dozen times before throughout this pregnancy where she felt her body weakening little by little with every passing day, but he dismissed her with his usual care. Placing a kiss on her belly as their babe greeted his father with a little kick before he went back to his reading. There was no room for argument. He was in one of his moods. He was always in a  mood. 

Her husband had replied to what the healer spoke in that absent-minded way of his. The way that reminded her his mind was a thousand leagues away. Across a narrow sea. To the alleyways, taverns, and well-tread roads that made up King’s Landing to his ailing brother, to the Iron Throne, or perhaps even his beloved niece. Laena could not tell. Not anymore. Mayhaps she never could. 

Or mayhaps she had been the occupier of his attentions and affections at one point. Perhaps it had been she who evoked his passion. Before Baela when they had first wed? When he had whisked her away to this place from her home. Winning her hand away from the Braavosi Sealord's son with the plunge of Dark Sister through his skull. The excitement of it. He had always been one for the dramatics in the most spectacularly brutal fashion. 

Basking in the glow of his victory. Claiming his prize. A bride of his own choosing. A Valyrian bride to wash the stain off his ill-favored union with Rhea Royce. The vale-bride that had been chosen for him. The bride he never wanted nor favored. 

Her father, the great sea snake, was all too keen to give him her hand. To give him his prize for ridding him of an unfavorable match despite his dear wife’s protests. Despite the whispers that swarmed him. He killed my cousin. Blushed her to death. Budgeted her to beyond recognition He’s the devil. 

Laena herself ignored their tales and dismissed her own mother's warnings. “He is charming, but charming men seldom make for good husbands, my sweet girl. Let us find you some lord who will make you laugh.” 

She did not need some simpleton who would make her laugh. She had someone who made her feel more than that. She had someone who caused her belly to erupt with flutters when he threw a smile her way or his pale green eyes met dark ones. 

He was not particularly handsome, his lips were too thin and his brow was hairless and prominent. His face was rather primal, but he was tall, his jaw strong, and there was something magnetic about him. Daemon Targaryen could command a room with a single glance. Why should she not want him? Why should she not have him?

She was Lady Laena Velaryon. She was the blood of old Valyria through and through. She came from not one, but two ancient and proud lines. Even her Baratheon blood was forged in the flames of Valyria. She was the dragonrider of the largest and oldest dragon in the known world. The last living vestige from the time of the conqueror.

The Rogue Prince wanted her. He had wanted her by his side. To be his wife. To bear his children. He saw who she was and he wanted her. They were the blood of old Valyria. Like called to like. They were made for each other. She was his match. She was his wife. 

Wife was just a title she learned. She was so very naive then. Young and in love with the idea of him. An ideal was not enough nor was a title. It did not keep one warm at night. Comfort one when their heart aches. Or while they were bedridden with sickness. 

No, Daemon Targaryen had not married her for such feelings of adoration and cherishment. He had married her for an empty title. For her name. Still, she liked to think that she had been enough for him. That she had been what he had wanted. That he had wanted her for more. That they had a chance the same as any other. 

Mayhaps after Baela they still had hope? When he thought that she might give him the solace he looked for. The peace he craved. what he made no effort to hide.

She had given him a girl to be sure, but there would be more babes to follow. Her own mother had given her father a girl first then her brother came. Why should it not be the same for her? 

She was still young and healthy. Had just celebrated her seventeenth name day. Daemon himself was in the prime of his life at six and thirty. There would be babes a plenty. “The next one shall be a boy husband.” He did not say anything. In fact, he seemed rather in awe of the tiny red-faced babe in his arms. Taking her little hand broken free from her swaddle to wrap around his pointer finger. Bringing the small fist up to his lips to place upon as he stared down at her, utterly entranced,  but she knew. 

When a letter from Kings Landing arrived announcing the birth of Jacaerys Velaryons she knew. She saw the light gone in his eyes. In how he did not let the wine in his cup go empty. She knew what she must do. What she must give him. It was a son he wanted. Just a son. A son and he would be happy. A son and they would be happy. She would give Daemon Targaryen his sons.  

After she had almost given him his long-desired heir, but had only delivered another girl? Did she dare hope then? This one was more of a disappointment than the last for she was not even a dragonrider. Her egg withered in her cradle. Turned to stone. There was no use for the girl. For their sweet Rhaena. 

What was one to do with two girls and no son in sight? No heir. Two girls. Ten years gone by and all she had given him was two girls. Every raven arrived from home a bitter reminder. Son after son. Year after year. A full life lived across the Narrow Sea. A life he was no party to. A son was not all he wanted. 

How he burned those letters and stiffened at the mere mention of her name. At the suggestion that they return. Your brother would surely find you a position at court. Dismissing her words with a smile that did not reach his eyes and a swig of Pentos wine. Pouring over text and drinking himself to bed. Baela only managed to win his attention with her Valyrian or their rides. The better part of him. Rhaena was lucky if she got so much as a good night kiss from her dear kepa. Her failure. 

Yes, wife was only a title. For there were some days he would not even come to her bed. Those days were better despite their loneliness. He was drunk when he climbed on top of her and put this babe in her. Pushing her into the bed. Pushing into her. One thrust. Two Three. In and out. She lost count. Merely trying to distract herself from the dull ache of the stretch.

“Forgive me.” He left her lying there as his seed slipped from her heat. Hastily throwing on his clothes as he scrambled out of the chamber. She did not see him until the next night at dinner. Having to sit through it with a smile that pulled at her mouth from its strain as he and the Magister discussed his son's return from Braavos. A handsome boy with a head of brown curls who was a mere two years Baela’s senior. He was apt to introduce them. Her husband could not seem more delighted by the prospect. 

She did not make him content. She was not the wife he wished for. Her failures in the birthing bed proved that. Her failings to bring him his desires prove that. Laena Velaryon was a disappointment. 

He could not even look at her. She lay in her deathbed, soiled, blood pouring from her at an alarming rate and he could only spare her half a glance before he moved it back to whatever it was that captured his attention on the stone floor underneath him. He did not notice her. Not even now. 

Mayhaps he never had. Not really. Why turn his attention, his affections to her? She had never been what he wanted, only a thing he had settled for. She was always a thing that he was burdened with. What he had settled for. A prize, indeed. A consolation prize.

A Valyrian wife, but the wrong Valyrian wife. Children that were just Targaryen enough, but just as Velaryon in truth as they were Targaryen. A life of comfort and ease, but no action. Close, but not quite. Not what he truly wanted. Second choice. She was his second choice. 

The Stranger mocked her with his silence. She could feel him and yet he said nothing. Just waiting. Waiting for her own body to give now the rest was gone. Now that she could not avoid it. Could he laugh? Mayhaps? Mayhaps not. 

“We could pry open the womb.” He stuttered ever so slightly. Ringing that cloth covered in her blood and tears in his hand. She felt a chill run up her spine. The Stranger reached to hold out his hand. Waiting.” Try to remove the infant by way of the blade.”

“Would the mother survive it?” Her husband had turned his body away from her. He would never notice her. The healer shook his bowed head. A quiet no confirmation fell from his lips. It was he who looked as if he saw a ghost. Her life for her babes. If that. She knew how this tale would end.

No, she had never been what he wanted. She could not give him what he wanted. Second choice. She who had burdened him with her failings. With her inadequacies. She who could perhaps serve him better in death than she ever could in life. The cold reached her shoulder. 

Would he notice if she slipped from the room? Into the night air? Just beyond the castle's walls? Made her way to Vhagar? Grabbed his hand? Ran into the Strangers embrace? 

A dragonriders death. Or at least death at the hands of something which she loved. Something which did care for her. Something that did not which to only take from her.

Yes, that was preferable to this. Preferable to being carved like a stuffed pig. Served up for a grand feast. A feast worthy of a prince. 

He hadn’t noticed. He hadn’t noticed when she pushed the maids away who tried to hold. She pulled herself up on shaky legs to make her way to the door of the chamber. He hadn’t noticed.  A wide-eyed mousy girl shrieked a my lady when she slipped through the doorway. The others gawked with open mouths like a fish gasping for breath on land with horror. Not speaking a word at her retreating feverish figure hunched over, but he hadn’t noticed.  

“Mother,” Laena thought she had heard. Thought she’d seen a little brown worried face peeking out of the nursery that she shared with her sister. Baela for she was too tall to be her sister. Their host had been gracious enough to offer them chambers of their own, but the girls were as thick as thieves. They could not be separated nor should they be. 

She ignored that small voice. The call of a mother. She did not want to know if it was real or a figment of her clouded mind. A trick of her imagination conjured up by the Stranger. Prayed it was only a mirage.  

Baela was asleep, warm in her bed. Dreaming of the trip her father had promised he would take her on the morrow. Riding on the back of Caraxes. Her dragon was too small to mount, but she already had a taste for the skies. “Faster kepa. Faster.” She’d say as she would cry with glee. The wind would whip around their faces as they dove and gilded through open blue causing her eyes to water with happy tears. 

“Eglikta, nyke jaelagon naejot jikagon eglikta.” Higher, I want to go higher. Her Valyrian would be clunky, but she improving. Soon she’d be better than her mother. Would be better than her. 

Laena hoped Daemon would keep to that promise. Perhaps he’d bring Rhaena along with them. The girls would need a distraction. Surely no one would fault him for providing them with one. He’d want to do it. He’d be relieved to be out. He was never one to be idle and she doubted that would change on account of her absence. He’d be free. 

Of course, he’d have to mourn her propriety’s sake. For six moons, a year, a very long year, but any bit of freedom he’d have during this mourning he’d welcome. Relish in it. Yes, he’d take her riding tomorrow and the next day after. 

That little voice did not follow her on her hobble down the corridor. Nor were her ears met with the little patter of bare feet other than her on stone. It seems the mother was kind enough to grant her one. Her babies were asleep safe in their beds. With not a care in the world. 

With a shaky hand upon the banister, Laena turned the corner leaving the guest quarters towards the backstairs that the magister's servants use. It was safer that way. If anyone should come looking for her they’d think she’d use the ones. They’d look for her there. Not creeping around like a beggar woman. 

No one followed her. No one looked for her. Not a single soul. There was some relief in that. If they had happened across her they would surely force her back.  Back to that chamber. Back into that soiled bed. A lamb for slaughter. 

She felt the chill upon leaving the warmth of the manse. It had not been a particularly cool day, but the nights in Pentos were cooled by a western breeze from the bay that bordered its shores. Cool enough to need a cloak of one we’re to venture out for a night stroll, but not Laena felt as if she had stumbled into winter. 

Goosebumps erupting over her sticky bronze skin. Every step felt like she walked in water. Her legs felt like lead. She knew if she were to look down at her feet she’d be met with the sight of her lifeblood. If she were to stop she would collapse into the dirt and never get. Mayhaps she was not as careful as she thought for anyone could find her, but it would soon matter not. 

She was close. So very close. Home. She was almost home. Away from here. Away from the cold. Away from the pain. Nothing could touch her. She would feel nothing. Not the sharp edge of the healer's blade that would pierce her belly. Not Daemon’s disappointment. Not her own longing for what she could never give. A life that would never be hers. With a kiss from her dragon's flame, it would all end. 

It was only by the Stranger's hand that she made it to Vhagar. Stumbling over the pieces of gravel beneath her feet. The pain made her double over. Dropping to her knees. Bowing her head. Pleading. Begging her for release.To be free.

“Vhagar Dracarys. Dracarys. Dracarys. Dracarys. Dracarys.” She had croaked it out half a dozen times to the old dragon, but she would not move. Her voice grew weaker with every plea Threatened to give out. Already sore from screaming, she continued on. She saw no other way. Descending into tears, but tears did little to endear Vhagar to help her. Remaining as unmoved as ever. 

Her mouth opened and closed over and over, but she made no move to bring forth fire. To end her riders' suffering. “Dracarys.” She would not move. Only fanning Laena’s damp face with hot dry air. Not a flame to be seen. No orange glow cast.

“Dracarys.” Another wave of pain came over her. It was hard to breathe through it. To force air through her lungs so that she may speak. 

“Dracarys.” A whisper. A final plea. Yet she did nothing. Unbowing her head so that brown met golden red. She pleaded with her eyes for Laena had no voice left in her. Her gaze went soft. A  lamb begging for the Shepherd to guide her. To save her from the wolves. 

Pity was there. Reluctance too. A resistance to do as she was bid. Like a dog commanded to leave his wounded master on a hunt. but that pity had one out. Understanding. Just for a moment. She understood what she wanted.

Vhagar opened her ancient mouth to reveal an orange glow. A glow that burned her skin, feeling the heat making her sweater soon blister and peel if she were to keep at this distance, but that would be the last pain she would feel. For the glow would burn bright and engulf her in its fiery bite. Laena raised her head. Closing her eyes to meet the fire. Let me be free. 

“Laena.” She heard his voice. In what would be her final moments left on this mortal plane it was his voice she heard. Carried across the dirt in the windless night. How cruel the Stranger was. He brought her here on her knees with pain shooting through her only to prolong her suffering. How he laughed at her expense.  Stinging heat fading bit by bit. As if it had never been. The Stranger laughed indeed. 

“No Vhagar.”  The glow dimmed. It must have dimmed at the sound of her husband's panicked roar for Laena no longer felt its searing burn. She no longer could feel the brightness of light on her eyelids. 

Her dragon had been released from her obligation. Given a choice. Vhagar came to with shame. Did a dragon have shame? Realization that what she was about to do was too rash? Too final? Too desperate. Nothing good ever came from desperation.  Not even now while the Stranger made a joke of a dying woman. 

The flap of wings reached her ears. With a gust of wind bringing back a chill to her bones. Vhagar deserted her. She was left alone with him.

Laena refused to open her eyes. Refused to see what had become of her. What was going to become of her. Mayhaps she could have tried to run, but she would not get very far. She did not think she could even pull herself to her feet much less hobble her way to wherever Vhagar had flown off to. It would be a crawl. A slow crawl. If that. Her lifeblood that left a steady trail from her womanhood painting her thighs crimson told her otherwise. 

“You’re freezing Laena.” He wasted no time enveloping her in his arms. Tucking her carefully into his person. Placing an arm under her legs, the other bore the weight of her back while her head rested underneath his chin. Like a bride. Like how he had so very long ago. Her gown had been a lovely embroidered thing of white Myrish silk rather than the soiled nightgown she wore now.  Not a single curl was out of place. Her silver mane shone in the candlelight. Her head had been crowned with a golden diadem. A single ruby placed at its center. She was a vision. 

Daemon had refused the bedding ceremony that her uncle called for to carry her back to their chambers himself. Halfway along he had begun whispering something rather naughty into her virgin ears which caused her to burst into a fit of giggles as she was thrown over her groom's shoulder. There would be none of that now. 

He must have been closer than she realized she decided. It’s the only way he reached her with such speed. He had no blanket nor cloak with him, but the heat coming off his person warmed her. He felt like a fire. Why was he so warm? Had he always been this warm? This solid? 

She clung to him. Burying herself into his chest. Resting her silver curls into the pocket-marked skin of his neck that told the story of the man she loathed and loved. That he cradled their own babes into when they had been little things. 

 She did not wish to, but he was the only thing keeping her here. The only thing that was here. She longer felt the Stranger's ominous presence. His laughter in her head had left and had been replaced with a pounding in her head. There was only him now. 

“What were you thinking?”I would've been free. I would have freed us both and then you would not have had to pretend as you do now. He was doing a good act of it. 

“If you had left me. I would not be freezing.” Her voice was so very small. A murmur. A croak really. Hardly recognizable to her own ears. Did she really sound like that? Like an old woman? So very weak. If he had not placed her head near his ear would not have heard her. 

“My darling.” He hadn’t called her that in a while. A long while. The last she had was on her twenty-fifth nameday. The night of her twenty-fifth name day. The last time they had truly made love. He had been sober. Gentle. Present. 

He spoke her name with such reverence, whispered things into her ear which made her cheeks flush in heat with such tenderness. In the afterglow of their peaks, he had not pulled from her. They had simply laid their breathing each other in as he petted her. He made love with his words where his body had been spent and she savored every morsel of it, but she wouldn’t give too much thought to it now. Desperation caused one to speak falsities laced with honey. 

Still, there was something, something in his voice, something thick and unsaid that caused her to open her eyes the slightest to meet his. Pulling herself from where she buried her head to find that they were glassy. Filled with unused tears. Threatening to spill from those green depths.

Laena had never seen him cry. Not once. Not even when she presented Baela to him. Her mother had said that her father could not stop crying when she had placed her in his outstretched arms, but not the Rogue Prince. Never Daemon Targaryen. It was shock , she decided. He was just in shock. She had shocked him. 

“You’d be free of me. No healer’s blade required.” He’d be rid of her without another stain on his name. Without it weighing on his conscience. If he was even capable of feeling remorse through that dark haze of his. 

“I won’t let them cut you Laena.” She laughed. Did she really mean so little to him? So little that he would not even give her the truth? Did he truly believe she was so naive? After being with him these ten years as his wife, that she knew nothing of him? Of how little his word meant when he gave it out so freely. When he spoke lies so freely from those pale lips. With his airs. His smirks. Mayhaps he believed his own versions of the truth. He had told so many of them. It must be hard to keep up with them, but she remembered.  

“You will if it will give you the son you want.” It was men like him did. Proud men. Lords,  princes, and kings alike. The need for an heir was too great to pass for men like them.  ‘Twas what his brother had done. His wife’s life for a son, a babe who had only survived a night. His wife who he butchered for an heir that lived but a day. 

Aemma Arryn had been no more with the swipe of a blade at the command of her husband. A command that left him plagued with guilt and regret and no proper heir to show for it. He had loved his wife, claimed to love her, and yet he murdered her all the same. All for a son. Such as men like him do. 

A sharp pain ran through Laena’s abdomen. It had begun to dull before then. Distracted by her abandonment and the cold she felt in it, but that mind-numbing ache was a reminder that the worst was not over yet. That this fight was pointless. That him trying to save her, to make amends after ten years of misery was pointless. Daemon pulled her closer to his warmth, the lines upon his brow made all the more prominent with his worry, but it was no good. 

She would still be dead by the end of it. Laena had found dying to be a rather exhausting business. There was no point in wasting any more breath on the matter. Her fate was inevitable. 

“Take care of our girls or I shall haunt you.” Her last attempt at humor. Daemon did smile at it and Laena herself could find little amusement in it. 

Her one regret. Leaving her girls alone in this world. It was selfish. To take her life so violently when she’d leave them behind. Without saying so much as a goodbye to them. It was heartless. To leave Daemon to pick up the pieces. 

To explain to them what she had done. How does one explain that to a child? Why their mother would no longer be able to tuck them into bed at night. Why when they turned to find her smile they’d only find thin air. Why everything had changed in the blink of an eye. 

Laena herself did not know what it was like to live without a mother. If RhaenysTargaryen had any faults it certainly did not lie with her mothering for she had always been there for her children. No septa, wetnurse, nor nanny could replace the comfort of a mother. 

It was she who fretted over them when they were sick—staying up with them through the night wiping sweat from their brows, singing them lullabies, recounting stories of old to lull them to sleep. She who would kiss their bruises away. She who would listen to their woes without complaint. She who Laena could always depend upon. Only a raven need be sent and she would journey from the ends of the earth to her.   

Her girls would be without that comfort, but they'd have her mother. That much she knew. Her mother would care for them as she had her and Laenor when they were little. That much Laena could take comfort in. They would not truly be alone. Just without her. 

“You will take care of them yourself.” He must have lifted from the ground because the throbbing increased tenfold. With each step he took she could feel it moving through her. Shooting through her wave after wave. Her back, her belly, and her head were all burning. A stab here. A pinch there. She had thought she had known pain, known weakness, but this was all-consuming agony. She went limp in her husband’s hold.

He was with her, she knew he was holding her but he began to sound distant. The blood pounding in her head muffled his speech. It sounded as if they had journeyed into a dark cavern. She on one end of it, he on the other. His voice was a faint echo yet he would not cut that shallow cord of communication. “You will see them grow and have children of their own. You will not leave me. I will not let you leave me.” 

At his last words, his voice broke with a choking sob. A hitch in his breath shook her. Something wet landed on the apple of her cheek. Making its way to her chapped lips. The taste of salt left a kiss upon them. 

Mayhaps she had thought too cruelly of him. It was not every day that one witnessed their wife attempting to light herself on fire to escape them. Mayhaps there was sincerity. Something. Yes, something other than the darkness that resided in him. 

“You’ll die old in your bed Laena. I promise you—” If he had made any other promises Laena did not know. The pain became too much for her to keep awake. Her eyes fluttered shut before they reached the manse. 

Ao3 Link:

[thiswasinevitableid]

Aim True (Bridglar)

The runner-up of the "country loves songs" prompt poll was: Trick Shot

Virginia City gets cheesier every year. John is just glad the worst of the Nevada heat hasn’t made an early appearance; last year, it reached triple digits in spite of it being only May. 

“Mr. Bridgens!” Three of his students wave to him from in front of the “Olde West Shooting Gallery.”

Why they’re attempting a middle English spelling in a state that never saw a British colony is beyond him, but he waves back as he crosses the road to join them. 

Ostensibly, this field trip is to cap off the senior year with a celebration of Nevada history. John doubts more than a handful of students see it as anything other than a chance to spend the day browsing souvenir shops, daring each other to go into the plethora of haunted hotels, and gorging on ice cream and caramel apples. But they look forward to it, and he does like seeing the young minds he’s shepherded through AP or standard English have a day to just be young and carefree. 

Principal Franklin sets only three mandatory events for the day: getting to the bus on time, getting back on the bus on time to depart, and seeing the live “Wild West” show.

The trio of students tells him all about the Silver Queen as they find seats in the open-air theater. John ends up between Franklin and James Fitzjames, the drama teacher. He wishes he’d taken a cue from VP Crozier and brought a large hat; the sun is baking his scalp, and the flies keep buzzing past his ears. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, cowpokes of all ages, prepare for the wildest show this side of the Rockies!”

The crowd cheers with mild enthusiasm; it’s only the 11am show, after all. No one has had time to imbibe from the saloons lining the street. Not that John would anyway; he’d sooner die than be a derelict chaperone. 

A stetson-bearing figure bursts through the central curtains and the staff, and a few of the seniors, hoot and clap. Thomas Blanky, former and much beloved shop teacher, gives an exaggerated bow before launching into the same speech he gives every year.

“Howdy folks! We’re just plum tickled you could join us all on this fine, Friday mornin’. We got a real fine show for you today full of sharp shootin, trick ropin’, and the prettiest face in the west” he winks, “the rest of my troop ain’t bad either.”

Bad accent aside, John enjoys seeing his old colleague acting the ham. Blanky runs through a handful of mildly impressive trick shots, including popping balloons taped to the hats of his fellow performers. 

Next is a comedy act involving a literal dog and pony (and a cockatoo), the handler going by Irving insisting that the routine is wholesome while his co-presenter and the exotic bird do everything they can to undermine this assertion. 

The third act earns an incredibly loud cheer from James and Francis, as well as from the rather odd duo behind them of Goodsir (biology) and Collins (P.E). Lady Silence, as Blanky calls her, steps onto stage, and John is tickled to see she’s sporting period-accurate Shoshone clothing. Her act consists of more elaborate trick shots, all of which she does without uttering even a peep of fear while permitting a tarantula, then a scorpion, then a rattlesnake (“really a gopher snake” Francis mutters, only to be elbowed by James) to climb on her arms and hands.

When Lady Silence is done, she’s followed off stage by the loudest cheers so far, including a “Brava” from Goodsir. 

Act number four sets John's heart beating quicker; knife throwing has always struck him as one of the more dangerous endeavors one could pursue. It doesn’t help that Mr. Irving is back, looking a bit too convincingly terrified as one Mr. Hickey outlines his silhouette with knives. When both men exit in one piece, he relaxes and listens to Blanky introduce the final act. 

“And now, to close out our show, the amazing, whip-smart, hawk-eyed, Harry Peglar!”

John’s heart speeds up again. 

The man smiling out at the crowd with quiet showmanship and earnest excitement has the most handsome face he’s ever had the pleasure to see. 

Harry tips his hat and proceeds to shoot smaller and smaller targets from the air. The coin shot is so impressive that he even hands it to Crozier to inspect before and after the shot. As he straightens and tucks the coin into his pocket, his eyes fall onto John

“For this next trick, I need a charming assistant. How about you, sir?” 

John blushes, his instinct to demur, but both Franklin and James urge him forward, and so he allows Harry to pull him up onto the stage. Some of his students cheer, and he can tell without looking that many phones are pointed his way. 

“What’s your name, sir?”

God, does the man have to address him that way? He can only pass so much pink off as 

sunburn. 

“John.”

“Tell me, John, do you smoke?”

“No.”

“Good man.” Harry claps him once, friendly, on the shoulder, “you do, however, know what one of these are?” He produces a cigarette from his pocket. 

“Yes.” He smiles, “I said I don’t, not that I never.”

Audible shock from some of the students earns a laugh from the crowd. 

“Are you willing to hold this in your mouth for me? It won’t be there very long.”

John obligingly parts his lips only to realize, belatedly, that Harry meant for him to take it from his fingers. Without missing a beat, the trick shooter places it against his lower lip with a grin. 

“Now, John, I have another question. Do you know what this is?”

He holds a bullwhip up to the crowd to “oohs” and “ahhs.” John, slightly distracted wondering where the man had been hiding the implement, nods. He’s fairly certain James is cheering extra-excitedly; he did make John watch all four Indiana Jones films. 

“Here’s what I’m going to do, John. I’m going to light that cigarette for you. And before you even have a chance to inhale, I’m going to put it out from all the way over there.” He gestures eight feet to his right.

Harry looks over his shoulder, still audible to the crowd but with clear sincerity, “Do I have your permission, John?”

He nods again, trying not to imagine all the other things he’d grant Harry permission to do if he gave him that same look once more. 

“Wonderful! Let’s have some cheers for my brave volunteer!”

He uses the cacophony to huddle in close to John, who steadies the unlit cigarette steady with his fingers so the younger man can click a tarnished Zippo beneath it. Then, in a blink, he’s out of reach, unfurling the whip and testing it, bantering with the crowd but keeping his focus clearly on John. 

“Ready, John?”

Not knowing what else to do and feeling too tense to nod, he offers a thumbs up. 

“Hold still now, I’ll have that out for you in three, two, one.”

Crack

His ears ring, though the claps from the crown and the lack of any blood on his face tell him Harry managed his trick beautifully. He holds up the remainder of the cigarette, increasing the cheers. 

“Well done, John!” Harry practically bounds up to him, “let’s give him one more round of applause, folks!”

John means to leave the stage to the performers once more, but before he can, Harry grabs his hand and brings him down into a bow along with him.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

There’s an hour left to go on the field trip, and John is an extremely icy cold brew that Fitzjames treated him to. Most of the students are staying close to main street, finishing up their last purchases and taking endless pictures of each other.

“They were a fun crowd.”

He turns to find Harry leaning against a streetlight, still in his cowboy costume, ten times more handsome than anyone who ever played the role on screen “school groups can be hit or miss.”

“I’m glad as well; an excellent show deserves an appreciative audience.”

“Easy to put on a good show when you’ve got good help. I, um” he reaches into his pocket, “I have to go get ready for the show at two, but I meant to give you this before you hopped off stage. I always like to give it to my volunteer for that trick. This time I was a little flustered and forgot.”

Harry holds out the coin from his sharpshooting trick, dropping it into John’s palm. 

“Oh, I-” He’s not sure if he means to protest, or say thank you, but Harry cuts him off by closing his palm for him, keeping his own hand around it.

“Something to remember me by.”

A flash of a smile, followed by someone shouting his name from across the way, and then he’s gone. John stands, watching him walk toward the theater, and savoring the ghost of those fingers around his own. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Late June finds him back in a much hotter Virginia City, the sun refusing to drop behind the mountains quickly enough to provide a much needed respite from the glare. He hadn’t expected to visit again so soon, but Silna and Goodsir invited him to meet them for dinner; the Delta Saloon has begun serving a special, twice-monthly menu of period accurate fare and he’s very excited to see if it’s any good. 

Arriving early–there’s been bad traffic the last two days so he erred on the side of caution–leaves him ample time to ponder the historical artifacts tucked away in the corners of the saloon. He’s reading the plaque on the “suicide table” when a figure steps beside him. 

“Anticlimactic, I always thought.” 

Harry smiles when John looks his way, the undercurrent noticeably changing from friendliness to hope when John smiles back. He’s dressed in modern clothing; a black tank top, tan shorts, and ankle hiking boots (much better protection against the dust, pebbles, and sunburn than the sandals of most of the visitors). 

“The story” Harry continues, “that it’s named that when what happened is one or two people might have killed themselves because of losing money at it, not because someone used it in one, or died right on the wood. Besides, if that’s the bar for calling something a suicide table, I’d bet half the slot machines from here to Vegas need the same plaque.”

“Agreed. Though I do enjoy the thought of preserving some piece of the past, even if it’s to make salacious signs about it.”

“Did you come all the way back just to read our signs?” Harry says with a hint of cheek. 

“That depends on if there are any you think I’d like.” He turns full-on toward Harry, who aims for a subtle looking him over and fails.

When his phone buzzes, he considers dropping it in the nearest pitcher of water. 

“One moment, I’m meeting Silna and Harry, other Harry, that might be them.” 

H. Goodsir: Running late, courtesy of the majesty of nature.

Attached is a photo of a herd of mustangs, who seem utterly disinterested in moving from both lanes of Highway 50. He shows it to Harry, adding, “That’s not sarcasm; the man is delighted any time he sees the native wildlife. Which doesn’t always end well; we were driving to a conference in Tahoe once and he stopped to look at a large black bear. Still in the car, of course, but poor Mr. Collins was still rather stressed by the proximity.”

Harry laughs, then tilts his head towards the bar, “Sounds like we might have time for a drink?”

“I’d say so.”

John orders a gin and tonic, paying for Harry’s lager with a playful, “they don’t pay teachers that poorly” when the younger man tells him he doesn’t have to. 

“What do you teach? I didn’t get the chance to ask and I’d been wondering.”

“English, two classes of honors and the rest for seniors and a handful of juniors.”

“I hope they get on better with you than I did with mine; we got into an argument over Tess of the D’urbervilles and I’m not sure he ever got over it. The dyslexia didn’t help; he thought I wasn’t applying myself.”

“That’s a shame. There are lots of ways to assist students who struggle with reading, for any reason. And as a teacher, I’d argue it’s part of the job to make sure you do.” He sips his drink, “may I ask what the argument was?”

“I just thought it was worth talking about how Hardy has a lot of opinions on farming and morality for a man who probably never did any farm work. All well and good to talk about the evils of modernization taking us away from nature, but acting like the things that make running a farm ten times easier are evil because they don’t match your imagined idea of the life seemed…shallow. And I thought that might be an interesting angle to look at the book from. Mr. Thompson disagreed.”

“I happen to think it’s an excellent point.”

A shrug and a sweet smile, “Might have just come to me because I grew up on a farm. You grow up shoveling cow shit, you have some thoughts on the pastoral.” He flinches, “pardon my french.”

“Harry, I was in the navy for ten years, I’ve heard profanity that would make the devil faint.”

“That’s why you have tattoos. I noticed them during the show and, um” he takes another sip, licking his lips after in what’s either an automatic motion or a bid to drive John mad with desire, “I’ve been thinking about them ever since.”

He forces himself not to say that if he’s a very good boy, Harry might get to see the rest. This can just be a friendly drink. If Harry wants it to be more that’s for him to decide. John won’t push it. 

“None of your own?”

“Not yet. I want to get a line of poetry but I haven’t decided on which.”

John is very glad for this; if he’d managed to get Harry into bed only to find lines from one of the greats etched into his skin, he might have fainted. 

“Who are the contenders?”

A snicker, “Thomas Hardy, for one. I do love his poems about nature. I like Whitman too, but it’s so hard to choose…”

They spend a good half-hour discussing the merits, and ironies, or tattooing varies stanzas onto oneself. By the time Goodsir taps him on the shoulder, they’re leaning far enough towards each other that his glass nearly hits Harry’s jaw when he jolts in surprise. 

“I was starting to worry you’d be stuck there all night.”

“I’m sure.” Goodsir says with a smile and a glance at Harry that suggests he doesn’t fully believe him, “they eventually realized there were better places to rest their hooves. I got some wonderful pictures though.”

“You’re going to run out of memory at this rate. Again.” Silna keeps her amused look as she adds, “do you want to eat with us, Henry?”

“Oh no, I don’t want to intrude, I was just keeping John occupied while you got here. I ought to be going, it’s not the longest drive back to Dayton but I’ve got a mountain of chores to do. I’ll see you tomorrow, Silna. Nice to see you, Harry, and it was wonderful talking with you John.” He offers a final, parting smile. John watches him go once more, wondering if doing so makes him lecherous, or if he even cares if it does. At the door, Harry pauses, looking back, and his face brightens when he sees John is looking at him. Then he winks and steps into the finally cooling air.

“Your right pocket.” Goodsir murmurs as the waiter leads them to a table.

John ventures a hand into his shorts and finds a slip of saloon napkin next to the coin, the one he’s been carrying like a lucky charm for a month. 

Give me a call

It’s followed by a phone number. Harry didn’t have a chance to write it while they were talking, which means he must have done it the moment he saw John in the bar. 

Silna shakes her head, “I told him I could just give it to you for him.”

“You trick shooters, you do have a flair for the dramatic.” Goodsir pulls out her chair. 

“If we didn't, no one would watch.”

John lets them banter for the moment. After all, he has to attend to the pressing matter of asking if Harry would like to join him for coffee tomorrow.

[carnaxe]

VERSES .

✠ verse — parents are the bones on which children cut their teeth

canon . Odessa is born in one of the remote corners of the Outback, the first of six children, their home huddled among solar farms. Until the government gifts the omnium to the omnics, until the land their family has lived on for generations is taken from them. Unlawfully, they deem. The Stone family bare their teeth and fight back, lending their strength to the Australian Liberation Front. Until the rebels sabotaged the omnium’s fusion core, resulting in an explosion that destroyed the facility and irradiated the region. They shelter in omnium’s shell, now repurposed as a settlement for the survivors. It was home only for a short time, before King Mason Howl – former comrade of Odessa’s father – banished the Stone family to the Wasteland.

✠ verse — my body’s just a body and my name’s just a name

canon . Odessa learns, quickly, how to survive in the Wasteland. For those who live in the Outback, the Omnics Crisis never ended – the survivors are locked in an endless conflict with the local omnic population, fighting for land and resources. Odessa works alone, and sometimes as part of a posse, to hunt omnics, selling scrap and scouting the region for supplies. During this time, she dabbles in mechanics, forging her weapons and developing her unique electromagnetic gauntlet.

✠ verse — you cannot strike fear into stone

canon . While it may not be internationally recognised, Junkertown identifies and operates as its own sovereign state, and is generally hostile to outsiders. During the gladiatorial-inspired Reckoning, Odessa challenges and defeats King Howl, taking her place as Junker Queen. Under her rule, she maintains control across several surviving splinter groups, and works to expand Junkertown, to improve the lives of its citizens. As King Howl did before her, Odessa periodically hosts the Reckoning. The only way she will ever relinquish the crown is through defeat in combat, through the blood-slick violence that is broadcast across the Outback.

✠ verse — a glorious lo-fi live sound

modern . Odessa is lead singer and guitarist in a high octane band that straddles the garage rock, punk rock and pub rock genres. A true-to-her-roots punk, she isn’t in it for the money or the fame. Music for her is a way of expressing her anti-establishment, anti-materialistic, anti-sexist and anti-capitalist values.

✠ verse — go bush

exclusive to @handtame . Similar to the above, but the band doesn’t get far. Odessa lives in a sparse Outback settlement, and follows her father into the mining industry. The work is hard, and it isn’t easy being the only punk dyke in town – but having a needy, cryptid-coded girlfriend makes life a little sweeter.

✠ verse — a bloody mess in the wild west

red dead redemption . Based out of an abandoned mine in West Elizabeth, Odessa leads a gang of outlaws, roving afield to scavenge and raid. The group walks a fine line between banditry and rebellion, primarily targeting wealthy tycoons, corrupt lawmen and large ranch owners, while offering protection to smaller communities. Folk heroes or criminals? It depends on who you ask.

✠ verse — i rebel / therefore i exist

cyberpunk 2077 . The cybernetically-enhanced leader of a nomad gang, Odessa and her crew scavenge the Badlands. She rebels against the megacorporations and battles for dominance in the Night City streets.

✠ verse — the axe forgets / the tree remembers

stardew valley . Lumberjane Odessa runs a forestry farm on the edge of Cindersap, selling hardwood, softwood, pine tar and oak resin. Experienced in combat, she is no stranger to the local mines, and is capable of clearing out monsters and gathering loot. The Stardrop Saloon is like a second home to her, and her assistance can be secured on the promise of a pint or ten. This verse can be tweaked to suit a real-world rural setting.

✠ verse — the mad exultation of battle

fantasy . A barbarian chieftain, Odessa leads a nomadic tribe. Curious about the world beyond her clan, she sometimes ventures out on her own to take contracts as a mercenary.

✠ verse — when we get down to basics / humans are just big bags of irradiated chemicals

fallout . Tales of the raider queen, of a woman standing over most men. Her gang of raiders live off the remnants of pre-war civilization, taking what they need from the irradiated wastelands, triumphing through brute force and cunning. Axe-wielding Odessa is a picture of survival.

✠ verse — i will show you fear in a handful of dust

mad max . Odessa rules over the Junkers, a ragtag group of raiders and scavengers based out of an abandoned power plant. They are a relatively small faction, but vicious, and creative. By their hands, weapons and vehicles are crafted – then used to ambush travelling convoys.

✠ verse — the shadow of the axe hangs over every joy

bloodborne . TBC.

✠ verse — but the good name never dies of one who has done well

viking era . A verse inspired by but not limited to Assassin’s Creed: Valhalla. Odessa is an intimidating and powerful shieldmaiden. She leads a raiding party, sacking monasteries and settlements.

✠ verse — falling down is how we grow / staying down is how we die

ancient greece . A verse inspired by but not limited to Assassin’s Creed: Odyssey. OPTION 1: Odessa is captain of The Scourge, a pirate ship that plunders coastal settlements and terrorises the trade routes of the Aegean Sea. She recognises no rule but her own. OPTION 2: Odessa is a former champion of the arena on Pephka, her prowess and showmanship making her a fan favourite. Now she travels as a mercenary, her axe available to hire.

[consanguinitatum]

David Tennant in Drama School: A Podcast Teaser....Just Because

Earlier today two posts I saw on Twitter - but which didn’t initially appear connected - made that ever-present "David Tennant in drama school" connection happen in my brain. It made me think...was it a sign? Perhaps it's apropos to feature the teeniest tidbit from my podcast research? The first real teaser-thing-whatever where I reveal actual DT drama school unknowns?

I had to think about it for a while, but I eventually came 'round to it.

(And oh, as an aside, my podcast will be called A Tennantcy To Act. So that'll be what it is, whenever I get the bloody thing off the ground. Grrrr.....)

Anywaaaay, here's the teaser story.

Our story begins with a tycoon – Reos Stakis. I'm pretty sure Scots of a certain age will know him. He came to Scotland from his native Cyprus in 1928 to sell lace, and from those meager beginnings, he created the Stakis dynasty of hotels, restaurants and casinos. Reos was knighted by the Queen in 1988, and in 1998 sold his leisure chain to Ladbrokes for over 1.3B pounds. He was also a legendary philanthropist, giving millions in donations to public institutions, educational facilities, and charities. One of these was the Royal Academy of Music and Drama. I know this will seem like a wild swing from the subject, but this brings me to one of the things I saw today. This short video is a heartwarming paean to true love, and I encourage you to watch it. It features two iconic British actors, Timothy West and Prunella Scales.

If you're young, you might not know who West and Scales are. Scales is best known for playing Sybil Fawlty, the bossy wife of Basil Fawlty, in the BBC comedy 'Fawlty Towers'. And West is an accomplished stage actor, especially in Shakespeare.

We'll return to West and Scales in due course. For right now, we'll turn back to the Stakis family and their donations to the Royal Academy of Music and Drama, now the Royal Conservatoire. (For the rest of this post I'll be referring to the RCS as the RSAMD, as that was what it was called during this time period.)

Reos Stakis had a son, Andros. Andros became the managing director and deputy chairman of the Stakis empire in 1988. And oh yes.....he held varying positions on the board of the RSAMD from 1989-1991.

As you may (or may not) know, the years of these board positions coincide almost perfectly with David's years at the RSAMD. David began his tenure at the RSAMD almost exactly 35 years ago - he enrolled in late September 1988, and graduated in June 1991 with a BA in Dramatic Studies.

The donations made to the RSAMD by the Stakis family made some exciting opportunities open up for the students attending the Academy...David amongst them. The RSAMD decided to use these funds to create what they called Stakis Masterclasses.

Stakis Masterclasses were on a wide range of topics and were designed to accommodate all RSAMD students, drama students and music students alike. For example, music students could attend classes by recognized musicians on various instruments like the cello, the trumpet, or piano. With regards to drama, they were a novel venture indeed! Their classes were opened to both students and the public, and gave a public audience of lay and professional people an insight into specialist areas of the drama process. They did this with the help of established actors. Tickets were usually free at the door, though for some of the classes tickets were available in advance to drama students and the public. Topics were as wide ranging as how to use one's voice, how to portray comedy, or how to read verse.

The classes began in 1989, and by 1991 they were an established part of the RSAMD experience. One can imagine David attended some of these classes, as his interest in perfecting his craft has been ever-present. Exactly how many he attended isn't known.

But one is!

It so happened a famous acting couple - Timothy West and Prunella Scales - were touring together in Long Day's Journey into Night at the Theatre Royal in Glasgow in March 1991. As Prunella had done a previous Stakis Masterclass in 1989, it was not surprising she would do another - this time joined by her husband.

So on 26 March 1991, Scales and West agreed to do Masterclasses for the RSAMD. The couple did a double-act on Acting Verse - Scales concentrated on the Shakespeare sonnets, while West helped students work on speeches from the plays. After finishing the classes, Scales and West (and the entire 'Long Days' company) were guests of the school for lunch. The couple then lead a discussion with the company and students, who that evening attended a performance of Long Day's Journey Into Night at the Theatre Royal.

This brings me to the second post I mentioned at the beginning - you know, the other which clicked in my brain? It's this one and it shares that tomorrow David will appear on BBC Four to reminisce about his role as Hamlet before the channel airs a repeat of his 2008 turn as the Dane.

But you see, contrary to popular belief, 2008 wasn't his first go at Hamlet. He'd done it before.

Yep! He'd played Hamlet in that Timothy West and Prunella Scales masterclass. And while I don't know how much of the play he did during the class - perhaps it was only a few lines, or a soliloquy or two - it was enough of an effort to get remembered.

And that, my friends, is the end of the story.

[susiephone]

ok here’s my pitch for a Neverafter version of Dorothy Gale, because the part of my brain that likes to make Ever After High-style OCs will never die

Dorothy blew in from some world unknown to most of the Neverafter, to the region of Oz, when she was about 12. in some loops she’s returned home, but in others, she’s stayed. sometimes by choice, sometimes not.

in this loop, Dorothy is now in her late twenties

she’s an oathbreaker paladin, formerly in the service of Glinda the Good

as a girl, Dorothy was guided on her journey by the two good witches, and was promised that if she found the Wizard who ruled Oz, she could go home. she traveled through Oz, facing much danger, but found friends along the way - a Scarecrow who wanted a brain, a Tin Man who wanted a heart, and a lion who wanted some courage

of course, the Wizard of Oz turned out to be a charlatan, an ordinary man from Dorothy’s home, with no real power, ruling Oz with nice-sounding lies and parlor tricks

in kinder versions of the story, everyone got what they wanted anyway.

not this time. this time, they were just stuck with what they had.

Dorothy’s friends promised to shelter her, and they did. the four retreated back into the unruly and wild world they’d traveled through, resolving to carve out a life for themselves.

when she discovered the Wizard’s lies, Dorothy’s love of the Neverafter was tarnished, and her trust in what she’d been told began to decay

Glinda the Good Witch of the South, possibly out of pity, kindness, or ulterior motives of her own, took Dorothy under her wing, teaching her magic and combat. Dorothy took an Oath of the Ancients and became a paladin under Glinda

as she grew up, Dorothy tangled more and more with cruel and even violent witches and fairies, and began to turn her back on the “good” witches of the North and South.

eventually, Dorothy met Ozma, a young woman who was the true ruler of Oz, kidnapped at birth and raised by a witch named Mombi (possibly with influence from the Stepmother)

quickly becoming friends, Ozma and Dorothy vowed to take the world back from the oppressive forces controlling it

staging a coup in the Emerald City, they killed the Wizard and officially cut ties with the witches, with Ozma taking her throne back and Dorothy taking on the role of the Wizard, officially going oathbreaker

as the new Great and Powerful Oz (she feels weird when people insist on calling her that), Dorothy works to grant the wishes of her and Ozma’s subjects, learning all the magic and alchemy she can to try and protect them and make them happy

eventually, she and Ozma fell in love and got married, technically making Dorothy queen consort of Oz. just “Dorothy” is fine, though. “the wizard,” if you insist on being formal.

Dorothy and Ozma now rule an increasingly-crumbling Oz together as a power couple, with the Scarecrow as Ozma’s advisor and The Tin Man and Cowardly Lion leading their army. Ozma’s own companions, Jack Pumpkinhead and Tik-Tok, are in her own royal court.

Ozma is an artificer, with Jack and Tik-Tok both being warforged

Dorothy prefers to wear simple clothes that harken back to the clothes she wore on the farm of her childhood, but for special occasions, can be spotted in somewhat masculine emerald green formalwear (she leaves the dresses and jewels to Ozma). the only exception is her choice in footwear - heeled silver boots, which provide her protection from most magic.

she still has a small scar on one of her cheeks, from where one of the good witches kissed her. if she gets too close to anything too dangerous, the mark burns.

she has a broomstick (taken from the Witch of the West - rumor has it she picked it off the crumpled remains of her body) and an alliance with the flying monkeys

Toto, due to the magic of the Neverafter, is still alive. he’s the spoiled, happy little lap dog he always was, always at Dorothy’s heels. however, he’s also a useful familiar, as Dorothy will sometimes use him as a spy, looking through his eyes and using Speak With Animals to talkto him about what he’s heard and seen

meanwhile, Glinda and the other witches are starting to want their kingdom back...

[polyamorouspunk]

My Favorite Murder Shirts

“Every dollar of the proceeds from the sale of these shirts will be donated to the Planned Parenthood which works to advance access to sexual health care and defend reproductive rights.”

My Favorite Murder is taking a quote from a Wild West queen and turning it into merch to support women’s rights! Preorder shirts here:

Also comes in women’s fits and sweatshirts.

[kmp78]

“Yep, it's a big city with 40000 boroughs. 😂. “. - Actually there are only 5 boroughs in Manhattan (often mistakenly called neighborhoods) but over 350 actual neighborhoods throughout the 5 boroughs!! Here’s a slightly gossipy mini travel log some might enjoy. Humor me.

The old money billionaires (like Paris Hiltons family type) mostly live in mid-town Manhattan around Central Park and the exclusive Gramercy Park neighborhood with its resident’s personal key to a locked private park along with their apartment (highlighted in JL’s WeCrashed mini-series.) Gramercy Park was the home of Roosevelt, Thomas Edison, literature and theater luminaries of the early 20th century such as Truman Capote and Edith Wharton and is currently the home of celebrities such as Midler, Delevigne and assorted top models, J. Roberts, Lagerfeld, Fallon and Kate Hudson.

Lots of artsy folks and big film, sports and fashion celebrities; Timberlake, Swift, B and Jay Z, T Brady, Lewis Hamilton, DiNiro, ScarJo, J. Gyllenhaal, Reynolds and Lively, Styles and many more, live or have lived in the lower Manhattan neighborhoods that JL likes to hang out in when he is in town. These include neighborhoods like Tribeca, SoHo, West Village, the Bowery and Chelsea; all home to some of the best boutiques and endless areas to eat and mingle in NYC. FYI:The Bowery is the 7th most expensive neighbor-hood in Manhattan. Lewis Hamilton’s 12,000 sf penthouse in Tribeca recently sold for 50+/- million US dollars!!! Yes, you heard that right and he made somewhere around 6 million $ on the sale. 😵‍💫

Sparked by the influx of successful hip-hop artists and the Barkley Center, many musicians, athletes and successful actors live near or in Brooklyn in places like Dumbo, Red Hook, Park Slope or Williamsburg. Hathaway, Damon, A. Driver, Sarsgaard and M Gyllenhaal, Blunt and Krasinski, Bork, Nora Jones, Hawke, O Wilde, E. Murphy and many more all have homes in Brooklyn.

Queens has several less expensive neighborhoods like Sunnyside, Howard Beach and Astoria (one of the cheapest neighborhoods to live in). While there is an young active nightlife in Astoria and one or two other neighborhoods, Queens is a safer, less expensive place young people go to start out or raise a family. The Fresh Meadows neighborhood was the home of not famous at all, me. 😁

The Bronx has some of the poorest and toughest neighborhoods (around Yankee Stadium) though there are some very beautiful and well kept areas and many old stately stone homes. It’s trying hard to come back.

Staten Island is a much quieter more residential part of the city filled with highly ethnic (heavily Italian) blue collar working class families. (Think Jersey Shore on TV). While a few mid century actors lived there many years ago, no one famous except briefly Pete Davidson who was raised there, seems to want to live there now. Fun Fact: The characters in the movie “Working Girl” starring Harrison Ford and Melanie Griffith, Sigourney Weaver, Alex Baldwin and Joan Cusak are in Staten Island for this flick. Don’t miss this 1988 rah rah rom com feel good movie classic!! (Free by Hulu or Disney subscription or 2.99 Amazon rental or 3.99 some other places in US. Maybe free somewhere but worth a few bucks) You will see the actual SI ferry from the island to Manhattan which you must take daily to get to NY and hear the true Staten Island classic NY accent at its best! Great story and music too !

Well, nobody asked for all this but it is a very awesome city in which I lived, worked for many years and know well ! Beautiful, very exciting, exceptionally cultural and immensely historic (don’t get me started) but expensive to live in for the most part. And now you can all trace JL and Thinnie’s whereabouts around town! 🤪

Thanks, anon! 🤭🙌

I wonder why JL decided not to splurge on a NYC pad anyway, after being on the look-out couple years ago. 🤔

Guess his deal with Bowery saves him a big penny! 🤷🏼‍♀️

[thatndginger]

I might change some things around, but here y'all go! The finished Moressau Tourist Brochure! Have fun~

Image Description under the cut:

First image:

the first third of the image is a light gold with an image of a dark city street with blue and red lighting and the words:

"ALL YOU NEED IS 24

24 hours, and you too will fall in love with the City of More. Whether you prefer the bustle of Moressau and it’s eccentric nightlife under neon-lit streets, or the solitude of the Olympic Mountains cloaked in temperate rainforests just outside the city limits, there’s something for everyone to love. Why not take a chance and see what calls to you? You might be surprised by what - or who - you find!"

the second third of the image is a mix of dark teal and maroon in a wave pattern and the words:

"To learn more visit: www.ExploreMoressau.org

or check us out online! Twitter - @CityofMore Facebook - Explore Moressau"

the last third of the image is a picture of a seaside city at dusk with the sky full of dark blues and pinks and the words:

"Moressau Magic heartland of the Pacific Northwest"

Second Image:

The first two thirds of the image are a mix of dark teal and maroon in a wave pattern and the words:

"EXPLORE MORE

HISTORY With a history that stretches back to the 1700's and the heyday of mountain men and French trappers, Moressau has everything a history buff could ever want. There’s Old Downtown’s brickwork storefronts that date back to the early 1800's for the architect in everyone. Seafarers can enjoy the Harbor Boardwalk with planks rumored to be salvaged from storm-wrecked ships, and the Smuggler’s Lighthouse that still guides the way back home for our sailors.

MYSTERY Ever heard the stories of smuggler tunnels under the docks of Moressau? How about the buried streets of Old Downtown? Or maybe you’ve heard tell that all the shipwrecks on the shores of the Brise Bay were the work of sirens? There’s always more secrets to uncover, be it the possibility of ghosts in the historic Gholson Hotel, or the hidden treasures of famed vampire Augustus Laroche beneath his mountaintop mansion.

INFAMY The dark and bloody history of Moressau is a draw for any true crime fan. The werewolf serial killer Charlie Potter, “The Beast of the Bay”, chased his victims through the streets of the East Docks neighborhood. The Museum of History hosts an entire exhibit detailing Moressau’s beginnings as a smuggler outpost, with visitors like the Camilla Bain the Pirate Queen and the wild explorer and rumored cannibal Art McGrath.

WITCHERY Considered the magic heartland of the West, Moressau is home to some of the largest numbers of actively practicing magic users in the United States. Whatever ailment or idle curiosity you posses can be cured by a quick visit to one of many apothecaries like Honey and Sage, or the historic Heron’s Compass, run by members of the ancient Maer-Rigan Coven.

AND MORE From trendy nightclubs to cosy stores to unique resturaunts, Moressau has it all!"

The last third of the image is a picture of a city at night as viewed from the air and the words:

"Everyone deserves a little more in life."

[inklings-challenge]

Four Loves Fairy Tale Challenge Archive

Stories

Blood for the Altar: A retelling of "Tam Lin" by @phoebeamorryce: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

Cinderella by @allisonreader

Dear Lucy: A retelling of "The Little Mermaid" by @ashknife

Each, All, Everything: A retelling of "Nix, Nought, Nothing" by @confetti-cat

Exile of the Sons of Uisliu retelling by @atlantic-riona

Fundevogel retelling by @griseldabanks

Her True Name: A retelling of "That Dear Name" by @queenlucythevaliant

Keeper of the Underwater Graveyard: A retelling of "Egle the Queen of Serpents" and "The Little Mermaid" by @tzarina-alexandra

Lily & Leandros: A retelling of "Lily and the Lion" by @mademoiseli: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9

Mrs. Swan's Three Unfortunate Suitors: A retelling of "Mrs. Fox's Wedding" by @ozthearistocrat

The Prince: A retelling of "Cinderella" by @clarythericebot

Without Words: A retelling of "The Six Swans" by @fictionadventurer

The Woodcutter and the Shepherdess: A retelling of "Casperl and the Princess" by @maltheniel

Artwork

Bookmarks for "Diamonds and Toads", "Clever Anait" and "Beauty and the Beast" by @fictionadventurer

Bookmarks for "The Wild Swans", "East of the Sun, West of the Moon", "Tattercoats" and "The Star Money" by @fictionadventurer

"The Golden Bird" moodboard and analysis by @mademoiseli

"Kate Crackernuts" moodboard by @eruanna1875

"Snow White and Rose Red" illustration by @amaliaaku

Sleeping Beauty retelling bookmark by @fictionadventurer

"The Wild Swans" illustration by @lover-of-the-starkindler

[amaiguri]

"He is not gone: In our Hour of Greatest Need On the Winter Solstice under the Serpentine Star, He will come again, with hair as black as night and eyes like fire. The rune of the sun will rest upon his brow. And bearing the Sword of Promised Victory, he shall bring peace. And war shall be no more." - Chanson du Roi

(Art Courtesy of @tarlartist)

The Once & Future Emperor

Once upon a time, long before you and I ever walked the earth, there was a great Empire known as Thuille. Thuille was ruled by a great many Old Emperors, who were each buried in a Trialhall - dangerous crypts which held traps, puzzles, riddles, or tests of strength. It was said the first one to pass previous Emperor's trial was to be the new Emperor.

The last and greatest of these Emperors was Riavh Solais. He was born the son of the Sagelady Scathach and a male Dragon, whom she seduced with her wits and her earthy nature which he could never have. Scathach taught him songs of the earth and sea, but his father's ambition and fiery nature filled him always.

Riavh was a wild but clever child whose curiosity got him into trouble as well as back out of it. He challenged an Empyreal Lord to a game of riddles and won. The Empyreal Lord was so angry that he slew his Lady-Sage mother. Riavh was left then to wander the world alone.

The Emperor before him left an enchanted sword stuck in an anvil and said that only the Once and Future Emperor and his rightful heir would be able to remove it. Many strong men attempted to remove it. What these men could not see was that there was an invisible enchantment on the sword and only saying the sword's true name would cause it to release from the anvil.

Riavh Solais, however, was born missing his left eye. This gave him the power to see the Weave of the World. He was but a boy at the time, barely aged fourteen. Yet the sword called to him. He went to the sword, knelt before it, and said, "O mighty Fragarach, I am not the wisest nor the strongest, but I swear, upon names of my fathers and forefathers before them, that I will lead Thuille to its promised victory. Will you accept me as your Master?"

With that, he grasped the sword and lifted it from the anvil with ease. And from then on, he ruled as a fair and just Emperor. His rule expanded across the whole of the North. Under his rule, sealfolk, hornedfolk, men, and women all lived in harmony. And even the spiderfolk from west came and left peacefully. During his conquests, Riavh was often assisted by Dragons - sent by his father to watch over him.

One day, a beautiful woman came to Emperor Riavh Solais' court. She had hair the color of the sea and silver eyes and she moved with a ethereal grace so much so that every officer in Riavh's army proposed to her. But she turned them all down, saying that she would only marry the man who could guess her true name. They called her "Sitheach" meaning "Fairy", both for her beauty and her strange ability to predict the future.

Unlike Fragarach, however, Riavh could not read her true name for it was not engraved on her body. And so, he did not pursue her. Instead, he allowed her to safely adjourn in his court, asking her advice on all things and heeding her wise council. In return, he taught her magic and fighting. She came to admire him for his wisdom and humility, as well as his pride and temperance. And so, she wrote her name in magic on the ceiling above his bed. He was able to read it and the two were wed. On her coronation, the now-Queen announced her birthday "Yeultide" as a celebration of her coming to this land. When asked, Riavh admitted this was a hint to her name, but he never revealed her name to anyone. Maybe you will be the one to figure it out.

Their love was fruitful and soon, a son was born. However, shortly after his birth, Sitheach - mysteriously as she had arrived - left the court and vanished into the mists and the boy was motherless. In his grief, Riavh still raised the boy as best he could before remarrying - a Sagelady like his mother. The prince admired his father above all else and yet, he always stood in his father's shadow. He was jealous, both of his father and his father's beautiful new wife - who took all his father's love away from him, he thought.

One night, when the prince turned fourteen, he stole Fragarach and decided to kill the Sagelady Queen. He snuck into her room and found her in bed with another man, one of Riavh's best officers, Lanfrac. The prince dragged them into Court and demanded justice in his father's name. The two begged for their lives and Riavh couldn't bring himself to execute them. And so, he sent them both away from his court.

The prince was so aghast that he declared his father to be a weak Emperor and rallied half the Empire against him. A bloody war was fought in which hundreds of lives were lost. Riavh could have won easily by summoning the Dragons, but he did not want to force his father to choose between his son and grandson, and so there were no Dragon sightings during this time.

Riavh met his son on the battlefield at Cuilline and demanded that single-combat end this, to which the prince agreed. The two fought and the Emperor Riavh emerged victorious but he was so exhausted that his arms and legs both fell off.

As he lay dying, Sitheach returned to him with magical armor to replace his arms and legs. She revealed herself to have the power to see the future, and she foresaw his downfall and journeyed far across the sea so he would not die in this moment. She said the world was not ready for an Emperor so gentle and so pure but they would be someday. And she laid him to rest, promising to reawaken him when Thuille needed him the most. His awakening would be heralded by the return of Dragons to the North.

And at last, his heart could be at ease.

The Saegari

Song of the Sage King - A Saegen Song about the Last Thuillean King

O-oh once there lived the most greatest king of kings And for his re-eign, the Dra-a-gons sing He pulled a sword from trialhall's firm stone A-And used his might to claim his northern throne

And then his kingdom ca-ame to cover far and wide With the Dra-agons by-y hi-is side And from the Empyre to the east To the land of the-e spiderbeasts

Such was the Thuille of Saegari!

O Long reign the Saegari He was fair as fair can be And he-e will rise to come again And the whole world wide will know his name (2x)

Hyr dit jav, rivanjan jaga riva vymrja Or fet lir rivr yvjipa sirilin fava Lir osjiert shan dren me'ar or jalrja Aelni heime fet fadur or fo marja Or av lir heime ael arlyrja Il Yvjipen, lir vragmenrja Dren Njynheime suringrae A Hetheil Suraerae Di Thul sehrja til Saegari

[omophagic-beast]

alright lets talk ttrpg goals for 2023! this post is about games im writing that i want to finish this year, ill make another one for games i want to play in 2023.

i have. so many half finished games. in fact i even have several games that are written!! they just need to be laid out and put out there. so heres the goals and the order for said goals

1- Record Collection 2K23, and the yet-unnamed game for it that ive been writing up over the past few weeks. part tarot-driven game, part... play? there’s stage directions in there in any case

its based off the four wind albums by the Oh Hellos, later on the two characters in the play only talk to eachother via lyrics from each album, moving through the seasons as they move through their story.

ofc i want to finish this one during the jam, which means by the end of january. very much pushing myself to just Get It Out There and not worry so much about it being exactly what i want, because i can always come back and update it later. its horribly (affectionate) self indulgent already so to b clear i am writing this game for Me, so the only person who needs to like it at any point is Me :3

2- There Is An Anger Inside Of You. ive been noodling at this game for over a year now, with the creation date on the word doc being may of 2021. its done!!! its finished, i swear to god, i just need to lay it out, and i already know how im going to do that i just need to *grabs myself by the shoulders* fucking do it

its a game about being angry when youre not able to express it, the struggle of keeping your anger under wraps being played out as a rather unfair game of chess. and i am going to get it out by the end of february.

3- The Lady, The Tiger, and The Accused, a hack of For The Queen based on the short story The Lady or The Tiger. its another one that is currently completely written out, but rather than laying it out and getting it out there my goal with this one is to get it formatted for playtesting. its a three player game, players taking on the role of either The Lady, The Tiger, or The Accused, and answering the prompts as such. i really love it, but it needs to be played by people and revised before ill feel comfortable declaring it finished.

also, i want to actually crowdfund and print this one, with art and editing and maybe some pretty extras and such. so my goal is to start playtesting it by my birthday, the 17th of march. after that... im not sure! crowdfunding it by the end of the year would be wild i think, since, in true For The Queen style, id love to get a gaggle of artists to draw Princess cards for it, and that takes time! so the goal is more to have it ready for crowdfunding by the end of this year, and if that happens sooner then thats cool and good!

4- Someones Simple Book of Spells Volume One: Paper. This one is also FULLY WRITTEN *sounds of agony in the distance* i just need to LAY IT OUT

and honestly since i already know how i want to lay it out lets put this one for the end of april. yes this is pretty much a game a month for the next bit but theyre all SO CLOSEEEE to being done anyways its just that final push, i could accomplish most of these goals in a weekend if i just did it so. im going to!! do it!!!

5- ok finally, one thats actually not almost finished, its The Center of the Known Universe. a small anthology of games originally started for the weird west jam but never finished.

its got some of my favorite concepts ive ever thought of though, a game about aliens freezing time in a small western town and LARPing as cowboys, two wild west wizards battling it out at high noon, a game about supernatural cowboys falling in love while experiencing all the seasons of the desert, and more. its a love letter to the small desert town i currently live in, and i want to see it come into being. im going to give myself the summer for this, lets say the goal is to have the full first draft written by september. i also would love for this one to go into print, so a secondary goal is to have it ready to crowdfund in time for ZineMonth 2024, so february of next year.

i think thats probably all the projects i can set goals for this year, october-december is always very busy for me so im not gonna set anything besides the two i want to get ready for crowdfunding in 2024, though i do have several other half written games lying about (looks nervously at my over-4000 word “ttrpg ideas” doc).

maybe ill get into the swing of actually finishing games and get to them as well! but if not thats just fine :3

you can always find all my games over on the Grey Jay Games itch.io page, and i may make a sideblog just for GJG, but for the moment all game news and stuff from me will be right here @resident-corvid​

[musicblogwales]

Aderyn - 'Chip Shop Boy' (Official Video)

'Do you want Salt n Vinegar on them?' Cardiff Indie Grunge Pop Artist 'Aderyn' returns with fantastic new single 'Chip Shop Boy' which is available now everywhere! With hooky riffs and euphoric chord changes 'Chip Shop Boy' will make all your Chippy Dreams come true, and is certainly 'Aderyn's' strongest single to date. Love it!

Aderyn says “Chip Shop Boy is a song about the rush of first having a crush on someone, and how those daydreams can make the mundane feel magical.” Chip Shop Boy is available on all streaming sites and bandcamp, and will be released on CD and cassette as part of Aderyn’s debut EP Sea Glass on 14th September.

Chip Shop Boy was written about Aderyn's infatuation with the boy who worked at the local chip shop during Covid lockdown. Aderyn says: “The chippy was the only place open in lockdown, and my imagination ran wild with blissful visions of our future together. It turned into this really fun song thats always a big crowd pleaser on tour.” Chip Shop Boy is an irreverent and irresistibly fun indie pop song with moments of Pavement inspired guitars, and more hooks than a fisherman. Aderyn also played all the drums on the track, which was recorded in West Wales with producer Gethin Pearson (Orla Gartland, Charli XCX, Adwaith).

Aderyn will play Gwen Gwen Festival this summer. Chip Shop Boy is the second single from Aderyn's debut EP Sea Glass, out 14 September

Cardiff’s “Queen of Indie Pop” (Radar Mag), Aderyn grew tired of life on a Welsh sheep farm and left home at 16 to be a drummer in a grunge band. Now striking out on her own in her first solo project, Aderyn’s music weaves together irreverent hook laden pop, with a scuzzier grunge influenced sound. Aderyn won the Welsh Music Prize Triskel Award in 2022.

Buy 'Chip Shop Boy' Here

https://song.link/gb/i/1693584395