#answering moistly

[polkadotpatterson]

WHAT R YOUR FAVE GARAGES SONGS??

I KNOW SOME TRACKS BUT I FEEL LIKE BACK IN SUMMER 2020 I WAS LISTENING TO THEIR MUSIC FOR A MIN BUT THEN I LOOKED BACK AND THEY HAD 20 MORE ALBUMS AN I GOT SCARED...

ough ok in no particular order other than being compelled to put Sun 2 first, also I’m limiting myself to just a few lol:

-Sun 2

-Where is your spirit

-Bones to Ohio

-In the feedback

-The ballad of unremarkable Derrick Krueger (Takeover version)

-Mike Townsend (Knows what he’s gotta do)

-The shelling of Oliver Loofah by the coward York Silk

-All the best

-5AM shift

-Morning is coming

-Solar eclipse

-Firewalker with me

-Morrow Doyle hits a hole out of left center field

-curse of crows (both the original and the Riley version)

Don't be intimidated by the Many Albums! They're all well worth checking out. The one I recommend above all else is DISCIPLINE, which has the most cohesive narrative (covering the whole of the discipline era) and just all around great songs. Other noted Oops All Bangers are ENCORE, DEICIDE, UNSTABLE, and the collab album BLATTLE OF THE BLANDS (the albums with all caps titles are just more powerful, I guess! Fits your vibe too, anon). Some of my other personal favourite albums are ROSTER, #14, and storm’s here, but you really can’t go wrong with any of them!

[cyndakip]

extremely curious about dust to dust

This one is about the Talkers' Chorby Soul replica aka Chorby Soul VI aka Orbvi aka my beloved child because I was like "is anybody gonna care about/lore this guy (gn)" and did not wait for an answer. it's almost 8k but I haven't touched it in a while due to getting even more invested in a certain other replica...

anyway. they don't have many of Chorby's memories and are ok with that but it means they're on a mission to figure out who they are as a person and what they like. they befriend Lachlan (who helps them figure out their favourite foods) and Cedric (who was one of our best defenders and works with them on Catch The Ball bc it was one of the few things chorby replicas ever did lol) and the secret version of London Simmons that me and Kit illegally lored while xe was still in the shadows (regular human vlogger who is not Tamagotchi Thing) and also Randy Dennis teaches them how to skateboard trick :)

I haven't touched this since september 2021. riv. anyway here's an excerpt

You are listed on the roster as Chorby Soul VI. Your teammates all have entire constellations spread out next to their names, but yours is followed by nothing but darkness, despite the stardust that makes up your body. There have been five others like you; you are nothing but a clone of the worst player this game has ever seen. Your namesake lived and died and lived again and suffered and died again and lived again and suffered again and died again. You are still in the living phase, for now.

According to the league, you do not have a coffee preference, or pregame ritual, or blood type. You suppose the first Chorby must have had these, but they were never recorded, so you can't look at them and see if they ring any bells. You guess you can experiment with different coffees and rituals, and if you ever find out how you bleed, it will be because the consumers get you, too.

[qqueenofhades]

Heyy :)) I don't know if you still do prompts and if you do them for this ship but if yes could you please do 26. or 19. for Ivan x Fedyor? That'd be so lovely ♡ thanks a bunch and if not no worries!

Ivan has been staring at a pile of paperwork for almost three hours, the pain in his head feels like someone has driven a spike into his eye, and he really doesn't know why someone else couldn't do this. All right, they'd probably fuck it up and make him fix it anyway, they're not of sufficiently high rank to look at the Darkling's sensitive secrets and classified attack plans, and all other people are idiots etc. etc., but it still feels unfair for it to have fallen on him, particularly. They only got back from the latest Fjerdan campaign a few days ago, it went worse than expected, every strategy needs to be revisited and revised, and that has become, undoubtedly, Ivan's job, now that he's the unquestioned second-in-command of the entire Second Army, subordinate only to General Kirigan himself. He's not yet thirty.

He has just drawn a deep breath, angrily splashed the last of the kvas into his cup and taken a fortifying swig, and otherwise braced himself for another few hours of torture, when there's a knock on the antechamber door and -- barely waiting for an answer -- Fedyor Kaminsky rushes in. "Captain," he says, spotting Ivan and stopping to salute. "Good, you're here. You need to come with me at once."

"What?" Ivan jostles the desk, jumps to his feet, and looks around suspiciously, as if some malfeasant has breached the sancrosanct walls of the Little Palace and he needs to kill them immediately. "What is it?"

"You'll see." Fedyor tugs at him. "Hurry."

Ivan, swallowing his questions, abandons the paperwork without a backward glance and hurries out after Fedyor, already assessing the potential options. This seems bad, or at least urgent enough that it has to be handled with no delay. Has the tsar choked on a sweetmeat, or the tsaritsa stabbed herself with her embroidery needle, or some other pressing crisis that the fucking royal family feels the need to involve their pet Grisha in? Is it worse? Did something abruptly collapse from that underwhelming campaign? Did they decide that said underwhelming campaign was entirely Ivan's fault and throw him out of the order, thus to be packed back home to frigid Chernast in disgrace? Or maybe --

Apparently oblivious to Ivan's inner turmoil, Fedyor keeps up a brisk pace down the corridors, until they enter the library, ensure that the Apparat is not lurking moistly behind a nearby bookshelf, and hurry down the narrow rows to the end. Fedyor reaches around it, presses a hidden catch, and stands back as the shelf swings out, as smoothly as if it's on wheels. It reveals a narrow passage and set of twisting steps beyond, leading upward and out of sight, and Ivan frowns. "What's this? Is there someone up there? Is it a -- "

"Just shut up and go up there." Fedyor prods him in the back, a familiarity for which Ivan would definitely flay anyone else alive, but in the several years since he and Fedyor officially became a thing, he has grudgingly learned to accept. "Take a look."

Muttering, Ivan ducks under the low lintel and ascends the narrow, creaky steps, hands held vigilantly at the ready for anything that feels up to springing out of the darkness. There's nothing, though, and when he reaches the hidden nook at the top, lit only by a skylight somewhere high above, he turns in a circle and can't see any pressing emergency. "What's going on? Why did you -- "

He's cut off as Fedyor reaches the top, bounds into the small space after him, and seizes Ivan by the collar of his kefta, pushing him against the wall and kissing him thoroughly. Ivan splutters, makes a noise of extreme protest (okay, mild protest) and windmills his arms, but somehow manages not to break free or even push Fedyor away at all. He's still grumbling when Fedyor bites his lower lip, making him yelp, and then forced to focus on kissing him back. It's only when they've sunk to their knees on the floor, Ivan is mentally calculating how uncomfortable it really could be to lie on those floorboards, and still kissing in short, hungry bursts when he realizes the truth. "You little bastard, Fedya," he breathes. "You lied to me."

"Lied to you? About what?" Fedyor looks at him with that damn dark-eyed, dimpled smile for which Ivan is unbearably, ferociously weak. "I said you needed to come with me at once."

"For a military emergency! For -- I don't know, something! Not because you discovered an interesting door in the library and had a sudden urge to distract me!"

"Or. Counterpoint." Fedyor smirks, entirely unchastened. "I did, in fact, need to do exactly that. You're going to drive yourself crazy. Admit it, Vanya. You enjoyed this."

Ivan stares at him narrowly. Fedyor stares narrowly right back.

"Fine." Ivan wipes his mouth, bites a traitorous smile, and leans back in for another round. Whatever else it might be, life with Fedyor Kaminsky is never boring. "Maybe a very, very little."

[42bakery]

rafannadal here yeaaaaaaaassssssss you’re right ofc!!! i can’t judge bc i wasn’t here but im sure there are visible differences between how the others rode that bike + they have a super old spec, don’t they… what did alex say, like… first quarter of 2023 ? which ofc makes marc keeping up with the gp24s so much more impressive (i think talk was like, if pecco is 30 secs faster than last year on his gp24 then he should at least have those 30secs on marc but he has… seven…? LESS? which yeah tyres etc however. idt the new compound explains All That) and honestly i feel like everyone is shutting up about HOW impressive exactly but ALSO.

need ducati to break it down for me in detail, actually… i am honestly just curious how specifically marc is pulling that performance out of a bike that should be finishing somewhere in the low top10 at best

Helo @rafannadal at this point is embarrassing for me to answer this ask, but here I am.

This make reference to this post if any one is curios

In general, Jorge and Pecco struggled in the first half/first third of last season, which is why KTM and Apriia were so close. But Marc just didn',t He was there fighting and even beating the GP24 in a couple of Sprint races.

The difference between the GP24 and GP23 is very track dependent because apparently the major difference on the bikes are the grip, The GP24 has more grip and allows them to break early on the corners and open the gas also early, which if you look a battle between the GP24 vs GP23, the older bike loses on the acceleration stage and gives the illusion that the GP24 pulls away. Yes the GP24 pulls away, but it's moistly at the exit of the corner and then the gap maintains just because the GP23 accelerates later. We can see that the gap now is bigger, and my money is on the GP24 updates that are helping into create that gap, even if Ducati insist the bike don't have any.

I would need to look at the data (which I haven't and I'm going by what the comments said), but I think at the start of the season Marc was like 6-7 seconds faster than the top Ducati on the same circuit. Yes I know the tyres play a lot on that, but I don't think is that much. So overall, Marc is just fastest. So I'm dreading (and exited) the moment Marc is put on the GP25 and has the same weapons as Pecco.

Unfortunately, we will never have the full data. The only thing we can do is compare lap times and race distance and see how much faster Marc was to the top Ducati to guess the tyre paper in all of this. I don't think Marc place should be a low top-10, last year other riders with the GP22 managed podiums and victories more consistently

[best2daynews]

Letters March 3, 2023: 'A tune about Trudeau to start your day.' - latest news

Article content With Trudeau’s admiration for China, it’s time for a song. Sing to Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds. ‘Picture Trudeau on a fast boat to China, with all of his selfies, and all of his lies. The RCMP calls him, he answers quite moistly, Am I going to a place I admire? Trudeau on a fast boat to China. Trudeau on a fast boat to China. Ahh. Suddenly Canada says have fun in China now it’s…

[the-consignment-cafe]

5 Ultimate Guide to Popular Types of Women Designer Handbags

A designer handbag is more than just an accessory, to any woman, it’s her compact world loaded with a safety net. She has everything she needs. So many things to say, but in one word, handbags are helpful. Besides, helpful or not, it’s certainly an extremely versatile fashion statement she can use to skillfully play up her outfit. But hold on to that opinion, how in the market are you going to purchase bags if you don’t know what your substitutes are?

Sure, you can buy it, but standing armed with information about every aspect you can invest in, sounds like an important step to building a stunning bag collection, no? If you’re aggressively nodding in answer to that question, we’re here with just what you wish. You no longer require to vaguely define to your friends how the handbag you spotted in your favorite store looked. Because there exists a term for it, here’s the list of all types of handbags from shoptarrisco that will help you find it!

1. Evergreen Tote Bag

Every lady needs to have a durable tote bag with ample storage capacity that’s also super-comfortable to carry anywhere. For those who don’t know the name, a tote bag is a large, unfastened bag with two parallel shoulder handles on either side. Designer tote bags for work are an extremely versatile bag to invest in, perfect for any event that demands you to carry more than a few things, whether it’s shopping anywhere in the city, heading out for a class, or just going to work. It is a must-have accessory so look out for designer tote bags for sale.

2. Stunning Shoulder Bag

This is probably the most basic and necessary handbag for every woman to have in her wardrobe. It comes with all the adornments you’d commonly associate with a great handbag, such as compartments, zippered pockets, and a mechanism to shut it lock. As the name indicates, this is a casual bag meant to be held up on one shoulder with shorter and thinner straps than that of a tote bag. These bags are a very wide-ranging variety and incorporate an assortment of sizes and silhouettes.

We provide designer handbags on consignment.

3. Classic Backpack

A backpack is a must-have bag, but one in the fit and size of a typical handbag has achieved significance in recent times. A backpack purse is a more stylish and smaller variation of the typical large backpack, generally featuring details and adornments. The specific silhouette and size vary considerably and can be anywhere from a palm-sized one to a rucksack

4. Essential Laptop Bag

A laptop bag is a very useful uni-sex bag meant mainly for carrying a laptop, along with other accessories. A laptop bag is used by everyone from students to office-goers for its numerous compartments and the adequate space inside the bag. Generally, rectangular and horizontal laptop bags would moistly feature good padding to save the device kept inside. It is attached to a wide, long, and comfortable strap, with adjustable length.

One can sell designer handbags for cash on a few sites like shoptarrisco.com.

5. Timeless Clutch

A clutch is a must-have small, flat handbag with neither straps nor handles and a top sliding grip. There’s a massive variety of forms, silhouettes, and designs in the types of clutches for women, with options like solid, sequined, textured, embellished, embroidered, and a lot more. It’s manufactured to be hand-held or held up under the arm and has a bare-minimum amount of capacity inside for small items like money, lipstick, or travel-sized necessary products.

We at shoptarrisco.com accept and evaluate the right price for your branded designer bags and all designer accessories. One can also Sell designer clothes for cash.

[julian-is-a-punk]

Hello Ontario, Canadians,

I just was thinking to myself, "I don't care what patches I got I'm comfortable with the knowledge of my rights when it comes to cops." And then I realized I have never (I have but not in this sense) had an experience with an Ontario cop. I have no idea what my rights are. I have no idea what my rights are.

Am I allowed to walk away if I am not being questioned, detained or arrested?

Am I allowed to refused to answer personal questions if I'm not being detained or arrested?

If I am in a bad mood can I get arrested? Lol! Serious fucking question.

What are my rights if a cop sees my patches and decides to fuck around okay cause I don't want to find out behind bars you know?

What are my rights when it comes to self incriminating? Am I allowed to deny a personal search? Am I allowed to not answer questions?

You know what I mean guys? I'm up shit creek without my Timmies. I've got the government down, the province vs province down, the bud, eh, tummies, murder chickens, moose... you know. I even know Terry Fox, Canadian bands, talk moistly, Alberta's covid glory holes lol. BUT NOT MY IMMEDIATE RIGHTS

So uhhhhhh could I get some help guys?

Or even like a link if their is one?

Any help or resources are appreciated 🙏🏻 🙂

[sprrcw-a]

there are 239 days until x-mas

[segredosjogados]

Complicated

Based on the song Sativa - Jhené Aiko feat. Swae Lee

Story: You and Jack Harlow cannot seem to get things right, but cannot live without each other. How's the night gonna end? 

Warnings: implied smut. I don't write smuts, though.

You and Jack were sitting each one on one side of the room, facing each other from inches apart. It seemed endless. Another argument about something small. This time, Jack and you disagreed over your schedules for after the BBMAs, causing you two, again, to accuse each other from distancing the relationship. 

"Why you make it so complicated?" you restarted, putting your hands on your face, concentrating on not crying. 

"Is it me? I'm the one trying to make us feel good again and you're the one creating a discussion out of the blue!" he replied yelling so you could hear him from the other side of the room. 

"You don't need to yell, idiot, I'm right here!" you replied yelling too. 

"Don't..."he restarted speaking but you stood up walking to the room's bar and fixing you some bourbon. The tense was unbearable in the room. You wanted to yell how much you wanted it to end. But you're prideful. Jack's full of himself sometimes. You counted to three and took the whole bourbon liquid in one shot. 

"You cannot fix this by drinking a shot of bourbon, Y/N because..." he started saying and you interrupted him.

"Because what?" you said with a firm voice, turning to look at him. He looked fucking hot with those black cargo pants and black hoodie. You took steps towards repeating "because what?" until you got close to him, kneeling down to reach his eye line from where he was sitting on the couch. 

"Why you make it so complicated?" he repeated your sentence. You closed your eyes feeling his voice shake your spine sending shivers to your whole body. You took a deep breath, inhaling his scent around you. Jack closed his eyes too and leaned his face forward close to yours. You two stayed there for some seconds, just breathing each other's air. 

Jack's lips got closer to yours. The feeling of almost touching sent you crazy. You felt your heart dance on your chest. You stood up and sat on Jack's lap, looking at him from above. His face was pure heaven when it was like this - innocent, willing, caring. You kissed his cheeks, his collarbone then his lips. He kissed you back slowly and moistly, using his hands to adjust your hips to his lap. Your hands ran through his curly hair, circling your fingers on his scalp, sending shivers to his body. You felt him move under you, making you lean your body heavier down him, fitting your legs around his thighs, opening them more to fit better. His hands started traveling up and down your spine, under your shirt, with his cold fingertips tracing shapeless forms on your skin. 

"Keep the rhythm" he hummed to your hear, getting you on "Are you ready?" he asked cupping your face with his hands. 

"Oh, yeah, I'm ready" you answered, leaning down to kiss his neck, letting him take control of you for the rest of the night.

[allbeendonebefore]

13, 14, 15, 16 and 26?

13. does your country (or family) have any specific superstitions or traditions that might seem strange to outsiders?

There are so many superstitions related to hockey that I don't understand or care about, not shaving being one of them. There are also things buried in heritage that you don't Think of as superstitions until you're told by an outside source. For example, I had no idea that my grandma's Desperation to make sure we ate was rooted in anything other than just normal grandma concern until I learned that in Ukrainian culture, a person refusing food was basically bringing the devil into your house. Suddenly the contrast between my eastern european grandma (food is love) and my british grandma (what do kids like? tonic water?) made a lot more sense.

14. do you enjoy your country’s cinema and/or TV?

Yes, actually, I think a lot of people apologize for Canadian media because it's cringe but I think it's only cringe when it's either a knock off of something else or it's taking the self-flagellation a bit too seriously. Sometimes stuff with lower budgets and campy or cheesy humour is Good, Actually.

Some movies that come to mind are Bon Cop Bad Cop (1+2), Warm Bodies, etc. I also really enjoy cbc dramas and comedy like Republic of Doyle and Kim's Convenience (although there has been a lot of fall out with the cancellation of the latter). And of course skit shows like 22 Minutes (or the Rick Mercer Report, rip </3) are great.

Like there's a lot of stuff I don't like but there are gems in there and it feels good to watch things that aren't cheap shots from Americans about how we talk funny or whatever.

15. a saying, joke, or hermetic meme that only people from your country will get?

a recent one that lives in my head rent free is speaking moistly although again since the americans leap on stuff like this they probably all know it now too alas. (but do they know about the song?)

16. which stereotype about your country you hate the most and which one you somewhat agree with?

Answered this one prior but I can probably come up with another.

Here's one: we are not all in love with Justin Trudeau but it's like playing russian roulette trying to talk about how much you hate him with someone opposite on the political spectrum without giving yourself away lmao. and again i "agree" in the sense that people who like him do so because they see the status-quo canadian-ness he represents and they ignore how status-quo canadian-ness doesn't help people and in fact continually pushes the overton window further and further into right wing populism.

why does he make such a big show of getting photographed taking a knee protesting against his own government? because he knows canadians only care about good looking surface level bullshit and will do absolutely nothing from behind the desk. i cannot Stand justin frigging trudeau and I'm embarrassed that I was ever happy he was elected.

26. does your nationality get portrayed in Hollywood/American media? what do you think about the portrayal?

yes it does and it's either portrayed as

- conveniently mythical safe haven in zombie apocalypse (wtf)

- the butt of every single dumb/polite/neighbourly joke (that comes in sweet-cute flavour and sour-lame flavour)

(unless it is a canadian actor/other person who is making a silly reference only we are going to get, that's different)

and the worst thing is we EAT IT UP EVERY TIME because its like "yaaay they remembered us!" no! Stop celebrating this like it's a representational milestone when its like the same three maple syrup hockey haha funny accent jokes.

americans despite being right next to us tend to flatten all our regional differences into a lazy and convenient stereotype just as they do with any other country - so obviously we turn that on it's head in our media please watch this clip from bcbc2

[polkadotpatterson]

For the ask game:

For Dot + Workman: 4 (in general types or specific shows, 12, and/or 25 (🥺) 

And then also and/or Salt coven for 15, and/or 37 bc now I'm thinking of salt movie night

4. Their favorite show to watch together?

I'm gonna be real I am perpetually bad at knowing what media any characters would like. I could see them both enjoying documentaries tbh? That's my vague answer lol

12. Who prefers calling to texting (& vice versa)?

I think when Dot was away in the Core and Dallas they tried to call each other whenever possible so they could properly talk!

...and now I'm thinking, what if Dot's fingers aren't particularly compatible with phone touchscreens, so they have to make a lot of extra effort to text either bc they have to wrestle with the screen, or bc they had to get an ancient nokia or something similar with buttons, and texting that way is its own kind of struggle. so, calling!

25. (a lil sappy, but..) What do they like about each other?

ough... I think the main thing has always been that they just Get Each Other in ways that other people can't. They both have that love of the sport and that great synchronicity when they play together, and they understand what it's like to be irrevocably changed by it in more ways than most players, to have their old lives stripped away and have their bodies made into something unfamiliar. and they help each other deal with that and work through it! it's good to have someone around who just understands you. kindred spirits. you know how it is

Beyond that, Dot likes that Workman is just such a warm person, someone who brightens up the room and makes them smile, makes them feel more at ease in any situation. Workman likes all the little things about Dot that the blessing tried to hide but couldn't, like their sense of humour and their devotion to their team, and of course how good they are with Beasley and how Workman can trust that Dot is the right person to take care of him when they're not around :')

SALT COVEN MOVIE NIGHT!!! this is such a fun concept. has everyone read the salt? read the salt

15. Who's the first to cry during movies that don't seem sad?

I think this definitely depends on the movie! Like, they can't watch anything with ocean scenes in it when SomeThing is around bc it gets upset and bad things happen when it gets upset!!! I think Dian would probably cry at some things in movies. Yado will cry at cute animal scenes. Phoenecia might cry a bit at a scene that reminded her too much of her old life and then she'd have to insist that this isn't crying, it's the new Moisturization Ducts that she gave herself, they're very efficient

37. Who wanted to see Oppenheimer; who Barbie? Did they switch opinions after?

I feel like this is a bit harder for me to answer when I still haven't seen either of them, but here's my best attempt at sorting them:

Team Barbie: Dian, Yado, Jenkins, Elodie, Carson (edit: KEVIN I forgot about Kevin)

Team Oppenheimer: Mehr, Austin, Weston, Phoenicia, Minh, SomeThing

Really doesn't care about any of this: Milo

I know Elodie and Minh aren't part of the coven (and technically neither is Carson) but I think this is funnier if it's Team Movie Night Double Feature and Elodie is happy to go bc yay team bonding! and meanwhile Minh is like what is the secret plan, why are you dragging me out here for this, is this an ominous threat about how you're building your own atomic salt bomb or what??? he's not having a good time

[here-for-jaskier]

Jaskier (the bard named after a flower)

Read it on AO3

Jaskier means buttercup. Familiar was the small, stubborn plant found along roadsides and in meadows. As if dressed up, it shone in a bright yellow between the pale daisies or the puny grasses. Before the young bard, who followed him out of a tavern to the end of the world and had just that name, Geralt had not paid any attention to them.

It had taken Geralt some time to ask himself for the first time why his companion had chosen this name as his own. He had plucked off a single stalk because it had grown together with the wolf's bane. Wide-open was the chalice, gracefully formed from yellow curved leaves that shimmered in the sun while Geralt turned them in his hands. As the flower slipped from his fingers, slowly sailing to the ground, the question also disappeared from his mind again.

Not until on a night that stretched over their heads like a black cloth decorated with thousands and thousands of pearls that the witcher had managed to bring the question over his lips. For a split second, Jaskier's facial expression slipped away, but a blink of an eye later he smiled. A sad smile that resembled more a grimace and did not reach his cornflower-blue eyes.

"People remember it better," he had simply claimed, "Short and memorable. No one appreciates musicians with a long name."

They were loose words. Anyone would have been satisfied with that answer. The short twitch in Jaskier's hands, the way his fingers restlessly ran over the wide ring on his left hand, Geralt revealed that there was more behind it.

"But why Jaskier?", he checked once more, felt the heavy heartbeat next to him under the starry sky, intoxicated and full of uncertainty. The witcher did not receive an answer. Instead, Jaskier only reached for the opened bottle of wine, the sweet and sour taste which was still on their tongues and which wrapped their senses in cotton wool.

"More wine, Geralt?"

---

Geralt often thought back to that evening. Mostly of her conversation before that, of the jokes, of the smile Jaskier had given him and which covered him in daylight even in the darkest hours of the night. Only after his question did it fade away, as if dark clouds had slid in front of the sparkle in his iris. He had not succeeded in pushing these shadows aside that night. Only the next morning, when the sun climbed up the horizon sleepily, did Jaskier blink between his long brown lashes.

Their breakfast had consisted of leftovers from dinner and blueberries, whose sweet juice had welcomed the beautiful day as much as the birds' emerging chirping. As if he had dreamed of the strangely tense mood at night, Jaskier was awake and alert. Lively and loud as always, despite the alcohol.

Geralt couldn't remember every detail, but he knew he didn't want to see Jaskier's sad face again, the way his shoulders bent under the load like the leaves of a flower threatening to break under the weight. 

But there were things that Geralt could not prevent. Every flower faded at some point. Slowly time robbed them of the color of their blooms, let them wither and eventually the wind would carry them away into nothingness. Forgotten and that after only too short a time. Jaskier would not fare any differently. During their time together Geralt had realized that the human body seemed fragile like glass. A simple cold, a wrong step, a wound could make him splinter and the shards would bore deep into Geralt's heart. Into his much too soft heart, which lay in Jaskiers fragile and mortal hands. Desperation devoured him over the weeks, the closer Jaskier came to him.

Until he knew no other way. That day on the mountain, far from civilization, between rocks and softly whispering grass, Jaskier had looked again like the flower whose name he carried. Like a flower that had been stepped on too often, suffered too much, and which at some point looked like the muddy ground with torn blooms and leafs. Every color had disappeared from Jaskier's face when Geralt's words hit him like kicks. The glow in his eyes went out, while tears rose in them. With a feeling as if a rope had been pulled around his chest, Geralt remembered the sound of Jaskier's last words, which he whispered muffled before turning away. Even his favorite instrument had been stolen from him by the witcher. 

In return, Jaskier took Geralt's heart with him that day. If he had believed that he would not have to bear the pain if the bard disappeared from his life, Geralt had been mistaken. He felt empty and burnt out. Like a lump of coal whose energy had evaporated, the cold took over. He was incomplete, where he walked and stood. His thoughts hung on the bard, with the name of a flower, while Geralt did his daily duty without anyone waiting for him after the hunt or sharing his bed. Jaskier's scent, a mixture of pinewood and honey and something very own that belonged to him completely, evaporated from his things and his mind, was blown away, no matter how hard the witcher tried to keep him safe.

With every morning Geralt woke up alone and realized that it would go on like this for the rest of his days, he wanted to scream but he couldn't make a sound because he thought he was drowning in the cold of the loneliness that lay like dust on everything.

Until that day when their paths crossed again.Unspectacular, unexpected as if the cunning fate of Geralt wanted to play a trick that evening.Like the breeze on a warm summer day, the familiar voice welcomed him as he pushed open the door to the tavern and saw Jaskier.

He laughed, he sang. He didn't appreciate Geralt's agonizing hours not one look, while the blue eyes flashed across the room and followed the clapping and dancing of the crowd. Only his pulse told the witcher that his presence had not gone unnoticed. Meanwhile, his gaze rested on Jaskier, greedily grasping every detail as if the bard could vanish into thin air at any moment and disappear forever.At the same time, the shame was boiling in Geralt. For all the angry words resting on his chest and squeezing the air out of him like an ugly animal. Guilt weighed on him and the question if Jaskier wasn't better off without him, had more joy in a real-life without mutants, gnawed at his entrails.

But more burning was the desire under his skin. The longing for the bard, for his petty touches that brought butterflies to life in his stomach area. The desire to kiss him spread the wings in his heart suppressed everything and filled him with ease. There was nothing he wished for more than to run his tingling fingertips through his dark brown soft hair, to look into the blue eyes that were more intense than Geralt remembered and reminded him more than ever of fallen pieces of the sky.

He want Jaskier, at his side, as long as fate gave them and if he had to let him go, he wanted to hold his hand until that moment, knowing that never again would a flower attract his gaze like Jaskier.

All this was stronger than Geralt's cowardice. So his shaky legs followed the younger one, who had finished his performance and was heading for the back exit until suddenly they were facing each other.The blue doublet's fabric glittered in the dancing candlelight as Jaskier raised his head and tensed his shoulders as if preparing for a thunderous storm that was about to hit him at any moment.

"Jaskier..-", Geralt began, in a rough voice."What is it, Geralt?", Jaskier replied violently and crossed his arms in front of his chest. With this, he could not hide the trembling of his fingers.

"I..-", Geralt produced, indecisive as he could pronounce what he felt. How sorry he was could hardly be put into words, just as he felt. Ashamed, he lowered his head, fixed the worn-out floorboards on which various footprints were visible.

"Do you know why Jaskier suits me so well?", the bard asked out of nowhere. Abruptly Geralt looked up and when their eyes met, the fire cast soft shadows on the younger one's face. His eyes spoke of pain and shimmered moistly as he continued.

"Buttercups are useless," he said, almost spitting out the words, "You can tear them out as often as you want, but they always grow back where you don't need them."

The first tear made its way across his cheek, mysteriously reflecting the light before Jaskier wiped them away in anger."My parents were right, weren't they? It fits," he said bitterly, turning to leave. Without hesitation, Geralt grabbed his arm, held him tight.

Startled, Jaskier looked at him. More tears rolled, hanging on his lashes as he looked down, unable to look into the eyes that reminded him of splinters of amber."That's not true", Geralt croaked. His heart was beating up to his neck, "I need you."Doubt and shock were visible on Jaskier's face. He bit his lips for a moment when Geralt's hand was already in his neck.

Goosebumps trickled over his skin as he ran his fingers carefully through his unruly hair.

"Buttercups still glow at dusk", Geralt whispered, "They are poisonous and are therefore rarely eaten", he continued, with every word they came closer to each other.

"They do not displace, they do not grow over, they protect when they are close to other plants."With his thumb, Geralt wiped away the last tear, as timidly as if Jaskier could break under the touch.

"They can be found even in the darker swamps", Geralt said, while they stood there leaning forehead to forehead. Jaskier trembled all over his body, his fingers clawing into Geralt's shirt. He became dizzy from the proximity and the scent that enveloped him. He breathed in deeply.

"They give light and hope," he whispered. Warm, hectic breath brushed against his throat. For a second he sank into Jaskier's eyes of the deep shimmering blue that made him forget everything.

"And they are beautiful."With these words he bent over, his hand still on the bard's cheek, sealing her lips in a kiss.He tasted salty tears and hot embers, the surprise and all the colours of this world and every fibre in his body trembled. Carefully they breathed through his nose before Jaskier pulls him closer.His lips curled into a smile, the first in a long time, as a warmth spread through him as if someone had dipped him in hot water.

He only dared to breathe as they parted tentatively, hearts pounding, drunk with happiness. When Jaskier smiled at him, embarrassed and with a twinkle in his eyes, Geralt knew that spring had returned to his life. But what did he care about the other flowers?

He had found his. His only and favorite one.

[nelllraiser]

into the fold, two: surrender | adam & nell

PREVIOUSLY: into the fold: part one TIMING: the ma’al cult investigation. PARTIES: @walker-journal​ and @nelllraiser​. SUMMARY: nell and adam dive deeper into the cult. CONTENT: sibling death mention, torture (implied), gaslighting (demon telepathy)

The intrusion of the eldritch on Neveah Alcott’s palatial home had initially been a subtle thing. Corruption came in degrees, and just as Neveahs parties were initially just high society networking that occasionally dabbled into idle metaphysical conversation, so too were the tiny within changes Alcott’s manner easy to dismiss as tricks of mood lighting or fanciful imagination until it was far too late. 

Those ‘idle conversations’ became more pointed speculation and the reading of certain disturbing texts readings as shadows darkened with the discrete crevices of the Neo-Gregorian architecture. The nooks behind statues, pillars, and within arches grew deeper until those shadows became actual holes into nothingness rather than the mere absence of light. Those avant garde readings proved to be strangely magnetic, even to those with no previous intellectual interest. As dalliance turned to obsession, angles within the Alcott residence started to be ...not quite right...not lining up correctly even when one squinted. 

More people were invited to these readings as doors in manor started opening to rooms that weren’t on the building's floorplan, only to lead elsewhere when opened again later. After Helena’s first ‘demonstration’ of bloodshed and symbology could attract the attention of beings beyond the confines of four dimensional space, guests started to report seeing the horrific landscapes of alien worlds beyond the house's windows. As high society parties devolved into debauched experiments to ‘expand consciousness’ through dangerous excesses of sensation, the manors’ light bulbs started to shine with colors that didn’t exist in the electromagnetic spectrum. 

It had been around the time Helena performed the first ‘miracle’ by being briefly possessed by her otherworldly patron, that the walls began to bleed. 

Now Adam sat in a dark room where the floor breathed, fleshy surface moistly yielding beneath him. The walls and ceiling stretched inward as the faces of hellish things strained against the fabric of reality. Maws, mandibles, and not quite human vissages pressed in a menagerie of faces from every angle as creatures from beyond the veil struggled to rip their way into this world. 

“Nell…,” Adam managed to gasp past the broken spasming of his ribs, “you there?” 

It hadn’t taken all that long for Nell to begin dreading the trips to the mansion. It wasn’t so much the bleeding of the walls, or even the screams that seemed to shatter silence out of nowhere that turned her stomach. No— she liked to think she was fairly ironclad when it came to things such as those at this point in her life. Instead it was the slow and steady transformation of the people, Neveah Alcott’s loyal followers, that made her insides squirm. Many of them hadn’t the faintest idea of what they were being readied for, harvested for as they pledged undying dedication to the woman whose ‘miracles’ left them wide-eyed and breathless despite the brutality of it all. 

It had taken most of what Nell had to make sure she didn’t succumb to the trials and tests of the demon, and the witch had been sparing her magic and strength specifically for nights such as these when she wasn’t sure whether the shifting of the floor beneath her was due to the emerging hellscape or loss of blood. It would have been easier if she could use her usual protections against the less savory side of demons and their effects, but such a thing wasn’t thinkable when she was meant to be embracing the demon that lay in wait, getting closer to phasing through the thinning veil every day. No doubt any resistance would be perceived as opposition, and that wasn’t the behavior of a willing and wanting devotee. 

Nell’s eyes were closed when Adam’s voice found her, cutting through the fog of her mind like the beam of a lighthouse on land’s shore. In a moment they were opening to the twisted visages of the creatures waiting to emerge into this world, but she quickly searched for Adam’s face amongst them until she found it next to her, reaching a hand toward him instinctively as he looked for her. “I’m here,” she answered, the tail end of a cough finishing the words for her as she covered her mouth, pulling her sleeve away to find fresh blood amongst the dried bits of it. Her first thought was to check his injuries as she usually did during a quiet spell of their demonic endeavors. “Everything in one piece?” she asked, already trying to scoot closer so she might try and take a look. 

Adam stirred again at Nell’s voice. Bloodshot eyes opened. Adam’s gaze was unfocused at first, as if he were looking at some other world entirely. But his broken fingers found Nell’s outstretched hand and that physical presence seemed to anchor him. The red-rimmed brown of his eyes eventually found Nell’s face. 

“Uh more or less,” he rasped, a weak attempt at a smile stark against a livid canvas of bruises and lacerations down his face and neck. 

Adam had been conditioned to quietly endure suffering and even agony if it was necessary to preserve humanity’s destiny. But spiritual wounds that’d sapped his Hunter powers have become all the more serious  in the sadism and darkness of this place. Day after day the cult’s rites wore Adam down physically as the tendrils of their master’s psychic  influence drilled down into the bedrock of Adam’s selfhood. Little by little, Adam felt himself giving ground inside. 

Adam struggled to sit up, but broken ribs protested so much that he abandoned the attempt. He himself fall back against the fleshy softness of the not-quite-stone floor. 

Adam adjusted his head as the now literally blue-veined marble throbbed with cardiac warmth against his temple.

“How’re you holding up?”

Nell cradled Adam’s broken fingers gingerly, thankful for the grounding effect his touch had, but reminding herself not to squeeze his hand in reassurance for fear of making things worse. A pinpoint of frustration surfaced in her stomach, wishing for what wasn’t the first time that she could mend bones as well as she closed up flesh wounds. “I guess I can’t ask for more,” she managed to say while matching his half-hearted attempt at levity. “Actually that’s a lie. I can and will ask for more, but I know it’s not gonna do anything.” As she spoke she reached her free hand towards the gashes she could see making a jagged and broken path across his neck, beginning the work of magically willing them shut, scabs beginning to form where open wounds had been before. It wasn’t anything as useful as healing fingers or ribs, but it at least made her feel like she could provide some relief, no matter how small. 

“I’m not super sure if I’m just lucky enough to see two of you- or if there’s actually some doppelganger who’s decided to give up the long con and just lay right next to you.” Who said you couldn’t mix potential impending doom with a bit of flirtation? Despite everything, she was determined to keep things light for a moment longer, hoping it might somehow hide the truth of their shared misery. When she’d finished with the gashes on his neck, Nell tried to lower herself closer to the ground to begin work elsewhere, but it seemed her noodle-like ams had other plans when they gave out halfway through her descent. She landed roughly next to Adam, and a grunt of pain paired with a gasped curse of “Fuck,” worked its way through her lips. 

Sometimes Nell thought about what it might be like to give in. To fully immerse herself in the whisperings of the walls inside this mansion, and let herself be truly taken into the fold. It would stop then, wouldn’t it? The pain she watched Adam go through far too often. Her own injuries, and the constant ache in her body she couldn’t seem to shake since joining up. Fighting had always been second nature to her, as if she’d been born with a stubbornness that made it impossible for her to give up no matter how far ahead or behind she might be. There’d never been any exception to that rule, and yet here she was— doing her best to keep herself semi-vertical and thinking about how the easy way out was looking more and more appealing every day. If she were being honest it wasn’t just about making sure she and Adam were safe. There was a space for here whether she wanted to face that truth or not, a place where her talents would be embraced rather than shunned or cast out. This was a coven that wanted her, not one that had turned their backs to the witch. “You know...do you think he’d settle for just...one of us?” she asked quietly as she lay next to Adam, her voice barely above a whisper as if she were worried that Ma’al might be listening at this very moment. “Like if I just hung out here with the cult and really gave it my all- maybe you could go keep working on getting your strength back and stuff. It might not even be so terrible.”

“Shouldn’t use up your power like that Nell…” Adam rasped even as pain became more manageable and the clammy numbness of blood loss stopped crawling up his body. Adam may not understand magic, but he intuited that everything Nell spent on him was strength she didn’t have to save herself later. This forces in this place were looking for any chink in their armor and Adam swallowed down guilt that Nell was leaving herself vulnerable to keep him from sinking. 

Adam’s gaze was drawn to the walls and ceiling as alien forms protrude into this reality. Spined proboscises stabbed blindly. Mouths with multiple interior rings of saw-blade teeth punctured outward like bladed xylophones before folding back in on themselves. Tendrils slick with acid fumbled around for organic matter to dissolve and absorb. Flowery blooms opened to lash out with hungry stigma while even stranger orifices extended luminous filaments or branching nerve clusters in search of fresh lifeforce to drink. Some of the faces pressing in through the walls were even vaguely humanoid, just with eye-sockets and too many mouths in all the wrong places. The stone and wood of the mansions structure buckled, like a dam about to give way before the tide. There was a taut tension in the air, as if reality itself was straining under some vast weight. 

Adam looked into that wall of horrors for longer than was safe, and found his mind wandering dangerously as something weaved insidious thoughts in Adam’s own inner voice. 

Why did Adam fight his true nature? He’d had always been addicted to the wrong things, craved the fucking, fighting, and killing like a drug instead of being pure and purposeful. Sure, he’d shackled himself with a code, hoping pious bullshit some dead martyrs had come up centuries ago could make him something more than just an adrenaline junkie that got his rocks off from killing. Adam had been a good little soldier, dutifully risking his life to save people who never even know he existed. 

But look at you now, Adam had told Adam. Broken, repressed, and bleeding out while those normie motherfuckers just keep slaughtering each other in rich mens’ wars. Admit it, your mission is pointless. You were made into a weapon for a cause that is already lost.

Adam looked at the woman who’ve risked everything to follow him in here. 

Shouldn’t he just be free? Free to fuck, fight, and kill without guilt. Why not take his strength back, and use it how he liked? It was his life wasn’t it? What claim did others have on it? Why was he afraid of what he wanted? 

‘Didn’t Nell deserve to be loved by a real man, not someone’s else’s wind-up soldier?’ asked a quiet voice that knew all Adam’s deepest insecurities. 

Adam put a small and feeble pressure on Nell’s hand, bloodshot eyes alive with forbidden thoughts as they looked at her with the wrong kind of hope. “I dunno but…” 

“I’m an oathbreaker and you're an exile,” the fallen Hunter pointed out softly. “Maybe like, this place we could just…,” Adam didn’t finish the question, but raised torn eyebrows to Nell as if trusting she understood what he was asking. 

“I want to,” Nell insisted stubbornly, not pausing in her work of closing up every wound she managed to find on Adam. By the time she reached the end of her efforts the black spots in her vision had widened, and a part of her was thankful for the way they blocked out the terrors of the surrounding walls. It was easier not to get caught up in the unsettling yet mesmerizing shifts that the twisted images went through when you couldn’t see half of them. She tried to wait until the world had stopped swimming to begin on the cuts decorating her skin that were bleeding a little too much for comfort, not all that keen on passing out here and now. It was taking the majority of her strength to make sure she didn’t slip into something of a forced sleep, her body practically begging for rest and a chance to recuperate the magic she’d spent while she swayed where she sat, forcing herself to sit upright, and hoping that would be enough to ensure she stayed conscious. 

Despite Nell’s best efforts, her head swam with the visions on the walls, and for a moment she could have sworn she saw her own face among them. The bones of her cheeks looked sharper, harder than the reflection she saw in the mirror, but there was a confidence that couldn’t help but be alluring, a promise of power and the ability to ensure that no one would ever make a victim of her again. She could make them afraid if she really wanted to. Most normies were already there when it came to witches. Surely it wouldn’t take all that much to rake others into a similar boat? And if they were afraid, there’d be no one to lop off the heads of sisters in clearings in the forest like a knife through butter, or trap Nell beneath a Ring while brain biters stole bits of her she never thought possible to lose. What was stopping her? The judgment of others? The fragile and paper-thin concept of right and wrong? Was it wrong to want to protect herself? Wasn’t releasing the demons within the walls of the mansion the perfect way to achieve such a thing? No doubt a town that was razed would be one that wouldn’t lift a finger against her or the ones she cared about.

It was the press of Adam’s hand in her’s that made her realize she’d lost track of time somewhere in the middle of her wanderings, and her fingers pressed lightly against his own while she blinked herself back to this plane of existence. A mirthless chuckle fell from her, because she knew he was right. An oathbreaker and an exile. The world didn't want them, so why should they want the world in return? But as her vision cleared and her black eyes searched Adam’s, there was the smallest reminder somewhere in the back of her head. They’d come here for a reason, right? She hadn’t wanted Adam to fall. But was it really falling? Focusing on the man in front of her, her brows furrowed, a frown claiming her lips while she spoke. “We...that’s not why we came here...was it?” What if they’d both secretly hoped to be taken into the cult? Perhaps Ma’al had simply awakened a part of them that was already present. No- there was a promise she was meant to be keeping. A promise to the hunter that she wouldn’t let him go under, because that wasn’t something he’d wanted. “That’s not why we came here,” she said with more certainty this time around even as another voice within her tried to poke holes in the words. “You...want that? To stay here?”

Adam knew Nell was right, that wasn’t what they’d come here. Something was leading them astray.

But the walls breathed, bulging and distorting inward as multitudinous alien things strained against the skin of the world. The bleeding painting on the walls asked Adam if that was true. 

Hadn’t he already been astray? Was really it so bad to realize you were lost?

“Only if you’ll stay with me,” he murmured.  

Let me set you free. It was the slithering voice of Kevin, and the words the dream-being had uttered within the caves of the catacombs that echoed through Nell’s mind as Adam made his admission. Even then Nell had nearly given in to the promise of peace and the sheer relief of simply letting go and giving up. She’d barely managed to shake free of the tempting offer when it was a stranger making it, but now that it was the familiar and comforting features of Adam that was making the proposal she found the words all the more intoxicating— certain that warmth and safety would be found on the other side of them. “I want to stay with you,” she said while reaching out her free hand to place it along the side of Adam’s face, thumb resting upon his cheek as she weighed the gravity of her words. This was one of the only things she was certain of these days- that Adam was one of the more stable pieces of her life, and she was more than willing to follow where he went. So many people had left in the last few months, other magnets that had kept her carefully balanced between one another. Winston, Bea, Blanche, and now Jared. They’d gone the ways they’d needed to one by one, and though Nell didn’t resent them in the least it was undeniable that their departure had left her adrift. So if Adam wanted to find the peace they deserved here amongst the cult, and so did she...what was there to stop them? “I’ll stay with you, and we can just be here together.” Away from the world that was determined to throw whatever pain it could their way.

Hey Ma’al,

It's me, Adam. 

Guess it's about that time?

If I do this, let you in...there’s one condition 

Soft spring sun refracted through townhouse windows, golden rays playing across the kitchen. 

“So anyway,” Adam said, trying not to get dish-soap on his jersey as he put plates in the washer. “Dad said Winn and Mr. Woods might be coming over later to help fix the roof...”

Sunflowers swayed in the warm wind outside the window, the nostalgic golden haze of the afternoon casting golden petals stark against their black centers. Light glinted off the harbor bay and the commercial bustle of the Sink District as tourists poured in from ferries to peruse shops and Spring Festival stalls. 

Adam turned to look across the rooms with gentle brown eyes that’d never beheld violence beyond a locker room scuffle. He ran an unscarred hand through his hair and gave Nell a lopsided grin. “Hey...Nell? What’re you thinking about?”

Nell had been watching the gentle arc of the sunflowers as the breeze played with them, more than pleased that they’d grown so beautifully in the past year and already thinking about what she might plant next. “Hmm?” came her questioning hum, head turning towards Adam with a look of chagrin at being caught staring into space. The light of golden hour played over her unmarred skin, the only lasting signs of imperfection being the dirt under her nails from the garden, and the roughness of her finger pads. “Well I was definitely listening religiously,” came her knee-jerk reaction of a tease. But as she took in the perfectness of Adam’s grin and the sun lighting his hair her own smile claimed her lips, softening in the slightest. “Nothing. Nothing, really.” Her mind was at peace, finally serene with a lack of problems to solve and shadows of witch-killers to fear in the night. “Just thinking about how I’m...happy.” She took a few steps towards him, beginning to close the space that had found its way between them. “Happy here with you.”

[dramaphan]

I just appreciate it so much that for once our goverment is like fuck economy, human lives come first. Like ofc it sucks that economy is tanking and after this things are going to be tough for a long time. But it’s so refreshing to see that for once everything isn't about money.

What gets me is all these different benefits that are suddenly available for those with low or reduced incomes. Where’d all that money come from, huh? You gonna answer me Justin? Take all that money out of your own piggy bank? Telling me we could have been helping the poor this whole time? Is that what you’re saying, J-man? Are these the words you’re speaking moistly into my ear right now?

[bookramblings]

The Giver of Stars

Author: Jojo Moyes

Published by: Penguin Books

Pages: 440

Format: Hardback

My Rating ★★★★★

England, late 1930s, and Alice Wright – restless, stifled – makes an impulsive decision to marry wealthy American Bennett Van Cleve and leave her home and family behind.

But stuffy, disapproving Baileyville, Kentucky, where her husband favours his work over his wife and is dominated by his overbearing father, is not the adventure – or the escape – that she hoped for.

That is, until she meets Margery O’Hare, a troublesome woman – and daughter of a notorious felon – the town wishes to forget.

Margery’s on a mission to spread the wonder of books and reading to the poor and lost – and she needs Alice’s help. Trekking alone under big open skies, through wild. Mountain forests, Alice, Margery and their fellow sisters of the trail discover freedom, friendship, and a life to call their own.

But when Baileyville turns against them, will their belief in one another – and the power of the written world – be enough to save them?

My thoughts

Inspired by a true story, The Giver of Stars is an entertaining, immersive and incredibly moving historical fiction novel.

I wasn't sure what to expect from this book. I did enjoy the author’s book, Paris for One, which also included several other short stories, but I must admit I just personally didn’t love the Me Before You series as much as I know many readers did.

However, The Giver of Stars is a completely different kind of book and I have to say, I loved it. As I started reading, I very quickly found myself really enjoying the story and the magnificent setting of Baileyville and its rural beauty.

The novel is based on true events and people, yet it is Moyes's rich character development and the story line of these ladies that really drives the novel. I was gripped from the start, and so enjoyed getting to know the main female characters.

The story centres mainly around Alice and Margery. Alice is an English woman who is quite restless and not understood by her family, so she impulsively jumps at the chance of marrying an American man, hoping this will give her the opportunity for new adventures. Sadly, Alice's marriage is not what she hoped it to be, and she soon finds herself feeling very unhappy with her situation. I couldn't help but feel for her, alone in a new country with an overbearing, violent father in law and a thoughtless husband. When Alice begins volunteering to help with the travelling library, she relishes in the freedom it brings her, and I particularly enjoyed how the author explored Alice’s love of nature, as she and the other women deliver books packed in saddle bags, in all kinds of weather, winding their way through dark forests and along remote mountain trails. Margery was probably my favourite character, as she is so strong, independent and sassy. She is very much a woman doing it for herself and living life on her own terms despite what anyone else might think of her. It was great to see someone like this in an era where women were moistly left in the background. It was great to see her standing up and doing something worthwhile. Whilst her and Alice are very much opposites, the friendship that blossoms between the two women was very heart warming and powerful. Despite their various backgrounds and issues at home, the women become a family providing encouragement and support, not only to one another but also to every household they visit to share books and they share the joy of reading with so many different people. Ulimtaely, they become best friends and end up fighting against injustice.

Eleanor Roosevelt started a traveling library program and many women answered the call to become traveling librarians. Women travelled on horseback to bring books to those living in rural areas. I knew very little of the WPA library but love that I learned more about it from reading this novel. The strength and fortitude these ladies showed is incredible, and the main characters in the book reflect this with their hard work, strength of character and loyalty to one another.

I truly feel this is one of the best books I’ve read all year, so it undoubtedly deserves a five-star rating. This fantastic new standalone novel spins an inspiring tale of companionship and determination during the days of the Great Depression. The writing is captivating and highly entertaining throughout all the ups and downs of the story. I finished the book in just a few sittings and cherished every page. Following five incredible women across the dust bowls and prairies of America, The Giver of Stars is a beautifully told story of friendship and the eternal power of books.

**Thanks again to Penguin books, who kindly sent me a copy of the book to read and review.**

Overall reaction:

[rason-rodd]

Nightwing: The Rise of Flamebird (Chapter 3)

Summary: Nightwing and Flamebird were two ancient Kryptonian gods, yet completely opposite. He was darkness and rebirth, tasked to hunt the evils in the shadows. She was fire and destruction, born to annihilate the creations of her mate, Vohc The Builder. Destined to fall in love and achieve great things but fated to be separated. That's the story Dick Grayson and Terry Olsen heard. Strange that it is also, somehow, their story

Major Pairing: Nightwing/Dick Grayson x Flamebird/Original Female Character

Chapter Summary: Isaac Peterson, the child that was kidnapped, is still missing. As Nightwing finds his first evidence that leads him to a strange woman in Meadowdale Mall, Detective Elise Svoboda and Terry Olsen begin investigating on their own, not really glad to work together.

[Previous Chapter] [READ ON AO3]

Readers List: @dcvenomqueen, @cheyennneee

If you're interested you can ask me to add you to the list. Also, don't forget to tell me what you think about the story. Your opinions mean a lot.

Blüdhaven Police Department – Morning

“Impressive … very impressive” Commissioner Foster was skimming through Terry’s curriculum as if he was discovering it right now in front of her. “Degree in Criminology and Psychology, excellent physical condition and amazing results to the aptitude tests. Which makes me wonder … why would Metropolis let such a valued cop leave?” He threw the files on his desk and stared at her with his arms crossed over his chest. “What awful mistakes did you make?”             She didn’t really know what to answer. So many things had happened, so many things that would justify why she was sitting here today but they were so personal and so shameful, still full of guilt, pain and remorse. And yet, she wanted so much to confess. The words were screaming in her head. Come on, tell him. Tell everyone what you’ve done and what you can’t resolve yourself to do!       

Her mouth opened slightly but the man started laughing. “I’m kidding, Olsen. You should have seen your face.” She tried to laugh as well, but the embarrassment blocked the sound in her throat. “Are you guys in Metropolis always that uptight?” “I’m sorry, Commissioner. It’s my first day. I’m a little nervous.”       “Don’t be, kiddo. I’m not going to torture you to know why you had an A and not an A+ at your gymnastics exam or anything. You’re probably the best element that ever been transferred here.” She smiled slightly. He hadn’t reassured her, at all. On the contrary, knowing that he was certainly expecting a lot coming from her was making her more stressed than she already was. “Plus you’re arriving at the right time. There’s a case waiting for you.” She pursed her lips and massaged her moistly hands discreetly under the desk. “Johnson, send Svoboda.” The man ordered after pushing a button on his phone.

Elise Svoboda entered the office, reeking of cigarettes, a pile of files under one arm and a mug of coffee in one hand. “Commissioner. You wanted to see me?” Her casualness bewildered Terry and she guessed Svoboda noticed it since she briefly glowered at her. “Yes, this is Teresa Olsen, a detective transferred from Metropolis … and your new partner.” Terry’s eyes widened and she stared silently at the old man in shock. “What?” Elise almost chocked on her coffee.             “She’ll help you with the Peterson case.”         “ I don’t work with teammates...” She hated it actually. Elise was a very strong and independent woman. Working in duo, and furthermore with a novice, was something she was seeing as another responsibility she’d rather avoid. “ ... especially when they are Victoria’s Secret models who just got their job by kneeling under the right desk.” The insult rooted Terry to the spot. What the f…? “Excuse me?” The young woman asked with daggers in her green eyes. “No one talks to me like that.” “ Svoboda, that was inappropriate.”   “ Inappropriate? That’s putting it mildly.” Terry stood up to face the tall forty-something woman next to her, her fists clenched to help her keep her fragile cool. “You don’t want to work with me, fine. The feeling is mutual. I’ll take care of that case myself.”   “ No one’s working alone. Olsen, you’ll need Svoboda. She’s been living in the Blüd since forever. She knows this city. And Svoboda, you’ll need Olsen, too. She’s perfectly qualified for this case and a pair of young eyes is still useful. Now take this” He put Terry’s badge on his desk along with a brand new black gun, a Glock 22. “And get to work!”   Both women sighed before leaving the office, Terry following closely Elise who was already running away from the department. “ So about the case?”     “ Oh hell no. Stop right there, Victoria Secret. I’m doing this on my own.”       “ What? But Foster said …”     “ I don’t care what Foster said. This is my case. Mine” She pointed a finger at herself and looked straight in Terry’s eyes. “Look it doesn’t delight me to work with you either. But we were given orders.”             “ You’re in the Blüd, honey. There are no orders. There are no rules to follow. This city is rotten, just like this police department. So if you think things are going to be the same they were in Metropolis, you better go back there. Now let me do my work.”  

Ravenshood Heights – Blüdhaven - Night

Ravenshood Heights was the richest neighbourhood in Blüdhaven and not a place Nightwing was familiar with. Apart from occasional burglary in the most fancy houses, it was a rather peaceful and tranquil area and weirdly – or not – where the police was patrolling the most. ‘Protect the ones who can pay’ being certainly the credo of all corrupted cops in the city. Funny, all the bribes didn’t prevent the kidnapping of nine years-old Isaac Peterson.       Nightwing was combing the room with his domino mask, looking for anything that the police could have missed. The parents of the child had let him in even though they were not fond of “thighs”, as the vigilantes were called here. But desperate times called for desperate measures.        

Despite the stripped bed in which the child had slept in, the room was clean and tidy. Nothing, not even an ounce of dust on the scientific books on the shelves or toys or Legos scattered on the ground. “Isaac is very meticulous. It can be obsessive sometimes. An habit he kept from the orphanage” The mother had said.

Dick could remember the little time he had spent in Wayne Care Centre. Not the best place in the world when it comes to intimacy even for someone who used to share a trailer with a dwarf. Four beds in the same room, barely enough space to play or even to move, and some weird children with annoying tendencies to steal whatever you may leave on the ground. "Finders keepers!"  So you take great care of the few precious things you own since they'll be the only ones you'll ever have. You always keep an eye on them. You make sure not to damage it and check every day that no one touched them. Dick had done all this when the only thing he had to remember his destroyed happiness was his mother’s bracelet and his Flying Grayson poster. But he only stayed there few weeks contrary to Isaac who basically grew up there. No time to make this a habit.    

So why don’t organise the books in alphabetical order?         Nightwing frowned and stared at the books. Few of them were dog-eared and they were not old at all. With a lot of precaution, he removed them from the shelf and scanned them all with his domino mask looking for prints or anything else. “Bingo” It was a long blond hair and no one in this family had blond hair.     “ Alfred?” Nightwing asked through the earpiece. “Master Grayson. I believe this is not a casual call.” “ No indeed. I would need you to search someone for me. I’m sending you the DNA sample” Dick placed the hair in his gauntlet, which immediately began scanning it to send the DNA to Alfred in the Batcave. “Anything?”     “It appears the hair belong to a certain Jane Antol, an ex waitress working for Penguin at the Iceberg Lounge.”         “ Do you have an address where I can find her?”       “ No, but she was arrested two weeks ago by the Police of Blüdhaven for prostitution and possession of prohibited substances. Perhaps Detective Svoboda could tell you where to find that young woman.”         “All right. Thank you, Alfred.”   “ Anytime, Master Grayson” Dick pressed the earpiece to cut contact with Alfred and immediately called Svoboda on her police wireless, hoping she would provide him the information he was looking for. “Good evening, Detective.” He scoffed when he heard her gasp and cough through the radio. He had surprised her, scared her even. “How did you decode… Never mind.” She sighed, regaining a normal heartbeat. “Any news concerning the Peterson case?”           “ I’ll need you to tell me where to find a girl called Jane Antol. I believe she is involved in the kidnapping. I found one of her hair on the crime scene.”           “ Jane Antol. Doesn’t ring a bell.” She confessed as she bit in her pink donut.           “ She was arrested two weeks ago. A prostitute with blond hair, possibly Polish and drug addict” He heard her chewing loudly. Either she didn’t want to speak with her mouth full or she was in an intense reflection, which was more likely. “Oh yeah, Ann Darrow.”         “Ann Darrow?” Nightwing frowned. Ann Darrow was the name of the blond young lady in the King Kong movies. Strange name for a prostitute. “Well, that’s the name the guys in the department gave her. She used to lay with Gorilla Grimm.” Or not. But right now, he had no time to ponder over prostitute names. He had a little boy to find, a little boy who was certainly frightened and in great danger. “You’ll probably find her at Meadowdale Mall.” Of course, Meadowdale Mall was Blüdhaven’s mostly illegal street market, a place tolerated by the police where prostitutes, dealers of all kinds and criminals escape authority and justice to attend to their shady business. He had been there before to collect information on Gorilla Grimm. And he had met that girl. Jane. Hopefully, he would find her again. “I think I know who that is. Thank you, Detective.”         “ Do you need help? I can send a unit to arrest her.” Elise suggested             “ I’m fine” And he just hung up without saying another word.

Elise sighed and relaxed against the backrest of her car, allowing herself to close her eyes for a second when she heard someone knock her windowpane. She opened one eye and noticed Teresa, arms crossed over her chest. “Stubborn child.” She mumbled as she lowered the window. “What?” she grumbled, definitely annoyed.         “ Honestly, I don’t give a damn you’re working with Nightwing.” Elise’s jaw dropped as she thought briefly about what to reply though she didn’t get the time to. “All I want to know is how a prostitute could enter the Petersons’ house.” She declared authoritatively with a serious look and no qualms at all. “Damn, girl! Don’t you know the word ‘privacy’? And how can you guys hack police radio?” Terry ignored the questions. “The house is highly secured: alarm, camera and motion sensors. Plus there was no sign of breaking in. You wrote it yourself in the report.”       “I did.” “ So how does a prostitute from the rough area enter a house like that?”           “ I don’t know, Barbie.” Elise confessed, persuaded she will get the answer very soon judging by the young cop’s quick thinking. “She was invited in.” That wasn’t what she expected, though.     “ Sure, the ‘rich father fucks the monkey-fetish STI nest junky prostitute’ sounds very likely.” The sarcasm didn’t affect Terry who kept standing her ground. “Did you ever study psychology, Svoboda?” “ No but I’m aware of my husband’s Internet history. And I’ve never seen a porn like that.”   “ The Peterson spent years trying to have a child. Eight artificial inseminations, hormone therapies… His wife wanted a child so badly that I bet it had impact on their sexual life. He certainly began to see himself as a mere sperm donor. So, he began to screw prostitutes to feel sexual desire again. The fact that they were from Meadowdale guaranteed discretion as the police have no control over this area. I’m sure if we check the Petersons’ bank accounts we’ll find traces that’ll prove my point ”         “ Except you’re forgetting something. The wife was there, in the house, the night of the kidnapping.” Though Elise was right, Terry was still convinced she was somehow right. She remained quiet for a short moment, thinking about different alternatives to her hypothesis.       “Then, I guess we’ll have to interrogate the Petersons.” Svoboda thought about protesting for a splint second but when she saw that glimmer in Olsen’s eyes she smiled genuinely. “I drive, Victoria Secret.” Still, she didn’t want a partner. 

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