#friendly reminder that i am in fact an american

[nthspecialll]

Red dead characters as horses, based not on vibes but personality.

Firstly, I am an equestrian of twelve years I know that a horse's breed doesn't fully determine it's personality and you can find any horse of any breed with any personality, but this is based on stereotypes, my own personal experience and well... Google. Again, this is not by vibes, but personality so reflect a little from horse to person.

Arthur Morgan - American Quarter Horse

No matter if it is a show pony or a workhorse you are looking for, the American Quarter Horse got you. It is known for being easy to handle but reliable no matter the job given. It is a good all-around horse and can handle anything from beginner lessons to high-level competitions.

Hosea Matthews - Norwegian Fjord Horse

Very sweet and docile-looking horse but make no mistake, this beast has more opinion, sass and stubbornness than you would ever imagine. Intelligent in the way that it is fully aware of the people around it and knows when it is time to play tricks and run corners and when it is time to play it sweet. The second you dare underestimate it it will remind you that it is in fact stronger than what you might expect.

Dutch Van Der Linde - The Andalusian

A horse breed known widely for being elegant and fancy but unlike many other hot blooded (reactive) horses, tends not to get hurt as easily, coming out fine from situations where the other hot blooded might have gotten wounded in. Although known for being smart, attentive and sensible, they can easily become too much to handle if handled wrongly.

John Marston - The Arabian

Now I know some people are gonna be like "no that doesn't fit at all!" but hold on, just listen, hear me out. Although generally known for being hot-headed, hard to control and stupid, they are actually quite intelligent, have a high endurance and are well aware of their surroundings. With dense and strong bone structure they are quite resilient to much, however they do tend to get wounded in their own hot-headedness... (John I am looking at you strolling up to Fort Mercer and getting fkn shot on sight, tf you thought was gonna happen?)

Javier Escuella - American Mustang

A wild horse known for its stubborn spirit and the lengths it will go to for freedom. It takes a long time trusting, however once having earned its heart it is the most loyal you can find. It is also a highly adaptable horse.

Bill Williamson - Irish Cob/Gypsy Vanner (Same breed, different name)

Lazy, hard to get moving and often seen as bad, the last choice or a breed that wouldn't hold up in bigger competitions, however is actually quite good and does any job well. They are eager to please (Bill to Dutch) and can also grow a beard!

Till Jackson - The Shetland Pony

Small and very adorable looking to a point one thinks they are harmless, and while they can be very sweet, they are going to throw you the second you least expect it. They will not let their short stature and cute appearance be a disadvantage to them but instead use it against others. (Knew one that bit the taller horse's stomach and became the damn leader of that herd)

Charles Smith - The Friesian

Often seen as scary and frightening looking due to their tough exterior, however they are very kind-hearted and highly intelligent. They are loyal and well-mannered, very reliable and makes a good companion.

Kieran Duffy - The Haflinger

A very gentle and generally curious fella. Known for being very friendly and people-oriented. If you spend any time around them you will also often find out that they are quite silly, however make no mistake, they are still horses and thus will always be dangerous.

Josiah Trelawny - Pryor Mountain Mustang

An endangered form of Mustang that are known for elegance and athleticism and while could easily make for a great show pony there is a few problems. They are not very reliable as they are quite skittish and tend to flee as well as be quite hard to tame and tie down.

[ladylaviniya]

Wails of Wedded Bliss

Chapter 2 || Masterlist || Chapter 4

Chapter Summary: After finding his debts you decide to take matters into your own hands...what a terrible decision...

Pairing: Sherlock Homes x wife!reader

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Historical Typical Sexism, Debts, Domestic Abuse, Sexual Abuse, Blackmail.

Word Count: 9k

Author Notes:

★For those of you possibly turning around and saying “£290 is nothing for all of what Sherlock has bought”

...I’ll remind you this is set in 1890 and so since then inflation has risen greatly...

★So for the modern reader I must insist to explain that £290 in England is now worth £30,671...

★And for my American readers that would be $38,948

★And for my Australian readers that would be $58,490

★Basically...Sherlock Holmes is a material gorl 💅

Inspiring Song: "Ghiribizzi" by Paganini

•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•

7:35am Tuesday 6th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

You wobbled onto your feet as Mrs Hudson entered the apartment with a scowl... probably because of something Sherlock said to her in passing the stairs.

The old crow’s frown spirited away when she noticed you were awake and outside of your bedroom.

She smiled warmly in fact and bid you a good morning. You returned the expression as she came and collected the breakfast plates.

Your fingers trailed over the countless of papers on the table and the sleek wood of his violin.

Shuffling through each parchment and a sigh drawled from your lips.

“Mrs Hudson,” you hummed as she passed you, “I request you show me the expenses of the household purse.”

It was a common duty of a wife nowadays to keep track of all home expenses.

She paused and her eyes widened, her mouth flapped open and closed quickly again. Her teeth grimaced and her bony finger wagged, “I am afraid my dear, they are in Mr Holmes bedroom, and as I said yesterday, he can be an incredibly private person.”

His bedroom? Oh yes...he kept it locked. But by god you needed to get to the bottom of this theory you were building in your mind. You were married and a married couple shouldn’t withhold secrets.

“I am his wife, I am the second close thing to the holy trinity in his life now,” you snorted softly as you collected all the papers on the table and made a neat single pile, “I will see the documents and understand his predicament.”

“And which predicament may that be?” the housekeeper inquired as she laid down a fresh virgin cup to pour scolding tea from the hot teapot.

“Enola mentioned something about debts,” You clutched the front of your dressing gown to contain some decorum while you sat back down and gestured to the chair beside you for her to sit in as well, “his foul dismissal of my presence suggests not only disdain of our union but in addition a set of a secrecy and disfavour I will not permit in my marriage.”

You needed to know exactly how much debt he was in. You were willing to part some of your dowry to pay for it if you could. His aggression was surely caused by the stress of these debt...if you could lift them off his shoulders, mayhaps he would be kinder, gentle and respectful.

She passed you the cup and saucer while she took to pouring herself a cup. The elder woman smiled giddily.

You were pleased that there was no judgement of your modesty before her. It was a fine change compared to your strictly grandmother who would berate you if you dared leave your bedroom under dressed.

The elder cradled her cup and lowered it carefully, clearing her throat, “Mrs Holmes...”

You blinked...you believed you had asked her to not call you by your new name, out of friendliness.

“Mrs Hudson?” you queerly answered.

“Before your marriage,” her lip curled inward and her fingers lightly tapped her cup, she looked to the tea and quickly glanced up at you, “The detective entertained himself in some...appalling activities. I think it best not to open those locked pasts for your own sake.”

Appalling activities...in a world of proprietary that could mean anything...you did have your thoughts...you were only surprised that the notorious detective would risk tainting his reputation with some illicit practice.

You swallowed dryly before sipping lightly at the tea. You licked your lips and sighed shaking your head, “Speak plainly Mrs Hudson.”

“Oh please,” She prayed mortifyingly, “I daren’t repeat it.”

It wasn’t difficult to see the pink rising in the pale wrinkled face of Mrs Hudson.

You leant over the table and used small tongs to pick up a sugar cube and clenched your jaw. You wouldn’t play in another game of riddles, especially not with a elder woman with a privacy for embarrassing details. The sugar fell into the cup with a soft plop in the awkward silence, a ticking of the clock caught in your ear.

“Tell me or leave Mrs Hudson,” you pinched the papers on the desk , “I have documents to find and unless your words hold any meaning, do not bore me with unheard gossip.”

Her beady blue eyes under her spectacles fluttered, her lips parted at your stern tone. She inhaled deeply and looked around the room before leaning in closer to you.

She said in a hushed whisper, “My dear girl, your husband is a whore mongering, drug addicted gambler.”

Now that was a surprise to hear fall from her wrinkled lips. You pinched your forehead and rubbed thoughtfully. How would you handle this type of man?

You glanced at her with a small grin.

“Was- Mrs Hudson,” You corrected, tapping the table with your knuckle, “I will not allow such boyish whims into my marriage,” you wagged your finger at her and flashed her a devious smile, “He shall need to divorce me if he wishes to continue such behaviours, it might be harder for me to remarry but I trust not a single woman would last longer than me as his wife.”

A small laugh came out of the woman who gave you a dramatic military salute, she grinned and chortled, “Well, I admire your determination, but however will you enter his chambers? He has the only key.”

Your chest deflated, she was right. How would you? You chewed the inside of your cheek and looked over your shoulder to look at the closed bedroom door on the far side of the wall beside your own.

You slowly pushed up to your feet again and trapesed back to your bedroom, “Mrs Hudson, wherever did you put my hat box?”

The elderly woman put down her cup and swayed inside to follow you, she pointed to above the wardrobe. Standing on your toes you palmed the box down and laid it on your unmade bed.

Mrs Hudson was opening up your wardrobe and peeling through your hanging hooks of dresses and coats.

“My dear, surely you’re not intending to go outside in your frail condition?” she muttered as she trailed a fresh chemise over her arm.

Shaking your head you jerked you chin, “No Mrs Hudson, indoors I will remain.” Your hand clenched your lower belly with a hiss as a nasty cramp prevailed, “I don’t recall entirely but I believe a doctor was here last night, said I have begun my menses for this month.”

“I can see dearest,” Mrs Hudson hummed, pinching at your dressing gown...you had bled through it. A wet crimson patch stained the white cotton. You balked and flushed.

“Best get it off now,” Mrs Hudson winked, pulling it back and off your naked shoulders, “I’ll make you some packing.”

You shuddered and gasped at how forward your housekeeper was presenting. Respectfully speaking, you wondered if Mrs Hudson had been a ladies maid in her earlier years before her own marriage.

You tiptoed to the water basin on the vanity and squeezed the clean cloth inside of it. You cleaned the red and burgundy chunks and stream between your thighs. Your washed your hands back in the water and faced Mrs Hudson sheepishly. She smiled and pulled the chemise over your head.

“Let me roll some packing,” she said, pulling a bandage from the top drawer of the vanity and folded it into a flat palm of thickened fabric.

You shoved it up against your intimate flesh and squeezed your thighs together tightly.

Mrs Hudson then found a sanitary apron in the same drawer and helped tie it behind your back.

“Mrs Hudson you are a fine woman of elegance and saintly kindness,” you exhaled, “Thank you.”

“I remember when I was a freshly married girl,” She clucked happily, “My dear friend was a constant visitor and helped me with these things. Mr Hudson grew very jealous of our time together,” she sighed, “Now, do you require a corset my dear?”

You shook your head and plucked your fingers, “I shan’t accept any visitors, and in my sickly state it would be kinder to leave it be if I should make a mess of my inconvenience.”

If your stomach threw up from the stress of your internal curse, you didn’t want to wash through the delicate fabrics of your whale bone undergarments.

You found a loose blouse and black skirt to pull and button onto your body. You pulled up a pair of stockings.

You sat on the bed as Mrs Hudson buttoned your shoes up with a hook. As the kind older woman did this gradually with her small fingers and greying eyes, you pulled the lid of your hat box away.

You pulled out a long metal stick...

A sharp hat pin.

“There we are, all done and ready for the day!” the housekeeper announced, rising to her feet.

You rose up with her and smiled, “Please Mrs Hudson, might I burden you with making another pot of tea?”

She beamed and nodded.

•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•

08:45am Tuesday 6th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

You were grunting on your knees before Sherlock’s locked door. Your hat pin jammed into the key hole. The tip of your tongue stuck out the corner of your lips as you shuffled the metal and tried to carefully listen to the locking of the inner gears.

Little did anyone know...this little talent you learnt on your own... Breaking into your grandfathers wine cellar was not a overexerting task when you were fifteen. It wasn’t a desire to rebel, rather a desire to educate yourself...you wanted to be seen as intelligent and knew your wines.

It wasn’t too long before you came to hate the bitter taste...and then found your grandfather’s rum drum.

When he found you, he didn’t not strike you and decided the headache you received in the morning was punishment enough for your sinful deed. And for a whole week he made you drink a cup of the stuff every night, to teach you why alcoholism was not befitting for a lady...

You smirked at the memory. Perhaps it was unorthodox. But it was kinder than a lashing or earful from your grandmother.

It was just one of many secrets between the both of you.

The loud click and sliding of the last inner lock made your eyes sparkle. As you twisted the handle the door peeled open with a awful squeak.

“My lord, what a mess!” you gasped.

The room was in a disarray. A smell of mould and death hit your nose. You gagged and felt your belly churn.

There was cigar burns in the rug, papers, news papers and books thrown about. There were plates that were piled up in the corner on a desk and there was a dirt dried mud trails...

The curtains were stained and the dust was unbelievable. When your finger ran along a small stand beside the door your finger came back looking pitch black with the soot.

You sat back and stood up. Piece by piece you picked up all the papers and went to his filing cabinet drawer, it was empty! Of course it was empty, all the contents had been tossed about, decorating the room messily.

You fingered the massive haul of papers and sighed, you would need to organise them all...

Taking them back out to the dining table you started to arrange piles of parchment stacks. Receipts, paid and unpaid, by date and purchases. Your eyes catered to the numbers, you fetched a notebook to tally the expenses and sighed, cupping your mouth every so often at his choices of spending.

You were so caught up in your own thoughts and game of pounds, shillings and pence, you hadn’t heard the return of Mrs Hudson with a fresh pot and tea set.

“Dear me,” she said clicking her tongue and shaking her head, “It looks like you’ve got your work cut out! Now what’s all this?” She asked picking up a receipt off a pile.

Rolling your shoulders back she smiled proudly at the organisation of affairs. You gestured to the individual sheet stacks.

“Ah sings Den, Cocaine Tooth Drops, Black Shag Tobacco, gambling...prostitutes,” you chewed your lip worriedly as you glance back at the small note book you write on with a blunt pencil, “He has wracked up a wicked sum...”

The housekeeper put the receipt back and sat beside you after pouring you another warm tea, this time she added the sugar cube for you and stirred.

“How much?” She whispered looking over the thick almost book like mountains of papers.

Since the new year began...Sherlock had designed quite the irresponsible money expenses and debts...

£5.65 for the Opium Den experience.

£3.25 for the Cocaine drops

£10.41 for the tobacco.

£120.78 for the overall gambling.

£150.33 for his Mayfair Row whores to Madam Adler.

Total: £290.42....

You felt your lips tighten, your belly squeezed. You paled and frailly held the cup to your lips, softly blowing and softly stating, “Perhaps that number I will keep to myself Mrs Hudson,” you pushed a pile close to her and tapped at the top, “Be not alarmed however, he seems to dedicate his rent responsibly to you.”

She chortled and shook her head, “Oh I don’t mind that, I trust him to,” her eyes narrowed at the

Mayfair receipts, “I just never liked the company he brought home.”

Your eyes widened and it was like air had been stolen and kicked from your lungs, “He brought...” you choked, shutting your eyes, “Those...those women back here?”

She grit her teeth and finished her tea, “Yes, they leave like newborn foals with wobbly legs.”

When Mrs Hudson caught your worrisome eyes she gasped and tapped your hand softly, “Forgive me, I needn’t provide details.”

You pursed your lips disapprovingly before conceiting, “As much as it is wounding to hear, it is unavoidable,” you sighed and poured yourself another tea, “As his wife it is best I know everything about my husband and if he is to keep secrets from me,” you shrugged, “However shall I be a decent partner?”

Mrs Hudson put her cup aside demurely and leant closer to you. Still in her hushed tones, ashamed of the secrets she was sharing...but her eyes were full of excitement, perhaps this gossip was something she needed off her conscious.

“I would hear them in the night, screaming...I thought he was killing them,” more colour was flushing back into her face. A rosy hue dusted her nose and cheeks, “I am thankful every time when I would see them leave with smiles on their faces.”

You sat back in your chair abruptly and looked at her curiously, “Screaming and smiles?” You whispered under your breath, “How peculiar.”

It wasn’t possible. Did he hurt those prostitutes like how he had done to you? How did they walk away with smiles? Was it because he paid them? Not even you could think how to muster a smile after experiencing such awful tortures.

“I thought perhaps, he did what he had done onto you my dear...but when I saw the blood and your lack of pleasantry, well, I can confidently say-”

You slapped your cup on the saucers hard enough for a loud clatter, you said tightly, “Mrs Hudson I’d very much prefer to forget yesterdays events, if you don’t mind...please do not refer back to them.”

The mention caused a spike of pain inside you, reminding you where he stuck his hot selfish poker.

The elder woman grew quiet for a moment. She looked off at the window in the distance and then down at her cup.

She nodded and tried to share a soft smile, “Apologies for any offence.”

A stab of guilt panged in your chest, you hadn’t mean to be so rude to her. Your nerves were in a terrible mood. In a moment you would be happy and then the next you would feel worrisome and hungry. Perhaps you might’ve grown to be afflicted by the disease of Hysteria?

Oh Hysteria, what a terrible condition...you dreaded the thought of need to go for a medical massage. One of your female cousins had been to one and her description made it sound both enlightening and frightful. In fact she said it felt like she had died and gone to heaven and returned.

All of which made you scared beyond belief.

“None received,” you pat her hand and brought her palm to your lips, “You are a kind Christian and for that I say god bless you Mrs Hudson.”

She smiled warmly and stole a soft kiss to your cheek, all was forgiven between your temper.

“Oh my dear, I must additionally confess,” she stunningly proclaimed, “Sherlock doesn’t attend church.”

Your brows rose, “What?” You snorted through a laugh, unable to comprehend her truth, “Don’t be ridiculous, what upstanding gentleman doesn’t attend church?”

You giggled and cheerfully wiped a tear away, your sanity returned when her face had remained stone solid. She did not find it funny and you realised finally it was because in fact not a joke...

You glanced over the papers...back to the number on your notebook...ah of course...no god fearing man could sin so easily...waste away fortune so carelessly and spend it on unnecessary frivolous activities.

“I think that might be the answer to your own question. The Doctor Watson wrote his newspaper articles and depicted him London’s hero. He can be truly a godless man. Frankly I believe he’s a sadist.”

You tilted your head at her and drank some of your tea.

You hummed and held a finger to your lip in thought, “Yet you said those women had smiles on their faces when they left?”

Mrs Hudson shook her head curtly and smirked, “Well I think I’d smile too with the amount he probably pays them.”

Laying your elbow on the table with your chin on your head you looked at the brothel papers, “You are right...they are over priced...Mayfair Row...they’re quality...but nonetheless still he pays them far too much.”

Your husband was an exuberant tipper when it wasn’t his money. Mayfair Row...you hadn’t been inside the Dove club where Sherlock spent most the wealth...but you knew the average price of a whore...it took you back to a time...many, many years ago...back when you believed you had a mother that loved you...back when seeing a naked man behave like an animal writhing on-top of her was your normal life. Where you mimicked the actions with your cloth doll that you carried everywhere. You tried to remember the name of that doll....Susie? Harriet? God only remembers now.

They weren’t pleasant memories...the stench of mud, the screaming of women, the yelling if men, the bite of hunger and the itch of lice in your hair and fleas covering your clothes.

You shuddered. Thank god you still did not live with her anymore. It was the only life you knew in those days but suffering is suffering and you amazed you how long you survived in such conditions.

The elderly woman looked into the pot and sighed at the low level of tea.

“I am surprised you know so much about them,” she casually noted, glancing back at you.

You realised how strange you must’ve sounded...you heart began to race. You grimaced, annoyed at yourself for being so relaxed you lost thought of your own words.

“Call it a terrible interest Mrs Hudson,” you licked your bottom lip and lied, “I was a reader of Josephine Butler’s work on her dismantlement of child sex work.”

She nodded slowly, clearly Mrs Hudson had no idea who Mrs Butler was...you felt a twinge of agitation for the uneducated.

You tapped your fingers nervously on your cup again and off handedly asked “Do you know if there are anymore receipts I might find Mrs Hudson?”

“No idea I’m afraid,” Mrs Hudson said as she noticed your cup was finally empty. She collected the tea set items and placed them on the tray. You turned in your seat and looked back at Sherlocks open door, there was still so much mess. You shook your head.

Before the housekeeper left you touched her arm.

“Please fetch me a broom and cloth and clean water.”

She followed your gaze at his room and warmly cupped your face, “Dear, perhaps you should lay in bed for a while, you shouldn’t be working so perilously in this physical state.”

You smiled and held her hand, rising out of the chair. You walked back to his room and called over your shoulder, “I would rather clean my husband’s hovel. No wonder he’s a beast considering he lives like one.”

You could hear Mrs Hudson cackling behind you as she went back down stairs only to return with your requested items after a while.

A clean room might clear his head, calm his woes.

•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•

12:23pm Tuesday 6th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

After hours of sweeping, dusting, mopping, washing and organising Sherlock’s room you tiredly flopped back on his mattress and yawn.

At this rate you considered a small nap was required. Except you knew yourself, you knew if you stopped your progress you’d be discouraged to finish.

There was one last thing to organise after folding and hanging all his clothes. At the foot of Sherlock’s bed was a large chest. It could be easily mistaken for an ottoman. Maybe they’re would be more debt documents or clothing in there.

You crawled down and climbed off his bed to crouch beside the chest. You clicked the latches open and lifted the lid slowly.

Inside were sinister objects...you gasped...too shocked to even close the chest. Rope, shackles, knives, long thin sticks, a riding crop, a whip, a bridle you knew deep down was too small for a horse and meant for a human...smaller boxes with printed words....rectal dilators and hysterical paroxysm vibrating aid. And the illustrations...

There was a book you were reading...you weren’t really thinking, you were just curious of the horrid that might follow within...

Men and women, all nude, illustrations and photos of them performing elaborate sexual deviancy. Your eyes widened and your breath caught in your throat. Between your legs the buzz of arousal enlightened to your belly.

There was a woman who was tied up in ropes in star like patterns being mounted by a man who held a riding crop in his hand. You paled thinking he was beating this poor woman...and as you read the words, it was discovered she enjoyed this...took pleasure in the agony??

It was very confusing for you to read such hypocrisy.

Who would enjoy being hurt like this?

And as you read more and more, the deeper into this strange arousal you sunk into.

There was a illustration on a woman holding her lover’s intimate member in her mouth. And another where the same lover was licking with a long snake like tongue at her clitoris.

Your thighs squeezed tight and you groaned as a cramp rippled through your body down to your knees.

Hearing your name on your housekeepers lips tore you away from the novel. You threw the book back inside the chest and shut it hard. You felt short of breath and grasped the wood of his canopy to stay stable before leaving his chambers.

You told yourself that it was wrong to be looking at such art and imagery of lust. A part of you however desired to peak back inside...curiosity was your master and chastity your mistress. So who would you listen to first?

Your eyes fluttered shut.

You met the elderly woman out in the sitting room where she was dusting at the unlit fireplace mantle... She was moving little trinkets and photos.

Within the centre of the mantle stand was a frame containing your own portrait. You had the image taken at a tintype shop over a year ago. You stood beside Mrs Hudson as you took in the reflection of yourself. You smiled at how brilliant it captured your likeness. You were still confused how it worked, something about sand and light...your grandfather stood aside that day and said he would be sending the image to his son to remind him of you, his daughter...you were embarrassed to say the least but dared not argue with his wisdom.

Well it seems your father didn’t get the photo...or perhaps he send it back. Now Sherlock had it in his ownership.

She smiled at you and ran a hand softly down your back and said, “I just wanted to ask if you liked mutton dear, I hope to cook some this evening for dinner.”

You smiled with relief, you told her, “I am ever grateful for any food you provide my husband and I, thankyou Mrs Holmes.”

The elderly woman eyes widened with joy. She turned on her heel, taking the bucket and cloth with her.

You looked over at the table covered in receipts she had kindly left untouched.

“Mrs Hudson,” You called after her as you stepped hastily over to a side board bureau and began to write up a cheque, “is there any chance you will be attending the bank today?”

Facing you she pat the door handle and exclaimed, “No, however I can stop by if you need me to, I am officially in need to buy some fresh mutton from the butcher.”

You smiled at her cheery attitude. You filled out the numbers and printed the expenses. You tore it away from the book and held it out to her.

“Fantastic...here. Take this.”

The housekeeper stepped closer and raced her eyes over the cheque. Her eyes blew up wide at the price you had written out.

“I don’t quite understand...” she shakily stated.

You sighed and clapped your hands as you went to finally sit down on the lounging chaise. It wasn’t hard to admit you needed the rest with how your head spun. You were dizzy and it was possibly from all the cleaning you had conducted and dust you had inhaled.

“Sherlock needs to be rid of these debts and I need to rid of his temper...my dowry Mrs Hudson I pray brings me peace.”

Yes, you were sure of it. Your very expensive dowry...you were going to pay the debt off and help your husband become less of an animal. Perhaps you might convince him to attend church.

“Mrs Holmes,” your housekeeper stammered, “I would advise you hold onto this...please...you cannot just-”

You cut her off dignifiedly, “Mrs Hudson, this cheque card will enter the bank whether by your hand or mine. And before you have insisted I rest. So please if you care enough for me, you shall hand it in on my behalf.”

Her face was flushed and her eyes shut tight. She shook her head disapprovingly while muttering

“Very well dear girl, I hope you know what you are doing.”

Out Mrs Hudson went, and down you went. Your face pressed into a cushion. With your eyes fluttering shut, you feel back into the darkness and peacefully slept, listening to the wafting sounds of Baker Street flow from Sherlock’s bedroom window.

•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•

6:00pm Tuesday 6th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

Sherlock still had not returned home from his morning flee. As Mrs Hudson laid out a plate of roast and potatoes with gravy she assured you that Sherlock had a habit of staying out for hours. Whether for a case or his own pleasures and addiction.

On the table in front of you was the paper bank statement, it accounted that the cheque had been entered and applied to the debts.

Now the Sherlock Holmes was a debt free man...

After you finished your dinner, Mrs Hudson kindly helped remove your shoes and change your bedding. You were redressed in a night gown and over your shoulders a warm dressing gown.

You now only wore a sanitary apron to protect yourself from your blood.

All his paid debt receipts were in a folder, you stared at that manilla folder smugly. Your left it on the table as you went to inspect the book shelves on the far wall near the entrance of the home.

You looked at the many novels on the shelves, now some of them being the ones brought over from your grandparents estate. On quick flicking through pages you found most of them being related to science, language and anatomy. Glancing back at Sherlocks open door, you thought about the book in the chest. That was more than just an anatomy book...

You squeezed your side, you were feeling a spike in temperature and a shortness in breath reimagining those images...those words.

It wasn’t the smut novella Fanny Hill, but it stoked fires inside you much like it. You knew it was something you probably shouldn’t have come across, because you shouldn’t have been inside his room, touching his belongings.

You had to. It smelt like something had died.

You prayed this would sort him out. You could only hope that the years ahead would not be so testing.

You had a list of mental rules. You may be his wife and beneath his status, however you would not just stand back and watch him act a fool and fall victim to further ridicule in society. You would not sink in the same boat again. You were excluded from many balls as a teen when some wicked foul mouth girl had revealed the secrecy of your parentage.

Your step mother was only eleven years older than you, so really...there was no possibility of pretending to be her child. Everyone in high society of they knew you, knew what you were. And because they knew you were treated like a unspeakable burden and unwanted pet at parties.

It wasn’t a mystery to you why you started playing the role of a wallflower at only fifteen.

You refused to allow Sherlock to bring you to such shame in society.

The heavy foot steps outside the close door alerted you to an approach made by someone other than Mrs Hudson.

With the loud snap of the handle and click of the lock, in entered a breathless giant. Sherlock.

He tore off his hat and coat and only after hanging the items on the rack by the door did he acknowledge you with a small nod, “Mrs Holmes,” he bid. Under his arm you noticed was a paper wrapped package.

You heard him march through the house towards the middle room and heard him swear under his breath, follows by a repetitive “no no no.”

You heard him frantically skid around the carpets and floor boards of his own room. He was tearing open and slamming drawers and wardrobe doors.

“What the hell have you done! What have you-?”

Storming out of his room, you gasped at how his face reddened and he continued shouting, but thankfully not at you. He raced to the front door and tore it open screaming down the stairwell,

“Where are you woman!? Mrs Hudson! You shrivelled cow!”

You slapped the book in your hands shut, regarding him disdainfully, “Our housekeeper is not to be rewarded by your insults.”

The turn around he made was slow as realisation came to his heated face. The snarl was replaced by a begrudged sneer as he scoffed, pointing his finger sharply back in the direction of the bedrooms, “...You did this destruction?”

“Destruction?” You whispered. What destruction had you done?

As he approached, you unconsciously took a step back and nervously licked your bottom lip. You felt air being pulled from you as he towered above and stabbed you beneath a invasive gaze.

His darkened eyes looked across the light material of your nightwear. His fingers tugged the book out of hands and pushed it back into the shelving where it belonged.

You decided you needed to stand firmer against him, You craned your head back and stared up at him.

“H-hardly...I have organised. Cleaned.” You took another step back and felt the wood of the display cabinet behind you dig into your waist.

“By subject,” you felt his body press up against you, what the hell was he doing? Trying to intimidate you? You were hardly dressed compared to his full clad attire. It scared you. He looked formidable, like he was going to tear you limb from limb, his nostrils flared. Your insides jumped and that buzzing feeling ran through your lower half. God...why did this of all things arouse you?

Your throat felt shaky, “then- then ah numerical dated followed by alphabetically.”

You glance him over and blinked at the red spot on his chest, was it ink? No, ink isn’t so dark....under Sherlock’s jaw was a scratch, a slight discolouration to his skin and under his hair curl on his forehead as another mark.

He leant down and pressed his mouth to your ear, “Do not ever enter my chambers or touch my belongings without my permission again.” It was a mix between a whisper, an disciplining snarl, and a lusty moan.

It left your knees feeling bloodless. Your own eyes shut closed at the hot breath that breathed into your lobe and hair.

As he pulled back, he stood away and for the first few moments you needed to remember how to control your breathing.

He looked over the dining room table and slid the thick folder closer to himself.

“And what is this?” he asked you.

“Your debts,” You swallowed and wiped your palm across your forehead, a trail of sweat drenched your hand, “Paid for.”

He smirked and shook his head, “Mycroft.”

“No,” you bluntly said, smoothing your hands down your dress to rid of the wrinkles that rose up. Seeing how your nipples had hardened beneath your nightgown you pulled the dressing gown tighter around you and crossed your arms protectively over your chest.

You looked at his body hunched over the table and blinked at the white marks over the edges of his dark navy suit jacket. It looked like flour...except flour had a tendency to clump. His nails were also clean of any baking incredibly. But his finger pads on the wooden table left little faint prints...

“You?” he chuckled condescendingly.

You nodded, “Yes.”

His laughter quickly fell away, his head snapped up fully to look at you, his brows knitted together,

“Why?”

His lips settled into a frown.

He put his hands on his hips, a power play...he was trying to show confidence, dominance...perhaps in response to your arms folded over your chest.

It would’ve been good to just tell him the truth, but to explain it to him would be impossible. You chose to simplify the answer...

“Easement on your consciousness?” You offered dryly. It wasn’t a total like, the less stress, the more relaxing and kindness....right?

His mouth twisted into a snarl, “Why you insufferable little-”

“Where did you go today?,” you pondered, cutting him off from finishing his insult, “A school?”

He jerked back slightly, he tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, he took a deep breath and cupped his hands behind his back, “Excuse me?”

Good, he was calmer now.

This time you took to action...you stepped forward and sighed solemnly pinching one of his vest buttons.

“Chalk, on your cuffs. You smell like sweat in a teenage boy rather than a man. You’ve also had a scuffle with someone much shorter than you from the marks on your neck. Your shirt has a speck of what I believe is blood and the button is loosen,” you pinched and ripped it from the shirt and it’s faint loose thread.

“Fret not...” you smirked and pat his chest, “I will mend it should you ask.”

His hands came around and squeezed your forearms, his head moved back a little. He was perplexed...a light upturn in his lips revealed his sudden amusement.

He lifted a hand up and gently touched your face. He was breathing in a controlled state. You felt the intimacy of his closeness without fear of his wrath.

“No...” he drawled, “I was at Scotland yard. A poor deduction...” his thumb ran across your chin, “dear wife.”

You felt your heart pick up as his soft hand touched your face, you tried looking away from his staring eyes. Sherlock’s edged closer to your lips.

“Poor deduction but I am not stupid,” you consoled.

His lips broke into a wider smile revealing his teeth, he chuckled, “...I beg to differ.”

He moved abruptly back and fled to escape to his rooms. You knew his intention perfectly and chased after him, emphasising, “You had almost three hundred pounds in debt Sherlock. I at least know how to wisely spend my money.”

He spun on his heel and snapped at you, pointing harshly at your chest, “oh ho! Playing this game then are we? With your dowry gone, you have nothing left. I’d hardly call paying off my debts which were none of your concern, wise spending.”

You grabbed his finger and announced softer, serious and less aggressive, “Indeed, which is why I implore you to cease all further transactions in regards to your addictions.”

“Do not patronise me wife,” He scoffed and rolled his eyes tried tearing his hand away but your grip on his index finger tightened and the both of your grunted.

You grit your teeth at him, “Do not patronise me husband.”

He sighed and wiggled his finger from out of your hand.

He dusted his hands on his waist coat and huffed. He peered at you with a mischievous gaze.

“My debts...they included my friends...yes? From Mayfair?”

Oh that was cruel indeed. Mentioning those women when you were married to him. You wouldn’t dare let him threaten you over them.

You fought the urge to hit him and stomp your foot. You turned away from him and quickly composed yourself. Hastily you plucked some matches from the small box ontop of the fireplace mantel. You struck a small flame and tossed it into the fire place where you discarded some old newspapers as kindling.

“Yes,” you admitted tightly, “I know about your scandalous behaviours and forbid you from consorting in that demonstration again.”

He pushed passed you and unbuttoned his jacket and vest fully. He draped them over the back of one of the lounges, he pulled up his trousers slightly as he sat down.

He chuckled, “You forbid me?”

You glared at him and shot back up off the floor. You squeezed your eyes tightly as you firmly dictated, “I am the only woman to ever receive you carnally from now on.”

He smirked and spread his legs wide, folding his arms on his chest. He jerked his chin up at you and clicked his tongue, “I don’t believe you know what that means. Believe me little lamb, my fidelity is that last thing you’ll desire...or did you not learn from yesterday?”

You rolled your eyes and shook your head.

“I stand by what I mean Sherlock. You will not commit adultery while married to me,” you snapped. You wanted control, this would not be taken from you if you could help it.

“Or what?” He laughed, he then condescendingly moaned, “You’ll tell my big brother?”

As he went back to his smug chuckling you clenched your fists and stood over him. You weren’t thinking straight. Only a red shade cast in your eyes. You grabbed his collar and tugged him hard, spitting down at him with full anger as you threatened, “...Or I will kill you.”

He stopped laughing but didn’t stop his smug smiling. His hands came up and grabbed yours, prying them from his shirt.

“Barely been forty eight hours of wedded bliss and you desire to murder me. Ha! I now owe John five pounds,” he looked down at your chest which you realised was hanging in a uncompromising position. He could see right down your chest practically to your third rib with your lack of supporting chemise. Sherlock tongued the inside of his cheek and hummed, “My word.”

You gasped with horror and attempted to rip away from his hold, you grunted gruffly, “You are a pig Sherlock Holmes!”

He pulled you forcefully downwards and made your knees buckle. Your chest fell into his and you both hissed at the impact of crushing into each other.

Lewdly his hot wet tongue licked its way from your neck up to your earlobe while his hands pushed your thighs up to straddle over him, his fingers sharply stabbed into your backside under the night gown.

“You have absolutely no clue to what I am little Lamb.”

You tried pushing off him immediately, and felt his arm wrap around your waist and trap you against him.

Your legs so wildly spread and pressed against his trousers made you feel like you were riding on a horse.

Despite the plethora of farm animals you could compare in his and your name, you had both your wrists this caught in his one hand.

“Go on,” he chuckled as you struggled against him, “Tell me how you would do it...,” he taunted,

“How would you kill the great Sherlock Holmes, London’s finest Detective?”

You shrieked as you felt crushed under his baring arm, “I can think of many ways!”

“Well go on,” he smugly waited with raised brows, “Tell me.”

Your eyes rolled and you whined when he dug his nails into your wrists.

“I’ll push you down the stairs!”

He barked with laughter and shook his head, “You cannot be sure the fall would kill me, perhaps I might be paralysed, with many broken bones, but no no, I also don’t think you have the strength to push me around anywhere, look at you right now.”

“Fine!” you yelled, “Ill stab you with a knife!”

“Ah a violent approach, but what of the blood?” He grabbed your hip and moved you to grind your centre down on a lump in his trousers, “Why, even those idiots in Scotland Yard would figure out it was you; blood staining the clothes, carpet and blood beneath your nails, and where would you ever be able to hide the weapon?”

“Sherlock! Let me go or I’ll poison your tea!” you whined terribly.

He bit his lip and shook his head at you, “Oh dear Mrs Holmes, it’s possibly the most common death among an unhappy married couple. Wives are known to favour poison greatly.”

You heaved as you tried to catch your breath. You fell forward a little. Your sweaty forehead touched his.

“Please,” you whined, “let me go. All I want is you to be a civilised man and honour our marriage bed.”

He looked down at your parted lips. He looked back at your chest and shut his eyes.

“You want me to give up my whores Mrs Holmes?”

You gulped and nodded, “Of course.”

When he opened those blue orbs with the brown flecks, he whispered, “I promise to forsake them...if...”

“If?” you stammered and narrowed your eyes.

“Hush!” He reprimanded, “I promise to forsake my whores on Mayfair Row...If I can have my whore of Baker Street.”

Before you and time to reply and question what he even meant, he stood up and tossed you onto the floor. Sherlock crawled over you and pinned your flailing hands above your hand.

“You want to please me, please your husband, Mrs Holmes?” he gasped as his other hand went groping and squeezing around your soft body.

You weakly nodded, your head rested on the floor trying to get back the breath he knocked from you when he pushed you down.

You hissed softly, “Please, you’re hurting me.”

His hands loosened but held you trapped to the floor.

His lips danced over your cheek, “Then you will need to perform like a whore for me.”

A sobbing cry ripped front our chest, unsure of his real intention you quickly jumped to the conclusion of his implications.

You choked and shook your head, “No! I am not going to become a prostitute!”

He cackled at your fearful cry.

“No, this body belongs to me,” he said as he pinched the strings of your night gown and pushed the material away to show off your bare breasts.

His lips wrapped around your right nipples and sucked hard, tickling you with his tongue tip. Tears started to well in your face. You didn’t understand what he was implying to do to you. It tickled and felt so warm.

You were scared. You knew some men of the world were evil. Evil husband’s that pimped out the women they married. You couldn’t imagine being so intimate with another person. You couldn’t imagine succumbing to the agony you received the night before by Sherlock’s hand.

Kicking your feet across the rug and tried pushing your body from under him. He grunted as your nipple left his lips. He pressed the hand hard on your hip and affirmed, “Keep still, little lamb.”

“Sherlock,” you started to beg on a whimper, “Please, stop! You are frightening me, you’re h-hurting me!”

He looked down at you, his hair falling slightly on your head. His smile wavered as he took note of your tears and wobbling lips.

His gaze softened along with his voice, “...be completely honest with me.”

You nodded desperately, “I will, I will!”

“Did you look in the trunk at the foot of my bed?”

The chest full of explicit items and torture devices.

Your eyes squeezed tight and you exhaled, “I did.”

He smirked and let you go completely, standing up and held his hand to assist you too. When you were finally upright, he pinched your exposed nipple. You shrieked.

“I am a man Y/N, I have needs. I expect you to fulfil them earnestly if you desire I abandon my charity to Mayfair.”

You tried pushing his hand back and covering your breasts with the dressing gown. He smirked and shook his head at you, “No, no, let me see them.”

The silence was vile. The crackling of the fire place was the only ambience that showed attendance.

You couldn’t do it. It was wrong to be so exposed beyond the bedroom.

He waited and when you showed no sign of showing him, he sighed and nodded, “Very well, good night Mrs Holmes, I will call upon my friend Irene.”

He walked around you and journeyed to his open bedroom door.

As if all colour drained from your face you feverishly held out a hand and quickly called, “Wait, please! Look!”

You all but chased him into his own bedroom. He snapped his head in your direction. You stood in the centre space between his bed and the door.

He raised a brow and watched almost unimpressed as your trembling fingers shed your dressing gown and pulled the neckline of your night gown open...there he could finally observe your luscious breasts.

“Why Mrs Holmes,” he mused, sitting on his bed and peeling his cravat off his neck, “Your teats are exposed, careful,” he sarcastically warned, “One might mistake you for a slut.” You felt breathless and curled your lips inside.

You couldn’t believe it, you were letting him hurt you in a new way. You were letting him bully you. It wasn’t right and you desperately hated it, but what else was there except to let him defile and destroy your holy vows?

“Is that a sanitary apron on your waist?” he question, pointing at the lump under your gown.

You nodded, “I am still bleeding husband...”

“Do you know what that means?” Sherlock said unbuttoning his shirt.

Your licked your lips, folding your arms behind your back you tried hard to not cover yourself,

“My body is extinguishing my mental illnesses.”

He smirked and rolled his eyes, “Your medical knowledge is dated, but that is not what I implied...I meant that you should come to your knees and perform fellatio.”

Your eyes widened...fellatio was such a naughty word to hear let alone say. It was the type of practise in the book in his chest. Oral sex. Seeing the woman hold her male companions member appeared lewd and distasteful.

You hadn’t thought of ever doing it yourself, it served no purpose in procreation with god.

Flustered and shy, you cupped your hands over your face to think.

Sherlock’s voice was softer this time. He wasn’t mocking you as he explained, “I will not force you to do this Y/N, you do not have to if you do not want to.”

You shook your head and scowled at him from your hands, “But I do! I don’t want you to ever lay with a woman other than me! I am-“ you choked on some on coming tears, “I am your wife Sherlock, please...promise me if I do this you won’t lay with another woman.”

He unbuckled his trousers and sighed, “Then get on your knees,” he pulled out his semi hard rod, “and kiss your husbands cock.”

You looked over your shoulder at his door and then back at him.

Would you do this? Humiliate yourself in promise of keeping his vows loyally to you?

Helplines:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

[sgiandubh]

What is the boldest word, phrase

You heard or read it from Sam and Cait

It can't be said by a costar unless he or she has a special personal relationship

Dear Boldest Word Anon,

If by bold you mean 'sexually provocative', my top ones just have to be, in chronological order:

C to S:

For context, I shall just remind you that the Brazilian version of OL came with very strange, sexually laden subtitles (that had nothing to do with the dialogue/script) and the hullaballoo on Twitter was considerable. So S went along with it and asked C if she thought he had a 'big shrimp' (the innuendo being ahem, obvious, there). Above is her answer. This happened in November 2017, while they were shooting Season 4, I think - correct me if I am wrong, please and thank you!

S to C:

I think this was their last bold banter session to date (and unfortunately, this is, IMHO, unlikely to happen again, at least in the foreseeable future), in May 2022, while shooting Season 7. Please correct me if I am wrong. FYI, snatch is a very heavily connotated slang word for 'vagina'. So heavily connotated, in fact, that many American and British slang dictionaries consider it as 'offensive" or at least 'derogatory'.

No sane woman and no sane man would accept being publicly involved in such a conversation, in a professional context none the less, with a random (even friendly) person. This is not friendship. This is sexual banter and rebellion, because it is totally disrespectful towards the uber-Romantic characters they portray and towards the #silly TPTB narrative.

I hope that helps. To me, it's their boldest moments. Partners everyday. Lovers. Parents.

[isolarya]

a collection of things I notice upon a rewatching of dead poets society + some analysis if I feel like it

first shot is on a painting of past students - highlights the school's focus on tradition (also the boys do kinda look similar to the poets so that's interesting)

cameron holds the tradition banner, knox holds discipline, neil holds excellence - does what banners they hold and the fact its only these three say something? perhaps

not cameron pointing out buildings to his parents like a tour guide lmao

cameron watching from the opposite room as mr perry talks to neil - okay headcanon but I think cameron sees a bit of himself in this interaction. you cannot tell me he doesn't look at mr perry and just think, even just a little, of the adults in his own life pushing him for more and more accomplishments

I feel like those shots of a massive flock of birds flying away says something but idk what

keating does not give them a seating plan I think do they just choose to sit like that? away from their friends? huh? (idk how american schools work especially in 1959 forgive me)

however stick does sit next to cameron and also can be seen around cameron relatively often so I headcanon they're friends

the banner for tradition isn't in shot when keating leads them outside but the rest are - hints at keating being the breakaway from tradition

charlie just standing behind the rest of the group with his foot on the chair - his lack of respect for authority (even keating rn)

friendly reminder that neil is shown whenever the topic of death comes uo

lmao cameron just judging keating's whispering (I would too, icl)

todd has a picture of like a rowboat pinned up beside his desk and yk that cut scene about how he would prefer rowing so uh yeah!

cameron writing and ripping with a ruler says a lot about him (also using a ruler to rip a book page out will only make it worse cameron wtf are you doing)

love how neil immediately stops and turns around when hager tells them to be faster

charlie doesn't wear the typical pyjamas I think and again, defiance

again the image of the old students - breaking tradition!

not something interesting but the running through the forest scene brings me so much joy

neil goes back to his desk after standing on keatings and spins his pen in his left hand and it may be people just spin pens with their non dominant hand but I choose to interpret this as left handed neil (however the way his things are laid out suggests left handedness to me) (keep in mind I am right handed)

neil keeps that blanket over his shoulders when he's excited about the play and drops it when todd mentions his dad and does that say something

charlie already has the drums before cameron comes in lmao

also is that stick I see joining in (more evidence for the cameron-stick friendship theory)

no see when cameron looks upset after charlie says he hated the clarinet and the poets laugh this is one of the moments that he will remember when they're asking about the dead poets society and the rest won't remember but he will

love anderperry just being gay in the background

stick is short (like me)

aww we love the cave making an appearance when charlie brings the girls

when charlie get the phone call from god he appears to be sitting away from his friends (to not get caught, probably)

when keating tells the class to keep their heads about them you can see cameron saying something like “yes sir” and only when everyone else says “yes captain” does he look around and say captain and that's just more stuff about he sees keating

“I don't care if the world comes to an end tomorrow night you are through with that play” - ow this hits after neil’s death

neil shaking out his hands before he speaks to keating because its nervous

I think it says a lot when you see neil is a lot more comfortable and loose around keating than his own father

also something about that scene gives the idea before neil was crying even before he went to keating like just something about how he acts and talks

that reminds me there are quite a few moments in this film where imo it looks like neil is about to cry but he doesn't and that also says something about his character

keating telling neil about he loves teaching and I bet neil was thinking about how he loved acting

neil is usually quite confident but like he's so unsure with his words in these few scenes

also neil lying to keating and he's fidgeting and also that tiny moment where he acts like his dad and also also I think keating knows he's lying

todd trying to mess up camerons hair and now I'm so proud of how confident he is when he's with his friends

oh I love the poets (especially meeks) just staring at knox and chris in utter awe

hang on why are cameron and charlie sitting next to each other in the play I thought they didn't like each other (chameron propaganda time)

you can see neil isn't smiling by the time the curtain closes and dammit I hate mr perry even more for ruining this one moment for his son

but then when he sees the poets clapping for him and the audience covers his dad you see him smiling again and then his dad comes to ruin that too

neil standing on that stage smiling one last time until he has to go to his dad

the fact that the perrys have a black car is reminiscent of a funeral car or something and uh more foreshadowing to neil’s death

the window motif thing is pretty well known but I'd like to add the fact that we see neil looking out the window of the car at his friends and the theatre right before mr perry makes him leave

also todd in the background watching neil go and keating also watching without words and I'm pretty sure he knows he'll never see neil again one way or another

the fact that neil brought his crown home suggests he made it himself (or maybe he stole it but anyway) and that he loved the play enough to put so much effort in it and ow

I think the fact that neil reacts so much to his father telling him he has to be a doctor is because neil didn't know. like his father just told him this out of the blue and expected neil to go along no matter what

the pyjamas on neil’s bed don't remotely match the ones at welton - something about neil getting pulled away in every aspect of his life, something about even his clothes being chosen for him

neil’s so still in these last few scenes too and it's such a contrast from how much he moves earlier in the film

I've talked about this before but why is cameron not there when they tell todd about neil’s death. like he's probably awake you can see light behind the window above their door but charlie chose not to and I don't know why because they seem to be on decent enough terms

todd running towards the docks is so damn sad when you remember that one cut scene

neil’s things are still there in his desk :(

charlie refusing to sing - he's mourning neil, definitely, but he refuses to do it the way the school wants (and ignore the reality of neil’s death)

also cameron is next to charlie again WHY WAS HE NOT TOLD SOMEONE EXPLAIN THIS TO ME

hey remember when I said earlier that the tradition banner wasn't in shot? guess what's the only banner in shot now that neil’s dead and keating’s done for

when mcallister takes the class outside they're walking on a path with many footsteps. it's an effort, but it's not what keating did

EVEN HOPKINS STOOD lets goooo

the triumphant music is great and yes I am mourning the two desks left empty but triumphant music

this movie will never make me not cry

fun fact we have the names for almost everyone in the class i believe, which you can find in the credits along with their actor, and I'm pretty sure the actors got to pick the names

also in the og script one of the students has the surname priske (which could be headcanon, you pick which ig) and one is called richard watson (I believe there is one name missing in the credits so this is my headcanon for that one)

sorry for how long it is lmao

[thefringespod]

Happy #AudioDramaSunday everyone! I've got a LOT to talk about this week so strap in!!

In terms of long-term listens, just finished my TMA season 1 relisten and am now focusing my main listen energy on Hello From the Hallowoods (I'll finish my TMA relisten later). Outside of that though there was SO MUCH good stuff this week:

@re-dracula has finally entered the logs for the Demeter and Alasdair Stuart is once again absolutely killing it as a captain of a spooky boat

This week we were also introduced to the magical world that is @levianpod which comes out of the gate swinging and has fully enraptured me with ep 1. I want to know EVERYTHING about this world! The folks behind Levian are crowdfunding, please help them out

Also this week for me were episodes 1 and 2 of @doyoucopypod which has joined the ranks of shows that have made me cry in the office (this is a compliment I swear). I'm loving the premise behind Do You Copy and each performance so far has made me a little feral. Go listen go go go!

@tellnotalespod has also taken over my life this week. I am still very early on in the show but my gods its beautiful and so so good. I love Leo with my whole heart and the premise is just so fascinating. Please help them make season 2 happen!

And of course we have to talk about @ethicstownpod. Episode 4 absolutely wrecked me (also at work I gotta stop listening at work [I will not stop]) Rhys Lawton and Liz Dokukina are absolute masters of punching me in the heart, their performances are INCREDIBLE

A friendly reminder that @ShelterwoodPod is still crowdfunding! They're in their last 10 days and can use any support yall can give

On the subject of crowdfunding, we here at the Fringes just finished! I've already been overly sappy (see thread below) but thank you thank you thank you again to everyone. Season 2 is going to be a LOT of fun and I can't wait to share it with yall

Week ahead is promising more Hallowoods and more Tell No Tales and probably more crying at my desk in office because if they want me to go in they need to deal with the fact that I will cry to audiodramas

[dweemeister]

2024 Movie Odyssey for-fun awards

I haven't done this in six years. Though the 2024 Movie Odyssey is complete and the 2025 Movie Odyssey is underway, I am currently working through all of the categories for the 2024 Movie Odyssey Awards (which I am aiming to post on Sunday, January 12).

Given the fact I haven't done the for-fun awards in six years, I might be a bit rusty. But here goes - honors and dishonors that don't quite fit the Movie Odyssey Awards. A reminder that each of these films were movies that I saw for the first time in their entirety last calendar year!

Best conversation: Caleb Sykes (Jamie Campbell Bower) and Hayes Ellison (Kevin Costner)’s conversation filled with veiled threats while walking up a hill, Horizon: An American Saga – Chapter 1 (2024)

No, Horizon wasn’t that great. Yes, it’s a vanity project. Yes, the 181-minute runtime while awaiting a potential three other sequels is killer. But the extended time allows you to fill in your movie with a scene where two men are ostensibly having a friendly conversation, but beneath those niceties are threats that simmer just underneath their words. Yes, Horizon is an indulgence. But there are more than a few instances of brilliant filmmaking within.

Best moment: “I Could Use a Boost”, The Wild Robot (2024)

For those of you who have seen the film, you know exactly what scene I’m talking about here. A major assist here from Kris Bowers’ spectacular score – one that I’d argue is the best for any movie released in 2024. This scene felt like an early ending for the film, didn’t it?

Best movie father: George Rose (Cary Grant), Room for One More (1952)

Grant – alongside his actual wife at the time, Betsy Drake – stars in one of the better family movies from ‘50s Hollywood. That sound you heard were a few of my tumblr followers, whose celebrity crush is Cary Grant, screaming with delight.

Best movie mother: Roz (voiced by Lupita Nyong’o), The Wild Robot (2024)

Okay, it’s won two of the first four awards. But that’s it. Keep going!

Best on-screen friendship: Grace (voiced by Sarah Snook) and Pinky (voiced by Jacki Weaver), Memoir of a Snail (2024)

The least transactional friendship I saw on screen this year. Genuine love for the other, brought to you by Adam Elliot – whose characters find a way to persevere despite their tragic backgrounds. Bugger!

Best quote: “I'm gonna give you a break. I'm gonna fix it, so you don't hear the bullets.” – Mr. Brown (Richard Conte) speaking to Joe McClure (Brian Donlevy) in The Big Combo (1955)

This quote makes far more sense and becomes far more menacing in context. Trust me. Without spoiling too much, Conte here is granting Donlevy (who devout worshippers at the church of film noir will know is a quintessential noir character actor, but is in an unusually meeker role here) what he believes to be a mercy. This scene was also shot spectacularly.

Best theatrical experience (as an audience member): The Frida Cinema’s repertory screening of The Lord of the Rings (1972)

It had been too long since I saw Ralph Bakshi’s take on LOTR (a movie I rate higher than most, but would only conditionally recommend). And in that time, I forgot how unintentionally funny the whole damn thing was. Having a sellout crowd on hand only made things that much more enjoyable.

Best theatrical experience (in my capacity as Viet Film Fest Artistic Director): High school students’ day screenings

For those not in the know, Viet Film Fest always begins its in-person screenings every year with a handful of screenings intended for high school students in the Little Saigon area in Orange County who are taking Vietnamese language courses. It’s a field trip for them, and you feel the energy pulsing through the theater on that opening morning.

Also, I almost never sit down and watch a full film/short film set through as Artistic Director. Too many things to do.

Best title (feature): Children of a Lesser God (1986)

Thanks should go to Tennyson.

Best title (short): Mom, Dad… I Want to Be a Porn Star (2024)

I mean, come on! With compliments to director Corey Cao Nguyen and his team!

Best worldbuilding: Mars Express (2023, France)

The filmmakers knew exactly what sort of world they wanted their characters to inhabit right from the get-go. And for a ninety-minute cyberpunk movie not based on any previously published material at all, their background storytelling achievement is stunning stuff.

Biggest disappointment: Perfect Days (2023, Japan)

Wim Wenders serving up a sampling of Diet Ozu! Still rated this a 7.5/10, but the Criterion-heads, Letterboxd users, and other cinephiles who are online far too much had me believe this might have been better than sliced bread (or, at the very least, could hold its own against the post-War live-action cinema that is one of my specialties). I don’t think so.

Biggest (pleasant) surprise: The ending to The Wedding Banquet (1993)

In an era where happy endings for LGBTQ+ folks were elusive, perhaps the rather balanced, believable ending to The Wedding Banquet is what we should have expected. One of the finest Asian American movies ever made, overshadowed by The Joy Luck Club (released the same year).

Biggest (unpleasant) surprise: The out-of-nowhere stabbing attack in The After (2023 short)

Well, that was some way to start the Oscar-nominated Live Action shorts last year. The murder was horrifically staged, to make things worse. David Oyelowo, despite being the lead actor, is not the reason why this movie was as terrible as it was.

Do not watch on an empty stomach: The Taste of Things (2023, France)

As was the joke shared among VFF staff through much of this year! Seriously, though, make sure to have a snack on hand or eat beforehand.

Greatest discovery (actor… and director too!): Raj Kapoor

Some of you folks will be glad to know that I sought this classic Bollywood actor out by myself this time, without anybody directly recommending him (or 1951’s Awaara).

Greatest discovery (actress): Mikey Madison

I had seen Madison on-screen before, but she was in a bit role then. She is excellent in Anora (2024), however you feel about the title character.

In most need of an IRB review (TIE): Murders in the Rue Morgue (1932) and X: The Man with the X-Ray Eyes (1963)

For those who don't know, an IRB review – broadly speaking – is an ethics review that is required when you are conducting a study involving humans.

Murders: Based on the Edgar Allan Poe short story of the same name, Bela Lugosi sports one of the most unconvincing unibrow I’ve seen in movies but gives a standout performance as a mad scientist trying to mix the blood of… actually, go watch this movie and read the short story. Ideal Halloween viewing. Lugosi making a frigging meal of his performance and his lines.

X: Dr. James Xavier’s (Ray Milland) research in this movie has bigger implications for humanity in this movie. Sure, he does all of the things you would imagine you would do if you suddenly had X-ray vision – I don’t have to spell this out to you – but good lord man where is your sense of ethics? Obligatory thank you to the now-late producer/director Roger Corman – who gave so many directors and actors their start in the ‘60s and ‘70s through his films at American International Pictures (AIP).

Honorable mention: The too-reckless dentistry on King Kong in Godzilla x Kong and whatever the hell else was going on in that movie

Kick-ass moment: Bruce Lee destroys the “No dogs or Chinese allowed” sign in Fist of Fury (1972, Hong Kong)

Apologies for the hilariously bad brownface and the bad English dub (I can’t find the original online)!

Least deserving of its praise: The Zone of Interest (2023, United Kingdom)

Jonathan Glazer’s film (which I wrote about here) utterly failed on one of the two things he set out to accomplish. First was to immerse us in the psychologies of the Auschwitz commandant, his wife, and other Nazis. Check, I think. Second was to take out as much cinematic artifice as possible in his film. That cinematography? That “score”? On this latter point, I thought Glazer utterly failed. Most folks didn’t see it that way.

Least likely to deserve my negative rating 10 years from now: Deadpool & Wolverine (2024)

I didn’t write on this film, but I gave it a 6/10 – which, on the blog, is right on the boundary between “fresh” and “rotten” (to use Rotten Tomatoes parlance). It was a more negative 6/10 from me. I’ve mentally checked out of the MCU years ago, and I personally don’t have much use for constant mean-spirited humor. But I don’t think the MCU has scraped the bottom of the barrel yet.

Least likely to deserve my positive rating 10 years from now: The Caine Mutiny Court-Martial (2023)

Though it debuted in America as TV movie, it was originally released at a film festival. So it counts. William Friedkin’s final movie is filled with fantastic performances. But the staging itself… just a tad too simple, isn’t it?

Moment in which I most wanted to look away from the screen: The crash scene, Society of the Snow (2023, Spain)

La sociedad de la nieve is about the disaster and recovery of the survivors who were on Uruguay Air Force Flight 571 (1972) – the flight was chartered by a Uruguayan rugby team. This scene, which has been cited by experts as among the most realistic airplane crash scenes ever put to film, is harrowing to watch. A technically outstanding movie, but more importantly honors the humanity of those who went through the ordeal.

Most beautiful use of nature: Sequoia National Park at the end of The Big Trail (1930)

For my non-Californian friends, just know that California is far more than deserts and beaches. The state has so much more, naturally, to offer. The ending of The Big Trail – not recommended for Western novices – takes place as the settlers end up in a valley, but the scene is set among enormous Sequoia trees I’ve had the privilege of seeing a few times in my life. The Big Trail was a rare ‘30s movie shot in widescreen (in 70mm, no less!), and the black-and-white photography of the groves of Sequoias is magnificent to behold. The light peeking through the canopies? Breathtaking.

Most inspirational water sports movie: Young Woman and the Sea (2024)

Technically, there were two films eligible here: The Boys in the Boat (2023; about the University of Washington rowing team that represented Team USA for Berlin 1936) and Young Woman and the Sea (about Gertrude “Trudy” Ederle – 1x gold, 2x bronze at Paris 1924, but the film concentrates on her becoming the first woman to swim the English Channel).

Having neglected to watch one of the official Olympic documentaries before last year’s 2024 Summer Olympics (oops), these two movies did okay to fill that void.

Most memorable delivery of a line: “That’s politicssssssss.” – Denzel Washington, Gladiator II (2024)

There was absolutely no need to hold onto that “s” for so long. But Denzel Washington, in a movie in which all of the principal actors seem to be acting in different movies each, decides to go for the overdramatic Shakespeare route. And as villain, it’s a fantastic choice.

Most memorable quote: “And you think that one year of medical school entitles you to plow through the riches of my Emersonian mind?” – Adam Driver, Megalopolis (2024)

First things first… I didn’t say “best quote”, you know! Second, I’m of the opinion that Megalopolis defies any judgment of “good” or “bad”. I appreciated this movie for its bold artistic swings that violate so many rules and the film was one of the best experiences I had in a theater all year.

Oh yeah, this comes from the same nutty scene where we get “go back to the cluuuub”. Folks, if someone says a line like this to you unironically, run away. Run far away.

Most overrated: Poor Things (2023)

This is a movie I never connected at all to. I thought Lanthimos’ film was very male gaze-y and its depiction of sex work extremely sanitized. Oh? One of the lessons is that Victorian times were extremely sexually repressed? What a revelation! Welcome to the twenty-first century! I gave Poor Things a 6/10.

Pixar’s Elemental (2023), which I gave a 5.5/10, was the other movie I considered for this because of how audiences (as opposed to critics) have reacted to this.

Most shocking moment: The coffee scene, The Big Heat (1953)

If you have never seen this movie, please DO NOT look this up. I audibly gasped in the theater when this happened (this was a repertory screening at the Frida Cinema in Santa Ana, CA), and I wasn’t the only one.

Most underrated: On Borrowed Time (1939)

I’ve got some bad news for the high fantasy lovers out there. Classic Hollywood largely didn’t bother with high fantasy. On Borrowed Time is a low fantasy based on a play of the same name. This is a fable regarding the inevitability of death. I found this film better-acted and better-written than your average classic film fan. Lionel Barrymore’s performance goes a long, long way here for me.

Most underseen: Ferdinand the Bull (1938 short)

I could list a litany of Viet Film Fest movies here. But to make things simpler, I won’t. Ferdinand the Bull is one of the most charming Disney animated shorts of its era and, at a time where the studio hadn’t animated too many humans yet, this is one of those shorts that sets an in-house style that lasts for a long, long time.

Never learns: Andy Hardy (Mickey Rooney) in Andy Hardy’s Private Secretary (1941), Life Begins for Andy Hardy (1941), and The Courtship of Andy Hardy (1942)

I’ve only seen 5/16 Andy Hardy movies (1937-1958). I’m not the biggest fan, but the movies are a fascinating time capsule into what an idealized America was imagined to be and what teenaged behavior was sort of like during the ‘30s and ‘40s. But…

Andy Andy Andy. Always spurting out some variant of “I’m a big man now, pop. I’ve seen a lot of things, and I have the wisdom to do better,” and then turning around and doing stupid shit. His over-extroversion, chasing girls, getting into trouble, getting into trouble that involves chasing girls? Oh my goodness. If the Andy Hardy series is any indication of what America is really like, it’s that America is run like a high school ASB. Appropriate, as Andy is his senior class president!

Go to college! Or actually stay together with Betsy Booth (Judy Garland) for crying out loud! With apologies to those who are #teampollybenedict (Ann Rutherford).

No femme, all fatale: Vera (Ann Savage) in Detour (1945)

I’m not saying anything about the plot to this film noir that is NOT recommended for anyone who is a noir novice. But Ann Savage – with that incredibly appropriate surname – might have played the meanest leading lady in a film noir. And she plays the part shockingly well.

Resulted in me losing my mind in a theater (in a good way): The long uncut shot in Inside the Yellow Cocoon Shell (2023, Vietnam)

In a film filled with extremely long, uncut shots, that 20+-minute uncut shot of our main character having a few conversations, hopping on a motorbike to get to the other side of town, and the camera coming in through the window during the final conversation left me astounded. I could scarcely believe what I was seeing.

This actor should have done more movies like this: Tom Hanks, News of the World (2020)

For an actor who has long been compared to Jimmy Stewart for much of his career, it was half-surprising to me that Tom Hanks had never starred in an American Western like his predecessor before. News of the World neither fully embraces the classical Western nor the revisionist Western, and an older Hanks is very well-suited to the role here. Okay, perhaps a youthful Hanks (‘80s-‘90s) would have been unsuitable for Westerns. But he’s damn well suitable now.

Way too much body hair: Chuck Norris, The Way of the Dragon (1972, Hong Kong)

What just happened?: Megalopolis

The whole thing. The audience member speaking live to Adam Driver’s character two-thirds of the way through wasn’t even in my top five weirdest things about this movie. The IMAX theater didn’t have much folks there, but the experience was amazing!

Worst moment: THAT needle drop in War Is Over! Inspired by the Music of John and Yoko (2023 short)

Yet another Beatles or Beatles-adjacent song ruined for me! I was simultaneously embarrassed for the filmmakers (who won a fucking Oscar for this anyways, largely due to heavy lobbying from Peter Jackson, Sean Ono Lennon, and many other big names) and furious. If you had a camera capturing my reaction in-theater, you would have seen my brain melt in real time.

Worst use of music: Oh, come on. You know what it is! See above!

Worst title: Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire (2024)

It’s not a good movie, but I admit to liking it. I know Warners would like to tell you that you pronounce this “Godzilla Kong”, but that sounds like two first names lumped together (thanks, Rachel). Should it be “Godzilla times Kong”? “Godzilla ex Kong” as if us kaiju fans are shipping them? To this day, that frigging “x” bothers me, alongside that generic-as-hell subtitle!

[scratchybongvt]

MASCOTS READ MEAN TWEETS! (Sidemascots 1.13)

Stay tuned for a poll at the end!

Starring…

THE SIDEMASCOTS!

Vinicius: Season 1!

DISCLAIMER: None of the tweets are sent by real people, nor do they reflect the author’s opinion on each mascot. No offense to anyone intended.

Vinicius: “How does it feel to not work for Divertidos por Natureza for a long time?” Well, I was on multiple rehabs during the past month, and I was also busy working for the Sidemascots now! What? “Just a friendly reminder that the Carioca sisters exist and do breathe.” Oh, haha.

Sumi: “How does it feel to be the only surviving member of the Miga-Quatchi-Sumi trio”?! How does it feel to see ME survive?!

Miraitowa: -_- (The tweet he’s reading is “Default Olympic mascot”, classic.)

Burke: “Can we just appreciate the fact that he’s the only non-mascot to be in the Sidemascots?” Hey, I’m the unofficial mascot of Atlanta United! Oh, wait a minute, “Atlanta United?! Good luck beating Inter Miami, eh?!”, Hey, I’m also a fan of Messi!

Wenlock: “You’re named after a town in Shropshire, but promoted London?! Thin ice, whoever you are.” Hey, Olympic mascots don’t need to promote the host city! Also, I’m tirelessly trying to improve tourism in Much Wenlock! Just you wait!

Borobi: “Am I allowed to talk about your indigenous origins?” No mate! “How about I speak in Yugambeh”, oh haha.

Tina: “How does it feel to be an AC Milan fan for a week”, every day I think of the Inter Milan ultras holding large missiles in their hands, I’m scared.

Honohon: “Did you meet Uzumin? He’s so cute, cry emoji, cry emoji, cry emoji.”

Uzumin: Mina-san, konichiwa!

Honohon: Is that you?

Uzumin: It’s me! Let’s be friends!

Honohon: Oh, um… okay.

Uzumin: YAAAAAAAAAY!

Vinicius: THAT DOESN’T MEAN YOU’RE IN THE SIDEMASCOTS… YET!

Miraitowa: -_- (Another “default Olympic mascot” tweet)

Burke: “How many Miraitowas are there in this world?” Let me guess. “Two.” Oh haha.

Wenlock: “QUICK! BEFORE CRACKHEAD KNOWS THIS! IN SIDEMASCOTS 1.9 YOU GUYS-“

(@crackheadfromsainsburys shoots a laser beam on Wenlock’s head)

Crackhead: *gasps* Wenlock, are you okay?! Oh no…

Sumi: “Sumi, it’s Mukmuk, Miga’s dying. Help.” :/

Burke: “Atlanta United? So support a proper club!” I STAND BY THE GREAT CITY OF ATLANTA, GEORGIA! What? “Go to the real Georgia in Europe, dumbass”. Well yeah, but… but… LONG LIVE ATLANTA!

Vinicius: “You’re named after Vinicius de Moraes? I thought it was Vinicius Jr.! Get it?” Well, I do respect him a lot. That musician of course.

Tina: “Did you know that one of the Flos is going to cover Aladdin Sane?” What?

Sumi: It’s a David Bowie album.

Tina: Ohhhh… what?

Sumi: He’s a lad insane.

Tina: What the heck are you talking about-

Borobi: Scroll, scroll, scroll… Oh, finally, the one not about my indigenous origins! “Can anyone tell me how the AFL works?” Finally! It’s basically- wait… “I only know that the Suns are shit. Hahahahaha.”

Burke: Don’t worry, Borobi, it’s okay if your boyhood club receives some “rude comments”

Borobi: Thanks, mate.

Burke: Though it’s going to take some time to realize that Aussie rules aren’t popular in every other country, ha.

Borobi: OH COME ON MATE!

Sumi: “American black bear with flappy hands?! Are you drinking too much Red Bull?!” Well, I’ve seen someone who drank Red Bull a lot. It’s just that I don’t remember…

(@crackheadfromsainsburys shoots a laser beam on Sumi’s head)

Crackhead: SHUT. UP.

Burke: “Miami 2 Atlanta 1? Oh no, the best team won.” Suarez’ on fire, my defense is terrified!

Borobi: “1 matchday in and you got COOKED by Auckland?! It’s like a baby wrestled an adult!” Look, sometimes I wish I could return to the Gold Coast United days mate. I’m loyal to the Gold Coast.

Vinicius: WHAT?! SUMI’S DEAD?

Crackhead: He’s not dead, just in a coma.

Vinicius: (sobs)

Crackhead: Look, I’m-

(Vinicius chokes Crackhead)

Vinicius: HOW DARE YOU!

Uzumin: Don’t be koi – Let’s swim against the current. (Badum tsss)

Honohon: …

Uzumin: Get it? Koi? As in koi fish?

Rockstar Flo: There’s a starman, waiting in the sky…

Tina: Is that Aladdin Sane?

Rockstar Flo: No, it’s Ziggy Stardust.

Tina: What?

Rockstar Flo: You’re too young to understand Bowie darling.

Tina: But I’m fifteen-

Borobi: “Did anyone see the Gold Coast Titans? They’ve been missing from the finals mate.” Look, sometimes, I want to go- ohhhhhhh… WELL, HOW DARE YOU MATE!           

Vinicius: Look at what you've done to your idol!

Crackhead: (gasps) I forgot…

Vinicius: Did you read “The Catcher in the Rye”?

Crackhead: NO! (sobs) I’M A MONSTER! (runs out of the studio) A MONSTER!

Miraitowa: Right, all of the tweets you guys sent to me are all about me being a default Olympic mascot. I QUIT!

(Vinicius puts on the defibrillator onto Sumi’s chest)

Vinicius: CLEAR!

Sumi: GAH! WHAT HAPPENED!

Vinicius: We were filming a Sidemascots episode and you collapsed.

Sumi: Ack, my heart hurts.

Vinicius: You deserve a rest buddy.

Uzumin: Hey!

Honohon: What?!

Uzumin: Water you up to today?

Honohon: …

Uzumin: Get it? I was meant to “What are you up to today?” But instead, I say “Water you up to today?”

Honohon: You’re the worst.

Uzumin: PLEASE, DON’T LEAVE ME HONOHON!

Someity: I’ve deleted all of the mean tweets!

Vinicius: WHAT?!

Sumi: You can’t do that!

Someity: I can and I just did. I don’t need anyone to make fun of my diet. Mic drop.

Vinicius: …

Sumi: …

THE SIDEMASCOTS!

Crackhead: CLEAR!

Wenlock: AH, WHAT JUST HAPPENED?!

Crackhead: Please, forgive me for what I’ve done to you today!

Wenlock: Why is she suddenly praying for me today?

Vinicius: Uh… you’re a deity.

Wenlock: REALLY?!

Sumi: REALLY! And because of you we’ll officially grant you lifetime aura insurance!

Wenlock: YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!

Vinicius: Anyway…

VOTE NOW!

Vinicius: For the next 24 hours, you get to choose who will fill the vacant slot in the Sidemascots!

Sumi: Choose between…

Vinicius: Ettie (the Paris 2024 mascot kind!)

Ettie: VIVA LA PARIS!

Sumi: Zakumi!

Zakumi: Zamina Mina, eh eh, Waka waka eh eh eh!

Vinicius: Tom!

Tom: Don’t you start…

Sumi: Tani!

Tani: PLEASE! THIS IS MY ONE AND ONLY CHANCE TO ESCAPE FROM NORTH KOREAN SPIES!

Vinicius: Moongcho!

Sumi: I don’t think he’s okay…

Vinicius: A Bull?

(Perry puts his hat on again, tired of Phineas and Ferb references)

Vinicius and Sumi: PERRY THE BULL?!

Vinicius: You have 24 hours to vote…

Sumi: SO VOTE, NOW!

Vinicius: I recommend you vote for Tom.

Tom: WHAT?! DON’T VOTE ME! THESE GUYS ARE SH-

[snickerzanddoodlez]

Please check out my passion project over on #my-silly-little-guys !

Want to support my work or commission me? Check out my Ko-Fi!

I’m the director of the unofficial Wordgirl Reboot, Wordgirl: Rewired, and applications for the project are always, ALWAYS open! (And so is my inbox!)

If I reblog your art that means I’m begging you to join wordgirl rewired

(Check out Wordgirl Armageddon, an effort to help all of us Wordgirlies make some new friends and have some fun :))

2024: I GUARANTEE REVENGES ON ARTFIGHT! ATTACK ME IF YOU DARE :3 https://artfight.net/~SnickerzandDoodlez

ABOUT ME

NAME: SnickerDoodlez / SnickerzandDoodlez / Snickernova Doodlez

Nickname: Any variation of this! Snicky, Snicker, Doodlez, Snickerz, SnickyD…

Main Social: https://youtube.com/@snickerdoodlez9210?si=ZXtyZJl8kPCLS8iB

And as for Tumblr, you’ll see me more on @crown-of-roses-thsc !

She/Her; Straight; Minor

Hobbies/Skills: Drawing, Animating, Coding (learning), Writing

Language: English, American Sign Language (learning)

Neurodivergencies: OCD, ADHD, Major Depressive Disorder, maybe Autistic

Random Facts:

-I’m a theatre kid!

-I love horror / disturbing things, maybe a little too much

-I grew up on the Warriors fandom, and that’s an angsty angsty burden I’ll carry into every fandom I join

-I’m the director of Wordgirl Rewired!

-I’m a Christian, but don’t let that scare you off- I’m just here to have fun & spread positive vibes! *sticks a golden star sticker to your forehead* And I’m a huge horror fan…and fantasy fan….and I draw a lot of gore….Christians stop gatekeeping creativity (impossible? Not clickbait? Don’t try at 3:AM???)

Oh, and Friendly reminder to my fellow Christians that if you’re cursing someone out for doing or believing or BEING something you don’t agree with, you’re literally doing the opposite of what Jesus did….and I think you’ve got a might big plank in your eye that ya need to take out ;)

Sona:

~READ MORE FOR WAY TOO MUCH INFO~

Fandoms:

Wordgirl

The Henry Stickmin Collection

Don’t Starve / Don’t Starve Together

Wings of Fire

Warrior Cats

A Hat in Time

Wild Kratts

UnderTale / UnderTale Yellow

Favorite Movies:

Fantastic Mr. Fox

Live-Action Beauty and the Beast

Princess and The Frog

Secondhand Lions

Lilo and Stitch

Stranger Than Fiction

Into The Woods

Isle of Dogs

The Greatest Showman

Les Miserablés

Padak

The Rise of Miss Power

Coraline

School of Rock

Favorite Musicals:

Beetlejuice

Phantom of the Opera

Into The Woods

Les Miserablés

Heathers

Guys and Dolls

Favorite Color:

Magenta

Favorite Show:

Spy x Family

Wordgirl

Gravity Falls

DuckTales 2017

Camp Camp

Bojack Horseman

Parks and Recreation

Favorite Song:

House of Memories (Panic! At the Disco)

As the World Caves In (Matt Maltese)

Please Never Fall in Love Again (Ollie MN)

Karma (AJR)

Red Flags (Tom Cardy)

Lost One’s Weeping (Neru)

Cupid (Jack Stauber)

Goodbye to a World (Porter Robinson)

Sweet Rosalie (American Murder Songs)

No Children (The Mountain Goats)

The Haunted Phonograph (ThouShaltNot)

Puff The Magic Dragon (Peter, Paul & Mary)

The Ballad of Billy The Kid (Billy Joel)

Stranded Lullaby (Miracle Musical)

Business Man (Tom Cardy)

Favorite Song Artist:

The Stupendium

They Might Be Giants

The Mountain Goats

Jack Stauber

Lemon Demon

Evelyn Evelyn

Tally Hall

American Murder Songs

Mother Mother

Kaden McKay

Favorite Book:

Crookedstar’s Promise

School for Good and Evil

Warrior Cats (Arc 1)

The Bunker Diaries

Prisoner of Azkaban

Survivor Dogs

Favorite Food:

French Fries

Croutons

Goldfish

Kanelope

Favorite Game:

A Hat in Time

The Henry Stickmin Collection

Splatoon

Wolf Quest: Anniversary Addition

Don’t Starve Together

King’s Quest

The Witch’s House

Super Paper Mario

Cuphead

Undertale

Favorite Animal:

Tasmanian Devils

Rats

Kangaroos / Wallabies

Komodo Dragons

Dragons

Pigeons

MY BABY BOYS:

(Note: I am not defending any of these characters Mineta is a horrible person I just like skrunkly little fictional simps and gravitate towards the characters everyone hates)

Felix White (Henry Stickmin)

Tobey (Wordgirl)

Nuka (The Lion King 2)

Whisper (Survivors)

Spike (My Little Pony)

Spike (Friendship Is Witchcraft)

Minetta (My Hero Acedamia)

Hort (School For Good and Evil)

Sheldon (Splatoon)

Lefou (Beauty and The Beast)

Tammy (Tammy)

Plankton (Spongebob)

Zach (Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt)

One-Eyed Wally (Amphibia)

Emmet (Legally Blonde)

Dr. Hare (Poptropica)

Todd (Bojack Horseman)

Muck (Bob the Builder)

Octavio (Splatoon)

Pokétwo (Discord)

Tom (Parks and Recreation)

Rumplestiltskin (Shrek 4)

Squid (Wings of Fire)

Darkheart (Care Bears II: The Next Generation)

Zach Varmitech (Wild Kratts)

Garry (Ib)

Bartok (Anastasia)

David (Camp Camp)

Varian (Tangled the Series)

Frankie (Spy x Family)

Mayor Humdinger (Paw Patrol: Movies)

Mortimer Freeze (Cuphead: The Delicious Last Course)

Wally Warbles (Cuphead)

The Peas (VeggieTales)

Chameleon (Wings of Fire)

Jax (The Amazing Digital Circus)

Wilson (Don’t Starve)

Mad Dummy (Undertale)

Napstablook (UnderTale)

Toad (Mario)

Flick (Animal Crossing: New Horizons)

Ares (Percy Jackson)

Louie (DuckTales)

Gyro Gearloose (DuckTales)

Sirius Black (Harry Potter)

Hawt Sauce (Chikn Nuggit)

Swiftpaw (Warrior Cats)

[rumaifordays]

Loving My Boyfriend Comes Easy With A Hundred Reasons Why. 🤍

I hate abusive men but my boyfriend never been in this term, he does not recognise it at all, and I am genuinely thankful for that.

He doesn't make me feel small.

I have a lack of confidence, and he broke the cycle. He lifts up all of it; faith, belief, and reliance in me.

I simply love him.

So loving.

He's the life of every party.

His presence is always warmly felt.

His friendliness is truly heartwarming.

I love smart men, my boyfriend is so smart.

His emotional intelligence, real excellent.

Well boyfriend's so down bad for me. And I love, love, love that for real.

He truly hears and understands me.

He has a gift for making me feel valued.

He listens to me in a way that shows he deeply cares with his whole heart and patience.

My boyfriend is so attentive, you know.

Kinda lowkey, for someone who hates noise like me, he always knows exactly where to be. He knows just the right spot to be in.

I fall for him, unconditionally.

I've been calling him ‘sunshine’ all this time and it's not that I've had no reason to treat him this way.

He knows most of my heartbreak friendships.

He told me my kindness and warmth are beautiful.

He said I am beautiful.

He called me cute.

He is ever-ready to offer his support.

Mad to others only sweet to me.

He cannot stop praising his girlfriend (me) in front of others.

And he enjoys speaking fondly of me.

The way he's madly, hopelessly fallen hard for me.

He's for me.

That invisible strings theory.

He is perfect to me, I love him just as he is, flaws and all. He kisses all my weaknesses and I would love to kiss him (I mean his) in return.

I love him for his uniqueness and individuality.

He's the love of my life. Every part of him is precious to me.

He shows me the purest form of love. He makes me experience the beauty of it. Love is beautiful, and the fact that he created it for me. I am so grateful.

He'll be such a great father.

He's mine, my love mine all mine.

I miss him everyday.

I enjoy his company.

I cannot lose him.

Boyfriend's so cool and handsomest.

He laughs at all my jokes.

“Does he make you laugh?” Yes, he makes me feel heard and seen, he doesn't make me cry.

He's so American. (Wit and funny)

I have never been calm, until him.

He provides those feelings, the feeling of being in his arms, smelling his scent, and hearing his heartbeat. Don't you agree these are the most touching, heartening, and affecting ways to be in love?

I am yapping and it doesn't matter, he compliments every time I send him a picture, though.

He makes me feel wanted, and that makes it important, he makes me feel special.

The exclusivity he shares.

“How can we ensure our relationship feels more relaxed and nurturing?” Well I think, the man's love must be greater. He said that his love for me is wide, as vast as the ocean and beyond. I'm gonna make this relationship fair by returning whatever he gives.

My soul doesn't reject him.

He doesn't compare me with other women.

I love soft-spoken man.

And he doesn't remind me of my exes.

He's not an insecure boy.

He doesn't make me question my worth.

He takes care of my heart.

This man will never let me cry because of his behaviour.

He's so polite and understanding.

Mature and forward-thinking.

He knows what's wrong and what's right.

He's so honest.

One who can make me feel safe, and willing to be wild for me.

I appreciate him, for waiting, waiting for me the whole time.

My boyfriend's never been mean, and will never.

This man never gets tired of me.

When someone asks if I have ever been in love and I can genuinely say yes because this man I am with right now is so mirroring my type: kind-hearted, with a pure soul, the most caring, always makes sure I'm okay, and is my safe place.

The world is so much bigger when I'm with him.

He's like a poem I wish I wrote.

My body reacts to the right person. My appetite increases, my skin becomes beautiful, my lip becomes more colourful, and my stomach is always comfortable whenever I talk to him. He cures me.

The butterfly effect is so weird, because if I never sent you that one text, you wouldn't have become my everything.

The way we're being in love and commit to help each other be the best versions of ourselves.

He's explaining something but he looks like Robbers by The 1975.

He thinks of me a lot. I'm always on his mind.

He wants me.

And I want him too.

I asked God for a reason to stay and then he came into my life.

Thanks for giving me the loveliest relationship.

“I promise I'll build a home with no shouts of frustration and anger.”

Because for the first time... love doesn't feel like a rollercoaster. It feels safe and peaceful.

You don't know how lovely you are (you brought my spark back).

Finally feeling secure knowing that he'll still choose me no matter who wants him, no matter who's standing against me.

He's checking up on me.

He called me with sweet endearings.

He validate my thoughts.

He led me for the betterment, he taught me most realistic mindset without bring me feeling sensitive or offended.

He takes care of me, maybe he wasn't good at telling in details but I know actions speak volume.

Sometimes he is insensitive, or just doesn't know how to show his feelings. And it's my job to understand him.

Tsundere.

He listens to Taylor Swift.

He's so aware, my emphatic boyfie.

He befriends everybody, even enemies.

Love-hate to others, lovey-dovey to me.

He has goals.

He's a great survivor.

He filled my missing puzzles, I meant it.

I begin to adore his parents for raising him properly.

He's so sweet and clingy like a kitten.

His love gives me strength.

He's enough and never too much.

He trusts me and respects my boundaries.

All because he loves me first.

[tomorrowusa]

A friendly reminder that letting any Republican get elected president in 2024 will be a disaster for a woman's right to choose.

Donald Trump Donald Trump, the former president and GOP front-runner, has boasted about the fact that he appointed three of the Supreme Court justices who were part of the decision that overturned Roe. [ ... ] Ron DeSantis DeSantis calls himself a “pro-life candidate” and signed two abortion bans into law in Florida—a 15-week ban last year and the six-week ban this year—and suggested to Tucker Carlson in July he would sign a national version of Florida’s six-week abortion if he were president. More recently, during the second GOP presidential primary debate on Wednesday, he confirmed that he would sign a 15-week nationwide ban. [ ... ] Tim Scott Unlike some of his counterparts, South Carolina Sen. Tim Scott has not shied away from abortion on the trail and has made it clear to Iowans that he supports a national abortion ban.  “I am 100% pro-life. When I am president of the United States, I will sign the most pro-life legislation the House and Senate can put on my desk,” Scott wrote in a July op-ed for the Des Moines Register.  [ ... ] Nikki Haley Nikki Haley, a former UN ambassador and South Carolina governor, said during a May campaign event in New Hampshire that she would sign a nationwide abortion ban, without specifying details.  [ ... ] Mike Pence A good foundation of former Vice President Mike Pence’s political career has been built on opposing reproductive rights.  “I’m pro-life and I don’t apologize for it,” Pence frequently says. He ran for Congress in 1996 for “the babies” and said he was the first person to introduce legislation to defund Planned Parenthood in the US House of Representatives. [ ... ] Vivek Ramaswamy Vivek Ramaswamy, a former biotech entrepreneur, describes himself as “unapologetically pro-life,” but has said he does not believe a federal abortion ban “makes any sense,” while in the same breath comparing abortion to murder. “This is not an issue for the federal government. This is an issue for the states. I think we need to be explicit about that,” Ramaswamy told CNN in May. “If murder laws are handled at the state level and abortion is a form of murder, the pro-life view, then it makes no sense for that to be the one federal law.” At the state level, Ramaswamy said he backs outlawing abortion after six weeks. [ ... ] Chris Christie Chris Christie, the former New Jersey governor, told NBC he is a “pro-life” candidate who supports abortion exceptions for rape, incest, or the life of the mother. [ ... ] Asa Hutchinson Former Arkansas Gov. Asa Hutchinson signed a near-total abortion ban into law in 2021. The measure outlawed all abortions, except those performed to save the life of the mother. It did not include exceptions for rape or incest. [ ... ] Doug Burgum North Dakota Gov. Doug Burgum signed a near-total ban on abortion into law in his state in April of this year. The law bans abortion throughout pregnancy, with exceptions for cases of rape, incest, or medical emergencies up to six weeks of gestation. After six weeks, rape and incest victims cannot get abortions.

ALL of those candidates would appoint radical anti-abortion fanatics to the federal courts including the US Supreme Court.

Those candidates may differ on wording or nuance but are united in their desire to put a GOP uterus cop in every American bedroom.

Voting for some clown running as an independent or a third party candidate who has ZERO chance of getting elected is as bad as voting Republican. The only way to protect reproductive rights for the rest of this decade is to re-elect Democrat Joe Biden; remind people of this whenever the topic of abortion comes up.

[papirouge]

I feel like lately I've seen a lot more Christians being accepting of homosexuality or gender identity. What's up with that? Another thing is that many also seem to be into things like horoscopes or tarot like wtf. I used to believe that like half the people who say they're Christians are actually Christian, but now I'm believing is like 5%.

Okay but how do you even define "accepting of homosexuality"?

Because saying stuff like "Jesus didn't say to hate gay people" ≠ accepting homosexuality. A church accepting a gay person among them isn't "gay acceptance" neither - that's Christianity 101. Aren't Christians constantly boasting about Jesus hanging around prostitutes and tax collectors to show how merciful and tolerant he was? But it's a problem when churches display the same Christlike behavior? 🤔

I mean the simple fact that Christians are taking offense "hey don't hate [group they decided it was okay to hate on] shows how EVIL the average Christian has become. Especially on social media where the foulest behaviors are becoming normalized. Jesus was soooo right to warn us to guard our hearts in the end times because some many of 'us' went off the rails with unprovoked anger, hate and malice.

I am SICK of seeing Christians fake outrage at "gay acceptance" when they are the same ones joking about killing communists/liberals/FBI/gouvernment agents and whatnot. So homosexuality bad cause it's a sin but call for murder & hate aren't?

Like- I'll never come around why some of you are so unecessary weird about sexual sins acting like they were somehow a significantly bigger menace than any other ones. Like yeah drag queen in schools are a problem but I never see the same flock of Christians have the same energy to seethe against the epidemic of (sexual) violence, addictions, social inequality, poverty, etc. that are significantly affecting & damaging society more... Most people on this planet will never see a trans person IRL, let alone in their school.... let's get real. However I can bet that they're more exposed to any of the issues I've just put out.

Their outrage is extremely performative and hypocrite and I hope I'm not the only one to see through it. That's why I don't f*ck with conservative Christians. They are raging hypocrites and I get brain damage whenever I stumble on their stupid posts raging about objectively insignificant shit that would likely disappear if they touched some grass.

You're right in that the majority of self professed Christians actually aren't though. Maybe like 2% of us are actually genuinely trying to follow Christ teachi6ng without trying to find excuses for our shortcomings and cultural bias (hi pro gun American Christians 👋🏾 friendly reminder that murder is a sin, and that none of your shitty amendments to justify your sinful entitlement to death will fly before God on Judgment Day🩵)

[bluepenguinstories]

Remoras Full Chapter LXXIV: Baby, It’s Cold Outside

I just realized something: I underestimated my target.

Huh? ‘Target’? What do I mean?

It’s simple, my (personal) mission was to...was to what? What did I expect would happen, and if I expected something to happen, why have I been avoiding making it happen? Could it have been some subconscious guilt?

No. Doubtful.

Any guilt I feel would be conscious. I would know of it.

I already made the mistake of showing up with multiple purposes in mind, each of them clashing with the other. No, I already knew this much:

My purpose was a mistake.

I left those chicks behind. They always seemed to view me as an enemy; every time I went to feed them, they would peck at me, and not at the seeds I tossed down. Why I continued to feed those ungrateful beasts must have had to do with the fact that I too was an ungrateful beast.

I had a great job once, until I decided killing sucked all the life out of me. Most people fall out of love with their jobs at some point, but that doesn’t mean they just quit over it, right? Not to mention it paid well. So what if I didn’t have much freedom to live my life or make friends. When have I ever cared about such things, anyway? The friendliest I used to get was putting the ‘friendly’ in ‘friendly fire.’

No, that’s not even true, as I’ve tried plenty of times to wave to others, only to get dirty looks. Like, so what if I’m cold and you’re not? Does that really give them the right to judge me? Anyone would sour on people if they got nothing but dirty looks all the time, wouldn’t they?

Oh, but then we get to the two most important women in my sordid life: Juniper and Vesuvius. Such strange people, they were, and yet they desired to befriend me. Me, of all people. So what did I do? Kick the bucket like it was a game of football (the American kind or the European kind, it didn’t matter).

Then, I could have continued to have just been Rachel, yet I half-assed that.

I didn’t think hard enough about my new persona. I didn’t put in enough effort to leave that old life behind and allow them to move on.

Guess I should have moved on as well.

If I were to wrap up loose ends, the first thing I had to do was confront my target.

I approached the house, stepping atop the brown grass and the dry soil. Each step made crunching noises, just like my footsteps would have made were I in the snow.

When I entered the house through the creaking door which reminded me of the howling wind during a blizzard and the varnished wood floor which felt like ice skating, I noticed Juniper Bark: target #1. The main target. She sat upon the couch.

“Where’s Ves?” I asked.

When I last left the royal volatile beauty, she was at the dining room table. Now, however, she was nowhere to be seen. Usually, I wouldn’t have cared so much, but this was a delicate matter.

“She’s taking a nap. After you went to feed the chickens, she had a little breakdown,” Juniper explained. Her voice was dull. No cuteness at all, and she sounded rather annoyed that I talked to her at all.

She had her legs folded up on the couch, and her arm between her legs, with a television remote in her hand. My attention turned toward the TV: it was on mute, and the only thing on was crackling static.

The television turned off, which meant either that wasn’t Juniper’s favorite show, or she had already seen that episode too many times.

I slid down and sat to the side of the couch.

“You know who I am, don’t you?” I asked her.

“What do you think?” She asked right back.

Gee. I don’t know. Why do you think I asked you in the first place? Was what I wanted to ask, but god damn it, I had tact.

“How long?” I said instead.

“Since the moment you showed up. No, there was even that suspicion during the phone call.”

There was a sudden draft in the air. You know what that means.

“H-How? I thought I had the perfect disguise. I shaved my head, I changed my name. It’s not even a pun. Do you know how unbearable that part was?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Juniper just shrugged it all off, “your shiver gives you away.”

I shivered again.

“God damn it,” I cursed under my breath. It came out like an icy puff.

“Yeah, I’d say so,” Juniper agreed.

“What about Ves? Why hasn’t she caught on?”

“Oh, I’m sure she has, but she doesn’t want to admit it,” Juniper’s dullness turned to a groan before a heavy sigh, “honestly, it’s exhausting. Both of you.”

OK. That part sounded angry. Was she mad?

“Why doesn’t she want to admit it?” I asked. I could have asked the more obvious question, “why are you mad, though?” But that didn’t seem so productive.

“You really need an explanation?” She sounded even more annoyed than before. Yikes.

“Yes? Why would I ask if I didn’t want an explanation?” I was annoyed right back.

“You’re right. Sorry,” Juniper shook her head. “You’re you. I forgot things like emotions don’t come easy for you.”

“It’s not that I can’t detect emotions,” I corrected her.

“As I’m sure you’ve guessed, Ves doesn’t have any supernatural powers. She managed to get rid of the angel bit inside of her. The side effect being that for a while, it was difficult to get her to feel any sense of joy.”

“Amazing. And just as I said on the phone, it seems like she’s in a better place.”

She nodded, but she didn’t seem very pleased by that remark.

“On top of that difficulty and her tendency to dwell on the negative, she couldn’t shake off the guilt that came with your death. She’d start seeing you in everyone.”

“What, did she see me penetrating them?”

“Not like that!”

“Then like what? No, don’t tell me. Just keep going.”

“She’d compare others to you. When she met Remora, she saw her as a second chance to make things right with you.”

“What was there to make right?”

“You know, she never wanted you to die. She really wished we all could have been friends.”

Juniper lowered her head. I would have done the same, but how was I to get a good look at her if I kept my head down?

“That’s not a burden she should have bore. I told her already, it wasn’t her fault. It was my decision. Isn’t that enough?”

“You don’t see how your actions can affect others?”

I grabbed the hems of my jeans and clenched my fists.

“I was never meant to be known.”

“It’s too late for that,” Juniper waved her hand away. “You already left a strong impression on both of us.”

My ears perked up. If I was a ferret, or an ermine, or even a stoat, I would have rolled around in the snow hearing that.

“I did?”

“Of course. Hard to forget someone who tried to kill you.”

Just like that, the mood dropped like the temperature in a room filled with cool air.

“Can’t we just put the past behind us?” I asked.

“I’d love to, but the past is right beside me.”

“In that case...nice to meet you, my name is Rachel.”

“That’s not going to work this time,” she shook her head. Defeated once again.

“Why not? Why can’t it work? Why can’t I exist beside you guys as someone else?”

“Is that what you want? Then why drop all these hints about who you were, or still are, if you don’t want that part of you to be known?”

“I don’t want to be a ghost, and I don’t want to be forgotten. I had nowhere else to go. My wants may be a contradiction, but both are true at the same time.”

“So you thought this was your solution? You’re going about this the wrong way.”

“What other solution would you have come up with?”

“I don’t know, be honest? Ves and I probably would have understood if you were just upfront, instead of this tiptoeing that you’ve been doing instead. I swear, both of you think you’re doing the right thing for others without ever consulting the people you’re doing these things for. Yet for some reason, you think of yourself as the ‘rational’ one, whatever that even means. If you know communication is important, why don’t you do it?”

“Hey,” I shot back, “I don’t know what you’re scolding me for. You haven’t communicated with your wife about your jealousy. You want me to say what I mean? You should do so as well.”

“You’re right,” Juniper nodded.

What was it with people and not giving the expected reaction? Shouldn’t she have been more defensive?

“That’s why all three of us should discuss this tonight. Get it all out in the open.”

“What?!” I almost got up, I was so shocked.

“Keep your voice down. Our favorite volcano is currently dormant.”

“You could just say she’s asleep, you know.”

“I feel like I could use a nap, myself, and yet I’ve barely been awake today. It’s still morning, for cryin’ out loud.”

“Yeah, well, may as well sleep if you got nothing better to do,” I suggested.

“Nope. You’re not getting out of this one. I definitely have something better to do than rest, and that’s confronting you.”

I gulped.

“You say ‘be honest’ like it’s easy, but look at it from my point of view: if I were to be honest, wouldn’t that have stirred up bad memories? Now do you see why I believed what I was doing was right for the both of you?”

Juniper nodded.

“I understand where you’re coming from, and that’s also what you don’t understand: your presence would have stirred bad memories regardless of who you presented yourself as. You can’t fully hide yourself, and there’s always going to be those little things. It’s going to hurt, and maybe it’s supposed to.”

“Then should I not have come here?”

“That’s not what I’m saying. You, of all people, Ms. Assassin, should know that sometimes pain is necessary. That doesn’t mean we don’t like you or don’t want you here.”

“Okay, first of all,” I stood up and put one finger up, “I am not, nor was I ever, an assassin. My job and the assignments I received often involved killing people, but the correct terminology wouldn’t be ‘assassin.’ The closest thing would be a ‘garbage collector.’ I collected the trash and disposed of it.”

“People are NOT trash,” Juniper looked up and scowled.

“Some are.”

“Human lives have value.”

“Yeah, yeah. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. I get that.”

“What were Ves and I to you? Trash or treasure?”

“Vesuvius was trash, you were treasure. Until you became spoiled, and then you were trash as well.”

She continued to scowl. I suppose any normal person would have seen that as the point where a falling out were to occur and I was kicked out of the house, left to figure out another place to stay.

I’m sure, in hindsight, as honest and sincere as I thought I was, it only made sense for her to do so.

But for better or worse, Juniper wasn’t like that.

“Then why couldn’t you dispose of us?” She asked instead.

“Because it turns out I was the biggest piece of trash of all.”

“That’s not true, either.”

I stared down at her. Even with that fiery passion which seemed more fitting on Ves, Juniper was as kind as ever.

“I know,” I admitted. “It’s all a figure of speech. An analogy. Dehumanization to make the job more palatable. I understand, at least on some level, that people are more than just targets. Spending time with you two was probably the most dangerous thing I could have done.”

“Why is that?”

“Because...it made it harder to see you two as anything other than...something precious. I mean both statements in the most literal way possible: you two broke me, and I don’t know if I would have allowed myself to be broken by anyone other than you two.”

“You never know. But for what it’s worth, I’m glad we had such an effect on you.”

I nodded.

“It made me wish I could do the impossible: form a connection with someone. I really meant it before when I said it would have been nice if we could be friends.”

“It can still happen.”

“How? Not only are you two different people, but I should have never been in your lives in the first place.”

“Let’s consider that both of those statements are true: does that really prevent us from being close?”

“How should I know? I’ve never been close with anyone, and I wouldn’t have wished to be, were it not for you.”

“Looks like the great and powerful Rhea has a weakness after all.”

For the record, my weakness is cute girls like you.

“Hey! Don’t use that name when a certain someone is around. She could wake up at any minute.”

“You’re going to tell her anyway, aren’t you?”

I groaned.

“I doubt you’ll give me a choice.”

“You have a choice. But you’ll do it because you love us,” Juniper winked.

“Don’t use such frivolous words.”

“Heh,” she snickered, then leaped out of her seat and stood up. “Hey. Let’s go on a drive.”

“What?” Such a statement was made so little sense that it made me wonder if I heard it at all.

“Yeah. We need a few more groceries. Besides, I’m sure Ves could use some alone time, and by the time we get back, we can talk to her.”

I still wasn’t interested in this ‘talk’ that kept getting mentioned. Yes, it was necessary. But without it written out as an assignment in an organized manner, it just didn’t feel tangible.

“Do I have to? If I stay here, I can have some alone time to myself.”

“But if you go, you can have some alone time with me.”

Ugh...talk about a rock and a Juniper place. The age old question: “should I stay or should I go?”

If I stay, I get alone time with me.

If I go, I get alone time with Juniper.

Why must I be cursed with making such decisions?

“All right. If it’s for you,” I concluded after looking around the house.

Besides, if it’s between being alone with (an awake) Juniper and being alone with (a sleeping) Ves, I know which I’d pick.

“Heh. I knew you’d make the right decision!” She grinned.

Ack! She was too bright! Too cheerful!

“It’s only because I’m weak to your charm,” I admitted.

“Hehe,” Juniper was even more elated. The gall.

She slipped off her slippers and slipped on some sneakers. On a rack next to the door were car keys.

“Say, are you a little cold? Would you like to borrow one of Ves’s sweaters? Hers are about your size.”

“A ‘little cold’? Excuse me? I’m a tall cold.”

“Right. Well, it’s up to you. I’m going to be blasting the AC on the way there, as for me, it’s pretty warm outside.”

“Grumble grumble,” I grumbled as I trudged over to the bedroom.

It wasn’t too hard to be quiet in the presence of another, and I was able to slip inside, slip a sweater off of the sweater rack, and slip away.

All that said, for that brief window I was inside, I stole a glance at the bed and Ves, who happened to have her face firmly planted in the cushion of the pillow. Her resting face was, dare I admit, serene. The way the curtains let in just enough light to shine on the side of her cheek and illuminate her shoulder length, golden blonde hair with just a touch of orange streaks.

It was like watching a lemon and a tangerine sumo wrestling.

Yes, I could think of no better analogy.

Juniper had one of those tawdry white pickup trucks. Nothing fancy, and in fact, it looked the opposite of fancy; ready to collapse at any moment. Part of me wondered if Juniper just built it herself from scratch and expected it to run. But she did say she drove into town to the grocery store several times…

We got in.

Her in the driver’s seat, and I in the passenger side.

The car pittered and pattered about. Sputtered as well.

“Is this thing safe to drive?” I turned to her and asked while she was already driving it down the road.

“It might explode, but the more likely thing to happen is just that it breaks down and stops in the middle of the road,” she explained.

“That doesn’t instill any confidence.”

The whole time she drove, her eyes were fixed forward on the road. It just occurred to me that despite all the vegetation on our little crumb of the world, the surrounding area was something more of a desert. I believe I saw a few of those tumbleweeds roll across the barren fields.

Juniper must not have cared. Maybe she’s seen all the highway had to offer.

“This thing’s what they call a gas guzzler, isn’t it?” I commented while staring out the window. We did pass by little tree farms. No other houses, though. The sky was cloudy, but nothing to suggest a chill omen on the way.

“It’s not that bad. Besides, we don’t go far,” Juniper replied, with her usual cheer and smile.

Something told me the fumes coming from the back of this death machine was of no concern to her.

“If it’s not far, why don’t we walk?” I suggested.

“In this heat? No way. Maybe on a cooler day.”

“It’s plenty cold to me,” I shrugged, with my forehead stuck on the glass window. I was sure it would fog up the glass. That was proof enough I was cold, wasn’t it?

“Would it warm you up if you ran?”

“Maybe.”

“So if one day we need to go out for groceries, if you gave me a piggyback ride, you would run to the store?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“How would we carry the groceries?”

“With our hands? What kind of question is that?”

“What if I get thirsty?”

“Bring a water bottle. You’re so worried about the logistics, yet you drive a pickup truck when it’s probably not necessary to do so.”

“It was pretty important when I needed to haul wood and stuff. Who knows when we might be in the mood for building things again?”

“You can’t be serious. Isn’t there plenty at the house as it is?”

“Are you just complaining for the sake of complaining?”

I puffed my cheeks.

“I’m not just complaining. I’m making conversation.”

“All right. I got something I’m curious about.”

“What?”

“Did you fake your death?”

My face clenched. Out of all the things to ask, it had to be…

“Do you think I would go through all that trouble? I wanted to die,” I rasped, just to make the message clear.

Juniper winced and her smile soured, only to bounce right back.

“So what do you think happened?”

“As in?”

“You coming back.”

“I don’t know. There was the coma idea. It’s not like there was no basis for my boxing story. But something tells me it wasn’t just a coma. I was too fresh for it to be that.”

“What do you mean?”

I shook my head. Even thinking of that cold awakening was unbearable.

“The wounds. I was still bleeding out when I woke up. I was told it was a few years later, but if it was a coma, wouldn’t there be some sign that I was being treated for it? No. I woke up in the arctic. Far from where I had intended to die. Worse, such a cold place like that, almost as if I was being mocked by the universe itself.”

“Strange.”

“I’d say it’s easier not to think about it, but I won’t lie, it does bother me.”

“What if...say, you weren’t actually you, but rather someone who looks like you, and with your memories?”

What a rancid suggestion.

“The thought has crossed my mind. I’m not saying it’s impossible; it is. But rather, if I have all the hallmarks of me, right on down to mannerisms, to the point where changing my appearance and my name won’t change who I am, what use is it to consider that I’m anyone else but me?”

“You’re right. Sorry,” she said, and her lips turned all lopsided again.

Please don’t look that way.

“You have every right to ask me such things,” I tried what I thought would ease the mood, “the truth is, that’s still a possibility so long as I don’t know what really happened. That’s always going to linger in the back of my mind until I find the answer. If I can find the answer. But being here with you is all the ease I need.”

That wasn’t the whole truth. No one thing would give me all the ease I needed. Still, that answer should give me a few points in Juniper’s favor which I can hopefully cash in at a later date.

Her lips turned again, this time in the shape of elbow macaroni. It wasn’t the smoothest of smiles, but it was one nonetheless.

“I’m glad. I hope we can all bring each other ease.”

We soon arrived in what looked like...not a town, but more like one of those Wild West towns. You know what I mean? I hope so, because I couldn’t find another way to describe it. I didn’t see any houses for dwelling, just a few wood buildings on one end which housed small shops like ‘wood shop’, ‘candy shop’, ‘electronic repair shop’, ‘horse repair shop’, and ‘thirdhand goods shop.’ I’m guessing with the last one it was like a secondhand goods with one extra hand.

On the right end, the end we were pulling into, there was a large parking lot, then an alleyway, then the turbomarket (like a supermarket but more super, I guess).

The alleyway was just a blue painted wall which divided the parking lot from the supermarket (or turbo, I guess. Really, let’s go back to calling it a grocery store). It had a canopy up top and if I had to bet on what was in that little alley, I’d have said a dumpster and maybe some chairs for the employees to sit down and have a smoke or something. And I bet I’d win that bet, too.

As soon as we got out, a rush of freezing air washed over me and it was almost enough to knock me back.

“Air conditioning too high?” Juniper asked.

“N-No!” I shook my head with vigor, “I think if anything it’s the difference in temperature. I didn’t notice at all in the car, but it’s really chilly out here, isn’t it?”

Juniper extended her arm forward, with her palm spread out.

“Would it help warm you up if we held hands in the store?”

There weren’t many cars around in the parking lot, thank goodness for that, but there could have been eyes anywhere. In the bushes, or staring through the windows.

I looked around, but couldn’t catch the watchful eyes of anyone. Nor anything, for that matter. As far as I could tell, no spy cameras or the like.

“A-Are you sure?” I turned back to Juniper, but couldn’t quite look her in the eye. Not when her hand was so close to mine.

“It will be okay. I’m with you, remember?” Her voice was soothing, but it wasn’t her voice that reassured me, but that soft and radiant smile I was so used to seeing way back in my memories.

My arm shook as I reached out for her hand. At last, I grabbed it with a tight grip so as not to let go.

She swung our hands forward as we walked into the glass doors of the grocery store. Outside were displays of potted plants and other green vegetables.

The whole while we walked, my heart pounded and throbbed and I felt like I was about to break into a sweat and gasp for air. Worse, I started having such obscene thoughts:

I want to lock fingers with hers. I want us to play with each other’s thumbs. This is agony.

Inside was far bleaker, as the walls were some kind of murky blue and the lights above were dim to the point where I had to double check to see if there were any bulbs in there at all.

Between each aisle were baskets full of green things, like meter long zucchini and cucumbers, watermelons, and piles of cabbages.

Worst of all: there were other people. I could spy at least two people at each aisle. Some stood in line at checkout stands. Some worked the cash register at said checkout stands. Why did there have to be so many people? What if some looked at me? What if they tried to talk to me?

Juniper began to walk forward and with her free hand, pulled out some wooden contraption from her pocket which unfolded into a basket. As soon as she jerked us forward, I gasped.

“Aa...ah, right, it’s standard procedure to walk in the grocery store.”

Juniper turned to me and my face began to build up steam.

“Are you okay?” She asked.

“Yes. I know the rules,” I said to reassure both of us.

“What are the rules?” She raised an eyebrow.

“We...uh...buy food here.”

“If it helps, you can close your eyes. Just try not to bump into things.”

I did as I was told. Anything to help Juniper.

It immediately fell apart as soon as I closed my eyes and started having thoughts of several Junipers jumping around on pink clouds.

“Aah! It’s too much!” I gasped and opened my eyes.

“Do you want to go back to the car?”

“No. I just need more time to get acclimated,” I declared. I felt so bold for it, too, even though in reality I must have taken deep breaths between every word.

The rest of the grocery shopping went okay. At one point, I tried closing my eyes again and bumping into someone. I opened them and saw a middle aged lady with brown hair in multiple buns stacked over each other in a purple cardigan sweater.

“Well, aren’t you going to say ‘sorry’ or ‘excuse me’?” She scowled.

I would have done so if she didn’t give such a dirty look. No one was asking her to do that. An accident should be obvious enough.

“You clearly should have known I had my eyes closed,” I informed the lady.

She turned her nose up and walked away.

What is with rude people? Even in such a small area as this, they’re everywhere. Yet I’m somehow seen as the bad guy.

Once that lady was a considerable distance away, Juniper turned to me.

“I know she had an attitude, but you could have still said sorry,” Juniper whispered.

“I was going to until she had an attitude. It’s her fault.”

“If I had to take sides, you know I would take yours, but sometimes we have to pick our battles.”

“What battle? I didn’t even punch her.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“I could have.”

“Don’t.”

We continued to walk around and I watched Juniper fill her basket. She had all sorts of things, like lentils, pears, and sliced bread. I even asked if we could add popsicles and frozen pizzas and she said yes.

Once we got to the checkout counter, it was fronted by some elderly old man with thinning hair and a nasally voice. He seemed harmless enough, but not above reproach if warranted.

“Good day, Juniper,” the cashier greeted.

“Hey there, Tilty. How goes it?”

“Oh, you know. The dogs help remind me to take my arthritis meds. How about you?”

“Just grocery shopping for the wife.”

“And who is this?”

“This is Rachel,” I heard Juniper introduce and already I felt like a block of ice.

“Well, nice to meet you, Rachel,” Tilty greeted.

“Don’t talk to me,” I replied without even looking his way. “I’m still annoyed with that rude lady from earlier.”

“I see…” His voice trailed off.

“Also don’t refer to me by name until you know me,” I added.

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Juniper released her hand. “Just because someone was rude to you doesn’t mean you get to be rude to someone else!”

Now Juniper’s mad at me. Even now, things just don’t work well between people and I.

I walked out of the store.

It was clear the whole journey was a mistake to begin with. I was too hasty. I didn’t gather enough information and I paid the price for it.

“Hey! Where are you going?” Juniper called after me. Did it really matter what for?

In the alleyway was where I sat, right next to the dumpster. It stunk, but that was just part of the deal. At least the cold, concrete that I sat on welcomed my bum.

Ever since meeting you two, I lost my edge. Worse, I can’t get it back. Worst still, I have nothing to show for it. Even my rough exterior just comes off as pathetic now.

Across the street from where I sat was a wooden sign with small, black printed text. I couldn’t see what it said, even when I squinted my eyes. But the contents didn’t matter. It was all about the image.

I pantomimed having my rifle in both hands. I knew that was lost forever as well, so a pretend one would have to do.

I squinted my eyes as if I were trying to get a clear view for my target, then…

“There you are!” Juniper’s voice.

I didn’t even hear any footsteps. I was so caught up in the bliss of some faux-glory days that I didn’t even sense any sounds outside of my thoughts.

I looked up. She stood over me, but with the shade of the canopy, she cast little shadow.

“What are you doing?” She asked.

“Daydreaming of a life long gone,” I answered.

“Right. You know, at the store, that clerk meant you no harm or offense. Everyone who shops around here tends to be friendly.”

“Except that one lady,” I pointed out.

“Yes, except her. Except she might have been having a bad day as well. I’m not saying she was, but it’s possible. Either way, you don’t have to be formal, I’m not even asking you to be nice, but can you please try not to be mean?”

“I was just laying out my terms and conditions.”

“Right. And you said how you were still mad with that lady from earlier.”

“Annoyed. And it’s the truth. Was I not supposed to say what I mean?”

“That’s not it. Look, I’m autistic, so sometimes these things are hard --”

I waved my hand away.

“I get it already,” I stopped her. “I know I’m not supposed to be rude to service staff and I even try to be friendly around strangers. I’ve tried saying hello to people only to get called a weirdo, and I’ve tipped people whenever I can, and I still get looked at funny for it. I’ve tried with people, but I don’t get the same treatment back. It only stands to reason that most people would make me uncomfortable.”

“I get there’s a lot of people like that, and may not give you a chance. I’m sure Tilty doesn’t hold a grudge, so you should be fine for a next visit, if you wanted to. But even if you’re nervous, it doesn’t give you the right to be an asshole.”

“No, but knowing how cruel people can be does.”

“No! Hate begets hate!”

“Sure, and love thy enemy is a nice sentiment until said neighbor wants to hang you or put several bullets in you.”

“I love you, though.”

“Stop that!” I leaned back and my face turned pale.

Juniper set down the basket of groceries next to the wall and sat down next to me. I panicked and backed away again.

“What are you doing?!” I demanded.

“I want to see the world the way you see it,” she answered.

“Well, that’s going to be rather hard with you sitting in front of me.”

“Remember way back when you said my kindness was a weakness?” She asked.

She wasn’t totally blocking the view. After all, she was shorter than me, so as long as I sat up, I could still see things just fine.

“Yeah,” I answered, “and I don’t think that’s true.”

“I think you had a point. I think you said that because of how people could end up taking advantage of me. I also know how cruel and cold the world can be, just as I knew then. But I still helped people then, and I know I’ve been taken advantage of before, too. I guess I’ve just been lucky that it’s always ended up resolving itself and turning out for the better. But I know not everyone’s so lucky.”

“I like your kindness, though.”

“Thanks. I also get that you’re more guarded and can be more cautious and even at times aggressive. The life you led couldn’t have helped, either. Not to mention, few people understand your condition or even wish to understand and just judge you for what they see. There’s probably a lot more than that, but I get where your worldview comes from. I don’t think it’s bad to be guarded, either, especially because sometimes caution is needed. It’s just important to know that while it may be hard to see it sometimes, there are kind people, too, and sometimes you need to be kind while also being cautious.”

“Can you show me an example?”

“Later.”

“Can I at least hug you?”

“Not unless you want the popsicles to melt. Come on, let’s head back home.”

“Ugh…”

Back home, I ran in and tossed the box of popsicle sticks into the freezer.

When I ran back out of the kitchen, Juniper stood next to the dining room table with the basket of groceries.

“Hey, you two, where have you been?” Ves asked, emerging from her room.

“We went to the grocery store,” Juniper replied, and pulled out a couple of pears.

“Yay! Pears!” Ves ran over to the pears and took one, then before taking a bite, gave Juniper several kisses across the face.

It was painful to bear witness. Was it because I wanted to be the one to kiss Juniper all over? Or...

Do I want to be the one being kissed all over by Ves?

I cringed at such a thought.

She wouldn’t even have to lean over that much like she does with Juniper. With Juniper it’s like she’s a hen and pecking at bird seeds on the floor.

“Are you okay, Rachel?” Ves asked, tilting her head as she did so.

“Yeah,” I said, while looking away.

It wasn’t that I was jealous, right? Maybe I was disgusted. After all, the very act of seeing people kiss was a fairly normal thing to be disgusted by.

Or maybe it’s just disgusting that it’s not happening to me.

“We ran into a rude lady at the grocery store,” Juniper explained.

“Oh no, is that so?” Ves asked.

“Yeah. But I didn’t punch her. So it’s okay.”

Juniper turned and fixed her gaze upon me. It was either a glare, or a reminder.

Oh, right. The talk.

“You might want to hurry up and eat the pear. You probably won’t have an appetite soon,” I suggested.

“Uh. What?” Ves gave a nervous chuckle.

“Yeah. Finish the pear. Then you should probably have a seat at the couch.”

Juniper then titled her head as well. Both of their eyes were upon me.

“Yeah. You might wanna eat a pear or something, too, Juniper.”

Knowing my recent string of luck, this will probably result in failure.

They both sliced through those pears with their front teeth, like a woodchuck with wood. After tossing them out back where the compost pile was, they went over to the kitchen. Both of them sat on the couch, toward the right end. Juniper sat in front of Ves. Which would have made Juniper closer to me. Any other time, I would have found that a treasure, but it was really the princess I wished to break.

I continued to stand. It felt better that way.

“So what is this about?” Ves asked.

“You know this kinship we’ve been feeling? It’s no coincidence,” I began.

“It’s not?”

I shook my head.

“You see, while I said earlier that my ‘death’ wasn’t your fault, and I didn’t mean to make you cry, it is true that you inspired it. You see, three years ago, I was in the area when you were still a therapist and hearing about you made me want to quit…”

I stopped after seeing Juniper’s jaw hang low.

I sighed. That wasn’t right.

“Fuck it,” I shook my head, “there never was any boxing.”

“There wasn’t? But okay, were you in the area? And how did you know I was a therapist? Also, sorry if you saw me around that time, I was going through a lot.”

“I know you were. And you’re damn right I was in the area. You were such a shitty therapist, and you know why? Because you were a fake. You were never supposed to be one in the first place. Somehow you thought such a job, which you yourself weren’t qualified for and had no idea what to say to others, would bring you happiness.”

“Now hold on a second. Where do you get off?” Vesuvius scowled.

It seems I struck a nerve. That wasn’t important. If anything, it was all a part of the procedure.

“I have every right to get off on you! You caused so much trouble at that time, not just for me, but for others around you. And sure, they may have forgiven you, and I get it was largely not your fault, but seriously? You can’t blame one of those celestials for every action you took. Some of that was on you.”

“Celestials? What? And what do you mean trouble for you? I don’t recall ever seeing you as a therapist.”

“Oh, but you did. Just under a different name, with a different set of hair. Does Clara Waters ring a bell? If not, that’s fine, it’s not one of my favorites. It was a fake name, just like you were a fake therapist. There was also Clair Skye. Do you see what I’m getting at here?”

“What? What are those names?”

“And you wanna say you’re in a better place, and that you moved on, but I heard about what went down between you and Remora. You were waiting for an excuse for your grief to be over that you tried to project onto someone else. Now, I know you’ve moved past that as well, but here you are: saying you’ve moved on still, yet willing to deny what’s right in front of you for the illusion of wellness. So now it falls on me, the ghost of Christmas past, to tell you, Mr. Scrooge…”

“Stop messing around, Rhea!” Juniper scolded.

“Right. I was so caught up in my rant I forgot what I actually wanted to say.”

Tears began streaming down Ves’s cheeks.

“What kind of sick joke is this?” She asked, at first soft, but then she continued, louder, “where did you hear all these things? More importantly, why are you saying such things?”

There was no need for me to plea for understanding or give such a pitiful pursed lip. If my stare wasn’t enough, I didn’t know what was.

“I know I don’t look like a zombie, but I figured the scar would be a dead giveaway. Considering it was a parting gift.”

“Enough!” She shouted and sobbed into her hands.

I stared for a few seconds, but couldn’t think of anything else to reach her with. The truth really wasn’t worth the damage.

“I’ll find somewhere else to go. Thank you for these past few days. Both of you,” I bowed, then walked out of the house.

Not even a few steps outside, and the clouds turned black as it started to rain. First a drizzle, then a downpour.

I continued walking in spite of how soaked I was. My destination was the highway. Where to? Wherever I could dry off.

As I neared the highway, I began to think of that reaction more.

It’s like what I was trying to avoid came true. What was it worth telling her anything? We could have stayed...what? I couldn’t have stayed Rachel. Not like I could ever keep the same name for very long.

Twice in the same day, I made that woman cry.

I made a scene at the grocery store and made Juniper mad.

All I’ve been doing was making life worse for the both of them. What delusions did I have? Some kind of silly fling? In this lifetime? No, not even in the next.

I’m pretty sure I began to cry as well. It could just be my eyes were strained from the rain getting in my eyes, but the drops, which I was sure fell from either my cheeks or my nose, tasted salty. Almost warm, or a little sweet.

This confused sense of warmth was the best I could ask for.

I shivered again. Was it just me or was the rain getting more intense?

Behind, I heard splashing and clicking sounds as if someone was running over. I turned back, and there Juniper was, running toward me.

She was just a few steps toward me when she tripped against some wet soil and almost fell. I caught her hand just in time and held her up.

“Thank you,” she huffed.

“What are you doing out here?” I asked.

“You need to get back inside!”

I looked back toward the road. I wasn’t far. It wasn’t like I was forced to go in.

“I really can’t stay,” I concluded.

“Rhea, it’s cold outside!”

“Yes, and it will be cold inside, as well.”

“You’ll catch a cold.”

“I’m already cold.”

She grabbed my hand tighter and tried to pull me toward her.

“Come on!”

“No. I don’t have a place here.”

“And I’m saying you do!”

“But what about Ves?”

“She’s still on the couch! She wants you back in!”

“What if she’s not?”

“You’re right. She might be in the bedroom getting blankets.”

“Then why would you lie?”

“I’m not! You’ll see!”

“Make sense!”

She stood up on her tiptoes and reached her hand up to my cheek, wiping away some of the rain (and possibly tears).

“Sorry. I’m not one of those ‘kissing in the rain’ types. Besides, I don’t think we’re done talking in there.”

“What will Murphy’s Law charge us with this time?”

“Would you rather speculate or find out?”

I guess I would rather find out, as I ended up following her back in.

Inside, the lights were warm with candlelight on the tables. On the couch was no Ves, however.

“I thought you said she’d be on the couch.”

“Look! Blankets!” Juniper pointed to a spot on the couch where a blanket was laid down and several other blankets hung off the neck of the couch.

I shook all the rain off of me, just like a dog would, then raced toward the couch.

Once I wrapped myself in all the blankets, I shivered about. So business as usual.

Ves emerged from the kitchen with a mug in her hands.

“Would you like some hot chocolate?” She asked. I noticed her eyes were red and puffy.

“Hot. Cold. Doesn’t matter.”

“Okay. Do you like chocolate?”

I glared at her. She glared right back at me. I wondered if my eyes were red as well.

“Yes,” I said at last.

She brought forth the mug and set it down at the coffee table not far from the couch.

She sat down across from me, back at the right end where she was before. She had her legs curled up.

“Sorry about my outburst. I didn’t mean for you to walk out,” she said.

“You’re forgiven.”

“Am I?”

I glared at her, then started to cough.

“What is with you and forgiveness? As if that’s the real issue here?”

“Well, what about you and all that rant about how I caused all these problems and I’m not actually all mentally well?”

“It’s all true.”

“As brutal as ever, I see,” she scowled.

“And you’re still stubborn as all hell.”

“You’re one to talk. We could have worked together on a solution, you know.”

“Same goes to you. I offered multiple times.”

“Yeah, but don’t you see those were bad solutions and wouldn’t have worked anyway?”

“As if you had any better ideas.”

She chuckled.

“It really is you, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, princess. It’s me.”

“How?”

“I don’t know how.”

She reached out and placed her palm on my cheek. It may have been warm. Hot, even. I was just too cold to tell.

“Part of me must have suspected. I felt a closeness with you in such a short amount of time, yet I just didn’t want to believe the possibility that you were actually familiar. I still love Juniper, and I think I have feelings for you as well.”

“Ah.”

“Ah? That’s your reply?”

“Um. Congratulations?”

“I have something to say, too!” Juniper hopped over and tracked mud all over the floor. She crouched down at the edge of the couch and peered up. “I love Ves, and I love Rachel...er, Rhea, as well!”

“Should I start my own cooking show?”

Juniper nudged me.

“Well, the truth is, I’ve had a crush on Juniper,” I admitted.

“That was obvious from the start,” Ves replied.

“No it wasn’t. Don’t just decide something’s obvious when it isn’t.”

“Can I lay beside you?” Juniper asked.

“Is there room on the couch?”

“You can squeeze in if you put one leg over Rhea’s,” Ves suggested.

Juniper crawled up next to me on the left side of the couch and laid to the side, facing right, with her right leg over me. Ves ended up doing the same, only from the left end. They wrapped their arms around my chest, as well, and rested their heads on each shoulder.

“Truth is, I also feel a closeness with Ves. So maybe the reason didn’t start the same as the reason with Juniper, but in the end, I think my feelings for both of you ended up at the same place.”

The room was silent for a while until Ves started rubbing her hand against my chest.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“You just feel so real,” she answered.

“That’s because I am.”

“Are you sure this isn’t a dream?”

“It’s not one of mine.”

“Not mine, either. I’m too aware for it to be.”

“Not mine!” Juniper grinned. I reached up and ruffled her hair.

“Then if it’s none of ours, whoever’s dream it is doesn’t matter. We’re real to each other,” I concluded.

They didn’t say anything to that, but that they rested soon afterward seemed to indicate it was a satisfactory answer.

[klonoadreams]

so like I know I went on about Sawyer and all of my weird Unovan headcanons/worldbuilding/ideas, but here are some others, since again, I’ve played Black and White since the game was out in Japan, going through the English patches and also just counting down the months until it released in NA.

So some of the headcanons I had was like... I’ll put a readmore here for convenience

Fun fact, you know how I said Mama was like built different? yeaaaars ago (i was like fifteen, still baby), I was like “Okay, I need a name for her, but what.”

and then I decided “Alright Bulbapedia, what you got for me”

PERFECT.

And since then, Mama was just named Monta, which could’ve possibly come from モンスター, or monster. Which again, looking at it now with how I’ve told you Mama is built different...YEAH. :V That’s her as a kid (this is totally not me just indulging in the idea of Mama being a massive tomboy who got dirty and didn’t even bother letting her hair grow out for SO long grhjgfk SHHHHH)

Anyways give it up for Monta - or Mama, which is what Sawyer accidentally calls her and it just sticks. (it’s embarrassing, but Mama just pats her on the head)

Moving on, because at the time, all we had were the BW Players Japanese names, I would just call them Touya and Touko - which, fun fact - their names mean the same thing, which is to fight...their names are just gender flipped versions of each other. This and their resemblance to each other, is why it was common to portray them as twins. Just in case anyone wonders, because in other areas, they are not at all related (like in the Pokemon Adventures manga).

It’s hard for me to let it go for Hilda and Hilbert, which is why I still call them Touya and Touko. And yes, these are clearly Japanese names, hence the headcanon I have of these two being of Japanese descent (or effectively, what is the Pokemon world equivalent of such).

And how does this carry over from Professor Juniper??? Because I ALSO effectively meshed her names together, except Juniper is her GIVEN name, her surname is actually Araragi. Her father is Araragi Sr.

So in Araragi Sr’s case, his given name is Cedric, but at the end of the day, this is the Araragi family. :V (and where’s Mama in all this? She passed away years ago, from an illness, but the family has since moved on from this - it’s why they were ALL just busy with research and other stuff for a good chunk of their earlier years)

and then there’s Alder (or Adeku, as I would call him back then)

Idk what it was (maybe his clothes), but I always saw this guy as being Mexican, or Indigenous Mexican and never looked back on that. :V

I still haven’t changed my mind about that, however, an addendum - because of Legends Arceus giving us this beauty

(apart from the confirmation that Maxie and Archie have been divorced through the ages, to the point I legitimately think they’ve reincarnated)

Seeing as Hisui (later, Sinnoh) is effectively Hokkaido, this would imply Japanese ancestry in Alder to some extent. So again, I’m just saying “yeah, that still stays” because Mexico also has a Japanese population. In fact, one of my favorite snacks - Japanese styled peanuts - came to be because of a Japanese immigrant living in Mexico. They’re a staple in certain snack foods, like tostilocos :V

While on this train of thought - fun fact, the Alder Moth, where Alder gets his name from in the English localization, can actually be found in Japan - specifically Honshu and Hokkaido. :V

Anyways what I’m saying is we’ve come full fucking circle. in some way.

But also, now Sawyer genuine joins the group of OCs that are Mexican-Japanese, because I went “why the hell not” (friendly reminder that I am indigenous Mexican, the only thing American - from the States - about me is that I was born here in California).

Since I’ve already stated that Sawyer was a twin switched out at birth with a stillborn by Team Plasma as a bargaining chip for Ghetsis to have on Alder, more to it is that - remember, the Elgyem line was introduced in Unova. Consider that they can manipulate memories, in case anyone wonders how it was easy for them to just switch out Sawyer like that. The timing of it was never intentional, but when Ghetsis sees an opening, HE TAKES IT.

So he’s part of the reason why Alder hasn’t been doing that well, since hey - remember how Benga got added to the family. Add to the death of one of his Pokemon years later, and he just...wanders around aimlessly. He still comes home, but he’s really taking it hard. (you can only imagine the anger and RELIEF he feels when he finds out about Sayer)

So anyways, while Sawyer looks like her mama (much like Touya), she does take after Alder in skin tone - being someone who tans easily (Touya also tans, but his default tones lean towards pale, like Mama).

As her hair gets longer, it starts looking more and more like Mama’s - leaning into Hilda/Touko. Bianca likes to brush her hair, and is the one that first pulls it into a ponytail when she notices “doesn’t it get in the way?”. She also braids her hair, but otherwise, yeah.

The way Sawyer got her name is through a book that Professor Juniper forgot to get rid of years ago. It was just something she had in her bag, usually forgetting about it for something else. It was a book on baby names, because she was helping her sister pick out names for the twins.

Sawyer picked the name she did because it stood out to her. Team Plasma has a name for her that she doesn’t exactly respond to, because very few people ever referred to her by that, usually just saying “you” or “brat”.

Sawyer isn’t her name...but for now, it feels right - because it’s better than having nothing at all.

So remember what I said about the twins??? Her real name is Touko. And that alone needs time for her to adjust. But there’s no rush. She has family now - she is loved.

But it was still a painful journey to get there. But hey, she isn’t alone.

[blinkbones]

Histoire de la nation cherokee - Lionel Larré

Filed under: yet another book I started reading years ago and had to start all over again today.

Info about the cover: the seal of the Cherokee Nation you see on there is only the seal of the Cherokee Nation, not to be confused with the more generic cherokee nation. Capitalized = a specific tribe. Lowercase = the whole of the Cherokee.

Some history this time! My to-read pile is slowly turning into a history-books-only pile. It's not that I don't like reading history books -- obviously I do, or I wouldn't buy them. But... they're harder to read... lmao. There are more comforting bedside reads than history bites.

And history does bite. It's a given, but perhaps more especially so when you dive into colonial history. There's no avoiding the horror of diving into the details of a whole population's descent into hell.

WARNING: I AM NOT A HISTORIAN nor did I study this book. i just read it yall

In the case of the Cherokee, if I'm remembering what I read correctly, here are the main points:

Be an assortment of generally friendly but distinct tribes under the Cherokee name. You hunt. You value women some amount. You fight some neighboring tribes sometimes.

Meet the British. Also the French. Be curious about them.

Have a complex relationship with both. Try to profit from the French-British hostility. That works for a while.

Generally be interested in these people's stuff. Their tools (aren't kettles neat? Aren't GUNS neat?), their lifestyle (agriculture) but also their writing and such things.

Hunt like crazy to trade for cool objects. Deplete the land.

Usually, be on friendly terms with missionaries. On account of liking the whole education & writing stuff. Missionaries, it seems, will try to be good allies. Their help won't be enough.

Be into slavery, as well.

Along the way, get swindled by greedy Europeans who get your chief drunk and have him sign predatory treaties.

Along the way, get swindled by greedy Europeans who profit from the lack of a unified tribe/central government by pretending that every tribe chief has the power to sell Any Cherokee Land (which, btw, actually belongs to everyone. It's just basic lies)

Along the way, have a few relations-tarnishing battles, murders, revenge killings, massacres, so on and so forth. (From all sides)

Along the way, your sense of identity is wavering. Interracial marriages, the influence of Europeans (naturalized Cherokee, missionaries, or outsiders you trade goods or blows with), and some of your tribes' taste for their culture has had a great impact on your culture.

At some point a cool guy makes a Cherokee syllabic alphabet. Neat

Have some infighting about all this. Along the way.

Along the way, receive Very Little support from the US federal government, even when it rules in your favor. (A few decisions almost recognized Cherokee sovereignty, but were not enforced.)

Some tribes unite and move west. Some refuse to do so.

Early 19th century brings you a handful of US presidents/administration who don't care about you or their own principles nearly enough as they care about getting more land and keeping the states satisfied (which is achieved with more land).

Deportation. Trail of Tears. So many people died.

To sum it up... It seems that the Cherokee of the past, overall, were pretty willing to play the game by the white men's rules, but it still did not really save from the immense trouble of being in contact with them.

While I remembered treaties from a university module, I did not remember the fact that they had adopted slavery and anti-black disdain. Reading it, I was reminded of the Seminoles welcoming in runaway slaves at about the same time. As we say in French, two different rooms, two different vibes. It's like a sprinkling of depression on top of the initial depression. The Cherokee's willingness (overall, obv not all of them) to acculturate to the newborn Americans did not save them from their colonial violence; in the end, they were still Indians, aka lesser humans, sitting on desired land.

It's also pretty interesting to learn about some of the precolonial/early contact culture, even with the limited sources ; additionally, this book does a good job reminding you that the notion of the noble savage is but a stupid dream. The Cherokee of the past boasted a diversity of opinions and strategies, and were as inspiring and disheartening as any other gathering of humans.

In the end, I wish I had had more time to ponder and memorize what I was reading. But, to be perfectly honest, this book is not written in a particularly memorable way. It's part of a syllabus and it shows. It's a lot of blunt information. Still, I'm glad I read it. It's always worth it to read some science.

[itsskyedge]

◇About Me/About Account Layout

First, a little introduction is needed, right?

Hi, my name is itsskyeedge, or just Skye. Here’s your friendly reminder that I am, in fact, a minor. If anyone doesn’t know what that is, it’s someone under the age of 18. I am openly a part of the LGBTQ+ community. I am Panromantic Asexual Demigirl. Basically, romantic attraction to anyone regardless of gender, no interest in s3x, and I go by she/they pronouns. I am American, wtf is a kilometer

Anyways, I am in way too many fandoms for my own good, including, but not limited to: Genshin Impact Honkai Star Rail Wuthering Waves Wings of Fire Gacha My Hero Academia Jujutsu Kaisen Bungo Stray Dogs Spy x Famly Minecraft Roblox (To some degree) The Inheritance Cycle DreamSMP And way more than I can be bothered to list out right now!

This blog is intended to be an open-ask blog, which I may respond to with text or the occasional drawing.

I may also post fanfictions or stories of my own that I write. Now, about how this blog will be organized. Posts important will have this “◇” at the beginning Posts of writing will have this “✏️” Posts of art will have this “🎨” Rants may have an emoji or not, if they do, it might be this “👀” Sometimes I might give a review of a book, it will have this “📖” Mutuals/friends will have this “✨” If I post any bots on my character ai account on here it’ll have this “🤖” Responses to asked questions will be visible as responses

Anyway, thats all for now!

[pcttrailsidereader]

You Belong Among the Wildflowers

Rees and I along with some good friends just finished walking the Costa Brava in Spain. Rees and I have walked along coasts before. Over the years we have been challenged by British Columbia's West Coast Trail, filled with wonder along California, Oregon, and Washington beaches, and smitten with the rugged beauty of the Cornish coast. The Costa Brava offered something different and familiar in the same breath.

One familiarity were the abundant wild flowers strewn all along our route. Given that it was late April and early May spring flowers are no great surprise. In fact, one of the things that is so enjoyable about walking in the spring are the flowers. Bright, cheery augmenting the landscape as we made our way along.

Flower stream on the Costa Brava

Some were familiar such as what we call 'ice plant' or officially Carpobrotus. Prolific in places and likely every bit the invasive species it is in California. Another invasive in the American West and apparently on the Spanish coast were the Scotch Broom and Gorse. Both share bright yellow flowers but Gorse is not nearly as friendly with its thorny spines. There were also asters and alyssum and most natural but also somewhat surprising to the foreign observer were the legions of Lavender nearly everywhere. The Lavender was the most welcoming with its familiar welcoming scent cheering us as we made our way up the trail. Its often nearby companion, Rosemary, also greeted us here and there.

As we walked I couldn't help but think about the flower encounters one has on the Pacific Crest Trail. Of course timing is everything. In 2017 there was an extraordinary 'super bloom'. If you were walking in the spring of that year in southern California you got to be witness to a myriad of colors and textures that was really super. Spring in the west comes at different times at different elevations. All along the PCT there are floral explosions that welcome the hiker throughout the hiking season. We have featured many of these here over the years. We also give flowers and trees attention in our collection of stories from the PCT, in our book, 'Crossing Paths'.

One of my favorite places to meet up with bursts of color in the form of flowers is where water courses cross the trail. Here you find Monkey Flower, Indian Paintbrush, Penstemon, and so many more. In Spain along the trail spring flowers appeared to be drinking up every last drop of moisture out of the rocky hillsides. Along the coastlines where it was a bit damper the flowers didn't seem to have to work so hard.

Walking in nature affords us the benefits that come from glorious sunrises and sunsets, massive views, starry nights (if you can stay up that long), wildlife, and flora in the form of trees, plants and flowers. Along the Costa Brava all of the above features were noted with delight. The flowers offered me a gentle reminder of how much I get from not just seeing flowers but also getting acquainted and more familiar with them. Of course it helps when the people you walk with really can identify and name all the flower players without hesitation.

PCT Flowers

Being in another part of the world helps me expand on the little corner that I move around in most of the time. Seeing and touching flowers and plants on the Costa Brava was up lifting and expanded my floral appreciation. Even though the context was different from what I am familiar with the feelings are much the same.

Tom Petty says it well:

You belong among the wildflowers

You belong somewhere close to me

Far away from your trouble and worry

You belong somewhere you feel free 

You belong somewhere you feel free