#i hope this is another relatable post for yew

[fishwithlegsandaheart]

[teecupangel]

I honestly adore your yew branch series on AO3 and saw your Tumblr just now.

Seeing as you also posted for other DC crossover stuff what is your opinion on AC x Sandman crossover? I think it would be pretty cool if Desmond either woke up as a citizen of the Dreaming or as one of Morpheus' ravens (maybe Matthew?)

What do you think?

Thank you! I’m happy to know you adore my Yew Branch series :)

Other DC crossover ideas:

Desmond gets adopted by Batman

Desmond becoming John Constantine Problem (1/2/3/4)

As for an AC x Sandman crossover, I was thinking if I should make this full on Sandman lore gets added to AC world or if I should make this Desmond gets sucked into DC verse and make it Sandman-centric.

Then I thought… let’s make it vague instead so you guys get to choose if this is Sandman lore added to AC world or not. (If it is, the idea is the Endless are not related to the Isus in any way, they predate them and are the personification of the core concepts of the universe. However, the Calculations are connected to them in some way)

Anyway!

So the idea is Desmond becomes ‘connected’ to the Endless after dying to save the world. And I know you want him to become a citizen of the Dreaming or one of Morpheus’ ravens but… see… there’s one Endless that would be more… ‘attracted’ to Desmond in a way:

Destiny.

Considering Desmond is the chosen one and his entire life has been one long intricate planning by the Isus to ensure that Desmond is born and raised in a specific way and no matter how long or far he ran, he still became an Assassin just like his parents wanted him to be, Desmond is pretty much the poster boy for Destiny.

One might even say that Desmond could be consider a ‘personification’ of Destiny.

But Desmond hates that. Destiny is the reason why he died. Destiny is the reason why his ancestors, the people he come to care for so much that he sometimes isn’t sure anymore if he cared for them because he saw and felt their memories or because he wished he could be them instead of being Desmond Miles, had to go through so much suffering.

Destiny is the very antithesis of what the Assassins try to protect: freewill.

So he ran away.

And he finds solace in Dream’s domain.

There is something peaceful in being one of Dream’s citizens. Of being in charge of providing sweet dreams.

Hopeful dreams.

But Dream is… well, Dream. Dream can provide nice dreams or nightmares. Dreams give people hope to continue living.

But Dream won’t go against the eldest of them, Destiny.

And it is during Desmond’s time as one of Dream’s citizen that he hears of another. An endless who abandoned his realm.

Destruction.

And so, Desmond sets out to find Destruction, hoping Destruction would give him a clue or perhaps even a way to get away from Destiny once and for all.

Unorganized Notes:

Destiny acts more like an aloof parental figure who thinks Desmond is having a rebellious phase. Destiny doesn’t hate Desmond and knows Desmond would come back. It is Desmond’s destiny after all. (What Desmond’s destiny though in relation to Destiny, no one knows, but Dream theorizes that Desmond is meant to be Destiny’s successor which horrifies Desmond)

Dream takes Desmond in and lets him give people hopeful dreams. Desmond finds solace in Dream’s domain while talking to Desmond makes Dream have a better understanding of what it means to be mortal. Dream usually appears to Desmond as an eerie pale man but Desmond is never frightened. He does like to joke that Dream needs to get some sleep. It does not make Dream laugh.

Death and Desmond have a friendly relationship and Death actually thinks of Desmond as an old friend because he has the memories of three other people. In Death’s eyes, Death has already met Desmond more than once. During the birth and the deaths of his ancestors and his own birth and death. However, Death is also on the side of Destiny, in the sense that there is nothing Desmond can do. For the sake of their friendship, they don’t talk about it.

Desire… well… Desmond hates Desire because, every time Desire visits, Desire always takes the appearance of one of his ancestors. Because they are Desmond’s greatest desire after all. The desire to give his ancestors a happier life. The desire to be like them. The desire to make their sacrifices mean something. The desire to meet them. The desire to… Desire knows all that and uses them. Desire has the greatest chance of pushing Desmond to do what they want but Desmond also has the shortest temper when dealing with them.

Despair makes Desmond feel uncomfortable because of how peaceful he feels whenever Despair is around. Despair finds Desmond beautiful because he holds so much despair inside him. The despair and grief of his ancestors and his own despair and grief. Desmond holds so much despair in him than any mortal should have. “But I’m still here. I still want to live.” “And that is what makes you beautiful, Desmond Miles.”

Delirium… Delirium gives Desmond a headache. Whenever Delirium speaks to Desmond, it’s always about random things and then there would be a sentence or even just a few words that makes Desmond believe that Delirium knows more about Desmond’s situation than Destiny does. On the other hand, Delirium loves Desmond because… well… Delirium is the absence of sanity and Desmond’s Bleeding Effect ‘delights’ her to no end.

Destruction… wellllll… Destruction is Desmond’s end goal so they wouldn’t interact until the very end of this plot. It actually took a while for Desmond to learn about Destruction because all the Endless prefer to call him “The Prodigal” or the “Lost Brother”. Honestly, Desmond wasn’t given any information about Destruction and the Endless believe that he had mistaken Destruction’s actual duties for something he thinks he can ‘use’ to escape Destiny. They believe (other than Destiny who remains quiet) that meeting and talking to Destruction would be the event that Destiny is waiting for so that Desmond would accept his… well… ‘destiny’.

[withlove-xixi]

Hello it’s 🌻 again!!! Ur writings always amaze me like I keep getting giddy whenever u post them like hello how do you pump out these masterpieces so quick?? Also I’m so honored you’re planning on writing another Marcy fic!!! That’s rly sweet ♡

Not really related but how you view laios as your dog reminded me of skip and loafer lol

Anyways ur reigan cosplay looks so cute like omfg- WITH UR CUSTOM NAILS ASW?? I just know u did our pink tie king good

Stay healthy and take breaks!!!

-🌻

🌻 MY DEAREST!!! HELLO!!!

im .. ngl every time i get a good idea i think i blank out because i had accidentally read my own chilchuck fic and went "no fucking way someone stole my idea" because i didnt recognize my own writing?? lol!

marcy fic ... something sweet ... maybe about stars ... pining ... we shall see (ᗒᗨᗕ)

YOURE RIGHT ABOUT SKIP AND LOAFER!! i have not seen it yet but i kow the scene. he truly is like that to me ... i see laios putting things hes not meant to in his mouth and i look at my dog and see the same thing T_T!!

ALSO WAHAHHA THANK YEW!!! im contemplating getting a wig for it but for now im really content w the outfit ! (i didnt wanna buy the actual cosplay so i bought everything separately and im so glad it turned out as i hoped!!!) im so excited to wear it out!! i plan to wear both the nails + the suit at the next convention im tabling at ^o^!

i love yew lots 🌻 !!! take care too <3 mwa mwa!! (also i LOVE hearing from you ｡:ﾟ(;´∩`;)ﾟ:｡ im always happy to see you in my inbox teehee i feel like im writing letters to a penpal or smth its so cute !!)

[somnambulant-seraphim]

Do you have a bugsona - or any one of your creations, really! - that you identify most with yourself? Is there any one of them in particular that you feel the most connected to and represented in?

I included a lot of links in this post, just to be able to show examples of the creations I’m talking about. I don’t really know how else to show them, and I know I kinda went overboard with all of the links and stuff, but that’s just how I am, I like to explain and show things as thouroughly as I can, even if it’s overexplaining. I sure hope that’s okay!! ¯\_(・へ・)_/¯

Anyway, yes, I have made a couple bugsonas in the past, a moth named Frond and a necromancer-wizard spider named Seer.

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Here’s the links to their posts, if you’d like to see: 

Frond the Moth:

https://somnambulant-seraphim.tumblr.com/post/684901924022206464/i-have-recently-become-aware-of-the-concept-of

Seer the Spider: 

https://somnambulant-seraphim.tumblr.com/post/684903032879808512/another-bugsona-technically-an-arachnisona-that

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While making Frond, I was trying to make them more relatable to myself. Mostly with the fact that I made them a little hoodie jacket (I really like hoodies and wear them often) and because I've always had a soft spot for moths.

There is also the association between moths and fiber arts, like how moths make cocoons and how silk moths make their silk. So I related that to how I like to crochet and sew and stuff like that.

I can also relate with my spider, Seer, with his practice involving death work and divination and collecting bones and stuff.

I've got a growing collection of bones and taxidermy that I've cleaned and processed myself over the years (found naturally already passed), and I do work a lot with death-related topics in my craft. Though I am a bit more casual about witchcraft, it's not something I'm constantly doing everyday or anything, but I have been doing it for quite a few years now <|:^)

I guess I can find something to relate to in all my creatures I've made, as I do often reflect my own interests in them. There are the more obvious ones (for example, I like frogs so I make frogs, or I'm interested in cryptids so I make cryptids), as well as the ones that are a bit less on the nose.

For example, like how I've made pouches or backpacks for some of my creatures to store little collections inside (or made the creature a pouch themselves, like some of my frogs), because I enjoy collecting little trinkets and things from outside as a hobby, so I want my little characters to be able to do that too :)

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Here’s the links to some of my pouch creatures, if you’d like to see those as well: 

Spruce the Sasquatch: 

https://somnambulant-seraphim.tumblr.com/post/653454300789506049/i-made-one-of-those-mini-backpacks-with-some-yarn

Yew the (Tiny) Sasquatch: 

https://somnambulant-seraphim.tumblr.com/post/666681740457361408/ive-made-a-couple-of-these-types-of-creatures

Sludge the Slug: 

https://somnambulant-seraphim.tumblr.com/post/661158198013771776/heres-sludge-the-slug-he-is

Crochet Frog Pouches: 

https://somnambulant-seraphim.tumblr.com/post/646566814600626176/two-frog-pouches-i-made-a-few-days-ago-they-were

Gob and Chops, Zipper Pouch Frogs: 

https://somnambulant-seraphim.tumblr.com/post/683367751208796160/its-been-a-while-since-ive-made-a-frog-so

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Anyway, I hope my answer makes sense and that this wasn't too much of a drag to read through. Thank you for the question, it was an interesting one to answer! (ง ˶^ᴗ^˶)ว ☆ Stay well and have a nice day!! <3 <3 <3

[a-little-slice-of-fandom]

I’d love to hear your thoughts on the Irish-ness of Dracula, if you wanna ramble about it!

(Okay I just want to apologise for how long this took to answer because I know it’s been sitting in my inbox for over a month but..depression and work happened and I just didn’t have the time or energy to complete it. I seriously do apologise for this but I hope you enjoy the post anyway!)

So the first thing I need to clear up is this: the concept of a monster or a demon that feeds upon the life force of humans is not limited to one singular culture or folklore. In fact, this core concept is a wider cultural phenomenon and variations of it exist across both countries and continents. And no one country can take sole credit for the this core concept of vampires. Anyone who tries to claim otherwise either doesn’t know much about vampires or is intentionally being disingenuous. There can be cultural variations that are specific to certain folklores (and to just blatantly steal these would be cultural appropriation), but the main idea of vampires exists across a wide range of folklores and no singular person, group of people or culture can take credit for the creation of vampires.

However, arguably it was the work of Bram Stoker that aided in the solidification of the concept of Vampires that we know today. While there were other authors from a wide range of nationalities who wrote about Vampires before Stoker (including John William Polidori who wrote the Vampyre in 1819)...Dracula is the best known. (Now I personally believe that’s because Dracula is an absolutely banging novel, although I do concede that the prevalence of adaptations of Dracula from the 1920’s to today helps keep Dracula in the forefront of audiences minds.) In addition, it’s important to remember that Stoker was inspired by another Irish author Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu, who wrote the novel Carmilla. As far as I know, Le Fanu and Stoker actually worked together on a magazine!

Another thing I think that needs clarification is the common belief that Stoker heavily/religiously based Dracula on the historical figure Vlad the Impailer. This is heavily debated by scholars. While there’s an obvious, undeniable similarity between the names of these two...the similarities start to wain after this, with only small similarities between the two and there’s even literal contradictions between the history of Vlad the Impailer and Dracula’s history in the novel. In fact, there’s not much indication that Stoker based the character Dracula off Vlad the Impailer, or even that he had a working knowledge of Vlad the Impailer beyond the name. In all 124 pages of his notes, there’s nothing to indicate that Stoker’s inspiration for Dracula came from Vlad the Impailer.

(Plus Dracula in the novel wasn’t even originally called Dracula...he was called Count Wampyr in the original drafts of the novel and this was only changed, from what I can gather, in the last couple of drafts.)

In fact, I’d personally argue that that connection between Vlad the Impailer and Dracula is actually something that’s been retroactively added by other artists, for example the 1992 film “Bram Stoker’s Dracula” heavily leaned into this idea that Dracula and Vald the Impailer were one in the same, and as time has progressed people assume that these elements were in the original novel when that’s simply untrue! Stoker didn’t write that! It’s a retroactive addition by other artists that’s just assumed by the masses to be canon. This phenomenon is actually super interesting and it’s absolutely not limited to Stoker’s novel Dracula/the modern day perception of Dracula (another example would be Mary Shelley’s version of Frankenstein versus the modern day perception Frankenstein). I’m not sure if there’s a word for what this is, but I like the term “cultural canon”, where something that’s been added in by other artists has become as good as canon within the minds of the masses and as such is ingrained within the cultural perception of something, despite it having no basis within the original piece or even directly contradicting what is in canon.

(Now I’ll absolutely concede that Stoker taking the name of a historical figure and possibly their likeness from another country and making them into a literal monster is something that should be discussed. I don’t know how Vlad the Impailer is viewed within Romania - whether he’s viewed positively or negatively or a mixture - but regardless he was a historical figure and Stoker did eventually use that name for his own creative purposes. Again, Stoker didn’t say that Dracula and Vlad the Impailer were the same person, that’s other artists doing, but there’s still issues with Stoker that needs to be discussed)

Now, I’ve seen people talk about how Stoker took a lot of inspiration from the Baltic folklore surrounding vampires for his novel, but I don’t really know this folklore very well and therefore I don’t feel like I’m qualified to discuss it. If anyone is more well versed in this topic wants to add to this post then they’re more than welcome to! I don’t deny that Stoker too inspiration from places other than Ireland (like the novel is set in Whitby) but I just feel like people over hype the relation between stokers Dracula and Vlad the Impailer.

Now, onto the Irish mythology side!

So the most obvious inspiration for Dracula comes from the story of Abhartach. here is a link to an actual, respectable retelling of the story of Abhartach which I’d highly recommend people read (it’s really not that long) but the key points go as follows:

There was this Irish chieftain called Abhartach, who was really cruel and the townsfolk didn’t really like him. So, the townsfolk and another cheiftain (known as Cathain) banded together to kill Abhartach. They did succeed in killing him (yay), however, Abhartach just sort of...rose from the dead and began another reign of terror (not yay). However, Abhartach needed to be sustained by blood and required a bowlful every day to sustain his energy. Cathain comes back and kills Abhartach once again, but Abhartach rises from the dead once more and now needs more blood. Abhartach is only banished when Cathain uses a word made from yew wood and wounds Abhartach with it. Abhartach is buried upside down with a grant stone over the grave to stop Abhartach rising once again.

Sound familiar? The similarities between Abhartach and Dracula are undeniable! Yes, there’s some differences between the two but the core story here is almost identical. I could totally reword that paragraph, omitting the names, and it would be indistinguishable from a short summary of Dracula! Even the way that the main characters find out about the wooden weapon that can kill the monster is similar, as both Jonathan and Cathain go to wiser and older members of their community to learn more.

(Also please mythology blogs don’t come for me I know my retelling was an incredible oversimplification but I’m writing on my iPad and my thumbs are starting to hurt. People have wrote full papers on the similarities between Dracula and Abhartach and there’s so many more people more qualified than me, I’m just an 18 year old trying to make a fun and interesting tumblr post. Again, if anyone wants add anything like extra sources or more information or even to point out my mistakes then I more than welcome the additions)

Another piece of folklore that’s also said to have inspired Dracula is the Dearg Due. Now there’s multiple different versions of the tale, but the version I have heard goes like this:

There’s a noble woman who wants to marry a penniless peasant boy, but her dad disapproves and wants her to marry another man who is much richer. The rich man and the noble woman were eventually married but the woman didn’t love the rich man. In retaliation, the rich man locked the woman in a windowless castle where she starved to death. The woman was buried by the locals who took pity on her, but because she was buried hungry she came back to life and drank the blood of her father and her husband as revenge. The version I heard says that the dearg due now basically wanders ireland drinking the blood of men who have hurt or wronged women (as one should) but there’s other endings to the story.

(Again is anyone has a reliable source they want to share then please feel free to add!)

So this is another Irish piece of folklore that clearly includes some elements that we now associate with vampires. Now people (including Wikipedia) claim that this story was specifically what Stoker based Dracula on, and while I definitely think that Stoker was aware of this story and took inspiration from it, I personally think that the Dearg Due inspired the concept of Dracula’s wives more than Dracula himself.

However the key point still stands: Stoker was likely aware of these legends and even the most staunchly anti-Irish person would have to concede that there’s similarities between all three stories. And very rarely are these similarities discussed in classes about Dracula...which I feel is a real disservice. I don’t think students should have to have an intense knowledge of Irish mythology (my knowledge is spotty at best) nor do I think it should be an exam question...but even a brief acknowledgment of “hey, Stoker was inspired by these stories and you can clearly see similarities between them” would be nice. Moreover, it further solidifies my original argument that Stoker was, at least to some extent, Irish and that his Irishness inherently influenced his work.

Also...the social context of what was going on in Ireland in this period can’t be ignored! Again, while Stoker did spend time in both England and Romania, he spent a lot of his life in Ireland and therefore would have known what was going on in his own country.

Dracula was published in 1897, which is exactly 50 years after the worst year of the Irish Famine/ The Great Hunger/An Gorta Mór. Now I don’t have time to do a whole history of the Great Hunger but the effects of the famine were greatly exacerbated by the horrific mismanagement of Ireland by the British government and the British system of ruling in Ireland. How many people died during the famine isn’t clear, but we do know that the population of Ireland at the time was 8 million and the population today is 6 million...200 years later and we still haven’t recovered. So while we all like to joke about the fact that Stoker wrote about an unfeeling member of the aristocracy literally feeding off others with no remorse and basically ruining their lives...are we really going to pretend that there isn’t social commentary there? Scholars specifically think that Stoker was commenting on the absentee landlords (basically British aristocrats who owned land in Ireland but didn’t live there and as such didn’t care about the well being of their tenants) who would often have tenants forced off the land when they couldn’t pay rent...despite the fact that their tenenants were already starving and had no money because their only source of food and income failed.

(I’m not being shady by the way, I also love to joke about the social implications of Dracula, but I feel like people forget that the jokes have actual points behind them)

There was also a cholera epidemic in Ireland in 1832 which is generally accepted to be one of Stoker’s biggest inspirations. You can read more about the epidemic here if you wish, but I’ll summarise what I feel are the key points. Not only was Stoker’s mother from county Sligo and lived through this cholera epidemic, but Stoker also asked her to write down her memories of the epidemic and used her accounts to aid in his research of the cholera epidemic. Now the fact that he was actively researching this should indicate that it would influence his work, especially considering the situation in county Sligo was incredibly morbid. There’s accounts of the 20 carpenters in Sligo town being unable to make enough coffins to keep up with the amount of people dying, resulting in hundreds of dead bodies just lying on the street. However, the most horrific account from this epidemic was the stories of terrified nurses placing cholera patients into mass graves while they were still alive. Stoker himself literally stated that Dracula was “inspired by the idea of someone being buried before they were fully dead”. So while at first there seems to be very little relation between the novel and a medical epidemic, it quickly becomes clear that Stoker’s fascination with this historical event influenced his writing.

My overall point is that Stoker’s irishness inherently influenced his writing. Writers don’t write in their own little bubble, divorced from the world around them, their views and work are shaped by their position in society and their upbringing (it’s why I dislike death of the author as a literary theory). So when people try to claim that Dracula is a piece of British literature...it indicates either a lack of understanding of the context in which Stoker was writing in or a wilful ignorance founded on colonialist ideas. His influences are so obvious to me as an Irish woman but they rarely get discussed, and even if they are it’s seen as overreaching! To call Dracula British literature and to ignore the inherent Irishness of the novel does a great disservice to Stoker!

Anyways I really hope you enjoyed this discussion my love! Once again I apologise for how long this took to write. Also I’m sorry if this comes off as argumentative or anything, that absolutely wasn’t my intention, I just have a particular style of writing long posts haha.

[southeastasianists]

Since the Board of the Substation’s official announcement of the closure of the premise, in July 2021, countless tributes from Singaporeans from diverse artistic backgrounds have poured across social media, describing how they have benefited from the premise and its programs for the past three decades.

For me, the Substation filled the indescribable intellectual and cultural void of my late teens, and its relevance became strong during my years in military conscription.  Gigs at the venue were also a critical site for a more meaningful multicultural encounters and interactions, particularly with the Malay-Muslim dominated punk-rock community. Subsequently these experiences became integral to my scholarly research. Relevant publications I have based on this foundation over the past two decades include topics on Singapore’s youth subcultures, alternative music scenes and more recently the Substation’s role in exhibiting Singapore’s punk heritage.

My Subs-rhythmic journeys

The Year 1991. The “Evil Empire” of the Soviet Union became history. In the General Paper of my “A” (Advanced) Levels examinations, I mistakenly attributed Deng Xiaoping’s “To be rich is to be glorious” quote to Margaret Thatcher (probably the reason for my “C” grade).  For Singaporean teenagers like me, the “kinder and gentler” nation envisioned by the new Prime Minister Goh Chok Tong meant Hong Kong’s “Category III” soft-porn movies in local cinemas. The year was supposed to end well with a slow dance in a Junior College prom-night over Bryan Adam’s “Everything I do, I do it for you” the theme song of Robin Hood (1991) broadcasted ad-nauseum over the radio.

Everything seemed fine. That was until I was introduced by my friend Harold Seah to the Substation. Entering the “Garden”, my senses were immediately overwhelmed by the chaos of growling vocals, thumping drums and swirling guitars on the stage, with audiences diving from the stage into a maddening prancing human crowd. Stagediving, slam-dancing and mosh pits were actually banned by the Singapore authorities in 1993. Ten minutes into the gig, I handed my friend my house keys, spectacles and wallet for safekeeping and I melted into the mosh pit.

Established in 1990 with the playwright Kuo Pao Kun (1939-2002) as its first Artistic Director, the Substation took its name from the venerable colonial era electrical facility at 45 Armenia Street, located within the officially zoned as “Civic District” of museums, galleries and cultural institutions in downtown Singapore. I was not aware of the dynamics then, but it was only at Substation that a former political detainee, playwright, the first Artistic Director of the venue, Kuo Pao Kun met and created artistic possibilities with a new generation of ethnic Malay working class youths. Recalling Kuo’s approachability, band member of Stompin’ Ground, Suhaimi Subandie said, “You have long hair, short hair or no hair, he talked to you the same.  ”I have never met Kuo Pao Kun in person. But through the Substation, he gave me new possibilities and connections.

My experience is probably not isolated. As a converging and germinating site for otherwise fringe artistic and creative activities, the Substation has presented an intellectually fertile ground, especially for Singaporean academia, to find critically meaningful narratives and engagements with artists and social activities. As a platform for countless avant-garde exhibitions, performances and screenings, it has provided a poignant alternative narrative to the scholarly literature on themes relating to Singapore culture and society.

Until the 1990s, mainstream academic perspectives on Singapore society reflected on the postcolonial port-city’s rapid economic development as part of the “Asian economic miracle,” under the premiership of Prime Minister Lee Kuan Yew from 1959 to 1990.  This triumphant sentiment was encapsulated in the collection of more than fifty chapters in Management of Success: The Moulding of Modern Singapore, published in 1989 under the editorship of Kernial Shandu Singh and Paul Wheatley (Singh & Wheatley 1989). Responding to this discourse from a different perspective are non-Singapore based scholars are “soft authoritarian” portraits of Singapore’s as the party state.

It was the Substation and its accompanying activities that another generation of scholars, raised in post-independent Singapore like myself, found possibilities of transcending existing scholarly binaries, critical cultural nuances and resilient communities.

Like the arts, this “Third Space” for Singapore academia can perhaps be attributed to the momentum set out by the vision of Kuo Pao Kun. After his release from political detention, Kuo moved from pursuing direct political criticism to fostering creative diversity. Such possibilities evident in the three decades of the Substation, which started from the age of the fax machine to that of the internet and smartphone.

The incubatory, experimental and liberal spaces that the Substation has provided a multitude of fringe artistic and aesthetic activities, alongside the communities that grew from them, has also been actively mirrored in academic writing. The Substation is relevant to academic enquiry on a wide multidisciplinary spectrum. From semiotics and performance to politics and society, individual creative works and cultural scenes that have occupied the venue inform theoretical discourse and critique across scholarly fields.

Central to academic interest in the Substation are the artistic autonomies and possibilities that it has created within postcolonial Singapore’s highly interventionist, soft authoritarian political climate. Alongside this political juxtaposition, on the academic radar are the stark contrasts between the cultural autonomy emanating from the non-descript former colonial power-station and architectural showcases like the Esplanade in 2000 and the National Art Gallery in 2015.

Scholarly attention to the Substation is both archival and current, capturing interviews with Kuo Pao Kun in 1993, and memorializing his legacy; reaffirming the site’s uniqueness in the new terminology “Affective Paragrounds”. In addition, several academics have also been actively involved with the establishment and governance of the Substation, most prominent amongst them Professor Tommy Koh, Singapore’s Ambassador-at-large who is the venue’s Patron. The venue’s Artistic Directors like Audrey Wong, Lee Weng Choy, Woon Tien Wei, have either held doctorates in the Arts, been engaged as educators in tertiary institutions or contribute actively to academic publications. Over the decades, in various capacities as speakers and discussants at its public events, the local academic community has also made active intellectual contributions to the Substation.

Although there are investments in arts centres, schools and initiatives in existing universities, their significance to Singapore arts and culture is evidently dwarfed by that of the Substation.  Unlike the former, which are often inconveniently located on university campuses and cater for confined audiences of student communities, the Substation has greater artistic autonomy to serve a more diverse public. As such, especially for the locally based academic community, the Substation provides more exciting platforms for broader public engagement, social interaction and scholarly collaboration and research.

Punk rock gigs have been staged in campuses of universities sporadically over the decades, but organisers, performers and audiences there will always be a place for them at the Substation.  The Singaporean artiste Loo Zihan may be familiar with arts institutions and centres in Singapore. But, it is perhaps only in the Substation that he could comfortably stage the mixed media performance Cane (2012), a re-enactment of the controversial 1994 event in which Joseph Ng in openly cut his pubic hair in a mall, as a symbolic protest against police entrapment of gay men in Singapore. Like the annual Substation Conferences held in the 1990s, the Substation has encouraged substantially critical dialogues involving academics and the arts community.

The Substation’s artistic leaders recognised the value of connecting with the scholarly community. Artistic Director Alan Oei (2015-2020) actively sought closer academic-artistic collaborations. For example, I collaborated with Oei in integrating the Visual Methods Conference held in Singapore in 2017 with a parallel Substation exhibition, Discipline in the City.

As a moderator to the panel “Great Expectations: What Does It Mean To Make and Hold Space for the Arts In Singapore?” in “Space, Spaces, Spacing 2020” (Substation 2020), I had the honour to meet one of the speakers Subhas Nair and his sister Preetips Nair (within the audience). The Nairs were given a police warning several months ago for an “offensive rap video”, in response to a Brownface public advertisement. Unfortunately, that may just be my last academic service to the Substation as it plans to close by July 2021.

Among the local academic community. I am confident that those who have committed to Substation have done so purely as a labour of love, with no expectations of institutional acknowledgment from their universities and schools. On the contrary, some of us ponder what repercussions might follow our commitment to a venue that is associated more with critique than cheerleading.

Jason Lugur included the Substation as one of the few “Spaces of Hope” in his study of Singapore’s cultural landscape. The Substation gave me my foundations as a scholar in Cultural Studies and it has only been right for me to reciprocate in keeping this space of hope alive in my own small ways.  The Substation as we know it may be history. But, in fostering a unique relationship between independent arts and critical scholarship for the past three decades, its significance should not be written as an obituary.  It should remind the academic community, particularly in the Humanities, of its public commitments to arts and culture in Singapore. Through generating critical knowledge from its research, documentation as well as other forms of collaborations with the arts communities, I hope that the academic community will continue its affective missions in finding and serving in new spaces of hope in Singapore.

[flowers-n-clouds]

Rune Casting

I recently got my Amethyst Runes and started getting more into it. It was pretty hard to find some good information online, so I thought I’d share with you guys what I found! I just write down what I have in my book of shadows, and this is just what I found, so there may be things that I wrote wrong or that doesn’t fit your believes. I request you look up on this subject yourself too, but this right here might give you a head start.

Runes are symbols which may be used in divination. They are very old and there are many theories as to how or when they originiated, but it’s well known that they were used in Europe.

The word itself comes from the old norse word “Run”, and the old german word “Runa”, which translates to “whisper” or “secret”. Runes are closely tied to Odin and according to ancient germanic people they were created by him.

The runic alphabets are called “Futhark”, after the first six runes, which are Fehu, Uruz, Thurisaz, Ansuz, Raido and Kenaz. While the elder furthark has 24 characters, just like our alphabet, there are also other versions of the Futhark which range from 16 to 33 characters.

Now to the Meanings!

I have to say, I had a really hard time looking up the meanings of every rune. While some runes have the same meaning everywhere, others seems to have a different meaning every time. I chose what was either mostly named or felt right for me. Feel free to share what you found out about them, or how you use them in the comments below!

Every rune is associated with a letter of our alphabet, so I decided to include them and write them right beside the name. I don’t have the sources to post pictures of every rune (nor the space), but you can easily look them up youself online and get in touch with them.

Fehu - F

“Fay-who”

The Cattle - Wealth, Prosperty, Financial Matters

Uruz - U

“Oo-rooze”

The Aurochs - Strength, Courage, Vitality, for that matter also Health and Recovery

Thurisaz - TH

“Thoo-re-saws”

The Thorn or The Hammer - Destruction, Anger, Violence, sometimes a Warning or Protection

Ansuz - A

“Awn-sooze”

The Deity or The Antenna - Wisdom, Communication, Thoughts, Words, Signals, Learning, but also Truth or a Leader

Raido - R

“Rye-tho”

The Wagon - Travels and Journeys, maybe even an inner journey

Kenaz - K

“Kee-naws”

The Torch - Light, Inspiration, Creativity and Knowledge, but for other also Hard Work

Gebo - G

“Gay-bo”

The Gift - A Gift or Generosity, but for another matter also Love, Marriage or Partnership, by seeing the love of another person as a gift

Wunjo - W

“Woon-yo”

Joy - Happiness, Harmony, Comfort, as well as Victory o Productivity

Hagalaz - H

“Haw-gaw-laws”

The Hail - Destruction, Force, Disruption, Chaos, Drama, Hazard, Fury, Anger, can be associated with The Tower from the Tarots Major Arcana

Nauthiz - N

“Now-teese”

Need - Constraint, Neccessities, Distress, Delay, Patience

Isa - I

“Ee-saw”

Ice - Stagnation, Standstill, Frozen, Stuck

Jera - J/Y

“Yare-awe”

Harvest - Rewards, Success, Accomplishments, also associated with Earth

Eihwaz - EI

“Eye-waws”

Yew - Either Reliability, Stability and Trustworthy, or Constricted, Protection, Pain, Perseverence (by looking at it like a bow). The meanings are pretty split with this one.

Perth - P

“Per-th”

The Cup - Destiny, Fate, Magic, Mystery, The Unknowable

Algiz - Z

“All-geese”

The Elk - Protection, Self Defense, Shield, Standing Up For Something

Sowelu - S

“Soe-wee-loo”

The Sun - Good Fortune, Power, Energy, Health

Teiwaz - T

“Tea-waws”

Týr - Victory, Justice, Honor, Higher Spiritual Power, or Focus and Responsibility

Berkana - B

“Bear-kaw-nah”

The Birch - Birth, Beginnings, Fertility, (Personal) Growth, Nurture, Family

Ehwaz - E

“Ay-waws”

The Horse - Transportation, Movement, Travel, maybe also Trust or Loyalty

Mannaz - M

“Mawn-naws”

The Self - Person, Human, Man, Identity, Culture, Individual

Laguz - L

“Law-goose”

The Water - Lake, Sea, Ocean, mostly the Flow, also Intuition, Proohetic Dreams and Feminity

Inguz - NG

“Een-goose”

Seed or The God, Ing - Common Sense, Internal Growth, Potential, Fertility, Success, Masculinity

Dagaz - D

“Thaw-gause”

The Day - Awareness, Breathrough, Transformation, Evolving, Growth, Changes

Othila - O

“Oa-thee-law”

Ancestral Property or Homeland - Property, Home, Family, Legacy, Possessions, Inheritance

The Blank Rune

No one really knows how or when it came into the set, but at somd point, the blank rune has been occasionally beed added and used in a reading. Using the blank rune or not is personal preference. It can be useless to you or help you, it’s your choice whether you keep it or not. If you do, it should be read and used based on intuition. Consider it’s placement and the relation and connection to other runes. Some runes sets doesn’t even include the blank rune.

It may represent Odin or Fate.

Please note that these are just the names of the runes that I prefer, there are a lot, lot, LOT more other pronounciations or names for each rune, but adding them in here too would be too much.

Runes also have reversed meanings, but that is sonething I haven’t got into by now. Just research for yourself a little bit, learn some more and stick to what feels right to you.

Now to casting them. There are many different ways to cast runes. You may simply pull runes out of a bag with your eyes closed, or you dump some or all of them on the ground. You can do simple Tarot Spreads with your runes or look up different ways to use them.

You can use the runes in magic as well! You may use fitting runes in a spell, or write with then in your book of shadows, or draw them on your altar, wand, etc. There are many things you can do with runes, just take your time and get closer with them!

I hope you liked this little lesson and that it may help you an your way.

Lot’s of love your way, Laura 💕

[theuniversitychallengereview]

Episode 20 - UCL vs Edinburgh

The team from the Scottish capital have had to wait a while for their second appearance, having made their bow in the series opener, a nail biting clash with Ulster, which they won by only five points thanks in part to a helpful gong. In the nineteen weeks since that match their opponents from the English capital have played twice, losing once narrowly and winning once handsomely. Two adjectives which could not be used to describe Jeremy Bentham, whose puppet-y likeness again takes its place as their mascot.

Both teams introduce themselves with smiles abound. Edinburgh probably seem a bit too relaxed for my liking. I can allow a certain level of camaraderie so long as its clear you’re still taking this seriously, but Heaton-Armstrong and Wang look as if they’re having too much fun. The glory of our great University is at stake here, focus guys (and yes, this is going to be one of my partisan posts)

But I needn’t have worried about their concentration levels. It is Wang who takes first blood for Auld Reekie, his eyes darting with recognition as Paxman reads the first clue about the word ‘red’, and then his hand pouncing once the second clue reveals his thought to have been correct. Carson congratulates him roundly, something you never usually hear the captains doing. Perhaps being friends with each other will work to their advantage.

Bonuses on lost treasure follow, and Wang again provides the answer – Montezuma. I just went and checked the lyrics to the Fleet Foxes song of the same name to see if I should have got it too, but they’re cryptic nonsense as usual, though there is a mention of gold teeth. They miss the next two, one rather unluckily with a guess of the wrong Jacobite rebellion. Its easy enough to mix up your old and new pretenders.

The Londoners get off the mark with a Ten on tennis, which apparently used to be played on an hourglass shaped court. This doesn’t make much sense to be, because how could either player get the ball past the net when there would be sand constantly rushing through it? And the poor player in the bottom segment would have to contend with a desert-y deluge as well, though I presume the court would be upended after the customary hour, as befits the format.

Two of the three bonuses on Matilda waltz them into the lead, which they extend through a Raii guess on the next starter. He and the rest of them had sat mute for ages after Paxman finished the question, but when he got it right he nodded knowingly like he’d just been playing chicken with the question being abandoned completely.

Stone takes the fourth for Edinburgh, and Carson throws another ‘Well done’ in her direction like a proud father. He gives a ‘cheers’ to Wang for his help on the first bonus too, and I find myself hoping his politeness doesn’t extend to the opposition if things are going to stay tight like they did in their first match. It’s the only five pointer they can muster, and UCL retain the lead, which they extend over the picture round, though they miss all three bonuses on the location of art galleries related to a particular artist, a classic UC question.

Carson then gets his first starter with a complete guess that takes even himself by surprise, and Edinburgh sort of work out how to do the bonuses to take back the lead. Needless to say, it doesn’t last long, with Dowell buzzing in solely off the back of the Latin name for the Yew tree, which is quite frankly an unacceptable thing to know in this day and age.

The pendulum kept swinging on its merry way. First Heaton-Armstrong for the Scots, and then Wang’s second following an Allinson neg. They stretch the lead to thirty, the largest of the match so far, but Dowell recognises the soothing croons of Dolly Parton to reduce the arrears once more, and they briefly retake the lead before consecutive starters and a double triple on Greek playwrights and the muscles of the heart (which those playwrights enjoyed tugging at, presumably, I haven’t read any Greek stagework) flip the needle yet again. Please calm down guys, or its my own heart muscles that’ll need questioning.

Raii completes the multimedia hat trick for UCL by recognising Edmund Hillary, which I also guessed, purely because it was a picture of a man wearing what looked like a very warm jacket, and with only a couple of minutes to go we find ourselves level. One forty five to one forty five. Poised, like a ballerina on a cliff edge, beautiful and precarious.

Both sides miss the next starter, and Paxman wastes a minute reciting approximately half of Rudyard Kipling’s ‘If’. There are things at stake here man, save your poetry slamming for when you’re down the pub with David Dimbleby..

Raii takes the next, on Southeast Asian constitutional monarchies. Thailand and Cambodia. He doesn’t say Malaysia. He could have said it nine times because Malaysia has nine kings, but that doesn’t matter now. The lead is in London. They eke out two five pointers. Twenty points in it.

Heaton-Armstrong with the Ten, but then he overrules a correct answer and they take only one bonus. Five points in it. Seventeen seconds left.

Stone only needs six of them, and takes the final starter of the night with a nerve-splittingly early buzz of Roy Liechtenstein. But it was a correct buzz too, and with no time for the bonuses Edinburgh again won the day by the slimmest of margins.

Final Score: UCL 165 – 170 Edinburgh

The only team from North of the border sure do love to live dangerously, but they just about survive to make it through to the quarter finals for the second year running. UCL came mighty close, but can be proud in their defeat.

And finally, in case you missed by Twitter spam, I’ve compiled all my reviews from last series including Monkman, Goldman, Rudd, Seagull and co. into one huge eBook that you can buy here, if you want. Get it for your Gran for Christmas, even if she doesn’t understand what a Kindle is, I’m sure she’ll appreciate the gesture. 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B077W9RRWQ/ref=cm_sw_r_tw_dp_U_x_A04iAbFTQD81W

Or if you don’t want to buy it, but do enjoy reading this blog, you could plop a quick review of the book up there instead, which’ll help boost me up the Amazonian algorithm like a spreadsheet made by Wonder Woman

[woodland-knight]

Is there anything you can tell us about the new Geneolgia girl? :0

For those who don’t know, a few nights ago I revealed a new Geneolgia daughter. While she’s been in development for a bit, I’ve only just started finalizing her this past month. As of last week, she’s finally been developed enough that I feel comfortable talking about her, thus her reveal.

As a heads up, this answer is split into two parts! The first part is just some ramblings relating to general Bravely Babies, and the second actually focuses on Selena. I’ll be putting a split between them, so if you only want to read about Selena you can start at the split.

Before I get started on Selena, I want to address something that may seem weird. In the reference post, I mention Selena is the last child to be added to a main family, which might sound weird when you take into account she’s the only child I’ve added in the past two years. A little known fact, however, is that the original Bravely Babies picture I posted is in fact the 4th edition of the Bravely Babies. For those who are curious, the different “editions” are as follows:

Til and his four sisters, and the Lee twins- Ringabel (RJ) and Elizabeth

Til and his four sisters, the Lee twins- Alternis (AJ) and Lyvia, and the youngest Lee- Valentine

Til and his four sisters, the Lee twins- Alternis and Lyvia, the youngest Lee- Valentine, and the Dim half-brother- Zealan

Theo and his four sisters, the Lee twins- Alternis and Lyvia, the youngest Lee- Valentine, the Dim-Lee sibling from another world, Zealan, and the Geneolgia children- Fleur, Inaba, Taketori

As you can see, many of the babies were actually added over time, while others underwent name changes as they were developed. If I were to compare the 1st edition to the current edition (5th edition), there would be a ton of obvious differences between the two. It’s not just that either, the changes made between each edition have had an impact on the way I’ve developed them all and how I present them now.

For example: Zealan worked perfectly as a half-brother, being the son of Alternis and another woman. Somewhere down the line though, my stubborn baby-of-the-fandom butt didn’t like this (though I wouldn’t mind at this point) and proposed another idea: he was the child of Alternis and another Edea. Though I do wonder how things would have worked out if I hadn’t change things, the reason I don’t revert back to this is because so much of Zealan has been developed around him being a child from another world that if I reverted back, I would have to revise Zealan completely, and I’m happy with who he is now.

Anyway, in the first few editions, children were added just added for the hell of it. It wasn’t a public project, so there was nothing wrong with adding another child here and there. Once I went public with the AU, however, it became a bit more difficult. While I could still add children to less important families (Balestra, Panettone, etc.), adding them to the main families wasn’t as easy. I would need a legitimate reason to add any more children so I didn’t go overboard, and there hadn’t been any reason to until recently.

Admittedly, in the past I have considered adding more children, but I always stopped myself because there was no good reason to. One case consisted of the idea of adding another Arrior boy after the quads, but the idea was more for humor, since we all know the Arriors are the last people who need more kids. (They are the most likely to have another kid on accident, but that’s a story for another ask.)

I do have my reasons for adding Selena, but before I get to those, I want to talk about who she is!

Lunaria “Selena” Kaguya Geneolgia is 16 years old and the eldest Geneolgia daughter. Born shortly after Yew and Magnolia were wed, she’s sweet, well-mannered, and very sickly. As a result, she spends much of her time at home helping her mother care for her younger siblings. The best way to describe her would be as having a personality that is more in line with what more historical expectations of a noble’s daughter were: only speaks when spoken to and is respectful to all that she meets. She finds happiness in the simplicity of her life, yet her mother always worries that she isn’t truly happy with the way she’s living, as it’s similar to the family situation Magnolia ran away from.

The reason that Selena is so sickly is due to her parents being from separate planetoids, being the moon and Luxendarc respectively. Though the people of the moon and Luxendarc have identical anatomy, they have slightly different body chemistry, which is where the problem emerges. Magnolia’s body wasn’t designed to carry a Luxendarcian baby, so there were some difficulties during the pregnancy. This resulted in Selena being very small at birth and having health issues. Though modern medicine and magic have allowed Selena to grow normally, it can only do so much for her health.

Also, as a side note: None of the other Geneolgia children are sickly because Magnolia received special medical care in her latter three pregnancies to prevent it from happening again.

Despite her health, Selena is an enrolled student at Al-Khampis. Most of the time she watches lectures at home via a magic communication tool provided by the school, but there are weeks where she is healthy enough to go to the campus with Fleur and attend classes. When that’s the case, her Uncle Denys keeps an eye on her and sends her back home if a problem arises. She’s an overall good student who passes her classes without much trouble, but she doesn’t really excel in one area or another. In the end, she considers herself more of a stay-at-home caretaker than a scholar.

While her relationship with her younger two siblings is fine, her relationship with Fleur is a bit more strained. Fleur has always been the more energetic and independent of the two, while Selena is a lot more reserved and relies on others due to her health. As a result, Fleur feels like Selena sometimes holds her back and prevents her from doing many of the things she wants to do. This was especially common when the two were very young, as Fleur was responsible for keeping an eye on her older sister when they were out. Even as teenagers, Fleur still tends to be responsible for keeping an eye on her sister when their parents or uncle aren’t around.

Selena is also considered very pretty by many of her schoolmates and people around Gathelatio, and quite a few people think her being albino like her mother and brother adds to her allure. Even one of her friends feels a one-sided affection towards her. She’s quite embarrassed by the attention, however, and doesn’t find it proper for a girl of her age to be searching for a significant other. Despite this, she is romantically interested in the son of one of Yew’s colleagues, and the two have considered starting a relationship. She hasn’t mentioned this to anybody in her family though, as again, she doesn’t consider it proper.

Now that I’ve covered a bit about her personality and life, it’s time to get into the reasons I decided to add her. This is because there were two things that were really bothering me:

I see Magnolia as the kind of person who really loves children, so I don’t think she’d want to wait that long to have her first child. Originally, having Fleur later made more sense because in the AU, Magnolia spent years trying to get her family to approve of her marrying Yew before ultimately giving up and cutting ties with them. In the current rendition, however, she cut ties much earlier due to a distinct distaste towards her family and a general unhappiness with the life they forced her to live before she became a Ba’al buster. This left a bigger gap between getting married and having her first child, so Selena helps to close this gap.

In relation to the other children, Taketori was born because Yew also wanted a son after having “so many” daughters. In reality, two daughters really isn’t a lot and makes the reasoning a little more shaky. If they had three daughters, however, it would make a bit more sense for Yew to want to also have a son beyond that. (I actually have a manager in a similar situation, where she had three daughters and wanted a son as well, but she had another daughter before having her only boy.)

Admittedly, the second reason is a little weaker than the first, but it still played a part in my final decision. I had been sitting on the idea of months before finally going through with it, and despite a few minor things needing to be altered, I’m overall happy with the addition because I feel the issues I’ve been having were finally solved. I was a bit wary because I have had people point out the families are quite large (with the Arriors actually supposed to be a play on larger families), so I’m unsure about how the change will be received. I’m personally the youngest of four, so I never really considered the Lees and Geneolgias to be “big” families, but I am aware of how it could be a problem.

I do hope you guys give Selena a chance and learn to love her as much as I do though! She really brings a lot to the Geneolgia family, and I look forward to talking about her and the other Bravely Babies a lot more soon!

[astudyinimagination]

The Heir, Chapter 2

"Between Present and Past” 

Chapter two of my WIP fic The Heir. Prologue can be found here; chapter one here; description here. Will definitely try to make a tags page for my fics in the future.

This story is off to a slow start in more ways than one, and there’s something I should say right now: there are a lot of flashbacks. There’s a lot of going back and forth between the present and the past—stuff in backstories unfold as the main story goes on. This particular chapter is flashback-heavy. (It also starts with a scene that I’ve already posted to Tumblr, so if you’ve already read that, you can skip over it to the next page break.)

Chapter rating: M.

Warnings: mentions of forced prostitution, miscarriages, still birth, generally birth-related ickiness, and marital sex.

There were many places in London in which respectable women, even of the working class, should never venture. But for the woman sitting at the bar in one of the seedier pubs she knew, respectability was the last thing on her mind. Not that she had to worry about her reputation, in her worn suit and bowler hat and fake moustache.

In a man’s world, pretending to be a man gave her a certain degree of freedom she couldn’t otherwise have.

She took a drag from her cigarette and sighed. Skulking aimlessly around taverns wasn’t going to fix her problems; she needed to get off her backside and on her feet again. Oh, come off it. How much bad luck does a person need to run up before they’re entitled to a respite?

A sudden commotion jolted her out of her sulking. A man shouting at a girl, in one of the corners of the establishment. She couldn’t make out what he was saying above the din of the place, but he was gesticulating wildly, and the girl was cowering… And there was the blow, across the face.

The woman dressed as a man surged to her feet and strode towards the pair. The girl was now crying, and as the woman got closer, she could make out the words. “Ned, please, Oi don’ want to!”

The man struck her again. “Yew’ll want to if I say! We need the money, an’ I’ve already made the deal!”

“No, Ned, please!”

The man brought his hand back for another blow, but it never fell. The woman’s grip around his wrist was as unforgiving as a shackle. The girl gasped. The man cursed and turned around to face the woman. “Wot the ‘ell d’yew think yew’re doin’?!”

“Acting like a decent human being,” the woman said coldly, belying the fire blazing in her gut, “which is more than I can say for you or anyone else in this sorry dump.”

“Leggo of me!” The man’s—Ned’s—eyes were red-rimmed, his face flushed; he’d clearly had far more liquor than she had.

“Leave this girl alone and I will.”

Ned turned back to his prey. “Oh, didja finally git yewrself a man?” There was something very ugly in his tone. “That why yew’re not wantin’ t’work with His Lordship?”

Terror shone in the girl’s eyes. “Oi swear, Oi ain’t never seen ‘im afore!”

The woman’s grip tightened, and Ned cried out. Standing at five foot eleven, she towered over Ned, and leaned in to hiss, “I have nothing to do with this poor girl, and I think you shouldn’t, anymore, either. Leave her alone.”

“The ‘ell Oi will! She’s mine! She’s my sister!” Ned gave a mighty pull, then, to free himself, and the woman clenched her free fist, driving a left hook into the man’s stomach. He doubled over, and she kneed him for good measure, letting go of his wrist and watching in satisfaction as he crumpled to the floor.

She looked up then at his poor sister, who was watching with wide, pale eyes. The woman held out her hand to the girl, who couldn’t have been much older than twenty. “Come with me.”

The girl hung back, afraid.

The woman sighed in frustration. “Come on! Do you want to stay with that—” she nodded at the figure on the floor—“for the rest of your life?!”

“Oi…”

“I shan’t hurt you, I promise.” The woman reached out and grabbed the girl’s hand, pulling her to the door, the other patrons giving them a wide berth. This was hardly the first time they’d seen this person dressed as a man land a couple of blows on another bloke, and they weren’t about to interfere. She had a justified reputation for being brutal, and better still, very few blamed her for it.

“Who are yew?”

The woman waited until they were outside, turned to her, and whispered, “Not a man.” Louder: “What’s your name?”

“T-Tess.” The girl probably thought her companion mad.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” the woman said feelingly as she led the girl to a better street so they could catch a cab. Three blocks away from the pub, she let her Estuary accent slip. “I’m trying to help you. What did Ned want you to do?”

Tess didn’t even blink at the change in inflection. “‘E was gonna s-sell me services to His Lordship. S-said our family needed the money. We are poor folks, mum.”

The woman held down her suddenly boiling rage with effort. “Nothing justifies slavery, Tess. Who’s this Lordship you speak of?”

“Him what owns the buildin’ we live in, mum. That’s wot we all call ‘im.”

“What did His Lordship want with you?” The woman thought she knew, but she wanted to hear her theory confirmed, even if it sickened her.

Tess faltered. “Well… I… I’m pretty, mum.”

The woman had to take a deep breath. An outburst will not aid you. You can’t do anything about the brother. Help the sister. “Tess, you know that’s illegal, right? Selling you to this man to be his…”

“Whore,” Tess supplied quietly. “Sure it is, mum. But why would that make any difference?”

“You could go to the police.”

“They wouldn’t ‘elp the likes of me, mum. Wot would Oi go to them, for?”

It was true—unless the brother had written proof of his despicable bargain, the woman couldn’t think of a single thing the police could do about the situation. Not with the law as it stood now.

She turned to the girl. “Come home with me,” she said softly. “I can help you. I’ve helped other girls like you, girls with bad families, bad husbands. Just come. You don’t have to go back.”

Tess shook her head, a glimmer of pride in her eyes for the first time. “Oi won’t take no charity, mum.”

“Oh, it’s not charity.” The woman arched an eyebrow. “I’d expect you to work and earn your keep. But I think your dignity would be better served in performing the duties of a maid rather than becoming one in name only.”

Tess reddened. “Yewr ‘usband won’ mind?”

The woman stopped short. “...my husband has no say in how I live my life, Tess. He lost that right.”

The girl’s eyes widened. “‘Ow?”

“I know you love me, Godfrey. I know that beyond a shadow of a doubt. But I need you to look me in the eye, and tell me that you regret what you’ve done.”

“...darling… I do love you.”

“...I know. But that isn’t enough.”

“He sold his soul to the devil, Tess,” she said quietly, and whistled to catch the approaching cab—“and he didn’t regret doing it. Are you coming?”

The cab rolled up to halt before them, and she watched fear and hope fight for dominance in Tess’s too-thin features. Poor girl—she had probably never done anything so brave in her life, escaping her family like this. After a few seconds, she nodded slowly. “Yes, mum.”

The woman smiled, and helped her up into the cab. Once they had set off, she turned to the girl and said, “Please, Tess: call me Irene.”

Mary felt the urge and resisted it, braiding her hair instead. Even after three months, her hands wanted to lie over her belly, now empty and almost flat again.

This most recent attempt to have a child had proven to be not a disaster, but a nightmare. Mary had been twenty-seven when she first met John; she had already been old enough to qualify as an old maid. In the two years they had been married, they had tried again and again to have children, both aware that neither of them were quite as young as many newlywed couples starting families. John was seven years older than she, and he wanted children just as badly as she did.

She miscarried the first two. She had thought that nothing could match the crushing disappointment and sense of loss she had felt each time… but then she had conceived a third time. Then the baby had survived long enough to make her presence felt, to kick and somersault, and move to the sound of her father’s voice, speaking nonsense to her mother’s belly.

And then, after the most terrific and prolonged agony Mary had ever experienced, their daughter had died before she could draw her first breath.

“John, how is she? Can I hold her? What does she look like?”

“Oh… Mary…” The incredible look of loss on his face had answered her questions.

“No… no…”

“Mary, love… I’m so sorry...”

“No! I want my baby, John! I want my baby! Please!”

He had sat on the bed and wrapped his arms around her, not heeding her struggles. She didn’t want comfort; she wanted her baby… And then, over John’s shoulder, she saw the midwife silently wrapping up a tiny, bluish form in the cloth that should have been her child’s first blanket, and something inside her broke.

She didn’t remember the week following, not properly. It was a haze of tears, dreams both good and bad, and expelling excess blood and fluid and tissue from the pregnancy. Her body slowly working its way back to normal didn’t help her any, particularly the emptiness of her womb. The swelling of her breasts, filling with milk for her dead daughter, added another layer of misery.

She barely spoke to John, though he hardly left her side that first week. He was so gentle and caring, and one of the few things she remember clearly was wanting to shout at him. Wanting to demand why he wasn’t angry with her when she couldn’t give him the children he wanted.

Eventually, she started to move around the house again. Her friend, Kate Whitney, and her former employer, Mrs. Forrester, would come to see her. She talked more with John; not much, at first, but she did. The physical aftermath of the pregnancy finally ended, and she started to feel herself again.

Three months later, she still missed her baby, of course. She couldn’t think of the tiny little girl without crying. They’d decided to give her a name, one that they never would have picked otherwise as it wasn’t a name either of them favored, but it seemed appropriate: Angela.

By unspoken consent, however, Mary and John had tried to act normally again around each other, and by and large, it had worked. They were still deeply in love, and Mrs. Forrester said to cherish it: that kind of premarital infatuation did not always survive to the second year, let alone amid the loss they had already faced.

Sometimes, Mary would still feel empty, and her arms ached to hold a child who wasn’t there—she had only held her daughter for a few brief moments, and she still did not know whether that had been better or worse for her. She longed to have Angela back, alive and healthy.

What she sometimes felt but was afraid to really think… was that she still wanted to try again.

She had always been good with children. She had been a good governess; the Forrester children had adored her. She wanted to know the joy of having her own child, and she knew that John wanted that, too.

What is wrong with me? Why can’t I have a baby?

She knew there was no good answer to that; there never was. She could keep trying and maybe, someday, she’d have a baby. Maybe it would be healthy, and she wouldn’t be. Maybe she couldn’t have a baby at all. There was no way to know, and she knew that, which is why she never asked John. She hated few things more than his looking lost and helpless, when he didn’t know what to say or do.

Speaking of whom… Finished undressing for the night, he sat beside her on the bed and idly stroked her braid. “I missed you, last night,” he murmured.

“Mm, I missed you.” He leaned in to kiss her softly, and she returned the kiss as gently. “But I’m glad you went. You needed that.”

He grasped her chin gently. “Mary, love, I don’t need adventures.”

She smiled ruefully. “Yes, you do. It’s all right, John; you know I don’t mind.”

He sighed. “I know, but—”

She put a finger to his lips. “Shh.” Then she kissed him again.

He kissed her warmly back, his hand rising to stroke her hair. “Oh, my love,” he murmured against her lips.

She closed her eyes, suppressing the faint tug of desire she felt. “Sweetheart, not yet. Please.” Making love with her husband had become irrevocably tied up with the possibility of conceiving again, and the possibility of further heartbreak. “I’m not ready yet.”

He sighed—poor John, she could see his eyes how much he would have liked to continue. “Of course, my darling.” He kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry.”

“John, it’s not your fault.” She lowered herself to the surface of the mattress and pulled him with her, quickly snuggling up in his embrace. “Someday, I am going to want you so much, I am going to be so wild with passion, and I won’t be able to care. I… I simply haven’t reached that point.”

John chuckled softly, but his hazel eyes were gentle. “Do let me know as soon as you do, won’t you?” He kissed her hair this time. “I love you, Mary.”

“I love you, John.”

“Professor?”

“Yes? Master Holmes, was it?”

“Yes, sir. I only wanted to say how very much I enjoyed this lesson. I’ve never seen anyone bring mathematics so vividly to life before.”

“Thank you, my boy. It is always gratifying to have an appreciative audience. What is your field of study?”

“Chemistry. It’s been an interest of mine since I was small.”

Pause. “Master Holmes, your eyes have been roaming my things since you approached my desk.”

“I beg your pardon, Professor; I was merely observing.”

There was an intense scrutiny in the older man’s dark grey eyes, not unlike Mycroft’s. “What have you observed?” When the boy hesitated, the man nodded encouragingly. “You needn’t fear censure, my boy. Go ahead.”

“You are a confirmed bachelor,” the boy started slowly. “You have no close family. You have passions not only for mathematics but also for science, philosophy, and history. You have not had this chair for more than a few years. You graduated from Oxford, but you must have had some sort of falling out with your alma mater, or you would not be teaching for her rival. And… you carry a sentimental attachment to your homeland.”

The man stared at the boy, then smiled and began to clap. “Bravo, Master Holmes. That was excellent.” An Irish lilt slipped into his voice, bringing full body to the slight inflections the boy had noticed earlier: “Correct in every detail. You will certainly go far on whatever road you take.” He held out his hand.

The boy shook it firmly, grinning. “Sherlock Holmes, sir.”

“James Moriarty. Sherlock Holmes, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Mr. Holmes?”

Holmes looked up from where he sat on the floor, surrounded by coded letters and their decoded counterparts. “Mrs. Hudson! What are you doing still up at this hour?” His landlady was dressed for bed, a dressing gown over her nightclothes, and her grey-streaked brown hair hanging down in a braid. And she bore a steaming coffee pot.

“I was about to go to bed, and I heard you moving about up here. I thought you might like a fresh pot of coffee.”

He smiled tiredly, rising to take the tray from her. “Bless you, Mrs. Hudson.” He kissed her cheek, and she smiled.

“Will you be all right, then?”

It was a question she often asked when she knew he was going to stay awake through the night. He nodded. “Sweet dreams, Mrs. Hudson.”

Her smile softened. “Good luck, Mr. Holmes.”

“Thank you.” He would need it, and the coffee. He didn’t want to risk falling asleep; sleep would give him no rest, only more memories, and less kind ones.

He had to keep working.

[tellerford13]

MO ASTOR- CHAPTER 32

We don’t own the bikes, brothers, or any “related” Sons of Anarchy, trust us, if we did we wouldn’t have the time to write. No money is being made from our stories. So, please don’t sue. It’d be a fruitless endeavor indeed. That being said, Harley, Journee, and any other newbies are ours, and we don’t share. :Whispers in creepy voice: “My precious.” The universe This reality is a mix of cannon, and our own ideas. We strive to keep the boys cannon, but since we will be shifting around some of the events, that will reflect in our writing and their personalities as well. It’s our goal to provide you with quality fiction, and solid, fleshed out OFC. We appreciate constructive criticism and love LOVE reviews, they are a writers life blood and definitely help encourage us and inspire us. We will be posting on our Tumblr where we’ll have fun pictures from time to time as well. http://tellerford13.tumblr.com We’ll also be taking requests for one shots, preferences or imagines for all things Sons at our other Tumblr, so check it out and send your thoughts!http://tellerford13oneshots.tumblr.com/ And just for fun, we’ve decided to start a Pinterest for the story! So if you want a glimpse at our girls and see into our world, check it out! https://www.pinterest.com/tellerford/

                                                       A/N: And the final piece of the puzzle! I hope you guys enjoyed the surprise posts.

                                                 Mo Astor 32

Chibs                                                                    

“Come and play, Daddy?” Journee asks, poking out her swollen lower lip. I grin and move from the wall. My prick is as hard as granite, and my skin feels tight with arousal. Watching her take command and bring Lee pleasure has me ready to explode. Mo Astor has blossomed in ways I never could’ve imagined. She rises up on her knees, and I lick my lips.

“You sure ye want that, lass?” I tilt my head. She nods and places her hands in her lap.

“Please, Daddy.” She puts the whine in her voice I can never resist. I walk over to her and cup her chin.

“Seeing yew put everything I’ve taught ye to use pleased me.”

Her brown eyes sparkle and I bend down to trace her lips with the tip of my tongue. “You two lassies put on one hell of a show. I think it’s time we return the favor. Would you like that?”

“Oh, yes, Daddy.” Her breathe hitches, and my heart rate accelerates. Knowing she likes the feel of eyes on us as much as I do is a welcome surprise. I want everyone to know this woman is mine. I glance over at Lee and Jax who are watching us with rapt interest. I’m a private man about most things, but the three people in this room are the closest I have aside from Tig.

I stand and place my arms behind my back. “I need to make sure my little lass remembers who’s in charge now, don’t I?”

“I do, Daddy,” she whispers.

“Take your shirt and bra off. It’s your turn to be the one on display.”  I watch as she reveals her chestnut skin to my hungry gaze. On the surface, I’m cool and collected, but on the inside, I’m imagining ripping her clothes off and pounding into her heat until she calls out my name. She’s tempting like that. Going slow is an exercise in patience for the both of us.

Her shirt falls to the ground, and I have a few moments to admire the pastel pink bra before her breasts are freed. Her dime shaped Hershey kiss nipples are erect and stand out in the center of her swollen mounds.

“Someone’s excited.”

She nods her head. “Did you like controlling her pleasure, lass?”

“Yes.”

“Like this?” I pinch her nipples and roll them between my fingers. She grips the sheets, pressing her thighs together. I tug, watching as her lids lower and she arches her back, offering me more. “I bet you’re soaked right now, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Ready to come.”

“So ready.”

“Too bad.”

She whimpers, and I flick her nipples lightly. She gasps.

“I think it’s time for payback, Lee. Don’t you?”

Her blue eyes gleam and a predatory smile graces her lips.

“I do.”

She pushes off of Jax and crawls toward Journee who swallows hard.

Lee circles her left nipple with her pink tongue while I continue to pinch and pull it’s twin. Whimpers spill from Journee’s throat, and I know she’s struggling not to orgasm. I can see Jax watching them. It doesn’t bother me. He loves Journee as much as I do, even though it’s a different way. There’s a rightness to this sharing.

“You’re doing so good, holding back for us, lass.” I stroke her hair, running the silken strands through my fingers, already missing her curls. I tug lightly, and she cries out as I force her gaze to meet mine before I devour her lips. My tongue plunges into her mouth. I taste her own sweetness along with the lingering flavor of Lee. It’s a heady combination. I tilt my head seeking more. Our tongues slid together, and I’m lost in the woman who single-handedly saved my sanity a million times over.

She jerks. I peer down to see Lee’s nipping at her nipple. We part for air, and I bite my way down my neck. I suck on her pulse point and let my hand slid down to the top of her jeans. I pop the button. Her body shudders. I release her skin.

“So eager to be touched, aren’t you?” I unzip her jeans and groan at the matching pink panties. I like her in soft pastels. They make her skin glow and feeds my sick Daddy fetish. I’ve no qualms about my kink. I like taking care of her and, treating her like spun gold, and controlling how and when she receives her pleasure. It’s the trust she places in me that gets me off. The way she allows me to push her boundaries and try new things. It has nothing to do with the control.

“Yes.” Her voice is husky and strained. I slid my hand into her panties, and I’m enveloped in her heat.

“Ack, she’s wet.”

Lee attaches her mouth to her breast and sucks harder as I remove her panties and jeans.

Fine tremors run through her body. I circle her swollen clit with my thumb, pause and ease a finger inside her and still.

“No, Daddy. Please. I need.”

“What do you need, baby girl?”

“More.”

“Is that right?” I pull out the finger and add another, still refusing to move.

She squirms. “None of that. Be still, or I take them away.”

She pauses and her walls contract around my digits. I adjust my angle.

“Daddy,” She all but wails.

“Give her a little tongue, love.”

Lee releases her breast with a pop. “My pleasure.”

She bends down and lashes the pink bundle of nerves that sticks out from between her slick brown lips.

She pants and squeezes my fingers, clenching her jaw.

“You’re so beautiful when you do as I say,” I whisper. I pull out and push back in, starting a slow rhythm.

“You want to come, Mo Astor.”

“Oh, God. Yes.”

“Then.” I increase my speed. “Come.”

She throws her head back and shatters. I remove my fingers as she squirts. Lee latches on, lapping up the liquid as I swear. They’re beautiful together light and dark, giving and taking pleasure as they get one another off. They’ve been doing this so long, it’s a thing of beauty to watch. They know how to touch, what spots give maximum pleasure, and which will allow them to drag things out. Journee is a quivering mass of release as she twitches burying a hand in both of our hair. We’re bound tightly together but our interwoven relationships.

Her hands fall away, and I kiss the side of her mouth as she breaths raggedly.

“Daddy, I’m so empty. Please fill me up.”

“Holy shit,” Jax whispers.

“Ye want me to fuck you right here in front of them, love?” I tease.

Her eyes widen, and her breath quickens. She nods.

“Daddy needs to hear it.”

“Please fuck me, Daddy. My kitty needs you.”

The words are music to my ear.

“What my lass wants is what she’s going to get. You’ve been so good tonight. Now spread those legs so we can show them that pretty wet kitty.

She does as I request and Lee licks her lips hungrily.

“Think you need to fill her mouth, brother,” I say to Jax as I remove my belt and Journee opens her mouth. “On the bed beside your wifey, love,” I say to Lee.

I free my hard on and paint her lips with my pre-come before I allow her to swallow me down. She hollows her cheeks keeping her hands behind her as she lets me set the pace. I cup her jaw as I fuck her mouth, going deep. She takes me, finding a rhythm in gagging slightly in that way we both like.

“That’s it love, open that throat.”

She hums, and I grit my teeth. Minx is teasing me. I move my hand to wrap around her throat, and she moans around me. Two can play that game, love. The sounds of whimpers and moans fill the room turning it into a room full of pleasure. It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever been a part of. It’s more than physical gratification. There are emotions involved. I pull out before I finish in her mouth.

“Those lips of yours are deadly. How do you want me to give it to you? I’ll let you pick.”

“Deep Daddy.”

“Aye lass, so deep you’ll feel me by your heart. Seeing as how she started this I think we should give her a little extra stimulation.” I catch Jax’s gaze, and he gives me a nod.

“You hungry, baby?” Jax asks Lee.

“Starving. You ready for us to remind you who’s in control?” Lee growls.

Journee shudders as I pull her onto my lap and pierce her with a firm thrust. She cries out, and Lee Dives forward burying her face in her pussy. She moans as Jax lines up and drives in deep from behind. The wet slap of skin on skin and the scent of arousal and sweat create a unique perfume.

“You like that lass?” I growl.

“Yes, Daddy. Fuck, Harder.”  I grip her hips and slam into her quivering core.

I thrust my thumb into her mouth, and she sucks hard.

“Fucking good girl.” I pause, letting her feel Lee’s tongue as I battle my own orgasm. The feel of her slick, tight pussy combined with the accidental feather light brushes of Lee’s tongue is pushing me to my breaking point. I grip her hips again and adjust her angle, pounding into her pussy. She screams as she rides me, matching me stroke for stroke. I damn near see white as I hold off, waiting for her to tumble over the edge.

Her core flexes around me and she jerks.

“D- Daddy.”

I growl unable to speak as she splinters, and I drive home, releasing everything I have to give inside her. She wraps her arm around my neck and collapses against me. I’m vaguely aware of Lee’s cries as the two follow us down into bliss. I pepper Journee’s neck with kisses.

“Love you Mo’ Astor.”

“Love you too, Filip,” she whispers. Her voice is light and laced with exhaustion. I remain inside her, enjoying the warmth and closeness as the aftershocks continue. As our bodies cool and I pull out we both groan at the loss.

“Legs up, Daddy?” She asks.

“Aye, love.”  I kiss her lips as I help her prop up against the wall.

“Am I missing something?” Jax asks.

I chuckle.

“They’re trying to get pregnant,” Lee whispers. Her voice is husky, and her hair is wild. She smiles at me, and I nod.

“Mama, J. I can see it.” Jax scoops Lee up, and they crash on the bed near ours. I lay on my back and run a hand through my hair.

“Well shite. This is going down in history as the best family day ever.”

“That’s what we are. Our own little family,” Journee whispers.

I see the truth in her words.

“Guess we are, love,” I say.

“Wasn’t going to work any other way,” Jax agrees.

“It’s how it’s always been,” Lee whispers.

We both drift into our own zone as the flow settles over us and we regain our energy. Soon we’ll have to shower and rejoin the crowd to be seen and mingle.