#i need to read about death superstitions Immediately

[cats-of-eden-valley]

so ive been trying to wrap my head around what the more supernatural aspects of the world should look like, because ive been trying to think of ways to intertwine it with the rest of the setting (ironic, considering the importance of it)

but im thinking maybe at least i should start by leaning into more aspects around death, with thorough funerary rites and rituals created to combat post-death monstrosities,,

[cryptwrites]

Poisons

Hello! I'm gonna share how I go about writing poisons and the things I think are helpful to keep in mind. Now, I have never actually poisoned someone - shocker - but I have done extensive research on the topic, so I would say I know a decent amount about how to effectively poison someone. Disclaimer: This is for writing purposes only, don't poison people. Thanks.

Keep In Mind:

Poisoners need little to no physical strength although they do need a strong sense of self control & nerves of steel. Shooting or stabbing someone takes a mere moment of consideration and is frequently the result of  a split second decision, while position requires dedication. Many poisons require a certain amount of time to work and the poisoner usually must administer several doses of poison in order to work. The poisoner also usually must be within close proximity to their victim and often will have to look them in the eye and engage with the person while the person slowly dies.

Exotic poisons can be more trouble than they’re worth. Importing exotic poisons leaves a trail for authorities to follow, and they require more research to correctly use.

Smart poisoners work with what they’ve got. The clever killer looks for drugs that are already in the victim’s medicine cabinet and that could be deadly. Read medical warning labels to get an idea of how to use them.

Poison can be used in ways that aren’t deadly. If the goal isn’t death, you can render someone dizzy or dopey, making a character vulnerable to a bad influence. 

Common Poisons

Hemlock: Poison hemlock comes from a large fern-like plant that bears a dangerous resemblance to the carrot plant. It was readily available for treating muscle spasms, ulcers, and swelling, but in large doses will cause paralysis and ultimately respiratory failure. 

Mandrake: It was used as a sedative, hallucinogen and aphrodisiac. Superstition mediaeval denizens believes when the vaguely human-shaped root was pulled out that plant gave a piercing shriek that would drive anyone to madness or death - hence the harry potter scene.

Arsenic: Arsenic comes from a metalloid and not a plant, unlike the others but it’s easily the most famous and is still used today. instead of being distilled from a plant, chunks of arsenic and dug up or mined. It was once used as a treatment for STDs , and also for pest control and blacksmiths, which was how many poisoners got access to it. It was popular in the Renaissance since it looked similar to malaria death, due to acute symptoms including stomach cramps, confusion, convulsions, vomiting and death. Slow poisoning looked more like a heart attack.

Nightshade: A single leaf or a few berries could cause hallucinations - a few more was a lethal dose. Mediaeval women used the juice of the berries to colour their cheeks, they would even put a few drops on their eyes to cause the pupils to dilate for a lovestruck look which is why Nightshade is also called ‘Belladonna’ or “Beautiful woman.” The symptoms include dilated pupils, sensitivity to light, blurred vision, tachycardia, loss of balance, staggering, headache, rash, flushing, severely dry mouth and throat, slurred speech, urinary retention, constipation, confusion, hallucinations, delirium and convulsions.

Aconite: This toxic plant, also called Monkshood or Wolfsbane, was used by indigenous tribes around the world as arrow poison. The root is the most potent for distillation. Marked symptoms may appear almost immediately, usually not later than one hour, and with large doses death is near instantaneous. The initial signs are gastrointestinal including nausea, and vomiting. This is followed by a sensation of burning, tingling, and numbness in the mouth and face, and of burning in the abdomen. In severe poisonings pronounced motor weakness occurs and sensations of tingling and numbness spread to the limbs. The plant should be handled with gloves, as the poison can seep into the skin.

If someones poisoning another:

The character should analyse the daily life of the target well before attempting to poison them. Note what sort of medicines they take, at what moments they are most vulnerable, how attentive they are to their surroundings, and so on.

Choose a poison that suits your needs. You need to be as discreet as possible and not arouse suspicion. Too dramatic and people will know something is up. Choose poisons that are easy to slip into meals/don't have to be administered constantly, or you could simply frame it as an overdose by using the target's own medicines.

Think of how you want to administer the poison. Some take effect through touch while some require being swallowed. Based on that, come up with a plan to poison your target.

Make sure everything corresponds with the plot and characters, and nothing becomes a plot hole. Don't have a typically nervous character be perfectly calm when thinking of poisoning. Don't poison someone just for the sake of it. Have everything tie back to the plot, your characters rarely should be poisonings someone just for the "cool" effect. Trust me, it doesn't actually have that effect and just comes off like lazy writing. Have your characters act in accordance with their personalities.

Research time periods and history when choosing poisons. Not all poisons were popular during the same time periods, and not all of them are native to the same geographical areas.

[reinemichele]

Well. I had a post typed up about my cat and then the tumblr app crashed and I lost everything I typed. So I'm going to try to retype it all and I'm not gonna be cranky about it ❤

I'm putting a read-more bc it'll get long and be more of a stream of conscious/disorganized ramble and discuss animal death/injuries, alcoholism, and familial abuse, so please don't feel like you need to read it, I'm just getting my thoughts out.

Hurhghughhghugh . yeah that's how I feel send post

No um let's see. I usually try to be more organized with these posts but I started writing this at 6 in the morning and my back really hurts, so sorry if it's disjointed and has any typos.

First of all, I debated making this joke but it's my grief and mental illness, so

Every time I try a new antidepressant something bad happens, and I felt especially wary because something bad also happens every birthday too. But I was out of refills, wanted to try something else, couldn't get in until Dec 27th, & felt silly putting it off for a superstition I don't fully believe in. All that said, when I got home and took my first lexapro at almost 5 in the morning, I hoped that it would make these next few weeks easier.

Anyway, it was around 11:30pm, and I wanted to go to bed but I was trying to stay up to spend more time with my pets. My 🅱ack still really hurts from petsitting, so I was on the heating pad with my glasses off.

My mom called for me using my name, not a nickname, which she only does when she's in pain or distressed. It took me a minute to find my glasses, so she called again, and that got my brother's attention bc again, hearing "Erin" = something's wrong.

I don't remember what she said, probably that there was something wrong with Buttercup. I followed her and immediately saw he had a bloody gash on his eye. When he saw my brother and I he started meowing and tried to walk, but his legs buckled. My brother scooped him up and took him into the bathroom to see where he was hurt. I noticed blood on his tail and on 3 of his legs, but couldn't see where he was bleeding from.

There's really not enough room in our bathroom for 3 people and a big cat, so my mom started calling emergency vets while I got the cat carrier ready with a clean towel.

My brother wanted to grab gloves as a precaution before putting Buttercup in the carrier in case he got defensive and asked me to watch him while he left. I sat down next to him and he meowed to me, panting, and pressed his head into my leg for comfort. I petted his head and told him it'd be okay. I didn't think it was going to be okay.

I changed into a warmer shirt and brushed my hair, my brother and I took turns using the bathroom. We each grabbed a water bottle and headed out.

My brother knows my 🅱ack hurts, so he asked if I was sure about holding the cat carrier the whole time. I really didn't think we would be bringing Buttercup home, so I said yes. I didn't want the jostling of the car to scare and hurt him more than necessary, especially after he was seeking comfort in the bathroom. My brother could, um, drive fast, and I could hold the carrier as still as possible and stick my fingers in the gaps of the bars. He would be scared and in pain, but cats are smart; he would be able to understand he was being cared for.

The entire car ride, he cried frantically and pushed his head into my hand through the cage. I meowed to him and told him it was okay and I was sorry he was in pain. The closest emergency vet was an hour away and we had to stop for gas. My 🅱ack was definitely aching but I think it was worth it.

We got there and everyone was very nice and attentive and quick. They called Buttercup handsome and quickly gave him a painkiller. After 10 minutes he was still hyperventilating and they were concerned about his oxygen intake, so they took him into a little transparent cubby they could filter oxygen into. At one point I heard a tech mutter that his oxygen stat couldn't be "that"; he'd be in a coma if it was. He took the reading again and said that it made more sense. I can't really know for sure this is the case, but I know from experience both with my mom's time in healthcare and previous pets that animals can hold onto survival out of sheer will and stubbornness no matter how impossible it seems.

It was difficult to watch him struggle to breathe. I could tell he was still meowing for us. I wanted to ask them to give him another dose or possibly just sedate him, but I knew that it would suppress his respiratory system further (hospice babey), so I tried to just bear watching him suffer without being able to comfort him.

An hour later they gave him another dose and quickly did an ultrasound and xrays. They explained the respiratory system thing I just mentioned and that that was why they were hesitant to give him more, but they did give him another dose soon after that because he was still so agitated. After a few minutes we noticed that his breathing stopped. They started CPR and I wanted to ask them to stop, but my brother had gone to the bathroom and I didn't want to exclude him from the decision. He got back, we made eye contact, and we both asked them to stop doing CPR. It had been 8 minutes.

They told us they were really sorry for our loss and explained what the xrays and ultrasound revealed. He had no fractured bones, but there was a hernia in his chest, his heart had moved away from the surface of his chest cavity, and either his lungs or diaphragm were punctured because there was a lot of air in his chest, causing pressure/pain in the chest and difficulty breathing.

They didn't really need to come out and say it: even if his heart hadn't stopped, the internal damage was so severe that there wouldn't have been anything they could do to save him. We knew that was most likely the case even before the tests, we just couldn't let him suffer and die at home in that much pain.

Because of the gash on his eye and the punctured organs, they thought it was more likely to be a big bird that picked him up and dropped him when he started struggling than a car impact.

They wrapped him in a red blanket and took us to a private room where we could say goodbye. I held him, kissed his head, held his paws, and cried with my brother. We called our mom to tell her and she cried with us. She told us that my dad's sister offered to pay the bill, and I wanted to say that she (my aunt) could go to hell, but we really aren't in the financial position to refuse. So I didn't say anything ❤ And she texted my aunt's payment info to my brother.

I don't want to fully get into our relationship with her but as of writing this, my dad's sister is already emotionally blackmailing us. And that's the least abusive behavior from the people in my family I don't speak with anymore ❤

Anyway

I tried to process and piece together what all the test results meant. He was most likely picked up by a big bird and then dropped from a pretty decent height, causing severe pain and internal damage. Either he was dropped in our yard and didn't have to go far, or he was dropped far away and managed to hop the fence to get back into the yard despite his injuries. Once there, he cried for help and comfort from his trusted humans. Despite the pain and lack of oxygen most likely making him delirious, he didn't get defensive at all, completely trusting us. He didn't even hiss.

Cats are notorious for finding a quiet place to hide when they're injured, especially if the injuries are lethal. None of my cats have ever done that; a testament to the mutual love and trust we're able to build with them.

We spent a little more time with him and then made the cremation arrangements and payment. We almost forgot the cat carrier in our... state. It was late and we'd been crying a lot.

When we got home we all tried to make lighthearted conversation, but ended up all crying anyway. My mom apologized and said she knew he was "my" cat, but she still loved him a lot. I told her she didn't need to be sorry and that I was glad that he was loved by all of us.

We got Buttercup for my 21st birthday.

Alcoholism and abuse is prevalent in my family, to put it lightly, and people kept pressuring me to go out and drink for my birthday. I didn't want to have to share my childhood trauma to get people to leave me alone about drinking. I was, like, possessed with terror that I'd try one drink and then either spend the rest of my life burning for alcohol, or give in and become one of the monsters in the family. My brother could tell this was really weighing on me and suggested we adopt a cat for my birthday. In 2017 our 24 year old cat died, and in 2018 our 21 year old cat died, so I was still grieving them and we had the room. He said he'd never seen my eyes light up so quickly as when he made the suggestion. I think what he left unsaid was he didn't realize that all it would take to make me look less haunted would be to suggest taking in a new cat.

It sounds cheesy, but I think to me, taking in a new pet for my 21st birthday was a physical reminder that I wasn't doomed to repeat the same cycle found in my family. My future was mine to decide, and I could make it one where I put love and kindness into the universe. Being 21 didn't have to mean living in fear of hurting children the way I was hurt.

I had every intention of walking into the shelter and taking home the oldest cat there. But I saw Buttercup and just felt a connection. He was around 12 weeks old and the cutest creamy orange color. His ears and paws were too big for the rest of his body. He looked lonely and scared. I circled the shelter multiple times until both my brother and one of the staff gently said it was okay if I wanted to take a kitten home.

My brother's more of a dog person, but when we got Buttercup, he started really trying to research and understand cats, and I could see it in his eyes how happy he was that Buttercup saw him as a paternal figure and not just me. He was worried about Buttercup being too young to eat real cat food, he wanted to help potty train him. He started carrying Buttercup around on his shoulder and showing him parts of the house he was curious about. I had a migraine the day Buttercup was scheduled to be spayed and my brother said he could do it on his own. He spent the whole day checking in on him and nervously asked me if this or that was normal, when his appetite would return, when the anesthesia would wear off.

This was a turning point for my brother. Usually every time we took in a new cat, I was the one socializing them and helping them adjust to the house. This enthusiasm and love for Buttercup made my brother start putting in effort to bond with all our cats too. It was really sweet to watch unfold.

When we got Buttercup, my mom was working a grueling job really far away, so she had to get up at 5AM for the commute and sometimes didn't get home until 9PM. She almost always had to go straight to sleep, had no time for herself, and felt very depressed because of this job. So for the first year that we had Buttercup, he barely saw her and was quite shy around her.

After she was able to find a different job, she had more time and was much less depressed. She made it her mission to become Buttercup's friend, and within a few months he became her morning buddy. Suddenly he was knocking her eyeliner out of her hand so her hand was free to pet him, and he had gotten over his fear of the sound of running water because he wanted to stay in the bathroom while she showered. My mom stopped dreading mornings because she could look forward to spending them with Buttercup.

So... there's a lot I could say about my "family", defined as people who I'm related to by blood. But I'm not in the right mental space or time-frame to talk about it without saying things I can't take back. But I've cut contact with a lot of the people I share DNA with, and the only ones who I consider to be my "family" are my mom, two brothers, and one cousin. (My dad is dead, for the record, he didn't do anything heinous; he's just in an urn). In this small family of mine, our greatest strength is that we have an endless well of love for all living creatures.

So I don't want my mom or brother to feel guilty for being heartbroken. We loved that cat together; we made him feel wanted and cared for and loved. So we can mourn him together too. There's no hierarchy here.

[quittingfiction]

10 Minutes 38 Seconds in This Strange World

Read from October 2 to 28

The possibility of an immediate and wholesale decimation of civilization was not half as frightening as the simple realization that our individual passing had no impact on the order of things, and life would go on just the same with or without us. Now that, she had always thought was terrifying. (5)

Mother was gentle with the dead, less so with the living. But the boy thought one should be even gentler with he iving han wvith the dead because, after all, they were the ones struggling to make sense of this world, weren't they? (75)

... perhaps her home was not where she was born but where she chose to die (131)

You said cows recognize people who have hurt them in the past. Sheep can identify faces as well. But I ask myself, what good does it do them to remember so much when they can't change a thing? (136)

You believe you are a victim of circumstances beyond your control. Today is the day you can change that ... (173)

How pathetic it was to try to relegate death to the periphery of life when death was at the centre of everything. (190)

'Grief is a swallow,' he said. 'One day you wake up and you think it's gone, but it's only migrated to some other place, warming its feathers. Sooner or later, it will return and perch in your heart again.' (197-198)

'My mother - I used to call her Auntie - she often felt the same way, maybe worse. People always told her to fight depression. But I have a feeling that as soon as we see something as our enemy we make it stronger. Like a boomerang. You hurl it away, it comes back and hits you with equal force. Maybe what you need is to befriend your depression.' 'What a funny thing to say, honey. How am I to do that?' 'Well, think about it: a friend is someone you can walk with in the dark and learn lots of things from. But you also know you are different people - you and your friend. You are not your depression. You are much more than what your mood is today or tomorrow.' (212-213)

How could meditation help you to quieten your mind when you needed to quieten your mind in order to meditate? She lived with an endless commotion inside. (213)

Back in Anatolia, Nalan had seen at close hand how falcons would perch on their captors' shoulders, obediently waiting for the next treat or command. The falconer's whistle, the call that ended freedom. She had also observed how a hood would be put on these noble raptors to make sure they would not panic. Seeing was knowing, and knowing was frightening. Every falconer knew that the less it saw the calmer the bird. But underneath that hood where there were no directions, and the sky and the land melted into a swathe of black linen, though comforted, the falcon would still feel nervous, as if in preparation for a blow that could come at any moment. Years later now, it seemed to Nalan that religion - and power and money and ideology and politics - acted like a hood too. All these superstitions and predictions and beliefs deprived human beings of sight, keeping them under control, but deep within weakening their self-esteem to such a point that they now feared anything, everything. (265-266)

We must do what we can to mend our lives we owe that to ourselves but we need to be careful not to break others while achieving that. (271)

Nalan thought hat one of the endless tragedies of human history was that pessimists were better at surviving than optimists, which meant that, logically speaking, humanity carried the genes of people who did not believe in humanity. (306)

After all, boundaries of the mind mean nothing for women who continue to sing songs of freedom under the moonlight ... (Acknowledgments, 312)

[lavendertune]

Ouf okay, let's do this (Part 1)

I typically write in Times New Roman or Calibri, simply because I enjoy the style of the font. I tried using other fonts but my eyes rebel against anything else than the aforementioned two.

I started by writing everything by hand! Back in school when I was bored I got out my pad and started scribbling, or when I was travelling too. Back then I didn’t have a laptop yet which ended in massive folders filled with my stuff. Once I got a laptop and realized editing and writing in general is much much easier on it I switched immediately and never returned lmao.

It’s terrible, actually. I have that little oriel in my living room with old furniture and a lot of candles. I typically sit down in my comfy round rattan chair, light the candles, turn on my playlist and start writing. The curse, though, is that I need absolute solitude. It’s hard for me when someone else is in the room or when there is another source of light/noise. This is making it really hard for me to write because I’m living with my partner and he usually spends his time in the living room.

Unecessarily. Uneccesariy. Unnecessarily. Gods, I always forget how to write it.

Idk if it’s superstition but you write better the more you travel. Going out, meeting people, seeing other places; It all gives you motivation and inspiration. Which is why I always take my laptop with me, no matter where I go.

Never getting to finish my novels. My original motivation came with an original idea I started writing years back, but playing FFXIV, falling in love with Zenos and starting “Like Fire and Ice” cut inbetween my original novels. I’m currently trying my best to “finish” “Like Fire and Ice” (although I have a lot more planned still) so I can start writing what I had originally planned.

Realizing that I’ve done that. It was me who wrote all of these words. All of these pages. And there are actually people out there who read it. Honestly, every comment I get on my stories makes me giggle like a little kid.

I’d probably choose to leave out the dialogue. You don’t have to let your characters speak to tell an interesting story, but without at least a little bit of action it would get too boring for me and possibly the reader. It would probably be something dark and mysterious, perhaps something about a cryptid.

Yepp. A 100% . Had my own experiences and have been working with the paranormal/occult for some years now. Also, I love Ghost Adventures and Sam&Colby.

Haunt me? No. If I found something disturbing or just straight up “bad” I cross it from my mind.

Hmn, not really. I do “love” to kill of characters, but only for character or plot development. My deaths are usually calculated. I may miss the characters but I do not grieve them for I know they achieved what they needed to.

Easy! Better concentration, more time to write and a better memory. Those are the three things always ruining my flow.

Hmn, good question. I don’t have a problem with any kind of topic thinking about. I usually make sure to do my research before writing about more sensitive stuff but it never bothers me. I don’t enjoy writing slice of life type settings though.

I do! And honesty, I don’t actually care if I get them back or not. I do have a handful of books I cherish and I wouldn’t hand out because I use them for inspiration or research, the rest on the other hand mostly just exists? I’ve read them, of course. But I rarely read books multiple times. I rather give them away to people who’ll enjoy the story and know I made someone else happy in doing so.

Never in my life would I butcher a book like this, heavens. It hurts me to see mistreated books, be it dog-ears or similar. Even worse are books whose pages have started to curl from moisture, which is why I would never read in the bathtub. We can still be friends, though know you leave a cut in the deepest parts of my soul.

You ask the guy with a sifter for a brain. Uff good question, I think it was a keychain? I honestly can’t remember.

*nervous laughter* Honey, you don’t want to open this box. To make a long story short, it’s more or less an enemies to allies to lovers with three different timelines. In these timelines I explore the different routes the relationship between my hero and my antagonist can take and the various outside influences that drive them to make certain decisions. It’s a fun way to bring light to different aspects to their characters and to show how the way people treat you can change your point of view and, ultimately, your decisions.

“Like Fire and Ice” – Accursed Bonds – Part Ten “I'm so tired.” “Then rest.” A quick noise of complaint comes from somewhere next to me but I don't have the strength to see who made it. All that's left for me to do is take a breath in as Zenos' arm gently lays over my back once the healing touch has faded. I expect it to hurt, but it seems like I've gotten too numb to feel a thing. And still the Garlean makes sure to move as carefully as possible as he slips his other arm underneath my thighs and lifts me up. “You are safe now, hero.” His strong arms cradling me, holding me close to his chest, I feel my heart explode. It's a warmth I haven't felt in years, a light I thought had left my world. Sighing quietly I open my eyes, leaning my weak head against his chest as I look out to the vastness of the Steppe, my eyes threatening to fall shut. It's sunrise. This was one of the scenes I had been looking forward to for ages. In it our hero is rescued by his friends together with the help of their enemy after having been abducted by a mysterious group currently terrorizing their allies. I actually got the idea from one of these “prompt-videos” on tiktok in which the beaten up hero stands in front of their enemy who asks them “Who did this to you?”. I loved this idea so much I somehow had to implement it into my story, but I at that point I was already too far into my storyline to add it. So I sat down and thought how to turn and twist it to make it fit. My first idea was to separate the two in one way or another, forcing my hero to face a different enemy on their own. Unable to come up with a good idea I chose to just keep on writing and so I did until I was presented with the perfect moment to implement it. At this point of the story my hero and his enemy had already begun to (although out of necessity) work together and had to spend a good amount of time travelling alone. Finally being fully confronted with the other they managed to find some sort of way to get along and actually started to bond a little. Still, my hero clung to the trauma and the pain his enemy had inflicted on him and thousands of others and pushed him away, forcibly building a wall between the two. His abduction, though, made him realize just how comfortable he had grown with his enemy. Even though part of him still hated that madman he couldn’t deny that there was something pulling him towards his enemy. During the days spent with his captors he was subject to torture and wilful neglect which in the end almost cost him his life. When his enemy finally had found him he snapped and ruthlessly killed the man that had tortured my hero, the rest of his friends and the other captors staring in horror at the scene. I wanted to show my characters and my readers just to what lengths his enemy would go to save my hero and also to open my hero’s eyes and admit his true feelings.

Weird Questions for Writers (because writers are weird)

1. What font do you write in? Do you actually care or is that just the default setting?

2. If you had to give up your keyboard and write your stories exclusively by hand, could you do it? If you already write everything by hand, a) are you a wizard and b) pen or pencil?

3. What is your writing ritual and why is it cursed?

4. What’s a word that makes you go absolutely feral?

5. Do you have any writing superstitions? What are they and why are they 100% true?

6. What is your darkest fear about writing?

7. What is your deepest joy about writing?

8. If you had to write an entire story without either action or dialogue, which would you choose and how would it go?

9. Do you believe in ghosts? This isn’t about writing I just wanna know

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

11. Do you believe in the old advice to “kill your darlings?” Are you a ruthless darling assassin? What happens to the darlings you murder? Do you have a darling graveyard? Do you grieve?

12. If a genie offered you three writing wishes, what would they be? Btw if you wish for more wishes the genie turns all your current WIPs into Lorem Ipsum, I don’t make the rules

13. What is a subject matter that is incredibly difficult for you write about? What is easy?

14. Do you lend your books to people? Are people scared to borrow books from you? Do you know exactly where all your “lost” books are and which specific friend from school you haven’t seen in twelve years still possesses them? Will you ever get them back?

15. Do you write in the margins of your books? Dog-ear your pages? Read in the bath? Why or why not? Do you judge people who do these things? Can we still be friends?

16. What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever used as a bookmark?

17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage.

19. Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going?

20. If a witch offered you the choice between eternal happiness with your one true love and the ability to finally finish, perfect, and publish your dearest, darlingest, most precious WIP in exactly the way you've always imagined it — which would you choose? You can’t have both sorry, life’s a bitch

21. Could you ever quit writing? Do you ever wish you could? Why or why not?

22. How organized are you with your writing? Describe to me your organization method, if it exists. What tools do you use? Notebooks? Binders? Apps? The Cloud?

23. Describe the physical environment in which you write. Be as detailed as possible. Tell me what’s around you as you work. Paint me a picture.

24. How much prep work do you put into your stories? What does that look like for you? Do you enjoy this part or do you just want to get on with it?

25. What is a weird, hyper-specific detail you know about one of your characters that is completely irrelevant to the story?

26. How do you get into your character’s head? How do you get out? Do you ever regret going in there in the first place?

27. Who is the most stressful character you’ve ever written? Why?

28. Who is the most delightful character you’ve ever written? Why?

29. Where do you draw your inspiration? What do you do when the inspiration well runs dry?

30. Talk to me about the role dreams play in your writing life. Have you ever used material from your dreams in your writing? Have you ever written in a dream? Did you remember it when you woke up?

31. Write a short love letter to your readers.

32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?

33. Do you practice any other art besides writing? Does that art ever tie into your writing, or is it entirely separate?

34. Thoughts on the Oxford comma, Go:

35. What’s your favorite writing rule to smash into smithereens?

36. They say to Write What You Know. Setting aside for a moment the fact that this is terrible advice...what do you Know?

37. If you were to be remembered only by the words you’ve put on the page, what would future historians think of you?

38. What is something about your writing process YOU think is Really Weird? If you are comfortable, please share. If you’re not comfortable, what do you think cats say about us?

39. What keeps you writing when you feel like giving up?

40. Please share a poem with me, I need it.

[legends-of-time]

Thorn Bush (Doctor Who Story)

Chapter 29: The Crimson Horror

Masterlist

1893 AD/CE

Jonas Thursday sits before them in the conservatory in 13 Paternoster Row, brother of Edmund Thursday who's been killed by the Crimson Horror. The mention of the death in the news and his brother's subsequent request for an audience means it's the beginning of a new episode as well as the fact that the Doctor and Clara have fallen into the clutches of Mrs Gillyflower.

"Thank you for agreeing to this meeting. I'm told you are the investigator to see if there are strange goings-on." Mr Thursday says from where he sits across from Kathy and Vastra, heavily veiled, while Jenny stands next to them.

"I read of your brother's death. Another victim of the Crimson Horror, I believe." Vastra says.

"So, it is claimed. He was a newspaper man. He and a young woman were working undercover." Mr Thursday further explains. "Tell me, madam, do you know what an optogram is?"

"It is a silly superstition, sir. The belief that the eye can retain an image of the last thing it sees."

"Now, now, what's wrong with silly?" Kathy pointedly remarks.

Vastra gives her a slight nod, realising what she's implying.

Mr Thursday hands over a couple of the photographs he had taken of his dead brother Edmund's staring eyes to Jenny, who hands them on to Vastra and Kathy. Kathy feels dread fill her as she spots a face that she knows is Eleven.

Vastra throws back her veil to have a better look as she murmurs in shock, "Good grief."

"Oh, God." And Mr Thursday faints.

The three women share an amused look, shaking their heads.

——

Kathy, Jenny and Vastra enlarge the photographs to reveal an image of a red-faced, screaming Doctor. Just as Kathy had remembered. They immediately make plans to head to Yorkshire.

"According to my research and what Kathy has been able to tell us," Vastra explains as they travel in the carriage to Sweetville, "Sweetville's proprietor holds recruitment drives for her little community. She is only interested in the fittest and the most beautiful."

Jenny and Vastra sit on one side while Strax and Kathy sit opposite.

"You may rely on me, ma'am." Strax smugly declares.

Vastra looks at him blankly. "I was, in fact, speaking to Jenny and Kathy."

Strax pulls a face. "Jenny? If Madam Davis only has this weak and fleshy boy," Vastra holds back her wife at that remark, "to support her in this assignment, I strongly recommend the issuing of scissor grenades, limbo vapour and triple blast brain splitters."

Kathy sighs, even if she doesn't already know his reply because of the show, she knows him well enough now to know. "And what for, Strax?"

"Just generally. Remember, we are going to the north."

Kathy sniggers to herself at that last remark.

——

Kathy and Jenny go ahead, leaving behind Vastra and Strax, to join Mrs Gillyflower's meeting on the Present Moral Decay and the Coming Apocalypse at a local chapel.

Mrs Gillyflower stands in front of her congregation, a good turnout, speaking from a podium. "Bradford, that Babylon of the moderns with its crystal light and its glitter, all aswarm with the wretched ruins of humanity. Men and women crushed by the devil's juggernaut." The congregation murmur in agreement.

Jenny is listening carefully while Kathy just stares in disbelief, wondering how people can be so entrenched in these ideas.

"And moral turpitude can destroy the most delicate of lives. Believe me, I know. I know."

A curtain is drawn back to reveal Ada, the blind daughter of Mrs Gillyflower.

"Me own daughter, blinded in a drunken rage by my late husband. Her once beautiful eyes, pale and white as mistletoe berries."

Of course, Kathy knows the truth. But it is not something she wishes to think about at this moment. They need to save Clara and the Doctor first. The rage towards what Mrs Gillyflower had done will come later.

Ada gets up from a chair and taps her way to a covered board.

"And what, my friends, is your story? Will you be found wanting when the End of Days is come, when judgement rains down upon us all? Or will you be preserved against the coming apocalypse? Do not despair. I offer a way out. There is a different path. Sweetville!"

Ada pulls the cover from an illustration of an ideal community. Factory with two rows of terraced homes, its own chapel, bandstand and gardens. Basically along the lines of the original model village of Bourneville. People gasp excitedly.

"Join us. Join us in this shining city on the hill." Mrs Gillyflower declares. The congregation let out murmurs of agreement while Jenny and Kathy keep quiet.

"Bring me my bow of burning gold. Bring me my arrows of desire." Mrs Gillyflower sings along with the congregation.

——

The line into Sweetville moves very slowly. Dozens of people – both men and women – are packed together down a standard of white painted walls and bland windows. The very peculiar place made in uniform, brick by brick, looking very much like some sort of staged production or a child's play model of what a city might look like just screams of something sinister going on to Kathy. If she didn't know something strange is going on, she would've realised by now.

Kathy huffs as she sees the many people still far ahead of her. "We need to slip away soon." She remarks quietly to Jenny, conscious of those around her.

"Agreed." Jenny murmurs, her eyes flickering around. Kathy knows she can also hear the loud rumbling, clanking, and banging of gigantic machinery coming from somewhere in the building. It is muffled from where they stand.

"Where you going?" A red-headed woman, Abigail Kathy remembers, speaks then, startling Jenny and Kathy.

"My friend here needs some air." Jenny quickly replies. Kathy nods in agreement, trying to appear flustered.

"Nervous? Me too." Abigail says. "They have to be sure, you see. Only the best for Sweetville. I hope me teeth don't let me down." She flashes her teeth and they're not the best, but Kathy honestly hopes that it does mean she won't get in. Saves her from the possibility of the venom not working and being a reject. "I'm Abigail."

"Pleased to meet ya." Jenny awkwardly says.

"You're not local, are you." Abigail says.

"We've come up from London." Kathy answers, noticing the door she knows Jenny had slipped into in the show up ahead.

"Different here, I bet."

"Yeah, a bit." Kathy says. "Do you know anyone who's come to live here in Sweetville?"

"I had a pal who come here three month back. She wrote to tell me how perfect it all were. Funny, though. I've not heard a peep from her since."

Kathy shares a pointed look with Jenny.

"Next, please!"

Jenny immediately, as they move forward, steps aside to a door with Kathy behind her, who gets her red and silver sonic out.

"What're you doing?" Abigail questions.

"How about a guinea for you to cause a distraction, have a funny turn. Fit of the vapours?" Jenny asks, straight to the point, holding out the money.

Abigail grabs it. "Done." She gasps for breath loudly and then faints. A crowd gathers around her, and Kathy and Jenny get through the locked door.

——

They go along the corridors, following the sounds of machinery. Kathy speeds up her pace, coming to a large green door. Deciding this must be where they were looking for as the noises seem to be coming from there, she yanks open the door and allows Jenny to step in first before closing it behind them.

They are on the factory floor. The loud rhythmic clanging of machinery was deafening the moment they stepped into the room causing them both to cover their ears. And instead of finding a room full of working machinery, they find three large gramophone horns where the deafening thumps of machinery are being broadcast from. The brick room they had stepped in, by all accounts, should be a factory room, but of course, just like the rest of Sweetville, it is nothing more than for show. Jenny looks on in surprise at the sight.

Kathy looks around the place as she walks past the gramophones, inspecting more of the large 'factory' room, when Jenny taps on her shoulder. She immediately ducks behind the gramophones along with the maid, peeking around the edge of the devices to see a group of Mrs Gillyflower workers pass by. Kathy had forgotten about them. Each of the workers is holding what appears to be strange jars of red liquid. Kathy narrows her eyes at them, knowing what the liquid is. They watch as the group shuffles into a gated lift, going down into the bowels of the factory.

After the lift goes down, Kathy motions for Jenny as she runs over to the gated entrance to the lift. She waits for a bit to make sure the people had gotten off the lift from down below before calling the lift back up for them. Once it arrives, Kathy and Jenny step into the tight space and begin their descent.

——

They reach the bottom and Kathy feels the familiar snap of the mental connection with the Doctor. They step out of the lift to find themselves in a familiar, at least to Kathy anyway, corridor. Kathy glances over to the door that has the crimson light shining through the circular window and on the other side is the door that leads to somewhere deeper into the facility.

Kathy immediately senses that the Doctor's room that he'd been placed in is somewhere through the latter door and immediately walks towards it but then quickly realises Jenny isn't following.

"Jenny!" Kathy hisses as she sees the maid step towards the red lighted door. The girl turns to her and Kathy gestures in the opposite direction. "We need to go this way. I sense the Doctor."

Jenny nods, glances curiously at the red light door, and follows Kathy into a smaller room dimly lit with a set of spiral stairs that leads to where the Doctor is. They arrive at the top to find a loft sort of area with the large metal door that keeps the Doctor with bolts and a hatch at the bottom for food.

Kathy hears the clanging and rustling of chains coming from the room. She winces in pity at the thought of the Doctor being trapped there. Jenny stares at the door in alarm but Kathy gives her a reassuring smile. She knows the Doctor is likely making all that noise to try and get their attention as he likely heard someone coming up the stairs. Kathy swiftly goes over to the door and pulls out her sonic, ready to open the door and get the Doctor out.

Jenny puts her hand on her arm, stopping her. "You sure?"

Kathy nods. "Don't worry." She sonics the door and the two of them burst in to find the Doctor but with red skin and a gaping mouth. He is in chains and his clothes are lying nearby in the straw. He groans, reaching out to them, struggling to speak as he's all stiff.

"Doctor!" Jenny exclaims. "What happened to ya?" The Doctor just groans. "Can't you speak?"

"We need out of here," Kathy says, whipping out her sonic again to unlock the chains from the Time Lord while Jenny grabs the Doctor's folded clothes from the straw scattered on the floor.

Kathy shifts to place one of the Doctor's arms around her shoulders, giving him enough support so that he can move and Jenny hovers next to them, ready to grab him if it's too much for her.

——

Kathy wishes the show had shown how Jenny had gotten the Doctor down the stairs, probably would've made things easier but they manage to get him down the spiralling stairs and to the bottom floor.

After they pass the lift, they hear someone come out of the compartment. Kathy glances over her shoulders to see Ada. She panics as Ada tilts her head in their direction, obviously hearing them, as she knows at the moment Ada is very loyal to her mother and may give them up to said mad woman.

However, she must assume they are mere factory workers for she continues down the hallway towards the stairwell. Her cane waving in front of her to guide her way back to where she has kept the Doctor all this time. Kathy knows she will have to thank the kind woman later.

Kathy and Jenny hurriedly guide the Doctor through the red glowing door and into a new corridor, passing a window that shows where the crimson red glow is coming from. They come up to the window just as a group of six people, in only their undergarments, hoisted over a large vat of boiling crimson liquid, on a strange dipping frame attached to a crane. It looks as though each person were unconscious, fast asleep and unaware of what they are being lowered into just beneath their bare feet. Small mercies Kathy supposes, especially the ones who sadly die and do not survive the process.

"Oh, my god." Jenny breathes as they watch the group of men and women being lowered into the vat of boiling liquid.

"Come on, we need to shift it." Kathy says as she swiftly picks up the pace in getting the Doctor where he needs to be. He groans, stiffly lifting a hand to point towards a corridor up ahead.

Kathy rolls her eyes amusedly despite their situation. "I know, I know."

Finally, they come up to a row of strange cubicles. As quick as she can, Kathy unlocks the door and opens it for the Doctor. She and Jenny help him step inside before handing him his clothes and sonic screwdriver. He struggles as he lifts it up in his hand, sending out a pulse into the machine cubicle he had stepped into. The two women then close the door, allowing the Doctor to reverse the process that had been done to him.

Briefly, they have to step around to hide from a group of Sweetville workers. But once the coast is clear, Jenny and Kathy stand in front of the cubicle the Doctor is in. Both of them anxiously staring at the metal box in their own way, watching the green glow and steam coming out of the vented window on the door.

Suddenly, without warning, the door bursts open and out comes the Doctor. Properly dressed, skin all back to normal, and grinning his usual smile with glee. "Ah! Missed me?" He immediately sprints up the corridor, leaping into the air and rambling on about chamber maids and something about Kathy being Jesus (whatever that means).

The Doctor comes running back over to them and Kathy knows what he's about to do so she immediately places herself in between the Doctor and Jenny. This causes the Time Lord to come to a sudden stop, almost tripping over his feet.

Kathy gives him a pointed glare that a mother would give to her child and points at him sternly. "No." The Doctor pouts. "We've got more important things to do."

The Doctor stops pouting and straightens. Seemingly remembering what's at stake. "Right. Got to stop Mrs Gillyflower and get to Clara. Speaking of, do you know where she is?"

"Well, of course. Where else would she be other than one of those display cases of Mrs Gillyflower's." Kathy replies with a roll of her eyes as they begin to walk out of where they are.

"I meant the exact house she had been placed in."

"I vaguely know the street."

"Clara?" Jenny finally speaks up. She sped up in the pace, coming beside them. "What do you mean? Better yet, what happened to you? How long have you been like that?"

"Days... Weeks? Don't know. Long story." The Doctor mutters.

——

The Doctor, as they move through the factory, proceeds to explain to Jenny what had happened to him.

"Poor Edmund must have come looking for us and then fallen into a vat of the pure venom. Or was pushed. Didn't stand a chance." The Doctor says as he finishes his tale.

"I'm going with pushed." Kathy remarks.

"What is that stuff, though?" Jenny questions.

"Deadly poison. And Mrs Gillyflower's been dipping her pilgrims in a dilute form to protect them. Preserve them." The Doctor explains. "Process didn't work on me. Maybe because I'm not human. I ended up on the reject pile."

Makes sense that it didn't work on him since Mrs Gillyflower had almost perfected it for humans. She wouldn't have anticipated the Doctor's arrival.

"Preserve them against what?"

"Well, according to her, the coming apocalypse." The Doctor makes the universal cu-koo gesture with a whistling noise.

"Yeah, we went to her sermon. She said, 'when the End of Days is come and judgement rains down upon us all.'" Kathy tells him.

"What?"

"That's what she said. Anyway, Madame will come looking for us. We best get on." Jenny says.

They have been a while in the factory. Knowing Jenny's wife, Vastra will most likely have begun to worry about her and Kathy by extension.

"Yes, Clara, got to find Clara." The Doctor agrees. He grabs Kathy's hand and makes a quick way towards the door down the hall.

"Yeah, best find her before anything else happens." Kathy adds in agreement, walking just as fast alongside him.

"But... Clara's dead. Isn't she?" Jenny asks them, making each stop at the doorway just before exiting the corridor. Each look at one another. The Doctor raises an eyebrow while Kathy merely shrugs. They then look at Jenny.

"It's complicated." They say together before taking their leave through the door.

Jenny continues to question them as they search for Clara outside through the different homes built in Sweetville. The Doctor and Kathy run from home to home, still simply telling Jenny that things are complicated when it comes to Clara. Nothing the Doctor can explain as to why there had been a Clara before. And nothing Kathy can say without giving away spoilers. Questions will simply have to remain unanswered until Clara officially becomes the Impossible Girl when she jumps into his timeline.

Eventually, they find Clara in a glass bell jar in one of Sweetville's houses, sitting there with a smile and dressed in her purple gown. A man is inside the jar with her, standing beside the chair Clara had been set in. Kathy pauses for a moment as she's suddenly become frozen at seeing Clara again after the death of her Victorian echo.

"Doctor, maybe we should—" Kathy tries to say but it's too late and the Doctor breaks the glass with a chair causing it to shatter everywhere.

——

They pull a frozen Clara back inside the factory and put her inside a similar metal cubicle that they put the Doctor in.

"Can she be revived, like you were?" Jenny questions the Doctor.

"I hope so."

"Don't worry she will, I promise." Kathy assures him.

"Doctor. Kathy." They turn at Jenny's voice to find Mrs Gillyflower's followers have turned up.

"Oh, great. Great. Attack of the supermodels. Time for a plan." The Doctor grumbles.

"No need, Jenny's got this." Kathy remarks.

Jenny grins at them before removing her bonnet and dress to reveal a tight all leather outfit. She deals with the three male pilgrims in three moves.

"That is a plan." The Doctor grins.

It's then that more pilgrims advance, with rounders bats.

"Sontar ha!" Enter Strax, in his Sontaran armour, firing his big gun, laughing with glee. The supermodels flee.

Vastra is close behind with a sword. "Let's go."

"No, ma'am. We're not escaping. We've got to help the Doctor with Clara." Jenny argues. Vastra gives the Doctor, and then Kathy, a questioning look.

"Long story." The Doctor replies. It is and he doesn't know the half of it.

"What now, madam?" Strax eagerly asks. "We could lay mimetic cluster mines."

"Strax—" Kathy tries to interrupt. Maybe she shouldn't have given Strax that treat.

"Or dig trenches and fill them with acid!"

"Strax!" Vastra is able to interrupt his tirade. "You're overexcited. Have you been eating Miss Jenny's sherbet fancies again?"

"Madam Davis gave me some." Strax admits.

Kathy looks at Strax aghast. He just threw her under the bus! "Strax!"

"Go outside and wait for me until I call for you." Vastra instructs their Sontaran butler.

"But madam, I—"

"Go!"

"I'm going to go play with my grenades." Strax grumbles as he leaves.

"Okay, I think she's about done." The Doctor opens the cubicle to a less frozen Clara, who's swaying on her feet. "I know who you think she is, but she isn't. She can't be."

"I was right, then. You and Clara have unfinished business." Vastra declares, getting over her shock.

Clara falls into the Doctor's arms. "There, there. Hello, stranger."

Clara opens her eyes, staring at him in a daze. "Doctor."

Kathy sighs in relief and pulls Clara into a relieved hug. "Oh, thank God."

Clara laughs slightly but Kathy can tell she's confused. Despite this, when Kathy pulls away, Clara gives her a warm smile. "Hi. What's going on?"

"Oh, haven't you heard, love? There's trouble at mill." The Doctor remarks in what Kathy believes is meant to be a Yorkshire accent. "She's a lizard." He adds offhandedly.

"Okay." Clara breathes. "Um," she looks back at Vastra and Jenny, "nice to meet you. I'm Clara."

Jenny and Vastra mutter their hellos, seeming at a loss of what more to say. Kathy knows it must be very odd for them to be seeing a seemingly dead woman.

——

Now that Clara is okay, they get to be business as they exit into another factory corridor.

"My people once ruled this world, as well you know, but we did not rule it alone." Vastra speaks. "Just as humanity fights a daily battle against nature, so did we. And our greatest plague, the most virulent enemy, was the repulsive red leech."

"Ooo, the Repulsive Red Leech." The Doctor remarks. "Nah. On balance I think I prefer the Crimson Horror. What was it, exactly?"

"A tiny parasite. It infected our drinking water. And once in our systems, it secreted a fatal poison." Vastra explains.

"One that's been hanging around in the shadows evolving, maybe even with some help." Kathy adds.

"Doctor, I've been thinking. The chimney—" Clara tries to say.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. Way past that now." The Doctor interrupts. "Yucky red parasite from the time of the dinosaurs pitches up in Victorian Yorkshire. Didn't see that one coming."

"Yeah, but the chimney—"

"But what's the connection to Mrs Gillyflower? Judgement will rain down on us all. An empty mill."

"Doctor!" Kathy interrupts. "Listen to Clara."

"A chimney that doesn't blow smoke."

Realisation dawns on the Doctor's face.

——

Once they are up on the main floor, they keep in the shadows, watching as Mrs Gillyflower's followers set to work quietly. They are gearing up, getting ready for the so-called apocalypse.

"She's going to poison the air." The Doctor explains.

"How?" Jenny asks.

Lights turn on within the room, showing them a gigantic, crudely made rocket.

"Well, you don't see that every day in 1893." Kathy comments quietly from their hiding spot, staring at the rocket in disbelief.

Glancing down, she sees the workers pulling a blanket off a very large glass jar of red liquid. She taps on the Doctor's shoulder, pointing it out.

"And there's the poison." The Doctor mutters to the group. "All right, gang, I've got a plan." He stands up quickly, only to duck back down when he knocks a spare metal bolt off the piping they are hiding behind.

They hold in a collective breath, fearing they have been found out. Luckily, it seems the sound of steam from the rocket is enough to muffle the sound the Time Lord had made.

"Okay." The Doctor sighs. "Kathy, Clara, you're with me. Vastra and Jenny, you two take care of the poison. Do whatever it takes to keep it out of that rocket."

The two nod firmly. All rushed off in opposite directions, going to their set destination.

——

Soon, the Doctor, Clara, and Kathy are walking down a hallway to find Mrs Gillyflower. They halt in place when they hear soft sobbing coming from behind them. They turn in place, seeing Ada sitting on a crate in the corridor, rubbing at her eyes as tears run down her face. She sniffles, shifting her head up with her cloud eyes towards them, having likely heard them enter.

"Who is that? Who is there?" The Doctor takes her hand and runs it over his face. "You. It's you. My monster. You've come back. But you're—"

"Warm. And alive, thanks to you, Ada. You saved me from your mother's human rubbish tip." The Doctor replies softly. Ada begins to cry again. The Doctor places a hand on the woman's cheek, close to the scars around her eyes. "Now, hey. What's wrong?"

"She does not want me, monster." Ada explains, voice wavering from trying to hold back her tears. She swallows, appearing steadier as she speaks next. "I am not to be chosen. Perhaps it was my own sin. The blackness in my heart that my father saw in me."

"Oh, no, no, don't say that." Kathy speaks up, feeling her hearts weep for the poor woman. She walks over, crouching down beside her husband. "You're much, much better than that."

Ada stiffens. "Who is that?" She questions.

"Her name is Kathy. She's my friend." The Doctor replies.

Kathy takes this chance to take Ada's hand and place it on her own face so that she can feel Kathy's face.

"Then you are fortunate indeed. It isn't good to be alone." Ada says sombrely.

"Now, Ada, I need you to tell me something. Who is Mister Sweet? Ada?" The Doctor questions.

Ada turns away, letting out another sob. "Oh, dear monster..."

"Please, tell me."

"I cannot. Even now, I cannot. I cannot betray Mama." The woman shakes her head. Kathy can see that she wants to tell the Doctor everything but going against her mother hurts her too much to even think about.

"It's okay." Kathy assures the woman, squeezing her hand kindly. "You love your mother very much, and we won't ever force you to betray her."

Kathy and the Doctor share a glance before looking back at Ada.

"We want you to come with us, though." The Doctor says, slowly helping Ada to stand. "There is something you need to know."

——

They enter Mrs Gillyflower's study, with Ada hiding in the hall, listening in.

"You do seem to keep turning up like a bad penny, young man." Mrs Gillyflower laughs as she strolls over to the trio. The wall behind her has an enormous control panel, blinking lights, levers, and the works, something that was far more complicated and complex than anything to be found in this time period. Kathy knows it's connected to the rocket.

"Force of habit." The Doctor bites back, putting a smile on his face.

Mrs Gillyflower simply giggles. "Can I offer you something? Tea? Seed cake? Oh, a glass of Amontillado?"

"No, thanks. We've had a skinful already, as you might say." The Doctor remarks.

Mrs Gillyflower giggles again before sobering up. "Very funny."

"Yes. I'm the Doctor, you're nuts and I'm going to stop you." The Doctor declares as he walks around her, looking at the machinery behind her.

"I'm afraid Mister Sweet and I cannot allow that."

"So, it wouldn't be impolite of us to question why you and Mister Sweet are petrifying your workforce with diluted prehistoric leech venom?" Kathy remarks sarcastically, knowing the response.

"So, when do we get to meet him, this silent partner of yours? Why's he so shy." Clara slyly asks.

"Mister Sweet is always with us."

"You seem to have a very close relationship, you and your pal." The Doctor says pointedly.

"Oh yes, Doctor. Exceedingly close. Symbiotic, you might say." She opens the top of her dress to reveal a large red leech attached to her skin. All of them, even Kathy, repulse at the sight. Still as disgusting as Kathy remembers.

"What is it?" Clara grimaces.

"A survivor!" Mrs Gillyflower hisses, defensive. "He has grown fat on the filth humanity has pumped into the rivers. That's where I found him."

"Very enterprising." Even the Doctor looks a bit green at it all.

"His needs are simple. And in return, he gives me his nectar."

"You mean his poison." Kathy corrects.

"It is a nectar of the gods!"

"Mrs. Gillyflower," the Doctor cuts in, shaking his head, "you have no idea what you're dealing with! In the wrong hands, that venom could wipe out all life on this planet!"

"Do you know what these are?" Mrs Gillyflower smiles simply, holding up her hands for him to see. "The wrong hands!" She chuckles as she goes over to the control panel and pulls a lever.

"Planning a little fireworks party, are we?" The Doctor comments as they look out of the window, towards the chimney at the factory as it lights up.

"You have forced me to advance the Great Work somewhat, Doctor," Mrs Gillyflower retorts, "but my colossal scheme remains as it was. My rocket will explode high in the atmosphere, raining down Mister Sweet's beneficence onto all humanity."

"And wiping us all out. You can't!" Clara cries. The Doctor and Kathy grab her arms, holding her back.

"My new Adam and Eves will sleep for but a few months before stepping out into a golden dawn. Is it not beautiful, Doctor?" Mrs Gillyflower continues gleefully.

Kathy narrows her eyes at the woman, a dangerous smirk on her lips. "Now, tell us about Ada, Mrs Gillyflower."

This throws the woman off. "What?"

"Your daughter. You do remember your daughter? Tell us about your daughter." The Doctor says pointedly.

"How can you speak of such trivia when my hour is at hand? The child is of no consequence." Mrs Gillyflower dismisses.

"Your own child should never be trivial." Kathy says angrily. Children never are trivial matters. Not Carlyle, not her precious Payton.

"No consequence. Is that why you experimented on her?" The Doctor asks.

Clara looks at Kathy and the Doctor in surprise. "Experimented?"

"The signs are all there. The pattern of scarring. You used her as a guinea pig, didn't you?" Kathy says angrily. She always hated what Mrs Gillyflower had done to her own daughter.

"God." Clara murmurs, horrified.

Mrs Gillyflower is unperturbed by this. "Sometimes sacrifices must be made."

"Sacrifices?" The Doctor spits.

"It was necessary." Mrs Gillyflower argues. "I had to find out how much of the venom would produce an anti-toxin to immunise myself. Don't you see? It was necessary!"

"Mama?" Ada's quiet voice calls, drawing all their attention to the door where she is standing, her expression set in one of horror. "Is it... is it true?"

"Ada..." Mrs Gillyflower casually remarks as if she hadn't just confessed to abusing her own daughter.

"It is." Ada gasps, clutching her walking cane tightly to her chest. "It's true. True." Kathy knows that the shock will soon turn to anger.

"Ada, listen to me..." Mrs Gillyflower tries to step towards her daughter, but Ada sets off on her own, angrily stomping her way across the room towards her mother.

"You hag!" Ada rags. "You perfidious hag! You virago! You harpy! All these years, I have helped you, served you. Looked out for you. Does it count for nothing? Nothing at all?"

Ada lifts her cane and begins to strike her mother. Ada swings and swings, ignoring her mother's pleas to stop till she is too exhausted to hit again, leaving Mrs Gillyflower to slump against the door beside her.

The Doctor looks ready to step forward during the assault, but Kathy pulls him back. The lights on the controls are starting to flash faster than they were before. Clara quickly turns and grabs a chair, lifting it above her head when the Doctor notices.

Hang on, I've got the sonic screwdriver!" The Doctor tries to stop her, pulling out his sonic.

"Yeah?" Clara scoffs. "I've got a chair!" She then smashes it into the control panel, with a satisfying shower of sparks, and the lights flicker off as the controls shut down.

"See? No need for a sonic." Kathy remarks. "You rely on it too much."

The Doctor's petulant reply is cut off by Mrs Gillyflower crying, "No!"

"I'm afraid your rocket isn't going anywhere, Mrs. G." The Doctor grins at the woman, flipping the sonic and putting it away.

Kathy isn't so sure about that. She remembers that there is a second firing mechanism that they need to get to as well.

Mrs Gillyflower glares at the Doctor a moment, before closing her eyes, bowing her head. Kathy isn't fooled as she then turns to look at Ada, reaching out for the sobbing woman. "Please, come to me, Ada."

Kathy quickly steps forward, grabbing Ada's arm, and pulling her back as she knows what the mother was about to do. "I don't think so."

Mrs Gillyflower shrugs, unfazed. "Fine." She pulls out a revolver and, before Kathy knows it, has pulled Kathy by the arm.

Kathy lets out a cry of alarm while the Doctor and Clara step forward as if to stop her, but Mrs Gillyflower puts the gun to Kathy's temple causing them to stop in their tracks.

"No, Mrs Gillyflower." The Doctor pleads.

But Gillyflower just gives him a sinister grin, placing the gun back to Kathy's head and backing up towards the door she'd fallen against. Kathy doesn't dare fight back as this woman is such a loose cannon, Kathy can't predict what she might do.

"Kathy?" The Doctor calls to her.

"It's fine, we can still stop her. Just make it to the rocket." She reassures him.

"And now, if you'll please forgive us, we must be going." Mrs Gillyflower turns, shoving Kathy through the door and slamming it closed behind them, a lock falling into place.

——

Mrs Gillyflower drags Kathy up the staircase encircling the rocket, gun pointed at her every step of the way. Kathy doesn't fight it at the risk of being shot, she's already been through it more than once already and doesn't want to increase the count if she can help it. They reach the lever, the secondary firing system, beside the rocket when the Doctor, Ada and Clara appear just below them.

"Just let her go, Mrs Gillyflower. Let Kathy go." The Doctor pleads.

"Secondary firing mechanism, Doctor. Mister Sweet and I are too smart for you, after all." Mrs Gillyflower gloats, not moving the gun.

"Just let my friend go, Mrs Gillyflower."

Kathy feels Mrs Gillyflower loosen her grip and takes her chance. She flings herself forward, falling out of the woman's grip and onto the corner between the Doctor and Mrs Gillyflower. The Doctor steps towards her but Mrs Gillyflower shoots at him, making him retreat.

"I'll labour night and day to be a pilgrim." Mrs Gillyflower sings.

Mrs Gillyflower pulls the lever and the rocket's engines ignite. Kathy quickly crouches against the wall, facing away from the rocket with Clara doing the same. The Doctor quickly shields Ada with his body as it takes off.

Mrs Gillyflower cackles with glee. "Now, Mister Sweet, now the whole world will taste your lethal kiss!"

Kathy smirks. "I don't think so, Mrs Gillyflower."

She looks over to where she sees Jenny and Vastra further up the stairs, in pilgrim clothes, holding a bottle of venom.

Mrs Gillyflower is furious. "Very well, then. If I can't take the world with me, you will have to do. Die, you freaks. Die! Die!" She waves about her gun, but Kathy is unconcerned and grins when she hears a familiar voice.

"Put down your weapon, human female." Strax points his honking big gun down the chimney. Mrs Gillyflower shoots at Strax. He returns fire, misses and hits the railing by her hand, sending her tumbling over the railing to the floor two stories below. Kathy grimaces as the woman lands.

They all move down the stairs, to have a closer look. Mister Sweet detaches itself from her and drags itself across the floor by its suckered forelimbs.

"No. No. Mister Sweet, where are you going? You can't leave me now, Mister Sweet." Mrs Gillyflower pleads.

"Eurgh... what's it doing?" Clara asks.

"She's dying so she's no longer of any use to it." Kathy replies, grimacing herself.

"Mister Sweet." Ada taps her way down the stairs. "Ada? Ada. Are you there?"

"I'm here, Mama." Ada says, crouching nearby.

"Forgive me, my child. Forgive me."

"Never."

Mrs Gillyflower smiles. "That's my girl." Mrs Winifred Gillyflower dies as the rocket explodes in the sky. The woman didn't live long enough to witness it.

"What will you do with that thing?" Jenny asks.

"Take it back to the Jurassic era, maybe. Out of harm's way." The Doctor says.

Maybe not, Kathy thinks as she watches Ada tap her way across the floor until her stick finds Mister Sweet. Ada lets out a cry of anger as shesmashes the leech to smithereens.

——

They stand in an alleyway by the TARDIS as they say their goodbyes. Kathy gives Clara a tight squeeze.

"It's good to see you again." Kathy says with a smile. It really is after seeing the Victorian echo of Clara die. It's some sort of healing in a way to see another Clara happy and well.

"You too." Clara says with a grin.

"Right. Right, London. We were heading for London, weren't we?" The Doctor remarks.

"Was there any particular reason?" Clara questions.

"No. No. Just thought you might like it." The Doctor says hurriedly.

Kathy knows that the Doctor had come to this era in the first place to try to trigger memories for Clara as he's still trying to figure out who and what she is.

Clara accepts this excuse. "Yeah. Maybe had enough of Victorian values for a bit."

"You're the boss."

This catches Clara's attention. "Am I?"

Kathy grins. "Of course."

"Uh, no, no!" The Doctor splutters. "Get in."

Clara enters the TARDIS with a smile.

The Doctor walks over to Ada. "Now, Ada, I'd love to stay and help clear up the mess, but—"

"I know, dear monster. You have things to do." Ada finishes.

"And what about you?"

"Oh, there are many things a bright young lady can do to occupy her time." Ada replies, smiling. It's the happiest Kathy has seen her. "It's time I stepped out of the darkness and into the light."

"Good luck, Ada. You know, I think you will be just," the Doctor kisses her cheek, "splendid."

Kathy places her hand on Ada's elbow gently before speaking so as to not startle her. "I'll make sure of it."

The Doctor turns to her as well as Vastra, Jenny and Strax who stand behind her. "Well, thanks a million, you four, as ever. Have some Pontefract cakes on me. I love Pontefract cakes. See you around, eh, I shouldn't wonder." He walks back to the TARDIS.

"But Doctor." Jenny stops him. "That girl, Clara. You haven't explained."

The Doctor turns to the maid, he opens his mouth as if to explain before closing it and saying, "No, I haven't." He quickly goes back to the TARDIS. "Ah, look at the muck in here. Right!" He steps into the TARDIS without another word.

"He can't answer because he doesn't know, not yet." Kathy says to them. She simply receives a bunch of confused faces.

"But—" Jenny tries to say.

"Ah! Spoilers!" Kathy sings.

Strax takes the bottle of venom from Vastra. "Another one for the vault."

"Ah, there you are. I called to see whether there had been any progress." The TARDIS dematerialises and Kathy turns just as Mr Thursday faints.

——

A/N: Please leave comments on how you're enjoying this story and what you think.

[thevampriss]

Dracula by Bram Stoker review

3/10 | Started reading on 10/19/23 and finished on 11-8-23

I would not recommend this book unless if you like sitting in sorrow, with NO action, for extended periods of time. But even then I'm sure there are better books out there! Don't hate on me, I know it's a classic. I just didn't like it for me!

Quick summary: Jonathon Harker becomes imprisoned at Dracula's castle while Dracula is traveling to London to feast on new, oblivious people who don't know of him. Jonathon and his friends get together and work to stop Dracula's plan.

Get the book here My thoughts and some spoilers on the book below ↓

This was my first time reading a gothic horror novel so maybe I am just unaware of how the book is supposed to feel but personally I felt like the book was WAY too slow for me. I initially looked forward to reading this book because so many other readers and dark subject fanatics have always raved about Bram Stoker and Dracula as a whole so I imagined it was going to be more in depth. I was eager to learn about Dracula himself but they didn't REALLY start using the word Vampire or talk about his abilities until chapter 17 I think...

I was waiting for it to pick up for the entire book and even felt that the ending was too abrupt and non descriptive for as long as the *very slow* build up was. I was just as bored ending it as I felt when I first started (with the exclusion of Jonathon Harker's experience at the castle, but it still left me unfulfilled and wanting more from the story). Renfield was the most interesting character and there was hardly an explanation for his death other than "we know Dracula did it" and it never elaborated on his story or why he worshipped Dracula. I think they could've finished the book in less than half of the pages that it took to write it, but instead Stoker spent 12 chapters talking about Lucy and how sad her situation was and continuously said "Oh, poor Miss Lucy!" enough times to fill up half a chapter. I wish that they touched on the three undead women that were seen in and near the castle along with more imagery of the castle. I also wish it went over more about how the superstitions came to be and why they work instead of magically knowing that communion wafers would do the trick to stop him. Also did not like that suddenly Mina knew exactly what to do and decided that she needed to be hypnotized and then they would have everything figured out! And then that was the entire last half of the book other than a few moments that were slightly different, just to go back to hypnotizing every day and having the same result and waiting for it to move on. I also would have LOVED to learn how Jonathon escaped from the castle because it was such an important part of the story and was even referred to later from Dr. Van Helsing but it was never explained! Ugh. It's also strange that Jonathon was sent there by his boss and then his boss immediately dies and gives his property to Jonathon and Mina but then it's never discussed again.

Over all it was boring and forgetful for me and I will not be continuing reading anything that was further written by the Stoker family and will just stick to the movies for this one!

[castle-dominion]

castle 6x12 deep cover

the castle's dad episode liveblog

Hm, leaves the phone off the hook but lmao how slow he called 911

It rained on my mom & dad's wedding. They didn't care about the superstition that you can't see the bride in her wedding dress before the wedding so they took all the pictures they needed & when it rained & her dress may have gotten muddy it didn't matter.

but yeah lol this is what it's like planning to have your kid's bday.

Martha <3

MARTHA

(clears her throat) A little unsolicited advice –

CASTLE

Do you give another kind?

BECKETT gives him a look, but MARTHA ignores him.

MARTHA

In life, there is no such thing as a perfect time for anything.

She turns away. They’re confused.

CASTLE

I’m sorry, that’s advice how?

MARTHA

(scoffs) Don’t wait. Hell, just go down to city hall right now. You love each other. Stop talking about it. Just do it.

She turns back to her coffee. CASTLE and BECKETT look at each other, considering her idea.

I thought this was where they had the "we got married!" "seriously!?!?" part I saw in gifs.

Yes, I have a feeling esposito DOES know Beckett can lift her... whatever you were going to say

Hello? Nothing.

Yeah I noticed too, his place is beautiful

Oh yeah no grease won't come out.

RC: Sounds like a case of Weekend At Bernie’s gone wrong. (they look at him) No. No, wait. That would mean there’s such a thing as Weekend At Bernie’s gone right.

Maybe he ties one left handed & ties one right handed.

My dad's house-- no my great aunt's house had a loose floorboard but there was no space under it. You couldn't fit anything under there. It just gave you splinters. You know, the house at the farm kind of sucked.

lmao the animation is hilarious

JE: One you can’t crack? (he leans over her shoulder) C’mon genius bar, I thought you were the best. *flirtatiously*

& they didn't see the criminal record? otr wait ig he was a minor so it was sealed.

He’d call it ‘pulling a Robin Hood’.

love it

RYAN u know, pat leave could have been a good excuse to send the actor away for a collaboration with one of abc's other shows for a week so he doesn't have to be in this ep.

rc: Now, Ted’s laptop is like Fort Knox on steroids, but Tori found some unscrambled artifacts in the registry to a service set identifier. (off BECKETT’S impressed look) I don’t know what that means either, but she got really excited about it.

( A sec later) RC: Now, according to the website, Universal Banking Solutions handles strategic and tactical procurements for international clients.

KB: And what does that mean?

RC: I – I don’t know. I’m just reading the screen there.

I would have given the phone to becks immediately

Dad?

Not a word!

Man's obv lying

I thought becks recognized him bc he looked like castle.

Castle just staring into space lol

KB: mentions international espionage

RC: we have no information to speculate

LP: approximately 15 minutes before his death Ted at clams and funnel cake. Can you believe that? Ugh.

KB: Lanie, you slice open dead people for a living and you’re grossed out by that?

It's different!

Is clams is carnival food...???

LP: Okay, you two creep me out when you do that shared brain thing.

Love the c being burnt out

love how they are eating funnel cake XD

& ryan eats esposito's funnel cake while wearing his crime scene gloves dkjlsdjkfs

GIANT BUBBLES

*checks his watch* about 40 years

That doesn't seem likely. He'd hire soeone else.

He said to text lol

"leave a message >:("

JE: Castle.

RC startles. RC: Geez!

JE: Man, bro. Why are you so jumpy?

RC: Dude, I’m not. I’m just –

JE: Well, you will be once you hear what we found. C’mon.

"you will be" that's such a thing to say

FORMER?

HITMAN?

castle your version of emergency might not be the same as anderson cross's

KB: U ok?

RC: .. Yeah

Me: you can say "meh this case is putting me on edge"

Ryan ADHD moments just chewing on a paperclip

I was a little busy getting shot

Cross: Did you bring the booze?

RC: Did you bring the booze?

Cross: No. I want you to steady your nerves. Take a swig.

RC: Good idea.

*martha drinks too*

Reminds me of my autosurgery

I love the sound of someone's hand in a tub of mayonnaise. & the music is good too

"at elast this time I got a needle" WHAT

she's right, he made that choice a long time ago

Wow the cia just hired a kid who was arrested for identity theft & got him killed? Sounds about right.

it IS a good story

Lol gun battle

Cross: I was in spycraft a car chase!

Becks: lol no

the news: There was a car chase!

Becks: that doesn't prove it

Esposito: Ted was a spy. also the car chase.

So that's cool

also wow nice colourful computers. & wow nice Ryan being the techy one of the four

(Ooh & the csu techs have their own background & lives & motions & stuff)

KR: idk someone stole the hard drive

Anderson Cross: *holds up hard drive* :D :D

"that's incredeibly illegal"

"yep"

Beckett wants lto go? she wants to... Ok then.

Ok but copy-paste the password in

MR: You can find a spy on your phone?

RC: Mother, there’s an app for everything now.

You can't promise that. You cannot contrl gemini or the buyer.

But I know what he means by that promise

she DOES have juice

Call ur mom then

oh my gosh please just control c control v the password

3 minutes for that much content? rly?

speed dial

I have those glasses... or work does

castle if ur mom is calling u better answer bc she is relevant to this

lol the gun

Oh no a router!

*pulls a gun on him*

say "I have to go" or smth

left the phone book & laptop. becks can see "hang up or i'll kill you"

*appears out of nowhere*

HE JUST KILLED HIM

i mean ig that was the mission...

*remembering that time castle "randomly" hugs esposito in a future season*

"the way you never let anything happen to ted?"

true

Beckett & castle are not telling them that he's dead? I mean they can't bc then they'd have t o tell abt anderson cross. but also wait. how would they be able to tell it was tony blaine in the first place w/o revealing that it was castle's dad?

Work you for information or beckett is right, he wanted to spend time with you...

FAMILY FSKLDFJSDLJK

She's so happy

Martha...

oh wow that's beautiful

Great ending scene too

[tyrantisterror]

Also - and I realize this is going to sound very uncharitable of me to say - I think when people angrily argue that they want more one-dimensional, pure evil, unsympathetic villains, what they're ultimately saying is "I don't want the stories I read to have a more complex morality than a Goofus and Gallant comic strip." And, personally, I think that's a demand that should be challenged.

It's not that I can't see where the desire for that comes from. Humans are wired to have an ingroup/outgroup mentality, where the ingroup is good and worthy of consideration and care, and the outgroup is evil and unworthy of compassion or pity. It's a survival thing - if you feel compassion for the deer you're hunting, or for the lion that's hunting you, then you'll struggle to kill it when you need to, and that could end with you dying. To survive, our ancestors had to categorize things as "worthy of protection" and "deserving of death." We are wired to sort things into Gallants and Goofuses.

And it's not like there aren't people who've done everything they can to prove they're worthy of the outgroup label! I'm an American who lived through the Trump presidency, and hot damn did that man do everything in his power to prove he was the most incompetent, cruel, and needlessly evil person ever to hold the office - and given the presidents we've had, given the fact that I also lived through two fucking terms of George W Bush, I think that is saying quite a lot! If there was a Goofus living in this world, that incoherent windbag would be it. Pure, simple, one-dimensional evil in human form.

...but...

Despite what our brains want us to think, and what thousands of years of human civilization have often tried to codify and confirm through legends and superstition and hatchet job histories, the world was not designed with ingroups and outgroups in mind. People were not made in two batches, one good and one evil. There is no inherent original sin, no cursed at birth people.

The reality is that all people, even the most monstrous, are a collection of experiences, including trauma and anxiety. They had choices in how they reacted to those experiences, moments of agency, but they also had things out of their control. You think Donald Trump was raised by a loving, compassionate family who tried to teach him right from wrong, or do you think he was raised by a family of cold-hearted, greedy bastards who taught him other people are only worth the money you can squeeze out of them? We all like to think that, given the circumstances of the lives of people we hate, we'd turn out better, but do we know that for sure? Are we so certain of our own virtue that we can cast those stones without pause?

I don't exclude myself from this when I say all humans are wired for a Goofus and Gallant mindset. When some asshole almost sideswipes me on the road because they didn't check their mirrors while making a lane change and relied on my shitty reflexes to keep us from harm, I don't think, "Well, maybe they're tired or have gone through some personal tragedy and just had a brief moment of broken concentration." No, my immediate reaction is, "What the fuck is wrong with this asshole? This fucking goofus almost killed me! Get off the road, you dumb piece of shit!" Because when your life is threatened, you go into survival mode, and survival is about Goofuses and Gallants.

But when I have a moment of lapsed concentration because I'm tired or am dealing with melancholy or whatever other shit might be gnawing at my mind, and I accidentally cut someone off and they honk the horn, am I acting out of malice? No! And I feel bad for that lapse, that mistake. Isn't it more likely the driver who cut me off is like me? That they're not some Goofus fucking things up on purpose, but a human, fallible and flawed and doing their best but occasionally failing and fucking up without meaning to?

Villains can be a Goofus in a narrative, but they can also be, you know, us. The us the fucks up, the us that meant well but crashed into someone's car because their friend was leaving for L.A. and they were going to be all alone now because everyone they loved was moving to find careers and they were driving home at 3am in tears and didn't notice the other car at the four way stop. Or they can be the teenager driving her dad's big SUV who rear-ends your car as you're on your way home from work, who didn't want to crash but is still learning how to drive and is terrified that the thirty year old man stepping out of the car she crashed into is going to yell at her or even get violent. Villains can be people - people we want to write off as irredeemable because of their actions or even just appearances, but who can teach us a valuable lesson in empathy if we explore why they are what they are and what led them to do what they do.

There's a value in a villain as a Goofus, but there's also a value to villains who are more than that. And, personally, I think it's healthy if we have fiction that challenges us not to sort people into outgroups and ingroups, not to write off every person who fucks up as irredeemable, not to slide into the comfortable mindset that everyone who comes into conflict with you is Evil and Deserving of Death. Because you know what kind of people live in a world where everyone is either a Goofus or a Gallant?

Those goddamn Goofuses, that's who. Those dumb, evil, Trump-supporting Goofuses.

While we’re on the subject of characters who “make you truly question makes one villainous”, what do you think of the take that villains, or at least ‘true’ villains, shouldn’t be sympathetic at all. That villains should simply be motivated by petty selfishness and cruelty. On one hand, that doesn’t sound like it makes for compelling stories, but on the other… most real-life villains really are motivated by nothing but greed and selfishness. And gain power by making people sympathize with them.

"Villain" is a word that has a lot of nuance to it that people in turn tend to overlook in favor of reducing it to "the guy it's ok to hate." "Antagonist" has the same problem, perhaps even worse, but that's another conversation.

Definitions don't help because more often than not they end up being intensely reductive of the broad scope of meanings the word has - again, another word with a similar problem in this regard is "monster," which can mean a bunch of a very different things that are all nonetheless recognizable by bearing some element of "monstrosity" to them.

So, like, one valid definition of villain is "an evil and unsympathetic character the audience is meant to hate." And I imagine if you gave that definition to most people, they'd agree - until you get to sympathetic characters who are still unmistakably villains. Like, would anyone say the word "villain" shouldn't include people like Doctor Octopus in Spider-Man II, or Mr. Freeze in Batman the Animated Series? Is Shakespeare's Macbeth excluded from the realm of villains because the play hinges on us finding ways to sympathize with him despite the horrific evil of his actions? Is Milton's Satan, perhaps the most iconic take on The Devil Himself, excluded from the conversation because Milton gave him pathos?

Villainy can be about the nature of your actions, and it can be about your relationship with society, and it can be about your choice of fashion and hobbies. It can be all of these things or none of them. Villainy is a form of being othered, one that has so many tropes attached to it and folded under it that the aesthetics of it can be divorced from the morality assigned to them easily. Villainy is so vast and complex a concept that a story can analyze it from a dozen different angels and still not capture the full scope of it.

Or, as one movie on the subject put it so succinctly:

It's about presentation.

As a writer and a reader of fiction, I love looking at time-tested tropes from a lot of different angles, and prying them apart to see how they work, and then seeing how far they can bend and twist until they break and become something else. I think locking yourself into one simple definition of what a villain can be is very limiting, creatively speaking, and think it's far more interesting to explore the concept from different angles. There's room for simple, pure evil bastards, sure, but there's also room for multifaceted evils, or characters will all the trappings of a villain but actions that ultimately speak to a nobility of spirit others have overlooked. The complexity of the trope is beautiful, why not explore it?

[see-arcane]

On the one hand, this entry sticks with me because it shows that Mina, while not 100% on believing the exact events of Jonathan’s journal, still acknowledges that Jonathan believed/experienced them to the point of trauma, and refuses to take the Supernatural-Denying Partner (c) (tm) role. She also takes the route of maximum preparedness and immediately transcribes the shorthand in case someone outside their circle needs to see it. In other words, even if she isn’t sure about the journal, she is not taking chances in case the worst should be true and they may need help/to be helped.

Mina: I am a sensible young woman of the modern Victorian age, and such things seem like so much madness and superstition.

Also Mina, lowkey antique goth, ghost story enthusiast, has Seen Some Shit since her hot girl summer with Lucy, preparing an informative novella out of her husband’s horror story should a case of the vampires come knocking and other parties need catching up: But--

(Also, good timing on her and Van Helsing’s letter, holy dang)

All very sound stuff for an epistolary novel.

On the other hand, it was about at this point in my initial read of Dracula that I began to wonder if Bramward Stoker wasn’t being paid off by a horde of stationery and typewriter companies to make Writing Down Literally Every Detail of Everything in Multiple Formats into a matter of life and death. 

Jonathan, Mina, Lucy, Jack, Captain of the Demeter, the News Correspondent, probably Berserker the Wolf if his paws could hold a pen and write about his awful night with the Count, reading off a script from Big Stationery Co.: Collect notebooks! Learn a secret code! Take up typing! Record everything! You never know when a case of the vampires will strike and someone needs your final words as a haunting and terrifying hint of things to come! (And don’t forget to pick up ink!)

I’m sure this wasn’t exactly the case, but to Formative Years-Me in the 21st century, it felt like being given the enabling greenlight to hoard even more notebooks. As a safety precaution. Which may explain why I have 21 notebooks on hand right now, 9 of which are in use. 

You got me, Bramarama. The vampires will not catch me journalless.

[yanphobia]

Cleithrophobia - Chapter 2

Cleithrophobia: The fear of being trapped.

Pairing: Yandere Male Drider OC x Reader

Warnings (for the entire story): Yandere, Horror, Graphic Discriptions of Injury and Death, Spiders, NonCon Touching, Possible NonCon (depending on reader's interpretation), Implied Female Reader (although it doesn't really factor too heavily into the plot), Extreme Dead Dove Do Not Eat

Chapter 1 Index Chapter 3

Author's Note: Wooow it's so nice to meet all of you! I was in the process of moving to a new city last week and didn't have the time to check on this account. But seeing how much support I've recieved in that time has been a great surprise ❤️ I'm going to be posting one chapter every weekend and this story has about ten chapters planned for it. Don't ever hesitate to say hi (or give me reading recommendations because I always love a new story!) Thank you so much for reading, and I hope that you'll enjoy this next installment!

This story was inspired by cobalt-sphinx's Drider x Reader from Quotev.

You were startled awake by Stan’s frantic pounding at the door. You bolted up and immediately regret it as pain floods through your shoulders and back. After last night’s encounter, you had immediately hidden yourself, terrified that that thing would break into your meager little cabin and attack you. You were on high alert, jumping at every sound outside of your window. As the sun began to rise, you must’ve passed out, still wearing your clothes from the night before. 

And now you’ve overslept, judging by Stan’s knocking. You open the door and step outside. 

“Stan, I am so, so sorry! I didn’t mean to oversleep.” You figured he’d be angry, but instead he looked worried. He took in your disheveled state but didn’t comment on it, most likely out of politeness. 

“...It’s fine, no worries. But I need your help. The new rabbit hutch we just built was torn into last night and something got to ‘em. Think it was a coyote. Anyway, today I’m gonna teach you how to reinforce fences so it don’t happen again.” You felt your stomach turn as he spoke. You knew. You knew exactly what had happened last night. 

You remain silent while he shows you exactly what to do. After a brief lesson, the two of you get to work. 

“’S a damn shame, too. Those where some premium New Zealand Whites. Now, granted, there were only the two, but I was looking forward to breeding ‘em. Great meat, ya know? Delicious.” 

“...Stan, exactly what type of animals live around here?” 

“Oh, tons. You mean the bad ones, though, right? Bears, wolves, mountain lions, coyotes, wolverines even. They can be nasty when they want. Thankfully they don’t attack often, just so long as you respect their space.” 

“...And... anything else? Are there any, I don’t know, myths or urban legends or anything about something really crazy living in the woods?” 

“I’m sure! These lands are old, ma’am, and have been home to some very strange folk over the years. Native Americans, you know, and then settlers, all with their own superstitions,” Stan laughed lightheartedly. “But none I ever heard, not even a Bigfoot sighting. Guess that’s natural, though. The way stories and things just get lost over time.” 

As Stan left to reinforce the turkey fences, and you finish up work on the chicken’s, you thought about what he had said. Things really do get lost over time, you thought to yourself. You certainly had. Once, you had dreamed of a happy life for yourself, with a career that you were passionate about and a family that you cherished. You had wanted to begin your life as soon as possible and quickly began creating it without a second thought. But as you matured a bit, and as each goal came closer to fruition, the doubt began to creep in. You fell out of love with your chosen field of study and stayed up at night worrying that you would spend your life working a job that you despised. When your partner, Alex, began describing your future together, excited at the prospect of marriage and starting a family, you only felt smothered. You were being forced, you quickly realized, dragged into an existence that you did not want and could not escape from. 

Thinking about this made you uncomfortable, and so you forced it out of your mind. 

The day passed without any further incidents, the next one as well. Well, it did until night fell. You had been walking towards your cabin, eager for a hot shower and a bit of relaxation, when you heard the panicked squawking of the chickens. They were out, everywhere, and hysterical. A quick look told you that the gate enclosing the designated area for them and one of the coups had been unlatched, allowing their escape. You quickly rushed back to the house, throwing open the door and calling for Shadow. 

“What’s wrong?!” Laura asked, startled by your sudden appearance. She had nearly dropped the dish she was washing. 

“Chickens got out. Don’t worry, I can handle it!” you responded quickly, although you knew that Laura would never miss the opportunity to help out. The two of you and your herding dog were quick to start gathering the chickens when you noticed that a few had been scratched up. Immediately, you knew who the culprit was. He had tricked you at first, admittedly, by simply opening the gates instead of tearing into them, but when Laura noted that two of the chickens were missing, you felt your fury grow stronger inside of you. 

It was a game, you realized, just a sick game that monster was playing until he decided to kill you. To kill Laura and Stan. Maybe even more. It wouldn’t happen, not to such lovely people. You had brought this farm to his attention, and you wouldn’t allow him to hurt anyone because of it.  

You found yourself slamming your cabin door open, grabbing a flashlight and a bowie knife, and charging into the forest. You didn’t even hear Laura’s desperate calls for you to come back. 

[farceargon]

Namekian Oc Time!

About time I posted my first oc here... It took me enough procrastination- Long post warning, I ramble a lot- There’s a TLDR under the artworks! (He’s not one of 2 main characters for an OG universe and plot for nothing-)

~

(Awesome art made by my partner over @painterofstars​)

(This piece commissioned from the lovely Aerhys over on flightrising) Here’s a TLDR for the guys who can’t actually be bothered (I feel ya, though there’s some fun facts at the bottom if you wanna scroll all the way): - Called the Harbinger by his people but called Harper by future friends and family. 120 years old. - Melanistic Namekian, abandoned out of superstition, left to die at 1 year old and hunted for sport later on by his people. - Found by an ancient dragon god of rage, fire and death (imprisoned in it’s own dimension but using a small raven as a vessel). Raised by it, since it needed a Namekian host to get it’s freedom it waited on Namek for thousands of years for the chance. - When enraged his carapace lights up in a red glow. He can exhale red fire from his nose and tends to when fed up or angry (I just think it’s neat). - You’ve never seen sudden and deadly, seething rage until you’ve met this guy. Despises all Namekians and it’s a 50/50 on whether he attacks them on sight. Unjustified aggression and immediate hatred is 100% guaranteed. ~ REAL info below, it may be lengthy but he’s my most developed oc to date!!

The Harbinger (Harper) This Namekian hatched melanistic. Unfortunately, the Namekians of his universe were very superstitious. They tried to raise him anyway, even though they were terrified of him. When a horrible storm ruined the land and a drought dried out the crops the last straw was finally drawn. At only a year of age he was deemed the ‘Harbinger’ and abandoned to die alone in the wilderness, even hunted down and treated like game by the younger warriors later on (few who made it back alive). When the eyes of a red raven fell onto him curled up by a river, his fate was sealed. The raven was a shred of power, an incarnation of a bigger, more violent and fearsome draconic god sealed away in a dimension of its own (known as the Demon Dragon King). Only through a Namekian could it be free and now it had found the host it’d patiently been waiting for. For over 100 years the Harbinger was raised by the raven (not knowing its true form). It fanned his flames of hatred for his people and helped his rage to fester deep within his very being. At 60 odd years the Harbinger created a set of deep purple dragonballs littered with eyes, ones that linked him to the Demon Dragon King for eternity. Unlike normal dragonballs, any wish made on this set without permission will grant the complete opposite effect. Wishing for eternal life will bring a slow and painful death, wishing for fortune will remove all of it from the one who asked. Now the Harbinger is an enraged being who despises all Namekian-kind simply for being part of the species that abandoned him. Only the death of his enemies at his own hands can bring him the joy and satisfaction that he craves. - Some bonus facts if you managed to read through all of that (and I’m impressed if you did, I love to wax poetic- Literally had to simplify the above to shorten it): - Harper is immortal thanks to a wish he was told to make using his dragonballs (the raven told him to, knowing he’d be eternally bound if he couldn’t die). ‘Death’ is still painful, draining and traumatic, but he isn’t able to be properly killed. When reviving he’s completely engulfed in red flames like a phoenix. - Hellfire and death energy are two of his signature forms of power granted by the Demon Dragon King. Hellfire is a pure red fire that, while not hurting upon contact (unless it gets inside the body), slowly ramps up in pain until it’s impossible to handle. If Harper’s knocked unconscious, weakened enough or ‘killed’ the fire goes out and the pain itself only ramps up based on the target’s battle drive/lust and anger (making it effectively useless against composed/emotionless enemies). It also has no effect on machines. Death energy is similar to destruction energy, but can’t disintegrate matter that isn’t organic. It’s tiring to use but any hit is devastating. Harper often covers and lengthens his claws with it, making his slashes incredibly dangerous. - His power level is stupidly weak, barely even worth looking at. It’s incapable of building beyond a tiny threshold. However his telekinetic power is terrifying. Harper can freeze powerful enemies for up to 3 seconds, though times his attacks for the split moment that he can get up close and deliver an instant final blow to any vital organs or arteries. Because it’s tied to his Ki (not directly in power but in connection), anything that shuts Ki off or can distract him/cause enough pain to him can easily render him almost defenseless.

- Harper can and will go for the kill as quickly as he can, no matter how messy or animalistic it makes him look. He’ll use his claws, his fangs, anything he can so long as the enemy never gets the chance to attack. - His horns and underbite are actually a physical mutation as a result of his body being used as a vessel for the Demon Dragon King. His eyes are also fully red and have reptilian slits instead of rounded pupils.

- If befriended (which takes a while) he’s a great ally if not also... A bit of a loose cannon. Deathly loyal to a fault, overprotective to the point any minor threat might get a much worse one in response. - At present has 2 kids :] One biological and one adopted (A Namekian and an Icejin). - Actually really loves food. He can eat just as much as any Saiyan and spends most of his time laying around. Much later on in his story he ends up basically becoming the epitome of dad/mum, dad/mum everything. Dad/mum instinct, bod, cluelessness, overprotective drive, seething rage- Wait, that’s not a thing? Oh well. - I love him so goddamn much you don’t understand I’m- ;-; He’s everything to me I hold him so gentle he makes me so happy I ;O;

[viola-ophelia]

the first scene is a discussion between 2 random american soldiers on nighttime guard duty AFTER andre has already been captured and sentenced to death. i feel like there’s something to be said about how he is constantly talked about by other people... he’s more of a legacy than a person in almost everything, which is fascinating. 

i love the spooky and melancholic vibes of this first soliloquy! all this talk of fate and superstition reads as very shakespearean (and is true to a lot of eighteenth-century speculation about andre’s death, because it’s so tempting to wonder HOW he was so unlucky because if one small thing had gone differently, if he could’ve survived). dunlap has already told us like 12 times that andre dies lol, but he couldn’t resist using the word “death” 3 times in this passage alone, which is kinda hilarious. again, the super heavy-handed foreshadowing is veryyy reminiscent of shakespeare’s tragedies. 

i’m really loving all this imagery of darkness and wilderness. as an early entry in the american canon, this is a cool illustration of how the new country viewed itself. 

so here the two sentinels get into discussing the rumors they’ve heard about arnold’s defection and andre’s capture... but they don’t immediately name him. oooh, suspense lol! they’re all like “who could this ridiculously brave and heroic (and did i mention hot) guy who has been tragically captured BE?” 

oop and there it is! 

one of the american soldiers, bland, freaks out when he hears it’s andre who’s been captured. he tells his friend melville a story about how, when he was stuck on a “loathsome [british] prison-ship” a few years ago, andre showed up to tend to the sick prisoners and personally saved him from dying from disease. he’s super upset to hear that he’s been sentenced to death and rushes off to “save his friend.” 

andre WAS known for treating american prisoners with kindness (at least in comparison to some of his british colleagues), but bland’s story is totally fictional! the image of andre as this, like, almost angelic figure of benevolence that transcends the conflict between the two sides is very interesting because IRL, he was constantly advocating that clinton should exert greater force on the colonists to end the war as soon as possible. but this is our tragic hero, so i expect that this is going to be the first of many anecdotes about how great he is lol.  

enter washington in act 1 scene 2!! he’s immediately made out to be a very imposing figure who constantly emphasizes the importance of discipline and the “wond’rous principle” of patriotism. (remember, william dunlap was a patriot, not just an andre simp!) washington died in 1799, so he was at the very end of his life while dunlap was writing this play - and he was already seen as a war hero and a symbol of liberty by the american people, hence the comparisons here to “leonidas,” the great greek warrior.  

again, more talking about andre without an appearance from him just yet. washington’s men think he’s a victim of fortune, which again is very consistent with eighteenth-century sentiments about the whole affair. dunlap clearly subscribes to the idea that andre was helplessly befallen by terrible luck, which is an interesting one because it’s not entirely accurate - remember, the plot to turn arnold was almost entirely of andre’s own engineering! i personally think portraying andre in this passive way is both apologist and doing him a disservice - we need to acknowledge where he fucked up and that his fate wasn’t ALL “fortune’s” doing, but we should also give him some credit for almost pulling off what would’ve been a truly cunning (and potentially war-ending) plan. mcdonald, the second american guy, expresses some of this idea when he suggests that andre was “sunk by misdeed, not fortune.” 

thus ends act 1 - without a single appearance from the titular character! 

hey all you andre sexyman truthers: i’m reading André (1798) by William Dunlap so you don’t have to!

a bit of background about WTF this is: written only 18 years after his execution, andré (1798) is considered one of the first examples of american tragedy. it’s a 5-act play dramatizing john andre’s life and death that - despite being written by a self-professed patriot - is VERY sympathetic toward andre, who is the undisputed hero of the play. drawing inspiration from anna seward’s “monody on major andre” (the background of which, if you’re interested, is explained very well here), dunlap focuses heavily on andre’s relationship with honora sneyd, a young englishwoman who he had been engaged to - and forced to break from by her disapproving family for financial reasons - right before enlisting in the british army. anyway, if that didn’t bore you to death and scare you away LOL, i’m gonna be liveblogging this as i read it, starting with the prologue! 

right from the get-go, i can tell william dunlap is a major simp for andre (aren’t we all…) LOL. 

i DO love the disclaimer that this isn’t necessarily historically accurate. sue me, but i actually fully support creative license in historical fiction! but yeah, maybe don’t use this as a source of actual facts about andre’s life lol. 

the last stanza of the prologue is basically like “teehee don’t judge my writing too harshly,” which, same, dunlap, same. 

i shall reblog this with more commentary as i get into the actual meat of the play!! 

[xleeleeboox]

The Devil’s House

PART 1 Eddie Munson x fem!reader 

1.94k words

Warnings: cussing, bullying (Jason canonotypical), mentions of devil worship, fem!reader, multipart, the hellfire club were already friends in this fic, mentions of death (no spoilers or characters), not proof read, if there are anymore you see pls lmk 

Disclaimer: The description of the reader is only there because that is what I envision when I think about this plotline, some details are self inserts, it makes writing this flow a lot easier. 

      Hawkins, Indiana did not get a lot of new people moving there frequently. In fact, it was very odd to have a new person in town, especially in the local school district. Hawkins also had only a handful of houses that weren’t being lived in, but most of them were under construction.

      There was one house though that nobody lived in, and hasn’t since the last owner passed away. An old man, dying in the house. He wasn’t cranky, he wasn’t mean, he wasn’t a criminal or anything like that. He just lived alone, his wife passed away and his only child moved out of town. Apparently. 

      The reason why everyone is weary about that house is because everyone is superstitious. The address to the house was 666 Jupiter Drive. You thought it was a cool address. Your mother did not care. Everyone else thought it was “the devil’s house” and stayed away from it. It didn’t even look like an old house at all. 

      These were all just superstitions though, because nothing bad has ever happened in that house. That old man’s wife died in the hospital, and he passed in his sleep of old age. It didn’t matter to you anyhow, your mother took that room, while you took the second biggest room. It was actually a nice house, big rooms, nice kitchen, spacious living room, a basement, an attic, and a big front yard.

      So, being new, on top of living in the devil’s house, the word of your existence spread like wildfire. Everyone immediately knew that something was going on when a moving truck was parked outside that white house. Some of the neighborhood kids even saw you unloading things into the house during the end of summer.

      After getting all settled into the house, it was already almost time for school to start. You never understood why you just had to leave right before your senior year, but it’s not like you had any choice. Everything you needed for this year was bought, save for the things teachers would tell you to get once classes actually started. 

      The double doors to Hawkins High gymnasium found open as students began to flood in for the “beginning of the year” pep rally. Luckily you were able to find the gym easily. Walking through the doors, you felt a few pairs of eyes on you, not so many to make you more noticeable, but enough to know that people knew you were new. 

      You scour the bleachers to find a place to sit, not finding much, but an end of a row that was three rows above the floor and just big enough for your butt. You sat down at the spot, setting your bag on the floor right in front of you. The kid next to you, tall and scrawny with dark hair, does a double take to look at you. You turn your head to face him, seeing his friends dart their eyes over to you for a second. You send the boy a smile, as sweet as you can make it so he knows you’re nice.

      Your clothes seemed to clash with the students around you, making you even more noticeable, causing you to sigh. Light blue high waisted bell bottom jeans, a white button up blouse, and a light pink sweater with fuzzy cuffs at the ends of the sleeves. And a pink bandana tied through a belt loop on the pants to clean your glasses. Not to mention the borderline elevator boots and curled hair, with a homemade hair clip with white buttons all in a row. 

      Of course you would stand out. The people around you were either wearing black and flannel and leather, or your typical t-shirt and jeans with converse. Tomorrow you were going to be sure to pick out something less attention grabbing, after judging how today goes. You like to think of yourself as a nice person though, so hopefully people will see that. I mean, can an address really make things more difficult for you. 

      Yes, the answer is yes. Most of the people around you have already noticed you sitting in the bleachers as a new student. Most of them put together the pieces that you were that girl that moved into the devil’s house. They were surprised at your appearance, but still kept a distance. 

      The band music playing dies down as the principal walks to the middle of the gym, grabbing everyone’s attention. He was odd looking. If lonely could be a fashion statement, he was serving. 

      “Attention Hawkins High! Welcome to the new 1986 school year!” He continues saying some other things, but you tune him out, more like he’s drowned out by the voices of the people next to you talking. The tall and scrawny one is talking to the shorter one with a baseball cap and Weird Al shirt. 

      “Is that the new girl?” 

      “Dude, I don’t know. How am I supposed to know?” 

      “I don’t know because Nancy always seems to be in other people’s business.” 

      “That’s uncalled for… but you’re right.” 

      “Guy! Shut up! Your bickering is going to give me a headache.” A guy with long, curly hair answers. Mmm, he’s not bad looking. You think to yourself. He focuses on throwing pieces of paper into the hood of some blonde boy sitting in front of him two rows down. Suddenly the cheerleaders are cheering and some guys walk into the middle of the gym, a couple of brunettes, and a blonde. The blonde one has lots of confidence. 

      “Now I’m sure we hardly need an introduction for our speaker for today.” The principal ends his rather boring speech. The blonde one speaks up now. 

      “Welcome Hawkins High!” He yells out. And people cheer. “My name is Jason Carver, captain of the basketball team.” They cheer even more. Ugh, that kind of school. “As of this year, 1986, your residential Hawkins basketball team, has now officially made it to the championship games!” He yells out some more. 

      Even more of another speech that you would very much rather not listen to. There were better things to do, like ask a teacher where all of your classes were. So you hop off the end of the seat you were on, grabbing your bag, and went to find a teacher that seemed relatively nice. You had come to find out that she was actually your AP History teacher that gave you directions. 

      For the rest of the pep rally you stand off to the side, waiting for the speeches and everything to end. Once the band played the last song and the cheer squad finished their routine, everyone started spilling out of the gymnasium through whatever doors they could. Luckily you were already standing at an exit, so it made it easier to leave. You make your way to your first class, which was for some reason a study hall, but it could come in handy for all of those homework assignments that were bound to be put off until the last second. 

      The supervisor for study hall sounded like she hated life and everyone in it, like she did not want to be there. And not a single person used her teacher’s name. All of the students used her first name, maybe that was why she was so cranky. That and kids knew to mess with her because she was cranky, which made her even more cranky. But it passed by soon enough, on to the next class, some writing class or something. 

      The rest of the day up until lunch seems to go by fairly quickly with all of the teacher’s “ice breakers” and having to introduce yourself a billion times. Not one of those billion times did anybody actually care. Fair enough. 

      The bell then rang to signal that it was time for lunch. The school was big enough to separate into two different lunches, you got the first one. Most of the tables were already filled with friends and their cliques, gossiping to each other about their classes, teachers, other students, their summers, or parents or whatever. 

       Your eyes scan over the lunch room multiple times, trying to find a spot to sit. There were a few empty seats at most tables but everyone seemed so rude already. Gripping onto your tray, you start walking anywhere in the lunchroom, hoping to find a spot that you must be missing, when a blonde girl comes up to you. 

      “Hello! My name is Chrissy, I am part of the welcoming committee here at Hawkins. You are Y/N, right? It’s so nice to meet you!” You glanced from side to side, a familiar long curly hairstyle catching your eye, that guy from the pep rally this morning, he has his eyes on you. Another person comes up to you, you recognize him as the one giving the boring speech this morning. 

      “Hi, yeah, it’s nice to meet you too.” You return to her, smiling at the guy. 

      “I’m Jason, this is my girlfriend, Chrissy.” He tells you, as if you couldn’t figure that one out. But you chose to be polite anyway, seeing as people are probably going to avoid you. 

      “It’s nice to meet you both.” You say, keeping your smile. 

      “Why don’t you come sit with us for today? I know it can be hard to find a seat in here, especially if you don’t know anyone yet.” She motions over to her table, but Jason stops her. 

      “You are the new girl that just moved here, right? You moved into that one house…” 

      “Right, right yeah, the um, the “Devil’s house”, is that what you call it?” 

      “Yeah, that’s the one. I mean it’s not actually a freaky place is it?” Jason asks, clearly trying to be mature about it.

      “It’s really not, it’s a nice house actually.” 

      “Okay, well then you can come sit with us.” He said. 

      “Now I can sit with you? I couldn’t before?” You press him. 

      “I just thought I would give you a chance, ya know? You don’t look like the kind of person that would move in there.” You tilt your head at him, egging him on to say more. As if his girlfriend wasn’t right there, he continued, “You’re pretty you know. You don’t, like, sacrifice people and things there do you?” He asks, almost joking, and almost serious. You can feel a lot more eyes on you now. 

      “No, only on the weekends.” You said with an overly sweet smile. 

      “I don’t really think that’s funny.” Jason says, and Chrissy tugs on his arm trying to pull him away. 

      “Hmm, I did.” 

      “What are you, a freak or something?” He spits out. 

      A voice shouts from behind you, “If she is, she is more than welcome at our table. Even if she wasn’t a freak.” That one guy stands up from his chair, stalking over to you, Jason, and Chrissy. “Pretty girls are always welcome at our table.” He says, leaning in to you, then his eyes snapping up to Chrissy for just a second. 

      “Stay the hell away from my girl, you hear me Munson?” Gosh this Jason guy really does not like him. The guy turns to face you. 

      “Hi. I’m Eddie. You see, Jason here doesn’t like me and my buddies too much, but you are more than welcome to come sit with us. We don’t bite.” Eddie said with a smile and a wink. To be fair, Eddie’s cheeks were heating up because of his proximity to a pretty girl that might just give him the time of day, he hopes. 

--------------

[samwisethewitch]

So You Want to Learn Tarot

Tarot is one of the most popular forms of divination, and my personal favorite tool to use when I’m seeking answers. I talked about tarot a bit in my last post, but I feel like it deserves further discussion here since a lot of new witches are intimidated by it.

Before we get into what tarot is and how to learn it, let’s discuss some popular misconceptions.

Tarot is not…

… evil, demonic, or Satanic. This one probably goes without saying, but tarot has a very mystical reputation in pop culture, and some people genuinely believe that it is evil. In the Christian group I grew up in, tarot cards were viewed with the same fear as seances and Ouija boards. So, for the record, tarot has nothing to do with demons, and in fact classic tarot decks contain a lot of Christian imagery. (There are also modern decks on the market that really play up the Christian themes, if that’s your thing.)

… negative or scary. Some of the most well-known tarot cards are those with frightening names and/or imagery: Death, the Devil, the Tower, etc. For this reason, some people think that tarot only contains negative messages or that using tarot cards invites negative energy into your life. Actually, I find tarot to be very balanced between light and dark, with several cards that are purely positive (like the Sun or the World). Even cards like Death or the Tower aren’t 100% negative — their meaning depends on the context in which they appear. While it’s true that tarot does sometimes hit us with difficult messages, this is true of every divination method if you’re using it right. Part of the appeal of divination is that it allows us to see the truth of a situation, even if that truth isn’t pretty.

… ancient. One popular myth claims that the cards are based on the Book of Thoth, an ancient Egyptian wisdom text. In reality, tarot comes from a card game that was popular in medieval Italy — originally, the cards were just entertainment. The use of these cards for divination was popularized by the French in the 18th century. It wasn’t until 1909 that Edward Waite and Pamela Coleman-Smith created the Waite-Smith deck (or Rider-Waite-Smith deck, as it is sometimes called), which established the “classic” tarot symbolism that we all know and love.

… something you can only use if you’re psychic. As I’ve mentioned before, we all have psychic senses, although most of us are not aware of them. However, you don’t have to be a professional medium or be deeply in touch with your psychic abilities to read tarot. Tarot is a tool, and like any tool it has a variety of uses. Your experience with the cards will be exactly as magical or as mundane as you choose to make it. You don’t need to worry about tapping into magical energy you can’t control, or anything like that.

… hard to learn. Learning tarot is not difficult, although it is time-consuming. No one becomes an advanced reader overnight. However, it isn’t actually very hard to learn how to read the cards. Most readers interpret the cards intuitively, which means that how the images make you feel is more important than the traditional interpretation. Being familiar with the traditional meanings helps, but there’s no rule that says you can’t keep a couple of good books on hand to help jog your memory. If you’re trying to memorize all the card meanings so you can just repeat them later, you’re doing it wrong.

Now that we know what tarot isn’t, let’s take a second to discuss what it is. 

Tarot is a modern system of divination using illustrated cards. Most tarot decks contain 78 cards, which are divided into two groups: the Major Arcana and the Minor Arcana. The Major Arcana is what probably comes to mind when you think of the tarot: these are the named cards like The Fool, The High Priestess, Death, etc. The 22 Major Arcana cards represent major themes, patterns, and events, so they tend to be the dominant energy in any readings they show up in. The remaining 56 cards make up the Minor Arcana, which deals more with day-to-day life. The Minor Arcana is further divided into four suits, which are each associated with one of the classical elements. The suits are wands (fire), cups (water), pentacles (earth), and swords (air).

If you want to learn to read tarot, the first step is to find a deck that you resonate with. Because tarot cards act as a conduit for your own psychic abilities, you want to make sure that the energy of your deck vibes well with your own energy. You can absolutely order your deck online (and you’ll have a wider selection to choose from if you do), but if picking one out in person is important to you, most bookstores and metaphysical shops will have several to choose from.

Some questions to ask yourself as you’re choosing your first tarot deck:

Are there any themes or motifs you feel called to work with? There are tons of themed tarot decks on the market, from goddess decks to crystal decks to pirate decks. What symbolism speaks to you?

What art styles do you enjoy? You’ll spend a lot of time looking at your cards, so it’s important that you like the artwork!

How does this deck make you feel? It’s best not to choose a deck that makes you uncomfortable, at least while you’re still trying to learn the basics. For me, the decks that I end up working with the most feel like an old friend — comforting and familiar. (Note that some of my favorite decks have dark themes and imagery, but I still find them comforting on an energetic level.)

If you don’t feel called to any one deck, starting with the Waite-Smith deck is always a good idea. Most tarot books base their interpretations on this deck, so it’s helpful for beginners who are still learning card associations. There are several versions of this deck on the market — my personal favorite is the Universal Waite Tarot, because I find it easiest to read. (It’s also cheap and widely available, so it should be easy to find a copy.)

Once you’ve chosen a deck, take some time to get to know the cards. Before you begin reading with your deck, go through the cards one by one and write down how they make you feel, as well as any associations they draw up for you. It’s best to do this exercise before you begin learning the traditional meanings for the cards, so you can capture your authentic first reactions to them.

There are other ways to get to know your deck. There’s an old superstition that says you should sleep with the deck next to your pillow for several nights, so that it can become attuned to your energy. Another option is to meditate with the deck, allowing yourself to feel it out.

Once you’ve gotten to know your deck, it’s time to learn the traditional meanings of the cards. Don’t get too hung up on this part — remember that readings are done intuitively; the traditional meanings are only a guideline, and you may find that the information you receive in a reading differs from tradition. In those cases, always trust your intuition. What the Ace of Wands means FOR YOU is more important than what it means for so-and-so author of such-and-such book. (This is why it’s a good idea to write down your own thoughts and feelings about the cards before you begin studying tarot books.)

The book I recommend starting with is Tarot For Beginners by Lisa Chamberlain. At just over 100 pages long, this is a very brief, accessible, “just the basics” introduction to tarot. The book is just long enough to give you a taste of what reading tarot is like, to determine if it’s really right for you.

Books can be very helpful, especially for learning the traditional meanings of cards, but the best way to learn to read tarot is by doing it. Once you’ve found a deck you resonate with, connected with your cards, and learned a little about card meanings, it’s time to start doing readings.

Start by pulling one card each day. Write down your immediate reaction and any messages that come to you when you look at the card. Experiment with it! Try holding the card in your hands and trying to “feel” it energetically — what vibes does it give off? Does a certain word or phrase pop into your head when you look at it? Do certain images on the card leap out at you? Write all of this down. Once you’ve written your own interpretation, look up the traditional meaning of the card in Tarot For Beginners or another book, or online (the website biddytarot.com has a really great guide to card meanings and is 100% free). If anything you read about the card resonates, write that down as well. The goal here is to see how your initial intuitive reading compares to the card’s traditional meaning — eventually, as you get more familiar with the cards, you won’t need to look them up at all.

As you go about your day, keep your daily tarot card in the back of your mind. How do the card’s messages relate to what happened to you throughout the day? Before you go to bed, write about how you saw the card’s message in your life.

Eventually, you’ll begin to get the hang of reading tarot intuitively. You’ll also begin to develop your own readings styles and your own rituals for doing a reading.

[galaxytastes]

Jumin’s Birthday

Hi! This is my first post and, rightfully so, it will be a “little” 10 page long “drabble”. It’s pretty self indulgent and non-romantic. I’m a sucker for angst and platonic affection, so buckle up, simps. Thank you so much for reading!

Words: 3033

TW: Alcohol, mention of death. 

CW: Spoilers for the secret endings/Saeyoung’s after end 

Jumin Han has always been a curious person when it came to commoner practices. Whether it be family traditions, silly superstitions, or childlike games; all of it intrigues the man like nothing else. Even as a child, despite his privileged and sheltered upbringing, Jumin still felt the temptation to explore the world of the common folk. And who better to experience the unknown than with his best friend? The two would often find themselves lost in their own world. A world without responsibility. A world without heirs, businessmen or conglomerates. A world where two boys could be just that; boys. 

But, life is not so simple. Summers and winters pass. With time came more responsibilities and adulthood pressures. Long felt the days of childhood; that which there was not much to begin with. Despite the challenges and tribulations life threw at the pair, one tradition remains unshaken by time. Birthdays.

Slender fingers wrap impatiently around his Rolex as Jumin checks the clock. He sighs in annoyance, noticing how quickly the day flew by. On most work days, the director can barely wait to get out the door. While he certainly didn’t dislike his office, he much preferred most anywhere else once the clock ticked past 6 pm. But today was different. Today was October 5th. 

The dark haired man pinches the skin between his eyes and only looks up from his desk upon hearing the familiar clicking of heels up his office hallway. Jaehee knocks gently at the door and peers in from around the corner. The woman has a concerned look in her warm eyes, but Jumin can’t begin to worry about what was the matter. 

“Yes, Assistant Kang. Have you come to bother me more about Saeyoung’s complaints over my lack of celebrations this evening?” Jumin speaks to his assistant, his voice icey cold. “I understand, Mr. Han. I… did come in here to talk about that, but not because of Saeyoung. It’s just… it’s 7 pm and you’re still here. It’s your birthday, and you say you have plans. I was wondering w-” “I’m well aware of what today is.” The director hisses as his hands clench together on the wood desk. He sucks in a quick breath and immediately backpedals, offering Jaehee an apologetic look. “Forgive me. I’ve been getting bothered about this day for… weeks now.” The director sighs and stands from the desk, making no move to hurry himself on gathering his things. 

“No need for apologies, sir. I completely understand. I’m sure you’ve heard enough pushing from the others.” Jaehee dismisses his coldness and grabs his jacket from the stand near the door. She meets him halfway across the room and gives his arm a comforting squeeze as she hands him the coat. 

“I think everyone just wants to share today with you since we truly care. So, if you change your mind, do let us know, please?” The brunette woman smiles sadly at her boss, earning her a weak smile from him in return. His heart warms a bit at her genuine words and he almost wishes to take her up on her offer. But, he made a promise to a friend for this evening. As always, Jumin Han is a man of his word. 

“I will. Thank you, Assistant Kang.”

The ride to the venue is quiet, and most of the time Jumin prefers it this way. His days are loud and chaotic, full of phone calls and stuffy conversations. His backseat oasis behind his trusty Driver Kim is normally a breath of fresh air. But, tonight, it feels suffocating. Both hands rake through his thick hair and he quietly wades in the painful silence. As if on cue, a voice perks up from the driver’s seat. “Mr. Han. I’ve prepared the supplies for your evening. I assume it will be to your liking?” Driver Kim meets Jumin’s unusually scrambled gaze, and the tightness in the director’s chest loosens just enough to allow him another deep breath. 

“I appreciate you, Driver Kim. I’m sure it looks beautiful.” Jumin nods gratefully to the older man. “Did you happen to retrieve the bottle I’d set aside for this evening?” 

“Of course. It’s wrapped in the basket along with some other things I thought would pair well with the wine. You have exquisite taste as always, Mr. Han.” The man’s eyes crinkle behind his glasses as he clicks his turn signal to pull to a stop. 

“Thank you again… Ah. We’re here already?” Jumin looks out the window, admiring the landscape lit beautifully by the setting sun. “Right on schedule. The sun will set the mood for a lovely birthday evening.” Driver Kim hums as he fishes something from his coat pocket. He turns in his chair and reaches to the backseat, holding a small box with a ribbon atop of it. “This one isn’t for you, young director. So, don’t go peeking until he gets to see it first.” Jumin chuckles and nods, gently taking the small box from the other man. The driver moves to let out his employer, but Jumin waves him dismissively. “We will not be too long. I’m not one to fuss over birthday celebrations.” The director smooths out his suit jacket and pant legs before opening up the car door. “I know, Mr. Han. Take all the time you need. Tell him I say hello, and happy belated birthday.” Driver Kim keeps his gaze on the horizon ahead of him, wetness stinging the old man’s eyes. Jumin actively ignores the sudden show of emotion and uses his free hand to shut the door. 

Tiny lights sparkle along the trail up through the finely landscaped hill, leading Jumin directly to his destination. Clammy hands hold onto the tiny gift tightly as he continues along the rocky trail. Once he reaches the top, he strays from the path to greet his friend. His chest storms with emotion and dark eyes widen as he counts each step. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. His breath sounds too loud in his ears, and he’s sure his heart is beating much too fast. Suddenly, he wishes to be anywhere but here. Anywhere but anywhere. But, Jumin Han is a man of his word. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Oxfords continue to pad across the grass and eventually come to a slow stop. “Ten.” Jumin breathes aloud. “Hello, old friend.”

Jumin’s mouth remains open as he goes to continue greeting the other before he takes a moment to take in his surroundings. A checkered blanket, red and white, is delicately laid out in the plush, green grass. A picnic basket brimming with all sorts of delicacies is centered on the blanket, along with another smaller basket, cushioning two crystal glasses. Candles flicker over petals of flowers, casting a glow to compete with the setting sun. “It’s like something from a film. This is…” Jumin lets out a breathless laugh as he eases himself onto the blanket. “This is beautiful.”

Jumin wastes no time in exploring the basket prepared for the two. The smile never leaves his lips as he pushes past fine cheeses, chocolates and a beautifully decorated cake. He lets out a little “ah-ha” upon finding the thing both men would enjoy more than anything. “Now, this is more like it, hm?” Jumin wriggles out the vintage bottle, holding it up for the both of them to admire. “Henschke, Hill of Grace, Shiraz. 1994, if I recall correctly? Australians know their reds.” With a skillful hand, Jumin uncorks the bottle and pours the red liquid into the fine crystal glasses. The aroma of the wine fills the evening air between them, and for a moment, Jumin feels lighter. The weight of the day melts away in the twilight’s embrace. Perhaps birthdays can just be birthdays. Jumin muses to himself as he wraps his fingers around the stem of the glass. He scoots slowly across the blanket to hand the drink to the other man. Perhaps it is alright for him to enjoy himself this way. The crystal is set down with great care onto the stone and Jumin uses the wrist of his jacket to smudge away any thumb prints he may have left. His vision blurs as he clinks the glasses together. The sound is familiar, but in a very different way now. Lonely.

The other glass is still. No hand reaches to join him in the toast. No voice returns his greeting. No smile returns his grin. Jumin’s black eyes blink and he swallows back the pain that threatens to lurch from his stomach. He raises his drink between himself and the headstone and tosses back the entire glassful. The wine burns his throat and he is grateful for the pain. 

“Happy belated birthday, V. And, as you would surely remind me. ‘Oh, it’s your birthday. Quit pretending it's not, Jumin.’” The man’s voice cracks a bit and he clears his throat. Please, keep it together. He wills himself to hold on as he continues. “I don’t care much for my birthday. But, I promised you I would make time for my birthday if it meant I could celebrate yours.” 

For the next few minutes, Jumin forces small talk with the stone. He talks of work. He talks of Elizabeth. He reaches desperately into the backs of his mind to talk about every nonsensical thing he could imagine, avoiding the things he wishes to scream out. 

“Ah. I should update you on how the RFA is doing.” Jumin leans back on his elbows, horizontal with his friend’s grave. He looks up at the stars, allowing himself to instead imagine V there next to him; laying on his side as he listens to Jumin in attentive silence. The thought warms his cheeks and his heart. “Assistant Kang has been especially… gentle since the incident. Even Zen has begun showing me a side to him I never expected. He’s… kind. Yoosung, on the other hand… He has matured in a way I was not expecting. He misses you…” Jumin clears his throat once more before he continues. “Saeyoung and Saeran are doing very well. Both of them speak of you often. The twins and MC live together, all under one roof, as you always wished for. You’d be so proud, V.” Jumin shakily inhales as his lips tremble around his fourth glass. The tears that well in his eyes finally spill over onto his pale cheeks as he finishes off another drink.

So many things are left unsaid. So many angry, sad and desperate questions of why and how. Jumin sets the glass down and sits up, pushing his hand against his mouth to muffle the sob that escapes him. He should be here, pulling the glass from me, telling me I’ve had enough. He should be here to slug my arm around his shoulder. He should be here. No one but him should be here. Why, V? Why did you leave? The silence is louder than ever as Jumin attempts to calm himself down with a deep breath, using the back of his sleeve to wipe his cheeks. While the pain still clings to every inch of the man’s body like a bed of nails, Jumin swallows it back to properly finish his evening. “I almost forgot. Driver Kim wishes for me to give you this belated birthday gift. On my birthday, of all days.” Jumin sniffles with a smile as he fishes out the small box to set down on the memorial stone. He carefully unwraps the brightly colored ribbon and wriggles open the box. “Here, I will open it for you. Driver Kim has excellent taste in gifts. Perhaps it is a matching cufflink to my own. They’re designer, you know. And-” Jumin’s voice catches in his throat as the top of the box pops open. Cushioned inside a bed of white tissue paper is a small photo frame; no bigger than the palm of his hand. In the frame stares back two boys wearing birthday hats in front of a cake. Happy birthday, J & J is written across the cake in cursive writing. Jumin bites the inside of his cheek as a final tear escapes from him. The boys look like complete strangers. Both so innocent; so unaware of what the future will hold for them. Young Jihyun’s eyes are crinkled in a smile and his toothy grin takes up nearly half his face. Young Jumin smiles just as wide, but his eyes are wide open and looking directly at his friend. Cheeks flushed red, black and teal hair a complete tangled mess. They were happy. “We’ve changed, but not much. I loved you then, and I love you now.” Jumin whispers to V as he carefully sets down the frame along with all the other flowers and trinkets left scattered around the grave. His hand traces across the name etched into the stone slab and he uses the other hand to finish the wine directly from the bottle. “‘Happy birthday, Jumin.’” The director whispers into the lips of the bottle as he drains the last drops. 

The car ride home is quiet. Driver Kim helps a drunken Jumin into the car, taking no time at all to clean up the picnic and wine glasses. The shared silence between the two men is comfortable and calm. No words are shared with the driver and the director. Driver Kim simply hands the man a handkerchief and drives him back to his penthouse. 

Jumin’s eyes sting from the tears and his legs stumble as he steps from the car. He quietly thanks his driver who helps him up to the penthouse and fumbles with the keypad to unlock the door. Jumin exhales into the quiet room, letting the darkness consume him. His hand comes to rest on the center of his chest, and he takes a moment to appreciate the lighter feeling in his torso. The pain is less like broken glass now, more like the remnants of a broken mirror. The sharp and painful pieces have been removed, leaving the frame of what once was. It’s obvious something shattered the mirror, and a few bits of glass are left behind. But, the danger of the pain has been cleared away. 

“Shhh. Don’t yell, you’ll scare him. He looks sleepy.” A voice whispers from the kitchen. “How about you shut up and say surprise like we practiced? We’ve been here for an hour now, my legs hurt from squatting.” Another deeper voice grumbles in reply. 

“Hm?” Jumin drunkenly stumbles further into his seemingly empty penthouse as his tired eyes scan the dark room. 

“Can everyone at least attempt to remain quiet?” Another softer voice sighs.

“Saeyoung, this was a stupid idea. Put his cat down.” A voice exclaims, accompanied by a smack and a familiar yelp. 

“Hey! That’s my job!” A woman giggles and another smack echoes through the penthouse.

“Well, now I feel left out.” A man’s voice speaks, adding on another, more intense smack sound. “GAH! Okay, okay. Princess, we’ll catch up later. Go see your daddy. He needs a birthday hug.” This voice, he recognizes immediately, and his eyes fly wide open as he reaches for the light switch. “Saeyoung?! What?!” Jumin shouts as he squints into the bright light. 

“Wah! SURPRISE!” “Hehe! Surprise, Jumin!” Saeyoung and MC screech, dressed to impress, both sporting white cat ears and paws. “Surprise, Jumin!!  Woo-hoo!” Yoosung pops up from behind the counter, tossing an armful of balloons into the air. 

“Jesus. Well, surprise, trust-fund-kid.” Zen leans from around the sofa, smiling sheepishly at the other man. “Sorry about all this.” The albino laughs and rubs the back of his neck. 

“I was dragged here without my consent. Do not blame me for the home invasion.” Vanderwood growls from next to MC, winning another giggle from the girl and her fiancé.

“Surprise, Jumin Han. I apologize for my brother breaking into your home.” Saeran smiles, shoving his twin away from the white cat as she scuttles to her owner’s side. “Though, I may have helped a little.” Jumin leans down to wrap Elizabeth in his arms as his mouth hangs open in shock. Each face looks back, expectantly and worried. 

“Is he okay?” Yoosung whines, slowly inching closer to Jumin as his eyes dart from person to person. “Is he having a heart attack?!” “Yes.” Saeyoung says confidently, his cat paws resting on his hips. MC nods with him, looking to Yoosung with mock concern. 

“No.” Saeran, Vanderwood and Jaehee reply in a harmony, sharing looks of annoyance. “I know you wanted to be alone after your evening with him but…” Jaehee stood from behind a chair, offering an apologetic smile. “No.” Jumin interrupts her, shaking his head in disbelief. 

Each member of the RFA continues to stare at the man as he wobbles and before anyone can say a word, the director sets his princess down and lurches forward.

With arms wide open, he embraces his friends. With no reservations, no walls of emotions, no tightly wound strings. He holds his friends and finally inhales a full breath of air as each friend wraps their arms back around him. 

Sure, he’s drunk. Very drunk. Sure, he will regret and deny everything tomorrow morning. But tonight, Jumin will laugh with his friends. He will laugh till he cries, indulge in birthday cake, glare as the redheaded twins crown him with matching cat ears. He will open silly and thoughtful gifts and read cheesy and stupid birthday cards. He will refuse to sing karaoke, but instead watch and clap along as Zen and Saeran have a battle of the bands moment. Jumin smiles and laughs to himself, feeling an unseen hand wrap around his shoulders. He closes his eyes and pictures V there, smiling along with him. “Thank you for allowing yourself to enjoy today,” he would probably whisper to his friend. “You deserve this.” Jumin allows himself to believe his friend’s memory. This is what he would have wanted. “Happy birthday, Jumin!!” The RFA cheers together as the song comes to an end, the room lit by smiles and camera flashes. 

And a happy birthday it was, indeed.