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jaegeraether · 3 months ago

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Sunsets and footballers (Part 80)

Alexia Putellas x Character (36) - Ridley Part Two

Masterlist (other parts here)

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Guess who's back!

>> I'm going to post a chapter every Sunday night until we hit Part 100! <<

(DISCLAIMER: Although I've toned it down a lot, it is still bloody. Gory. Confronting.)

This is PART TWO of TWO for Ridley. You DO NOT have to read this! This is simply me getting out what's been in my head for a while about Ridley and her darker side and military ties. I understand this may be graphic and morally grey for people, though as I said, I've tone it down a lot and have given disclaimers.

Feel free to skip these two Ridley parts as you won't be missing anything in the main story. :)

RIDLEY POV PART 2

Ridley didn’t hesitate for a second. She was moving out of muscle memory with one hand grabbing the assailant's wrist, her cast hand reaching behind her to grab their neck as she simultaneously spun and bodied her attacker into the ground. Once she was on top – she only had one more split second to determine if they were part of Cumar’s crew, and at the identification of that, she drove his own knife into his chest, her hand covering his mouth to avoid loud, alerting sounds.

It was never a nice thing, but it was so common to her now that she knew she wouldn’t lose sleep over it. Even as she watched the light drain from his eyes.

“Injured?” Becks asked.

She knew she had a slight cut from where the knife had grazed across her abdomen just below her vest as she’d spun, though it was barely a thought. “Okay.”

He nodded and grabbed the dead man’s arms. “Wombat, help move him. Fuzzy, scout.”

Fuzzy ducked off into the trees as the two men hid the body in case someone else showed up and found him. They didn’t need any alarms set off.

Ridley had questions but waited until the others returned. In the meantime, the two women kept quiet with their backs to each other, scoping the area. It was enemy territory after all.

In no time, the Becks and Wombat appeared, and they all stayed in that area, getting more irritated at the second at the feeling of staying in one place. That’s what got you killed. But it was only a few minutes before Fuzzy returned shaking his head. “Nada, pack is stashed.” He pointed to the tree and all of them took note of it.

Becks nodded and turned to Duce. “Copy. Why was he here?”

It was a valid question.

“Expected,” she admitted. “I did assume Cumar would have scouts, though I’m very surprised he’s alone.” She looked at Fuzzy. “Nothing? Really?”

“Nothing within a few clicks.”

Becks frowned. They all did. Why was he all alone?

“He’s being punished,” Ridley murmured, and they all paused. She caught Wombat’s eye. Although he hadn’t been captured with her, he did understand where it was coming from. “Cumar. Whenever someone disappoints him, he does this as a way to win back favour. You get sent out to scout alone, and he won’t accept you back unless you bring him the head of an enemy.”

There was a moment of silence amongst them all.

“So… just the one then...” Wombat said, and they all nodded in unison before they started to track north.

Each of them wore a pack now except Fuzzy, and each held with them a close combat rifle, along with their pistols and other weapons. They were allowed to choose which suited them best, though ultimately the M4A5 Carbine was perfect for this task. Only Duce carried an extra and it was a Barrett M82, a sniper rifle. She was the best sniper of the group.

They approached carefully through the trees, their three remaining packs heavily weighing them down and as Fuzzy did, they stashed their packs along the way. They found the first group of Cumar’s men and made quick, light work of them without needing to fire a shot. Although their target was purely the retrieval of the boy, Akeem, they needed to think in advance of their own safety. Should guns start firing at Cumar’s base, the others would come running and they couldn’t allow that. That, and they wanted to stay hidden for as long as possible.

And so, station by station, group by group, they took out his security teams scattered through the trees as quickly and quietly as possible. If they had chained them up, they could escape. If they had left them alive, they could make contact and put them all in danger. So they did what they were trained to do, and tied up loose ends as they moved through the area tactically.

It was the best way to think of it and not get into your head; by thinking of them as just that. Loose ends. Potential threats. It also helped to know what these men had done. They’d beaten, abducted, killed, tortured and raped. In her head, she justified it by knowing many more people would be safe now that they were gone.

As they took out the last of the security camps quickly and quietly, four of them stowed their knives, though Becks had always preferred brute force. As she confirmed with a signal that the others were done, she turned and saw him snap the last man’s neck sideways and up which was a terrifying show of just how strong he was. Becks pulled him into the brush where he wouldn’t be seen and gave his signal to Ridley.

They all knew what was required of them now. The group had cleared their path in, and now the last of the packs needed to be dumped, which was Becks’. Their packs were spread out along their route so far and stored in different positions – all GPS tracked. They contained the necessities to survive in that area. Food, water, electrolytes, medical supplies, navigational aids, weapons and more. It was essentially a supply dump in case they were stranded.

They didn’t fuck around from there, though. They needed to keep moving quickly in case they alerted anyone with an unanswered radio call to one of the groups they’d been through.

They advanced on Cumar’s place now a lot lighter, sporting only their black combat gear which held no identifiable logo. No markings nor brands nor colours that would tie them to any country or division. For all Cumar’s people would know – they were independent mercenaries. For this same reason, the bottom half of their faces were covered, Ridley knowing that if Cumar saw her, he’d known she was Australian SASR. That’s another thing to avoid. A political war.

Cumar’s place was an old prison in the middle of nowhere – inland and southwest of Mogadishu, Somalia. He’d repurposed it from abandoned, and intelligence agencies had only discovered it a few weeks prior, with the involvement of Duce’s team. From here – he was protected by the trees around him as well as the sky. As made obvious by the SEALs – anything that flew over was shot down immediately. On foot was the only method available to them.

As they moved close enough to view the large prison campus themselves, they reached a point of no return. A point, where they couldn’t guarantee they wouldn’t be spotted. A point, where bullets could start firing at any second.

Duce called that point she had estimated as they approached. “P.O.N.R.”

Ridley’s mind kicked into another gear as those letters came through her headset. She could be dead any second, and it made her feel… alive.

They all acknowledged the PONR and continued, warier than ever. They barely made it another 50 metres before-

“Contact!” Fuzzy called, just before the sound of bullets littered the air. Ridley immediately identified the points as two old prison guard towers. Duce, Fuzzy and Wombat took one of the towers out, and Duce set up in it to sniper.

“Tower one down.”

Becks and Ridley took the second tower and left it empty.

“Tower two down,” she called as they assessed their approach path from there. From their position of advancement towards the prison – there was only one more tower in view which would hinder their approach. “Holding due fire. Take the third.”

Duce snipered the third tower which provided enough so that Wombat and Fuzzy could take it out.

“Tower three down. Providing cover.”

As soon as that was called – Becks, Duce and Wombat provided cover from the three towers which hindered the hostiles in the prison walls enough for Ridley and Fuzzy to approach. Gun up, she sprinted, seeing Fuzzy in her periphery. A bullet tore past her arm, grazing the skin and she immediately felt the hot flash and the blood begin to drip.

She didn’t stop. She knew from experience that it wasn’t bad enough to stop. She took aim where it came from and shot the hostile as he leant over the railing. Her shot made a whizzing sound through the air and hit her target directly. She jumped sidewards to avoid his body hitting the ground as she made it to the building, her arm slamming into the wall near the entrance where Fuzzy also arrived. He nodded, out of breath and entered the building, Ridley right behind him. They worked their way through the halls, picking off the hostiles one by one, targeting the face of the building which impeding the entry of the others. Eventually it provided enough relief for the others to enter, and separately, worked their way through the building, targeting the different areas where they thought Akeem may be.

“A-block clear.” Ridley called over the headset.

“B-block clear.” Wombat.

“North courtyard.” The sound of a groan and then a shot. “…clear.” Becks.

“South courtyard clear.” Fuzzy.

“Barracks clear visual.” Duce called. The barracks were outside of the main building and they had agreed to not unnecessary go outside unless it was their last option.

Ridley rounded a corner and the end of her carbine was grabbed and she was wrenched forwards. She immediately ducked from the knife she knew was awaiting her throat and spun, kicking her assailant hard into the wall. She swung her gun to her back and jumped back from the next swing, smacking the knife out of his hand and landing a punch to his abdomen and then jaw in quick succession. An arm came around her neck and grabbed her then, squeezing tight and lifting her from the ground. The man in front of her battered several punches into her ribs while she was immobilised by the second assailant. She managed to swing her body up and kick him in the face, feeling his nose give way as he fell backwards into the wall. Her feet hit the ground as she started to black out from the chokehold, though she found enough energy to leap up and throw her head back into the man behind her.

The man shouted something in Somali and stumbled back into the railing, dragging her with him. She was 30 seconds away from a full black out. A sudden sharp, hot pain hit the side of her thigh, and she grunted in shock. Suddenly, she had a weapon. Ridley kicked the broken-nosed assailant on the floor, ripped the knife from her thigh and slammed it into the neck of the man behind her, feeling the rush of hot blood on the back of her neck and down under her vest. Her cast hand scream in pain as she did so, though she paid it no mind. The assailant behind her dropped and she ripped the knife forwards towards the back of her head, which subsequently tore through his throat.

Ridley snatched her pistol and shot once into the head of the broken-nosed man on the floor in front of her.

“Infirmary clear.” Fuzzy.

“C-block clear.” Wombat.

She stumbled forwards and groaned, grabbing hold of her thigh. It didn’t hit the artery. She put a little pressure on it to feel the blood flow and then took her tourniquet out from her belt and slid it up her leg, tightening it above the entry wound on her outer thigh.

“D-block clear.” Becks.

She gasped as she tightened it and put pressure on her foot to test. Duce hadn’t answered in a while – and she knew exactly where she was originally headed to next. Ridley swung her gun around and did her best to run towards the cafeteria. It was very central in the building, and easily the best defended.

She entered the café to see what she’d expected. Half the room was taken up by supplies. Weapons. Drugs. Guns. Akeem was there, gagged and chain to a pole. Duce was there, bloodied and on her knees with a gun to her head by someone Ridley recognised as Cumar’s son, Bashir. Cumar was in the middle of the group, watching the proceedings. They hadn’t expected Ridley at that moment, though. She put a bullet through each of the guards before stepping into the room. Bashir hesitated his task and as his head spun to her, gun switching from Duce to Ridley, she fired a shot straight through his shoulder.

With a cry, he fell backwards, and Duce was on top of him in seconds, pinning him.

Cumar went to spin and- “DON’T you fucking move.” Ridley warned as she approached.

“Akeem and Cumar located - cafeteria. Two hostiles.” Duce made the call to the team.

Ridley heard shots and footsteps louder and closer. Her eyes didn’t leave Cumar’s. She could tell he was trying to judge if he could spin and grab his gun in time. He took a step back and she took a warning step forward. “Don’t.”

Becks entered the room and paused, waiting for the outcome.

“Not one move. On the ground, hands behind your head!”

Cumar hesitated like his son, his face turning from a sneer to curiosity. “It’s you, isn’t it? The one who escaped?”

His English was quite good for a third language.

Ridley didn’t answer. “On the ground, hands behind your head!”

He muttered something in Somali to Bashir, and she heard her name amongst it.

She took a step forward again, her gun still very much aimed at his chest.

“The one I couldn’t break… Ridley.” He murmured, his eyes lighting up as if he wanted another chance.

He’d sneered in her face. Cut her flesh. Bruised her body. He came back again and again. He wasn’t interested in anything other than pain. He had a sort of fascination with it and justified it as simply trying to get information. He didn’t. Not from her. And when he didn’t, he made her watch as… James…

That was the worse torture she’d ever endured. Not the physical, but the visual. Having to watch her friend take his last breath. A person she’d laughed with, drunk with, opened up to. That was the kind of pain that made her keep her distance from everyone, including Alexia.

“Your friend was breakable though. What was his name again?”

She knew Becks was behind her and could almost read his thoughts. ‘Don’t let him get to you.’

“Don’t hurt him!” Bashir screamed from the ground until Duce gagged him. She held him there, and Ridley could hear him yelling against his gag. Screaming for his father. Together – they were the worst kind of father and son.

“Wings-” Becks started from behind her.

“No.” She responded. He wanted to take the burden of the situation from her shoulders. But she didn’t need him to.

“John?” Cumar continued. “Jim?”

She took a deep breath and took another step forward. “Reach for that gun and I will put a bullet in your heart.”

Although Cumar wasn’t their primary target – he was so high on the UN wanted list, that he was listed only as a shoot to kill.

“Joshua? Jackson?” Another step back towards his gun.

“One more warning. On your knees. Hands behind your head. I will not repeat myself.”

“Oh… that’s right. It was James.” He said his name like he didn’t care, because truly, he didn't.

James with the kind eyes and the bright smile. James, the guy who’d saved her life when she was just starting out in the Airforce. James who had only joined to hide the fact that he was gay, and the only person who knew was Ridley, and Wombat.

A tear pricked at her eye, but she didn’t let it fall. She took a deep breath and without thinking about it – her mind turned to Alexia to calm itself. Alexia. Her skin and her smell. Her style, her laugh, her smile. Her fucking eyes and that freckle on her neck where her lips had been… Ridley’s mind cleared. Her hatred subsided.

“James.” Cumar snapped and spun. When his hand touched the gun, she landed two shots into his chest and watched as his back hit the container of weaponry behind him.

Bashir screamed against his gag and tears ran down his face.

Cumar smirked at her and turned his head towards his son where it lulled to his chest with a final breath.

Ridley stood upright, lowering her gun and felt… relief. So much so that she hadn’t heard Fuzzy enter the room.

“Fuzzy – get the kid,” Becks commanded. “Wombat – you can come in now.”

Becks must have been keeping him out to avoid emotional bias.

Footsteps behind her.

“Wombat – photograph the area. The kid. The weapons. The body. Duce – tie him for transport.”

She watched as Fuzzy untied Akeem who clung to him. Wombat with his locked jaw as he photographed Cumar as evidence he was dead. Duce as she sat Bashir up and tied his arms for transport. His focus was on one thing only – Ridley.

She felt a large hand on her shoulder. “You did excellent.”

“I know,” she replied. She felt strange emotions in the pit of her abdomen at the idea that the mere thought of her Spanish footballer had driven that hatred from her. Had calmed her. “If I hadn’t arrived first, would you have let me in the room – or kept me out like Wombat?”

Becks removed his hand and waited until she turned to look at him. “I trust you above anyone else. I trust your judgement. If you weren’t going to make the right decision, you wouldn’t have entered the room yourself.”

He was right. As usual. His words just reaffirmed what she already knew.

Her eyes swept the room, knowing they needed to move, and quickly. She touched on each of the important areas to memorise for the debrief. Fuzzy was up and ready with Akeem as he put a small vest on him and gave him instruction in Arabic. Wombat was tearing open containers – photographing the evidence. Duce was also standing with her hostage, ready to go. Ridley turned her attention away from Bashir who was still glaring at her – and only her. She’d just replaced an enemy with and enemy.

“He’s not out objective. He’s a large liability and we can’t fly back with the addition of his weight and Akeem’s.” It wasn’t an argument – it was a discussion.

“He’s worth the risk and you know he is. We need to neutralise his influence, and we can’t kill him without an order or as defence.”

She already knew this, but it was her job to question things in order to make good decisions as a group. In their line of work, Bashir would just replace his father and continue to do as he did. If they successfully took him, he’d face an international tribunal and live the rest of his life in prison.

“Agreed. I can get us just back across the border. We can make contact in the air for ground support to meet us and clear the road to land.”

Becks nodded and they relayed the information to the team. “Let’s move.”

As they’d only approached from the south, they hadn’t taken out any of the security camps in any other direction to the prison, and now they were all arriving. They hadn’t been there long though, and still had time to get to the aircraft ahead of them.

The seven of them fled the prison and now, subtlety be damned, took a vehicle and drove it south to the landing strip. Along the way there was gunfire and shots equally back and forth, though they managed to stay ahead with a decent pace.

“Reloading,” Ridley shouted and knelt to the safety of cover as Duce drove like a bat out of hell. Akeem was up front, hiding in the footrest below Fuzzy as Becks held down Bashir and both Wombat and Ridley took the offensive positions from the back.

“Injury status!”

They team shouted their okay’s one by one. Ridley grabbed at her leg which was still seeping fresh blood. “I’ll be okay.”

“Reloading!” Wombat shouted and ducked. Ridley rose to take his position, firing on what she now identified as an entire convoy coming after them. Although it was hard to see in the dark, she knew there must have been hundreds of people. It wasn’t her best Tuesday, but certainly not her worst either.

Ridley felt a large hand grab her thigh and feel around the wound. She groaned, not ready for the pain.

“You’re losing a lot of blood.”

“Very aware of that.”

Becks loosened the tourniquet, and she momentarily felt relief before the searing pain began as the blood began to flow more freely. He tightened it again. “We’ll alert medical in the air. Hang in there, Wings.”

“Coming up on the airfield!”

“Wombat, Fuzzy, take the kid and bail out. Start the pre-flight checks and get the engine running. We’ll double back.”

“Rome-” Wombat started and then saw the state of her leg. He nodded, knowing he’d be quicker on foot than she would in this state.

“Duce?” Becks yelled over the roar of the engine and the sound of shouting and bullets.

“Just around this corner. They’ll be a few hundred metres from the strip and we can double back using the F-track.”

The one they’d identified during prep.

“Copy. Get the brake lights.”

Wombat and Ridley leant over and smashed the brake lights.

“Get ready to jump, lads!”

Becks and Ridley took to cover fire and as the road turned tightly and Duce hit the brakes to slow them enough for Wombat and Fuzzy to jump out, pulling a terrified Akeem with them. As soon as they were out, she hit the accelerator again. Ridley could only see them in the dark long enough to see Wombat’s hand raised in acknowledgement of their safe landing.

Duce drove them to the F-track, which was a trail almost invisible in the dark. She managed to get far enough ahead to take a quick 360 spin into the darkness and turn the lights off as she sped backwards behind the scrub. They stayed low and quiet, Becks holding Bashir to stop him from writhing about as they watched the vehicles rush past them, still firing into the darkness. They only needed to buy themselves five minutes to get the plane into the air safely.

Lights off, they drove up the track slowly which almost parallelled the road they were just on and made a judgement call to rejoin the road in the other direction when they couldn’t see any more speeding vehicles. It was a public road – after all.

They turned and drove into the trees as far as they could before the terrain forced them to abandon the vehicle. They took to foot from there, moving in unison towards where they knew the aircraft was.

Just as they saw the aircraft, there was a slight pang of relief, though Ridley knew they were far from safe. She locked her jaw as she ran with a limp, her good hand on her gun to stop it from bouncing, and her cast hand on her tourniquet to ensure it wouldn’t unwind. Blinding pain, with each step. She hobbled behind, watching Becks half carry, half drag Bashir in front of her.

‘You deserve this for what you did to Alexia.’ She thought. It was meant to be a playful thought to ease the pain, though it did hit her hard.

She felt the bullet whizz past her head before she heard it firing. And then the sound of ATVs.

“Contact!”

Wombat started the engine and Fuzzy held the canopy open, taking aim at the hostiles. Duce made it to the aircraft first, being the lightest. She hopped in and took up a cover position with Fuzzy. Becks was hit through the shoulder and fell, clutching it. Ridley stopped to grab him.

“M.. okay.” Was all he said. They both turned to get Bashir who was already on his feet and running in the opposite direction. He wasn’t worth it.

“Go!” Becks called. Wombat pushed the throttle forward and the plane began to move. Ridley sliced the rope tied to a branch just above eyesight and Fuzzy’s pack dropped down. He always loved to hide them in the treetops, and they’d need the medical supplies for both her and Becks.

Becks leapt onto the wing and Fuzzy dragged him inside by the shoulder strap of his vest. With a heave, Ridley threw the pack into the aircraft and leapt onto the wing, grabbing at Duce’s extended hand. Before she was pulled in, blood spattered her face at a bullet hitting Duce’s extended arm. She yelled and recoiled it on instinct. Ridley pushed herself onto her knees and felt a bullet slam directly into her back, knocking her forward off the wing. She barely missed the propeller as she fell, pulling her arm in to avoid the landing gear. She gasped and clutched her headgear, grateful that it took the blow of her weight onto the ground.

Winded, she pushed herself to her feet and began hobbling along the landing strip. She saw Wombat hesitate, but Cumar’s men were just too close.

“GO!” She yelled through her headset. She saw the devastation on their faces. The aircraft was too far away from her now and they all knew that if they waited for her, they’d be caught, or a bullet would tear into a fuel tank. “…Wombat – go. That’s an order.”

Becks grabbed Fuzzy’s pack and threw it from the aircraft for her, and as she didn’t slow her run as she grabbed it and swung it onto her back, grateful.

The sound of ATVs came closer, one in particular. Ridley ran as fast as she could in the pain she was in, watching as Wombat pushed the throttle all the way forward.

‘That’s it, then,’ she thought, as she heard the single ATV leading the others approaching her.

Just before the canopy on the aircraft closed, a single bullet was fired from Duce’s rifle, hitting the ATV rider in the head. Ridley spun to watch as he flopped off, and it came to a halt. She made the decision to backtrack and take it.

“Thank you,” she strained into her headset, knowing that Duce have just given her a chance at survival.

“Come back to us,” Duce replied, emotionally, which was very unlike her.

“My note..”

“We’ll be waiting for you to come tear it up.”

Ridley swung up onto the ATV and hit the throttle. She blindly shot behind her and drove laterally across the strip to fire more accurately at the oncoming vehicles – to provide cover for her team. As the aircraft passed the treetops and she knew they were safe, she holstered her gun and ducked to give less of her body a chance of being shot at – and accelerated as fast as she could through the trees.

Was this it? Was this how she died? She wondered at her note. Every mission they went on – they each wrote a note to friends, family, loved ones. It tied up all loose ends and said whatever they wanted it to say. There was a rule that the rest of the group had to follow the instructions on the note – should they not make it back. James’ had left instructions for Wombat and Ridley to tell his crush that he loved him, to tell his family that he was sorry, and also requested that the pair wore the gayest clothes they could find to his funeral. As is the way – they did just that. And they cried, in the most flamboyant dresses anyone had ever seen.

Her note… Alexia. No one would read it until they knew she was never coming back. It was private, and they respected each other, though she did wonder as to their reactions. Leaving most of her things to Blue… except the house in Barcelona, London, and Chiquito. That was all Alexia’s.

She’d fumbled over the words for a while until she settled on simplicity.

*Tell her that I love her and that some things can’t be replaced. Tell her she is that for me...and always will be.*

The words she wrote had dragged the truth from her. She loved Alexia. She loved her.

She chanted those words in her head as she ducked and weaved through the trees. She drove until she ran out of fuel, and abandoned it, settling to go on foot from there. She hobbled along, gasping for breath and starting to get faint from the lack of blood. She didn’t even want to see the state of her back, and knew even though she was wearing a vest, the bullet had done damage to her ribs.

When she knew she couldn’t possibly continue in that state, she stopped at a tree suitable to spend some time and did just that. Taking the tree climbing spikes from the pack and attaching them to her boots, using the claws in her hands, she climbed. It was difficult with the pack, but she’d reserved enough energy for it. This is why she stayed so fit. Survival.

She settled onto a branch tall enough to not be spotted easily, and tied herself there, in case she fainted or fell asleep. Taking the medical supplies out, she was finally able to tend to her wounds as best as she could, knowing that she’d need another surgery on her hand if she ever made it out. Her leg… was another story. She bit on her packaged bandage while she packed the wound, and then used the bandage to strap it. With this, she could loosen the tourniquet.

After a little water and food, she felt herself drifting and knew not to fight it. She took a small nap in the tree, and when she woke, she planned. She took out her tablet and located her tracker, seeing where she was. During her planning, several men and ATVs passed below her, yelling about her. One of the men was Bashir, now bandaged up and leading the manhunt.

She couldn’t go down the coast as they controlled the water. Their ATVs were hunting offroad. They had checkpoints along the main road. Her best option was an airstrip nearby. They couldn’t see it from their satellite images and so they’d brushed it aside as an unlikely possibility, though there was still hope. If she could find an aircraft, any aircraft, she could get out. She just needed to cross the border.

It was several clicks inland of where she was, and she’d need to cross the road, but she could make it if she was careful, and lucky. Very, very lucky.

When she sounds of men and vehicles around her had subsided enough, she climbed back down from the tree and started to move, highly alert that she was in enemy territory. A few times, she needed to stop and drop or find a ditch to lay low in and simply pray. Pray to a god she didn't believe it.

She crossed the road and after a few clicks of terror, she happened upon the field. That’s basically what it was, a field. It was just as wide as if was long which meant she’d be spotted much easier. As with every airfield, she found a hangar and crept around the back to peer through the window. She spotted a little Cessna inside guarded by two men. Bashir was smart. He must have sent them to hide inside, knowing she may try to escape like that. Though he must have been very stretched for manpower, covering the large area they were hunting her in. He’d have men at the boats, the jetties, the checkpoints, the multiple search parties, even back at the prison in case she dared risk returning. This made her feel confident that they were alone, and by the looks of them, they didn’t expect her at all.

She took a breath and stepped inside through the back entrance. They were fully grown men with guns, yet they were not nearly as trained and experienced as she was. Ridley took them both down without having to fire a single bullet to aware anyone of where she was. She dragged them to the back of the hangar and checked over the aircraft, removing the covers and testing the flight controls. Using the step and handle, she groaned her pain as she pulled herself up far enough to check the fuel levels in the wings. They weren’t full, but with only her weight, she dared that it would get her to Mandy Bay.

Without wasting time, she unloaded all the excess weight of manuals, chocks, supplies from the aircraft and left her unnecessary pack items there also. This was it. She was going to risk taking off.

Ridley pulled the hangar doors open as slowly and as soundlessly as possible, enough to be able to pull the aircraft outside. From engine start up, she needed to go. She didn’t have time for checks. Before jumping into the aircraft, she listened around. She could hear cars close on the road, ATV’s a few clicks away, and some rustling in the trees with a little wind.

Hopping in, she primed the engine and took a deep breath. Opening the throttle a quarter inch, she started the engine and threw the mixture to full. Once the engine roared to life, she taxied the little four-seater to where she needed it, applying much more throttle than necessary to heat up the oil. The last thing she needed was the engine to seize. God knows how long it had been sitting there for.

Ridley looked around her and spotted lights coming through the trees as she sat, ready for take-off. She took as long as she dared to heat the engine up before she couldn’t wait any longer.

She applied full throttle, pulled the steering column back and took her feet off the brakes, hurtling down the field, bumping along the way.

Oil temperature in the orange. Airspeed alive. 30 knots. 40. 50. 60 – “Rotate.” She called out of habit as she pulled back. She heard gunfire behind her and chose to focus on her attitude indicator instead. She went lights out and pitched up as much as she could without stalling – to climb as fast as possible away from the bullets. The climb performance was atrocious, and so she also chose to not bank any direction for the simple reason that she didn’t want to present more aircraft for them to shoot at. Passing 3000ft, she turned and saw the lights flooding the field she was just in. She continued to climb, darting inland to gain height before risking a move across to track down the coast. She was tense the entirety of the way, watching her temperatures and the lights of the vehicles swarming around the ground to her right. She had no idea how she’d not been caught with the sheer amount of them.

They were like ants, except worse. They killed and stole and raped and took what didn’t belong to them. Cumar was dead. But she feared that without Bashir in custody – they’d just created a whole new animal.

She flew with lights out until she’d passed the border, and her tension eased a little. So much, in fact, that her thigh, hand, and back began to throb with pain and she became faint as her adrenaline subsided.

Without a headset, she was unable to make any radio calls, though she knew her team would be tracking her GPS and stand down the jets as she came in to land. The reliable Cessna was all but running on fumes as she landed around 0330, finally back on friendly soil.

Ridley taxied the aircraft over near the jets and half-faint, still managed a chuckle at the image of a small Cessna next to jets worth over 100 million dollars each. She stopped where the crowd had formed, and watched her team run over as she pulled the mixture out and shut the engine down.

Ridley didn’t even have to open her door and step out. Becks all but ripped the doorframe out as Wombat dragged her from the aircraft.

Hugs.

Kisses.

Grateful words.

Tears.

She felt her crew all help to carry her to an awaiting stretcher where she was led into the medical tent for assessment.

She was stitched up, patched up, given fluids and food. Her team came in with their General and a man in a suit as she was eating.

“Wings, this is Aamir. His son is Akeem.”

Aamir looked like a kind man, truly. He shook her hand and let them all know just how grateful he was for saving his son. He offered them the world. Anything they wanted. Being a billionaire, his favour was a great thing to have, and she knew that they’d gained that for life.

Ridley replied to him as much as she could in her weary state. Becks murmured some words to him and he nodded, leaving the group alone with their General. Together, they debriefed. Ridley ended it with her happenings, and he seemed much more than satisfied. With the death of Cumar came relief, and an offer of an award to her for her bravery and success in taking down someone the world had been trying to find for decades.

‘It was all luck,’ she thought to herself, though smiled and accepted the kind offer.

After he left, Becks handed Ridley her note. Her team looked at her eagerly. She went to tear it and found herself pausing – instead holding it to her chest. “I think I’ll keep it…” she murmured.

They knew better than to argue against that. In fact, they smiled.

At 0445 Ridley found herself outside, looking up at the stars and wishing for peace. This was her life. She looked over at Akeem entering his dad’s private jet and smiled as he stopped to wave at her. He was a brave kid.

“Headed home?” Becks asked as he sidled up next to her.

“I’m not sure,” she murmured.

“It’s a simple decision, no?”

She turned to look at him curiously. He was usually exceptionally quiet, so it was easy to know when he had something he wanted to say. He smiled at her look and gestured to the jet. “Aamir is happy to take you to London. If you leave soon, you’ll get there before she leaves.”

Her heart leapt. Alexia. He knew. How? She was leaving? Why?

Her thoughts scattered across her face, and she was too tired to hide them. “How…?”

He knocked his shoulder gently into hers. “I keep tabs on you. On all of you. You know this.”

It was how he cared. How he loved.

“I won’t tell you what to do, because I respect you too much. You make your own decisions. But what I will say is that you keep going back. You always gravitate back towards her. She makes you happy. I never thought you’d find anyone… hell, I don’t think any of us expect to ever find anyone. You’re the lucky one. And you’d be doing us all a disservice if you didn’t try to have what we all want.”

She caught her emotions in her throat. Of course he knew everything. He loved his team like his family. More so, even. “How do you know I’m not trying?”

He looked back at the jet he was staring at before. “You arrive late and dishevelled, wearing a hardened Ridley façade I haven’t seen in years. Trying too hard to cover those emotions. You left her.”

“She’s better off-”

“Without you?” He turned to her again. “Tell me – did you give her a choice before you left?”

She froze. She… hadn’t. She’d given her every single choice except that one.

‘But you did it for her,’ she thought.

“And don’t even tell me you did it for her,” he said, annoying Ridley with his intelligence.

“She’s… public. You know we need to fly under the radar.”

“Wings, you know you don’t fit into that category. Yes, you need to stay low. But you know how to protect yourself, and her. You can do it all at once. You don’t lack in that department. Most people need their time to dissociate. You’re all Ridley, all at once. The soldier, the protector, the lover. You don’t split them like everyone else does. It’s you. That’s what makes you different.”

It was the most he’d ever complimented her, and that's exactly how she took it all – as a compliment. She was whole.

“I’d put her in danger…”

Becks scoffed, and it’s the first time in her life that she’d ever heard him do so. “There is no better protection than you. And us. That is no excuse to not try.”

She lowered her head into her hands and grabbed at her hair. “How can someone like her… someone as fucking perfect as her deserve someone as fucking.. fucking.. broken and horrible as I am?” She raised her head and looked him in the eyes. “Huh? I’ve fucking slaughtered people like animals.”

“Those people were animals. You did what no one else could. That’s why we do what we do. To save everyone else. To do the things they can’t. We hurt ourselves and taint our souls so they will sleep well at night. That’s loyalty. That’s patriotism. That’s love.”

It was the most Becks had ever opened up. The most he’d ever said at one time.

That’s love.

He handed her a tablet with an open screen. “They’ve booked tickets back to Barcelona at 2pm. If you leave now, you’ll arrive just in time given the headwind. I’ve upgraded them to first class and forced the deadhead crew onto the next flight.”

Ridley stared down at her name on the tablet. “She shouldn’t take me back after what I’ve done to her.”

He smiled and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “That’s how you’ll know she’s the one for you. She won’t just let you back in with open arms. She’ll make you work for it.” Ridley rolled her eyes. “Trust me. I know you, Wings.”

They both sighed and looked up at the stars again. Somehow, he’d forced her to accept herself and how she felt. She deserved to be loved.

Saying her goodbyes to her team with lingering hugs, she boarded the private jet and as she always did – she headed towards Alexia.

She was fed well on the plane and managed to shower, catch some sleep, and even dress into some clothes Duce had given her. They landed 30 minutes before Alexia’s plane was due to depart which gave her just enough time to tell the ground crew to standby on her luggage and on Chiquito.

Would she come with her? Would she even want to see her?

Ridley made her way to the gate and saw the flash of her blonde hair and that familiar frown on Alexia’s face as she passed into the airbridge. Her heart leapt into her throat.

Ridley avoided the line and went around the desk.

“Five minutes,” she murmured to the familiar woman at the gate, touching her shoulder on the way past. The woman smiled at her and nodded. She knew her.

On board, she gave a knowing nod to the cabin crew before making her way to first class, where she knew Alexia was seated. Her stomach fluttered as she watched her tighten her seatbelt and change a song on her phone. She sighed and her expression was… heartbroken. Ridley had done this to her.

Her feet moved towards her automatically, her eyes only for the Spaniard.

Ignoring the pain in her thigh and back, she knelt in front of her, holding back the urge to touch her.

Alexia’s entire body froze in surprise. Her expression flickered to wonder. Worry. Pain again. Those hazel eyes darted from her eyes to her hair, neck, lips, scar, and back to her eyes. Ridley reached up slowly, ignoring her painful ribs, and pulled Alexia’s noise cancelling headphones down and around her neck gently, hoping she wouldn’t shy away from her.

“La Reina..” “Ridley..” Alexia breathed, almost without words it seemed. There were a few moments of silence as they just stared at each other, talking without words. Alexia unclipped her belt suddenly and leant forward, closer to her. So close she could almost taste her… Ridley locked her jaw and hoped she wouldn’t see the bruises, nor the blood beginning to seep from her wound through her pants. “You left,” she whispered in a voice that betrayed her hurt. “I did.” “You fucking left, Ridley.” Anger. Ridley nodded, leaning forwards… just needing to be close to her. “I’m sorry, Lex.” Her fingertips brushed Alexia’s hair from her cheek and just that small touch send shivers down her spine. “I need to say something, if you’d let me.” A pause. “Go ahead.” “I ran… I ran, and I’m sorry. You deserve better.” She needed to open up and be vulnerable. Becks all but told her this. “Lex… you can’t understand how torn I am… how conflicted. Half of me wants you to leave and find happiness elsewhere, away from me, so I don’t taint your beautiful soul with my darkened one. The other half begs for you, yearns for you, dreams about you and selfishly wants you close to me, always.” “You always said that you weren’t good for me, but I never believed you. I still don’t.” Her eyes told Ridley that she was telling the truth. Ridley sighed and looked down in shame. “I feel like I’m not good for anybody, and I didn’t want to put that burden on you for simply loving me. I went away and couldn’t stop my thoughts. I was conflicted. But amongst my confliction, I missed one very important thing. I didn’t give you a choice.” She looked up at her again, mirroring Becks’ words and thinking on her past 24 hours. “My soul is tainted, Lex. I’ve done horrible things that I’ll regret for the rest of my life. But I also know that I’ve never felt about anyone, the way I feel about you. You’ll always be safe with me, whether it’s physically, mentally, financially… I’m still working on the emotionally part. You bring far too much out of me in that regard.” She watched as Alexia’s lips trembled.

A flight attendant tapped Ridley’s shoulder. “Boarding is almost finished.”

Ridley nodded. “I’ll be two minutes.” She turned back to Alexia; her eyes open to her emotions. “Lex, meeting you broke a spell I’ve been under for a long time. Meeting you made me realise that maybe I was worthy of love after all. You took up space in my heart before I even knew it, and now, it seems you’re there to stay. I feel sorry for the Ridley before you because she didn’t realise how much love and happiness she was missing without you. You’ve changed me forever, and I’ll happily spend the rest of my life trying to thank you.” She cupped her cheek and stroked it with her thumb. “Regardless of if you want to stay or go…” Ridley was giving her what she’d unknowingly denied her before. A choice.

Alexia’s trembled and leant down, her hands touching her, and her cheek pressed against her own. She feel of her skin against her own sent a wave of peace she’d never known through Ridley’s body. “I’m damaged..” she whispered against Alexia’s cheek. Her last, fleeting attempt to dissuade her. “You’re human…” Alexia replied softly against hers, nudging it a little. “I’m broken.” Alexia’s hand gently moved down and rested over her heart. “You feel whole to me.” Whole… whole with her. Ridley’s hands found Alexia’s wrists and gripped on, wanting to keep her right there. Wanting her close.

Alexia’s lips brushed up her cheek, over her temple and to her forehead where she gave a single, passionate kiss. Much more than she deserved. “I’m right here.” Ridley felt a shiver run down her spine at that reassurance. Alexia’s large hands were either side of her jaw now, her cheek resting against her eyebrow. Ridley let them rest like that for what felt like an age, and not long enough at the same time. Eventually and fully against every fibre of her being, Ridley pulled back and found her eyes again, her expression distraught.

Alexia blinked an emotion, and her lips parted.

“I’m sorry I ran,” Ridley whispered. “It’s okay.” “It’s not. Not at all. Now the choice is yours, Lex.”

Alexia paused to think before she spoke. “I want you, Lee. In every single way. But relationships are a two-way street, and they start with us as individuals. I want you. I lov-“ She stopped herself and Ridley sucked in a breath just as she did. They loved each other. Alexia loved her. “I… but right now you need to find that part of you that doesn’t believe you deserve to be loved, and you need to learn to love yourself. To know in your heart that you deserve to love and be loved.. because you do. You fucking do. You deserve the world.”

Ridley’s face almost betrayed her relief she’d been harbouring since her conversation with Becks. He’d said that if she was right for her, she wouldn’t let her back in easily. Ridley hardened her face to neutral, trying to hide that it was what she wanted to hear. “You’re… right.” Alexia leant forward again, and kissed her on the forehead. “I know. And I truly hope you can find that, because you deserve to have the love of your life.” She pulled back. “Is there any hope for us?” Please be hope. Please. “If you can learn to love yourself, and promise me that you’ll stay. That you won’t run away again. That you’re ready to move forwards, together.” Ridley paid close attention to her words. “I need you to be here for me, like I am for you. I need security.” “How will you know that I’m ready?” Alexia smiled. “You’ll fight for me. For us.” Ridley tried to hide her smile. Becks had been right. “Until then… can we be friends?” “Friends who love each other, yes. Yes, please. I’d like that.” Ridley knew she needed to fight for her. To not leave her again. To show her she was in it. “Hm.” Ridley looked over her shoulder and gestured to the flight attendant who came by. “No change to the manifest. Please stand the ground crew down. Leave the baggage and pet on board.” She nodded with a smile and left.

“You’re leaving Chiquito with me?” “I can’t take him away from you..” “He’s yours.” “I think you’ll find that he’s ours now.” Alexia failed to hide a look of unfiltered joy. “We can share him…” Ridley smiled and Alexia’s eyes went straight to her lips and then her cheek. She reached out and touched her scar. “Deal.” She agreed. Ridley tried to look as normal as possible as she rocked back on her heels, ignoring the almost unbearable pain, and stood. “Goodbye, Alexia.”

Alexia caught her arm as she went to turn, and pulled her back down, their faces close enough to share their first kiss. The thought certainly crossed her mind. “Ridley?” “Yes?” “Don’t leave again. Fight for me. Fight for us.” Ridley’s pride crept up. She leant over to clip her belt up, pulling it tight across her hips and wondering at how good she looked strapped up. Her thumb found those lips she couldn’t stop thinking about, and traced them softly. “I will. Do you know why?” Alexia’s eyes widened, and she shook her head against her thumb. “Because you’re fucking mine, Alexia.”

#woso #womens football #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso soccer #alexia putellas #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #barca #fcb femení #culers

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tobernaut · 6 months ago

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Did you like the first chapter? I'm pretty intrigued so far, though I have to say Ratau's personality was quite surprising considering how he is in the game. I have a feeling that maybe he will be the one to betray the Lamb considering that change. I can't wait for the next chapter!

Spoilers for COTL comic chapter one below! I will be tagging "cotl comic spoilers" from now on. Please block this tag if you don't want to be spoiled!

Spoilers include plot/character talk and a singular image.

Did I like the first chapter???? Did I LIKE THE FIRST CHAPTER??? I've been going through it with a fine toothed comb and loving EVERY MINUTE OF IT!!!

Ahem.

So, I love this characterization of Ratau.

In the game we already saw hints that he maybe had a little bit of trouble letting go of the red crown. The fact he wears one made of paper is weird enough, but the fact he has the same paper crowns filling his house and on his shrine hints at this imo. I know game cannon ≠ comic cannon, but I had the idea Ratau may hold a little jealousy even before the comic because of this, so I was really excited to see the idea play out.

But if you look at it from his point of view, it kind of makes sense.

At least in the comic so far, it seems that Ratau is incredibly devoted to TOWW. He's offended that The Lamb is taking Narinder's mission so lightly, that they are seemingly attempting to ignore his orders in order to go on their own revenge quest.

This makes sense, because as a past vessel, Ratau is bound to know well the honor that that sort of job brings. Seemingly, he would be eager to take The Lamb's place, but knows he can not. He's managing someone doing his dream job, and they're just there for the paycheck. It's got to be infuriating!

Especially since he's seemingly older and wiser than the lamb (Though I don't think his or TOWW's use of the word "child" is literal. I think it's more in the same way The Mystic Seller calls The Lamb an infant god.) I can definitely see his frustration. I think that The Lamb is going to kind of "sober up" after Leshy's defeat and finally gain sight of the mission.

Speaking of The Lamb, I really like how they were characterized! A lot of us, including myself, were pretty sceptical of turning a silent protagonist into a fully fledged character, but in my opinion all is looking really very well so far!

I especially the love the sort of cognitive dissonance they have in the beginning. It sets them up to be this wimpy pushover. I know a lot of people may find it hard to believe that someone in those circumstances would be so calm, but as someone who's had a number of near death experiences I thought it was pretty realistic! A sort of humorous disassociation sprinkled with a confusing mix of denial and acceptance. (Though, please note it's been a few years since the last time I've nearly died. My data is a bit outdated.)

Regardless, I like how they are now. It makes a lot of sense, after all, to be a bit peeved at the circumstances. Their dialogue is super witty, though really sad if you think about it, and I have a feeling that when they stop focusing on revenge they're going to crash and feel a lot of things they've suppressed since their death.

But all in all I'm super excited to see where this little lamb goes!

Finally, can we get some Nana appreciation?? Sure she had a small role, but for a first non-game character, she made a really good first impression!

She seems fleshed out with her own little past, backstory, and personality. The traumatized sceptic in me is a bit worried she'll end up as a love interest, but I doubt it. If it does happen, I doubt it'll be in a typical way. This is a game where you're encouraged to marry with multiple people, after all. I don't think that's the case, though. I think I'm just used to old 80's comics where the first female introduced was the main love interest and nothing more 99.999% of the time.

Whatever is done with her, I'm eager for it. So far the writing seems really really good and she made a great first impression as a follower. She makes me EXCITED to see future follower interactions. If they're all written like her, then it's going to be a super enjoyable part of the comic. We love Nana here.

Finally I have some other random thoughts and things I noticed but can't really format in a way that works, so here's a bullet point list.

Apparently wool is very valuable. Now it's not said weather this is because of the lambs becoming less and less or if it was always valuable. Either way, it's and interesting little fact. I wonder if it'll be important later or if it's just trivia. I like to think things like that aren't added for no reason.

I like that they used the real term, 'Endling,' to describe the last of a soon to be extinct species. This knowledge, though, and the discussion with the cultist, implies this has happened many times before with other species. I wonder if they were always driven to extinction through genocide, or if natural factors ever play a role.

The Lamb was sold out for 30 gold coins. This is apparently a lot. It costs almost that much (converting coins to Dollars. Not perfect, I know.) to buy the ingredients for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich where I live in the US. Either there's not much inflation, or The Lamb was sold out for some PB and J.

I believe the thirty gold coins is a reference to the 30 silver coins Judas was given in exchange for selling out Jesus in Christian lore. If so, I like that detail! Very neat.

It's implied that the bishops are making life hell for EVERYONE while they drive off the lambs. This is interesting, and also a reflection of real life. Bonus points.

Does The Lamb really count as a non believer if they clearly believe in the bishops existence?? I mean they see them right there with no surprise.

Kallamar is shiny. Knew it. He also has tentacles.

It could just be the perspective, but Leshy seems taller than the other bishops.

BAAL AND AYM!

Let's all appreciate how well TOWW's chains and restraints were drawn. All those different perspectives must have been hell but it looks so good.

Chubby cheeks Narinder :)

Sharp teeth lamb! Possibly due to the crown??

So no head??

You. Me.

So no head?? x2

The lamb has guilt and second thoughts about the killing they must do to achieve their goals. Nice.

Cultist roles have hierarchy to them. Neat.

The Lamb's eyes water upon seeing light for the first time in who knows how long...sob.

Again, beautiful art.

There's lots of focus on The Lamb's fangs. Are they important or just stylistic, I wonder??

The crown seemingly has a mind of its own or is watching.

It's implied The Lamb has some sort of death powers already

So no head?? x3

CLAUNECK. MY BE FUCKING LOVED.

Needless to say I have so many THOUGHTS and can't wait for the next chapter. Happy reading, you guys!

#tober preaches #thanks for the ask! i was so hype to ramble aboit this eheheheheh #cult of the lamb #cotl comic spoilers #cotl comic

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canmom · 12 days ago

Text

booksbooksbooks - "yeah ok uh. you're worthless! how about that!"

I read Tell Me I'm Worthless by Alison Rumfitt! I have previously talked about Brainwyrms on here, her second novel; this is her first, and honestly they are such similar books (thematically, structurally, stylistically - it's possible even that they are in a shared continuity) that a second comment almost feels redundant - but then it turned out I had a lot to say when I got into it. Spoilers below, though I think most of the effect of this book is how it's told rather than what happens.

(Also: the recent bookcrit posts will sometime soon be making their way to canmom.art for easier reading - I've rather dragged my feet on that but Soon(TM).)

So this is a haunted house book that's about fascism. You know it's about fascism before the book even begins, since it says as much in the content warning. More specifically it's about British fascism, personified in an evil house called Albion at the edge of Brighton that corrupts all around it, drawing people in and bringing out the fascist mindset in them.

It would be reasonable to fear this might end up as a polemic loosely packaged as a novel - even if an absolutely on-point and warranted polemic. You can absolutely see how characters fit into the 'argument': a white trans woman who has not fully escaped her racist upbringing on the one hand, her Jewish-Pakistani girlfriend* who runs into the arms of the TERF movement on the other, their blonde cis third wheel who is the first to be fully corrupted by the House. A plot hinging on conflicting accusations of rape; the house itself being established through a series of eugenicist murders. And on top of that, in between parts you get some quotes from, variously: Félix Guattari's Everybody Wants to be a Fascist, Isabel Fall's Helicopter Story, Umberto Eco's Ur-Fascism, a Stewart Lee skit, and William Blake's A Little Boy Lost (primarily for the 'Albion' pull I think).

*actually a deep closeted trans guy, wouldn't ya know it

I think it would be easy to find this directness kind of annoying, but what makes it work for me is largely its style. Rumfitt has a hell of an ability to set a mood and environment, to convey the all-too-real bitterness and pain of its characters in circumstances I recognise. It is a story more than willing to veer into delirious fever-dream streams of consciousness or to spend a few pages quoting some fetishist imageboard rant at length. But more important is the genuine and raw anger of the author that seems to run through it: when the narration slips into addressing the reader, it feels like the intensity of feeling can't be contained in fictional devices anymore. The word 'sharp' is surely a cliché, but this is the kind of book to leave you looking up and going 'phew' between chapters. It works because it is able to make you feel the bleakness that its narrative demands.

(Possibly a relevant comparison at this point would be Sálo, but something to develop another time.)

At the same time, it's a book that is so blatantly About Stuff that it's almost impossible to read it simply as a novel. It has a certain degree of mystery structure (what happened in the House? what became of Hannah? who raped who?) and escalating waves of intensity to pull you along, it's got setups and payoffs and callbacks as the ideas raised early in the story bloom again in the final blast of words, but it's not really something you can simply take as a haunted-house story. Some of the biggest horror scenes would be kind of completely ridiculous without the metaphor-drenched context.

We can describe the main beats, all the same.

the bit where I summarise the plot

Alice and Ila are two survivors of an ill-fated expedition into an abandoned house. Alice (trans girl) is haunted by something which manifests in the form of a stain on the wall, and when she covers it by a picture of a racist singer from the 80s who she once admired, his phantom (it's presumably Morrissey, but they book doesn't ever name him). she gets by through shooting sissy hypnosis videos for clients who have her say all sorts of dubious racist shit. Ila (cis) has been welcomed as a token brown woman for the TERF movement, getting interviewed on the radio and invited to conferences. Both of them remember being raped and multilated by the other during the visit to the House - more on that anon. The third member of the party, Hannah, entered with them but never left the House.

Alice's closest thing to friends are a hetero couple of hard partiers; the guy Jon is into knifeplay and it's clearly not something his partner is all on board with. She tries to hook up with a girl but the Morrissey-haunting scares her away, providing some setup for the concepts of haunting this book will use. Ila, meanwhile, is almost raped by another TERF after recounting her story at a conference; the woman in question preemptively DARVOs her on social media so she won't tell. Some other cis(?) girl who Ila had deliriously called a tranny during sex (thanks House!) seconds it. Throughout all this, Ila has been frequently messaging Alice asking to talk again.

The narrative jumps around; we gradually learn more about the circumstances of their previous trip into the House (named Albion by its first two inhabitants), and its history: built by a gay guy in a period that would get you arrested and named Albion by his 15-year-old lover, then the site of a series of eugenicist murders (with explicit allusion to Bluebeard); in modern times, the random suicides it inflicts on the people in the buildings around it, etc. It's a real bad House

So, Hannah (cis, straight) had been feeling third-wheeled by the couple Alice and Ila. We get some flashbacks as Hannah: that time Alice and Ila had sex on the beach and Hannah totally heard it all, that time Hannah hooked up with a black guy and Alice and Ila were kind of assholes to him... When they enter the house together, Hannah becomes separated and drawn to the red room at the heart of the house. When Alice and Ila enter, Hannah is fully claimed by the House and physically transformed into a human swastika, and the narrative splits in two as both Alice and Ila enact brutal rapes on each other; in one version, Alice cuts 'ARBEIT MACHT FREI' into Ila's belly, in the other, Ila cuts a symbolic vagina into Alice's scalp. The two of them leave the House with these injuries, and the narrative pointedly refuses to tell us that one is the real course of events, or that something else happened.

Ila contacts Alice and convinces her to return to the House to put an end to it. They try to have sex and they're not feeling it; then they have nasty politicised sex, which gives the book its title:

“Call me it, please,” she says. “Call you what?” “You know. You know you want to, as well.” She hesitates for a moment. But Alice is right. She does want to. “You fucking tranny,” Ila moans. “God. Fuck. Please.” The pleasure is nearly unbearable for Alice. “Do it again. Tell me what you think of me, what you really think of me. Tell me I’m nothing. Tell me I’m worthless.” “You,” Ila grabs Alice’s hair, “are a fucking worthless tranny.”

Finally the two go into the House and we enter a kind of fever dream of an alternative fascist-ruled timeline in the green and pleasant lands where Mosley plays on the radio, Alice never transitions and marries Hannah and kills herself, Ila is deported to unknown quarters, and then in a parallel vision they both embrace while respectively self-disembowelling and bleaching -

then, finally we get a version where they escape alive and burn the House, only for its curse to continue to affect the next building to be built there, which gives rise to a bomber who bombs the Pride parade where Alice and Harry (formerly Ila) are walking together. But they hold each other in the ashes. t4t end.

You get all that?

I'm leaving out various dream sequences, flashbacks, and meditations on the state of things, like the factory or the, 'shitty transvestite pigs', which could honestly be said to be more important than the narrative itself.

fascism then

So for a book that is so much about fascism, what does it actually have to say on the subject? The facet of fascism examined here is mostly of the online-radicalisation or unspoken-sentiment type, the thing you tell yourself is a joke until you stop telling yourself that. The characters are carrying intrusive patterns of thought, taking different but similar forms for each. The House, or the ideology, feeds on their interpersonal resentments and drives them towards self-destructive cruelty.

In the narration that is (at least at times) their train of thought, they ask themselves why they stay in the House, or get drawn back. The closest thing to an answer comes, in Hannah's point of view, shortly before the dual rape scene:

Alice tried to kick open the door, but it wouldn’t move, however hard she kicked. It felt like there was nothing on the other side of the door – that it wasn’t a door at all, but the border to the world, and the inside of this room was the entire world. If you were to open the door you would find… what? The world outside is dark and unknowable. In the room you are safe. You are subject to violence, abuse, mistreatment, hurt, pain, all of the above, but you are safe from what is outside the room and that is what matters, inside the room is the pain you know, outside the room is the pain you do not know, it’s not a hard choice to make in the end, to sit here ‘neath the burning sun of her body, (...)

But more than that, fascism is some kind of permanent infestation. The House itself is at once England (as the name Albion suggests) and the persistent, seemingly eternal infestation of fascist ideology, which are pretty much one and the same - a country so racist that it will vote to kill its own immune system right before a global pandemic, a country so racist that the very ground stinks, a country so racist that your seemingly left-liberal parents have a map of the British Empire hanging on their wall (excerpted from the middle of a run-on-sentence too long to reproduce here).

So Alice and Ila confront their dalliance with fascism by returning to the House, and in a sense purge themselves through this catabasis; but fascism is not destroyed when the House is ruined, or burned down, or replaced with flats, and keeps growing back to consume more lives.

Mostly the thing the book seems to have to say about fascism is it's fucking everywhere and it's terrifying, a sentiment that is hard to disagree with. But it also has a fair bit to say in depicting its dynamics in the modern world.

What of this dual rape scene then? There is a scornful paragraph at one point about how the social-justice rules of engagement totally fail, mockingly describing how you could plug the two characters into an intersectionality calculator to determine who has narrative authority here, ending with this remark:

So, there’s just two girls leaving a house and maybe you don’t have to take a side, maybe you can empathise with them both and hope they get the therapy and help they need and can learn to forgive one another. No. You can’t do that. Are you a fucking idiot? Are you that fucking stupid that you genuinely think you can do that and that something like that is possible?

At the same time as presenting this situation of absolute ambiguity, the book doesn't seem shy about acknowledging there are straight up bad actors, whether Jon or the older TERF; recurring more than once is the idea of the moves a rapist might make to silence a victim or witness. All sorts of lines: "I'm too important to the movement, think of what would happen", or blatant lies, "it's the only way [the unconscious person] can get off".

All of this, frankly, accords with my experience of the world; these are all things that happen. If it revels a little in setting up these little ironies in its account of the TERF movement (elsewhere we see Ila making up stories to post on a forum that is obviously Mumsnet), it is also painfully cognisant of the ugly dynamics of accusations. Elsewhere this very website gets a shoutout! In an Alice POV chapter:

When I was about fifteen, I used the website Tumblr. It still exists, as far as I know. It was a strange place, and it’s hard to even describe how the culture of it felt when you were part of it: at times welcoming and at times unbearably tense. It was the first time I really read about what being trans was, and it was also where I was sent endless anonymous messages telling me to kill myself. People would often accuse others of things, baselessly, and those accusations would stick to them however much they tried to shake them away. One of my Tumblr mutuals was accused of being a paedophile and a Nazi. We hadn’t really talked much at all – she’d re-blogged my selfies a few times, and I hadn’t thought much about that until people started to accuse her. I began to wonder what her intentions had been when she shared a fifteen-year-old’s selfies. She denied these accusations, of course. Anyone would. She claimed that the people accusing her of being a paedophile and a Nazi were TERFS – and the problem was that some of them were. Or had, at least, started to share TERF rhetoric onto their blogs. Which made sense… they had just been exploited by an older trans woman, and suddenly these other older women were telling them, oh, come join us. There’s a pattern to this, and we don’t have to accept it as normal. I didn’t understand it at the time, I was just angry, angry and confused, but I get it now, with Ila spooning me. I understand why she is the way she is. I hope she understands why I am like I am, too. (...dialogue about the House happens...) I stopped using Tumblr shortly after that whole affair, and after having other people creep on me too – most notably a nineteen-year-old fat rights activist who seemed obsessed with my hair. I turned to 4chan and other forums in that vein, where, even if there were Nazis and paedophiles, at least they were generally honest about being those things, even as they remained anonymous. It felt better to know that I was talking to someone who liked to masturbate over little boys than to talk to someone and find that out about them later.

I was a bit older than the fictional Alice when I arrived on here, and I've never had the sense to leave lmao, but this accords well enough with my experience - notably, I strongly recall how a certain opposed accusation of rape/abuse (with knifeplay involved!) torpedoed the simplistic 'believe accusations' worldview I had held onto up to that point. The girls involved became a cause célèbre for two rival factions in the trans scene at the time, with who you believed largely depending on who your friends were, each rallying to defend theirs and cast the others as apologists. Ironically, both those groups would later fall apart.

Whatever parallels I might draw to touchy real life history, we can certainly see here some of the devices this book likes to use: a long personal illustrative anecdote of some messy shit, seguing into a moment of narration and a remark that connects it to the present, and helps sketch its characters as the extrusion of much-larger social forces. It is not easy to adequately capture complexity without getting completely lost in mush, and I think this book manages solidly. (I am tempted to draw certain parallels to works like Psycho Nymph Exile which address similar dynamics, but that would be way more than I want to get into right now).

It is strange reading this book, in many ways. I have only been in Bright a few times, but once was indeed for a Trans Pride, and I remember sitting on the beach described in the book (I went home before anyone started fucking). I may not have shown up to some anti-TERF demo, but I know well the 'tuneless chants' that Ila derides in her early POV chapter. So many trans books are American, and here is one that is furiously British, and that certainly strikes a chord.

With everything so caught up in magic and metaphor, what can we pull out of our own immersion in this book's wash of terrible images? Simply to love each other defiantly, in the spirit of the old songs? I recall talking with @thesiltverses on how horror and dystopian fiction undermines itself by presenting a relief at the end, and I am inclined to agree. There is no relief here, no 'this is what we need to do to counter the rise of fascism'; it is a story that ends only in a tragic moment of defiance, tinged with that little cynical detail, after a fascist bombs a Pride parade:

He goes to her, on his hands and knees, rubble and blood and bodies all around them. The police, the ambulance, the news crews. They are coming. Photographers are taking pictures of them, and they will put these pictures on the front pages of newspapers, and the picture will be with them forever, they won’t ever escape it, two trans people covered in blood and embracing amidst the carnage. The photographer who gets the image wins a prize for it. They don’t know that yet. They only know this: Harry crawls towards Alice with the last of his strength, his arms outstretched and reaching. The rain will come. When it does it will be bloody. The future will be red-tinted and unknowable, but they will be together. Come to me now, mouths Alice. Hold me.

I feel like this is the tone of a lot of recent tranny-adjacent fiction: we cannot stop them coming, but we will live furiously all the same: a story about the possibility of a pocket of change, that two people so thoroughly corrupted by the House could move past it. Is that all we can hope for? If we can win more, it's probably not for a horror novel to say so.

I know I know at least one person who has known Alison Rumfitt, the UK trans scene being what it is. I'm glad her book is resonating with people, if it is only those who show up at queer bookshops (shoutout to Category Is books where I got my physical copy). We are certainly experiencing a moment for grimdark fiction, and while that suits my tastes rather more than the 'cosy', I distrust any self-congratulation about being soooo transgressive and nasty compared to those pathetic wimpy steven universe gays. This, however, is something quite different: it's nasty because it's simply extremely pointed and the subject kind of demands it.

A couple of weeks ago I was discussing with some people at the film festival about how you'd do a film adaptation of this book. Having now read it, I'm scratching my head - it seems rather unfilmable, because so much of what it's saying is caught up in internal monologues and devices of narration that would hardly translate to the screen. But hey, you know what, if someone tries, I want to see.

#fiction #horror #alison rumfitt #novels #sff

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eli-elien · 1 month ago

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Been workshopping her but I love em (any/all pronouns btw)

Introducing!! Angela Sal Wake (Saw)

what if the stans had a best friend? Sure she's a "girl" but also a clever one who's mother's neuroscientist at the time and father is (unfortunately) a cop interested in psychology and medicine (criminal justice) she's a nerdy yet loud kid with...

multiple rows of sharp razor teeth they never grew out of (think of sharks and their teeth), glowing eyes, pale skin and an allergy to silver. Overall a decent kid with good grades but poor social etiquette that got her many wagging fingers their way.

The twins meet them when they happen upon the boys getting bullied, takes the rock that landed by their feet (via stanley) and gives a good ol bruise on one of the bullies' heads. They invite her to play tag, she's never had friends before so this was a new start at a new school!

Now as they grow up, both twins grow fond of them although both think there's something more to it than just medical allergies and dental anomalies (mostly Ford, Stan sometimes forgets and is faced with a scary looking stare that no girl he knows would be capable of but its all forgotten once they hang out at the arcade and watch cartoons)

TLTR: Divergent AU where the Stan twins grew up with a bff, who happens to be a monster that isn't what they seem. They're actually really sweet.

Below is more so more Lore (tm) and general info on what they are and some doodles I've drawn of them

Maybe wondering: Who are they really?

Good question! It's actually "What?"

A walker, biologically they have similar processes to a human, and in some of the rare documents on them seemingly are a long line of cursed humans, often getting confused for werewolves or vampires and its somewhat understandably.

Like both, they can transform, the only way however is to eat their disguise, and take on their form. "Replace" them. And it's thought that its more so filling from the soul rather than getting nutrients from the victim's body.

Recent times however, with modernization giving humans ample fire and silver they've become smarter-and some families of them growing moral backbones! Like Ann's Mother and her side of the family seeing humans as friends!! They hunt for more magical and conscious creatures of Gravity Falls (Hint Hint that's where Ann was born and the Wakes reside) then the other side of the coin are the ideologically different kind of walkers: Only seeing humans and other creatures as less than, prey, just something squish for the hell of it or for food without a second thought like a cat playing with a mouse (her father's side that doesn't disclose their diet)

Half the time you won't know until it's too late: either they go for a hug or a kill.

Side note:

Inspiration:

You know the concept of "The Stranger" from the magnus archives? Or even stupidly: Among us? What about the Thing? Or perhaps the entities from the mandala catalogue? All of these are once people that we knew but something has changed.

They are not who they are, They've been replaced!

And ironically a character who's best friends, and grows along side a character who's got trust issues galore and paranoia beyond measure loves and trusts a character that is a walker: the essence of not being able to trust people, even those you've known for so long

And being actually genuine and sweet!

also similar to Mabel, Stan is quite perceptive of other's emotions: including crushes-or seemingly crushes. Listen I've been through it too, yknow the ol' "Augh I'm in love you because you're first person who Gets Me/Are Just As Strange As Me/The Only Person Outside Of Family To Be My Friend" and it's the 80s so Ace wasn't quite a thing back then also pls do read it as two genderqueer people having perhaps a lavender marriage when they're both older lol

#gravity falls #stanford pines #stanley pines #gravity falls au #gravity falls fanart #gravity falls oc

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torihakaraublog · 2 months ago

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Mammon Birthday 2024

My MC dotes on Mammon, but is not romantically interested in him so of course they had to make him feel special on his birthday!

Very much enjoyed Mammon's birthday event he's genuinely a fun guy to hang out with. With a lot of the previous character birthday events you have to plan out the day, but Mammon has made his own plans for his birthday that he hopes you are free to join him on (which you are).

The activity is a treasure hunt in the Uncharted Woods. No misfortune befalls you on the adventure for once and thanks to Mammon's cute habit of mumbling about things while he looks them up you and Lucifer get him a pair of shoes to fit the occasion - ones that lead you to fortune!

There is a peaceful run in with a chest mimic - I LOVE that mimics are canon in OM! - there was one in a Bel event a few months ago as well tho that one was not as friendly. It's on my bucket list now to make a mimic OM! oc xD

The mimic is also celebrating a family members birthday (a sibling in ill health) and Mammon has no regrets giving up the expensive Blood-Red Diamond. The unexpecting exchange item (a gold feather?) from the mimic turns out to be worth more O.o

Liked that the 'party options' were private drink or go to club. Got very different vibes, which is good. Went to club cause didn't want to give him too many ideas, but he still got a few kiss kiss from me for being a good boy :3

Obey Me! NB "Dark Eternal Bliss" Pop Quiz

Ahhh really enjoyed this event! It wasn't too complicated but had some interesting lore elements to it. Also everyone's festival outfits looked really good. They were reminiscent of their traditional festival outfits.

The overall plot was basically: stuck in a dimension between the demon world and human world. We are tasked with holding a marriage festival to an emperor - marriage candidate is marked on back of hand. We are able to get the emperor to release us + the other souls trapped there through discussion.

There was a lot of sweet solo moments with the brothers (including proposals of sorts). Not as many with the other characters. Sometimes you had to pick between two characters - how dare they make me pick between Satan and Beel at one point!

Some of my fave things I ended up doing:

Floor cleaning with Levi (making a date for later) :3

Making plans with Satan, Beel, and Lucifer

Talking with the sad Matrimonial Black Flowers

Stargazing with Satan

Going on a walk with Lucifer

Pretending to be married to Bel to mess with the brothers haha

Getting a care package from Thirteen TwT

Lucifer saying he would always search for us no matter what world we were in.

Haunted trail hand holding with Levi

Another part I really liked was Luke, Beel, and Solomon collecting the festival food. Instead of it being the typical 'you two get out of the kitchen' moment Luke insisted they stayed for the other talents they had; Solomon's text reading and Beel's physical strength.

Through the whole event Asmo, Barbatos, and Solomon were being epic kings. When I suggested Barb being the bride and Asmo being like "that would scare them away" made me laugh (Barb kinda seemed into the idea lol). And then Barbatos and Solomon agreeing that they would want to approve who marries us first but would probably also not approve anyone lol

Didn't manage to get any completed cards this event, but with any luck I'll eventually pull the new brother appreciation card (rip the 80 pulls I've done already).

Might also try to do an art piece for this event so I'll post it down below if I do :3

Edit: Okay I drew something xD Do you like stars?

Beel + Brooke and Satan + Brooke

#obey me pop quiz #obey me spoilers #obey me shall we date #obey me nightbringer #obey me #do u like stars?#obey me mc

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aprofessionalprotagonist · 5 months ago

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DBD Fic

I'm working on a fic about Charles and music. Read what I've got so far below the jump. If you're more knowledgable than me about 80's British Ska, feel free to chime in with advice.

The first time Charles Rowland visited The Small Back Room, he was thirteen and definitely not supposed to be in Soho. He’d told his parents he was going to be playing footie in the park with some mates, but instead took three buses to end up in an area of London where his parents probably thought he’d be instantly murdered, or worse.

But he’d been willing to risk it on a quest for what George had called ‘brills music.’ George was the seventeen-year-old, amazingly cool, older brother of one of Charles’s mates. He was tall with a bit of stubble and wore suspenders with jeans. Charles had listened enraptured while George had explained all about the bands, and how Soho was where all the real record stores could be found. (Freddie, the brother Charles was purportedly mates with, got so bored during this as to actually break out his maths revision.)

So Charles found himself walking through Soho gawking. A man in tiny shorts and a crop top roller skated down the road, weaving in and around irate drivers. There were dirty alleys and shops blatantly advertising peep shows. He walked past a bookshop just as a white haired man loudly slammed the door and declared the place closed.

Then he heard a trumpet backed by guitar coming from the open doors of a shop. The Small Back Room was small indeed, positively crammed with shelves of records. The shoppers were browsing elbow to elbow and not a one of them dressed in anything like what his father would have called an acceptable manner. Charles asked a man in a t-shirt that said ‘Rude Boy’ what was playing. The man looked Charles up and down, a mildly disdainful look at either his age or school jumper, and answered “The Specials.”

Charles spent over an hour in The Small Back Room. The music changed frequently. Some of it, like the Bowie, he recognized from the radio. His favorite was the upbeat, brassy music he learned was called Ska. He had enough money for two records, and debated until finally selecting one by The Specials and another by The Beat. At the counter, a small blond girl sat coloring next to the man running the till. She smiled at Charles, a bright, glowing welcome.

“Here,” she said, handing him a small white pin with ‘SKA’ in black letters, “make your jumper better.”

“Stop giving away the merchandise, Maggie,” the man said, his words chastising, but his tone fond. “Enjoy your records, kid.” The man smiled at Charles in an echo of the girls.

As Charles headed home, he rubbed his little button, smiling brightly as well.

#dead boy detectives #my fanfiction #the small back room #80s Ska #charles rowland #A sneaky GO cameo

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nyaagolor · 1 year ago

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What's going on with Nemona's wrist?

this is mostly just me putting down all my thoughts about this hc I have. Below the cut bc it's long as usual but read on if ur interested in like. orthopedics

I think Nemona has fatigue and some kind of wrist Issue because 1. She implies she has decreased motor function in that arm (can't throw pokeballs well, supports her arm with her other hand during battles) 2. She wears a brace 3. She gets winded easily / needs to catch her breath more than other characters / hates stairs So that got me wondering what the cause could be. I work in an orthopedic office and my shifts are 12 hours so sometimes when it's slow and I'm bored this is what my mind wanders to

Option 1: It's carpal tunnel and she's out of shape This is the most obvious answer since carpal tunnel is a repetitive stress injury and she's wearing a brace that looks almost identical to irl braces for that problem. Throwing pokeballs over and over, especially incorrectly, would be the most likely cause of an asymmetrical injury like that, and is actually reasonable for someone of her age and activity level. The winded thing is just because she's out of shape and has no underlying cause. Or maybe she just has some kinda chronic pain / fatigue disorder. That's not my department idk

Option 2: Oligoarticular JIA (juvenile idiopathic arthritis) This very long name is just describing chronic joint swelling in children that affects less than 5 joints. It's an autoimmune disease, and actually not that uncommon all things considered. It causes stiffness and pain, which would explain the stamina issues and motor skill issues. Plus, the constant flexion and extension of the knees from staircases certainly would explain her distaste for them in particular. That shit hurts. Occasionally people will use a brace for JIA-- it's highly unlikely her wrist would be the worst considering the typical presentation patterns (it usually affects bigger joints first like the knees) but hey. It's possible! This condition also affects young girls more often than other groups so. Math checks out

Option 3: Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (hypermobility type) Figured I would include this bc I've seen a few people hc this and wanted to give it a fair shot myself. This is a heritable connective tissue disorder that causes hypermobile joints, chronic pain, fatigue, and a whole host of other things. Specifically tho, this disorder used to be called EDS type III and is now considered part of the Hypermobility Spectrum Disorders, but that's a can of worms for a post that's not this one. While the symptoms do match, and honestly quite well (a brace for stabilization makes perfect sense and the fatigue symptoms feel pretty on the nose) the disease usually causes very stretchy skin and vascular issues that she doesn't seem to have so I'm a tad on the fence

Option 4: Cervical spinal stenosis Despite this being the first thing that came to mind for me (since I see it a lot in the office) I'm now less convinced this would be the case. This disorder is basically a narrowing of the spinal canal that pinches the nerves in the neck. It can cause pain, weakness, numbing, and pain that radiates down the body. If most of the compression was on the C4 and C5 nerve I can see it affecting one arm / wrist especially rough (since the pain is typically bilateral but asymmetrical) but also this occurring in people under the age of 50 is SUPER rare so eh. It's possible it was congenital or caused by an injury but I wouldn't bet on it. As for the stamina issues, the neurological issues caused by the compression would likely be the cause of that, especially radiating down the back and legs. Felt worth it to include even if I'm not 100% convinced

I'm saying "options" here bc these symptoms are super vague and there's like 80 billion things that could cause it, I'm just racking my brain for different possibilities. If anyone has other hcs for the underlying causes of Her Whole Deal lmk I'm curious

#i know this is completely deranged but it's pride month let me have this #nemona #pokemon sv #headcanons #mod vex

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maniculum · 8 months ago

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Bestiaryposting Results: Glugreng

My apologies for posting a bit later than usual -- I was on the road most of the day for eclipse-viewing purposes, so it's already nighttime as I start this. (Update: and also Firefox crashed multiple time over the process of writing this post.) Anyway, we've got another vaguely-described bird, but one that I think has some interesting details.

If anyone isn't sure what this post is about, you can find an explanation at https://maniculum.tumblr.com/bestiaryposting. If you want to see the entry from which the artists are working, here is the link:

And in general you can see all of this stuff as it posts at the tag "maniculum bestiaryposting", assuming Tumblr's search function wants to show it to you.

Art below the cut:

@silverhart-makes-art (link to post here) continues to post very impressively-rendered beasts. Here, since the only physical detail we have about this bird is "white", they've decided to take inspiration from the fact that it is kept by royal households. Medieval nobility did keep birds, usually for falconry, so here we have a raptorial design. And look, it's caught a fish! Good work, bird.

@pomrania (link to post here) observes that cataract-curing excrement is probably pretty valuable and worth collecting, so here we see a bowl with a dollar sign placed under the bird's perch. Honestly my favorite part of this is the very intense, extremely-close-up eye contact depicted in the middle there. Something about the bird needing (or just choosing) to get really up in one's personal space in order to do the curative "looking in the face" thing is charming to me.

@kaerran (link to post here) also went in the direction of "what kind of bird would be hanging around royal households" and landed on peafowl. There are a couple really clever design decisions here: it intentionally has very visible eyes so it's extra clear whether it's looking at you, and the "burning off the sickness" thing is represented as the feathers from its train being shed. (And thank you for including alt text.)

@sweetlyfez (link to post here) went in an interesting artistic direction, I think: since the entry was very clear that the Glugreng is "white all over", she rendered it entirely in thick white paint -- I think the texture is quite cool. Also I love the crown-collar-thing; SweetlyFez notes that she's only seen that in heraldry, and I think that is the only place it really appears. (I've seen at least one piece of marginalia that had an animal wearing a crown as a collar, but I'm like 80% sure that's someone's heraldic device being put in the illustrations for whatever reason.)

@cheapsweets (link to post here) jumpscared me a bit with this one. More very intense eye contact, but this time directed at the viewer. They also made the connection royalty -> falconry, and drew a bird of prey. For more details on their thought process, please see the linked post. I like the very intense eye contact conceptually, but also I keep scrolling down so it stops Looking At Me.

@coolest-capybara (link to post here) has again drawn something that makes me smile -- the art style is of course amazing, and the straight-on view of the pelican just looks so charmingly goofy. They note that pelicans have "so much convenient space to store all your pesky illnesses," and now all I can think of is a medical version of that "Put Baby In Pelican Mouth" post. (And thank you for including alt text.)

@strixcattus (link to post here) was inspired by the bestiary's decision to state that the bird is "white all over" and "has no black parts" in the same sentence. Weirdly specific, right? So they decided to explore in their post why this repetition might be necessary -- regular readers of these posts may recall that Strixcattus writes modern-naturalist-style reinterpretations of these animals. I'm not going to tell you what they came up with. Go read the linked post. Do it.

In fact, you should read all the linked posts, and consider following any or all of the wonderful artists who choose to participate in this weird little exercise.

All right, Aberdeen Bestiary time. A couple people said in their entry that they think they know what this one is, and I am excited to learn what their guesses were.

Now, since this artist tends to draw raptors in a very standardized way -- this just looks like their eagle but all white -- it's probably not possible to recognize the bird in question from this illustration. However, of course, there's a much larger problem in the way of recognizing this species:

This entry is the caladrius, which does not exist. It's another one of those mythical critters that didn't really catch on in the modern era -- or a strange misunderstanding of a real animal, like the salamander was, but honestly those aren't so much distinct categories as far as I'm concerned.

On the other hand, if you have similar Internet Experiences to me, you might have recognized it just now -- as soon as I saw the Aberdeen Bestiary illustration, I had a moment of "hang on, is that..."

The above is from the 2015 article "Two Medieval Monks Invent Bestiaries" on The Toast. You can check it out here:

(The author is now Daniel M. Lavery, but the byline on the linked article still says "Daniel Mallory Ortberg", probably because The Toast has been defunct for several years so nobody is updating these things.)

Anyway, the "bedbird" is indeed the caladrius. I was able to find the image from the Two Monks article by looking through the gallery attached to the "caladrius" entry on bestiary.ca (which has 94 examples, so it's clearly reasonably widespread). The bedbird comes from British Library MS Sloane 3544. And... I'm going to leave it up to y'all whether you think this should end with the "i've connected the two dots" gif or that quotation about the mystery no one thought was a mystery. It's late, goodnight.

#maniculum bestiaryposting #glugreng

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ashintheairlikesnow · 9 months ago

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hey hey hey I have had a hell of a day (Actually Hell) because I did too many fun things (a problem apparently) and then also we put up the christmas tree leading to the inevitable christmas tree installation arguments (they pop up every year like clockwork!)

anyway i have been overstimulated and stressed (just want to emphasize that there is NO pressure here whatsoever! id like to avoid any semblance of that actually and I know you're already working on 12 days so take your time) and it would be very cathartic to see chris dealing with similar issues (the Wonderful guy. we are pretty similar.) thanks a lot for reading this, even if you don't write anything !

Sorry this took so long, Anon! I swear I've been trying to get this written for literally almost two months now

CW: Some references to Chris's past, overstimulation, anxiety

"Hey, where did Chris go?" Laken blinks and looks around, but the living room of the house they rent - filled with laughing, happy people - shows no sign of Chris's telltale lavender hair with its new-penny copper roots.

One of Brit's friends just shrugs at them and gestures, vaguely, in the direction of the kitchen. "Dunno. He wandered off a while ago, maybe that way?"

"Oh, okay. Huh." Laken steps back, the circle of laughing people closing up tight as soon as they do. Their dark eyes scan the room, but there's no sign of him.

He'd been doing great - all but holding court, one of the most popular people at the party. He's sort of famous, since the Olympics, and people had been peppering him with questions and compliments, crowding around wanting nothing more than to be friends with the ex-pet who stood up to the bad guys on live TV. They'd seen him dancing, too, the music loud enough to nearly make the walls shake. The easy, unselfconscious dancing they loved in him the most.

He'd seemed to be enjoying himself, at the time, but...

Where has he gone?

They weave around people, stopping to pick up an ornament that has fallen off the tree. The scent of pine is subtle and ever-present, and they carefully work the ornament's little loop back over a branch, ruefully watching a couple of pine needles come loose and drift down. The damn thing is already starting to turn a little brown around its edges, thanks to Laken's roommate having insisted on buying it literally the day before Thanksgiving.

Laken doesn't even celebrate Christmas, not since they stopped going to Mass on Christmas Eve years and years ago. Still, in a house they rent with three others, they're the only one who doesn't at least pay lip service to the holiday.

And even if they don't give a fuck about Christmas, they do like having an excuse to throw a party.

The tinsel wrapped in spirals around, over, and below the ornaments glitters in the light, and the look makes them think of Chris, and how his eyes have always looked just the same, to them, when they're out at night and the moon hits the green of his irises just right.

Their search leads them to Ben, contentedly sitting on the couch, a drink in one hand and his phone in the other, quietly reading something there while the party is in full swing around him. He glances up and then instinctively, immediately, uses a finger to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "Hey, Laken. What's up?"

"Is Akio not coming tonight?"

"Oh... no." Ben blushes - it's adorable, and Laken can't help the smile playing around their lips. "He's got some kind of meeting with the gymnastics team, or his coaches? Or... something like that. He said sorry, though."

"Nah, no problem. But, hey, so. Uh, have you seen Chris, like within the last ten minutes or so??"

Someone puts Christmas music on and Laken shudders as they hear that damn 80s pop song start up again. If they have to hear that fucking song one more time...

"Nope. Not in a while." Ben shrugs, taking a drink. Whatever he has in that cup is pinkish-red and probably far more alcoholic than it tastes. Laken's roommate had insisted on a signature cocktail. "You could check outside? Sometimes when there's a lot of people, to Chris it's... too much."

Laken nods, still scanning the crowd, but their stomach knots a little with the first hit of real anxiety. Ben is right, Chris can get overwhelmed by too much noise and movement, but also he's been drinking tonight - they saw the same red punch in a cup in his hands earlier - and he has a tendency to get... hazy, when he drinks. Flirty in ways that aren't natural to him. Willing to let people hug him that he doesn't like, unable to bring himself to stop them. Sometimes his stammer smooths out, which makes people who don't know him feel more comfortable and people who do know him nervous. He starts tipping his head to the side in a way that makes the sweep of his growing-out hair hide the scar on his forehead, biting his lower lip when he smiles. It makes Laken feel a little sick to see it happen and realize Chris doesn't even notice when he's doing it.

The last thing they need is to have to come up with an explanation for Chris losing track of himself again, or why he's eating olives off the charcuterie board Brit brought knowing damn well he'll just go to the bathroom and get sick all over the place again, or... fuck, what if somebody hits on him and he's too drunk to stop it?

That hasn't happened since college, but...

They pull their phone out, uneasily checking for a text, but there's nothing. If he went outside, he'd text, right? He does, he always does. Texts can be easier and Chris is always a little nervous about being outside alone.

He insisted on coming tonight, said he was feeling good lately, but-... what if-...

They flinch when fingers touch their arm, only to see Ben must have stood up when they weren't looking. He slips his own phone into his jacket pocket and looks Laken over more closely. "Hey. It's okay, he's probably fine. You know he gets weird when parties are really going. It's like a light switch, enough to too much, I totally get it. It's why I'm on the couch fucking around on Kindle instead of, you know... talking to people." Ben says it like talking to people is literal hell, and... okay, Laken can see how that might be the case. "He probably just needed to get away from it and wandered off."

"Uh, yeah. I know." Laken rubs at the back of their neck, fingers moving through the soft, shorn undercut beneath their longer black waves. "I'm sure that's it. Just... you know, sometimes he... when he gets nervous..."

"I got you." They adore Ben, sometimes, for how often they don't have to finish the sentences they don't want to say. He knows what words haven't yet spilled, unwilling. Sometimes he acts like he belongs to us, not like he loves us. Sometimes I can't trust him to find his way back on his own. Sometimes I feel like Jake, and I hate feeling like Jake.

Words die in their throat.

Ben squeezes their arm, gently. "Let's split up and search around. I'll go outside, you go around the house, okay? We verify how he is, then whichever one finds him tells the other. Sound good?" Ben smiles, and Laken relaxes a little, finding a smile for him in return.

"Yeah, sounds good. Thanks, Ben."

"No problem." Ben has always understood Chris, thanks to his little brother being similar in some ways. He understands Laken's worry, too, because better than anyone else here - he knows how Chris sometimes gets lost in his past, especially if he's drinking, worse the maybe twice Laken's ever seen him try an edible or a pill.

What if he got drunk and someone offered him something and he took it? Drunk Chris sometimes isn't a Chris who can easily turn down anything he's offered.

This party was a stupid idea.

Laken takes a deep breath and squares their shoulders.

Chris is not a child.

He is a goddamn grown man and Laken is not his keeper. They're not his parent and they're not a babysitter. They're definitely not his fucking... owner or whatever the bastards that hurt him would have called it. They're his partner. He can handle himself, better than they could if they'd lived his life, and they need to trust him to either know his limits and to get away if he can't say no, or to come to them if he wants to ask for help. Otherwise, they're not any better than the bullshit he's been buried in for longer than he's known them.

Ben goes to check outside, slipping silently out the sliding door onto the back porch where a small crowd has congregated in a cloud of skunky smoke, while Laken heads upstairs, peeking their head in to room after room with no sign of him anywhere. They see some movement under a pile of coats, but that's... definitely not Chris, based on the very female voices who yell at them to give them some fucking privacy, please.

"Sorry, Brit," Laken calls, closing the door tightly. "And, um, Leigh. Just looking for Chris-"

"Well, he isn't in here or we'd have kicked him out already," Brit says, cranky but without any real anger in her voice. Laken doesn't recognize the redhead whose eyes pop up from beneath the pile of coats next to her. "Check a different room."

"Yeah, I will. Uh... keep having fun, I guess-"

"That's the plan! Now leave, please!"

The door latches as they close it, and they exhale. There's one room left, at the end of the hall, and they can hear a familiar murmuring from behind the door when they press their ear up against it.

Laken knocks, rapping gently with their knuckles, and turns the knob when they hear no answer - but no demand to stay out either. The murmuring goes silent. They sigh, and the door swings open, light cutting across the carpet until it reveals their wayward boyfriend.

No one has claimed this bedroom yet, so it's bare and empty except for a couple unpacked cardboard boxes, Brit's exercise bike by the window, a couple of her yoga mats, a laundry basket with a few folded towels, and a bare mattress the last housemate had left behind on the floor when they moved out.

Laken's lips press together, eyes scanning the room. Chris's phone is on the mattress, along with an empty beer bottle, but Chris isn't. "Chris? Cariño?"

A muffled rustling makes them jump, heart in their throat, and then they realize the sound came from the closet, where the folding doors are closed. Laken pulls them open to reveal Chris curled up, knees nearly to his chin, an open bottle clutched in one hand, his chewy necklace in the other. He'd chosen the bat one tonight, and his hand is closed around it in such a tight fist Laken can tell his knuckles are white even in the dark.

Chris doesn't look at them. He's swaying, rocking forward and back, his eyes focused on something far, far away from them. There's red lines on his left wrist, where he's dug his nails in, scratching not quite deep enough to draw blood, but close. Laken takes a deep breath, shifting into a crouch.

"Talk to me, Chris."

"No." The answer is flat, and they watch his thumb rub over the little nub of the silicone bat's nose, the points of its tiny ears. "No, no, no. No."

At least he's saying it out loud.

That alone makes the knot of anxiety in their chest start to loosen. If he can say no, he isn't gone, maybe just... standing a little farther back, inside his own head, than the surface.

"Okay. Okay, that's fine. No talking, that's fine. Are you okay, baby?" Laken keeps their voice just above a whisper and lays their hand on the wood trim that frames this shitty excuse for a closet, the floor creaking under them. "You... kind of vanished on me, there."

Chris's eyes flick to them and then away again. "Loud," He manages, and he sounds like he's forcing the word out between gritted teeth. Maybe he is. "Too, too, too... too loud. Too much, too... many."

"I guess Ben called it." Laken sighs, pulling out their phone and sending Ben a quick text that they found Chris and everything's fine. they get a thumbs-up in reply almost immediately. Ben must have been as anxious as they are, if he was just watching for their text to come in. "Do you want me to call Jake to come get you, or..."

"No!" He snaps it, and Laken tries not to wince. He's just struggling with the noise of the party, they tell themself, he's not actually angry. Chris almost never gets angry, and even then it's only at himself. Which... is worse, somehow. "No. Just... Quiet, it's... it's it's quiet."

"Right. Do you want me to stay with you? Be quiet with you?"

He shakes his head, but he doesn't say anything else. His mouth moves, but no further sounds come out.

"Chris, did..." They want to ask, did someone say something to you? Sometimes people said things, referenced pets or something in a way that set him off. But even if someone had... he probably wouldn't tell them, at least not now, not when every word seemed to have to filter through layer after layer of self-protection in his mind. "Never mind. Is there anything I can do for you? Water, or..."

He shakes his head. "No. Just. Um. Quiet... quiet, now. Please?"

"Yeah." Laken leans over and presses a kiss to his hair. He tips his head against their lips and they exhale in relief. "I love you, Chris. Come back if you can, but if you can't, that's okay, too. Just don't hurt yourself, okay? Things should start winding down in a couple hours." They take the little plastic bat and push it against the hand that's still scratching at his shoulder, until he takes hold of it again, pressing it against his mouth and running it back and forth, back and forth.

Chris is quiet, but as they open the door to head back into the hallway, they hear a quiet, "Love, love you," from Chris, barely audible.

They smile as they close the door. Down the hall, the sounds of the party hit them like a brick, beckoning them back to the noise and the cheer and the awful fucking Christmas music still blaring at top volume. Someone yells something out and the whole damn crowd cheers, making Laken wince at it feels nearly deafening.

Maybe Chris has the right idea.

@finder-of-rings @endless-whump @arlin-always-writing @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @whumpyourdamnpears @cubeswhump @burtlederp @whump-tr0pes @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @outofangband @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things

#whump #chris the strawberry blond romantic #recovery whump #recovering whumpee #overstimulation tw #autistic whumpee #referenced alcohol use #laken mamani #referenced dubcon #angst #fluff #comf #I guess this is the one that wins out first of the drafts?#we'll see if kauri or vince wins out next

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danawinter · 1 month ago

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at first i thought the idea of the witches' road just being a hex controlled by billy was pretty unlikely, but i just now remembered that interview where someone asked jac schaeffer if wanda had ever walked the witches' road and her replying that she did not know how to answer that.

which has brought me back to this theory, because why is that question so hard to answer? sure, it might be a bit more tricky than a yes/no answer, but it was the only time i've really seen jac stumped in this press tour.

why wouldn't she just say something along the lines of 'well, wanda's pretty early in her witch journey, but perhaps' or even a simple 'i don't know'? she's not the sole authority on mcu wanda (even though she probably should be, but that's a different story) so admitting that she's not in control of a backstory fact like this, or just avoiding/circumventing the question would not be weird.

so her not being able to answer this question has got me wondering if it might be true that the road (or at least this road) might not be real. since then of course wanda wouldn't have ever been there, but jac wouldn't be able to be honest about that without giving this plot away.

some other facts that have got me thinking about this theory below the cut:

when they arrive at the road, billy says "it's exactly how i imagined it"; is that because he actually imagined it into existence?

him being the one coming up with the trials could explain why the third trial was so weird (besides the fact that it looks like it was never a trial to begin with);

coming up with a trial for jen was simple since he'd been in her store and knew she was a potions' witch, so he knew the aesthetic to build there;

coming up with a trial for alice was simple because he knew about her mom's music already and even had bonded with her a bit during the first trial;

but what was he supposed to do next? he barely knows rio, lilia is just spacing out the whole time, so agatha was the best option, but still pretty tricky. (was he asking about her son because he was curious, or so he had a better shot at planning her trial?)

this could also explain why the third trial had this 80s aesthetic; we have no idea why that era would be connected to agatha, but billy (and tommy) met agatha for the first time in the 80s episode of wandavision, so he might've intuitively connected that decade to her.

of course a lot of people have already commented on how typical it is that he's always been the one to kick off the trials, even when everyone was pretty thoroughly looking around in the second trial, so what's that about?

#i would still have a lot of questions; like why he's going through all this work when there have to be easier ways to accomplish his goal #though i guess we don't even really know for sure what his goal is at this point so things might up if we learn more about that #i'm all-in-all still pretty skeptical about this theory; but if they do it while answering my questions i could be okay with it #also this would leave the actual witches' road still available for a future (scarlet witch) movie #agatha all along #jac schaeffer #wiccan

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moongazeonastarfillednight · 8 months ago

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The Terror: When, How, Where... (PART 1)

See part 2 for the end of my sanity (ep 6 through 9. Wasn't enough characters left on the post for ep 10)

See part 3 (and episode 10)

As I am writing the fic, I was getting frustrated at trying to figure out the timeline of the expedition. More specifically, what happens after they dropped the Victory Point Note.

Therefore, in order to organize my ideas, and also because it might be of interests to some of you, I will document here what I got.

Episode 1 through 5 for now.

Methodology

If we agree that the showrunners (and Dan Simmons to an extent) made their research, we should be able to match some of the event of the story with notable point of interests where artefacts and/or remains were found over the numerous searches made to ascertain the fate of the Franklin Expedition

I also tried to take note of all indications of time passing so that I might document their speed travel and the dates when they are not mentioned.

... And the death count. (Departing Beechey Island with 24 officers and 102 men)

Finally, I also used the following website to keep track of sunrises and sunsets: https://www.timeanddate.com/

1927 Admiralty Map

I may be an amateur in this kind of research but I find myself frustrated that the most complete map I've been able to find showing all that was found between 1850 and 1926 is shown on this map from 1927

To be noted, we now know that the Skeleton of H. Peglar was more probably W. Gibson or T. Armitage

The Skeleton of Lt. Le Vesconte has also been reevaluated and is now believed to be that of Harry Goodsir ( :( )

Also, as it happens, if we compare to 2024 maps, we can say that this is not the actual shape of KWI (close enough!).

Therefore, for my own sanity, I recreated with modern maps. Is it accurate? Well, I wouldn't publish it but I think it gives a good enough view of where they went and where they were going:

Where the Ships had drifted to in June 1847 (According to G. Gore's coordinates left on the Victory point note)

Where the Ships had drifted with the Pack by April 1848 (Victory Point Note)

Victory Point

McClintock's Boat Place (proposed to be same location as NgLJ-1)

Camp with Many skeletons

From D. Simmons' The Terror - The Hospital Camp

Peglar Skeleton

Starvation Cove

A Bunch of cairns in the area

Harry Goodsir

Gjoa Haven (Netsilik Settlement)

Fort Resolution (Dear God... look at how far they wanted to walk/Canoe/make portage...)

Matching the Show

Episode 1 - Go for Broke

Location 1 - David Young's grave (71.22, -96.60)

Date: September 5th 1846

Nighttime - None

Daylight - 14h 57 min

Twilight - 9h 03 min

Sunset: 7:51 PM - Sunrise: 4:55 AM

David Young was buried 7 days before they were beset in the ice (see point 3 on the map below).

During the dinner in which we were regaled by the tale of Mr. Fitzjames' Holes, Franklin discuss that they were approaching a bigger channel, which is now know as the McClintock Channel (see point 1 on the map below), meaning that at the time, they were still in the Franklin Strait.

On the day after his death, Franklin discuss their next course and assure that they must be 'nearly in sight of KW Land'. Crozier suggests it might take them weeks to actually make it to KWI. This would confirm what was infer above.

As we can see the two ships fitting in a cozy little cove while the grave is being dug, I would like to propose Point 4 on the map below as Ficitonal David Young's final resting place, on Tasmania Islands

Location 2 - Ships September 1846 (70.25, -98.00)

Date: September 12th 1846

Nighttime - None

Daylight - 13h 45 min

Twilight - 10h 15 min

Sunset: 7:19 PM - Sunrise: 5:34 AM

Well, for this one, we need to use the extrapolation provided by the 1927's Admiralty map by tracing the line from where the ships were known to be in 1847 and 1848 (Point 5 and 6). (see point 3)

For Future Reference:

Travel Time between Loc 1 and Loc 2 - 7 days

Distance between Loc 1 and Loc 2 :70 NM / 80 Miles / 130 km

Average Travel Speed - 11.4 miles a day

Travel Condition - Ice breaking

DEATH COUNT: 2 + 3 (Total 5)

24 Officers and 100 Men remaining

Episode 2 - Gore

Location 3 - The Ships in 1847 (70.15, -98.30)

Date: May 24th 1847

Nighttime - None

Daylight - 24h min

Twilight - None

Sunset: N/A - Sunrise: N/A

Coordinates and Date From the Victory Point Note (see Point 1)

Location 4 - The Cairn (69.66, -98.27)

Date: May 28th 1847

Nighttime - None

Daylight - 24h min

Twilight - None

Sunset: N/A - Sunrise: N/A

From the ships, Gore lead his party to James Clark Ross' Cairn.

Now, in the Show, they found JCR's Cairn without an issue. In reality, while Gore had found the Cairn just fine, Crozier and Fitzjames did not. One of the reason for it is that JCR had, apparently, made a miscalculation in reporting where he had erected the Cairn by several miles. Honestly, the way that Fitzjames had written the words was so confusing, I appreciate that the show made the whole thing so much simpler, ahah. So let's say that it matches what we know now as Victory Point. Easy Peasy! (see Point 2)

To be Noted, we know the dates of departure from ships and arrival at cairn from the Victory Point Note.

Location 5 - The Ice Camp (69.665, -98.32)

Date: May 28th 1847

Nighttime - None

Daylight - 24h min

Twilight - None

Sunset: N/A - Sunrise: N/A

The Camp was raised just beyond the ice ridge that blocked the way form the shore and the Cairn was only a mile or so away. (see Point 3... hidden between point 2)

Of Note: That hail storm's cloud coverage was intense to say the least... So dark :')

Back to Loc 3 (70.15, -98.30)

Date: June 2nd 1847

Nighttime - None

Daylight - 24h min

Twilight - None

Sunset: N/A - Sunrise: N/A

Wednesday is a good day to drink with the Captain :D which makes it the Wednesday following May 28th 1847! So it's June 2nd!

For Future Reference:

Loc 2 to Loc 3

Travel time - 8 months, 12 days or 254 days

Travel Distance: 8.6 NM / 10 miles / 16 km

Average Travel Speed - 0.04 miles a day

Travel Condition - Pack drifting

Loc 3 to Loc 4/5

Travel time - 5 days

Travel Distance: 29 NM / 33.5 miles / 54 km

Average Travel Speed - 6.7 miles a day

Travel Condition - 6 Men hauling Sledge on Ice

Loc 4/5 Back to Loc 3

Travel time - 4 days

Travel Distance: 29 NM / 33.5 miles / 54 km

Average Travel Speed - 8.4 miles a day

Travel Condition - 6 Men hauling ASS and Sledge on Ice

DEATH COUNT: 1 (Total: 6)

23 Officers and 100 Men remaining

Episode 3 - The Ladder

This one is fun because, well... they're not moving! I could point out where Silna ends up but it looks like she remain close enough to the ships that it doesn't matter all that much. So, let's just make note of the date and events:

Location 3 - Ships in June 1847 (70.15, -98.30)

For the duration of the episode:

Nighttime - None

Daylight - 24h min

Twilight - None

Sunset: N/A - Sunrise: N/A

Date: between June 2nd and June 10th 1847

- Silna makes her igloo a few miles away from the Ships

Date: June 11th 1847

- Franklin Dies

- Crozier drafts his resignation letter

Date: June 12th 1847

- Franklin's leg is buried :')

- Lieutenant Fairholme is sent to KWI.

DEATH COUNT: 2 (Total: 8)

22 Officers and 99 Men remaining

Episode 4 - Punished, As a Boy

Another fun bottle Episode!

Location 3 - Ships in same approx position as June 1847 (70.15, -98.30)

Date: November 23rd 1847

Nighttime - 12h 35 min

Daylight - None

Twilight - 11h 25min

Sunset: 11:47 am - Sunrise: 10:51 am

- William Strong's birthday :)

- We know because it's the last sunrise of the year!

- Evans and Strong die :(

They searched for a long time if it was just before 4 pm when they got the alarm and then they came back in time for last sunrise at 11 am...

Date: November 24th 1847 to November 25th 1847

Nighttime - 12h 35 min

Daylight - None

Twilight - 11h 25min

Sunset: N/A - Sunrise: N/A

- Hickey has a communion with Tuunbaq (supposedly next day or so)

- Then Hickey gets evily booped.

DEATH COUNT: 2 + Hickey's postern (Total: 10)

22 Officers and 97 Men remaining

Episode 5 - First Shot the Winner, Lads

More fun in a bottle. These boys are not going far...

Honestly, for this one, the trouble was figuring out how much time had passed. For one, we know it's not yet Christmas because Christmas is, in fact, mentioned in Episode 6 (And Lady Jane's Christmas Pudding, hear hear) as part of the meeting between the officer and there was not yet a cooperation between the Terror Lts and Fitzjames for counting the supplies.

ALSO! That scene where Mr. Wentzell got killed dead over his nail... well, it gave me the feeling that either the review of the crew is not daily or that they've been on Erebus for a short time because 1) Fitzjames doesn't know their names and 2) He has to repeat the instructions about cleanliness... Perhaps they sent the Terrors in waves and not all 50 of them at once.

Other details to be mentionned:

Hickey is not recovered yet and Goodsir suspects he might reopen his wounds from working.

Goodsir has had time to be quite good at speaking inuktitut. Now, he could have had a continuous learning experience from Dr. McDonald since June 47 and before but considering that Dr. McDonald is stationed in Terror and Goodsir in Erebus, I suspect they did not have much time to have a class together...

Finally. Crozier suggests that he would be 2, perhaps, perhaps more... sick from sobering up. He got up just in time for First sunrise (Jan 17th).

So! We can infer that the episode might have spanned over 1 or 2 days (what's with the movement between the ships and the whole Rat Wedding).

My best guess is that the dates for this whole episode would be:

Date: December 14th 1847 to December 18th 1847

Nighttime - 13h 32 min

Daylight - None

Twilight - 11h 28min

Sunset: N/A - Sunrise: N/A

Why December 14th? Because it would be Edward Little's Birthday and I feel like it is appropriate for his character to have his boss send him back to the killing cold for more booze :') (December 16th to December 20th seems more likely but...)

This would give Crozier a full month to recover from sobering up and 22 days for Goodsir to learn inuktitut (impressive!), for Hickey backside to feel better and for Fitzjames to NOT learn the name of his new Terrors.

DEATH COUNT: 3 + Blanky's leg (Total: 13)

22 Officers and 94 Men remaining

That's it for now. I'll do the last 5 episodes soonish...

Conclusion to the first sets of episode: Sunsets and Sunrises were whacky in June 1847 but, so far, distance and travel times make good sense. If the accuracy holds up until episode 10, we might be able to have a pretty good idea of what, when and where everything happened in episodes 6 through 10.

#The Terror #The Terror AMC #Reference #The Terror Timeline #19th century dead sailors #At least now it's written somewhere that is not 120301923 word files...#Might need later editing #Super duper long post

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