#lettie's mundane life

[llondonfog]

local farmer's markets are great because you go and ask them for four potatoes and leave with like two pounds for the same price because the man thought you needed more potatoes in your life

[manasreads]

The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman - 5/5

Genre: (Modern) Fantasy

Short summary: After leaving a funeral of a person close to him, our protagonist returns to a place of his childhood, magically drawn to it, and remembers events from when he was young, long forgotten. Some parts mundane and some fantastical, we get to relieve a specific memory from that time.

Quick sidenote: I've read three books since the last review here but they're German books and it's a four part saga, so I probably won't review it entirely til I read book four as well.

In depth (spoilers!) thoughts under the cut

I've been a fan of Gaiman's books ever since my now boyfriend then best friend gifted me Neverwhere, Stardust, and a signed and personalized copy of American Gods some years back. Much like Neverwhere and American Gods, this book also manages a perfect mix of fantasy and the mundane, for lack of a better word.

His writing style just always pulls me in immediately and I read this book in a few hours total.

I personally loved how Neil managed to capture this feeling of there being another world, other creatures and a sort of magic just beyond our grasp. And of course it makes perfect sense that these things are so much easier to find and believe as a child. That there are moments that, when you look back at them you realize, might have included elements that don't quite make sense anymore as an adult but very much did at the time.

Another thing that I really liked, a more subtle thing, was the perfect circle the book drew, in a way, of the protagonist starting at a point of not remembering these memories, reliving them with us, and once more forgetting them again. The subtle nod of how this has occurred before a few times and the hint that it will happen again. That it's a way for Lettie, who sacrificed herself for him, to check in on him and see what he's doing with the life he's been gifted.

[lettielowenstein]

As the days she checked off meticulously on her desk calendar had fallen away― taking both the summer and the time remaining until her thirtieth birthday along with it― Lettie had found herself mulling over where she was in life and all of the sticking points she allowed herself to consider when she allowed the dreaded weight of 'what-if's' slip over her shoulders― an albatross in their own right and one that Lettie was beginning to think she would never cast away from herself. Which was to say that she'd been clinging to Terry with a ferocity not unlike a scared child clinging to their parents' clothes for wont of another form of security.

She had three missed calls from her mother staring her in the face every time she checked her phone and four texts from her father she hadn't had the stomach to open― mundane as they likely were: 'The Cubs are complete shit this season― we should catch a game, kid.' Or: 'You need to call your mother, Charlie, she misses you.' Or: 'Your brothers send their love― we missed you at dinner.' All of it was normal and it should have made Lettie feel anything other than guilt or dread or whatever combination of blackest feeling that stuck so firmly in her chest she wondered if it might finally be the thing to crack her open altogether. Terry had come to fill a safer position in her life― a parental figure that could look at her without forcing her to face their disappointment for all of her mistakes, for all of the minutes and hours and days and years she'd allowed to slip through her fingers like so much sand.

She would call her mother soon, she reasoned, and knew that she was lying to herself, as she always had, so remarkably well. She was sitting cross-legged amidst the boxes on Terry's living room floor― sketching the view outside and scribbling half a grocery list and a reminder to ask Micah when he was free for coffee next into the sketchbook that was never far from her― when Terry's voice all but catapulted her conscious mind into coherence and Lettie physically startled before she tilted her head back to look at her aunt and smiled. "I'm cool with a hike," she agreed easily. "I mean, I'm good with whatever you wanna do, auntie. Are there any fun birds around this way lately? I don't know what their..." Lettie paused, waving one graphite stained hand through the air. "Migration schedules? Is that what it would be? I mean, I don't know what they are either way so it's not like that matters and now I'm going to be thinking about it for three hours but like, anyway, that's not important," she paused just long enough to catch a breath, wonder how it was humanly possible to be so animated with one person and so quiet with another and readied herself to speak again.

"I can help with these if you wanna finish them before the heat death of the universe comes around but if you want to take a break then let me change my shoes and we can go lean into the very Thoreau energy you have going on around here." With a creak in her knees that should've been alarming more than Lettie found it amusing, the artist pushed herself to her feet and rolled her neck until it cracked― tiptoeing through the boxes around her until she found her backpack and promptly tucked her sketchbook away and flopped down again― poised to change her shoes based on her aunt's response to her comment.

STARTER FOR: @lettielowenstein LOCATION: terry's cabin / forest lake

Terry had submitted to the impositions of social constraints for most of their life. In the past two months, they had managed to slowly remove those masks in favor of something like a withdrawal from the world—the upkeep of the architectural firm they’d headed for more than a decade delegated to an upstanding partner, the role of their son’s primary caretaker shared, or at least distributed to something larger than what they’d held in the past twenty-nine years of his existence, with Micah’s father. But, family? Their earliest memory? The role of a family member could not be unshaken, and in many cases, Terry would not like to. Branches could not separate themselves independently from trees unless subjected to strong natural forces, the biological mechanisms of disease and decay, of wear and tear—and, as an architect by profession, Terry had found a natural inclination in fortifying a structure. 

“I was thinking we could go on a hike today,” Terry cut through the air, almost absently. The Lowensteins had always been drawn to quietude, but Terry and—as argued by their brother—Lettie, were even more so. The only downside was, in shared company, it was always quite easy for either pair to disappear. In their extended family, both had their own ways of making themselves small. 

Despite their suggestion, they moved around the living room with ease, finding themselves in their element as they carefully fixed the stack of shelves that held some of their first blueprints. An internal attempt at archiving their legacy, though the beauty of making a career in transforming reality was that, by definition, they stood for themselves.

“Unless you’d like to help out with… well, this whole debacle—” Terry let out a chuckle, drawing attention to the boxes upon boxes still laid on their feet with a flicker of their hand, which had transformed their living room into an organized mess. “I should be finished with this box in about ten minutes, if you don’t mind waiting.” They added as they leaned over the box once more, performing the customary task of taking one blueprint tube and transferring it to the shelf, the aligned cylinders with their brown finishes almost resembling wooden logs of timber.

[madamhatter]

act 0. observer’s notes  Bastion.

a conversation about the (there lack of) manifestation of Sophie’s bastion.

however, with the idea of Topaxi characters being summonable in F/GO, the bastion could manifest itself as a move, or secondary trait, but not as a noble phantasm. 

The caster’s axiom is their 'one truth’ brought to existence, breaking the threshold of abstract and infiltrating reality. It is the wish that births the bastion, the contradiction that both exists in peace yet in torn to pieces when it exists. (Interpreted from Call It A Lesson: Topaxi - Bastions). 

Bastions work as projections of the inner person’s wish to the WORLD - the line between reality and self is given a bridge to where the interior of the self breaches through. It is the undoing of impossibilities and reveling in humanity’s strength: doing. No matter what the odds and costs are, humanity will always do. 

What then becomes of the girl whose words become true and who can speak life? A power so synced and alike to a bastion, one whose magic bypasses ‘defiance’ and ‘breaking.’  

Defied fate, defied mankind, defied unnatural, defied natural, and defied divines, all matter and ideas that were relative. Why? For you create absolution. excerpt from description of Sophie’s unnamed ability in Stat Sheet.

Surely, her magic is on par, if not a similar style, to bastions.

Yet, it would be foolish to consider that.

Walking aporia that Sophie Hatter is, she is a wishless girl. The self is one that has been countlessly built, torn apart, and stitched back together for someone else’s convenience. A temporal constitution means that wishes, desires, and other personal attributes to the mind are seen as wasteful and unnecessary. No matter how much her heart may bleed for a taste of humanity, she will consciously deny herself. 

If she were to have a wish, and the only she could remember, was one for her sisters. It never was a ‘I wish,’ but an ‘I want.’ I want Martha and Lettie to be happy. Which, in truth, is the type of wish she’d have generally for everyone.

Someone could read this as her wanting to see those around her living the life she can’t have. But that line of thought neglects how much simpler, but sadder, of a person Sophie is - she just wants people happy. And if someone were to live like her, they wouldn’t be happy because this life cannot complete that. 

Instead, she finds that her life can be used to fulfill the happiness of others. She pushes aside the concept of wishes and prefers grounded methods to accomplishing what others want. Wishing, personally, hurts Sophie because she will tell herself that it’s impossible and a waste of time (no matter how much she wants it).

If you can already tell, her own contradictions and hypocrisies fit in line with bastions. However, without a stable ‘wish’ as it is one that changes accordingly to the environment and situation, Sophie Hatter would face large difficulties being able to use a bastion.

Which, for literary purposes, we can describe this incapability as a symbol of her own conflicts and displacement that persist in her life in Topaxi. Her idea of life is fractured - the normalcy she cultivated and maintain consumed by fire and war - the purposes in her life (her sisters) far away - her confrontations with her trauma and the ‘her’ who she thought long died pushed away...

Until Sophie Hatter regains her sense of self, she will not be capable of performing a bastion. Until she figures out who she is and accepts that she is actually someone, she will not be able to move on. Until she finally confronts herself, she will only continue in dread and turmoil. 

On the flip side, a servant!Sophie from YNI would be able to use a bastion. But not in the way it should be. 

As discussed in my workshopping post, YNI heroes who have miasma (i.e., innates and artificials) would probably have their “origins” recording the heavy influence of miasma. Miasma is colloquially known as “rot” in the D.M. era, which itself can be a temporary or permanent consequence of ichor-exposure. 

In those who have ichor in them, miasma is permanent. So, it is more likely and common that their ALTER forms are summoned as opposed to their ‘original forms.’ Summoning the ‘unrotten’ forms of these spirits are very rare but does not speak much of who summoned them - it is more speaking to the how the endless story of Topaxi continues. 

Then comes Alter!Sophie (Sophter). 

The premise of this servant is “monstrosity under the mundane,” with the themes focusing on the erasure of the self from taking on others ( “Where do ‘I’ begin and end when everything is of me is from someone else? Do ‘I’ even exist? Or am I just the ‘you’ seen with your eyes?”) At least, this is the idea that comes directly from the writing ideas that I’ve created from YNI when focusing on Sophie’s identity displaced and reworked constantly in her lifetime (be it from loved ones, surviving the war, escaping the Witch of the Waste’s clutches, etc.) 

The overall idea of Sophter’s abilities is connected to the last idea much more when her body becomes a ‘receiver.’ The idea of being an tool of endless change for utility is permanent - however, it is the fact that the ‘self’ within is overlaid by granting and fulfilling the desires of others. As the YNI counterpart is able to feel and interpret ichor, which is an invisible and evermoving current, there comes the saint graph’s creation and its......faults. It mutated this ability and mindset, unable to differentiate from the other and how the person is remembered/acted in their history. Thus, exists the husk of Sophter with her decrepit philosophy in unaltered and full view. 

Simply put, the warped conscious of Sophie, with miasma infuence, is what ultimately made Sophter the Avenger class. 

Now, how the bastion itself resonates is that it takes the “wish” aspect and combines it with Sophie’s “fulfillment” ideal. The servant has no wish for themselves, but this changes in accordance to the levels/proper development made in the interlude. 

The secondary ability would probably be called “A Promise To The World.” It says that for those whose wishes and desires are filtered/received by the avenger will be granted, no matter what. Mainly applies to the Master. Following the idea of ‘absolution’ that comes with Sophie’s original magic, it does mean that Sophter can be a relentless and ruthless opponent that will act in and out of battle to accomplish what is needed of her. 

Now, the thing is, this ability does not work 100% with spoken command. If Sophter senses a discrepancy between spoken idea and the ‘true’ desire, she will act accordingly to what the heart wants. This can be a very, very detrimental obstacle for those who summon Sophter and those who summoned them may be greeted with the grim reality that the calm and, sometimes, nonchalant servant acts as a something inhuman.

Though, the master’s wishes and desires may not be synched to “A Promise to the World.” There are faults within the coding and anything strong enough (not another Master’s but an interference of a higher being) and those wishes and desire may override the Master’s.It is a very dangerous situation if the master doesn’t have a high constitution or there’s very specific situations (i.e., certain YNI characters may meddle with this...maybe someone like Kizin). 

[saint-starflicker]

I think this partially comes from recognition that we have all done things we regret from ignorance and privilege (we are communicating in English over the internet: we both probably have plenty of privileges that this is only one indicator of) and at the moment we crossed over that personal growing edge we would have wanted to be comforted. Sometimes it's even a moment of growing out of internalized misogyny, or internalized racism, in some way. Or it could be as mundane as somebody having to cook for themselves for the first time in their life, and the frying oil keeps bubbling up and splattering, and they hate it but remember somebody else did this for them every day and sometimes more than once a day.

But I cannot imagine that Ramy ever expected to be coddled in forgiveness for asking "why are you girls?" after (if?) he realized that girls at their Univ were already treated as second-class citizens. Neither can I imagine that Robin would want to inform the non-diaspora Cantonese people around him that he can't help despising them because of his terrible childhood and that they should understand and comfort him—No, he keeps that between Ramy and himself.

With Letty, I think she really believes that she understands, because she feels bad, so isn't that coming into awareness that everybody who has grown up can understand? But, uhhh, she is not so understands or awareness actually.

She bounces right back to thinking she knows better, and I think there's a part of that in the entitlement she has...to be comforted...that makes the response to comfort her feel so icky. In good faith, it would be a metamorphosis. The cohort freely gives that comfort to Robin (even if it's a literal slap to the face and scheduled shifts to have nervous breakdowns) because that was a big change for him too, that he cannot undo.

But when afterwards Letty keeps telling herself all these lies-of-omission, that she understands, and then that she's not projecting trauma about her brother on to her friends, and that she's not still bubbleheaded in her privilege—that she has life figured out and her friends all figured out and she doesn't have to learn or listen or change herself anymore...that their entire colonial culture and society doesn't need to really change...It's undoing the understanding that she showed them. It's "not performative" because she's really not deliberately manipulating them, but it is performative in that she expects what she cried about to be all the personal work that she ever needs to do.

To me, that is what makes it so icky: They gave her that chance but her lead poisoning of them all was still there the whole time.

I just finished Babel an Arcane History and was pleased to see the healthy growing fanbase of it (uhhh probably i'm not very good at gauging these things). I'd just like to say that the most important part of the book for me was when Letty so-called "understood" the suffering her POC friends went through and their motivations, and then started crying which forced her friends to comfort her- the way this book ADDRESSED that this was UNFAIR and UNCOMFORTABLE was so important. I think it applies to every oppressed community- when you explain and explain your situation to a privileged person and they break down in such dramatic apologies and "empathy" that now you have to tell them it's okay it's not your fault don't worry I'm fine!!! that's frustrating. and it's wrong. But it's so hard to articulate HOW it's wrong and WHY it's wrong. And if you don't comfort them? You're made to feel jaded and cold hearted and unforgiving. And extreme and violent and hiveminded. What is that? Why does it happen? Why do women have to comfort men? POC people comfort white people? Children comfort parents? Trans people comfort cis people? Queer people comfort straight people?

Thank you Ms. Kuang for your contributions. I felt multiple times that the feelings I could never articulate were voiced beautifully and succinctly in Babel.

[novemberseas-novemberskies]

Week 1: Sign Up

Collette Darling

I would be lying through my teeth if I said that riding in the Races last year had changed my life significantly. After my spectacular failure to place or even show, I returned home with my proverbial tail between my legs, the taste of disappointment and fear the most bitter of medicines. Mother was kind enough to hold her tongue, though I could see every sharp “I told you so” written plainly on her face as she placed a hot mug of tea in front of me and left me to burn my tongue and mull over what came next. My evenings playing the piano at the Black Eyed Girl didn’t bring in nearly enough to keep us afloat, and with my days suddenly clear of any other commitments involving bloodthirsty water horses, I turned my efforts toward finding a more lucrative trade. It came in the form of a solution so obvious and serendipitous, I could scarcely believe I’d managed to stumble upon it. Due to a lovely island lady being swept off her feet to the mainland by a handsome tourist with a heavy coin purse, I joined a small and respected subset of Thisby’s population: I became a schoolmarm.

Now before you conjure up visions of a bent and wizened old crone creaking about a drafty room or a tightly buttoned up nun rapping knuckles with a switch, I must assure you that I am far from the hapless spinster I may very well have allowed myself to become after my defeat. It took some time for the parents of Thisby to become accustomed to a teacher who rides a bloodthirsty water horse and teaches her students swordplay with wooden staves to put on the best of Shakespeare’s plays. Truthfully, there were several complaints against me and my unconventional methods in those first weeks, and my teaching career was almost quite short-lived. But I persevered, and I do believe I’ve done quite well at it. The parents have yet to chase me out of town with pitchforks and torches, and they pay me. Not as much as my education should demand, but enough. We are comfortable again, stable, slowly becoming accustomed to the fact that a good life can be had here in our little home with the little money that Mother and I bring in.

And so it is that I am now pouring over children’s ledgers, correcting grammar and spelling, and praying to the old gods and the new that they might give me the necessary knowledge to confront the terror that is teaching mathematics to a roomful of children giddy with the scent of autumn blowing in on the cool air. I can’t blame them. Propping my chin on my hand, I gaze out the small window of my bedroom-turned-study for the evening. The trees are already tipped with fiery finery, and I can hear the waves crashing against the cliffs. An insistent reminder that it won’t be long before the beaches are teeming with men and capail uisce vying for dominance. And, despite my better judgment, I envy them.

Over the past year, I’ve pushed down every thought of the Races as they’ve risen to the surface, dismissing them as distractions, flights of fancy. What need have I of suicidal tendencies when life by all accounts has improved? But, much like the children, I can smell and taste the change in the air. The draw to the sea becomes stronger with every passing day, as does my restlessness, as though the more fervently I try to ignore them the more bewitching the sea’s call becomes. 

Questions whisper at the back of my mind, soft but demanding. Is this all I am meant for? Life as an island teacher, living only for the promise of steady payment? Where has my ambition, once so strong and vibrant, gone? Who I am now if I have forgotten who I was? Where is the young woman who spat blood on the stone and declared her right to ride? Selfish though it may be, I have begun to miss the woman I once was. The Lettie of years past would not be satisfied with simple comfort. She would strive for more, for better. Truthfully, I’ve begun to see myself less and less in the mirror, unruly curls tamed into a proper bun, skin softened by days indoors, fiery eyes dulled by the dull mundanity of life. It is a feeling borne of discontent and autumn air, and it has begun to worm its way deeply into my very soul. And tonight, with the promise of November not far off, the pull upon my heart is simply too strong to ignore.

Rubbing at my eyes, I sigh and snap the ledger shut. I am not making any more progress today, and besides that, my classroom will soon be sparsely filled as children are kept from school to help their parents usher in the tourists to island life and, far more importantly, island businesses. There is sunlight left yet before the island is plunged into night, so I wrap myself in a coat and scarf, kiss Charlotte on the top of her head in passing, making her giggle into her hot cocoa, and set out across the cliffs toward Gwen McAvoy’s little farm. Yes, we are comfortable. No, we do not need the money simply to survive any longer. But I do believe there is magic on this island, and it is calling to me once again. Mother will not be happy, of course, but neither will I until I am galloping down the sand on Nyx’s back, the possibilities spread out before me, endless as the sea.  

[anotherfxinglovesong]

     There was always one place Letty could go when her brain felt like it was eating itself, and that was the beach. It had been a part of her life from a young age after moving to LA. The warm weather, easy going lifestyle, and the celebrities all around her. It was funny though, sometimes she craved actually being around mundane scenery, and ordinary people. “Wow. Hey...sorry, I nearly walked right by you without even noticing.” She was clearly embarrassed, having practically almost walked right into her ex lover without even seeing anyone around her. “My brain was somewhere else apparently.”

(open to males or females)

[gemayberry]

Noble Mages Teaser Post 8: Character Q & A

We've spent the last 3 and a half weeks talking about magic and all it's uses, but there is nothing else to say on the topic. With one last teaser post promised, I turned to my beta reader on discord and asked him to come up with 3 questions for each of the main characters. He sent me some real brain teasers. I've dug deep into my creative mind to bring you these answers.

Q. What is watching death in your own experience like? Is there a uniqueness to every death or do you feel they are more or less similar? Why?

Lettie:Lettie sits in silence for a moment, the only sound is the steady drum beat on her legs, bum bum bum-bum bum bum bum-bum. Death...it's this... horrible thing. It doesn't matter who is dying, whether they are friends or enemies, whether they are trying to kill you or save you, none of that matters. Every life that is taken from this world... we are all important to someone. Someone loves us, someone is going to miss us when we are gone. To be there for that moment, when a light blinks out of this world, it's the same every time. It doesn't get any easier. And I know that sometimes people have to die so that others may live, I will always fight to protect those I care for, even if it means killing my enemies, but when that light blinks out, they're no longer my enemy. They are someones friend, their lover, their father, their son. They have loved ones who will miss them, who will wonder how they died, why they died. It never gets easier, and that's a good thing. Because if killing was ever easy, then what would stop us from killing each other?

Q. With the concept of death in the discussion, what of life? Is life the most important stage of existence?

Lettie:The Goddess teaches us that all stages of life are important, and that death is not the end, but rather the start of a new adventure. I grew up being told this, but I find it difficult to comprehend when faced with death. Lettie pauses for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. I suppose, in the end, the teachings are true. Reincarnation means that death is but the start of a new life, but are you still the same person? If you take away someones memories, their experiences, are they still the same person you know and love? I don't know. All I know is that this life is what we have. Take that away, and what's left?

Q. What do you find is difficult about life? Does anything bore you?

Lettie:I found life to be the most simple before setting out on an adventure with my sister and Hyam. It was...peaceful. In the end it was my decision to leave, I knew that the village wasn't where we were meant to be, and with our parents gone, there was nothing left to hold us there. Sometimes, when I think about everything that has happened in the last few weeks since leaving the village, I wonder if I would have made a different choice. To answer your question, for the average person life is quite simple. You get up, you greet your family, you do your chores, and you spend time with your friends. It's all so mundane. I sometimes wish I could go back to that, but I know that life is not for me. I was not meant for an easy life, and after all that I've been through, I don't think I could ever go back even if I wanted to. Life is most difficult when you have no control over it.

Q. In the heat of battle lots of things can happen at once. What is the most surprising thing that has ever happened in combat for you? Why?

Alyson: That would be the day I discovered my fire magic. It was a lot like discovering my earth magic but was activated very differently. The blinding rage I felt when I thought I had lost my sister, it brought out this primal force inside of me. I'm ashamed to admit it but... I lost control. It scared me that this power was hiding inside of me, waiting for me to lose control before coming out.

Q. The odds stacked against you and your allies, with inevitable defeat on the horizon, do you surrender and fight another day, or die a hero?

Alyson:I think that depends on the situation. Hyam has been teaching me the basics of tactics while we travel and if you have allies who will come to your rescue, then it's better to surrender than to die, but if nobody is going to come and rescue you then surrender is about as bad an option as there is, because they will likely kill you but only after they've extracted everything you know from your mind.

Q. Do you believe the love of one's family can defeat hate? Why or why not?

Alyson:Family is the most important thing in the world, and it can absolutely defeat hate. I have to believe that, otherwise what is the point of it all? And it's not just the family your born with. I love my sister absolutely, but I don't know where I would be without Hyam. He's the big brother I never knew I needed. We may not have been born family, but he is every bit the family that my sister, my mother, and my father are. As long as Hyam and Lettie are at my side, there's absolutely nothing we can't do.

Q. What aspect of spiritual magic is your favorite? Why?

Hyam:That would have to be the ability to summon the spirits of animals to enhance yourself or others. It's not an ability I use often in combat, as I have more powerful combat magic, but when I was growing up I would use it to enhance my speed and run around the palace at speeds that left me little more than a blur to the people watching. Or I might take up enhanced hearing and listen to people from far away. Once I even used it to take on the camouflage of a chameleon so I sneak around undetected.

Q. What are some limiting factors concerning how powerful a mage can be? Are these factors simple limiters that can be broken, or are they permanent barriers?

Hyam:There are both limiters and permanent barriers to how powerful a mage can become. It's rare for a self-taught mage to become as powerful as a natural mage because a natural mage is born with a much larger mana pool. It's like two people racing a 10 km race and one of them is given a 5km headstart. Each of the elements is only capable of so much power on it's own, and once you've reached that limit of power there's nowhere else to go. Beyond that, the only thing limiting any mage is their own will and creativity. You can do a lot with a little if you just open your mind to it.

Q. What connects you to the world in a unique way?

Hyam:I wandered the world for years after leaving my home. I was truly lost during those years, there was no one and nothing holding me to this world. When I met Alyson and Lettie, I think that's when my life truly began. I went to Lisedan because I had heard rumor of a reclusive prophet and I was hoping to find some purpose in life, a destiny perhaps. What I found was even more important, I found a family. You want to know what connects me to the world? They do. Alyson and Lettie.

Well folks, that's it. I promised two teaser posts a week for the entire month and this is the last one. Twin Mages (Life Mage Trilogy, Book 1) will be released on February 8th, 2020. Just 9 days to go.

The image for todays post is fanart created by one of my beta readers, BillyFlynt, on Discord. It depicts Hyam talking to Alyson and Lettie about golems.

Website: https://noblemages.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/gemayberry

Pillowfort: https://www.pillowfort.social/GEMayberry

[faithfromanewperspective]

I love your headcanon! and honestly Grace's sexuality is so interesting because she's never had the chance to think about who she might like, having learned to see herself as an object of other people's sexuality since she was too young to really have time to investigate her own. I find gracetopher really interesting because to me they're both kinda aspec coded, though nothing is properly addressed--and that actually checks out for 16-17 year olds not really knowing how they feel, just that 'this person gets me and I care for them' especially when you're not quite allosexual/alloromantic and it's not obvious. I just think that aside from maybe the occasional exception (and I could see Christopher being this, given that she never used her power on him and she sees him more as a fellow scientist than how she conceptualises men) because of her trauma it would be very difficult for her to be with a man. Like it'd just feel icky and full of past reminders unless they had a solid friendship that could train her brain to see them as something totally different--but even then I feel like she'd see sex as an expectation not something for her own pleasure. Whereas with a woman it'd be more of a blank slate and I think she would feel a lot more able to explore that, though I think she would still prefer to have a friendship there before it turns into anything else. I could see her with a Downworlder or a Sighted mundane (why did I think of Letty Nance in a few years if she'd survived then?) but I do think that's the thing: we know very little about her sexuality and so does she. She could be pansexual, she could be asexual, or it could be more fluid and complicated than can be described by a single word. Especially as she works through the trauma around it and the way she views herself (and also it's uncanny how similar what the impacts of what she's gone through is to conservative religious circles where women are taught they're sex objects and must cover up cause all men are creeps etc--even if they never were forced to seduce anyone). It would be a cool thing to explore, and she should've gotten to do so with Christopher there to try dating if it worked or see whether their relationship was more something else. But she's got her whole life ahead of her to try and find what happiness might look like for her, relationship or no relationship, and I think that's the beauty of the fact that she's only 17 when we leave her story in the epilogue.

Alright, because of the post I just reblogged off of you: Grace Blackthorn. I love her, too. If you were given free rein to write her character's story post-canon, what would you do with her given the confines of her existing ending? I personally think I would remove her from London altogether and send her to another Institute for a fresh start.

Grace. All right. There is a lot I'd want to rewrite about her direction if I could control canon, but alas, I can't and it wasn't the question.

As for post-canon, I would indeed remove her from London too. It's makes the most sense considering all the memories in London, many distressing, and the reminders of what she did in the past and what was done to her for those actions. I truly think anyone who gets locked up in the Silent City for any amount of time emerges with a slight shift of mind. Plus, while I doubt many of the remaining TLH cast would realistically stay in London their whole lives, I do think Grace would benefit more from a distance between herself and, at least, James and Cordelia.

I'm not sure which Institute I would think best for her to go. There's a decent amount of scientific innovation that goes on in France, but somehow I feel it's not the place Grace would want to be. I don't know how many men Tatiana pimped her out to, nor can I recall whom they were and where they were from, but I just feel like even the entirety of France and it's diverse areas would not quite be her scene for healing.

Because that's what I'd write for Grace post-canon. Healing. I want to see how she does not quite wrestle with guilt - because how can you feel bad for doing what you needed to survive? - but does struggle with the ghost of Christopher. It would hurt anyone pretty bad if the one person who unwaveringly stood by your side and cared about you when they did not have much reason to, who encouraged you to find that last piece to complete their life's work, just died. And died by the hands of your adoptive family, no less. This is one my nit picks because I wish we had seen Grace defeat Tatiana rather than Cordelia - it would have felt more significant, in my eyes. She had more emotional stake in it.

Anyway, I would send Grace perhaps to another Institute located in the UK, actually, or Ireland. I do not think she would be comfortable going to Idris, simply because while she is more open to the Shadowhunter identity, she would still have a lot of complicated feelings there and it'd be a lot more difficult to sort out when also living in the country where your orphanage was. And I also would not send her to America (sorry, I know, there was a fanfic where this happened and I fully respect it, it's just not what I would have done (I also know more about other countries than I do about America, so I'm more comfortable dealing with them)). Ultimately, while I'm thinking this out, I'm settling on Ireland because I think it feels removed enough for Grace to feel like she can breathe and, if all the stories are true, it's the centre of a lot of supernatural activity, especially involving Fair Folk.

I point this out because I think Grace is the kind of person who has to keep busy to keep going. I feel like she spent too much idle time as Tatiana's ward and wouldn't want to be reminded of that. I'd write about how she works the day investigating local Fair Folk issues involving mundanes and others (I think she also shares Kit's close ties to Downworld, if not so comfortably to begin with but gradually more so) and training, then goes for patrols every couple of nights or so, before letting herself relax, exhausted, before some fireplace and allowing herself to feel what she feels so she can eventually move on. She might still work with scientific invention, because she does indeed seem curious, but I think it'd be some time before she really got into it again.

Basically, I want to write Grace in grief for all she has lost, and taking the time to go through that and heal each wound in her, before we look at things like whether she ever has romantic interest again, who she befriends, whether she reconnects with anyone from the London Enclave, and so on. I think she might reach out to Lucie first (I would argue she still writes letters to Jesse anyway) just because of their potential for a decent friendship and their previous partnership. And I am always looking for f/f ships, so a little part of me wants Grace/Lucie, but considering canon Lucie/Jesse and how important that is - I'll leave it alone. Close female friendships are also brilliant and we do need more of them even in TSC.

But anyway, I think I've rambled long enough. Hopefully that was a satisfactory answer to your question. I really enjoyed thinking through this and sharing.

[unfortunatescn]

SINISTER KID, run to meet your maker. 

OCTOBER 18TH, 2019. somewhere near the border of Louisiana & Alabama. TRIGGER WARNING: murder, blood, gun violence, gun shot wounds, mentions of eye gore, strangulation. 

It felt like returning to a good book — Rereading chapter by chapter, soaking up every moment. He should be thinking of how stupid this is, how no amount of money is worth the risk, but he can’t help but enjoy the rush of it all. He’d been a Fixer for nearly two decades, and after his time locked away and being on parole, he knew better than to let himself get sucked back in. He’d lost contact with most of his contacts, and with the gang war now sitting in their front yard, there weren’t many people coming to him with a bag of cash and a plea for help. Andy busied himself other ways, mostly working on cars at the shop, spending time with Benny, working with the club in ‘quieter’ ways. But the thought lingered in the back of his mind, reminding him of the adrenaline rush and excitement that came with his job — That they could always use the money, too. 

Then came Beverly, calling him for a week straight until he caved and answered the unknown number. She’s a textbook client, one they saw far too many times to count — Her husband had changed over the years, become violent. She didn’t want him killed but she wanted him scared enough to leave the state and never come back, never come looking for her and their son. Andy did just that — Somewhere in 2009, outside of a seedy motel, he beat the living shit out of her husband, successfully running him out of town and leaving Andy with forty-five grand in his pocket. What he hadn’t accounted for was Beverly’s husband’s return a near decade later, turning her world upside down. He tries to ignore her calls, knowing once the ‘Unknown Caller’ name that pops up will only spell trouble for him — But when he finally caves, he’s met with desperation and a promise of a hundred grand in cash. Four days later he calls her back, letting her know he’ll handle it. 

What pushes him over is the thought of Benny — The thought of someone like Andy’s father terrorizing them, terrorizing him for no reason other than revenge. He thinks of his own mother, the lengths should have gone to keep her children safe. Andy knows how this story ends if he doesn’t step in — He’ll learn the conclusion when he reads Beverly’s obituary in the paper, when her son becomes another kid lost in the system. Who is he to let Beverly and her son suffer, to let them be subject to the same cycle when he can step in and actually do something good? By no means is he a saint, or some sort of hero — Just a guy who is good at what he does. Only this time around, it’s not just about the money and the rush. He knows it’s risky, but it’s what he does best — Fixing problems, covering his tracks. It’s second nature at this point, something he’ll surely always come back to. 

And he does, with alarming ease. When this had been his daily life, there was a routine he followed each time. This time around, it’s oddly chartic to go through the motions again -- To put each puzzle piece together, to return to his favorite chapter of his favorite book. Planning for this job is a process as mundane as his morning run, just another part of his day. In the past, he’d spend weeks at a time scouting the spot where the job would take place, learning the routine of the person he was to handle. He’d sit in the kitchen with papers spread across the table, laptop in front of him as he did his research on the location, the person, anything that could be a variable or need to be factored into. In this case, there were far more of the latter to think of -- With ATF at his door, the MCs back at one another’s throats, and everything caught in between the two of those, there was nothing run of the mill about this. The worst of it came in the form of Lettie, her words running through Andy’s mind after their last conversation. You need someone you can trust now that you have this little boy to come home to

Her suggestion left him between a rock and a hard spot, to say the least. There was no question that Lettie was a good get away driver, seeming to find an ease to it. She was someone he trusted, and having her by his side on a job would keep the club from getting pulled into another fire -- This was theirs, something on the side to their bank accounts a cushion and keep a family safe in the meantime. It was a simple enough job, get in and out, make it look like an accident. He was confident in his ability and her own, knowing the two could handle the task with ease. But then he remembers who he’s talking about -- Lettie is practically his child, the closest thing he has to a daughter. Their relationship may have it’s complications, but it doesn’t change one universal truth: She is his family, and bringing her on this job meant he would be putting her in a potentially dangerous position. Sure, she wasn’t the same teenager he’d left when he’d been arrested, but it didn’t change that she was his kid. He went back and forth about it for days, left awake at night with the thought fresh on his mind as he watched his ceiling fan spin. 

She needed this, he of all people understood that. It was a fucked up means of coping, but he understood it -- It’s something would make her feel alive, would put some sort of sense into the chaos of their lives. Andy hates how deeply he empathizes with the thought, having been in that position far too many times than he’d care to admit. He’d been through it before, still found himself there when he’d agreed to this job, when he’d spent a night torturing a man with his sister. He understood the need to feel in control again, the power that comes with an adrenaline rush like this. They had always been alike in that regard, the trait often serving as a reason for butting heads. He stares at his phone for nearly a half hour before finally sending her a message, knowing she’ll know what he means with the vagueness. There’s no going back now. 

The job goes according to plan, the two making it to a motel three towns over on the border of Louisiana and Alabama. In and out, he tells himself, a confusing bundle of nerves finding him in that moment. What follows is a wave excitement that pushes him from the car, pulling a mask over his face as he does so. They’ve got the cover of nightfall on their side, but Andy’s not planning on leaving any loose threads. He knew better than anyone what it would mean if this job went sideways, having paid his time for it -- So he leaves no room for error, planning each detail down to the second, a Plan B carefully curated if needed. In, out, make it look like an accident. 

Just as fate would have it, the moment he steps through the door everything goes to shit, for lack of a better word. What was supposed to be something simple finds one complication after the other, putting him in a struggle with the man he’d arrived to kill. He tries to ignore the way it feels like the man had almost seemed like he was waiting for Andy, something in the back his mind telling him the man who had run him out of town a decade prior would return to finish the job the second he returned to the state. What follows is a struggle between the two, with punches thrown and any sort of subtlety this job had disappearing the moment Andy’s thrown into a wall, a loud crash following. Make it look like an accident, he reminds himself, attempting to focus despite the man fighting him off. He’d lost his mask at this point, window curtains pulled from the rod -- Leaving them both visible to anyone in the parking lot or the hall. The second he realizes it, a popping sound fills the air, and he then -- Andy’s on the ground.

It doesn’t occur to him that he’s been shot until he hits the ground, eyes drifting to the blood beginning to pool around his right thigh. Oddly, the first thought that comes to him is the fact that he’s never actually been shot before. It’s almost laughable to him, that in the two decades he’d spent in the MC, this is how he ends up with a bullet lodged in him. Not by his father, not by some gun runner, but by some man in a shitty motel who had tucked his own gun into the nightstand. The thought only lasts half a second, a hand having moved instinctively to the wound in an attempt to put pressure on it. Shit. Shit. Shit. The same struggle continues seconds after his head hits the old carpet -- Only now, he’s stuck under the other man, hands around Andy’s throat as he tries to ignore the pain beginning to shoot up his leg. He reaches for anything, attempting to shove the mans face away, scratching and clawing at anything he can get (and personally hoping he catches an eye) to no avail. 

This is it, he can’t help but think as the black spots begin to fill his vision. The room seems to move in slow motion, feeling lighter and lighter as the puddle of blood around his leg grows and the corners of his vision blur. The man on top of him is yelling something, his knee against Andy’s chest to keep him on the ground. If he could -- Andy would laugh. Of all the things that have happened in his life, this is how he’s going to die. After years of murder-for-hire, after his time in prison; After finding his way back to Rowan, after starting a family with her and Benny. His eyes drift to the wedding band tattoo on his finger, knowing that if this was going to be his final moment, that’s what he wanted to see last. Not the wild look in this man’s eyes or the blood he’s covered in. Even if his death ends up being a terrible twist of fate, the last thing he’ll see before going is something with more meaning than this job. He doesn’t notice the sound of the door opening, a loud noise filling the room seconds after. 

The sound rings out, and suddenly -- He can breathe. A gasp comes next, followed by a steady stream of coughs, only to be interrupted by the man who was once trying to kill him now lying limp on top of him. His eyes are wide, face covered in blood from the bullet now lodged in the man’s head. He takes another moment try to catch up to the scene unraveling in front of him, part of him wondering if he’d died and well -- What comes after life is just a shitty motel room. 

There’s blood all over his face, a man on top of him, and once his eyes drift upward, he sees her -- Lettie, with his gun in hand, pointed at the head of the man they’d come there to kill. There’s a silence in the room despite the ringing in his ears, and for a moment, Andy is left unsure of what to do next. He hadn’t planned for this, knowing that the moment Lettie got out of the car and entered the motel room, they were heading into uncharted territory. The lack of oxygen left him seeing spots and feeling far too light headed to properly assess the situation; Lettie had saved him, but she’d come into the motel room without a mask on, surely seen by a witness in the process. The latter doesn’t occur to him, more caught up in the fact that there’s a dead man on top of him, that he, by some strange act of fate, is still alive. She arrived with mere seconds seconds to spare, before Andy would have been a goner. He owes her his life, but in that moment -- He can barely catch his breath. As best he can, he pushes the man off of him, attempting to ignore the unrelenting ringing in his ears. 

It’s as if he’s underwater now, with the blood loss and lack of oxygen making for a lethal mixture. He barely registers the arm coming around him to help bring him to his feet, the adrenaline being the only thing keeping him conscious. There’s a haze that follows once he’s on his feet, unsteady and clutching anything he can hold on to. It doesn’t occur to him that despite the gloves he’s wearing, his blood is now at the scene -- That Lettie has surely been seen by someone, that the people in the room next to them probably called the cops once the noise began. “Gimme the gun,” his words slur a bit, not as steady on his feet as he hoped to be, thanks to the lack of oxygen. Regardless, he moves, giving instructions to Lettie as he does -- They have to make this look like an accident, even if it had almost turned into double homicide. 

He doesn’t remember what they did or how long it took to set up, just that her arm comes around him once it’s time to go and they’re rushing to get back to the van before the sirens in the distance make it to the parking lot. Admittedly, Andy’s not sure if they’d actually been successful in making it look like an accident, having a feeling that the mess they’d left behind would be an indication of just what happened in that room -- Regardless of how the man’s body is found. The second he’s in the passenger seat and the car jerks into drive, every thought swimming through his head disappears. The adrenaline begins to wear off as his head rolls back and forth, vision blurred once more from the blood loss -- He watches Lettie in the driver’s seat, speaking to him and attempting to keep him awake despite the fact that he doesn’t hear a word she says. Each time he tries to speak, his voice is a rasp and the words don’t seem to come out how he wants -- Sounding like he’s drunk and struggling to fight through it. 

It’s unclear how long the drive is, how long he’s drifting in and out of this dream like state -- Maybe it’s ten minutes or maybe it’s two hours, he’s not sure. All that he sees is the Welcome to Olympus! sign, lit up by dim lights as they pass by, before he eventually passes out. 

[scarlcttw-blog]

ELIZABETH LAIL lookalike SCARLETT “LETTIE” WORTHINGTON has just registered with the votive as a STREETWALKER escort. their profile states that SHE is 27 years old, is of PANSEXUAL orientation, and some of their kinks include CHOKING, HUMILIATION, DIRTY TALK. it’ll be interesting to see if they’re as SELF-ASSURED & INDULGENT as everyone says.

Think of a quarter-life crisis, and you’ve got Scarlett. Here’s the down and dirty. I’m going to pack as much info into just a FEW sentences as I can. Here we go.

Born and raised in New York City, New York. She was the middle child of three; older brother was just a few years her senior, younger brother is a good chunk younger.

Scarlett did everything she was supposed to. Studied hard, did extracurriculars, sort of saw her life as dull and mundane and provincial, and that was going to be just fine with her.

Went to NYU, studied political science, went on to NYU law school, became a law clerk.

She met her future husband while at NYU and married him shortly after graduation. They had two children. She still adores those babies to bits and pieces.

But Scarlett sort of had a darker side. This thing that was prodding at her and telling her to run. She’d always done things everyone else’s way; it was time to do things hers.

So Scarlett had an affair. A hot one, and it was so fucking everything she needed.

Her husband found out. A fight ensued. She promised she’d stay true.

Until the next affair. This one was hotter than the last.

And then another affair.

And then another.

Scarlett didn’t feel fulfilled or sexy without being in bed with a stranger that she’d then fall in love with. Her husband told her that she was a veritable hooker. She agreed. She left him. Quit her job. Hasn’t looked back.

She got a job as an escort at The Votive so she could be filthy and devious and fulfill those baser urges that she’d suppressed for so long.

Sexually, she’s into filthy-ass shit. The dirtier, the better. Her only limits are bathroom play and illegal shit. Other than that... anything is on the table.

I’d love to have her ex-husband here, as well as some of the people she had an affair with.

Other than that, just HMU for this quarter-life crisis of a woman. I’m so excited to get her going!

[themimsyborogove]

89 “Let him go! It’s me you want.”

The shouting in the town square draws Catarina’s attention, but it’s the word they’re shouting that has her hurtling out of the door.

“Witch! Witch!”

She rushes toward the knot of angry townsfolk, and her heart drops when she sees who they have held tightly between two of the larger and stronger men, a length of cloth tied around her mouth to keep her from crying out: Catarina’s apprentice, Lettie. Catarina had been living in this town for nearly a decade now, and she had trained a handful of apprentices in basic midwifery and the more successful mundane healing techniques.

She had found that the best use of her skills if there wasn’t a current crisis was to try to train others in basic healing skills. If she could teach a few mundanes how to effectively treat the most common of their town’s ill and injured, they could carry on the teaching, and Catarina could move on to another town and spread her knowledge there as well. Usually it worked out fine as long as she was careful.

This is only the second time this has happened at least, not including the time Catarina herself was nearly burned as a witch.

“What on earth are you talking about, Anderson?” Catarina asks, directing her attention to what appears to be the ringleader of the mob. Several heads turn towards her, eyes suspicious.

“The Evans’ boy fell in the lake and was drowned,” Anderson says. “I pulled ‘im out myself and he wasn’t breathin’. Then this witch came runnin’ up and did somethin’ to ‘im and brought ‘im back to life!”

“You’re telling me that you’re punishing this poor girl because she saved a boy’s life?” Catarina asks calmly, not letting her annoyance show on her face.

“It ain’t right!” Anderson shouts back.

“Were you the only one there?”

“Are you callin’ me a liar?”

“Of course not,” Catarina says placatingly. “But are you entirely sure Lettie is who you saw?” she continues as she reaches out with her magic. She can’t erase this from his memory, she would have to be touching him to have that much control over his mind, and the story has already spread to far to contain, but she can change it, just a tiny bit. One small detail.

Anderson’s eyes widen in shock as he stares at Catarina. “You!” he hisses, rage clear in his voice.

Catarina smiles, still calm. “See? You can let her go. It’s me you want.”

The mob turns toward her, and a bolt of lightning strikes suddenly from the now cloudy sky, hitting the roof of a nearby store. Ragnor had taught her that particular trick, but the philosophy was Magnus’s: If you’re going to get run out of town by an angry mob, do it in style.

The wind picks up, whipping Catarina’s dark hair around her face. “Whatever you’re thinking, I’m sure it’s a bad idea,” Catarina says to the approaching crowd as she lets her glamour drop, brown skin changing to blue, black hair suddenly a snowy white, eyes now a too-vivid shade of blue. She raises both hands, sending up a shower of harmless, but showy, sparks.

The mob draws back in fear, almost as if it’s one single-minded, panicked creature, not a collection of individuals. Another crack of thunder and a bolt of lighting to draw their attention, and Catarina vanishes from their sight under an invisibility glamour.

She sighs wearily and slips back into her house to pack the essentials. Magnus and Ragnor were never going to let her hear the end of this.

[charlottesryder]

➰ ( HAYDEN PANETTIERE, CISFEMALE, SHE/HER ) *✧.:°░｡ —- is that CHARLOTTE SIMONE RYDER ?! you know them, right? they are the TWENTY-FOUR year old UNMARKED SHADOWHUNTER !! they’re known for being ADAPTABLE & NURTURING - but i’d be careful if i were you because they’re also MORBID & TEMPERAMENTAL. 

heyo so i’m bringing this kid back bc i almost instantly regretted dropping her. fojired anyways, here’s charlotte. please love her.

potential trigger warnings - death, violence, mental illness, hospitals

so this isn’t her first life - no where near it, honestly. her soul is old af ( i haven’t decided exactly how old yet, but she probably remembers a time before eris was born so? old. ) and it causes her Stress™. 

in her first life she was a warlock and a Bad Person™ and she wound up cursed & killed by some people she pissed off. i plan to write out a selfpara at some point about this, but basically she’s cursed to live a mortal life ( mundane, half-fae, banshee, werecat/wolf, shadowhunter, etc. ), die, and come back over and over again bc she doesn’t deserve to find peace in death.

in some lives she gets lucky and remembers nothing from her previous lives, sometimes she only remembers bits and pieces ( also considers this getting lucky ), but then there are times when she remembers literally every past life - these are the hardest lives for her.

okay so here’s the dealio, kids - she’s an unmarked shadowhunter this go ‘round. lemme explain how this happened, hopefully without causing any confusion.

her biological mother was a shadowhunter ( from right here in la, so older shadowhunters may have known her ) who chose to leave the clave to be with a man ( he was either a mundane, a merman, a banshee, or a werewolf - i’m undecided. fight me. ) and live out a normal life, ya know? they’d had a child before charlotte, but the clave had already come in and laid claim to them before she was born ( this will be a wc, they’d be a shadowhunter, 32yo or older ). 

her father left ( or died, or something? honestly have i actually decided anything at all? no. ) shortly after, while her mother was still pregnant.

her mother died in childbirth. her dad was gone, contact with her mother’s family or the clave was forbidden, meaning there was no next of kin for the hospital to call.

within less than a week charlotte was adopted by a couple that had been tried to have kids but never could and instead filled the void by adopting. it was a sealed adoption, so by the time the clave went looking for her she was long gone and practically untraceable.

the ryder family took her back home to new orleans, louisiana, where she grew up with three older siblings.

her parents ended up getting divorced when she was around six. it was honestly pretty civil though? like, no fighting over the kids or the house? her mom let her dad have everything and moved out to los angeles, where the kids would come and visit every summer.

her adoptive parents are both downworlders - her mother is a seelie and her father is a werecat - as are two of her siblings. as far as charlotte knows she’s just a mundane with the sight.

her memories came back as a result of her significant other dying - she likely won’t talk about this person, but i may do up a wc for their ghost? basically they were out together, date night was cut short when they were killed in front of her. she thought they were the love of her life but she literally felt nothing when they died, and she still feels really guilty about it? when she got home and went to bed that night she was hit with tons of memories - mostly memories of watching loved ones die ( which is why she was numb when she saw them die?? ). she tried talking with her dad about it - turns out that wasn’t the best idea??

spent three years in a hospital due to suddenly remembering her past lives, still struggles from time to time but she’s mostly got a handle on it now?? the memories are still coming back, and she sometimes gets dizzy spells bc of it.

she’ll occasionally take on traits from her past lives when she’s around people she used to know, from a shift in her accent ( which is normally a thick southern/louisianan accent ) to old habits.

she’s been in town for about two months now and is currently living in the cemetery, working as the onsite groundskeeper. it’s a weird job, but it’s one she really enjoys and i don’t even know why???

she’ll answer to any variation of her name - charlotte, charlie, charles, lotte, letty, simone, simon, mona, sisi, ryder - that you can think of? 

has a hairless cat named mordin that belonged to her s/o, as well as a pittbull named bas ( barnabas ).

practices mundane witchcraft/magic.

tbh there’s probably more but this is long & i should stop so pls just come plot with me <333

[themagnusbane]

1,5,8,10 💕

Fghjghjghjghjg. I can’t believe I totally missed you sending me this my love. Thank you!!!!

Okay, so top 5 female:

1. Protagonists (I’m taking protagonists to refer to both leading ladies and or one of the major characters in a fictional work okay?): Christina Yang (always be my number one. Is there anyway I can sell Christina Yang? She’s brilliant. She’s beautiful. She’s loyal. She’s driven. She’s fierce. She’s strong. She is so many of the things I dream of being and is yet a character that I will always hold close to my heart because goddamn it, Christina Yang is one hell of a kind); Celie from the Color Purple (largely uneducated, abused, neglected. If there was anyone who shouldn’t rise from the ashes, it should be Celie. But she was raw, and honest and kind and boy when she came into her own, when the women around her finally helped her realize her worth, Celie was unstoppable); Cookie Lyons (Sassy, strong, bold, fine af!, queen of us all. Loyal to a ‘T’, the ultimate ‘G’. If only we were all deserving of having Cookie on our side. Seriously though, Lucious didn’t and never did deserve our queen. And ain’t that the truth); Cleo from Set it off (God I still remembering bawling like a baby at that final scene of hers, surrounded by cops, smoking her last smoke, fighting tears cuz she knows she’s about to die, only for her to step out all guns blazing. Sure her story ended in a tragedy but damn Cleo is bae. Cleo is always bae); and finally the only white woman on this list, Beatrice “Black Mamba” Kiddo, aka the bride (did y’all really think I still wouldn’t have kill bill on here? I told ya. That movie’s the shit for me. I can’t go on about kiddo because come on, what is there not to love. But an iconic scene for me? Having she gutted that fucking ass rapist, her lying in that seat, commanding her body to “wiggle your big toe”. One word. EPIC”.

5. Queens/Empresses/Royalty: Storm Ororo Monroe (she’s a mutant. She’s a goddess. She’s royalty. The three trifecta that means Storm will always rank first in my heart. Always); Shuri (not only does she have the brains of a brilliant scientist, she is strong, a fighter, and eventually earns the right to not only be the Black Panther but to also rule Wakanda in her own right. An icon. A queen. awe-inspiring); Scheherazade (find you a woman who is smart, beautiful, an absolute bookworm and an engaging conversationalist. What can I say, the first time I read the abridged version of one thousand and one nights I fell in love with the Queen who loved to read stories, told them with such gusto and worked the circumstances so her love for stories saved her life, brought her love, and made her a queen);  Regina Mills (Of course Regina has to be on this list. Never have I see such power, such terrifying rage that is eventually softened by a love for a little boy she takes as her own son. An antagonist that softened but still managed to hold onto my heart. Regina’s everythin); finally, and as much as it pains me to admit this: Cersei Lannister (devious, ruthless, smart, loyal to those she chooses to be loyal to. A woman we all love to hate, and one who takes her destiny in her own hands, makes her enemies pay in blood and fire and who is currently queen of the seven kingdoms and the one who sits on the iron throne. Quite an accomplishment Cersei. Quite an accomplishment).

8. That I'd want to go on an adventure with: Lune Lovegood (what can I say? I want me an adventure with a girl who sees magic behind the mundane, who exists on a plane separate from everyone else and whose heart is so good and pure it takes my breathe away); Mary Poppins (What can I say? I’m still the little girl who believes in magic and wants a nanny with a carpet bag that can take in the entire world, who gives me sugar with my medicine, who flies with an umbrella and who can take me to worlds unknown, starting with trips into paintings I so totally want to see); Princess Leia (I want to travel the galaxies, I want to bring light to the universe. I also want to hang out with Leia, marvel at her grace and wit, duck behind her when the stormtroopers show up and run like hell should we ever accidentally bump into Jabba the hut. Yuck!); Letty Ortiz (if anything because going on a road trip with Letty in the driver’s seat means me screaming my lungs out and praying to gods I haven’t even said a passing hello to for the grace to make it back home in one piece. Hehehehehe); Yalena "Dutch" Yardeen from Killjoys (bounty hunter in space. That’s all I’m going to say. BOUNTY HUNTY IN FUCKING SPACE. Does it get any more epic than that? Does it?! Does it?!!!!!)

10. That I'd want to kiss (damnnnnn. I love this question. Hehehehehe): Top of my list, Christina Yang (I already said it. She’s my fucking heart on television okay? Honestly if anyone didn’t expect her to be the first name, I’m over here looking at you like the fuck did you expect?); Nova Bordelon (Oh Nova, my goddess, what I would give for a chance to kiss you, to worship at your stunning feet, share a joint with you. Honestly if you live on this earth and have no interest in kissing Rutina Wesley, just know I’m over here side-eying the shit out of you); Rosa Diaz (even if it gets me a punch in the face, it would have been worth it. Fuck Rosa is so hotttttt. Damnnnnnnnn); Calliope Torress (my bisexual goddess with a perchance for dancing in her underwear. Fuck Callie’s so perfect. Every inch of her, moulded into perfection. I can’t... I want... Damn....), Sophia Burset (find me a woman alive who hasn’t spent the time thirsting over Sophia and I will show you a woman who’s in denial because damn Sophia can get it. She can get it so fucking hard. Fuck!) 

[tsundokutouched-blog]

Review: “The Ocean at the End of the Lane” by Neil Gaiman

“I remember my own childhood vividly…I knew terrible things. But I knew I mustn’t let adults know I knew. It would scare them.” Says the epitaph of this short-story-turned-novella. In truth, everything there is to be told in this story is summarised in these few words. If those words do nothing for you, you may stop reading after them. You will lose no face. No one will think less of you. But continue past, and you will find yourself slowly adrift in what may be one of Neil Gaiman’s most vivid and fantastical works yet.

“The Ocean at the End of the Lane”, or as I lovingly call it, “Ocean”, tells the story of a man – middle aged and a bit lost in his life – who returns to his childhood town for a funeral. There are awkward questions, and empty hugs, and, to take a break from it all, he takes a drive down to where his childhood home was, and to the farm at the end of the lane. And then the memories start flooding back – Old Mrs. Hempstock, who sews space and time; Mrs. Hempstock, who knows just how to comfort a 7-year-old child with roast beef and pie; and Lettie, who thought the duckpond was an Ocean.

Much of the novella is mainly a flashback, told through the patchwork memories of the narrator of his childhood self, of how the suicide of a lodger in his childhood home accidentally brought forth eldritch beings into his life - beings everyone else seemed to believe were human, except of course his friend Lettie of Hempstock Farm.

The book shows us the world through the eyes of a child – scary, fantastic, where adults are infallible Gods and where the faerie ring in your backyard truly is magical. And Gaiman, as always, does not fail to make the reader feel the magic in their very bones. He writes into you a innocent sense of wonder and vulnerability as quantum physics collides with fairy tales, and the fantastic is very much woven into the mundane in the way few authors can weave. And childhood comes rushing back and leaves you wondering if the dragons you fought afterschool everyday were not actually figments of your imagination like you’d thought all this time.

I could call “Ocean” a lot of things, but I feel it is best described as a children’s book for adults – the ones who avidly dwell in fantasy to try keep the child inside alive, and the ones who haven’t picked up a fantasy book in years for some fear of looking foolish. This is a book for the lost twenty-somethings, fresh out of university and flailing in the wide world, and the older variant of lost human who found themselves in a bookshop on the way to buy a fast car. It is as intimate as a long hug from a loved one, and softer too, and warm, and probably actually magical. It is, in a word, a Gaiman.

Score: 10/10

[madamhatter]

" if you would stop freaking out for two seconds, i might just be able to explain myself . " // from sissel .

Eldest of three, illegibility and unpredictability packaged with an attuned and adaptable persona that metamorphosized in accordance per situation, was quite a puzzle. Never was she one who, upon outsider’s observations, conducted herself never with whims of violence and provocativeness. Her performance mirrored her reality. Mundane and uninteresting were the definitions of her life, as well as the destiny forged by fate itself. 

Far too enamored with the what-ifs and limitlessness of the future, she buried childish whimsy and whims before it’d gotten her into far too much trouble. Larger concerns and priorities she had already. They were in the shape of her remaining family, Lettie, and Martha. Nothing would certainly undo her work and progress in stabilizing a regressing business and anchoring a drifting family. 

However, the lengths she’d go was certainly concerning and unconventional to the lie she made herself to be. All the more compelled to be secretive, exceptions were made where she could’ve dismissed the act altogether. In the question of her sisters’ livelihood, happiness, and safety, she changed at a drop of a hat and carried no qualms about what she would do next.

It explained why she stared down a bright-red suit man standing in the living room of her home, she instinctively rolled up her sleeves, reached for the nearest piece of furniture, and raised it. "Get out of my house!” Her shout already caught the stranger off-guard, as she wasn’t willing to hold back anything-- 

Foosh.

One ornament was already thrown, targeting the stranger’s eye socket. Exceptional marksmanship was something she took pride in, even if it was already a quality that needed to be used in her career. However, the momentary pride shrivels at how the man was still standing there --

She couldn’t have missed it! Panic jolts up into her arm as she reaches out for the broom reclining not too far from her. She holds it out, gulping. 

THUD.

She blinks, looking at the man with shades and to the object on the ground, not too far from him.

The trajectory....it should’ve hit him, regardless.

....Did it just phase through him? 

Corporeal form, this was not. Sophie shakes her head, gritting her teeth as she holds out the broom still, bristles facing the stranger. So close was the end of the broom, it could’ve tickled his nose. 

The man finally spoke and her grip tightens on the wooden handle. 

If I stop ‘freaking out’? Who the hell wouldn’t when there is a complete stranger in the middle of your home at 2 AM!? YOU should be the one thinking about freaking running out! 

“Why should I even humor the thought?” She spat back. “You’ve trespassed into my home and expect a warm welcome and accommodations? Are you mad!?” She huffs.

”Explain yourself, now.”