#love myself a good wild western

[head-empty404]

man i love gunslinger spawn cause c'mon he's a cowboy and i love cowboys

[the-kr8tor]

OKAY I JUST WANNA SAY IM NOW BIBLICALLY OBSESSED W COWBOY HOBIE

AND NOW I NEED COWBOY HOBIE DOING THE HAT RULE WITH THE READER THANK YOU AND GOOD NIGTH

This prompt got me giggling and kicking my legs 😍😍😍 thank you, ly ❤️

Pairing: Cowboy! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, Cowboy AU, Western AU, CW drinking, CW suggestive, lovestruck Hobie, FLUFF.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Watching you attempt to square dance is like watching a chicken run without its head.

Hobie watches you with a smile hidden behind his glass, amber liquid sloshing inside. It's his first glass of the night and he's sure he won't be needing another one when he's already drunk off of you. On any day he would've finished the entire drink in less than a minute or two, but his eyes and lips have been occupied with watching and smiling at your plucky dancing.

The bar is incredibly crowded, smoke from cigars invading his nostrils, music blaring in his ears. And the dance floor is completely full but that doesn't stop you from twirling all over the polished wooden floors; giggling and smiling at your friend who's trying her best to keep you from smacking someone on the face with your wild limbs. Hobie blames all the sugar from the sweet tea you've been consuming.

He places his glass next to your guarded ones, his palm never left the rim of it, determined to keep you safe. Chuckling, you make your way back to him, sweat covering your forehead, breathing heavily from all the dancing. Despite all these, the giddy smile on your lips never left.

“I'm back!” You stop in front of him, all smiles and skin warm. The yellow overhead lights make your eyes sparkle, like a man dying of thirst, he can't help but drink all of you.

“I can see that.” Hobie casually pulls you in by your jean belt loops, knees knocking on his own. “Had fun?” he looks at you through his lashes, eyes crinkling in the corners.

“Mm-hmm!” You nod fervently, he stops your movements with his hand on your jaw before you make yourself dizzy. Your cheeks are incredibly warm. “Thank you for bringing me here, neighbor.”

He chuckles deeply, eyes never leaving yours. “Shit, we're still on those terms after everythin’ we've been through? Do I have to make myself clearer or does velvet need to push us together again?”

“Making the horse do all the work again.” You click your tongue without malice. He has no idea how but he grins wider. Holding to the lapels of his old leather jacket, you lean closer to his touch.

“Dance with me? Please?” You blink your pretty eyes for emphasis.

Hobie cranes his neck closer to your face, breath fanning across your lips. You close your eyes, waiting for the sweetest thing to graze your lips.

“Nah.”

You open your eyes to a smirking Hobie, he takes a sip of his drink, teasing eyes staring at your flustered face.

You scoff, blinking rapidly. “The nerve.”

“I told you I don't dance.”

“Is that so?” With a burst of confidence and adrenaline still coursing through you, your hand flies quickly to his hat, taking it off from his head to place it on your own. “Look at me I'm Hobie Brown and I don't dance. See? That's you. Ridiculous, I know you can dance.”

Hobie closes his eyes for a second before downing his entire drink in one gulp. With an exhale, he squeezes your hips. “You'll be the death of me, love.” he flicks the brim of his hat to see your eyes better. “You have no idea what you've done do you?”

You smile sweetly, leaning closer, taunting him. “What if I do know? What are you gonna do, cowboy?”

For the first time since you've known Hobie, he stutters. “H-home, I'll go home” he clears his throat, composure coming back to his senses. “Maybe you'll join me. Only if you want to.”

“After everything we've been through,” You copy his own words. “do you think I'd say no?”

Hobie smiles, coiling his finger around your belt loops, leading you out of the crowded bar. His hat is still on your head, holding on to his wrist, you let him guide you.

[a-legacy-not-to-be-forgotten]

Why Ceroba and the Feisty Four were right

Not bothering with any fancy opening, it's exactly what it says it is: Ceroba and the Feisty Four were right to call out Starlo.

Now before you crucify me, I love Starlo as a character. But I'm tired of people (not calling out anyone in particular) pretending that he's done absolutely nothing wrong and demonize Ceroba and the Feisty Four for snapping at him (largely Ceroba, but I see the Feisty Four get shat on every now and then). And this is not me calling Starlo a jerk. Typically, calling him a flat-out jerk would mean he did shit on purpose with malicious intent, and I don't think he acted out of spite. Rather, he did all those things because he just didn't think about it in the moment. I understand that, and I can 110% relate to that myself, honestly.

That being said, he did make some legit dick moves over the course of the game. Exhibit A: Having Moray walk around with a snake in their boot and giving them rashes.

IK some of Starlo's more wild fans would probably do anything he says and all that, but put yourself in Moray's shoes (or boots I guess would be more appropriate). If your friend made you walk around with a rubber toy in your footwear that gave you a nasty rash, I think you'd be reasonable at least a bit angry at them.

Exhibit B: The Boulder Droppers

They're literal goddam boulders. That shit could've killed someone. Setting them up at a busy mineshaft is reckless enough as it is but leaving them on after you're done using them just makes things even worse.

Exhibit C: Blaming Clover for everything that happened and shooting them over it.

What am I supposed to say? If you hate Ceroba for what she did to Kanako and Clover, keep in mind that Starlo basically did the same exact thing.

Again, this is not me calling Starlo an asshole overall. Yes, he is a good monster deep down and just made some legit mistakes. But my point is, he does have flaws nonetheless and I can't stand people who ignore them. Like, him accepting what he did was wrong and coming to terms with that is one of the best parts of his character! C'mon guys.

And yes, people treat Ceroba as a horrible friend because she wasn't into it and apparently 'hates that part of Starlo' or whatever. If Ceroba actually hated Starlo's obsession with Western culture, do you think she'd indulge in his ramblings on humans?

...or helped him set up all of those wanted posters for him?

...or helping his family search for him when he 'goes missing' during a neutral run?

*sarcastically* Wooooooow, what a horrible friend...

Yes, I understand Ceroba is a very blunt and sarcastic person, but I think because of that, she ends up coming off as harsher than she means to be. Trust me, I can relate to that.

To call her a heartless bitch is a disservice to her character. She does care deep down, even if she isn't that good at showing it.

And hey, she's a mourning widow and mother, I wouldn't blame her for not being good at showing positive emotions.

As for the Feisty Five, our favorite enby fish puts it best themself:

My point is, despite snapping at him, Ceroba and the Feisty Four did not hate Starlo. They understood that his obsession over Western Culture was really important with him. It's made clear that they know he's a good monster deep down, despite his transgressions and were very ready to forgive him.

They just wanted him to dial it back. And yeah, he needed to. Granted, this is targeted at the 'Starlo did nothing wrong' crowd. If you admit that he's pretty heavily flawed but that Ceroba's done worse, I can accept that. Hell, despite me being a Ceroba apologist, I might even agree with you to a degree. But I am a bit tired of the fandom putting him on a pedestal while overhating everyone who remotely criticizes him.

[johaerys-writes]

Hello! May I ask a WIP Wednesday, only if you're okay? Thank you so much for all your wonderful fics!

Hello!! I've been steadily working (plodding along lmao) on the western AU, here's a tiny snippet of Achilles being a silly menace:

After finishing his lunch, Patroclus leans back against the birch tree trunk and pulls a small book out of his pocket; the same book he was reading the day before, and the day before that. He is soon engrossed in it, and back to ignoring Achilles thoroughly.

"What are you reading?" Achilles asks, sitting up. He tries to make out what the book is about, but he’s too far away.

"A book."

"I can see that. What kind of book?"

Patroclus chews idly on the long stem of wild wheat dangling from his lips. He never once takes his eyes off the page as he turns it. "The reading kind."

“You don't say,” Achilles mutters, seething in frustration. Patroclus must think himself quite clever, and Achilles quite the dolt, if he thought for a minute that he would be placated by this answer. He wants to grab that insolent boy by the shoulders and shake him, to push and poke and prod him until he finally looks at him.

Before he can stop himself, he's already shot up and snatched the book from Patroclus' hands.

"Hey!"

"Assorted poems," Achilles reads off the cover of the book when he flips it over. "Huh. Didn't pin you as the poetry type."

Patroclus visibly bristles, his shoulders and neck tensing, and gives him a hard, from-under stare. He pushes himself up to his feet, but Achilles is faster; he dashes away and climbs up the next tree, quick and agile like a cat.

"Give it back here," Patroclus demands sharply, but Achilles is already perched on his tree branch, out of Patroclus’ reach, and biting into his piece of honey pie as he examines the book at his leisure. It is small and sturdy, and seems to have been well loved. The pages are tinged yellow, and the leather is scuffed at the corners but it’s in relatively good shape, considering Patroclus has probably been carrying it around in his pocket for God knows how long.

"Let’s see, let's see…" Achilles muses loudly. The cake fills his mouth with sweet, gooey syrup as he peruses the small book’s contents, but nothing tastes as sweet as disturbing Patroclus’ peace. "What does Patroclus No-Name like to read? Bet it's something very clever and profound. Bet it’s some big secret no one's allowed to know." He finishes off his pie and licks his fingers clean as Patroclus continues to glare at him from below.

“Shall I read us something from it?” he asks pleasantly. It thrills him beyond measure, the way Patroclus’ eyes flick from his face to his fingers, still sticky with syrup, that are touching the pages of his precious book. “It would be just the thing to pass the time, don’t you think? I’ll read your favourite poem, if you tell me which one it is.”

The only answer Patroclus gives him is a long, hard, dark look.

“Fine, then, I’ll choose one myself!” Achilles declares, and flicks a page at random.

[knickynoo]

Back to the Future Part II, The Novel by Craig Shaw Gardner: Thoughts, commentary, and general ramblings

Part 6: A weird-looking old man and a little guy in a leather jacket.

Previous posts here

• Instead of describing Doc as a “crazy, wild-eyed old man,” Old Biff says, “a weird-looking old man,” which is just so personal, lol

• There’s an interesting scene where Marty is almost caught in Biff’s garage. The shouting between Biff and his grandmother isn’t there to alert Marty, and instead, Biff just walks straight out to the garage. Marty thinks it’s Doc who has come to rescue him and calls out, which Biff hears. Marty then hides in the car, and waits as Biff looks around a bit before getting distracted.

• I really want the full scene of Doc scrambling to get that new hat and bike so he can head over to Biff’s house. The book mentions that he’d bought the bike a few hours prior (then had to wait for it to get dark enough) but I’d love to see how that played out. I also want Marty doing his shopping for his Inconspicuous outfit.

• Marty has a very funny response to Doc reminding him to be careful at the dance since his other self is there with Lorraine. “Yeah, that’s right! Hey, that’s cool, Doc. Maybe I’ll say hello to myself.”

This is followed immediately by, “’No!’ Doc felt like he might have a heart attack.”

And what I want to know is: is Marty just being a wisenheimer, or is he genuinely considering stopping to chit-chat with his other self? I could honestly see it going either way with Marty.

• This chapter is giving me a few good chuckles so far. Marty enters the dance and it says, “He stepped through, and found himself in the same alcove where he’d had that heart-to-heart with his future parents—the one about being nice when your son sets fire to the rug.”

Why don’t we have any definitive information on The Rug Incident? That story should’ve been included in the comics. I need to know what unfolded that day. Why did Marty set the rug on fire? Was it purely accidental? Did little Marty go through an arsonist phase?

I demand answers.

• When we return to Doc, who is still riding his bike all over the place, he ends up at the Peabody farm. There’s a cop there talking to Mr. Peabody, who’s recounting the alien encounter he had. Which…doesn’t make much sense to me since this is a week now since the “flying saucer” originally crashed into his barn. But I guess this has been an ongoing ordeal, and Otis has been trying to get someone to take him seriously.

Anyway, Doc is worried that they might actually stumble upon where he’s hidden the DeLorean behind the billboard, so he goes over and announces that he saw the spacecraft take off wayyy in the other direction. The police officer and Otis immediately take off in search of it.

• I wish I got a dollar for every time in this novel that Marty has said, “Yo, Doc!” because I would have many dollars.

• Lester (Wallet Guy) describes Marty to Biff as, “A little guy in a leather jacket.” So true, Lester. He IS just a little guy in a leather jacket.

• Ok, OK!! So! Two things to mention about the scene after the dance where Marty runs into Biff outside the door. After Biff calls him chicken, Marty once again recalls that, per his mother’s repeated suggestions, he’s supposed to count to 10 when he’s upset. And as he wrestles with his feelings, he thinks, “Maybe he always felt he needed to do this because he was so short.” !!!!! May I direct you to this ask and poll? There you have it, folks. Marty (book Marty, at least) is quite aware of his height and ALSO aware that it might be the reason he wants to fight at the slightest provocation.

• I already always feel bad for the Western Union guy when I watch the movie, and this makes me feel even more sorry for him. He gets no closure!!! He will NEVER know what the 70-year-old mystery letter was all about. The most disappointed voice Marty has ever heard!!

• We close with the scene of Marty running back to the clock tower. However, his revealing his presence to Doc is pretty different in the book than it is in the movie. We’re told, “Marty stepped out of the shadow of the courthouse. He tapped Doc on the shoulder.”

I mean. It definitely doesn’t have The Flair of Marty running full speed and dramatically spinning Doc to face him, but it is funny. He just. Steps out from the shadows and gives him a little tap. A gentle, “Um, hi, hello, I’m back.” Amuses me to think about.

This is how I imagine it, btw.

• The book ends with Doc passing out and Marty legitimately fearing that Doc may have just DIED before his very eyes, and how will he ever get home now?

I guess we’ll find out in the part III novel! Stay tuned.

[puckpocketed]

19/12/2023 Seattle Kraken vs Dallas Stars

The Summer I Fell For Hockey - The Kraken Wagon: How to Stay Silly in the Face of Loss

I’m the asshole on the tram who’s watching hockey on their phone and not paying attention. This is how my afternoon commute home starts. I almost run into at least two people, I definitely trip a guy trying to get off the tram because I’m not looking, and I’m caught scrambling for the door after nearly missing my stop. My walk home is slowed by my unwillingness to take my eyes off the live feed. I’m sweating through an ill-advised sweater vest thrown on at 6 in the morning on my way out the door and my feet sting from the 5 hour shift I just finished — but I don’t care. The Kraken are down 0-2 and it feels like if I stop watching, if I even think about hurrying home through the swampy, muggy afternoon, the game will run away from us. 

“The Kraken are a wagon” is a sentiment I’ve come across repeatedly in my idle googling about my team. They’re a new team, my friend tells me over discord — she fell out of love with ice hockey years ago, some time back when the Kraken were first drafting their inaugural season lineup — and as soon as I hear it I am enamoured with them. A baby team! One that’s still building an identity, trying to figure out its core; and I’m already so charmed by their jerseys — toothpaste red, white, and blue, a squiggly tentacle ‘S’ for Seattle and a glaring sea monster’s eye — but a baby team? That’s the kind of story I can gorge myself on.

So they have me. I’m in and I’m reading primers and checking player stats, and I only find out about the “Kraken wagon” later. My squids have been in free fall all season, I learn this not long after I catch a game (their 0-3 defeat to the Minnesota Wild). This is what I get for choosing teams based on jersey colours, it’s not too late to swap loyalties — my regulars, who have by now heard all about my latent ice hockey obsession, tell me this as I pour their coffees. They don’t get it yet. If I truly didn’t like the Kraken, I’d have given up on them by now. The jersey colours, at this point, are immaterial. The jerseys are a cute bonus.

Here’s the rub: no one ever expected them to make the Stanley Cup playoffs in their second ever season of existence, but they did — or, some past incarnation of them did. The shadow that this playoffs run casts, even now, is where the “wagon” accusations stem from. But I didn’t join them when times were good. I joined them after an 8 game-long skid into the boards.

It’s hard to love something when all you ever see are the worst parts of it, some might assume. Looking through the Kraken tag tells an entirely different story. Loving the Seattle Kraken has come so easily to me largely due to the tiny group of die-hard followers I’ve come into contact with. I have a tab perpetually open on my second monitor at home when I’m watching games, set to the Kraken’s liveblog tag, and each time I’ve tuned in has been the ride of my life. It’s clear from the speed at which we like and reblog each other’s posts that we’re all regularly checking the tag when something happens. It’s like the world’s most intimate Twitch chat section, the world’s least intimate discord call. We’re mutuals and besties, strangers and fellow fans — I imagine if we were in the stands together, we’d look at each other when our Kraken score and cheer together, maybe we’d scream and laugh in half-disbelief.

The Dallas Stars are at the top of the Western Conference’s central division table, and they play like it. In the first few minutes of the match, Duchene and Seguin blast through and slip one past Daccord, no easy feat given he’s been on fire himself recently. Time after time, the Kraken’s power play is wrecked. The Kraken are being given the runaround, having to doggedly chase down intercepted pucks where the Stars’ passes always seem to connect. Recovery from 0-2 might seem impossible from where they are at the end of the first period, but the Kraken bring to the second period the same energy they had for their relentless puck hunting. Matty B and Tuna — Beniers and Tatar  — put us on the scoreboard and keep us in it, even as we lose Canner and Belly to injuries. Recovery from such an early and demoralising goal deficit isn’t impossible, just increasingly unlikely when you’ve got no superstars and are trying to throw off the wagon allegations.

That’s another thing: expectations are low. And not in a way that’s meant to disrespect the Kraken players — it’s closer to how animals might ball up and protect their vulnerable, soft bellies from harm. Losing, to be perfectly candid, fucking sucks. Reminding ourselves that any gains — no matter how trivial — still count as a win is one way to stave off the inevitable heartbreak. Another way we do it is, to paraphrase several Kraken bloggers,  “staying silly”.

If I were to distill the essence of silliness, I’d start with hockey itself. This game is a goofy one, in spite of my past assertions about warrior’s codes and narratives and unspoken honour. On-ice collisions can in fact be the height of slapstick comedy; and today the tension of a potential line brawl was broken with, of all things, the arena DJ playing Mortal Kombat music. As for the people? Even as the Kraken went down two goals halfway through the first period, the posts and memes rolled in. 

Watching sports is meant to be a leisure activity. If the stress of it ever becomes too much for me, stepping away is vital. Having the denizens of krakenblr being silly alongside me is like having an extra layer of armour between us and the heartache of loss. We crack jokes about manifesting wins, about freeing our boys from the penalty box (they’ve never done anything wrong in their lives, ever, and even if they did those assholes had it coming), about our players who are babygirls, about the endless double-entendre made by Forslund and Olczyk. For each time we scored, for each penalty taken, each power play and penalty kill the tone set by everyone was simple: stay silly. 

In the last minute of the third period, the Kraken rally for one final push. With Daccord pulled from the net the 6-man rush is relentless, and they manage to get up in the Stars’ faces. This is the grit that so inspired my admiration. Though the recaps on the news feed might only list one or two names on the assist, the last goal of third period is thanks to everyone on the ice. The Kraken players perform as their namesake implies: as one they are a many-armed leviathan, come to drag you and yours down, down, down, into the deep.

Vince Dunn — Dunner or Vincess depending on who you ask — keeps the puck from the blue line, Wenny snatches it away from a tight spot between two Stars, and everyone works to feed it back onto Bjorkstrand’s tape. Bjorkstrand’s shot cracks down the line and into the crease — and how’s this for poetry: from the same goddamn place on the ice he shot the last time he had to even up a game going into overtime — and the ensuing scuffle ends with Tolvy tipping it past Wedgewood. After a deeply frustrating review from the situation room, the goal is called good and we’re confirmed for overtime. Various posts to the effect of, “No matter what happens, I love you all. We’ll be okay,” flood the tag as I refresh my page. With them, it truly ain’t that serious; and going into overtime, even knowing the Kraken have one of the least impressive OT records in the league, truly cements it for me. The Kraken will be my team for the foreseeable future.

I won’t keep you in suspense, if you’re reading this from the outside looking in. The game ends in a loss. But I’m no heavier than I was when the game started. On the contrary, I’m lighter. The little reservoir of dread that had built up inside me in the early hours of the game has been emptied by a tidal wave of sweetness, of sincere well-wishes and optimism. To the Kraken fans I’ve interacted with so far: thank you all so much for what is possibly the warmest welcome I’ve ever received to a fandom space, thank you for making this game and this team so easy to love, thank you for shielding my tender flesh from loss and making even defeats a little fun.

So what if the Kraken are a wagon? It’s a clown wagon, and we’re riding it together; hand in silly hand.

[mihai-florescu]

Mutual 1: it's so over

Mutual 2: *walking encyclopedia of every obscure 2d idol project* you should get into argonavis

Mutual 3: i think my headaches these past few days are from the cyanide ive been eating

Mutual 1: we're so back!!!!

Mutual 4: it's friday, pass the yaoi

Mutual 1: it's so over

Mutual 5: i think im scared of being known and loved

Mutual 6: i would actually kill for a croissant rn

Mutual 1: we're so back!!!!!!

Mutual 7: tatsumi kazehaya would NOT be homophobic just because he's christian, stop applying a western lens on japanese media.

Mutual 8: i love my wife:D

Mutual 9: *fanart of an anime boy as a jesus christ figure, with a queer interpretation of christ's side wound*

Mutual 10: should i drop out?

Mutual 11: everyone should read ep:link and blackbird and tempest and sanctuary and

Mutual 12: i made some yummy pasta today :D *photo of yummy pasta*

Mutual 1: it's so over...

Mutual 13:

Midway upon the journey of our life

    I found myself within a forest dark,

    For the straightforward pathway had been lost.

Ah me! how hard a thing it is to say

    What was this forest savage, rough, and stern,

    Which in the very thought renews the fear.

So bitter is it, death is little more;

    But of the good to treat, which there I found,

    Speak will I of the other things I saw there.

I cannot well repeat how there I entered,

    So full was I of slumber at the moment

    In which I had abandoned the true way.

But after I had reached a mountain’s foot,

    At that point where the valley terminated,

    Which had with consternation pierced my heart,

Upward I looked, and I beheld its shoulders,

    Vested already with that planet’s rays

    Which leadeth others right by every road.

Then was the fear a little quieted

    That in my heart’s lake had endured throughout

    The night, which I had passed so piteously.

And even as he, who, with distressful breath,

    Forth issued from the sea upon the shore,

    Turns to the water perilous and gazes;

So did my soul, that still was fleeing onward,

    Turn itself back to re-behold the pass

    Which never yet a living person left.

After my weary body I had rested,

    The way resumed I on the desert slope,

    So that the firm foot ever was the lower.

And lo! almost where the ascent began,

    A panther light and swift exceedingly,

    Which with a spotted skin was covered o’er!

And never moved she from before my face,

    Nay, rather did impede so much my way,

    That many times I to return had turned.

The time was the beginning of the morning,

    And up the sun was mounting with those stars

    That with him were, what time the Love Divine

At first in motion set those beauteous things;

    So were to me occasion of good hope,

    The variegated skin of that wild beast,

The hour of time, and the delicious season;

    But not so much, that did not give me fear

    A lion’s aspect which appeared to me.

He seemed as if against me he were coming

    With head uplifted, and with ravenous hunger,

    So that it seemed the air was afraid of him;

And a she-wolf, that with all hungerings

    Seemed to be laden in her meagreness,

    And many folk has caused to live forlorn!

She brought upon me so much heaviness,

    With the affright that from her aspect came,

    That I the hope relinquished of the height.

And as he is who willingly acquires,

    And the time comes that causes him to lose,

    Who weeps in all his thoughts and is despondent,

E’en such made me that beast withouten peace,

    Which, coming on against me by degrees

    Thrust me back thither where the sun is silent.

While I was rushing downward to the lowland,

    Before mine eyes did one present himself,

    Who seemed from long-continued silence hoarse.

When I beheld him in the desert vast,

    “Have pity on me,” unto him I cried,

    “Whiche’er thou art, or shade or real man!”

He answered me: “Not man; man once I was,

    And both my parents were of Lombardy,

    And Mantuans by country both of them.

‘Sub Julio’ was I born, though it was late,

    And lived at Rome under the good Augustus,

    During the time of false and lying gods.

A poet was I, and I sang that just

    Son of Anchises, who came forth from Troy,

    After that Ilion the superb was burned.

But thou, why goest thou back to such annoyance?

    Why climb’st thou not the Mount Delectable,

    Which is the source and cause of every joy?”

“Now, art thou that Virgilius and that fountain

    Which spreads abroad so wide a river of speech?”

    I made response to him with bashful forehead.

“O, of the other poets honour and light,

    Avail me the long study and great love

    That have impelled me to explore thy volume!

Thou art my master, and my author thou,

    Thou art alone the one from whom I took

    The beautiful style that has done honour to me.

Behold the beast, for which I have turned back;

    Do thou protect me from her, famous Sage,

    For she doth make my veins and pulses tremble.”

“Thee it behoves to take another road,”

    Responded he, when he beheld me weeping,

    “If from this savage place thou wouldst escape;

Because this beast, at which thou criest out,

    Suffers not any one to pass her way,

    But so doth harass him, that she destroys him;

And has a nature so malign and ruthless,

    That never doth she glut her greedy will,

    And after food is hungrier than before.

Many the animals with whom she weds,

    And more they shall be still, until the Greyhound

    Comes, who shall make her perish in her pain.

He shall not feed on either earth or pelf,

    But upon wisdom, and on love and virtue;

    ’Twixt Feltro and Feltro shall his nation be;

Of that low Italy shall he be the saviour,

    On whose account the maid Camilla died,

    Euryalus, Turnus, Nisus, of their wounds;

Through every city shall he hunt her down,

    Until he shall have driven her back to Hell,

    There from whence envy first did let her loose.

Therefore I think and judge it for thy best

    Thou follow me, and I will be thy guide,

    And lead thee hence through the eternal place,

Where thou shalt hear the desperate lamentations,

    Shalt see the ancient spirits disconsolate,

    Who cry out each one for the second death;

And thou shalt see those who contented are

    Within the fire, because they hope to come,

    Whene’er it may be, to the blessed people;

To whom, then, if thou wishest to ascend,

    A soul shall be for that than I more worthy;

    With her at my departure I will leave thee;

Because that Emperor, who reigns above,

    In that I was rebellious to his law,

    Wills that through me none come into his city.

He governs everywhere, and there he reigns;

    There is his city and his lofty throne;

    O happy he whom thereto he elects!”

And I to him: “Poet, I thee entreat,

    By that same God whom thou didst never know,

    So that I may escape this woe and worse,

Thou wouldst conduct me there where thou hast said,

    That I may see the portal of Saint Peter,

    And those thou makest so disconsolate.”

Then he moved on, and I behind him followed.

[feyhunter78]

Among the Sun Ch 20

Description: You and Andreas spend some time together in the gardens before he is due to depart.

Ch 21

“Do you remember when we were younger, and your brother threw a spider into your lap during studies?” Andreas asks, a wide smile on his face, his deep brown skin, tanned further from his day in the sunny western shores of Opzelua glowed in the noonday sun. His curls wild—ruffled by the strong winds of the day—released from the hold he had coaxed them into the night of the ball.

“I remember how you screamed and left me to die alone.” You say, elbowing him sharply when he laughs.

“I was ten, what could you have expected?” His laugh is infectious, coaxing a laugh from you, the frown falling from your lips.

“For you to help me?”

He sighs and shakes his head. “You asked too much of a poor librarian’s nephew.”

You roll your eyes, the wind catching in your hair and lifting a few strands as you knelt down beside a pond, colorful koi fish swimming contently just below the surface. “Ah yes, a poor child who enjoyed the privileges of royalty while mercifully avoiding each and every one of its burdens. What a miserable child you must have been.”

Andreas kneels beside you, taking a bag of pellets from his belt and tossing a few in for the fish. “I did not avoid every burden, I was still married off, just as you were.”

You lean back on your hands, soft grass pillowing your palms, and tilt your face up towards the sky. “I think it is going to rain.”

He looks up as well. “There is not a cloud in the sky—y/n!” He sputters, when you splash him with water, a mischievous smile on your face.

“Was it not you who said it was callous to make light of my situation?” You ask, flinging yourself to the ground when Andreas attempts to splash you back, landing on your side facing him.

“Was it not you who said that you were not caged within your marriage?” He shoots back.

You snort when Andreas joins you on the ground, both sets of your fine clothing being stained by grass. “It is not so bad; the emperor is kind to me.”

“That is good to hear.” He says. His eyes are a dazzling forest green, nearly glowing with a supernatural light, a remnant from his mother’s side of the family.

“I cannot say it is a love like the one shared between you and your late wife, but it is beginning to sprout. Perhaps in time it will bloom.” You pick at a blade of grass, holding it up and watching as the wind takes it.

“You do not wish for love like mine, love in great measure brings grief in equal.” Andreas says, his eyes downcast, his voice soft, mournful, ripped away by the wind.

“My friend…” You reach out and squeeze his shoulder. “I mourn your loss as well, do not shoulder it alone, I am here for you, share it with me.”

Andreas rolls onto his back, eyes closed against the sun. “Myra was beautiful, kind beyond measure, brilliant beyond boast, and a wonderful companion. Never did a morn come, I did not thank the gods that she was beside me, that she chose me . A foreign born, former servant, with nothing to offer her beside my utter devotion.”

“But she did choose you.” You say, smiling sadly at the way he fidgeted with his fingers. A trait you picked up from him, a clear, subconscious sign of difficulty speaking, of vulnerability.

“She did, she could have had anyone, and yet she chose me. She loved me, accepted my devotion and in return catapulted me to power. Though I would have taken her if dowry was nothing but a snippet of her voice, a fleeting touch of her hands, a glimpse of her smile. She could have had nothing, and I would have considered myself a richer man than any king.”

You bite your lip, tears pricking at the back of your eyes. Andreas always spoke so eloquently but his inflection, the way he weaved his words together, spoke volumes of his adoration for his late wife.

“I do not think I shall ever love again, how can I, when my heart is entombed in stone along with my dearest light?” He takes a deep shuttering breath, and you are aware of what he must say next.

“You do not have to speak of it if you truly do not wish to.” You tell him, lying on your back as well, giving him further privacy, so he no longer had to feel your eyes on him.

“It was late at night, we had been riding all day, a wolf ran out into the road lunged at her horse, scared it. It took off running, and I gave chase, shouting her name, but something had happened, and it tripped, sent her tumbling off. The healers said she died quickly, painlessly, a broken neck, it was a clean break, nothing compared to the violent shattering of my heart.”

You choke back a sob, heavy grief for your friend, for yourself, for everyone you have lost, for everyone Andreas has lost begins piling onto your chest like great boulders. You are glad when clouds began to cover the sky, a gloomy atmosphere felt more respectful to the tale your dearest friend was telling.

“I must admit, I went quite mad with grief. Ordered every wolf in the vicinity hunted down, brought their pelts to her side. I do not know whether I wished to show her I had avenged her, or if it was some kind of twisted offering, but I could do nothing else. She was the one I wished to turn to, who I wished would comfort me, and she was gone. Now I must live on, for the sake of her people, her child.”

“You have a child?” You manage to ask, voice all but swallowed by a clap of thunder.

“A son, Leon, he is a bright boy, happy, loved, he is in the care of his grandmother while I am here. I will depart tonight to be reunited with him.” Andreas sits up and gives you, his hand.

You take it, tears slipping down your face mixing with the rain. “I am overjoyed to hear you have a small spot of brightness within your gloom.”

He nods, a weak but true smile on his face. “I will have his portrait sent to you, perhaps the Princess Gabrielle will find him suitable in the future.”

“Your schemes grow bolder with age, I see.” You laugh, but you know Andreas can see through your bravado.

“Y/N, there is no shame in grief, have you even mourned the life you once had?”

You stand with his assistance, the air thick with rain. “What is there to mourn?”

He squeezes your hand. “Your stubbornness grows with age as well.”

“I have mourned, I ensure you.” You have, you have mourned your life many times over, but it does you no good to dwell on it.

“Then why are you crying?”

You give him a watery laugh. “I am crying for you, my dearest friend who has lost the love of his wife, do you think me so selfish your story would not move me to tears?”

He hugs you, a warm, strong hug, filled with childhood memories and shared grief. “I would never think you selfish, I only thought you had outgrown such a phase. You cannot continue always crying for others y/n, or you will run out of tears.”

You cried as Miguel took you from your home, as he held you impossibly tight as he slept, the wind beating the canvas walls, you cried when he locked you in your first chambers, then you did not cry again, but now? Now you sob into Andreas’ chest because you grieve for him, for his son, and you grieve for your life before, for your mother who was left alone with the bodies of your family and a frightened kingdom. You cry for the young y/n, and the young Miguel, who did not know how their lives would unravel.

“My Lady, the emperor wishes to see you in his study.” Peter, Miguel’s third in command, says, his face cherry red as if he walked in on you and Andreas bare and intertwined.

You release Andreas. “You will write to me, yes, when you return home?”

“Of course, and you must reply, or I will assume you’ve been held hostage and mount a rescue.” He gives you one last smile, then makes his way back into the palace.

You watch over your shoulder as he goes, you both are walking in opposite directions, backs to each other, and you raise your face to the sky once more, letting the rain wash away your tears. You are on separate paths, but your staring points will always remain the same, tethered together by homelands, by grief.

“I will assume that encounter was perfectly honorable, as you seem a woman who wishes to keep her life.” Peter jests, giving you a playful smile.

“It was.” You do not have the energy for Peter’s boyish enthusiasm. Grief has sapped the strength from your bones, and you wish to rest.

“Pray the emperor believes you as well.”

TL: @not-aya, @belos-simp69, @deputy-videogamer, @sxnasbitch, @minimari415, @syndrlla97, @gejo333, @lady-necromancer, @zeyzeys-stuff, @tayleighuh, @loser-alert, @envyjmoney, @allysunny, @princessloveweird, @freehentai, @xlittlebubx-blog, @berry-potchy, @drefear, @jkthinkstoomuch, @ihateuguys, @yuuotosaka3, @queenofroses22, @ray-rook, @lollipopin, @faexsins, @drefear, @scorpihoooe, @mellowvisions15

[rosehallo]

Western Love

Kyojuro Rengoku x Western Reader

Lil sneak peak of a WIP…

This was a terrible week. You knew you should’ve listened to your mother and put away the pigs but of course you had forgotten and they had escaped in the storm leaving your family to chase them all down. The mud after the storm made everything more messy and the cleanup process of the barn was already severe.

So here you were in the middle of your small town bakery looking for a dessert to bring home as an apology for your mistakes.

“Hello young Tanjiro.” You greet the young boy who helped run the bakery.

“Hello Miss l/n! What can I help you with today?” You smile at the boys eagerness. He was always so helpful. You glance at the pastries and sweets in the display and eventually spot a chocolate cake covered with strawberries.

“Hmm how about this one? And can I get a few cupcakes like it as well?” The young boy quickly writes down your order and goes to the back of the store to the kitchen to put your order together.

“Well hello sunshine. Is this the town that’s been having disappearances?” A loud voice booms from behind you and startled you turn around.

It’s come from a man who’s tall and bright hair that resembles a flame. His eyebrows big and eyes wide. Overall you have to admit he is good looking. Clearly not from around here as his clothing was black and covering with sandals and a cape.

“New to town?” You ask.

“That obvious?” He chuckles stepping further into the store.

“Around these parts we wear denim and boots so you stick out like a sore thumb.” You point out. “You asked if there were disappearances though so you do have some knowledge of this town.”

The disappearances were odd. And to be quite frank some weren’t even disappearances they were straight up murders. Most blamed it on wild coyotes or horses trampling someone but those kinds of animals can’t do what this town has seen.

“I’m here to kill the demons causing it.” He states still with a smile spread across his face.

“Well I’m sorry sir but there’s no such things as demons but if your referencing to a person then that seems plausible.”

Tanjiro comes out from the back of the back and finishes ringing you up. You go to pay but the man intercepted paying with his money instead.

“Oh sir-“ You begin.

“Kyojuro Rengoku. Sorry for not introducing myself earlier. I don’t expect you to believe me about the demons but I will stop these disappearances. I must ask you though can you please tell everyone to remain in their homes tonight? It will be the safest.” He’s kind and gracious you think. It’s so obvious he isn’t around here as he doesn’t know what goes down at night.

“I’m sorry then Rengoku. I would love to help. Trust me I want these killings to stop just like the next but unfortunately nothing I can say will keep people in their homes tonight. Today is Friday and Friday nights are for the rodeo and line dancing. Everyone in the whole town will be there.” You tried explaining.

He frowns but then his expression light up.

“That’s great actually. It will be easier to find the demon if everyone is in one place. And you are going to this rodeo tonight miss…?”

“Oh yes my name is Y/N L/N. Yes I’ll be there tonight.”

“Well then Miss L/N. I will see you tonight.”

“Oh and Rengoku. Don’t wear that.” You smirk as you walk out the bakery heading back to your farm.

[professorcalculusstanaccount]

Bro I love you so much /p as someone who read the whole Tintin's comics multiple times as a child, saw the different movies and related smh sometimes to this wild lil belgian/french dude, seing your stuff makes me so goddamn happy.

I'm not at a super good time in my life rn. But seeing that some people still love those comics to the point of being hella creative about it reminds me how happy I was, at the time, when I was reading those on my mom's old ass MacBook in primary/elementary school, or on the floor of the living room with my dad's comics that were a bit falling apart becausd he had them for so long ; and then I was joyfully doing stories about it by myself too ! I now remember how badly I wanted to be like Tintin growing up ! Wow ! My trans ass just realised that !

I'll probably start to read them again tonight, you smh woke up my actual first hyperfixation of all time I think. Also I spent maybe one full hour sending all your stuff to my gf tonight because I was so happy and my connection sucks ah-

Have a good time in life, honestly you're amazing ! (and sorry for the grammar/syntax/spelling mistakes ! My french ADHD ass can't write anymore in english)

Oh wow. oh man. Thank you so much for sending this to me, I know you sent it some time ago and I'm sorry I took a long time to respond, but this really means a lot to me!

I'm also transmasc and can relate to fictional characters being formative in childhood (though for some reason I never related to Tintin? he was just Too Perfect for me. I definitely related to Haddock as a kid. maybe i had Issues lol).

The way Tintin performs gender is super appealing, I genuinely believe his unique way of presenting gender was a large factor in his global popularity - he was a total badass without alienating people who don't relate to "traditional" Western forms of masculinity! A petite androgynous guy who loved musical theatre and dressed his little dog in ribbons and was never mocked for it. Really makes him stand out from a lot of male action heroes of the time.

I hope you're in a better place now, it's been a rough couple of years recently. Thank you so much for taking the time to write to me, especially in English!

[juletheghoul]

a/n: I started writing fanfic when I was in my teens, typing away into the night as a way to feel connected to my faves. Eventually I stopped, maybe convinced myself that I'd grown out of it, but that definitely wasn't the case. Truth is the stories have always been there, and I've always wanted to tell them. I'm happy to have found my way back to fanfic, back to the sense of community and all those other amazing fucking stories that I've read here. I've been lucky enough to have my things put on rec lists and now I want to make one of my own. I've been compiling a list of submissions, along with some of my faves and I offer them up to you, humbly. This list in no way encompasses all of the masterpieces I've read, just doing my best with the shitshow that is my memory lol. I am beyond lucky to have reached such a wild milestone, thanks for following along-please enjoy and show these creators some love!

Story recs;

Each story will have it's own warnings**

Jack Whiskey Daniels;

Under Marula Trees (Jack x F!Reader) by @deadhumourist

Cognitive Dissonance (Jack x F!reader) by @prolix-yuy

The Cowboy Next Door (Jack x virgin!freader) by @ikissdin

Javier Peña;

Learning to Live (Javier Peña/f!reader) by @wheresarizona

Fear and Loathing (Javier Peña x F!Reader) by @joels6strings

Lie to Me (Javier Peña x DEA Agent fem reader) by @iamskyereads

Mailroom Crush (Javier Peña x f!reader) by @littlemisspascal

Girl Next Door (Javier Peña x f!reader) by @babybugwrites

Teach Me Tonight (Javier Peña x F!DEA!Reader) by @storiesofthefandomlovers 

Dieter Bravo;

Funny Girl (Dieter x F!Reader) by @radiowallet

Stay on the Screenplay (Dieter x F!Reader) by @jazzelsaur

Love Triangles (Dieter Bravo x Female Reader) by @littlemisspascal

Morning (Porn star Dieter x Porn star reader) by @write-and-buried

Dave York;

Appreciation (Dave x F!Reader) by @pedropascalsx

My Girl (Dave York x f!reader x Francisco “Catfish” Morales) by @foli-vora

Family Fun Series (Dave York x F!Nanny!Reader x Carol York) by @absurdthirst

Rare (Dave York x fem reader) by @ezrasbirdie

Din Djarin;

Take Me to Church (Din Djarin/Reader Western AU) by @frannyzooey

Vibes (Din x F!Reader) by @mandoblowmybackout

Boxer Din Series (Boxer Din Djarin x Masseuse Fem!Reader) by @djarinsbeskar

Like a Moth to the Flame (monster!Din x F!reader) by @the-scandalorian

A Brush of Life (Hades!Din x f!reader) by @charnelhouse

Pero Tovar;

Ego & Black Powder (Pero x F!Reader) by @psychedlic-ink

The Wolf Series (Werewolf!Pero Tovar x F!Reader) by @absurdthirst

Frankie Morales;

Weeknights (Frankie Morales x F!reader) by @frannyzooey

Please To Meet You (Frankie x F!Reader) by @intheorangebedroom

Still of the Night (Frankie xF!reader) by @foli-vora

Joel Miller;

West (Joel Miller x Third Person Female) by @radiowallet

September (Joel x f!reader) by @wheresarizona

Pedro Across The Street (Calls)

Good Things Take Time (PATS x f!reader) by @oonajaeadira

Masterlists;

@novemberrain-writes - masterlist

@thisishellfire - Pedro masterlist

@foli-vora - masterlist

@wheresarizona - masterlist

@frannyzooey - masterlist

@oonajaeadira - masterlist

@psychedelic-ink - masterlist

@nexusnyx - masterlist

@wardenparker - masterlist

@loversandantiheroes - masterlist

@whiskeynwriting - masterlist

@pedros-mustache - masterlist

@writer-darling - masterlist

@mothandpidgeon - masterlist

@littlepadika - masterlist

@pedropascalsx - masterlist

@absurdthirst - masterlist

@just-here-for-the-moment - masterlist

[jessicalprice]

not every story is a fable

(reposted from Twitter)

So in reading Christian commentary on NT parables, and its wild and ugly claims about first-century Jews and Judaism, I often find myself wondering how they got there. And I think I've discerned the process. 

It goes a little something like this: 

Christians receive traditional interpretations of what the parables “mean." E.g. the prodigal son means you should forgive people, the good Samaritan means you should help people in need. These meanings are, generally, banal.

Rather than reading the parables as stories, Christians read them as fables with a moral. They read them through the lens of that moral instead of approaching them without a predetermined interpretation.

Christians also believe that the parables must contain revolutionary, radical truths.

So now, they somehow have to resolve the idea that the stories are radical with the fact that their received interpretations are obvious/banal/the same thing plenty of other people have said.

And that goes a little something like this: 

Since (what they believe are) the morals of these stories don't sound radical to contemporary Westerners, they project that radicalness backward onto the parable's original context and audience. That is, it must have been radical/shocking at the time, to the people who first heard it.

Now they have to resolve the dilemma of how something that sounds so banal and obvious to us could have been radical and shocking and scandalous(!) to the original listeners.

Most of them aren't going to say "Jesus's Jewish listeners were incredibly malicious and/or incredibly stupid," at least out loud. So they move to: Projecting that onto Jewish culture, Jewish law, "religious law," etc. 

So then they need to make up norms/customs/attitudes that would make the parable "shocking." If they can find a source that maybe seems to say something that hints in that direction, they'll claim it says a lot more than it does and that it was normative. (E.g. Ben Sira saying you can tell things about a man from how he walks ends up meaning "the villagers would have stoned the father for running to greet his long-lost son" and of course that running to greet your long-lost son would be S H O C K I N G to the listeners.)

It's why they love throwing "ritual purity" in there so much. 

The father in the Prodigal Son story wouldn't embrace his son because he was ritually impure! (If the father was out doing farm stuff and wasn't going to the Temple any time soon, most likely, so was he.)

The kohen and the Levite in the Good Samaritan story passed by the dying man on the side of the road because they were afraid he would make them ritually impure! (The story is very clear they were headed AWAY from Jerusalem, and thus the Temple, so no.)

The Pharisee in the Temple has contempt for the tax collector and doesn't want to stand next to him because he's ritually impure! (No, if the tax collector is in the Temple, he is in a state of ritual purity.)

An anthropologist friend of mine told me that when anthropologists/archaeologists are confronted with an object from an ancient culture and they don't know what it's for, the default category is "ritual object."

Did you dig up a weird-shaped ax that doesn't seem well-designed for either being a weapon OR chopping things? Ritual object. 

Find a statue with some odd characteristics? Ritual object.

"Ritual purity" appears to be to Christian understanding of Jewish customs what "ritual object" is to anthropologists. Anything that doesn't make sense to you, put down to "ritual purity."

So, anyway, the process goes like this: 

parables must be shocking > 

they're not shocking to me > 

they must have been shocking to Jews > 

make up supposed Jewish customs/laws/attitudes that would have made normal behavior "shocking"

It’s exhausting. 

(Photo credit: Andrea Piacquadio)

[rivstyx]

Hey! Could I please ask for a NatM fic recommendation? I don't like oneshots or pwp so Idk where to start tbh

YES of course you can my dear anon! it sounds like you're looking for longer, more plotty stories, so here are some fics that may fit that description:

The Barn Raising by PoetryInMotion (7,463 words)

The Old West's barn has been demolished by a fetch-related accident. When they get a new one, the Western denizens throw a good old-fashioned barn-raising party. Jedediah decides to invite Octavius (and both secretly hope that they can kindle a romance between the do-si-do and the two-step).

some classic fluff. if you grew up a yeehaw like me, you'll love the little touches of Western culture; if not, you can still appreciate how damn cute this fic is

Down Then Left by mournwiththemoon (36,024 words, incomplete)

Octavius is balls deep in the closet and a mild midlife crisis. Jedediah just wants to fix the elevator. AKA the corporate loser x mechanical engineer AU that literally nobody asked for.

modern AU that i'm obsessed with. octavius is a sad divorced sandbag, jed is an obnoxious wannabe country singer, and i love them both with all my heart

He Loves Me Not by orphan_account (25,820 words)

Jed stumbles across a stack of unsent/unfinished love letters from Octavius to an unknown person in the museum. Jed sets out to find out who. Not because he’s jealous. No, not all.

big romcom vibes. it's not miscommunication, but it's not not miscommunication

if this was a cowboy movie (i'd give you my boots) by Liviapenn (10,180 words)

There are secret articles in our treaties with the gods, of more importance than all the rest, which the historian can never know.' -- Henry David Thoreau. This hour I tell things in confidence, I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you. -- Walt Whitman, "Song of Myself"

ok this one only sort of fits the bill, but i love it too much not to rec it. it follows jed and octavius as they walk back from the car wreck in movie 1 and tell each other stories about their pasts

living beyond your years (acting out all their fears) by Riv_Styx (16,447 words)

“Go,” Octavius repeated. “Run. I am with you.” Jedediah did the one thing he never thought he was capable of doing. The thing he would have sooner died than chosen of his own accord. He ran. Secret of the Tomb AU. Octavius doesn't make it out of Pompeii; angry and grieving, Jedediah goes home alone. Meanwhile, for Octavius, his whole world changes overnight. The new museum is thriving on the magic of the tablet, but it's not where he belongs. It's going to be a long way home.

oh look a familiar name!

my heart will stop in joy by HungryOnMain (12,433 words, incomplete)

A temporary exhibit, on display at the AMNH for a limited time, brings forth a vengeful force from the past. Terrible, painful memories bubble up from the depths of the minds of everyone on display. They can be taken, and joy restored - for a price.

dark, fucked up, and utterly addicting. i eagerly await every serving. this one says "hey, forget kahmunrah - what else could tablet magic possibly do in the wrong hands?"

Any Weather (series) by EwokRae22 (151,470 words)

On a lucky break from McPhee, Larry brings the exhibits on a winter vacation north of New York. He has everything prepared, or at least that’s what he tells himself. Because nothing can stop Jedediah and Octavius’s useless and oh-so-tiny longing for each other, not even the snow.

a fandom classic! the series follows jed and octavius through some wild adventures and features some genuinely heart-wrenching twists

Cacoethes (series) by Anonymous (25,927 words)

A deeper look into Jedediah and Octavius's experiences during Battle of the Smithsonian, and a look at what could have happened after the end.

take the hourglass scene from natm 2 and turn the homosexuality up to eleven, and you've got cacoethes - though the rest of the works in the series are definitely worth the read!

hope this helps! :D

[adrianicsea]

Hello, I just want to say I'm getting most of my film recs from you. And I was wandering, have you seen any fioms that aren't western that you would recommend. I just don't know where to start. Anyways, have a nice day.

hi!!! that means so much to me— i love sharing the movies i’m passionate about, and it means a lot when people tell me that they check out a movie because of me 🥹

by non-western films, i’m assuming that you mean films not from the US or from western european countries— if that’s not the case, please let me know!!

i actually haven’t seen a ton of non-western movies myself, and that’s something i’d like to address!! but as far as non-western films i HAVE seen and enjoyed, here’s some that i’ve recently seen or ones that are still memorable:

promare— japan, anime, action/scifi. follows the adventures of galo, an enthusiastic member of a team of firefighters facing off against a terrorist group of pyromancers known as the mad burnish. as galo learns more about the mysterious leader of the burnish, lio, galo comes to question the way burnish are treated in society and if lio’s actions are truly in the wrong.

perfect blue— japan, anime, horror/thriller. mima, a retired j-pop idol, is being stalked as she pivots to an acting career. she loses her grip on reality as a series of strange, violent events begin to happen around her, including a vision of her own former idol self.

sweet home- japan, horror. when a film documentary crew sets foot in the mansion of a notorious deceased artist to research and create a tv special about his frescoes, they awake a dormant evil. this movie is notable because its tie-in video game was a direct inspiration for the resident evil series!

noroi: the curse— japan, horror. this is kind of a found footage/mockumentary style film that starts as an exploration of a purported “curse” and the strange events surrounding it, and then escalates to become something absolutely wild and ABSOLUTELY terrifying.

beau travail— france/djibouti, drama/thriller. while this film’s director, claire denis, IS french, she grew up in colonial french africa, and this film as well as many of her others explore west african culture and issues. in beau travail, the disgraced french legion sergeant galoup recounts the tale of his fall from grace and his cardinal sin of betraying one of his own, a beautiful, kind, and noble young cadet named sentain. this film is a loose adaptation of herman melville’s story billy budd, and it also explores the ongoing effects of the french legion’s presence in djibouti!

nosferatu— silent film (made in germany), horror. if you’re interested in learning about film history at all, western or otherwise, you can’t NOT look at the german expressionist movement! this is a classic, quintessential vampire story— in fact, nosferatu was made as a dracula ripoff when the director FW murnau was not permitted to make an ACTUAL film adaptation of dracula.

metropolis— silent film (made in germany), scifi. this is another legendary entry in the german expressionist movement! in a far-off, hyperindustrialized future, the richest people in metropolis live high above the ground, oblivious to the constant, dehumanizing labor and miserable conditions that are endured by the workers living down below. a sweet, naive young boy from the upper levels named freder finds his way down into the guts of the city, and he is awakened to the suffering of his fellow man and begins to agitate for a workers’ revolution. the work and effects in this movie are BEYOND impressive, especially for something that’s nearing 100 years old!!!

good manners— brazil, horror/fantasy with some musical elements. in são paulo, a poor nurse named clara manages to secure a job as a house sitter, nurse, and nanny to a rich single soon-to-be mother named ana. as the two of them begin to fall in love, ana recounts the story of her baby’s father, and reveals that both he and her unborn child are werewolves. this is a gorgeous, sensitive, and original take on the werewolf genre, and the creature effects are amazing!

RRR— india, musical/action/epic. this is kind of a fictional “what-if” scenario about the meeting of two real-life indian revolutionaries. bheem is a man from a tribe living traditionally in the jungles of india; raju is living as one of the only indian members of the occupying british forces, a traitor to his own people. by rights, the two should hate each other— but they meet while cooperating to rescue a child and become best friends instead, neither one aware of their true identities or motives.

zindagi na milegi dobra— india, comedy/road trip movie. three childhood friends meet up to go on an adventure before one of them gets married, and along the way, they each find the courage to do something that they’ve always wanted to do, like skydive or run with the bulls in spain!!

monkey man— india, action. an anonymous young man going only by the name Kid undertakes a years-long revenge quest in order to avenge his family and village, long ago destroyed by a fascist quasi-religious leader. this film has a lot of american influences/people working on it, but given that its director and star dev patel has indian heritage and that the film deals so squarely with indian culture and politics, it felt fair to include it here.

flee— denmark/afghanistan, partially animated, drama/biopic. amin, an openly gay man living in denmark, arrived there as an unaccompanied minor from afghanistan when he was a teenager. using a combination of documentary-style interview footage with amin and animated recreations, flee tells the story of his exodus from his home and of his coming to terms with his identity.

i hope that at least one or two of these sounds interesting to you!! and if you meant something different by non-western (ex ANY non-english film, just films that aren’t from the US), please let me know and i might have some alternate recs for you :)

[paigeswiftsea]

hi people, i just created a new fanfic for sabine because i’ve been reading all of the sabine docs and was inspired to write one myself. it’s already posted on ao3 if you want to look it up. i’ll link it here but i’d figured i’d also post it here (:

wc: 2,147

2 years.

That’s how long she had lived in Jorvik. Blaire Williams here for two whole years. And in a whirlwind of rune stones, druids, and magic squirrels, Blaire was now a soul rider. She was everywhere all of the time helping people all around the country. It got tiring for her sometimes, but she got some good cash by helping someone build a chicken coop, or set up a race. Although it got tiring at some points, she liked being busy, she was always doing something.

The equestrian festival had come and gone, and camp western was almost over as well. That meant the soul riders had to get back to work in the Fort Maria library. Not as much fun as it sounded. For Linda, it was fun.

The rest of the soul riders, Alex and Blaire goofed off more than they’d like to admit." They were both people who couldn’t sit still.

But now, blaire was walking up the steps from the grand hall up to the main level of the library. It was so far, everyday, walking back and forth from Avalon, then up the stairs, and then more stairs, then down stairs. Now it was the search of the book names Avalon gave Blaire that day to translate into Jorvik Gigantica. She sighed heavily, scanning the bookshelves for the last book she needed, mumbling the name of the book under her breath to not forget it

“ Ah! There it is! Volume 12” Blaire said to herself. She sat the books down and began translating. She had to admit there was some interesting history in these books. Things about wars and magic and previous reincarnations of soul riders and dark riders. Random things about primeval trees and Jorvik’s link to Pandoria. It was quite interesting at times. But today was incredibly boring. Just random things about farms.

Blaires' arrival to Jorvik to where she is today was a tale, no doubt. She lived in many places around the world, her parents often traveling for long term changes in jobs. Blaire never knew what exactly they did, and how it made them so rich. Blaire never questioned it. The last place blaire lived with her parents was england. Their longest homestead ever, she thought, was almost 3 years. That's where she first discovered her love for horses. She had one horse at a fancy riding school off of the main island of england. She hated to admit it, but she used to be one of those snotty rich kids, a brat, more or less. She was one of them, doing dressage, cross country, and jumping.

But then, her parents sent her off for the summer. To a riding camp. She hated that she had to go to a random country for the summer, away from her friends, her boyfriend. It was a rough first week where she did nothing. She had felt like her parents despised her and liked to punish her. She hated the buddy buddy friendship club thing at first. She was a distinguished rider, not a loser like the rest of them.

Then she saved moorland from being demolished by Mr.Kembell. And it changed everything. She found her starbreed, diamond. And then she continued helping around moorland, then fort pinta. And she started to like it. She made a pact to herself sometime during those weeks to never be snobby like she was ever again. And she had succeeded, so far. The dark riders had tested her patience, many times. Sabine almost killed her horse once. She still isn't over that.

Blaire liked the adventure, learning how to use her powers, so translating this book got hard at times, because it was just a bunch of sitting. Alex never helped either, once she brought snacks and almost ruined an old book. Lisa helped, but she got distracted writing lyrics or tapping a melody in her head on the table. Anne, tried… The only real help to the keepers was Linda, when doing translating. Blaire was also assigned to the wild weave, and damn tuning that chart was hard. Sometimes she heard the breaking of runes in her sleep from how many times she had failed to tune it. 

Eventually Blaire finished what felt like assignments from the druids , talked to Avalon, and walked out to the entrance of the Fort Maria Library. Mounting her perlino andalusian she had been given by the moorlands she clicked her tongue into a canter slowly going down the spiral path that led to the library. She still had to do chores for the moorlands and in her stable, splitting the work with Maya, who always worked too hard for her own good. Eventually blaire stepped in taking over some of Maya’s responsibilities so she could have more time to work on refurbishing her family’s farm.

As she rode back, passing Jorvik Stables, she thought back to the equestrian festival. More particularly, Sabine. In past years, Sabine had created chaos, multiple times, even manipulating Blaire herself to let the pigs out and the whole firework fiasco. During a later competition, during the awards, Sabine had leaned down into Blaire's ear whispering,

“I was never going to set those fireworks off. I just wanted to see what you and your little Soul Riders would do. And it was amusing, but you failed.”

“Failed? Failed what?”

“My last test.”

Whatever Sabine meant, Blaire didn’t know. However, this past festival had been different. No fireworks, pigs, spreading childish rumors, scaring off riding clubs. None of it. She was less of a pain in Blaire's ass. But she did go to Moorlands part of the festival and set up her own special race. Blaire did it every day.

Even though Blaire hated Sabine, she still felt like she had to prove herself to her enemy. Sabine always managed to get under Blaire's skin when mentioning riding skills. And their chase, Blaire did every day of the festival, hoping maybe one day she would beat Sabine and would be able to rub it in her face. But she knew it would most likely never happen. Blaire’s thoughts wandered as her horse trotted along the familiar paths of Jorvik. She recalled the countless times Sabine’s taunts had fueled her determination. There was something about Sabine’s smugness that made Blaire push herself harder, striving to be better. She knew it was irrational, but the rivalry had become a driving force in her life.

As she approached the stable, Blaire dismounted and led her horse inside. Maya was already there, busying herself with the daily chores.

"Hey, Maya," Blaire called out, trying to mask her weariness.

Maya looked up and smiled. "Hey, Blaire. How was the library today?"

"Boring as usual," Blaire replied with a sigh. "Just translating some old texts. Nothing exciting."

“ Well, maybe you'll find something soon. Alex has been texting me all day about how bored she is and how she was cheeseballs.”

“Figures. She didnt do shit today. Avalon was starting to get pissy at her.”

Maya chuckled, moving to pick up hay. Blaire finished taking off diamonds tack, putting it away into the closet in the nice organized way she always did. She led Diamond to her stall, then worked on her chores for the night.

.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

Sabine sighed, making her way back to the oil rig for the first time in a while. She hated this place—the cold, metallic structures, the ever-present smell of oil, and the mindless goons who populated it. The only tolerable people were her fellow Dark Riders. Sabine and Katja were deceivingly close, having understood each other and their similar upbringings. Jay, she could get along with, but she was nowhere near as close to her as she was to Katja.

Sabine walked into the rig, leaving her dark bay horse, Khaan, where the rest of the horses resided. The harsh lights and the constant hum of machinery made the place feel oppressive. She made her way to the small, cell-like room she stayed in, looking around it stiffly. After a minute, she let out a sigh and relaxed her shoulders. Being a Dark Rider was tiring, constantly working under the pressure of Mr. Sands and his looming expectations.

She threw her cloak onto a chair and sat on the edge of the narrow bed, running a hand through her slicked back hair. The rig's metallic walls seemed to close in on her, amplifying her sense of isolation. Despite the camaraderie with Katja, the loneliness of her role often weighed heavily on her. Sabine longed for something more, something beyond the endless cycle of schemes and battles. “Sabine,” a voice called out from behind her. She turned to see Katja approaching. “Mr. Sands wants to see you. He has news I guess.” she said distantly, like always.

Sabine nodded, her expression unreadable. “I’ll be there in a moment.” She watched Katja leave before taking a deep breath. Whatever the council had in store for her, she was ready. She had to be. “ General Malumi..” Mr. Sands drawled, spinning around in his chair like it was a movie. Sabine stood at the threshold of his office, her arms crossed, trying to mask her disdain. She hated his stupid little quirks, the theatrical gestures that made him seem more like a caricature than the powerful leader of the Dark Riders.

Mr. Sands,” she replied coolly, stepping into the room. “What do you need?”

Sands stopped spinning and leaned forward, his fingers steepled together. His eyes, though sunken and shadowed, gleamed with a dangerous light. “I have a special assignment for you, General,” he said, emphasizing her title with a mocking tone.

Sabine resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Another assignment? I thought we already had plans for me.”

“I do,” Sands said, a smile tugging at his lips. “But this one is different. It’s important, and I believe you’re the only one capable of handling it.”

She raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite herself. “What’s the assignment?”

Sands leaned back in his chair, the smile widening. “I need you to find out everything you can about The Fifth Soul Rider. The reninarinate. I want her weaknesses, but more importantly, I want to know what makes her tick, explode. I want to understand her motivations, her fears, her desires. Get close to her, if you can.”

Sabine’s eyes narrowed. “You want me to spy on her.”

“Precisely,” Sands said, his tone silky. “And not just any kind of spying. I want you to get under her skin, make her trust you. Find out what she holds dear and how we can use it against her.”

Sabine’s stomach churned at the thought. It wasn’t just the idea of deceiving Blaire that bothered her; it was the potential implications of getting close to her enemy. “And what if she finds out?”

“Then you’ll deal with it,” Sands said harshly, waving a hand dismissively. “You’re resourceful, General. That’s why I chose you for this task. You have the ability to see things others miss.”

She clenched her jaw, hating how he twisted his words to sound like praise. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

“Excellent,” Sands purred. “I knew I could count on you.”

As Sabine turned to leave, Sands called after her, “ Remember Malumi—failure is not an option.”

She didn’t bother responding, the door closing behind her with a soft thud. Her mind was racing, the weight of the new assignment pressing down on her. She had faced many challenges as a Dark Rider, but this one felt different. Personal.

Back in her room, Sabine sat on the edge of her bed, lost in thought. Getting close to Blaire meant more than just another mission. It meant confronting the strange connection she felt with the Soul Rider, since she met her at the vineyard, a connection that both intrigued and unsettled her.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “What have I gotten myself into?”

Sabine knew she had to approach this carefully. Blaire was smart and perceptive; any hint of deception could ruin everything. She needed a plan, a way to integrate herself into Blaire’s world without raising suspicion.

An idea began to form in her mind, a way to encounter Blaire outside of their usual confrontations. She would have to use her wits and charm, traits that had served her well in the past. But this time, the stakes were higher, and the risks greater.

As the evening wore on, Sabine prepared herself mentally for the days ahead. She would become a shadow in Blaire’s life, watching, learning, and waiting for the right moment to strike. It was a dangerous game, but one she was determined to win.

For now, all she could do was wait for the right opportunity. And when it came, Sabine would be ready.

[a-god-in-ruins-rises]

western women get a lot of flak for being too independent or "masculine" but it always makes me think of spartan women. i think about that quote: "why are spartan women the only women who rule their men" and queen gorgo says it's because "spartan women are the only women who give birth to real men." i think plutarch also mentions that spartan men were always obedient to their wives.

or as socrates put it (quoted by xenophon): "It is the example of the rider who wishes to become an expert horseman: 'None of your soft-mouthed, docile animals for me,' he says; 'the horse for me to own must show some spirit' in the belief, no doubt, if he can manage such an animal, it will be easy enough to deal with every other horse besides. And that is just my case. I wish to deal with human beings, to associate with man in general; hence my choice of wife. I know full well, if I can tolerate her spirit, I can with ease attach myself to every human being else."

and i think there's a lot of truth to this. i think cultures with spirited, independent women are made stronger by it, for a number of reasons. and i think it actually plays a major role in western civilization's success. a strong-willed man and a strong-willed woman working together in union is an incredibly strong foundation for a family and a civilization.

and i don't want to give the impression that the west was ever some kind of gender-egalitarian utopia. but i do think a significant degree of respect for women is a common feature in western civilization (and i'd say broader indo-european culture too). at least compared to other civilizations. and especially in the prechristian and, now, the postchristian eras (though i'd say it even bleeds through in the christian era in some ways too). i mean there's a reason why feminism first blossomed in the west and not elsewhere.

but yeah, this desire for some docile, obedient slave-wife seems to be very contrary to the spirit of western civilization. i mean, it seemed like the default view of women in prechristian europe, for better or worse, was that women were these wild, powerful, passionate, promiscuous creatures who needed to be tamed. and yes, women were expected to be loyal and amenable/agreeable to their husbands but this is hardly unreasonable and is a far cry from the obedient slave-wife some people propose as an ideal (namely traditional christians and muslims and the like).

"women should be banned from doing manual labor" -- traditionally, women did all sorts of manual labor. medieval peasant women would be working in the fields just like the men. and even if they weren't working a field there would be plenty of other physically taxing jobs they'd be doing. not saying that women should be encouraged to do extremely dangerous or physically taxing jobs, but if they're able to more power to them. and i kinda detest this desire to portray women as frail and incapable. they are the weaker sex but they're not weak. let's not infantilize them.

also, western women generally marry out of love and commitment and view themselves (rightfully) as partners in union with their husbands. whereas these types of women (the woman who made this post) believe women's sole purpose is to be obedient little decorations who do nothing but sit around and look pretty (and maybe have babies if she's very traditional -- but often you won't even get that!) while the man just gives her money. it's transactional and superficial. there's no real love or partnership. it's not a good foundation for a family or a civilization.

anyway, belated happy women's day.