#mentions canary hollis

[a-little-unsteddie]

7, 14, 30, and 43 for Vaughn for the oc asks? C:

ahhh!! thank you for the ask <3 gotjdhs

for Vaughn!

7 :: what is their favorite animal?

a canary! and it’s definitely because of Canary, he loves that boy so much. he loves their songs, too (both the bird and the person). aside from that, probably a crow? they also remind him of Canary, because they bring shiny things and tiny treasures to their friends.

14 :: what do they smell like? do they wear cologne/perfume?

this is a tough one because they’re sort of in like, a medieval fantasy world, so i’m thinking a lot like the woods he grew up in. so a woodsy pine smell, mixed with maybe fresh dirt?? and if he does wear body spray, it would probably be something floral because he enjoys the way they smell, but it’s not often that he does.

30 :: fashion forward or fashion disaster?

he does good with what he has available to him, so fashion forward! there’s a lot of muted colors, and like, very earth toned colors that are in fashion, and usually with layers, including shiny things (accessories). idk if this makes sense but!! here’s a pic from pinterest of like,, a general vibe but with tights??

43 :: how creative are they?

he’s pretty creative! he used to help canary write songs when they were in their early teens. but after he gets uhh kidnapped he obviously has less of a chance to practice his creativity, but i think he uses his imagination to uhh dissociate until he eventually is rescued. and then after that, i think he’d use creativity as a means of coping with what happened.

Ask me about my ocs!

[bitterrobin]

You know what I've realized these past several months on Tumblr and just...years of consuming content?

It's pretty rare for the fandom to acknowledge Gotham as a city. A real, living city with people in it. Like, sure we always get cutesy posts about Batman or the others from outside perspectives or fics that include interesting ocs (I love u if you do that btw).

But what I mean isn't that. What I mean is: does anyone think of Gotham and its citizens as actual people? Because I've sure seen kind of the opposite.

I see constant arguments or heavily biased (mostly misinformed) posts regarding what Bruce does and how the Batman helps the city. That his riches would get lost in corruption and no one can save the city unless there's violence. You could try and make the argument, sure. But we've seen time and time again in comics that Bruce uses his money to the benefit of the city. We've seen in comics that he employs people who are disadvantaged and gives them opportunities. People know Bruce Wayne gives jobs and treats his employees well. He donates heavily to charities, creates his own organizations, funds Leslie Thompkin's clinic, and consistently updates the safety of his own buildings. People (at least post-Crisis) would know that Bruce Wayne did everything he could to save Gotham after the Cataclysm earthquake/No Man's Land - that he went up against Congress. Of course, not everyone would like Batman. Not everyone would trust the Wayne name. They'd see a stranger who prowls nightly and may or may not rescue you. They'd see the privilege of an old rich name who gets to exert his influence over the city. If you go to him for help, you go to him with the fear, and anticipation of rejection or with the knowledge that he will be safe.

I've also seen the (imo) ridiculous notion that Crime Alley citizens would trust the Red Hood. Maybe some would now, after the reboots and actual comic book evidence that he's doing something. But I cannot fathom living in a city with such heavy crimes occurring and then trusting what is essentially a cop. People don't know the Red Hood. They don't know Jason Todd. They would only know: 1. he has tried and succeeded various times to take over organized crime and drug routes 2. he can and will kill if he sees it fit. In some people's eyes, he would be a cop with even less judicial oversight. In some families, he would be the killer of their breadwinner, of their fathers or family members or lovers. A man with a gun. Eyes without a face. If you go to him for help, you go to him for blood.

This doesn't even begin to lay out the insane amount of vigilantes who live/operate in Gotham. The Batman is not the only figure. The Red Hood is not the only figure. If you boil down Gotham to only the conflict between these two characters, you miss the nuances and varied opinions of the city by miles. If you boil down Gotham to just Batman-affiliates, you miss even more.

For every person who doesn't trust Batman, there's someone who'd prefer Huntress. For every child who lives in fear but can't trust an adult, there's Robin or Batgirl. For an abused woman, there's other women out there who help: Catwoman or Black Canary or Holly Robinson. There's people who'd never trust a vigilante but want safety, they'd have Leslie Thompkins (who operates in Crime Alley) or Lucius Fox who could give them a job.

Not to mention, Batman is very obviously white. There would be some people who would rightfully mistrust white men, and would prefer figures like Orpheus or Onyx or Batwing or the Signal or Huntress (post-N52). There's the Creeper, who would be terrifying but some might prefer the monster over the man. There's Ragman, an explicitly Jewish vigilante who was literally called the Tatterdemalion of the Oppressed and trusted by the poor and homeless. There's Batwoman, Mother Panic, Spoiler, Nightwing, Red Robin, Azrael, Bluebird, the enigmatic idea of the Oracle, Anarky, Ghostmaker, Gotham Girl/Boy, Catman, Alan Scott-Green Lantern, Wildcat.

Hell, maybe someone who lives in Gotham would just straight up trust Superman or the Flash or Wonder Woman more than anyone else. Maybe they'd never once trust someone acting for a perceived view of justice and would just trust an employer like Two-Face or the Riddler or any mobster.

I'm stressing my point here: when you write anyone who lives in Gotham City, keep in mind that they don't know they live in a comic book world. Secret identities are foreign to them, they only know the base actions of each vigilante. Each person's opinion will heavily vary. Every experience colors their view of the city and vigilantes as a whole. Just, idk, widen your horizons and consider about what someone living in a place like Gotham would really think.

To that end, read the comics!!! Research actual cities!!! Take in experiences and history!!! It's all interesting and just adds so much more.

You want one comic that shows Bruce helping Gotham and the various views of Gothamites, read Gotham Knights #32, published in 2002 and titled "24/7." Read it online illegally if you have to!!

[wandloreinamerica]

Can I ask about Elder and Silver Lime? It's so hard to find information about these wood types

Just so we are starting firmly in canon

Elder

The rarest wand wood of all, and reputed to be deeply unlucky, the elder wand is trickier to master than any other. It contains powerful magic, but scorns to remain with any owner who is not the superior of his or her company; it takes a remarkable wizard to keep the elder wand for any length of time. The old superstition, ‘wand of elder, never prosper,’ has its basis in this fear of the wand, but in fact, the superstition is baseless, and those foolish wandmakers who refuse to work with elder do so more because they doubt they will be able to sell their products than from fear of working with this wood. The truth is that only a highly unusual person will find their perfect match in elder, and on the rare occasion when such a pairing occurs, I take it as certain that the witch or wizard in question is marked out for a special destiny. An additional fact that I have unearthed during my long years of study is that the owners of elder wands almost always feel a powerful affinity with those chosen by rowan.

— Given that this is a very rare wood, it does not surprise me that there isn’t a lot of information about it. I personally have not worked with it. The one person I can remember talking about working with it noted that the smaller branches have a pith core. While this might make it easier to insert a magical core, it does present durability issues. If a solid wood wand is desired, this wouldn’t mean that it has to come from either a fairly large branch or the trunk proper. This in turn limits how much wood can be obtained from a tree.

Silver Lime

This unusual and highly attractive wand wood was greatly in vogue in the nineteenth century. Demand outstripped supply, and unscrupulous wandmakers dyed substandard woods in an effort to fool purchasers into believing that they had purchased silver lime. The reasons for these wands’ desirability lay not only in their unusually handsome appearance, but also because they had a reputation for performing best for Seers and those skilled in Legilimency, mysterious arts both, which consequently gave the possessor of a silver lime wand considerable status. When demand was at its height, wandmaker Arturo Cephalopos claimed that the association between silver lime and clairvoyance was ‘a falsehood circulated by merchants like Gerbold Ollivander (my own grandfather), who have overstocked their workshops with silver lime and hope to shift their surplus’. But Cephalopos was a slipshod wandmaker and an ignoramus, and nobody, Seer or not, was surprised when he went out of business.

— This is the canon description. If you are in the Old World, outside of the British Isles, you might look for this and related woods under the common name Linden. In North America, it is most commonly called Basswood. In any case these woods belong to the genus Tilia and are very very similar physically. Below the cut, I have included my own thoughts on the genus.

The canon description of silver lime has always puzzled me. Tilia woods are an off white when freshly worked and age to a pale tan or yellow, if unfinished. The grain is very faint, and the wood is light weight. This makes it a fantastic hand carving wood. It’s workability made it one of the premiere woods for carving in the medieval ages and today.

This workability could account for the “unusually handsome appearance” as a silver lime wand may have been exquisitely carved. But the fact that dye is mentioned as being used to trick people indicates that color not carving is the identifying factor. This is a might perplexing as I would not compare Tila’s color with tropical hardwoods valued for color like redheart, ebony, rosewood or canary wood. Nor would I compare it to temperate woods like black walnut, black cherry, Holly or yew.

With respect to arcane properties, I find these wands more aligned with protection, justice and the law, and healing. But that could be because I use basswood not Silver Lime.

[seasonsofeverlark]

Spreading Christmas Cheer

Author: @mega-aulover​

Prompt: Everlark the movie Elf [submitted by @alliswell21​]

Rating: G

Author’s Note: This is a story based off of the movie Elf as requested by @alliswell21​ It’s from “Jovie” i.e. Katniss POV, what she would have seen and fell in love with one Peeta ‘Buddy’ Mellark. 

Special thanks to @norbertsmom​ for her betaing skill and for the name of the story. Parts 3 and 4 will post separately.

_____________

Pt 1

I watch Peeta gently kiss the top of our first born’s head. Holly’s dark hair is braided into two plaits; her blue eyes closing softly. 

“And Papa Elf said, grandpa was on the naughty list…” his voice is soft.

Suddenly Holly’s eyes widen as she remembers something. Her blue eyes are laser focused on Peeta. “Papá, es verdad que mamá estaba en la  lista de los niños malos?”   

“Y quien te dijo esto?” I ask from the door. We never discuss my role in Peeta’s adventure, or the fact that I was on the naughty list. Ever. 

“Santa,” Holly says.

Ese gordo, Santa has loose lips. I think about teaching him about keeping secrets until it’s time to explain to our child about the past. But before I can say anything, Peeta gives me a look. He always knows when I’m having evil thoughts. I sigh, and redirect my thoughts, because Peeta made me believe in love, joy, and Christmas.    

“Your papa saved more than grandpa that Christmas. He saved me too.”

Holly’s eyes lit up like her father’s before the sleepiness creeps back into their depths.

“Now go to sleep so Santa can come down the chimney.”

“Night, mama, night papa,” Holly whispers right before she drifts off to sleep. 

Together we walk out of our daughters bedroom. Peeta slides an arm around my shoulders. He dips down and nuzzles my cheek. He steers me to the living room. I drag my feet. Peeta is up to something.

“Okay, spill it, Mellark.”

He gives me a wide eyed smile.

The hair at the back of my neck stands up straight. 

He’s got that look, that please tell me a bedtime story stare, and not just any story. 

“No.”

Peeta pauses and gives me a puppy dog look with a full lip pout.

“No.”

“Come on, Sweetums, my li’l sugar plum,” Peeta says in an excited whisper.

“No…no don’t waggle your eyebrows at me, Peeta. Buddy. Mellark.” I pronounce each one of his names.

Peeta’s grins so brightly; his eyes shine brighter than Christmas lights. His hat is slightly crooked as he hops and does that stupid little dance of his that makes me want to tear off his green tights. Yep, I said tights. My husband was raised as an elf, a six foot two, blond, wavy haired, giant with broad shoulders, washboard abs, and is genuinely sweet. Sweeter than eggnog.

He grabs me by the waist. “You know you wanna,” he says in that sexy time voice of his that’s reserved only for me. 

Canasto! 

I should clarify for everyone listening to my tale; you should know canasto isn’t a vulgar or bad word. It means basket. But I like the way it sounds in Spanish. So I say it with real vehemence. It’s like peaches in Spanish sounds like a curse word. Melocotón! Tu eres un Melocotón! Which translates into you’re a peach. 

I digress.

I let out a big sigh. There’s no way I can say no to him and he knows it! Canasto!

“I love it when you tell the story of how we met from your point of view.“ 

"You’re an evil gremlin,” I say with no heat in my voice. It’s my personal nickname for him. As in the gremlins when they ate after midnight. However to be fair, if you see Peeta, he’s not scary at all, he’s more like a big teddy bear.  

Peeta laughs and my heart flip flops. Because he is anything but; he is so congenial.

Peeta puts his hands on my belly, my very big belly. It’s baby number 2; actually it’s baby number two and three. They are counted as one until they’re born. I know what he’s doing, the evil gremlin! He’s trying to distract me because I’m due to give birth. I have mild pangs because I’m carrying twins and I’m nearing my due date.

He carries me and sits me on his lap. “Now start from the beginning.”

“From the candy cane forest?” I ask.

“No from your point of view,” his eyes dance gently as he rests me against his chest, rubbing my bulging belly.

“Okay,” I say quietly.

“Don’t forget to start with once upon a time,” Peeta insists, trying to contain his excitement.

“Once upon a time.”

“This is going to be good,” Peeta whispers.

“Are you going to let me tell the story?”

“Oh yea,” Peeta placed a kiss on my nose. “Go ahead.”

Closing my eyes I picture the year things changed. Because everything in my life was about others and never myself. I was always trying to be someone else, what everyone expected of me. 

It’s hard being a foster kid, and getting out of the system is kind of like getting out of jail. Suddenly you have all this freedom, but you’ve been conditioned to follow all of these rules, so when you are free, you do one of two things. You get in trouble, and try to get sent into an institution; some of us call it the iron college. Or you try to keep your nose clean and learn in the school of hard knocks. In my case, I kept my head above the water for my sister’s sake.  

“I love my family,” I muttered underneath my breath. 

I muttered it again as my sister destroyed, no scratch that, mutilated Mariah Carey’s “All I want for Christmas."  

Did I forget to mention that I love my family?   

I do. I love my family and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for them, but at that moment I wanted to scratch my ears out with dull spoons.  

My perfect baby sister is a smoking hot blonde runway model and the muse for Karl Lagerfeld, but she has the worst singing voice known to man. You want to torture someone, hire my sister, and have her sing to the person you want to torture. Within 3 seconds flat, she can have even the most hardened of spies spilling their guts like a canary.

The one thing I could not stand beside my sister’s singing was Christmas. 

I loathed Christmas.

I was not ashamed to say it.  Every fiber of my body I hated Christmas!   If I had ever met the real Santa back then, he had better hoped that I was not holding my bow and arrow, because I would have shot him through the eye. Not that I believed in Santa then, but if I had known there was a real life Santa Claus, I’d have hunted him down, and burned the fat man’s jolly red outfit. I would then gleefully take a joy ride in his sleigh into his workshop like Bill Murray did in Groundhog Day when he allowed the groundhog to drive him off the cliff into a fiery death.

At this point you are wondering why I hated Christmas so much.

There were many reasons why the holiday was so contemptible to me. One, my father died on Christmas day. Two, my mother checked out on us that same Christmas day. The next Christmas Eve was when my sister and I were separated into different foster homes.  It took me a few months to find my six-year-old baby sister. I had been sent to a foster family who used foster kids for slave labor, to have them wipe and clean their floors while the Mrs. of the family spent the whole day in luxurious spas and getting Botox treatments, as if that was going to improve her mug. 

My baby sister was luckier. Primrose was placed in a foster home in the middle of suburbia with a 2 story house with a picket fence. A woman named Cecilia and her husband Ronald had never been able to have kids, and they doted on my sister. They brought her up to be the princess she always said she was. Honestly, they were rather shocked when my twelve-year-old cynical self rolled up into their home screaming for my baby sister, Primrose. Prim came running out of nowhere and latched herself on to my leg like an octopus. Best Spring ever, so I do love the Spring. 

But before you think we were reunited, we weren’t. The family that had Primrose never wanted me. And even if they did, we technically didn’t have the same last name. Primrose carried my mom’s last name while I carried my dad’s. My sister was Primrose Emmerson and I was Katniss Everdeen. Our parents had a silly agreement. They were also foster kids, so they decided that I would take dad’s name and the next one born would take our mothers name. 

They didn’t have family, and her parents lived a common law marriage. Their childish decision caused havoc. There was a mix up and we weren’t processed as sisters. Plus, I never stayed in the same foster home for long so even if they wanted me, they never knew where I was, but no matter where I was, I found a way to talk to Primrose, because as long as Prim was loved and cared for, my situation didn’t matter.

After our brief reunion, I had to go back to the family that I was placed in, and my sister stayed with her family. I didn’t stay with mine for very long; I became a statistic. A rolling number on someone’s computer screen. I was bounced around from one family to another in all sorts of seedy homes. 

So you can see why I’m so jaded. Every bad thing that ever happened to me, has happened on that freakin’ holiday. And there was one more reason I disliked that holly jolly holiday so immensely. For some reason, the universe hated me. 

No matter where I went, what city, what town within the state, I could guarantee you that it was a racket, a billion dollar racket to make parents crazy and buy things for their kids they didn’t need. For some reason, it pleased people to take my olive skin, dark hair, scowling self and put me into a sparkly Christmas cheer, “gag” pointy eared elf costume.

So with a week until Christmas, I was listening to my sister butcher another holiday favorite song. Then Prim screeched. And I sighed in relief.

"Katniss,” Prim said, coming out of the bathroom. “The water is cold!”

I looked heavenward. “The pipes. I forgot they’re working on the water main outside. They said there would be interruption to service.”

“Oh, you know I can get us a hotel room,” Prim said toweling dry her pale blonde locks. 

My studio apartment wasn’t what my sister was used to. She was a freaking couture runway model, six foot one, so slim nothing off the rack fit her. “I’m sorry Prim, I was so excited to see you.”

Prim smiled. “Look, I only have a few hours left. How about I treat you to lunch before I go back up to Connecticut to spend Christmas with Cecillia and Ron.” Prim smiled at me. “You know you’re more than welcome to come. They always ask about you.”

I loved my baby sister. She was amazing. And I was damned glad that the Henderson's were an amazing couple, but I knew the score. They didn’t know what to do with me. “As long as you don’t mind me wearing my elf costume.”

Primrose chuckled. “You make the cutest elf though.” She patted me on the head using a baby tone with me. Prim was taller than me by a foot. I was tiny, or as Prim said, compact size.

“I could still put you over my knee, little duck,” I growled. “Así que mira ver.”

My sister laughed and she delighted in taunting me. Prim no longer spoke Spanish, but she understood the language. “You’re adorable when you’re angry, an angry little elf, aren’t you?”

“Primrose,” I said in Spanish. I rounded my ‘r’s’ when I said her name. 

“Awe, I don’t don’t get why you hate Christmas so much.” Primrose winked going to the screen divider to get dressed. My sister was used to dressing and undressing in front of dozens of people. I, on the other hand, was not so free with nudity. Primrose said I was a prude. If I hadn’t I told her to use the screen, she would have changed right in front of me. 

“Did you know there are only three jobs an elf can have,” Prim said from over the screen. 

I sighed. Unlike me, Primrose loved Christmas. Hell, she even suggested that there might be a real Santa Claus. I told her the only people who look for ways to sneak into people’s houses were criminals. 

Prim continued her story about elves. “The type of elves that live in trees and make cookies, the types that make shoes, and the best type.”

“Let me guess, Christmas elves,” I said, rolling my eyes.

Prim grinned. She came around the screen wearing thigh high red boots, jeans and a camel tunic sweater that looked like cashmere. “Come on sis, let me treat you to breakfast so that you can go terrorize the children of Macy’s toy department.”

  Pt 2 

Peeta grins excitedly, breaking the narration. “You know she’s right. Papa says the cookie elves have high insurance premiums because their tree catches fire all of the time.” 

“Peeta,” I huff. “Do you want me to finish the story?” 

“Absolutely,” he hugs me closer. “I’m so sad you and Prim never got to grow up at the North Pole with me.”

I can’t help but smile at his sincere wish. “Oh Peeta,” I kiss his cheek.

“The only thing I would never let you do was toy testing,” Peeta whispers.

I chuckled. Peeta hated Jack-In-The-Box’s. They scare the dickens out of him. I lay my head on his shoulders. “Are you going to let me finish the story?”

“You know,” he says, blue eyes twinkling. “I’d spotted you in the city that first day.” 

“You were jumping across the lines of the cross walk, “ I grin at the memory. 

“I followed you until I saw the Empire State Building. Then I went to see my father.”

“I know,” I caress his face.

“Start from that point.”

“Okay, you ready now.” My babies were moving in my belly.

“Right, you were in your father’s office delivering the most awkward Christmas gram.” 

Peeta chuckles. “I don’t have your pretty voice.”

I sigh. “Peeta.”

“Right, I’ll be quiet.”

I give him a look. 

“But just so you know, when those guards told me to go back to Macy’s, I was curious as to why you were dressed as an elf.“

I roll my eyes. Did I forget to mention my husband is a talker. He is a chatterbox. I swear Peeta is the type who’d make friends with a paper bag.

"I thought your elf name was so pretty,” he sighs happily.

“Peeta, if you want me to tell the story. You have to hush!” I admonish, if I didn’t we would be here until tomorrow.

“Oh,” he gushes. “Yes, tell the story.” 

“So, there I was in the middle of New York, like a morsel in shark infested waters. I.E….”

“That passion fruit spray is horrible,” Peeta grumbles. “I do not know how women drink that stuff.” 

I want to laugh. There are still things that Peeta doesn’t understand about human society; perfume was one of them, and that fact endeared him to me.

“Can you start at the moment our eyes met?” Peeta gives me a wobbly smile. 

Ah, now I know why he’s interrupting so much. “Okay.”

Sighing I recall that day. Prim and I were out to breakfast. She was harping on me to find someone. Did I fall to mention Primrose was only twenty years old at the time, and at that age I was ancient at the tender age of twenty six. Seriously twenty-six. So what if I had never dated, never had a boyfriend, and never kissed anyone. My sister was right. I was a prude, but I’d seen how love could screw you over. My mom never recovered and she died alone in some home of a broken heart. All I had in the world was my sister. My Prim, and she was the only person I would love. Until that afternoon. 

“Seriously Katniss, you’re twenty-six,” Prim said. 

Eye rolling was a national pastime when speaking to a glamazon who thought I needed to date.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” Prim said, removing my sunglasses. “And also, sunglasses in the middle of December, so not tre chique.” 

Eye roll, eye roll, eye roll. Fake smile. CANASTO!

“You are the worst,” Prim hissed.

I knew my sister wasn’t mad at me. Annoyed, yes. Mad, no. “Prim, it’s just I’m not interested in dating anyone.” 

“Katniss, I just don’t want you to impersonate elves for the rest of your life, and when you’re like forty-six, you’ll realize you’re alone with a cat, who pisses in your shoes, and scratches your furniture.” 

I moved to pay our bill.

“No way,” Prim said, slamming her hand on the bill. “I make what you make in a month in two hours of work. This is on me.”

“Fine,” I grumbled. 

“Also, stop closing yourself to Christmas. Santa isn’t going to leave you anything under the tree.”

“Like Santa exists,” I snorted.

Prim gasped. “You take that back. Santa Claus is real Katniss, just like the rainbows, and pigs and frogs having a long term, caring relationship, and love exists.” 

My sister’s wide eyed passionate confession shook me, but the only words that came out of my mouth were, “a frog and a pig?” 

“Miss Piggy and Kermit are together, and if they can make it, no matter what the media says, anything is possible.”

“Huh,” I said, leaving the luncheonette near Penn Station. We walked to the corner, where she’d take the stairs to the lower level. 

I took a look at the stairs, knowing this was the moment I would say goodbye to my sister once again. My eyes filled with unwanted tears. I could still recall the little girl with the untucked shirt that looked like a duck tail. It’s where the nickname li’l duck came from.

“Don’t cry,��� Prim whispered. “Quack, quack.”

“I hate it when we have to say goodbye,” I said quietly.

“It’s not goodbye, Katniss; it’s until the next time.” Prim grinned then she took my elf hat and put it on my head. “Go on, terrify the poor children of the city with your menacing scowl. But you better watch out, better not cry.”

I groaned. “Prim, I would rather hear seagulls squawking then you singing.” 

“I know, that’s why I do it,” Prim said.

“You’re a brat.”

“Brat, I’m on Santa’s nice list. You’re the one on the naughty list.”

“There’s no such thing as Santa…” the words died on my lips as I saw a huge man dressed in an elaborate elf outfit jumping on the lines of the crosswalk gleefully. I was struck by the joy on his face.

He looked like an angel with wavy blond hair and innocent blue eyes. It was one thing to see a six-year-old child with that wide eyed innocence, but a tall, broad shouldered man with large hands made me think perhaps he’d escaped his caretakers. His elf outfit wasn’t like the cheap one I had to wear. It was made from a rich fabric with elaborately embroidered gold thread. 

If there was something I knew about, it was fabric. I never had soft fabrics growing up and I was obsessed over soft materials. I dreamed of cashmere, Egyptian cotton, mulberry silks, and linens. His green tunic was made from merino wool, like the ones they made in England in those bespoke shops.  Even his hat, although a ridiculous cone shape, was not some cheap fabric covered cardboard that you’d find in a costume shop. It was made from genuine thick green wool felt with a yellow satin ribbon wrapped around it. A red feather bobbed up and down as he jumped.

He was so happy. He looked up, as if sensing my presence. Our eyes met and he smiled jovially and waved at me. My mouth went dry, because, gaw, Canasto!

This man-child was gorgeous. 

“Earth to Katniss.” Prim snapped her fingers in my face.

“Sorry.” I looked back to my sister.

Prim looked over her shoulder. “Are you okay.”

I dipped out of my sister’s way. “I think I saw an elf.”

Prim laughed. “It’s Christmas, Katniss. Santa’s elves are everywhere.” Prim gave me a hug before descending the stairs to the lower level of the station. 

Seeing my sister go was difficult, but I couldn’t shake the tall man dressed as an elf. He even had on yellow tights with black elf shoes. 

I made my way to Macy’s. I could see the Empire State building in the background as I took a left to head to the employee’s entrance. 

When I arrived, the floor manager Brutus headed straight to me. He was a ridiculous man with muscles in his neck and a bald head. His meaty fingers held a tiny clipboard. 

Brutus did not believe in technology. He refused to use a tablet. He said the muckety-mucks, as he called them, were out to get him. He wore dark brown pants that were too small for his large frame and even when he stood you could see his white socks. He wore a sweater vest with various pens in his front pocket and a cheap plastic necklace that was supposed to look like tree lights.  

“Jovie,” Brutus said looking over his shoulder.

“Yes, Brutus,” I smiled. Jovie was my elf name.

“Our last Santa quit, and we have no one, so until then I need you to help out in gift wrapping. Don’t forget to make sure the ribbon curl is six inches.”

“But you need more than six inches, to make a good curl.”

“Six inches.”

Sighing I walked to the station and nodded to the girls who were at the gift-wrapping station. I sat there trying to make six inch curls. People were insane at Christmas; they were stressed out to buy things, and things never made anyone happy. Things were just things.  

The line of people got shorter and I noticed the tree in the center of the sales floor was looking a little sad. So getting the ladder, I rearranged the ornaments and noticed one of the lights was out. From this vantage point I saw Brutus drag him in, the elf I saw on the street.

Heat rushed to my cheeks and I focused on the tree, eavesdropping the entire time. 

“Buddy, you need to remember you get a half-hour break when you work under six hours and a one hour break when you work over six hours. If I catch you on the floor again I’ll have to write you up.” 

His name was Buddy. My lips formed a goofy smile at his name. Up close he was prettier, his wavy hair curled up at the ends. A shiver ran up my spine at all of those curls. I could picture little boys with blond ringlets and a little girl with dark tresses in green colored elf clothing. I held on to the ladder as I swayed. 

“Wow, what’s this?” HIs eyes quickly darted to the crowded sales floor. 

“This is the north pole,” Brutus said looking at his precious clipboard.

“No it’s not,” Buddy waved at a pair of babies inside of a stroller. 

“Yes it is,” Brutus said.

“No it’s not,” Buddy eye’s traveled to the tree and I hid behind it so that he didn’t see me.

“Yes it is,” Brutus put his hands on his wide hips.

“No it’s not,” Buddy said smiling. “Where’s the snow?”

“He’s right, there’s no snow,” a six-year old girl said. She’d been listening to the conversation.  

I nearly snorted. 

“Why are you smiling like that?” Brutus brows knit together.

“I just like to smile, smiling’s my favorite thing,” he said. Bouncing to the Christmas music that was being pumped through the speakers. 

“Well stop smiling, and make work your favorite thing to do. And who gave you that outfit?”

“It’s mine,” Buddy said, splaying those large hands on his chest looking down at his elf outfit. 

Brutus looked at the intricate gold embroidery. “Fine, if that’s your story. You should make work your priority instead of shopping.” Brutus sighed, looking at his clipboard again. “I have to make the announcement.”

Buddy nodded, but once more was looking around. 

I was working on the tree lights by now and really didn’t want to get down because I wanted to keep staring at him. At his great legs. Normally tall guys had spindly legs. Not his, yum. 

“Okay I’ve got an announcement. Santa will be here tomorrow at 10AM. Keep your receipts so you can see Santa.” 

“SANTA!” Buddy yelled. He jumped, clasped his hands and a little girl next to him joined him. Soon there was a flock of kids doing the same thing, all speaking at once and he was nodding and speaking to them as if he knew Santa. 

I chuckled cause I’ve never seen Brutus look so stunned and speechless. He was carried away by Chaff, his second in command. 

Buddy turned and focused on me. I pretended that he wasn’t just a few feet away from me. I could feel his gaze as I fixed the bulb that was not letting the string of lights to turn on. The tree lit up and I swear his eyes seemed to glow brighter than the lights on the tree.

My stomach did a little flip-flop. “What!” I said defensively. I turned and saw how big his eyes were and the genuine smile. “Are you enjoying the view?”

“I love Christmas trees,” he said hesitantly. “It’s nice to see someone else who enjoys elf culture as much as I do.” 

Of course the guy that would make butterflies dance in my stomach was a wackadoo. I scowled. This wasn’t happening. Getting down from the tree, I quickly walk away, grabbing a few stuffed animals that were discarded and putting them back on the display.

“Looks like someone needs Christmas cheer and the best way to do it is to sing.”

“I don’t sing,” I muttered.

“Of course you can.” He chased after me.

“No,” I said trying to get him to stop, but liking that he’s walking after me like a wide eyed puppy-dog.

“Anyone can. All you have to do is put a group of words together in a tune,” he said sweetly.

I hopped on up on the stage where the guy in the red suit would be seated tomorrow. I turned to look at him. As I spoke to him, I couldn’t keep the hurt from my voice. Because the last time I sang a Christmas song it was with my dad, hours before he died.  “I know that, I can sing, but I choose not to sing.”

“Look, I’ll do it for you maybe it will make you smile,” Buddy said. He takes a deep breath, “I”M SINGING. I’M IN A STORE AND I AM…”

It was horrible, but I couldn’t help but smile. 

“THERE’S NO SINGING IN THE NORTH POLE!” Brutus comes running out from behind the registrar.

“Yes there is,” Buddy says grinning at me. “I’m Peeta.”

“Wait I thought your name was Buddy?”

“That’s my middle name,” Peeta said. “Is Jovie your name?”

“No,” my voice sounds breathy. “Jovie is my elf name.”

“So what’s your real name?” His voice sounded deeper and I swear I could see nothing else but his big blue eyes tenderly gazing at me.

“Katniss,” I said, wondering why my knees were so wobbly. I couldn’t fall for a guy who thought he was an elf. A very good looking, broad shouldered guy with the face of an angel, but nonetheless, a complete wakadoo.    

The ten minute warning came on letting people know they needed to go home.

“Oh I’ve got to get ready for Santa,” Peeta muttered under his breath. But before he could move Brutus appears. 

“Buddy,” Brutus grabbed him by the arm and hauled him away. I was left standing on that stage with a big old goofy grin on my face.

[lovely-necromancy]

A Cure for Insomnia CH. 10

Even with the fatigue you felt after your laughing tic, you couldn't go to sleep at all last night. Which isn't a big deal, after all you are a chronic insomniac who has had an on off sleep schedule this week.

After twelve fifty-two hit and you still weren't tired or even close to doing your tired tics you did the only thing you could think to do on this technical Saturday morning. You started on your weekly tidy of the house. Bless whatever powers at be that you ended up in this cottage outside of town rather than an apartment unit surrounded by neighbors. The amount of complaints you would've gotten would have surely gotten you evicted.

It's not like you could stop this behavior, well you could but if you start doing nothing when you have spurts of insomnia you'll get lazier when you need to be productive. Banking on the fact that you'll just do it when you have insomnia. It happened all the time when you were in school, and while that worked for a while it wasn't a healthy way to cope with your sleep disorder.

You've found doing productive things or anything you would do when the sun was up typically helps you regulate you circadian rhythm faster than it ever did when you just laid in bed praying for sleep to take you.

It isn't at all surprising when you finish your chores around two forty that morning. With nothing better to do and not being at all in the mood to do any attempt at art or reading. You decide to settle in to watch a movie. It starts with scrolling through Netflix and seeing Coraline, then that turns into Paranorman, which turned into Corpse Bride, several episodes of the old Twilight Zone.

By the time you were finished with the fourth episode it was already one in the afternoon. You really needed to start baking if you wanted fresh cookies for the movie tonight. Setting up your monster movie hard drive to play a movie for background noise you set out on baking.

It's a super simple recipe you started using back in high school but it's always a hit at parties. Maybe it's because you fold candies, chocolates, nuts, or whatever topping into each cookie individually. You can't say for sure but everyone loves them, and you think that's nice.

Creaming butter while the sounds of a woman screaming in agony as a zombie eats her lower intestine seems very much on point for you. However, you soon find yourself drowning out the movie as you hyper focus on the mixing of ingredients. You tripled the recipe, hoping to make a mixture of mini sugar cookies, mini chocolate chip cookies, and mini mini M&M cookies. If you had thought about it more you might have grabbed a jar of maraschino cherries to add them to the mix. Although you think three batches of mini cookies might be a little excessive so four may have been overkill.

'Oh well, no turning back now.' you think preheating the oven for four hundred degrees and roll tiny half inch dough balls while you wait.

After about fifteen minutes you assume the oven is hot enough to start baking. You line the first tray up all with sugar cookies. You only get two thirds of the bowl down on that tray. It was your biggest one too. Setting a timer for ten minutes so you could turn the cookies to let them bake for another three after that, you turn your attention to folding a handful of chocolate chips into the next bowl's dough balls. Placing the new chocolate chip dough into the bowl holding the rest of the sugar cookie dough as you go. You nearly finish that when the timer goes off to spin the tray. Honestly at this rate all your dough will be ready before you even have one bowl down. You hope you can finish baking in time for the movie.

It's five o' two by the time you put the last batch in the oven. You've been cleaning as the cookies baked and now your kitchen is nearly clean once more. Just a few more dishes to do after that batch comes out and you pack up the cookies.

Letting the most recent batch have a chance to cool you start placing all the cookies in your three largest containers. You'll need to grab a fourth container for the last of the cookies, but all the cool cookies are now ready for transport.

And with how early in the evening it is you should eat something now so you can have some room for snacks later. Time to finish off that pizza. Taking a slice out to the bins and placing it neatly on the ground for Chonk, whenever it is he decides to come and claim it, you turn back around to finish baking and get your dinner. After pulling the cookies out and setting them to cool you reheat your dinner for tonight.

Sitting down, plate in hand, you're just able to catch the shift into the next movie. Teen Wolf 1985 starring Micheal J. Foxx. Not a scary movie by any means but you keep it in the storage drive for rainy days. And even though today isn't raining you think it'll be a good watch.

You can not believe how utterly painful that was to have just watched. It was so average that it might as well not had the werewolf aspect at all! The acting was average, makeup was ok for the time, but the writing was just the worst. And the ending basket ball scene? It felt like a cheesy early 2000s Disney Channel original movie. You're pretty sure if you combined several Disney movies you'd have that exact plot. Hell Don't Look Under the Bed was scarier than that, and it was a better story too.

Checking the time you see you have about the average length of a Disney Channel movie before you have to leave. Good because you really want to watch Don't Look Under the Bed now. Switching over to your Disney+ account you find said movie and rush to put everything up as it runs through the beginning credits. With cookies packed away and the containers stacked and ready you plop back on your couch to immerse yourself in the early 2000s “horror”.

Just as the hand comes from under the bench to caress Fran a knock rings through your home, effectively startling you. Your eyes shift over to your front door, it's nearly eight thirty on a Saturday who or what is all this far out? Getting up from the couch you make your way over to your door, unlike every horror movie you have your phone and contacts pulled up and ready to dial. Phone behind your back and thumb hovering over Hollis' contact you open the door. Where three figures greet you.

Tim stands in front of the other two, dressed in dark jeans a gray tank top and red flannel with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. Brian stands behind him and to his right, he's wearing regular jeans and an olive v-neck. Jesus fucking Christ is it 2012 and no one told you? Toby off to Tim's left is in black jeans a black t-shirt with a green short sleeve button up that has a little alien head pattern. Well, they don't look like they're here to murder you with an ax, so you move the hand from behind your back and let it rest by your side.

Missing the two tense gazes as you move the appendage.

“...Um, hi?” what would normal people do in this situation? Was this even a normal situation to find yourself in, what with three men you've just met at your front door.

Tim seems to be looking for his words, he must be out of his element as well. On the other hand Brian seems content to let Tim flounder around for a bit, all the while Toby wrings his hands together. You can't tell if it's from nerves or his tics.

“Hey..uh, so you mentioned Saturday Dead. But we're new so..and we..” Tim is even worse with human interaction than you are.

“We were wondering if 'stop it' if you wanted to ride with us and give us directions.”

Oh that makes sense.

“Yea sure thing, c'mon in. I'll go get ready.”  You give the men some space to enter your home. Then lead them to your living room,

“Make yourselves comfy.” you say as you leave them to change.

Once in your room you lock the door, although you believe you have a good reading on Toby to not be the type you can't be too safe around new men.  You opt to change into the first shirt you grab from your closet, black t-shirt with several flatwoods monsters on it along with the phrase 'squad goals' and a pair a black joggers. Perfectly comfy for a chill movie night at the crypt.

“That was fast.” is the first thing you hear when you reenter the living room.

Toby had no problems making himself comfortable in your home, since he is sitting on the couch, seemingly watching the movie with your fidget cube in hand. Brian and Tim, on the other hand, were leaning on the wall separating the living room and kitchen.

“What d'you mean?” you asked Tim confused, tilting your head to the side.

“Well, uh” he seems embarrassed by this for some reason, “women normally take a long time changing is all.” Ooooooh now you get it he's a misogynist.

The room goes quiet with Tim's stupid opinion. Toby ceases all fidgeting, Brian however looks as though he's a cat that caught a canary. He must enjoy the pain and embarrassment of others, the dick.

“Mmmh I don't think that's true,” you'll let this one slide but Tim's on thin ice, “Anyway I'm not a woman. I'm trans agender.” Tim has the decency to look embarrassed for stuffing his foot into his mouth. But it isn't really his fault you never mentioned your pronouns or lack of gender to him, and you mix and match your masculine and feminine days. Understandably you won't blame him for not knowing your pronouns but that misogynistic comment will still be marked as a red flag.

“I am so sorry.” and he truly does sound sorry for the slip up.

You shake your head and shoo away his apology, “It's good, you didn't know.”

“We ready to go?” you ask looking around the room. Tim and Toby nod, the younger man moving off the couch to stand with you all when Brian speaks up.

“Actually, Toby don't you have to use the restroom?” Said man pauses on his way over to your little group, “No.” voice laced with confusion and irritation.

Tim jumps in with a stern, “I really think you should.” Toby cuts his eyes at Tim and Brian.

As weird as it is for one grown man to tell another to go to the bathroom, let alone two grown men, you quickly remember Toby's CIPA.

“Dude the drive itself is gonna be nearly an hour plus the two hour movie. The Cryptonomica only has one bathroom and like thirty people will be there tonight.” You assumed you'd also get a glare for insisting on the matter. But you only get Toby's furrowed brow in response and he looks uncomfortable right now, not intimidating. He's probably embarrassed that his new acquaintance...friend? Is also present for the topic of his bathroom habits.

With another glare to Tim and Brian, Toby pushes past you and down the hallway. Normally this would leave you in an awkward situation but thankfully you have escape tasks!

Marching over to the entertainment center you turn off the TV. Spotting your fidget cube on the table where Toby left it, you decide to pocket it just in case he'd want to use it for the movie.

A loud thud startles you and you look up to see Tim picking up a few books that fell from the bookshelf.

'Weird...' you think as you watch him place them back onto the shelf they fell from.

“A...sorry.” as he places them back you notice one side of the shelf is tilted downwards. It must've just lost that little nub that holds the shelf up in that corner. You probably have a few spares floating around in one of your trinket holders.

You give Tim a small 'it's fine' as you pass him on your way to the kitchen. Cookies all set on the counter you go over to your fridge and grab the popcorn bag off the top. Opening the fridge and retrieving the Surge for Kirby you are all set on your snacks for tonight.

Placing the Surge and popcorn on top of your cookie containers you go back to the living room to join the boys in waiting for Toby. Who is already coming out of the bathroom, drying his hands on his jeans....He knows you had a towel for that right?

“We should be good to leave now.” Brian says turning from Toby to you.

“Ok yea, after you guys.” you side stepped  back into the kitchen doorway to let the men pass you.

“Want some help?” Toby asked as he walked closer. And as much as you wanted to say no you had it, you really didn't want to drop the Surge and have a big mess everywhere.

Nodding to him, thinking he was just going to take the things at the top or even the top container with them. Toby reaches out and barely brushes your hands at the bottom before taking the entire load into his own arms.

It felt like someone rubbed sandpaper across your knuckles and fingers where his hands touched. The burning sensation persisted even long after his hands had moved away.

It's the first time you've gotten bad vibes from Toby's touch. He's probably in a bad mood, his touch hasn't held much intention before but this hurts. Or you could totally be reading too much into this with too little sleep and you just aren't having a tactile day. You never have tactile days really just small windows where if someone is lucky they can squeeze a pat on the shoulder or a high five out of you.

“Hey, that's not helping.” you call out following the men out of your home.

“It's not?” he asks, “Then what is it?” why's he have to sound so smug about this.

“Condescending.” Toby blinks in surprise at the no nonsense tone of your voice.

You weren't harsh with your words...at least you don't think so. You were just stern in how you said them, wanting to get your point across.

Turning from the men you lock your door and check twice to make sure. When you turn back to face them you grab the top two containers of cookies, and subsequently the popcorn and Surge laying atop it, from Toby.

“This is helping. I could do this much at least.” Toby nods dumbly as you pass them and make your way to the cars.

“We can take ours, we'll drive you back.” Tim says unlocking their little sedan.

That seems fine, after all if you ended up wanting to stay later Kirby would totally let you crash on the couch in the basement and take you home in the morning. Or whenever he woke up tomorrow. And that way you wouldn't be keeping the boys too late. It is their first Saturday Night Dead and first time meeting most of the young adults in town. The night was bound to get draining.

You agree and hop into the back seat on the driver's side, Toby sliding in from the opposite side, leaving Brian to take the passenger seat and Tim to drive. You and Toby place the cookies in the middle seat and you thank him for his help. He quickly nods and looks out the window, knee starting to bounce slightly.

“Where am I going?” Tim asked as you all got buckled in.

“Ok, so we can either drive all the way through town or drive through the forest and across the river.”

“Which is faster?” Brian chimes in as Tim bristles.

“Forest.” You do catch Tim's reflection rolling his eyes at your reply.

To be fair with this group you wouldn't chance getting stuck in the forest on your way to a horror movie night. Like that's kind of a horror movie cliché right there. You and Toby are young enough that you're sure someone would mistake you two for late teens, in fact you know it's happened to you several times in the past week alone. While you're fine going into the forest at night by yourself it's only because horror movies don't center around one person dying in a forest by some ancient entity.

'But they do start that way.' that thought almost makes you want to cut back on your nightly hikes, unfortunately you have no other coping mechanisms for your insomnia other than hiking or driving. So you'll ignore that thought for now.

The car is quiet as everyone waits for someone to respond. Toby's knee bouncing is more obvious as it begins to jostle the car. He's also staring down at his hands, still red from his picking yesterday, wringing them together. Clearly the stationary car is getting to him, he breaks the silence.

“Will someone fucking say something?”

“Sorry,” you say gently to him, “Yea we can just go through town. Tim do you know where Whistle's Auto is?”

“Uh yea,” you catch his quick glance towards Toby in the rear view mirror.

“Cool just head in that direction and keep on Highland Street.”

That's all you had to say before Tim was shifting gears and driving off. You notice quickly that he's a faster driver than Toby was. It's yet to be seen if that should make you uneasy, you'll have to see how well he breaks.

When you guys had made it through town and Tim came to a stop in front of a sign proudly stating 'Welcome to the Cryptonomica' they were understandably concerned by the lack of a building or any other cars. You get out of the car and grab two of the cookie containers, when you made a grab for the other two and the snacks on top Toby kept them out of your reach and exited the car as well.

“So where is...everything?”

“Oh we have to hike. The shop's further in the forest.” you say as you walk on past Tim.

“You said people were gonna be here.” Brian chimes in.

Right this now looks like you have dragged them to a parking lot in the middle of no where in a small town that they don't really know people in. Great going YN. Way to look like the bait for a weird cult looking for sacrifices.

“Yea the Hornets. They're the local “biker” gang.” the stunt group probably had the dirt bikes out today, it was nice enough for it.

Understandably the men hesitated before following you. Toby was the one who quickly caught up with you, perks of longer legs, and matched your speed to the shop. It didn't even take five minutes before you saw the shop and a few Hornets out front smoking or just plain loitering.

A chorus of “YN!” “Hey we missed you last week.” “Yo, did you hear..” rang through as you greeted the group. Upon seeing the containers of cookies the chorus was replaced with cheers and you were given excited praise as they made way for the four of you to be let in. So embarrassing, you flush under the praise getting a little energy boost from it as well. Your mood however changes when you lock eyes with the person running the booth tonight. Keith Warren, second in command and assistant manager of the Hornets. Despite having no beef and all the same friends you two have never clicked. It's almost your thing to be completely rude to each other when you do interact.

“Warren.”

“LN” his disdain is clear too, “Ten dollars bucket.” he hadn't even looked at you the jerk!

“Forty tonight, brought friends.” you placed the containers you had on the table as you dug the money from your wallet to pay for you all.

Keith does look up at that, literally the only time more locals come in is during Halloween when they want to get into the spooky season. So he's surprised to see three new faces attending Saturday Night Dead.

“Hey there, name's Keith.” you roll your eyes as he introduces himself to the group, you'll just slip away now since you already paid.

“Rude!” Kieth calls out, “Small talk!” you respond. You vaguely hear the rest of the introductions and Keith waving off the guys when they try to pay again. Oh maybe you should have actually told them you'd pay for their tickets, you thought it was obvious you invited them and they even drove you here. It's just polite that you cover their tickets this week.

Soon Toby is back by your side, you have a feeling you won't be able to loose him tonight if you tried, as you walk through the shop and towards the trap door in the back. The trap door that leads to the panic room converted into movie theater on Saturdays. Once you get down you bee line for the table in the back that is already half filled with snacks and some sodas. With Toby still following you he copies your moves of opening the containers and placing them on the table. You take the Surge and popcorn away from Toby, throwing the popcorn over in the direction of your corner seat and bring the Surge over to the man working on the white screen set up.

“Present.” Kirby pays no mind to you as he struggles with the screen. So you wait silently for him to just kick the thing and move on. Like clockwork Kirby kicks the bottom cover and the rest unravels perfectly.

“I need to replace this.” he says, just like he does every week.

“Oooh thank you.” he grabs the battery acid marketed as a beverage and spirits off. Weird guy.

“That's Kirby, he runs this place. Normally very chill but between the Picnic and movie night he ….just needs a break.” it's the nicest way you can put it. Toby just nods and scans the room wringing his hands together uncomfortably. You've noticed he hasn't ticced once since leaving the car, maybe he's suppressing them despite how anxious he clearly is.

Doing your own scan of the room you see that Tim and Brian haven't made their way in yet, Keith probably talking their ears off. Better them than you, you suppose. You're about to ask Toby if he wants to find them when the local power couple walks in.

“Party starting soon my dudes sit tight!” Jake announces as he and Hollis walk in to take their usual seats.

“Op spoke too soon babe, YN's here.” Hollis let out a chuckle when you rolled your eyes.

“Came without a soap box, hope cookies are suitable.”

And both are already grabbing a few of your mini cookies before they've even sat down. You really are glad you made them. Remembering Toby's with you, you introduce him to your friends.

“Tobais these are my friends Jake,” the blonde smiles warmly, “and Hollis.” They cover their mouth and toss a peace sign up as their mouth is still full. “And this is my friend Tobais.” he raises a hand to greet them.

“Hey, you're the new guy over at Auto right? You fixed Katrina's bike up quicker than Lewis ever does.” When Toby nods Hollis continues, “Man she's been saying how much smoother it rides now. Think I can stop by this week and get you to take a look at mine?”

“Yea, that should be fine.” and with that the two began to talk shop, literally. They just started talking about Hollis' bike. Normally all the Hornets do their own maintenance on their bikes but their motorcycles still need inspections and what not. This is really working out for you, your friends all getting along.

Thankfully it seems the topic calms Toby down a little, and you can see a head twitch or two make it's appearance as the two speak. Hollis being the chill person they are, and being used to your own brand of tics, makes no comment or acknowledgment of his tics.

Jake pulls you into a conversation about plans for a hang out at H2Woah that was fun, later after all the picnicing was done. Said he wanted to try surfing in the wave pool, you aren't sure about it but you agreed you'd teach him at least the basics of surfing if he taught you how to snow board. Didn't take much for the deal to be sealed.

Tim and Brian finally made their way down to the basement and you raised a hand so they could find you and Toby. Really it wouldn't have been too difficult but with everyone starting to pack in you didn't want anyone to be out of the group. Introductions had been made and everyone took to their seats.

You were already in the corner opening your popcorn when Toby sat down on your left blocking you from the rest of the room. Thinking on it if Toby wanted to eat he'd probably be too self conscious of his scar to take his mask off.

“Hey...actually would you mind if we switched?” he just gave you a lazy look before standing up and letting you scoot into his previous spot before sitting down in your spot. This way you could in theory block the view of his scar later.

You notice how his eyes dart in the room, despite Brian and Tim being just behind you two Toby still seemed on edge in the space. He has looked a bit uncomfortable all night, maybe that's why he was sticking to your side. You're way less outgoing than Brian is and Tim seems content to let him do his own thing. You feel bad, like you pressured him into coming and now he's paying for it. Toby looks a few minutes away from ripping the skin around his nails off again and you don't want a repeat of that.

“Here.” you whisper as the lights go off, handing Toby the cube from your pocket.

It's a quiet moment between you two as the trailers of the DVD play out and Toby focuses in on the cube. You note how he gravitates to the marble and joystick sides the most, always moving his thumb across each in a counterclockwise motion before reversing for a beat. Counter counter switch counter counter switch counter counter counter switch.

Once he found his rhythm with the toy you see tension leave his shoulders a little. Is he even able to feel the tension in his muscles?

You shift focus to the screen as the opening credits play out. And if you weren't sitting so close to Toby you'd missed the clucking sound coming from him. Knowing he'd get more anxious about his tics in this “quiet” setting you opt to ignore them and focus on the movie. After all the more relaxed he is the less likely he is to tic meaning the less anxious he is and more he can enjoy himself tonight.

About a third of the way through the movie you catch Toby sliding his mask off one ear, letting it shield his scarred cheek, and grabbing a handful of popcorn. You can't hide the giddy grin on your face from the action. To say you were worried about Toby not enjoying tonight was an understatement. But he had to have felt some comfort to slide his mask off in public, right? Your reassurance comes in the form of another handful of popcorn, as Toby pays no mind to you and only to the demon currently dancing on the screen.

With a terrible movie playing and a less anxious friend at your side you settle down a bit more yourself. Barely noticing when your head falls on Toby's shoulder as you slip into unconsciousness.

You wake up to the roaring of Kirby's snores and popcorn in your hair. A typical Sunday morning for you since arriving in Kepler.

[be11atrixthestrange]

Step 9: Making Plans

From 12 Fail-Safe Ways To Charm Hermione Granger

Making Plans

A successful relationship means aligning your future. It's important to include one another in decisions, communicate your goals clearly, and remember your choices will affect your partner. Moving the relationship forward is a joint effort, and clear communication will make clear plans, and help manage the unexpected.

*****

If Ron could pinpoint one major difference between himself and Hermione, it would be this: Hermione was a planner, and Ron was not. During their school years, Ron frequently relied on Hermione's revising schedules before exams, or at least he tried to before inevitably entering examination rooms at least somewhat unprepared. During the horcrux hunt, he figured the best way to do something was just to do it, and he felt that Hermione's strategizing slowed them down quite a bit. They ended up going into the battle of Hogwarts without a plan, and everything (for the most part) worked out just fine— nothing that planning more would have fixed.

More recently, Hermione made an itinerary for a vacation to Italy. They managed to sync time off from their busy schedules, and Ron was ecstatic about some free time in a new country that he'd never been to before. Then he saw Hermione's hour by hour schedule for the week, and suddenly, their holiday felt like another busy week at work. She had spreadsheets— some barmy muggle organizing systems— to keep track of their shared finances and bills, and she planned each purchase before she made it. She meal-prepped, and bought groceries accordingly. She even had a system for apartment chores— the kitchen was always cleaned on Sundays and laundry was done on Saturdays, and if Ron shook it up it caused a domino effect that he couldn't even begin to predict.

He loosened her up quite a bit though. After seeing their Italy itinerary, he encouraged her to cross out half of it, and just wing it. She obliged, but not without scowling, and as a result, they discovered new corners of wizarding Italy that they would never have found in guidebooks, because Ron met the right person in a bar. When she got her end of year bonus at work, he encouraged her not to save all of it, just be a little bit irresponsible for once, and he came home to find that floor to ceiling bookshelves now lined the walls of their sunroom, filled to the brim with new, crisp, untapped stories. There were those nights when Ron convinced her to dress up and dine out with him even when she'd already made a plan for dinner. She might act inconvenienced at first, but there was always a gleam in her eye when she donned that fancy dress that never got worn, and they split not one, but two bottles of wine and ordered food they couldn't even pronounce. And of course, their home was usually spotless thanks to the chore schedule she'd made for them, but Ron liked it best when the laundry piled up a little, and dishes were left in the sink, and they distracted each other enough not to care.

Hermione begrudgingly agreed that she could let go and life happen every now and then, and Ron was quite good at adding a little bit of the unexpected into their relationship. And ultimately, Ron respected her commitment to planning, and admitted more of it would serve him well. That's why the next day would test both of them.

On their date tomorrow, Ron was going to ask her to marry him. He had it all planned out, down to every detail. The entire day was scheduled for them, just how she liked it. But the best part of the plan was that she was not expecting it at all.

They'd discussed it of course— he was quite confident she'd say yes. He wouldn't dare ask her otherwise.

Their discussions of marriage had evolved over the last few years. The first time he brought it up was after one year of living together. Ron figured that was enough time together, and engagement seemed like a logical next step for them.

He didn't propose to her, he simply asked her what she'd say if he did. It took him quite a bit of courage to ask her that, and unfortunately, her answer was not one Ron wanted, nor expected. Between "it's too soon" and "not enough time together" and "way too young" he regretted asking.

Granted, he didn't bring it up in an ideal manner. It was after a Friday night at the bar with Harry, Dean, Neville, and Seamus, and Ron hadn't exactly demonstrated the most mature version of himself. They were both drunk upon their return home, so his slurred inquiry fell upon the most stubborn, uninhibited, and emotional side of Hermione. Ron, who was slightly hurt by her response, reluctantly put the subject to rest.

He brought it up two years later at her cousin's wedding. Holly— Ellie's younger sister, who bore a striking resemblance to Hermione— wore a beautiful white dress that Ron couldn't help but picture on Hermione. He danced with her all evening, similar to the way they danced at his own brother's wedding years prior.

"Holly's dress is beautiful, isn't it?" she asked him.

Ron nodded against her head as they swayed on the dance floor. "It would look better on you." He braced himself for an unfavorable response. He was afraid she'd react the way she did that first time, but she needed to know it was on his mind. "I'd love to see you in a wedding dress someday, Hermione."

His heart was pounding, and his ears grew warmer, but he relaxed a little when she settled more heavily against him. "Someday, you will."

Not even a flock of canaries could have wiped the goofy grin from his face.

A year after that, Harry proposed to Ginny. Hermione was her maid of honor, and as expected, she jumped whole-heartedly into planning. The combination of Hermione's immaculate organization skills, Ginny's creativity, and Harry's money made their wedding one of the most fun and extravagant events Ron had ever been to.

Ron remembered waking up next to her the morning after. The periwinkle bridesmaid dress Ginny had chosen for her looked even better crumpled up on the floor beside their bed, and she'd never been more gorgeous with her matted hair and smeared makeup. They felt like hell— both had taken advantage of the open bar after fulfilling their wedding party duties, and neither could remember apparating back to their bedroom, but no one was splinched, and that's what mattered.

"Well, that was something," said Ron, recalling the blurry details of the night before. The live band, the five-course meal, the chocolate fountain, and Harry and Ginny's mystery cocktails made for the most memorable night that they couldn't recall.

"Is it bad that I'm glad it's over?" Hermione asked groggily.

Ron laughed. "No. It was a lot of work."

"Tell me about it," she said turning toward him. "When we get married, let's do something simple."

Ron was quite taken aback by how casually she mentioned this future wedding he'd heard nothing about. "When, or if?"

She smiled, as if clarifying was part of her plan. "When."

Ron beamed, and pulled her closer. "In that case, I'm going to propose to you, Hermione."

She beamed back. "Are you doing that now?"

"No," he said. "It's going to be a surprise."

"I hate surprises," she said cautiously. "So just so you're prepared, I'm going to say yes."

*****

The rest of the winter holiday break passed without many hiccups. Sure, there was a bicker every now and then, but it was nothing compared to their Hogsmeade fight, and always maintained a rather playful tone. They spent the majority of their daytime with Harry and Ginny, occasionally popping by the burrow for a meal. Molly mentioned they seemed just as comfortable with each other now than they did that summer, "as if no time had passed." Harry and Ginny's eye rolls and sarcastic comments just reassured Ron that no one had noticed the rift they had recently repaired.

Hermione seemed to be making a visible effort to show affection, and Ron appreciated her for it. Upon learning that he needed just a little more reassurance, she had buried any qualms she once had about holding his hand under the table at the burrow, or chastely kissing him in the garden when they weren't alone, or even leaning up against him on the living room sofa, and gently stroking his hair while his brothers smiled knowingly. She was even less inhibited in the bedroom. They spent their evenings thoroughly exploring each other's bodies, now that a new door had been opened. Sex quickly became Ron's new favorite activity, although he felt like a walking teenage stereotype admitting it. It wasn't just the physical pleasure— something about the new level of knowledge he now possessed about Hermione solidified his status as her partner. As if a new book in a series had just been released, he suddenly felt like his favorite fantasy world had expanded. He made it a goal to absorb this new knowledge as respectfully and with as much admiration as he possibly could, taking immense pleasure in the fact that he was even allowed to be there.

Ron had dreaded the second half of the holiday, because he had to go back to training, and she was leaving for Australia to visit her parents. Knowing Pigwidgeon would never be able to make that flight— not once, not twice, not nearly as many times as Ron would actually consider enough— he mentally prepared himself to go an entire week without hearing from Hermione. He also decided to call that progress— since two weeks ago, that would have felt like nothing.

They woke up together on the morning she had to leave. When she attempted to slide out of bed, he slipped his arm around her to prevent her.

"Don't leave," he mumbled into her hair.

"I have to," she said sadly. "I wish you could come with me."

"I can't." He tightened his arm around her and pressed his lips to her neck. "I wish I could write to you."

"Oh that reminds me," she said, wrestling out of Ron's grip. "I have another present for you." She leaned over the bed and pulled something shiny out of her bag.

"What's that?"

"Here," she said, placing one small gold coin in Ron's hand, and keeping another for herself.

"A galleon?"

"A fake one."

"Hold on, is this one of our DA galleons?"

"Yes! But I enchanted it further. Watch." She pulled out her wand and tapped the tip to the center of the coin, concentrating hard. The words "Hi Ron!" appeared. She showed him her coin, and the words had appeared on both.

Ron was dumbstruck. "We can communicate without owls?"

"Yes!" said Hermione.

"How did you think of this?"

"It's based on muggle technology, actually," she said. "My parents use pagers to communicate."

"I love muggles," said Ron, pulling her in for another hug. "And you."

"Love you too," she said, before pressing her lips to his. Her hands started to wander, and Ron forgot about the DA coins for the next few moments.

The new DA coins got quite a bit of use over the next week while Hermione was in Australia, and to Ron's excitement, when she went back to Hogwarts. It suddenly Ron felt like a wall had crumbled, and he had access to her daily life and thoughts. There was nothing better than feeling the gold coin in his pocket warm up, and seeing a short but telling message scrawled across the front. The short snippets of conversation helped him stay caught up on her thoughts.

...

Hermione: I just took a shot with my dad, what is happening?

Ron: Been there! Did he at least give you his expensive gin?

...

Ron: I'm pretty sure Harry is singing to himself in the shower. He's not bad, actually.

Hermione: You should join him!

Ron: …

...

Hermione: What are you up to?

Ron: Eating.

Hermione: Go figure

...

Ron lived for these kinds of conversations. "Don't accidentally spend it!" was what she had told him, as if anything would be remotely worth it.

Although the coins were great for constant access to communication, they were not ideal for detail. When Hermione went back to school, he continued his weekly letters, and was pleasantly surprised that she did too.

The letters picked up where the coins left off, and rather than catching each other up on their daily lives, they used them to make plans. With the letters, they could fully detail their Hogsmeade plans, provide more context for their texts, and even begin discussing their ideas for term-end. Ron used a letter to suggest that Hermione move into Grimmauld Place with him and Harry after graduation, and he was thrilled that he didn't have to wait anxiously for pig to bring back her response, which was a resounding yes.

They didn't include all plans in their letters, because Hermione still managed to surprise him for his birthday. He came home from work on March 1st to find her sitting at their kitchen table with a big smile on her face.

"How did you get here?"

"Floo!" she said as she launched into his arms. "I told McGonagall it was an emergency."

"And what was the emergency," Ron said, hugging her so tightly that he lifted her off his feet.

"Your birthday!"

"And she let you leave?" he asked incredulously. She nodded. "I thought you hated surprises," he continued.

"I do, but I know you like them."

"I love them," he told her. "But I have to work this weekend —"

"No, you don't!" she said. "Harry's covering for you."

Ron beamed. "Really? He's in on this?"

She nodded. "Least he can do, for all the years he spent, you know, getting in our way."

Harry was not there to interfere that night, and thankfully, she had even more surprises planned for him. Ron didn't wake up predicting sex that day, and he definitely hadn't expected her to be wearing lacy lingerie under her school robes. One of the best surprises was how confidently she led him to his room, and pushed him onto the bed, expertly undoing the buttons of his jeans while her mouth never left his. His attraction to her was only multiplied by how unafraid she was to tell him what she wanted, and less surprising, but still unexpected, was his discovery of how much he liked being told what to do. Auror training had given him plenty of practice in taking orders, but until that night, he'd never enjoyed being so obedient.

It was the best birthday that Ron could remember. They spent the entire weekend in bed, either making love, or not making love, and he was grateful for all of it. Only three more months until they could do this every night, which reminded Ron to continue the disjointed conversation they'd been having over enchanted galleons.

"So I know you were planning on moving in here," he started. "What if we got our own place?"

"What about Harry?"

"What about him?" asked Ron.

"Won't he be lonely without you?"

Ron snorted. "He'll have Ginny."

Hermione looked at him through narrowed eyes. "So he told you she's moving in?"

"I knew you knew!" he said playfully.

"You're ok with it?"

"No, but I don't want to live with it, I would feel better if we got our own place."

They agreed to wait until term ended to officially start apartment hunting, so that Hermione could fully focus on completing her NEWTS and job applications. When she went back to school, their communication faltered a little bit, but it didn't bother Ron as much as it did their first term, because he knew exactly why her letters were shorter, and he was thrilled she was making the effort.

Her letters were still detailed enough that he knew of each job application she submitted, and he could feel her excitement about one particular one— an entry-level position in the office of magical law. The open position specifically dealt with updating and passing laws regarding the rights of magical creatures and Ron felt that Hermione was completely mental to think she was anything but a shoe-in.

They planned to meet at the ministry for lunch before her interview, and Ron showed up expecting nothing short of panic from Hermione. He sat through lunch acting as an interviewer, and let her rehearse her answers and talking points for her entire meal. He probably asked her more questions about S.P.E.W that day than he ever did during their school years, and he was quite impressed to learn how much she knew about magical law, even though it was never a subject at Hogwarts. He might be biased, but if he were really interviewing her, he'd hire her on the spot.

"You're going to be amazing, you know that?"

"I'm going to fail."

"They'd be lucky to have you," he told her, leaning in for a kiss across the table. He truly felt that way, they'd have to be idiots not to hire her, but again, he might be biased.

She trembled the whole way into her interview. Before she entered the interview room, he stopped her, and pulled her into his arms. "Just take five deep breaths, Hermione." He held her there, syncing his breathing up with hers, just like he did when she had a nightmare. Eventually, he felt her shoulders relax, and her spine straighten. "You can do this. You're brilliant."

"Thank you." She smiled gratefully and kissed him goodbye, or at least what she thought was goodbye. What she didn't know was that Ron had taken the afternoon off, and would be taking her out for a— likely celebratory— drink when the interview was over.

He sat down on a hallway bench and waited.

Hermione was beaming when she left the room an hour later, followed by two older, official-looking ministry employees. Ron stood as they each shook Hermione's hand. He couldn't quite make out what they were saying, but they appeared to be making plans.

She bid them goodbye and turned to see Ron standing there. Ron smiled nervously— he knew she hated surprises. "You're still here?"

Ron nodded. "I figured you'd need a drink—"

He was interrupted by her flinging herself into his arms. "They hired me!"

Ron lifted her off her feet and kissed her, and in a way, it felt like their first kiss in the Room of Requirement. He didn't care that people he knew were passing them in the hallways, and some of them might be Hermione's future coworkers. He didn't care that snogging his girlfriend in a crowded ministry hallway contradicted the excuse he used to get out of work early— he wasn't coming down with anything contagious other than genuine elation.

They apparated back to Hogsmeade, and he took her out for a celebratory butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks. It wasn't a Hogsmeade weekend, so the bar was relatively empty, save for a few professors, but Ron and Hermione didn't care. They made their way to their favorite booth in the back of the bar, and toasted to Hermione's new job, because their plans were falling into place beautifully, like dominoes that had been so precariously set over the past eight years they'd known each other.

They spent that evening making plans, and all of their plans came true. Hermione aced her N.E.W.T.S. She graduated with top marks, and celebrated at the burrow with his family. She moved into Grimmauld Place temporarily, and after just two short weeks of researching and touring apartments, they moved into their very own flat. It was in a muggle neighborhood, but had a second guest room and was right on a train line so her parents could visit, but the thing that made it perfect was that she lived there. In a way, that evening at the Three Broomsticks felt like the first day of the rest of their lives— their future finally felt clear, and they could plan for it. But when she unexpectedly ordered another round, not of butterbeer— of firewhiskey, and suggested they rent a room at the Hog's head to keep celebrating, he realized some of the best parts of his future with her would be entirely unplanned.

[sageinthegarden]

A new snapshot from https://sagesacre.com/2021/04/19/this-is-california-native-plant-week/

This is California Native Plant Week

The middle of April has played host to celebrations of nature for thousands of years. The ancient Roman festival of Cerealia, in honor of Ceres, the goddess of agriculture and grains, begins this week with a series uniquely Roman parties and special events (yes, wine and goats are involved).

Arbor Day, first celebrated back in the 1500’s is usually observed around this time as is its modern day successor, Earth Day.

Less well known, but equally important IMHO, is that it’s also California Native Plant Week. (Keep in mind, neighbors in Oregon, Idaho, Nevada, Utah, Arizona, Northern and New Mexico, we have a lot of native plants in common.)

Bound by the Sierra Nevada mountains and Mojave desert to the east and the Pacific ocean to the west, the geography of the state gives it unique weather and the largest number of plant species of anywhere in the U.S., a third of which are found nowhere else. It also gives California nearly 40 million residents (the entire population of Canada), which means a lot of our native plants are being squeezed out; cleared for housing and infrastructure and often replaced with non-natives that are poorly adapted for the climate and often outright invasive.

A native, California State flower and a zero maintenance flower that returns every year

This is unfortunate and unnecessary be we have plenty of native plants and trees here in California — and throughout the west — that look great in a garden or landscape setting, provide food and shelter for critters, and, best of all, are water wise and dead simple to care for.

Sadly, “native plants” and “native landscaping” are still considered niches (like the local stuff is “weird” compared to plants from China and the Mediterranean), so big box stores and larger commercial nurseries don’t usually carry California natives or provide any education on their many advantages. There are, however, many native plant enthusiasts, organizations and nurseries dedicated to raising raising awareness and availability of native plants, making it easier than ever to learn about and create your own California native garden.

Which brings us to California Native Plant Week, a seven day event the California Native Plant Society describes like this:

Each day of California Native Plant Week, CNPS will unveil 360° virtual tours. From home gardens to apartments, city parks to wildlands, these 360° tours will share the different ways Californians care for and enjoy native plants. The tours also reflect a diversity of gardeners, from urbanites to suburban homeowners, Indigenous culture keepers to high school teachers. The tours are accessed entirely online and offer an immersive experience with clickable interpretation, plant identification tags, navigation features and hyperlinked plant lists.

That’s pretty awesome on it’s own (also envy causing when you see some of the gardens), but even better is that the CNPS website will help you identify and locate a nursery source for pretty much any California native you’re looking for.

A native Desert Agave because if you’re going to Agave, go big. Like 8 feet of spiky, stabby blue agave.

And if you can’t find it there, forums like those on Facebook and Reddit can connect you with others who also have insight into how/where to source native plants. It also doesn’t hurt to make friends with your friendly, neighborhood nursery employee who might have the inside track on native plant sources.

For my part, while I’m not out there actively pressing for people to rip out their current landscape and switch to California natives, I am leading by example, swapping in local flora as I remake portions of The Acre.

What was once a slope of English Ivy is now (mostly) native sages.

Cleveland Sage, a California native in bloom in April

A Cleveland Sage sprawls and blooms on a sunny, west-facing hillside

A native black sage (Salvia mellifera) in flower

A native black sage (Salvia mellifera) sprawled out on the hillside in spring

The front garden along our road is now a mix of native chaparral and sages rather than the row of Canary Island palms (I sold the palms, so they’re out lining the parking lot of an outlet center somewhere in Arizona).

Artemesia California A gray-green sagebrush

Sagebrush doesn’t look like much, but it smells amazing. Like The West.

My hummingbird sage colony (Salvia spathacea). Native north of here, it seems to have settled in quite nicely under oak, pine and eucalyptus

Hummingbird sage in flower in spring

California buckwheat growing among black and hummingbird sage

And the live oak dry creek that was first used as a dump 50 years ago and later became a goat pen, is now being restored with California lilacs, holly, sages and gooseberry.

Fuschiaflower Gooseberry (Ribes speciosum) with a wild cucumber (Marah macrocarpa) growing over it

A closeup of the fuschiaflower gooseberry (Ribes speciosum) in flower

You don’t see sneezeweed (Helenium puberulum) in gardens much anymore, but it’s a great plant

A closeup of a sneezeweed (Helenium puberulum) flower. It doesn’t actually make you sneeze.

One of the other big upsides to going native with the landscape beyond not watering anything is my poultry (chickens and ducks with free range of the yard) don’t eat the landscaping. They do, however, shelter under it and eat the weeds, grasses and various insect pests that hide out there. Kind of a triple bonus when you think about it.

-*-

Check out California Native Plant Week on the California Native Plant Society website

Native plants mentioned in this article

Black Sage Salvia mellifera

California Buckwheat Eriogonum fasciculatum

California Sagebrush Artemisia californica

Cleveland Sage Salvia clevelandii

Desert Agave Agave deserti

Fuchsiaflower Gooseberry Salvia spathacea

Sneezeweed Helenium puberulum

Wild Cucumber Marah macrocarpa

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Canary Mary & the Miners

A/N: Um. I don’t really... know what to... *big sigh* Listen. Here’s the thing. I’ve been having some trouble finding the time and the inspiration to write in the last few weeks. So I decided to turn to some writing prompts in hopes that one of them would spark SOMETHING even if it was just a few paragraphs to shake the rust off. So I came across one that simply said write about a character named Canary. And a few paragraphs turned into a few thousand words pertaining to Ryan Brenner and of course, a new character named Canary. (It also reignited the spark for me to jump back into the world of Passing Through, which is what I am currently working on and I am EXCITED to share what comes next for that story!) This part right here though, actually takes place well before the events in PT. Ryan is roughly 24 years old here. It’s pre- Jackie, pre- losing Cowboy...pre-learning a lot of things, young, still establishing himself as a person Ryan Brenner. (and some cousins for good measure) I truly hope you enjoy. 

Fun fact: Carbondale is home to the first commercial rail line. 

Warning: brief mention of drug use, drinking 

Word count: 4,761

The first day of any trip home for Ryan was always a busy one. From the minute he’d set foot in Aunt Holly’s kitchen to the second he finally shut his exhausted eyes in the guestroom bed upstairs, the day was always full of tight hugs, loud welcomes, curious questions and more food than any of them could eat. If the weather was right for it, he’d walk down to the beach with whichever of his cousins happened to be around. They’d kill a 6 pack of beer and fill each other in on the stories they’d rather not share with the rest of the family. Once Ryan had come home in the middle of a summer downpour, and the rain, and even more so the lightning, made the trek down to sit in the sand impossible. Instead, Ryan, Jimmy, Taylor and Fitz sat on overturned buckets and bags of mulch in Holly and Alan’s shed, laughing and teasing one another as they dodged drips from the shed’s leaky roof. After supper he’d sit out on the porch with whoever was still awake and alert and play a few songs, the tempo of them slowing as the sky filled with stars. 

The second day was always more calm, all the excitement out of the way. He’d wake up in the guestroom, the mattress slightly too short for his long legs but still far more comfortable than most places he slept while on the road, and turn to the shabby wicker bedside table. Ryan didn’t get much mail, just a few letters and postcards, but reading them was always one of the highlights of his visit. Aunt Holly would save them for him, bundling them up in short stacks tied with blue yarn. Although she would always give them to him almost immediately after he unlaced his boots, he would always tuck them away with his things upstairs, knowing that he’d have more time to read them in the morning. 

On this particular trip, when Aunt Holly had stuffed the bundle into Ryan’s right hand while his left arm curled around Taylor’s shoulders and he ducked out of the way of a spiraling Nerf football that Jimmy had just lobbed from the top of the stairs, he noted that the stack was a little thicker than normal. He smiled to himself, fingers hooking beneath the thick yarn. I sent out a few more’n normal this year too. 

As he’d gotten better as a musician, he’d found more opportunities to meet and play with and learn from other musicians in his travels. Some he never even spoke to, simply set up on the same corner and agreed on song choice without words, with just chords and nods. Others he found himself forming friendships with, realizing that they had more in common than just their musical talents. His first few years on the rails had been spent mostly with Cowboy, Virginia and eventually Georgie. But more recently he found himself traveling solo, wanting to stay longer in some cities, wanting to skip town faster in others. He found himself wanting to stretch his limits and learn more about who he was, not just as a traveller or an artist, but as a person. And he realized that one of the best ways to learn about himself was to interact with as many people as he could as see what he felt, how he responded, who he was drawn to and why. 

What he’d learned leading up to this visit home was that he was someone who craved genuine connection, and sought out others who wanted the same. For every one meaningful connection he made, there were at least twenty interactions with people whom he could tell had forgotten his name before they’d even made it three steps, even after they’d just spent a few minutes chatting, dropping a few singles into his case and telling him that he sounded great. Some people, he knew, just wanted to be liked. They craved acceptance from everyone they met. Ryan learned that he was not one of those people, and he liked that about himself. Only one that’s gotta be okay with me is me. 

But when he found those rare individuals who looked for the seams in things and pulled them apart to peek at what was inside, he held onto them because he knew that those were the people who had the best chance of understanding him and helping him understand himself. Thus began the growth of the non-biological branch of his family tree. Robin and Oz and the rest of the crew he spent his first West Coast summer with, Georgie, Cowboy and Virginia had been the base of that branch, but other chutes were beginning to form now too, resulting in thicker stacks of mail and more reasons to purchase stamps. 

Waking up in the too small bed, he stretched his neck to the right until a small pop released some tension there. A satisfied sigh, the kind that only came from getting a good night’s sleep, slipped from his lungs as he sat up blinking in the dusty morning light. Rising with the sun was a hard habit to break, even when he was staying somewhere that he didn’t need to vacate immediately like he was now, but Ryan didn’t mind. He enjoyed having that time to himself while the rest of the world was still quiet. 

Dragging a hand through his sleep disheveled hair, he glanced over at the bundle of letters and postcards, and once his fingertips had finished fixing the errant strands, they reached out to brush over the frayed ends of the yarn that was cross wrapped around his mail. Blue this time. He smiled to himself wondering if he’d be leaving with a scarf or a hat at the end of the week. It wouldn’t be cold enough for a scarf  for another month or two, but he knew that it was important to Aunt Holly that she send him off with something to keep him warm. It was important to him, too, he’d learned, her scarves warming more than his neck on several solo winter nights. Clearing his gravelly throat, he pulled the covers back and set his feet down on the floor. 

Rifling through his pack, Ryan pulled out his last clean pair of jeans and a dark green long sleeved thermal, a freshly sewn patch on the left elbow courtesy of Virginia. Before making his way down to Georgia he’d spent two weeks with her and Cowboy as they made their way through the Midwest, parting ways outside of Chicago. There were certain things that Ryan always had on his person- twine, sunscreen, his notebook- and with Ginny it was a travel sewing kit. He twisted his arm to look at the patch, a dark brown oval cut from an old corduroy button down that had lost more buttons than it retained, and smiled. He ran his fingers over the stitches that held the patch in place. She’s gettin’ better at this. The nail of his pointer finger snagged on a crooked stitch and he chuckled. Cowboy prob’ly gives her plenty to practice on.

He finished getting dressed and grabbed his hat, bending and folding the brim with one hand before stuffing it into his back pocket. Aunt Holly had a strict no hats in the house rule, and even though he knew she was still asleep, Ryan wouldn’t think of breaking it. She’d knock it clean off my head ‘f she caught me. It wasn’t a guess, he knew from experience. How to pick his battles was another thing he’d been learning lately, and waiting a few extra seconds until he was outside before putting his hat on wasn’t worth causing trouble. 

Picking up the bundle of letters from the side table, Ryan left the spare room, closing the door behind him. The hallway on the second floor was narrow and dark; there were no windows because the hall wrapped around the stairwell, and there were rooms on all four sides. But Ryan had spent enough time in that house to know where to turn without having to see, and in just a few familiar steps he was descending the staircase, socked feet moving quickly and quietly over the creaky steps. He made a quick stop in the kitchen, setting up the coffee pot to brew, waiting until he could hear it hissing and clicking as the heat plate warmed up before turning towards the front door. This thing’s older’n I am. Just like shrimp and grits and peach cobbler for supper on the first night of his visits were staples, Ryan would always show his appreciation by making sure that everyone woke to a full pot of dark roast on the second day. 

He didn’t wait for the coffee to brew though. Instead he found his boots in the pile of shoes by the door, digging one out from under a red canvas sneaker that seemed to be missing its mate. Whose is this? Taylor’s? He picked it up by the lace and flung it deeper into the pile. What’d she do with the other one? Sticking the stack of letters under his arm, he tied his laces loosely, shaking his head at the image of Taylor walking home with only one shoe the night before. I bet Jimmy was messin’ with her. Though none of them were as rowdy as they used to be, all of the Brenner cousins had held onto their propensity for mischief when they gathered in groups of two or more. Some things never change. 

Other things did, though. He took the stack back out from under his arm as he straightened up, eyeing it and guessing that it was thicker than the last one by at least five pieces. Passing the pencil marked molding that measured the heights of he and his cousins at various ages, he opened the door and headed out into the bright morning to read his letters. He settled into the angled Adirondack chair, the wood worn smooth after decades of use and abuse, and untied the knotted bow, smiling at the little pop as the yarn let go of the knot. 

Dropping the yarn into his lap he sifted through the pile until he found Robin’s loopy lettering, always in brightly colored ink. He plucked out two letters addressed to him in red and purple respectively, as well as a postcard from Culver City that was so smudged that all he could read was the last line- Oz and I miss you, Brenner. No matter what else she wrote in her letters, whether she was writing to tell him that things had gotten dark for Oz again, or that things were going well for them, she always ended them with that and he could hear her unwritten next line: Get your ass back out here! He was happy to see, after reading as much as he could of the smudged postcard and both letters, that things seemed to be on an upswing for Oz. One of the letters even mentioned that he’d been clean and sober for a year and Ryan beamed. I gotta get out there soon. Maybe this spring, after Montana.  

There was a birthday card from Nikki, the girl he’d gotten his first tattoos from. Happy Birthday, handsome!! Was all it said, with a line of little x’s, her name signed below them, more x’s dotting the two I’s. Ryan felt his lips twitch under his beard as a slight flush climbed over it, and he recalled all the teasing he endured from Georgie when it became clear to the rest of the group that there was something between Ryan and Nikki. Been a while since she saw me. He ran one hand over his scruffy facial hair before lowering it to look at the roughly inked black lines and dots that marked the spaces between his knuckles. Inhaling a slow breath through his nose he could almost smell the woman’s strawberry shampoo as she leaned close, holding his hand in one of hers and her tattoo gun in the other, her chunky silver rings cool against his skin. Wonder what she’d think now. Nothing had ever really happened between the two of them. Nothin’ more than kissin’. 

His tongue flicked out to wet his lips and he sighed. She was somethin’ else though. Wonder ‘f she’d… He tapped the card twice against the knuckles of his opposite hand before shuffling it back to the bottom of the pile. Nikki’s not really...neither of us wants to stop movin’ around and… He shook his head. Nikki was a great kisser, that he was sure of. She was vivacious and spontaneous and lived her life in bright colors and never failed to make Ryan laugh when they spoke on the phone. But even through all the physical attraction Ryan knew that there would never be anything serious between them. She’s a good friend… just not a good fit for me. He snorted to himself as the sun rose above the treeline. ‘Nd I’m not a good fit for her. He wasn’t looking for a relationship anymore like he might have been last time he went out West to see Nikki and Louie and the rest of them. But if a relationship found him along the way he knew it would have to be right for it to stick. ‘Nd if it ain’t gonna stick there’s no point.     

There were postcards from Cowboy that said very little, if anything at all other than a quickly scrawled You’d like it here, Brenner, or Good spot for buskin’. It was like a breadcrumb trail of suggestions for when Ryan didn’t know where to go next and wasn’t ready to repeat or circle back up with anyone else. The two of them- three, counting Ginny- had spent enough time together to know what small town charms and quirks would peek the other’s interests, or what tiny details in big cities the other looked for. Le Claire, Iowa. Laramie, Wyoming. Las Vegas, Nevada. Point Pleasant, New Jersey. The images on Cowboy’s postcards were always faded, and Ryan knew it was because the man would always hastily pull the first card he touched from a display in the window of a gas station or convenience store. No one sends postcards anymore so they sit in the sun. A faded river boat. A washed out field of cattle. The strip, sanded down by sun and time spent in a gift store. A ferris wheel, maybe. Doesn’t matter what’s on the front. He made a point to set the cards from Cowboy aside so that he could jot down the cities in the back of his notebook, where he kept a running list, crossing them off after he’d taken his friend’s advice to visit them.

By the time Ryan was down to the last postcard the sun had breached the tree line, brightening the sky and waking up the birds. The quiet morning filled with the chirps of sparrows and warblers, each trying to outdo the other in the complexity of their songs. Somewhere in the trees behind the house a mockingbird stole pieces of each, taking credit for the others’ creativity in order to fit in, and from the gargantuan oak in the front corner of the yard a small cluster of nuthatches erupted squawking from the middle branches. But Ryan hardly noticed the wildlife around him because his mind was on a very different bird, one certainly not native to Georgia. He read the front of the postcard in his hand, vintage linen print in bright colors spelling out Greetings from Carbondale Pennsylvania, a small white mountain laurel blooming beside the state’s Capitol building, and he knew who the card was from before even turning it over. Canary Mary. 

His eyes widened with excitement as he flipped it around, and though he’d never seen her handwriting before, it matched his expectation of her penmanship perfectly. Her letters all stood at a hard slant and the bottoms of her y’s, g’s and j’s curved back around to underline the words they occupied. Ryan always picked up on the ways that a person’s handwriting reflected parts of their personality, and Mary’s rebellious spirit and intensity were visible in the way she pressed her pen to the cardstock. As he read he could even picture her leaning casually in the corner booth at Lyle’s, layers of shawls and sweaters and long necklaces draped around her as she wrote. 

Ryan- 

First off I hope the rails have been good to you. Hope you and Georgie Porgie are lookin’ out for each other, and I hope y’all had a good summer. I hope you got after some of the things you were lookin’ for when you left here- but only some, ‘cause you always gotta have more to go after, remember that. There’s always more. 

Second, just wanted to see if you’n Georgie were interested in swingin’ up this way come October. There’s this music festival ‘round Halloween called Blues’n Boos - don’t hold the name against me, I didn’t make it up!- and I’m thinkin’ of tryin’ to be part of it, but only if you two come and back me up with your strings. I can sing, you know that, but I ain’t never sounded better’n when you boys stumbled into Lyle’s, and those couple’a duets you sang with me? That crowd won’t be ready for Canary Mary & the Miners I’ll tell you that! So I’m crossin’ my fingers you’ll say yes. You got my number, honey. 

-Canary 

Ryan hadn’t felt the smile creeping up his cheeks as he read, but when he finished he realized he was wearing it all the same. Canary Mary & the Miners, huh? He shook his head and laughed under his breath as he turned the card back over. He traced the block letter P with one finger, thinking back to last fall and the week or so he and Georgie had spent in the small coal town of Carbondale. They’d hopped off in hopes of finding somewhere to busk, but the weather had other plans, a heavy, chilly rain soaking them to the bone within minutes and making playing outdoors impossible. Heading towards the first establishment they saw that they didn’t think they’d be turned away from- a dive bar called Lyle’s, the chipped paint on the lit sign above the door beckoning them like a beacon- they carried all of their things inside and were immediately met with the sound of piano keys and Mary’s sultry, smoky voice. Knew we were in the right place then. 

Where ya goin’ baby? And how you gonna get there when I’m gone? 

Tell me where ya goin’ baby? And how you plannin’ to get along? 

I’m not tryin to doubt ya no, no… just thought I’d ask ya for fun. 

Rain water dripped from the ends of his hair beneath his hat, running down the side of his nose as he stared at the woman on stage, completely captivated by her performance. Damn. His mouth dropped open and he let out a breath, turning to his friend. “You hearin’ this Georgie?” 

Despite the fact that the woman was clearly ten or maybe even fifteen years older than they were, Georgie’s eyes twinkled mischievously as he answered. “Oh yeah, Ry, I’m hearin’ this alright.” Ryan smacked him on the arm with the back of his hand and laughed knowing that even though Georgie was a sucker for a pretty face that could sing, it was more about the voice than the face, and he respected this woman’s talent. 

They had ended up settling in at the end of the bar nearest the small stage, the bartender allowing them to stash their bags behind the bar while they had a few drinks and waited out the rain. They’d listened to three more of the woman’s songs, but it was those first few lyrics that he’d heard that had stuck with Ryan, and not just the words themselves, but the feeling she had put into them when she sang them. 

Where ya goin’ and how you gonna get there? 

It was supposed to be a song about independence and Ryan felt that in the confident yet carefree way she sang, seeming to play with the listeners’ ear as well as their heart and their ego. But he also realized that he didn’t know the answer. Where am I going? If someone asked me… what would I say? He sat there, brow all wrinkled as he contemplated the bubbles in the foam of his beer. Georgie had gone off to the restroom leaving Ryan by himself, but his stool didn’t stay empty for long. 

“That beer got the answers you’re lookin’ for there honey?” Wha-

Ryan looked up in time to see the woman slide into Georgie’s seat, one shoulder shrugging to try to keep her sleeve from falling down it, the other arm waving at the bartender and motioning for a glass of water. She lowered her arm then and turned to face Ryan head on, her wide eyes rimmed with dark liner and fringed with long black lashes. A stud dotting the side of her nose and a small scar cut through her top lip but did nothing to dull her smile. She was beautiful, but not in the most conventional sense. Her beauty came from the way she moved and how she carried herself, how sure she was when she sang and spoke and smiled. I’ve never seen anyone like her… she’s… It wasn’t attraction but awe, Ryan looking at this woman like a moth might look at the light- slightly stunned and not sure if it would burn him or show him the way.

The bartender had appeared with a water, reaching over the bar to hand it to her. She took it, winking at the man and thanking him before drinking a big gulp and wiping a hand across her mouth. Several bracelets and bangles knocked about on her wrist as it fell to her lap, her attention turning back to Ryan. “I take it that’s a no then?” 

“A...no?” Ryan shook his head trying to clear it enough to focus on the moment and the woman who was speaking to him. “Sorry?” 

“Mmm,” she hummed around the glass as she took another sip, her eyes brightening above the rim. “Don’t be.” Ryan blinked and felt himself relax, the furrows in his forehead smoothing back out at her casual manner. “I just meant...guess you’re not findin’ what you’re lookin’ for in that drink. But then again, who really does, huh?” She set her glass down and extended a hand to him. “I’m Mary. ‘Round here I go by Canary Mary.” She gave a playful roll of her eyes, tossing a wave around the place. That makes sense. Voice like that in a town like this. She laughed. “‘Cause if I ain’t singin’, you know somethin’ ain’t right. Ain’t that right, Lyle?” She called the last part out to the kind, balding man who had allowed Ryan and Georgie to tuck their stuffed packs safely away. 

“That’s right darlin’. You’re our songbird alright.” The man called back as he poured two beers from the taps. 

Mary laughed again, eyes returning to Ryan’s as his fingers wrapped around her hand. “And who are you, honey?” 

“‘M Ryan,” he answered, giving her hand a small shake as she squeezed his in return. “You sound...you’re really good up there.” He nodded towards the stage with his chin as she released her grip on his hand. 

“You think so, huh?” She cocked one eyebrow and Ryan tilted his head. Yes. How could you- “Well I s’pose you’d know.” What? She smiled and pointed to the case that was standing up between Ryan’s legs. “Saw you come in with that baby on your back, so I know you know what you’re talkin’ about.” 

Ryan shrugged and looked down at the thick lacquer on the bartop. “Oh I dunno, I just-” 

“Hey that friend a yours you came in with, he play too?” She asked before he could downplay his talent or ability and Ryan nodded. He does. “How’s about you boys come up and play with me? You can be my band for the night.” She lifted one hand up, panning it in front of her as though reading the marquee on a theater. “Canary Mary & the Miners.” She laughed, the sound heavy and sweet like molasses. “C’mon I think it’ll be fun, what’dya say?”

Georgie had come back right at that moment, agreeing for both of them, and he and Ryan had spent the rest of the night crammed up on the small platform, playing a few songs with the woman who was part songbird, part sultry lounge singer and all heart. She’d leaned in to whisper into Ryan’s ear, urging him to join her on a song or two. At first he’d been hesitant because the only female singers he’d ever done duets with were Robin and Virginia, and he knew both of them well enough to know what they were feeling when they sand, how to match them. But Mary had put that hesitation to sleep with her next words. 

“Trust me, honey, what you were lookin’ for in that beer? You got a better chance of findin’ it in a song. So you wanna sing with me?” 

He had, and it had somehow felt...easy. As the night wore on and the number of patrons dwindled, Mary, Ryan and Georgie found themselves closing down Lyle’s, the three of them sitting in the only three stools that hadn’t been overturned and lifted up onto the bar. Lyle swept the floor, music playing softly from an old but still functioning radio, allowing them to finish their last round as he cleaned up. They’d gotten to talking, Mary sharing a little about herself and how she left home to pursue a life of music and whatever came with it, and Ryan had asked her if she ever worried that she’d made the wrong choice, or that she’d ended up in the wrong place. Is that… am I worried about that? I didn’t think I was but… 

“Only thing I ever ask myself, Ryan, is if I’m good with who I am in the moment. Only person that’s gotta be good with you is you, honey. If I’m good with where I am and where I’m goin? Then I know I didn’t make the wrong choice.” 

Where am I going, and how am I gonna get there? He tapped the card against his knuckle again, taking a deep breath in through his nose. He could smell the nutty aroma of the coffee he’d made, could hear the sound of his family waking up and shuffling towards the kitchen for a cup. Smiling as he let the breath back out in a sigh, he plucked the yarn from his lap and re-wrapped the bundle of cards and letters. I’m good with who I am… lot of it thanks to her. Canary Mary had taught Ryan more than he thought she knew at first, but as time went on and he thought back on the interaction, he wondered if maybe she knew all along that he needed some guidance, needed to be shown the way or at least pointed towards the light.  Either way, he knew his answer. 

It’s too early to call Georgie. Ryan squinted at the sun as he rose from the chair and stretched, his shirt lifting up to expose a thin strip of his belly, the morning air a cool shock on his skin. 

“Ry’n, you want milk’n your coffee’r no?” Huh. Guess Taylor didn’t go home last night. Must’ve slept in the living room. Her accent was always thickest in the morning when she wasn’t quite awake, like it was now as she called out the screen door. 

He turned away from the sun and back towards the house, tucking the bundle of cards under his arm and whipping the hat off his head. “Yeah, just a drop though. ‘M comin’ in now I can…” 

It was too early to call Georgie now, but Ryan knew that as soon as it was late enough to guarantee the other man would answer, he’d be calling his friend to make travel plans for Carbondale in October.

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[dharmadischarge]

The coalmine canaries.

📷

Thinking about starting back on the books...but no promises. I keep losing my confidence as a writer of fiction. I refuse to make the world worst with my art. and have actively spent most of the last couple of months trying to find more constructive outlets. Those are less destructive to me and others, like painting miniatures and such.

My main problem has been that I don't want to leave negative graffiti on the walls of the universe just because I feel bad. It's not fair to the perfection of creation as lucid and straightforward as a diamond in its glory. I want to inspire people. Not make me into a laughing stock. I mean, technically, both give a kind of joy... but I really can't take much more psychological violence, even if it is self-inflicted.

I have spammed so much crappy art across the walls of the internet. That karmically, I feel like silence is a justified penance. So if it takes a while for those projects to be finished, then know that it may be for the best.

I almost want to cry typing this, but as I said, I refuse to make the world a worst place just because I am screwed up. I would love to spew out positive energy, but I don't feel like I have it in me at the moment.

On a more positive note, Earl Mach Rouch is releasing the new Buckaroo Banzai. So I hope to spend most of the following month reading it (I intend on reading it slowly, like dangerously so)

I have a memory, maybe being seven or eight, and waking up and seeing the jet car scene of buckaroo banzai on the sci-fi channel. I fell asleep since as it was midnight and I was a kid. but I mentioned it to both my dad and uncle and they both told me the classic line, "No matter where you there, you are." Not seeing that movie was a regret of my life until I did get a chance to see it when I was thirteen or fourteen. After being obsessed with it, I got a copy of the novelization and was utterly blown away. Buckaroo Banzai remains my northern star, and since I am at a juncture in my life, I feel some time for selfish reflection is necessary and honestly overdue.

My dad is going to the doctor to find what is going on with his heart. After losing my mamaw last year, I hoped for half a decade of stability, but it's God's show, and we are just along for the ride. So I am praying he will be O.K. and just taking some time to reflect on how selfishly I have lived for the last decade and trying to spend time with my family.

After all that, I will emphasize I reserve the right to pull a one-eighty and write novels as a substitute for coping with reality.

I am listening to Buddy Holly as I write this and am amazed that I have been blessed to live more than a decade longer than his tragic life allowed. Sometimes I can't decide who I like more Al Jorgenson and his band ministry for a trinity of albums that are like being thrown into the heart of a storm. Or Buddy Holly for the simple ambition to sing and be heard. Yes, I know that is the romantic way of looking at it. Yes, I know Buddy wrote Midnight Shift which is the fifties equivalent of just one fix (a ministry track), but we are all wounded animals looking for love, whether it's the kind you can put a price on or not.

They say that birds sing in the morning to let their mates know they survived through the night. Whether that is true or not, I still love to look at that particular ambiguity in that specific way. If only because my first band was called the coalmine canaries. So a loss of music in the dark has always been a fear of mine. But will always fight that dark off with a simple phrase "A love for real is not fade away!"

📷

[yeaahishowedupatyourparty]

PARENTHOOD INTERVIEW: Adrian.

10 QUESTIONS NOT LINKED TO YOUR KID(S).

what is your current career now? “I do events for some of the academies, promotion for events too...”

are you enjoying it? “Sure, it’s good.” 

where do you currently live? “The Springs.” 

are you married? “I am” 

what is one thing that’s stayed the same with you since st judes? “I don’t know, I feel like a lot has changed but at the same time, not much at all.” 

what’s the biggest change you’ve experienced? “I’m a Dad, times two.”

now that you’re older and have had a successful career, what’s your biggest goal in life? “I’ve never really been a goal person. I tend to just get on with life and see where it takes me. It’s worked so far, right?” 

would you still consider yourself famous? “Absolutely not.” 

what was the first thing you did after your graduation? “We travelled a bit. I spent some time with my parents, too. I feel like I didn’t see them enough in my twenties which is fine. We all go through it but I think realising I was old made me realise they were older and wouldn’t be getting younger.” 

do you have any regrets about your time in st judes? “Other than what I just mentioned, nope!” 

QUESTIONS ABOUT PARENTHOOD.

who are your children? list them in age order. “Haley and Ally.” 

if you gave birth, who was the easiest pregnancy? if you didn’t, which pregnancy did you feel most anxious about. “I didn’t give birth, it doesn’t feel like my place to say anything.” 

did you have any baby showers or gender reveals? if yes, what did you do? “We did parties and gatherings with friends, as Holly said beforehand, we didn’t do anything too impersonal though.”

what kind of parent would your children describe you as, do you think? “Annoying, for sure.” 

which stage was hardest: baby, toddler, child, teenager or young adult? “In my opinion, for me, it was the childhood years for Haley for obvious reasons and Ally’s teenage years were tougher. She was definitely the more rebellious of the two.” 

what has been your favourite memory with each child? “Stupid things people take for granted! Hearing them laughing or playing together, watching them gain and then drop interests...Just watching them to grow into who they are.” 

be honest, do you think you’ve had any failings as a parent? “Probably, let’s be honest.” 

what do you think you do well as a parent? “Lighten the mood. As much as I annoy them, they definitely find me funny. I won’t take any other answer.”

how much involvement do your own parents have in your child’s life? “As much as they can, my own parents actually moved back out to South America when me and my siblings were all grown up. But, my aunt and her husband and their children do a lot with them which is really nice. Florence, for example, would always include the girls if she was taking out the other kids.” 

as a parent, what is something you’re still learning? “To lead by example...I sometimes forget I’m the adult of the situation...”

what’s the funniest memory from parenthood so far? “There’s been a lot. To me, the funniest moments are the ones that aren’t funny at the time. For instance I remember one day when I had the girls and they got into a full on fight about who got to be Cloe when playing with their Bratz. I got them to flip a coin and it basically ended up that Haley won, which led to Ally going upstairs and taking the heads off 90% of the other dolls they had. So dramatic in hindsight.” 

when do you feel like you were needed the most? “That’s a hard question, I feel like it’d be better to ask them.” 

JUST FOR FUN, WHICH CHILD… if you have just one child, you can just say if they’d do the stuff or not.

which child is the most sensible? “Haley, one hundred percent.” 

which child is the most independent? “Ally.” 

which child did you always have suspicions about being famous one day? “I think they both have star quality. Obviously Haley had dance and everything, but Ally always had that confidence and enjoyed putting on shows and really excelled in her sports. I’m not surprised either of them are where they are.” 

which child was the hardest work as a child? “Ally. There’s a reason we didn’t have another one...Kidding, but she genuinely was hard work. Mainly because she was only quiet and not moving when she was sleeping, otherwise it was all systems go from morning till night.” 

which child have you cried/stressed over the most? “There’s been a balance of both.” 

which child has the tidiest room? “Haley, easily.” 

which child do you think likes you the most? “I don’t know. I’d probably say Haley.” 

which child is most likely to forget your birthday? “Ally, she’s never home.” 

which child is/was the most academic? “Haley.” 

which child is/was the most athletic? “Ally.” 

which child tends to be the most annoying? “Ally, she’s definitely my karma for being like I was as a kid.” 

which child asks for money the most? “Neither, honestly.” 

which child is most likely to move in back home? “Haley. I’d love both of them back, though.” 

which child helps out around the house the most? “Who knows?” 

which child enjoyed disney the most growing up? “Depends what you mean. If we’re talking movies, then Haley. Ally never had the patience to sit through that stuff, but if it came to like, actual Disneyland then Ally. She’d be the first to introduce herself to characters or try to get on to rides she was way too short for.”

BEING AN ACADEMY PARENT.

did you have a say in the academy(s) your child(ren) picked? “I didn’t even realised they’d applied until they brought me their acceptance letters.” 

how did you feel when your child decided they wanted to go to an academy? “In the middle. Good for them but there’s a lot of stuff you’re not told before you join.”

do any of your children study the same as what you did? are they less, equally or more successful than what you were? “Ally models and absolutely smashes it everytime. I didn’t have that drive.”

when your child(ren) were younger, what did you THINK they’d end up working as? “I knew Ally would do sports. I travelled for years with her so she could do her figure skating and surfing, and it was always a toss up between the two. I though Haley might’ve ended up doing something like teaching younger children, she’s one of the most caring and patient people I know.”

have you met any of your child’s friends or partners? “I’ve met Rowan and then Brett.” 

what’s your biggest worry about your children being in an academy? “I don’t really have worries. Maybe just the fact that they’ll do something and feel like they can’t share any problems with us. We’re always here...”

what’s the one piece of advice you’d give your child as they start this journey that you wished you had? “Enjoy it! It’s meant to be fun. Go to the events, meet new friends, try new things. It takes up six years of your life, so if you’re going to do it, have fun with it.” 

MEMORY LANE.

what tv programmes/films were on repeat as your children were growing up? “Anything Disney for Haley. Ally was obsessed with the Powerpuff Girls and Winx.” 

have you ever lost your child/had something happen that’s made you panic? “Loads of times. I once left them both at the park after a walk. Needless to say I was in the dog house for a few nights.”

what was the first holiday you went on as a whole family? “We’ve been to a few places now. I think the first beach holiday was down in the Canary Islands because Park’s got a hotel there, so it was convenient and also a safe-slash-familiar place to bring two young kids. Anyway, it was amazing and they both loved it.” 

can you remember a time you’ve ever been called to the principals office? “Ally lived in the office, I know that much. Holly usually dealt with anything school related, though. I don’t know. That turned out for the best.”

say one thing about your child that you think they’d like to hear, but wouldn’t expect you to say. “I don’t know. I think to Haley it would be to take your time. There’s no need to rush anything whether it’s forcing yourself to do something new or to embrace every single thing. There’ll be other opportunities and I think looking after your mental health is always going to be most important. To Ally, just that’s she loved and that’s how it’s always been and how it’ll always be. They both are, but I think she’s more prone to doubting it.”

[thegeneralreturns]

Thoughts on Birds of Prey

I don’t think it’s very good.�� In fact, I think that beyond the genuinely good performances by the actors, there isn’t a single level upon which this movie works.

Birds of Prey’s story is told in a disjointed style that fractures the film’s chronology like early Tarantino or Nolan.  Which is fine in a bubble and looks good on paper, but the advantages that Tarantino and Nolan had were runtime (in the former) and just focusing on a single character (in the latter).  Birds of Prey has neither.  This kind of complicated, doubling-back storytelling means shots and lines of dialogue are replayed two or three times.  This is a one-hundred minute movie with an ensemble cast.  Real estate is both scarce and valuable, which means the movie wastes precious time being fancy at the expense of its characters.  I thought Jurnee Smollett-Bell and Mary Elizabeth Winstead were great as Black Canary and Huntress, but with what little time we spent with them at the expense of Harley, I wish the movie thought so, too.  With the approach this film took, it should have either been longer, or it should have focused more.  Birds of Prey is the closest cinematic equivalent I can think of to the ten-pounds-of-shit-in-a-five-pound-bag analogy.  And it ain’t a girl gang movie if the girls are only a gang for the last twenty minutes.

The action scenes are par for the course, but for the love of God, can we cool it with the John Wick comparisons, please?  This movie has none of those films’ immersion in their sequences.  Save for a couple of scenes near the end, director Cathy Yan is content to just sit back and watch, letting the choreography do all the work.  Which is, y’know, fine, but the praise of critics and the movie’s fans kinda got carried away.

These are my grown-up problems.  I still have one rather large comic book nerd problem with Birds of Prey.

And if I told you my favorite superhero is Cassandra Cain, you know where this is going.  Before we proceed any further, however, I should make a point to mention that I am not, nor shall I ever be, mad enough at a movie to pick on a little kid on the internet.  Ella Jay Basco did a great job with what she’s been given, and I hope the future treats her well.

But the alterations made to Cassandra Cain’s character in this movie are just baffling.  A disabled master martial artist with a more staunch no-kill rule than Superman is now a chatterbox wuss who has no problems waving guns around and blasting people to smithereens.  Everything cool, interesting, or sympathetic about her is just gone.

There are two things that make this perplexing.  The first is her inclusion in the first place.  I have a hard time believing that they put a character named Cassandra Cain in this movie in hopes of luring comic readers when DC has been trying their best to bury her since 2007.  You had Holly Robinson that could have been used, who would have provided connective tissue for the inevitable Gotham City Sirens movie when Margot Robbie’s Harley met Zoe Kravitz’s Selina Kyle.  If you need a tie into the upcoming Batgirl movie, just use Stephanie Brown.  That way, when the Batgirl movie gets here, you can use Cluemaster as a built-in villain.  Hell, you can eve keep the actress.  It’s not like Basco did a bad job, and there ain’t no rule that says Holly or Steph can’t be Asian.  Why Cass?  Why, God?

The second is how did they get her so wrong when they got everyone else so right?  All of the other central characters closely correspond with their comic book counterparts.  Hell, Black Canary is such a mess of interpretations and backstories in the comics that hammering any two of them together into something coherent is a genuine feat of good writing.  Birds of Prey namedrops places like the East End, Amusement Mile, and Robinson Park.  It’s not like these motherfuckers have never picked up a comic book before!  So how did they do everyone else so well and Cass so poorly?

You know, I really don’t give a shit about the behind-the-scenes nonsense with The Rise of Skywalker.  I really don’t.  JJ Abrams made a bad movie.  Case closed, and mystery solved.  Any Star Trek fan will tell you it happens with regularity, and it was your turn.

But The Cassandra Cain Cinematic Shitshow?  I definitely want to know what’s going on there.  I want to sit and listen as this person or these persons explain themselves.  I want to know how they thought irredeemably scorching my favorite superhero in her first big screen outing was a good idea that would sell a single ticket.  If they wrote a book, I’d buy the damned thing.

To quote a great man, whoever made these decisions was either dumb as fuck... or they did it on purpose.

[thecynicalm]

Gerard Nolst Trenité - The Chaos (1922)

This poem is great for training your pronunciation if you’re not a native speaker of english and I love it. Dearest creature in creation Studying English pronunciation,   I will teach you in my verse   Sounds like corpse, corps, horse and worse.

I will keep you, Susy, busy, Make your head with heat grow dizzy;   Tear in eye, your dress you'll tear;   Queer, fair seer, hear my prayer.

Pray, console your loving poet, Make my coat look new, dear, sew it!   Just compare heart, hear and heard,   Dies and diet, lord and word.

Sword and sward, retain and Britain (Mind the latter how it's written).   Made has not the sound of bade,   Say-said, pay-paid, laid but plaid.

Now I surely will not plague you With such words as vague and ague,   But be careful how you speak,   Say: gush, bush, steak, streak, break, bleak ,

Previous, precious, fuchsia, via Recipe, pipe, studding-sail, choir;   Woven, oven, how and low,   Script, receipt, shoe, poem, toe.

Say, expecting fraud and trickery: Daughter, laughter and Terpsichore,   Branch, ranch, measles, topsails, aisles,   Missiles, similes, reviles.

Wholly, holly, signal, signing, Same, examining, but mining,   Scholar, vicar, and cigar,   Solar, mica, war and far.

From "desire": desirable-admirable from "admire", Lumber, plumber, bier, but brier,   Topsham, brougham, renown, but known,   Knowledge, done, lone, gone, none, tone,

One, anemone, Balmoral, Kitchen, lichen, laundry, laurel.   Gertrude, German, wind and wind,   Beau, kind, kindred, queue, mankind,

Tortoise, turquoise, chamois-leather, Reading, Reading, heathen, heather.   This phonetic labyrinth   Gives moss, gross, brook, brooch, ninth, plinth.

Have you ever yet endeavoured To pronounce revered and severed,   Demon, lemon, ghoul, foul, soul,   Peter, petrol and patrol?

Billet does not end like ballet; Bouquet, wallet, mallet, chalet.   Blood and flood are not like food,   Nor is mould like should and would.

Banquet is not nearly parquet, Which exactly rhymes with khaki.   Discount, viscount, load and broad,   Toward, to forward, to reward,

Ricocheted and crocheting, croquet? Right! Your pronunciation's OK.   Rounded, wounded, grieve and sieve,   Friend and fiend, alive and live.

Is your r correct in higher? Keats asserts it rhymes Thalia.   Hugh, but hug, and hood, but hoot,   Buoyant, minute, but minute.

Say abscission with precision, Now: position and transition;   Would it tally with my rhyme   If I mentioned paradigm?

Twopence, threepence, tease are easy, But cease, crease, grease and greasy?   Cornice, nice, valise, revise,   Rabies, but lullabies.

Of such puzzling words as nauseous, Rhyming well with cautious, tortious,   You'll envelop lists, I hope,   In a linen envelope.

Would you like some more? You'll have it! Affidavit, David, davit.   To abjure, to perjure. Sheik   Does not sound like Czech but ache.

Liberty, library, heave and heaven, Rachel, loch, moustache, eleven.   We say hallowed, but allowed,   People, leopard, towed but vowed.

Mark the difference, moreover, Between mover, plover, Dover.   Leeches, breeches, wise, precise,   Chalice, but police and lice,

Camel, constable, unstable, Principle, disciple, label.   Petal, penal, and canal,   Wait, surmise, plait, promise, pal,

Suit, suite, ruin. Circuit, conduit Rhyme with "shirk it" and "beyond it",   But it is not hard to tell   Why it's pall, mall, but Pall Mall.

Muscle, muscular, gaol, iron, Timber, climber, bullion, lion,   Worm and storm, chaise, chaos, chair,   Senator, spectator, mayor,

Ivy, privy, famous; clamour Has the a of drachm and hammer.   Pussy, hussy and possess,   Desert, but desert, address.

Golf, wolf, countenance, lieutenants Hoist in lieu of flags left pennants.   Courier, courtier, tomb, bomb, comb,   Cow, but Cowper, some and home.

"Solder, soldier! Blood is thicker", Quoth he, "than liqueur or liquor",   Making, it is sad but true,   In bravado, much ado.

Stranger does not rhyme with anger, Neither does devour with clangour.   Pilot, pivot, gaunt, but aunt,   Font, front, wont, want, grand and grant.

Arsenic, specific, scenic, Relic, rhetoric, hygienic.   Gooseberry, goose, and close, but close,   Paradise, rise, rose, and dose.

Say inveigh, neigh, but inveigle, Make the latter rhyme with eagle.   Mind! Meandering but mean,   Valentine and magazine.

And I bet you, dear, a penny, You say mani-(fold) like many,   Which is wrong. Say rapier, pier,   Tier (one who ties), but tier.

Arch, archangel; pray, does erring Rhyme with herring or with stirring?   Prison, bison, treasure trove,   Treason, hover, cover, cove,

Perseverance, severance. Ribald Rhymes (but piebald doesn't) with nibbled.   Phaeton, paean, gnat, ghat, gnaw,   Lien, psychic, shone, bone, pshaw.

Don't be down, my own, but rough it, And distinguish buffet, buffet;   Brood, stood, roof, rook, school, wool, boon,   Worcester, Boleyn, to impugn.

Say in sounds correct and sterling Hearse, hear, hearken, year and yearling.   Evil, devil, mezzotint,   Mind the z! (A gentle hint.)

Now you need not pay attention To such sounds as I don't mention,   Sounds like pores, pause, pours and paws,   Rhyming with the pronoun yours;

Nor are proper names included, Though I often heard, as you did,   Funny rhymes to unicorn,   Yes, you know them, Vaughan and Strachan.

No, my maiden, coy and comely, I don't want to speak of Cholmondeley.   No. Yet Froude compared with proud   Is no better than McLeod.

But mind trivial and vial, Tripod, menial, denial,   Troll and trolley, realm and ream,   Schedule, mischief, schism, and scheme.

Argil, gill, Argyll, gill. Surely May be made to rhyme with Raleigh,   But you're not supposed to say   Piquet rhymes with sobriquet.

Had this invalid invalid Worthless documents? How pallid,   How uncouth he, couchant, looked,   When for Portsmouth I had booked!

Zeus, Thebes, Thales, Aphrodite, Paramour, enamoured, flighty,   Episodes, antipodes,   Acquiesce, and obsequies.

Please don't monkey with the geyser, Don't peel 'taters with my razor,   Rather say in accents pure:   Nature, stature and mature.

Pious, impious, limb, climb, glumly, Worsted, worsted, crumbly, dumbly,   Conquer, conquest, vase, phase, fan,   Wan, sedan and artisan.

The th will surely trouble you More than r, ch or w.   Say then these phonetic gems:   Thomas, thyme, Theresa, Thames.

Thompson, Chatham, Waltham, Streatham, There are more but I forget 'em-   Wait! I've got it: Anthony,   Lighten your anxiety.

The archaic word albeit Does not rhyme with eight-you see it;   With and forthwith, one has voice,   One has not, you make your choice.

Shoes, goes, does *. Now first say: finger; Then say: singer, ginger, linger.   Real, zeal, mauve, gauze and gauge,   Marriage, foliage, mirage, age,

Hero, heron, query, very, Parry, tarry fury, bury,   Dost, lost, post, and doth, cloth, loth,   Job, Job, blossom, bosom, oath.

Faugh, oppugnant, keen oppugners, Bowing, bowing, banjo-tuners   Holm you know, but noes, canoes,   Puisne, truism, use, to use?

Though the difference seems little, We say actual, but victual,   Seat, sweat, chaste, caste, Leigh, eight, height,   Put, nut, granite, and unite.

Reefer does not rhyme with deafer, Feoffer does, and zephyr, heifer.   Dull, bull, Geoffrey, George, ate, late,   Hint, pint, senate, but sedate.

Gaelic, Arabic, pacific, Science, conscience, scientific;   Tour, but our, dour, succour, four,   Gas, alas, and Arkansas.

Say manoeuvre, yacht and vomit, Next omit, which differs from it   Bona fide, alibi   Gyrate, dowry and awry.

Sea, idea, guinea, area, Psalm, Maria, but malaria.   Youth, south, southern, cleanse and clean,   Doctrine, turpentine, marine.

Compare alien with Italian, Dandelion with battalion,   Rally with ally; yea, ye,   Eye, I, ay, aye, whey, key, quay!

Say aver, but ever, fever, Neither, leisure, skein, receiver.   Never guess-it is not safe,   We say calves, valves, half, but Ralf.

Starry, granary, canary, Crevice, but device, and eyrie,   Face, but preface, then grimace,   Phlegm, phlegmatic, ass, glass, bass.

Bass, large, target, gin, give, verging, Ought, oust, joust, and scour, but scourging;   Ear, but earn; and ere and tear   Do not rhyme with here but heir.

Mind the o of off and often Which may be pronounced as orphan,   With the sound of saw and sauce;   Also soft, lost, cloth and cross.

Pudding, puddle, putting. Putting? Yes: at golf it rhymes with shutting.   Respite, spite, consent, resent.   Liable, but Parliament.

Seven is right, but so is even, Hyphen, roughen, nephew, Stephen,   Monkey, donkey, clerk and jerk,   Asp, grasp, wasp, demesne, cork, work.

A of valour, vapid vapour, S of news (compare newspaper),   G of gibbet, gibbon, gist,   I of antichrist and grist,

Differ like diverse and divers, Rivers, strivers, shivers, fivers.   Once, but nonce, toll, doll, but roll,   Polish, Polish, poll and poll.

Pronunciation-think of Psyche!- Is a paling, stout and spiky.   Won't it make you lose your wits   Writing groats and saying "grits"?

It's a dark abyss or tunnel Strewn with stones like rowlock, gunwale,   Islington, and Isle of Wight,   Housewife, verdict and indict.

Don't you think so, reader, rather, Saying lather, bather, father?   Finally, which rhymes with enough,   Though, through, bough, cough, hough, sough, tough??

Hiccough has the sound of sup... My advice is: GIVE IT UP!

[yogurtbattle]

Because English pronunciation is random

Gerard Nolst Trenité - The Chaos (1922)

Dearest creature in creation Studying English pronunciation,   I will teach you in my verse   Sounds like corpse, corps, horse and worse.

I will keep you, Susy, busy, Make your head with heat grow dizzy;   Tear in eye, your dress you'll tear;   Queer, fair seer, hear my prayer.

Pray, console your loving poet, Make my coat look new, dear, sew it!   Just compare heart, hear and heard,   Dies and diet, lord and word.

Sword and sward, retain and Britain (Mind the latter how it's written).   Made has not the sound of bade,   Say-said, pay-paid, laid but plaid.

Now I surely will not plague you With such words as vague and ague,   But be careful how you speak,   Say: gush, bush, steak, streak, break, bleak ,

Previous, precious, fuchsia, via Recipe, pipe, studding-sail, choir;   Woven, oven, how and low,   Script, receipt, shoe, poem, toe.

Say, expecting fraud and trickery: Daughter, laughter and Terpsichore,   Branch, ranch, measles, topsails, aisles,   Missiles, similes, reviles.

Wholly, holly, signal, signing, Same, examining, but mining,   Scholar, vicar, and cigar,   Solar, mica, war and far.

From "desire": desirable-admirable from "admire", Lumber, plumber, bier, but brier,   Topsham, brougham, renown, but known,   Knowledge, done, lone, gone, none, tone,

One, anemone, Balmoral, Kitchen, lichen, laundry, laurel.   Gertrude, German, wind and wind,   Beau, kind, kindred, queue, mankind,

Tortoise, turquoise, chamois-leather, Reading, Reading, heathen, heather.   This phonetic labyrinth   Gives moss, gross, brook, brooch, ninth, plinth.

Have you ever yet endeavoured To pronounce revered and severed,   Demon, lemon, ghoul, foul, soul,   Peter, petrol and patrol?

Billet does not end like ballet; Bouquet, wallet, mallet, chalet.   Blood and flood are not like food,   Nor is mould like should and would.

Banquet is not nearly parquet, Which exactly rhymes with khaki.   Discount, viscount, load and broad,   Toward, to forward, to reward,

Ricocheted and crocheting, croquet? Right! Your pronunciation's OK.   Rounded, wounded, grieve and sieve,   Friend and fiend, alive and live.

Is your r correct in higher? Keats asserts it rhymes Thalia.   Hugh, but hug, and hood, but hoot,   Buoyant, minute, but minute.

Say abscission with precision, Now: position and transition;   Would it tally with my rhyme   If I mentioned paradigm?

Twopence, threepence, tease are easy, But cease, crease, grease and greasy?   Cornice, nice, valise, revise,   Rabies, but lullabies.

Of such puzzling words as nauseous, Rhyming well with cautious, tortious,   You'll envelop lists, I hope,   In a linen envelope.

Would you like some more? You'll have it! Affidavit, David, davit.   To abjure, to perjure. Sheik   Does not sound like Czech but ache.

Liberty, library, heave and heaven, Rachel, loch, moustache, eleven.   We say hallowed, but allowed,   People, leopard, towed but vowed.

Mark the difference, moreover, Between mover, plover, Dover.   Leeches, breeches, wise, precise,   Chalice, but police and lice,

Camel, constable, unstable, Principle, disciple, label.   Petal, penal, and canal,   Wait, surmise, plait, promise, pal,

Suit, suite, ruin. Circuit, conduit Rhyme with "shirk it" and "beyond it",   But it is not hard to tell   Why it's pall, mall, but Pall Mall.

Muscle, muscular, gaol, iron, Timber, climber, bullion, lion,   Worm and storm, chaise, chaos, chair,   Senator, spectator, mayor,

Ivy, privy, famous; clamour Has the a of drachm and hammer.   Pussy, hussy and possess,   Desert, but desert, address.

Golf, wolf, countenance, lieutenants Hoist in lieu of flags left pennants.   Courier, courtier, tomb, bomb, comb,   Cow, but Cowper, some and home.

"Solder, soldier! Blood is thicker", Quoth he, "than liqueur or liquor",   Making, it is sad but true,   In bravado, much ado.

Stranger does not rhyme with anger, Neither does devour with clangour.   Pilot, pivot, gaunt, but aunt,   Font, front, wont, want, grand and grant.

Arsenic, specific, scenic, Relic, rhetoric, hygienic.   Gooseberry, goose, and close, but close,   Paradise, rise, rose, and dose.

Say inveigh, neigh, but inveigle, Make the latter rhyme with eagle.   Mind! Meandering but mean,   Valentine and magazine.

And I bet you, dear, a penny, You say mani-(fold) like many,   Which is wrong. Say rapier, pier,   Tier (one who ties), but tier.

Arch, archangel; pray, does erring Rhyme with herring or with stirring?   Prison, bison, treasure trove,   Treason, hover, cover, cove,

Perseverance, severance. Ribald Rhymes (but piebald doesn't) with nibbled.   Phaeton, paean, gnat, ghat, gnaw,   Lien, psychic, shone, bone, pshaw.

Don't be down, my own, but rough it, And distinguish buffet, buffet;   Brood, stood, roof, rook, school, wool, boon,   Worcester, Boleyn, to impugn.

Say in sounds correct and sterling Hearse, hear, hearken, year and yearling.   Evil, devil, mezzotint,   Mind the z! (A gentle hint.)

Now you need not pay attention To such sounds as I don't mention,   Sounds like pores, pause, pours and paws,   Rhyming with the pronoun yours;

Nor are proper names included, Though I often heard, as you did,   Funny rhymes to unicorn,   Yes, you know them, Vaughan and Strachan.

No, my maiden, coy and comely, I don't want to speak of Cholmondeley.   No. Yet Froude compared with proud   Is no better than McLeod.

But mind trivial and vial, Tripod, menial, denial,   Troll and trolley, realm and ream,   Schedule, mischief, schism, and scheme.

Argil, gill, Argyll, gill. Surely May be made to rhyme with Raleigh,   But you're not supposed to say   Piquet rhymes with sobriquet.

Had this invalid invalid Worthless documents? How pallid,   How uncouth he, couchant, looked,   When for Portsmouth I had booked!

Zeus, Thebes, Thales, Aphrodite, Paramour, enamoured, flighty,   Episodes, antipodes,   Acquiesce, and obsequies.

Please don't monkey with the geyser, Don't peel 'taters with my razor,   Rather say in accents pure:   Nature, stature and mature.

Pious, impious, limb, climb, glumly, Worsted, worsted, crumbly, dumbly,   Conquer, conquest, vase, phase, fan,   Wan, sedan and artisan.

The th will surely trouble you More than r, ch or w.   Say then these phonetic gems:   Thomas, thyme, Theresa, Thames.

Thompson, Chatham, Waltham, Streatham, There are more but I forget 'em-   Wait! I've got it: Anthony,   Lighten your anxiety.

The archaic word albeit Does not rhyme with eight-you see it;   With and forthwith, one has voice,   One has not, you make your choice.

Shoes, goes, does *. Now first say: finger; Then say: singer, ginger, linger.   Real, zeal, mauve, gauze and gauge,   Marriage, foliage, mirage, age,

Hero, heron, query, very, Parry, tarry fury, bury,   Dost, lost, post, and doth, cloth, loth,   Job, Job, blossom, bosom, oath.

Faugh, oppugnant, keen oppugners, Bowing, bowing, banjo-tuners   Holm you know, but noes, canoes,   Puisne, truism, use, to use?

Though the difference seems little, We say actual, but victual,   Seat, sweat, chaste, caste, Leigh, eight, height,   Put, nut, granite, and unite.

Reefer does not rhyme with deafer, Feoffer does, and zephyr, heifer.   Dull, bull, Geoffrey, George, ate, late,   Hint, pint, senate, but sedate.

Gaelic, Arabic, pacific, Science, conscience, scientific;   Tour, but our, dour, succour, four,   Gas, alas, and Arkansas.

Say manoeuvre, yacht and vomit, Next omit, which differs from it   Bona fide, alibi   Gyrate, dowry and awry.

Sea, idea, guinea, area, Psalm, Maria, but malaria.   Youth, south, southern, cleanse and clean,   Doctrine, turpentine, marine.

Compare alien with Italian, Dandelion with battalion,   Rally with ally; yea, ye,   Eye, I, ay, aye, whey, key, quay!

Say aver, but ever, fever, Neither, leisure, skein, receiver.   Never guess-it is not safe,   We say calves, valves, half, but Ralf.

Starry, granary, canary, Crevice, but device, and eyrie,   Face, but preface, then grimace,   Phlegm, phlegmatic, ass, glass, bass.

Bass, large, target, gin, give, verging, Ought, oust, joust, and scour, but scourging;   Ear, but earn; and ere and tear   Do not rhyme with here but heir.

Mind the o of off and often Which may be pronounced as orphan,   With the sound of saw and sauce;   Also soft, lost, cloth and cross.

Pudding, puddle, putting. Putting? Yes: at golf it rhymes with shutting.   Respite, spite, consent, resent.   Liable, but Parliament.

Seven is right, but so is even, Hyphen, roughen, nephew, Stephen,   Monkey, donkey, clerk and jerk,   Asp, grasp, wasp, demesne, cork, work.

A of valour, vapid vapour, S of news (compare newspaper),   G of gibbet, gibbon, gist,   I of antichrist and grist,

Differ like diverse and divers, Rivers, strivers, shivers, fivers.   Once, but nonce, toll, doll, but roll,   Polish, Polish, poll and poll.

Pronunciation-think of Psyche!- Is a paling, stout and spiky.   Won't it make you lose your wits   Writing groats and saying "grits"?

It's a dark abyss or tunnel Strewn with stones like rowlock, gunwale,   Islington, and Isle of Wight,   Housewife, verdict and indict.

Don't you think so, reader, rather, Saying lather, bather, father?   Finally, which rhymes with enough,   Though, through, bough, cough, hough, sough, tough??

Hiccough has the sound of sup... My advice is: GIVE IT UP!

[eru-na]

Gerard Nolst Trenité - The Chaos (1922)

Dearest creature in creation Studying English pronunciation,   I will teach you in my verse   Sounds like corpse, corps, horse and worse.

I will keep you, Susy, busy, Make your head with heat grow dizzy;   Tear in eye, your dress you'll tear;   Queer, fair seer, hear my prayer.

Pray, console your loving poet, Make my coat look new, dear, sew it!   Just compare heart, hear and heard,   Dies and diet, lord and word.

Sword and sward, retain and Britain (Mind the latter how it's written).   Made has not the sound of bade,   Say-said, pay-paid, laid but plaid.

Now I surely will not plague you With such words as vague and ague,   But be careful how you speak,   Say: gush, bush, steak, streak, break, bleak ,

Previous, precious, fuchsia, via Recipe, pipe, studding-sail, choir;   Woven, oven, how and low,   Script, receipt, shoe, poem, toe.

Say, expecting fraud and trickery: Daughter, laughter and Terpsichore,   Branch, ranch, measles, topsails, aisles,   Missiles, similes, reviles.

Wholly, holly, signal, signing, Same, examining, but mining,   Scholar, vicar, and cigar,   Solar, mica, war and far.

From "desire": desirable-admirable from "admire", Lumber, plumber, bier, but brier,   Topsham, brougham, renown, but known,   Knowledge, done, lone, gone, none, tone,

One, anemone, Balmoral, Kitchen, lichen, laundry, laurel.   Gertrude, German, wind and wind,   Beau, kind, kindred, queue, mankind,

Tortoise, turquoise, chamois-leather, Reading, Reading, heathen, heather.   This phonetic labyrinth   Gives moss, gross, brook, brooch, ninth, plinth.

Have you ever yet endeavoured To pronounce revered and severed,   Demon, lemon, ghoul, foul, soul,   Peter, petrol and patrol?

Billet does not end like ballet; Bouquet, wallet, mallet, chalet.   Blood and flood are not like food,   Nor is mould like should and would.

Banquet is not nearly parquet, Which exactly rhymes with khaki.   Discount, viscount, load and broad,   Toward, to forward, to reward,

Ricocheted and crocheting, croquet? Right! Your pronunciation's OK.   Rounded, wounded, grieve and sieve,   Friend and fiend, alive and live.

Is your r correct in higher? Keats asserts it rhymes Thalia.   Hugh, but hug, and hood, but hoot,   Buoyant, minute, but minute.

Say abscission with precision, Now: position and transition;   Would it tally with my rhyme   If I mentioned paradigm?

Twopence, threepence, tease are easy, But cease, crease, grease and greasy?   Cornice, nice, valise, revise,   Rabies, but lullabies.

Of such puzzling words as nauseous, Rhyming well with cautious, tortious,   You'll envelop lists, I hope,   In a linen envelope.

Would you like some more? You'll have it! Affidavit, David, davit.   To abjure, to perjure. Sheik   Does not sound like Czech but ache.

Liberty, library, heave and heaven, Rachel, loch, moustache, eleven.   We say hallowed, but allowed,   People, leopard, towed but vowed.

Mark the difference, moreover, Between mover, plover, Dover.   Leeches, breeches, wise, precise,   Chalice, but police and lice,

Camel, constable, unstable, Principle, disciple, label.   Petal, penal, and canal,   Wait, surmise, plait, promise, pal,

Suit, suite, ruin. Circuit, conduit Rhyme with "shirk it" and "beyond it",   But it is not hard to tell   Why it's pall, mall, but Pall Mall.

Muscle, muscular, gaol, iron, Timber, climber, bullion, lion,   Worm and storm, chaise, chaos, chair,   Senator, spectator, mayor,

Ivy, privy, famous; clamour Has the a of drachm and hammer.   Pussy, hussy and possess,   Desert, but desert, address.

Golf, wolf, countenance, lieutenants Hoist in lieu of flags left pennants.   Courier, courtier, tomb, bomb, comb,   Cow, but Cowper, some and home.

"Solder, soldier! Blood is thicker", Quoth he, "than liqueur or liquor",   Making, it is sad but true,   In bravado, much ado.

Stranger does not rhyme with anger, Neither does devour with clangour.   Pilot, pivot, gaunt, but aunt,   Font, front, wont, want, grand and grant.

Arsenic, specific, scenic, Relic, rhetoric, hygienic.   Gooseberry, goose, and close, but close,   Paradise, rise, rose, and dose.

Say inveigh, neigh, but inveigle, Make the latter rhyme with eagle.   Mind! Meandering but mean,   Valentine and magazine.

And I bet you, dear, a penny, You say mani-(fold) like many,   Which is wrong. Say rapier, pier,   Tier (one who ties), but tier.

Arch, archangel; pray, does erring Rhyme with herring or with stirring?   Prison, bison, treasure trove,   Treason, hover, cover, cove,

Perseverance, severance. Ribald Rhymes (but piebald doesn't) with nibbled.   Phaeton, paean, gnat, ghat, gnaw,   Lien, psychic, shone, bone, pshaw.

Don't be down, my own, but rough it, And distinguish buffet, buffet;   Brood, stood, roof, rook, school, wool, boon,   Worcester, Boleyn, to impugn.

Say in sounds correct and sterling Hearse, hear, hearken, year and yearling.   Evil, devil, mezzotint,   Mind the z! (A gentle hint.)

Now you need not pay attention To such sounds as I don't mention,   Sounds like pores, pause, pours and paws,   Rhyming with the pronoun yours;

Nor are proper names included, Though I often heard, as you did,   Funny rhymes to unicorn,   Yes, you know them, Vaughan and Strachan.

No, my maiden, coy and comely, I don't want to speak of Cholmondeley.   No. Yet Froude compared with proud   Is no better than McLeod.

But mind trivial and vial, Tripod, menial, denial,   Troll and trolley, realm and ream,   Schedule, mischief, schism, and scheme.

Argil, gill, Argyll, gill. Surely May be made to rhyme with Raleigh,   But you're not supposed to say   Piquet rhymes with sobriquet.

Had this invalid invalid Worthless documents? How pallid,   How uncouth he, couchant, looked,   When for Portsmouth I had booked!

Zeus, Thebes, Thales, Aphrodite, Paramour, enamoured, flighty,   Episodes, antipodes,   Acquiesce, and obsequies.

Please don't monkey with the geyser, Don't peel 'taters with my razor,   Rather say in accents pure:   Nature, stature and mature.

Pious, impious, limb, climb, glumly, Worsted, worsted, crumbly, dumbly,   Conquer, conquest, vase, phase, fan,   Wan, sedan and artisan.

The th will surely trouble you More than r, ch or w.   Say then these phonetic gems:   Thomas, thyme, Theresa, Thames.

Thompson, Chatham, Waltham, Streatham, There are more but I forget 'em-   Wait! I've got it: Anthony,   Lighten your anxiety.

The archaic word albeit Does not rhyme with eight-you see it;   With and forthwith, one has voice,   One has not, you make your choice.

Shoes, goes, does *. Now first say: finger; Then say: singer, ginger, linger.   Real, zeal, mauve, gauze and gauge,   Marriage, foliage, mirage, age,

Hero, heron, query, very, Parry, tarry fury, bury,   Dost, lost, post, and doth, cloth, loth,   Job, Job, blossom, bosom, oath.

Faugh, oppugnant, keen oppugners, Bowing, bowing, banjo-tuners   Holm you know, but noes, canoes,   Puisne, truism, use, to use?

Though the difference seems little, We say actual, but victual,   Seat, sweat, chaste, caste, Leigh, eight, height,   Put, nut, granite, and unite.

Reefer does not rhyme with deafer, Feoffer does, and zephyr, heifer.   Dull, bull, Geoffrey, George, ate, late,   Hint, pint, senate, but sedate.

Gaelic, Arabic, pacific, Science, conscience, scientific;   Tour, but our, dour, succour, four,   Gas, alas, and Arkansas.

Say manoeuvre, yacht and vomit, Next omit, which differs from it   Bona fide, alibi   Gyrate, dowry and awry.

Sea, idea, guinea, area, Psalm, Maria, but malaria.   Youth, south, southern, cleanse and clean,   Doctrine, turpentine, marine.

Compare alien with Italian, Dandelion with battalion,   Rally with ally; yea, ye,   Eye, I, ay, aye, whey, key, quay!

Say aver, but ever, fever, Neither, leisure, skein, receiver.   Never guess-it is not safe,   We say calves, valves, half, but Ralf.

Starry, granary, canary, Crevice, but device, and eyrie,   Face, but preface, then grimace,   Phlegm, phlegmatic, ass, glass, bass.

Bass, large, target, gin, give, verging, Ought, oust, joust, and scour, but scourging;   Ear, but earn; and ere and tear   Do not rhyme with here but heir.

Mind the o of off and often Which may be pronounced as orphan,   With the sound of saw and sauce;   Also soft, lost, cloth and cross.

Pudding, puddle, putting. Putting? Yes: at golf it rhymes with shutting.   Respite, spite, consent, resent.   Liable, but Parliament.

Seven is right, but so is even, Hyphen, roughen, nephew, Stephen,   Monkey, donkey, clerk and jerk,   Asp, grasp, wasp, demesne, cork, work.

A of valour, vapid vapour, S of news (compare newspaper),   G of gibbet, gibbon, gist,   I of antichrist and grist,

Differ like diverse and divers, Rivers, strivers, shivers, fivers.   Once, but nonce, toll, doll, but roll,   Polish, Polish, poll and poll.

Pronunciation-think of Psyche!- Is a paling, stout and spiky.   Won't it make you lose your wits   Writing groats and saying "grits"?

It's a dark abyss or tunnel Strewn with stones like rowlock, gunwale,   Islington, and Isle of Wight,   Housewife, verdict and indict.

Don't you think so, reader, rather, Saying lather, bather, father?   Finally, which rhymes with enough,   Though, through, bough, cough, hough, sough, tough??

Hiccough has the sound of sup... My advice is: GIVE IT UP!

[ferretly]

my 2018 reading list/challenge:

beneath the cut it’s long

(these are all options in each section; i won’t read every book in each section. if anyone has recs for which book i should read tho that would be appreciated!!)

a book made into a movie you’ve already seen

Jurassic Park by Michael Crichton

Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn

The Princess Bride by William Goldman

Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen

Misery by Stephen King

Holes by Lois Sachar

The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold

true crime

No Place Safe by Kim Reid

The 57 Bus by Dashka Slater

the next book in a series you started

The Restaurant at the End of the Universe by Douglas Adams

Bitterblue by Kristin Cashore

Twenty Years After by Alexandre Dumas

Fearless by Cornelia Funke

Among the Free by Margaret Peterson Haddix

Gathering Blue by Lois Lowry

Through the Ever Night by Veronica Rossi

UnSouled by Neal Shusterman

a book involving a heist

White Cat by Holly Black

American Gods by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett

nordic noir

October is the Coldest Month by Christoffer Carlsson

a novel based on a real person

Crank by Ellen Hopkins

The Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank

a book set in a country that fascinates you

Ogniem i Mieczem by Henryk Sienkiewicz

The Last Wish by Andrzej Sapkowski

a book with the time of day in the title

Dawn by Octavia E. Butler

Princess of the Midnight Ball by Jessica Day George

The Midnight Robber by Nalo Hopkinson

a book about a villain or antihero

Battle Royale by Koushun Takami

Feast of Souls by C.S. Friedman

a book about death or grief

The Way We Fall by Megan Crewe

Sanctum by Sarah Fine

The Everafter by Amy Huntley

Ferryman by Claire McFall

Beauty of the Broken by Tawni Waters

a book with a female author who uses a male pseudonym

Ship of Magic by Robin Hobb

Fool’s Errand by Robin Hobb

Her Smoke Rose Up Forever by James Tiptree

a book with an LGBT protagonist

Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Alire Saenz

Simon Vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda by Becky Albertalli

Carry On by Rainbow Rowell

Shadowshaper by Daniel Jose Older

a book that is also a stage play or musical

Matilda by Roald Dahl

Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats by T.S. Elliot

a book by an author of a different ethnicity than you

Dawn by Octavia E. Butler (Black)

Fledgeling by Octavia E. Butler (Black)

Parable of the Sower by Octavia E. Butler (Black)

Wild Seed by Octavia E. Butler (Black)

The Grace of Kings by Ken Liu (Chinese-American)

Shadowshaper by Daniel Jose Older (Afro-Latino)

A Tale for the Time Being by Ruth Ozeki (Japanese-American)

Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Alaire Saenz (Latino)

More Happy Than Not by Adam Silvera (Latino)

The Education of Margot Sanchez by Lilliam Silvera (Latina)

The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas (Black)

a book about feminism

Embroideries by Marjane Satrapi

a book about mental health

Wishful Drinking by Carrie Fisher

a book you borrowed or that was given to you as a gift

Accessible Gardening for People with Disabilities: A Guide to Methods, Tools, and Plants by Janeen R. Adil

Women of Valor: Polish Resisters to the Third Reich by Joanne D. Gilbert

Tarot: Plain and Simple by Anthony Louis

Fairest by Marissa Meyer

Poles in Wisconsin by Susan Gibson Mikos

Musicophilia: Tales of Music and the Brain by Oliver Sacks

a book by two authors:

Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett

Welcome to Night Vale by Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Cranor

a book about or involving a sport

Wing Jones by Katherine Webber

Openly Straight by Bill Koningsberg

Finding the Edge: My Life on the Ice by Karen Chen

a book by a local author

The Girl who Drank the Moon by Kelly Barnhill

Breadcrumbs by Anne Ursu

a book with your favorite color in the title

The Red Chamber by Pauline A. Chen

Redheart by Jackie Gamber

Silvered by Tanya Huff

Green by Jay Larke

Red Branch by Morgan Llywelyn

Iron Hearted Violet by Kelly Barnhill

Scarlet by A.C. Gaughen

Gathering Blue by Lois Lowry

After the Red Rain by Barry Lyga

The Golden Day by Ursula Dubosarsky

The Golden Mare, the Firebird, and the Magic Ring by Ruth Sanderson

Brown Girl Dreaming by Jacqueline Woodson

a book with alliteration in the title

Rain Reign by Ann M. Martin

Tiger Burning Bright by Marion Zimmer Bradley

A Study in Scarlet by Arthur Conan Doyle

Pawn of Prophecy by David Eddings

Flesh and Fire by Laura Anne Gilman

Stray Souls by Kate Griffin

Fox Forever by Mary E. Pearson

Krik? Krak! by Edwidge Danticat

a book about time travel

Life After Life by Kate Atkinson

Spin by Robert Charles Wilson

The False Princess by Ellis O’Neal

Passenger by Alexandra Bracken

Dreamhunter by Elizabeth Knox

a book with a weather element in the title

The Mists of Avalon by Marion Zimmer Bradley

Snow Country by Yasunari Kawabata

The Way to Rainy Mountain by N. Scott Momaday

Boy, Snow, Bird by Helen Oyeyemi

Storm Glass by Maria V. Snyder

Snow Crash by Neal Stephenson

Frostfire by Amanda Hocking

Stitching Snow by R.C. Lewis

After the Red Rain by Barry Lyga

Rain Reign by Ann M. Martin

The Prince of Mist by Carlos Ruiz Zafon

a book set at sea

Ship of Magic by Robin Hobb

Above World by Jenn Reese

a book with an animal in the title

The Clan of the Cave Bear by Jean M. Auel

The Last Unicorn by Peter S. Beagle

Tiger Burning Bright by Marion Zimmer Bradley

The Lions of Al-Rasson by Guy Gavriel Kay

The Shark God by Charles Montgomery

Raven Girl by Audrey Niffenegger

Boy, Snow, Bird by Helen Oyeyemi

The Bees by Laline Paull

Reindeer Moon by Elizabeth Marshall Thomas

Where Late the Sweet Birds Sang by Kate Wilhelm

Dov Arising by Karen Bao

White Cat by Holly Black

Cuckoo Song by Frances Hardinge

Island of the Blue Dolphins by Scott O’Dell

The Golden Mare, the Firebird, and the Magic Ring by Ruth Sanderson

Ferrets (Barron’s Complete Pet Owner’s Manuals) by E. Lynn Fox Morton

The Ferret: An Owner’s Guide to a Happy Healthy Pet by Mary R. Shefferman

Black Canary #1 by Brennden Fletcher

Lumberjanes, Vol.1: Beware the Kitten Holy by Noelle Stevenson

a book set on a different planet

Luna: New Moon by Ian McDonald

Coyote by Alan Steele

Glow by Amy Kathleen Ryan

Salvage by Alexandra Duncan

Dove Arising by Karen Bao

Stitching Snow by R.C. Lewis

a book with song lyrics in the title

Don’t Turn Around by Michelle Gagnon

All These Things I’ve Done by Gabrielle Zevin

Yesterday by C.K. Kelly Martin

a book about or set on Halloween

The Halloween Tree by Ray Bradbury

a book with characters who are twins

Nightfall by Jake Halpern

Affinity by Sarah Waters

a book mentioned in another book

The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. LeGuin

The Last of the Wine by Mary Renault

Little Dorrit by Charles Dickens

The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller

The Price of Salt by Patricia Highsmith

a book from a celebrity book club

Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood

The Blade Itself by Joe Abercrombie

Tigana by Guy Gavriel Kay

He, She, and It by Marge Piercy

Tipping the Velvet by Sarah Waters

The Lions of Al-Rassan by Guy Gavriel Kay

The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms by N.K. Jemisin

Daughter of the Forest by Juliet Marillier

Grave Mercy by Robin LaFevers

a childhood classic you’ve never read

The Last Unicorn by Peter S. Beagle

Winter of Fire by Sherryl Jordan

a book that’s published in 2018

Unearthed by Amie Kaufman

Children of Blood and Bone by Tomi Adeyemi

The Hazel Wood by Melissa Albert

These Rebel Waves by Sara Raasch

Reign of the Fallen by Sara Glenn Marsh

The Apocalypse Guard by Brandon Sanderson

The Diminished by Kaitlyn Sage Patterson

Sea Witch by Sarah Henning

Hullmetal Girls by Emily Skrutskie

Witchmark by C.L. Polk

Inkmistress by Audrey Coulthurst

The Prince and the Dressmaker by Jen Wang

Hurricane Child by Kheryn Callender

Blackfish City by Sam J. Miller

a past Goodreads Choice Awards winner

The Book of Life by Deborah Harkness

The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas

Red Queen by Victoria Aveyard

A Work in Progress by Connor Franta

a book set in the decade you were born

The Miseducation of Cameron post by Emily M. Danforth

A Map of Home by Randa Jarrar

a book you meant to read in 2017 but didn’t get to

Carry On by Rainbow Rowell

Carmilla by Joseph Sheridan LeFanu

Poison Study by Maria V. Snyder

Ready Player One by Ernest Cline

a book with an ugly cover

Poison by Chris Wooding

Starters by Lissa Price

a book that involves a bookstore or library

The Library at Mount Char by Scott Hawkins

The Book of Lost Things by John Connolly

Good Omens by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman

your favorite prompt from the 2015, 2016, or 2017 reading challenges

Explorer: The Mystery Boxes by Kazu Kibuishi

Watchmen by Alan Moore

Lumberjanes, Vol.1: Beware the Kitten Holy by Noelle Stevenson

Habibi by Craig Thompson

Hark! A Vagrant by Kate Beaton

The Three-Body Problem by Liu Cixin

Fearless by Cornelia Funke

Swallows of Kabul by Yasmina Khadra

The Boy at the End of the World by Greg Van Eekhout

Where the Mountain Meets the Moon by Grace Lin

Advanced:

a bestseller from the year you graduated high school

Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen

Dewey: the Small-town Library Cat who Touched the World by Vicki Myron

a cyberpunk book

Snow Crash by Neil Stephenson

Ready Player One by Ernest Cline

Vurt by Jeff Noon

Moxyland by Lauren Beukes

Beggars in Spain by Nancy Kress

a book that was being read by a stranger in a public place

lol i don’t like ... even go to public places; if anyone’s reading this do u wanna help me out

a book tied to your ancestry

Polish Roots by Rosemary A. Chorzempa

Women of Valor: Polish Resisters to the Third Reich by Joanne D. Gilbert

Poles in Wisconsin by Susan Gibson Mikos

a book with a fruit or vegetable in the title

Oranges are Not the Only Fruit by Jeanette Winterson

an allegory

Midnight’s Children by Salman Rushdie

Chronicle of a Death Foretold by Gabriel Carcia Marquez

Bone Gap by Laura Ruby

a book by an author with the same first or last name as you

A Dirty Rose by Nannah Marnie-Claire

[censored] sorry

a microhistory

Follow the Rabbit-Proof Fence by Dorris Pilkington

Earth Then and Now: Amazing Images of our Changing World by Fred Pearce

Straight: The Surprisingly Short History of Heterosexualty by Hanne Blank

a book about a problem facing society today

Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert A. Heinlein

The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas

More Happy Than Not by Adam Silvera

UnDivided by Neal Shusterman

a book recommended by someone else taking the reading challenge

anyone wanna help me out???

[theheirwrites]

omg your holly is really nice! and likes flowers??? omg here are TWO hollys of my own that have the same personality and same interests!

here’s a message i sent to an admin of a group (that she had been in) about my concerns a few months ago:

Thanks so much for your response! Sorry to bother you and thank you for offering your personal blog. I don’t want to make a huge deal out of the whole thing; I just want to be sure that if you do start up again, she can’t continue stealing my character, because it hurts me every time she does and I hate knowing that she’s just stealing my character for her own use. There’s a huge backstory to this but essentially, ‘Elle’ is Beth (Noelle, Meggie, Maggie?, probably some other names too. I can’t keep track anymore), the former admin of Fidite Nemini and Legion RPG. She disappeared from Tumblr after some HUGE drama went down, reappeared as nancydrevs, disappeared and then reappeared again under elleswrites. I pretty much want to stay as far away from her as I can as drama follows her everywhere, but I keep an eye on her because she’s known for plagiarizing A LOT - my friend’s characters and, namely, my own OC - Holly LaFerre. 

I have been writing Holly for three or four years now (http://elementaribus.tumblr.com/tagged/holly/page/23 this is, to my memory, the first I ever wrote for her - as embarrassing as the writing style and all is). I joined Fidite Nemini with Holly roughly a year and a half ago. This is her bio: http://floralxconfusion.tumblr.com/history. When Beth opened Legion, there was a character that went by the name Holly Gilmore (http://h-gilmore.tumblr.com/tagged/bio). I was wary, because the name itself sets off warning signs. I didn’t want to say anything to anyone because I thought I might have just been making it up to myself or making a mountain out of a molehill, but this was blatant plagiarism. 

The two bios’ first paragraphs were almost exactly alike, just written differently:

- MINE: Holly LaFerre was quite a gifted and well behaved child. It must have been due to her upbringing, family friends had always mused, she’s been blessed with such a lovely family. Her mother was benevolent and generous, and her father was a powerful wizard. The two evened out into her, for when she wanted to grow wiser and more ambitious, she would approach her father, and when she wished for kindness and bliss, she would approach her mother.

- HERS: Never was there a child, a family, more perfect. The most picturesque family you’ve ever seen, hailing from a small town in the south where the sun never stopped and the flowers never drooped. They were convinced that their farmhouse by the woods was a little slice of heaven, a glimpse into Utopia which was unparalleled. A mother, a father, two unchangeably sunny little girls; nothing could be better– nothing ever would be better. The youngest, Holly, was bound for Tallahassee; from the sun and into the sun. To join her sister, to make her parents proud. It was an ideal progression, this life of little Holly Gilmore.

 Anyways, my Holly is very keen on flowers - she owns a flower shop, wears floral print, basically obsesses over flowers and it was rare that there was not some mention of flower either physically or symbolically in replies and especially drabbles I wrote. A small thing in my Holly was that she had a journal she kept with her everywhere and it was super important to her. Another distinguishing aspect of my Holly is how often I wrote her as ‘little bird’. I think the biggest and most obvious thing about my Holly, however, is that she is so sweet and innocent and benevolent, and I regularly called her a child in group chats simply because she essentially was. 

I could go on and on about the similarities between ‘Holly Gilmore’ and my Holly, but I’m telling you about ‘Holly Blanchard’ and my Holly. Going through rosevms, I noticed a lot of emphasis on floral:

      “Holly took no pause in pulling her home-knitted sweater (with the tiniest daisy haphazardly stitched into the arm)”

        “Opposites attracted, they said, and there was no pair more complementary, more night and day, more roses and daisies, than the two of them.”

      “”You’re soft, soft like spring flowers and sunsets and the white feathers inside your pillow.””

Here’s the ‘little bird’ thing:

      “At the edge of the maze she stood, a canary perched atop the cliff that tipped into the abyss - she felt horribly small,”

      ““there’s a bluebird in my heart that/wants to get out/but I’m too clever, I only let him out/at night sometimes/when everybody’s asleep./I say, I know that you’re there,/so don’t be/sad.”” 

And then the journal:


      “she closed the book with a punctuated snap, the dog-eared page falling back into place before the spine could settle, the worn edges fluttering with overuse. her mouth still hung somewhat open, as if the words would play back upon her tongue like a double-sided record - but instead she looked up from the worn cover, and smiled.” 

And the huge ‘sweet and innocent and benevolent’ thing is the most similar aspect in comparison to my Holly, and I would go through the blog and find a bunch of quotes, but it’s frankly quite littered with it and I would exhaust myself doing it. 

Honestly, I think she TRIED to write a different character initially, but she just ended up getting lazy and writing my Holly again, except more sexualized. I didn’t include any quotations from my own blogs because how easy they are to search and find on it, but if you would like me to add any, I definitely can! It’s just late where I am and I am Tired.

If you could really want more proof than this, I always have an open inbox. All I want out of this is peace of mind knowing that my character isn’t being plagiarised.