#penn time travel

[palaxy27]

Where is she?

(What do you think? )

"And sashi?"

He stops in his tracks

"This is a bad sign" thinks boone as he feels the room become heavier. Seconds pass and nothing, not a muscle moves, no sound comes out of it only the noises produced by the screen in front of them are heard.

"What?" The young adult finally after seconds says something but still without turning to look at the dream team.

"W-where is she?" Penn asks with a slight tone of concern as he senses how the atmosphere was even more tense than before. "She was kidnapped too?"

This time adult penn is quick to respond "No" he says quietly, penn still not turning around and without any hint of any feeling.

Boone from the behavior of the fawning version of his friend knew something wasn't right, he recognized that.same attitude from a while ago....

Ever since his parents had been trapped in-

.

.

.

He understood the situation

(No)

Boone, who was already in sheer terror upon learning of the kidnapping of his future self, feels a pressure in his chest

(No no no no no no no no no no.)

He turned to see his best friend almost next door, who had his worried face on, however he didn't grasp the magnitude of his adult version's attitude, unlike him.

(NO!,she didn't be-)

"Penn."

A firm but calm voice pulls him out of his trance as well as his friend turning to see the owner of the voice, but the young adult did not move from his place still watching the screen showing the dimension map. There was still sashi behind them who most of the time had been more than a spectator of all the information thrown by the adult penn, in her face was a neutral look but somehow at the same time it shows something penetrating, that same look she has when she analyzes the situation before launching into action in a mission or when in the middle of a conflict or serious discussion like now, mostly she stays quiet and neutral (or at least she disguised it) to these situations. this time it was different.

"Penn" she repeats, staring at the man. The two boys look up at him.

No answer

"Where is he?"

The hands make slight movements, but he still says nothing.

Penn was starting to get scared seeing his adult version not saying anything about his girlfriend, Boone could only put his hand on his shoulder as conformation to his friend, he didn't think it would do much for him he was also scared for his friend's fate.

This eternity manages to end with the man's mouth having a trembling sigh come out.

"D-do... (gasp) you..really want t-to kn-know?"

In the girl's mind her answer was a no, but softening her expression slightly with concern and pleads in a soft voice comes out "please".She needed to know, maybe so they would go home or maybe try whatever had happened to her adult self hebitarlo.

The girl's response only make the young adult his hand logero movement spreads to a tremor that he tries to control. He takes another sigh before speaking.

"Sh-e...e (gasp) ..she..."

The broken voice of the adult penn only makes the.situation worse, panicking all the juniors.

"She?" asks their younger version.

S-she...(gasp)...t-t-two years ago she....

w-who (gasp) was ...

(No...) sashi's strong expression slowly changes to shock

...trapped and-and w-w-without... com... communication

(It was... true)boone's fear grows as his suspicions are confirmed

at .... (sniff) w-world's mo..most dangerous un...(sniff) imaginable."

.

.

.

"What?"

Just some practice, I'm trying to improve, what do you think? :)

Full fic idea and/context here

[akozuheiwa]

Do you think Mort knew that Douxie & co. were the same people that helped him as a kid?

So, if he ever figured it out, it would have been shortly before he died. Douxie getting his core could have gotten him to finally put the pieces together, and with everything happened at that time, he wouldn't have managed to mention it before he died.

But I like to joke that Douxie got his obliviousness from Mort so that's a big if. It has been nine hundred years, and those were the most traumatic couple of months of his very long life. It's understandable he'd forget a lot of details, faces, et cetera. Plus, he thought Hisirdoux was an Akiridion, and his adopted son Douxie is totally and completely human. It's also reasonable for him to believe Krel Tarron was named after Krel Akraohm - they'd be family, after all.

So essentially - no, except maybe towards the very very end. If he had known, I don't think he would have been able to bring himself to keep certain things a secret and not try to change them, screw the time-space continuum. Not when it came to his kids.

[enigmatist17]

Rewind (Pt 6)

Part 1 2 3 4 5

---

Penn had been enjoying a nice drink after a successful hunt when the prickle of nearby family trailed up his spine, eyes that had been casually scanning the bar crowd on the floor below him snapping up as someone joined his table.

"Penn." Brilliant blue eyes flecked with gold he hadn't seen in a good century met his gaze as he held Penn's stare.

"Spike." Penn frowned when he took in the others' scent, Spike nearly brimming with a power he should not have at his age, along with something else that set his teeth on edge. "You look good."

"Always do." The Brit purred as a drink was set in front of him, a pale hand grabbing the glass and bringing it to his lips. "How's Chicago treated you?"

"Very well, although I won't be here much longer." The city had been a fun distraction from his usual mission, but he had grown to dislike the winters and how sluggish he felt, so he had been eyeing the West Coast once more. "Hard to hunt when the city can be locked down with ice for days at a time."

"I feel you there." The younger scoffed, eyeing the crowds more in interest than looking for a bite. "Dru got so mad bein' stuck for weeks when we went ta Russia once, never went back."

"How is she? I've heard that she'd with some sort of chaos demon." There was a low growl from the other as Spike took another sip of his drink, blue eyes now entirely gold. "Sore spot?"

"Ask again and yer dust."

Fair enough

"So...why are you here? It's always nice to see family, but I doubt we're crossing paths." Penn knew Spike had always appreciated straightforwardness, and the younger nodded, eyeing Penn with a look the former Puritan couldn't put a description on.

"I 'ad this whole speech planned, you know." Spike ran a finger around the rim of his glass with a hum, his attention on Penn oddly serious for the first time since the older vampire could remember. "Then again, not one for 'em."

"This is true." Penn chuckled, tugging at his collar as he cleared his throat, wondering when the room had grown warmer.

"Man of action I am," Spike chuckled, draining his glass and setting it aside. "Easier ta show you if I'm honest."

"S-Show me what?" Spike said nothing as he watched Penn tug at his collar once again, confusion filtering through cerulean eyes as he watched Spike.

"You'll see." The room spins before Penn can snarl, and soon, he's falling into familiar arms as darkness envelops him.

Rat bastard

"Next time, I double the dosage." No one in the bar bats an eye at the vampire "helping" a drunk friend out the door, dragging him around the side of the building and to the idling car waiting for him.

"I'm almost disappointed he didn't fight." Spike rolled his eyes as he pulled out some rope, tying Penn up before putting him in the backseat, covering him with a blanket, and climbing into the passenger seat.

"Shut your yap and get drivin', I've got to dose 'im before our bloody flight."

"Yes sir." Spike snorted at the one-finger salute he received before kicking back, letting his newly acquired companion take them to the airport. He knew Penn was going to be beyond furious when he woke up, but memories of fighting in a city drawn to hell played in the back of his mind on a constant loop and, as such, overrode his discomfort at dragging a potential unwilling ally to the agony he felt every day in his chest.

"You're touching your chest again." Sighing, Spike looked over at the other vampire in the car, pulling his hand from his chest once again. Despite having snapped Sam Lawson up almost a week ago, he hadn't said much aside from telling Sam about Penn and his desire to grab his wayward family member.

"I am." Spike let his face shift as he focused on Penn, making sure the other man was truly out of it before digging through his duster and pulling out his smokes and lighter. "Soddin' soul burns all the time."

"....your what." If it hadn't been for his training in the military, Sam would have slammed on the brakes in shock, instead gripping the wheel so tight it nearly snapped. "I hear you right?"

"You did." Spike was clearly hesitant to explain, so Sam waited patiently. "Got my soul for someone, and if I 'ave my say, so will Penn. Might be able to help you out as well."

"....oh." He really doesn't have too much more to say, just focusing on driving to the airport in the distance.

---

Two weeks before Spike had dragged Sam all the way to Chicago, he had tracked the sailor down in New Orleans. He wasn't surprised to find that Sam had taken up in an old warehouse by the waterfront, the older vampire taking over a room in a hotel before awaiting the first full night in town. Sam was out hunting as the last shade of daylight faded into night, Spike fairly amused to see the former sailor seemed unable to shake wearing a peacoat reminiscent of the time he'd been born in. He drifted amongst the early bar crowds with practiced ease, Spike surprised he didn't yank drunk girls from the alley for an easy snack. No, Sam drifts until he and Spike hear some muffled pleading down a quiet street, Spike scaling a building to watch from above as Sam heads toward the sound. Two men had cornered a drunk woman and were in the process of tearing her dress apart when Sam seemed to come from nowhere, sending one flying across the alley into a wall while the second man stares, quivering at the sound of bone crunching.

"Best run along now, miss. I'll handle these two." Sam's voice is calm as the woman bolts for it, the vampire striking like a cobra before the second man can do more than take a breath. Spike grins as the struggles cease within a few moments, Sam dropping the body with a noise of disgust before going for his second meal. The elder vampire watched Sam pull out a small vial and sprinkle some dust over the bite wounds once he was done, the familiar wound changing to more of a jagged edge before stalking off into the night in satisfaction. The next night repeats almost similarly, Sam draining a thief who nearly killed a store clerk and a kidnapper who nearly made off with a child before seemingly calling it for the night. Spike decided he'd seen enough when he obviously tailed Sam, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it when he's guided to an alley.

"Judging by the strange sensation on my spine, you're not a normal vampire." Sam turned once they were out of sight, head tilted slightly as he studied Spike while undoubtedly preparing for attack. "Have we met?"

"Sure 'ave son, swam together to escape the soddin' sun once." Hooking his thumbs in his belt loops, Spike saw a flicker of recognition in those dark blue eyes, followed by caution.

"How'd you find me?"

"Know a demon, who knows a demon, who knows a human." An exhale of white smoke trails up into the air as vampire regards vampire. "Got a proposition for ya."

"Oh?" Sam was curious more than he was cautious, guard still up as he waited.

"Heard you've got an issue with your soul and all that, can't be a normal bloke killin' in the night an' all that rot. You 'elp me with...a project o' mine, and I can fix it." Spike had battled with himself on how to approach Sam after he'd left Wesley a few weeks back, and in usual fashion, decided to wing it last second with blunt honesty.

"...how do you know any of that?" Sam's eyes narrowed as he stared at Spike, who didn't seem to give a single crap about his half-a-soul deal.

"Like I said, know a bloke who knows a bloke." Vague answer once more, but it would take an eternity to explain everything, they can do that later. "Think of it as a mission, yea?"

Come on kid, take the bait

"A mission?" For some reason, the word clicked with Sam on some innate level, and his initial distrust fades slightly. "How do I know you won't dust me when my back is turned?"

"If I'm gonna dust ya, it'll be in a fight." Spike growled a little, and Sam nodded his head. "Don't take me for a bleedin' coward, Lawson."

"Fair enough." Sam didn't really know much about Spike, but as long as he was blunt, Sam could handle it. "Count me in, sir."

"Just what I wanted to hear." Spike grinned, eyes glittering as he finished off his smoke.

---

They end up on a flight to New Zealand, of all places, and Sam is more than curious about the country and what it has to offer. He hadn't traveled very far over the years after the War, finding little to no enjoyment in the prospect of seeing cities full of humans who lived their lives with purpose. Apathy had been his friend until Spike showed back up in his unlife, and for the first time since his last mission as a human, Sam was hopeful.

Also nervous.

Spike must have had their flight prepared for a while, the not-entirely-human staff not blinking an eye as a drugged Penn was strapped into a seat in first class. They placed some sort of ward around him after the flight had taken off and begun its long journey across the world, and the older vampire slept peacefully throughout their journey, giving Sam some time to see a proper Aurelian up close since his initial siring. There was a tingle along Sam's spine when he gathered the courage four hours in to move to a closer seat, this one running deeper into his bones than Spike's initial tell did, and he could have sworn there was the taste of magic to his particular scent.

"Angelus didn't care for turning a budding magic user." Spike's voice nearly made Sam jump, the blonde lighting up a smoke as he sprawled out on the seat behind Sam's. "Always found that funny."

"What's the matter with magic users?" Spike's lips twitched in a small smile at the curious look Sam was trying to pass off as blasé, and he took a drag of his cigarette.

"Well, nothin' really," He started, waving at one of the flight attendants for a refill of his drink. "as long as you do it properly. Magic is more dangerous than any demon you've ever seen or will see, because it always takes somethin' in return. Angelus was a right bastard throwin' him out, in my opinion; he always waxed poetic about how Penn was one of his favorites."

"Can anyone learn magic?" Sam looked back over at Penn, curious as he watched the unconscious vampire.

"Depends, couldn't tell you without tastin' your blood." Spike shrugged, eyeing Sam with a neutral expression. "Defensive spells don't need much power, we could always start there if things work out."

"...alright." Sam shrugged, returning to his original seat to wait out the rest of the flight in relative solitude, mulling over their conversation. A woman is waiting for them when their flight arrives in the dead of night, helping to offload Penn into a van once the humans have all departed the plane. The woman who had been waiting drove the three vampires to some sort of ranch that was a few good hours away from the airport; Sam's hackles raised when magic drowned out his senses the moment they drove over the threshold.

"Welcome to yer first coven kid, breathe in and out." Spike seemed at ease while Sam struggled to do as he'd been told, Penn groaning in discomfort from his spot on the floor as the drugs began to slowly wear off. This coven had prepared for them, the van stopping outside a smaller building that dotted the expansive countryside where a few people were waiting. Penn is chained up to a bed while a locket is clasped around his neck, Sam watching with wide eyes as it seems to melt into Penn's body.

"It will prevent him from casting magic to escape." A woman, the word witch crossing his mind, smiled at the younger vampire. "It will not cause him pain."

"I see." The witches who chained him up barely have enough time to get out of biting range when Penn finally fights off the last of the drugs, his demon immediately coming to the forefront as he looks around with a snarl.

"What the hell is this?" Sam felt himself subtly bare his neck to the far more powerful demon in the room, Penn sparing him a confused glance before he was distracted by Spike, whose own demon was out and staring Penn down. "What did you do?"

"I 'aven't done anything yet, but I will soon." Spike tilted his head slightly as he held Penn's gaze, gaze serious as the elder tugged at his chains.

"Awful lot of work to dust me." Penn sneered, his false bravado fooling no one as he finally broke the staring contest with Spike, eyeing the door where he could smell a few witches. "They stink of magic."

"Bloody should, we're in the middle of a coven, you idiot." Spike rolled his eyes as he leaned against the wall behind him, crossing his arms as Penn gave up on trying to rip the chains from the wall. "Not killin' you either, more like...recruitin'."

"Recruiting? You think drugging and kidnapping someone is a great way to recruit them?" Penn wasn't sure how to really process this, so he settled for shifting his face back to its human visage and kneeling on top of the bed he'd been placed on, crossing his arms over his chest. "Why would I help you after this?"

"Because you will, willingly or otherwise." The steel in Spike's words kept both his and Sam's attention as he took a drag from a fresh cigarette, mulling over his next words. "I'd rather you work with me."

"You could have asked, I may not know much about you, but family is family." Penn sounded annoyed as Spike shook his head, casting a glance at the other vampire Penn had never seen before. "Also, who are you?"

"Sam Lawson." The other man seemed a bit hesitant to have attention drawn to his little corner of the room, but otherwise continued to watch in silence.

"Sammy 'ere already plays nice, and you're going to do the same soon." Spike drawled, Penn's attention falling back to him. "See, where you're needed, I can't 'ave you killin' all those lovely little happy meals on legs."

"I don't do mass murders you know." Penn scoffed, almost insulted. "Besides, most vagrants and runaways go unnoticed long enough, so what does it matter?"

"It matters to me." Penn blinks at the edged tone in Spike's words as he pushes up off the wall, whistling to Sam as he motions to the door. "Go and get some sleep, you don't need to be 'ere for this."

"He's going to be alright?" Sam straightened as he looked at Penn with a frown, the elder actually letting some discomfort flash across his face.

"In a way. Now, go."

"Yes sir."

---

Penn wasn't nervous about a lot of things, but being restrained in the middle of a coven was oddly on that short list. Seven witches entered the room he was in after Sam disappeared further into the building he'd awoken in, all of them staring at Penn while the one he figured as the leader stood at the foot of the bed.

"What's all this for?" Penn could have winced at the slight tremble to his words, the lead witch pulling a small orb from inside her robes and cradling it in her hands.

"We do not normally impart a spell this powerful on an unwilling being, but these are unusual circumstances." Her voice seemed to soothe some of Penn's anxiety, the vampire gazing into onyx eyes that warmed his long-dead heart the longer he stared. He should find this stranger irritating, should want to rip her throat out and drain her dry, but those feelings fade as fast as they appear.

"What...what will..."

"This spell will free you, dearest Vincent, but impart upon you pain that will never fade." He doesn't move when she shifts the orb into one hand, reaching out with the other to lay her hand on his cheek without any reaction. "You will be better for it, however, in the end."

"How?" The orb that is placed over his chest doesn't seem so harmless, and Penn struggles to shake off the voice that is turning him to putty. "I don't...how did you...know-"

"A vision unlike any other revealed to me many things, Vincent, from the past to the future." The lead witch soothed as the six behind her began to chant, the orb slowly taking on a brilliant light. "I have seen the horrors you have committed, but the salvation you will help bring in the future."

Penn is confused as he finally looks down, catching sight of the orb as the head witch pulls her hand away, now using both to hold it against his chest.

"It will all make sense."

There's a sudden bright flash, and for a moment, the only noise was the panting of seven exhausted witches, all of them drained by a spell they'd received in their dreams.

Then came the screams.

[transit-fag]

Where you can get via public transit within 30 minutes, 45 minute and an hour

New York Penn Station

30th Street Station, Philadelphia

Chicago Union Station

King Street Station, Seattle

Data obtained here:

[therainingkiwi]

Train travel in The Lightning Thief/PJO TV season 1

Oh look, I'm overanalyzing fictional train travel because I'm one of Those neurodivergent people. Let's get into it. Warning for VERY minor book spoilers (just mentioning the names of all the cities our trio travels through).

TL; DR our trio's cross country travel route makes no sense at all.

In the first book/season of the Percy Jackson series, our main trio takes a cross-country trip from Long Island, NY, to Los Angeles, CA. In the beginning, it appears as if they've boarded a cross country bus that will drive them the whole way there (a trip that usually takes ~72 hours). However, they get derailed in rural New Jersey (presumably the northwestern part of the state).

After New Jersey, the action immediately skips ahead, and we next see our trio on an LA-bound train that's about to stop in St. Louis (and in the book, has a later stop in Denver).

So, just off the bat: the train route that the trio are taking doesn't exist IRL (assuming they board a train in Trenton, and that train stops in St. Louis, Denver, and Los Angeles). It's also impossible for a single person to travel that route for $200, much less three people. Chiron needs some up to date information about cross country travel prices.

If they were traveling a reasonable IRL amtrak route, they'd probably take the Cardinal from Trenton to Chicago, and then take the Southwest Chief from Chicago to LA. However, if they can get back to Penn Station from Aunty Em's, they could take the Lake Shore Limited from NYC to Chicago, which would be 7-8 hours shorter than getting to Chicago via the Cardinal.

They could also take a bus from north New Jersey to Chicago.

However, the Southwest Chief (most direct amtrak route to LA) stops at neither St. Louis nor Denver. The most notable cities along the route are Kansas City, Albuquerque, and Flagstaff.

If they wanted to take a route to LA that had them pass thru St. Louis, they could take the Texas Eagle from Chicago to St. Louis to San Antonio, and then take the Sunset Limited from San Antonio to LA. There are 3 trains per week that make this two-leg trip without requiring travelers to transfer at San Antonio, so our trio are probably on one of those. Why they didn't take the (shorter, cheaper, and more frequent) Southwest Chief is a mystery, honestly.

Since Chicago is the USA Amtrak hub, most routes will pass thru that city. The only alternative route is taking the Crescent from Trenton to New Orleans and then taking the Sunset Limited from New Orleans to LA. This would take them nowhere near Denver or St Louis, but probably wouldn't have a significant time/price difference from routing the trip thru Chicago (assuming they travel direct from Chicago to LA rather than taking the Texas Eagle thru San Antonio).

Unfortunately, there are no trains in the USA that travel between St. Louis and Denver (or even between St. Louis and Colorado in general), so that leg of their trip would have been made via bus. Greyhound (the USA's main long-distance bus travel company) has buses directly from St. Louis to Denver that end in California (but in San Francisco rather than LA).

In conclusion, I propose a new Amtrak route called "The Lightning Thief" that travels from New York-Penn Station, down the Northeast corridor thru New Jersey, and then turns west, making major stops in St. Louis, Denver, and Las Vegas, before terminating in LA. It doesn't stop in Amtrak's Chicago hub because all hub-and-spoke transit systems should have rim routes, and because Chicago isn't mentioned in The Lightning Thief.

Also, in conclusion, the USA needs better rail infrastructure and I'm a fucking nerd.

Amtrak map below for reference.

[stylinsoncity]

Hiiii! I know it’s been a while but first! I want to just confirm that I’m definitely alive and well! I’m also back with a new fic, which you might have already seen if you’re subscribed on ao3.

‘Hard times in elmsmere’ is the vampire/witch time travel au I mentioned a while ago and it is now published in its entirety. I hope you enjoy it!

I also want to talk candidly about where I am re: fic writing in general. I’ve been feeling distant for months as I try to focus on my own personal writing and other interests, hence the long hiatus. I hoped that some time away would kind of reboot that part of my brain. But tbh the opposite has happened.

I will absolutely be finishing penn park and an update is coming very soon. by next week, i believe. i also have one more chapter I want to post for notes on oxford and then I’ll likely mark that as completed. i’m not sure what to do with ‘till the end of time’ so I’ll just leave that open for now. but I think by the end of the year, assuming I’ve added one or two more chapters, i’ll likely mark that completed as well. I do still want to publish caya…and once I finish my WIPs, I think I can get back to editing it bit by bit. I’d also love for SEL to be published one day too, but that seems a little out of reach right now.

I really wish I could clone myself and devote my clone to the task of writing all the fics I’ve ever thought about. But sadly it’s just me! D: 

the bottom line is I won’t really be online anymore and the rate I’m able to update my fics will be really slow. I closed my inbox bc I didn’t want asks piling up or for anyone to feel ignored. my messages are still open for now though so if you need to contact me, pls do. but it may take me a while to respond.

since I’ll be away indefinitely and unable to provide permission, i would really appreciate it if my fics were no longer printed or reproduced in any way, this includes translations or reposting.

lastly, I just want to say thank you very very much for the support! it means so much more than i can even express right now. i've enjoyed all the conversations i've had here and all the love that's been shared. this is not quite a goodbye. there are still lots of great chapters to come. But for now I just want to say thank you for understanding and ily!

[transfemininomenon]

nearly a decade later and im still so right to get mad about this what were you guys Thinking

me aged 21 traveling by train to new york alone for the first time with nothing but verbal instructions from my sister on the transfers and stops and final station knowing i had to get off as New York Penn Station and learning there's also a Newark Penn Station like two stops before it and only narrowly avoiding getting off at the wrong station. my phone was dead. what would i had done if i ended up in newark with no idea of what to do next

[artphotocollector]

© All Images: The George Hoyningen-Huene Estate Archives

"Texture, line, simplicity--these were the things he liked--the classic truth." Katharine Hepburn

As time goes past, and the history of photography becomes deeper, photographers such as George Hoyningen-Huene (b.1900-d.1968) remind us how rich that legacy grows. What is now more than 100 years ago, Huene (hoo-Nay), while standing on the shoulders of previous giants like Edward Steichen (who encouraged a young Huene in Paris in the early 1920's to pursue fashion photography), created timeless work that has helped to shape later generations' understanding of photography, fashion, film and Beauty.

A new book--the first publication in 40 years--on Huene is now out from Thames & Hudson. It is a timely reminder for us to rediscover Huene. In many ways the arc of his life as a Baron and Russian-born aristocrat in St. Petersburg in 1900, as well as being the son of an American mother, mirror the major events of the 20th Century. From WWI, to fleeing the Bolshevik Revolution, to life in bohemian Paris in the 1920's, to Golden Age Hollywood in the 1940's--Huene was a part of it all. His collaborations with the leading artistic and celebrity lights of the day and his relationship with the photographer Horst P. Horst only make his history richer.

This new publication from Thames & Hudson provides a generous overview of his life, including unpublished correspondence, and for me, a whole new appreciation of Huene's travel photography. When we delve back into the history of photography, and see the work of Avedon, Penn, Ritts, DeMarchelier and others, we can appreciate the foundations that Huene laid earlier with elegance, simplicity and a reverence for Beauty: the classic truth. --Lane Nevares

[deluxewhump]

Carlo’s Letters: Suzerain (unsent)

(from a collection of letters in Carlo’s handwriting. This one has no addressee or formal greeting, but the intended recipient is easily inferred)

CW: slave/pet whump, at times ambiguous master/pet relationship, Carlo is 20 writing this but referencing a time he was a minor (17), hand feeding, mention of violence and acid burning in the context of a movie, sexually charged looks in public from men, overall a reflective and tame piece)

April

Someone mentioned the tax season deadline and it brought up a memory I have of you, in that funny, mostly unrelated way memories have of coming up. Years ago, I think I was seventeen, we were trying to re-enter the country after a short trip. Something had gone wrong with our tickets. They were flagged, and we had to visit the consulate before flying.

The girl at the counter had hair the color of fake buttercups in a ponytail tied with a navy ribbon. She looked like an old-timey stewardess I’d seen in magazine illustrations. She said you had to pay a new fee to bring back a pet. No, not a new pet, just any pet. A one-time re-entry fee for those traveling internationally with their pets. You checked the time on your watch and asked when this came about. I got a chill from the subdued, civil curiosity you possess that makes people more nervous than a raised voice. The girl winced when she said last week, like she’d been getting pushback on it since then.

I glanced from her face to yours. The set of your mouth is easier to read than your eyes sometimes, especially when you’re talking to strangers. My eyes drifted down the pressed lines of your sleeve, the neat black lines of the coat folded over your arm. She turned her screen toward you, the policy pulled up and ready. I noticed the official US seal on the top, that sharp eyed, pitiless eagle and borders of navy blue. Knowing this was about me made me lightheaded, and I ran my pinky along the scratchy fabric of your coat like I could tether myself to you that way, focusing on the friction of fabric and skin. I took a deep breath slowly, so no one would notice.

You read her screen and hummed in amusement. The girl laughed nervously with you, unsure if you were about to give her a hard time. But you just paid the fee for my re-entry, and we went back to the taxi and rode to the airport. It was four thousand dollars. My stomach churned at the number.

The security checkpoint was busy. I stayed close to you amidst the throngs of people winding through the stanchions. They had dogs out today, and made us walk past them two by two. An agent with a belt full of gear and black boots made eye contact with me. His eyes were a transparent blue. I looked at the dog instead, its tail wagging softly and his head bent low, sniffing for contraband, thrilled to serve its master.

With two hours until our flight we sat in a dimly lit restaurant booth, all dark wood and polished brass rails at the bar that gave the impression we had stepped out of the sterile, white halls of the airport into another decade. The wall behind the bartender was mirrored. I watched us in the reflection as you ordered two waters and a caprese salad. I said I wasn’t hungry, though when the server brought your penne primavera it smelled so good I had a brief pang of regret.

I drank the water you ordered for me, imagining it cooling me from the inside out and bringing back my equilibrium. How many Italian dinners would four thousand dollars buy? Why did you have to pay such a jaw-dropping fee to bring your own property back into your own home country?

You ate at a pace slower than leisurely and ordered dessert, which was unlike you. I realized it was for me when you scooped the first bite of chocolate mousse cake on a fresh fork and put it in front of my mouth. I must’ve looked miserable because you pulled it away.

“What?” you said gently.

“Why was it so much?”

“Why was what so much, angel?” There was no warning in your tone. Only patience.

“To bring me back?”

You sighed through your nose, finished your demitasse of espresso. “That was a King’s ransom, wasn't it? Just a clever way to drum up some extra revenue. They know most of us won't leave our pets at a consulate over four grand. Well. Some will."

"Can you get it back?"

"I need you to stop wringing your hands over a luxury tax, Carlo." You sounded amused now, which was better than annoyed but not a distant land to it, either. "What did you bring to read on the plane?"

"The Idiot?"

"That won't help,” you said.

I didn't know what you meant by that, but I was alright with being in the dark, or the butt of a joke, if gave you a moment of genuine pleasure. "...It just seems unfair," I shrugged.

You lowered your voice. “It’s got nothing to do with you, sweetheart. It’s no matter. I’d have paid whatever I needed to. It’s a mosquito bite.”

I dropped my eyes. You’d gone out of your way to reassure me, and it had made my face warm. Back then, if I could have changed anything about myself, it would have been the way I blush so easily, making every emotion visible and ten times more humiliating. You offered the fork again and I leaned forward to take the bite of rich, sweet cake. It was good. I was hungry. I wanted another bite. But I’d sit there with my mouth watering for another five minutes while you took a phone call rather than reach for something I hadn’t been handed.

My attention slid off to a woman who’d dropped her purse in her rush to her terminal. Her phone skittered all the way to the drinking fountain by the wall like a rock skipped on water. It seemed to me the real world was inside the restaurant, its fresh bread smells and dark polished wood, and the ant-like rush outside in the airport was an illusion, a large TV screen.

You scooped another bite onto the fork and fed it to me with your cellphone to your ear, looking at me absently as you did. “I thought that’s what you said,” you said to whoever was on the other line. “I agree. They need to vet these guys. The new software makes it a step by step process.” You fed me yet another bite. My teeth hurt from the sweetness, but I took it. Chewed, swallowed. “There shouldn’t be any more mistakes like that. They need to be held responsible.”

You weren’t talking to me, or about me, but your matter-of-fact, stern tone made my spine tingle anyway.

I noticed a broad-shouldered black man with a close, well oiled beard watching my master hand feed me. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, had only a carry on briefcase with him. His watch and cufflinks looked expensive. His leather shoes gleamed. He saw me return his gaze and looked away with profound disinterest.

Strange men in public often had that reaction. Either that, or they would smile at me. It was almost always men. Women sometimes looked, but I couldn’t read their intent as easily. The men who grinned and leered always felt like a violation. I knew most would be a hot breath on my neck and the smell of some grotesque cologne, but at least they were displaying interest. I knew they could not actually touch me. Being an object of envy or desire still made me feel safe in those days, even if I knew the desire was destructive.

If strangers with a penchant for youngish boys would look at me with such open interest in an airport, a cafe, a crowded street, then I must possess something that has value to my master, even though he doesn’t use me in that way. Beauty alone must be enough for him, and that must be the essence of his attachment to me. It was my currency and I knew it.

Once (not with you) I saw a movie in which pets often had their faces burned with acid either as a last-ditch kind of punishment or a form of vandalism by their master’s enemies. I had bad dreams about it for months afterward. I don’t think I had ever imagined violence with any kind of permanence or real malice behind it until that moment. Why would I have?

Men like this one, who looked away as if even curiosity about me was beneath them were harder to be sure of than ones who stared. Were they too polite for that? Were they abolitionists who imagined I’d like to be free of this man I was with? Or did they find me, my submission, my mouth on the proffered fork of man who was so clearly my master repulsive? Was it hate or indifference?

I don't receive those looks anymore. I don't look like a pet. I don't sit like one at the side man who looks like no relation to me, and like he'd own a pet. Max thinks I'm oblivious to the way girls look at me sometimes. I probably am. Sometimes when I look in the mirror I still imagine myself though your eyes. I don't cut my hair too short or let it grow too long. I wear things you taught me to like. I don't have to do any of this. Someone else might shave his head, wear things he knows you'd dislike.

Do I still not possess an ounce of rebellion when it comes to you? I'm like that dog at the airport. I don't understand emancipation or retirement. I am waiting for you to tell me to come home, or else give me permission to become someone else.

You're in prison. I imagine you like some incarcerated mob guy in the thirties, with your own dinner menu and LL Bean slippers and guys who respect a gun runner nodding at you in the yard and calling you boss. What's it really like?

If I send this, will you write me back? Would you write to Max instead, telling him to keep a better eye on my mental state because I'm writing to you in prison? That would be worse than no reply, I think. A hand-slap and a reprimand.

The possibility might keep me from sending it.

Not Yours,

Carlo Svenson

[dearnandor]

I FUCKING LOVE the choice to let us see Nandor trying to make new friends just one week ago because we actually saw how easily people run way from him even when he’s not being a bad person or a prick (the whole penis stuff and harassment in the changing room happened AFTER ALEX STARTED TO AVOID HIM), people run away as fast as they can when he’s just being himself and yes he’s dumb and all but Alexander said it himself Nandor is harmless and lonely and people see that but THEY DECIDED HE ISN’T WORTH THEIR TIME

TRULY NOBODY WANTS TO STAY WITH HIM it takes a few hours for Alexander to decide to not see him again and just look at the whole Gail thing, she comes back from time to time for the sex but wants nothing to do with Nandor in the long term and then there is it.

There is Guillermo.

His closest companion for 13 years, the one who’s always been there, always by his side. Guillermo has been with Nandor for 13 years, has seen his bad days, his crisis, has seen the monster and all his flaws and. he . decided. to stay. Guillermo was the one who made Nandor feel seen, maybe even worthy. Until Guillermo wasn’t there anymore. Until he left Nandor waiting for him at Penn Station.

Guillermo didn’t show up and Nandor had to travel alone, heartbroken. And a year later at the first crisis in the house Nandor’s back again looking for him, for the one that has always saved the day, the one who has always saved Nandor and was there for him when he needed and Guillermo. is . not. there. Again. It’s all coming back. Guillermo is not here. Guillermo is slipping away from him. Guillermo is leaving him, he’s running away as everyone did at last. Guillermo was supposed to be the one. And man if Nandor is about to fucking explode is really this close all the “we’re (‘im) doing fine without you” ALL THE FUCKING BITTERNESS. It’s all coming back to him, all the time spent alone, all the sadness, all the frustation.

Guillermo was supposed to be The One but Guillermo has already betrayed him. He didn’t know yet but Guillermo has betrayed him in the worst way and Laszlo was so right Guillermo’s secret is going to destroy Nandor we’re not fucking ready this is getting real 

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

November 29, 2024

Heather Cox Richardson

Nov 30, 2024

In 2008, Congress passed and President George W. Bush signed into law an act making the day after Thanksgiving National Native American Heritage Day.

About a month ago, on Friday, October 25, President Joe Biden became the first president to visit Indian Country in ten years when he traveled to the Gila River Indian Community in Maricopa County, Arizona, near Phoenix. Secretary of the Interior Deb Haaland traveled with him. The trip was designed to highlight the investments the Biden-Harris administration has made in Tribal Nations.

At a press gaggle on Air Force One on the way to Arizona, White House press secretary Karine Jean-Pierre noted that under Biden, Tribal Nations have seen the largest direct federal investment in history: $32 billion from the American Rescue Plan and $13 billion through the Bipartisan Infrastructure Law to build roads and bridges, bring clean water and sanitation, and build high-speed Internet in Tribal communities.

Jean-Pierre added that First Lady Jill Biden has also championed Native communities, visiting them ten times to highlight investments in youth mental health, the revitalization of Native languages, and to improve access to cancer screening and cancer care in Native communities.

Secretary Haaland, herself a member of the Pueblo of Laguna, agreed that the Biden-Harris administration has brought “transformational change” to Native communities: “electricity on the Hopi Reservation in Arizona for homes that have never had electricity; protecting cultural resources, like salmon, which Pacific Northwest Tribes have depended on for thousands of years; new transportation infrastructure for the Mescalero Apache Nation in New Mexico that will provide a safer travel route and boost their economic development, their local economy; addressing toxic legacy pollution and abandoned oil and gas infrastructure that pollutes our air and water for the Osage Nation in Oklahoma; providing clean drinking water for Fort Peck in Montana.”

“Tribal leaders are experiencing a new era,” Haaland added. “They’re at the table. They’re being consulted.”

When Biden spoke at the Gila Crossing Community School, he said he was there “to right a wrong, to chart a new path toward a better future for us all.” As president of the United States, Biden formally apologized to the Native peoples—Native Americans, Native Hawaiians, Native Alaskans—for the U.S. government policy that forced Native children into federal Indian boarding schools.

The apology comes after the release of an Interior Department study, The Federal Boarding School Initiative, that Secretary Haaland directed the department to undertake in 2021. According to Assistant Secretary of the Interior Bryan Newland, a citizen and former president of the Bay Mills Indian Community (Ojibwe), the initiative was “a comprehensive effort to recognize the troubled legacy of Federal Indian boarding school policies with the goal of addressing their intergenerational impact and to shed light on the traumas of the past.”

The initiative set out to identify federal Indian boarding schools and sites, to identify the children who attended those schools and to identify their Tribal identities, to find marked and unmarked burial sites of the remains of Indian children near school facilities, and to incorporate the viewpoints of those who attended federal Indian boarding schools and their descendants into the story of those schools.

The report looked at the Indian education system from 1819 to 1969 as a whole, bringing together federal funding for religious schools in the early 1800s with later explicitly federal schools and their public school successors during and after the 1930s. But historians generally focus on the period from 1879 to the 1930s as the boarding school era.

In 1879, the government opened the Carlisle Indian Industrial School, a boarding school for American Indian children in Carlisle, Pennsylvania, explicitly designed to separate children from their families and their culture and to train them for menial jobs.

The boarding school era was the brainchild of Army officer Richard Henry Pratt, a Civil War veteran who, in the years after the war, commanded the 10th United States Cavalry, a Black regiment stationed in the American West whose members Indigenous Americans nicknamed the “Buffalo Soldiers.” Pratt fought in the campaigns on the Plains from 1868 through 1875, when he was assigned to oversee 72 Cheyenne, Kiowa, Comanche, Arapaho, and Caddo prisoners of war at Fort Marion in St. Augustine, Florida (now known as the Castillo de San Marcos National Monument).

Many Indigenous prisoners at Fort Marion, taken from the dry Plains to the hot and humid coast of Florida where they were imprisoned in a cramped stone fort, quickly sickened and died. Pratt worked to upgrade conditions and to assimilate prisoners into U.S. systems by teaching them English, U.S. culture, Christianity, and how the American economy worked. He cut their hair, dressed them in military-type uniforms, and urged them to make art for sale to local tourists—it’s from here we get the world-famous collection of ledger art by the artists of Fort Marion—but focused on turning the former warriors and their families into menial workers.

After the Battle of the Little Bighorn in 1876 and the subsequent pursuit and surrender of leading Lakota bands throughout that year and the next, leading to the murder of Crazy Horse in 1877, popular opinion ran heavily toward simply corralling Indigenous Americans on reservations and waiting either for their assimilation or extermination. At the same time, with what seemed to be the end of the most serious of the Plains Wars, Army officers like Pratt had reason to worry that the downsizing of the U.S. Army would mean the end of their careers.

Indigenous survivors of Fort Marion returned home to see that the American government had no real plans for a thriving American Indian populace. There was little infrastructure to link them to the rest of the country to sell their art, and Indian agents rejected tribal members for jobs in favor of white cronies.

But Pratt considered his experiment at Fort Marion a great success, and he came to believe he could make his system work even more thoroughly by using a loophole in the treaties between Plains Tribes and the U.S. government to force Indigenous Americans to assimilate as children. He planned, he said, to “Kill the Indian and save the man.”

Treaties between Plains Indian Tribes and the government required the U.S. government to educate American Indian children—something their parents cared deeply about—but the treaties didn’t actually specify where the schools would be. So Pratt convinced the U.S. Army and officials at the Interior Department to give him the use of the Carlisle Barracks to open an industrial school, designed to teach American Indian children the skills necessary to be servants and menial workers.

In summer 1879, Pratt traveled to western reservations of the Lakotas and Dakotas, primarily, to gather up 82 children to begin his experiment in annihilating their culture from their minds. He forbade the practice of any aspect of Indigenous culture—language, religion, custom, clothing—and forced children to change their names, use English, practice Christianity, and wear clothing that mirrored that of Euro-American children.

Crowded together, many children died of disease; bereft of their family and culture, many died of heartache. Some found their newfound language and lessons tolerable, others ran away. For the next fifty years, the Carlisle model was the central model of government education for Indigenous children, with tens of thousands of children educated according to its methods.

In the 1920s the Institute for Government Research, later renamed the Brookings Institution, commissioned a study funded by the Rockefeller Institute—to make sure it would not reflect government bias—to investigate conditions among Indigenous Americans.

In 1928 that study, called the Meriam Report, condemned the conditions under which American Indians lived. It also emphasized the “deplorable health conditions” at the boarding schools, condemned the schools’ inappropriate focus on menial skills, and asserted that “[t]he most fundamental need in Indian education is a change in point of view.” In 1934 the Indian Reorganization Act reversed the policy of trying to eradicate Tribal cultures through boarding children away from their families, and introduced the teaching of Indian history and culture in federal schools.

But the boarding schools remain a central part of the experience of American Indians since the establishment of the U.S. government in North America, and the Federal Boarding School Initiative recommended that “[t]he U.S. Government should issue a formal acknowledgment of its role in adopting a national policy of forced assimilation of Indian children, and carrying out this policy through the removal and confinement of Indian children from their families and Indian Tribes and the Native Hawaiian Community and placement in the Federal Indian boarding school system.”

It continued: "The United States should accompany this acknowledgment with a formal apology to the individuals, families, and Indian Tribes that were harmed by U.S. policy."

On October 25, 2024, President Joe Biden delivered that apology.

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

KNEEL

Some of you may remember that ages ago, I posted some Hartswood short stories & snippets which were then deleted. Good news... they're back 👀

2.7k words, Rated E, contains semi-public blowjobs.

***

The inn was teeming with people, unusually busy for the season. Raff eyed the finer horses being led into the stables, and the carts outside the stone building. It appeared they had arrived at the same time as a retinue, a crowd of people no doubt following some lord in a long, slow march across the country.

He knew from experience that these sorts of parties would likely have sent scouts ahead to secure rooms for as many people as possible. The inn was only a mid-sized building, which meant a pair of travellers like them would be low on the list of people deemed worthy of a bed under the roof this evening. Even the shared quarters in the attic would be packed with servants, battling for space out of the snow.

They’d arrived with the setting sun and had both hesitated as they’d spotted the sizable crowd lingering outside the inn. They were far enough north now that recognition was almost entirely impossible, but a travelling southron lord could put them both at risk. For once, it was Penn who had hesitated on the threshold while Raff had shouldered his way in through the crowd, swallowing back the building anxiety and keeping his eyes ahead, focusing on what needed to be done.

They were in luck, even if his heart was pounding and his head throbbing when he finally made it back out to the courtyard where Penn was attempting to blend into the shadows. The retinue was travelling with a lord from the north eastern coast, a stranger to the county. The inn was indeed completely full, with every bed already claimed, but the owner of the establishment had listened to Raff’s nervous rambling and had offered them space in the hayloft above the stable for a handful of pennies and the promise to keep an eye on the horses.

That, too, was a stroke of luck. The stable was big enough for a dozen horses, but the loft above was tiny. It granted them a place to sleep and a little respite from the freezing weather, but more compelling was the chance for true privacy; a night undisturbed by the presence of strangers.

Penn visibly relaxed when Raff told him of the lord’s travels, uncrossing his arms and loosening his shoulders.

“They’ve no spare beds, though,” Raff added, as Penn bent to grab his pack.

“Typical,” he scowled, straightening. “He brings his entire household staff with him and leaves the rest of us to—”

“The owner offered us the loft above the stables.”

Penn fell silent immediately. “Did he, now?”

“He did.”

There was a brief, loaded pause. “Us and the rest of those dispossessed thanks to his lordship, I presume?”

“No,” Raff tugged his cloak tighter, and began to stride towards the barn. “Just us.”

After a moment, Penn hurried after.

~

The loft was mostly given over to the supplies needed to keep both the inn and stables below running and well-stocked; hay, oats and feed, a handful of crates, barrels containing what Raff assumed was ale. A slightly rickety wooden railing ran from wall to wall, the only thing stopping anyone working on the platform tumbling to the messy straw below, broken only for the space where the ladder rested against the high platform. The free space amounted to little more than a few square yards, but it was more than enough for two bodies sleeping pressed together.

Raff fettled about in the tiny space, throwing down their rolls and cloaks across the scattered hay to make a reasonably comfortable bed on which they could sleep, while Penn headed back to the inn, looking for something to eat. By the time he returned with a linen-wrapped bundle containing half a loaf of bread, a couple of meat tarts and a hunk of cheese, the space wasn’t cosy, but certainly better than remaining outside, and far preferable to the crush of people in the inn.

They leant against the far wall of the barn, the stone cold beneath their backs as they ate. Penn shivered a little as he wiped the crumbs from his hands, pressing to Raff’s side, stealing his warmth. Raff tossed aside the spent scrap of linen before wrapping his arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer. This alone was worth the night in the cold, musty-smelling space; such closeness would have been harder to indulge if they were sharing the room with twenty other people.

Penn was very close. When Raff finally forced himself to stand, Penn followed, wrapping his arms around Raff’s middle from behind and resting his chin on Raff’s shoulder, dancing his lips close to his neck. Raff stilled, leaning into the touch, feeling Penn’s breath tickle across his skin and his fingers sliding across his stomach to tangle in the fabric of his overshirt.

“I should find that lord and thank him,” he muttered, “for so rudely occupying the entire inn.”

“Would he deign to talk to a runaway servant?”

Raff could feel Penn smile against his neck. “I doubt it,” he breathed. “I suppose I shall have to give my thanks to someone more deserving.”

“And who would that be?”

Penn nuzzled closer against him, his lips brushing carelessly against Raff’s earlobe as he let out a shallow laugh. “One of the other servants, perhaps? Or the owner?”

Raff turned in Penn’s arms, tipping his head back to catch Penn’s mouth before he could say anything else. Penn sighed, tugging him closer, humming against his lips. In the cool, quiet space all Raff could hear was the gentle movements of the horses below and the sweetly tempting sounds that escaped Penn’s mouth when he kissed him harder, when he embraced him, dropping his hands to squeeze Penn’s backside through the fabric of his breeches.

"Raff…" 

It was only a whisper, almost entirely lost to the air, but it ignited Raff’s skin, curling heat in his chest, flooding his belly. He gripped Penn tighter, intending to fling them down onto the makeshift bed he'd prepared on the straw, but Penn acted first, pushing against him and guiding him backwards till Raff’s back collided with the far wall.

Penn pinned him there, one hand coming up to cup Raff’s jaw and the other snaking beneath his shirt as he pulled back to look at him in the darkness. This close, Penn's height was even more apparent, and even though Raff knew from firsthand experience that he could overpower him, it was easy to forget that when Penn was pressed against him, crowding him against the wall, looking down at him with that hungry expression. 

Penn kissed him again, deepening the movement, dragging the tip of his tongue across Raff’s lips, into his mouth. Raff made a low noise as he kissed him back, eager for more, his cock already filling as Penn cupped the back of his head, fingers digging into his scalp.

The moan echoed in the ringing space of the barn, and Penn smiled, finally dragging his hand away from Raff’s chest and lower. When his palm came to rest gently against Raff’s crotch, he found him hard in his breeches, and Raff couldn't help but thrust into the touch, desperate for more. Penn pushed harder, squeezing, flattening him against the wall with a smug chuckle.

And then - quite suddenly - the touch was gone and Penn was sliding down onto his knees. He knelt before him, his hands clinging to Raff’s hips and his lips pressed feather-light to the keen bulge of Raff’s prick.

Raff cursed, loud enough to elicit a series of nervous huffs from the horses below.

"May I?"

"Ah—" Raff could barely speak, "Penn, please…"

Penn made quick work of the ties, tugging down the woollen breeches and the thin underclothes beneath, releasing Raff’s cock, throbbing in the cool air. Now he had access, Penn seemed keen to slow, to linger, placing a string of light, dancing kisses up the underside of Raff’s shaft, his breath coming in hot gasps against his over-sensitive skin.

His eyes sliding shut, Raff placed his hand loosely to Penn's head, pillowed against the soft cloud of curls, fingertips twitching. Penn opened his lips against him, tonguing him in a single, slow sweep upwards, then - without a word - took Raff fully in his mouth. 

God. Raff swore again, lost to the hot, consuming feeling of Penn's mouth stretched around him. It hadn't been that long since they were last together like this - less than two days, in fact - but just being near Penn made him desperate, every tiny touch sending him closer to the edge of his tightly held control. 

Like this he had no control at all as Penn worked him, drawing him out, tugging him along a turbulent current that could only end in one way.

He gasped as Penn pressed his tongue harder against him with a stifled murmur, gripping his hair a little tighter, letting his own head knock back against the stone wall.

And then - ruinously - a sound. A sudden noise from below; the slide of the stable doors opening, the muffled thud of hoofbeats against the straw. Raff froze. Penn released his cock, but didn't move away.

"Penn—" Raff breathed, "We should—"

He felt Penn smile against him. He still didn't pull back, instead placing a soft, short kiss to the tip of his prick. His mouth was warm and wet.

"Shh," he whispered. “Wait…”

The hoofbeats were joined by voices, perhaps two or three people finding space for the animals. A stiff breeze blew up from the open door. Someone down there held a torch, but in their position pressed against the far upper wall the sparse light couldn’t reach them.

At least, Raff hoped it couldn’t reach them.

They were hidden: barely. It would only take a sudden noise - a choked gasp or even the creak of the wood beneath Penn’s knees - to startle the intruders and make them look up. The shadows should conceal them, the angle too sharp for them to be seen, but there was no guarantee, especially if someone below decided to climb the ladder to investigate.

That thought wasn’t as concerning as it should have been. It was late, and cold, and no doubt the people below were hurrying to stable their horses and return to the warmth of the inn as soon as possible. They wouldn’t even look up. They wouldn’t even know he was there, with Penn kneeling in front of him, his hands digging into his hips, his mouth - even now - moving slowly up and down his cock in a trail of maddeningly tight-lipped kisses.

Oh. They wouldn’t know, and that thought was more than a little thrilling. He pressed harder against the wall, feeling himself twitch against Penn’s willing lips. Penn seemed to know what he was thinking.

“Do you want me to stop?” 

It was a near-silent whisper, almost entirely obscured by the noise of the men and horses below. Raff peered down, and in the gloom he could see Penn’s dark eyes shining as he looked up at him, but very little else. There was a clatter from beneath the platform. Mumbling voices.

“No.”

A soft noise - somewhere between a hum and a laugh - and then Penn took him in his mouth once more, lapping keenly against his prick, squeezing with his lips. Raff gasped, then realised what he’d done and flung his hand up, biting down against his knuckles to stop himself from making any further noise.

Penn swallowed him down further with a self-satisfied sounding hum that vibrated through his throat, enthusiastically working Raff with his mouth and tongue. He moved swiftly and rhythmically, one hand tightly gripping Raff’s hip while the other danced lower, cupping at his balls, twisting around the base of his cock in tandem with the bobbing of his head. Raff squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on keeping silent, on not crying out Penn’s name.

There was a noise from directly beneath them. A voice. The stamp of hooves. Below, an unknowable number of people were readying their horses for the night, preparing to return to the inn, unwitting invaders to the tight, private cell of pleasure that Raff and Penn had built around themselves. Soon they would be gone, returned to the dull crush of strangers while Raff stayed behind, floating in this feeling, knowing that as the moon glimmered in through the cracks in the thatched roof he would remain, wrapped in Penn’s arms; the only place worth being.

It was a thrill - one he’d never purposefully chased before, although knew he had often courted - the danger mingling with the pleasure, with the tightening pressure in his core. They could get caught. He didn’t care. He spent so much time stepping around the feelings and wants of others, but this time he didn’t have to, hidden as they were. 

His fingers carded through Penn’s hair, careful not to pull too hard, not to push. Penn eagerly took him, a soft moan crawling up his throat, muffled by Raff’s cock between his lips. Somehow, he took him even deeper, repeating the noise, his hand gripping Raff’s hip tight enough to bruise. He was moving surely, confidently sucking and squeezing and - occasionally - lightly scraping with the very edge of his teeth in a way that shouldn’t have been good but sent shivers shooting down Raff’s spine regardless. Raff stuttered out a quiet noise - nothing more than an intake of breath - but Penn continued, either ignoring the sudden risk or—

Or encouraging it. He was challenging him, Raff suddenly realised, playing with him, pushing him closer towards crying out while forcing Raff to rein himself in, blind to everything but the building pleasure and the tight, iron control he was having to wield over his own body; his own instincts. 

It was too much. The pressure spilled over, and he came into Penn’s mouth in a rush, hand clamped over his mouth, lungs burning, head reeling. Penn worked him until he was entirely spent and shuddering against the wall, one hand pressed to his face and the other loosely tangled in Penn’s hair. When Penn finally moved away, Raff’s cock was slick and softening, his legs weak. Below, he heard the mumble of voices again - the whinny of horses - and, finally, the heavy thud of the stable door shutting, a bolt closing.

With a moan, he allowed himself to slide down, finally able to breathe again. Penn shuffled up beside him, looping an arm around his stomach, pressing his head against his shoulder. Even that touch was too much, overwhelming him, making his breath catch.

“Raff?” Penn’s voice was quiet, slightly slurred. 

Raff pulled him closer, burying his head in Penn’s hair with a bitten-off curse that made Penn laugh against his chest. He took a breath, calming himself, willing his heart to stop thundering so he could better appreciate the feeling of Penn laying in his arms.

His head was still spinning, full of chatter. We could have been caught. They could have seen us. I want - God - I want to do that again.

He kissed the crown of Penn’s head, breathing him in.

"You must do something for me," he said, ignoring the rest.

Penn shifted against him. "Oh?"

"When you seek out the north-eastern lord, you must give him my thanks, too."

"And does anyone else deserve such exalted gratitude?" Penn laughed.

Raff tugged him closer, dragging his hand down Penn's back, careful not to dislodge his tunic. 

"Perhaps," he said. "But I intend to pay him back with more than pretty words."

Penn heaved himself up to better look at him. His eyes were sparkling. Even in the darkness, Raff could see that his lips were swollen, still a little shiny. He couldn't resist: he kissed him again, drinking in the soft little noise of surprise that Penn made.

When he pulled away, Penn was grinning. "And how do you intend to pay him back?" He asked.

Another kiss - brief, a promise of more.

"The evening is long," Raff said. "The straw is soft. And we are alone." He glanced over the railing of the loft into the darkness. "Finally.” He squeezed Penn tighter. “I am sure I will be able to think of something."

[gwendolynlerman]

Things that surprised me as a European tourist in the United States

This is based on my experience as a Spaniard traveling to the United States (specifically New York City and Washington, D. C.).

Like many people around the world, I have grown up in contact with U.S. culture through literature, film, and music, so I didn't experience much cultural shock, but some things still surprised me.

All vehicles (cars, trucks, school buses...) are huge! Most cars are pickup trucks or SUVs. The most common brands came from the United States, but I also saw many Japanese cars, especially Nissan and Toyota (mostly Prius, USAmericans seem to love this model 😂).

Customer service is great, not only in restaurants or places where one is expected to leave a tip but also in museums and subway stations.

I heard many different languages spoken by locals, including Mandarin, Russian, and Spanish, as well as European languages spoken by tourists, such as French, German, and Portuguese. (I think that this is mostly the case in big cities, and especially NYC.)

People wear face masks more often, although I guess that this is transient due to flu season. Still, way fewer people wear them in Spain.

Taxes are not included in the price. (I was aware of this but used to forget about it at first.)

Toilets are not as deep as in Europe (the water is really close to your butt 😖), and many flush automatically. Public restrooms always have seat covers but normally do not have a toilet lid.

Doors are really heavy! No wonder many people (mostly men) held them open for me. I once had to throw myself against the door to open it. What is the deal with doors in the U.S.? (Is it a NYC thing only?)

People were quite loud (and this is coming from someone who grew up in a country that is renowned for how loud we talk) and played music/videos without headphones in the subway 😑

Cops are surprisingly chill despite the reputation that they have. A guy was insulting a couple of them from across the subway platform, and they just smiled and waved at him. In Spain, it is a crime to insult a police officer, so I was surprised that they were so calm about the whole situation.

On that note, there were a lot of cops around the city at all times (even at 5 a.m.). I counted nine of them in Penn Station!

Drivers honk all the time because of every minor inconvenience. On Thanksgiving Day, there were a lot of traffic jams, and people were honking as if that would magically clear the streets... And, of course, if one person honked, the rest honked as well, so walking on the street on the main avenues was really deafening 😐

Traffic lights are quite far away from where cars have to stop.

Fire truck sirens are really loud and sound like emergency alarm systems. (It reminded me of those TikTok videos ranking them.)

People say "Excuse me" in the subway when going in or out, which was a nice change from the shoving and pushing I'm used to in Madrid.

I saw a lot of people carrying around huge reusable water bottles. (Here's an explanation for why USAmericans drink so much.)

People called me "Ma'am" instead of "Miss". I know it's the polite way to address people, but it was very weird 😂

New Yorkers love to use cardinal directions (north, south, east, west) when giving directions. Someone once told me, "Go west on Broadway" and I was like "I have trouble orienting myself when I use Google Maps, do you think I know which direction I'm going in at all times??".

There are lots of caution signs about worker safety on construction sites, both in English and Spanish, which leads me to think that there are many work accidents 🤔

As a solo female traveler, I was a bit concerned about my security in a city that I have heard is dangerous and in a country where mass shootings are a relatively normal occurrence, but I felt mostly safe. I was surprised to see many posters that read, "If you see something, say something".

Related to the above, I was shocked to see "This is a gun free zone" posters in public places and "No guns allowed" posters on supermarket doors.

I was really surprised to see ads with phone numbers with words in them, like the one below. After doing some research, I discovered they are called vanity numbers and are easier for people to remember. (If, like me, you're wondering how to dial these numbers, apparently you just press the number that corresponds to the letter on the keypad.)

I smelled marijuana everywhere! Although illegal in Spain, you can also smell it sometimes, but it seemed ubiquitous in NYC. (I personally hate the smell, which is why I noticed.)

[palaxy27]

Guys, I have the craziest, most ridiculous but EPIC idea. (Please, comment what do you think)

PZPTH THE MÚSICAL AU 🎶 ✨️✨️✨️

So, this would be a musical more like brotway than disney, but they wouldn't sing all the time but they would have the sudden impulse to sing in certain moments (like in team beach movie).

this would be a phase two dimension where the team travels to a dimension that looks the same middleburg, their clothes are the same, except for sashi who has the same hair as before, in fact penn wakes up in his bed when it's the first day of high school with his parents, at first they think they traveled to the past until penn's parents start singing xd

Most of the time they would relive by the same events of the series (not all) but also by off screen events that they would also see, like phillyps and phil arriving on earth starting the first phase, phillyps meeting sashi for the first time, penn and boone meeting each other for the first time, rippen, larry, vonnie, brock and wendy's past. As well as thoughts they had on certain relevant

The songs could be modified as well, for example the fight between pann and sashi in the last beast, apart from boone singing them, or also rippen singing how he finally defeated vonnie and broke trapping them in the most dangerous world imaginable.

Going back to the plot you could also add some things that would give more development and put conflict in their relationship, like boone maybe always knowing that his mom and penn's parents were heroes and the guilt of not telling him or his insecurities in it, penn feeling angry at his parents about keeping his secret from him and how he doesn't feel part of the team and questioning his life (besides as I said it would show his feelings and thoughts at certain times as well as the first impressions they had when they met for the first time.

That and i want a villian song for rippen JUST for him, becase the villans have the BEAST songs

[railwayhistorical]

Along the Hudson River This is simply a wonderful spot on the face of the earth—we’re north of Cold Spring, New York, along the Hudson River, at Breakneck Ridge. Metro North still stops here, mainly for the benefit of hikers who want to explore the rugged landscape in this area (known as the Hudson Highlands). The “station” stop is just south of where the first photograph was taken with a few trains making stops each way, each day on the weekend. The land mass visible behind the southbound train in the first image is called Pollepel Island, and the structure thereon is called Bannerman Castle. The second photograph was taken the same afternoon at the same location—but looking south. It shows a Metro North commuter train headed north, most likely headed for Poughkeepsie. Also visible in the image, across the river, is the dramatic and massive form of Storm King Mountain. The model of locomotive, seen in both photographs, is interesting as well—the EMD FL9 was a unit designed specifically to be used for New York’s Grand Central Terminal—the destination for these trains at the time. [I believe all Amtrak trains traveling the water-level route currently end up at Penn Station now.] This unique engine is diesel-electric but also has a pick-up “shoe” for the electrified third-rail. This way the diesel prime-mover could be shut off or at least idled when in the tunnels under Madison Avenue and in the bowels of the massive terminal itself. Two images by Richard Koenig; taken in August of 1988.