#putter smith

[milton-dammers]

Diamonds Are Forever (1971) Mr. Wint and Mr. Kidd

[dogmatik]

575 words, more hungover rick, mortys trying to be more responsible.

"Fuck, my heads killing me. Why's, wuh-whats, all the fucking, noise about?" Ricks voice is rough with sleep, there's vomit on the collar of his shirt, stained a strange shade of purple. "Thunderstorm I guess. Are y-you hung over?" "I fucking wish. Must've got into that hendler's powder." "Uh, did you take all the, morphine last time? Y-you said that helps." Morty responds from atop one of the kitchen stools. he's rearranging the stuff on top of the fridge, throwing out the empty cereal boxes Rick always puts back. "Shit good idea, where the fuck, where'd I leave it Morty?" "Bathroom I think."

Rick stumbles into the bathroom, hissing when he has to turn on the too-blue light to see. He finds the morphine inside an old Tylenol box, starts to dig underneath the sink for his syringes. Rick can smell eggs cooking as he draws up, pretty sure he hears Morty curse as the liquid spreads cold and golden through his veins.

"Rick? Hey, there's b-breakfast." Rick cracks open an eye, sees Morty in the door way, pigeon toed and holding out a glass of orange juice. "I pass out?" He asks, takes the juice and drains the glass in four grateful gulps. "Uh I dunno, maybe? You, uh, weren't in here that long." "Yeah, fuck. I forget how good earth drugs can be." Morty holds out his hand, helps Rick up off the tile.

In the kitchen there are two plates set at the table. Scrambled eggs and burnt toast with way too much butter. There's a bowl of Cheerios sitting next to one plate, and Rick starts eating spoonfuls before he can sit. He's not hungry, but he can tell his blood sugars dropped. Morty pulls his chair up to the table and starts in on his eggs. They sit in companionable silence, the rain fills the quiet house up.

"Times-it?" "10, Dad'll be back n-noon. Uh, Summers at her f-friends house." "Wanna go somewhere?" Rick asks through a mouthful of eggs. "Uh, maybe later? Wanted to, get some laundry done before muh-mom gets back." "You kissing ass for s-something? She walk in on you finally?" "Gross! No! She obviously k-knows better. I-I'm just, sh-she works a lot! I-it's not l-like dad's gonna d-do it." Morty glares at his plate. "Damn, yeah. You f-finally on my side with the whole J-jerry is fucking useless and y-your mom deserves better t-thing?" "No, but. Rick i-it's not. It doesn't have to be a w-whole, whole thing okay? I just. Wanna help out more, you know, a-around the house." "Yeah, sure. Anyway. I'm gonna g-go see if Ball Fondlers is on."

Rick goes to the living room, reaches around in the couch cushions until he finds the remote. He starts to flick through channels, met with neons and fleshy reds and all sorts of colors that make his vision swim. He listens to Morty's little footsteps and the sink turning on while his world tilts, head meeting the soft but firm texture of the cushion beside him. It's easy, letting his eyes slip closed. It's been a long time since he's fallen asleep so quick.

[greenleaf4stuff]

It’s New Year’s Eve in Middle Earth and midnight approaches.

Who is grabbing whom for a smooch? How does it go down?

If you can give three pairings that’s great, no limit though 😉 repeats are fine too.

Hi and thank you so much @gauntletgirlie for sending me this lovely ask game! It is truly the time of giving (smooches) <3 Again, lots of fun to think up some kissing scenarios for this one! I'll put them behind the cut again, and as the prompt implies, there be kissing ahead! All of these are Adar-related btw :) (I wrote these down in like an hour) (also each ask game the answers are getting longer oops)

The pairings:

Adar/Celebrimbor/Elrond

Adar/Celebrimbor (established, modern!AU)

Adar/Elrond (canon!AU)

...

...

Adar/Celebrimbor/Elrond

Elrond glanced between the older elf and the uruk, a look of indecision on his face. "Um-"

There wasn't a way to kiss both of them at the same time, was there? Not without crushing their noses and possibly knocking their teeth against each other, at least. But who should he kiss? He couldn't deny either of them. He just couldn't!

They might both be different in character, temperament, appearance, but he liked them equally. He'd just told them as much recently, for Eru's sake! He couldn't choose one over the other now! Not for something important as this!

He heard counting in the background, a countdown not into the New Year but to his own doom, or so it felt.

In a panic, he did the only thing he thought he could do-

And grabbed the back of both their heads in each of his hands, and gently but insistently moved their faces together until they kissed (with a look of surprise on their faces, but even so-).

'There! Problem solved!' he thought, adrenaline briefly surging and then falling in relief. (He knew they wanted each other too. They'd discussed this. The only thing they hadn't discussed was that blasted New Year's kiss.)

"Oh no, wait- my bad-," he suddenly heard behind himself. It was Círdan. "I miscalculated it seems! It's actually still one minute to midnight. Well, that gives us the chance to count once more, doesn't it?"

Elrond felt himself blanch slightly as Adar and Celebrimbor turned towards him, eyebrows raised. "What was that?" Adar asked. It didn't sound accusing, but oddly curious. A bit amused.

"Erm-"

"I suppose he thought this was a clever solution. Have us kiss so he wouldn't have to choose one of us over the other," Celebrimbor deduced and Elrond silently cursed himself because his friend knew him too well to not have figured it out. Again.

"Oh, is that so?" Adar asked, and he sounded just as amused as Celebrimbor had. "Well too 'bad' that we get a second chance then."

Elrond blinked at them in surprise and question, and only realised what was going on when he felt two hands at the back of his head just as the countdown neared "3...2...1" again.

...it was, indeed, a mess of noses knocking together and teeth clicking and even a bit of spit getting smeared, between the three of them. Messy, uncoordinated, but somehow - it still worked out.

Elrond moaned in delight, smiled into the kiss, and let the other two pull him closer into an embrace.

Adar/Celebrimbor (established, modern!AU)

The party had nearly reached it's apex, which meant Adar was close to having reached his maximum amount of social interactions for the night and was beginning to eagerly await going home with his fiancé.

As it stood, he couldn't find Celebrimbor amidst the crowd of people as he scanned it, making him frown. Galadriel must have seen the way he wandered around searching for the smith, because she caught his eye and motioned towards the kitchen with her glass of champagne, a small smile on her face.

Adar followed her pointing, and indeed, he could hear puttering and the sound of dishes getting cleaned coming from there - in combination with some truly awful music from the radio. He exchanged a mildly exasperated glance with the blonde elf, before he thanked her with a nod and walked into the kitchen.

Celebrimbor stood at the sink, garishly golden rubber gloves on his hands - where did Gil-Galad even *find* those things!? - as he hummed along to some corny pop music while he scrubbed at a plate from their dinner earlier.

Adar shook his head, but his expression was one of fondness. He turned down the radio to announce himself and stepped up behind the elf, wrapping his arms around the other's waist, head coming to rest on his fiancé's shoulder in an easy display of intimacy.

"Why am I not surprised to find you here?" he murmured, and pressed a kiss to Celebrimbor's cheek. The smith smiled as turned over his shoulder to look at the uruk. "You know you don't have to clean those dishes now, do you?"

"Hm," Celebrimbor replied, and leant back into the embrace. "I needed a bit of time away from the noise I suppose. Thought nobody would begrudge me that if I did something useful."

"Clever," Adar admired him, and his smile turned soft. "Remarkably selfless, too."

"Well, I suppose you'd know about all that as well, wouldn't you?" They stared at each other lovingly. They were so enarmoed with one another, they almost missed it when loud, shouted counting began in the living room.

"10...9...8..."

They didn't have to ask. Aside from a moment of surprise, nothing much changed. They remained as they were.

"7...6...5.."

Their noses brushed, eyes half-lidded. Neither had seen the other look so soft before. "A good way to end the year, don't you think?" Celebrimbor murmured.

"4...3...2..."

"Couldn't imagine a better one," Adar answered, and smiled as a leant forward.

"1...0!"

They kissed. Celebrimbor still had his hands in the soapy water of the sink as they stood in the kitchen amidst dirty dishes and empty cups, god-awful music quietly playing in the background. The position of the embrace would give the smith a slightly sore neck later, but-

Neither of them cared for the moment. This, right here - was perfect.

Adar/Elrond (canon!AU)

New Year's was a surprisingly official and festive affair in Lindon, Adar had quickly learned. He and his children had rarely celebrated the turning of the year before, but their treaty with the elves was beginning to influence their traditions.

Unlike the elves with their harps and flutes and harmonious singing, their festive modes of dress and expertly prepared feasts, the uruk had taken a much more grounded approach to the festivities.

Adar could hear them belt out yet another battle song, and judging by the barrels that got rolled towards the improvised 'tavern', the drink was flowing freely as well. Everywhere he went, he saw celebrations of the peace, open fires that cooked delicious-smelling stews and roasted meat, groups of uruk gathered together.

He himself would let his children enjoy the time of levity - but he found himself too tired to join in. The noise, how they all wanted to draw him to their sides so he might join them in song and drink, it was - just too much. As much as he loved them.

He paused in surprise when he finally arrived at his own tent and found he had a visitor.

"What brings you here?" He asked, surprised to find Elrond at the entrance. He hoped the other knew the visit was not an unwelcome one - the two of them had danced around one another for weeks now. Adar had hoped to see the other again, but had expected the peredhel to spend this time with his family and friends in Lindon.

Elrond smiled and offered a greeting. "My friend. It is good to see you," he paused. Adar noticed the other was breathing heavily and had a flushed face, as if he'd hurried to get here. "I- there is something important I wished to do. I feared I might have been too late."

Adar immediately raised his eyebrows and focused on the herald in concern. "Is something the matter?"

The other waved him off, but gently so. "No, no- nothing that should alarm you. Just something that was important to me, is all-"

Adar wanted to ask another question, but the uruk in the wider vicinity around them erupted into loud counting - it seemed the turning of the year was almost complete.

The leader of the uruk startled slightly when he felt gentle, wind-chilled hands on his face, and turned towards the herald only to find the other looking at him with hopeful eyes.

With a start, he understood. "May I kiss you?" How brave this one was, to hurry over here and place all his hopes on a kiss.

"I'd like nothing more," the uruk breathed back, and framed Elrond's face with his own hands, mindful of the gauntlet, before he pulled the other closer.

Elrond was smiling into the kiss, Adar could tell. His face felt chilled too, and Adar thought that he would like nothing more than to take the herald inside and wrap him into warg furs before offering him a warm drink and some food.

But that could wait. For now, there was only the press of soft lips on his own, hands that held him gently as if he was precious, and something blooming in his own chest as the countdown ran down to midnight.

[nudeartpluspoetry]

Putter Smith is a very well known upright-bass jazz musician in San Francisco. I saw him with Mason Williams once.

DIAMONDS ARE FOEVER 1971

Putter Smith as Mr Kidd

Bruce Glover as Mr Wint

[henwicks-library]

D&D Homebrew | Artificer: Tinkerer

Artificer Specialization - Tinkerer

From humble toy makers to honored war mechanics, Tinkerers vary just as much as their creations. Crafting small robots called automatons, it is common to see a Tinkerer puttering about their workshop, followed by a swarm of their own design. Those who have witnessed a Tinkerer in battle know that, with or against them, there truly is strength in numbers.

Tool Proficiency

When you adopt this specialization at 3rd level, you gain proficiency with smith's tools. If you already have this proficiency, you gain proficiency with one other type of artisan's tools of your choice.

Tinkerer Spells

Starting at 3rd level, you always have certain spells prepared after you reach particular levels in this class, as shown in the Tinkerer Spells table. These spells count as artificer spells for you, but they don’t count against the number of artificer spells you prepare.

Tinkerer Spells

3rd level - Command, Faerie Fire 5th level - Hold Person, Shatter 9th level - Slow, Tiny Servant 13th level - Faithful Hound, Resilient Sphere 17th level - Hold Monster, Telepathic Bond

Tiny Helpers

By 3rd level, your tinkering has culminated in the ability to create small automatons to aid you in battle. An automaton is friendly to you and your companions, and it obeys your commands. See its game statistics in the Automaton stat block, which uses your Proficiency Bonus (PB) in several places. You determine the creature's appearance; your choice has no effect on its game statistics. At any time, you may have a maximum number of active automatons equal to 2 plus one third of your Artificer level (rounded down).

Whenever you finish a Long Rest, you may magically create a number of automatons equal to your Proficiency Bonus. You may also expend a spell slot to create a number of automatons equal to the level of the expended spell slot. When you do so, the automatons appear in an unoccupied space within 5 feet of you.

In combat, your automatons share your initiative count, and act on a single turn immediately after yours. They can move on their own, but the only Actions they will take on their turn is the Dodge action, unless you take a Bonus Action on your turn to command them to take another action. If you are controlling multiple automatons, you can command any number of them, giving the same or different commands to each one. If you are incapacitated, the automatons will protect you from harm and attack your foes, taking Actions other than just Dodge.

If the Mending spell is cast on an automaton, it regains 2d6 hit points.

Tag Team

At 5th level, you better learn to utilize own attacks to command your automatons. Once per turn when you cast an Artificer spell, you may choose one target of the spell. If there are any automatons within 5 feet of the chosen creature, you may command one of them to immediately make an attack against the creature.

Swarm's Hunger

At 9th level, you upgrade the targeting systems in your automatons. When a creature destroys one of your automatons, you may use your Reaction to immediately command any number of your remaining automatons to move up to half their speed, and attack the triggering creature.

Production Line

At 15th level, your capacity to create your automatons greatly improves. Whenever you expend a spell slot to create an automaton, you may create a number of automatons equal to twice the level of the expended spell slot. Additionally, when you use your Action to create an automaton, you may cast a cantrip as part of the same Action.

DM me for commissions, or find me on Fiverr starting at $5!

[bristledthistled]

TSaMS DnD Character Classes

I’ve seen a lot of people posting their DnD headcanons and I wanted to give it a shot! It’s a mixture of things I think they would choose and classes that gives off the character’s vibe

Old Moon: Multiclass Wizard/Artificer  Subclass: Evocation (Wizard), Artillerist (Artificer) New Moon: Multiclass Artificer/Rogue Subclass: Artillerist  (Artificer), Mastermind (Rogue) Sun: Multiclass Warlock/Bard Subclass: Pact of the Celestial (Warlock), College of Tragedy (Bard) Lunar: Sorcerer Subclass: Storm Sorcerer  Earth: Monk Subclass: Way of Mercy Solar: Artificer Subclass: Battle Smith Steel Defender: Jack Blood Moon: Barbarion  Subclass: Path of the Beast Eclipse: Warlock Subclass: Pact of the Undying or Pact of the Undead

I'm still debating Monty, Foxy, Ruin, and KC’s Classes, but I’m leaning toward Rogue (Swashbuckler) for Foxy and a subclass of fighter for Monty-maybe a level or two of Artificer?

(Also I'm gonna try and add on to the post later explaining why I chose the class and subclass for each character, but my brain just kinda puttered out on me :'D )

[jokerislandgirl32]

Favorite books??

(I mean everyone in your little family + you) 😇😇

Helloooo! Thank you for this ask! We have decided to list favorite books by ages for everyone below the cut! So, all of our favorite books as children, our favorite books as tweens, and our favorite books teens and adults!

And yes, each family member is responding to this ask!

Please note there is mention of Harry Potter, I (JIG) know the author/books are triggering to some, so please do not take offense to this, I just feel like the books would have been some read by one family member in particular wayyyyy before all the unsavory details came out.

Also, a lot of these books are my personal favorites, or they are books I actually dislike immensely…so my selfship kids liking them makes me laugh 😂.

Zach: As a child I was always partial to The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams and the Peter Rabbit books by Beatrix Potter. I also loved How The Grinch Stole Christmas by Dr. Seuss. As a tween/teenager, I liked the Harry Potter series by JK Rowling, the Lord of the Rings series by J.R.R. Tolkien, and the Ender’s Game Saga by Orson Scott Card. Now that I’m an adult, I’d have to say The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald and 1984 by George Orwell are probably my favorite novels. 

Violet/JIG: As a little girl my favorite book was The Foot Book by Dr. Seuss, there was just something about the “here comes pig feet” line that cracked me up, I also adored Thunder Cake by Patricia Polacco. As a tween I loved Grandpa’s Mountain by Carolyn Reeder and the American Girls Books. As a teen and adult I’d say my favorite books were/are Where the Red Fern Grows by Wilson Rawls, The Education of Little Tree by Forrest Carter (the best nonfiction book I’ve ever read), Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson, The Fear Street Series by RL Stine, and anything by Mary Downing Hahn.

Varina: As a child my favorite books were Winnie-the-Pooh stories, my mom had an entire collection her parents collected for her and she read them to me and all my siblings! I also loved A Bad Case of Stripes by David Shannon, the Mr. Putter and Tabby books by Cynthia Rylant, and the Amelia Bedelia books by Peggy Parish. As a tween I enjoyed The Tale of Despereaux and the American Girls books. As an adult/teen my favorite books were/are Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck, The Magic of Ordinary Days by Ann Howard Creel, and I adore any romance novel by Nicholas Sparks. 

Vera: When I was a little girl I loved the Fancy Nancy books by Jane O'Connor, any and all princess books, the Biscuit books by Alyssa Satin Capucilli, and the Junie B. Jones Books by Barbara Park. As a tween I read the American Girl books, but only I enjoyed a few of the series, Samantha was my absolute favorite! I also loved The Secret Garden and A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett, and The Wish by Gail Carsen Levine. My favorite books during my teenage years, and as an adult, are The Glass Castle by Jeanette Walls, any of William Shakespeare’s plays (Romeo and Juliet is my favorite), and Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte. 

Victor: When I was little my favorite book was Green Eggs and Ham by Dr. Seuss, my favorite book series was Curious George by Margret and H. A. Rey. During my tween years I read any Goosebumps book by RL Stein I could get my hands on, I also read all The Chronicles of Narnia books by C.S. Lewis, and A Series of Unfortunate Events books by Lemony Snicket.  My favorite book as a teenager was The Outsiders by S. E. Hinton, and my favorite book series as a teenager were Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children by Ransom Riggs and the Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien. My all time favorite book as an adult is Into The Wild by Jon Krakauer.

Vallen: The Wonky Donkey by Craig Smith was my favorite book as a kid, it was freaking hilarious, and the sequel was almost as good. I also loved the Clifford books by Norman Bridwell as a kid, and the No David books by David Shannon. As a tween I read a bunch of the Goosebumps books by RL Stine. Victor and I were in competition to see who could read the most, he won of course, the dedicated bookworm. In my teenage years and into adulthood my favorites have become The Lord of the Flies by William Golding, The Giver Quartet by Lois Lowry, and The Wayward Pines Trilogy by Blake Crouch.

Victoria: When I was a little girl I loved all of the Eric Carle books, The Very Hungry Caterpillar being my favorite! I also loved all the Little Golden Books, I think my favorite one was My Little Golden Book About God by Jane Werner Watson. Charlotte’s Web by E.B. White, Each Little Bird that Sings by Deborah Wiles, and the Little House on the Prairie Series by Laura Ingalls Wilder were my favorite books during my tween years. As a teenager I enjoyed reading the Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children book series by Ransom Riggs and To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee. As an adult I’d say my favorite books are Wish You Well by David Baldacci or Go Down the Mountain by Meredith Battle. 

[milton-dammers]

✨️🧨▪️Mr. Wint and Mr. Kidd ▪️🧨✨️

[chemsexholmes]

thinking about putter smiths crazy cartoon infant front bangs

[rpgsandbox]

Swyvers is a light-weight set of rules married to a full set of tools and tables for running a game in the chaotic sprawl of The Smoke, its many districts and The Midden. What a city it is — corrupt officials, looming war, rogue sorcerors, monsters below and nobs above. Violence rests as thick as the smog, nothing is sacred and it’s always bloody raining. 

Swyvers is a game about bastards. You and your gang of criminals scarper through heists and sewers, stalk through the filth of The Smoke and, if you’re lucky, you’ll make it out with a few extra shillings. The whole of this city is your filthy, sickly oyster. 

Player characters are not heroes, they are not saving the world, they are trying to dodge the gallows in as much comfort as they can while giving the two fingered salute to the Crown. But hey, robbing the rich never hurt anyone, right?

This 'n That

Rules and lists of all the tools, weapons, lodgings, dodgy business investments, and hired goons any self-respecting Swyver should be familiar with.

Rules for dogs of all cut and calibre.

Death and dismemberment!

How to have a proper funeral for your mates.

'Orrible diseases.

Bloodsucking aristocrats.

Accurate time keeping records.

How to spend your spoils on carousing for XP.

Getting into deep trouble for your wild nights out, including gambling debts, dogfighting, and jealous lovers.

Take on apprentice Swyvers (Putterers), lead them on heists, and train them to take your place in the event of your inevitable sticky end.

Fences: who they are and how they'll profit from your terrible life choices.

Rules for bribes, leverage and blackmail!

A system for attracting the attention of Knotland Yard, who will, over many sessions, form a case against you and put a stop to your wicked ways.

A complete selection of terrible adversaries including agents of the church, ghouls, hussars, vampires, average humans, and bears.

... and complete rules on generating your own city of 'The Smoke'

The Smoke is the greatest city in the world, the beating heart of an empire. It is filthy and sprawling like a burst pustule left open to weep besides the iron-grey sea. It does have a name, but only the nobs and learned-readers know it. Beneath slumbers The Midden – the interconnected passages of built-over streets, basements, tombs and hidden lairs where criminals lurk, beasts squat and lost wealth resides. An enterprising fellow with a sledgehammer can traverse in any direction they please – not that they’ll like what they find. It is rife with corpse-thieves, cellar-breakers and enterprising businessmen shunned in sunlit places. The rich of The Smoke honour their dead with elaborate crypts, whose morose edifices encroach ever further into the slums – the trap-smiths of The Smoke do fine business from their craft, and the fences keep the money flowing thanks to enterprising tomb robbers.

Every group of Swyvers will have their very own Smoke. The GM starts a campaign by generating the city, starting from a core of districts: the Royal Gaol, the Palace, the Mayoral District and the Docks. From there they follow along Swyvers' generation tables to flesh out and, potentially, endlessly expand their rotten city. 

You will have a unique engine for running your own Swyvers games!

... and a unique and innovative magic system

Magic is not a known factor to the vast majority of the denizen of The Smoke. Rumours of witches abound, but specifics are thin on the ground. 

To cast a spell, put briefly — the caster plays blackjack. 

... and a starting adventure!

A starting adventure is included to get Swyvers moving and involved. Usually they’ll be planning their own heists and crimes, rather than having a justification like this one. Engaged players are happy players and great criminals.

In Blue Cheese, Left to Rot the party rob the Lindsore Estate, uncover their ivy-choked secrets, liberate their ancestral valuables, and maybe solve a few problems and make a few friends or enemies along the way.

Kickstarter campaign ends: Thu, March 7 2024 6:00 PM UTC +00:00

Website: [Melsonian Arts Council] [facebook] [twitter] [instagram]

[ultimate-007]

DIAMONDS ARE FOREVER 1971

Bruce Glover, Putter Smith

[moonlightreal]

The Night World’s end of the world

A bit of pondering, with bonus picture of Sarah Strange.

The setup: animal attacks, natural disasters and strange diseases are on the rise! The end of the world is coming! Most of the Night World thinks it’ll be the end of the human world and they will be free to live their best vampire- and shapeshifter-lives, enslaving humans to feed from like they did back in prehistory. But Circle Daybreak is not down for mass human destruction and wants to try and stop what’s coming. Luckily there is a prophecy! There are four “Wild Powers,” four people with a special gift-- blue fire! Very cool. If they all work together they can stop the darkness. Circle Daybreak has a guide to help find them:

One from the land of kings long forgotten;

One from the hearth which still holds the spark;

One from the Day World where two eyes are watching;

One from the twilight to be one with the dark.

The first three we found in the books that have been published. A vampire prince, a ditzy but soulful lost witch, and a vampire hunter who is herself half vampire. The three of them are from the “royal families” of the Night World, the vampire Redferns and the witchy Harmans.

Information from Strange Fate indicates that the fourth Wild Power is Kierlan Drache, from the “royal family” of the shapeshifters. His family name is linked to some very cool new shapeshifter lore that Ms. Smith added for the last four books. The Drache family are dragonborn, before Skyrim or Game of Thrones did it.

In ancient times the dragons were the most powerful and cruel of shapeshifters, ruling whole kingdoms and keeping humans as cattle. Ms. Smith’s dragons seem to be totally evil, drawing on all the darkest ancient serpent mythology. Being shapeshifters, they can be dragon or human, and have the unique power to take on any human or animal form they wish. Ordinary shapeshuifters are limited to one human form and one animal form, the descendants of the dragons are able to choose their animal form while true dragons can shapeshift into any animal or human.

The true dragons are the villains in the end of the world arc, rising from centuries of slumber to bring about the end of the world. Exactly how this will happen is a bit murky; despite the disasters Jez hears about in Huntress, by Witchlight the human world still seems to be puttering along with high school continuing as usual.

This made me wonder: was this “end of the world” arc Ms. Smith’s idea? Or did the publisher decide the series needed a dramatic wrapup? Because Ms. Smith doesn’t seem super invested in the apocalyptic worldbuilding of it all. She had great fun writing the post-apocalypse story that was originally part of Strange Fate then split off to become the standalone novel The Last Lullaby, and I know this because she told me. :-) I emailed her to say “post-apocalyptic is fun to write isn’t it?” and she sent a brief “it sure is!” reply. My only actual conversation with the woman of mystery. But she seems much less into the apocalyptic event itself. This is what made me wonder if Ms. Smith wasn’t the decider in the whole end of the world thing and just wanted to keep writing her supernatural high school stories.

Thinking about the spread of Wild Powers it occurs to me that we have an uneven spread. Witches, vampires and shapeshifters are represented, but humans only get a half-inclusion.

So… is Kierlan a confirmed Wild Power or just a likely Wild Power? ‘Cause Circle Daybreak agents tracked down Iliana through her ancestry long before she could use the blue fire. What I’m saying is, I wonder if Kierlan is a ringer and Sarah will turn out to be the real Wild Power.

On that subject, we have a picture of Sarah, made by Ms. Smith on a dollmaker. (Wherever you are now, Ms. Smith, I hope you’re having loads of fun making all your characters with AI art because it is a blast.)

I’ll have to paraphrase the description since I couldn’t find it again but in my memory Ms. Smith waxes eloquent about how Sarah “May be a bit clumsy and a bit of a crybaby…” which, uh, reminds me of somebody.

And Ms. Smith goes on to talk about Sarah’s bluegreen eyes, shimmering as if with unshed tears, as her most beautiful feature.

[mariana-oconnor]

The Solitary Cyclist pt 3

Last time, Watson did some legwork, but got it all wrong. Holmes did some legwork and you should have seen the other guy. Meanwhile, as they were puttering around, Violet Smith got into a trap, that turned out to be a trap, and was abducted by the grounds of an unscrupulous clergyman.

I sense a non-consensual marriage for the purposes of inheriting the fortune of her long lost uncle. But whether she's marrying red-moustachioed Woodley, the would-be rapist. Or Mr Carruthers her employer (who is clearly using the 'but I'm better than that guy' method of courtship), who knows?

(I should know, but I don't remember).

We were warned twice of oncoming tragedy, however. And getting a quickie divorce or annulment wasn't really a thing in Victorian Britain, as we've previously discussed, so circumstances are dire.

I hope she stabs them both (and the clergyman) with her hat pin.

I grasped Holmes's arm. “That's the man!” I gasped. A solitary cyclist was coming towards us.

Well observed, Watson, but I'm pretty sure that's the guy who's been shadowing her this whole time to try to prevent her from being abducted. Still... good try. I think it might be Carruthers...

“You're the man we want to see. Where is Miss Violet Smith?” he said, in his quick, clear way. “That's what I am asking you. You're in her dog-cart. You ought to know where she is.”

Another little slapstick moment. This is also reminiscent of The Copper Beeches where they turn up and everyone demands to know what the other party has done to the daughter, not knowing her boyfriend smuggled her out.

“Good Lord! Good Lord! what shall I do?” cried the stranger, in an ecstasy of despair. “They've got her, that hellhound Woodley and the blackguard parson. Come, man, come, if you really are her friend. Stand by me and we'll save her, if I have to leave my carcass in Charlington Wood.”

What shall you do? What shall she do, more like. Seriously. Stalking her was not a good solution to this problem, you muppet-head. Why didn't you just tell her? OH YEAH, because you wanted her to keep working for you so you could marry her and get the fortune she didn't even know about. Right. You're such a great guy.

It was a young fellow about seventeen, dressed like an ostler, with leather cords and gaiters. He lay upon his back, his knees drawn up, a terrible cut upon his head. He was insensible, but alive. A glance at his wound told me that it had not penetrated the bone.

The groom is still alive, so that's one fewer people to worry about.

"We may save her from the worst fate that can befall a woman.”

Again, I say that the best way to have done this would have been to tell her what was going on in the first place.

Also, I'm pretty sure they're referring to 'being ruined' here rather than, y'know, trauma and pain and violation of her bodily autonomy and personhood. Ugh.

As he spoke a woman's shrill scream—a scream which vibrated with a frenzy of horror—burst from the thick green clump of bushes in front of us. It ended suddenly on its highest note with a choke and a gurgle.

Not traditionally a good combination of sounds. Let's hope that Violet stabbed Mr Woodley in the balls with a hat pin and that was his scream and choke and gurgle. And not... y'know, Violet being strangled.

“This way! This way! They are in the bowling alley,” cried the stranger,

Sorry to disrupt the tension for this but...

And back to the abduction of a young woman by a rapist, shall we?

One was a woman, our client, drooping and faint, a handkerchief round her mouth. Opposite her stood a brutal, heavy-faced, red-moustached young man, his gaitered legs parted wide, one arm akimbo, the other waving a riding-crop, his whole attitude suggestive of triumphant bravado. Between them an elderly, grey-bearded man, wearing a short surplice over a light tweed suit, had evidently just completed the wedding service, for he pocketed his prayer-book as we appeared and slapped the sinister bridegroom upon the back in jovial congratulation.

Did you not need witnesses in the Victorian era? Also, there really should have been some way to negate a forced marriage. Just, seriously? I feel like outside of some very specific circles, the use of a riding crop at a wedding should automatically negate the wedding in question.

As we approached, the lady staggered against the trunk of the tree for support. Williamson, the ex-clergyman, bowed to us with mock politeness.

Also, he's an ex-clergyman, so why does it even count? Don't they get their powers of matrimony stripped from them when they're defrocked? (Is it called defrocking for C of E? ...Wow, that just led me down a rabbithole. Huh, apparently they voted to bring back defrocking in C of E this month after 20 years of it being abolished, which honestly seems fair.)

Just, basically, my takeaway from this story is, now that I am not a child, mostly that the Victorian era was fucked up and that there is no way, legally, religiously, or morally, this "marriage" should never have been treated as such. And technically the only thing that happened here today was an abduction and an assault.

“You can take your beard off, Bob,” said he. “I know you right enough. Well, you and your pals have just come in time for me to be able to introduce you to Mrs. Woodley.” Our guide's answer was a singular one. He snatched off the dark beard which had disguised him and threw it on the ground[...] “Yes,” said our ally, “I am Bob Carruthers,

Literally everyone knew the beard was fake, Bob. Except maybe Watson, but even there I think he might have known.

Once again ACD does an excellent job of writing an odious human being that I want to hit repeatedly. That 'just in time... to introduce you to Mrs Woodley' is such a villain line. My skin, it crawls.

“You're too late. She's my wife!” “No, she's your widow.”

OK, I don't like Bob Carruthers. Never let it be said that I like the guy. He is definitely culpable in all of this for many reasons, and he's absolutely a creep. But this is great delivery. 10/10 for style in this one moment. 1/10 the rest of the time (and the 1 is only for not being a literal rapist), but right at this moment, good line.

His revolver cracked, and I saw the blood spurt from the front of Woodley's waistcoat. He spun round with a scream and fell upon his back, his hideous red face turning suddenly to a dreadful mottled pallor.

And he did shoot the guy, so he gets like... one point for that. 2/10. I really feel like Miss Smith should have been allowed to shoot him, as a treat, but sure, Bob can do it.

"We'll have no more violence. Come, hand it over!”

Come on, Holmes. Can't she just like... kick him in the balls?

I carried my report to where he sat in the old tapestry-hung dining-room with his two prisoners before him. “He will live,” said I.

Ah, you fucker. Come on Carruthers, you can't even kill the guy right? Come on. Just do one competent or decent thing. I am literally begging you.

“There are two very good reasons why she should under no circumstances be his wife."

The first being: it was non-consensual. The second being... it was non-consensual. There you go, two very good reasons.

"In the first place, we are very safe in questioning Mr. Williamson's right to solemnize a marriage.”

That, too, but I do feel like the lack of consent is the most important reason.

“I have been ordained,” cried the old rascal. “And also unfrocked.” “Once a clergyman, always a clergyman.”

I... I don't think you understand what the word 'unfrocked' means... That's literally the statement it disproves. Maybe Holmes needs to explain this to you in short words.

"How about the license?” “We had a license for the marriage. I have it here in my pocket.”

"But in any case a forced marriage is no marriage, but it is a very serious felony, as you will discover before you have finished."

Oh, Victorian Legal system. You aren't quite as fucked up as it seemed. Good for you.

"As to you, Carruthers, you would have done better to keep your pistol in your pocket.”

No, I think he did a pretty good job, actually. Woodley deserved a bullet in him and Carruthers ends up in jail, too. Wins all round. I see no problems with this.

“I begin to think so, Mr. Holmes; but when I thought of all the precaution I had taken to shield this girl—for I loved her, Mr. Holmes, and it is the only time that ever I knew what love was..."

I remembered like halfway through that he was going to pull the 'I started out just trying to get her fortune, but I actually fell in love with her along the way' line and I'm sad that memory was correct. Ugh. If you really loved her, you would have told her what the fuck was going on and told her to go marry Cyril as soon as she could and get another job. But you don't. You just wanted to feel like the good guy. Which you're not.

Fuck off, Bob.

"I kept my distance from her, and I wore a beard so that she should not recognise me, for she is a good and high-spirited girl, and she wouldn't have stayed in my employment long if she had thought that I was following her about the country roads.”

...no

...no, she wouldn't.

And that would have been a good thing.

“Why didn't you tell her of her danger?” “Because then, again, she would have left me, and I couldn't bear to face that. Even if she couldn't love me it was a great deal to me just to see her dainty form about the house, and to hear the sound of her voice.” “Well,” said I, “you call that love, Mr. Carruthers, but I should call it selfishness.”

Watson. I take back everything negative I have ever said about you. You tell him! You took the words right out of my mouth.

“Maybe the two things go together. Anyhow, I couldn't let her go. Besides, with this crowd about, it was well that she should have someone near to look after her."

Bob... no. Stop believing your own hype. You're not the good guy here. You're not the white knight. You're the slightly less shitty guy. And it's not a high bar. The bar is subterranean.

The old man is dead.

RIP to Miss Smith's uncle in South Africa. We never knew you and were, in fact, informed that you were already dead. Sorry, my dude.

Williamson is terrible at being a criminal, btw. "Don't you tell him anything!" *proceeds to correct Holmes's facts*.

"For some reason Woodley was chosen as the husband. Why was that?” “We played cards for her on the voyage. He won.”

I had forgotten this detail.

May I say once again, with feeling.

Fuck. These. Guys.

“When in your report you said that you had seen the cyclist as you thought arrange his necktie in the shrubbery, that alone should have told me all."

So Watson did see something important, Holmes just didn't notice it. Ha!

"As to you, Mr. Carruthers, I think that you have done what you could to make amends for your share in an evil plot. There is my card, sir, and if my evidence can be of help to you in your trial it shall be at your disposal.”

No, no he hasn't. He did bare minimum out of a sense of entitlement and selfishness. He knowingly put her in danger and refused to put an end to it just because he wanted her to stick around. Fuck him. Nope.

I have put it upon record that Miss Violet Smith did indeed inherit a large fortune, and that she is now the wife of Cyril Morton, the senior partner of Morton & Kennedy, the famous Westminster electricians.

Good for them.

And the bad guys ended up in jail, although Carruthers mostly got away with being an odious human being, ugh.

Well, that was an enraging narrative. I had forgotten how absolutely terrible they all were. And I don't think I really gauged how horrible the situation might have been for Violet when I was a child. She's definitely one of the characters in these stories who has it worst (while still surviving), second only to the poor lady in The Greek Interpreter, I think.

I hope she and Cyril were very happy together.

Here, let's end with a picture of a better sort of Bob:

[puutterings]

a kind of running in place, doing my lengths; petty distractions

  The contemporary artist Michael Smith talks of his tendency for puttering ‘a kind of running in place’ as he describes it. ‘I embrace distraction’, he comments. Smith moves about the studio space touching things, walking, postponing starting the work in hand. This act of putting things off by using petty distractions may be a form of limbering up, mentally, creatively, and through seeing and touching, in readiness for conscious focus in the work (Jacob and Grabner 2010 : 28).       As proposed by Oppezzo, the notion of moving while thinking creatively is not bound to a specific environment. The British painter Katy Moran provides this example where thinking and moving while swimming has provided a creative solution for a problematic painting”         “I had made a painting, and there were interesting parts of it, but it wasn’t working as a whole. I was doing my lengths [swimming] and I thought, I could take the painting off the canvas and cut it up, cut it in half, and then start playing around with those two half bits of canvas . . . that just came to me when I was swimming. I don’t know if I would have thought of it if I’d been in the studio looking at the work.” (Amiersadeghi 2012 : 158)

—

ex Pip [Philippa Anne] Dickens, “A Choreography of the Senses — The Painter’s Studio,” in Ian Heywood, ed., Sensory Arts and Design (2017) : 239-253 google books preview (pp249-250) : link direct to publisher page (and abstract) : link

—

Pip Dickens, artist’s website : link  

[fat-rambo]

From 1986 to 2006

When’s the last time anyone heard anything about [JIM HOPPER]? Old friends remember them as [DRY + CARING] but also [CYNICAL + STUBBORN], no wonder they’re still known as [FAT RAMBO] around town. Today, in 2006, they are [65] and some people say they remind them of [A GREASY AMERICAN BREAKFAST WITH DRIP COFFEE, A WIDE-BRIMMED TAN HAT, MUSTY CABIN WOOD, AND THE DEAFENING CRACK OF A SMITH & WESTON 66].

Full name: James "Jim" Hopper

Nicknames: Hop, Hopper, Fat Rambo I guess (RIP Alexi!!!!)

Birthday: September 12th, 1949

Age: 65

Education: Ex Military Education, War Trauma etc.

Occupational Experience: Former Police Chief. Brawn for Watcher investigations.

TW: Alcoholism, death.

POST 1986

When life hurts you, because it will, remember the hurt – Oh, does Jim remember the hurt. There was no shortage of it after Eleven and Will’s funerals. As one would expect, he lived in a long fog after the loss of his second daughter. He struggled to reel himself into stability, spending many evenings by the side-by-tombstones. The man tried to keep himself busy and settled back into a workflow at Hawkins PD, but no amount of Whiskey or puttering helped him escape the ache of grief. He had to face it. Joyce was an incredible anchor for him during this time. To this day he’s not sure how she managed to be so strong – dealing with the aftermath of Will’s death, taking care of the community, and tending to his own rut. She was truly a light in the dark times. Consequently, the pair grew inseparable after their collective losses – mostly knowing that they weren’t alone in the pain. Rumours abounded about a potential romance between the pair, but a relationship never officialized for them between the years of 1986 to 2006. They were happy in friendship and that was simply enough for both.

Jim’s reluctant retirement from the Hawkins Police force came in the Spring of 1999. Most of the department was sad to see him go (others unified with a collective sigh of relief), but it was time to take a step back and slow down (according to Joyce). She tried looping him into activities around town, get him involved in community, help with some gardening in the backyard but it wasn’t long until the boredom set in. Thankfully Murray saved him from the misery of retired life with a proposition to take on some work with The Watcher. It renewed a needed sense of purpose in Jim’s life. He threw himself (and his fists) into whatever investigations required a little elbow grease. It was a good way to keep himself busy. Jim did what was needed of him without question, driving out of town to be the unassuming muscle behind whatever lead was being sleuthed on … Probably executed with a lot more force than he’d ever admit to either Murray or Nancy, but neither of them would ever have to know! This chunk of his life was packed with sleepless nights in questionable motel beds, bustling from gas station to gas station in true gritty americana fashion. The years and wrinkles piled on quicker this way. So did his grumpiness.

Jim managed to take Joyce out for one last dinner at Enzo’s before her final emergency surgery. That night was the last time either of them had a conversation outside the confines of her hospital room. The proposition was initially met with resistance by her medical team. It took some convincing but enough careful planning eventually swayed them all (specifically Jonathan) to let him roll Joyce and her oxygen tank out of the oncology unit without much fuss. Jim pulled out his finest button down and slacks for the occasion. It was an evening filled with greasy bread baskets and occasional tears as they reminisced over a candlelit dining table. Time slipped away from the pair that night. If either of them squinted hard enough, they were back in 1962 – both puffing on cigarettes in the Hawkins High parking lot, contemplating what the fuck their lives would look like after graduation. It certainly didn’t look anything like this …  and like all good things in Jim’s life, their flicker of joy at Enzo’s had to end too.

The drinking started to get out of hand after Joyce’s passing. As much as he’s been encouraged to remember the good times and work his way through the first foot stones of grief, the loss of his best (and community pillar) came with an emptiness that only cigars and Whiskey seemed to fill. Joyce had told him to keep it together, to try and live out his days happy & fulfilled – maybe even find a hobby besides beating people up for The Watcher. It simply wasn’t in the cards for poor old Jim. He found himself pulling away from those around him, fully shutting himself into his reclusive cabin on the edge of town. And while he’s managed to remain relatively stable for Jonathan and Murray, there’s no denying that a bottle or flask is never far from reach after the cabin door closes behind him. Jim’s only allowed his vulnerability to slip up on a handful of occasions. Jonathan himself has received a handful of 2am calls from bar owners asking him to pick up the washed-up police chief passed out on their bar. The little taxi rescue routine has been kept on the downlow between them – it’s become a quiet understanding of their mutual grief and, honestly, a sadness that neither of them are fully prepared to acknowledge.

These days Jim doesn’t leave the confines of his musty cabin often except to grab necessities and slide the pizza man a tip. There’s truly not much that can faze Jim Hopper these days. The sorrow itself manifests differently depending on the time of day – or whether you’ve caught him before or after his morning coffee (and bourbon). He’s generally more irritable and a true party pooper, though it isn’t new for anyone who knows a lick about him around town!

Time Capsule:

In 1986 Jim left an empty box of Eggo Waffles in the time capsule on behalf of El Hopper. There’s a note for the kiddo slipped inside.

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