#this big field of rye and all

[this-big-field-of-rye-and-all]

Depression is over or am I repressing myself as usually?

[pandafishao3]

TEASER Breeding/Lactation

YOU GUYS I went right ahead and did it, didn't I. I wrote an AU for my Milk Farm AU where Steve has Bucky as a private little cow hybrid in his own farm instead of a big factory and I am NOT SORRY. The full thing will be posted during Kinktober but for now, please enjoy a little teaser! I am seriously so excited to share this with you all, I cannot WAIT till Kinktober!

Steve yawned as he poured coffee into a cup and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. The mornings started early out on the farm. The sun had just started climbing over the treeline across the golden rye fields, and it made the rustic kitchen warm and cosy. The little cottage had been in his family for generations, but Steve really felt like he’d added his own personal touch to it by re-painting the kitchen a soft green and building a proper dining room table out of sturdy oak wood. The clunky ceramic cups and white, embroidered curtains all spoke of the work of his mother, grandmother and great-grandmother, however. Steve liked the reminder of them, especially now that he was left to manage the farm alone.

“Meow?”

The sound of his cat Alpine jumping on top of the counter and chirping as she trotted towards him made Steve smile. He reached out his hand and she immediately buffed her fluffy, white head against it in a friendly gesture.

“Hi Al. Where you’ve been? Out wreaking havoc in the stables?” he winked at her and she promptly sat down and started licking her paw like she’d never done anything wrong in her whole life. In her mind, she probably ran the whole farm.

Steve huffed out a warm laugh to himself and went back to his coffee. But when he reached into the fridge, he noticed that he was completely out of milk. Oh well. He was heading to the barn anyway – the only reason he was up with the rooster was so he could get the milking done. After pouring Alpine some wet food, Steve took his coffee cup and went outside.

The flannel shirt he was wearing over his worn, patched jeans would be too hot in a few hours, but for now it was just perfect. Steve fondly watched his chicken pick at the corn on the ground as he walked past, and made a mental note to himself to go check on the rhubarb after this. He would need to tinker with the tractor too, since it had been acting up lately and it almost time to bring in the very first harvest of the summer. The barley would be done in a week or so.

But before that, he looked forward to spending the morning with his favourite pet.

“Good morning, my little moo. You up yet?” Steve smiled as he walked into the small barn. In the corner, his two goats and their babies looked up at him lazily and then went back to resting. The kids bleated and then ran out of their hatch to play outside, so Steve was in no hurry to take care of them. They pretty much took care of themselves, and he mostly used them for company and as lawnmowers.

But his little moo was a different story.

“Bucky? Where are you, honey?” he sing-songed as he walked further down the aisle. There, in his stall, his beautiful cow hybrid looked up from the mound of straw and blankets where he slept. His pretty little face instantly lit up in a bright smile and he mooed in that adorable way that only he could. “There you are! Are you still sleeping?” Steve teased him softly and leaned his elbows on the wooden door so he could watch Bucky struggle to get up.

Please let me know if you want any more of these teasers! Love you all <3

“Nooo, m’awake!” Bucky insisted with a cute pout and hurried to untangle himself so he could get to his owner. It wasn’t easy with his little hooves slipping on the floor and his tail getting caught up in the blanket, but he managed to get to his feet and tiptoe all the way to Steve. There, he immediately pushed up against the door and buffed his head against Steve’s chest, cooing happily all the time.

🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷

Credit for the header: Evangelitaa on Pinterest

[thatswhywelovegermany]

Die Roggenmuhme

The Rye Aunt

The Rye Aunt is a female cereal demon and children's fright of German folk tales, who lives in grain fields.

The Rye Aunt wanders up and down in the fields, feeds on the grain and tears out the immature ears. If she is angry with the farmer, she punishes him by drying out his fields. In general, however, the appearance of the Rye Aunt in the fields is a sign of a good harvest. During the harvest, she flees into the last truss. The Rye Aunt receives a share of the harvest, which is either left behind or thrown into the field. This custom is to propitiate the Rye Aunt and bring about a fertile next year.

The Rye Aunt is generally thought to live underground, in the empire of the roots or in a cave.

The Rye Aunt punishes lazy maids, who have not spun off their spinning rocks in the Boxing Week. The breath of the Rye Aunt brings illness and death.

Appearance

The Rye Aunt is often described as completely black or snow-white, and of superhuman size. Her arms are long or made of iron. Her fingers are fiery or iron. It is also said that the Rye Aunt has claws on her hands, which may also be made of iron.

The Rye Aunt has unusually large breasts that are so long that she can fold them over her shoulders. She also has more than two breasts. These can be black, iron, wooden or silver. They are pointed and hard, have glowing iron tips or are fiery. The breasts are filled with tar, poisonous milk or blood.

The Rye Aunt is described as an old womanwith a wrinkled face featuring stinging awns, a crooked nose, and wears glasses. She is sometimes even described as headless or said to have an iron heart.

In addition, she can change her shape, for example into a turtle, a snake, a frog, a wolf, a black cat, a horned animal or a dog with a blanket.

The Rye aunt is often dressed in black, but has also been seen dressed entirely in gray. Her clothes are ragged. Sometimes the Rye Aunt also wears a red skirt, or she wears a red dress and a red cap. Sometimes, she wears blue coat and wide flowing skirts. Often the Rye Aunt wears a white headscarf like a reaper. Sometimes she walks on crutches.

The Rye Aunt is associated with several weather phenomena. When the wind blows through the cornfield, people say that the Rye Aunt moves over the grain. She is also traveling with the whirlwind.

The Rye Aunt appears in particular at midday between 12:00 and 13:00. If she encounters someone in the fields at midday, she kills them or frightens them, casting spells. If she finds women who have recently given birth in bed between 12:00 and 13:00 and between 18:00 and 20:00, she does the field work for them. If she does not find women in childbed at the specified time, a misfortune will happen to the mother and the child.

The Rye Aunt is often seen as a child scare. Her activities as a child-scaring figure are extremely varied.

In their tale no. 90 The Rye Aunt, the Brothers Grimm tell that the Rye Aunt swaps human children with changelings, but brings back the right child if the changeling is not suckled. Elsewhere it is said that she steals illegitimate children at midnight.

The Rye Aunt lies in wait in the field for all those children who want to pick cornflowers in order to scare and punish them. She also lures children into the field by waving her arms. She abducts children by putting them in her big bag or basket, of by taking the children under her wide flowing skirts to bring them to the empire of the roots. She may also pull children to her with an iron fireplace poker and has them guarded by a toad. She leads children astray in the field and lets them starve to death, or she comes with her flock of elves and lays the children on cushions of flowers, whereupon they fall asleep and never wake up again. The Rye Aunt appears as a witch when she casts spells or the Evil Eye on children, She may also appear as a nightmare when she sends evil spirits to disobedient children at night.

Children often have to suck on the breasts of the Rye Aunt. Sometimes, disobedient children get the big breasts beaten around their ears. The Rye Aunt is said to, hug children so tight that they are pressed against her breasts die as a result from suffocation or getting crushed in her embrace. The Rye Aunt also crouches in wolf form, hiding in the grain, and is accompanied by small dogs that lure children into her iron embrace. She is also regarded as the mother of the rye wolves, who eat the children.

The Rye Aunt chases children on horseback or runs as fast as a horse herself. In the latter case, she chases children to death in races. She can also fly and takes children to the sea to drown them there. If she accosts children, they must die.

The Rye Aunt demands that children eat a slice of bread spread with tar. If they do not comply, she cuts off their heads. She also smears children with tar from a bottle or covers their eyes with tar. She also scratches out children's eyes or blows out their eyesight. The Rye Aunt strangles children, twists their necks or cuts off their heads, and also cuts off their necks, noses, ears, or fingers. She also beheads children with a sickle, a knife or a saw. She cuts off the children's legs with a scythe. The Rye Aunt also tears off children's legs.

The Rye Aunt binds children into a bundle with a thread or ties the children to a thread and then beats them up. She pinches children with iron pincers or uses a pinch. She stabs children with pikes, of which she has three, one by the head and one in each hand. The Rye Aunt also stabs children with stalks or drives nails into their heels.

In her hand, the rye maid carries a rod or whip, which is to be regarded as a lightning rod. She also has a sceptre or an iron scourge, which she uses to beat children. She puts children in a nail barrel and rolls them around in it or drags them into a cave and crushes them there with a giant meat grinder. Otherwise, she also crushes children in an iron butter churn.

The Rye Aunt also bites and eats children. To get hold of children, she sets out traps. She slaughters and eats the children or kills and roasts them using her burning breasts and fingers. The Rye Aunt also throws children into a cauldron of hot water or sucks their blood.

All these stories were told children to deter them from wandering through the fields, which posed several dangers, including getting lost and freezing to death at night, encounters with dangerous animals, suffering injuries from farm equipment used on the fields, or merely the destruction of crops and yield loss by walking over the fields.

[chaotic-multi-fandom]

Holden Caulfield

So, I just finished “The Catcher in the Rye”, and it was very different from what I expected. This book has a reputation of being somewhat extreme, and making teenagers more angry, depressed or even violent because of its main character Holden. However, now that I’ve read it, I fail to see why. I can understand why at the time of its publication Holden’s internal monologue could’ve been seen as alarming, specially to adults, but not as much in the present time, and definitely not as extreme as it said to be. He’s also constantly called annoying, pretentious and an asshole, which he sometimes is, but once again, In my opinion, not to the extreme people present him as. I didn’t mind being inside of his head the entire novel, nor did I ever find him as insufferable as most people seem to, and definitely not a monster, if anything I had a lot of empathy and understanding towards him. 

To me, Holden simply came off as a lost 17 year old boy, grappling with grief, identity, and having lost his innocence at a very young age. He’s clearly suffering from depression, and is generally angry and disillusioned with the world, however given his implied experiences it’s only natural, even just the death of his brother prior to the events of the book cold easily explain his behaviour, however there’s definitely other elements, which choses not to reveal, that have contributed to his current state. 

To me, Holden never came off as extreme or violent, at least not enough to be sent to a psych ward or o incite the alarmed response people seem to have to his character. In fact, despite seemingly being done with the world, and not caring about anything anymore, Holden seems to have this constant thrive and need of protecting the world. Despite all of his utterly depressed, frustrated, and negative inner monologue, he’s constantly through out the novel, carrying out these little acts of kindness towards children. He helps two boys find a section of the museum, and explains to them what everything means, he helps a girl tie up her skates at the roller rink, and rubs off nasty messages left at schools so that the children don’t read them, and most notably he does anything and everything for his younger sister Phoebe.

Most of the time, he’s left in awe of the world when he interacts with these children, specially with Phoebe, it’s the only moments were he even says he feels happy. He seems to be impressed by children’s minds, and has this urge to protect and help them every time he encounters one, going to great lengths (such as buying a limited expensive album for his sister) in order to make their days better. Then, he hears a child sing the song that brings the name of the novel “the catcher in the rye”, he sings about a body catching another body in the rye,. When later in the novel he wonders about he’d want to do in the future, the song is the only thing that comes to mind. He imagines that he’s in that field, where children are playing near a cliff, and he’s the one that catches them and leads them away from the cliff, he’s the catcher in the rye. To him, this means saving children from losing their innocence as young as he did. It’s the only thing he can imagine himself doing. 

This truly shows that Holden, is in no way some disturbed violent mind, he’s just a 17 year old child, who lost his innocence at a very young age due to traumatic experiences which he’s only now processing, he’s also going through the grief of his brother’s death, which his parents don’t help with, his mother also suffering from depression, and his father always being away as a big shot lawyer. He’s disillusioned with the world and humanity, because most of his life experiences, and contacts with older role models have been very negative, including the one with his older brother whom he once had a good relationship with, but is now a shame to the family due to his work as a prostitute. He’s desperate for the children around him not to suffer the same fate. 

While he may seem utterly disgusted and done with the world, I think that he actually holds a lot of hope in his heart for his sister Phoebe and all the children he meets. Holden’s problem isn’t that he has no hope left, it’s that he has too much of it no matter how hard he tries to repress it. He holds a hope so great for the world, that he can’t help but stay despite his suicidal thoughts. Holden, fantasises about ending his life several times throughout the novel, but then, as soon as he’s even close to getting sick with a cold for example, he becomes extremely anxious, scared and even obsessive, thinking that he’s going to die, which he desperately doesn’t want to do. Even when he is attacked with those suicidal thoughts, which never last long, he’s always immediately reminded of Phoebe, and realises he couldn’t bare her going through grief. 

Holden desperately wants to stay in this world, and he’s constantly looking for reasons to do so, he’s in awe of the purity and innocence of children, and wishes the world would be kinder and better for them. Holden is lonely angry and depressed, which can result in him acting violently in instances, but essentially, he’s desperately trying to improve the world around him, and repeatedly not giving up on it. As he puts it, he never hates anything for long.

Well, this had been my small Holden rant, however do be aware that, I'm writing this approximately 30 minutes after finishing the book, so my ideas aren't completely settled, and given that I haven't looked AT ALL into actual analysis of the novel, I may be way off, and made a fool of myself but oh well. At the end of the day they're almost no wrong answers when it comes to interpretation, and this is how I personally perceived Holden Caulfield.

[ww2yaoi]

tagged by @oatflatwhite for the favourite line tag game. thanks for the tag <3

share a favourite line that you've read/written that impacted you. I will also do both because I can

Anyway, I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody's around - nobody big, I mean - except me. And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff - I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That's all I do all day. I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it's crazy, but that's the only thing I'd really like to be.

the catcher in the rye, j.d. salinger

David merely hums and buries himself further into Joe’s body, like he can make a home in his abdomen, settle deep and sleep soundly surrounded by Joe and only Joe. Sometimes when David touches him, it feels so fleeting, like he’s mountain air rushing through David’s splayed fingers, rarified and illusory. It’s a cogent reminder that Joe can’t be held onto, not by David, not for very long. Yet, here he is now, slight but warm like a certain slant of sun through the window blinds. Are you here for me? David wants to ask. Have I been waiting all this time for you?

untitled webgott fic

I tag @babe-heffron, @youcalledmebabe and anyone else who wants to do this <3

[adelaidedrubman]

wip wednesday..... reader’s choice round-up edition

tagged by my dears @g0dspeeed @simplegenius042 @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat @galaxycunt for the wip title game!

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your wip folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! Tag as many people as you have WIPS.

(stealing wombat’s “all” omission, and organizational system.) below cut because fair warning some of these are nsfw (with descriptive enough titles). (throwing in an extra no pressure due to that) (fics containing nsfw content are italicized) (asterisks = not all of it, feel free to specify sfw or nsfw snippet requested if you’re interested in those titles)

active wip docs (i have worked on some time within the past couple months, there is a reasonable chance these will get finished):

what if the strap could prematurely ejaculate

jestiny’s perfect day

19. a very uncomfortable dinner.......... 2

have faith in christmas

hallmark 2: electric boogaloo

america's sweetheart epilogue

hank meets the man from the big pictures

4. hooked on a feeling

pseudo-abandoned/dead wip docs:

mae'zel post-creche unpleasantness

play stupid games, win stupid prizes*

jenna’s day off*

footnotes to an inferno

field notes

nick rye talks to the union*

JENNA we need to COOK

i was working in the lab late one night*

beach episode

it's joseph's turn to have a bad day

other manner of documence:

my master document (wildfire stray scenes/notes)

hl&s outline + stray scenes (what it says)

darlings graveyard (not wips but deleted or reworked wildfire scenes)

ah dang now there’s counting. no pressure tags out to @henbased @florbelles @lordundying @belorage @theresaruggedroad @derelictheretic @cassieuncaged @schoute @dickytwister @vasiktomis @chickenparm @delicateweapon @corvosattano @jackiesarch @starsandskies @shallow-gravy @nightbloodbix @strangefable @quickhacked @captastra @8bitpizzacoupons

[sincerelywhistler]

CEBALRAI

In the most recent channel anniversary trivia livestream, Erik mentioned he once upon a time ago had plans for a soft Sadism boyfriend character. This is my OC of said boy, Cebalrai!

More under the cut:

Here’s a Pinterest board that captures his vibes :)

And a Spotify playlist as well

• Cebalrai (pronounced as “SEB-all-rye”) often goes by 'Ceb' (still pronounced like "Seb”). Beta Ophiuchi, also named Cebalrai, is a star in the equatorial constellation of Ophiuchus. Ophiuchus is the canonical name of Gavin’s steward and I will SOMEHOW absolutely be incorporating that into his story k thanks

• He works for the Department in the mental health field as a psychotherapist, most often with Seers in specific. As a Sadism demon, he’s able to feed from his empowered clients' troubled emotions while counseling them during their personal healing journeys.

• Coincide with that Department role, he is a thread-cutter (a demon who is responsible for cutting the magical threads of empowered humans to Aria). Our beloved Seer, Morgan, stated that, "there very serious mental and emotional repercussions to a decision like [getting threads cut]; it is not one to be made lightly," (Learning About Your Magical Abilities From a Seer). It is Ceb's job to reassuringly assist empowered persons of whether or not cutting their threads is the best decision, subsequently severing their ties to magic in a comfortable setting should they choose to proceed. He’s a soft and gentle presence, a great fit for the job.

• He and Morgan are work buddies :)

• Ceb has a soft spot for humanity, being obsessed with human traditions, culture, history, psychology, so on. The prospect of being mortal fascinates him more than anything. If there’s a non-magic way of doing a task, he’ll take that route.

• Green witchy boi hehe

• TALL MAN!! HUGE BOY BUILT FOR GIVING HUGS THAT SWALLOW YOU WHOLE!!

• Baker of any and all things sweet

• The star's name literally translates to "dog of the shepard”. Reflecting this, Ceb, like a sheepdog/cattle-dog, has a natural inclination to guide people towards their sense of safety and belonging. Task-oriented and loyal until the end of time.

• He loves gardening! Talking to the plants puts his mind at ease. And because he doesn't need to feed his physical body with physical foods, he often gifts his home-grown produce and herbs away to his struggling patients and the few kind coworkers he knows.

• Probably smells like rain tbh

• Cannot do math to save his life

• If he’s not wearing cozy sweaters, he’s in the most ethereal attire because he’s extra like that

• Avid reader! Romance is his absolute favorite genre. But as sweet as he is, bro won't hesitate to go on tirades about how toxic or poorly the relationships in some books are portrayed. Colleen Hoover may be his worst enemy.

• Favorite book is Little Women by Louisa May Alcott

• Hydrangea tattoos to symbolize grace and gratitude. Bein’ a Sadism Demon comes with a lot of baggage, man

• Main love languages are acts of service and quality time

• Lives a quiet life in a secluded, little cottage-like house out on the rural edge of town with his three corgis— LaVern, Maxine, and Patricia (aptly named after The Andrews Sisters, a female big-band & swing vocalist group popular in the 1930s-50s, aka my Ceb's favorite era of music).

• Will try to pet any animal. The opossums by his house know little peace. 

• Rabid for cherry vanilla coca-cola he is an addict

I've got whole documents pertaining to this big dummy, and you’ll be seeing much more of him in the future <3

[m3ffsstuff]

Tobias was always afraid of a field of rye. He saw red ears intertwining with wind in an unknown dance, and as a child Tobias always wanted to rush into the dance with them. But broad hand on his shoulder did not give off the warmth that would allow, and her strokes were not gentle, so Schneien always lowered his eyes down. Down at the little insects, for whom he seemed to be God himself; down, as if penetrating the loose earth with his gaze, and hitting the boiling cauldrons where the lost are overthrown.

Tobias blinks, feeling the strength of the lying hand go away and he is released. Painstakingly, as if not daring to allow even a drop of freedom to the end, considering whether Tobias is worthy to see the real light from the sun on the golden ears. Brunette looks up, immediately starting to glow like a shooting star. He swallows, shifting from one foot to other in hesitation and feeling such familiar dirt under his feet, mixed with wet grass and small bugs.

For first time, Schneien sees beautiful flowers, to which he timidly stretches out his hand, but immediately withdraws, as if afraid of getting burned. Afraid that their toothy leaves will suddenly close their small jaws, biting into the soft skin. These flowers fascinated with their awesomeness and contrast with the red sea of ears around; they looked like strangers here, completely unexpected guests among other plants, and for some reason Tobias feels a connection.

– These are cornflowers, – a familiar voice interrupts a bad stream of thoughts, makes blue eyes pay attention to themselves. A pleasant smile on the young man's face prompts heart to beat a little faster.

Tobias swallows, returning his attention to the surprisingly contrasting colors. Cornflowers. And their name, it would seem, is so affectionate and color is beautiful that Schneien decides to try his luck again. A pale hand meekly reaches out to the flowers, touches them first with a finger, as if checking if they are real, and then, no longer feeling that danger, gently plucks the stem. Tobias hopes that it didn't hurt them, that he didn't behave selfishly by taking their lives for himself, but his heart starts beating faster from this bad thought. He turns his gaze to Carmelo, involuntarily comparing him with cornflowers: rude, only in appearance, the name is affectionate and the color of his eyes is the same as those of these flowers, which almost immediately fell in love with Schneien.

– Such a strange feeling, – Tobias whispers, continuing to carefully collect cornflowers, counting to thirteen. He raises his bright gaze directly to the boiling sun, not at all afraid that this big dot in the sky will burn out his eye sockets. Tobias pushes the blackness of his hair behind his ear and the innocent daisy behind his ear is immediately lost, winking at the last ray of the sun.

– Tell me about him, – offers Carmelo, feeling the tickling ears near his face. The morning dew is still fresh on them, although the day is already moving towards its end. Tobias sighs, adjusts the wreath, which was quickly thrown on him, without asking much. Everything tries to fall on the eyes, makes you feel blind. How then to look at him — De Monte — since the wreath is so restless?

– I'm, – the brunette blunts his gaze, maintaining a slight pause. A cold wind blows over their faces, forcing them to squint a little. — scared?

Swallows, which always seemed bloodthirsty to the brunette, are swinging on the branches, and Tobias thinks that they are hiding in the sleeves of Carmelo. Now he is about to wave his hand, and the stars will fall from the blue, equally innocent sky. The field will turn into a sea, something like an ocean, and they will drown together. They will drown before they fully realize reality. And Tobias swallows the viscous saliva, thinking about it: he barely restrains himself from putting sweaty palms to his whitish cheeks.

– Is it scary, like when you look at your reflection in the river? — Carmelo stretches his neck slightly, cracking his joints, purely out of habit. But Tobias blinks a couple of times, hearing the ringing crunch of bones, and hoping that Carmelo will not break his neck this way. — Or like when you look into an abandoned squirrel hollow?

– No, – Schneien says more and more quietly, feeling the collar of his once light shirt dig into his neck. He strangles her, not letting her breathe, as if he knows that Tobias is afraid of dying from asphyxia. The brunette slightly moves his shoulders, trying to discard the feeling of rough male hands on his thin neck, because they are so wide and unpleasantly familiar. — I'm afraid for you rather...

Tobias swallows the words like embers left on a square near their city, and Carmelo suddenly becomes touching. Tobias's eyes are also the sky. Innocent and, it would seem, has not yet known the fury of the local thunderclaps. When De Monte bends down to press his foreheads with Tobias — the wreath falls on their palms — it seems to him that they reflect sparks. The real stars, slowly fading, but for some reason ignited again.

– Don't be afraid, — the wreath in Carmelo's hands turns into a thorn, without giving Tobias an eye to blink. The brunette, not believing that the wreath is not starry, closes his eyes for a moment, not allowing Carmelo to merge into their depths. — if I'm destined to burn, for example, then well.

Tobias feels Carmelo's warm breath on his cheeks, and involuntarily wonders, they say, «has the sun come down from heaven?». He feels an unpleasant tremor in his chest when the tips of someone else's fingers gently touch his pale cheeks. It runs from the cheekbone to the ear, descending to the chin, leaving behind an obsessive burning strip that only Schneien could feel.

Tobias slowly opens his eyes and sees two boundless star depths: beautiful, giving light, majestic and sublime. Tobias feels like a dark spot on the sparkling tree of the stellar genealogy, as if a star without radiance and only his eyes give him belonging to something unattainable. Definitely for Carmelo.

– Fire suits me, don't you think? — rays of sun play in Carmelo's hair, they shimmer with a bright blue tint and Tobias almost jumps out of his skin.

– Yeah, — as if fascinated, Schneien whispers long, plunging into depths of salty sea with his head. Bitterness in the throat, like hops, like that familiar cahors or the very blood of Christ. — you will burn beautifully..

Tobias lowers his eyes to stop seeing his beloved face gnawed by fire, which still retains its smile. The wind blows in the gasoline-scented hair, forcing the brunette to sigh languidly and again feel the sweet-nauseating smell, which for some reason seemed so familiar. Blood appears along the lines on his hands, on which it was too early to guess and the young man still did not understand why.

He feels warm, tickling touch of someone else's hand. Warm, affectionate and completely devoid of its usual rudeness. Still the same meek, but rather in order not to scare away than to keep her groundless power. Tobias watches as someone else's hand briskly passes over the fingertips, rubbing the middle of the palm, and then squeezing pleasantly. Soft strokes seem unusual and Schneien swallows nervously. Hand has not been gnawed by fire, has not been touched by anything but clumsy touches in response and Tobias sighs heavily.

– Just remember me beautiful, – Carmelo suddenly whispers hurriedly, making Tobias laugh softly and pick up the neatly woven wreath with his thin spiders–like fingers. And when the wreath falls back on Carmelo's head, Tobias suddenly feels that everything will be fine with him.

[khelinski]

Anyway, I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody;s around - nobody big, I mean - except me. And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff - I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That's all I'd do all day. I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it's crazy, but that's the only thing I'd like to be.

J.D. Salinger

[sapphobolide]

FFXIVWrite Day 6 — "Halcyon"

Mor Dhona turned cold with the season, but inside the Rising Stones it was warm. Laughter and eager talk bubbled in the soft lantern light, free chairs were in short supply. Food was not, however. The air swam with the scent of apple tarts and squash soup, their ingredients fresh from Gridania, mashed popotoes and butter from Thanalan, and hot La Noscean spiced wine. Bowls came empty to a cauldron of Coerthan mutton stewed with lemon thyme and left full, and a crate of Lominsan blood oranges sat open for any and all to take. The headquarters of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn had never seen such a celebration.

And there was plenty to celebrate, to be sure. The Doman refugees, who had arrived in Revenant’s Toll well after planting season when every other state in Eorzea had turned them away, had successfully pulled a risky buckwheat harvest out of the rocky soil of Mor Dhona. According to the skywatchers, they would have just enough time to sow their crystal-studded fields with rye, barley, and winter wheat before the frost came. The seed, along with many of the foodstuffs that went into the Scions’ feast, had come from Gridania and Limsa Lominsa—shipped to the Scions in thanks for the slaying of primals that had threatened each land. Not to be undone, Ishgard had sent shipment after shipment of wood and stone to see Revenant’s Toll through the winter, so grateful were they to be relieved of the primal threat. Gifts even came from the Sultana from time to time, priceless bundles of pepper, ginger, anise, and cloves.

But for all those victories, it was the newest excitement that seemed most infectious—Moenbryda’s plan to slay an Ascian. She was the most recent arrival to the Rising Stones, but Moenbryda had fit in the way that a bow fits a quiver of arrows. The big woman filled the room like air, her voice the wind, the avalanche of her laugh so transfixing none could run from it. The other Scions orbited her like a host of blushing Dalamuds, the red in their cheeks not entirely from the wine.

Caswyn watched it all from afar, a mug of mutton broth in her hands. Behind her prowled the cat-sized vessel of Midgardsormr, a spectre only those with the Echo could see. Her thoughts wrapped around her like a cloak, sheltering her from the squall of merriment blowing through.

The scrape of a stool woke her attention. Tamsyn sat beside her, a cup of her own in hand. There was space enough between them to fit the things they did not talk about; the bitter fight they had had over letting Lady Iceheart go, the sobbing breakdown that had overcome Tamsyn in the boat back from the Keeper of the Lake. The secret they had kept from all but Minfilia—that the father of dragons had stripped them of Hydaelyn’s blessing. And yet, for all that had come between them, there was a surprising comfort here, at the edge of the festivities. They were alone, together.

Tamsyn nodded at the giant in the room. “They’re all a little bit in love with her, aren’t they?”

Caswyn pondered her for a while. She smiled, and followed her gaze. “Save Papalymo, perhaps.”

“Thancred’s going to make a fool of himself.”

“He already has, he and Hoary both. It’s only a matter of time for Yda and Y’shtola and Urianger, if Moenbryda stays.”

“Urianger has it the worst of all, though they’d hate to hear me say it. At least Minfilia is smiling again.”

Caswyn looked at the Antecedent, laughing at one of Moen’s boasts and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Too much had weighed on Minfilia of late, from the invasion of Elidibus into the Waking Sands to the disappearance of the Isle of Val. The latter had driven a friend of Caswyn’s to imprison himself in magical slumber, for a number of ages only the Twelve could know. “It is good to see,” she agreed.

Tamsyn appeared to make up her mind. “I hope she stays. I think she’s good for them.”

“We will have broken hearts eventually,” Caswyn warned.

“There always will be.” Tamsyn smiled at her, sadly. “But for now, things are good.”

[this-big-field-of-rye-and-all]

I hate, I really hate how my brain works.

Everything were fine and just for one f*cking comment, everything is a hell now.

[hidden-clue]

I was looking up poisonous mushrooms, for foraging purposes, and I stumbled into one called 'Ergot fungus', and I thought, wait, I know this word, I've heard it somewhere. It went on to say it causes 'ergot poisoning' and it clicked - ergot poisoning from Midnight in Salem!

It turns out ergot fungi is a fungus that infects rye, wheat, barley and other cross-species of cereal, it grows inside of them like a little black worm. Then if the cereal is consumed, it poisons people. It does cause psychosis, seizures, migraines, nausea, vomiting, but the long term effects are as bad as gangrenes - skin falling off, loss of body tissue, limbs rotting and falling off, and in the end, death. Midnight in Salem did NOT impress just how intensely deadly this is.

There were outbreaks of ergot poisoning in the middle ages, and in the 19th century, and the effects were horrifying. People eventually figured out that ergot can be sterilized by placing the yield in a brine solution, deep plowing the infected fields and rotating crops.

There's an interesting article on wikipedia discussing whether the symptoms of ergotism were blamed on the witches during the witch trials in Salem, all of the symptoms were mentioned in the records. However it was concluded that the symptoms were already known by then, and would be recognizable as ergot poisoning, so it was not the case. It was interesting to find Salem directly on the 'ergot poisoning' wikipedia page!

It's making more sense now why Nancy was asking around who was eating cereal-based products and why ergot was used as a plot device, it was after all, connected to witches and to the history of Salem, and also a big problem in the middle ages.

Now would ergot also infect water from some infected plants being put into the water supply? I have no clue, that part is a bit far-fetched, but I am glad the poisoning wasn't as extreme as it could have been. Insane to want to revive such an awful plague.

Sorry for talking about Midnight in Salem! I still play it for Halloween so I wanted to share the extra knowledge I just gathered, getting real-life knowledge from Nancy Drew games still is one of my favourite things.

[your-local-granny]

"Anyway, I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody's around— nobody big, I mean— except me. And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff.” ― J. D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye

running and catching and returning the favor

[amandacanwrite]

Mother of Pearl ☼ The Hallowed Wilds ☼ Chapter Two

POV ;; Ezra ☽ 10 y.o.

Summary ;; Ezra risks a forbidden journey into The Wilds and meets the strange witch Aurelia for the first time

Warnings ;; Graphic description of a broken bone, light gore, mentions of death, child injury, mentions of blood.

Author Note ;; I am someone who doesn't get triggered by much, but it's very important to me that anyone who reads my work doesn't become inadvertently triggered because of my writing. While these early chapters are quite light, this story does get dark at times. If you ever notice something I should have issued a content or trigger warning for, please reach out to me so that I can properly apologize to you and add the warning to the list. That all said, let's hop in!!

Don’t go into the forest, that’s what everyone had always said.

But I had to. I couldn’t explain why, I just needed to go in there. I knew I needed to.

I’d known people who had known people who disappeared in those woods. Went into that copse of trees that always seemed in bloom, always alive. Usually, it was during the harsh winter months, when fields were barren and game knew to chance hiding out in The Wilds rather than risk winding up as stew or leather shoes.

Some part of me knew that whatever lay hiding behind the tree line wouldn’t hurt me, though. The forest wouldn’t gobble me up like it had the others; the hunters, the fools, and the prideful older boys trying to impress the girls they were courting.

It was the perfect day for it. Ma was away midwifing for the Rileys and Pa was working on a big project somewhere up the mountain road. Neither would be back for a long time, and The Wilds were so insistent that day. It whistled for me like a Ma did at sundown, promising warmth and dinner—only it was morning, so maybe breakfast instead.

Our house was just next to the giant fields of rye that separated Dewbury, so it’d be easy for me to sneak out without nosy town-folk tattling on me.

I packed up a bag with some charcoal, my sketchbook, and some bread, just in case I got hungry. It had snowed a lot the night before, so I put on my good boots and my thick coat and the scarf Grammy knitted for me for my birthday. Then, on the way out the door, I put my lucky cap on because I was going to need all my luck if I was going to go into the most dangerous place out there.

But I wasn’t scared. I know I probably ought to have been, but I wasn’t. Something about it felt right. That’s all I could say on the subject.

I left home with my supplies and made my way to that giant rye field. The rye was always ready to harvest, even in the winter, but we weren’t supposed to take any of it. Ma says that rye belongs to the witches. So even when people are hungry and desperate, they don’t cut the rye and mill it into bread or hunt in the forest beyond it.

When I reached the field, I waited there for a while, looking across it. I thought that maybe if something bad was lurking over there in the forest I’d be able to see it and maybe try another day but, the tree line was so far away—too far.

I hitched my bag up on my shoulder and took a deep breath.

Then I took the first steps into the tall grasses.

They came up to about my waist, and they tickled in a way I wasn’t accustomed to in the fields belonging to the Maysels down the road. I let my hands drag against the swaying plants and felt a weird tingling like I’d touched some stinging nettle—only without the pain and itching. It set my heart to beating so loud that I could hear it in my ears.

As I got closer to the trees, the weather changed. The winter winds calmed down and a warm breeze took their place. By the time I reached the inside of the tree line, it felt like spring. Fresh, but balmy—and I’d started to sweat.

Still, I couldn’t think much about how warm I was, not with this forest around me.

The Wilds were…like no forest I’d ever seen. Not even in spring or summer. The ground was damper, the greens were greener, the smells were stronger. Even the ambient noises in the woods were louder. Birds singing trilling songs, the chittering of squirrels, the scurrying of little feet.

I looked up into the trees to see if I could find any of the creatures in question. Maybe I could stop and sketch them. When I did, I saw how massive the trees really were.

Pa told me once when I asked him about why we grew trees for lumber that it was ‘cause the trees in the forest were so old that cutting them down was a little sad to do. Pa said some of them were as old as Grammy.

These trees were so tall that they must have been twice Grammy’s age—maybe even three times! I heaved out a breath as I took it all in.

The heat of the forest finally got to me, though, so I took off my coat and my scarf before I sweat through them and near froze on my walk back home.

And then, in the periphery of my vision, I saw the flash of something—white as snow and just about my size. I started, heart going into my throat.

I turned to face it and saw her.

Ma had a hairpin in her things that she wore for funerals and weddings—she said they made the decorations on it out of mother-of-pearl. This girl looked like they carved her out of mother-of-pearl, too.

She was pale as a ghost with a light rosy blush like a doll’s. Her hair was just as white, tumbling down to her shoulders in wild curls. Her eyes were the most colorful thing about her, green on the outside with a bright flare of amber in the middle, like she had sunflowers in her eyes.

She looked as surprised to see me as I was to see her.

And then I looked down and saw her…

She was only wearing her underthings.

My face heated like I had a fever and I quickly looked away, because gentlemen didn’t look at girls when they were underdressed. I was going to offer her my coat because that was something gentlemen did, too. But the strange girl ran.

“W-Wait!!” I called after her, and then I was running too.

Maybe it wasn’t proper but, I wanted to ask her some questions. I wanted to see if she was a ghost or a witch, or maybe just a person who lived here and we all just thought no one lived here this whole time.

But lord, she was so quick. If she ever came to Dewbury, she’d beat all the kids when they raced and win every game of tag. She zigged and zagged through trees like she knew where each one would be. I realized as I noticed her bare feet that she might very well know every tree in the forest, after all.

I was worried I’d be lost at the end of this, but I was more worried I’d never see the pretty girl ever again. It felt like this was something I had to do—felt like she pulled me along on a string with her.

The woods vanished from around me. There was only her, getting smaller and smaller as she left me behind. I was so desperate, my heart felt like it was squeezing in my chest, I wanted to cry almost.

“W-Wait! Please!” I called.

The trees packed closer to us and I stumbled over them. I watched in awe as she leapt over dense networks of roots and running streams of water. She ran straight into a thicket of thin, young trees and they merely moved aside for her, like a crowd parting.

It was magic.

She was one of them. She was one of the witches of The Wilds.

I thought I should turn around and run back to where I came from right then, but my feet kept moving—kept chasing after her.

She bounded up the trunk of a great oak tree, and I followed her like a fool. Even in this, she was faster than anyone I’d ever seen. I was so focused that I paid no mind to how high up I was climbing. When I finally looked down to place my foot on a knot of wood, I saw how far I was from the black ground below me.

I panicked, and when I tried to scramble for safety, I lost my footing and plummeted.

The fall was so fast that I didn’t really register it. I heard the deafening crack of wood beneath me and wondered if the wood had punctured my lungs with how I struggled to breathe. And then I felt pain—hot, sharp pain exploding out of my right arm and found it hanging at a strange angle under my shirt sleeve and I realized that the crack I’d heard wasn’t wood at all, but my bone breaking in my body.

I let out a wild scream, hoping that somehow my Ma would hear it and come help me, come save me from this stupid forest and the stupid witch that made me fall so badly.

I hugged my arm to my chest. Blood seeped into my shirt as I wept. I couldn’t tell if the pressure was hurting or helping.

I couldn’t think of anything past the pain, not of being lost or getting home. Every thought was about that injury. That was until she finally spoke.

That bell-like voice cut through all the pain, and I looked up to see her staring down at me.

“Boy!” she called, unphased by the gore.

“What?” I sniffed.

“Why are you in The Wilds?”

The question surprised me—enough that I loosened the pressure on my arm. My broken bone moved, and I felt nauseous with the wave of pain that passed through me. I ground my teeth, eyes squeezing out a few tears that slid down my face and into my ears.

“Can you please get help? Please?” I begged.

“My sisters won’t help you.” She said.

Again, she seemed unbothered by how hurt I was. I kind of hated her for not caring, for not seeing how badly I needed the help. What if my cut got dirty, and I had to lose my arm? The Colonel said that’s how he lost his leg in the war.

I didn’t want to lose my arm—even if it wasn’t my drawing arm, I liked my arm.

She was climbing down from the tree. The canopies above me were spinning like a top.

“Why are you here?” she asked from the lowest branch, one I couldn’t even reach.

I sniffled as black edged my vision. Distantly, I heard her land near my head—I wondered if I’d throw up all over her pretty white shift. I tried to focus on the expanse of blue skies above me and breathe.

I don’t know how long had passed before I woke next, but I did wake again. The cold winter air woke me. Soft, familiar hands brushed hair out of my face—Mama’s hands. Mama came to help me in the forest.

“Ezra, Ezra wake up, sweet boy,” she begged, “Lord, he’s cold as death. Isiah, go get blankets.”

I opened my eyes and looked up to see my Ma looking down at me real pale. She heaved a shaky breath and patted my cheek a little.

“Oh, thank goodness, stay awake now, baby boy. Your father’s getting some blankets to warm you up. Why in the world did you come out here with no coat on?”

“No coat?” I croaked, my voice a shell of what it usually was. My mouth was so dry.

I did my best to wet it with my cottony tongue, swallowing with some effort. I looked around and realized I was lying on a fresh flurry of snow, rather than the warm damp mud I remembered laying in as I cradled my arm.

Sitting up, head spinning, I gasped.

“M-Ma!! My arm!!” I said, lifting it.

I braced for the pain to shoot through me, but it didn’t come.

My arm was completely fine—the only thing that kept me from thinking I’d dreamed all of it was the fact that my shirt still had blood on it—it soaked the arm of my shirt, frozen stiff now, and there was a cold stiffness over my heart too.

She looked at the blood and nodded, as if having already checked my arm and my chest to make sure I wasn’t hurt.

“Did you get in between some critter and its lunch?” she asked me.

I looked at her and had to think about what she was asking me, then I looked toward the forest.

The witch must have… healed me and gotten me back home somehow.

I was still staring at the forest when Pa came back and put a heavy wool blanket over my shoulders and rubbed some warmth into me.

“C’mon, Ez, let’s get you back inside and light a fire. Get some brandy in you.”

“You have to be more careful out by the field, Ezra. You know critters out here act strange, especially during this time of the year,” Ma said.

“Sorry mama, I wasn’t thinking,” I said arranging my features just guilty enough to be convincing. “I won’t go near the fields again.”

Except I would. I would go back into that forest the very next chance that I got to see that strange girl again. I’d made it out fine once… I was sure I could do it again.

Probably, anyway.

☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼

@eldritchx

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If you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging it! It really helps out with getting more eyes on the story. :)

[cecilyacat]

BBC Big Read List

Many years ago, I first started tallying the books from the BBC Big Read list, seeing how my reading and interests correllate. I don't take it as the "one truth" on which books are worth reading or "good", I just find it interesting which ones I agree with. Let's go!

Out of the BBC's "The Big Read" list from 2005, which ones did you read, plan to read or started to read, but didn't finish? The ones I read are fat, the ones I still want to read are in italics, the ones I started but didn't finish are crossed out and all the other ones I have either never heard of before or never wanted to read them.

1. The Lord of the Rings, JRR Tolkien 2. Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen 3. His Dark Materials, Philip Pullman 4. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams 5. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, JK Rowling 6. To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee 7. Winnie the Pooh, AA Milne 8. Nineteen Eighty-Four, George Orwell 9. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, CS Lewis 10. Jane Eyre, Charlotte Brontë 11. Catch-22, Joseph Heller 12. Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë (and I thought it was horrible. But I wanted to finish it!) 13. Birdsong, Sebastian Faulks 14. Rebecca, Daphne du Maurier 15. The Catcher in the Rye, JD Salinger 16. The Wind in the Willows, Kenneth Grahame 17. Great Expectations, Charles Dickens 18. Little Women, Louisa May Alcott 19. Captain Corelli's Mandolin, Louis de Bernieres 20. War and Peace, Leo Tolstoy 21. Gone with the Wind, Margaret Mitchell 22. Harry Potter And The Philosopher's Stone, JK Rowling 23. Harry Potter And The Chamber Of Secrets, JK Rowling 24. Harry Potter And The Prisoner Of Azkaban, JK Rowling 25. The Hobbit, JRR Tolkien 26. Tess Of The D'Urbervilles, Thomas Hardy 27. Middlemarch, George Eliot 28. A Prayer For Owen Meany, John Irving 29. The Grapes Of Wrath, John Steinbeck 30. Alice's Adventures In Wonderland, Lewis Carroll 31. The Story Of Tracy Beaker, Jacqueline Wilson 32. One Hundred Years Of Solitude, Gabriel García Márquez 33. The Pillars Of The Earth, Ken Follett 34. David Copperfield, Charles Dickens 35. Charlie And The Chocolate Factory, Roald Dahl 36. Treasure Island, Robert Louis Stevenson 37. A Town Like Alice, Nevil Shute 38. Persuasion, Jane Austen 39. Dune, Frank Herbert 40. Emma, Jane Austen 41. Anne Of Green Gables, LM Montgomery 42. Watership Down, Richard Adams 43. The Great Gatsby, F Scott Fitzgerald 44. The Count Of Monte Cristo, Alexandre Dumas 45. Brideshead Revisited, Evelyn Waugh 46. Animal Farm, George Orwell 47. A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens 48. Far From The Madding Crowd, Thomas Hardy 49. Goodnight Mister Tom, Michelle Magorian 50. The Shell Seekers, Rosamunde Pilcher

51. The Secret Garden, Frances Hodgson Burnett (and I love it) 52. Of Mice And Men, John Steinbeck (didn't finish it in school but want to try again) 53. The Stand, Stephen King 54. Anna Karenina, Leo Tolstoy 55. A Suitable Boy, Vikram Seth 56. The BFG, Roald Dahl 57. Swallows And Amazons, Arthur Ransome 58. Black Beauty, Anna Sewell 59. Artemis Fowl, Eoin Colfer 60. Crime And Punishment, Fyodor Dostoyevsky 61. Noughts And Crosses, Malorie Blackman 62. Memoirs Of A Geisha, Arthur Golden 63. A Tale Of Two Cities, Charles Dickens 64. The Thorn Birds, Colleen McCollough 65. Mort, Terry Pratchett 66. The Magic Faraway Tree, Enid Blyton 67. The Magus, John Fowles 68. Good Omens, Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman 69. Guards! Guards!, Terry Pratchett 70. Lord Of The Flies, William Golding 71. Perfume, Patrick Süskind 72. The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists, Robert Tressell 73. Night Watch, Terry Pratchett 74. Matilda, Roald Dahl 75. Bridget Jones's Diary, Helen Fielding 76. The Secret History, Donna Tartt 77. The Woman In White, Wilkie Collins 78. Ulysses, James Joyce 79. Bleak House, Charles Dickens 80. Double Act, Jacqueline Wilson 81. The Twits, Roald Dahl 82. I Capture The Castle, Dodie Smith 83. Holes, Louis Sachar 84. Gormenghast, Mervyn Peake 85. The God Of Small Things, Arundhati Roy 86. Vicky Angel, Jacqueline Wilson 87. Brave New World, Aldous Huxley 88. Cold Comfort Farm, Stella Gibbons 89. Magician, Raymond E Feist 90. On The Road, Jack Kerouac 91. The Godfather, Mario Puzo 92. The Clan Of The Cave Bear, Jean M Auel 93. The Colour Of Magic, Terry Pratchett 94. The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho 95. Katherine, Anya Seton 96. Kane And Abel, Jeffrey Archer 97. Love In The Time Of Cholera, Gabriel García Márquez 98. Girls In Love, Jacqueline Wilson 99. The Princess Diaries, Meg Cabot 100. Midnight's Children, Salman Rushdie

101. Three Men In A Boat, Jerome K. Jerome 102.Small Gods, Terry Pratchett 103. The Beach, Alex Garland 104. Dracula, Bram Stoker 105. Point Blanc, Anthony Horowitz 106. The Pickwick Papers, Charles Dickens 107. Stormbreaker, Anthony Horowitz 108. The Wasp Factory, Iain Banks 109. The Day Of The Jackal, Frederick Forsyth 110. The Illustrated Mum, Jacqueline Wilson 111. Jude The Obscure, Thomas Hardy 112. The Secret Diary Of Adrian Mole Aged 13¾, Sue Townsend 113. The Cruel Sea, Nicholas Monsarrat 114. Les Misérables, Victor Hugo 115. The Mayor Of Casterbridge, Thomas Hardy 116. The Dare Game, Jacqueline Wilson 117. Bad Girls, Jacqueline Wilson 118. The Picture Of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde 119. Shogun, James Clavell 120. The Day Of The Triffids, John Wyndham 121. Lola Rose, Jacqueline Wilson 122. Vanity Fair, William Makepeace Thackeray 123. The Forsyte Saga, John Galsworthy 124. House Of Leaves, Mark Z. Danielewski 125. The Poisonwood Bible, Barbara Kingsolver 126. Reaper Man, Terry Pratchett 127. Angus, Thongs And Full-Frontal Snogging, Louise Rennison 128. The Hound Of The Baskervilles, Arthur Conan Doyle 129. Possession, A. S. Byatt 130. The Master And Margarita, Mikhail Bulgakov 131. The Handmaid's Tale, Margaret Atwood 132. Danny The Champion Of The World, Roald Dahl 133. East Of Eden, John Steinbeck 134. George's Marvellous Medicine, Roald Dahl 135. Wyrd Sisters, Terry Pratchett 136. The Color Purple, Alice Walker 137. Hogfather, Terry Pratchett 138. The Thirty-Nine Steps, John Buchan 139. Girls In Tears, Jacqueline Wilson 140. Sleepovers, Jacqueline Wilson 141. All Quiet On The Western Front, Erich Maria Remarque 142. Behind The Scenes At The Museum, Kate Atkinson 143. High Fidelity, Nick Hornby 144. It, Stephen King 145. James And The Giant Peach, Roald Dahl 146. The Green Mile, Stephen King 147. Papillon, Henri Charriere 148. Men At Arms, Terry Pratchett 149. Master And Commander, Patrick O'Brian 150. Skeleton Key, Anthony Horowitz

151. Soul Music, Terry Pratchett 152. Thief Of Time, Terry Pratchett 153. The Fifth Elephant, Terry Pratchett 154. Atonement, Ian McEwan 155. Secrets, Jacqueline Wilson 156. The Silver Sword, Ian Serraillier 157. One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, Ken Kesey 158. Heart Of Darkness, Joseph Conrad 159. Kim, Rudyard Kipling 160. Cross Stitch, Diana Gabaldon 161. Moby Dick, Herman Melville 162. River God, Wilbur Smith 163. Sunset Song, Lewis Grassic Gibbon 164. The Shipping News, Annie Proulx 165. The World According To Garp, John Irving 166. Lorna Doone, R. D. Blackmore 167. Girls Out Late, Jacqueline Wilson 168. The Far Pavilions, M. M. Kaye 169. The Witches, Roald Dahl 170. Charlotte's Web, E. B. White 171. Frankenstein, Mary Shelley (I've read excepts for uni) 172. They Used To Play On Grass, Terry Venables and Gordon Williams 173. The Old Man And The Sea, Ernest Hemingway 174. The Name Of The Rose, Umberto Eco 175. Sophie's World, Jostein Gaarder 176. Dustbin Baby, Jacqueline Wilson 177. Fantastic Mr Fox, Roald Dahl 178. Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov 179. Jonathan Livingstone Seagull, Richard Bach 180. The Little Prince, Antoine De Saint-Exupery 181. The Suitcase Kid, Jacqueline Wilson 182. Oliver Twist, Charles Dickens 183. The Power Of One, Bryce Courtenay 184. Silas Marner, George Eliot 185. American Psycho, Bret Easton Ellis 186. The Diary Of A Nobody, George and Weedon Grossmith 187. Trainspotting, Irvine Welsh (I stopped after the toilet-scene. Too disgusting) 188. Goosebumps, R. L. Stine 189. Heidi, Johanna Spyri 190. Sons And Lovers, D. H. LawrenceLife of Lawrence 191. The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Milan Kundera 192. Man And Boy, Tony Parsons 193. The Truth, Terry Pratchett 194. The War Of The Worlds, H. G. Wells 195. The Horse Whisperer, Nicholas Evans 196. A Fine Balance, Rohinton Mistry 197. Witches Abroad, Terry Pratchett 198. The Once And Future King, T. H. White 199. The Very Hungry Caterpillar, Eric Carle 200. Flowers In The Attic, Virginia Andrews

Read: 57 Want to read: 60

Some of the books to read I know very little about except the title and that they're classics, some others I know a lot about (and I even have "Men at Arms" on my TBR pile for when the mood strikes me next). I like reading classics once in a while, but especially older ones I can't read too often, I need to be in the right mood for that style of writing.

The last time I updated this was in 2015 and I had read 44 and wanted to read 72 - so 15 books in 9 years xD Like I said, it's not a challenge or a goal to read all of them, just a convenient way of keeping track of which classics I want to read eventually.

[burgercheese1812]

SPOILERS!!!!!!!

Read at your own risk!

My emotions/thoughts through painted devils, because I just finished that shit and holy jamole-

(This took me days to write help 💀)

The seventh lie: (yes it has to be in sections or no one will be able to follow it, not even myself)

YES IT HAS FINALLY ARRIVED

OOOO THE COVER JUST *chefs kiss*

NO DAMMIT VANJA GO BACK

DAMMIT VANJA

Don’t scam the people, don’t scam the people- of course she did.

Hm making up a story about a god, yes this seems completely sane and won’t have future repercussions.

*fast forwards two months* Dammit Vanja.

Don’t go into the barn. DON’T GO INTO THE BARN- of course.

EMERIC!! YAY!

oh… Emeric… 😐

awkward.

YES I’VE MISSED THIER BANTER!!!

*sheep third wheeling is a vibe*

*Enter ScarMad*

Hi, yes hello, what do you mean you cLaiMeD mY bOy eMeRiC?? 😃

*Emeric proceeds to be high-fived in the chest, with red permanent marker*

*Enter PrOcToR KiRkLiNg* p.s: I already hate her.

I hope Vanja cuts KiRkLiNg down a few pegs. Ok a lot of pegs.

Who is Helga and where did she come from? *proceeds to knock KiRkLiNg down a few pegs* I like her.

THE RYE ROLL SCENE IS EVERYTHING 🤌 SASSY HELGA MY BELOVED

#wish I could have seen KiRkLiNg standing on that bridge looking like a shocked fish as her lunch falls into the river

Oh how I wish I could go on a lovely date with my significant other to see murals of human sacrifices that may or may not soon involve them. Oh to be in love.

Ah yes Vanja, because I’m sure just screaming in a cave is going to summon- god dammit it ScarMad.

HA VIRGIN (I can’t say anything)

wait hang on so ScarMad claims people who haven’t… done it yet? Or have no intention of ever doing it? That smells a tad… *sniffs the air* Acephobic.

#cancel the Acephob ScarMad 2023 #acerights

“Human measuring stick I’m inexplicably fond of” I’m sure Emeric loves you to Vanja

Ah yes let’s all just casually stroll up to the other 5 brother and ask for them to participate in a BLOOD SACRIFICE that will go down swimmingly I’m sure!

GIVE EMERIC SOME SHEET VANJA HE’S COLD GOD DAMMIT!

*un- PG 13 -ifies your Vaneric*

PLEASE NOT THE PREGNANCY TROPE- oh ok.

Love Helga being a big sister figure in Vanja’s life. (What the poor naive dingbat did not know is that this is what we call ✨foreshadowing✨)

penis.

Great now I’m going to spend the next week wondering how the hell to pronounce blesséd

Of course KiRkLiNg has to come as well

I love Vikram with all my heart.

GHOSTBUSTERS!

WhAt dO yOu mEaN yOu dOn’T HaVe gOdMoThEr’S????

Of course Vanja drunkenly yelled at one of the brothers

The sixth lie:

Vanja throws horseshit at Emeric, off to a great start 😃👍

Wouldn’t be a book with Vanja without some good ol’ Vanja fashion robbery

Cue the Robin Hood montage

Emeric is loving this.

GHOSTBUSTERS! Pt.2

Never seen the movie but I’m 95% sure this is how Annabelle started

Didn’t always have rails- OHS ‘bout to have a field day☝️😃

SISTER??????

BUM BUM BAAAAAAAAAAAAA

The fifth lie:

IRMGARD WHAT THE HELL??

I’M READY TO THROW HANDS WITH THIS GIRL WHAT THE ACTUAL-

Oh right sister.

Ok let’s leave the absolute HORRORS of Vanja’s back scars and go back to this cliffhanger. Starting with:

WHAT THE FU-

Oh she’s just crazy ok. *mightily suspicious*

I will admit I was fully sucked in by the ant proverb-

Great the cult has followed them

The fourth lie:

Ah… brothels…

JUSTICE FOR AGNETHE!!

“The worst mistake of your life wasn’t upsetting me. It was starting a fight with her” SLAY EMERIC YOU TELL MEAN OLD MOTHER HUBBARD

Emeric has… questions…. 👀

Wish i could solve my problems with a giant ruby

Bath. I will elaborate no further.

THE SCARS!! THIS SCENE MADE ME SOB OF COURSE YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL VANJA 😭

Normal people: “i think I love them.” VANJA THE RIZZLER SCHMIDT (Ros) :“If every star were a reason I care for him—that’s how I feel, like I carry too many stars in me to count, like my skin might burst with the enormity of it all, like if I gather them all up, the only name I could give this is love.”

Thank you very much for teaching me to waltz whilst also teaching me organised crime

*gets called ugly in front of her sole mate* Vanja: dead bugs for you

JSDJDJEHFHDUSUDUEHDFBRHCUSHDBF SHE IS THEIR SISTER HOW DARE YOU DANGLE THAT PLOT POINT IN FRONT OF MY FACE ONLY TO TRICK ME AND THEN CHUCK THAT EMOTIONAL DUMP-TRUCK ON ME, YOU @what-eats-owls ARE MAGNIFICENT PLEASE CONTINUE

The third lie:

Excuse me?

Dead? HER MOTHER IS DEAD? 😃

Ozkar: tells Vanja her mother is dead, also Okzar: ew don’t be sad yucky

HER RIBBON?? THAT CLEARLY IS IMPORTANT TO HER?? I NEED TO PUT ON MY DOUBLE SEEING GLASSES 😳 👓🤏JUST TO SEE THROUGH THIS ABSOLUTE BULLSHI-

Ozkar gets worst brother of the year award. Change my mind, oh wait you can’t.

Love that Emeric can just immediately finds Vanja BEST BOYFRIEND

YES EMERIC’S FAMILY

Emeric talking loveingly about his family is giving both Vanja AND me life

NO NO GET OUT IF EMERIC YOU RUDE OLD HAG HE’S CLEARLY TAKEN

LET GO OF VANJA!!!!

NOT THE ANGST—THE ANGST 😭 DAMN YOU, YOU GLOWY RED BIATCH AND ALGEBRA OR WHAT EVER YOUR DAMN NAME IS FOR GIVING VANJA THIS TRAUMA (Adalbrecht but I can’t spell)

Manacles? 🤨📸

EMERIC WANTS TO KEEP VANJA SAFE FROM HIM 😭 GET YOURSELF A PERSON WITH THIS LEVEL OF DEDICATION

honestly if my future partner doesn’t take paralysis pills when they’re possessed by an evil old glowy witch thing then I don’t want ‘em ✋🙄

THIS CRUSTY DUSTY ASS CRIMSON BIATCH HAS BLOCKED VANJA FROM SEEING HER GOD MOTHERS? This lady better be burnt at the stake and hung drawn and quartered when this is over or I swear to whatever is above that I will cross universes and do it myself.

Of course Vanja’s brother has been taken by an immortal sky women because, well because this was all just a tad too easy

The Imperial Abbey if Truth sounds like the most aesthetically pleasing place and goodness I want SO badly to go there now-

YES DEATH AND FORTUNE YAY!!!!

ScarMad clearly has to go back to preschool BECAUSE SHE HASNT HAD THE PERSONAL SPACE TALK YET, GET OUT OF MY BOY-

Cool. Emeric sleepy = no witchy

That was meant to rhyme :/

My poems aren’t as good as Emeric’s

Also. EMERIC HAS POEMS??? PLEASE SHOW ME I MUST SEE 👹👹

Part 3:

THE ABBESS HAS CANDLES ON HER HEAD? She is so cool what the-

AND SHE’S ONLY A SIDE CHARACTER?

Girlboss fr

ScarMad the fabricated low gOd is in fact not a low god and is instead an… old wheat spirit thing?

Emeric really hates horses part 34

Alone? Vanja was alone at the end? I swear to all that is everything EMERIC BETTER NOT DIE-

Math crimes. (I shall be using all those jokes in the foreseeable future)

Emeric needs to be invited to do some money laundering STAT.

AWWW SIBLING MOMENT

this book really is just an emotional roller coaster, except every once in a while they chuck water on you when you least expect it, just to add to the fun emotional experience.

Cue a lot of legal talk that went right over my head

HAHAHAHA SHE GOT ARRESTED HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA-

YES AND THE GREEN HAND GETS THE uh, BUILDING AND JONIZA AND THEIR DAD GOT THE MONEY AND-

and now Vanja has to go get her brother from the sky lady

The second lie:

RAGNE

RAGNERAGNERAGNERAGNEGRANGE-

I’msohappythatmyfavouritelittleshapshifterisback

Can you tell I love Ragne?

VANJA’S GOING TO RIDE RAGNE

like… a horse…

WITH WINGS???

on the feet…?

I swear everytime I think Ragne couldn’t get any cooler SHE BLOODY GETS COOLER-

Sky lady.

I love sky lady.

There are so many cool characters in this book I just- AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

The Race! WHO SHALL WIN???

DAMN IT SCARMAD PISS OFF-

A tie? Nice 😎

Vanja has to ride with the Hunt for two weeks? Ok coolcoolcool definitely can’t see this going wrong in the foreseeable future-

She didn’t tell Emeric. 😐

VANJA’S GONNA MET HER FAMILY

And yet another scene that almost made me cry

SHE HAS SO MUCH FAMILY?

THE WEDDING

I love Vanja and her sisters bonding through dressing her up

OMG EMERIC SEEING VANJA ALL DRESSED UP WITH MAKE-UP I- 😭😭😭

Jeezus crickey can ScarMad leave Vanja alone FOR FIVE BLOODY MINUTES??

“What is wrong with you, why are you red??”

the first lie:

Love that Vanja’s whole family just drops everything to help her 😭

I’ve done and am I currently doing a lot of crying and I’m not even at the end yet?

KiRkLiNg is being… tolerable? Perhaps I was wrong about her. Maybe I judged her to quickly? (Later I regretted ever thinking these words)

Just realised I haven’t mentioned Ambrozia (?) a lot and I would just like to say, girlboss©️

GHOSTBUSTERS! Pt.3

NO RAGNE

And today on Vanja’s list of low gods to befriend is moss lady

the goat scene. I will now go have nightmares now thank you very much.

JUST LEAVE THEM ALONE ! STOP TELEPORTING THEM

she won’t let them up the bridge. she won’t let them get the anchor.

I have since fallen off the edge of my seat and am lying on the floor reading as fast as I possibly can

Ah yes, the only sane option, jump off the bridge into the jaws of a hellhound 👏👏

Emeric really is ride or die huh

THEY- NO. ON THE RIVER BANK?????

SCANDALOUS!!!!!

…

I take it back please Emeric is just the ride NOT THE DIE I REPEAT PLEASE NOT THE DIE

GIVE HIM BACK YOU INSUFFERABLE RED CANDLESTICK

I am crying with Vanja

HELL YES BRUNNE LETS GOOOOOOOOO

YES GIRLBOSS IS BACK ON HER FEET GO GO GO

The actual red maiden was just sitting in a cave CRYING THIS WHOLE TIME? I say, whilst sitting in my dark room after sobbing through most of this book

YES THE FINAL ASSAULT PUT SCARMAD IN HER PLACE

…

what in. the frick frack diddly dack, fuggle nuggles bloody HELL DID SHE JUST SAY???

MARTHE???

HER.

MOTHER????????

HER MOTHER????????

YOU’RE TELLING ME. THAT HER MOTHER. ORCHESTRATED ALL OF THIS. JUST BECAUSE VANJA WAS GOING TO BE HAPPY??????

SHE’S READY TO SACRIFICE HER WHOLE FAMILY?????

911 child protection services?

Just Marthe dangling Emeric over a hungry hell hound ready to drop him in, Mother in laws am I right?

Gonna buy therapy for Vanja, Emeric, (Marthe can rot) and then myself.

HAHAHAHAHAHAAH GO DEATH GO FORTUNE THE TRUE PARENTS MUAHAHHAAHAHAHAHA

this all brings me great satisfaction.

BACK INTO THE LATERN AND STRAIGHT INTO THE HELLHOUNDS MOUTH HA

SLAAAAAAAAAAAAY 💅(literally)

Ooooooo yeah 😬 makes sense that the town would lowkey hate Vanja

They get to have a dance 🥺🥺 (one that isn’t threaten by a glowing red demon mother)

Oh. 😳

HELL YEAH!!!!!!!!

Slay they deserve that.

Water break before the end 🥲

Take back EVERYTHING that I rethought about KiRkLiNg, girl still a baitch

Ofc KiRkLiNg would still want Vanja gone WHAT DID I EVEN THINK-

Vanja.

No.

No Vanja. Don’t do that.

DON’T THINK LIKE THAT VANJA

GOD DAMN IT VANJA STOP

PLEASE SAY HE HEARD THAT, EMERIC HEARD IT BEFORE HE FELL UNCONSCIOUS PLEASE

EMERIC SHE LOVES YOU SHE SAID IT!

VANJA NO

KIRKLING DAMN YOU!

SHE HATES EMERIC??????

WAIT WOAH HOLD UP KIRKLING HATES EMERIC??

VANJA STOP NO!

BRUNNE NO!

…

Screaming crying throwing up.

After the book i just lay on my bed clutching the book sobbing. Then i stopped sobbing and just lay there.

Truely a magnificent book and even this happens to pop up on your fyp and you read all the way down here then:

READ THE BLOODY BOOK! GO! RIGHT NOW! BUY IT! READ IT!

Gonna go reread it myself, I just love crying my eyes out 😗✌️, no but really the book is just amazing and I wish I could read it for the first time again. Thank you so much @what-eats-owls you are truly a magnificent writer and I cannot WAIT for book 3, thank you so much.