#totally not a true story

[desperatelyseekingsusannah]

Nan (Part Three)

Old Nan had long given up on counting her years, and there was no longer anyone alive in Blackwoods who could recall her as a young woman.  Her own children were long dead and buried alongside their fathers and spouses out in the town’s boneyard, but the village was full of great grandchildren and great greats and so forth.  It was one of these, her great great granddaughter Irene who came to her one spring morning bringing with her first child with her, a seven days girl she was set to call Ada.  Nan loved all her children, but Irene had been special to her. She had seen something in her when she was a babe, a spark of something that made her think that this would be the one that Nan could share all her knowledge with, perhaps one day lay down her burden and pass it on to.

Irene spent a good deal of time with her great gran, more than most of her cousins. Nan took her into the woods with her, showed her which plants were good for brewing a tea that could bring up phlegm from the lungs, the tiny differences between the tiny red berries that were good for soothing a sore throat and the ones that would kill you before you finished chewing.  Time passed and Irene showed more than a passable skill at reading signs.  She had a gentle way, and sometimes just the touch of her hand could calm a panicked mother or quiet a sobbing child. Before she was a woman she had helped bring life into the world, and held vigil over it’s passing countless times.  If anyone had any doubts about the child’s presence at Nan’s side on such occasions they were quickly put aside.  Many of the folks in town began to ponder Irene’s future as Nan had, but these were old folk and they kept their thoughts to themselves. Blackwoods folk had a high capacity for accepting the inevitable changes of life, but not a one of them looked forward to a time when Nan would not be amongst them.  

As Irene grew older her mind wandered from her lessons.  She never became less than she had been, but then she never grew beyond it either.  Her hand remained steady, and eyes sharp as she became less of a child and more of a woman, but her thoughts began to follow along the same path of other young women her age. Namely regarding boys and how you catch them.  How to twist the strands of your hair with ribbons to make it pretty and draw their eyes, all the steps of the dances that would be danced at parties, and how to bite down your lips just enough to make them redden.  She spent more and more time with her cousins and other friends her own age and less with Nan.  It broke the old woman’s heart, but not terrible much. She’d lived too long to be surprised by much.  The summer Irene turned fifteen she stood with Tom Wilson’s youngest boy under the Promise Tree and chose her own path.  She still came with Nan to gather her plants and such, and she still watched over death and birth beds, but for all the help she was to Nan she would not be the one to truly follow her in her life’s work.  She was a good helper to her great great grandmother, but the folk of Blackwoods breathed a collective sigh of relief knowing that Nan would be with them for years yet to come. 

Seven days after Ada was born, Irene and Tom brought her to Nan to see what she could see.  She was a pale thin creature, the down on her head so spare you could see the delicate skin straight through Her eyes the color of a stilled pond, though. Dark and deep. Nan took the babe into her arms and felt a tremor run down through her very bones.  What she saw she could not say precisely; the impressions were legion and they rushed upon her all at once as if they had been waiting; waiting waiting for this moment and could no longer contain themselves.  Nan felt as if she was standing on a wide plain, with the wind ripping around her and the past, present, and future laid out in every direction as far as the eye could see. She held the child closer to her. Nan had been witness to many things in her long life, but nothing could compare to the strange wonder contained in this small soul. She wanted to take her time and touch and taste and feel each and every thing as it passed, but the forms and figures would not stand still.  Not even for Nan; Nan who had once stood her ground against a rougarou  and come out the victor (though not entirely unscathed).

She held her free hand out and brushed her fingers against the visions as they passed.  She stood in this place for hours or possibly days as they whipped by, but when she finally exhaled only a moment had gone by. She had not even realized she’d been holding on to her breath until she let go.  Tom and Irene stood before her, their young faces bright with anticipation. She couldn’t even imagine where to begin, what to tell them.  Irene had spent enough time with her great grandmother to know there were a great many mysteries in this world, but Nan doubted she would understand - or possibly even believe her. 

[reindeer-dad]

When you have the perfect thing to fluster Rudy but it’s over:

https://youtu.be/mqWMEbvnXrU?si=Ob_zQj1LitYyG3IQ

Ah yes, the song that plays when you wake up thinking it's Sunday but it's actually Monday.

[whimperaudioconnoisseur]

a sub motivating their dom to torture them more by making the hottest sounds when they’re being overstimulated <3

[the-talon-ted-meem]

I forgot about posting this one a bit ago, another based on a true story (I got the N hat and its really cool ok)

Aaaand my wacom tablet is finally dying after all these years....

[ryllen]

Was giving these analysis a read [ x , x , x , x ]

[fosermi]

I wanted to do something cute. I ended up with something ow instead

so, here you go:

hoo boi, here a little cuddle doodle so yall wont kill me :')

anyway, if you guys wanna ask stuff go ahead

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Fun story about Tim Walz

Summer a few years ago, my friend got married in a house next to the Govenor's Mansion. During the reception, a cat got into the backyard. It was SO CUTE and cuddly, we all got a chance to hold and pet it.

Turns out Walz and his family were actually home and the cat had got out. He came over and talked with everyone, took pictures with the bride and groom. He even stayed for a dance with his wife.

He's a politician, and that's not lost on me. But with everything he's done for Minnesota AND our neighboring red states, he'll always have my vote.

[fabdante]

in this one my girlfriend caught me drawing it and asked if i was drawing cringe

art only blog - insta - inprnt - redbubble

[citrusacidic]

zee scenes i like. had to share

[lunarharp]

revamped looong mermaid orufrey au :')

[desperatelyseekingsusannah]

Nan (Part 2)

In other places across the wide world folks might have called Old Nan a witch or worse, they might have even done awful things to her as punishment for this.  From time to time one hears tales of such things. Mostly people from Blackwoods shook their heads when they heard these stories. Sure, a Preacher man passed through their town every month to share with them the word of God from the back of his wagon, accompanied by women of all ages dressed in white.  He sang of the terrible glory of the one true Lord and promised grand rewards for those who followed him and horror for those who did not. The citizens of Blackwoods attended these meetings with great interest; they knew of God and were sure to thank His Glorious Name on feast days and other such occasions.  They knew from the Preacher that God had especially requested of them that they not suffer witches, but this didn’t apply to Old Nan.

God was something fairly new to the world, but Nan and the wisdom that she held went back as far as memory itself. Even the little children knew that there were spirits in the woods to be cajoled or circumvented. That the meaner the bands around the wooly caterpillars were the harsher the winter to come, or how to find water with two slim branches from a willow tree. Preacher man seemed to think this was a sort of thing to be mixed up with the thing he called witchcraft, but the people of Blackwoods just nodded and said nothing. They weren’t ones for interfering or drawing attention.  To do otherwise might mean bring an end to Preacher’s monthly visits, or worse yet his wrath. They liked their world just as it was, and they liked Old Nan just as she was.

    Tradition held that on a new babe’s seventh day in the world its parents would take it to Nan to hear what, if any, fortune there was to be spoken of it.  While it was true that fate could be a fickle thing, there were things Nan could see in an infant’s eyes when they were fresh to the world that might tell of the path that had been set for it. Usually what she saw was mild, that they would grow up with a knack for woodcraft or they would live a long life. Often it would be cryptic so that it would be many years before Nan’s brief prophesy would be made clear.

Such was the fate of poor Mansell Forten.  Nan had only “Ware the dark waters” to offer his parents, who took this to mean that a death by drowning was in their child’s future.  They kept him out of lakes and creeks, making him stand aside on even the hottest of days watching while his friends and siblings dove into the cooling waters of the Lake splashing each other and laughing. He was a quiet obedient child, and never betrayed his heartache over not being able to join in the fun. He looked upon his parents drawn faces and knew it was best to keep these thoughts to himself. 

Years later when Mansell was a grown man with children of his own he found himself in an older and unfamiliar part of the woods while hunting for deer for supper. It was there that he found an old deep well grown over with wild vines. Being thirsty from his labors he drew upon it and drank deep. There was no way Mansell could have known that the reason that this well had been long abandoned was that it had gone bad and it’s water poison to a man. This was the dark water Nan had foreseen for him, and as his soul fled his failing body he did not regret the times missed swimming with his playmates, but instead felt sorrow for the parents who had worried so over nothing. 

[waitmyturtles]

Emotionally, 23.5 (episode 10) is like a cheaply made puzzle, where like, the edges are cut roughly, so like, you THINK that you have the right pieces next to each other, but when you smush them in, and they don't fit QUITE smoothly enough, you're like, oh maybe there's another piece, but like, you CAN'T find another piece that works, because like, the piece you have in your hand IS the piece that is the right one for the picture you're making, or like, you THINK it is, so like, you keep smushing the pieces together, and you THINK the puzzle makes sense, but you kinda feel like you have the wrong piece, or worse, you're MISSING A BETTER PIECE, because everything's NOT QUITE JIVING.

I hope this post made as much sense as the emotional journey we attempted to take with the script in this last episode. What the FUCK is this script doing to Ongsa? A little more context, some smoother edges, would be really helpful here!

[yells-of-the-not-so-danged]

Does anyone want to talk about loki's end in Defenders Beyond?

So, Loki's end goal, other than setting up pieces for the Defenders to figure out in their story, was walking out of the story; to (presumably) slip out of the writer's hand and pen her own narrative (if possible). But the other Defenders were all," No! Don't leave!"

(and honestly i don't blame em' bc the first read through it did kinda feel suicide-y, but i was also high on "YOOOO AOA GOD OF STORIES LOKI IS STILL AROUND!!" endorphins, so i wasn't paying enough attention to the text.)

And Blue Marvel is all," Why not go the bodhisattva vow route, where you refuse to reach this higher plane until all can." and Loki's like," Nah.... ok Yah." and so that's the loki plot line now.

SO. How on EARTH do you think that's gonna happen???!? How is loki going to help everyone, and I quote:

"Leave the story forever-- make [their] own way."

My best guess is Loki's going to end the real life business known as Marvel Comics.

[regicidal-defenestration]

Weird: The Al Yankovic Story (2022)

[honorthysalad]

wondering if these numbers refer to either like stages of being mixed-up or maybe weeks? like this is week five of yoshiki being mixed-up and the right is week one before all of this?

[itadorey]

confident frat boy geto who tries to flirt with you at a party, one hand on the wall as he leans down to give you his best pickup lines. you turn out to be more than he bargained for though, and he finds himself flustered when you reach forward to wrap a strand of his silky hair around your finger, twirling it as you look up him through your lashes.