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thewanderinglunarian · 2 years

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Waiting

To: Lale @childofblackmaria

@onepiece-reader-exchange

A/N: Lale, my dear, my idol, I hope you like this piece I wrote. I apologize, my writing skills are a bit rusty. I hope that one day I'll be able to write like you and my other muses (Doe, Franky, Bas, Maxx, and others.). Anyway, I'll stop rambling. Here you go <3

wc-1110

Character: Rayleigh

She/Her-No Pronouns

You always knew Rayleigh would be gone for months on end; selling himself at the human auction every time he got himself into a tight spot when gambling, or, heck, just for fun, training that Strawhat kid, and more often than the rest, evading Marines, but this time, just this one time, you hoped that he would remember what today was. It was your anniversary and you had been reminding him day after day before he went off on another one of his adventures. That was 3 months ago.

You sighed as you remembered exactly what you had told him the day he left, “Y-you know, our anniversary is coming up. Will you be back by then?” you asked, gazing at him with desperate eyes, almost pleading with him to return promptly. He smiled down at you and patted your head, ruffling your hair before running his hand over your cheek and down to your chin, lightly lifting it, placing a soft kiss on your soft lips. He turned to leave, never giving you a direct answer.

That was three whole months ago. You continued going about your life, everyday hoping that it would be the day that Rayleigh returned to you. You and Rayleigh had made your home on the outskirts of Sabaody, in a remote area hardly anyone knew about, a place that was safe for you and a place Rayleigh could lay low when need be. It was a quaint little stone home, tucked away under giant mangrove roots, hidden away from wandering eyes. Rayleigh had built it himself for the two of you. To anyone else, the home wasn’t anything special, but to you, it was perfect, everything you had ever dreamed of, all the way down to the thatched roof, to the dense, emerald green clumps of moss growing freely up the sided of the gray stone exterior, it gave it enchanted look, almost that of something from a fairy tale.

However, today was he day, the day you had been so looking forward to, dropping hints to Rayleigh a million times, but you'd seen no sign of him yet. 'Well, the days just started' you mumbled to yourself as you began to step out of the door, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. You had some errands to run today, you had a big meal planned, even if you didn't know if Rayleigh was going to show up not, but you could not let yourself think that way. You were determined to have a good day and assume, even if you were pushing it, that he was going to somehow remember.

You put on an air of false positivity as you stepped out and made your way to the shopping district. You drew in a deep breath, taking in the scent of the sea mixed with the essence of all the Yarukiman Mangroves and the uniquely woody, sticky, resin aroma they emitted. Sunlight trickled down through the mangroves, a light breeze gently blew, making strands of your (h/c) hair dance and swirled around the mangrove resin bubbles high in the air. The weather was perfect, you still couldn't believe that you actually lived here. It felt like something out of a dream, well, of course the only thing missing at the moment was Rayleigh.

You kept your head up not wanting doubt to creep in and ruin your picturesque day. You made your way through the crowds, dodging the places that Celestial Dragons were known to visit. An array of produce stalls lined the street, there were so many vibrant colors, so many fruits and vegetables to pick from, some you recognized right off but some you'd never seen before. You clutched your purse as you browsed them all, feeling almost overwhelmed. You quickly collected everything you needed and leisurely walked back to home.

You arrived home, lugging the sack of fresh produce through the door, you hadn't realized how tired you were or how heavy the bag was. You plopped the sack down on the table. Still no sign of Rayleigh. You sighed, looking at the clock. It was nearly 6pm, the setting sun cast its rays through the kitchen window. You weren't going to give up on him just yet. 'Maybe he'll show, there's still some light outside', you said though a fake smile, trying to hold back tears. 'No, I can't think that way. He'll be here.' You wiped your eyes on the back of your hand and started preparing the meal you had been planning for ages. It was the same meal you and Rayleigh shared the first time you went out. You diligently chopped the vegetables, added them to the pan and stirred them until they were perfect. Adding the finishing touches, you plated the meal, poured two glasses of wine, and set the table for both of you.

8pm and still no sign of him. Slipping into a new outfit, one you had picked out months ago for this exact occasion, you sauntered over to the couch. Another hour passed, the food was getting cold and you were getting tired. Your eyes were as heavy as stone, you could barely keep them open. You heard the door slam shut as you opened your eyes, you gazed sleepily over at the clock, 11pm.

'I see you didn't wait up for me.' a voice said in a soft, almost whispering, carefree voice. You looked up and saw your lover, Rayleigh, gazing down at you with dark eyes through his round glasses. 'All of this for me?' He chuckled. 'Ray!' You jumped off the couch and threw your arms around him, hugging him as if you'd never let him go again. You broke the hug and looked at him, his clothes were ragged and he looked exhausted. 'I have something for you," he said taking a small pouch out of his pocket and placing it in your hand. 'Y-you remembered?' You choked out, tears welling up in your eyes. 'Of course I did, do you think I'd forget the anniversary of the best day of my life?' He grinned, planting a kiss on your forehead. You opened the pouch to find a gorgeous golden necklace, embedded with ornate gems and diamonds. You began to cry, happy tears, of course, as Rayleigh wiped them away. You laughed softly in between tears, 'Silvers Rayleigh, I don't know whether to slap you or kiss you! You had me waiting and worrying all day!' 'I think you should kiss me.' He replied, grinning. You kissed him, holding him in your embrace, never wanting to let that wonderful man go. All was well.

#onepiecereaderexchange #one piece #rayleigh x reader #silvers rayleigh #rayleigh x you #my brain is mush now #sleepytime #sleepy time #must recharge braincells

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jamespotterthefirst · 3 years

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Beautiful (Vlad x MC)

Book: Dracula: A Love Story (Romance Club) Pairing: Vlad x MC (Lale/Cordelia) Word count: 950 Warning: None

Premise: He thinks she’s beautiful for hundreds of years.

Author’s Note: I don’t know what this is but I hope you like it.

Ottoman Empire, 1448

Warm, gentle brown eyes roam over his face, kindling an unfamiliar fire in his chest. She takes in a breath as she watches him, the soft little sigh inspired by whatever she finds in his expression. Vlad holds his own breath, convinced that even the slightest movement will mar the unrestrained wonder on her beautiful face.

Lale's eyes then fall to his lips and the benign little flame she inspires rages into a blaze. Vlad, despite his self-preservation howling at him to do otherwise, wants to burn in it. For the first time in his life, he wants to surrender to something without reservations— to her and those rose-colored lips.

“You're beautiful,” he informs her, his voice just above a whisper.

Lale blinks, surprised.

It occurs to Vlad that this is the first time he says it in four years, even if he knew this to be true from the first day he met her.

“I should have told you that first day.”

Surprise melts into a bright smile, breathtaking enough to rival the moon above their heads.

“You should have,” she says, a hint of humor in her voice. “Perhaps I would have had a better first impression of you if you did.”

Vlad laughs, marveling at how easily he does that around her.

“Cold and unsociable was not attractive enough for you?”

“Not really. Calling me beautiful would have done it, though.”

“Too late for that, I'm afraid.”

“Lucky for you,” she laughs, “you can make amends by calling me that everyday from now on.”

Despite her teasing, his stomach clenches with a new wave of sorrow. The time of his departure from her side looms nearer with every sunset. Neither of them know with certainty how many days they are promised, just that one day Vlad will be torn from her side by duty to his country.

True love is a miracle, even if it's not destined to live for long, she had told him once.

Without wasting any more precious time, Vlad brings his lips to her temple. The movement is as natural as the breeze swaying the sea of tulips before them. Lale's eyes flutter closed against his touch, her body relaxing against his.

“I love it when you do that,” she sighs, a whispered confession. “It makes me feel safe.”

Then I shall never stop, he wants to say.

But he can't promise her that.

Present Day

Earthly, soulful brown eyes lock on his and Vlad feels the flame ignite after feeling like ashes for so long. The same eyes he's loved for centuries take him in, as though memorizing him. At last, they rest on his lips and all he wants to do is kiss her against his office wall.

Cordelia seems to realize she is staring because with a small jolt, she hastily looks away, blushing fiercely. The color is so lovely on her face, like spring-blooming tulips. His fingers feel heavy with the need to touch her, despite the consequences.

“Where were we?” Cordelia prompts after a long pause. “The restoration of the castle—”

She moves to walk away, but Vlad's hand reaches out to stop her. His fingers gently pinch the fabric of her sleeve, protective their skin from touching. Startled, she looks down at where he holds her, then back up at his face.

The color on her cheeks deepens.

“You're very beautiful,” he tells her quietly.

Cordelia shifts slightly on her feet, as though she doesn't believe the words.

“You told me that not long after we first met,” she says, perhaps unsure of what else to say.

“It's the truth,” Vlad returns. “Did it offend you?”

“No. It's just…” She shrugs. “I was basically a stranger back then.”

You're not a stranger.

“I wasn't expecting it.”

My soul has known yours for hundreds of years. Perhaps even before that.

Vlad thinks the words but the way Cordelia is looking at him—as though learning a new universal truth— makes him wonder if he said them out loud. Out of pure instinct, he leans down, intent on kissing her temple. Then, he remembers he can no longer touch her as freely and as easily as he once could.

Cordelia looks at him with barely disguised disappointment as he retreats.

“I wish I could kiss you,” he confesses silently.

He brings his hand up to the spot he loved to kiss so long ago. His fingers trace the air by her temple, caressing the space lovingly, wishing it were his lips. Pretty brown eyes vanish as Cordelia closes her eyes, her eyelashes fluttering like butterfly wings.

“I love that,” she murmurs, eyes still closed. “It makes me feel so—”

She opens her eyes halfway, her lids heavy under the heady spell of their proximity.

“Safe,” she finishes in a whisper.

“Then I won't stop. As long as you let me.”

Author’s Note: Vlad almost touched MC’s temple in season 1 and I went a little stupid. It definitely inspired this. Thank you so much if you read this!

Love you all,

Bree

#dracula: a love story #Romance club #Vlad x MC #RC Vlad #DALS Vlad #vlad dracula #my writing

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ohmaker · 3 years

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Favorite movies of 2020: Part 1

Just Another Girl on the I.R.T. (1992)

Brooklyn teen Chantel Mitchell is coping with her life in the ghetto and who has a fierce desire to go to college and become a doctor and not a product of her environment. She may stumble and lose her way at times, but her charm, wit, and strength always shine through. Also, she’s a fashion icon.

Mustang (2015)

Based off an event from Deniz Gamze Ergüven’s life and the real experiences of girls in Turkey, the film follows Lale and her four older sisters who cause scandal within their community after they innocently play with local boys. The consequences for them refusing to repent are dire and forever change the course of their lives. I’ve seen this movie compared to the Virgin Suicides, and I just have to say - Sofia Coppola fucking wishes she had this level of talent. This movie gets really dark, know that there is abuse, child sexual assault, and suicide depicted in this movie. I saw the behind the scenes documentary for this movie and a few of the actresses talked about how the script resonated with them, how they knew or were friends with girls who would suddenly disappear and be forced into marriages. One of them even goes onto say the way this movie ends makes this almost a fantasy because it’s too unrealistic, which says a lot.

Cover Girl (1944)

Rita Hayworth joins Gene Kelly in this technicolor musical for her most charming role as Rusty Parker, a chorus girl who auditions to become a highly paid cover girl and win the job. However, this endangers her relationship with her boyfriend (Kelly) and she must choose between riches or romance. This was made during the height of Rita Hayworth’s popularity, when people were clamoring to work with her despite her known habit of randomly deciding to drop projects. A formidable dancer, as she had been trained since basically birth, she keeps up with Gene Kelly and, in my opinion, far outshines him. This is an absolutely delightful movie to watch.

Bonjour Tristesse (1965)

This film was originally received lukewarm critical response and eviscerating reviews for Jean Seberg and it seemed like her career in Hollywood was over. Luckily for her, however, this role caught the attention of Jean-Luc Godard who saw something in her that led him casting her in her career defining role in Breathless. This movie is told as a flashback with the main character, Cecile (Seberg), looking back to the events that happened the summer she and her father spent at the French Riviera with Anne, the friend of Cecile’s deceased mother. This is part of my favorite made up genre: rich people being sad and depressed in fancy clothes.

Stella Dallas (1937)

This has become one of my favorite movies of all time and my favorite Barbara Stanwyck performance. I cried watching this. No, I sobbed watching this. This is the perfect example of cathartic tragedy, I love it. Stella Martin (Stanwyck), a working class girl, meets and marries the wealthy Stephen Dallas (John Boles), and the two eventually have a daughter. Their marital bliss is short lived, however, when their class differences cause them to grow apart. They eventually divorce, and their daughter Laurel becomes the center of Stella’s universe. She does the best she can to provide for her daughter and be a phenomenal mother, but eventually she learns that her daughter could in fact flourish better without her.

Marriage Italian Style (1964)

Domenico (Marcello Mastroianni) meets the young prostitute Filomena (Sophia Loren) in Naples during World War II and is instantly head over heels. The two continue to have an affair after the war that spans two decades, and Filomena has secretly bears him children. However, when she learns that he has been secretly planning to marry another woman, she will do everything she can to have him marry her instead.

The Age of Innocence (1993)

This is my favorite Martin Scorsese film, like, he really popped off with this one. A wealthy lawyer (Daniel Day-Lewis) is engaged to a socialite (Winona Rider) in 1870s New York. They seem like a perfect match, but this is all put into question a cousin of the socialite (Michelle Pfeiffer), who is scandalously estranged from her husband, arrives into town.

Cane River (1982)

This is one of the sweetest films I have ever seen. The last film made before Horace Jenkins’ death, and until a few years ago thought of as lost, it is “a laid-back socially incisive love story set in the heart of Louisiana. It’s there that a forbidden romance between an aspiring writer (Richard Romain) and an ambitious, college-bound woman (Tommye Myrick) lays bare the tensions between two black communities: the wealthy Creoles and the working-class descendants of slaves.”

Nostalgia for the Light (2010)

A documentary that addresses the lasting impacts of Augusto Pinochet’s dictatorship in Chile. Patricio Guzmán connects the efforts of astronomers researching humanity’s past and the struggle of many Chilean women who still search for the remains of their relatives that were excecated during the dictatorship. This does show graphic archival footage of partially decomposed bodies.

Precious Knowledge (2012)

Not to be a stereotype but I really related to this documentary, like it hit a little too close to home for me. It’s kind of crazy to me how much things have changed in a few years, I remember that even when this was happening the idea of taking white supremacy seriously was laughed at and not taken seriously. I remember often being told “oh, that’s just a few rednecks” despite “rednecks” never being a part of the discussion. Yet this documentary clearly shows the systemic effects of white supremacy at work.

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (1958)

Paul Newman and Elizabeth Taylor are super hot in this, and it’s Tennessee Williams so you already know. After Brick hurts himself while drunkenly revisiting his high school jock days, he and his wife, Maggie, go to visit his family’s Mississippi plantation for his fathers birthday whose health is declining.

#movies #🦋

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wouldpollyapprove · 4 years

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Headcanon: Being Lale’s sister & Dating Billy

Request: Hii could you write something about being lale's younger sister and dating sean or billy🤗

Requested by Anonymous

Billy Walace x Reader

Warnings: Language

A/n: Just want to say I don’t speak Kurrdish and I know that google translate sucks. Also, I really want to write a Lale fic. Most the requests I have for Gangs of London involve her but they aren’t about her. But I’m hella gay for her and think she deserves more love. Billy does as well. He needs a hug really bad. And I couldn’t find any gifs of him

Masterlist

You were lucky to have a social life when it came to living with your sister.

Being a few years younger than her, Lale was furiously protective over you. She was always right be your side and did everything she could to keep you out of harms way.

It was annoying, but you didn’t mind it. She meant well, after all.

But after her husband’s death, Lale rarely let you out of her sight.

You were strong, taught how to defend yourself in multiple ways, you could hold your own. Even so, your sister didn’t care. You were her’s to take care of.

When she moved to London, you were forced to follow along.

There wasn’t much for you to do when you first moved to the city. There was never a chance you would be caught dead with a body guard or two.

Lale tried her best to keep you entertained, but the house was starting to feel more like a prison.

So, one night when you knew she was away, you slipped through your window and out onto the streets.

You spent the night going between clubs, restaurants, and shops that were still open. In awe, you wished you weren’t kept on such a short leash, not that you didn’t understand why it was there.

During your night out, you shared drinks with a man at one of the pubs your ventured into. Billy Wallace was his name, though it sounded familiar, you were too caught up in your fun to care. He was sweet and down to earth, so there was no reason to let his name bother you. The two of you talked for hours and by the end of the night, he offered to walk you home.

“You live here?” he pointed up to the large house you stopped in front of.

You nodded. “Since I moved to London.” You grabbed his hand and pulled him down an alley next to the house. Stopping in front your escape route, you were glad to be out of the line of sight from the anyone in the living room. “This is my room.”

“You climb out the window,” he chuckled with a soft smile.

A shy smile danced on your lips, “Yeah, well, my sister is kinda protective and I’d never be able to make it out the front door.”

You both shared a laugh before silence over came you.

That wasn’t the last time you’d see each other.

Swapping numbers, the two of you talked all the time.

There were multiple times when Lale questioned why you were on your phone all the time, this was usually after she caught you smiling at something Billy had said.

Knowing the safest way into your house, sometimes you’d smuggle Billy in.

Most of the time, the two of you would lay in bed together, his head on you chest as you ran your fingers through his black hair.

Of course, more than that went on in your room, but you could never be too loud about anything in fear someone would barge in.

There were a few times you sneaked out of the house to go on dates with Billy. He never took you anywhere expensive, but to places he knew you’d enough. It was clear he’d do anything to get a smile on your face.

As time went on, your sister wasn’t the only one wondering what was going on. Billy’s family had noticed a change in the man.

He was supposed to have been clean, but with the late nights and bag under his eyes, they were starting to wonder if that was no longer the case.

His mother didn’t want to say anything about it, dreading the answer she would receive. His brother, Sean, decided it best to give it a little more time and if there were no improvement then they would have a talk.

The truth was soon found, though. And it was not what anyone expected.

Billy had spent the night once again and from the last conversation with Lale, you thought you’d have the house all to yourself. But plans changed and meeting was to be held at the house that morning.

Wanting you to be more involved in the business, she went to fetch you once the guests were settled. Sean Wallace sat at her dining table and she wasn’t too pleased about it.

Nor was she pleased to open your bedroom door to see her sister wrapped in the arms of the younger Wallace brother.

“Lenet lê bê?” she screeched, causing the men in the front of the house to jump to their feet. Lale was practically all smoke and fire by the time Sean came to stand behind her, eyes going wide at the sight in front of him

Neither knew what to do as both you and Billy looked so peaceful.

Even once the pair of you woke up, the two gangsters still had no clue what to make of the situation.

It took some time, but the Wallaces excepted you with open arms once they saw how happy you made Billy.

Your sister was a little harder to deal with.

She didn’t want you to have anything to do with the Wallaces and there were many nights you spent arguing about it.

After one too many nights where you stormed out of the house, Lale finally agreed to have Billy over for dinner.

She would never admit it, but she was actually quiet impressed with Billy and glad the two of you had found each other.

*~~*~~*

Let me know if you would like to be added to the permanent taglist.

Permanent Taglist: @amirahiddleston @haphazardhufflepuff @woahitslucyylu @mzcrazy2 @lovemissyhoneybee @multi-fandom-iimagines @tarafaithe @jenepleurepasbaby @fernweh-fangirl @the-anxious-youth @theshelbyclan @wtfdanness @chloeforde @futuristicslimemongerbanana @lucillethings @nemesis729 @sirkekselord @princesscornbread @i-volunteer-for-finnick @iwillboilyourteeth

#gangs of london fic #gangs of london oneshot #gangs of london imagine #gangs of london imagines #gangs of london #billy wallace #billy wallace imagine #billy wallace imagines #billy wallace x reader #billy wallace headcanon #billy wallace headcanons

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ashnadir · 6 years

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I miss you and I miss Tuann so if you're still doing the thing... our boys + Forever a Soldier? xoxo

Forever a Soldier by Genevieve Turner

When Hank returns from combat, he agrees to move into a 100-year-old house owned by his great-great aunt and uncle. His peace is disturbed by Lale, an inquisitive scholar digging into his family’s secrets. But their attraction will open up hidden places in their hearts…

@xxtuaharjunaxx

Perhaps it wasn’t ‘old’ for some of the more whiter Americans; but to Tuah, this house meant family pride. Fought and scraped and battled for when his great-great Aunt and Uncle faced hostile obstacles like the Chinese Exclusion Act and the ‘Yellow Peril’ scare.

They weren’t even Chinese. But that didn’t matter, not when the US treated everyone from the ‘Orient’ the same: poorly, and unfairly.

Major Tuah Arjuna from the 1st Marines, however, had promised himself. If he’d made it back from Guadacanal, he’d return to this old Victorian bequeathed to him in his great great Aunt’s will. He’d settle in San Francisco, slowly restore the home to its former glory, and live a quiet, peaceful life until his end.

Granted, he didn’t count on Captain Cardero showing up on his doorstep, one cool, foggy morning.

“It’s not that I don’t have anywhere else to go,” Iann said, stepping into Tuah’s home. He took a quick, inquisitive glance around and Tuah sighed, knowing he couldn’t stop the Intel officer from gathering, well, intel. Even in peacetime.

“I was in the neighbourhood and you always made your little corner of the earth sound so idealistic.” Iann grinned at Tuah. “I hadda see it with my own eyes, didn’t I. Brrr. You got anything to take the edge off? Bloody cold on the West Coast.”

“You’re too used to the heat and humidity, I think,” Tuah replied evenly, showing Iann into his kitchen, where he procured a bottle of brandy (for medicinal purposes) and poured Iann a glass. Iann pinched his fingers an inch apart, and Tuah sighed again and poured a bit more before handing it to the other soldier. “I thought you said you’d stick around South East Asia? See the better parts of the world, yes?” The parts not ravaged by the war; Tuah believed Iann would be hard-pressed to find that.

“That’s the stuff,” Iann said after his first drink. “I did. While you were attending parades and getting tin toys pinned to your chest on the home-front, I was…back there. Seeing better parts of the world.” Iann took another sip. “Seeing where you came from.”

Tuah stiffened then. He’d been something of a mystery to his men - he fought hard to gain their respect, which Tuah didn’t mind. How could he expect men to fight for him, if they didn’t respect him. There was plenty of speculation about his heritage - that he was part Native Indian, that he was a bastard of the East India British rule, that he was a defect from the Japanese. All of it wrong, because none of them could understand the cultural nuances of the countries these Americans occupied for more than 3 years.

The only person he’d ever shared a hint of his background, happened to be Iann Cardero. Late one night, huddled in a bungalow, dehydrated and feverish from a gun shot wound and infection. He’d hoped Cardero would’ve forgotten by now…but apparently not.

“Something to take back to your university? Now that you’re home, I suppose you’ll return to teaching about old relics and ancient times,” Tuah said evenly, putting the kettle on.

Iann shook his head. “No sir, I’m done with that. After seeing what we’ve seen…facing bright-eyed bushy-tailed co-eds sort of loses its thrill.” He sat, uninvited. “I’d rather learn more about humanity, and loss. I got a research grant from the university, I can make do for a good year. And I figured I’d start with you.”

“But what about –”

“She left me, Tuah,” Iann cut him off and then stood up again, heading to look out the window. “I can’t even say I blame her.”

“I’m sorry,” Tuah said respectfully; but he’d lost too many people, seen too many good men and innocent civilians die, to feel much pity about a wife who simply decided not to be a wife anymore.

“You had a wife once,” Iann said, and once more Tuah tensed up, shocked at Iann’s announcement. Because it was true…but how did Iann know? Iann turned to look at Tuah. “Not here though. You were born in the States, but you…didn’t grow up here, did you.”

So much for a quiet and peaceful life. “If you’re done your toddy, Cardero, you’re free to head on your way. I wasn’t expecting visitors.”

“No, but all your talk about this place,” Iann looked around again, smiling as he pat a wood beam. “It certainly lives up to the fantasy you spun me, Tuah. One day I hope I can discover the whole reality.”

“Good-bye, Captain.”

—-

Only it wasn’t goodbye. Iann somehow managed to situate himself in San Francisco, and therefore showed up constantly at Tuah’s home. Tuah tried to be polite at first, but eventually the frequency of Iann’s visits and his lack of guest propriety made Tuah give up on etiquette himself. He just worked, while Iann wandered.

And asked questions. All of those incessant questions about his past - his parents, his grand parents, his wife, his everything. Some Tuah answered, others Tuah ignored the man. Sometimes he tried to turn the tables on Iann and ask him pushy questions. But the man wasn’t an Intelligence Officer, trained to keep secrets even under torture for nothing - somehow Iann managed to either answer blithely, or deflect subtly.

But Tuah also didn’t have many friends. And eventually it got to a point where the days that Iann didn’t show up, Tuah found himself missing the company and conversation immediately. it was ridiculous; in the Pacific, he’d been constantly surrounded by men and conversation, noise and fighting and violence all the time. Tuah took it in stride, but he’d grown to hate it. He only wanted peace - now that he had it, Tuah found himself missing that busy atmosphere. Iann Cardero somehow managed to make the place seem as busy as if twenty other people were in the room.

Eventually Tuah kept Iann over for lunch, then dinners. He shared some scant, tiny photos of his family - his siblings, most of whom were now either dead or lost between the US and Malaysia.

And one night, Iann ended up staying so late, drinking so much of Tuah’s brandy, that he fell asleep on Tuah’s couch.

Tuah didn’t mind, and didn’t want to disturb him. So he placed a blanket over Iann and was about to head to bed when –

– suddenly Iann was on him, grabbing at his collar, pushing a switchblade knife to Tuah’s throat.

“I’ll kill you! I’ll - KILL –”

“Iann, Iann, wake up. Iann Cardero,” Tuah gasped, holding Iann at bay (Tuah was stronger) but still horrified by the outburst. Nightmares - he should’ve known. He wasn’t surprised. Iann had been captured, a POW for five long months. One of Tuah’s companies had freed him, along with the others captured from the HQ. The things they’d faced…

Tuah took a hold of Iann’s wrists and pressed him back, carefully, until Iann was backed against a wall. “Iann Cardero.”

Iann blinked, the fog clearing from his eyes as he finally focused on Tuah, in the dim late night light. “Tuah…Arjuna.”

If asked later by some imaginary friend, Tuah would’ve said that it was the way Iann said his name, that made Tuah kiss the other man. There was some quality to it that overcame Tuah - revealed a side of himself that was lonely, craving intimacy, hoping to be loved and valued.

Even if it was in the form of a nosy professor-cum-Captain, who kept barging into his life, both in his present-day and past.

Maybe it was sad of him, that this was the only way Tuah felt any sort of love. From anyone recently, anyway. Since his wife had died, ten years ago.

So Tuah felt Iann sag against the wall and caught his lips in a fevered, deep kiss. He crushed himself against Iann, who eventually lifted his head up to gasp for breath, but Tuah wasn’t done there. He kissed down Iann’s jaw, buried his face against Iann’s craned neck.

“I knew it,” Iann breathed, his hips surging against Tuah’s. The only way to touch, because Tuah still had his wrists pinned to the wall. The switchblade fell to the floor in a clatter. “I knew you were like this…like me.”

“Yes…” Tuah said, but he’d never realized it until right at this moment. Until Iann kissed him again, a heated, frenzied dance of tongue and teeth. Tuah wanted to be with a man; and this man wanted to be with him back. “Please.”

Only this was all so new to Tuah, he wasn’t even sure what he was asking for. But when he looked in Iann’s dark eyes, it seemed Iann did. And no words were needed when Iann asked to show Tuah how it was done. Tuah didn’t hesitate to consent.

Cardero was the Intelligence Officer, after all; and his intel was rarely ever wrong.

#tuaharjuna #drabbles #sbsprompt #tuann #UGH THE TUANN OF THIS PROMPT #also borrowing heavily from Band of Brothers lmao

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just-another-book-blog112 · 6 years

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#Bookie-Challenge TBR

Hey everyone! Here is my TBR for the #bookie-challenge. Below i will have the blurb for each book if any of you are interested in my list.

A Book over 300 pages. The Knife of Never Letting Go by Patrick Ness. (479 pages)

Imagine you can hear everything the town of men say about you. And they can hear everything you think. Imagine you don't fit into their plans. Todd Hewitt is just one month away from the birthday that will make him a man. But his town has been keeping secrets from him. Secrets that are going to force him to run.

The second book in a series. The Ask And the Answer by Patrick Ness. (516 pages)

We were in the square, in the square where I'd run, holding her, carrying her, telling her to stay alive, stay alive till we got safe, till we got to Haven so I could save her - But there weren't no safety, no safety at all, there was just him and his men... Fleeing before a relentless army, Todd has carried a desperately wounded Viola right into the hands of their worst enemy, Mayor Prentiss. Immediately separated from Viola and imprisoned, Todd is forced to learn the ways of the Mayor's new order. But what secrets are hiding just outside of town? And where is Viola? Is she even still alive? And who are the mysterious Answer? And then, one day, the bombs begin to explode... "The Ask and the Answer" is a tense, shocking and deeply moving novel of resistance under the most extreme pressure. This is the second title in the "Chaos Walking" trilogy

A book with the colour blue on the cover. All the Bright Places by Jennifer Niven (378 pages)

Theodore Finch is fascinated by death, and he constantly thinks of ways he might kill himself. But each time, something good, no matter how small, stops him. Violet Markey lives for the future, counting the days until graduation, when she can escape her Indiana town and her aching grief in the wake of her sister’s recent death. When Finch and Violet meet on the ledge of the bell tower at school, it’s unclear who saves whom. And when they pair up on a project to discover the “natural wonders” of their state, both Finch and Violet make more important discoveries: It’s only with Violet that Finch can be himself—a weird, funny, live-out-loud guy who’s not such a freak after all. And it’s only with Finch that Violet can forget to count away the days and start living them. But as Violet’s world grows, Finch’s begins to shrink. This is an intense, gripping novel perfect for fans of Jay Asher, Rainbow Rowell, John Green, Gayle Forman, and Jenny Downham from a talented new voice in YA, Jennifer Niven.

A book with romance involved. Finding Sky by Joss Stirling (308 pages)

You have half our gifts, I have the other . . . When English girl Sky, catches a glimpse of bad boy Zed in her new American high school, she can't get him out of her head. He talks to her with his thoughts. He reads her mind. He is the boy she will love for ever. Dark shadows stalk her past but a new evil threatens her future. Sky must face the dark even if it means losing her heart

A short Story. A Deeper Love by Cassandra Clare and Maureen Johnson (Pages=unknown)

It is only three years since Tessa Gray lost her beloved husband William Herondale, and she is searching for a reason to live, trying to find the path of being a warlock with the guidance of her friend Catarina Loss. World War II rains down destruction on their world, and Tessa and Catarina become nurses who make bargains at the Shadow Market for enchantments to help suffering mundanes. But can Brother Zachariah bear to see the woman he loves risk her life, or might he consider breaking sacred vows to save her from loneliness?

A Historical Novel. The Tattooist Of Auschwitz by Heather Morris (228 pages)

The Tattooist of Auschwitz is based on the true story of Lale and Gita Sokolov, two Slovakian Jews who survived Auschwitz and eventually made their home in Australia. In that terrible place, Lale was given the job of tattooing the prisoners marked for survival—literally scratching numbers into his fellow victims' arms in indelible ink to create what would become one of the most potent symbols of the Holocaust. Lale used the infinitesimal freedom of movement that this position awarded him to exchange jewels and money taken from murdered Jews for food to keep others alive. If he had been caught, he would have been killed; many owed him their survival.

A Classic. The Book Thief by Markus Zusak(553 Pages)

Trying to make sense of the horrors of World War II, Death relates the story of Liesel--a young German girl whose book-stealing and story-telling talents help sustain her family and the Jewish man they are hiding, as well as their neighbors.

So that is my TBR List for the the month of August. I don’t know how many of these books I will get around too or in what order I will read them but I will do my best to get as many finished as possible

#bookie-challenge #books #readathon #long reads

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ishuhbrerrah · 4 years

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Personal Narrative

My name is Lale Sokolov. The historical fiction novel by Heather Morris called The Tattooist of Auschwitz is about my experience as being my concentration camp’s tattooist during The Holocaust from the years 1942-1945 and about how I met and reunited with the love of my life, Gita Furman.

When I was 26 years old, I was transported by force to a concentration camp in Auschwitz - Birkenau in 1942, all because I was a Slovakian Jew. When I arrived at the camp, I was noticed by the SS officers for speaking numerous languages but didn’t think much of it until I was appointed to be the next tattooist of my camp (or Tätowierer, as the Germans called it) by the tattooist at that time, Pepan.

At first, the idea of stabbing people with a sharp needle with ink to create a serial number on their arm was horrific, but Pepan quickly told that if I wanted to live, I was to obey the orders the officers gave me, or else they wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet through my brain. I decided to shut up and listen but always observe, in order to see the light of tomorrow.

Months after, Pepan was taken away and because he hadn’t given an exact reason why he was leaving, I assumed he’d been dragged off to his execution. The officers assigned me an assistant, Leon, who I told him the exact words Pepan had told me: if he wanted to survive, he’d have to obey the orders given to him. Leon was a timid inmate, who was too shy to even look me in the eyes at first, but he instantly warmed up to me when I gave him extra food I was given for being the tattooist of my camp.

The privileges that came with the job were beneficial as I decided to give the extra food portions to those who needed them more than I did, just so they could have enough food in their stomachs to see the light of the next day. It felt amazing to help out the less fortunate in the camp, but at the same time, I was risking not only my position but also my job, by sneaking them extra food as I had no idea what the consequences were in store for me if I got caught.

One day, I met a girl who caught my attention as I was tattooing a serial number on her arm. At very first sight, all I could do was admire her beauty, even to the point when the slight smile she gave me after I finished her tattoo made my knees feel like jelly.

Shortly after, I bribed my guard, Baretski, with jewels to send her a handwritten note, asking for her name, as I desperately needed to know who she was. I, later on, I found out that her name was Gita, as one of her friends told me when I ran into her in person. Even the name gave me butterflies.

We began to spend time with one another and as the days passed by, I realized that I was falling in love with this girl. Unfortunately, our time together was limited as I had to tend to my own duties and she had to stick with her own role in our camp, but that didn’t prevent us from sneaking off occasionally and spending some alone time. The more time I spent with her, the more determined I became about leaving this hell-hole and taking her with me to a place where we were free to do whatever we want, whenever we want.

It was obvious that she was the one for me, and I thanked my mama for telling me that I would know who would be the right one for me when the time came. Gita was the one I wanted to spend my life and future with, she was the love of my life, and I made a promise that the two of us would escape and find freedom together someday.

A year or so passed by and everything was fine until rumors began to spread around that the Russians were to arrive at our camp, and I dismissed the news but began to worry when I heard the Germans ordered us to abandon our camp and to march by foot to the Polish towns of Gliwice or Wodzislaw, which were about 35 miles away.

At this time, my beloved Gita and I were forced apart as she was taken away to some other place I had no idea of, but I realized that if I wanted to find her again, I’d have to escape from the death marches as I knew that those who participated in them were bound to be mistreated by the guards, or die.

One the way to one of the towns to attend another labor camp, I found the opportunity to run away from the march I was participating in as the guards were too busy chit-chatting with one another. After running away from them through a forest and a freezing river, I ended up getting captured by Russian soldiers and being forced to work for them as their pimp.

Fortunately, after several weeks I was able to gain their trust and used it as an opportunity to escape, deciding to catch a train to Slovakia, my hometown, where I end up reuniting with Goldie, my sister, and the only family member of mine who survived.

After catching up with her, I told her about Gita and she told me to not come back without Gita beside me. Determined to find my lover, I head to Bratislava, the capital of my country, in hopes of finding her.

When I arrive there, I ask the locals about her and ask if they’ve seen anyone that matched her physical description, but received no good news. As I was about to go home, I made out a figure in the distance and when they came close enough for me to get a good look at them, my heart stops and time stands still as Gita and I cross paths on the street and recognize each other.

It turns out that Gita was marched out of the gates with thousands of other female prisoners, and then escaped from the guards, found refuge in a nearby village, and eventually made her way to Bratislava, where she joins other camp survivors.

After finding safety, she began her journey to find me, just like how I set off to search for her.

The story ends as I ask Gita to marry me and she says ‘yes’. We were one young couple, among a few, who managed to find happiness, peace, and love within each other in a war-ravaged city.

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artificialqueens · 7 years

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Church of the Poison Mind Ch. 3 (Trixya) - Dahlia

A/N: Thank you for all of the lovely feedback on the last two chapters, seeing those little asks truly makes my heart soar! Also thank you to the literal step mom of my of my fic, Lale, thank you for listening to me whine!! And Matilda for all of the college information (which I would be so lost without) and kind words of encouragement!! GO CHECK OUT THEIR FICS, THEY’RE BEAUTIFUL. Anyway, this is just like 3k of Trixie crying and being a hot mess. Enjoy! Also feel free to drop me a line @DahliasForKatya !!

Trixie’s father wasn’t a bad man, but he was like a trampoline come July when it came to stretching the truth.

She always felt such a sense of pride when it came to her father, there was no one else in the world who cared for her quite like he did. He was a well dressed man, meagerly successful, hardworking. He snored loudly in the evenings, fell asleep most nights in front of the T.V., but always rose at the near crack of dawn for his shift at the quarry. No matter how late he worked, hours spent in back breaking labor under the summer sun, he was always present. Every weekend he would treat her to fancy meals at their favorite Portuguese restaurants, or Sunday morning matinees at the local movie house. She liked “helping him” tie his shoes in the morning, liked their quiet dinners at home. She enjoyed watching him cook, dancing around the kitchen excitedly when he flambeed the contents of a saute pan.

Trixie loved the derby most of all, watching her father’s eyes light up as his favorite horse rounded the track in victory. She loved the colors they wore, and their funny names. She was ecstatic to bursting whenever he’d let her place a bet; she’d cheer them on from the sidelines, imitating their gallop. And Trixie, only nine and confused by the sport, would believe her father when he said her horse had won, even if it hadn’t. Trixie often wished her mother would accompany them, but relished this safe space with him. She looked up to him; idolized him with the kind of starry-eyed innocence only a child could wear.

They were watching stars and planting wishes, chocolate mousse for dessert and butterfly kisses. He grew a love for Trixie in the garden, as tall as eight mammoth sunflowers. She couldn’t wait to learn and grow, to scatter the seeds and watch him sow.

Trixie could recall that day he picked her up from school, could recount how many times she leaned in to smell his cologne. He was tall and dark haired, and Trixie couldn’t wait until she could be big and strong like him. He wore a new shirt that day, his hair was shorter, and Trixie could see he’d had his leather shoes shined. She looked down at her reflection in them, and they distorted the contours of her face, making her smile. She liked to imagine that he’d dressed up just for her, like prince charming come to whisk Cinderella to the ball. Trixie held his hand the whole walk home, fidgeting in excitement as they started up the driveway. She couldn’t wait for her mother to see his new outfit, Trixie hoped she’d like it enough to sit at the dinner table with them that night, instead of in front of the T.V. like she always did.

She twirled herself around his finger; wondering how long it would take for her fairy godmother to sweep her up, and turn her school clothes into a gown, big and blue. She dreamed of woodland creatures and magic pumpkins while he held the screen door for her. And she curtsied passed him, so caught up in fantasy that she failed to see the hurt cross her mother’s face. It’s terrifying, isn’t it? How the crushing weight of reality can change a perspective.

“Well don’t you look nice,” her mother said, “New shirt. New shoes. New girlfriend?”

—

Katya. Professor Yekaterina Petrovna Zamolodchikova.

The center of Trixie’s gravity upended, overturning bilious nerves in the pit of her stomach. She felt as though a woolen blanket over a stove burner, recumbent and stifling, willing the flames to overcome her. Katya. A beautiful Russian curl fell from her lips, each word more tempting than the last. She stood at the head of the class almost sibylline, and Trixie wondered how she’d never noticed the accent before. The thought occurred to her then, that they hadn’t done very much talking; somehow she’d underestimated the power of body language. There was something to be said about a body that alluring; how their chemistry had the ability to forego speech. They spoke in only the tongue of ardor that night, both tongues passing fluidly over goosebumps and other, more private parts. Trixie could still feel her mouth, hot and wet, painting bruises down the skin of her chest. They ached a sore path of memory, and Trixie tried desperately to not to touch them.

Katya. She was as beautiful as she was unattainable. Her words were almost aromatic, and though their meaning lie completely lost, Trixie could feel each curl envelope her. Saccharine, but daring, enigmatic. Trixie’s face flushed. She found it hard to concentrate, to look anywhere but Katya’s lips. And though she sat at the far end of the class, she might as well have been center stage. Katya’s eyes followed her every move, like the preeminent charm of the Mona Lisa. Trixie could recall every art museum she’d ever been to, and all were incomparable to this beauty, this red lipped mystery. This moment, while lively and brilliant, was shattering, and Trixie came crashing back to Earth, hard; like a space traveler jettison from the shuttle.

“Okay, since this is first day, and I am to be molding your tiny minds, why don’t we get to know each other a bit better? I’ll start. Privyet! I’m Yekaterina Petrovna Zamolodchikova, but you can call me Katya. And since you all love talking about my sex life so much, you’ll be happy to know I got laid last night!” She shot Trixie a flippant glance, and her gleaming teeth widened into a smile. Trixie recoiled, red in the face. She could feel the acid creeping up her throat.

“Oh, and also,” she continued, “I’m pretty sure I still have two of my baby teeth! We see, who’s next?” Katya scanned the room, and let a red finger nail land on the first desk.

“Oh, me? Um fuck, okay, hey I’m Detox and I don’t want to fucking be here.”

“Ura! This is kind of spirit I like to see,” Katya chirped, her hands on her hips, “You next! Tall skinny one!”

“Hieeeee, my name’s Alaska, and Roxxxy lent me the top I’m wearing. Isn’t it cute?”

“Not as cute as you think! Okay, next! You, pretty Barbie!”

And all eyes landed on Trixie.

“I um, hi, I’m Tracy-I mean Trixie! Trixie Mattel. And um, I have to use the bathroom, can I please use the bathroom now?”

The classroom erupted in laughter, and Trixie sank even further into herself, feeling the prick of hot tears threaten her bottom lashes.

“Please,” she tensed.

Katya dropped her front, allowing the gravity of the situation to weigh on her. Truthfully, she was just as shaken as Trixie, though she’d never allow herself even a second of vulnerability. Her face softened, then returned to levity.

“I didn’t know plastic dollies could use bathroom, but of course. You know where this is, yes?”

Trixie didn’t know where the bathroom was and didn’t care. She’d never ask. She gathered her things and started for the door, and although she didn’t turn to look back, she was certain every eye had followed her out.

The pale haired girl from Trixie’s previous class, the first year, sat on the right side of the room. And Katya, shifting her weight to an opposite foot, called upon her, almost uncomfortably.

“Your name?”

“Max.”

“You seem like nice girl. You make sure she makes it to bathroom okay, make sure she doesn’t fall in.”

Max grabbed her bag and hurried after Trixie, catching the door before it swung shut.

After rounding the floor twice, Trixie found the bathroom, tucked into a small corner at the far end of the hall. The boarded window of the door read in bold letters: Out of order, use first floor.

Trixie pushed through anyway, feeling the boards come undone under her drive. The room was musty and had long been forsaken; thick layers of dust were settled over every surface. Trixie flipped a switch and the lights clamored to life above her, flickering at first, before settling into a static glow. Max came staggering in behind her, out of breath, having just returned from the first floor bathroom.

“You know this one’s out of order!” Max huffed, approaching her, “We shouldn’t be in here. There’s probably asbestos!”

Max was a gentle soul, with ashen hair and an overwrought smile. She was thin and lanky, much taller than Trixie. She had a familiarity about her though, something Trixie couldn’t quite place.

Trixie used the palm of her hand to smudge out a clear circle in the dusty mirror, and winced at the sight of her makeup, how her tears had carried mascara down her cheeks and stained her foundation. Max rushed over then, rummaged through her purse, and pulled out a school newspaper. She tore away a bottom edge and blotted the space beneath Trixie’s eyes.

“We’re gonna get you all fixed up Doll, don’t you worry.”

Doll. The word ricocheted through her, and she was hearing Katya’s voice again.

I didn’t know plastic dollies could use bathroom.

How could she make light of this? How could Katya stand so tall, so untouched, while Trixie was weak in the knees? Every thought rattled through her, all of the new sights and sounds. Every voice, every blare, boomed in her ears. She wondered what the other girls thought of her, if they’d made any assumptions.

Rumor has it, the professor was having an affair with a female student…

Had Katya known she was a student all along? Did she do this to all of her students? How could Katya look at her like that, so confident, so bold? As if she hadn’t seen Trixie bare and unguarded, hadn’t skimmed the surface of her vulnerability?

And since you all love talking about my sex life so much, you’ll be happy to know I got laid last night!

Everything came flooding back. Fingers in her hair, trailing her ribs, fingers racing everywhere. Mouths colliding, coinciding, like fresh fallen pollen cast over a lake; leaving paths of sticky bright yellow for the doves of morning. Parts of Katya swam in the stream of her blood, and the indelible ink of that night stained the shores bright red, like the lipstick still on her sheets. She pressed into a tender bruise on her chest, and the pain dissolved into her fingertip.

No. It had to be an accident, sheer coincidence. There’s no way Katya could’ve known she’d be at the bar that night, or who she was for that matter. Trixie took in a breath, and exhaled a long whistle, feebly chewing the inside of her cheek. She could taste blood.

“Hey wait a moment,” Max said, bringing Trixie from her thoughts. Max continued to gently dust powder over Trixie’s cheeks, “I thought I knew you from somewhere. You’re from Wisconsin aren’t you? Kim’s friend! She’s been going on about you for weeks, I’m Max! We went to the same high school, you and I!”

Everything clicked into place for Trixie; and had she been in a less precarious state, she may have even realized sooner. Max Malanaphy. A grade below her. Her face flashed red; she was a master at bad first impressions, proficient in making an ass of herself.

“Well, this is a lovely first interaction! This is so like me! A hot mess, all of the time!” Trixie sighed, a wry smile on her lips. She wiped a runaway tear and began sifting through her purse for mascara, though no amount of makeup could cover the redness; her splotchy cheeks, her tired eyes. The strings tightened. She wished she could call Kim.

She and Kim had been friends for as long as she could remember. Kim was her rock. The year she’d left for that fancy college in New York–and left Trixie behind–had been more than difficult; and although their friendship sustained itself through texts and phone calls, there was always an end, always a goodbye. After the click, sitting in the vibration of the dial tone, Trixie had already forgotten how to reach into the space between them and pull back the chords of her happiness.

Kim was always there, except for when she couldn’t be. She was supportive almost to her own flaw. Afraid to say no and risk hurting a friend, she often made too many commitments. She was always buzzing about here and there, having to reschedule and plan around, always plan around. Despite her best efforts, she frequently found herself double booking, putting her in the exact position she’d been trying to avoid. Regardless, she was quite popular, and had hoards of friends and followers. A softness for Trixie rested in the center of her chest, however, and Kim had always tried to make sure Trixie came first.

Trixie ached for a hug then, picturing Kim covered in paint at the art studio. She needed some other touch, anything to rid her of Katya’s fingerprints. All of the paint in the world couldn’t cover up this blunder.

“Don’t sweat it, it happens to the best of us. Anything you’d like to talk about, darling?” Max asked, sweetly.

“Not really. But thank you.”

“Well alright then, let’s get us back to class.”

Trixie took one last look in the mirror before starting for the door, and held it open for Max. She waited for dust to finish scattering from the frame, and then maneuvered through herself; stopping for a moment in the hall to brush off her dress. They rounded the last corridor and paused outside of room 203, where Max turned to face her. Calm undulated through Max like the first breeze of spring, Trixie could almost feel a faint sun on her skin, could almost hear leaves rustling in the trees. She gestured for Trixie to follow her in movement, and took two exaggerated breaths, her hands afloat with the rise and fall of her chest. She gave a gentle nod as if to say, ready? And turned for the door at Trixie’s signal.

“Wait! Wait,” Trixie pulled lightly on Max’s arm, turning her around, “Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

As they entered, Trixie could feel the blood in her cheeks running too close to the surface. She ducked in, and braced for the eyes she would have to endure on the way to her seat. Much to her surprise, Katya waved them in without so much as a word, and the two of them sat quietly, their entrance unobserved by the class. She was grateful, and relief came in waves, colliding on shores of fading embarrassment.

And while Katya rambled on excitedly about chemical nomenclature and the absurdities of chemistry as a whole–

“This is stupidest fucking class you’re ever going to take.”

–Trixie wondered if she’d magnified the situation in her head. It had been a bad habit of hers, still was, always seeing the worst, fearing the worst; she’d packed up and moved the 909 miles from Milwaukee to New York, vowing to leave those facets like tire tracks in the dirt roads behind her. She vowed to bury that part of herself like she had the specters of her past, but they haunted her still, crooning troubled reveries of Milwaukee and what might’ve been.

Trixie had left her home, at the center of town, and moved the 909 miles to New York. She’d left Sharon’s Grocery on Grove Street; where she’d sit for hours behind the register, watching girls her age straggle in, pushing strollers with toddlers underfoot. She’d left her house on Dogwood Avenue, where they used to pop the tops of johnny pumps and dance in the spray. Azalea’s Ice Cream and Chestnut Park, Andy’s Books, and the corner cheese shop. Bicycles, board games, and balloons, floated in the dust behind her. And their images felt like home; or more like a rose tinted dream, slowly, every stalk of corn she passed seemed to bend beneath the weight of what was no longer there.

She removed herself from thought, and her ribcage felt as empty as the cage she had abandoned.

She could see from under wet lashes that the students around her were gathering books and rising from their chairs. Her eyes landed then on Katya, whom recumbent in her swivel chair, comedically wore three pairs of safety goggles on the top of her head. Katya caught her glance and grinned aptly in Trixie’s direction.

“Tracy, we talk for a moment, yes?”

“Trixie. It’s Trixie.” Trixie stood, and inhaled a shaky breath. Students brushed passed her on their way out, chattering, filling the room with sound and then leaving it flat.

“Right, right, Talullah, I’m so sorry.”

Chewing the inside of her cheek, she met Katya at the head of the class. Those eyes, that smile, those stupid goggles. Her stomach somersaulted.

“Have a seat?”

“I’d like to stand if that’s okay.”

Katya stood to meet Trixie’s eyes, and flipped a small, pleasant nod of her chin.

“Listen, Tamara-”

“I’d really prefer it if you called me Trixie,” she interjected.

“Toby,” Katya’s eyes lit up and she leaned into her words, “I don’t want to get off on wrong lucky rabbit’s foot, I’m sorry if I made you feel red in the face. Trust me, I feel the same as you do probably, maybe worse! Look! I’m very sweaty!”

Katya rolled her eyes in feigned exasperation and used a stray copy of the syllabus to fan her armpits. Trixie felt a chuckle bubble up her throat, and she eased into the conversation, suddenly a bit calmer.

“While I enjoyed every possible, steamy, tempestuous moment of last night… This is my job, my livelihood, and I have to remain professional.” Katya fixed a fourth pair of safety goggles to the top of her head, and pursed her lips. “Because you know, I am very professional.”

They both broke into laughter, and Trixie’s face flashed bright red.

“Look!” Katya chirped, “You are doing red face thing again! Sorry, I ramble! My point is, I care about you, as I would any student, and I want to put this behind us. Start fresh! Maybe we could be good friends, yes?”

“I think that might be possible.”

“Ura! We start from scratch! Hello!” Katya extended an open hand and forcefully grabbed Trixie’s, stiffly shaking it, “I’m Katya and I definitely have not seen you naked!”

“Trixie.” She was feeling lighter, and she’d forgotten all about the strings as they uncoiled.

“Nice to meet you, Tracy! I will see you tomorrow, yes?”

“Yeah but before I go,” Trixie prompted, a smile falling on her lips, “I just have one question.”

“Da, anything! Shoot!” Katya was infectious, and Trixie eased into her, melting into the banter.

“Is it too late to drop this class?”

#trixya #trixie mattel #katya zamolodchikova #college au #lesbian au #angst #dahlia #rpdr fanfiction #church of the poison mind

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iloveheartlandx · 5 years

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Hi everyone! I know, what is this madness, event recaps two months in a row? Well it’s going to be a very busy couple of months for me, book event wise, as I’m going to Samantha Shannon’s Priory event in Glasgow on the 28th (so soon!) and then Victoria Schwab’s Near Witch/Steel Prince event, also in Glasgow in March, so there will be a lot more content than there usually is in this section of the blog over this month and the next.

I’ve been on the Hot Key mailing list for a while now, so I often get emails from them inviting me to their blogger brunches or events but 99.9% of the time, I’m in Scotland when their events are happening and their events are always in London, so go figure, I can’t make it. However, this time, I happened to be home anyway for my University’s Reading Week and being a history student who particularly loves Women’s History, I was super excited to be able to get to attend this event.

I got the train in from Cambridge to London at around 9.45, getting into London just after 10.35. I had to admit, I’d never been to the Bonnier Zaffre (the company which Hot Key is an imprint of) headquarters before, but luckily my mum knew the address and had given me instructions on how to get there. It wasn’t too far, I just had to get the tube from Kings Cross to Oxford Circus and after a few false starts with my Google Maps, I managed to find the building.

We were given name badges, and lead upstairs to where the event was taking place. We were all a little bit early, so there was some time to mill around, which meant, *shock horror* mingling. I was a little bit nervous because I was there by myself and I’m not the best with strangers, but thankfully bloggers are lovely people and I happily chatted with a few of them, including Amy from A Bookish Life who was also there alone and really made me feel at ease about the whole thing (thank you Amy!). It was quite funny because no one wanted to be the first one to go for the food, so we were all standing there, hungry, but we didn’t want to be the first one to break the ice. Thankfully, eventually someone did and then we all descended on the pastries.

The food was awesome, I had a chocolate twist, a pain au raisin, lots of raspberries and strawberries and some delicious cookies! After milling around and chatting for a little while, the people from Bonnier Zaffre came in and announced that we were ready to start. We did have to sit on the floor, which I wasn’t totally thrilled about, but I get that it was a small room fitting in a lot of people (hence the lack of pictures of the authors, I just couldn’t see over the people in front of me to get a good picture!).

Then Lucy and Heather came in, Lucy introduced herself and Heather (she was acting as the moderator for the discussion), and then the talk started. It was a lot more informal than many author discussions I’ve been to, which I really liked, I don’t know if the two of them had met before this, I assume so, but they had a very easy and natural rapport and despite talking about a very heavy topic (the Holocaust), they made the discussion engaging and fun to listen to (without taking the subject lightly in any way). The two of them talked about how they came to learning about the Holocaust and how to get young people engaged in that part of history and Heather discussed bringing The Tattooist of Auschwitz to a younger audience and how important it was not to over-sanitise the horrors of the Holocaust.

They talked a lot about how they did research for their books, which was obviously super interesting to me, being a History student, I love to hear about how historical fiction writers do their research. Heather talked a lot about interviewing Lale and the responsibility she felt for telling his story and how much of her research actually didn’t end up in the book in the end because she found out so much that she obviously couldn’t include it all. She also talked about how she wanted to make sure there wasn’t much emphasis in the story on the more famous names (i.e. the Nazis who committed such dreadful atrocities) because they don’t need any more attention drawn to what they did, she wanted to make sure that the story was all about Lale and his experiences.

Heather originally intended The Tattoist of Auschwitz to be a screenplay, and it was quite interesting to hear how the story went from that to a book, she was working on it with a film company, but the project stalled and she couldn’t stop thinking about the story, she talked about Lale so much that her family eventually encouraged her to just, in her words, “write the bloody book”. I’ve never heard of an author transferring their story from screenplay to book before, so it was very cool to hear from Heather how that process worked.

She also spoke more about her upcoming book, Cilka’s Journey, following one of the characters from The Tattooist of Auschwitz, Cilka, also a real life person, and the difficulties she had in researching that book because Cilka died a long time ago, so unlike Tattooist, where she had Lale’s personal testimony, she had to rely on second hand accounts of Cilka. She discussed some of the reactions to The Tattooist of Auschwitz and it was awe inspiring to hear how many people had shared personal stories about how the book had affected them.

Both authors spoke about the importance of hope in Holocaust stories, and how that theme ran through their work, which I really loved as that’s what I always hang onto when reading books about this most harrowing part of human history, the incredible resilience and hope shown by people in the most unbearable of circumstances, so it was great to hear them speak about how they used that in their books.

After the discussion portion of the event had ended, the authors took questions from us, I was, as always, too nervous and awkward of speaking in front of people to ask anything, but both authors had really insightful responses to the questions.

Once they had answered questions, we got to hear a little bit from both authors’ books. Lucy read a chapter from her upcoming novel Summerland, which addresses the journey of one of the minor characters from The Red Ribbon after the war (she says she has always been interested in what happened to people after the war, as WWII stories tend to end when the war does) and with Brexit, refugees have been on her mind, so she really wanted to write a refugee story set after WWII. I have to admit, I haven’t read any of her books before, but hearing her read from Summerland made me really excited to read The Red Ribbon (plus I loved that each of the chapters from Summerland is named after a different 1940s recipe and that she’s going to make a recipe book of them!).

We then got to hear Heather read from the ending of The Tattooist of Auschwitz. Usually I would be annoyed for being spoiled for the end of the story before I’ve even read it, but since history can’t be spoilers, I wasn’t too bothered knowing the ending of Lale’s story! Plus, it was such a gorgeous passage that she read out to us, and was so heartwarming, that it really made me want to read the rest of the book, so mission successful.

Once the readings were over, we were allowed to go and collect books for signing. I had brought my own copy of The Tattooist of Auschwitz from home, but I needed a copy of The Red Ribbon (since Lucy made it sound AMAZING) and copies of both books for my friend Nicola who couldn’t make it to the event (since you know, she lives in Scotland!). The queues were quite long, so I only got to have a brief chat with both authors, but that’s okay with me since I’m awkward and can’t think of much to say anyway, I talked to Lucy about being a history student, the fact that I thought costume history was such a cool area to go into and that my friend (the aforementioned Nicola) is doing a WWII based dissertation. I’m pretty sure all I managed to say to Heather was that I’d never been to Poland, but always wanted to go. I don’t do well at coming up with stuff to say under pressure!

When I’d had my books signed, it was all over and it was time to go, so I picked up my coat from the hangers they had outside and then headed back to Oxford Circus to get the tube, and then the train home. All in all, a very successful day out for me, it was a super fun event and I hope that I’ll be able to go to another one, if the timing of the next event and me being back home happens to line up again.

Did anyone else go to the Women In History Bloggers Brunch? Did you enjoy it? Let me know in the comments.

I will be back tomorrow with my e-ARC review of Enchantee by Gita Trelease (spoiler alert, I really loved this one guys!).

Hot Key Women In History Bloggers Brunch Recap Hi everyone! I know, what is this madness, event recaps two months in a row? Well it's going to be a very busy couple of months for me, book event wise, as I'm going to Samantha Shannon's Priory event in Glasgow on the 28th (so soon!) and then Victoria Schwab's Near Witch/Steel Prince event, also in Glasgow in March, so there will be a lot more content than there usually is in this section of the blog over this month and the next.

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rehnro · 6 years

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Distance: 252km| Total: 2,004km

After 20 days in the saddle my 2000km journey from the Stephan’s dome in Vienna, via Bratislava, Budapest, Belgrade, Sofia and even a bit of Greece all the way to Istanbul is over and many fantastic memories are made.

It was not easy even though the daily distances between 60-120km are not huge as such. It is the constant moving and getting on the saddle despite sore legs (bum!) or bad weather that is the real challenge. It is a mental test, less so a physical one i think. In the end the route proved shorter than planned, as i stayed away from some of the off-road GPS track to save time and because some parts were just hard with my touring bike and ended up in pushing it.

In any case, it was amazing to travel through this part of europe, catch up with friends, meet many new people and see both nice and not so nice parts of the six countries i crossed. Cycle on!

Heading south from Edirne

I left it late to leave Edirne (pronounced with a long E). Sleep, breakfast and not feeling in a rush. It was a cold morning. Grey. Looked like rain is on the cards sometime today. There are some 250km left to Istanbul and i figures i give myself three days to cover them.

Today i followed the highway D100 most of the way. Not to appealing judging by traffic passing by, but a good road leading straight to Istanbul. The other plus is the hard shoulder. 2m wide and thus making for a perfect cycle lane. Nice actually with many fields passing by.

First stop was Havsa late morning. I stopped at a local tea place and found myself soon in the company of two older turkish guys (not that they bothered to ask if they could join ✌️). One was the owner. We talked about my trip and one told me of his son living in Germany. He was there too as Gastarbeiter and thus german was the chosen language. People clearly not happy with what the lira has done though seemingly in the believe the USD had gone up rather than the lira down!?! Maybe just lost in translation.

After 4 free teas i had to move on to the town of Babeski with a little rain drizzling down. I was hungry and tried the fast food version of Döner. Dont! While cheap (€1 including coke) it was not very tasty at all. Well, fast food. I also managed to fix myself up with a local SIM card even though i understood nothing. People just speak turkish. Not even a hint of english. Much more problematic than in the other countries i have to say. Well, i got my data now. 😁

I moved on to my final destination today – Lüleburgaz some 80km into my day. First up, a place to stay. Since turkey has banned booking.com (well, it still works from abroad or with foreign SIM cards or if you use a browser with hidden VPN like puffin), i now use alternative websites and checked into a nice hotel for less than €20/night. Best to get the details online and then go there. Saved me 30%. Time for a little washing today. My bike gears smells horrible and the roof terrace is an ideal place to hang it all up. 😉

Culture check: i have been to turkey many times though mainly in Istanbul (a different planet). So far, it feels a bit weird. Not sure why, but it seems like a different world. One thing is the language barrier that i am not used to generally anymore. The turkish language is just very different. The other thing i noticed is the tendency to do things local. Like turksih pizza, electronics, ice cream, kit at, cars at times and not to mention all the imitated clothing etc. Gives it all a bit of a copy taste to me. For me, italian pizza as well as ice cream is just better.

I actually listened to the press conference of the german national team ahead of playing france tomorrow. I think we will get killed and am not on the side of our coach. Mentally the team still needs a complete restart. Well, lets see tomorrow. I hope i am dead wrong.

I spent the evening texting with laura and frances and had some beers while watching turkish soap operas. Strange, but enjoyable. Bedtime…

Cycling to the seaside

The journey to Silivri was uneventful and mainly along the D100 again for the best part of 95km. Up and downhill went hand in hand. The wind picked up though and as you would expect not in the right direction 😐. I was getting closer to the sea.

Late afternoon i had made it and was welcomed with a nice and warm evening. I booked myself into a local hotel (€16 a night for a big room with sea view and breakfast… Cant argue with that).

I spent the evening having food and a few drinks in the seaside restaurants and reminded myself of previous times in Istanbul… By listening to turkish rapper Ceza. Fast this guy!

Istanbul – here i come

It must have been my latest start on the tour other than that rainy morning in Serbia. Only 11:30 or so i was rolling towards Istanbul. A good 70km left to my final destination. Traffic now picked up markedly and the signposts with the remaining km to Istanbul acted as a sort of count down. 60km, 40km, 20km… And suddenly i was in the big city.

Traffic was crazy as i maneuvered towards the blue mosque. About 10km were left when a cycle path (a blue cycle path) made life substantially easier. I stopped at the embankment to take in the scenery – fishermen, large vessels anchored, people taking a stroll.

And then i was done. I made it to sulthanahmet and had my memory picture taken at the blue mosque. I was pretty tired and happy to have arrived. Now time to hang out two days in this fabulous city. My sultans trail was over.

So off to the hostel and dinner with a bunch of other travellers from all over the world.

Istanbul: Conversations

I had no intention to do much sightseeing having been here before. My legs also begged for a rest. But i wanted to catch up with two people i hadn’t seen in a long while.

First up was Lale, who i worked with back at kbw on the eastern European coverage. She had since worked for a london wealth management boutique, done her MBA in paris, worked for credit suisse in wealth management and now runs the office for a turkish AI start-up. We both had our stories to tell about our lives and people we both know. It was fun.

Second was Hasan. He used to be our local brokerage contact here in Istanbul, but more importantly he is a great guy. I remember well when i came here with aldo to launch turkish banks research, the time in istanbul meeting rooms, clubs and rooftops as well as our trip to ankara… Most notably the road trip back by car. Good times. We headed for a restaurant in taksim and talked for a few hours. Good to see you man. All the best.

Hair transplant central

The first weird thing i saw was several guys with head bandages near the blue mosque. And i many more i counted after in the streets of Istanbul. Turns out that the city has become a prime destination for hair transplants with costs around GBP1500 vs. GBP12000 in the UK. I guess the weak lira will keep customers coming.

So now off to the airport. Got my bike box sorted albeit i was called back by the good man having paid him with a fake TL50 note apparently… Justice came quickly, as the guy at the airport burger king (yep, sorry) charged me me TL51 but gave it back to me 🤔. So we are square turkey! Time to drop off the bike af home quickly and get ready for the next trip.

Sultan’s trail (part 5): Istanbul & A trip on memory lane Distance: 252km| Total: 2,004km After 20 days in the saddle my 2000km journey from the Stephan's dome in Vienna, via Bratislava, Budapest, Belgrade, Sofia and even a bit of Greece all the way to Istanbul is over and many fantastic memories are made.

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comicsbeat · 6 years

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Yet more amazing comics debuting at tomorrow’ Comic Arts Brooklyn show!

Roopert August Lipp Revival House 56 pages, 8.5″ X 11″ 2 color offset $10

The long-awaited debut by comics virtuoso, August Lipp. Perhaps you’ve been fortunate to see glimpses of his work in esteemed anthologies such as Smoke Signals, for example. Now, one can evince the full dexterity of his talent with the exuberant saga, Roopert. Roopert is excited to return to school after a summer of splendid adventures! His best chums will all be there: Clyve the shy badger, Benji the other, slightly shorter bear, Hannah the ballsy fox, Timothy the average frog, Clarissa the dentally-advantaged crocodile and many more. Hey, this school is a real ZOO! What kind of antics will they get up to when the bell rings and Miss Julienne the human’s 6th grade class begins? Irreverence and beastly nature are masked by overzealous displays of etiquette as the child animals struggle for agency in the face of less-than-responsible authority figures. Follow along as this comic meanders through Roopert’s first action-packed day of middle school! Adult supervision recommended. published by Revival House Press!

Hot Dog Beach #4 by Lale Westvind

High octane slapstick adventure starring Mop and Fuzz, two ding dongs trying to make a buck on a strange gig that never ends.

“BIG BONERZ: A Street Dawgz Comic Collection” by Lizz Lunney

This experimental comic tells the story of a group of canines that tackle depression, drug addiction and anger problems whilst roaming the streets and protecting their cardboard box home from outsiders. Lunney explores themes of fame/celebrity, mental health problems, class struggle, addiction and more through a pack of homeless street dogs. Lots of jokes! Lots of bones! Published by Birdcage Bottom Books 5.25″ x 7.5″, 44 pages. $7 Two-color risograph cover with b+w interior

The Loud Atlas

By Peter + Maria Hoey

Our new accordion fold book takes a surreal and funny look at the noisy world imagined by the Italian Futurists. Using the style of Marinetti and the rhyming pattern of Dr. Seuss. 8 panels and 45” inches long. Screen printed in 2 colors and hand bound on black book board in an edition of 50.

DOMINO BOOKS

At CAB, we are proud to debut our ninth publication, BOOK OF DAZE by E.A. Bethea. Swing by table M3 to check it out—we will also have dozens and dozens of rare zines and art books available, many of them making their debut at the show.

If you can’t make it to CAB, BOOK OF DAZE is available for pre-order now through our online shop.

Book of Daze by E.A. Bethea. $6, 40 pages. Color cover, black and white interior, printed on newsprint.

“I first discovered Bethea’s stuff almost twenty years ago, she is one of the people whose work made me finally commit to comics as my medium of choice. With her barbed, nervous line and blunt writing style, she’s like a Duchampian voice calling for comics revolt. Her comics call out to us that no matter how damaged or how much of an outsider someone is, comics is our birthright.” -Josh Bayer, author of Theth

Book of Daze by E.A. Bethea is the kind of book DOMINO exists to publish. I first found Bethea’s work lying around an apartment I was visiting. I picked it up and from that moment on, have never forgotten it. As I began to read her dense pages, I was overwhelmed by the straightforward emotional statements and startlingly precise mind behind the sequences. In one moment, Bethea’s comics would acknowledge pain and disappointment, then turn to explain it away or justify things, only to finally confront the problem from a new angle. On the next page, simple pleasures became the focus, romantic notions embraced. Later on in the book cynical approaches to anything and everything were duly considered. All of this managed to congeal as Bethea kept another strong cloud hanging over it all: a refusal to shy away from an unashamed embrace of the full panorama of life.

Bethea, a simple interpretation might offer, chronicles the web of living in the world with a heart and a mind sometimes at odds and sometimes simpatico. But Bethea gives us something more complex: at times, the work feels dead-pan as it shifts from exhilaration to resignation without a change in visual presentation, but it’s here where we have a guide to the heart of Bethea’s project. The often uniform nature of the pages and the highly non-uniform nature of what is contained within become a catalog of days or weeks or years. One page offers a subdued period in life, while the next (seemingly) similar page offers a day full of regret. Bethea talks about her work relating to cinema, specifically calling attention to what happens between one of her panels and the next. The shifts in emotion and carefully chosen images alongside highly precise language feel like walking into a film where the entire crew–from director to actor to gaffer—united in one mind to make something highly exquisite.

The Unquotable Trump by R. SIkoryak (Drawn and Quarterly)

R. Sikoryak frames Trump and his declarations as the words and actions of the most notable villains and antagonists in comic book history.

The House of Dickinson by R. Sikoryak (self published)

This mini combines the poetry of Emily Dickinson with the atmosphere of 1950’s horror comics.

Futile Comics #6 Mike Centeno

A 16 page look at a day in the life of a woman who deals with subway abuse, retail hijinx, and gym bros until she reaches the breaking point and has no energy left to keep all the black goop of rage inside of her.

Precious Little Lives By Joe Garber

This new American classic follows the melodramatic tragedies of a Tap n’ Scat Jazzist just trying to make her way in the world with a head full of dreams and a pocket full of toxic-male assholes.

Generous Consolation Conor Stechschulte In consolation for not having the third volume of Generous Bosom ready in time for CAB, this zine offers a preview of selected images from that book. Available on its own or for free with a preorder of GB3.

TRUMPTRUMP Volume 1: nomination to inauguration

by Warren Craghead III

Every day, Warren Craghead draws and shares grotesque portraits of Donald Trump and his minions. TRUMPTRUMP Volume 1 collects the first six months of these daily drawings with context and commentary, from when Trump accepted the Republican nomination for president on July 21, 2016 until his inauguration on January 20, 2017. — Retrofit Comics

Bestiary by Alden Viguilla

A collection of mythical beasts risographed in blue and gold.

Final form #1 By Craig Bowers

A fantasy about two friends trying to make quick cash so they can go travel the world and two frogs slacking on the job.

The 12 Days of Christmas

Caitlin Keegan

The 12 days of Christmas, illustrated. A holiday zine that you can color (or not.)

Twin Peaks poster

Caitlin Keegan

12×18″ poster featuring sketchbook drawings of characters from season 3.

Bronze Enamel Sun Pin

Caitlin Keegan

Bronze + enamel pin with reversible sun face (1.125″)

I’ll also have copies of The Illuminated Tarot, which came out in April.

So What? Press Tales of the Night Watchman LLC

www.sowhatpress.com

Tales of the Night Watchman is the story of Nora, a blogger stuck working a dead end job in coffee, and her roommate, Charlie, who happens to be possessed (in the nicest way possible) by a spectral detective called The Night Watchman. Baristas by day, heroes by night, Nora and Charlie answer the call to fight the city’s never-ending flux of supernatural activity.

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Issue synopsis:

The Gowanus Golem is back! In this follow up to one of the series’ most popular tales, Brooklyn’s most toxic monster is after a couple thugs who are responsible for the death of a young boy. There’s only one problem: To stop him, The Night Watchman must protect one of the killers. Oh, and did we mention it’s also a Christmas special? Written by Dave Kelly Artwork by Brett Hobson Colors by Clare DeZutti Cover by Tim Hamilton

Over Time, Every Section Was Allowed To Grow Accordingly Aaron Cockle, New York Is For Sale, Table J2

It’s part 1 of a 2-part Franz Kafka fan comic, 32 pages

Annie Mok Loves Videogames by Annie Mok

A collection of comics, essays, and an interview, all about an abiding love and critique of games such as The Legend of Zelda, Shenmue, Sonic, and others. Annie Mok freelances for Rookie Mag, The Comics Journal, The Establishment, and others, and now makes games such as The Haunted Nintendo.

Keep Going Greg Kletsel

32 page Risograph zine inspired by the phrase “keep going”.

Animation: Dansemorphia (on custom silicone USB’s !) Zine: Frame Drain –

Roya Haroun

blurb- Danse! Morph! Ya!

Parasite Wanderer By Connor McCann

A girl wakes up with a parasite attached to her face and the two embark on a bombastic and poetic 16 page adventure.

People of Oakland Asuka Ohsawa

When I moved from Brooklyn to Oakland in 2014, in an attempt to get to know my new environment, I got into the habit of staring at people who caught my attention, memorizing their facial features, and drawing them at home. The book is a collection of some of those sketches.

Somewhere, Sometime Asuka Ohsawa

After my dad passed away in 2016, I traveled to my childhood home in Japan often and dug through his material possessions. This experience triggered an avalanche of childhood memories that I hadn’t thought of for so many years. I decided to piece together bits and pieces of these memories in this book.

Slasher #5 by Charles Forsman

It’s all been leading to this. The final issue of Charles Forsman’s exploration into violence and sexuality. After the events of issue four, Christine lets herself indulge for the last time. From the creator of the E4/Netflix series The End of the F***ing World.

Live at the Grelman: #4 Amy Magick By Vinnie Neuberg, AT Pratt, and Derek Timm-Brock

Live at the Grelman is a collaborative storytelling stand-up comedy comic strip. All strips are written and drawn in the order that they appear and nothing is preplanned. This issue features guest strips by Drew Miller, Disa Wallander, Lane Graff, Max Huffman, Kelsey Wroten, Haejin Park, Mikey Karpiel, and Michael Furler. 40pp

Touch By Vinnie Neuberg

A new mini-comic about an online date gone awry in a Virtual Reality world. Each comic comes with a foldout poster. 24pp

False Advertising By Dylan Balliett

False Advertising is a collection of recent illustrations, comic strips, and single panel gag comics by Dylan Balliett.

The Fishes’ Ball By Priscilla Boatwright

A locket. A fisherman. A steed. The Fishes’ Ball is a short tale about a man who descends to the bottom of a lake in search of his beloved.

CAB 2017 Debuts Part Two: More exciting comics to fill your brains and shelves Yet more amazing comics debuting at tomorrow' Comic Arts Brooklyn show! Roopert August Lipp Revival House…

#CAB 2017 #Debuts #News #Top News

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artificialqueens · 7 years

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girls like dollies prologue (trixya) - lale

A/N: hi! i’ve been enjoying all the trixya fics on here so much that i had to try my hand at it! this is massively inspired by kate-boosh’s wonderful trxya highschool au artwork.

When she was little, growing up in a sleepy country town, Trixie had read stories about kids being sent away to boarding school and dreamed about what it would be like. Of course, she knew the reality would be nothing like Hogwarts or any of the other crazy schools she’d read about, but as she stood in front of the towering structure of RuPaul Charles’ Academy for Girls she wondered if it could live up to anything she’d imagined it could be. The social services lady who’d driven her up here had already climbed back into her car, leaving Trixie standing in front of the huge oak doors, pink duffel over one shoulder and guitar case in her other hand, a battered suitcase stood beside her.

She’d been trying to persuade her mother to help her apply for RuPaul’s for years now, leaving brochures around the house and telling her endlessly about the amazing scholarships they offered for their drama program, which was supposed to be one of the best in the country. Her friend Kim, who’d gone to high school with her for Freshman year, had gone to Rupaul’s the year after that, and they’d exchanged letters ever since. Although they’d gotten more infrequent over the years, Kim’s letters always left Trixie longing to join her. But her mother had been wary of sending her so far away, worried that something would happen to her; it was ironic, given the way she always turned a blind eye to what was happening to Trixie in her own home. She’d just about given up on the idea that she’d ever get to come here, resigning herself to finishing up high school in Milwaukee and focusing instead on the knowledge that she’d be able to escape for college.

Trixie hadn’t expected one of the worst points of her life to end up getting her what she’d wanted for years. It wasn’t like things had ever been all that smooth since her step-father had come into the picture, but it hadn’t always been terrible. Sometimes he’d made do with ignoring her, which suited Trixie perfectly; other times, she wasn’t so lucky. But he’d never gotten physical until the day Trixie’s sister, eight years old and with no ulterior motives beside wanting to push Trixie’s buttons, repeated a rumor she’d heard from a friend with a sister in Trixie’s class. He’d lost it, and not even Trixie’s heavy makeup could hide all the bruises the next day at school.

She still had no idea who had called social services, but her life had turned into a whirlwind from the moment his palm had first met her cheek. First had been the sleepless night sobbing into her pillow, confused and desperate to know why her mom still hadn’t done anything. Then had come the numbness that had set in when morning came, coating layer after layer of concealer on in an attempt to cover both her raw red eyes and the puffy purple bruising. School had been a blur, the exhaustion from the night before kicking in as she sat through class after class without taking in a thing going on around her. She’d barely started to think about what she’d do when she got home, or what would be waiting for her – would this be how things would go from now on? Should she try to leave? Was her mom ever going to say anything to her, or was she just going to pretend nothing had changed?

As it turned out, she still had no idea what would have happened. There was a car pulled up outside their house when she arrived home, and the woman stood in the kitchen with her mom had only needed one look at Trixie’s face before she was whisking her away. She’d barely had a moment to realize what was happening, and the she was packing a bag and being hustled into the back of an unfamiliar sedan. She could still picture her mother, white faced and standing on the doorstep as she watched them drive away.

She was still processing it all, really. She’d been shifted between a few group homes, too old at 16 to be put with a proper foster family. It hadn’t been until the third that she’d started to realize that she wouldn’t be going home anytime soon. She hadn’t seen any of her family since the morning after it had all happened; she didn’t even know if her siblings knew what had happened. Maybe he’d told them she’d run away. In her darker moments, she wondered if they’d be glad.

Once she’d started getting her head around the idea that she wouldn’t get to go home soon, she’d started trying to write a letter to Kim. It’d been hard, trying to put pen to paper and tell her what had happened. It would have been so much easier if she could have told her in person. She missed her fiercely in that moment, but it had been what had put the thought in her head that maybe this was her chance to finally get to go to her dream school.

A few intimidating conversations with her social worker later – it still kind of blew her mind that she had a social worker – and here she was, standing in front of the school she’d been desperate to go to for years. Her audition had been intense, but the glowing note filled with praise from the drama instructor that came along with her acceptance letter had been one of the few things that had made her smile since that terrible night. Still, now that she was actually here she felt even more nervous. She’d pinned all of her hopes on this place, and now she was suddenly terrified that it wouldn’t be everything she’d hoped. She’d managed to send Kim a short letter that didn’t say a lot more than, “I’m coming to RuPaul’s, BITCH!”, but she hadn’t heard back yet. Logically, she knew that was most likely because she’d only sent it a couple of days ago, but what if Kim was actually dreading seeing her? They hadn’t seen each other in over year, and Kim had always sounded like she’d made so many new, great friends at RuPaul’s. That was part of what had always attracted Trixie to the school, but what if Kim didn’t want Trixie there to cramp her style?

She couldn’t stand in front of the doors forever. Trixie took a deep breath, hitching her duffel bag up higher onto her shoulder and grabbing the handle of her suitcase. She could do this. She was Trixie Mattel, and she was finally getting her chance at the school she’d been dreaming about for years. It was going to be amazing, and she was going to forget all about everything that had happened at home. She was. A determined expression on her face, Trixie grasped the doorknob and took her first step into RuPaul Charles’ Academy for Girls.

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