Das Klein Pferd

the Holmes entity can die, but always reappears within a generation and without fail seeking out the latest in the Watson line. the Watsons, grown savvy over time, now devote much of their time to a.) preparing the younger members of the family for Holmes’ inevitable return or b.) desperately trying to get the hell out of dodge and live a normal life before it can happen to them as well. 

Long story short my gma sent me money, and i have $25 left, so here’s the sitch

All you have to do is draw one or both of my ocs! Winner will receive a choice of

Xbox $25

Ps4 $25

Steam $25

or PayPal! $25

Contest will end in March 12th

On Monday!

SFM COUNTS TOO!

*important* for gift cards you must be in the U.S., if not, I can still send you in PayPal ^3^

Separate contest!

Reblog And get a chance to win a free sketch in a raffle!

Good luck! Until zen!

Pizzah!

The thing I love about Terry’s writing is that he loved - loved - civil society.  He loved the correct functioning of the social contract.  He loved technology, loved innovation, but also loved nature and the ways of living that work with and through it.   He loved Britain, but hated empire (see “Jingo”) - he was a ruralist who hated provincialism, a capitalist who hated wealth, an urbanist who reveled in stories of pollution, crime and decay.  He was above all a man who loved systems, of nature, of thought, of tradition and of culture.  He believed in the best of humanity and knew that we could be even better if we just thought a little more.

As a writer: how skillful, how prolific, how consistent.  The yearly event of a new Discworld book has been a part of my life for more than two decades, and in that barrage of material there have been so few disappointments, so many surprises… to come out with a book as fresh and inspired as “Monstrous Regiment” as the 31st novel in your big fantasy series?  Ludicrous.  He was just full of treasure.  What a thing to have had, what a thing to have lost.

Rest under the cut :}

Anahardt Week - Day 1: Wedding bells

Let me tell you what I know about this after living here for nearly thirty years.

This is a modern European country, the home of hot net startups, of Internet giants and (in some places, some very few places) the fastest broadband on Earth. People here live in this century, HARD.

Yet they get nervous about walking up that one hill close to their home after dark, because, you know… stuff happens there.

I know this because Peter and I live next to One Of Those Hills. There are people in our locality who wouldn’t go up our tiny country road on a dark night for love or money. What they make of us being so close to it for so long without harm coming to us, I have no idea. For all I know, it’s ascribed to us being writers (i.e. sort of bards) or mad folk (also in some kind of positive relationship with the Dangerous Side: don’t forget that the root word of “silly”, which used to be English for “crazy”, is the Old English _saelig_, “holy”…) or otherwise somehow weirdly exempt.

And you know what? I’m never going to ask. Because one does not discuss such things. Lest people from outside get the wrong idea about us, about normal modern Irish people living in normal modern Ireland.

You hear about this in whispers, though, in the pub, late at night, when all the tourists have gone to bed or gone away and no one but the locals are around. That hill. That curve in the road. That cold feeling you get in that one place. There is a deep understanding that there is something here older than us, that doesn’t care about us particularly, that (when we obtrude on it) is as willing to kick us in the slats as to let us pass by unmolested.

So you greet the magpies, singly or otherwise. You let stones in the middle of fields be. You apologize to the hawthorn bush when you’re pruning it. If you see something peculiar that cannot be otherwise explained, you are polite to it and pass onward about your business without further comment. And you don’t go on about it afterwards. Because it’s… unwise. Not that you personally know any examples of people who’ve screwed it up, of course. But you don’t meddle, and you learn when to look the other way, not to see, not to hear. Some things have just been here (for various values of “here” and various values of “been”) a lot longer than you have, and will be here still after you’re gone. That’s the way of it. When you hear the story about the idiots who for a prank chainsawed the centuries-old fairy tree a couple of counties over, you say – if asked by a neighbor – exactly what they’re probably thinking: “Poor fuckers. They’re doomed.” And if asked by anybody else you shake your head and say something anodyne about Kids These Days. (While thinking DOOMED all over again, because there are some particularly self-destructive ways to increase entropy.)

Meanwhile, in Iceland: the county council that carelessly knocked a known elf rock off a hillside when repairing a road has had to go dig the rock up from where it got buried during construction, because that road has had the most impossible damn stuff happen to it since that you ever heard of. Doubtless some nice person (maybe they’ll send out for the Priest of Thor or some such) will come along and do a little propitiatory sacrifice of some kind to the alfar, belatedly begging their pardon for the inconvenience.

They’re building the alfar a new temple, too.

Don’t go near big trees in the night

If you live on a farm, don’t look outside the windows at night

I have broken all these rules.

I’ve seen some shit.

If it sounds like your mom, but you didn’t realize your mom is home…. it’s not your mom. Promise.

One walked onto the porch once. Wasn’t fun. But they’re not super keen on guns. Typically bolt when they see one.

You think it’s the neighbor kids.

It’s not the neighbor kids.

Might sound like coyotes but you never really /see/ the coyotes but then wow that one cow was reaaaaaally fucked up this morning. The next night when you hear another one screaming you just turn the tv up a little more. Maybe fire a gun in the air but you don’t go after it. If it is coyotes then it’s probably a pack and you seriously don’t want to fuck with that and if it’s the other thing you seriously REALLY don’t want to fuck with that.

So in the south, especially near the mountains, you just go straight from your car to inside your house, draw your curtains and watch tv.

If you see lights in the fields just fucking leave it alone.

Eyes forward. Don’t be fucking stupid. Mind your own business. Call your neighbors and tell them to bring the cats in. There’s coyotes out. Some of them know. Most of them don’t.

Other than that everything’s a ghost and they died in the civil war. Literally all of everything else is just the civil war. We used to smell old perfume and pipe tobacco in the weeks leading up to the battle anniversaries.

We had ‘witches’ in the mountains (more like ghost-women who will snatch you up by making you wander in a daze around the forest like the Blair Witch before killing you or letting you back out into society but you’re… different). Or devils in springs or abandoned wells (don’t look too long into one or something will follow you). 

But we also had the cornfield demons. I’ve witnessed this many times. You’ll be in the passenger seat looking out the window and see red glowing eyes in the cornfield. No light shining in that direction. Just two red dots a few inches apart faintly glowing in a pitch black cornfield. They’re not the glow of deer eyes in the headlights. More like the embers of a dying fire. Sometimes, as you drive away, you’ll look out the back window or side mirror and you can see the eyes have moved to the edge of the corn field, still watching you. If you bring it up with the driver, they’ll call you paranoid, but grip the wheel a bit tighter and driver a little faster.

I just…yes. This. All of this. And then some.

You don’t have to understand it. You don’t have to believe in it.

Hermione Granger: *witnesses humans transfigure into animals*

Hermione Granger: *time-travels multiple times per day*

Professor Trelawney: “I can prophesize the future.”

movie!hermione, w/ her advanced emotional intelligence and absolute willingness to meet each and every emotional need the boys have, should have of course been good at emotional magics like divination. shes fucking superwoman. but book!hermione? who destroyed a girls face without mercy because she ratted out the DA? who erased her parents memories so she could fight in a war? who solved dumbledores’ mysteries using ancient runes, an art that is practically the math of magic? book!hermione will destroy you and she will do it armed with the cold hard facts and the cold hard facts alone. book!hermione doesn’t give a shit. instead of getting a regular pet, book!hermione was drawn to a magical cat who is self-serving and intellectual and helped her gather clues rather than serving as an emotional companion. i mean fck.

Tumblr is filled with eager-to-slay-their-allies Social Justice Warriors who believe the world should cater and not offend them. As a trans polyamorous potato, I adore the fans I’ve met through here that have shared their varied identities and alternative lifestyles. In earnest, I feel a kinship with other folks out there who share my struggles and who wake up just trying to make it through another day. But I think it’s fucked up the way Tumblrites treat each other. And being sensitive, kind, and caring does not go hand-in-hand with witch hunts (no matter their intent) or catering to a fuckton of trigger words or having cis white males “check their privilege.” The world nor people is “black and white.” Intention is everything. You’re going to stumble along the way. You’re going to piss people off. You just have to have the decency to own up to your actions. But 9 times out of 10, even just acknowledging it to yourself makes you more considerate than most of the world.

Outside this festering box of warped and twisted ideals called Tumblr is the real world. In the real world you will not be catered to. You will not have your hand held. Your feelings will not matter. If you’re trying to create a safe space online where you don’t have to feel so threatened or marginalized, you can only do so much before you’re asking people to sever parts of themselves. It’s not about fighting about rights. It’s not about equality. It’s not about feminism. It’s about understanding that while the world is a shitty place, you make it shittier by seeing the world as black and white. I hate seeing people rag on my bandmates. Because we’re in a band. Doing our job to make a living. And David and I feel a big part is keeping that connection with you all. Interacting. Being accessible. Sam stays away from all this stuff and has reaped the benefits of not ruffling feathers… because he doesn’t participate. The rest of us…well. Our interaction ruffles you sometimes. It’s a risk. It’s unavoidable. But remember. None of this petty little shit matters. Outside the internet, the world churns with so much of this bullshit that it is simply a cacophonous ocean of pettiness…and it all drowns out itself. We type these long rants or two sentence opinions like it’ll have any sort of effect on the world. And sometimes it does. And sometimes it doesn’t… But we do it because it’s nice to feel like you matter for a moment. Like you can express yourself freely and have an audience outside the chaos of the world. I think everyone should express themselves. Even if they’re expressing how much they hate me.