#tosf

[lightweaver-naeuri]

Gods i have to recommend Julie Leong's The Teller of Small Fortunes to everyone. Written by a Chinese-Malaysian-US American woman, it's just such a good-feels, fluffy love letter to people who feel out of place no matter where they go.

I described the story to my mother (who is also Chinese-American) of a fortune teller who only tells inconsequential fortunes who is a girl from an asian-inspired nation in a white-medieval inspired nation, and her struggle to find belonging when she's too Shinn for Eshtera and too Eshterran for Shinara and she very quietly the next day asked if she could read it and augh.

It's really good, and I'm very excited to read The Keeper of Magical Things, which is a sapphic romance set in the same world by Julie Leong.

[dreamu-draws]

*Fishifies my ocs*

[cruger2984]

THE DESCRIPTION OF SAINT BRIDGET OF SWEDEN The Foundress of the Bridgettines Feast Day: July 23

"Let everyone who has the grace of intelligence fear that, because of it, he will be judged more heavily if he is negligent."

The patroness of Sweden and founder of the Order of the Most Holy Savior, popularly known in short as the Bridgettines, was born to the royal family of that country in 1303 in the historical prince (landskap) of Uppland, north of the Swedish capital of Stockholm. She was the daughter of the knight Birger Persson, of the family of Finsta, governor and lawspeaker of Uppland, and one of the richest landowners of the country, and his wife Ingeborg Bengtsdotter, a member of the so-called Lawspeaker branch of the Folkunga family.

Through her mother, Ingeborg, Birgitta was related to the Swedish kings of her era. At ten, she had a vision of Jesus hanging upon the cross. When she asked who had treated him like this, he answered: 'They who despise me, and spurn my love for them.'

She was so impressed that from that moment, the Passion of Christ became the center of her spiritual life. The revelations she had received since childhood now became more frequent, and her records of these Revelationes coelestes ('Celestial revelations') which were translated into Latin by Matthias, canon of Linköping, and by her confessor, Peter Olafsson, prior of Alvastra, obtained a great vogue during the Middle Ages.

Bridget who bore eight children, was happily married at the age of 14, to her husband, Ulf Gudmarsson of the family of Ulvåsa, Lord of Närke, for 28 years. Six survived infancy, which was rare at that time. Her eldest daughter was Märta Ulfsdotter. Her second daughter is now honored as St. Catherine of Sweden. When she was in her early thirties, she was summoned to be principal lady-in-waiting to the new Queen of Sweden, Blanche of Namur. In 1341, she and her husband went on pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela.

Upon her husband's death at the Cistercian Alvastra Abbey in Östergötland in 1344, she entered the Third Order of St. Francis and began a life of poverty and prayer. The revelations she had received since childhood now became more frequent, and she was told to dictate them to Peter Olafsson, the prior of Alvastra abbey. In one of her visions, Christ commanded her to found a new religious order. The Bridgettines (or Birgittines), as they were known, were to live in poor convents and to give all surplus income to the poor.

However, they were allowed to have as many books as they pleased. Except for a pilgrimage to Palestine, she remained in Rome for the rest of her life, urging ecclesiastical reform. Bridget went to confession everyday, and had a constant smiling face. Although she never returned in her native Sweden, her years in Rome were far from happy, being hounded by debts and by opposition to her work against Church abuses.

She died at the age of 69 or 70 in Rome on July 23, 1373. Canonized a saint by Pope Boniface IX in 1391, her major shrine can be found at Abbey Pax Mariae (Vadstena Abbey), situated on Lake Vättern in the Diocese of Linköping and the motherhouse of the order.

In 1999, Pope St. John Paul II named Bridget as a patron saint of Europe, alongside Benedict, Catherine of Siena, Edith Stein (Teresa Benedicta of the Cross), and Cyril & Methodius. The Third Order of Saint Francis includes her feast day on its Calendar of saints on the same day as the general Church, honoring her as a member of the Order.

[dogthingwuzhere]

He would like to know your ip adress/j

Anyway meet Tick-Tock

A clock-based shape creature who can't tell time. His head is filled with nothingness (and orbeez.)

[birdiethebibliophile]

{fic} This Is My Kingdom Come

Fandom:  The Adventure Zone:  Commitment Rating:  M Warnings:  Descriptions of past psychological trauma and dissociative-like state, implied suicidal ideation (more to do with outside perception) Word Count:  1,897

Here on AO3.

Tagging @someone-called-f1nch, @voidfishkid, @mellowstarscape, and @jumpboy-rembrandt, and thanks to @aubreylikesgirls​ for yelling at me about the end of TOSF yesterday and inspiring this!

The first of my promised post-TOSF one-shots. Sorry for starting with such a heavy one. If you haven’t read it, go read That Old Sweet Feeling before this - it won’t make much sense otherwise!

Title from Demons by Imagine Dragons, the last song on my TOSF playlist.

Summary:   A week after she comes home from the hospital, Nadiya finds Remy doing a little too much thinking.

__________________

“Hey… Remy. What’re you doing up here?”

Remy tossed a pebble off the roof towards the silent street below, swinging his legs against the side of the building. “Thinking.”

“Not your usual pastime.”

Nadiya had been out of the hospital for about a week. Between her mom flying in for a few days and Mary Sage’s constant meetings with her lawyer and Grace and Jonesy shepherding different ex-members of the Fellowship in and out of the place like it had a revolving door, it had all felt like a bundle of chaos, one of the results being that Nadiya hadn’t had an actual conversation with Remy since the night he’d almost killed her.

“Yeah. Well.” Remy shrugged, chucking another bit of gravel off the roof. “Got a lot to think about, I guess.”

“We could… talk about it? If you wanted,” Nadiya said, pulling her sweater closer around her and crossing her arms over her chest. San Francisco was foggy and chill at night, and she didn’t like it. Mary had visited a thrift store the day before and brought her back three cardigans, promptly stealing back two of them. Nadiya had been wearing the third ever since. “You could get off the edge of the roof. I could make coffee.”

“I’m okay, Nad,” Remy said. “For real. I don’t take fall damage. ‘M like Spider-Man.”

“Not really what I meant,” Nadiya said.

Remy’s head dipped, and even in the darkness, Nadiya could see his hands clench on the edge of the roof. “I – I dunno.”

“C’mon,” Nadiya said. “This is the first day the doc said I could have caffeine again.”

Remy gave a long, quiet sigh. “Okay,” he said, and swung his legs back onto the roof, hopping down from the ledge. “It won’t keep you up?”

“It won’t keep you  up?” Nadiya countered.

“Nah,” Remy said. “Sometimes helps, actually.”

“Well, I’ve been sleeping a ton lately, and a cup of coffee only lasts about an hour for me, so I’m good,” Nadiya said.

A ghost of a smile flickered across Remy’s face. “How much coffee did you have when you were in grad school? Per day, rough estimate.”

“Five cups? It was pretty shitty stuff, though. Low caffeine. Sometimes instant.”

Remy followed Nadiya back into the building and down the stairs to the penthouse. Grace had flown to Las Vegas earlier that day to deal with the whole almost-an-entire-building-being-destroyed issue on Nadiya’s old campus. Jonesy had gone to bed around eleven, lab goggles still on her head. Mary Sage had curled up an hour earlier, and Irene had been asleep at nine-thirty, for some godforsaken reason (“a steady sleep schedule is important for mental and physical health, Nadiya,” she’d reprimanded when Nadiya scoffed). The apartment was quiet as Nadiya padded across the kitchen to the coffeemaker, measured out the grounds into a filter, filled the water tank. The soft sputtering of the machine started to fill the space, along with the familiar, comforting smell of freshly-brewed coffee.

“So,” Nadiya said, pulling up one of the mismatched chairs to the table. Remy forewent the chair entirely and sat on the table itself. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

Remy jolted, looking up at her from under the hood of his sweatshirt. “No, I haven’t!”

“Liar,” Nadiya said, but not unpleasantly. “I got back from the hospital a week ago and you haven’t said a word to me.”

He blanched as much as his complexion allowed him to – for Remy, this mostly meant his eyes widened so Nadiya could see the white all the way around the dark brown iris. “Oh, God, Nad, I’m so sorry, I should’ve asked how you were doing, I –”

“No, idiot, that’s not what I meant,” Nadiya said, exasperated. “I’m fine. I’m good.  But it doesn’t seem like you are.”

“How are you good? I almost killed you!” Remy said, his voice growing higher even as it stayed quiet so as not to wake anyone else. “I – I fucking impaled  you on your own arm, your heart stopped beating, you were d-dead –”

Nadiya realized quite suddenly that Remy was crying. It was like her brain had rewritten every moment around when he’d started, because she wasn’t sure when he’d gone from not crying to crying, but he certainly was now, one hoodie sleeve pressed to his face, tears flowing thick and fast down his cheeks, shoulders shaking. “You were d-dead,” he repeats, “and I killed  you, and I fucking kill everything I touch.”

“What? No, you don’t,” Nadiya said. She gave up on the chair and climbed up onto the table with him. “Remy. Remy! Hey, I’m here, I’m alive, I’m okay. We’re all okay.”

“Not my parents,” Remy whispered, and his breathing sounded painful, sobs wrenched from his throat between words. “They’re dead, a-and my brother’s gym is never going to make any money, and Xander would be better off without me in his life, and –”

Nadiya steeled herself, then wrapped her arms around Remy’s shoulders in the tightest hug she could manage.

Immediately, Remy’s arms went around her chest and clutched the back of her sweater like a lifeline. His head dropped onto her shoulder. She could barely hear the muffled words: I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

Nadiya held him there, side by side, wrapped around each other, for longer than she could remember holding anyone, including Mary Sage. She felt the shoulder of her sweater growing progressively damper. She found she didn’t care.

Eventually, the coffeemaker stopped its soft sputtering, and the helpless shaking of Remy’s shoulders died down to a tremble, his arms dropping from around her. Nadiya hopped down from the table and filled two mugs, putting sugar in hers and pressing the other into Remy’s hands. He wrapped his fingers around it and took a sip, letting out a shaky sigh. “Sorry,” he said again. His voice was still raspy with tears.

“It’s okay,” Nadiya said, getting back onto the table with her own mug. “Um. I want to say something real, for like a second, but you have to pay close attention because I’m not saying it again, okay?” She stared down into her coffee. “You’re… you’re not just a good guy, Remy. You’re a good friend, and you can relate to other people better than any of us except for maybe Irene. You’re wicked smart, and brave as hell, even if that sometimes verges into some pretty dumbass shit. We –” She stopped and corrected herself. “I couldn’t have gotten through all this without you. I don’t blame you for anything that happened. It was all Martine. And as for the whole anyone  would be better off without you part…”

She looked up, and it was so easy to meet Remy’s eyes. It was always easy with him in a way that wasn’t easy with most people. “It fucking sucked, thinking you were dead,” she said quietly. “And that’s not me trying to blame you for getting caught. Again, that’s on Martine, and she’s going to rot in prison, good riddance. But it was like a piece of us was missing. And I can’t imagine that’s not the way your brother and his kid feel. Okay? There’s no way they’re better off without you than with you.”

“But I lost American Ninja Warrior,” Remy said, and then abruptly laughed shakily, wiping his nose with his sleeve. “I guess when I say it like that and we just stopped somebody from taking over the world it’s not as big of a deal.”

“Who cares if you messed up on TV one time?” Nadiya said. “You saved the world on TV last week. You saved my life, too. By the way. I don’t… I’m still not sure what happened with that.” Nadiya shifted, and to cover her discomfort, took a sip of her coffee. Those moments were still jumbled in her head, a chaos of pain and a floating, disconnected sensation in a sea of white and a tugging in her chest. “I don’t think that would’ve happened without you. Fuck, without you, I feel like Mary Sage wouldn’t have stuck around past around day one, so I gotta thank you for that. Thanks to you I have a girlfriend, I guess.” She nudged him with her elbow.

“Can’t believe I missed that, by the way,” Remy said. “She, uh… she told me she liked you way back when we were kidnapped in Nevada.”

“Took me a little longer to figure it out,” Nadiya admitted. “Not much longer, but a bit. I’m still waiting on the teasing.”

Remy gave another watery laugh and lifted his mug to his lips with shaky hands. “I’ll work on it.”

“Anyway. I just… I might have almost died, but you got fucking brainwashed or whatever.”

“It wasn’t a big –”

“Hey.” Nadiya cut him off. “You weren’t there. Well, you know, kind of. You didn’t see yourself. It was like  you were dead. Like… there was nothing behind your eyes. It was scary as fuck to see, so I don’t know how it must’ve felt. And you haven’t said a word about it.”

“It felt like… nothing,” he said after a long moment. “I can remember it. Which I dunno whether that’s better or worse. But it was like I didn’t have a body? Or maybe I didn’t have a mind. Like I was just a little to the left of everything, so I couldn’t use my brain to think and I couldn’t control what I was doing, and I couldn’t feel anything… and then when you – when you got hurt and fell and – it felt like something wrapped around me and yanked me back into my body. And then it all sort of hit at once, all the memories of –” He shivered. “I don’t remember what they did to me. Just Sylvane knocking me out, and then being brought to the gala and all the shit that went down there, and staying with Martine, and doing whatever she said. Her voice felt like – like a leash? It was just dragging me wherever she wanted me to go, whatever she wanted me to do, and I couldn’t help it. I could see myself hurting you, and I couldn’t stop. And then it just all hit me at once, and I was back and I thought you were dead, and – God.” He ran his hand over his face, then through his hair, knocking his hood back. “It was fucked up, Nad, I think it was pretty fucked up.”

“It sounds fucked up,” Nadiya agreed. “Drink your coffee.”

Remy drank his coffee. “It just didn’t feel okay to say anything about it when you had a literal hole in your chest.”

“Well, it’s closing up now.” Nadiya tapped lightly at the bandages on her midsection. “All good here. So it’s okay now. Yeah?”

Remy let out a long sigh that started out shaky and got deep until it sounded like it was drawing every bit of air from his chest so he could replace it all. “Yeah. Thanks, Nad.” He tipped his mug up and drained the last of his coffee. “I think I should probably get some sleep. You should, too. You’re still healing.”

“We both are,” Nadiya said as Remy climbed off the table. “Night, Remy.”

He smiled, and it almost looked like him. “Night, Nadiya.”

[dreamu-draws]

Did the six fanarts challenge back on Twitter a while ago!

[dreamu-draws]

Broken and bruised, but not yet beaten.

[dreamu-draws]

My little lightning rod 🥺