Sav Reads - Blog Posts

The Three Crows

There’s a cafe on campus that comes and goes called The Three Crows.  For those wanting a casual visit, it can be found in the spring when the hydrangeas bloom, on new moons, and the first sunny day after it rains.  For those wishing adventures of a more exotic variety, it can be found on clear nights with a full moon when you hear the distant sounds of hounds baying.   As you enter, you will be greeted by the sweet smell of cider and the spice of whiskey all comfortably wrapped within the warmth of coffee. The Dropkick Murphy’s always play in the background, and flowers grow from the walls and sometimes that odd table or chair.

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Mother Mud

I saw a women who came up from the floorboards, from the soil beneath the crawl space of my old creaky home. Nude and streaked in grime she crept along the floor, her hands and feet leaving muddy prints that shone in the static television light. She crept to where a father lay sleeping on the stained lumpy couch. He was not my father, but he was a father.

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Of the Beginning

The Queen took the stories and She ate them, chopping up poems, taking draughts from epics, swallowing vignettes whole. She was given offerings of playwright’s notes, sheets of underwater ballet choreography, links to illicit piracy websites, but it was never enough. There were whispers of Her favorite offerings, of philosophy books filled with notes, of abandoned manuscripts, of secrets whispered in the dead of night. Drop an elder with memory of unrecorded oral history from an oppressed tribe on Her doorstep at exactly 1:32 AM, and a pen that channeled untold wisdom through whatever you wrote would be gifted to you through assorted means. (Rumor has it Hozier was once sacrificed to her, but he’s probably been blessed)

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So. It’s been an year and a half since I last posted something set in @elsewhereuniversity , but never say die!! We’ve seen how Feathers and the Crow Prince each came to elsewhere, and now whe have Not-Jenna’s story.

Summary -

Not-Jenna wasn’t always called Not-Jenna, or even Jenna. She wasn’t even always a changeling.

The fae who Feathers calls Not-Jenna used to be- well, what she used to be doesn’t matter anymore. This particular tale starts when she was small, and weak, and alone, because it was much, much better than the alternative.

And then she fell in love.

She fell in love, and made a deal. And despite what Jenna will tell you, it was not a particularly good deal.

had a fascinating english class that resulted in the notes header “the forcefeminization of victor frankenstein”

my uncle killed my father and married with my mother and now i must *remembers that suicide jokes do nothing for my mental health and wellbeing* put on a play

literally so funny in tbk the amount of times alyosha scurries and vaults himself over walls and hedges and gates while in his longass monk robes. the image of it described every time is the funniest thing ever i love him so dearly

The thing about me and Dostoevsky books is that everytime I read (or start rereading) one, I start wanting to read everything he has ever written... all at once.

If that's not a sign of severe mental instability what is?

Me *starting The Brothers Karamazov at 1 am: Fuck it! We ball

I just met Jonathan Harker for the first time! He seems so nice, I certainly hope nothing heinously awful happens to him. Wishing him well on his little train trip.