Topher Lydon

I have just dug the album out, and put it on. Excuse me, I am going to be a teenager again for an hour. Let's see what I write.

OMG I wrote my first short stories to this album in High School Man you've taken me right back to sitting on a ratty sofa in my bedroom, paper and a pencil because I didn't have a computer or a typewriter... I used to write and write and write, all day long. I suffered from Micrographica, which saved me on paper costs... but hell it was hard to read. This album on a tape, that I just kept turning over and over. Man I don't miss those years, they were brutal and hard... but this was one of the only good memories I have. My father took those stories and tore them up in front of me... telling me I'd never amount to anything writing. So it was my defiance to keep writing, my way to fight back. And I am proud of what I have written in the years since. Screw the Lord of Bullshit!

This one does go to show that Liam's feelings for Pavel are a little more real than either of the two were ready for (thankfully on Byk's part) I should really do an image of those two at some point

@drsawzall was asking for one

There is a quiet fan theory regarding the film Event Horizon that postulates that when the gravity drive of the ship is reactivated, the resulting gravitic wave caused massive brain injuries to the rescue crew, resulting in visions, paranoia, erratic behaviour and for the unstable already amongst them, psychopathy. From this lens the film goes from a house of horror in space, to a medical disaster film. Worth a second watch knowing that it is brain damage that is causing what is happening.

The Zodiac was cruising through the Othari Sector, and the bridge was quiet. It was a normal day. A routine day. The kind of day that the crew had learned to appreciate after months of terror. Hollis was in the medbay, recovering from the shuttle crash. Cole was in the center seat, getting used to command. Tweek was at the helm, tired but content. And the stars were streaking by in a peaceful, hypnotic blur. Nobody expected anything to go wrong. And then the ship hit something.

Edward's learning

Stand and Deliver

Good morning

The rain had begun again by the time Edward crossed London Bridge, a fine, misting drizzle that clung to the wool of his coat and settled like a cold sweat against his skin. Southwark lay ahead, a dark, sprawling warren of alleys and low-timbered taverns that smelled of river mud, cheap gin, and desperation. It was a place where gentlemen only went when they wished to remain unseen, a sanctuary for the city’s underbelly. Edward kept his head down, the collar of his threadbare velvet coat turned

London, September 1748 The trick to escaping Bedlam, Jonas had discovered, was not to be the maddest man in the room. That honour belonged to the fellow in the next cell who spent his days trying to catch flies with his teeth and his nights singing hymns in a language no one had ever heard. No, the trick was to be just interesting enough that the keepers forgot to lock the door properly. He had been at it for three weeks. Three weeks of asking the right questions in the wrong way. Thre

Two ruined men—one a disgraced aristocrat, the other a madman fleeing Bedlam—forge an unlikely alliance in 1748 London. To survive, they must navigate a world of gambling dens, back-alley degradation, and highway robbery. But when their partnership deepens into something more dangerous than any heist, they’ll discover that survival is cheaper than love—and far less costly. A gritty historical romance about redemption, resilience, and finding family in the darkest places.

T'virith really wanted that specific pillow. And not at all because he's grown fond of Hollis, nope, Kareshi don't roll that way...

The shuttle was falling. It was not crashing. It was falling. There is a profound, terrifying difference in the physics of the two events. A crash is a sudden, violent conclusion. A fall is an agonizing process, a prolonged suspension in the terrifying space between life and inevitable impact. This particular process had started exactly forty-five seconds ago when a massive, superheated plasma bolt from an unknown alien vessel had sheared the starboard nacelle clean off the Paradox shuttle

But then Andrew would miss out on the bikini briefs

09:00 – USS Kearsarge (LHD-3), Central Mediterranean The transition from a hostile, asymmetric urban warzone to the sterile, hyper-regulated environment of a United States Wasp-class amphibious assault ship was a jarring, almost hallucinatory physiological shock. For the past twelve hours, Will Carter’s reality had been defined by the scent of pulverized concrete, raw sewage, oxidized gun oil, and the sharp, undeniable copper tang of human blood. He had navigated the apocalyptic

True, and totally unable to stop a certain British Warlock from immolating his new hat.

Time for Flynn to do what he's good at, some good old fashioned detective work.