K Tempest Tumbles

I'm K. Tempest Bradford, a writer, blogger, tech geek, and all around nerd. I'm such a big science fiction/fantasy/speculative fiction fan that I even write it (I know, pretty hard core!).

I have a non-Tumblr blog and that's where the majority of my long-form posts go. This blog is for my more fannish activities, link sharing, and squeeness.
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Went to the Cloisters the other day and climbed up several stairs like this. #superwoman #365feministselfie

And finally Veronica Schanoes joins me for a #365feministselfie :-)

Guess who has a copy of Justine Larbalestier’s new book ahead of the US debut? This girl! Guess who’s named in the acknowledgements? This girl! Been waiting a long time to see how this ends. So excited! #365feministselfie

My favorite piece at #thecloisters: Rosary bead with the tiniest carvings ever. Can’t even image how someone made this. So intricate. #medievalart #nyc

From the gardens at #thecloisters, a flower called (I think) the Horn of Plenty. It unfurls beautifully. #nyc

Created by Photo Grid.

Monkeys building a tresle table. Why? Because medieval. #medievalart #thecloisters #nyc

Eve and the serpent at the tree of knowledge. But Eve *is* a serpent. Weird. #medievalart #thecloisters #nyc

The stylized A D shows up in a bunch of places in each of the unicorn tapestries. I’ve always wondered if it was meant to be a sort of Where’s Waldo type thing. Like, can you spot them all? Here’s one on a dog! #medievalart #thecloisters #nyc

The placard offered no context for this. Like naked women regularly hung around with shields. #medievalart #thecloisters #nyc

maedhrys:

Harry disappears from the wizarding world for a little while after the fall of Voldemort and only like Ron Hermione and Ginny know where he’s gone

but he’s traveling. he considered backpacking Europe, but then he realized he’d had enough of camping for at least twenty years, so he teaches himself to drive and pulls enough strings to get himself an American drivers’ license and and then he’s off on a roadtrip in a beat-up car that’s still fast as anything. he doesn’t use magic if he can help it because it feels tainted, feels like it belongs to the war, feels like it marks him out again as someone with power and responsibility and the weight of a world on his shoulders. and for now he wants to find out what it is not to be a world-saving wizard, but just to be Harry.

and he meets a lot of strangers (he figures it’s safe enough picking up hitchhikers when they’re more than likely muggles and he’s got his wand if anything bad happens) and he learns what it’s like to be just another face, another car on the road and he learns all sorts of stuff on the radio, tries every genre out there. and it’s nice to listen to stuff that isn’t specifically designed to remind him of the wizarding world, but he finds so much of it surprisingly relatable and sometimes he just breaks down sobbing at the wheel and has to pull over.

and one of the hitchhikers he picks up is a veteran, and Harry doesn’t tell him much but he does say that he’s been a soldier, too, and it’s hard adjusting to a life that you never thought would exist because things were so hard that you could not imagine yourself after. hard to think about settling down and marrying the girl you thought you’d die loving. hard to think that not everyone around you is an enemy. were you a prisoner of war? the veteran asks. or undercover? both, says Harry. and lost, not knowing whether I was on the run or on a mission that was taking a year. I got back alive in the end but something—something’s definitely dead, you know?

how old are you, says the veteran. I’m eighteen, says Harry. the veteran raises his eyebrows. but they both know that some armies, some wars, don’t care about your age.

I think the dead thing is me, Harry says one day, when he’s going seventy in a fifty-five mile zone and the sun is setting in their eyes. when I killed the enemy, I killed myself.

and the veteran looks at him for a very long moment and Harry slows down and looks back at him and at last the man says, no. no, you lived. and you’re going to keep living, son, and one day you’ll be ready to marry that girl, if you love her, and now that you’ve got out of the war, it’s time to get the war out of you.

(they almost have a wreck when Harry pulls over to the side of the road, gets out, sits in the grass and laughs through his tears. flowers start to spring up around him and he feels the magic in his core, but this time it’s peaceful and pure and fun. unspoiled. and he knows it won’t always feel this way but for now things are leaking out of him, joyful things, because he is the boy who lived again, the boy who lived after the war.)

(via karenhealey)