#Condemned to Exile | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

incessantscreech2000 · 6 months

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Image transcriptions below:

Legendary South African Jewish Freedom Fighters

And Their Condemnation of Israel

Many people don't know that several of Nelson Mandela's closest and earliest comrades and co-conspirators were South African Jews.

These Jewish comrades and their work was pivotal to the defeat of South African apartheid, giving them a unique perspective on the state of Israel.

—

Joe Slovo (1926-1995) was a Jewish South African anti-apartheid activist. In 1942, at age 16, Slovo volunteered to travel to Europe to fight the Nazis. Upon return, he studied alongside Nelson Mandela. He eventually was a founding member of uMkhonto we Sizwe, the paramilitary arm of the African National Congress.

Slovo was exiled to Mozambique by the apartheid government. Whilst there, his wife, legendary Jewish anti-apartheid activist Ruth First, was assassinated by a parcel bomb sent by the apartheid regime.

Working from abroad for the fall of apartheid, he eventually returned and became a Minister in Mandela's government. Throughout his life he remained a staunch critic of Israel.

—

"Ironically enough, the horrors of the Holocaust became the rationalization for the preparation by Zionists of acts of genocide against the indigenous people of Palestine. Those of us who, in the years that were to follow, raised our voices against the violent apartheid of the Israeli state were vilified by the Zionist press."

- Joe Slovo

—-

Denis Goldberg (1933-2020) was a Jewish South African anti-apartheid activist. He spent 22 years in prison, mostly in solitary confinement, for his political activity alongside Mandela.

He was finally freed when his daughter, who lived in Israel, lobbied the Israeli government, which was closely allied to the apartheid regime, to release him. Due to his staunch opposition to Zionism, he refused to join her in Israel.

—

"The violence of the [South African] apartheid regime was nothing in comparison with the utter brutality of Israel's occupation of Palestine."

- Denis Goldberg

—

Beata Lipman (1928-2016) was a Jewish South African anti-apartheid activist. She drafted the original Freedom Charter in her own handwriting in 1952, which became the basis for the constitution of free South Africa after the fall of apartheid.

Lipman was a proud Jewish critic of Israel, penning many letters condeming Israel over its treatment of Palestinians.

—

"We who have fought against Apartheid and vowed not to allow it to happen again can not allow Israel to continue perpetrating apartheid, colonialism and occupation against the indigenous people of Palestine. We dare not allow Israel to continue violating international law with impunity. Apartheid was a gross violation of human rights. It was so in South Africa and it is so with regard to Israel's persecution of the Palestinians!"

- Beata Lipman in joint letter

—

Ronnie Kasrils is a Jewish South African who was also a founding member and Chief of Intelligence for uMkhonto we Sizwe.

In 1992, Kasrils led an unarmed protest when the apartheid government opened fire, killing 28 of his comrades and injuring over 200 others. He went on to serve in various Ministerial roles after the defeat of apartheid.

In 2001, Kasrils was co-author of the

*Declaration of Conscience by South Africans of Jewish Descent, which calls Israel a colonial apartheid-state. He has drawn criticism for stating that Israel has behaved like the Nazis.

—

"We recognise the operation today by the Palestinian resistance in Gaza as a legitimate expression of their right to resist. We support all efforts of oppressed people to liberate themselves from their oppressors in the same way we did in our liberation struggle.

We are saddened by all violence but Israeli Jews will not realise peace until they accept a future where they will live with Palestinians as citizens in a single, democratic Palestinian state, with Palestinians being compensated for seven decades of colonisation, occupation and apartheid."

- Ronnie Kasrils, 7th October 2023

#free palestine #palestine #gaza #hamas #israel #fuck israel #freedom fighters #resistance #south africa #israel is an apartheid state #apartheid #genocide #from the river to the sea palestine will be free

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tragedybunny · 4 months

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I Should Tell You - Chapter 1

༺Summary༻

In a fit of guilt, Astarion tries to confess his deception to you. At the last moment, he loses his nerve and ends your relationship with another lie. He's resigned himself to having lost his chance with you forever when once again everything changes. With the two of you out on your own, will he be able to take a chance and tell you everything, and will you forgive him when he does?

༺Pairing༻ Astarion x Female Reader

༺Warnings༻ Sexual references

༺Word Count༻ 1888

Astarion was, well, he was loath to admit it, but he was brooding. He’d taken up a private room at the Elfsong now that everything was over, one where he could keep protected from the sun while the rest of his companions, yourself included, lived their lives in the light of day. Slowly, condemned back to the shadows, locked in his room with drapes drawn tight against the burning daylight, he’d drifted further and further away from the group. Culminating in tonight, where he had one perfunctory drink at the farewell party and slipped off away from the group to hide out amongst his books and the shadows of his mind.

For the last several weeks, everyone had put their all into assisting Baldur’s Gate in starting to rebuild. Those who were left anyway, Wyll and Karlach were in Avernus, and Lae’zel was off to wage war on Vlaakith. Now those who were left would be parting ways as well, Shadowheart to see the world, Gale back to Waterdeep, Jaheira and Minsc to rebuild the Baldur’s Gate Harpers, and you and Halsin…hells, he didn’t want to know.

If he were being honest with himself, which felt like it was to be avoided these days, there was more to his self-imposed exile than returning to a nocturnal life. Seeing the two of you together made it feel like a dagger was shoved between his ribs and playing around with his insides.

And the worst part was, it was all his fault. He couldn’t be mad at you or the infuriatingly perfect Druid. Well, he shouldn’t anyway, he still found himself wanting to shred Halsin’s throat with his teeth every time he pulled you close and kissed you like you were a goddess he was paying worship to. He’d done it to himself though, weaving a web of lies and manipulations so dense he’d trapped himself while you slipped through, unscathed.

That web became too entangled with the way you’d stood firm against that Drow, for him. You’d seen him as a person, and he’d repaid that by seeing you as a pawn. At least at first. By the time you shouted at that vile creature on his behalf, he’d become so hopelessly lost in the strands of feeling that had grown and wrapped around his heart, he knew he had to give up the plan, and give you the truth, even if you hated him for it.

As soon as your group had made camp that night, not far enough from the shadows of Moonrise Towers for anyone's comfort, he'd made his way over to you. “I want to thank you,” he’d started, sure of his course. “For what you said whilst in front of that vile Drow…

“...You made me realize I never stopped thinking like his slave.” He drew in a breath, despite the fact that he didn’t need it, and froze. Patiently, you stared up at him with that affectionate look you always had, giving him space to collect his thoughts. You, the fount of warmth and sweetness he didn’t deserve, the love he couldn’t hope to keep. Frantically, he willed himself to speak, to tell you what you needed to know, no matter the consequences.

“And I realize I don’t think I’m ready for a relationship.” The words had spilled out of his lips before he could think them through and he watched as your eyes widened in hurt.

“Gods no, what the fuck are you doing,” he cursed himself, but still the words came.

“Being with someone still feels tainted, I need to figure out who I am, what I want.” Finally, he’d bitten down on his own tongue to stop the tide, but the damage was done.

Those loving eyes of yours sparkled with tears, but that composure he’d begrudgingly come to admire since he met you held firm. “Is this really what you want, Astarion?”

“No, no, no. I want you, I want it to be real.” If he gave you the truth and you sent him away, he couldn’t bear it. At least this way he could salvage your friendship, still bask in your light from time to time. The excuse was flimsy, even to himself, but he’d been a liar from the start.

“I think it's for the best, I'm sorry.” Twice, he’d lied to you, twice, there would never be any coming back from this. “Please don't be mad at me.”

You stepped forward and he instinctively came close to cowering away. But you weren’t intent on harming him, instead wrapping your arms around him in a gentle embrace. “I think I understand. I’m not mad if this is what you need.”

Your arms felt as though they were crushing him, their touch burning his skin. The urge to pull away and flee was almost overwhelming. But you deserved this one last bit of comfort. “Thank you,” he murmured, resting his head on your shoulder, breathing you in, and resigning himself to a life without this.

After you finally pulled away, you went to his tent and packed your things, leaving to set up on your own and let him endure the night without you at his side. There was a time when he’d never believe his own space could feel so empty. Back in the spawn dormitory, he would have given anything for this solitude. Now it was wretched. And so his first night alone was passed in miserable resolution, and when the day dawned, he went on as though all was right.

It wasn’t lost on him that you would eventually find other companionship, you were attractive, witty, brave, and immensely caring. And from what he’d seen, you certainly weren’t interested in a celibate lifestyle. That line of reasoning still didn't prepare him for the night the group camped outside Rivington.

Astarion had just returned from a hunt, the blood of a rabbit fresh on his tongue. It wasn’t you but he hadn’t dared ask to touch your neck after everything, electing to spend his trance hours dreaming of those moments between you instead. It was better than the nightmares of Cazador and his tortures at least. As he’d crept into the circle of ruined buildings that camp had been set up in, he stopped short, the world feeling as though it was closing in around him.

You were talking to Halsin, who held one of your hands in his, and somehow, even with his ridiculously large hands, delicately brushed a strand of hair behind your ear with the otherl. Time slowed and Astarion felt as though the blood in his stomach might make its way back out of his mouth.

In the dim firelight, the stars gleaming without a cloud to obscure them, Halsin kissed you. Softly, slowly at first, and then his hands wandered to your hips to pull you in as he deepened it. Your hands came to rest on those broad shoulders and instead of pulling away as Astarion desperately hoped you would, you leaned into it, eager and wanting. He wasn’t close enough, but Astarion could swear he heard the little moan you probably made. The same sound you used to make for him.

Halsin stared down at you after breaking the kiss, no doubt with naked lust written on his face, and offered you his hand again. And that was the that, the two of you began to quietly walk away from camp while Astarion fled to his tent, crawling into his bedroll and desperately choking down the sobs that threatened.

It had been bound to happen, but how soon, was what burned from the inside out. Just like that, you’d forgotten all about him, as though he hadn’t mattered in the first place. How dare you. He tried to summon anger with you, to wash away the pain. It was a betrayal, he had every right to be angry. You waited for no time at all, you moved on so easily, you…you just forgot he loved you.

Not that he’d ever said it, but you must have known. The bedroll was even colder than usual as Astarion clung to the one object he found comfort in. Kept secreted away amongst his things, a shirt of yours he managed to pilfer before his botched confession. By day, it was tucked in his pack, and at night it filled his bedroll beside him. Pulling it into his arms, he inhaled what was left of your scent on it, and buried his face in the pillow to weep bitter tears.

He emerged the next morning into daylight that no longer held the promise it had so recently. Almost immediately you ran to him, taking your arm in his, giving him a moment of foolish hope. If things had gone badly between you and Halsin, he would rectify his mistake and tell you everything, he privately swore.

All it took was one look in your eyes to know that hope was in vain. “Astarion, I need to tell you something, and I wanted you to hear it from me first.” You led him away from the rest of the group, almost to the spot where he’d seen you with Halsin. The rest of your companions pretended not to notice the obvious personal moment occurring a stone's throw away from them.

It was a good thing he'd cried every tear he had last night. “Well go on Darling, don't keep me in suspense,” he plastered on a grin.

“The thing is,” you look everywhere but at him, “Halsin and I, well, things happened between us last night, and I think I'd like to pursue whatever this is. It just felt right to tell you first.”

Astarion laughed, a hollow sound to his own ears, but convincing enough for you, it seemed. “My Dear, you were worrying yourself about this? Don't vex your pretty little head like that, I don't begrudge your need for intimacy. Even if I fail to understand the appeal of a man who's always going on about enjoying the freedom of nature's gifts.”

“Astarion,” you scolded, but a subtle smile told him you were relieved. “Behave yourself.”

“Let me have a little fun at your expense.” He disentangled his arm from yours, its warmth suddenly smothering. Taking your hand, he kissed it gently. “I'm glad, you deserve to be happy.” That part he did mean, even as he reviled how it was happening. “And I'm sure you and Halsin will be. Don't worry about me.”

“Please worry about me. Can't you see how I'm bleeding?”

Leaning up, you kissed his cheek, with all the gentleness in the world. “Thank you, Astarion, I'm glad you understand, I'd never want to hurt you.”

From that moment on, you were Halsin's and Astarion had to grin and pretend to be happy for you. That's what friends were for and you insisted you two were friends. The two of you seemed so disgustingly infatuated with each other, he wanted to scream at times. So naturally he'd assumed you'd be happily headed out on some grand, romantic journey together.

Which was why it startled him to nearly a second death when you burst into his claimed sanctuary, clearly distraught and slamming the door behind you. “I'm sorry… I can't be in there,” you gasped out between sobs.

@micropoe10 @writingmysanity @mxxny-lupin @azu21

Tag List:

@tallymonster @dependsonthedream @sunfire-ancunin

@bambamwolf87 @fayeriess @lumienyx @lisrelly

@elora-the-slutty-songstress @bhaalbaaby @spacebarbarianweird

@satanicspinosaurus @darlingxdragon @wanderingisobel @astarionsbeloved

@vixstarria @claryvoyantfray @icybluepenguin

#bg3 #astarion #baldurs gate 3 #astarion x reader #x reader #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 fanfic #my fanfic #my writing #i should tell you

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useless-catalanfacts · 6 months

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The rap singer Valtònyc (wearing dark green in the first photo) has returned from exile. It's the first time he steps in his homeland Mallorca in almost 6 years.

He was sentenced to 3.5 years of prison because when he was 18 years old he wrote a song where he criticized the Spanish monarchy and uploaded it to YouTube. He wasn't famous and his most listened song on YouTube had 8,000 views, but in Spain it's a crime to say "injuries against the crown", and the laws are often applied more harshly against national minorities (Valtònyc is from the Catalan Countries). His song was found and he had to go to trial over it, and was sentenced guilty of the crimes of injuries against the monarchy, praising terrorism, and threats.

Valtònyc refused to accept the so-called "justice" of the Spanish judicial system, so he decided to escape. He managed to sneak to France unnoticed by the police, and went to Belgium, where there was already a community of Catalan people on exile for their political involvement in the Catalan independence process. He has lived on exile in Belgium these last 5 years and a half.

Had he come back to any Spanish territory, Valtònyc (same as the other exiles) would have immediately been jailed. In fact, Spain issued an international order of extradition, demanding Belgium arrest him and send him to Spain to be imprisoned. But the Belgian courts found that these kind of cases should be allowed under freedom of speech and, instead of sending Valtònyc to Spain, Belgium got rid of their own law that punished "injuries against the crown" as a crime. With no Belgian law to punish him, he was allowed to stay in Belgium. This is a similar process that had happened with other Catalan exiles, who Spain has demanded be extradited multiple times but Belgian law has protected for human rights and freedom of speech reasons.

By the way, the song that got him sentenced to prison had been a commission from the Spanish politician Pablo Iglesias (leader of Podemos, the left Spanish party) for his TV show La Tuerka. Valtònyc has explained that Iglesias never called him, never showed any solidarity nor interest in his case. Iglesias was vice-president of Spain during Valtònyc's exile.

The crimes expired six months ago, meaning he can no longer be imprisoned for it. However, the Spanish courts did not notify him of it (as they should have done), so his lawyer and him just found out.

After saying goodbye to other Catalan people on exile in Belgium, who are not allowed to come back yet (in the photos, shared by Valtònyc on his Twitter, he is saying goodbye to the politicians Lluís Puig and Carles Puigdemont), he has come back home.

He was welcomed by 200 people in his hometown. He has thanked all the people who helped him and showed solidarity. He also reminded that Pablo Hasél (a rap singer from Catalonia) is still in prison for the lyrics of his songs and the contents of his Tweets, sentenced guilty of injuries against the crown and praising terrorism. You can read more about Pablo Hasél's arrest in this post, and an explanation of the tweets and lyrics that got him sentenced in this post.

As we celebrate Valtònyc's return, we cannot forget that Spain has repeatedly ranked number 1 in the whole world for country that sent the most musicians to jail for the content of their music, in 2018 and 2020. By the way all the 14 rap singers condemned to prison for their lyrics were Catalan (Pablo Hasél and the 12 members of the band La Insurgencia from Catalonia, and Valtònyc from the Balearic islands), not one of any other culture group or from any other area. Curious, 100% of the sentenced, when the population of the Catalan Countries is less than 29% of the population of Spain. Wonder why!

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wisellamawerewolf · 1 month

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Heaven has a point and it's ruining the show's entire premise

*rant under the cut*

It has probably been said before by other people who can articulate their thoughts better, but considering the way VivziePop chose to tell her story, Hazbin Hotel's premise just doesn't work.

At first the show's main idea was presumably about how it's never too late to become a better person. The themes of Hotel and providing redemption to damned souls if they CHOSE to become better was fitting for that concept and it could've worked well without much involvement from Heaven. Yearly extermination (although arguably not necessary) added stakes and a sense of emergency, but making Heaven fully involved in the situation was a very questionable choice. Now the main theme of the show is less about "self-improvement" and more about "Heaven is hypocritical", and it just doesn't work well for one (main) reason: every single sinner we have encountered are absolutely horrible.

I already sense some that people might bring up the "They're in Hell" argument, but here's the thing: it would've worked fine with the initial premise, but you can't say "Heaven is bad for exterminating souls" when these souls a.) killed, hurt and ruined people's lives when they were alive; and b.) kept killing, hurting and ruining people's lives in the afterlife. Is there a better solution than just killing these people? Probably. But that doesn't make Heaven seem hypocritical and unjustified. At worst it makes them look stupid, because if they knew most people would find extermination of souls abhorrent, they could've just send someone to rearrange hell and completely isolate the most vile sinners from others in order to prevent them from hurting people, instead of just letting them continue doing their shit but in a slightly worse place.

Another argument that comes in mind probably sounds something like "well obviously not EVERYONE is irredeemably bad in this place, and Heaven is surely unjustifiably sends people Hell for stupid reasons if it's overpopulated". And if this statement is true, I have a couple of questions:

Why then literally none of these people are in the Hotel? Surely Charlie could've find at least some of such people and convince them to participate in her experiment. This is probably better to live under the protection of one of the strongest beings in hell than being potentially killed in the streets, so what do they have to lose? If none of these people believe in Charlie's idea, why every time we meet a non-resident, they are always murderous assholes, with almost no exceptions? If Hell is full of wrongfully condemned souls, why doesn't Charlie address them in the seventh episode, instead of going to the cannibal town to ask for help?

I think I've said it somewhere before, but VivziePop wants to criticize religion for scaring people with eternal punishment for doing arbitrary and harmless stuff, but also wants to treat said punishment as a playground for her edgy OCs most of whom are the exact people who by all logic should be in hell.

She wants her story to be about redemption but then turns around and says "actually, my homicidal OC's did nothing wrong, the SOCIETY that condems them is a true villain. Please ignore corpses my faves piled up in the corner". Viv wants to have her cake and eat it too, which results in a sloppy writing.

The most frustrating thing about this that it could theoretically work if handled more carefully: Charlie is already naive and Vaggie is a freshly exiled angel so just make them believe that all sinners have a legitimate reason to be in hell and need to be "fixed". Let them run into Angel Dust and try to make him improve, only to later learn that better people were turned down in heaven and send to hell because of the arbitrary reasons.

It could've both drived the message of "you can always chose to be better" and provide a valid critique to the religion in regards to what counts as a "sin" and wether it deserves such a hursh punishment or not, but ut VivziePop just can't decide what she wants to do and talk about so she just throws in everything at the same time.

#hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel critique #thanks tumblr for posting my half-baked post again because of “bad connection”. geez.#i was full of tequila yesterday and my Spotify decided to “bless” me with “You didn't know”#and the lyrics were so stupid I made another rant. So enjoy i guess?

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rainystarters · 2 months

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๋࣭ ⭑𓆩✧𓆪🗡ྀ࿔ 〖 and other stories . . . 〗 a collection of dialogue + action prompts inspired by angela carter's the bloody chamber and other stories. some prompts usfw. add +reversed for the muse receiving the meme to perform the action instead. adjust details as necessary.

dialogue :

are you sure you want to marry him?

oh! how you must want me!

soon.

i had never been vain until i met you.

anticipation is the greater part of pleasure.

all the better to see you.

what is that key? the key to your heart?

every man must have one secret, even if only one, from his wife.

all is yours, everywhere is open to you.

but now... what shall i do now?

my darling, i cannot wait for the moment when you make me yours completely.

there is a striking resemblance between the act of love and the ministrations of a torturer.

you are in some great distress.

any bride brought to a castle should come ready dressed in mourning.

oh god. i can smell the blood.

i thought all these were old wives' tales, chattering of fools, spooks to scare bad children into good behavior!

can't it wait until morning, my darling?

who can say what i deserve or no?

i've done nothing; but that may be sufficient reason for condemning me.

i have a place prepared for your exquisite corpse upon my display of flesh.

good fellow? i am no good fellow.

forgive me for robbing your garden!

all she wanted, in the whole world, was one white, perfect rose.

and what else was there to be done?

they are the death of any tender herbivore.

so late! you will want sleep.

you will come back to me? it will be lonely here, without you.

i will come back. soon, before the winter is over.

i am sick and i must die.

if you'll have me, i'll never leave you.

i think i might be able to manage a little breakfast today.

i have lost my pearl, my pearl beyond price.

if you are so careless of your treasure, you should expect them to be taken from you.

for all my pride, my heart is heavy.

if you wish to give me money, then i should be pleased to receive it.

i shall twist a noose out of my bed linen and hang myself with it.

you are a woman of honor.

nothing human lives here.

we have dispensed with servants.

take off my clothes for you, like a ballet girl? is that all you want of me?

all cats are cynics.

you read my thoughts, my love.

the woods enclose. the wood swallows you up.

all will fall still, all lapse.

it is easy to lose yourself in these woods.

i thought that nobody was in the wood but me.

there are some eyes can eat you.

sometimes the birds, at random, all singing, strike a chord.

eat me, drink me.

dive in and fetch it for me.

now you are at the place of annihilation.

and she is herself a cave full of echoes, she is a system of repetitions, she is a closed circuit.

can a bird sing only the song it knows or can it learn a new song?

beauty is a symptom of disorder, of soullessness.

a single kiss woke up the sleeping beauty in the wood.

be he alive or be he dead.

coffee. you must have coffee.

welcome. welcome to my chateau.

i rarely receive visitors and that's a misfortune since nothing animates me half as much as the presence of a stranger.

this place is so lonely.

now the village is deserted.

often i am so silent that i think i, too, will soon forget how to do so and nobody will ever talk any more.

i must apologize for the lack of light.

you have such a fine throat, like a column of marble.

i am condemned to solitude and dark.

i do not mean to hurt you.

i will be very gentle.

and could love free me from the shadows?

i've been waiting for you in my wedding dress, why have you delayed for so long.

you will feel no pain, my darling.

so delicate and damned, poor thing. quite damned.

the end of exile is the end of being.

it is a northern country; they have cold weather, they have cold hearts.

the devil is as real as you or i.

do not leave the path.

you are always in danger in the forest.

they are as unkind as plague.

fear and flee the wolf; for, worst of all, the wolf may be more than he seems.

besides, aren't you afraid of the wolves?

actions :

clasp. from behind, the sender places their hands over the receiver's eyes.

opera. through opera glasses, the sender watches the receiver.

choker. the sender fastens a gemstone necklace around the receiver's neck.

carriage. the sender locks the receiver in with them in their train compartment.

spine. the sender presses a kiss to the back of the receiver's bare neck.

cigar. the sender leans in and blows smoke in the receiver's face.

ermine. the sender wraps the furs around the receiver tighter as the snow falls.

keys. the sender silently enters the room and listens to the receiver play piano.

harem. the sender undresses the receiver before a collection of mirrors.

lazy. the sender brings the receiver breakfast in bed.

call. the sender calls the receiver and bursts into tears upon hearing their voice.

note. the sender discovers a love letter sent to the receiver from a previous lover.

death. the sender finds the receiver with the body of their latest victim.

hospitality. the sender watches from the shadows as the receiver take refuge from a storm in the sender's seemingly abandoned home.

servant. invisible, the sender feeds/washes/cares for the receiver.

hearth. the sender and the receiver talk past midnight by the fire's light.

hands. the sender falls to their knees before the receiver and kisses their hands.

bouquet. the sender has a hundred white roses sent to the receiver.

reunion. the sender lays eyes upon the receiver for the first time in an age.

bad luck. the sender hangs their head having lost a bet to the receiver.

voice. the sender sends their valet to speak their desires to the receiver.

powder. the sender dresses/makes up the receiver before an important night.

stallion. the sender grabs the reins of the receiver's horse and leads them away.

weep. the sender cries at the sight of the receiver in such a state.

dry. the sender brushes a tear from the receiver's cheek.

flush. the sender pinches the receiver's skin, watching it redden with blood.

prey. the sender guides the receiver's hands as together they skin a rabbit.

song. the sender sings and the receiver is spellbound, their feet following their song's command.

caught. the sender locks the receiver into a cage.

green. by the sender's command, the growth begins to take over the receiver.

tarot. the sender tells the receiver they are doomed to a sad fate.

stain. the sender touches the bloodstain on the receiver's white negligée.

wild. the sender rides hard through the night, chasing the receiver.

thirst. the sender sinks their teeth into the neck of the receiver.

china. the sender pours tea for the receiver and offers them biscuits.

blemish. the sender explores the receiver's skin and finds the mark of a witch.

wolf. the wolf reveals themself to be the sender before the receiver.

muzzle. the sender kisses the monstrous mouth of the receiver.

#rp memes #action rp memes #fantasy rp memes #rp sentence starters #sentence starters #rp prompts #rp starters #action prompts

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homoeroticbetrayal · 1 year

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Iconic Homoerotic Betrayal: Round 2

Round 2 Directory

Context:

Lelouche/Suzaku

Summary by Anonymous Contributor

szll is already iconic but I'm just going to list all their betrayals (and perceived betrayals) as a refresher:

(first, for context, one thing you gotta understand is lelouch, leader of the rebellion who believes ends justify the means, is also the discarded prince of the empire he's fighting against. suzaku, rising knight of the empire who believes means have to justify the ends, is the son and killer of the prime minister of the country being oppressed. this is PEAK narrative foils and enemies-to-lovers recipe right there.)

- lelouch and nunnally were sent to japan as political hostages. britannia takes over japan quickly after and lelouch, knowing how much japan means to suzaku, promises to destroy britannia. suzaku should be angry at britannia! lelouch will free them!! except years later he learns that suzaku is now WORKING for the empire? he's becoming a KNIGHT for the empire, betraying his own country and their shared hatred for britannia. what the fuck, what happened to principles, suzaku? this is lelouch's first (perceived) betrayal.

- lelouch (accidentally) kills euphemia, the only princess who's trying to make peace with the japanese, the princess that suzaku is knight of, the princess suzaku LOVES and lelouch adores. now yes, this was an accident, but lelouch ROLLS WITH IT and lets suzaku and the rest of the world believe that it was intentional, thus fully driving that knife deep. he never tells suzaku this was an accident. this is suzaku's most painful betrayal.

- suzaku finds out lelouch is zero, leader of the rebellion, and turns him in to his evil dad, emperor of the empire, in exchange for becoming a knight of round (the highest military status). now if you count akito the exiled as canon, this also means sending lelouch to be BRAINWASHED into serving the empire as a master tactician before R2 happens. suzaku monitors him all throughout, watching lelouch destroy nations and praise the empire against his own principles.

this is just season one of code geass. this doesn't even touch how suzaku is also forced to betray his own loyalties/principles sometimes whenever the "live" geass that lelouch condemns him with acts up. how suzaku would monitor lelouch and keep deceiving him that rolo is his beloved sibling, not nunnally. etc etc.

AND YET despite all of this, code geass culminates with them SWEARING LOYALTY to each other, with lelouch becoming the demon emperor and suzaku becoming his right-hand man, the knight of zero. lelouch becomes a tyrant that suzaku is destined to kill. lelouch brings peace to the world but will never be able to live in it. he will always be remembered as the dictator, the scourge of the world. suzaku atones for all his sins by being reduced to a heroic symbol, by being punished to kill his best friend and never becoming suzaku the person ever again. with the "live" geass, he is cursed to never die, never to escape, always bearing both of their sins -- the eternal punishment he has been seeking. and by killing lelouch, he is able to avenge euphemia in the end, and bring the peace all three of them desired.

code geass is a hot mess but there is poetry in their betrayals. they are thematically bound to live this tragedy, and that is why they are iconic. the ending of code geass is well-known and highly regarded as one of the most iconic endings ever, and it can only ever be so because it stands on the love and loss and betrayals of suzaku and lelouch.

Charles/Erik

Summary by @sing-the-beginning-of-moana

it was love at first sight. they got together and were happy for a while until erik caused charles to feel the excruciating pain of dying (without actually dying), tried to kill hundreds of people, accidentally paralyzed charles, and then abandoned him altogether. and that's just the first movie. repeat with the same sort of behavior and constant breaking up and getting back together for the next several decades.

See other descriptions of Suzululu or Cherik

#suzululu #cherik #suzaku kururugi #lelouch lamperouge #charles xavier #erik lehnsherr #x men first class #code geass #polls

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metamorphesque · 6 days

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<<Your Excellency, Mr. Minister, At this moment, as discussions are underway regarding the deportation of Armenians, I notice that there is a tendency to primarily attribute the blame to the governors-general and chiefs. I have the honor to bring to Your Excellency's attention the atrocities committed in the name of science... In December 1915, in Yerznka, under the orders of Tevfik Salim, the chief physician of the 3rd Army Corps, the contaminated blood taken from patients with spotted typhus was used as a vaccine on innocent Armenians condemned to exile without "activation." Such experiments are typically conducted on specific laboratory animals. As a consequence of those actions, many of the individuals subjected to the experiment became ill and died. Prior to the vaccination, they were deceived, being told that the vaccinations were administered as a preventive measure against typhus. The organizer of these experiments, Hamdi Suad, a professor of pathological anatomy at the Ottoman Medical University, published the results of his research in the pages of the "Medical-Military Newspaper of Constantinople," announcing that they were applied to those sentenced to death. However, I, your humble servant, witnessed everything and can attest that the subjects of the professor's deadly experiments had no other crime than being Armenian. These facts can be corroborated by Dr. Refet Bey, the chief physician of Yerznka Central Hospital, two Armenian doctors who worked with him, as well as Dr. Selaheddin Bey, the chief physician of the Yerznka Red Cross. Therefore, I, your humble servant, declare that in addition to political crimes, scientific crimes were also committed, about which I am prepared to provide full explanations.>>

Published in the "Türkçe İstanbul" newspaper on December 23, 1918, the author of the letter is the Turkish doctor-surgeon Haydar Jemal; let's not forget this name. He addressed the letter to the Ministry of Internal Affairs of Turkey.

In the issue of the same newspaper on December 24, 1918, that is, the following day, another Turkish doctor, Selaheddin, wrote the following (let's remember him with kind words):

<<Yesterday, I was cited as a direct witness of several events in the open letter of surgeon Haydar Jemal addressed to the Ministry of Internal Affairs. Being aware of what transpired in Yerznka Central Hospital, I consider it a matter of conscience to elucidate this matter. In 1915, numerous Armenians who struggled to conceal themselves in Yerznka were chosen and treated as experimental subjects in the city's central hospital, subjected to microbiological experiments typically conducted on guinea pigs and rabbits. This is how numerous Armenians perished...>>

Here is also a third letter written by the same doctor, Selaheddin, but printed in another newspaper, "Alemdar", on January 8, 1919. Let's reflect on his name once more, with kindness in our hearts.

<<If we acknowledge that the government of the "Union and Progress" (let's also include Germany) never valued conscience, morality, honor, and all sacred values, one can easily grasp the guiding principle that led to inflicting so much suffering on Armenians. At that time, no one demanded accountability for the atrocities committed, and many believed that all of it would go unpunished. It was this mindset that led to such experiments with the spotted typhus vaccine being conducted in Yerznka... We possess ample evidence to substantiate the accusations we've made. It's noteworthy that despite the numerous speeches delivered, I refrained from publishing anything on this matter, while uninformed doctors surfaced in the press to deny rightful accusations. This circumstance compelled me to take up the pen. It's important to note that these individuals, who seek attention, are pandering to the crowd and resorting to sensational measures. If informed and authoritative figures take charge of this matter, justice will prevail. And in this case, there are also culprits involved in matters of deportation, pogroms, and plunder. Our doctors need not worry. The perpetrators have been identified. If there are those who wish to shield criminals, let them await the return of the government of the "Union and Progress" party. The truth will be established not through the publication of newspaper articles, but in the courtroom.>>

"A Shirt Made of Fire", Vardges Petrosyan (translated by metamorphesque)

All the names mentioned in the translated section are of real people. Similarly, the events described are based on real occurrences.

#history #quotes #literature #translated literature #armenian history #armenian genocide #armenian literature #vardges petrosyan #a shirt made of fire #my translations #april 24th

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 6 months

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My Lord

Prince John x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2023 Masterlist • Day 7: Slow and Soft

Summary: The ex-Prince is condemned to live out his days in exile.

A/N: Look, I know he’s got blue eyes in the film. But I have decided no.

Warnings: one slap to the face, talks of marriage, oral (f receiving), dry humping, hand jobs, 'my love' as a term of endearment, typos, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 3178

Being exiled wasn’t as bad as he had thought. The weather was certainly better.

No matter what he’d done, King Richard couldn’t bear to see his younger brother executed or locked up in some dank prison. So he’d stripped John of his titles and sent him overseas under the guardianship of the Marquess and Marquise.

Banished.

Never allowed to return to England under punishment of death.

It had taken weeks to get there, more than enough time for John to fester and drive himself to madness on the ship. Haunt himself with the imaginary horrors that were waiting for him.

Instead, when they landed, he was treated well. Like a far-off, but still regal, cousin of the Marquess. Not that it stopped him from sulking for the first few months.

However, the worst thing was, undoubtedly, you.

At least at first.

You were one of the head servants. Though you were treated more like one of the Marquess and Marquise's children, with the amount of freedom you were given. And the language you were allowed to use. The offhand and familiar way you spoke to them and him.

It had driven him up the wall. Your snide comments. Your little eye rolls. The way you somehow managed to sidestep him, and challenge him, and completely get under his skin at every single opportunity.

You had been the one to drag him out of his rooms in those first few months, not taking no for an answer.

“It’ll do you no good moping around here all day, my lord.” The way you said the title always sounded like an insult.

You took him on walks and rides, to markets and tailors, making him come with you to choose a horse. Demanding that he helped you prepare vegetables, making him carry his own bow and arrows when you both went hunting. Things that were beneath him. Things that he hated, dreaded. Until one morning, when you were accompanying the Marquise on a trip and had been away for a few days, he had woken up in such a foul mood. Realising only in the evening with a huff that he missed you. That he couldn’t remember a time when he had been happier than being in your presence.

Not to say you still didn’t annoy the hell out of him.

Originally, you didn’t even have much to do with the ex-prince. It was only when John’s spitefulness had upset some of the other servants, and in turn, the Marquess, that you had been sent to ‘deal’ with him.

He had nearly been in exile for a year at the midsummer festival. Had become a little too intoxicated on barley wine and, as you helped him to his chambers, he had kissed you. Soft but demanding. Gentle but unyielding.

You had pulled back like you had been struck by lightning. And smacked him across the face. Hard. Not some dainty brush of your fingers. Or a sharp sting of your palm, no, you had hit him with the heel of your hand. A bowl that would have nearly sent him sprawling even if he hadn’t been drunk.

You had left without a word. Or look his way.

The next morning John had risen late, memories of the previous night coming back in a rush, of him fisting his cock with tears of anger and self-pity on his skin. Quickly, he realised you had not come to wake him at the usual time.

He had enquired after you, subtly of course. And the young servant boy, Lucas had told him that you had left instructions for the ex-prince to not be awoken, due to his previous intoxication and late night. That you had headed out into the woods early in the morning.

He didn’t see you until late afternoon, having spent most of the day in his rooms, staring out of the window to the woods, waiting for your return. He bit at his nails until they bled, going back and forth with the idea of readying his horse and riding out into the forest after you.

He had pretended to be in bed when you knocked and came into his room, bringing him white flower tea.

You hadn’t looked directly at him, keeping your voice oddly cold as you explained that the tea would help with his hangover, and that the flowers were from the forest.

His heart had nearly broken when he released you had spent most of your day collecting them for him.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. Pain running through his heart like needles through fabric.

You looked at him then, a small kind smile on your face. “For what, my lord?” Your normal tone back.

John beamed, his eyes shining.

You swallowed. “I am sorry, my lord.”

“For what?”

You tapped your cheek, mirroring the bruise on his face.

His smile widened and he shook his head.

When during the evening meal the Marquess asked about the bruising, John had simply laughed and told him that he had had a small disagreement with someone at the festival who had a ‘mean right hook’. He made sure he caught your eye as he said it.

You both went back to your normal routines. Dancing around each other, while simultaneously spending most of your waking hours together.

Nearly a month after the festival you had accidentally walked in on him after his bath, his hair still wet from the rose water as he sat on his bed and fisted his cock.

Apologies had slipped from his tongue, despite the fact that you’d technically barged in on him. But you had simply walked around and sat down next to him on the bed. He watched you in a trance as you took hold of his length in your hand.

“Let me help you, my lord.”

He had tried to kiss you again, but you moved your face away.

Wordlessly and without looking at him, you coaxed him further onto the bed and sat with him between your thighs, his back against your chest as you wrapped one arm around him and used the other to bring him to his release.

You had left silently, leaving him to the dark night and slumber. But you spoke to him the following morning as if nothing had transpired between you.

The next evening, just before bed, you came to his room again and stroked him until he found his release with a sob in your arms.

You did the same the next night, and the next, and the next. Never allowing him to kiss you or touch you in a way that could cause your own pleasure. Always fully clothed while he was stripped bare. Over the next weeks, you slowly allowed him to hold your hand, arm or calf as you touched him. Let him grasp onto you as his orgasm overtook him.

It hurt. Though he didn’t want to dwell on why.

However, no matter how hard he tried, his thoughts kept rotating back to you. Your soft skin, gentle hands and the sound of your heart when he pressed himself close to your chest.

John leaned against the wall, looking out to the dark night sky.

You came into his room silently, only looking to him once you’d reached the bed. You’d expected him to be sitting on it ready, unclothed. Instead, he stood, still in his attire from the day.

You barely manage to raise an eyebrow before he moves towards you, taking hold of your hands in his. His skin is cold, desperate for your heat.

“My lord?” You frown.

He takes a step forward, his heart racing, eyes shining in the candlelight. Slowly he raises his right hand and touches your cheek, brushing over your skin with his thumb.

His touch is soft, gentle. As if you were some precious thing that would break under the smallest pressure. Some skittish animal in the woods.

You gaze back at him, his slightly parted lips, his dark eyes, unable to focus on any feature for longer than a second.

He leans forward, moving to kiss you and you step back, pulling your hand from his as if he burnt you.

“My lor-”

“My love,” he looks at you imploringly. The thudding pain in his chest sharpening, beseeching. Like he had been gutted and strung out, his ribs broken and split outwards so that you could view his beating heart.

“I am not your love.” You whisper, there is no heat in your words.

“You are.” He takes a step forward and drops to his knees when you step back. “You are.” He says brokenly, his voice thick. “Please, please, I do not need to be yours. I do not... I wish I was. But you are mine. My love. You will always be my love.”

You swallow and stare at him, almost frozen by his words.

“I... I...” he screws up his eyes, all the words he wanted to say mixing up and fleeing in the moment. “You do not need to return my feelings, but please, know that I will always love you until my dying breath.”

You shake your head, pain tight in your chest. “I’m not,” you breathe deeply, your voice softer than he has ever heard it. “My lord, I am just your servant, I serve-”

“I love you.” His voice breaks slightly at the end. The weight of the words too much. “I love you,” he slowly takes hold of your hand, pressing his lips to your knuckles and palm. “I love you.” He kissed your wrist, staring up at you imploringly and kissing up your arm when you did not move away. “I love you.” Cautiously he stands so that he can kiss your collarbone, your neck, your jaw, your cheek. “I love you.” He whispers.

You hold your breath, searching his eyes for something he’s not sure you’ll be able to find. Carefully he inches forward, closing the small space between you.

You don’t move, don’t lean to him, but you don’t back away. Softly he presses his lips against yours, almost sobbing when you finally touch.

He pulls back a fraction after a second. “I love you,” he whispers against you. “Please, let me love you.”

You shake your head, agony tight in your throat. You can’t look at him. Not when his voice is so soft, not when your body and heart are crying out for you to give in to him. “There are plenty of others who could warm your bed for you my lor-”

John rushes forward, kissing you again. This time his lips are demanding, pleading as he cups your cheek and slowly opens your mouth with his own. He groans when you part your lips and let him inside. “I do not want someone to warm my bed.” He kisses you desperately, stroking your tongue with his. “I want to give you my heart.”

You moan softly into his mouth, grabbing hold of his arms and pulling him closer, pressing your body up against him.

He groans against you, moving you back to press you against the wall and hitching your right leg up over his hip so that he can grind his aching cock against your heat. You gasp as he presses against your clit, focusing all his attention on caressing you where it makes you cry out the loudest, happily swallowing down your mewls and whines.

He squeezes your breast with his right hand, pinching the pebbled nipple and moaning when you whimper and arch into his touch.

He ghosts his lips down your neck, sucking a love bite into your skin just below your ear. His beard scraps deliciously at your skin and sets your nerves alight.

You bite down on your lip, trying to muffle your cries.

“Let me love you,” he whispers, his voice low and heavy as he ruts desperately against you. “Let me show you, let me make you sing for me.”

He kisses you roughly, needily, all tongue and teeth as he pulls at your skirts, snaking his hand under the fabric.

You want to give in, want to let him pull sounds and sensations from you as his heart desires but panic grips you.

“Wait,” you pull back.

He stops, stops his kisses and his roaming hands but still stays pressed close.

“My lor-” you bite your lips together when you see the flash of pain on his face. “My...” you touch his cheek softly. You want him, you want him so badly. “I cannot, I haven’t...” You swallow. “I...”

“I wouldn’t cum inside.” He mutters, pressing his palm flat against your stomach. Even as he says the words a slight groan escapes him at the thought of you spread out under him, full of his cock and spend. “Not until we’re married, you have my word.”

Your thoughts stop for a second. “Married?”

He nods and smiles. “If you’ll have me.”

“My lord-”

He presses his lips to yours again, kissing you languidly before he drops down to one knee.

Your eyes go wide. Words escaping you.

“I have asked the Marquess and Marquise. They have given their blessing; I can marry you if you wish it.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, the way he phrased it. As if he were the servant wishing to marry a lord.

Slowly he takes off the jewelled ring on his little finger, one of the few things he had been allowed to keep from his time as prince. “Will you take me as your husband?” He looks up at you nervously. “Will you take me as yours?”

You nod, not trusting your voice for a moment. “Yes.”

His eyes light up as you speak, a wide smile breaking across his face as he softly takes your hand and slips the ring onto your finger. He kisses each knuckle, and then the back of your hand before standing and pressing his lips back to yours, slow and soft.

Gently he guides you to the bed, freeing you of your clothes and pressing you back down against the mattress.

Uncertainty bubbles in your veins as he moves his hands down your body, slowly feeling every inch of you. He pinches your nipples with vigour, dipping his head so that he can take one into his mouth. Lavishing your breast with attention before moving on to the other.

He groans, deep within his chest, looking up at you through his lashes when you gasp and moan softly. So determined to pull every ounce of pleasure he can from your bones.

Languidly he kisses down your stomach, pressing your thighs apart.

You nervously go to cover your sex, heat breaking out on your skin.

“My lo-”

“Let me make you feel good.” He murmurs, his voice laced and heavy with lust. His eyes hungry and wild.

You barely manage a nod before he dives to your core, licking a long, flat stripe through your folds with his warm tongue.

You gasp loudly, quickly covering your mouth with your hands as he does it again, flicking your clit with the tip of his tongue.

He’s a demon, possessed and ravenous as he devours you. Slowly sinking his tongue into you and then inching up painstakingly slowly. Ending each movement with a swirl around your clit that has your thighs shaking and stars building at the corners of your eyes.

You moan against your hands, the sensation all-consuming as he erases any other possible thought. You can’t stop squirming, simultaneously trying to get closer, nearer, desperate for more pleasure, and trying to back away from the heady onslaught of your senses.

He doesn’t let you escape, pressing firmly against your thigh and keeping you spread wide for him, his hand on your stomach keeping your back flat to the bed.

“You taste so sweet, my love.” He looks up at you, his eyes dark, blown wide and drunk.

You open your mouth, moving your hands away to speak when he leans forward, sucking your clit into his mouth and revelling in your cry of pleasure. In how your muscles tense beneath him.

He gently presses two fingers inside of you and curls them upwards to stroke your walls.

You shake under him, your hips bucking up against him unthinkingly as you gasp and sink into pleasure.

John watches you intently through hazy eyes, sucking constantly on your bundle of nerves, watching your every movement keenly. Desperate to lift you higher and higher before you come crashing down.

He strokes against a spot that makes you sob and focuses all his attention on it, your slick coating his fingers and dripping down his hand.

The pressure begins to build uncontrollably, pushing you right to the edge. You grope around for his hand on your stomach, grabbing it firmly. He squeezes back and groans against you as fresh wetness hits his tongue.

You moan loudly against your fingers, trying your best to dampen the sound as lightning runs along your nerves, your orgasm rippling through every limb. You gasp, contorting in your pleasure as John doesn’t stop, keeps stroking, keeps sucking, prolonging your bliss for as long as he can.

Finally, your legs stop shaking and he pulls his mouth away, slowly pulling his fingers from your dripping folds.

You mewl as he licks them clean and pulls off his clothes. It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve seen him naked, but it feels different. Personal. A sight all for you.

He leans down, kissing you hungrily and settling between your legs.

The weight of his thick cock, hot against your core makes you gasp. You sink your hand into his hair, pulling lightly at his curls as he rubs his length against you, spreading your slick all over his aching cock and grinding perfectly on your clit.

You sob against him, holding him close as he keeps moving, building up a deep and overpowering friction. That bottomless weight starts to settle in your belly again, the coil growing tighter and tighter as he rubs and ruts against you.

You grab hold of his arms tightly and rock with him, trying to gasp out and warn him of your impending orgasm. “I... my lor-my love!” You gasp as he hits perfectly, his thick length massaging wonderfully over your bundle of nerves and through your folds and you gasp as you cum again. Pleasure blossoms along your spine, kissing every nerve as you cry out and are overtaken by ecstasy.

John groans, moaning loudly as you call him ‘your love’. The look of bliss on your face, the fact that you are falling apart for him drives him to the edge and pushes him over. He kisses you sloppy, whining into your mouth as he spills against both of your stomachs.

He doesn’t stop kissing you as you come back to yourself, breathing hard. Your skin is sweaty, hot, but you keep him in your arms as he presses close and whispers sweet words in your ear.

____________________________________

Thank you for reading! (Using a different tag list for kinktober so I don't overwhelm anyone.)

@flightlessangelwings @steven-grants-world @lonelyisamyw-0love @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @campingwiththecharmings @minigirl87 @whatthefishh

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

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litnerdwrites · 6 days

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Justice for Nesta recs (AO3)

Most, if not all, of these recs are in the Justice for Nesta/ ACOSF rewrite/fix-it vein. It will be updates as I find more fics, but feel free to send any recs you have.

TRIGGER WARNING! Many of these fics will be very dark, with references to suicide, ptsd, misogyny, and IC BS. However, I'll be sure to add specifics where applicable.

Fics For Those Craving Nesta JusticeI put all the fics I found into one collection on AO3 that, as the title suggests, are for those craving Nesta Justice. Please read the relevant tags for each fic, as many of them contain reference to PTSD, SA (both past referenced and in story), and general IC BS.

I'll also list every fic in this collection bellow, just to keep them all in one place. Feel free to also add your own finds or works if you have any. The collection is open, but moderated.

Those the Stars Cannot Hear by @kataraavatara An ACOSF rewrite where Mor makes good on her threat to leave Nesta in the CON.

Baby, now we got bad blood by Pumpkinspice_Lou They say you should never come between a male and his mate. Rhysand should've known better. Aka Cassian finally choosing Nesta. Completed two-shot.

A Court of Vice and Victors by Wishcamper Acosf rewritten by a therapist. Need I say more? Incomplete.

You Made Her Like That By BookWorm77071 A few days into their Hike from Hell, Nesta is able to form one coherent thought: I don't want to do this anymore. So she stops. Three chapter short story. Completed.

Nesta becomes a baby by Theladyofbloodshed Exactly what the title says. Oneshot.

A Court of Tangled Flames by Theladyofbloodshed A Neris fic where Nesta gets the love story she deserves.

ACOTAR snippet collection by Theladyofbloodshed A collection of Acotar what ifs.

Nesta vs. The Buffer by Theladyofbloodshed After Nesta finally snaps at another 'family' dinner, calling Cassian and Mor out on their shit, she begins to heal and fall in love on her own terms. With a certain shadowsinger. Completed. Nezriel fic. Anti IC but they kind of redeem themselves at the end. Completed.

AU Where We Pretend Acosf Didn't Happen by Theladyofbloodshed An alternative take to ACOSF, starting from post ACOFS. Nesta ends up leaving Velaris, starting herself on a journey of self discovery and healing. TW Beron Vansera, implied/referenced SA, IC being assholes.

Nightmare Dressed Like A Daydream by This_Immortal_Hope Nesta was a wolf. So, much like a wolf, she bided her time, accepting her exile with ice in her and determination in her heart. When she was ready, she tore their Court of Dreams apart with their own hypocrisy. One shot. No ship. Rhysand is thoroughly put in his place. Oneshot.

Second Chances by miryamdev Cassian apologises to Nesta after the HOFAS bonus chapter.

A trick of the light by closet_monster There was nothing condemning about madness or paralyzing fear. Nesta was familiar with both — they seemed to be a recurring theme in both womanhood and life in Hewn. Oneshot. TW Depression, self harm, and implied abuse. Please double check the tags before reading.

Burn for Eternity by rosemai Nesta is defeated and broken down by the words of her sisters and the IC, so she takes matters into her own hands and meets a group on individuals who could give her the help she needs. Incomplete.

Nesta's Truth by grovellingboyfriends After another year of leaving Nesta alone, Cassian finds Nesta in her apartment on Solstice, standing over a dead man. TW for implied SA, parental abuse, Elain is a bitch. 3/5 chapters published as of making this post.

Daylight by Flowerflamestar Nesta Archeron, banished and betrayed, ran from cold and hatred straight into the light of Day and found a place where she could belong. Completed.

Might I Suggest You Don't Fuck With My Sis by MacabreGiggles The intervention rethought, where the Archeron sisters decide to stand up for one another and put the IC in their place. Incomplete.

I died. I will die. It's alright. I don't mind. By MacabreGiggles Nesta resorts to other means to cope, like drugs. Incomplete. TW. Abuse. Alcolism. Suicide. Sexual assault. Drug abuse.

The Veil of Silence by Hrizantemy There exists a veil of silence, it shrouds our voices masking our truths, muffling our cries, our voices are muted, and dreams whispered. Incomplete.

You're a crisis of my faith by porque_nolosdos Nesta and Elain leave the NC, and upon seeing the IC's reaction, Feyre decides to ditch them too. Incomplete.

A thousand cuts by adelindschade It finally clicks for Cassian just how badly Nesta was hurting (it only took three TW suicide TW attempts), so he decides to try thinking of what Nesta would want. This decision leaves a ripple effect that will change the NC as we know it. Incomplete.

The consequences of normality by TheTeaQueen After the events of ACOSF, things seem relatively normal. Until Cassian realises that Nesta doesn't ask for things, or that self hatred still grips her, or the facade she puts on for her family. When she starts cutting back on training and work in the library, he begins to worry. Maybe things aren't as perfect as he thought. Maybe their methods in helping her weren't as effective as he thought. Incomplete.

Three little words by TheTeaQueen Cassian finally says those three little words that Nesta needed to hear. Oneshot.

Like fire, she raged by TheTeaQueen Emerie stands up for Nesta and puts Rhys and Feyre in their place. Completed.

Of Death and Resurrection by TheTeaQueen Part 1 of In the name of healing and happiness. Nesta was ready to die. So to save Feyre and Nyx, she did. Can Rhysand, the only person who can save her, bring her back from the brink? Completed. TW Implied suicide, rape/sa, anti Elain.

Of Shadows and Light by TheTeaQueen Part 2 of In the name of healing and happiness. Technically more of a Gwynriel fic, but does have some Nessian since it follows the aftermath of Of death and Resurrection, only Azriel, Gwyn & Elain are the main focus. Ties up a lose thread or two from part 1, and is 100% Anti Elain. Completed. TW Implied child abuse, implied suicide, torture.

Of Reopened Wounds and Retribution by TheTeaQueen Part 3 of In the name of healing and happiness. A trip to the human lands to discuss the treaty leads Nesta to face Thomas Mandray again. This time, she has family willing to go to hell and back for her. Incomplete. TW Implied rape/sa, panic attack.

Lady Death and Her Kingdom by TheTeaQueen Amren pushes Nesta too far, causing her to awaken a strange new power. TW Implied child abuse. Incomplete.

The Hike, Alternatively by TheTeaQueen An alternative take on The Hike from Hell, where Nesta attempt to TW commit suicide TW, and Cassian realises just how messed up their methods, and the events leading up to the hike are. Written for Suicide prevention month. Completed. TW Self harm, suicide, The Hike.

To Pay a Debt by TheTeaQueen When Nesta sees that Feyre didn't include her in any of the paintings, she does the only thing she can think of; Run. Incomplete. TW, attempted suicide, suicidal thoughts, mentioned sa.

Burning from the Inside out by TheTeaQueen An au where Nesta's secretly lived with Chronic pain her whole life, only for the cauldron and her new powers to exacerbate it. Complete. TW Implied/referenced child abuse, suicidal thoughts, ableism, internalised ableism.

The Whole Truth by TheTeaQueen An alternative take where Nesta's deepest secret comes to light when Elain explodes at the dinner table one night. This forces the IC and her sisters to reevaluate their perception of her. Incomplete. TW: Child abuse, suicidal thoughts/ideation, forced prostitution, sexual assault (underage!!)

Set my Soul Alight by moodymelanist Nesta finds solace in Autumn. No Nessian. Completed. TW Implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced rape, implied/referenced torture.

Falling by becauseofreading Another take on what happens after Cassian tells Nesta that everybody hates her. Incomplete. TW Self harm, suicidal thoughts, blood and injuries.

Destruction and Renewal by Vorbi Nesta is given the opportunity to form new alliances. Initially, she scoffs at the idea, but after a small, final act of disrespect from the IC, she decides to see where this new path leads us. Incomplete. TW Implied/referenced abuse.

No One Likes A Mad Woman by Separatist_Apologist You made her like that. Nesta has had her choices tripped away, so when Eris offers her an out, she takes it. No happy ending for Cassian. The Night Court gets no sympathy. Completed. TW Domestic violence

A Cup of Tea by shaziskhalid After realising that the Cassian of her dreams isn't the Cassian she's mated to, everything changed. (MCU! Wanda, modern Au). Incomplete.

Promise by Daughterofthesea Begins during that scene where Cassian follows Nesta, and ends with him understanding just how much pain she's in, and deciding to actually help her.

Stay here (I love you, but I need another year) by littleplease Nesta is tired, and losing the will to even try. Complete. TW Apathy, depression, vuage suicidal thoughts.

What you did to me (I'll spend my life trying to rise) by filthymouthedslut Nesta is done with the IC's holier-than-thou attitude. No ship. Incomplete (3/4) as of updating this post.

Everybody hates you by Booksandsushi A different take on the time Cassian tells Nesta that Everybody hates her. Incomplete.

Change is good by Booksandsushi Nesta figures her life out on her own. Complete.

Truth of the Heart By TheFreakPanda The months after ACOFAS leave Nesta presented with some new opportunities. Full of therapy and dancing. Completed.

I've Always Liked to Play with Fire by catalyste After her village is destroyed and family killed by Hybern following Feyre's revenge mission, you wake up healed in the NC. After Lucien leaves you there, you find yourself trapped with Nesta Archeron, who turns out to be an unlikely ally. The two of you plan your escape with the help of Eris Vansera. Polly, Neris/reader, with IC bashing, and dragons. Incomplete.

The relapse by Janes_Melodies Something broke in Nesta when she learned about the results of the vote, knowing it was a tie until Feyre. She was trying for her sisters and for Cassian, yet they still think she's cruel enough to create a whole new trove just to kill them all. For the first time in months, she gave into her desires. Incomplete. TW Alcoholism, Implied/referenced self harm, suicidal thoughts.

You're safe now by annieleonhardtsring Rewrite of the scene where Nesta falls down the stairs, and Azriel stands up for her. Complete.

Love her how she should be loved by julemmaes Cassian overhears his family making some not-so-subtle comments about Nesta, and it pushes him over the edge. So he goes to bat for her, blaming his friends for everything wrong with their relationship with his girlfriend. Modern AU completed.

The Nest World - The Next Life by bat_called_phil ACOSF canon divergence fic that starts with the intervention, but diverts when Nesta takes a stand for herself, and Feyre starts holding Rhys accountable. TW Implied/referenced suicide, Implied/referenced abortion.

A Court of Spite and Isolation by xxTAO Nesta choses the human lands, separated from the IC and the distractions from her trauma, she spirals. Incomplete (4/6) TW Suicidal thoughts, Implied/referenced alcoholism, Suicide attempt.

Come Home by Rhysanoodle Cassian learns how Nesta's been living since she came to Illyria, and which fears haunt her the most. Complete.

#pro nesta #anti inner circle #anti ic #anti acosf #nesta deserves better #pro nesta archeron #anti rhysand #nesta acotar #anti elain #the archeron sisters deserve better #anti rhys #anti amren #anti cassian #anti feyre #anti mor #anti morrigan #fic rec

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maniculum · 6 months

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An Excerpt from the Aberdeen Bestiary

I've started preparing the bestiaryposting, and have encountered one entry that doesn't really fit into what we're doing. Not only is it one of the longest entries, but instead of "let me tell you about this animal", it's taking more of a "we all already know about this animal, so I'm going to share some stories about specific ones" approach. But out of a sense of completionism, I can't just not post it, so here you go.

Dog

The Latin name for the dog, canis, seems to have a Greek origin. For in Greek it is called cenos, although some think that it is called after the musical sound, canor, of its barking, because when it howls, it is also said to sing, canere. No creature is more intelligent than the dog, for dogs have more understanding than other animals; they alone recognise their names and love their masters.

There are many kinds of dogs: some track down the wild beasts of the forests to catch them; others by their vigilance guard flocks of sheep from the attacks of wolves; others as watch-dogs in the home guard the property of their masters lest it be stolen by thieves at night and sacrifice their lives for their master; they willingly go after game with their master; they guard his body even when he is dead and do not leave it. Finally, their nature is that they cannot exist without man.

Also of the nature of dogs

We read that dogs have such great love for their masters, as when King Garamentes was caught by his enemies and taken into captivity, two hundred dogs went in formation through enemy lines and led him back from exile, fighting off those who resisted them. When Jason [Licio] was killed, his dog rejected food and died of starvation. The dog of King Lysimachus threw itself in the flame when its master's funeral pyre was lit and was consumed by fire along with him. When Apius and Junius Pictinius were consuls, a dog that could not be driven away from its master, who had been condemned, accompanied him to prison; when, soon afterwards, he was executed, it followed him, howling. When the people of Rome, out of pity, caused it to be fed, it carried the food to its dead master's mouth. Finally, when its master's corpse was thrown into the Tiber, the dog swam to it and tried to keep it from sinking.

When a dog picks up the track of a hare or a deer and comes to a place where the trail divides or to a junction splitting into several directions, it goes to the beginning of each path and silently reasons with itself, as if by syllogism, on the basis of its keen sense of smell. 'Either the animal went off in this direction,' it says,'or that, or certainly it took this turning.’

Again on the nature of dogs

Often, also, when a murder has been committed, dogs have produced clear evidence of the guilt of the accused, with the result that their unspoken testimony is for the most part believed. They say that at Antioch, in a distant quarter of the city at dusk, a man was murdered, who had his dog with him on a lead. A soldier had been the perpetrator of the deed, with robbery as his motive. Undercover of the growing darkness, he fled elsewhere. The corpse lay unburied; the crowd of onlookers was large; the dog stayed at its master's side, howling over his sad fate. It happened that the man who had committed the crime, acting confidently in order to convince people of his innocence - such is the cunning way in which men think- joined the circle of onlookers and, feigning grief, approached the corpse. Then the dog, briefly abandoning its doleful lament, took up the arms of vengeance, seized the man and held him, and, softly singing a pitiful song, as in the epilogue of a tragedy, moved everyone to tears; and the fact that the dog held that man alone, of the many that were there, and did not let him go, lent weight to its case. In the end, the murderer was at a loss because the evidence in the case was so plain; he could not clear himself by objecting that he was the victim of anyone's hate, enmity, envy or spite, and he could no longer rebut the charge. Because it was very difficult for him, he suffered punishment, because he could offer no defence.

A dog's tongue, licking a wound, heals it. A dog's way of life is said to be wholly temperate. A puppy's tongue is generally a cure for internal injuries. It is characteristic of a dog that it returns to its vomit and eats it again. If a dog swims across a river carrying a piece of meat or anything of that sort in its mouth, and sees its shadow, it opens its mouth and in hastening to seize the other piece of meat, it loses the one it was carrying.

In some ways preachers are like dogs: by their admonitions and righteous ways they are always driving off the ambushes laid by the Devil, lest he seize and carry off God's treasure - Christian souls. As the dog's tongue, licking a wound, heals it, the wounds of sinners, laid bare in confession, are cleansed by the correction of the priest. As the dog's tongue heals man's internal wounds, the secrets of his heart are often purified by the deeds and discourse of the Church's teachers. As the dog is said to be temperate in its ways, the man who is set over others diligently studies wisdom and must avoid drunkenness and gluttony in every way, for Sodom perished in a surfeit of food. Indeed, there is no quicker way for the Devil, his enemy, to take possession of man than through his greedy gullet. The dog returning to its vomit signifies those who, after making their confession, heedlessly return to wrongdoing. The dog leaving its meat behind in the river, out of desire for its shadow, signifies foolish men who often forsake what is theirs by right out of desire for some unknown object; with the result that, while they are unable to obtain the object of their desire, they needlessly lose what they have given up.

Some dogs are called licisici, wolf-hounds, because they are born of wolves and dogs, when by chance these mate. In India bitches are tethered at night in the forests to breed with wild tigers, by whom they are mounted, producing very fierce dogs, so strong that with their grip they can pull down lions.

#maniculum bestiaryposting #dog #medieval literature #medieval art #medieval manuscripts #illuminated manuscript

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denimbex1986 · 4 months

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'When Cillian Murphy took to the podium during Sunday night’s Golden Globes, his nose smudged in his wife’s lipstick, it was as if a door had opened on this Hollywood Neverland and an ambassador for the real world had stepped through.

Accepting the Best Actor in a Drama award for Oppenheimer, Murphy wasn’t so much un-starry as stonkingly everyday. Here was a normal person who had somehow beamed into peak Tinseltown and, if pleased, was also clearly a bit perplexed by it all.

The Oppenheimer win has made Murphy a frontrunner for the Oscars. In all likelihood, he will be up against a creepy Barry Keoghan in Saltburn, an overblown Bradley Cooper in Maestro, and a fervent Leonard DiCaprio in Killers of the Flower Moon. With the arguable exception of the grandstanding Cooper, all would be worthy winners. And yet, underdogs everywhere will be cheering for Murphy. He’s spent the past 20 years negotiating Hollywood on his own terms and has rejected Tinseltown’s showiness in favour of staying grounded and playing the long game.

Murphy always wanted to be an actor rather than a star. Such a choice could easily have condemned him to a lifetime of supporting roles. Or a hiatus in TV, to which he seemed exiled when he settled in for a long run as Tommy Shelby in Birmingham noir Peaky Blinders.

But his decision to turn away from flashy parts has proved inspired. He is that rarest of things: an experienced A-list actor who comes to the Oscars without baggage. Unlike DiCaprio, he hasn’t had to overcome a past life as a teen pin-up. Nor does he have to justify a lucrative stint in comic book films, as Cooper has with his time as Rocket Racoon in Guardians of the Galaxy.

Above all, Murphy goes into Oscar season as an antidote to the “look at me!” culture of the social media era. In an age when fame is regarded as the ultimate commodity – more important than awards or critical acclaim – Murphy would rather let his work speak for itself. He lives humbly in suburban Dublin with his wife and two children – and his great passion outside of acting is music, as demonstrated by his semi-regular presenting slot on BBC 6 Music.

That’s lifetimes removed from Hollywood, with its self-mythologising and turbo-charged fakeness. It is also of a piece with his career since he broke through playing a survivor of the zombie apocalypse in Danny Boyle’s 28 Days Later. Ever since, he has chosen his jobs thoughtfully. In so doing, he has assembled a body of work of which he can be proud.

He hasn’t been above popcorn. He was a memorable villain in Christopher Nolan’s Batman Begins, where he played the Scarecrow as a trippy nightmare. But even when shooting for the box office, Murphy has been studiedly un-starry. Careful to keep his ego in check, he’s often happy in an ensemble – hugging the background in A Quiet Place II and settling for an extended cameo in Nolan’s Dunkirk, where he was content to let Harry Styles and Tom Hardy hog the spotlight.

Hog it they did – yet it was Murphy who proved to be in it for the long road. Because he could go into Oppenheimer without a Hollywood aura, he disappeared into the role. If hardly obscure, he nonetheless assimilated fully into the part. Throughout that film, you were aware of its stars. Florence Pugh and Emily Blunt doing their best with under-written female characters. Robert Downey Jr trying to pretend he hadn’t spent a decade as Iron Man.

Murphy, by contrast, split the acting atom. He vanished into Oppenheimer with a performance that exuded humility and sincerity. Bookies have now installed him as a favourite for the Best Actor Oscar. If he wins, it would be a victory for knowing who you are and what you stand for and believing good work has value beyond short-term acclaim. Above all, his success shows that it is possible to stay grounded while scaling Hollywood’s giddiest heights.'

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nekropsii · 1 year

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More Reminders:

Karkat is a bootlicker. This is a prominent character trait. He’s rooting for the Alternian empire- yes, even though it’s ruled by a system that wants him personally dead- and really wants to be a part of its military.

Eridan has a “genocide complex” and is able to be roughly described as the troll equivalent of a white supremacist. This is one of the first things we learn about him.

The Beta Trolls are 13. All of them. This includes Equius. This includes Eridan. This includes Vriska. This includes Gamzee.

99% of Gamzee’s character is racial caricature. No, he is not intended to be a Dionysus parallel. He is intended to be a “satirization” of Black people.

Sapphic pairings have always held precedent over MLM pairings. They’ve always been more important to the plot, been handled with much more grace, and had more screen time. This isn’t a bad thing.

Doc Scratch is a child predator. This is an incredibly prominent character trait of his, and you’re way past due for a reread if you’ve forgotten. He has a particular fixation on, as canon puts it, “little girls”, and targets both Rose and Kanaya. Do I even have to bring up what he did to Damara?

Regarding the previous point, Rose and Kanaya both get very traumatized during the course of Homestuck’s story. They’re not well put together sophisticated “mom friends”, they’re 13 year olds just like almost everyone else is, and they’re going through hell. Rose in particular makes the effect all of this trauma has on her very well known. This is what Grimdarkness is.

Cronus is a child predator, too. During the course of the Openbounds and Ministrife, we see him unabashedly predate on three specific kids, and this behavior is made out to be extremely creepy. These three kids are Karkat, Tavros, and, yes, Eridan.

The Exiles were incredibly important to the plot, actually. You guys are just mean.

Almost every relationship in Homestuck is flawed in some capacity, that’s the point of a tragic drama. The main cast is literally nothing but traumatized and/or mentally ill 13-16 year olds. A good chunk of them aren’t even socialized, or grew up in an actively hostile environment. Or both. No shit characters mess up sometimes, or have unhealthy behaviors- it’s just natural in that situation. Some dynamics are substantially more healthy than others, but the main appeal of Homestuck is that everyone is flawed and damaged.

A good majority of Vriscourse was just people leaping at the opportunity to express pure, unabashed misogyny. I don’t think I have to elaborate upon this.

No, Jane is not a fascist, nor is she racist. She’s never been either of these things, that’s something that was invented out of left field by the Post Canon writing team. Being a fascistic racist was never within the scope of Jane’s character. No, it being “a result of her having grown up being fed propaganda by The Condesce” does not explain that plot thread in Post Canon for a single second, because Jane experiencing a major personality shift because of HIC literally already happened in canon with her going Crockertier, and she came out of that a stronger person. Never once has “racism” been on the list of problems she has.

Hemoloyalty is not intended to be a 1:1 metaphor for racism, nor is it intended to be a 1:1 metaphor for classism, or any other type of oppression. It’s not a 1:1 metaphor for literally anything, it’s intended to be flexible and contextual. This is not a bad thing, and is, in fact, a common storytelling method used by a lot of fantasy/sci-fi writers. Condemning Hussie for a lot of things in their writing is valid, but Hemoloyalty not being strictly analogous to only one type of real world oppression is patently not one of them. You do not know how metaphors work.

Official =/= Canon. No one is calling Pesterquest canon. You really shouldn’t be doing the same for Post Canon. The Homestuck Epilogues and Homestuck^2 are Official, but they are definitively not Canon. This is literally the first thing you learn about either of these projects. This doesn’t invalidate anyone’s enjoyment of any of these properties, of course, but it has to be stressed: Official does not automatically mean Canon.

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