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thepastisalreadywritten · 1 month

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The most powerful moment of the coronation of King Charles III was not the gold glittering off carriages or epaulettes — not the pomp and show and signifiers of power.

It was precisely their opposite: when Charles shed his gold robes and stood in a thin white shirt, his frail humanity implied.

Then a screen was erected around him and, shielded, he had a private consultation with the Archbishop of Canterbury, who dabbed anointing oil with his hands on Charles’s bare breast.

"This was the most solemn and personal of moments,” Buckingham Palace said.

Charles was bare before God, in privacy, God being one of the last beings with no need to sign a non-disclosure agreement.

The Princess of Wales looked on as the screen shielded her father-in-law.

By contrast, she was at that point the most magnificent she had ever been, swathed in layer upon layer of regality, the dress, the robes, the hanging chains, headpiece and ribbons all serving to move the viewing gaze — subjects in every sense — from our awareness of Catherine Middleton with her everyday human DNA and towards the shared fiction of her transcendent queenliness.

Less than a year later, this moment is remembered with new and terrible power.

It is spring again, but it’s a time of hard Lenten moral reflection for us as a nation, in relationship to our royals, as well as an ever more voraciously unprivate modern celebrity culture.

Both the King and the princess have cancer, the latter’s disclosed by Catherine in an unprecedented video address on Friday, March 22.

Catherine’s speech was something of a plea bargain in which she traded not only her customary silence but her most personal of health ordeals in order to put an end to toxic rumours swirling online that had become in tone like an unruly mob rattling at the palace gates.

Or rattling at the figurative locks on her medical notes, with three workers at the London Clinic, where she and the King were treated, suspended and under investigation for allegedly trying to access her records (hers, it is important to note, the King’s were unmolested).

📷: Getty Images

What was so powerful about the anointing of the King was the sacredness of that space in which he could be fully human away from observation and judgment.

There should be another one-on-one consultation that is sacred, where anyone, from King to princess to pauper, can expect to be shriven in total privacy, and that is the sanctity of the medical room.

It used to be that priests were our only bound confidants, we could trust them to be privy to all our spiritual ills.

Now doctors are our secular priests: bound by law and ethics to enshrine confidentiality at the heart of the patient relationship.

As a result, our medical privacy in an age of oversharing and online surveillance feels both stranger and more necessary.

If we knew our every GP-inspected rash was to be posted on TikTok for the nation, many of us would quite literally die of embarrassment.

The King’s appointment behind the three-sided screen can now be viewed through the lens of royal illness.

The lavishly embroidered panels and expensive white shirt now replaced by the flimsy three-sided ward screen on wheels and thin hospital gown that can humble us all.

But it also enacts a principle at the very heart of becoming the monarch.

The medical-like screen is erected in the coronation to tell us there are some places the public cannot go; to tell us that there are sacredly personal moments in which a person, any person, however swathed in our projections of power, needs to be nakedly human.

Otherwise, they will go mad. We need to make sure the screens are erected around Catherine now.

Much is said, quite a lot of it by Prince Harry himself, of the dangers of the wives of the princes repeating the tragic history of their mother, Princess Diana, hunted by photographers.

He remains phobic to any hint of tabloid persecution or paparazzi chase. But this is a sideshow, even an anachronism in 2024.

He and others have not recognised how the “chase” has changed. Who needs paparazzi when there are a billion citizen hacks ready to take pictures with their phones, in case a convalescing woman nips to a Windsor farm shop with her husband?

Instead, the appetite now is not to see but to know.

The royals used to have a contract with the public: we pay for them, and in return, they give us their presence.

Nearly all of their official job is to do with surface: to show up, to put in appearances at a set number of functions, whether at the opening of parliament or the opening of a leisure centre.

But now parts of the online mob seem to be staging a coup. We want more than the surface, we want to puncture the skin barrier of the royal family and occupy from the inside.

The “fans” have become an invasive virus. The royal analogy is often that they are trapped in a gilded zoo. This new model, instead, casts the royals more as lab rats.

When Catherine disappeared from view in January after announcing a “planned abdominal operation,” the response from internet truthers was one of irate entitlement.

They are now the 1980s tabloids: ravening for intimacies and making stuff up when thwarted.

This wasn’t the boomer generation, who are both more respectful of the royals and more private about their own health.

It was the fortysomething mothers frustrated when they can’t track the phone location of everyone in their life; or the twentysomethings on Snap Map.

Both desperate for their personalised new Netflix season of “The Royals” to drop.

Catherine presents with such stoicism and dignity, it is easy to forget where this new invasiveness started: when she was pregnant with Prince George in December 2012 and hospitalised for extreme morning sickness.

While she was sleeping on the ward, a radio station in Australia rang the hospital switchboard pretending to be the Queen.

They broadcast the nurse’s comments about Catherine’s “retching.”

One could only find this prank funny if Catherine had already — a young, wretchedly ill, pregnant woman — been dehumanised.

George is now ten and his mother hospitalised again, and in that decade, the physical security of ill royals may have tightened but their claim to bodily autonomy seems to have weakened.

Some say Kensington Palace “brought it on themselves” by their wish for discretion; this claim is duplicitous.

The late Queen Elizabeth II became increasingly debilitated in her final years with not much detail ever given; just as her father, King George VI, died without disclosing his lung cancer.

I’m glad that the British do not subject their heads of state to the same publicised medical reports as the president of the United States; one shouldn’t have to present a stool swab to sit on the throne.

No, instead the apparent justification of all those clicking and posting conspiracy theories “worried for Catherine’s welfare” was this sinful truth.

As a beautiful, 42-year-old mother of three, her drama was more box office than the ailments of those older, a pound of her flesh was worth more.

Pity, Susan Sontag said in her 1978 book Illness as Metaphor, is close to contempt.

Back then cancer was still taboo. Those around the patient, Sontag says, “express pity but also convey contempt.”

Ask any cancer patient and they will say they don’t want pity: it is too isolating, it sets them apart, an unwanted privilege.

This is why the video plea of Catherine was one of affinity, rather than pity or privilege.

Last year, she sat in robes in Westminster Abbey at the coronation of her father-in-law, next to her future king son and future king husband.

In her video address last week, she sat on a classically English garden bench, pale, alone and in jeans, as bare of pomp as any royal can be.

No mention of kings or titles, just Diana’s ring on her hand.

Rather she gave an appeal, parent to parent, human to human, about her “huge shock” and her care for her “young family.”

And, finally, her kinship with anyone who lives in a vulnerable human body susceptible to a democratic illness like cancer, “you are not alone.”

Or, to paraphrase Richard Curtis:

“I’m just a girl, standing in front of a public, asking for some time to endure gruelling chemotherapy."

NOTE: Additional photos have been included in this article.

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discobiscotto · 3 months

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“Signor Marcovaldo is my father, call me Alberto, Alby…or Maestro 😏”

If we’re talking predictability in design, adult Alberto was NOT easy. I had literally nothing to work from. No (living?) family to compare to, no hints at what kindof quirks he may develop. I had nothing!

All I had was that (assumed) deep-seated desire to be accepted, useful/helpful, and not left behind…..that, and yanno, that Charisma In Excess (as a KID no less, dude calm that shxt down or you’re grounded lol)

Alot of pawing around in the dark and just going with what felt right to me.

I took some cues here and there. Some pretty forward and commonly accepted (“You, the big strong one.” etc), others subtle and unassuming but I ran like the wind with it?

Anyway, here we go. What’s the deal with this walking bowl of spaghetti anyhow?

This will be a two parter. His seamonster form requires a separate post.

Alberto as I said is a bit of a wild card. He doesn’t have as much of an obvious blueprint compared to Luca or Giulia.

His physical appearance for his human form was based solely on environmental influence.

Physically I imagined him to be a bit rough around the edges. Kindof gaunt but not so much that he looks sick or weak. He’s pretty much just one big muscle. Not an ounce of fat on him. Nothing but sinew. Very toned and muscular but certainly not huge. He’s just solid and FIT.

He’s a guy from the docks. He’s a fisherman. He’s salty and peppered in scars. Heavy calloused hands. He picked up smoking at a young age. He spends endless hours in the sun, thus he’s still very freckly as an adult. His impulsive ass got a tooth busted out in a fist-fight. Five o clock shadow and untidy sandy facial hair. I imagined his hair growing more “out and up” than down. Tight coils suggest he’d likely have a ‘fro or pomp, so I combined the two, keeping that old Alberto “top heavy” hairdo lol.

Profoundly Italian, so he’s pretty furry everywhere. Being a hard worker for years, excessive sun exposure, substance use, he looks alittle “older” than he actually is. (Pushing 34 ish).

I made him very tall, 6’4” ish. I admit, I love a good “Tall Man x Small Man” dynamic, so that’s definitely a shameless “luberto-centric” choice lol But I also considered a funny “goldfish” concept where just like a goldfish only gets bigger when his bowl is bigger…perhaps nature was trying to make him “compete” and measure up or even end up bigger than Massimo. 😆

If there’s one thing I learned from “Ciao Alberto” it’s that Alberto has a deep desire to be useful and accepted. He tries through the entire film to impress Massimo and in turn hope Massimo accepts him and sees Alberto can be just as good at his knife-wielding barrel heaving badassery as he is.

Alberto ultimately ending up as a fisherman by trade was an easy choice. Not only do I write what I know (being a Mainer in the coast with a deep affinity with fishermen and shipbuilders) but it is the ultimate way to show his love for Massimo. To help carry on the legacy.

Alberto has mastered some unlikely skills as well. Not as unlikely as you’d expect though considering his desire to impress Massimo.

So consider this:

-Alright, Massimo is great at cooking. Alberto sucks EPICALLY at first but over time, his motivation to measure up to his hero and dad-figure makes him an amazing cook? Check.

-Massimo likes to sing. Alberto picks it up and finds he’s an Unreasonably Excellent Singer and prodigious musician who plays by ear? DOUBLE CHECK.

(Note: The lore and reasons behind this and Alberto’s mandolin will be a blogpost on its own eventually)

-Alberto being a competent and prolific/productive fisherman resulting in the family biz growing and delivering outside of Portorosso? Definitely a proud moment for Massimo.

So to me it all checks out, and drives home Alberto’s strong gumption and the next generation being better than the generation before. As a parent, I subscribe to this goal. I want my boys to be the “Big Strong Ones.”

There’s also the bit that Alberto is a bit of a lush and a party animal. Charismatic, has a bit of a Casanova complex. Charm pouring out of his ears. Why? Well, dang, I really don’t know. I guess bringing it back to that “Charisma In Excess” statement at the beginning of this, it just felt right somehow. I had it so that he really wasn’t all that conventionally attractive but had a level of animal magnetism that’s hard to resist.

There’s lore behind that too…but will be reserved for his “Fish Form” post.

I dunno, it’s probably cus he’s Italian. It could be that simple. 🤷🏻‍♀️

#alberto scorfano #luca1970s #pixar luca #lucafanart #albertoscorfano #discobiscotto design notes #ciaolucafic #ciaoluca #ciao luca #ciao alberto #luberto #older!alberto

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teyamsatan · 1 year

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Cruel Summer | Chapter V: This Love (alternate ending)

Pairings: Neteyam x (f)Human!Reader

Word Count: 8k words

Warnings/notes: fluff, smut, all the feels, Neteyam x Reader being the cutest

Synopsis: "Perhaps, after all, romance did not come into one's life with pomp and blare, like a gay knight riding down; perhaps it crept to one's side like an old friend through quiet ways; perhaps it revealed itself in seeming prose, until some sudden shaft of illustration flung athwart its pages betrayed the rhythm and the music, perhaps loveunfolded naturally out of a beautiful friendship, as a golden-hearted rose slipping from its green sheath."

A/N: Please read this before you read the final chapter x

Besties, if you're here, enjoy a much happier alternate ending to Cruel Summer.

I will leave my notes at the end of the chapter. Ily besties, enjoy!

: ̗̀➛ listen to the Cruel Summer playlist here : ̗̀➛ masterlist (x) : ̗̀➛ series masterlist (x)

Clear blue water

High tide came and brought you in

And I could go on and on, on and on, and I will

When Neteyam left the first time, he did so because he thought he was protecting you. That despite the heartbreak he’d have to endure, despite how much his heart and mind were screaming loudly, agonisingly that he should stay, he refused to put your safety at risk. He refused to let who he was and who his parents were be the reason you would ever be in harm’s way. So he didn’t fight it. And he left. The first time he agreed to mate with someone else, was because he didn’t know any better. He didn’t know how he felt, he didn’t know how you felt. Once again, he was willing to do something despite his own wishes and desires, because he thought it would aid in the clan’s peace and prosperity.

But now… now that he knew, now that he had this last day, now that he knew what it was like to love you, to hold you, to have you, Neteyam knew that for the first time in his life, he had to be selfish, and he had to stand up to his family’s expectations of him, and for him. Because it wasn’t fair. It had never been fair, the way he was treated, but he never complained, because he knew there were sacrifices that had to be made in order to be who he was: the prince of the Omaticaya, the son of the Olo’eyktan and Toruk Makto. But he was no longer a prince, and his dad - no longer the Olo’eyktan or the Toruk Makto. His father forsook his own and Neteyam’s titles and Neteyam was nobody now. Just another person in a sea of people on Pandora, and although not his ideal turn of events, it did come with certain perks.

“No.”

His dad rose an eyebrow, a expression he reserved purely for very specific circumstances, and it seems Neteyam’s only refusal in this life was important enough to warrant it.

“Father… I love you. You know this. I love this family more than anything in this world, I have been more than happy and willing to do anything and everything you have ever asked of me, but this I won’t do. Not anymore. Not when Lo’ak is in love with Tsireya and his union wouldn’t hinder his own happiness and purpose for the rest of his life. I can’t do this anymore. I have lived for almost 20 years with of myself hidden behind a facade, with so many sacrifices that kept getting heavier, until one day, I felt I could no longer bear them all without collapsing. There was only one thing in my life, one person, that helped me through it, and I had to leave her once. And it broke me, dad, and I still did it, because I thought it was the right thing to do. But I won't do this, I won't leave her again. Not when I just got her back."

Skies grew darker

Currents swept you out again

And you were just gone and gone, gone and gone

Neteyam found you at the beach, staring into the distance, back turned away from him and he was so happy, to be able to know he did the right thing for once, and he chose right, and he chose you.

“Vol…”

Your soft sniffles took Neteyam by surprise, as did your face, littered in tears, eyes, nose and cheeks red and swollen. Neteyam exhaled, a sharp tug of pain gnawing at his insides, and he sat next to you, turning until he faced you, until he tugged gently at your mask so you’d look at him, until he could tell you that there was nothing to cry about, not this time, not anymore.

“You heard.”

You nodded meekly.

“Yeah… your mother, uhm… she was talking about it when I went to check on Kiri.”

He smiled at you, and you frowned, not understanding why this was in anyway a smiling matter.

“Vol… I said no.” Your shocked expression only deepened his sense of euphoria, so excited to be able to tell you this, to be able to watch your expression change as you got to hear everything he had to say.

“What did you say?”

In silent screams

In wildest dreams

I never dreamed of this

“You heard me, Vol. I told father no. You know, all my life, I used to think the way humans lived was bad. That to ever put your needs on top of the people you loved’s ones is wrong, and immoral. My parents gave me life, my clan gave me a purpose, Eywa gave me a plan - to be Olo’eyktan, to be Toruk Makto’s son and worthy of it, to continue the lineage and the bloodline I was born into, to protect my people. And I intend to keep to that and honour it to the best of my abilities, but Vol, I learnt through it that there’s nothing wrong with being a little selfish sometimes. It doesn’t mean that you don’t love or appreciate these things, or that you’re not grateful. It means you understand that you only have one life, and at the end of it, you need to choose what life you want to flash before your eyes as you go. And I want you. You’re my life, you always have been. I want to love you, and not hide it. I want to see you everyday, I want to wake up in your stuffy, tiny bedroom, which happens to be my favourite place in the world because it has you in it, and your morning face, and your eyes as they stare up at me as soon as you open them. I want to walk through the forest, and watch you grow and teach you how to fight. I want to fight for my people. My people, not the reef people. So I told them no. And we’re going home, Vol. You and me.”

“It’s my turn now. It’s my turn to be selfish, and choose you.”

“Remember, you once told me humans believe in this concept of parallel universes. That in this immense universe we are in, there are actually other ones, parallel to our own, in which reality differs. There are infinite realties out there, they say, each of them slightly different to the other. In a different reality, maybe you and I never met. In a different reality, for some stupid, incomprehensible reason, I say yes. Maybe in another one, you leave me, or I die at the hands of the Sky People well before my time should be up. Maybe things don’t work out for us in every universe, but this one. But we have this one. I have control over this one. Maybe this universe is the only one in which I get to love you fully, and you get to do the same, and I’ll be damned if I let the opportunity pass me by.”

“I just got you back. I just got you back. I’m never letting you go again.”

You cried, letting it all out. All the hurt of hearing the news being spoken to you, all the relief of hearing it contradicted, the confession which you’ve longed for what felt like all your life. You cried in his chest for how overwhelming these past few months have been, for how much love you had to bury, for the future that you’ll now get, the one that felt like a dream or an out-of-reach fantasy, but it would be real, and finally within your grasp.

This love is good, this love is bad

This love is alive back from the dead

These hands had to let it go free, and

This love came back to me

He consoled you, so infinitely happy to be able to say these words to you, finally, and held you as you cried, removing his own tears that were lazily falling down his face at the relief of it all. He’d never have to let you go again.

“Neteyam… I can’t ask you to leave your family for me. This is too much, you can’t do this.”

He smiled and gently removed your hair out of the way, so he could look into your eyes, so you could see how serious he was, how intentioned his decision.

“Vol, you’re not asking me to do anything. It’s my decision. And this isn’t just about you. The Sky People never saw me. They don’t know who I am, I don’t look like my dad at all. I like the reef people, and I like this place, I swear I do, but I love the forest more. I miss home, I miss the Omaticaya. I don’t care if I never get to be Olo’eyktan anymore, I just want to be who I was always meant to be - a warrior of the forest people, and your mate. Ok?”

“Now, we have a day left before Lo’ak’s ceremony and our departure. You’re finally mine, and I am yours. We have one more day in this place, let’s take advantage of it.”

“Come on, Vol. We can’t leave without another swim.”

In losing grip

On sinking ships

You showed up just in time

You took a detour back to the village and stopped on a different beach, isolated and reclusive, full of greenery and sandy beaches, that you decided was now your beach, your own little portion of heaven in the reef, that Neteyam promised would be for just the two of you, for the rest of time, even after you were gone. It was a silly fantasy, of course, but in your minds, when you were together, the world was quiet and catered to you, the world was just there to be a witness to a love beyond belief, so good, and pure, so mighty and extraordinary that without a witness, might be considered just a fable, a story to tell kids at night, to keep lovers hopeful in trying times. He was happy to know he’s once more learnt your body like he used to know it back home, and ecstatic at how he would once more get to put his lessons to good use after today, and from tomorrow, every new scar, and new curve, every new freckle or mole, it would all be always be familiar to him again, he’d be there to witness it, to learn it with you, to love it for you.

“We still have a few hours before eclipse is over, what would you like to do?” he says, and you smirk, as you get up from your spot next to him and straddle his hips, running your hands over his toned body, muscular and powerful, so different to most Na’vi men you knew, and you thanked Jake Sully for the whatever human genes made it so this was the man laying beneath you, the man you got to see unravel before you, as you started lazily grinding on his length, matching his moans as the feeling of pleasure and relief built up in you.

“I might have one or two ideas.”

“You’re insatiable, you know? You’ve already had one or two ideas.”

“You have 3 months of ideas you have to make up for, ’teyam. I’m just getting a headstart.”

Your slick coated his cock as you continued moving, languid, unhurried motions, as you took your time to feel him, for him to feel you, because you had time. You had all the time in the world, and from now on you would make sure to cherish this, every step, every touch, every kiss, every orgasm, because you knew what it was like to be without it, and you now needed to have this etched in your mind, forever. So you would take your time. He growled, his canines on display and you found it so hot you increased your pace.

“You’re such a fucking tease, Vol.” you smirked again, loving the untethered, flurried look he had about him - eyes shut tightly, head pushed back, thin layer of sweat coating his beautiful skin.

“Good things come to those who wait, ‘teyam.” You rose from your spot, just enough to be able to line his cock at your entrance, just enough to be able to slowly sink back down, slowly, carefully, adjusting to his girth, a little easier now that you were stretched slightly from the last few orgasms, that you were still drenched in a mixture of both your cum and slick.

You lowered yourself as much as you could, stopping when he hit your cervix and curved slightly until a small bulge appeared in your lower abdomen, that he missed no time in caressing, in pressing until you squirmed on him.

“So beautiful. You’re so beautiful on top of me, Vol. So beautiful with my cock buried in you.”

His hands wrapped around your waist, fingers overlapping as he lifted you gently and back on him, and you cried out at the exquisite stimulation, at the pace he set, until it was so good it was overwhelming, and until the desire and pressure built up inside you reached a highpoint and exploded inside you, until your third orgasm made your legs buckle and make you fall deeper on him. The extra simulation from his length stretching you beyond what you could stand, and his thumb circling your clit, made you squirt all over him, gushes of liquid dripping down his cock and past his thighs, on the ground. Your throbbing walls squeezed him and he groaned wildly as he came in you, and you felt so full, so satisfied, so spent, so fucking good.

This love is good, this love is bad

This love is alive back from the dead,

These hands had to let it go free, and

This love came back to me

You fell unceremoniously on his chest, allowing the high to settle down as you listened to his lowering heartbeat and his progressively more relaxed breaths. You were so calm, so content, your life for the past few months felt almost like a bad dream, and you couldn’t imagine it outside of this moment anymore, couldn’t imagine not loving him everyday, not having his arms around your body as they were now, couldn’t imagine how your life would have turned out if you didn’t show up here in the first place. You made a mental note to thank Norm for talking you into the best decision you’ve ever made.

“I figured out what I want.” Neteyam says all of a sudden, and you raise your eyebrows, confused at his words.

“Hmm?”

“Our little bet in the water? I beat you to it, and I was supposed to tell you what I wanted and you were supposed to do it.”

“Ah, yes.” You say, almost impossible to perceive that that was just yesterday.

“So what do you want, 'teyam?”

“I want you to promise that you won’t name our kids some name from some movie or tv show without at least consulting me first. My dad wanted to name Lo’ak Louie and my mother almost had a heart attack. He tried again with Tuk, and my mum raced him out of the tent with a knife when he suggested Rachel, and I don’t want to do that to you, Vol.”

Your eyes widened and the tears pooled in them as you threw your head back and laughed, a real laugh, probably the first real laugh in months, since before he left.

“But Rachel’s a good name, no?” It was meant to be a joke. Just a teasing, light joke, and you wiggled your eyebrows at him as you stood on his chest and peppered kisses on his neck for as long as your breath allowed you, laughing at his groans and rolling of his eyes.

It was his turn to do the same to you, his feathery attacks tickling you and you were so happy, so so happy, it was hard to not feel tears pool in your eyes at the thought of him, of your past and your present, about how much more different the future could have looked under different circumstances.

“You’re crazy, Vol.”

“Eh, you’re right. It’s just ok. What about Chandler? I think that Chandler Te Suli Neteyam’itan just rolls off the tongue, don’t you?”

You tightened your arms around his torso, and pulled him as close to you as you could. He sighed, and you tried to keep more chuckles from slipping through as he huffed in fake annoyance.

“You’re a menace. You have to promise me!”

You nodded reluctantly, knowing that you would agree to whatever name he wanted anyway. It was a small price to pay for a lifetime of happiness, one that you’d pay over and over again, every day of your life, as long as you got to keep him.

“I promise, ‘teyam.”

This love left a permanent mark

This love is glowing in the dark

These hands had to let it go free, and

This love came back to me

You woke up in his arms as eclipse was almost over, and your heart swelled at the sight of him, sleeping peacefully, snoring softly, his chest raising and falling with each breath, and you felt yourself transported through time to all the other times you’ve found yourself in this exact spot, how many times you’ve seen him like this, comfortable and vulnerable and completely yours… except now he was actually yours. He was yours. You couldn’t help the wide grin that followed as the fact slowly sank in, still something so fantastical to you, it was hard to comprehend, hard not to let your mind ruin it by thinking of all the worst-case scenarios, of all the things that could be going wrong, of all the ways this could end badly. You shook your head in an attempt to push the bad thoughts out, and the motion woke him up, slight panic on his face until his eyes found yours, and it immediately melted, replaced by a shining smile and tender kisses on your neck.

“Good morning, ma Vol.”

“Good morning, sleepy. You know, you’re really pretty when you sleep.” You laughed as a slight blush made his cheeks purple, and he took off your mask to kiss you, and you moaned, deepening the kiss, pushing all the boundaries, and your tongue past his lips, until it hurt, until he had to force the mask back on your face.

“Why do you always take things too far?”

“Because one of us has to, ‘teyam.”

Neteyam chuckled as he buried his face in your hair. You were right about that. You’ve always been the brave one. He always thought you would have been a sight to behold as a Na’vi. You had no fear. You always went after what you wanted, and fought with an iron grip for what you believed in. When you were both 10, you and Lo’ak were fighting over a toy, and even though he was so much bigger than you, you worked so hard to make sure you got that toy, you put all your might into it, your entire body into it, and even went so far as to bite Lo’ak so he could let go. He still got the toy, but it was dented and almost broken when he did, and you said something that Neteyam will never forget: everything I let go of has claw marks on it. That was a complaint at the time, said in huffing and puffing, with puffy red eyes and an adorable pout, but Neteyam thought it was something that defined you as person your whole life. You held on to what you loved, until it bled, until there was nothing left. You were the one that kissed him first, that asked to have sex. You were took the risk, because you knew it was worth it, and he was so grateful. You came here, despite the pain and the hurt, despite not knowing what you’d find, and gave Neteyam a chance to finally be the brave one, at least once. He owed you his whole happiness, and he’d make sure you’d never forget it.

You rose to your feet, finding it hard to put on your clothes when all you wanted was to stay here with him, with the soundtrack of the waves crashing on the shore and the birds chirping away eagerly. He looked at you, admiring your body that he could never get over or used to, that he’ll continue to worship and cherish, that he’ll forever strive to know better than he knows himself, because what better way in there to live than buried and lost in you?

“I will ask you one last time, Neteyam. Are you sure you want to do this? Because you can’t change your mind after today. You’re stuck with me.”

Neteyam got up from the ground, and picked you up with ease bridal style, his long braids tickling your neck.

“Vol, the only thing in the world I want is to be stuck with you forever. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. And I know that now. Confessing to you, hearing you say you felt the same way, for the first time in my life, I felt free. Like I finally know who I am and what I want. I want to go home, and I want to be with you. That’s it. No titles, no tsaheylu, nothing will ever mean anything if it’s not done with you. So let’s just go watch my brother get some, so we can start our life together.”

You smiled and traced your fingers over his features, caressing his forehead, and nose that scrunched slightly under your touch, and cheeks and lips, and your smile widened as he shuddered beneath your fingertips. The man was whipped, and you were glad. Cause you were, too, so it was only fair.

The ceremony was beautiful. She was beautiful. Tall and turquoise skinned, with luscious, long, curly hair and a supple, jewellery-adorned body, she was everything Lo’ak could have ever wanted, and based on the few stories that Neteyam’s told you, she was. Jake insisted that you stayed. You were family, this was a happy time, and you should be here to celebrate. And so you stayed. And you watched as the Tsa’hik symbolically bound their destinies together with a piece of woven thread. You watched as she brought their heads together and made them recite words of promise and forever, looking into each other’s eyes, praying to Eywa for a fruitful mateship and for healthy offsprings, and you cried happy tears, excited tears, when you realised that your little brother was getting to spend the rest of his life with someone he loves, someone kind and compassionate, who is a good balance to his flamboyant, irresponsible personality, who can mend his heart and show him what it’s like to be put first, the way he’s always wanted. You look at your own mate, and at the rest of your family surrounding you, and you’re happy it’s all finally out in the open. That they can finally know, that in their midst, the greatest love story they have ever seen was born and thrived, and they got to be privy to it. And you were glad that they didn’t take it nearly as harshly as you thought they might, and that the world won’t get to miss you, and miss him, for it will finally know a love like yours, a love that is beyond this life and the next, a love that stories and songs will be written about, a story others will aspire to.

After the ceremony, you had to watch as they left, just the two of them, headed towards the Tree of Souls, where you were just a few hours ago, and knowing what they were going to do made you act out in fake nausea, because that was your baby brother and you didn’t want to imagine him doing things that would imply that he’s finally an adult, and he’d one day have his own kids to traumatise. You assumed Neteyam felt the same, as he looked uneasy towards where the pair was headed, and you laughed and tried to distract him, and yourself. You tried to think of anything else, like Tuk, and Kiri, like Jake and Neytiri, like the beautiful beach and the sea and the animals inhabiting it, like how this place truly was a living, breathing paradise, and how you’d love to visit as often as you could, which you assumed you would have to, since Neteyam was coming with you.

“So…” Norm started, scratching his head awkwardly, as the crowd dispersed after the ceremony. “Anyone want to address the elephant in the room, or…?”

“Right…” Neteyam said, taking a step in front of you, essentially shielding you from what you assumed was his mum’s deadly gaze. “I broke the news to my family yesterday… that I am coming back home. I will be returning to the forest with you, as that is my place, and my home. I have been in love with one person, my whole life, just one person, and I know it’s strange, and maybe hard or difficult to understand, but mother… if anyone should understand, it’s you. You fell in love with dad, despite the clan’s expectations, and the Tsa’hik’s... with a human. And look what happened, look what it ended up being. It ended up being everything. I know you don’t approve right now, and you’ve always given her a hard time, and I tried to understand, but now I will ask you to understand. Understand that she is the most beautiful, empathetic, intelligent, capable person I know. That she didn’t choose to be human, or to be born here, on this planet her body isn’t made for, but she gave it her all, and her best. And she made the best of her circumstances. And she’s brave, and she has a strong-heart. Like you.”

You felt yourself tear up at Neteyam’s words. He didn’t have to do this, you said to yourself. It didn’t matter anymore, you liked to believe. All these years of needing, craving a mother’s love, some sort of acceptance, it was childish fantasies, you lied to yourself. You didn’t want it anymore. You wanted nothing more. You saw Neytiri approach and gently move his son out of the way. In a turn of events you never saw coming, she kneeled by your side, so you could be eye to eye. She was smiling.

“You… you saved my Kiri. And for almost 20 years, I watched you be my kids’ sister, their confidant, their best friend… and now their love. For so long, I let the things that haunt me in the middle of the night guide me, and push me away from what I knew was right, because I was scared. Because it is hard to deal with the losses I have had to overcome when you are a walking, talking reminder of them. But you’re not like them. Just like my husband isn’t… just like Norm and Max aren’t… just like Spider isn’t. Thank you, for taking care of Kiri… and for taking care of Neteyam. And while I still have my reservations and concerns, I also have faith in my son, and in Eywa, and she brought you two together for a reason.”

Then, out of nowhere, she hugged you. Your skin was getting pricked and scratched from her beaded clothes, but you didn’t care. You just stood there, stunned and awed at the interaction, so much so that you were startled as she reached for your limp arms and wrapped them around herself, chuckling slightly. You couldn’t help tightening your grasp on her, and crying in the crook of her neck. You wanted it, even now. Even after all these years. You wanted nothing more.

“I am sorry, child. I’m sorry I wasn’t the mother you never had, and always needed. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you because of my own shortcomings. But I am here now.”

“Thank you.”

The ride home was quiet and peaceful, a sense of solace as you sat in front of Neteyam, flush against his chest on his beautiful ikran, who was cooing affectionally, as you were patting it on the back of the neck, taking in the beauty of Pandora, that you didn’t quite notice on the way here, too preoccupied with seeing him again to care. You held Neteyam’s arm and comforted him, and despite knowing he made the right decision, despite the happiness overflowing around him at getting to go back, getting to go home, getting to keep you, you knew he was sad about leaving his family behind, sad at the sea of growing pains sometimes ebbing, but now definitely flowing in his life that was rapidly changing and evolving, paying little mind to the whiplash it was leaving in its wake. It would be an adjustment for both of you, for the Sullys and for the whole clan, but one that you were excited to brave through with him.

The days were slow, and dragging, as you continued to train and learn to be one of the people, but they were also incredible satisfying, and exciting, and joyous. Because your new teacher was kind, and patient and loving, and you got to take him home every night. And where he got to teach you the ways of the Na’vi, and how to fight, you got to teach him how to be human, and how to love. Where he took so much out of you during the day, he got to pay for it by giving it to you, over and over, during the night, until you both passed out on top of each other in exhaustion and bliss. Where he spent the days mostly in silence and giving subtle commands, he spent the nights showering you in kisses and confessions, whispering how much he loves you in your ear, how lucky he is to have you, how he’s never thought happiness like this could even exist.

And the best thing about it was your friendship never changed. You still made fun of each other, and told each other everything. You laughed and cried together, you shouted at each other in anger in annoyance, you bickered and fought and made up, and it was easy, like breathing. Like it always has been.

Your kiss, my cheek, I watched you leave

Your smile, my ghost, I fell to my knees

When you're young, you just run

But you come back to what you need

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

“Happy birthday, Vol.”

“So, how would rate your 19th birthday compared to your 18th?”

You thought about it for a while.

“Well, I can say it’s had a lot less booze, but a lot better sex.” You both laughed while your head was rested on his shoulder, as you watched your favourite season of your favourite show, sprawled in bedsheets, his naked body glimmering in the dark and reflecting in your eyes as you took his beauty in, that you never got accustomed to, no matter how many times you saw it. When the credits rolled in and the music faded, leaving a dark room behind, silent apart from your breaths, that were getting laboured once more as desire built up in your core yet again, you straddled him and watched his face get closer to yours, until your lips met, until his tongue explored your mouth and neck, leaving traces of him on you, until your hands trailed his chest and abdomen, lingering over his abs, until they reached what they were looking for, until he made you scream, over and over, until you let him.

“You’re a fiend.”

“I’m a fiend?! What about you?” Neteyam shook his head, and you scoffed and rolled your eyes at what you thought was a preposterous statement.

“Let’s think about it. Who seduced who the first time? Who was drunk off their ass and asked to fuck, huh?”

“Who kept getting boners around their best friend until one day she had the guts to do something about it, huh?”

He rolled you off of him with ease and pinned you to the ground, smirking and pushing his hips into your still dripping core.

“You know why I kept getting boners, Vol? Because I could smell you. I could smell how wet you were around me. Your scent drove me nuts for so long. It still does. You intoxicate me. You drive me fucking crazy, Vol.”

You said nothing as you looked in his eyes, as your heart fluttered much like the butterflies that were digging their way through your stomach.

“‘teyam…” He shuts you up with kiss, tender and soft, so unlike his words or actions, and you melt into it, and the fear creeps in your chest as you fall for him deeper, as you half-consider just telling him, just coming out with it, because fuck, you loved him and this wasn’t helping.

“I have something for you. Birthday present.” Suddenly, he got off you, leaving you a breathless mess, and retrieved something from the pile of clothes on the floor. He plopped himself next to you and pulled you close, until you were resting his head on his torso, and you snuggled into him, glancing at the object in his hand curiously.

His words were soft-spoken and quiet, almost bashful, and you noticed his heart picking up speed, thumping loudly in the ear that was pressed tightly against his chest. “I didn’t know what to do for your birthday, considering you’re already blessed with the best gift in the world… my presence in your life, that is…” you snickered sarcastically, and he continued. “…but, every time I go on a mission, I think of you, and your voice that tells me to be safe, and I see your eyes looking back at me as you stitch my wounds afterwards, and I make it a point to grab a pebble at the end of each mission, to give to you. But, for one reason or another, I never did. So here.” He grabbed your hand in his, turning it upwards so your palm was facing the ceiling, and dropped the item in it.

A necklace. A gorgeous, stunning, impossibly beautiful choker, with tens, if not hundreds of beads and pebbles of different colours and textures woven into it. It looked majestic, fit for a queen, or a Tsa’hik, and you felt tears pool in your eyes at its meaning, at how long he must have been collecting these for, with you in mind, at how long it must have taken to make, at how much it meant to him, and now to you. He took it from you and you held your hair so he could fasten it around your neck. It fit you perfectly, and you smiled up at him, raising an eyebrow.

“How did you know it was going to fit?” He smiled and your fingers caressed your cheek, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

“Let’s just say I’ve had my hand wrapped around your throat enough times to have a pretty good frame of reference.”

You couldn’t help the blush in your cheeks, or the way your reached back for your new gift so you could trace your fingers over it, imprinting the feel of every bead in your mind, thinking of each one and trying to correlate it to a time, or a place, to a hunt or a battle he was part of that you weren’t, but how you were ever-present in his mind.

“Do you like it?”

“I love it, ‘teyam. Thank you.”

“Making this necklace, it was a good reminder that you have been the only constant in my life since I was born. No matter how much my life has changed, how much I changed, you’ve always been there to brave the storm with me. And I love you, Vol. You’re my best friend. Forever.”

“Forever.”

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

The high of the dream lingered as you woke up, as you had to deal with its remnants that were tattooed in your mind, as you had to once more breathe in the fact that somehow waking up is better than what you just left behind, that despite how amazing these memories were, the reality of the man you love snoring softly next to you was infinitely better. It was, it always was. It was hard to find the will to get out of bed when he was in your bed, naked and comfortable, and all you wanted was to take advantage of the fact that it was your birthday, and he should be submitting to your every whim right now, and the first thing you wanted was him, deep inside of you. You smiled as you realised this day somehow stopped belonging to you two years ago, and you couldn’t find it in you to be upset about it, not when it was a reminder of this formidable love and where it all started.

After a long, tiring, satisfying morning, you got up from the bed and showered, finding comfort in the water hitting your skin and untying the knots in your tense muscles. When the two of you made your way through the village to join everyone for breakfast, you were greeted with a myriad of screams of happy birthday, from humans, avatars and Na'vi alike, and you felt a surge of joy in your heart, and a swell of gratitude for the unforeseeable change in attitude from the people of the clan. For the first time in your life, you felt welcomed here, and you didn't know whether it was Tarsem's influence, or Neteyam being back, or the Na'vi having another reminder, now that the Sky People were back, that not all humans are inherently evil, or your strenuous effort to be one of them and join in the battles and the training, but regardless of what it was, it was a gratifying change. Neteyam smirked in your direction, and you scoffed at the way he’s been acting weird all morning, a stupid smile plastered on his face.

"Birthday girl, come on. We've been dying to give you your present." Max had the biggest smile on his face and an item you couldn't place in his hand.

"Here. Happy birthday, from all of us."

You raised an eyebrow.

"From all of you? That's a big present."

You took the curious contraption in your hands and twirled it around. It was lanky and weird, and it looked old, before your time, and even their time. You noticed as you inspected it that it had an eyepiece that resembled that of a microscope.

"That, kid, is called a stereoscope. Look into it."

You did, and as you put your eyes in the socket, a big picture of... cells came into view. But they weren't cells you've ever seen before.

"What is this?"

"Those, kid... are your cells. Actually, if we are being specific, they are your future Avatar's cells."

The stereoscope fell from your hands and you were happy Spider had catlike reflexes because it looked precious and unique and you didn't want to break it, but God, in that moment, you really couldn't care less.

"What did you say?"

"You know all the things we got from the humans that we didn't know what to do with or what they were? Well, we figured it out, kid. You, Spider and Max are all getting Avatars. And their technology massively improved, too. They're growing like crazy, it shouldn't take more than a year. By next year, you might be able to take it out for a spin."

This love is alive back from the dead

These hands had to let it go free, and

This love came back to me

You turned around and looked at Neteyam, who had tears in his eyes, and you jumped in his arms, and screamed, screamed at the top of your lungs, because what the hell was this and how could you be so lucky to get everything you’ve ever wanted? As if the universe was willing to reward you for 20 years of hurt and inaptitude and incertitude and unfairness, and you had to admit, it was doing a good job at redeeming itself.

“Vol… I think Eywa has heard my prayers. Vol, I love you so much, and you’re mine, forever. And one day, you’ll take your Iknimaya and your own ikran, and you’ll have your place among the people. And one day, our kids will run through these tents and through these forests, and their laughter will fill these caves and our hearts, and I can’t wait, I can’t wait to keep you, and to love you every day, for the rest of my life, and to thank my lucky star that I found you, and you found me, and you chose me.”

You raised your hand to your necklace, that you wore every day now, thinking of all it represented, touching every pebble - each one, in your mind, a memory, or a touch, or a kiss, or a laugh, each one an i love you, an I miss you said to each other, each one a second, a minute, an hour, a day, a month spent together, each one a new memory you’d get to make, a touch, or a kiss, or a laugh you’d get to experience every day, each one an I love you or an I miss you you’ll say until you ran out of breath, you embraced it all, and embraced him, too - for good measure.

“Forever.”

This love left a permanent mark

This love is glowing in the dark

These hands had to let it go free, and

This love came back to me

A/N: there it is, besties. the happy ending to cruel summer. honestly, i just wanted to say a massive thank you if you managed to reach this far. when i started this blog, a few months ago, and posted the first chapter of illicit affairs, i did it on a whim, i did because i thought why not? Now, 2000 followers later, I get to write so many stories I never thought I'd ever get to, or even think of, and it's all because of you.

Cruel Summer means a lot to me, as i think it signifies my growth as a writer, my growth on this platform, and as a person learning through deal with my own personal issues through my characters. I loved writing it so much, I cried so much, probably more than with any other story I wrote, and I hope I managed to make you feel something, and maybe think, bc that's all I want, that's all anybody that does any sort of art can want i think.

Thank you for coming on this journey with me, and I hope you stay for what's next, bc I'm not done, as long as there's still people that want to be here. I love you and am very grateful to all 2000 of you.

Taglist: @liluvtojineteyam @pinkpantheris @fanboyluvr@bananafruityawne @zaddyneteyamlovergirl @netemoon @www-interludeshadow-com@jackiehollanderr

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chaifootsteps · 12 days

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Wanted to pop-in with a little correction about Lucifer wanting to usurp God, being prideful, temping Adam and Eve, falling, the works.

Biblically speaking, that's actually conflating 3 separate characters who not only aren't even the same entity, none of them are the same species.

Lucifer was not a fallen angel, but rather a human. An incredibly prideful human who saw himself as above others and at the level of the heavens (as many kings and pharaohs did in those days, seeing themselves as manifestations of the divine), but a human nonetheless. The king of Babylon, to be precise. Remember that point in The Prince of Egypt where Rameses says "I am the morning and the evening star, if I say day will be night it shall be written"? Same basic idea. Pharaohs and kings in those days saw themselves as commanding a divine right over others. Lucifer was just a particularly cruel one who didn't treat his people with respect.

From Isaiah 14, verses 3 through 20:

3 On the day the Lord gives you relief from your suffering and turmoil and from the harsh labor forced on you, 4 you will take up this taunt against the king of Babylon: How the oppressor has come to an end! How his fury has ended! 5 The Lord has broken the rod of the wicked, the scepter of the rulers, 6 which in anger struck down peoples with unceasing blows, and in fury subdued nations with relentless aggression. 7 All the lands are at rest and at peace; they break into singing. 8 Even the junipers and the cedars of Lebanon gloat over you and say, “Now that you have been laid low, no one comes to cut us down.” 9 The realm of the dead below is all astir to meet you at your coming; it rouses the spirits of the departed to greet you— all those who were leaders in the world; it makes them rise from their thrones— all those who were kings over the nations. 10 They will all respond, they will say to you, “You also have become weak, as we are; you have become like us.” 11 All your pomp has been brought down to the grave, along with the noise of your harps; maggots are spread out beneath you and worms cover you. 12 How you have fallen from heaven, morning star, son of the dawn! You have been cast down to the earth, you who once laid low the nations! 13 You said in your heart, “I will ascend to the heavens; I will raise my throne above the stars of God; I will sit enthroned on the mount of assembly, on the utmost heights of Mount Zaphon. 14 I will ascend above the tops of the clouds; I will make myself like the Most High.”(edited)

15 But you are brought down to the realm of the dead, to the depths of the pit. 16 Those who see you stare at you, they ponder your fate: “Is this the man who shook the earth and made kingdoms tremble, 17 the man who made the world a wilderness, who overthrew its cities and would not let his captives go home?” 18 All the kings of the nations lie in state, each in his own tomb. 19 But you are cast out of your tomb like a rejected branch; you are covered with the slain, with those pierced by the sword, those who descend to the stones of the pit. Like a corpse trampled underfoot, 20 you will not join them in burial, for you have destroyed your land and killed your people.

The metaphor of a “star” is used in referring prophetically to the Davidic kings of Judah (Nu 24:17), and if you look into Bible history, the Babylonian dynasty for a time did rise above these Judean kings by conquest of Jerusalem. A similar prophecy in Daniel chapter 8 describes the small “horn” of some future power as trampling down certain stars of “the army of the heavens” and moving against the Prince of the army and his sanctuary (Da 8:9-13)". So human kings being seen as stars was a rather common metaphor.

Satan was an angel who was God's prosecuting attorney in Job, who fell from Heaven in the New Testament for unknown reasons, likely because by the New Testament God was getting out of his "I control all good and evil and demand you slaughter these nonbelievers to show my power" phase, so there needed to be another to be the new evil with God being seen as all good. And when Satan did fall, he was cast down to Earth, not Hell. He wasn't cast down to Hell until Revelation (by which point centuries from Genesis Satan and the serpent were seen as the same by that time), but Revelation was just an acid-trip of a metaphor for Christian persecution under the Roman Empire anyway.

And the serpent? In Genesis it was just a crafty serpent who was described as being "the craftiest out of all the beasts of the field the Lord God had made". And it was declared in the Genesis story as being cursed to slither on the ground, likely as a way of explaining why snakes slither and have vestigial legs.

There's plenty of interesting things you could do with Lucifer, Satan, and the serpent. Make them all the same guy. Make them all different. Make Lucifer Satan's jealous rival who wants to usurp him in Hell and has the serpent as a talking animal sidekick. There's a lot you can do with it.

But Lucifer should be prideful. Whether you go with him being a human, an angel, the devil, something, his pride his always consistent. Or should be. You'd think it would be in Viv's universe, since he's the King of the Pride Ring.

Except he's just... not. So why did Viv even make him the King of Pride in the first place if he doesn't have a prideful bone in his body. He's more like P. T. Barnum in The Greatest Showman than anything else.

Man, I'm as agnostic as they come but Biblical lore is nuts. So many opportunities and Viv ran with approximately none of them.

#Anonymous #hazbin hotel critical #viv stuff #actual blog post

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inevitably-johnlocked · 1 month

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Hey Steph,

I am in the mood for some really long fics. Preferably not AU as I find those hard to get into. Although, like always, I am open to your all your suggestions.

Loves Seven.

Hi Lovely!!

Ahhh, I've a TONNE of long fics, and a lot of them AREN'T AUs! I'm gonna use your ask as an excuse to post a new list, and please check out the other pages linked below! I label if a fic is an AU or not, so just skip over those if you're not up for them! Enjoy!

NOVEL LENGTH FICS: 50 to 100K Pt 4

See also:

Novella Length Fics: 20 to 25K (Oct 2020)

Novella Length Fics: 25 to 50K (Aug. 2019)

Novella Length Fics: 25 to 50K Pt 2 (July 2022)

Novel Length Fics: 50 to 100K (Nov. 2018)

Novel Length Fics: 50 to 100K Pt 2 (May 2020)

Novel Length Fics: 50 to 100K Pt 3 (Jul 2022)

Novel Length Fics: 100K+ w. (May 2019)

Novel Length Fics: 100K+ w. Pt 2 (Aug 2020)

Novel Length Fics: 100K+ w. Pt 3 [MFL’s] (Dec 2020)

Long Domestic Johnlock (50K+ w.) (March 2023)

Smut-Free Fics Over 50K (Aug 2019)

Top 20 Fave 40K+ w. Fics (April 2017)

Long S3/Post-S3 Fics (20K+ w.) [Apr 2020]

Hurt / Comfort Pt. 4: 50K+ Words Pt. 1

Anxious / Worried Sherlock Pt 2 (Over 20K w.)

Long Pining Fics (50K+) [March 2023]

G,T, & M-Rated Johnlock for Newcomers Pt. 3 (20K+)

Genius is a Star Whose Light (is Soon to Sink in Endless Night) by LoloLolly (M, 51,812 w., 11 Ch. || Canon Compliant Through TFP/S4 Is Canon, Aftermath of Serbia, Alternating POV, Established / New Relationship, Parentlock with Rosie, Explicit Torture, Mentions of Sherlock’s PTSD, Mentions of Human Trafficking, References to Child Abuse, Violence, Kidnapping, Captivity, Angst with Happy Ending, Fluff, Case Fic, BAMF / Soldier John, Sherlock Whump, Mycroft and John Work Together, Marriage Proposal, Autistic Sherlock, Lestrade Finds Out, Polyglot Sherlock) – Sherlock had buried the past. Shut Serbia away in the attic of his mind palace. Muddy footprints at a heinous crime scene, however, have led him right back to old enemies. And right back to captivity. For God’s sake, Mycroft. Part 2 of the Earthly Pomp (Is But a Dream) series

Spare Parts by Raina_at (E, 63,497 w., 10 Ch. || 24th Century / Futurism AU || Post TRF, Pre-TRF Relationship, Case Fic, Mutual Pining, Estrangement, Reconciliation, Science Fiction, Reunion, Nightmares, Angry John, Cybernetic John, Emotional Discussions / Heart to Heart, POV John, Scars, Past Drug Use, Forehead Touching, Emotional Lovemaking, Kissing, Apologies, Kidnapping, Rescue Mission, BAMF John, Bed Sharing, Top Sherlock) – Two years ago, Sherlock Holmes jumped off the roof of New London Hospital. Two months ago, he walked into John's clinic as if no time had passed at all. John hasn't seen him since. But then Sherlock knocks on John's door with a case he can't say no to, and while figuring out why the biggest manufacturer or synthetic limbs in the System is going after veterans, they also need to find out whether there's a way to fix what's broken between them. Part 1 of Realigning Gravity

Swallow the Night by ArwaMachine (E, 87,873 w., 15 Ch. || TSo3/Stag Night Fix It, TAB/S4 Divergence, Toplock, Mutual Pining, PWP, Drunk / Public Sex, Anal Fingering/Sex, Alcohol-Induced Amnesia, Everyone Knows Except Them, Emotional Love Confession, Demisexual Sherlock, Internalized Homophobia [John], Parentlock with Rosie, First Kiss, Drug Relapse, Infidelity, Texting, Masturbation, Oblivious John, Emotional Love Making, Angst with Happy Ending, Dreams and Nightmares) – “Do you know how long,” John panted, his cheek scraping against the wall, looking back at Sherlock through half-closed eyes, “I’ve wanted this?” Sherlock pressed himself against John’s back, biting at John’s ear. “Not nearly as long as I have,” he whispered.

Bakers with Benefits by Raina_at (E, 88,130 w., 14 Ch. || Great British Bake Off AU || Strangers to Lovers, Switchlock, Friends with Benefits, Mentions of Alcoholism / Past Drug Use, Banter, Flirting, Fluff, Light Angst, Semi-Public Sex, Past Sherlock/Victor, Mutual Pining, POV Sherlock, Obsessive Sherlock, John’s Bum) – Sherlock Holmes has a successful YouTube baking channel, but what he really wants is his own bakery. When an old friend sends him a call for the very first Great British Bake Off, he seizes the opportunity to finally win a sponsor for his bakery. Here's the plan: Win Bake Off, get the bakery, don't fall in love with the handsome Army doctor at the neighbouring station. Easy.

Fade To Black by twistedthicket1 (M, 93,389 w., 29 Ch. || Split Personality Disorder / DID, Action, Romance, Violence, Implied Rape/Non-Con, BAMF John, Fluff and Angst, Baskerville, Human Experimentation, PTSD, Implied Self Harm, Trauma Amnesia, Past Child Sexual Abuse, Protective Sherlock, Smoking, Meddling Mycroft, Past Victor/Sherlock, Gay Sherlock, Sherlock’s Past, First Kiss/Time) – John Watson believes one day he'll just fade. That he'll drown in the black spaces of his mind, and that one day he will no longer exist. It's always been like this, the dark spots marking out moments in his life he can't remember. Where for just a moment he's someone else. Having a Dissociative identity disorder, he can't even be entirely sure he's really who he says he is. Then he meets Sherlock Holmes. A brilliant detective who when he looks at you can read your entire life story. John is immediately fascinated and afraid, half-wondering if maybe Sherlock can see the other personalities in him and half terrified of the thought of him finding out. Becoming his flatmate seems at once to be a wonderful and horrible idea. Yet as John's Blackouts become more and more severe and his other personalities begin to truly awaken and show themselves with Sherlock's help, the two soon discover that sometimes even the kindest person can harbour a demon best left untouched inside of them. Because not all of John's other personalities play nicely and some may be hiding secrets best left undisturbed...

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #long fics #my fic recs #50 to 100K

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josefavomjaaga · 3 months

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Ida meets Ney in Russia

I dimly remember that somebody (Cadmus?) mentioned they wanted to read more from Ida. So here’s a brief snippet of Ida – for once – getting in trouble with her hero, of Ney scolding her and … being jealous of Eugène?

The meeting takes place somewhen in late 1812 or early 1813, as much as it’s possible to tell from Ida’s chronological rollercoaster ride. In any case, after or at the end of the Russian retreat. Because of course Ida had joined the Russian campaign as well.

And not only she. If any tumblerinas here plan on learning how to time travel and want to go back to see the Grande Armée march towards Moscow, they don’t need to worry about incognitos. Most likely they would barely be noticed, as apparently there were wagonloads of groupies following their heroes around.

Okay: four. But that’s only those ladies Ida travelled with. Plus, two of them died on the way back.

Ida was particularly fond of a Polish-Lithuanian girl named Nidia, as madly in love with general Montbrun as Ida was in love with Ney. Not that either of the two got to see their idol much during the march. As a matter of fact, the first thing Nidia learned before entering Moscow was that Montbrun had been killed at the battle of Borodino. Other than that, Ida claims to have had a bad feeling about this city from the start:

As we entered Moscow, occupied at last by our troops, this immense city seemed to us like a vast tomb; its empty streets, deserted buildings and solemnity of destruction were heartbreaking. Despite the pomp of victory, I felt struck by I don't know what new kind of melancholy when I saw it; the flags seemed to me gloomy and almost surrounded by funeral crêpes and black forebodings. We were staying in Rue Saint-Pétersbourg, near the Miomonoff palace, which was soon occupied by Prince Eugène. The sight of this young hero and the cheers of the soldiers, who adored him, gave us back all the illusions of victory.

Okay, so I just added this because it’s so rare to see Eugène receive some praise. (I should also mention that the adored young hero was growing bald at an alarming rate and that his bad teeth were killing him.)

As a matter of fact, Ida claims that Nidia was especially interested in Eugène because he was rumoured to maybe become king of Poland (yes, another candidate). These rumours did really exist, Eugène mentions them in a letter to his wife before the campaign started. (And he also makes it pretty clear that these are just rumours and that he has not the slightest ambition to stay in this country. He may have used different vocabulary than Lannes but he didn’t like the region any better.)

The following night, Ida and Nidia wake up to a burning Moscow and are saved by soldiers of 4th corps. On the retreat, they seem to have followed headquarters as closely as possible, which was their safest bet to stay alive (because where the emperor is, there’s food and firewood and a resemblance of order) but still witness horrible tragedies. After the crossing of the Berezina, they apparently followed the remnants of Eugène’s 4th corps to Marienwerder, before Nidia says goodbye and goes back to defending Poland.

But before, on the way, at Valutina (?), Ida finally sees Ney again

At this point, after the retreat, Ida at least starts to question her decision to follow the Grande Armée around. Or something like that.

I have just recounted my fatigue, my difficulties and my perils in a war beyond human endurance, because of the new aspects it seemed to give to destruction and death. A powerful feeling made me undertake everything and endure everything. Why was I going to face the hazards of a campaign? Why was I going to expose the weakness of a woman to the rigours of a climate of iron? In order to obtain yet another glance from the one whose smile had always paid me for my military errands. This look was always like a world offered to my hopes; the dream alone of this reward had made possible all the impossibilities of time, distance, sex and fortune. My life was thus burnt for a few hours, still uncertain. I was giving up everything for a moment in space. Alas! this time, how I was going to regret this moment that had cost me so much to conquer! I had just gambled my existence for a flash of happiness, and this flash, the quickest of my life, became the cruelest.

I had to spend three fatal hours in a miserable shack on the outskirts of Volutina. My dress was so horrible that it was a real disguise. In a person dressed like that, one could hardly suspect a woman. Ney, however, only had to look my way to recognise me. To have been seen was enough to have been discovered. I was about to rush to the front of this first happiness; I was about to testify to the soul of my life how proud I was of this divination of friendship, of this perspicacity of memory, when words of an energy which was far from that of the feeling of which I was possessed, intimated to me the order of the most positive dismissal: "What are you doing here? What do you want? Go away quickly." With this address and a few short, curt rebukes about my reckless rage and my fury at following him everywhere, I only had the strength to reply: "It is a rage, indeed, but it is not at least the rage of pleasure or vanity," pointing to my coarse clothes and my face burnt by the sun and faded by fatigue. He took no notice of either the harangue or the costume. He was off and running. His displeasure at seeing me there was so great; he let it out so vividly that I thought he was going to push me back to the opposite bank of the Dniéper in his anger. Stunned by the reception, struck by lightning, I remained motionless for more than an hour, staring at him, thinking I saw him; he had disappeared without paying any more attention to me or worrying about me.

From which we can deduct that Ney was not a reader of Jane Austen novels. Otherwise he would have known that whenever you have behaved in a way that made a woman fall in love with you that’s f-ing your fault, monsieur!

In 1813, when I recalled to Marshal Ney this scene of such violent fury, followed by such cruel silence and abandonment, he told me that he had been so mortally frightened by the extravagance which had pushed me into the midst of so many perils and the licentiousness of an army, that he had even been tempted to beat me. Truth requires me to admit that the temptation had been so strong that he had, I believe, yielded to it a little; it was without his knowing it, for the great passions know neither all they want nor all they do. Anger is therefore still love, since it is as blind as fury.

Girl, get help. Seriously.

When we crossed the Dniéper at Serokodia, I could have had another word with him. A new laurel had just hidden his wrongs and healed my wound. I could have, I wanted to say to him: You have just added to your immortal glory here; you alone have just saved Frenchmen lost in deserts of ice; I would have liked to express to him what all parties repeat today, what posterity will proclaim on the ashes of the brave... But I stuck to the joy of hearing the distant cheers. There was then a little fear in my delirium for him, and I almost have the idea that I idolised him even more by fearing him in that way…

Did I mention the thing about getting help?

Yes, even the reproach was appreciated by my heart, and still seemed to me a tender interest. I found I don't know what pleasure in hearing myself scolded later for my association with Nidia, my marches and counter-marches with the Viceroy's troops. No matter how many times I told the Marshal that Eugène's protection had been focused exclusively on the young Lithuanian girl, and that I had slipped unnoticed into this benevolence, he took it into his head to believe nothing of these sincere protestations. To make him reconsider such a strongly conceived idea would have meant exposing myself to a repeat of the Dniéper order and military correction. I had no intention of trying the same pleasure twice. Finally, he saw the evidence of my attachment, and he found the generosity to prove this belated but strong conviction to me [...]

By calling her his brother-in-arms, by the way. And this, I believe, really meant a lot to Ida.

#napoleon's marshals #michel ney #ida saint-elme #memoirs #napoleon's family #eugene de beauharnais #russian retreat #russian campaign #russia 1812 #also #we have a phone call by a certain vice-queen interested in the exact definition of the word “protection” in this particular context

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theangrybooknook · 6 days

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The Apothecary Diaries

What, we are talking manga now on this blog?

Of course!

Ever since I fell into a Maomao/Jinshi shaped hole on Crunchyroll, I have been taken hostage by this story. Needless to say, I immediately went on to read the manga and found myself captivated even further - so much that I am actually shipping Maomao and Jinshi, and those who know me know that me shipping a straight couple happens once every ten years. But the chemistry between them- oh, where could I possibly begin!

But, as always, first things first.

Synopsis: The young apothecary Maomao grows up in a brothel and lives with a physician whom she regards as her adoptive father. On her quest to find new herbs, the young woman is abducted by human traffickers and sold to the Imperial Court to work as a maid. Soon, however, her skills as a healer and her incredibly sharp wit attract the attention of the eunuch Jinshi, whose true identity is a well-kept secret. Soon, Maomao finds herself in the very midst of the intrigues of the court as the personal food taster of the Emperor's favourite consort, and it is there where the mysteries begin...

Truth be told: The Apothecary Diaries did not lure me in immediately. I had seen the manga in some bookshops, but the art style gave me the impression of "yet another shojo manga" and I did not bother reading the blurb. Then, I got a subscription to Crunchyroll and decided to give the anime adaption a try and-- here we are. Now that I have also read the manga and still follow it, I felt the need to give a review.

When looking for manga to read or anime to watch, I can be very picky. I am not easily impressed by what is currently popular and I need a story to grab me by the throat and shake me thoroughly, only to rip out my heart, tear it into pieces, mend it and put it back again. Most anime and manga that are currently popular in Germany are of the shonen genre, which is not really what I am into. But how would I classify The Apothecary Diaries?

What Natsu Hyūga has created with her Light Novels and now with the manga is a beautiful mix of romance, mystery, and comedy, embedded in a gorgeous historical setting inspired by Imperial China. Set at the Imperial Court, the reader is thrown into a fantastical world of pomp and splendour where everything, from things to food to women, is at only one man's disposal. What sounds like a classical harem trope is one only to a certain extent. The system of the court is merely described, not glorified, but also not judged. In that, Maomao is an excellent main character to follow as she mostly observes and makes her conclusions, only to state at the end of it: but it's not my business anyway. I am not sure if I have ever seen/read a main character like her before that draws such a strict line between her own life and the business of other people - perhaps she is a bit like Jane Eyre, but with a passion for poison. The deadpan exchanges she has with Jinshi definitely reminded me of the conversations between Jane and Rochester, minus the psychological manipulation.

Maomao could have easily become a Mary-Sue character with little personality beyond her enthusiasm for all sorts of poison. However, she is a strong-willed young woman with flaws that are entirely believable, such as her assumption that she might lack typical human emotion due to her upbringing. At the same time, she stays wary and follows the advice of her adoptive father to never make assumptions out loud, and to never ask questions, lest she might fall into something that is none of her business and might harm her in the end. She is aware that as a woman not following a traditional path, she must be even more careful, but at the same time, does not judge women that follow or even want a traditional life. Jinshi is intrigued by that, but also by her skill and her wisdom which she never flaunts, but only ever expresses as a passion of hers that she is not ashamed of. It is a pure joy to watch Jinshi grow fond of her, yes, fall in love with her for what she is, says, and does, while Maomao stays all the while entirely oblivious, not thinking of herself as particularly pretty or lovable based on her low social status. Said status does not bother her much and she does not attempt to change it even though it would be within her means to do so - her decision to stay away from what could become her birthright is entirely understandable for the reader and makes Maomao even more fascinating.

The character of the eunuch Jinshi is a masterful mirror of reader reactions to Maomao up until the point where his own story unfolds. Born at court to a mother belonging to an emperor and raised in a golden cage, his true identity is unknown to most beside a selected few that also keep his identity hidden. The purpose of this secrecy is slowly unveiled just as the reader learns of the weight resting on Jinshi's shoulders, and Maomao's appearance at court seems to shake him out of a rigour he has been subjected to for a very long time. Although everyone's favourite at court, Jinshi is alone in his beauty and Maomao, observant in terms of both plants and people, soon realises how lonely the man is and how deep the secrets run. After all, the man is far too beautiful to be a eunuch. But even here, she stays true to her credo of not getting involved in anyone's business unless she is forced to, even as the chance arises to learn the truth.

Especially noteworthy is that while the world of Maomao and Jinshi is a golden one at court, Natsu Hyūga does not shy away from depicting the horrible things that humans can do to each other. Various darker topics are covered: human trafficking, child abuse, rape, pedophilia, the exploitation of women and children in the name of royalty, envy, and the illusion of free choice. The world of The Apothecary Diaries is not a kind one to women - Maomao points that out, reflects on it several times and knows that she, by her gender alone, is viewed as inferior. It does not stop her from pursuing her goals, but it keeps her incredibly aware of her surroundings. Many times, stories like that fall into the trap of creating a female main character that is "not like other girls" and constantly belittles the women and girls that seemingly fit the picture. Maomao might not be a courtesan, concubine, noble lady, or consort, and she might not necessarily have traditionally female interests such as fashion and jewellery, but she never belittles the women around her for their interests or life choices. This is an incredibly refreshing take and speaks of the excellent skill of the author to create a female character that is special, in some ways The Chosen One, but also likeable, obscure, and true to herself.

The manga is still ongoing, and I have no doubt that the story will take the reader down many dark and twisted paths. As for myself, I am rooting for Maomao and Jinshi as well as for the vast array of lovable side characters such as Gao Shun and Ba Sen, the consorts, the courtesans, and many more. I am excited to watch this story develop further and I am glad that I clicked "play" on that first episode two weeks ago. What a jewel of a story I have found there, and what a joy it is to follow the story of the incredible, funny, and absolutely insane Maomao.

#the apothecary #kusuriya no hitorigoto #maomao #jinshi #bookblr #books #literature #manga #review

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rufousnmacska · 11 months

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Firsts

A manorian one shot that has all my usual tropes. I have a long standing head canon that Manon secretly watches Dorian a lot. She thinks it’s just out of curiosity since he’s a human. And that’s part of it, but there’s a bit more 😏. Also, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about all the first times they didn’t get in the books. So here are some, thrown into one fic.

Thanks to @mrstrafalgardshanks (for sparking some parts of this fic) and @itach-i (for her beta reading and constant manorian trashiness)! ❤️❤️

***

The heavy rain darkened the red of her cloak, turning it into a deep wine color. This was lucky, Manon thought. The cloak was the best way to hide her white braid and allow her the freedom to sneak in without being seen. A group of merchants sped by, heading for the castle entrance, and she jogged to catch up with them. The guard waved them in out of the weather, not looking twice as she pretended to be with them.

She’d never been in the castle. At least, not this part. She’d watched his balcony for hours that one night so long ago. Then she’d seen his bedroom. After it was destroyed by that Yellowlegs bitch. Manon grinned, remembering how Abraxos had disposed of the witch’s wyvern with one snap of his ironteeth. She’d never been able to feel remorse over that. Not when Dorian had been so close to his end.

They’d written, but this would be the first time seeing each other since the war. Manon had decided on a whim to come, and here she was. The sleepless nights had caught up so quickly. Meetings with her council passed without much input from their queen, and she’d begun to forget things. When Petrah offered to oversee the Wastes, to give Manon a break, she hadn’t argued. If nothing else, her kingdom deserved a queen who could remember the orders she’d given. A few days away might bring her back to herself.

Watching Rifthold’s people filter through the entrance hall into the throne room, she peered through her hood at the faces. The nobility and upper classes wore the usual pinched expressions of wealth and privilege, making her wonder how closely they’d allied themselves with Erawan to survive the war with their riches intact. The thought made her cheeks heat in rage.

The others, civilians wearing dingier clothing and awed looks at their surroundings, had suffered. These were the residents left homeless by the witches and valg king. Conscripted into Erawan’s monster army, set free by Southern Continent healers, and likely left with no memory of those months. If they were lucky. It struck her how difficult his job as king would be in the coming years.

As Manon skirted around the walls, she remembered Dorian’s most recent letter. He’d written about the nightmares he’d been having, images of pain and hell inflicted by his own hands. Images of those hands morphing into his father’s.

Perhaps that was why she hadn’t argued with Petrah. It made a good excuse to come here. To check on a friend.

A loud, vivacious laugh caught her ear and she saw Yrene across the crowd. Quickly, Manon pulled her hood a little tighter, hoping the material was still dark enough to blend in.

The line to speak to the King was long and enough people had come simply to watch that Manon was able to get into the throne room unseen. Taking a spot in the back corner, she resisted the urge to stand on something in order to actually see the throne.

She didn’t know why she was sneaking. It felt ridiculous. Childish.

But the thought of having planned a visit, or being received as the Witch Queen, with all the pomp and attention it required, made her skin itch. She’d considered waiting for him in his rooms and surprising him. But after sending Abraxos away to hunt at the city wall when they’d arrived, she’d heard about the Audience with the King happening that day. It would be boring, of course, watching Adarlanians petition Dorian for things or settle disputes. But her curiosity had been piqued. As a queen, she’d wondered how his court was run and thought this might be a good learning experience.

She hadn’t really thought it through though. It was impossible to hear and she could not get a clear view of him no matter how high she stood on her toes. There were simply too many people.

About to give up and go find a way into his rooms, Manon pushed through the people in front of her. Suddenly, and for just a moment, there was a break in the crowd.

Dorian was sitting at a table, Chaol next to him along with others. Advisors, she guessed. The throne sat empty behind him. A couple was speaking to him, gesturing wildly to a snarling merchant. Dorian wrote quickly while the others at the table listened.

When he finally looked up, she got her first sight of his face in months.

His black hair had grown, curling around his crown. But other than that, he looked the same - bronze skin, a quick smile, and sparkling blue eyes. Even from this distance, the sunlight caught his eyes.

But no, she realized, as something else sparkled too. He was different.

His crown.

She’d never seen him with it on.

It was a thick band of gold with three large stones, rubies, set along the front. Simple, but well crafted. There were designs incised along the band but she couldn’t make out the detail.

He looked like a king.

Her king.

The break filled in again and she was shuffled aside, back against the wall. Growling under her breath at the rudeness, she regretted being disguised and almost reached for a dagger.

As she turned to leave, that thought - her king - fluttered into her mind again. But she pushed it away and focused on the shove by the crowd, letting her annoyance take over as she left the castle.

…

Dorian closed his door and sagged against it, exhausted by the day and so many people. This was the fourth audience held in Rifthold since the war. After the first one, he’d called for a table and abandoned his throne, wanting to actually get something accomplished. He’d started the practice with the hopes of letting his people see him, speak to him. Trust him. And while that seemed to be happening, albeit very slowly, a part of him was regretting it.

It was the same part that longed for the adventures and romance that he read about in his novels. The part that wanted to be a normal man, anonymous and irresponsible.

But that part was small enough that he could tuck it away and forget about it.

Not the longing for romance though. Golden eyes, moon white hair, a fleeting smile given only to him. That was something Dorian refused to forget, even if it might not ever happen.

We’ll see.

Those two words spoken with that not-quite-there smile. Manon had looked at him, smiled at him, when she said them. The hope she’d sparked that day still filled him. Especially on nights like this when he was dead tired yet afraid to try and fall asleep.

Pulling himself away from the door, he strode through his outer rooms into the bedroom. Dorian glanced at his desk and thought about writing to her. But he’d just sent a letter last week. He should at least wait for a reply. With a laugh at himself, he thought he should try to maintain some semblance of control.

Grabbing a glass, he poured himself some wine and stared at the mess around his desk. Piles of books, papers, even some containers of soil that were given to him by a farmer at the last audience day. The man insisted his additions to the soil would improve crops across the kingdom. Dorian kicked at one, telling himself he needed to look into the claim.

After draining his wine, Dorian put the glass atop a stack of novels and reached for his crown.

“Leave it on.”

Dorian spun, his magic noticeably not flaring to defend him.

Manon sat on his bed, back against the headboard, her bare feet crossed, a book open in her lap.

As he stared at her, trying to decide if she was real or a figment of his imagination, she stood and walked toward him.

Her eyes, glowing in the light of the fire, caught on his crown. “It looks good on you,” she said.

Real. Her scent, her presence, her voice filled him.

“Hello witchling.”

Manon smiled then. A true smile. For him.

“Hello princeling.”

She reached for his jacket and pushed it off his shoulders. Dorian watched, using every bit of self control he had to let her undress him. It struck him that they’d never done this before. Every other time had been hurried, either to avoid the cold or to pretend there was nothing between them. Hell, they’d never even used a real bed.

So he let her slowly unbutton his shirt, let her remove her leathers, enjoying the show she made of it, his eyes drinking her in, her eyes never leaving his.

And when she led him to his bed, he kept his crown on.

…

The next morning, Dorian woke early to send two messages - one to Chaol canceling all his meetings that day, and one to the kitchens for enough food to last until tomorrow. Then he returned to bed, where Manon still slept.

Later, when they were enjoying a very late breakfast in in bed, he caught her smiling. “Is something funny?” he asked lightly.

Manon bit into a piece of bacon and looked around the room. He followed her gaze but saw nothing amusing.

“I’ve never spent a day lazing around in bed,” she finally replied. “Unless I was injured. I suppose with all your many lovers, this is nothing new for you.” She was teasing him, but he responded seriously.

“You’ve never done this? Never wanted to stay with someone after?” He saw the answer in her face, the way her smile faded. Pushing the tray of food away, he pulled her onto him, her legs straddling his waist. “Ask me who I will do this for now,” he demanded.

Manon said nothing, but the heavy rise and fall of her chest gave away her excitement.

Dorian kissed her, using his magic to pin her hands behind her back and yank her closer while his real hands tangled in her hair. Her teeth scraped over his lip and he moaned.

“Ask me.” His voice was rough and commanding as he freed her mouth to speak.

Barely a whisper, she said, “Who.”

He ran his thumb over her bottom lip, letting her squirm in his lap as his magic caressed other spots. When she groaned, a mix of pleasure and annoyance, he said, “Just you, witchling. No one else.”

…

Manon was so close to the edge, driven there by his lips and phantom touch and the sharp demand in his voice. But those words pulled her back. The promise, the declaration of … something … something they couldn’t say. Yet.

The thought of that yet made her soften in his arms. He felt it and dropped his forehead to rest on hers. “Just you, princeling.” She saw his smile, his relief.

That promise, that declaration in her words cracked a barrier inside her. Slowly, tentatively, she cupped his cheek and said, “Tell me about your nightmares.”

Dorian’s eyes flashed, either from her touch or the question. But instead of answering, he ran a knuckle under both of her eyes. “Will you tell me about yours?”

Manon nodded.

Then he kissed her, so softly and tenderly, it could have been her first kiss. It took her a moment to open her eyes and when she did, Dorian was smiling at her. She couldn’t help but return it, and soon they were laughing, at what, she didn’t know. But it felt good. Right.

They spent the rest of that day and night in and out of bed, never leaving his rooms.

Dorian taught her how to luxuriate in a hot bath, kept warm by his magic. Manon taught him how to properly sharpen the dagger Sorrel had given him a lifetime ago. He showed her the symbols on his crown, which was heavier than she’d expected.

They spoke of their nightmares, of how last night was the first time either had slept, truly slept, in forever. They shared their worries of ruling, each boosting the resolve of the other.

The next day, they had breakfast with Chaol and Yrene. Their baby stared at Manon, making her fidget in her chair despite Yrene’s reassurances that Josie was always like this with new people. Everyone watched, Chaol nervously and Dorian amused, as Yrene sat the babe in Manon’s lap.

Manon held her carefully, not wanting to drop her. Josie reached for Manon’s braid and tugged on it playfully. When she cooed, everyone laughed. That was when she realized she’d never held a baby before. She wondered how different her life, the world, everything, would be if Asterin’s witchling had lived.

Sensing the change in her mood, Dorian reached over and took Josie, distracting them all by bouncing her on his knee until she broke into a fit of giggles. Manon caught his eye and he winked at her.

A day later, Manon said goodbye to her new friends. And Dorian. It was harder to leave this time than it had been in Orynth. He walked with her to the city wall where she’d find Abraxos. They were both hooded and cloaked to avoid stares. And he held her hand - another first, and probably not the last - as he led her through streets and alleyways.

But she would return. And he would visit her. Soon. Because they’d both agreed, though not with words, that this time together had been important. They needed each other. And while she didn’t understand the full implications of that, yet, she knew it felt right. He felt right.

Her king, and his queen.

***

Thanks for reading!

Fanfic master list

And to the anon/s who sent a few requests a while back, thanks for your patience! I’ll try to get to those soon. 🤗

#manorian #manon blackbeak #dorian havilliard #throne of glass #my writing #sarah j. maas #manorian fanfiction

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anarchywoofwoof · 5 months

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In ancient times all kings had at their courts a court fool.

And sometimes it probably was true that the fool was a crazy person who had a peculiar capacity for making inappropriate remarks. And there’s something about inappropriate remarks that can be very funny.

I remember, as a child, we used to play a game in which we had, first of all, a booklet with a story in it, but every now and then a word was left blank. And then you were given a pile of cards that were shuffled ’round the players, and in turn, as the story was read by one person, the players turned up whatever card they had and said the word. And the most extraordinary things happened. And in this way, of course, the person who could make inappropriate remarks at the right moment can sometimes bring the house down.

But actually, as time went on, the function of the fool became more sophisticated than that, and he became a person whose function was not simply to make jokes and to be a funny man, but to remind the monarch of his humanity so that he would never, never get too stuffy. You’ll remember, perhaps, the lines in Richard II, where the king says:

Within the hollow crown That rounds the mortal temples of a king Keeps Death his watch and there the antic sits,

—the antic being the court fool—

…and there the antic sits, Scoffing at his state and grinning at his pomp, Allowing him a little time, To monarchize, be fear’d and kill with looks, And then at the last comes death, and with a little pin Bores through his castle wall, and farewell king!

See, that was, in a way, the function of the fool.

He was reminding you of your finitude; of your mortality; and death, at the end—in somewhat the same way as monks used to keep, on the desks in their cells, a grinning skull.

And all this is, of course, nowadays thought very morbid, because today we repress death very, very strongly. And the whole function and role of the mortician in our culture is to pretend in some way that death doesn’t happen. He’s a husher-upper. He sweeps you under the carpet at considerable expense.

Alan Watts, The Joker

#philosophy #society #alan watts

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woodsfae · 5 months

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B5 s03e09 Point of No Return table of contents • previous chapter

Londo demonstrating some politic thinking and also

"Intelligence has nothing to do with politics!"

True and depressing. Poor Vir. Is he getting that nap or not? The Emperor's third wife, Lady Morella is coming for a visit!

President Clark just pulled a coup! Fired the senate, arrested a bunch of them.

"Everything's gone to hell, John. God help us all; you're on your own."

How promising!

The communications blackout of Babylon 5 is an incredibly intelligent move. Removes the possibilities of moles. Or at least makes the moles' tasks harder. Reduces misinformation. Clarifies chain of command on Babylon 5 and distances Earth.

A General Hague has gone rogue and wants to do a counter strike, but needs to gather military allies. And he's Sheridan's contact in the military. He might be coming near Babylon 5. dun dun!

Zack Allen is pushing back a little tiny bit against the Nightwatch guy calling a meeting tonight. hooray *waves world's tiniest "you only collaborated a medium amount" flag*

Lady Morella, the Centauri is a seer, and Londo reeeallly wants her to visit so he can ask her about the future, and to assure him he's made the right choice.

But as a seer, she seems pretty surprised at the unusual circumstances she's walked into. No pomp, no ceremony, no Earth officials to greet her.

Sheridan and Babylon 5 are getting their official orders from the President's staff. And they're terrible. All of Sheridan's security staff must be Nightwatch.

Meanwhile, Zealous Nightwatch Guy is giving a terrible speech.

"From this moment...Babylon 5 belongs to the nightwatch."

Please let them overthrow the nightwatch this episode. Extended spying and counter-intelligence sounds stressful.

G'Kar, who is free three weeks early, thanks to Garibaldi preferring to assign his security staff to more useful activities than guarding G'Kar in prison, has plot! His allies stand ready, and G'Kar has plans, it seems!

Zack Allen. is failing his moral checkpoints again. He's trying to convince nightwatch people from resigning from the nightwatch. Garibaldi is going to physically fight them, right as Lady Morella is about to take her tour with Londo! Should be fun.

Ah, Lady Morella is the widow of the late Emperor. The one who died and told Londo with his last words that they were basically doomed, and Londo unfaithfully repeated as the empire will be glorious or something.

Will this, finally, be a turning point for Londo? He wants to see if he has any choices left, and if they're worth choosing. And Lady Morella has agreed to give him a reading! Exciting.

Jerry Doyle just gave Zack Allen a speech! And now he's giving the nightwatch a speech, but they're not buying it like Zack Allen, who seemed to waver a bit. fucking Zack is the new security head. laaaaaame. He's so laaaame.

G'Kar is all into transformative meditations to turn himself into a calm being right now. The telepathy drug experience did a number on him. Gave him a fervor with a directed clarity. Ta'Lon is not impressed.

Humanity is the key, and G'Kar and others will turn the key. And on the other side is "salvation for all of us."

Sheridan, stop going along with this. Just go overthrow the nightwatch. Garibaldi will be working it from one end, to be sure.

Londo!! The audacity! He took Lady Morella's arm and tried to stop her from going to where she was going (to see the human breaking news). General Hague the rogue general has had a daring escape and the nightwatch broke up the cheering crowd. Cue citizens vs nightwatch brawl!

Great work putting Sheridan's calm announcement of martial law over the brawl. With Zack Allen standing uselessly by as nightwatch fascists beat civilians with batons.

Dr Franklin thinks that going along with the orders will help buy enough time for General Hague to gather allies, the Senate to reconvene, and "beat this whole thing."

Sheridan's attention to detail and rules-lawyering is coming into play! The orders he got came from "the political office" but Sheridan is only obliged to obey orders from the Commander-in-Chief. Which is the President Wanna-Be-Dictator. So his orders would be bad. But the orders didn't come from him, they came from "the political office."

Lady Morella had a vision while doing Vir's hair! It appeared to be Londo, old, and slumped on a throne-like ornate chair.

Zack Allen is reporting that Babylon 5 staff are bringing a ship of Narns in to replace the nightwatch. I wonder if this is a play. I'm hoping that Sheridan et al is running a play on him and the nightwatch. Because if they decided to trust in his moral fiber, they're bound to be sadly disappointed. He's cosmically bound to always make the worst choice.

G'Kar has a plan, and plea to his Narn network. Can't wait to see how that plays out.

John Sheridan is getting ready for something Very Srsly. And he's already up and ready to go when his alarm went off at 2:30 am so I'm taking it as proof of the Sheridan et al are playing the nightwatch theory. Zack could be acting shady because he's in on it, or...ope, he was in on it! What a dive out the gate. He landed on the right side at the eleventh hour. Now lovebomb him so he doesn't falter, I guess?

Sheridan's stalling, more or less per Franklin's advice. The information about the Narns was real! Sort of. The Narns were already on board! This must be G'Kar's plan blooming? Cool!

Londo has three opportunities to avoid the fire that awaits him at the end of his journey, and has already missed two. And a lot of other things I'll need to look up and copy at some point.

Lady Morella: "You will be Emperor. That part of your destiny cannot be avoided. You will also be emperor. Why are you laughing?" Vir: "I thought you were joking." Lady Morella: "We do not laugh in the face of prophecy, Vir."

ominous! And Vir will be Emperor, huh? That's wild. And Londo will be Emperor! That's interesting. He fails upwardly so hard he eventually lands in the hot seat he doesn't know he doesn't want, eh? I never knew that. Y'all are really good at keeping spoilers secret.

Oh dang!! She's sharing the lift with Ta'Lon, who smiles so politely at her! Adorable. She is not impressed in the slightest.

Yeah, G'Kar! He wants in. Sheridan playing dumb is honestly so disingenuous. Their anti-Shadow alliance has been so dismissive of the Narn and G'Kar, but they're literally the best allies the humans could be making right now. Because like Zack Allen, human earth command has been making all the worst decisions and backing the wrong ponies.

And now Londo doesn't trust Vir to not be trying to kill him all the time! Vir is hilarious teasing him about it. At least, I think he's teasing.

General Hague is in a bad way. Four out of five of his ships have been shot down and he's fleeing in the last one. Humanity's not making awesome decisions, ongoing. Well, the high political offices, anyway. I can't blame the future's citizens for their dystopia from my position in my dystopia too harshly.

vamanos

#woodsfae b5 #john sheridan #g'kar #londo mollari #vir cotto #babylon 5

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llamagoddessofficial · 2 years

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Okay so, inquiring minds and all: have there ever been any AU ideas you had that you really liked the vibe of, but couldn’t quite make work? Like half formed, would love to rotate the blorbos in this space, but something about it didn’t quite click? (You have so many excellent ones I can only imagine there’s been some cutting room floor ones, haha. Maybe just the aesthetic worked but jot quite a story element, etc)

Hoopz this kind of question is exactly why you are my most beloved mutual of all time

There’s two particular AUs I’ve had consistenly simmerin’ on the backburner... taking up rent-free space in my head as they often do

An AU where Mc is a journalist who ends up sticking her nose too deep into some pretty dangerous business. Someone scary has had enough of her prying, and a hefty bounty is put on her head- three of the underworld’s top assassins decide they’ll take a crack at being the first to get the money. Sans is a silent, unassuming but incredibly deadly killer, who specialises in blending into crowds and getting up close. A calm and emotionless creature who can swap out any face he needs to suit his situation, there’s no target too hidden, he makes precise clean kills and then he disappears like he was never there. Nobody ever sees him coming. Red is loud and brash. He’s the one you send when you want to send a message- when you want it to be messy. He likes to have fun during his kills, make a spectacle of it... see someone’s true personality under all those layers of pomp. Where’s the fun in watching the life leave someone’s eyes if you haven’t heard them making a complete fool of themselves first? Skull doesn’t kill up close, if he can help it. He is, instead, a terrifyingly deadly sniper. Accurate to a hair’s breadth, he doesn’t know how he’s so good at shooting when he struggles so much with other fine motor skills. But it doesn’t matter- he adores the feeling of having precision again, the sensation of such an immense degree of control. All three of them find her. And all three of them immediately fall in love, deciding they need to abandon everything to help her. I have a scene going in my head where they’re trying to catch her, but are all simultaneously hindering each other enough for her to keep getting away; Sans nearly catches up to her but Red starts brawling with him, only for both of them to have to duck behind a countertop when bullet holes start appearing in the wall around them. Overall... drama, intrigue, lots of danger and romance.

A classic eldritch horror AU. Mc and some other humans are pulled into another dimension, where they have to survive long enough to find a way of possibly getting home alive. It’s a terrifying, dark, upside-down esque world full of monstrous creatures, toxic slime and rot and decay, toothed abominations hunt them everywhere they go to pick off anyone who lags behind or drops their guard even for a moment. One thing the humans all learn, sooner rather than later, is the importance of staying quiet- the monsters that chase them know to avoid making too much noise and it’s not a difficult cue to pick up on. There’s something much, much bigger out there. They hear them, at night, truly massive beasts stalking across the landscape... every ecosystem has its apex predators. There's only one steadfast rule in this hellscape; don’t catch their attention. For some reason or another, Mc breaks the rule. Perhaps she decides to sacrifice herself to save her friends, perhaps she’s just in the wrong place at the wrong time when an idiot human makes too much noise. But she catches the attentions of three very ancient, intelligent, dangerous eldritch monsters that find themselves smitten and delighted with the prospect of her company.

#llamagines

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stutee · 5 months

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Thoughts while and after watching The Crown Season 6 part 1 -

1. As the crown was and is about the Queen(now Late Queen), this season made me dislike her character more. Claire Foy's character was, if not sympathetic, at least helped us in humanising her as a young woman who did not like the spotlight but had to become one of the important people in the world. With Olivia Coleman's queen, her coldness grew. And Imelda Staunton strengthened her position as the cold mechanical Queen. Still won't deny that she had some sort of charm that made people like her or at least be intrigued about her but other than that, there is nothing

2. Season 3's Charles deserved sympathy. He had so much potential to do something but was constantly shut down and beaten until he lost that battle and ended up being ruthless. But if at one side you wish to show the utter heartlessness with which he and others treated Diana, then how can you show Charles as someone who needs to be sympathised and felt sorry for. Sure as any other human he deserved happiness but on the cost of what? This whole thing with Diana was a huge chain of events that resulted in this. There are articles which wrote that in a better way on how if at one side the crown shows him as the selfish husband, on another side it shows his political/royal campaigns as an attempt to show that he is not entirely a bad person?

3. Which brings us to here, the Ghost of Diana. That was terrible. If that all, we were supposed to have Diana's spirit visiting someone it should be only and only her sons. Some article or someone here wrote how it would be better if Diana haunted the Queen and Charles provoking feelings of regret and guilt rather than a learning and a redemption arc. But out of all the people she went to comfort and impart wisdom to the two people who were the most responsible for her pain.

4. Showing Diana as reckless and seeking attention was a terrible move again. Okay maybe they showed how the royals perceived her but the writing was also aimed at showing how she was also not without her faults and even going to the extent of showing Charles as the bigger person.

5. What's interesting is seeing the growth of Prince Philip. From someone who valued his freedom and independent thinking to becoming one with the royals. Sure if we see from Season 1 and 2's perspective of the husband he was, this is better in how Elizabeth and Philip have now become partners. He advises her and supports her and even fights for her(season 5) but now he is just another royal. Telling her how she should not go to London to offer her regards to Diana's funeral. In real life he is known for weird racist remarks which obviously weren't shown here and yes he wasn't any better either way. But still, he eventually became the Prince of windsor from just Philip.

6. There is obviously a grey area where one finds themselves standing, when we see a personal tragedy depicted in a fictional series. Sure Diana was the people's princess and a public figure but somewhere it felt slightly strange witnessing the whole thing. I can't name or describe the strangeness but well it was there.

7. Last and not the least, there is this one thing that I conclude every season i complete, that is, the royals are utterly useless. Now I get that you are all from a large history and it is nice to keep your traditions and cultures alive but not growing or staying stuck to it even after the world outside was changing rapidly? Saying the same old scripted speeches when the common people were desperate for food and better living conditions is terrible. I am not saying to abolish the monarchy, I mean yeah that would be great but sure if you wish to keep that culture but why the pomp and show and treating them as invincible and even funding them. Why can't they have normal jobs? Sure some royals lead pretty normal lives, so why can't they just be normal? Why on earth do they still feel so superior and God like even in the 21st century? The recent events of King Charles lll speaking of poor living conditions sitting on a throne of jewels. That's such a poor taste and being so ignorant of basic things.

I have always loved the cinematography and acting of this series. No wonder it won awards. And while some of it remains in the final seasons, it lacks the same charm of the initial seasons.

Waiting for part 2 to see how this series concludes.

#the crown netlfix #the crown review #the crown season 6

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lullabyes22-blog · 8 months

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Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO - Notes - Sevika's Family

Sharing some anthropolinguistics type notes re: all of Sevika's family member's names and their surname. Also tying it to the subcurrent of spiritualism and darkly messianic symbology where Silco is concerned.

What is god without being, etc etc?

Sevika:

Sanskrit - A sister of charity.

Symbology in FnF: A handmaid, an adherent to a faith.

Lives by her namesake and 'serves' the subterranean god of Zaun - enacting his will and his will alone (as she sees fit.) In Tarot, she'd be the High Priestess paired with the Devil - the complex dance between the lower and the higher self. Inevitably, hers and Silco's scenes feature both deviant shades of sexuality and hardheaded business, but also future plans and past dreams. Lots of conflict between the better self versus the worst desires; addiction versus grounding in the divine; the world's evils and the need for an inner faith.

(Loyalty).

What is a messiah without his helpmate? What is the tower without its dragon? What happens when the two fall apart, and what marvels can be born when they meld?

Also, goddamn, do they need to stop smoking…

Nandi:

Sanskrit - Joy, bliss. 'Nandi' is the bull vahana/mount of Shiva, god of destruction. Shiva has a third eye on his forehead. It burned Kama/Desire to ash once opened.

Symbology in FnF: Door-keeper to the divine.

Literal Priestess who serves as the heart of the Undercity's fractured community via Janna's Temple. Her characterization is purely through Silco's eyes in the flashbacks: mysterious, gentle, sultry. No glimpses of her as a flawed human being until later in the story, via Sevika's confession in Act VIII. It's Nandi's murder (and the destruction of Janna's Temple) that triggers mass riots in the Undercity and kickstarts the Day of Ash. In Tarot, she's the High Priestess paired with Death - Silco meets her at a critical threshold in his life, that tipping point between rageful boyhood and bitter adulthood. She's his first brush with the supernatural (presaging Jinx) and his first taste of fatherhood - a possibility destroyed.

Their scenes have a sense of dreamlike fatedness to them: he is a wounded, angry thing. She is a gentle guide who eases him and shows him a better way. Silco learns a great deal about pomp and pageantry re: spirituality from her, and how to use it to build the Eye's mystique. She's also responsible for the sign language he uses with Sevika and his crew: danger in plain sight.

She dies because of him, and so does his hopeful flirtation with a better self.

He is, inevitably, her destroyer.

Samik:

Sanskrit: Peaceful.

Symbology in FnF: Opposite of peaceful. A brawler, a conman and a violent narcissist.

The bogeyman who haunts both his daughters. Has done a great deal of damage to both, and it manifests in different ways. In Tarot, he'd be the Judgement card and the King of Wands, both reversed. Nandi fears his violent rages, and sees them mirrored in young Silco and tries to soothe them. Sevika sees his hard-driving ambition and does everything to see him succeed where her father ended up imprisoned. She still loves her old man, deep down, and he has stolen her childhood.

He is a man with a great deal of potential, but it has been squandered, due to both systemic and personal actions. The only person who can change this is himself, and he refuses to.

By the time we meet him, there's a sense of anticlimax, that Sevika already has the victory she wanted. It's just the wounded girl inside who needs to let go. She has trouble making the choice. Silco, his own possessive instincts awakened, makes the choice for her. Seems to presage a vicious cycle repeating itself, but in fact, he is finally protecting someone he cares for, the way he should.

And Sevika is finally waking up to her own worth.

Silco's POV in these scenes is a curiosity. He sees Sevika in her father's shadow and feels the weight of his own sins, and the mistakes he made with Jinx. There's an echo of a man he might have been, and a glimpse of what could have been in his daughter's future.

Ultimately, Samik is a tragic figure, but not a sympathetic one.

Family name: Mitra

Proto-Indo-Aryan - friend/ally. Proto-Indo-Iranian - something that binds.

Symbology in FnF: Our one-eyed messiah's worldly tether.

The family that hovers in the background of Silco's own dramas with Vi and Jinx. Ties that bind him to a different self, a different life. Reminders of duty, but also earthly joys - and flaws. Symbolically, the family in all its dysfunction is a slice of the Undercity's trauma, its hope, and the bonds that keep everyone together. Silco's a chance to become a better self, and a better father.

Mitra is also the patron name of the sun-god. A reminder of what Zaun has been denied. But also a message that Silco's life has a greater purpose, and his godlike self is an illusion.

#arcane #arcane league of legends #forward but never forget/xoxo #silco x sevika #sevilco #arcane sevika #arcane silco #nandi #silco #sevika #fic notes

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inevitably-johnlocked · 4 months

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hey hey steph! good morning or afternoon, wherever you are . just seeing if you have any fic lists that center mainly around sherlock’s time away/sherl in serbia?

Hey Nonny!

Ah, I have made a community post here before called Aftermath of Serbia / Serbia Fics (Dec 2022) that have several fics on it that you may enjoy, as well as some fics on my blog tag here that has some other fics not on the above Community post. AND I also have some similar lists linked below!

I went through my bookmarks and my MFL lists, and did a keyword search and organized them below, so I hope this satisfies the need!

And these aren't meant to be confused with Post-S2 fics! These are fics that deal SPECIFICALLY with Sherlock's time away and the trauma it caused! If you have a fic that fits that bill, please add it! This is a list that's been long-time coming, since I've been asked a lot for them :)

SERBIA / AFTERMATH OF HIATUS FICS