#i used elizabethan as catch-all | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

totheblood · 7 months

Text

begging for rain. (three)

󠁐# THREE; the harder that it takes to undo

PAIRING: ex!ellie williams x nextdoorneighbor!reader

SUMMARY: moving to a new town can be tough, especially as you are trying to hold everything in your life together. after you meet ellie, your life completely changes, but for the better? well that's still up in the air

WARNINGS: mentions of death, grief, related subjects; cursing, mentions of drinking/drugs, mentions of s*x,

WORD COUNT: 4.6k

A/N : ok this was the longest chapter i've written to date so... please enjoy.... ONE AI AUDIOS IN THE FIC ! please please please like and reblog/reply/send asks, comments, the whole nine yards… it is so appreciated!

TWO YEARS AGO

It felt weird to be in Ellie’s house.

Ellie opened the door to a cozy living room with warm beige walls and wicker furniture that had been well-worn by time. An old acoustic guitar leaned against one wall and a record player sat atop an end table, surrounded by piles of vintage vinyl. The air was thick with the aroma of coffee and old books, creating a comforting ambiance. Family photos and posters dotted the walls, giving an insight into Ellie's life that made you feel like a intruder but also made you want to know more.

"Nice place," you said, removing your shoes at the door.

"Thanks," Ellie smiled, leading you to the living room. "You can drop your stuff there. We'll study at the table."

You took a seat at the sturdy oak dining table and ran your fingers over its smooth surface before settling into it. Scattered papers littered the table, some lined with handwritten lyrics, others with doodles intertwined in colored ink. You opened up your English books and laid out your homework, feeling a sense of warmth emanating from the room. The aged furniture added an air of familiarity, like you were being invited into Ellie's private world. Ellie seemed to be working on physics homework, while you had an English essay on Shakespeare to tackle. The juxtaposition wasn't lost on you—Ellie with equations and you with Elizabethan English.

You both settled into your work, the atmosphere tinged with concentration. Occasionally, your eyes would drift towards Ellie, watching her brows furrow in thought or her lips move silently as she read through her notes. Each time, you'd catch yourself and refocus on your own work.

"So, how are you finding the essay?" she finally broke the silence.

"It's... okay, I guess. Mrs. Porter has a way of making Shakespeare sound like rocket science."

Ellie chuckled. "Ah, the age-old struggle. To be or not to be confused, that is the question."

You laughed, and for a moment, the tension of the day seemed to lift. "You're not so bad at this, you know," you said. "Maybe you should consider a career in stand-up."

"And give up my dream of becoming a rockstar physicist?" she feigned surprise. "Never."

You smiled at her enthusiasm. "A rockstar physicist, huh? That's a first."

"Well, what about you? Any grand plans?"

You hesitated, thinking about your dad for a moment. You blinked, looking down at the book in front of you before looking back up at Ellie. "I'm not sure. I used to think I had it all figured out, but now... everything's so uncertain."

Ellie put down her pen and looked at you, her green eyes softening. "Uncertainty isn't always bad, you know. Sometimes it's just room for something new, something better."

You looked at her, really looked at her, and felt something shift inside you. "That's pretty wise for a 17-year-old."

She blushed a little, turning her attention back to her notebook. "Well, don't spread it around. I have a reputation to maintain. Plus, I’m almost 18."

The rest of the study session went smoothly. You’d occasionally sigh and drop your head in frustration, making Ellie stifle a giggle and demand you get back to work. You had only known her for a day and was already falling into a rhythm with her. You didn’t want to go home, but the sun was beginning to set and you wanted time to rest. Time to think about the day you had and try to make sense of it. When it was time to leave, Ellie walked you to the door.

"Thanks for coming over. It was fun," she said, her hands twisting together.

"Yeah, I had a good time too," you replied, feeling a strange mix of happiness and reluctance to leave.

As you stepped out into the cool evening air, Ellie's words echoed in your mind: "Uncertainty isn't always bad... it's just room for something new, something better." And as you walked back across the dirt path to your house, you couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, something new and better had already begun.

You walked into your room, shutting the door behind you as if to seal off the world outside. It was your sanctuary, a little haven where you could breathe, think, and just be. You tossed your backpack onto the bed and sank into your chair, letting out a sigh as you looked around. Your room was still a mix of unpacked boxes and half-arranged furniture—a physical representation of your current state of mind, unsettled yet hopeful.

Picking up your phone, you noticed you had an unread Instagram DM. Your heart skipped a beat; could it be Ellie? Unlocking your phone, you saw the message was from Ingrid. Curiosity piqued, you opened.

ingrid.xoxo: Hey there, newbie. How was your first day?

You felt strange reading her message. Like it was something you weren’t supposed to be doing. Was she just being friendly or was there something more? You quickly typed back.

y/nsworld: hey! It was a little overwhelming but good overall. how was your day?

Almost instantly, she replied.

ingrid.xoxo: Same old, same old. But seeing a fresh face around made it more interesting. 😉

The winking emoji caught your attention. Was she flirting? A little flutter of excitement mixed with confusion settled in your stomach.

Before you could process it further, the front door opened and closed loudly. It was your mom, finally home from work. You heard her footsteps coming up the stairs, and a few seconds later, she knocked on your door.

"Come in," you called.

The door swung open and your mom stepped in, her face tired but lighting up when she saw you. "Hey, sweetheart. How was your first day at the new school?"

You looked at her and smiled. "It was good, Mom. Made some new friends, and Ellie from next door is really nice. I went there and studied after school."

"That's wonderful," she said, her eyes shining with relief. "I was so worried you'd have a hard time adjusting."

"I mean, it's still the first day, but so far, so good," you said, shrugging. The relief on your mom’s face made you uneasy. You wanted to make this transition easy for both of you, but there was a newfound pressure building inside of you. You had to make it work here, even if you were unhappy. There was no escaping this place, and you suddenly felt trapped. Before your mind could go any further, she was speaking again.

"That's my brave girl," she said, coming over to give you a hug. "I'm so proud of you."

As she left the room and wished you a goodnight with a firm kiss pressed to the top of your head, you sat back and sighed. Your phone buzzed again. Another message from Ingrid.

ingrid.xoxo: So, got any plans for the weekend? Maybe you'd like a tour guide to show you around. 😊

There it was again, that undercurrent of something more than just friendliness. You found yourself smiling, both intrigued and uncertain. It was as if life, in its own whimsical way, was presenting new possibilities, each more complicated than the last.

You glanced back at the door, then at your phone, then at the unpacked boxes still sitting in your room. Everything felt like a question mark, and as Ellie had wisely noted, maybe that wasn't such a bad thing after all.

Lying back on your bed, you stared up at the ceiling, pondering your response to Ingrid, your new friendships, and the unpredictability of life itself. Uncertainty, as it turns out, could indeed be the room for something new, something better.

And so, with a mix of excitement and apprehension, you typed out your reply to Ingrid, hitting send before you could second-guess yourself.

y/nsworld: a tour guide sounds fun. i'm in. :)

PRESENT DAY

When Ellie's text popped up on your phone two days ago, you almost deleted it without reading it. The mere sight of her name on your screen was like a splinter you couldn't remove—small but persistently painful. She wrote that she missed your friendship, and though you wanted to scoff at her audacity, a part of you hesitated. Her words, "Can we at least talk? Just as friends?" echoed in your mind. Against your better judgment, a wave of nostalgia washed over you, and before you knew it, you found yourself typing, "Fine, but this doesn't mean anything." Now, as you stepped into the quaint coffee shop where so many of your past memories were brewed, you questioned that decision.

"You're early," Ellie remarked, her voice as flat as the expression on her face.

"I had nothing better to do," you responded, matching her tone as you stepped into the coffee shop. It was almost empty, the aroma of freshly ground coffee mingling with the subtle tension that had settled between you two.

"Of course, you didn't," Ellie sighed, sliding a cup of coffee your way across the wooden table. On it was marked with your order, two pumps of hazelnut, two pumps of vanilla, and one pump of almond, extra cream.

You looked at the cup, then back at Ellie. "You remembered how I like my coffee."

"I'm not completely useless."

You rolled your eyes, taking a sip while simultaneously biting your tongue. You had every right to tell her she was useless, but you refrained. It was perfect, just the way you liked it. "What do you want, Ellie?"

Ellie sighed, looking uncomfortable for a moment before speaking, "I wanted to talk. About us."

You almost snorted into your coffee. "Us? There is no 'us'. Not anymore."

"I know I messed up, okay? But can't we at least—"

"Messed up?" you cut her off, feeling the familiar surge of anger rise within you. "You didn't just 'mess up', Ellie. You broke something. Something that can't be fixed."

Ellie flinched as if you had slapped her. The look on her face almost making you feel guilty. But she didn’t have that right anymore, and you weren’t about to let her back in.

"I know. And I'll regret that for the rest of my life. But can't we at least try to be civil? For the sake of our friends, if not for us?"

You looked at her, really looked at her, and for a moment you were back in her living room, struggling with physics homework and discussing the uncertainties of life. Back when things were simpler, easier. But that was a different time, a different you, and most importantly, a different Ellie.

"Being civil is a far cry from what you're suggesting," you said finally, breaking the silence.

Ellie sighed. "I know I don't deserve a second chance. Hell, I don't even deserve your friendship. But can't we at least try to be... something?"

You stared at her, pondering her words. The Ellie sitting in front of you now seemed so different from the girl you had fallen for. And yet, there were moments, fleeting seconds, when you could almost see traces of the old Ellie—the one who made you laugh, who made you think, who made you feel like you were the only person in the world.

But those traces were just that—fleeting and insubstantial. The real Ellie, the one sitting in front of you, was a reminder of a chapter you had painfully closed.

"We can try," you said finally, "but I can't promise anything."

Ellie nodded, a mixture of relief and regret flashing across her face. "I guess that's all I can ask for."

As you both sipped your coffee in silence, the weight of what was left unsaid hung heavy in the air. And yet, for the first time in a long time, it felt like you could both breathe a little easier.

But as Ellie's eyes met yours, you couldn't help but wonder: in the quest for something new, something better, had you both lost something irreplaceable? There was something substantially broken between the two of you now, innocence on both parts lost.

TWO YEARS AGO

You found yourself standing in front of your bathroom mirror, staring at your reflection as you pondered what to wear for this so-called 'tour' with Ingrid. You wondered if you should aim for casual or if Ingrid, with her meticulous style, would expect something more. After rummaging through your wardrobe, you settled on a simple pair of jeans and a loose-fitting white shirt. Casual, yet presentable. You threw on a light jacket, considering the morning chill, and took one last look in the mirror. Satisfied but not entirely confident, you grabbed your phone and headed downstairs. Your mom was sitting at the dining room table, bowl of cereal in front of her with her spoon in one hand and phone in the other.

"Going out?" Your mom looked up from her phone, her eyes scanning your outfit.

"Yeah, a girl from school is showing me around town."

"Ah, great. Text me if you need anything." Her eyes returned to her phone, but not before you caught the fleeting look of relief. There the pressure was again, and in turn your sinking stomach.

"See you later, Mom," you said, heading for the door.

"Have fun, sweetheart!" she called out as you closed the door behind you.

As you approached Ingrid's car, you noticed her already leaning against it. She was wearing what could only be described as the epitome of 'casual chic'—ripped jeans, a designer top, and a pair of sunglasses perched effortlessly on her head. She looked up from her phone and greeted you with a broad, almost rehearsed, smile.

"Ready for your grand tour?" Ingrid inquired, her eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than you were comfortable with.

"Ready as I'll ever be," you replied, cautiously optimistic about the day ahead.

The interior of Ingrid's car was as meticulously maintained as her appearance. The leather seats were pristine, and the air was scented with something floral, bordering on overpowering. She started the engine, and you were off.

The first few minutes were filled with awkward silence. You sensed that Ingrid was waiting for you to initiate conversation, but you were too wrapped up in your thoughts to open your mouth to speak. Finally, she broke the ice.

"So, first stop, the infamous Longview Park. You'll love it—it's where everyone hangs out," she said, her voice tinged with enthusiasm that sounded slightly rehearsed.

"That sounds fun," you responded, forcing a smile.

As you drove through the town, Ingrid began to pepper you with questions. They started off harmless enough—questions about your old town, your interests, your favorite movies. But as the drive continued, the questions began to probe deeper.

"So, why did you move here? If you don't mind me asking," she added hastily, as though realizing she might be venturing into sensitive territory.

"My dad passed away. We couldn’t afford to live there anymore, so we had to move," you replied, trying to maintain composure. You had rehearsed this response, but it still felt like you were ripping off a Band-Aid every time you said it.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Ingrid responded, her voice softening for the first time that morning. But before you could reply, she was off again. "Are you seeing anyone?"

The abrupt switch in topic caught you off-guard. "Uh, no, not right now," you stammered.

"Really? Someone as hot as you? I find that hard to believe," she said, her eyes briefly meeting yours before returning to the road.

"Um, thanks," you muttered, not entirely sure how to interpret the compliment.

Ingrid seemed to take your discomfort as a cue to change the subject. "We're almost at Longview Park. It's truly the heart of our community," she declared, as if rehearsed.

As you pulled into the parking lot of Longview Park, you took a deep breath. It was time to see what this 'heart of the community' was all about.

he car rolled to a stop, and Ingrid switched off the engine, her eyes twinkling like she was unveiling a secret treasure. "And here we are—Longview Park. It's like the social hub of our high school world."

You opened the car door and stepped out, looking around. The park was sizable, dotted with large oaks and willows that offered generous shade. A playground occupied one corner, bustling with the laughter of children, while a pond shimmered peacefully in the mid-morning sun. People were everywhere—jogging, playing Frisbee, or simply lounging on the grass. It had a communal feel.

Ingrid led you along a gravel path, her steps confident and rehearsed as if she'd walked this path a thousand times before. "See that gazebo over there?" she pointed, "That's like the unofficial meet-up spot for parties and hangouts. And over there is the infamous 'Lovers' Lane' where couples go to... well, you know."

Her words were punctuated with a suggestive wink that made you feel slightly uncomfortable. You chuckled nervously, trying to dispel the awkwardness.

As you walked, you couldn't help but notice the way people looked at Ingrid—long enough to show interest but not too long to risk her noticing. She seemed to command attention effortlessly, and you couldn't tell if it was her charisma or if you were completely missing something

"Everyone loves to be here on weekends," Ingrid continued, her tone casual but her eyes scanning the area, as if looking for someone or something in particular. "It's a great place to catch up with friends or make new ones. Like we're doing right now."

She shot you a smile, the kind that was meant to be endearing but felt slightly off-mark. You returned it nonetheless. "It's a nice place. Very... lively," you said, choosing your words carefully.

As you neared the pond, you spotted a familiar face sitting on one of the benches—Cat. And next to her, unmistakably, was Ellie. They seemed engrossed in conversation, their faces inches apart. A pang of something—was it jealousy?—stabbed at you, but you quickly brushed it aside.

"Hey, look who it is!" Ingrid's voice brought you back to reality. She had followed your gaze and was now staring directly at Ellie and Cat. "Want to go say hi?"

You hesitated. The last thing you wanted was an awkward run-in, but before you could voice your concerns, Ingrid had already started walking toward them.

"Hey Cat, Ellie!" she called out, her voice unnaturally high. Both heads turned in your direction, and the range of emotions that crossed their faces in that brief moment was unsettling—surprise, confusion, and something else you couldn't quite put your finger on.

"Hey Ingrid," Ellie finally spoke, her eyes meeting yours for a fleeting second before returning to Ingrid. "What brings you here?"

"Just giving our new resident a grand tour of Longview Park," Ingrid replied, her arm casually draping over your shoulder. You felt a shiver run down your spine but chose to ignore it.

"That's nice of you," Cat chimed in, her eyes narrowing slightly as they settled on you. You couldn't tell if she was being sincere or just sizing you up.

"Yeah, it's been fun," you said, forcing a smile. But your eyes met Ellie's once more, and the unspoken words hung heavily in the air between you.

"Well, we won't keep you," Ingrid said abruptly, as if sensing the tension. "Lots more to see. Come on," she tugged at your arm lightly, and you followed her back to the path, leaving Ellie and Cat behind.

As you walked away, you felt Ellie's gaze burning into your back. You wanted to look back, to catch one last glimpse of her, but you resisted. Whatever was or wasn't happening between you and Ellie would have to wait. Right now, you were on Ingrid's turf, and you couldn't help but feel like a pawn in a much larger game.

"Shall we continue?" Ingrid asked, breaking the silence.

"Sure," you replied, but your thoughts were already miles away.

The door clicked shut as you slid into the passenger seat, your thoughts still reeling from the encounter at the park. Ingrid revved up the engine and pulled away, humming softly to the beat of the song playing on the radio. You looked over at her, everything about her seemed staged.

"How did you like the park?" she asked, casting a quick glance in your direction.

"It was... interesting," you said cautiously. "It's a nice place, very lively. Lots of history, I imagine."

Ingrid chuckled. "Oh, you have no idea. It's like the theater of high school drama. Anything and everything happens there."

Her words hung in the air, and you couldn't help but feel like there was a deeper meaning behind them. But before you could ponder it further, your phone buzzed. Glancing down, you saw Ellie's name flash on the screen.

Ellie: hey. can we talk later?

You felt a mixed bag of emotions, but you were mostly nervous. You hadn’t taken the group's warning and hung out with Ingrid anyays. It wasn’t like she was two fingers deep inside of you, but with the way Cat and Ellie looked, it seemed that way. You were about to type a response when you noticed Ingrid's eyes flicking toward your phone screen, then back to the road.

"Who's that?" she asked, her tone casual but her eyes betraying a hint of curiosity.

"Just a friend," you said, choosing your words carefully. "We're supposed to catch up later."

"Oh," she responded, but you could sense a change in her demeanor, a tightening around her eyes. "Well, I hope I'm not keeping you from anything important."

"No, not at all," you reassured her, quickly typing a response to Ellie. "Sure, let's talk. Text me when you're free."

As you pressed send, you couldn't help but wonder about the timing. Why did Ellie want to talk now? And what was it about? Your thoughts were interrupted by Ingrid turning up the volume on the radio, her fingers drumming rhythmically on the steering wheel.

"So," she began, breaking the momentary silence, "we've covered quite a bit today. Any highlights?"

You pondered the question. "Well, the park was a highlight, I guess. It's always good to know where people hang out. Makes me feel less like an outsider."

Ingrid smiled, but there was something about it that made you uneasy. "You're not an outsider, you know. You're just new, and new can be exciting."

"Thanks," you said, your phone buzzing again. This time it was a text from your mom asking about your day.

Feeling the need to switch gears, you asked, "So, how long have you been living here? You seem to know everyone and everything."

"Born and raised," she declared proudly. "It has its pros and cons, but I like it. And yes, I do know a lot of people, but it's not hard when you grow up here. Everyone kind of knows everyone."

"That must be nice," you said, though a part of you wondered what it would be like to have that much history in one place—so many connections, but also so many ties that could bind you.

"Yeah," she paused, her expression turning serious. "But it can also be a bit suffocating, you know? Sometimes you just want to break free, start fresh somewhere new. Like you."

You looked at her, intrigued by this sudden glimpse into her thoughts. "Well, starting fresh isn't as glamorous as it seems. It has its own ups and downs."

"True," she conceded. "But at least it's a blank slate."

Before you could respond, your phone buzzed again. Another text from Ellie.

Ellie: i really need to talk to you. it's important.

This time, you couldn't ignore the urgency in her message. Something was up, something significant. You looked up to find Ingrid watching you, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, but her tone suggested she already knew the answer.

You hesitated, weighing your options. "Actually, I might need to cut our day short. Something's come up at home."

Ingrid's eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw something flicker in them—disappointment, perhaps, or maybe something else.

"Of course," she said, finally breaking eye contact. "Life happens. Let's get you home."

You stepped out of Ingrid's car, waving goodbye as she drove off. Your phone buzzed as you approached your front door, another text from Ellie.

Ellie: can you meet me at the grind? it’s about two blocks away from our house. i can drive us back.

You texted back a quick "on my way" and made your way over.

Ten minutes later, you walked into The Grind, the local coffee shop where the whole town seemed to be at this moment. As you scanned the room, your eyes met Ellie's. She was seated at a corner table, her phone face down and her fingers nervously tapping a rhythm against her coffee mug.

"Hey," you greeted as you approached, pulling out the chair across from her.

"Hey," Ellie replied, her eyes meeting yours briefly before averting. "Thanks for coming."

"No problem. Sounded like it was urgent. What's up?"

"I saw you today," she began cautiously, "with Ingrid."

A knot formed in your stomach. "Yeah, she was showing me around. Why?"

Ellie hesitated, looking down at her mug, and tapping the handle. She closed her eyes for a moment, choosing her words carefully. "Be careful with her. She's not what she seems."

"I mean I heard what you guys said about her at lunc but," you replied, taking a sip of your coffee. "She seems harmless."

She sighed, running her fingers through her hair. Cut right above her shoulders, the choppy layers suited her face. "Ingrid has a way of getting close to people, and it's not always for the right reasons. I just don't want you to get hurt."

Your eyes met, and you felt a strange warmth spread through you. Ellie was concerned for you. But why? She had only known you a day. You searched her face for an answer, for anything, but you came up short.

"Do you have something against her?" you asked, not hiding your skepticism.

"No," Ellie was quick to respond, "it's not like that. I've just seen her ruin friendships, relationships. She's manipulative."

"You seem serious," you remarked, detecting a tinge of something in her voice—was it jealousy?

Ellie looked down at her mug, her fingers ceasing their tapping. "I just don't want history to repeat itself, okay?"

"History?" you questioned, leaning forward. "What happened?"

She looked up again, her eyes meeting yours again, but this time they were vulnerable, exposed. "Ingrid and I had a thing once. And it felt more serious than her ‘things’ with Cat and Dina. And let's just say it didn't end well."

Now it made sense. The hints, the caution—it was personal for Ellie.

She held your gaze, her eyes searching yours for something you couldn't name. "Also," she paused, as if weighing whether to continue, "You’re my friend now. I care about you. And I don't want to see you get hurt."

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air was thick with unspoken words.

You finally broke the silence. "Thank you for telling me, Ellie. I appreciate it."

She nodded, her eyes never leaving yours. "Yeah, yeah. Of course"

As you left The Grind, your thoughts were a swirl of confusion and clarity. Ellie's concern had added another layer to the already complicated dynamic of your new life. But through it all, one thing became clear—Ellie cared about you, maybe more than she was willing to admit.

And as you replayed the conversation in your mind, you couldn't shake the feeling that Ellie wasn't just warning you about Ingrid. She was also staking her claim, marking her territory in a landscape that was becoming increasingly complicated.

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams x reader smut #ellie williams the last of us #ellie williams tlou2 #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams fan fic #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams oneshot #modern!ellie williams #college!ellie williams #ellie williams one shot

493 notes · View notes

blackswaneuroparedux · 2 years

Text

Rex nunquam moritur (the King never dies): A personal reflection on HM Queen Elizabeth II

So many have asked me about Queen Elizabeth’s death and where I was and what was I doing at the time. It’s very kind of people to firstly, drop a note of condolence and second, to enquire how I have been since I was away from my blog for over 5 months. So I thought I would share some of my thoughts here.

I suppose the sad news of HM Queen Elizabeth’s passing would go down as a defining event for most of us - Brits at least - in the same way one would ask an earlier generation where they were when the Two Towers came down in New York on September 11. Or perhaps ask an even older generation of where they were when the Berlin Wall fell to usher in the end of the Cold War in 1989. Or an even older generation about the day they heard President John F. Kennedy was shot in Dallas on 22 November 1962.

HM Queen Elizabeth’s death has that epochal sentiment to it and already some commentators have rushed to declare the end of the Second Elizabethan Age (not a bad way to be remembered considering we have the first Elizabethan Age under Elizabeth I and of course the Victorian age after Queen Victoria and the rise of the British Empire).

For myself, I was in France on my vineyard. It’s the time of the wine harvest - or vedanges as it’s called here. So I had taken time off from my corporate day job in Paris to help in the harvest of the grapes which is primarily managed by my two cousins and their French families - they gave up the treadmill of the corporate world to pursue their dream of being wine makers. I love coming down here to escape the big city madness of Paris.

Any farmer will tell you Mother Nature always keeps them on their toes and that’s especially the case during the grape harvest season - anywhere between late August and early September. As winemakers they have just one shot a year to get it right. In essence everyone is on Mother Nature’s schedule and need to be prepared for anything that might come their way. The harvest times, as any wine maker will tell you, is a crucial time of the seasonal year, so it requires all hands on deck.

I was out in the fields just finishing clearing up empty cartons and other loose end stuff lying around for the day. I was hot and sticky. I was full of dirt and sweat from my labours since 5am. My hands were calloused and my body was covered in muscle aches and pains. I remember thinking I was looking forward to some traditional home cooking of one of the French wives of my cousins and then later after putting their kids to bed with a nightly story, and then we adults would play our nightly game of poker over a glass of wine and a cigar - and just generally shoot the breeze under the starry night sky. But God, did I stink. I was in need of a shower when I got back to the main house.

Out of nowhere one of the trusted vineyard hands, a young Moroccan man, who was doing his wine making apprenticeship under the careful tutorship of my cousins, came running out to me. He was waving like a banshee and wailing something but not making a lick of sense as he seemed so out of breath. I honestly thought I had misjudged the time and everyone was waiting on me for dinner.

Finally as he got closer I could hear him between his panting, “Madame, La reine est morte! La reine est morte!”

“Qui est morte?” I asked him as he tried to catch his breath. “La reine, madame.” He said simply. “Quelle reine? La reine Sonja?” “Oui, madame.” “La norvégienne?” "Je suppose que oui. Madame vient de me dire de vous dire que la reine est morte.”

It never ocurred to me that it was in fact Queen Elizabeth that had died. And so I hurried back to the main house thinking Queen Sonja of Norway had died. I don’t know why but I thought the Queen of Norway had kicked the bucket at 85 years old. 85 years was a good innings.

I could already feel a pallor of sadness fall upon me. When I got into the main house after kicking off my dirty wellies, I was met by both my English cousin and my Norwegian cousin and their French wives sitting glumly around the sprawling kitchen table and their infant children running around creating chaos in the hall way.

Also present was an English friend from my ex-army days where we both served in Afghanistan, except she was an officer in the Intelligence Corps and I flew combat helicopters. She came with her partner, another old friend, to stay at the vineyard and help out with the harvest as a fun experience. She seemed to be suppressing some tears. There were two other French couples and their kids from Paris who had also come down to help in the harvest.

One of the French wives gave me a glass of wine and gave me a consolatory hug and said she was so sorry to hear that the Queen was dead. I asked how and someone said she died in her sleep. I went over to hug my Norwegian cousin as he seemed in need of one. My English cousin did his best to appear stoic. No further words were spoken. Funny thing is no one mentioned Elizabeth by name as they just kept saying the Queen over and over and so I was none the wiser.

I then remembered my poor Norwegian mother. I got up and told everyone I had to call my mother and console her. My mother as it happens was in Copenhagen, Denmark. She had been invited as a guest to attend the celebration of Queen Margrethe of Denmark’s 50 years on the Danish throne. In attendance also were the royal families of Norway, Sweden, and Greece as well as other invited guests, both official and unofficial. The centrepiece of the festivities was a gala performance at the Det Kongelige Teater (Danish Royal Theatre) in Copenhagen.

I managed to get my mother on the phone who was having dinner with friends. I told how sorry I was to hear of the Queen’s death. She said she had already heard and the sad news had cast a shadow over Queen Margrethe’s celebrations. She told me she got news that the gala performance would go ahead but in a more subdued form and there would be also the inevitable minute’s silence in honour of the passing of the Queen. I asked her if she knew how poor King Harald V was taking it. She said she didn’t know but she imagined he was deeply saddened. I then name checked all the other Norwegian royals and some of my mother’s Norwegian friends also present to ask how they were holding up.

This kind of crossing of wires went on a for a while before my mother got a tad exasperated at all my questions about how the Norwegians she knew were coping. Looking back it was quite silly and comical as Norwegians aren’t expansive when it comes to sharing what they really feel or giving minimal information about anything.

The penny still didn’t drop when she said I should try to contact my Anglo-Scots father who was back in England and commiserate with him as he was quite shaken about the news. She mentioned a few great aunts and uncles on my father’s side to send my condolences to them. I thought that an odd thing to request as I thought it would be more appropriate to contact members of my Norwegian side of the family. But I didn’t think further upon it after we finished talking.

I walked back into the kitchen and it was chaos with everyone doing something to get the meal ready and the table set for dinner. With all the clutter and the chatter I just couldn’t hear myself think.

It was only until I wandered into a nearby living room to compose my thoughts but instead I ran into two of the little pre-teen daughters of both my cousins drawing and colouring pieces of paper on the table. I looked over their shoulders to see what they were doodling a stick portrait of a queen in a sparkling dress, a blue sash, and white pearls and crown on her head. I then saw the British Union Jack flag and gently enquired why they did that when the Norwegian flag was different. They looked at me as if all adults are stupid. Because Queen Elizabeth was queen of Britain, not Norway, they chimed together.

Then the penny dropped.

All that came out of my mouth was a small ‘oh’. I felt a little dazed as I wandered back into the kitchen oblivious to everything going on around me. I took a hot shower and I remember a strange empty feeling gnawing in the pit of my stomach. I forgot my muscle aches and pains and I even lost my appetite at the dinner table. It was quite a solemn evening. It reminded me of the only other Royal death that I’ve experienced, or rather seen the grief in others, and that was as a very little girl watching others react to the sudden and tragic death of Princess Diana way back in 1997.

As the evening wore some of our neighbouring French vineyard owners also dropped by to express their condolences and to see how we were holding up. They brought home made pastries and of course a few bottles of their wine. The kitchen was overflowing with people coming in and out and soon spilled into another room and outside. What I love about where we are is how everyone comes together that goes beyond being civil to sincerely caring for one’s neighbours. Despite the sombreness of the occasion, the atmosphere was light and earthy.

The rest of my evening was spent phoning around other members of my family and trying to get their news.

My father was his usual stoicism personified but underneath I could tell he was downcast and deeply wounded. This was a man after all who did his expected time (and duty) as a junior army officer in one of the seven distinguished regiments belonging to the Household Division (Septem juncta in uno or 'seven joined in one'), and therefore served in a long line of soldiers defending the Queen herself. But he also served the Queen’s household in another capacity for a brief time.

He first got news that something was amiss when he was at his gentleman’s club in St. James’s to join a politician friend of his for a spot of lunch; this friend had been in Parliament for Liz Truss’ first Prime Minister’s Questions where the news first broke of the Queen’s worsening condition; and both PM Liz Truss and Sir Keir Starmer, the Labour opposition leader, scurried off out of Parliament.

The rest of the afternoon my father just heard the odd murmurings but paid no real attention. Only by the time he had joined friends for dinner at a small restaurant in Chelsea did he find out about the Queen’s passing from the sombre mood of everyone in the restaurant. It was surreal, he said, in that many dining patrons and even waiting staff were crying or shaking with emotion. He had to comfort one Belgian waitress serving his table - who was in Britain as a postgrad student - and who just couldn’t hold it together. Other people were visibly upset and the atmosphere was like being in a morgue.

I never imagined I would feel any sort of grief at the passing of a public figure. At those points in my life where someone close to me has died, the hours and days afterward felt heightened, timeless and liminal: as though the world has grown thin, and unimaginable truths or possibilities might hover just out of sight. When that mood governs your every waking moment, and that of others too, going about the ordinary business of living and working feels absurd.

In my case personal memories of meeting HM Queen Elizabeth II came flooding back. Perhaps ‘meeting’ is too strong a word - more like basking in her magical presence is more acurrate. I won’t share anything here too much as I value my privacy and the privacy of my family.

I will share that one of the times I really met her was at the Ghillies Ball at Balmoral Castle. My family had a cottage retreat in a village up on Royal Deeside - often used as a halfway house to go to the shooting parties at Scottish estates further north. From my great-great grandmother to my grandmother onwards they would get invitations to the ball.

I got an opportunity to go too as a I was now a teen girl. I had a wonderful time dancing and feasting. The highlight of which was to share a reel with the late Prince Philip who enjoyed making off colour jokes which I loved. He also gave me punch laced with whisky. I wouldn’t say he was responsible for my descent (ascent?) into whisky drinking but at the very least I did have a royal seal of approval.

From then on I would - in some cases literally - bump into different members of the royal family at the Royal Caledonian Ball. It’s the oldest charity ball in the world helping to raise funds for worthy causes and the Queen was a huge supporter. She went to her first ball in 1946 and many others since. Going to the Royal Caldedonian Ball has always been a guilty and indulgent pleasure.

Queen Elizabeth’s death matters in the same way you might miss salt in your food. It’s there and you expect it to be there but you’ll definitely notice it when it isn’t.

Part of the hard-to-explain grief that many British people feel at the Queen’s passing is related to how staggeringly rare that level of self-restraint is today. Narcissism is everywhere. Every feeling we have is bound to be expressed. Self-revelation, transparency, authenticity - these are our ‘modern’ values. The idea that we are firstly humans with duties to others that will require and demand the suppression of our own needs and feelings seems archaic. Elizabeth kept it alive simply by example.

With her death, it’s hard not to fear that so much she exemplified - restraint, duty, grace, reticence, persistence - are disappearing from the world. As long as she was there, these virtues were at the centre of an idea of Britishness that helped define the culture at its best. Perhaps the most famous woman in the world, she remained a sphinx, hard to decipher, impossible to label. She was not particularly dashing or inspiring. She said nothing surprising. She was simply the Queen. She showed up. She got on with it. She was there. She was always there.

Whatever else happened to the other royals, she stayed the same. And whatever else happened in Britain - from the end of Empire to Brexit - she stayed the same. This is an achievement of nearly inhuman proportions, requiring discipline beyond most mortals.

As one commentator put it well, Elizabeth was an icon, but not an idol. An idol requires the vivid expression of virtues, personality, style. Princess Diana was an idol - fusing a compelling and vulnerable temperament with Hollywood glamour. And Diana, of course, was in her time loved far more intensely than her mother-in-law; connected emotionally with ordinary people like a rockstar; only eventually to face the longterm consequences of that exposure and crumble under the murderous spotlight of it all.

Elizabeth never rode those tides of acclaim or celebrity. She never pressed the easy buttons of conventional popularity. She didn’t even become known for her caustic wit like the Queen Mother, or her wild antics like Margaret. In private as in public, she had the kind of integrity no one can mock successfully.

Duty, sacrificial service, and honour....without power. That’s the role of modern royalty and one Elizabeth personified for many people.

And that’s why a royal personal scandal can be so crushing. When they fail and fall, it hits differently from the failures of ordinary politicians. Their fundamental purpose is to embody a certain national ideal.

But there is also immense meaning when a monarch lives the values their role demands. Queen Elizabeth II lived with honour and did her duty, and in so doing she helped bind together a fractious people. She helped give them a sense of shared identity. No politician can ever do that for politics by nature is tribal.

In her single person, and in her dedication to a selfless life of public service, our late Queen embodied continuity across nearly a century of seismic change. She sailed serenely through the dismantling of the British Empire, accepting without demur its transmutation to a ‘Commonwealth’ and her role as figurehead of that entity.

In this way, more than any other single individual, she both guided and personified Britain’s transition from the most sprawling empire in history to… whatever it is we are now after Brexit. In her calm and stalwart presence, Great Britain managed to act as though nothing had really changed, or if it had it was all for the best. Because that’s what we Brits do best, we muddle on as best as we can hoping it will come right in the end. With our Queen still soldiering on, at some level it all felt like the same big story, and we could argue in relative emotional safety about what the next century of ‘Modern Britain’ might be. However one could answer that question, all of us could put off coming to any firm conclusion, as long as she was there to hold it all together.

Now she’s gone.

Grief will give way to acceptance and life will have to go on.

No doubt alongside the inevitable internet ghouls loudly rejoicing for the attention seeking hate-clicks, we’ll hear renewed calls from the ever-present (and, to date, mercifully unpopular) republicans, to dispense with the monarchy in favour of something more ‘democratic’. This is an irony of course for those of us who are historically literate, for the very presence of a constitutional monarch has served, for some 334 years, as our guarantor of democracy in Britain.

You needn’t be a monarchist to believe in the importance of service, sacrifice, stoicism and nationhood – to believe that history is there to be learnt from and built upon, rather than rewritten and cleansed. A confident, truly democratic nation should know where it has been as well as where it is going. And, indeed, the younger royals seem as allergic to many of these ideas as any other section of the establishment. But with the death of Elizabeth you can’t help but fear that, if we’re not careful, those values she represented will pass into the history books along with her.

I for one will raise my glass to honour my Queen, Elizabeth Windsor, for a life well lived and as embodiment of all that is good about Britain.

And I will toast Charles III as my king. Whatever criticism of his actions may have been justified in the past, he deserves the loyalty and enthusiastic support of the whole nation for the future. I shall be praying under my breath that he finds the instincts that served his mother so well for 75 years through continuity and change.

God save the Queen. Long Live the King.

#HM Queen elizabeth II #elizabeth II #monarchy #britain #King Charles III #charles III #republic #sacrifice #service #duty #honour #history #british history #personal

79 notes · View notes

redsilkstudies · 1 year

Text

Falling Stars in Howl's Moving Castle (2004) || Art Research

NOTE: this post contains spoilers for the film

Since my short is going to feature either a comet or a meteor shower/shooting stars, I decided I wanted to look at some scenes from a favourite childhood movie: Howl's Moving Castle. I would have provided video clips but could find very few, so instead I will make use of GIFs made by other Tumblr users.

Stars feature quite prominently in this animated classic from Studio Ghibli. The original book by Diana Wynne Jones heavily features a piece by Elizabethan poet John Donne, the first verse of which goes:

Go and catch a falling star,

Get with child a mandrake root,

Tell me where all past years are,

Or who cleft the devil's foot,

Teach me to hear mermaids singing,

Or to keep off envy's stinging,

And find

What wind

Serves to advance an honest mind.

The film largely abandons this as a plotline as it does many elements, using the novel moreso as source material than as something to be wholesale adapted. But the importance of stars remain. In a threatening message to Howl (in the English dub), the Witch of the Waste tells him "You who swallowed a falling star, oh heartless man, your heart shall soon belong to me."

Over the course of the film we learn that stars are heavily associated with magic. Madame Suliman, a minor villain, uses star-like spirits to drain the Witch of the Waste of her powers and to attempt to do the same to Howl. This scene is quite unnerving, with a children's choir chanting and long shadows stretching across an illusory landscape. The star-spirits, circling in a ring with hands held, are uncanny not-human beings.

In the film's finale, protagonist Sophie travels back in time to the garden in the Wastes to see a shower of stars across the water. In the book this was largely short comedic adventure for Sophie and Micheal as they tried to puzzle out the "spell" they mistakenly believed Donne's poem to be, but in the film it is a melancholy look at Howl's past. Watching the bright bursts of light gutter out in the water, a child Howl decides to save one. To do this he gives it his heart. This is the moment in which Howl's pact with fire demon Calcifer is formed, as that is what the star turns out to be. Howl's heart keeps Calcifer alive and in return Howl gets access to magic.

The stars in Howl's Moving Castle are wonderfully animated. Something I think is particularly effective is the mixed use of cold and warm colours--the centre of the star is white light with blue edges, but it emits bursts of pink and orange colour to look really radiant and magical.

These colours are quite accurate to what a falling star might look like in a world like Ingary, judging by pictures of Comet Leonard captured just this winter by photographer Andrew McCarthy of Arizona. He took these photos on December 26th.

I'm definitely going to be studying the animation of stars in Studio Ghibli as well as referencing real celestial events like Comet Leonard.

#y1s2

6 notes · View notes

rattlinbog · 1 year

Text

Books Read in 2022

January

The Red-Haired Girl from the Bog: The Landscape of Celtic Myth and Spirit by Patricia Monaghan

The Unpassing by Chia-Chia Lin

North and South by Elizabeth Gaskell

The Hakawati by Rabih Alameddine

February

The Final Girl Support Group by Grady Hendrix

The Beauty and the Terror: The Italian Renaissance and the Rise of the West by Catherine Fletcher

The Desolations of Devil’s Acre (Miss Peregrine’s Peculiar Children #6) by Ransom Riggs

Eifelhelm by Michael Flynn

The Time Traveler’s Guide to Elizabethan England by Ian Mortimer

March

The Wives of Henry VIII by Antonia Fraser

The Salt Path by Raynor Winn

The Watchmaker of Filigree Street by Natasha Pulley (reread)

The Lost Future of Pepperharrow by Natasha Pulley

April

The Parted Earth by Anjani Enjeti

Homeland Elegies by Ayad Akhtar

Once There Were Wolves by Charlotte McConaghy

The Last Blue by Isla Morley

Lone Stars by Justin Deabler

All the Young Men: A Memoir of Love, AIDS, and Chosen Family in the American South by Ruth Coker Burns

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou

May

The Vanishing Half by Brit Bennett

If Beale Street Could Talk by James Baldwin

Klara and the Sun by Kazuo Ishiguro

Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel (reread)

As Long as Grass Grows: The Indigenous Fight for Environmental Justice, from Colonization to Standing Rock by Dina Gilio-Whitaker

LaRose by Louise Erdrich

A History of Native American Land Rights in Upstate New York by Cindy Amrhein

June

Four Treasures of the Sky by Jenny Tinghui Zhang

Member of the Family: My Story of Charles Manson, Life Inside His Cult, and the Darkness That Ended the Sixties by Dianne Lake and Deborah Herman

These Silent Woods by Kimi Cunningham Grant

Darkwater: Voices from Within the Veil by W.E.B. Dubois

Take My Hand by Dolen Perkins-Valdez

A Marvelous Light by Freya Marske

Catch and Kill: Lies, Spies, and a Conspiracy to Protect Predators by Ronan Farrow

July

No Exit by Taylor Adams

The Wanderers by Meg Howrey

A Tall History of Sugar by Curdella Forbes

Peach Blossom Spring by Melissa Fu

Calypso by David Sedaris

My Antonia by Willa Cather

The First English Actresses: Women and Drama 1660-1700 by Elizabeth Howe

English Animals by Laura Kaye

Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston

August

An American Marriage by Tayari Jones

The Sea Around Us by Rachel Carson

Exhalation: Stories by Ted Chiang

The Ice Cream Queen of Orchard Street by Susan Jane Gilman (reread)

The Latecomers by Helen Klein Ross

Unlikely Animals by Annie Hartnett

The Book of Longings by Sue Monk Kidd

September

The Island of Missing Trees by Elif Shafak

The Invention of Wings by Sue Monk Kidd

Country Roots: The Origins of Country Music by Douglas B. Green

Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead by Olga Tokarczuk

Golden Gates: The Housing Crisis and a Reckoning for the American Dream by Conor Dougherty

Sexing the Cherry by Jeanette Winterson (reread)

J.M. Barrie and the Lost Boys: The Real Story Behind Peter Pan by Andrew Birkin

The Lost Ones by Anita Frank

October

A History of Wild Places by Shea Ernshaw

When No One is Watching by Alyssa Cole

The Corn Maiden and Other Nightmares by Joyce Carol Oates

The Reddening by Adam Nevill

My Heart is a Chainsaw by Stephen Graham Jones

November

It Happened in the Smokies... A Mountaineer’s Memories of Happenings in the Smoky Mountains in Pre-Park Days by Gladys Trentham Russell

Pastoral Song: A Farmer’s Journey by James Rebanks

Jesus Land by Julia Scheeres

I Was Told There’d be Cake: Essays by Sloane Crosley

The Postmistress by Sarah Blake

The Thousand Crimes of Ming Tsu by Tom Lin

December

Floating Coast: An Environmental History of the Bering Strait by Bathsheba Demuth

Disappearing Earth by Julia Phillips

Four Lost Cities: A Secret History of the Urban Age by Annalee Newitz

The Bloody Chamber and Other Stories by Angela Carter (reread)

The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Bronte (reread)

Mrs. Death Misses Death by Salena Godden

Moon of the Crusted Snow by Waubgeshig Rice

#books in 2022 #books #booklr #reading list #just finished moon of the crusted snow #i haven't even thought about which were my favorite books that i read this year yet

6 notes · View notes

anoddreindeer · 11 months

Text

went to see a play called Orlando last Sunday, and had some Thoughts:tm:

First off, I’ve never read the book the play was based on; I went to see it purely because I felt like I needed to get out of the house more and one of my online friends was in it. Orlando the play is based on Orlando the book by Virginia Woolf. Like I said, I’ve never read it or any of her books but maybe that gives context for other people.

Second, the theater was tiny. I’ve-been-in-bigger-locker-rooms kinda tiny. There were five actors all together, three pieces of movable flooring things on wheels that were moved by the five actors at various points in the play, a box, and a stool. One actor played Orlando, and the other four were literally every other character including the Chorus providing narration to the audience.

Honestly, it didn’t suffer much from being pared down. All the actors were on point, and the only thing they could’ve maybe used a little help for were the scene transitions when they had to move the big pieces.

So the play was in five acts, each act supposing to cover an Age of Orlando’s life. The Elizabethan Era through the 20th century, though I forget the exact Act titles. Basically, each Act spanned about 100 years and the whole thing ended in the 1970s or 80s (I couldn’t tell).

Anyway, it was good and I had a good time but like. People go to plays to get something out of them, I guess? So I applied what analytics skills I remembered from English class and got a couple of observations:

1. Orlando starts the play as a young man. The first two Acts are dedicated to that portion of his life, with the Queen taking him to adorn her Court and making him some kind of nobility - a duke, I think, though it wasn’t exactly clear. The exact rank probably isn’t important, just what he was doing at Court.

He dallies with the Queen, and then branches out to dally with the rest of the Court as well. The Queen catches him at his other dalliances by seeing him reflected in her mirror while he was macking on a serving-maid. She attacks and shatters the mirror, but apparently doesn’t expel Orlando from Court because the next little while has Orlando dallying with various ladies of the Court. The mirror’s interesting, because we never see Consequences happen to Orlando for this particular bit of knavery, only to his reflection; Plato’s Allegory, anyone?

There’s a whole bunch of romance fluff that is shattered when Orlando meets Sasha - a Russian noblewoman who spends a lot of time remembering how wonderful Russia is and not very much time on anything else. She also hits a recurring theme; when the play opens, Orlando is trying to write a poem but only has one line: “The grass is green.” Sasha also is called green; green, green eyes, green dress, green green green.

Green is the color of life and growing things, of hope and the future in its positive aspect. In its negative aspect, green is the color of jealousy and decay, of the loss of ruins to time as the forest covers them over.

In this case, green starts positive as Sasha takes Orlando astonishing places and seems to have great promise for the future. In a bit of narrative foreshadowing, however, they pass by a performance of Othello right at the point where Othello is strangling his wife in a fit of jealous rage. File that away for later.

But not much later, because Sasha cheats on Orlando with a Russian sailor and ends up going back to Russia with the sailor. Green again, this time in the negative aspect; Orlando goes back to his ducal(?) estate to work on his poem.

The poem’s another touchpoint, of a sort. Whenever Orlando is overset, and at least once an Act, Orlando would go back and try to write more on his poem. “The grass is green. The grass is...green.” Green again, in its positive aspect. And writing it always takes place under an oak tree - possibly THE oak tree, though once again that isn’t very clear and probably doesn’t matter (the fact that it could be the same oak tree, not the fact it is an oak tree, a tree known for its longetivity). There’s probably more symbolism in oak trees but I can’t be bothered to look it up.

Orlando then ends up on the sharp end of an unwanted courtship, and runs away to Constantinople (not Istanbul). At the end of the second Act, in Constantinople, Orlando metamorphoses into a woman.

One of the themes for the play seems to be gender, expression, their intersection, and societal expectations. At no point after Act 2 does Orlando wish she was a man again because she dislikes the way she is. She does make complaint that things were easier as a man because of the difference in societal expectation, including that she was disinherited from her ducal lands because women couldn’t be Dukes, that she was expected to be quiet and demure - though even at that point she notes that when she was a man she had enforced those expectations on the women she had known at that point.

Then of course societal pressures encourage her to get married; the play has it that her finger aches for a wedding ring or whatever, but I’m pretty sure that it’s just growing to a point in her life where she wanted a single person to spend it with, rather than the dalliances that had marked her boy/teenagerhood.

She ends up finding a guy whom she likes because of what society at the time would call feminine qualities - ie emotional intelligence, a love of soppy romances, and a couple other things I can’t remember off the top of my head - and who likes her because of her “masculine qualities” - an ability to speak her mind, etc. So they get married and he goes off sailing the seas to make money and she tends house.

The last act is the shortest, and Orlando spends a lot of it thinking about days gone by. The specters of the Queen and of Sasha make their way around the stage, and Orlando ends the play by settling down under the oak tree and writing what is, apparently, one hell of a poem.

So we have a through-line of green, oak trees, poetry, gender expressions, and societal expectations. The Chorus doesn’t speak in rhyming verse - maybe in iambic pentameter or something, I can’t tell that as easy as I hear rhyme schemes - but it does narrate a lot of what’s going on. The grass in green, Sasha is green, the fair shores of England are green, the ducal estates are green.

I dunno, I just feel like I have a lot of goddamn puzzle pieces and no picture to show for it. Fucking frustrating.

#virginia woolf #a play called orlando #half assed english class analysis #fuck i dunno this is why i dont teach

0 notes

madmonkeysandrum-blog · 2 years

Text

“The Killing Of Polly Carter” Robert Thorogood The murder isn’t as good as the previous one but it has all the right elements. I didn’t hate it but I didn’t love it. There were five “as hell” in it, a little too many. If someone has a catch phrase or similar it’s fine but this what’s that. Repetitions just pops up and can really get to me. “Murder at the Brightwell” Ashley Weaver There was a moment when the MC looks in a mirror and we get description, a classic. Then we had the “breath I didn’t know I had been holding”, if you think about it you see this in so many books. Um what else… when did the body show up, was it a late one? The fact that I don’t remember tells you a lot. They story is being told to us so in chapter 3 the MC tells us that someone died on this trip but the body doesn’t show up until chapter 6. Oh well… “The Queen’s Head” Edward Marston I loved the time and the set of the theater world but it’s not really a cozy so let’s leave it. But a cozy set in the Elizabethan time would be nice.

PS. I forgot. There's one gay character and he's a predator, didn't like that. “Death in Bloom” Jess Dylan I had to look when this book was published as there were plenty of cell phone action and then there were like a drive thru bank? What? I guess that happens in America and that they still use checks there. Writing is really hard, I know that. There were a few things here that bugged me, but she finished the book at got it published so good for you.

#reading books #books read in 2022 #cozy mystery

0 notes

demigirlravenqueen · 2 years

Text

Hello and welcome to part 3.5 of historically ever after the series of posts were I break down little bits of historical inspiration in ever after highs outfits because if we’re all going to spend all our time on the internet obsessing over a cartoon meant to sell dolls to little girls we might as well learn some stuff wile we’re at it.

Ravens Ruffs

(I’m very proud of that title)

Ok some background first.

What are typically known as Tudor ruffs or Elizabethan ruffs according to most of my sources started around the 1570s and apparently in the beginning they were just a little frilly bit around the collar, but they eventually got bigger, and bigger, and bigger.

okay, in fairness these extreme proportions weren’t that common in day to day life but it’s still really funny.

These ruffs were so huge they had to be supported by wire frame.

Rich wemen in particular would ware some pretty large ones and some would were these big fan shaped ones with an opening at the front. I always like to call theses ruffs half ruffs but that’s not what they’re actually called, I don’t think there’s a proper name for them.

Anyway the point I’m trying to get to is that Raven wears a lot of these.

The looks so iconic it’s starting to catch on

I count the one on her main outfit as a collar not a ruff simply because of the shape. It kind of surrounds her neck rather than goes round the back of her head.

It’s also alluded to with the turned up collar on her date night outfit.

And after that I was really stumped on what to write next because that was really all I could see. There were a few little things that were neat character design choices but they weren’t history related so I figured it didn’t belong in this post. But then I rewatched legacy day and took another look at her outfit OMG.

There is so much to break down. First thing I noticed was the opening at the front, these were fairly common in elizabethan gowns.

Then there’s the frills at the hips which reminded me of the pleats you sometimes see at the top of some noblewomen’s skirts in paintings.

And also the fabric patterns on her cape and the opening of the dress are very similar to the fabric patterns and embroidery of the time (the opening especially).

I was also able to find some paintings that show some jewellery that looks very similar to the chains she’s wearing.

And the brooch / fasten of the cloak looks fairly similar to some Tudor brooches, it has the beautiful elaborate frame with a jewel in the centre which matches most Tudor brooches I’ve seen so even though it doesn’t look exactly like one it’s similar enough.

have I mentioned how much I love Tudor brooches.

One other thing I noticed is the sleeves on their dressing gowns (or night robe or whatever you want to call it) resemble these big bell like sleeves from some dresses in the earlier Tudor era

But in the cartoon they more resemble the ruffled sleeves of the 18th century

this isn’t really that surprising, the dolls and the cartoons often have subtle differences designs which is why you’ll often notice in these posts that I go out of my way to find screenshots rather than just using the concept art that’s much easier to find. In this case I think that it’s simply because the smaller sleeves are easier to animate.

And that just about raps things up. As always feel free to correct me or add something if you want.

Part 0.5 Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

#Raven Queen #Eah #ever after high #fashion history

108 notes · View notes

writings-of-a-hufflepuff · 4 years

Text

Prompt List #5

Other Prompt Lists

“Have you ever kissed anyone before?”

“Can I kiss you?”

“You’re not hurting me, you’re not heavy. I’ve got you, love.”

Kissing on sofa, foreheads pressed together, breathy, soft tender.

“Sometimes I wonder if you even like me...it sure feels like you hate me sometimes.”

“You were supposed to be my friend. That’s all...that’s all I asked of you. To be my friend. To care.”

“I look at him/her/them and I just..it’s like when the Grinch’s heart grows three sizes.”

“I don’t...i’ve never...been in a relationship and i’m going to make mistakes...I just need you to tell me. I need you to talk to me.”

“You really thought I was dead?”

“I want to believe, I do...I just...how can I believe in something that I can’t see?”

“You didn’t tell me your friend was cute! Now what am I going to do?”

“I feel sick…so anxious and sick and like my heart is trying to beat its way out of my chest.”

“Can we just make a decision? Please?”

“You don’t know what you do to me, do you?”

“I just want you to be safe. That’s all i’ve ever wanted for you!”

“I want you to be happy...even if its not with me.”

“I want to feel like this forever.”

“You give me a reason to be better, to do better.”

“God, you are so fucking cute.”

“I love you, but I need you to go away because you’re really bloody distracting and I have to pass this test tomorrow.”

“I...I can’t do this without you.”

“Don’t forget me?”

“You weren’t there...why weren’t you there?”

“I needed you! I needed you!”

“Now it’s over...I don’t really know what to do.”

“Do you ever think?”

“I’m going to die. I’m going to die with an absolute idiot!”

“How can you drink that stuff?”

“Oh no...he’s/she’s/they’re cute.”

“I can’t talk to cute people, okay? I don’t know how to flirt!”

“Sometimes you love someone and you don’t want them to leave...because if they’re beside you, you can see that they’re safe and you can keep them safe. But, if they go somewhere without you...you might lose them”

“No one has a romantic bone in their body anymore! What happened to playing songs outside windows, glitter and sparkles on handmade Valentine’s cards, dancing in the rain!? What happened?!”

“I can’t imagine my life without you in it. You are so important to me, you are such a big part of my life, that I just...I can’t imagine you not here.”

“I just want you to be happy...”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“Stop apologising for other people! You’re not the shitty one!”

“I want someone I can melt around. I want someone who melts around me too...I don’t want this standoffish, unromantic love that you’re offering. I want more than that.”

“I want to write you poetry, to write songs about you and draw your portrait! I want to make things for you! It frustrates the hell out of me hat I can’t draw and I can’t sing or write or play instruments or paint...You inspire me so fucking much...”

“You don’t own her/him/them. You don’t get to choose who they choose. I don’t get to choose who they choose. No one, but them, gets to make that decision.”

“Stop being a fucking dick.”

“That’s another way of saying you’re an arsehole.”

“Can anyone else hear those Jumanji like drums? Or is it just me?”

“God, I love your face.”

Twirling a strand of their hair

Foreheads pressed together, breath intertwining, slow, content affection

“Please don’t say that about yourself. Please don’t believe that. You’re so much more than that. You’re so...”

“I’m only important when you need something from me.”

“I am fed up of half measures. I deserve better”

“Don’t look at me! I’m a mess!”

“I love it when you’re a mess!”

“Please stop rolling your shirt sleeves up, it’s terribly distracting”

“I don’t think you’re annoying...I know...I don’t...I really like listening to and hearing what you have to say even if its a lot sometimes..”

“I just want to be swept off my feet...is that so bad? I’m fed up of being alone.”

One reaching for the others hand to comfort them, to provide support. A thumb brushing lightly against skin.

Reciting poetry at the other in a dramatic and very public fashion

Those period shirts with the puffy sleeves and the deep v and one staring at the other like... oh no he/she’s hot.

Heart eyes when the other talks, sings, dances, argues, does literally anything especially things which others make fun of them for or find annoying

“Oh, my ankle! I think it must be broken!” *wink* *wink*

“I want you to be proud of yourself. I want you to believe that you’re good enough because you are. You’re so amazing.”

“Did you get any sleep last night?”

“I haven’t slept since they/him/her left/died”

“You are an uncultured swine! There I said it!”

“I know I should be happy...I did well...I always do well...so why can’t I believe in myself?”

“Please do your homework, for me? Just one time...”

“I said one time, y’know...you didn’t have to actually start studying. Not that I’m not proud or anything.”

“Go big or go home”

“I’m already home.”

“I lost my wellie boot in the river...”

“I wish I knew who they were...”

“It was that bad here?”

“I look at you and I...I feel so sad because I love you but I also have been hurt so many times that I don’t think I can forgive and forget.”

Brushing hair from their face

Leaning into the others hand, turning their head and pressing a kiss to the palm

“I didn’t take you for the settling down type.”

Speaks in a terrible Shakespearean/Elizabethan style to woo/make the other laugh

“Should I go first or...do you want to go?”

“If you want to leave, we can leave.”

“I don’t want to ruin your party.”

“You could never ruin anything.”

“Your comfort and happiness is more important to me than some stupid dinner.”

“Please don’t make me choose.”

“I can finally understand why you call them your arch-nemesis...What. A. Dick.”

“Poetry isn’t supposed to be good, it’s supposed to make you feel things!”

“If you don’t get that stick out of your arse, i’ll do it myself and beat you with it.”

“Could you come get me?”

“Stop moving! I’m going to have to start counting all over again!”

“I just thought that since you weren’t feeling too good, maybe this would help.”

The one stumbling to the other’s front door after getting hurt/beaten up etc.

“Oh my heart it breaks! It shall never be whole again!” “She/He/They break up with you every other month. Shouldn’t it be used to the disappointment by now?”

“I thought you said no more dangerous stunts?”

“I’m not kissing you in the rain! We’ll catch our death!”

“Where’s your adventurous spirit?!”

“A walk in the woods might do you some good. Clear your head.”

“You have wronged me so bitterly...”

“Do you talk to your mother with that mouth?”

“Please get me away from him. He hasn’t left me alone all night and I am this close to committing a murder.”

“I apologise sincerely if my handsome/beautiful face has kept you awake all night.”

Massages but the sort that are actually practical and helpful. Like babe, you’re so uncomfortable let me help because you’re clearly in pain

“Would it help if I stayed?”

“So I had this really vivid dream...”

#prompt list #prompts #writing prompts #writing prompt list #writing prompt #prompt

10K notes · View notes

mask-of-prime · 3 years

Photo

TLK: Rulers of Pride Rock

So for the longest time I've been thinking about making a line of succession list of the Pridelands' monarchs because I was inspired by looking through some royal family trees. Also, I wanted to make some siblings for the past Lion Guard leaders I introduced a few months ago. So as a 27 Year Anniversary thing for the first movie's release, I finally got this done (took days to think of designs and repeatedly lose/regain motivation and reason to make this lol). I tried modeling a few of them after the way some civilians and monarchs dressed in old times, such as Early Middle Ages (Watoto), Late Middle ages (Akili) Elizabethan (Kusita), and kind of a pirate vibe (Nahodha).

Massive character breakdown below:

Mfalme (”king”, “royal”) was the 1st Ruler of the Pridelands. Husband to Malkia and father of Warithi and Askari, as well as other older half-sisters with other lionesses before betrothal was established. Mfalme was only the king of his pride during his reign, first establishing a sovereign title of monarch to solidify his leadership. He also established the tradition of betrothal to keep the royal line linear and therefore pure, as well as carefully chosen by destiny. He is also the only king before Pride Rock was formed and before the Pridelands territory had been expanded and bordered. Mfalme died of old age.

Warithi (”heirs”) was the 2nd Ruler of the Pridelands. Son of Mfalme, brother of Askari, and father of Watoto and Wajibu. Before the firstborn inheritance of the throne had been established, Warithi defeated his brother Askari in a spar to determine who would succeed their father. Warithi was caught in a takeover of the Pridelands when a pride of evil lions invaded the land. The evil lions stripped him of his power until Askari returned with the newly-discovered Roar, ultimately defeating the evil lions and returning Warithi to power. He is the first king to have a Lion Guard and was the first to rule Pride Rock after Askari created it with his Roar. Warithi died from an unspecified illness as he neared old age.

Watoto (”cubs”) was the 3rd Ruler of the Pridelands. Son of Warithi, brother to Wajibu, and father of Akili, Mkali, and many other children. Watoto was a rather jolly and jovial king in contrast to his stern and stoic younger brother Wajibu. Coincidentally with the meaning of his name, Watoto had the most cubs of all the monarchs aside from Mfalme (who had many mates before betrothal while Watoto was fully monogamous), having six sons and one daughter. All of his sons from second to last born became members of Mkali’s Guard. Watoto was accidentally killed in the middle of a Lion Guard mission when unexpected enemies ambushed them.

Akili (”mind”, “intellect”) was the 4th Ruler of the Pridelands. Son of Watoto, brother to Mkali and many other siblings, and father of Kusita and Taka. Akili was a brave warrior who had defended his kingdom from various sieges and battled many wars. Akili seemed indestructible given his great size and valor, until he met his downfall with a swift bite on the heel from a rogue lion. (Akili... heel.... see what I did there lol)

Kusita (”hesitant”, “reluctant”) was the 5th Ruler of the Pridelands. Son of Akili, brother of Taka, and father of Nahodha, Nkosi (sons), and Nzima (daughter). Kusita was a patient listener to all perspectives, but not a great immediate decision-maker. His way of ruling was often split between his brother’s conservative ways and his youngest son’s progressive ways. He only wanted what was best for his family and feared upsetting his peers. He would let his pride debate until he would make a final, balanced ruling that would satisfy all parties. He died from complications of an unspecified, degenerative disease that he was predisposed to as he was born rather meek.

Nahodha (”captain”) was the 6th Ruler of the Pridelands. Son of Kusita, brother of Nkosi and Nzima, and father of Kivuli and Kijani. Nahodha was hasty and hotheaded, catching himself in a territorial dispute over the Pridelands’ borders due to his competitive nature. When a troop of baboons grew in numbers, their king tried to claim much of the Pridelands as his. Nahodha not only won back the territory, but was overcome by greed, insisting he took more than his share of land. His younger brother Nkosi persuaded him that he was way over his head and was making poor decisions out of anger, and Nahodha drew back on his land siege after powering through his stubbornness. Though the Pridelands had expanded and herd landmarks remain part of it to this day, the royal pride no longer oversees these lands and lets the herds live naturally on their own with their own leaders. Nahodha died trying to protect Nkosi after the baboons tried to get revenge, ending his strained relationship with his younger brother.

Kivuli (”shadow”) was the 7th Ruler of the Pridelands. Son of Nahodha, brother to Kijani, and father to Mohatu as well as three other children. Kivuli was a strong, stern, and feared king. Though the firstborn, he was known to be even fiercer than that of his meek, flighty brother Kivuli, who’d led the Lion Guard during his reign, which made Pridelanders question of the Great Kings even knew what they were doing in making Kivuli King and Kijani Guard Leader. He met his end when there had been an outbreak of a rabies-like disease. In a fit of maddened distemper, he had killed all of his cubs except Mohatu before succumbing to a final seizure.

Mohatu (”was loved”) was the 8th Ruler of the Pridelands. Son of Kivuli. husband of Almasi, and father of Uru and Moyo. Plagued with loneliness all his life due to his father’s early passing, untimely demise of his siblings as a cub, and disease outbreak taking away half of his pride growing up, Mohatu was an excellent speaker and negotiator despite it all, even getting the Pridelanders of all kinds to work together to find a water source during one of the Pridelands’ worst droughts. Mohatu did not have a Lion Guard until his secondborn son, Moyo, came of age. Mohatu died from complications of pneumonia and old age. He is said to have become the Brightest Star in the Sky.

Uru (”diamond”) was the 9th Ruler of the Pridelands and was the Pridelands’ first Queen. She was the daughter of Mohatu, sister of Moyo, wife of Ahadi, and mother to Mufasa and Scar (formerly known as Askari II). She took her duties very seriously as she had a graceful, levelheaded demeanor that would silence any Pridelander. Shenzi’s Clan was first banished during her reign, after her husband Ahadi had caught them hunting the herds for sport. During that time, she was away looking for a water source for the Pridelanders, as her father once did. Uru had been the more serious and confident parent of her two boys, always getting them to stop bickering when Ahadi couldn’t. Uru was very intelligent, which meant it took a lot of manipulation from her youngest son to get his way. The spoiling of her youngest son combined with Ahadi’s passive parenting/discipline indirectly caused him to follow an entitled path that had steadily worsened over time. Uru died from the same illness that took her father.

Mufasa (”king”) was the 10th Ruler of the Pridelands. Son of Uru, brother of Scar, and father to Simba. Mufasa wasn’t always the big, brave lion he is known for nowadays, he once started off skittish and shy. When he grew older, he compensated for his former cowardice with a harsh temper and brute strength. As an older sibling of an entitled younger brother who would use his temperamental reputation as an advantage to get him in trouble, he’d often get the brunt of blame and responsibility and was unfairly admonished by his mother at times. This strained relationship between him and his mother/brother led him to be closer to his father Ahadi. Mufasa found balance within himself, toning his aggressive nature down after marrying Sarabi and having Simba. He was overthrown by being mercilessly killed in a stampede by Scar once his jealously and psychopathy was at its peak.

Askari II (”soldier”, “warrior”), mostly known as Scar, was the 11th Ruler of the Pridelands by coup d'état and being next in line after Mufasa and Simba. Son of Uru, brother of Mufasa, and uncle of Simba. Askari II grew up spoiled as he would get away with things due to his intellect and manipulation abilities. Prideful of his intelligence, Askari II wanted everything his older brother Mufasa had as he thought he would be better because he was smart, so much so that he thought leading the Guard wasn’t good enough. After being bitten over the eye by a cobra and earning the nickname “Scar” by Mufasa, his envy of Mufasa accelerated so greatly that he’d risked his position as Leader of the Guard trying to get his Guard to overthrow his brother, formed an alliance with the banished hyenas, and ultimately killed his brother in a stampede. Scar would then let the Pridelands into ruin when Shenzi’s Clan still practiced overhunting. Scar stewed in envy of Mufasa’s position of king so much and claiming that he would be better and smarter than him that he didn’t even bother trying to properly rule, as he’d always been a lousy leader and refused to let his predecessors teach him; he ignored pleas and suggestions from his subjects, started conspiracies with loyal followers of his, and succumbed to madness and paranoia brought on by a twinge of worsening guilt of killing Mufasa. Scar met his end when he was mauled alive by the hyenas after he threw them under the bus trying to save his own skin from Simba. Scar’s legacy is survived by an orphaned protégée who he’d left in the care of his most loyal follower and somewhat de facto queen, Zira.

Simba (”lion”) is the 12th and current Ruler of the Pridelands. Son of Mufasa, nephew of Scar, and father to Kiara and Kion. Growing up mischievous, impatient, and a tad bit spoiled as a cub, Simba’s carefree innocence was taken from him as he watched his father Mufasa fall to his death, had Scar tell him lies that would live with him for the rest of his life (Scar thought what he said wouldn’t matter because Simba would just die anyway), and was threatened with death from the hyenas all in one day, causing him to develop PTSD that would carry on for life, no matter how carefree his outcast friends Timon and Pumbaa taught him to be. Simba believed in Scar’s lies all the years he was exiled, believing Mufasa’s death was his fault and that everyone would be mad at him if they saw his face again, even if it was all an accident. Simba came home not only to learn that no one would’ve been mad at him as he’d only been a cub when Mufasa’s death happened, but he’d also learned that Scar had truly done it, and on purpose, and Simba, along with everyone else, had been furious with him instead. After defeating Scar, Simba was a nervous and cautious ruler, much different to the way he’d expected to rule as a cub. He would ironically go on to face many threats and disputes during his rule, and as numb as he seemed to it, it was not good for his mental health, and his selflessness due to his warped perception of self-worth would leave him to often run himself ragged. Kiara ("light") will be the 13th Ruler of the Pridelands in the future. Daughter of Simba and sister of Kion. A curious, adventurous, and rather spunky cub, Simba saw himself in his eldest cub Kiara, and did not want her to go through the same things he did growing up. He would not let her depart without an escort like his friends, Kion and his Guard, Nala, or himself. Because of this, Kiara felt sheltered and unconfident in her abilities. Kiara struggles with a bit of Impostor Syndrome as she feels her accomplishments and differing facades she uses for differing peers are disconnected from her true being, and fears she won't live up to everyone's expectations despite not wanting anything expected of her. Kiara's poor perception of her position as future queen is stemmed from her very opposite experience in royal lessons from her father's; Simba was once excited to be king when he saw how cool and easy Mufasa made it look, but Kiara witnessed a traumatized father who made being a monarch look like a lonely burden because of how much he saddened himself uttering words to her that his father once told him. Kiara went through phases growing up; Uncertain as a child, accepting and enthusiastic as a preteen, and back to uncertain as an adult, but with an added hunger for justice and peace. Kiara's awareness and observation of her parents' mental health and past allowed her to grow mentally strong and open-minded, aware that all individuals are complex and are not at all black-and-white. This openmindedness allowed Kiara, along with Kovu, to call for peace between the Pridelanders and Outsiders. Though she's open and sweet most of the time; she will not hesitate to fight back if someone actively harms her or her loved ones after refusing to accept the idea of peace. Her strong mind and empathy will likely make her a kind and just queen.

#The Lion King #TLK #Mohatu #Uru #Mufasa #Scar #Simba #Kiara #My Art

121 notes · View notes

nincompoopydoo · 3 years

Text

PAIRING, BAGELS, REPEAT

— US AGAINST THE WORLD ; PART 4 / ?

( credits to @animusrox for this gif )

PAIRING: Bruce Wayne x reader

WORD COUNT: 2247 hot diggy dog

SUMMARY: You have a heart-to-heart conversation with one of your students before the play and you're hit with the realization that your love for Bruce may be more than meets the eye. hence, you’re starting to wonder if it was a mistake you can never fix.

A/N: This one’s long and kinda depressing. I’m in an angsty mood now whoops. Nevertheless, thank you for reading this series, the bagels will make its appearance and enjoy this one folks.

WARNINGS: Anxiety, depressing thoughts.

MASTERLIST ; MASTERPOST

The night of the show arrived quicker than you anticipated. The flurry of theatre kids rushing about backstage is quite the sight, feeling the incredible sense of pride of a mother for her children. Yet in prayer, you ask Mrs. Wilson for the gift of strength and ability to manage a bunch of highly-strung teenagers. It’s only Shakespeare after all but you knew that wasn’t the genuine nature behind their stage jitters. With all tickets sold out within a week, it has easily become the biggest event of the year aside from homecoming. It may be a little pretentious for a high school production of an over-performed Shakspeare play to emerge as the highlight of the year, but you know it will help with some of the students’ portfolios for acting school.

The clock ticks—thirty minutes before showtime and panic starts to creep.

Your fingertips dance along the selvage of the extensive drapery of the stage as lighting queues are being run through for the last time. The urge of curiosity lets you crack open the curtain as you peeked at the rest of the theatre. The bustling crowd made up of mostly teenagers with seats rapidly being filled, it’s certainly a sight for sore eyes. Amongst the settling audience, you spot Bruce, seated between Mr. Walken, the principal, and Mr. Huckleberry, the vice-principal, likely being shamelessly asked for donations. He looks engaged, but his posture and the gaze of his eyes tell a very different story—Bruce is barely listening to a word they’re saying.

He then turns in the direction of your hiding spot and despite the distance, he catches your eye, immediately recognizing it’s you spying from behind the curtains. You watch the curve of his lips turn up into more of a smirk, swiftly sending a wink your way. You instantly disappear behind the curtains, cheeks burning.

You sometimes find it hard to believe you’re sleeping with the man with no strings attached because you’re incredibly attracted to him.

Someday, you’ll burst out into an exaggerated love confession, and you know it’s going to be ugly. It’s a reality check and right now, it’s the last thing you want. Running away from your problems is more of a habit than a choice as you would rather live in the world your mind has created, where miracles are made and defects cease to exist. Anyone would trade the cruelties of reality for a perfect one yet getting too caught up in a daydream will eventually evolve into toxicity. Bruce orbits the very core of your problems and daydreams. You want to run away from him and allow yourself to be engulfed by his presence at the same time.

You just need...to breathe. Hence, the second dressing room has a weird stench to it. It’s a mess but it’s empty. Yet, it seems you aren’t the only one in need of space, away from everyone else. Shaniqua is seated at the far corner of the room on a crooked metal chair, dressed in a somewhat modernized version of an Elizabethan era dress. Very elaborate and theatrical. Despite her introverted character, she was constantly bright-eyed and keen during your classes. She had a drive like no other. Hell, she miraculously memorized all her lines in two days.

You’ve never seen a furrow of the girl’s brows, until now, and it worries you. Even her glitter-covered eyes could not conceal the dismay they portray with prominence. Gingerly, you made your way to her as she stared at her fidgeting hands. It was only when you settled on the opposite dusty old chair when she finally noticed your presence.

“Stage fright, huh?” you casually asked, resting your arm on the dressing table. She mirrors your posture, heaving a deep sigh, and shakes her head. “No, it’s just,” A pause, her gaze finds yours. You nod, flashing her a smile. It’s a simple gesture that you’re here to listen. “It’s about Oscar...” You catch a hint of a smile as she trailed off and in an instant, your brow raises with curiosity. Oh? Another beat of silence, her eyes dart around the room. You sit quietly with patience because you knew she had more to say.

“It’s just that doing this play has got me thinking a lot about my feelings. I mean, if Romeo and Juliet could be lovers, despite their feuding families, then it must be easy enough for me to admit that I like Oscar.”

“You have a point.” You chuckle, eyes crinkling with amusement. Sometimes she thinks too much for her own good. She reminds you of Bruce. Shaniqua flashes you a faint smile, lips pressed with doubt. “But why am I finding it so hard to just tell him that?”

You stayed silent for a moment or two, mind deep in thought. The chair creaks as you shift in your seat. “Well, could it be that you aren’t sure if he likes you back?”

A hum in response, shrugging coyly as she mumbled a ‘maybe’. Although it was clear as day to you that Oscar liked her back, you wondered if her doubts emerged due to their differences in character. The familiarity of the situation is beginning to feel a lot like deja vu.

“How do you know that someone is the one?” Her sudden question catches you off guard because, in all honesty, you aren’t confident if you knew the answer. A straightforward question, commonly seen in the pages of teenage magazines, written for innocent eyes. You knew its true nature and it terrifies you. The image of Bruce charges through your thoughts like rushing water, memories of times when the two of you were younger clouding your mind. You forcefully push back your university days, buried back deep into your conscience.

“I don’t exactly know the answer to that but in my opinion, it’s—it’s the feeling of completeness when you love them and know they love you. They may be different from you, but it doesn’t make you love them any less. There’s no conflict or strife; it’s just the two of you against the world.”

Those words were raw and genuine, carefully crafted directly from the heart. You weren’t surprised by your words because you’ve thought about it a lot, especially on nights you slept on Bruce’s bed. Maybe, you do love him, and that's a huge ass problem. It’s amazing how unexpected situations tend to encourage apprehension on large issues you never knew existed in the first place. Perhaps it was your astonishing lack of discernment when it came to matters that could potentially alter your life.

Tonight, a sixteen-year-old girl did just that.

Amid your growing anxiety, you manage to catch sight of the wall clock, hung on the other side of the room. It’s now eight minutes until showtime. Your eyes are now wide as you sprung up from your seat in the sudden realization that everyone should be at their respective positions two minutes ago. “Oh God, we’re running late. Shaniqua, word of advice—don’t end up regretting something you didn’t do,” You shoot her a pointed look, index finger stretching towards her. “Now, you really need to go, or we’ll have to delay and you know Mr. Walken hates waiting.”

It’s a quarter to nine, and the theatre is empty. Outside, the foyer and the hallways are buzzing with the remaining audience, lingering and sharing inane conversations as others wait for a car to take them home. You had only just finished rearranging the costumes in the wardrobe of the dressing room. You tried to sweep the scatter of glitter all over the floor but it deemed a task as impossible; you’ll deal with it next week.

You’re sitting in the seat at the front row, nearest to the aisle with a large box filled with props on your lap. Alone in transcendental silence, feeling as empty as the theatre itself. It was partly the conversation you had with Shaniqua that hit you with the reminder of all the mistakes you made that have led you to this unchanging world of a blur that takes the blame for the wretched feeling in your chest. Yet, as the show progressed, hearing the words of affection from two lovers had sent your mind reeling. You were desperate to head home, crawl into bed and potentially cry yourself to sleep but the growing anxiety forbids it, you don’t even think you could drive home.

So, you stillness of the theatre reminds you of Edward Hopper’s painting, Solitary Figure in a Theater. With eyes shut, you pretend you are the figure in the painting, sheathed in black, sitting alone in the cavernous dark.

You hear the door of the theatre squeak, swinging open followed by the shuffling of feet. You don’t look at first, too tired anyway. You’d assume someone had either forgotten something or it was the janitor that you’re sure is going to be upset over the glitter massacre in the dressing room. It looked like a crime scene, except it was the murder of a literal unicorn. You made a mental note to send an apology sandwich of some sorts next week.

It was the familiarity in the whiff of cologne that made you snap your eyes wide open, looking over your shoulder to meet with the sight of Bruce, ambling down the aisle towards you. He smiles, and you mirror him, shifting in your seat and nearly toppling the box to the ground. “What are you still doing here?” He smiles, and you mirror him, shifting in your seat and nearly toppling the box to the ground. “I could ask you the same question.” He settles in the seat next to you, elbow brushing against yours. Your head tilts, gesturing to the box. Bruce merely hums and nods thoughtfully.

“So, how was the play? Does it get a Wayne seal of approval?” There’s a hint of teasing in the curve of your lips as his eyes drift to the stage. “I liked it. The kids have talent.” Your eyes glint with amusement, your smile growing wider. “I never knew you were a fan of romance.” His laugh comes out more like a huff of air, crinkled eyes meeting yours, and nudges you lightly. “Well, now you know.”

He recognizes the way your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes and the way you’re fussing with the edges of the box on your lap. Something is bothering you and he knows it. He nudges you once more. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You blink once. Then twice, face wincing instinctively. You keep forgetting how well Bruce can read people, especially you. You exhale slowly as he watches you struggle to pick the right words.

“It’s really nothing. It’s just-” you say after a long minute, cutting yourself short. Then, you turn to Bruce. “I’m growing older, and I’ve spent my entire life in a fog with so much fear for reality, I’m afraid it’s too late to fix all my mistakes and regrets.” Your voice dwindles with every word that escaped your lips. You were young, naïve with the notion that time was extensive to make decisions without thinking it through. To know that you could never take back the things you did. Saturn’s rising, it’s a wake-up call now that you’re older and the fear that you would never change creeps onto you with every passing birthday.

Bruce defines the epitome of the sinking feeling in your chest whenever you lay in bed at night and let your mind reel about your existence. Yet, it isn’t as simple as you want it to be. The boy you met at university has grown into a far more complex and entangled mess of the grief of his parents, the responsibility he held over this city and the drive to just...keep moving on. For the longest time, it was him against the world, and a part of you wants to believe that it doesn’t have to be that way. That maybe, you could be enough for him.

He glanced away from you, trying to hide the despondency in his eyes. He holds back a sigh as he speaks, “Do you regret us doing this?” As vague as his question is, you know what he exactly means. He remembers the time the two of you used to exchange senseless conversations and laughter so vividly that it scares him. Juvenile friends, lacking the knowledge to know what love really was. Hence, the agreement—it was just two friends, messing around. Nothing could go wrong. Now, the hole has been dug in too deep, with no way of getting out.

“I don’t,” you reply and with just two simple words, his chest feels like fire. It was the way you had said it, with so much confidence and assurance, despite the intricacy of this relationship. For the first time in a long time, you were extremely sure about an answer. You could never regret Bruce. Never.

It’s almost hesitant in the way his hand finds yours, but it represents his care for you, even if you may not know it. The warmth of his hand feels like fire. Hell, your chest feels like it’s on fire, heart burning for the man beside you. “I’ll drive you home,” he whispers with a squeeze of your hand. You flash him a grateful smile as the two of you drift into a comfortable silence. Silence so eloquent that you don’t feel so empty anymore. No longer a solitary figure trapped in a painting but now two, hand in hand, against the world.

TAGLIST

@raineeace

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne #batman #batman x reader #justice league #batman imagine #bruce wayne imagine #pining bagels repeat

81 notes · View notes

mihrsuri · 2 years

Note

BTS on Such A Time As This?

For those who might not know (though I’ve talked about this fic so much I assume all my mutuals most definitely know etc) Such A Time As This is my Anne Boleyn as a Mizrahi Jewish Woman Esther Retelling story. And okay, I love all of it - though I think Chapter 1 is my favourite but I thought I’d just talk about it in general a bit.

I think the original idea came because I read that Anne had a sermon on Esther preached not long before her arrest and I was thinking about it because there are parallels and also about the anti-semitism in Everything and I wanted to…reclaim it as a Jewish Story (I was actually searching for Jewish Esther/Persian Jewish Esther content as part of my personal heritage and faith reclaiming project and kept coming across Nothing But Christian Content which may also have been a part of this)

A friend actually gave me a link about a small secret but also not secret Jewish community in Elizabethan London and I just kind of moved it backwards - also I found this out somewhat later but in Persia around that time there was a ruler who was not especially kind to the Jewish community there so it actually made sense there would have been somewhat of an exodus (my actual headcanon was that Thomas Boleyn’s parents parents had contacts in England and found a safe haven because of the small community that lived in secret because it was safer there even though ‘to be Jewish is to be safe nowhere’ (which is a Thing That I Was Feeling).

I also knew from the start that Anne was going to win - because that’s the Esther Story. But I also knew it was going to be a complex thing - she very much and very reasonably sees Henry as a representative of persecution, of the forces that want her and her people dead (and I wouldn’t say she doesn’t have feelings for him it’s just…that’s a big thing).

If I rewrote this story I’d make Thomas More Haman but Haman was basically decided by a ‘who has the worst hat’ contest and Wolsey lost (actually the worst hat was Henry’s and then the Emperors but Wolsey was third). Tom Cromwell showed up Jewish but also if I wrote the OT3 version of this I might use a @alice-perrers prompt and have Anne and Thomas as a newly married young couple who catch Henry’s eye.

I very very much had the image of KOA as Vashti from the start - I also knew that I wanted to have Anne have understandable fears about her - in this case because well, the inquisition and the expulsion are very very real.

This whole fic is deeply deeply an id fic. It’s also where I learned that there is Persian Jewish Henna.

#lil and her ridiculous aus #au: jewish anne boleyn #ot3: political power trio #fic

6 notes · View notes

chuckaf · 3 years

Photo

Chuck Fic Rec List: Updated

So my fic rec post was in my notifs again the other day, and I noticed a while back that the formatting on the post has gotten all messed up and it’s also had like three reblog additions to it anyway meaning there are three versions out there lol. so, I wanted to do another list of chuck fic recs! I’ll keep the other one up still, so I’m not gonna repeat every fic here, just some I really recommend. I’m also adding the fic summaries, which I didn’t on the old post, and some more of my own opinions so, buckle up for a long post!

Chuck Versus the Steampunk Chronicles | Steampunk.Chuckster

1896. A world powered by steam, where humans and machines coexist, and airships are the fashionable mode of transport. The US Empire's deepest and darkest secrets arrive at Chuck Bartowski's doorstep. Have they fallen into the wrong hands? Or will the inventor prove his mettle, even while he's forced to hide from the very people he's protecting? AU, ongoing chronicle, Charah.

A genuinely incredible AU story, with an entire crafted world and universe, so detailed it frequently blows my mind. There is heart and family and infuriatingly brilliant slow-burn, plus a buttload of danger and super fun historical/steampunk action. Oh how I LOVE it.

Chuck vs the Charade | somedeepmystery

When computer nerd Chuck Bartowski returns home to an empty apartment and a dead girlfriend he finds himself embroiled in a deadly game of espionage and deceit. Everyone around him is playing a part to get what they want and when he starts falling for the new woman in his life, he can't help but wonder if he can trust her or if she's the one he should fear the most.

An action and twist-filled AU based on the movie Charade, which is just such a brilliant fic concept I absolutely adored it from the start.

Two Sides of the Same Coin | dettiot

When you're a spy, there's all kinds of occupational hazards when you work with another spy. For Sarah Walker, though, one mission becomes a life-changing experience. Because working with Charles Carmichael leads to protecting Chuck Bartowski.

The first time I read this fic my mind was just blown to its genius. Such a brilliant interpretation of what the Intersect and its concepts set up in the show could be, and ooooof the Chuck/Sarah interactions, my HEART. Related to it, its companion piece:

A Flip of the Coin | dettiot

What made Charles Carmichael agree to become Chuck Bartowski? Well, to start, it wasn't as much of a change as you'd think. A companion to the early chapters of Two Sides of the Same Coin from Carmichael's perspective.

Chuck vs The Butterfly Effect | n7agentbartowski

Chuck Bartowski is a normal guy who just hit rock bottom. No girlfriend, no career and no super computer stuck inside his head. It isn't until Chuck meets a gorgeous stranger on the beach that he begins to think his life is about to change for the better. An AU Chuck fic without the Intersect. "Change one thing and it changes everything."

I said it on the OG post, but this story has one of my top 5 Chuck/Sarah fic meetings. So funny, so... very Chuck. The story is a little angsty overall, but a great read.

Chuck vs the Rogue Spy | Crumby

When a rogue spy from Chuck Bartowski's past shows up to help him during his first solo mission, Chuck hopes that he'll finally find out what happened to Sarah Walker. Post-S2 AU.

There’s a lot of Season 3 fix-it fics out there, which I don’t usually read bc I actually love season 3 lol, but this one’s a good one! A twisty deviation from canon, but still feels really true to character.

Chuck Versus the Nerds Rewrite | Steampunk.Chuckster and David Carner

What happens when two nerds talk endless hours about their favorite TV show? A new take on the show you know, but with the flair, twists, and turns you've come to expect from Steampunk . Chuckster and david . carner. Somewhat canon. Charah.

As the summary says, a different take on the show, which honestly makes a couple changes I would too, but also adds a bunch of fun twists and plots that make it totally new and fresh. Seeing Chuck and Sarah’s thoughts in the more canon sections is just delicious, too.

The Trapped Assassin | SarahsSupplyCloset

After a mission goes awry, the CIA's most lethal assassin is ordered to take vacation while her superiors figure out what to do with her. But when she meets a disarming tourist, their immediate connection only adds to her disillusionment with the agency and her career. Will he be enough for her to finally take the plunge and leave the only life she's ever known? Charah AU

A warning for the very justified M rating if you don’t like that sort of thing, but this is definitely a plot-heavy fic, too. A really neat Sarah-heavy AU, with a whole lotta Chuck/Sarah fancy French vacationy goodness.

Chuck vs the Second Chance | malamoo

AU from mid-season 2 and onwards. Chuck and Sarah part ways only to be reunited years later. COMPLETE.

Literal, crying-at-my-screen angst. Not even a super happy ending. But a brilliantly written, part-reflective/flashback fic, exploring what would’ve happened if Chuck and Sarah’s relationship really was an assignment all along-- and the aftermath. It’s heartbreaking. But if you want a little heartbreak, this is your fic.

Ready at Your Hand | dettiot

In the reign of Queen Elizabeth I, a Catholic plot against the queen comes to the attention of spymaster Sir Francis Walsingham. To protect Elizabeth, he develops an unusual plan: hide the passing of intelligence between two agents by a false romance. When Lady Sarah Walker and Chuck Carmichael meet, though, their pretend flirtation becomes much more.

I love Chuck fic for the very reason that it’s inspired such adventurous and totally unique AUs. Here’s some Elizabethan fake-dating Chuck and Sarah! They have to be so Proper, it’s like that hand moment from Pride and Prejudice but Elizabethan and times a billion. The pining!!

Sarah Versus Getting Married | Steampunk.Chuckster

Sarah Walker is getting married. Canon. Charah.

I’d recommend all of SC’s fics if I had the room, and I’m already recommending a ton sksks but most of my fic recs are AUs, and this one isn’t! It’s canon, and covers some of in the gap in 4x24, with Sarah just before the wedding itself. Super sweet, heart-tugging, brilliant.

A Chuckmas Carol | Mikki13

A new twist to Dickens' beloved "A Christmas Carol". When Sarah begins to shut out the world around her, three spirits come to show her the error of her ways. Season 3 AU.

Another Season 3 AU, this one written pre-series so it definitely doesn’t fit to canon, but it’s still wonderfully rich in character depth and angst and it also made me cry. Plus, festive!

Chuck Versus Thin Ice | Steampunk.Chuckster

On the doorstep of the Olympics, top American curler Sarah Walker has lost her mixed doubles partner and her boyfriend in one fell swoop. Her coaches throw newbie Team U.S.A. curler Chuck Bartowski onto her team and thrust them into the Olympics, hanging America's curling hopes on two people who only have a short amount of time to learn to trust one another. Charah AU.

Do you like curling? Or the Winter Olympics? It doesn’t really matter because somehow this fic made me extremely invested in both of those things, as well as Chuck and Sarah and them being INSUFFERABLE. Catch me now knowing a ton about curling thanks to this fic.

Walker’s Eleven | Moonlight Pilot

Not the same plot as the movie. Sarah Walker never got out of the con game or became a spy, and now she's on her final con. What happens when true love and betrayal get added to the mix? Twists, turns, and Jeffster!

Con!Sarah always interests me, and this fic is full of her. Lotta con plot, lotta Chuck and Sarah.

The Detective and the Tech Guy | thecharleses

Sarah Walker is a Pinkerton detective. Chuck Bartowski is an electronics genius. They wouldn't have met except for a case of mistaken identity and murder. Will the detective and the tech guy solve the mystery, distracted by the riddle in their own hearts? An homage to The Thin Man film series. Formerly co-written by Steampunk . Chuckster and dettiot, now ONLY Steampunk . Chuckster.

Everyone in this fic is so damn cool. There are so many martinis. But also great heart and family and like, standing up for who you love, and later also Chuck with Baby Clara content which frankly the show robbed us of. Also, PI!Sarah!!!

Gravity | Poetic4U

AU. Sarah makes a decision that altered her life forever.

This is just a one-shot, which many of these stories are not, so a good one if you don’t fancy a big read! Just because it’s short, though, doesn’t mean it’s lacking; a really awesome what-if AU, and heavy on the Chuck and Sarah.

A Yuletie Tale | Steampunk.Chuckster

Sarah Walker was dumped the day before Christmas Eve, and her Plus One at her work’s annual Christmas Eve Soiree is now officially a Plus Zero. Her best friend Ellie Bartowski has a solution to her problem, and Sarah finds she isn’t quite as sure about it as Ellie is. AU Christmas Charah.

I’m particularly in love with this fic because, instead of beginning with a meet-cute, it involves Chuck and Sarah already two years into a friendship-- Sarah is Ellie’s best friend. And she’s been crushing harrrd on Ellie’s brother. Also Chuck is in a tux. It’s pretty.

Set, Spike, Dive! | Frea O’Scanlin

Chuck never expected to even make it to the Olympics. Everything is working against him: he's too tall for a diver, too inexperienced for a medal, too much of a wildcard to really make his mark. But an unexpected meeting at the airport, some intriguing new friends, and a whirlwind romance on the sand just might set up London 2012 as the time of Chuck Bartowski's life.

A London 2012 AU, because why not. This is just a fun Olympic-y ride!

OTP (One True Pairing) Prompts | David Carner

A series of Prompts I found online about different times and places in Chuck and Sarah's life. Mostly AU, mostly one-shots. I assume mostly fluff, but I might get deep. I doubt it, it's me. Charah...ALWAYS (It says complete, but if an idea strikes me...)

If you’re not so into long stories, this fic is perfect. Individual set-ups and stories, all Chuck and Sarah, and all super cute. You could dip in and out and just pick a scenario you enjoy.

Chuck vs The Frontier | ninjaVanish

AU: Chuck was enjoying a simple life as a 19th century watchmaker until an encounter with a beautiful Secret Service agent thrust him into a world of intrigue and adventure he never wanted. But then, with Agent Walker around, it can't be all bad, can it?

This fic gets props for being historically-set but still including the Intersect. Again, a historical AU, so the pining!! the need to be Proper!!! But besides all that, there’s a lot of action fun as well.

Chuck Versus The Crosswalk: Remastered | WvonB

Will a last minute mission help our two favorite characters finally get together? This is the remastered version of my first story.

The original version of this fic is on my first list; this is the updated version! It’s not a complete AU, instead a story that diverges from canon, so if you’re more into canon characters and setting than a new AU scenario, this is a great fic for that.

Little Girls, Paper Wreaths, and Choc Chip Cookies | DanaPAH

Very AU: Sarah Walker is a single mother whose Christmas spirit needs a boost after a tough divorce. She isn't quite ready to go looking for romance, but her little daughter's affection for their new neighbor may lure it right to her doorstep, anyway.

An incredibly sweet AU one-shot where Chuck and Sarah are new neighbours, and Sarah has a super cute little girl. So much sweetness and love and hope. I love this fic so much it literally led me to write my own neighbour-kid-AU, so, not to toot my own horn but I’ll link it here anyway.

May Your Walls Know Joy | halfachance

Looking for a fresh start after some tough times, Sarah and her three-year-old daughter move to LA. When they meet a sweet curly-haired nerd who lives next door, though, Sarah realizes they might just find more happiness than they'd ever imagined, if only her past doesn't catch up to her first. AU.

It’s what the summary says; if you wanna read, feel free!

Chuck vs the Sound of Music | quistie64

AU. Chuck, nerd extraordinaire, is a man with seven children and Sarah must protect them all from Fulcrum's evil designs. Warning: there will be singing.

I mean. Not much mystery as to the concept with that title and summary lol, but this is a super fun, soft ride with a lotta sweetness, and yes, singing.

Just Two People | David Carner

Meet Sarah Walker PhD, Psychologist, specializing in personality traits. Meet Chuck Bartowski, man who has left THE electronic company of 2020. When Burton Consultants tries to figure out what is wrong with the morale of Orion Industries, what happens when a guy named Chuck meets a woman named Sarah. I'll give you a hint, it's me writing.

David’s done something pretty special with this fic. It’s Chuck and Sarah centric, but very much an ensemble piece, too, with a lot of Team Bartowski and other familiar faces throughout.

Chuck Versus the Con Game | Steampunk.Chuckster

AU. Chuck and Sarah are partners in the con game. It's an existence wrought with danger and violence. Every day could be their last. Every mission could be the end of the line.

This is where I freak out SC and declare this fic the reason I ever got hooked on Chuck fic and then wrote Chuck fic, and the reason I still love it today but. that is true lol. Just so. so good. It’s also written with the chapters out of chronological order, which is super fun from a reading perspective. But con!Sarah AND con!Chuck?? Best. The kind of fic you will be thinking about for days (if not, y’know, years).

As you can tell by the repeats, I highly recommend just about anything by Steampunk.Chuckster, dettiot, or David Carner, but there are a TON of amazing Chuck fics and authors out there. I’ve never known a writing community so wildly creative-- there are so many unique AUs and canon explorations and story concepts that this show has manifested, and it’s all so much fun.

Most of the Chuck fic community is still over on FFN rather than AO3, so if any of these whet your appetite, feel free to have a browse there for more stories. I’m sure you’ll find something great. Personally, all the incredible writing there has also led me to write a buttload; I’m at halfachance on FFN, so if you see any of my stuff or wanna chat fic, feel free to message me there or here.

Happy reading, folks!

#chuck #fic rec #chuck fic #nbcchuck #praying if i edit this to add to it or i reblog it to add to it all the links stay and the line breaks don't disappear sksks #the old one still looks okay on desktop but it's messed up on the app and on mobile and it's just all generally messy #so i've been wanting to make this for aaages lol yay to finally doing something! woo!

104 notes · View notes

dwellordream · 3 years

Text

one thing I think is seldom discussed about Romeo and Juliet is that Juliet, for all that she is often characterized as a naive and innocent young girl (and to be fair she is 13, nearly 14 when she is introduced to the audience, Shakespeare very specifically highlights her age knowing it would shock Elizabethans)... she does have a very dry and witty sense of humor and can be quite blunt.

right from her first scene, when her impatient mother asks, “Speak briefly, can you like of Paris’ love?”, Juliet replies immediately “I’ll look to like, if looking liking move;” ie. “I’ll try to like what I see, if looking at him is supposed to make me like him.”

She couches it with reassuring her mother she won’t look too closely so as not to disobey her parents by being overly forward with Paris, but this is still a pretty smart retort!

And this comes right after her beloved nurse recounts how her husband once told a weeping toddler Juliet who had fallen and cut her face that one day she would be so smart her knowledge would make her fall back instead of forward, to which little Juliet stopped crying and said, “Aye!” to the amusement of the adults.

Then at her and Romeo’s first meeting and dance, when Romeo earnestly compliments her hand as he takes it to dance with her (“If I profane with my unworthiest hand/This holy shrine...”), Juliet seems to bemusedly reply, “Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much...” and goes on to tell him that pilgrims touch the hands of saints (statues) all the time, and that it’s their version of kissing.

So not only is she playing along, after he compared her to a shrine, she is also flirting pretty wittily with him. When he catches on and replies that saints and pilgrims also have lips they can kiss with, instead of just hands, she jokes, “Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.”

And when she discovers Romeo spying on her as she debates aloud what’s in a name, Juliet reacts not with shock or fear but with indignation, demanding, “What man art thou that, thus bescreened in night,/So stumblest on my counsel?” ie ‘what kind of man hides in the dark to spy on me?’

Then later in that same scene, as she confesses her love for Romeo, she warns him against leading her on by claiming he loves her when he does not, telling him Jove punishes oathbreakers, and then jokes a little again that if he thinks she’s ‘too quickly won’ she will pretend to not like him so he can woo her.

She even ends her speech by insisting he not dismiss her as flighty or shallow for knowing she loves him so quickly, and tells Romeo she’s a direct person who is more loyal than someone coy or mysterious about their feelings.

#romeo and juliet #shakespeare #word to the wise #juliet capulet

45 notes · View notes

beardofkamenev · 3 years

Photo

MEDIEVAL DOGDOM (3/?) — The Mischievous Medieval Spaniel

Hunting and hawking were by far the most popular sports of the medieval leisured classes, and hawking in particular attracted many a sportsman, being both cheaper and less strenuous than hunting. For this purpose, the spaniel — so called because they came from Spain — was a must-have for the discerning medieval fowler. But the distressingly sheeplike build of these early spaniels would befuddle most modern breed fanciers.

The medieval spaniel was wavy-coated, fairly large, usually more leggy than most of their descendants, and with shorter leg ‘feathers’. Their heads would look strange to modern eyes, having rather pointed noses inclined upwards. Like modern spaniels, though, the tails of the medieval spaniel were not generally cut; if anything, it was held that the hair on the tail should be longer than on the body. Spaniels could be white, or tawny, or speckled (whatever the owner’s preference), but they invariably functioned competently enough as retrievers for land birds and for waterfowl, as hawking ‘on the river’ was a favourite amusement. These intelligent companions even assisted their masters with setting nets to catch partridges and quails. The Elizabethan writer, Edward Topsell, also described “water spagnels” being used to hunt otters, and depicts a dog clipped like a poodle so that it might “be the less annoyed in swimming.”

The great 14th-century sportsman and author of the finest medieval hunting book, Gaston de Foix, described spaniels as faithful and affectionate, fond of going “before their maistre and playeng with their taile.” But he must have suffered from some particularly exuberant member of the breed, for he also complained that when taking his dogs for a walk, his spaniels chased all manner of geese, cattle, and horses, causing the greyhounds, through “his eggyng” to attack too! Thus, Gaston’s mischievous spaniels were responsible for “al the ryot and al the harm” on these otherwise pleasant walks. He further complained that spaniels were fighters and often put the other hounds off the line during the hunt —a manifestly unfair criticism as spaniels were never bred for hunting. But Gaston was a fanatical Nimrod and devoted to his running hounds. The long-imprisoned Charles d’Orléans, on the other hand, preferred to write poems to his favourite spaniel, ‘Briquet of the drooping ears’ (Briquet aux pendantes oreilles), dedicating one charming poem to Briquet’s field prowess and enthusiasm. As the years passed, another one began: “Let Baude range the bushes [as] old Briquet takes his rest ... an old fellow can do but little,” sounding the sadder note of the true dog-lover’s affection for his ageing companion. Despite his spaniel woes, even Gaston de Foix could not help but say:

“I speak to my hounds as I would to a man… and they understand me and do as I wish better than any man of my household, but I do not think that any other man can make them do as I do.”

Weird as the medieval spaniel may look by Kennel Club standards, their owners recognised and surrendered to their essential dogginess, endearingly the same, whether in snub-nosed Briquet or this year’s ‘Best-in-Show’.

Source: Beatrice Johnson, ‘The World of Medieval Dogdom’ (2019)

#medieval furbabies!#medieval #pets

67 notes · View notes

chocolatequeennk · 3 years

Text

Forever Timeless, 1/23

Summary: Two months after the Dalek Crucible, the Doctor and Rose are getting used to having the biggest family on Earth. As they visit Leadworth in 1996, Victorian England, a mysterious desert planet, and Elizabethan England, those family and friends often help in unexpected ways. But no matter where they go or who they're with, it's always the Doctor in the TARDIS with RoseTyler--just as it should be.

Ten x Rose, Donna x Lee

Betaed by @saecookie, @rudennotgingr, @pellaaearien, and @jabber-who-key

Part 7 of Being to Timelessness

AO3 | FF.NET | TSP

Chapter One: Family Time

Rose leaned back into the drop cloth-covered couch and looked around the room. Her mum and Pete had purchased a house in Cardiff, and she and the Doctor had spent all day painting and cleaning. After two months spent monitoring the lingering effects of the Reality Bomb, the domesticity was jarring.

A sharp pain hit Rose between her shoulder blades, and she grimaced and rolled her shoulders. Every muscle in her body ached. She was in good shape, but she didn’t usually spend hours holding a paint roller over her head.

A moment later, familiar hands settled on her shoulders and started massaging the tension away. Rose sighed and leaned forward so the Doctor could get that spot in the middle of her back.

She enjoyed the massage for a few minutes, then reached for his hand and tugged, asking him silently to sit down with her. He collapsed beside her, looking every bit as tired as she felt. He had a smudge of dirt on his cheek and his hair stuck straight up.

“What have you and Pete been up to?”

“Putting together the furniture for Tony’s room.” The Doctor rubbed a hand over his face, smudging the dirt even more. “I need to create a setting on the sonic for Allen keys. Those belong on a list of forbidden torture devices.”

Jackie’s snort interrupted Rose’s teasing response. “And here I thought you were some kind of superior alien,” she said as she entered the room, carrying two tall glasses of water. “How the mighty have fallen—defeated by an Ikea flat pack.”

Rose listened to the Doctor’s internal debate, weighing the merits of defending himself against the likelihood that Jackie would dump the glass of water over his head. In the end, he only rolled his eyes and said, “Thankfully, the fate of the universe has never rested on my ability to put together furniture named after obscure Scandinavian locales.”

Jackie handed them the water and sat down on a folding chair. “Speaking of strange places, we haven’t seen Jenny and Donna lately. Where are they at now?”

Rose blinked. “You’ve seen them?”

Her mum raised an eyebrow. “You would have seen them too if you hadn’t been off to Neptune doing whatever,” she retorted. “They stopped by a few weeks ago before catching a plane to New York.”

Rose sipped at her water to cover up the urge to sigh. The trip to Paris had whetted Jenny’s interest in seeing more of the Earth. By airplane, she’d insisted, because that was how humans did it.

Donna had been happy to travel the world with her. Rose suspected the trip was a way for her to keep her mind off the fact that they still hadn’t found Lee. Four months had passed since the Library, and the TARDIS still hadn’t picked up even a trace of him.

Rose abruptly realised her mum was staring at her expectantly. It only took her a second to remember what they’d been talking about.

“They’re in Sydney,” she said. “They’ll be back for your big housewarming party, but they really wanted to see Australia before coming home.”

“Hah!” Jackie wagged her finger at Rose. “Now you know what it’s like, having your only child go off travelling by herself.”

Rose pursed her lips. “It’s not that,” she argued. “Well, not only that,” she amended. “It’s fun having other people on the TARDIS with us. I miss it.”

“What do you miss?” Pete asked. He pulled a second folding chair over and sat down beside Jackie.

“Having friends travel with us.”

“Apparently I’m not enough company,” the Doctor added, earning a poke in the side from Rose and a snort from Jackie.

“More like you’re a bit too much,” Jackie countered. “Can’t imagine being married to an alien.”

“No, you just married a man from a parallel universe,” Pete interjected.

Jackie rolled her eyes, then looked at Rose. Rose groaned at the look in her eye. Interrogation time, she warned the Doctor.

“Speaking of marrying an alien…” Jackie raised an eyebrow and looked at Rose, then at the Doctor, and back again. “You mentioned something about weird alien rituals.”

Rose opened her mouth, but before she could start explaining the bond, her mother started rambling.

“I’ve been thinking, maybe you had to wear funny hats? Or defeat someone in armed combat?” She pointed at the Doctor. “Maybe Rose had to go back in time to ask your family for your hand in marriage.”

“Nothing like that, Mum,” Rose said quickly before Jackie could continue on that train of thought and bring back painful memories of Gallifrey.

“Well, what was it then?” She narrowed her eyes. “You better not have been naked for this wedding.”

“No! We were fully clothed.” The Doctor felt his neck heat up.

Help!

Rose took his hand and he let out a slow breath. “Leave ‘im be, Mum,” she scolded. “It was mostly just like a wedding. I wore a beautiful dress and we exchanged vows and rings and everything.”

“Well that doesn’t sound too weird.”

“Yeah…” Rose squeezed his hand and he squeezed back, agreeing with her sudden decision. “I was mostly teasing when I said that.”

Jackie crossed her arms over her chest. “So your wedding was completely normal?” she asked, dubious.

Rose bit her lip. “Well, we were alone in the TARDIS,” she said slowly. “And we did a handfasting because that’s part of the Doctor’s tradition.”

“Hmmm…” Jackie raised an eyebrow.

Rose knew she didn’t believe her, but explaining the bond was a far longer conversation than she wanted to have right now. Some day she’d try, but not today.

“It was perfect,” she said, wanting to move away from the alienness of their wedding.

As she thought about that day, something occurred to her. “And our wedding anniversary is only two weeks away,” she added.

The Doctor blinked, and she was glad she wasn’t the only one who’d lost track of time. “We’ll have to go someplace to celebrate.”

“Mind if I plan this trip?”

He smiled and brushed his thumb over her wrist. “I’d love it.”

“Rose?”

The childish voice drew everyone’s attention, and they all looked over at Tony, standing in the doorway.

“Yes, Tony?”

He shuffled forward, a book in his hand. “Will you and the Doctor read to me?”

The Doctor scooted over and patted the cushion in between himself and Rose. “You bet!”

The little boy grinned, then darted across the room and jumped up onto the couch. Rose grabbed the book from him before he could stab himself in the eye with it or something.

“Under the Deep Blue Sea.”

As Rose turned to the first page, she suddenly knew exactly where she wanted to take the Doctor for their anniversary.

oOoOo

The Doctor followed Rose as she pushed her way to the front of the crowd waiting at Heathrow. “The board says their flight landed half an hour ago,” she told him. “They should be almost through customs by now.”

When the first passengers started trickling in a few minutes later, the Doctor gave Rose one end of the sign they’d made. Around them, other people likewise held up their signs—Limousine for Mr. Arbuckle, etc.

The trickle turned into a solid wave of people. “Can you see them, Doctor?” Rose asked as she strained to look through the crowd.

“No… Wait! Yes! Hold the sign up, Rose.”

They waved it madly, and a moment later they were rewarded by familiar laughter. Rose leaned sideways and saw Jenny and Donna walking towards them, wheelie bags in tow.

“TARDIS for Miss Noble and Miss Tyler?” Donna rolled her eyes.

The Doctor turned the sign around and studied it. “Well, we wouldn’t want anyone else to think they could get a free ride.”

“We told you we’d take the train to Cardiff, though,” Jenny said.

Donna nudged her gently with her elbow. “You owe me ten quid, Jenny. I told you they wouldn’t be able to resist surprising us.”

The Doctor’s mouth fell open, and when he looked over at Rose he was thankful to see that at least she was as surprised as he was.

Jenny hitched her backpack up on her shoulders. “I still say giving them the flight information was cheating.”

“I didn’t realise we were so predictable,” the Doctor muttered.

Donna smirked and turned her suitcase so he could take the handle. “We just know you too well.”

Rose shook her head and grabbed Jenny’s suitcase. “Come on, we should get out of the way. The TARDIS is just a short bus ride away.”

Thirty minutes later, the Doctor unlocked the door and held it open while Rose, Donna, and Jenny walked inside. He heard Donna and Jenny sigh in unison, and raised his eyebrows at them.

“Glad you don’t have to take a train after travelling for over twenty-four hours?” he guessed.

“Definitely,” Donna said fervently.

“And glad we can hop into the Vortex and get some sleep without Gran knowing we didn’t go straight to Cardiff,” Jenny added.

The Doctor and Rose exchanged a glance, then Rose gave Donna and Jenny a sly smile. “About that… Are you set on going to Cardiff?”

Donna crossed her arms over her chest. “The housewarming party is next week. I’ve only met your mum a few times, but I have a pretty good idea of what will happen if you miss it.”

The Doctor grimaced and rubbed at his cheek, making everyone laugh.

Rose chuckled and shook her head. “Yeah, you’re right about that. But our anniversary is the day after tomorrow, so we’re going on a short holiday before the big shindig. We can drop you in Cardiff for the week, or—”

“Or,” Donna said before Rose could continue.

Jenny nodded eagerly. “You mean you’ll drop us off on another planet, yeah?”

“If you want,” Rose said.

Jenny and Donna exchanged a look, then broke out in matching grins. “Yes!”

Rose hugged Donna and kissed Jenny on the cheek, then gently pushed them both towards the corridor. “Go lie down. We’ll drop you off in the morning after you’ve slept off some of the jet lag.” She leaned against a strut and watched them go, while the Doctor sent them into the Vortex just like Jenny had asked.

He slid the dematerialisation lever into place, and the time rotor quietly chugged up and down. The transition into the Vortex was so smooth that Rose hardly felt it.

A soft mental tug caught her attention, and she looked over at the Doctor. He’d sat down on the jump seat, and now he patted the seat beside him.

Rose pushed off from the strut and walked around the console, hopping up to sit beside the Doctor like she’d done a thousand times. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and she leaned into him.

“What are you thinking?”

“This life,” she said, talking slowly so she could put the words together as they came to her. “It’s… so much more than I thought it would be.”

She paused, and the Doctor left the silence empty so she could think.

“I thought I’d lost this at Canary Wharf,” she said finally.

“Lost what?”

“Just… human things,” she said, testing the words as she went. “Helping family move. Meeting them at the airport.”

She tilted her head back so she could look at the Doctor. “I love our life, traveling through time and space. And if I could never have anything else, this is what I’d choose. Every time.”

“But we get to have more,” he supplied, understanding what she was trying to get at. “Our life in the TARDIS, and a family on Earth.”

“Yeah. Time and space… and family.”

#ficandchips #ten x rose #dwfic #fic by Nancy #doctorroseprompts #series: being to timelessness #cq's fic: forever timeless #i'm back!!#finally!!#i hope you like this chapter #also you will get a second chapter this week #on thursday #and then we'll settle into a chapter a week #tenth doctor #rose tyler #jenny tyler #donna noble #lee mcavoy #donna x lee

35 notes · View notes