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willsimpforanyone · 3 years

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Hey there! Hope you are having a great day!🙂 could u please write a Percabeth fic with badgirl!Annabeth and kind of Nerdy!Percy? Perhaps in 🛏 Percy flips the tables where he is SUPER dominant and he uses Annabeth’s kinks against her? Sorry if that’s 2 specific!

ooo an au and a smut? i'll do my best!

sidenote- i'm such a sucker for pet names so 'doll', 'darlin'' and 'babygirl' are gonna make frequent appearances

i don't think there are any warning needed

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"Annabeth, please, I need to concentrate." Percy frowned at the papers in front of him, puzzling over the maths. Annabeth sighed, flopping on the bed, her black leather jacket creaking as she threw her hands behind her head.

"I'm bored, Seaweed Brain," she lightly kicked the back of his chair with a boot. "And you've been staring at the same problem for twenty minutes so clearly you are too." Annabeth leaned up on her forearms, blonde twists tucked behind her ear. "What, I'm not as interesting as marine biology?"

Percy chuckled, but his eyes stayed fixed on the paper. "You're plenty interesting, but right now I really need to figure this out, okay?"

Annabeth sat up properly. "Can I help?"

"You're a genius at architecture and ancient Greek, babe, but marine biology has unfortunately never been a hyperfixation of yours." Percy noted something down on the paper and Annabeth's heart fluttered at the petname. It wasn't often that her boyfriend called her anything other than 'Annabeth', 'Annie', 'Beth' or 'Wise Girl'.

The leather jacket was shrugged off and Annabeth was left in black ripped jeans and a tank top, sleeves dipping to her hipbones. "Perce, you gotta relax," she stood behind his chair and rested her hands on his shoulders. Her lips touched his ear as she leant down. "I know, for a fact, I can help with that."

Percy reached up and lightly stroked her cheek, but returned his attention to his damn work. "I'm serious, Beth, I have to finish this by tomorrow."

Eyes rolling, Annabeth threw herself back on the bed. Clearly, being subtle wasn't working. Well, desperate times called for desperate measures.

"Honey, I'm bored, and I want attention. Specifically your attention." She fixed her eyes on the back of his head. "I want it now, Percy. Get over here."

There was a tense pause. Percy's pencil stopped scratching across the page.

He sighed.

"You're so demanding."

...that was a different tone than Annabeth was used to.

It didn't matter, she was ready to be in control. Percy silently got up from the desk and neatly tucked his chair in, picking up Annabeth's leather jacket from the bed and placing it on the back of the chair. Annabeth made to stand up from the bed, but Percy's hand pushed her back down.

"No, you wanted my attention, right?"

Annabeth paused. This was different. "...yes"

"Then strip."

Percy's voice was deep, commanding, and Annabeth shifted slightly on the bed. "What?"

He placed his hands either side of her thighs, eyes focused on hers. "I don't think I need to repeat myself, baby, do you?"

Oh fuck. Annabeth was so screwed.

Percy backed away, arms folded and giving her space. She stood, uncomfortably aware of her slightly shaky legs, and somewhat inelegantly kicked off her boots. No reaction. She shimmied out of her jeans and tossed them on the floor. No reaction. She pulled off her shirt and tossed that too. About to pull off her bralette, Percy held up his hand to stop her.

"Sit up on the bed."

Annabeth raised her eyebrows. "Since when did you start giving me orders?" She loved this new side, but oh boy was she gonna make him work for it.

The dark smile on Percy's face sent electricity through Annabeth's body. "Since when did you start obeying them, darlin'?"

He moved forward, so close they were almost chest to chest. "Now, be a doll, and sit on the bed. Leaning against the headboard, if you'd be so kind."

Annabeth moved onto the bed almost before realising it. Her breath caught in her throat as Percy grabbed his shirt and pulled it off, revealing toned, lean muscles.

Percy's eyes were dark, a shadowy green that pierced into Annabeth's smoky greys as he knelt on the bed, lowering his head to press kisses down Annabeth's thighs.

Shaky breaths left Annabeth as he kissed closer and closer to the line of her underwear. He winked as he nipped at her skin, pulling a gasp from her. "What, no retort? No witty comeback, Wise Girl?"

"Fuck o-" Annabeth choked on her words as Percy licked a stripe up her clothed pussy.

"That's what I thought," he whispered and leaned up, taking the material between his teeth and dragging it down, lifting her hips to pull the underwear down her legs and throw them across the floor.

Annabeth's head was whirling. Her sweet nerd had a whole other side to him and she felt out of her depth in the best way.

She slapped a hand across her mouth as Percy flicked and writhed his tongue, stifling the moans that threatened to spill out. A sharp slap to the outside of her thigh jolted her body, and she looked down to see Percy glaring at her.

"Don't you dare."

He dove back in and Annabeth's back arched, hands fisted in the sheets as her eyes squeezed shut and moans filled the room. Percy trailed his fingers so slowly across her skin she almost screamed when he plunged them into her, the new sensation lighting her on fire.

"Perce, fuck, more!"

Immediately, Percy pulled away, leaving his girlfriend panting and whining. "I don't think you're in the position to make demands, babygirl."

Annabeth pouted. "What? You just stopped, why?"

"You demanded attention like a brat," Percy shrugged, sitting back on his heels. "And now I'm giving it to you, you think you deserve more?"

A shiver ran down her spine as Annabeth registered the tone and the fact that her sweet, usually submissive boyfriend just called her a brat.

"Tell you what," Percy trailed a finger down her stomach. "If you ask nicely, and be a good girl for me, I'll give you what you want." He smirked. "Sound good?"

Annabeth tried her hardest to not instantly say yes, to retain some of her dignity. She was the tough one, the one everyone knew not to fuck with, and now she was on the verge of begging her boyfriend to fuck her.

She nodded.

"That's my girl." Percy beckoned her to sit up and grabbed the back of her neck, pulling her into a fierce kiss. His lips were a soft contrast to his behaviour, and she smiled into the kiss.

All too soon, Percy pulled away, but kept his hand on her neck. "Now, darlin', ask me for what you want."

She swallowed any uncertainty. "I want you... I want you to fuck me."

Percy shook his head. "That sounds like a demand, babygirl. Try again."

The fucker wanted her to beg.

"...please, Percy, please fuck me, I'll be good, I promise!"

The dark smile that spread over his face settled a pleasantly tight feeling in Annabeth's lower stomach. Percy pushed her back so she laid on the bed, and he kicked off his jeans and underwear. "That's much better, darlin'." He reached into the drawer by the bed and withdrew a condom, tearing open the packet and rolling the latex onto his cock. He slid back in between her legs, head dipping into the crook of her neck. Annabeth pushed against Percy's hips as his lips made contact with her skin, and both moaned at the friction.

"You're so gorgeous, baby." Percy nipped at her skin, leaving a trail of red marks in his wake.

"Perce, please, stop teasing me," Annabeth looped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a sloppy kiss, pressing her body up against his. "I asked nicely, please, plea-"

Annabeth cried out and threw her head back as Percy thrust into her. He kept an unrelenting pace, and it was all she could do to hold onto him.

"This what you wanted, huh?" Percy's heavy breath was on her neck, his voice directly in her ear. "You wanted my attention, you finally got it, right?" Annabeth didn't answer, eyes closed and mind clouded with lust and pleasure. Percy slapped her thigh, snapping his hips into her hard. "Answer me, babygirl."

Annabeth shrieked. "Yes! Yes, this is what I wanted, Percy, thank you baby, I got what I wanted!"

Percy chuckled lowly into her neck. "That's my girl."

He sped up the pace, hitting that spot inside her that had her toes curling, stomach clenching, nails digging into his shoulders. "I-I'm so close Perce, don't stop, please please please don't stop-"

"Wouldn't dream of it, Wise Girl." Percy kept his movements consistent, only dragging a hand down Annabeth's body to rub circles in her clit.

Annabeth came with a scream, eyes squeezed shut and legs wrapped around her boyfriend's hips. Percy groaned deeply, reverberating in his chest as he spilled inside the condom, stilling his motions inside of her.

His arms shook with the effort to not collapse on top of her, and he gently pulled out of her. Shifting to the side of the bed, he let himself fall on the bed next to her. Removing the condom and tying off the end, he threw it expertly in the bin.

"Baby, that was just a whole new side of you, huh?" Annabeth smiled.

Percy blushed red, a stark contrast to just a few minutes ago. "Did you like it?"

She brushed his hair behind his ear. "It was new, but I did like it." She poked his shoulder. "My cute nerd has a dominant side, who knew?"

Percy grinned, and pecked her cheek. "Can I go back to my paper now, brat?"

Annabeth rolled her eyes, but smiled and shoved him off the bed. "Get back to it, Seaweed Brain."

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i very much hope you enjoyed! this took me forever to write bc executive dysfunction is a bitch but thank you so much for requesting!

#percy jackson #annabeth chase #percy jackson imagine #annabeth chase imagine #percy x annabeth #percabeth #percabeth imagine #percabeth smut #percy jackson smut #annabeth chase smut #pjo

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losebetter · 3 years

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DEVIANT FAIRIES: trauma, kink, and the brutalist commodification of gay male bodies in ‘fairy ranmaru’

hello, i need to get something out of the way before anything else: i love this fucking show. f-ran is a snappy, stunning FEAST of bizarre spiritual themes, unfathomable camp aesthetics, shameless male upskirts, and illegally good music. if this show had been just a fun take on the magical girl genre of story made to sell body pillows of scantily clad adult men, i would still enjoy it. because it does that, and it does it well; fairy ranmaru tells you precisely what it’s going to be within the first three minutes... maybe.

if you’ve not read any of my writing before, and you’ve only seen the title of this essay, you might think i’m about to critique it for handling something poorly - and, for sure, there are definite points that could do with critical analysis! - but i want to give f-ran a hand for something i’ve only given to sarazanmai before it: it is not shy about the reality it comes from.

(this essay is a meandering draft, but i’m posting it now because i’m moving house and will completely lose track otherwise! hopefully y’all enjoy anyway!) (word count: 1,600w)

TABOO #10 - LIBERATION

sarazanmai, from the bones, is aware of how gay men are typically treated in media - it’s the entire point! gay and queer men are hypervisible, our private lives made public through a voyeuristic obsession with what goes in which hole, who tops, and how Inherent Masculine Anger translates to inherently violent relationships. romantic feelings between men and boys can ONLY be over the top, tragic, and predatory, even among innocent kids who just want to connect to each other. the soft, gentle moments that make up fictional romance are things gay men simply don’t get; our intimate lives are wrung out for cheap, easy jokes, and then we are killed. what makes sarazanmai so good is - well, a lot of things, but also - that it faces this head on. it dares the viewer to make fun of it, and puts the onus for this constant clown show of suffering on those who created it, instead of its gay male victims. and, of course, it subverts these tropes as it calls them out. seriously, watch sarazanmai if you’ve any interest in queermasculine politics specifically, it’s a treasure.

of course, sarazanmai is a work of niche genius created by a legend. its storytelling was so precise and economical that it literally only needed eleven episodes instead of the more traditional twelve, which at this point i’m convinced is just a flex on ikuhara’s part? i’m not saying that fairy ranmaru is trying to do that - in fact, i see this as a point in its favor.

the reason i bring up sarazanmai and this entire topic of bare-ass, balls to the wall ownership of the mockery gay men are faced with by the media, is because f-ran does this same thing - but even louder. f-ran’s storytelling is not economical or precise - each episode has TWO full transformation sequences, the second of which feels like just a way to show off each individual boy’s design from every angle. yes, even that one. f-ran is messy - it paints broad, filthy strokes across everything from masculinity to idol culture to the manga industry to sex work to nazi apologism, with the squeak of a twink and the crack of a whip. it is pure, resplendent camp revelry. oscar wilde would shit himself to death. frequently i watch new episodes of this show and all i can do is dump my head into my hands and ask, gleefully, “who is this even for? who would make this?”

my friends, i can’t answer that. but through a combination of boyish pluck, stupidity, and intersectional dedication to this topic, i can at least expand on someone who’s benefiting from it: kinky, messy people. of which i am one! hi!

SEXUAL HEALING

so, when i say “brutalist commodification,” i want to make clear what i mean: it isn’t to imply such a thing is inherently “brutal”/negative. i mean it more the way you would describe brutalist architecture; the commodification itself isn’t my area of interest, but how its presentation is inescapable, blunt, and heavy enough to drown someone. i had a chuckle recently about someone critiquing the show by saying that it looked compelling, but that they were put off by the blatant hypersexualization of it -- that they should’ve left the flagrant fetish content out of it. a friend and i found this funny because our first thought was “wait, what does it have without that?”

it isn’t just the flamboyant transformation sequences, or the flashes of fanservicey stills so specific that it’s not clear to me whether they’re ironic or not. it’s the entire flaming core of the show. to my mind, f-ran stands out so much because it committed to what most other attempts to apply the magical girl genre to men and boys fall short on - if you’re going to add sincerely to a genre that typically hits the notes of coming of age, justice, devotion, team-as-family, gender politics - and yes, sexual agency, transformation, and the ownership and power of one’s own body - you have to Actually Do That. and these are all subjects that work very differently for men and boys in media, particularly queer ones. i’ve already talked about why, even, so let’s put the concepts together:

if, inside of your rather lighthearted show about putting boys in cute outfits, you want to tell sincere and genre-appropriate stories about the rich inner lives of queer men, there are gonna be some things you’d logically have to address that might be - well... uncomfortable. by choosing to engage with that stuff head-on, with the aesthetic flair and utter shamelessness with which it tackles everything else, fairy ranmaru has set itself apart.

here at episode 10, i couldn’t tell you if it will actually answer many of the interesting questions it’s brought up thus far -- but simply asking them is enough for me. homura has had an interesting arc about loyalty, anger, masculinity, violence, and justice: how to balance it all, how fair it is to put that responsibility on young men, and how even gentle boys suffer under that weight. takara - arguably the most objectively interesting character of the lot - practically seems like the show writing meta about itself, while still managing to characterize him in an interesting way: how does a man who has relied on commodifying himself his entire life just to survive compartmentalize that? what does he do with the social power he’s gained from his own sacrifice? is there anything that could make that power worth it? all five of the main characters (six, counting chilka) have very different and compelling stories to tell.

because this essay is about fetishes and trauma, though, there’s one i’d like to focus on specifically -- uruu, whose characterization falls neatly in the middle of that venn diagram.

RISE FOR THE QUEEN

the concept is pretty simple. the character most obsessed with purity, nobility, and good conduct is actually a freak in the sheets - it’s funny! it’s also an exaggerated, familiar catharsis for many gay folks watching; we see a man with a stick up his ass, who denounces at every turn being a deviant, eccentric, perverted qu -- ahem, fairy, and then he turns out to be - you know.

he turns out to be that.

we’ve all met this guy in fiction. typically he’s a villain (i’m looking at you, ADAM sk8), so f-ran is already doing something interesting and fun with him that we don’t often get to see. but, much like the element uruu symbolizes, it goes deeper.

in ten episodes, two of which feature him prominently, uruu has had three explicitly sexually charged scenes, each referencing a relatively hardcore kink - tentacles, suspension/CBT, and oviposition in chronological order. this isn’t a stray ahegao face with him, this is character development, intended specifically for the weirdos bold enough to actually look at it. if fetishistic fanservice was f-ran’s starting point, uruu’s storylines (about being bound to expectations, seeking harsh punishment for transgressions, and seeing himself as a parasite inflicted on his mother, respectively) ground that fanservice in something real for an audience to empathize with.

there are probably ways to tell many of the other stories in this show “without the sex,” as a means of making it more accessible to a less specific audience, but what makes uruu so compelling is that he can’t be separated out from his “deviant” desires. his psychosexual development is a vital part of who he is and the role he plays - and by contextualizing his kinks, f-ran suggests a depth and humanity to every other character, too, right alongside the in-jokey fanservice shots. it doesn’t mock the viewer for engaging with sexuality in the show, because to do so would undermine uruu’s entire character; instead, it rewards folks looking for substance in the goofy, jazzy sausagefest by providing it. it feels strange to describe anything fairy ranmaru does as “subtle,” but i really think there’s a grace and brilliance to how it throws wide the boundaries of most media’s constraints on fictional men - and keeps those boundaries open for characters (and viewers) usually disregarded.

honestly, it’s a bit silly for me to write this with there still being two episodes left to go -- i can’t make any kind of final call on Whether The Series Is Good Or Not. what i do know is that it’s devilishly fun, and has already done some unique, compassionate things that i really respect. onward! o7

#tv #fairy ranmaru #meta #bark #bark: writing #i could probably say more but i gotta go back to prepping for my move lol #but this is a good show and the people making it should feel good

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claraoswaldfics · 3 years

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Halloween Night, part 2

(Continued from part 1)

It took me a few minutes and a good chunk of breakfast before my memories had lined themselves up in an order I recognised. And let me tell you, there was one memory in particular in there I’m surprised I ever forgot. I still get a rush thinking about it now.

I’d love to tell you I was a suave and charming flirt that night, or a beguiling seductress, because I can and have been both before. Seriously, give me a little black dress or a tailored suit and I am an irresistible force. I’ve wriggled into a cocktail dress and draped myself over a piano once. What I’m trying to say is I draw confidence from the way I dress and tonight I was dressed as a sixties cartoon character.

But that wasn’t the only reason I was nervous. There was a girl; strike that, a woman; strike that, a flame-haired goddess sat next to me, and the two of us were in a taxi back to my place. She was also dressed as a Scooby Doo character, but maybe not for much longer.

We didn’t go back to Amy’s in the end. Mine was closer anyway, and Priya, traitor that she was, had actually arranged a backup Halloween party for her to go to should ours fall apart. That left my flat empty for the night.

I wouldn’t describe myself as calculating per se, although I have been accused of it, and looking after children and travelling with the Doctor (the same activity a lot of the time) does mean I’m working out plans in my head a lot of the time. But finding out that no roommates would be home that night meant I did find myself shamelessly plotting and pursuing the little turns in conversation that might take me and her to where I wanted us to go that night.

I picture myself as a chess player, and not just because I really fancy female chess players.

The Doctor always says it’s a matter of picturing your goal on the other side of a chasm and building a bridge as you jump. The problem is that picturing my goal very much distracts me from the general architectural effort, to put it lightly.

As a result, I don’t remember much of the taxi ride. I was too focused on not making an absolute blubbering fool out of myself to delegate much brainpower to long-term memory storage. Conversation with intent to flirt is a challenge, and not one I’ve had the time to perfect. And while I may not have been my best witty siren self, but I hadn’t stuck my foot in it, and I’d even made her laugh a few times, although not as much as she made me laugh.

If there were times when I felt in control, it was all because of her. She was cool, she was calm, and her smile could switch from wicked to understanding in an instant.

We didn’t kiss in the taxi. I really thought we might; the tension was certainly there and I did a lot of really top-level pouts on the ride. But she seemed intent on putting me at ease first. So we talked. We talked about all manner of things – her modelling work, November 1st hangovers, her first kiss with a woman; that last one didn’t have the calming effect she was going for.

“I’d tell you about mine,” I quip, “but you were there for it.”

“If you want, I can be there for your second, too.”

I blinked; is this really happening?

As if to confirm, her warm hand graced my bare knee.

I leaned in.

Then the driver knocked on the divider to tell us we’d arrived, shattering a potentially magical moment.

Amy gave me a pat on the shoulder and rolled her eyes. She left the taxi and paid the driver while I was momentarily stuck in my reverie. I had half a mind to cuss him out there and then, but in retrospect, I may have inadvertently gotten my revenge by leaving a damp sweaty patch on his back seat.

After that the night stalled for a bit.

I had some problem with the locks that took a few minutes of fiddling with my keys in the biting cold to fix. And Amy had to pee the moment she got indoors. My train of thought went off the rails for a bit here, I’m ashamed to admit. I’d hoped she would press me against the wall and stick her tongue in me the second the door closed behind us. But instead it had gone like this:

“I might just go and freshen up a bit.”

“Maybe I’ll join you”

“Oh. If I’m honest, Clara, I just meant I needed to use the loo.”

“I thought you were talking about the shower.”

“No. Do you need the shower?”

“No.”

“Do I need a shower?”

“No, you’re very clean. And you smell very nice.”

“So the toilet is…”

“Up the stairs, yeah.”

And then I shut up for a bit.

Was this a ploy? Was she using this chance to put on makeup and make herself look nice? Was she trying to look less like she was in fancy dress? Should I be doing the same – making myself look less like Velma? Or… more like Velma? Maybe she was into it?

Or maybe… Had she drunk too much? Was that why she was on the toilet? Or maybe the alcohol was why she was with me here in the first place? No, she’d only had two, and she’d been very articulate in the cab (although don’t ask me what about).

Why did I say “I’ll join you”? Obviously she meant the toilet! Come on Clara. Get your head in the game!

And stop thinking about toilets, I told myself, or else…

Amy slunk back into the room, framed herself against the doorway and leant against the wall. She’d mussed her hair up a little, and the hem of her dress was further up her thigh than she’d worn it at the club. I’d paid a lot of attention to that hem.

“So,” she asked, in a low, Scottish, purr. “where were we?”

“Um,” I replied, one leg already shaking, “I’m really sorry, do you mind if I… y’know…”

“Oh, sorry, of course.”

“It’s just we only have the one and I had a bit to drink…”

“Yeah, yeah. Gotcha.” She cleared her throat. “Hurry back.”

Mood ruined. Again.

From atop the porcelain, I looked down at the flagging fabric around her ankles. Sorry, bi panties, tonight might not be your night. Not while fate is twanging my libido like a guitar string. Vibrating my every thought to a melody of rapture and anxiety. What I’d give for a moment of clarity!

Pulling myself together, I fixed my face for the second time in five minutes. Okay, so the tone of the night was currently a bit more bathroom farce than I’d have liked, but did that mean there was no way to salvage it? That I’d have to let the fire in my loins die out? Hell no!

In a stroke of what felt like genius, I lifted off my jumper and shed the layers beneath it, stashing both bra and top in the cupboard beneath the sink. As I pulled the jumper back over my head, I felt practically gift-wrapped.

(I then had a brief flirtation with leaving even the jumper off. I decided against it)

When I returned to the living room, breasts freer than usual, Amy had already made herself at home, adopting a very relaxed slouch across the sofa, and was waving a DVD box at me.

“We’re watching this”

I didn’t have time to object or ask before the screech of bats came from the telly. The DVD was already playing. With something approaching horror, I realised what film was in the machine. The live-action 2002 Scooby Doo movie.

I questioned briefly exactly what percentage of this woman’s identity revolved around Hanna-Barbera productions, and how high that number would have to be to stop me fancying her.

“Oh, come oon, sit down. It’s a laff.” Amy propped herself up by her elbows. “Look, I know I’ve been winding you up a little, making you nervous, but…”

“I’m not nervous.” I spluttered.

“It’s okay to be…”

“I’ve never been nervous”.

“Right. Okay. Good.” I got the impression she’d seen through my act. “So why don’t you sit down and we can watch the film and not be nervous together?”

“Yeah, I can do that.” I nodded, and started walking.

“If you like, we can even not be nervous on the same couch.”

“Okay, yeah.” And again, after a pause “yeah.”

I sat down on the other side of the couch. Not presuming to touch her but not far enough away to make it look like I was distancing myself from her. I pulled down the hem of my skirt, then took it back in a bit, to be flirty, then took it back in again. I wondered if I was overthinking this, and then how many times I’d already asked that tonight. It was a lot, but did that in and of itself qualify as overthinking?

Had Amy seen all of that? I gave her my best “everything is fine, I’m relaxed” smile, and she smiled back. “Sure you are,” she seemed to say.

We made a reasonable dent in the movie that night. My fears that Amy might turn out to be a rabid Scooby-Doo superfan were assuaged quite early on, as she kept asking questions over the top of it. Small talk like that did set me at ease a little more. Yes, that actress was in ER. No, the CGI hadn’t aged terribly well. I don’t know why Mr Bean is here either. That sort of thing. It helped that I happened to know a lot of trivia about films from around this time. Young Clara had spent a lot of time on trivia quizzes after she’d learned the electric joy that came with being right all the time. And right now that feeling of moderate control was really helping to steady the boat.

“Wine?”

Amy was very receptive to the idea. Thankfully, Priya had a bottle of red in her half of the kitchen (it was a whole political situation, don’t ask) that I was very happy to leave an IOU for. As shaky as my hands were, I could still easily uncork a bottle, and I managed to carry both glasses in without spilling a drop. We sat, more snuggled up than last time, and raised our glasses “to Scooby Doo!” Everything was going to plan.

“Do you think Shaggy says Zoinks when he orgasms?”

I spat out my wine.

“What??”

“He says it every time he’s even slightly scared. You expect me to believe he doesn’t say it…” and then her voice went spicy and French “...in flagrante?”

“Yes, but scared and horny aren’t the same thing?”

“Are they not, Clara Oswald?”

She put down her wine glass and centred me in her double-barrelled stare. I was suddenly very aware of her height. Parts of me began to boil under her gaze. She was right. Oh god was she right.

“So tell me, what does Velma say, in the heat of it all, when the moment comes?” She drawled, darkly.

All of a sudden, there were no words in my brain.

A switch had been flipped. Amy’s hand was on my knee. More accurately, the very tips of her fingers were, and they were delicately making their way upwards. I gulped as they traced their way beyond my knee-highs and onto my flesh. She angled her approach so that as her wrist brushed the hem of my skirt, her palm was gracing my inner thigh. And she showed no sign of stopping.

I responded in kind, wrapping my right hand around the inside of her left knee, our arms crossing each other, mine over hers. If I moved my hand further in, so would she. The sensation of her cotton tights on my skin thrilled me, the fabric barely concealing her warmth beneath it.

“Mmmmmm.” The sound of her voice was much closer to my ear than I expected. As I turned my face, hers was already there. “Not so nervous now, are you?”

The warmth of her breath on my lips was too much for me to take. I leaned in, eyes closed, and kissed her. Her hand paused on my thigh, as if contemplating how to proceed, mere centimetres away from my panties. I couldn’t see her reaction, but I pictured her blinking in surprise, before feeling her press right back into my face. She was returning my kiss with abandon.

Beneath my skirt, I could feel the squeeze of Amy’s hand on my thigh and I broke the kiss to gasp. I swear I felt the curl of Amy’s lips into a smile as we parted.

“Now that’s not fair. I was going to kiss you first.”

“Well you’ve got to be faster next time.”

“Faster, yeah?” She beamed.

With that she swung her leg over and straddled my right thigh. Her hands fastened onto both sides of my face as we once again locked mouths. Every part of me was clamped by her warm embrace. It felt like returning home after a long, cold night. My hands quickly found work snaking through her hair, her roots bunching in the gaps between my fingers; my palm graced her cheek on her left, and my other hand soothed its way up the back of her neck, exerting a small pressure to keep her lips on mine.

Amy pressed forward, shifting me sideways on the sofa. Her leg had moved up my thigh and was rubbing right up against my mound. The heat from it radiated up and through me, stirring every sinew like mulled wine. It was like I had a second, lower heart, thumping down below, pulsing want and need through my body.

I moved my hips up so she could feel like this too. The chub of my thigh encountered some elastic resistance from her tights, but I was soon met by a warm damp patch as I made contact. She responded like a vice to that and was soon rolling her hips up against me. I tensed my wide but muscular thigh in a rhythm with her and soon we were both just as wet as each other. And with every movement, our cores came closer and closer together, the hems of our skirts forced back above the waistline.

All the while I was thinking, I’m doing it! There’s a girl on me and she wants me as badly as I want her! And now our boobs are touching! Oh my stars!

Almost as one, our hands pawed at each other’s backs and pulled our midriffs into contact. While Amy’s hands pressed down, hoping to circumnavigate under my jumper, mine found their way upwards, having located the base of a zipper on the back of her dress, and chasing the potential that offered all the way up.

As my fingers gently tugged at the plastic zip slider at the base of her neck, she pulled her face away, but no more than an inch. A string of saliva still connected our lips. I could still feel her heartbeat on every part of us that touched.

“Don’t touch that zipper.” She said, her voice a mix of steel and cheek. “Not yet. Not while I’m still having my fun.”

I had visions, let me tell you, of biblical, pornographic revelations on that couch. Desperate visions of Amy taking me right there and then, her flinging me back down onto the cushions and spreading my legs with her glorious caber-throwing arms, of her diving in and ripping my panties off with her teeth, eating me out with my jumper and skirt still on, her glorious mane clamped between my thigh highs.

The thought alone could have got me off.

But then I heard keys in the door. My eyes sprang open. My bastard Judas roommate was back. Damn you, Priya!

But Amy was on the case. “Bedroom?” She asked.

“Upstairs,” I replied.

I shooed her through the hall and up the staircase as fast as I could. When I had opened my eyes for that split second, Amy’s eyes had been right in front of me, focused and dilated. No doubt mine were the same. I wasn’t going to let that slip through my fingers. Though the stairs were nearby, there was no way to get up them without going past the front door, and sure enough.

“Who’s this, Clara?” Priya, always so smug.

“Shut up,” I muttered, still hurrying Amy upstairs.

I could hear the giddy smile on her face as she shouted up the stairs.

“Where are you off to with your friend, Clara?”

“Shut up!”

I could tell Amy was stifling a giggle. Probably tempted to turn around and introduce herself, maybe give Priya a little wave. I’m sure they’d have got on like a house on fire, but the making friends part of my brain wasn’t in control at that time.

“I’m so sorry about my roommate.” I said, shepherding Amy through the first door on the right. “She’s cool, I promise, but I don’t want to spoil the mood and...”

Amy wasted no time. As I turned to close the door after us, Amy was behind me, pressing me into the door, her hands snaking their way around my waist and her words slithering into my ear.

“Oh Clara.” She exhaled, before giving me two quick pecks on the neck. “I think I’ve teased you long enough tonight, don’t you?”

With that, her hands went to work. Before I could believe it, her left hand was up my jumper, and her right was beneath the waistband of my skirt. I gasped as the tip of her middle finger made its first contact with the absolutely drenched fabric of my underwear, and as her left hand found its way to my uncupped breast she let out an “mmmmmmm” of admiration.

“You sexy thing” she drawled, part of a honey trap before grabbing my breast in a tight squeeze.

I squealed.

She continued her conquest of my body. Kissing my neck. Circling my nipples. Massaging me over my panties. I was at her mercy and all the better for it. I pressed myself back into her, hoping to feel her warmth from every angle. I could feel her breasts against my back and her core against my arse, and she responded in kind, pulling me in and strapping me against her with her arms.

“Amy” I squeaked.

“Clara” she moaned.

She gave my nipple a cheeky twist and I momentarily lost all feeling in my legs. I stumbled backwards, but she effortlessly supported my weight against her. It barely slowed her down. The elastic of my panties thrummed over her fingernail as she explored further down. She kept playing my body like a cello and I was more than happy to sound out her music.

When I next opened my eyes, there was a mirror in front of me. I must have stumbled back further than I thought. But what I saw in it- for a second it was like a different person.

The woman in the mirror locked eyes with me. Her hair a mess, her breathing haggard and primal, escaping between a sigh and a whine. Her lover’s hands under her garments created a pale diamond of flesh, its north exposing her shivering ribcage and its south teasing the peak of her pubic mound, all of it glistening with sweat. Over her shoulder, a curtain of sleek red hair, as a blood red mouth devoured her neck. With every desperate breath, the woman’s body shook, positively writhing in ecstasy.

And her eyes…

Pupils dilated, between rapture and fear, gazing into the sublime, on the crest of a revelation.

The woman is me.

The woman on her neck is my lover.

And I am so irrevocably, irrepressibly, incandescently gay.

There’s a wisp of cold air on my throat and I notice that Amy has moved, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror. She has a sly purse to her lips; she knows the effect her fingers are having on me and has no intention to stop. But I can see I’m affecting her too. I can sense it in the redness of her face, the pressure between her fingers and the synchronous rhythms of our hips.

“Liking what you see, eh, Velma?” She teased.

“Oh shut up”

I’m going to claim it was the breathlessness in her voice rather than the name Velma that set me off, but whatever the reason, every part of my body switched into overdrive. Lust controlled me bodily. Gripping the back of her skull, threads of hairs through my fingers, I pushed her open mouth onto mine and slid my tongue straight in.

For a split second, her hand on my clit was shocked out of its rhythm, but I wasn’t about to allow that. Something was building under my skirt and I was going to usher it out. My palm gripped the back of her hand and steered her back into tempo. My fingers, like hers, were instantly sodden and they glided frictionless back and forth over me. Faster… Harder… Building up. Building up...

Oh God I was so close…

“Amy” I moaned into her mouth, not for a second letting up on our kiss. “Amy, Amy, mmmmmmm, fuck, Amy.”

Her voice cut through everything, clear as day.

“Cum for me, Clara”

And I did. Oh how I did.

The ball of passion inside me erupted, rolling up my body at a spine-snappingly fast pace. It shot through to the ends of my fingers and the tips of my toes, before contracting my whole body in convulsions. I lost control of the hand on my clit, but Amy’s soldiered on, her fingers compelling waves and waves of pleasure out of me.

I would have shrieked her name, if I could think at all in those moments, but all that escaped my mouth were guttural grunts, rising, rising, rising in volume. For minutes, for hours - I’d never felt anything this intense in my life. It was like I was pure electricity, nothing but sensation, and it was you, Amy, you that did this.

My vision went white.

“Jinkies”

And then I slumped onto her like a ragdoll.

End of part 2.

#clamy #Amy!Clara #Pondswald #femslash #doctor who #clara oswald #amy pond #femslash fix fairy

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yukina-otome · 5 years

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Ikevamp suitors pt.4

4-Leonardo Da vinci

Leonardo di ser Piero da Vinci was an Italian polymath of the Renaissance whose areas of interest included invention, drawing, painting, sculpture, architecture, science, music, mathematics, engineering, literature, anatomy, geology, astronomy, botany, paleontology, and cartography. Although he had no formal academic training,many historians and scholars regard Leonardo as the prime exemplar of the "Universal Genius" or "Renaissance Man," an individual of "unquenchable curiosity" and "feverishly inventive imagination. He is widely considered one of the most diversely talented individuals ever to have lived.

Date and place of birth : 14/15 April 1452 Vinci, Republic of Florence (present-day Italy)

Date and place of death : 2 May 1519 (aged 67) Amboise, Kingdom of France (possibly of a stroke )

Love life : Leonardo kept his private life secret. His sexuality has been the subject of many speculation. Leonardo's most intimate relationships were perhaps with his pupils Salaì and Melzi. It has been claimed that these relationships were of a sexual or erotic nature. Court records of 1476, when he was aged twenty-four, show that Leonardo and three other young men were charged with sodomy in an incident involving a well-known male prostitute. (Yes our sexy Papi Leonardo was most likely gay)

Fun facts:

1- He did not receive any formal education.

2- As mentioned in his route he was ambidextrous.He was known to have been able to write with one hand and draw with another at the same time and developed a system of writing backwards to note down his important findings and to hide secret messages, decipherable only through a mirror.

3- He was a military engineer.

4- He was almost executed on the allegations of sodomy, a crime punishable by death in 15th century Florence but the case was dismissed most likely because one of the involved was connected to a very important figure at that time.

5- Also as mentioned in his route he dissected corpses.

6- Bill gates bought his notebook for 30.8 Million dollars

7- In case you missed it he was most likely gay. (Let the leonardo x le compte ship sail)

8- He was described to have "outstanding physical beauty," "infinite grace," "great strength and generosity," "regal spirit and tremendous breadth of mind,".

That’s pretty much it. My exams are near so i will be posting less and less but i’ll do my best to keep posting. Wish me good luck !

Pt.1 Napoleon | Pt.2 Mozart | Pt.3 Arthur | Pt.5 Newton

#ikemen vampires #ikemen vampire #ikevam #ikevamp #ikevam leonardo #ikevamp leonardo #leonardo da vinci #ikemen series

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certifiedskywalker · 5 years

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So Much To Tell You - Klaus Hargreeves

Despite the fact you consider Klaus your closest friend, you often find yourself wondering about his past. Klaus has kept most of his early life a well hidden secret, but when he invites you along with him to attend his father’s funeral, the truth slips. At least some parts of it do. It doesn’t help that his siblings goad the two of you either.

AN: she’s a long one! I hope you have some snacks! As always, any feedback would be wonderful!

“Klaus, I don’t think your siblings will appreciate you rooting through your father’s belongings without them.” Your warning seemed to fall on deaf ears as Klaus continued to search through the drawers of his father’s desk, hoping to find anything of inherent value. As you glanced about Reginald Hargreeves’ study, your eyes found multiple objects that Klaus could pawn off for money. Luckily, ever since you had arrived at his childhood home, your friend had been lost in dreary haze that distracted his few lengths of rational thought.

“Oh, hush,” Klaus sighed, straightening his back to look at you, “the only one who might care is Luther and he’s a bit busy harvesting moon rocks at the moment.” You raised a brow and Klaus rolled his eyes. “My brother is an astronaut...kind of….”

“That is exactly the reason behind why it would be nice for you to tell me a little about your family before I met them, you know. So I don’t embarrass myself in front of your genius siblings.” Klaus scoffed at your words and plucked a fancy scarf from the back of his father’s chair. His nimble fingers stroked over the fabric of the wrap, the movement derailing your train of thought. Klaus had lovely hands; oftentimes, you would find yourself fixated on them, or on Klaus in general.

“My siblings are not geniuses, Y/N, don’t be silly.” He stepped out from behind the elaborate, dark oak desk as he spoke. A few steps and seconds later, Klaus was standing before you with his green eyes scanning over your features. He held up the scarf to your face, smiling softly as he did. “Oh, this is so your color.”

“Klaus,” you whined, “please tell me about them. I don’t want to play the fool.” Klaus sighed, throwing the scarf over your shoulders and wrapping it around your neck.

“I could waste my breath now, tell you all about them, but, in the end,” he pulled the ends of the scarf lightly, “they’ll make themselves known, loudly.” You giggled at the idea of Klaus’ siblings being just as boisterous and outlandish as himself. He grinned at your laughter and pulled you closer to him using the scarf. Your palms now pressed against his chest, feeling the warm skin beneath his skimpy shirt.

Just as he would never be honest about his family with you, you could never tell him how sharing such a proximity made your heart flutter in your chest. You were in love with Klaus. So in love with him that late night romance movies became your greatest, and most secret, ally. You had planned on telling him about your feelings, but there never seemed to be a good time. Now that his father had died, a confession was far from your mind.

“It’s hard to imagine six more people just as ridiculous as you are.” Now it was Klaus’ turn to laugh, his breath tickling the skin of your neck that was left exposed. He was so enticingly close to you. A few rushed words of affection, a forwards incline a few degrees and you could kiss him. Yet, you held back, like you always did.

“Where do you think I learned it from, hm?” Klaus asked, his voice hitting an octave lower than usual. The sound sent a shiver down your spine and, in an attempt to hide your reaction, you let out another small giggle. Klaus smiled at your response, pulling your face close to his with the ends of the scarf. He poked his tongue out and licked the tip of your nose; a weird sign of affection for anyone other than you or Klaus.

It sure was weird to Allison caught sight of the gesture as she walked into the study. Her carmel eyes widened at the view of her brother, older than when she had last seen him, licking the nose of a stranger. She paused in the doorway, debating whether or not to make her presence known. As she deliberated, Allison couldn’t help but notice how happy her brother seemed in the stranger’s company. However, the moment was lost when Klaus looked over and saw his sister taking in the scene.

“Allison! We were just chatting about my lovely brothers and sisters! This is the dearest, Y/N. Y/N, this is my sister Allison.” The woman before you was beautiful, with a face that you swore you had seen on a magazine one time or another. You extended your hand to her, despite being slightly star-struck and Allison took it.

“Nice to finally meet you,” you said with a smile. “I wish I could say that Klaus has told me all about you, but family seems to be the one topic he doesn’t talk about.” Allison let out a forced laugh and Klaus raised his brows with a shy smile on his lips.

“There’s a reason for that, believe me,” Allison mused before turning to face Klaus. “It’s good to see you, brother. You look….”

“Fabulous?” He spread his arms wide, the fur-collared coat taking on the appearance of cramped wings. Allison looked him up and down, her hesitant expression making you smile.

“Sure. So what are you doing in dad’s study?” She glanced around the room in a state of reflection and wonder. It was as if she had never seen the room before.

“Just making sure the old man is dead,” Klaus sighs, stepping towards you once more and throwing a skinny arm over your shoulders. “And giving Y/N here the grand tour.”

“Ah, so if I were to check your pockets for anything of dad’s-” Allison took a step towards Klaus and his arm tightened around you. Before you could laugh at what Allison was implying, because she was so spot on it had you in stitches, Klaus was dragging you out of the study.

“Sadly, we’re behind schedule so we must be off!” Klaus was pushing you out the door now, his hands on your shoulders as he called over to Allison. “We will be seeing you at dinner sis! Don’t wait up!” With that, Klaus shut the door to the study, leaving Allison with a smug smile on her lips. Turning on her heels, her let her eyes scan over the desk and took a brief inventory on what Klaus had stolen. She was so lost in reflection, she didn’t hear the side door open or how the floorboards creaked under heavy feet.

“Allison?” She lifted her gaze and smiled at Luther, taking in his features and new found gait. “Was Klaus in here before? What did he steal?”

“Nice to see you too,” she teased, crossing her arms over her chest. Luther chuckled and apologized, offering her a silent greeting that made Allison sigh. “And no, I don’t know what he took, but did you see his latest and greatest accomplice?”

Luther raised his brow and shook his head. “I didn’t know Klaus….dated. Like, stayed committed to someone, anything, really.”

“Well, they were awfully cozy in here, laughing like kids. It was sweet.” Luther nodded as Allison turned her attention back to their father’s desk. Frowning to himself, Luther let his mind travel back to simpler times. He stared at Allison and quietly collected himself before he began to pretend like the matters of his heart were void.

“And this is the grand foyer,” Klaus announced with the most posh, pseudo-English accent he could muster. You smiled as he spread his arms wide, gesturing to the wide, empty expanse of a room that welcomed you when you first entered the Umbrella Academy. “Marvel at the architecture will you, darling! Exquisite, is is not? Nothing but the best for Sir Reginald Hargreeves and his misfits.”

It was hard to miss the bitterness that dripped from his words at the mention of his father. You had never heard the man’s name before his death as Klaus shared so little about his family. Yet, you couldn’t help but want to know more. You loved Klaus, more than a friend should, and it drove you mad not knowing even the broadest details of his childhood.

“Klaus, do you want to talk about your dad?” Your question seemed to remind Klaus of gravity. His arms fell to his sides and he turned to face you. Never before had you seen your friend with such a despondent look in his eyes.

“Why?” His voice was quiet, almost timid. You stepped towards him, your hands reaching for his own. Squeezing his fingers lightly, you held his gaze.

“He died and...well I don’t know if you two were close, it doesn’t sound like you were, but you still lost your father. Don’t you want to talk about it? You know I’ll listen, you can trust me.”

“I know,” he said, pulling one of his hands from yours. He smoothly brushes some hair away from your face, the pads of his fingertips skirting along your skin. “I just don’t think I’m ready yet. Maybe….maybe later?”

“Okay,” you conceded, happy that he would at least speak to you about his feelings sometime soon. Klaus smiled softly, still holding your gaze. If you could, you would stare into his eyes forever. You loved how the green melded into a hazy yellow as his irises met with his pupils. The two of you were so close now that you could almost make out flecks of gold shining in his eyes. “So uh,” you cleared your throat as you pulled your gaze away, “how about the rest of the tour?”

“Oh, yes! Of course,” Klaus extended his hand to you and, without hesitating, you took it. “If you’ll follow me, you will soon find one of my favorite rooms in the house.” Klaus steered you to the left and pushed open another set of oak doors with his free hand. Soft music filtered through the doorway, making the sight of the kitchen seem all the more magical.

A small pot rested atop the stove with steam rising up from it. Whatever was inside smelled fantastic and coaxed enough curiousity from Klaus that he peeked inside. He let out a pleased gasp, smiling as he turned to face you. You returned the expression before letting your eyes wander about the room. You turned around to get a better view, your back facing Klaus.

It was a sight he never thought he would see. Bringing someone home, to the academy, was something Klaus had never considered before. Even if you weren’t truly Klaus’ ‘someone’ and merely just a friend, the idea was heartwarming. It sent a shiver down his spine and, to combat it, Klaus walked up behind you. He draped his arms over your shoulders and pulled your back against his slim chest. A stolen moment in the midst of madness.

“Many a meals were eaten here by an even skinnier me,” Klaus reflected, but you were too caught up in how his breath curled in the shell of your ear to press him further. Instead, you leaned your body against him and Klaus began to sway to the light music.

“That’s hard to imagine,” you teased, pinching one of his thin wrists that stretched over your chest. Klaus nearly melted at the feeling of your skin on his. His knees threatened to buckle beneath him but, luckily, he remained steady.

“Well it’s true,” he sighed, turning you in his arms. Now face to face, with Klaus’ arms still over your shoulders, you both began to dance. It was slow, in tune with the classical music still spilling from the record on the table. Feet shuffled against the floor as your hands sought refuge on Klaus’ waist. You stared into his green eyes and saw a flash of trepidation cross his features.

“What is it?”

“I just…shit….” Klaus trailed off, hanging his head so he wouldn’t feel ashamed under your gaze. You moved one hand from his waist and rested it against his cheek. The touch was intimate, something friend’s don’t do. At least, not while slow dancing together.

“Hey, it’s alright. If this is about before, you don’t have to talk, Klaus.” He turned his head in your hand, pressing his face to your palm before lifting his eyes to meet yours. His pupils were wide, nearly hiding the greens of his irises. When he begins to speak, his plump, pink lips graze the flesh of your palm.

“I will,” he whispered, “I just don’t want you to think less of me.” You furrowed your brows at his words, but your bodies kept in time with the music. Any high Klaus was riding was dying out before you as his reality came rushing back to him. You knew he had used before you both had arrived at the Umbrella Academy, but you said nothing of it.

“That’s not possible,” you murmur, rubbing your thumb along his cheek, “nothing can change the way I feel about you.” Your words surprised you to the point where a waves of nausea overcame you as you waited for his response. Klaus, despite widening his eyes, didn’t seem to pick up on the deeper meaning behind your words. At least, so you thought.

Klaus craned his neck, leaning further into your touch so that the tips of your fingers were in his chocolate colored curls. As if they too called for your contact, strands of his hair wrapped around your fingers. Klaus’ eyes never left yours and he was looking at you with such an ardent intensity. You were certain that friends don’t look at each other in that way.

“How do you feel about me?” His voice was low but still retained it’s practiced smoothness. You felt him draw closer to your body as his hands still directed your movements. The music filled the thick air around you as you both stared at each other. Klaus was so close now you could see the red rimming his eyes; further evidence of his now lost high.

“Klaus,” you begin, pulling your hand from his hair so it rested on his scruffy chin. He smelled like smoke and roses and the fur of his coat tickled your skin; suddenly all of your senses were pointed on the man before you. “I think that-”

“Klaus?”

You jump at the gruff and unfamiliar voice, your words slipping from your mind. Klaus holds your shoulders as you press your back close to him. He had forgotten how living such a large and quiet house full of siblings offered little in the ways of privacy.

“I like the get up, Diego. Where’d you get? Hot Topic?” Klaus asked coyly, stepping away from you. A breath of relief passed over your lips, but a twinge in your chest told you that you still had unfinished business with Klaus. “Diego, this is Y/N. Y/N, my ninja brother Diego.”

“I’m not a ninja,” Diego growled before turning his dark eyes to you. He looked you up and down as if he were accessing your threat level. Little did you or Klaus know, Diego had snuck up on the two of you a few minutes before. He had caught the two of you sharing a dance, whispering to each other things that even Diego himself could not pick up on. It seemed to be that you made Klaus happy. Sadly, happiness was something all too rare for the Hargreeves siblings. Naturally, Diego was weary.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you offered the quiet man a soft smile.

“Klaus hasn’t mentioned us has he?” Diego asked curtly. You glanced at Klaus who had raised an eyebrow at his brother.

“He hasn’t gone in depth, no,” you blabber, suddenly put on the spot. Diego smirked before striding over to Klaus. He pats his brother on the shoulder in a sort of mocking, affectionate gesture.

“That means he wants you to stick around,” he drawled before making his way over to the stove. He switched off the burner, silencing the flame beneath the pot Klaus had looked into. “Mom’s making pasta, apparently. Maybe a family dinner will do you some good, Klaus.” Diego’s tone dripped with masked malice and teasing, causing Klaus to groan loudly.

“I’ll be right back,” Klaus whispered, “gotta ask about this dinner thing. Don’t let him show you his knife collection.”

“Is that code for something else or….” Klaus laughed softly and shook his head. It was good to see him smile again. After what the two of you had nearly talked about, you feared you had turned his mood upside down.

“No, his literal knife collection,” he straightened his posture and added, loudly, “he’ll go on and on about every blade. I believe one of his lesser powers is boring people to death.”

“But knives are much more efficient,” Diego jabbed back, but Klaus was already making his way out of the kitchen. He needed to clear his head. Klaus felt guilty for leaving you with Diego, a known non conversationalist, but he needed to collect himself.

His heart was still racing, his mind reeling and caught up on your words. You felt something for Klaus, perhaps in the same way he felt something for you. Habitually, Klaus reached in his pocket for his stash of joints. When the carton was exposed, a brightly colored sticky note stole his attention away. Written in your hand, a message to deter him from using.

‘Take a walk. Breath in for seven and then out for five. You will be okay. Put these away.’ He smiled and the urge, the beast that had been growling inside of him since he had stepped foot in the academy fell silent. Klaus only wished he had listened to the note before. Before embarking, he had popped a pill without your knowledge. A flood of shame washed over him as he put the carton away and began to count to seven.

“So...you have knives?”

“How long have you and Klaus been close?” Diego pried with a police-like prerogative. His arms are crossed against his leather-clad chest, lips in a thin, serious line. Dark, curious eyes glance about your features, reading you. It was then you took note of the scars. Klaus was right, he did look like a ninja. A scary good one to boot.

“We met years ago it seems,” you reflect, feeling your cheeks warm slightly. You weren’t entirely sure if it was because of Diego’s interrogating stance or the memory of your first encounter with Klaus. “I saw him at a bar wearing the most crazy outfit. I had to talk to him, you know?”

Diego shakes his head, chuckling to himself. “He has eccentric taste, yeah. It doesn’t surprise me he picked someone up at a bar.”

“Picked someone up? Oh,” you were truly blushing now. “We aren’t...your brother and I aren’t dating. Klaus and...we’re just friends.” Diego’s expression shifts suddenly. His lips upturn in a knowing, devilish grin that reaches his eyes to fully show off his smugness.

“I see,” he coos, “I’ve just never seen him so...close to someone before. Bonds don’t come easy to our family.” You bit the inside of you cheek at his comment. Curiosity threatens to bubble over within you. Part of you wants to wait for Klaus to explain himself, his family, but the over part, the more impulsive side of you, needs to know. You want to know how to help Klaus.

“W-Why is that?” You pressed, leaning over the table between you and Diego. The man glances up from the pot he was watching for his mother, the frown returning to his lips.

“I think I’d better let Klaus tell you,” he sighs, “my account would be….more than a little crude and biased.” You nod, looking over your shoulder in the hopes to find Klaus making his way back to you.

“Yeah,” you whisper to yourself, “there’s a lot we need to talk about.”

“Shit, I’m sorry, Y/N. That was disaster,” Klaus grumbled as he handed you what was essentially a goblet full of liquor. He sat beside you on the couch in the academy’s living room, the crackling sounds of flames emanating from the fireplace. He rested his head on your shoulder, his curls spilling over and tickling the skin of your neck.

“It’s alright, Klaus, really. It wasn’t that bad.” You felt Klaus chuckle and he nuzzled his face closer to your neck. It was easy to tell that his mind was still stuck on the horrendous family dinner. One too many quips, insults, and truths had been thrown about. The family had parted ways leaving you with more questions for Klaus.

“Our dad was an arrogant prick, so we come by our manners honestly,” he sighed, taking a sip of his own drink. “He didn’t endow us with fashion sense though,” he mused, “that’s all our own.” You let out a small chuckle, shifting slightly in your seat so Klaus would be more comfortable. Smiling at your considerate action, Klaus sat up and set his drink on the side table beside the couch.

“Good, because as cute as you look in those portraits, I don’t think the school-boy look would suit you now.” Klaus hums at your teasing, leaning back towards you. Only now, his head rests in your lap not on your shoulder. His dark curls fanned out against your thighs as he relaxed his back as much as he could against the stiff couch cushions.

“You don’t think I could work a blazer and short-shorts?” His green eyes are wide as he peers up at you, a pleased smile finding its way to his lips. Instinct over took you as you raised a hand to run your fingers through his hair.

“I think you still could,” you beamed, “that’s the problem. You just look too good.” Klaus laughed, the vibrations sounding against your body as he did. All too soon, his laughter died and left you both in silence, staring at one another. Klaus bit the inside of his lip as he gazed into your eyes, words teetering the tip of his tongue.

“When I was young he locked me in mausoleum. I’m sure the others had it worse, I know Vanya did, and….and Ben. He wanted to push us, our abilities.” Your touch softened, fingers still working through his hair. “He didn’t….he didn’t know when to stop. Maybe he didn’t want to.”

“Klaus,” you whisper, hoping that, if you speak, the stinging behind your eyes will dull. “I’m so sorry. No wonder you didn’t want to talk about any of this…”

“I think that’s my problem?” The word come out as a practiced question rather than a statement.

“What do you mean?” Klaus falls silent at your question, snuggling his head into your continuous touch. He closes his eyes for a long moment and you can’t help but admire how his lashes fan out against his cheeks. When opens his eyes, you’re met with a glossy sheen atop of his thin, green irises. “I don’t talk,” he whispered hoarsely, “not to anyone, my family, not even you. I’m sorry I don’t talk to you, Y/N, I’m a shitty friend.” The sincerity in his eyes scares you. He truly believes his words, that he is a horrible friend. He wasn’t the most reliable, partly due to his drug use, but never once did it occur to you to consider Klaus a bad friend. Maybe it was because you saw him in a rose-colored lense of longing, yearning for more.

“No, no, no, Klaus, you’re not.” You place you other hand on his chest while the other remained tangled in his hair. “You’re just scared and there is nothing wrong with that,” Klaus pulls his eyes away from yours, “hey, do you hear me? There’s nothing wrong with that. You don’t have to talk, either way I’ll be here with you.”

“I,” his voice is shaking, adam’s apple bobbing as he struggled to steady it, “I don’t why you stay.” His features, when they turn back to you, are further softened by the firelight filling the room. Even his eyes seemed fogged, most likely with unshed tears. His bottom lips quivered slightly, adding to his childlike demeanor in the moment.The sight nearly shatters you.

“Because I love you, Klaus, that’s wh-”

“Master Klaus?” The quiet, the beating of your hearts in sync, is broken by a calm voice. Klaus sat up in a flash, a hand reaching up to hold yours still to his chest. You could feel his pounding heart beneath his ribcage.

“Christ on a cracker, Pogo! You need a bell on your bow tie or something! Christ!” You sent a glance over at the chimpanzee, offering him a shy smile. Part of you was thankful he had intruded as it spared you from any further embarrassment. However, the tingling and tickling in your belly told you that you longed for Klaus’ response.

“My apologies,” Pogo asserted, “I surmised I could take a moment to show Y/N to the guest room I’ve set aside. Is that alright?” Klaus turned to face you, eyes wide in question. He didn’t want you to leave him, not after what you had told him. Yet, you weren’t gifted with the talent of mind reading and accepted Pogo’s offer.

“It’s alright, just let me put this up.” You pushed yourself off of the couch and, begrudgingly, pulled your hand from Klaus’ chest. When you’re behind the bar, Klaus turns his attention back to the ape butler.

“Pogo,” he hissed, “a guest room?”

“You requested one, Master Klaus,” Pogo explained quietly, “though I did find it odd. Seeing how close you and Y/N are.”

“No shit,” Klaus muttered, holding his face in his hands for a moment before glancing back over to you. You were emptying your glass and starting to rise it out.

“How long have you been sober? Before today, I mean.” Klaus met Pogo’s eyes with panic.

“Wha-”

“I understand wanting to keep the ghosts at bay, but you seem...more normal. More yourself than you are when you’re using.” Klaus thought about it for a moment, trying to think back to when he had started to sober up. He had to think about when he met you.

“A year, before today,” Klaus admitted, his eyes low now. Pogo smiled and patted Klaus’ head in a fatherly gesture that Reginald would have cringed at.

“I’m proud of you,” Pogo praised, “this is only a bump in the path. Stick with Y/N and stay good, will you?” Klaus offered the chimp a soft, lopsided smile before nodding. Pogo smiled too before he made his way out of the living room. Klaus is felt with a buzzing in his chest as he picks up on your footfalls near him.

“Where did Pogo run off to?” You ask, standing beside Klaus who was still sitting on the couch. You glance down at him and see the strange look on his face. “You alright?”

“Y-Yeah,” Klaus stammered as he stood up. He was scratching the back of his neck, a starting sign of his withdrawal. You had grown familiar with his patterns of behavior.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, Y/N, but do you,” Klaus took a breath before meeting your eyes, “can you stay with me tonight?” The question sent the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy. You only nodded in response and extended your hand.

“Show me to your lair then?” Klaus couldn’t help the easy smile that found its way to his lips. You had to make everything so easy. Still smiling, he took your hand and led you up the stairs.

You hadn’t known what to expect when it came to Klaus’ childhood bedroom. With the ease in which Klaus walked inside and slipped off his coat told you that not much had changed since he had last seen it. Posters ranging from psychedelic color schemes to gothic band posters and even a few yarn creations hung against the walls of the cramped space. The bed was unmade and old clothes scattered about the wooden floor; all telltale signs that told you that Klaus had lived in this room for a long time.

“Sorry about the mess,” he said, dropping your hand to pick up a few articles of clothing only to throw them haphazardly on the dresser. “Haven’t been in here since….a while. Ten years? No, more than that I think.”

“It looks like you,” you murmured, wandering about the room to better admire it. You walked over to his bed and saw scribblings on the wall. To read them, you made yourself comfortable on his mattress. The sight of you in his room and on his bed, made Klaus swoon.

“Those are-”

“Lines of poetry?” You ask, turning your head to reveal the surprised smile on your lips. “You never told me that you write!” “I used to,” Klaus corrected as he joined you on his bed, “and not all of this was me.” He traced a finger along a line of text written in a handwriting that was foreign to you.

“That’s a good one,” you cooed, reading the line he traced. “Who wrote that?”

“Ben.” The name rang a bell. The one sibling Klaus did talk to you about had been Ben. All that Klaus had told you was that he died when they were teens and nothing more. You could imagine that the death of his father brought some sense of those feelings back to him. Hoping to comfort him, you reached out a hand and rested it on his shoulder.

“How about some sleep, yeah?”

“No, not yet,” Klaus said, shifting on the bed so he was facing you. “What you said earlier, before Pogo so rudely interrupted, what did you mean?”

“I think you know what I meant, Klaus.” His green eyes were glued on you and shining like pale emeralds in the dim light of his room. With legs crossed and hands in his lap, your friend looked like a child waiting to open presents.

“I want...I need to hear you say it,” he presses, “I know that there’s a limit at which people can love others. I know some who don’t at all, some who love too much. I need to know where you stand with me. Please, Y/N.”

“I just love you, Klaus,” you breathed softly. Klaus smiled sourly, eyes turning to his lap seemingly disappointed. “I’m sorry if you don’t-”

“As a friend?” The question cuts you off and puts a halt to your own words. You raise an eyebrow at Klaus and, noticing your extended silence, he looks up at you. “Do you just love me as a friend?”

“Klaus, I don’t think friends do what we do. Friends don’t share beds and dreams like we do. I just don’t want...I don’t want things to go wrong. You know? I’m scared.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being scared,” Klaus murmured, repeating what you had told him minutes before. You let out a nervous, breathy laugh before nodding.

“Yeah, you’re right.” A stretch of quiet falls over the two of you as you stare at one another bashfully. “I love you more than a friend, Klaus, you should know that.”

“I do,” he replied, “I just needed to hear you say it.” Before you can response, Klaus is leaning over you and pressing you close to him. His lips barely brush against yours, the tip of his cold nose rubbing your own. “Y/N,” he breaths again, asking silently for your permission.

Instead of verbally voicing it, you press your lips to his. Your hands tangle in his already messy hair, gently tugging on the strands. It feels so much softer and better than you imagined. His hands are smooth against your neck, pushing away the scarf still sitting there as he reaches your cheeks to hold you mouth to his. The kiss is messy too, with clacking teeth and muffled moans; but you wouldn’t have it anyother way.

Klaus either, as he is just as eager and just as in love with you. It occurs to him, in the heat of the moment, that he had never returned your sentiment. Quickly, like he had placed his hand on a white-hot stove, Klaus pulls away. He takes in the sight of you before him, on his bed with kiss swollen lips. He never realized how lucky he was.

“I love you too,” he whispers, “more than just friends.” You only smile at his words and unwrap the scarf around your neck. He watches you with bright, adoring eyes and you can’t help but melt. You throw the loop of the scarf over his head so it sits on the back of his neck.

“Good,” you murmur before using the ends of the scarf still in your hands to pull him back to you. “Now show me.”

The little slivers of light that managed to peek through the thick curtains adorning the windows in Klaus’ room seemed to shine directly on you. It was as if, much like Klaus himself, the natural world could not help but be drawn to you. Despite the sun’s rays, you remained in a deep slumber that Klaus was extremely jealous of. In what way he was jealous, he wasn’t entirely sure.

Klaus was jealous that you were still sleeping, but not because he longed for sleep. He was jealous softly in that you were tucked away in some sweet dreamscape where he was left awake and waiting for you to stir. Jealous because whoever was in your was stealing time from him in the wonderful afterglow of dawn. That was why he was jealous.

In a half-hearted attempt to wake you, as he never would want to hinder your rest, Klaus brushed his fingers against the crown of you head. Your eyes remained shut, lost in the world your subconscious had created. Klaus wondered if he was there in your dream. He sure hoped that he was. You were definitely in his.

“You two are disgustingly cute,” snapped a voice that was all too familiar to Klaus. Turning so he was resting on his back, Klaus’ eyes landed on the spectral form of his brother. Ben was grinning despite the sarcastic tone.

“Good, maybe you’ll leave me alone now,” Klaus huffed, but he was smiling too.

“I thought the two of you would die before anything happened,” Ben continued, “it was painful watching you dance around your feelings. Best moves I’ve seen out of you yet!”

“Okay, I get it.” Klaus sighed, turning his head to peer at you once more. Ben watched his brother’s attention being pulled back to you and he felt a swell of happiness in his ghostly chest. Y/N had managed to keep Klaus clean, despite his minor relapse, something Ben had never been able to maintain for extended periods. He was proud.

“I’ll leave you both to it then,” Ben conceded, walking silently towards Klaus’ bedroom door. Klaus looked over at his brother, offering him a groggy smile.

“Thank you, Ben,” he teased, green eyes brightening.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ben grumbled, “just keep it down. You share this house you know.” With that, Ben was gone, leaving Klaus to marvel at your still sleeping form. He turned back on his side so his whole view was of you; the same way it felt in his heart. As he studied your features, your body began to twitch with signs of life. Soon your beautiful eyes blinked slowly open and met Klaus’ gaze.

“Good morning” you murmured, curling closer to Klaus’ warmth. He welcomed you, extending an arm to wrap around your waist until you were both chest to chest.

“Good morning indeed,” Klaus said joyfully, his playful nature returning to him after the serious chat with his brother. “Dream up anything nice? Sex dream maybe?”

“No,” you sighed, hitting him lightly in the shoulder, “but I heard your voice. Like you were talking to someone. I think you mentioned Ben.” You craned your neck to gauge his reaction to your words. Klaus was all smiled when you gaze landed on him. He leaned down and pressed his warm lips to your forehead.

“I still have so much to tell you,” he whispered. You pulled from his embrace slightly, to get a better look at his face. Klaus seemed chipper, well rest in the morning light. His sharp jawline was softened by the golden rays peeking through the curtains and his brown hair looked more like spun gold in some places.

“Like what? Hm?” You tease, reaching up to pinch his chin between your forefinger and thumb. “Did you kill someone?”

Klaus beamed before getting caught up in his own chuckle. “Not that I know of,” he sighed, “but I haven’t told you about my abilities, or why I use….used drugs.” You furrowed your brow at Klaus’ change in tone, but he was still smiling at you like a boy in love.

“Should we head down for tea then?” You ask, smiling too. Klaus moved suddenly so that his hands were on either side of your head as he pushed your back against the mattress. He leaned down and peppered sweet kisses to you neck. Then he trailed them up to your cheeks and finally, your lips.

“We shall,” he mumbled against your skin, placing one last kiss to the corner of your mouth. You hummed in response, reaching up to bury your hands in his hair. Klaus shuddered at the touch before leaning into it. He trusted you and, soon, he would be telling you everything.

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realityhelixcreates · 4 years

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Lasabrjotr Chapter 58:Hysteria Drive

Chapters: 58/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: none Relationships: Loki x Reader (There We Go) Characters: Loki (Marvel), Thor(Marvel), Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Tony Stark, Stephen Strange Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Brains Are A Hell Of A Thing, Cultural Differences, Thor Isn’t Stupid Tho?, There’s A Bit Of A Spectrum Between Genius And Dumb

Summary: Some things just never go away.

The world felt distant as your heavy breathing slowed, the adrenaline thudding in your ears. You withdrew your hand, so slowly, from pointing at Steve, who poked at his chest in bemusement.

“Huh. That was weird.” He said.

Then the babbling began. You couldn't apologize enough. You didn't know what you had been thinking, why you automatically assumed that the tiniest flash of light meant murder. The thing on the ground wasn't even a knife; it was a key, like the one you wore hanging from your chatelaine. He hadn't thrown it at you, he had tossed it to Mr. Rhodes, who wanted to go back to their rooms to retrieve something.

It had all been nothing. And you had reacted with possibly lethal force. If that had been a knife, it would have stuck right in his chest. It would not have killed him, you didn't think, but if it had been someone else...

Yes, if this whole situation had been different, but it wasn't, and you were panicking now with no way out, and the other trainees were surrounding the group of you, uncertainty on their faces, but weapons in their hands. They knew you, knew your association with Loki, but they also knew that these other human visitors had associations with their king.

Andsvarr broke ranks, removing his helmet and pushing past Steve, who barely reacted to stop him, and knelt beside you with Natasha.

“My Seidkona, what ails you?” He asked. “Do you need water? Do you need space? Do you need to be taken to a shaded area?”

“I just-I'm sorry, I didn't-I mean I should have known, but I thought-I just thought that-I'm sorry-” You gabbled. You needed all those things, but you couldn't make yourself say it.

“Can you stand?” He asked. “We can lead you away from here. We can take you back to your room for now.”

It sounded good. Andsvarr was trusted, and his even tone was more helpful than Natasha's, being much more familiar. Neither Steve, nor Mr. Rhodes had approached, which was probably for the best.

You stood at Andsvarr's gentle urging, unable to bring yourself to meet anybodies eyes.

“There, everything will be all right now.” He said, just as strong arms circled you from behind.

You screeched in terrified surprise, and drove your heel down on the top of your assailant's foot with all your might.

“Ah.” Loki's voice murmured in your ear, dryly amused. “I see we have been learning new things.”

The gibbering apologies resumed. You needed to be removed from the area. You were hurting people! Well, not actually hurting them; phenomenal luck had directed your violence against those you would have a very tough time actually causing harm to, but the fact remained that you had tried.

Loki lifted you up in his arms and carried you away from the sunny training yard, murmuring calming platitudes on the way. But you just kept seeing blood on the potato leaves, the way the mans body jerked, even after you had split his head open. Why now? Why were you remembering now?

You hadn't even buried him. You'd just taken all the potatoes home, and never gone back to that field. Just left him there, murdered in the dirt.

You were babbling about it, without realizing, bloody leaves dancing in your minds eye.

You would never get the chance to apologize.

“What is going on? Is she going to be all right?” Steve asked.

“You know exactly what this is. Do you pretend not to suffer in the same way?” Loki said in a clipped tone, then amended himself to a more gentle sound when you squirmed in discomfort in his arms. “It's alright my dear. You are sheltered now. None can reach you.” He jerked his head at the Avenger escort. “Go. She won't calm with so many eyes on her. Give us time.”

Bucky nodded and helped Natasha to shoo the others away.

Loki cradled you in his lap, rocking gently until you went quiet and still, and then he just waited.

“Think I'll be okay now.” You mumbled. He didn't let go, but he did loosen his grip to allow you more movement.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Loki asked. “Was there too much dust? I'll have the courtyard swept-”

“No, I thought there was a knife! I thought someone else was trying to kill me again.”

“Oh darling. Of course, who wouldn't be afraid of that? I think some of the armor I commissioned for you should be finished by now; shall I have it brought to you tonight?”

You nodded. “Yeah. That's not all though. I just...reacted. I used my magic to send it back, but it was just a key, and it was just Steve. It wasn't even a danger, but I was totally willing to hurt someone. Just ready to react with violence, and then I couldn't stop thinking about that guy I killed...I murdered a man, and I just left him there-”

“That was self defense, my dear, anyone-”

“I just left him there!” You cried, voice raising again. “I knew him, but I just left him on the ground and dug up potatoes! Like he was nothing! I just left him and took a bunch of food home, and didn't tell anyone! Just left him there for the coyotes.”

Loki was stroking your hair now, just letting you vent.

“I thought it was over, you know? When it all went back to the way it was, but I never got past it. I'm still so angry at him, and at myself. I knew I shouldn't have gone out there alone, but I did it anyway. But it's still with me, and it's coming out more; that willingness to get violent, to kill even. I tried to hurt Steve, I tried to hurt you. I'm just damn lucky the two of you are so resilient, but other people aren't so lucky. Am I going to get worse? Will I end up killing someone again?” You looked up into his face, but his gaze was distant. “Loki?”

“I...feel we differ in attitude about this subject, my dear.” He said softly. “Asgard was always at war. Even after Father ceased conquering, the realms that now depended upon us still had to be protected. I have lead armies, fought, and bled, and killed for Asgard and the safety of the realms. And for far less noble reasons as well. Violence is...normal. Even here, it is normal. There are countries at war on this world, right now, as I hold you. All you did, both then and now, was try to protect your own life against someone unfairly trying to harm you.”

“But Steve didn't try to hurt me! It was a mistake!”

“Of course he didn't. But that slime out in the country did, and that has stayed with you. How could it not? Humans may try to convince themselves that violence is primitive and beneath them, but you need it, if only to keep yourself safe. It seems the cultural dichotomy does not allow you to reach equilibrium with your nature and your noble ideals. But my dear, you have caused no tangible harm. No one was hurt. You were not hurt. Let your heart be calmed. You have done nothing wrong.”

It didn't help, not really. His voice soothed, and his touch warmed, but his words didn't settle the unease. He didn't seem to understand why this rising trend of violence within yourself troubled you, even though he had been victim to it before! You had used your magic then too, to strike him in the bath when...you thought he was going to attack you. But even then, you had allowed your anger to take you a step farther. You could have demanded to leave after you found out he had been messing with you. Instead, you punched him. You could have run away after you had knocked that man down in the potato garden. Instead, you had chopped him. And you could have done anything else with that key-that-was-not-a-knife. You could have teleported it across the field, or into your hand, or onto the ground. Instead, you had directed it at the throwers heart. Your temper was dangerous now; it had the power of magic behind it.

It must be a cultural difference. Asgard prized warriors, gloried in battle. Even Saldis could use a sword. Not well, by her own admission, but she could. And 'not well' by Asgardian standards, might mean something very different than 'not well' by your standards.

To Loki, to everyone around you, your occasional outbursts were normal. If you weren't careful, it might become normal to you too.

*****

Steve spent a few extra minutes asking certain questions of various Asgardians before heading back to Thor and the others. By the time he returned, they were discussing Asgardian architecture, Thor regaling them with stories about what Asgard used to look like, and how they planned to incorporate classic Asgardian styles into stable, Icelandic buildings. It was surely an interesting conversation, but something had been bothering Steve for over half a year now. Something about you, something about the occasional thing you said, the way you reacted every now and then. Something that didn't add up. Or rather, something that added up too well with something it shouldn't.

Tony scooted to the side to make room for Steve, as Thor continued in his excited way about pressing mosaic into concrete, using glass and tile, rather than gems or other stones no longer available to them. They would each have a mural-he insisted-they were all part of Asgard's history now; Asgard's first official Midgardian allies.

There was a great honor in that, Steve knew. Asgard's unique, animated paintings were reserved for important events only. It didn't stay his tongue.

“Your Majesty, I have some questions regarding your...royal ward. And I'm gonna need you to play it straight with me this time.”

“Yes, of course.” Thor said, face open and innocent. He would stay that way, even as he lied to Steve's face, he knew that now. He would think it was impressive how Thor had duped them for all these years, but that would probably be narcissistic. The man was not human; he was centuries old, with godlike powers, though Steve was still not convinced he possessed true divinity. He was a prince as well, and Asgard seemed to take the whole 'divine right of kings' thing pretty literally. Thor would have been schooled in diplomacy, in deception, in the etiquette of multiple worlds...and they had all allowed themselves to be convinced that Loki was the smart but evil one, and Thor was the good but dumb one. He wasn't, but that narrative suited him at the time. It garnered him trust.

But Steve saw it now, and was torn between being impressed, and being uneasy. He sighed, and spread his hands.

“She remembers, doesn't she?” It was more a statement than a question. The big, friendly expression remained on Thors' face, but those bi-colored eyes were inscrutable. All eyes turned to him.

Steve watched him open his mouth, expected the lie to come-

“Yes.” Thor said. “She does.”

“Are you referring to what I think you're referring to?” Sam asked. “Because if you're referring to what I think you're referring to...”

“_____ remembers the events of the Snap. It has left an indelible mark upon her...as it has on all of us. She did not know the causes behind it, but she remembers living through it.”

“She 'did not know'? Past tense?” Tony demanded. “You told her?”

“Of course I did.” Thor admitted. “She had spent all the time since the Reversal believing that she was insane. If I could give her at least some small peace of mind regarding that, of course I would. How did you figure it out?”

“Some of the things she said, some of the ways she acts.” Steve said. “I took a peek at her birth records after we got into a conversation about birthday traditions, and realized she remembers being a year older than she should.”

“And you didn't think this was worth mentioning to anyone?” Rhodey accused. “This one thing we were trying to avoid happening, and you didn't have anything to say?”

“Did your brother have something to do with this?” Tony demanded. “Is that why he's all lovey-dovey? Trying to keep this under wraps?”

“No, no. Please, friends, remain calm. There's no sinister reason behind this. It's just that _____'s mental state was very fragile when she first came to us-”

Tony snorted.

“-And in some ways, still is. She was very paranoid when it came to this subject, full of self doubt, and worried about how she would be treated if other people found out. I didn't want anyone coming here with prying questions, not until she was more comfortable. As for Loki...Well, that's just what he looks like when he's happy. I know you've never seen him like that, but I remember.”

“Is she the only one?” Bucky asked.

Thor shook his head. “She said there were forums. Like small, electronic secret societies. None of them knew why they remember, what the connection is.”

“It's the magic, naturally.” Strange interjected. “You know? She has magical capabilities, these other people likely do as well. The stones are the source of magic, so it stands to reason that those that have it might not be affected by the spell.”

“You knew?” Tony snapped.

“You didn't?” Strange asked.

Then the shouting began.

#lasabrjotr #loki x reader #loki (marvel)#thor (marvel)#tony stark #natasha romanoff #Steve Rogers #Steven Strange #bucky barnes #sam wilson #james rhodes

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mostlysignssomeportents · 5 years

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#1yrago My RSS feeds from a decade ago, a snapshot of gadget blogging when that was a thing

Rob Beschizza:

I chanced upon an ancient backup of my RSS feed subscriptions, a cold hard stone of data from my time at Wired in the mid-2000s. The last-modified date on the file is December 2007. I wiped my feeds upon coming to Boing Boing thenabouts: a fresh start and a new perspective.

What I found, over 212 mostly-defunct sites, is a time capsule of web culture from a bygone age—albeit one tailored to the professional purpose of cranking out blog posts about consumer electronics a decade ago. It's not a picture of a wonderful time before all the horrors of Facebook and Twitter set in. This place is not a place of honor. No highly-esteemed deed is commemorated here. But perhaps some of you might like a quick tour, all the same.

The "Main" folder, which contains 30 feeds, was the stuff I actually wanted (or needed) to read. This set would morph over time. I reckon it's easy to spot 2007's passing obsessions from the enduring interests.

↬ Arts and Letters Daily: a minimalist blog of links about smartypants subjects, a Drudge for those days when I sensed a third digit dimly glowing in my IQ. But for the death of founder Denis Dutton, it's exactly the same as it was in 2007! New items daily, but the RSS feed's dead.

↬ Boing Boing. Still around, I hear.

↬ Brass Goggles. A dead feed for a defunct steampunk blog (the last post was in 2013) though the forums seem well-stocked with new postings.

↬ The Consumerist. Dead feed, dead site. Founded in 2005 by Joel Johnson at Gawker, it was sold to Consumer Reports a few years later, lost its edge there, and was finally shuttered (or summarily executed) just a few weeks ago.

↬ Bibliodyssey. Quiescent. Updated until 2015 with wonderful public-domain book art scans and commentary. A twitter account and tumblr rolled on until just last year. There is a book to remember it by should the bits rot.

↬ jwz. Jamie Zawinski's startling and often hilariously bleak reflections on culture, the internet and working at Netscape during the dotcom boom. This was probably the first blog that led me to visit twice, to see if there was more. And there still is, almost daily.

↬ Proceedings of the Athanasius Kircher Society. Curios and weirdness emerging from the dust and foul fog of old books, forbidden history and the more speculative reaches of science. So dead the domain is squatted. Creator Josh Foer moved on to Atlas Obscura.

↬ The Tweney Review. Personal blog of my last supervisor at Wired, Dylan Tweney, now a communications executive. It's still going strong!

↬ Strange Maps. Dead feed, dead site, though it's still going as a category at Big Think. Similar projects proliferate now on social media; this was the wonderful original. There was a book.

↬ BLDGBLOG. Architecture blog, posting since 2004 with recent if rarer updates. A fine example of tasteful web brutalism, but I'm no longer a big fan of cement boxes and minimalism with a price tag.

↬ Dethroner. A men's self-care and fashion blog, founded by Joel Johnson, of the tweedy kind that became wildly and effortlessly successful not long after he gave up on it.

↬ MocoLoco. This long-running design blog morphed visually into a magazine in 2015. I have no idea why I liked it then, but indie photoblogs' golden age ended long ago and it's good to see some are thriving.

↬ SciFi Scanner. Long-dead AMC channel blog, very likely the work of one or two editors and likely lost to tidal corporate forces rather than any specific failure or event.

↬ Cult of Mac. Apple news site from another Wired News colleague of mine, Leander Kahney, and surely one of the longest-running at this point. Charlie Sorrel, who I hired at Wired to help me write the Gadget blog, still pens articles there.

↬ Ectoplasmosis. After Wired canned its bizarre, brilliant and unacceptably weird Table of Malcontents blog, its editor John Brownlee (who later joined Joel and I in editing Boing Boing Gadgets) and contributor Eliza Gauger founded Ectoplasmosis: the same thing but with no hysterical calls from Conde Nast wondering what the fuck is going on. It was glorious, too: a high-point of baroque indie blogging in the age before Facebook (and I made the original site design). Both editors later moved onto other projects (Magenta, Problem Glyphs); Gauger maintains the site's archives at tumblr. It was last updated in 2014.

↬ Penny Arcade. Then a webcomic; now a webcomic and a media and events empire.

↬ Paul Boutin. While working at Wired News, I'd heard a rumor that he was my supervisor. But I never spoke to him and only ever received a couple of odd emails, so I just got on with the job until Tweney was hired. His site and its feed are long-dead.

↬ Yanko Design. Classic blockquote chum for gadget bloggers.

↬ City Home News. A offbeat Pittburgh News blog, still online but lying fallow since 2009.

↬ Watchismo. Once a key site for wristwatch fans, Watchismo was folded into watches.com a few years ago. A couple of things were posted to the feed in 2017, but its time has obviously passed.

↬ Gizmodo. Much has changed, but it's still one of the best tech blogs.

↬ Engadget. Much has changed, but it's still one of the best tech blogs.

↬ Boing Boing Gadgets. Site's dead, though the feed is technically live as it redirects to our "gadgets" tag. Thousands of URLs there succumbed to bit-rot at some point, but we have plans to merge its database into Boing Boing's and revive them.

↬ Gear Factor. This was the gadget review column at Wired Magazine, separate from the gadget blog I edited because of the longtime corporate divorce between Wired's print and online divisions. This separation had just been resolved at the time I began working there, and the two "sides" -- literally facing offices in the same building -- were slowly being integrated. The feed's dead, but with an obvious successor, Gear.

↬ The Secret Diary of Steve Jobs. Required reading at the time, and very much a thing of its time. Now vaguely repulsive.

↬ i09. This brilliant sci-fi and culture blog deserved more than to end up a tag at Gizmodo.

↬ Science Daily: bland but exhaustive torrent of research news, still cranking along.

The "Essentials" Folder was material I wanted to stay on top of, but with work clearly in mind: the background material for systematically belching out content at a particular point in 2007.

↬ Still alive are The Register, Slashdot, Ars Technica, UMPC Portal (the tiny laptop beat!), PC Watch, Techblog, TechCrunch, UberGizmo, Coolest Gadgets, EFF Breaking News, Retro Thing, CNET Reviews, New Scientist, CNET Crave, and MAKE Magazine.

↬ Dead or quiescent: GigaOm (at least for news), Digg/Apple, Akihabara News, Tokyomango, Inside Comcast, Linux Devices (Update: reincarnated at linuxgizmos.com), and Uneasy Silence.

Of the 23 feeds in the "press releases" folder, 17 are dead. Most of the RSS no-shows are for companies like AMD and Intel, however, who surely still offer feeds at new addresses. Feeds for Palm, Nokia and pre-Dell Alienware are genuine dodos. These were interesting enough companies, 10 years ago.

PR Newswire functions as a veneering service so anyone can pretend to have a big PR department, but it is (was?) also legitimately used by the big players as a platform so I monitored the feeds there. They're still populated, but duplicate one another, and it's all complete garbage now. (It was mostly garbage then.)

My "Gadgets and Tech" folder contained the army of late-2000s blogs capitalizing on the success of Gizmodo, Boing Boing, TechCrunch, et al. Back in the day, these were mostly one (or two) young white men furiously extruding commentary on (or snarky rewrites of) press releases, with lots of duplication and an inchoate but seriously-honored unspoken language of mutual respect and first-mover credit. Those sites that survived oftentimes moved to listicles and such: notionally superior and more original content and certainly more sharable on Facebook, but unreadably boring. However, a few old-timey gadget bloggers are still cranking 'em out' in web 1.5 style. And a few were so specialized they actually had readers who loved them.

Still alive: DailyTech, technabob, CdrInfo.com, EverythingUSB, Extremetech, GearFuse, Gizmag, Gizmodiva, Hacked Gadgets, How to Spot A Psychopath/Dans' Data, MobileBurn, NewLaunches, OhGizmo!, ShinyShiny, Stuff.tv, TechDigest, TechDirt, Boy Genius Report, The Red Ferret Journal, Trusted Reviews, Xataca, DigiTimes, MedGadget, Geekologie, Tom's Hardware, Trendhunter, Japan Today, Digital Trends, All About Symbian (Yes, Symbian!), textually, cellular-news, TreeHugger, dezeen.

Dead: jkkmobile.com, Business Week Online, About PC (why), Afrigadget (unique blog about inventors in Africa, still active on FaceBook), DefenseTech, FosFor (died 2013), Gearlog, Mobile-Review.com (but apparently reborn as a Russian language tech blog!), Robot's Dreams, The Gadgets Weblog, Wireless Watch Japan, Accelerating Future, Techopolis, Mobile Magazine, eHome Upgrade, camcorderinfo.com (Update: it became http://Reviewed.com), Digital Home Thoughts (farewell), WiFi Network News (farewell), Salon: Machinist, Near Future Lab, BotJunkie (twitter), and CNN Gizmos.

I followed 18 categories at Free Patents Online, and the site's still alive, though the RSS feeds haven't had any new items since 2016.

In the "news" folder, my picks were fairly standard stuff: BBC, CNET, digg/technology, PC World, Reuters, International Herald Tribune, and a bunch of Yahoo News feeds. The Digg feed's dead; they died and were reborn.

The "Wired" feed folder comprised all the Wired News blogs of the mid-2000s. All are dead. 27B Stroke 6, Autopia, Danger Room, Epicenter, Gadget Lab, Game|Life, Geekdad, Listening Post, Monkey Bites, Table of Malcontents, Underwire, Wired Science.

These were each basically one writer or two and were generally folded into the established mazagine-side arrangements as the Age of Everyone Emulating Gawker came to an end. The feed for former EIC Chris Anderson's personal blog survives, but hasn't been updated since his era. Still going strong is Bruce Sterling's Beyond the Beyond, albeit rigged as a CMS tag rather than a bona fide site of its own.

Still alive from my 2007 "Science" folder are Bad Astronomy (Phil Plait), Bad Science (Ben Goldacre), Pharyngula (PZ Myers) New Urban Legends, NASA Breaking News, and The Panda's Thumb.

Finally, there's a dedicated "iPhone" folder. This was not just the hottest toy of 2007. It was all that was holy in consumer electronics for half a decade. Gadget blogging never really had a golden age, but the iPhone ended any pretense that there were numerous horses in a race of equal potential. Apple won.

Still alive are 9 to 5 Mac, MacRumors, MacSlash, AppleInsider and Daring Fireball. Dead are TUAW, iPhoneCentral, and the iPhone Dev Wiki.

Of all the sites listed here, I couldn't now be paid but to read a few. So long, 2007.

https://boingboing.net/2017/12/29/my-rss-feeds-from-a-decade-ago.html

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agape-philo-sophia · 6 years

Text

➝ The Occult Numerology & Gematria of 9/11

The spiritual supporting pillars of the world’s societal structure were essentially demolished on 9/11…symbolically, allegorically, ritualistically and literally.

It was quite a sinister “stroke of genius” and so exemplifies how these dark controllers operate. This is why the wake up to 9/11 Truth is so shocking to people’s systems and they just can’t handle it. It’s overwhelming, which it was designed to be. And so the vast populace rolls over and buries its head back in the sand... Tell A Big Enough Lie …and you’ll eventually get exposed. So full of lies are these controllers it’s beyond the grasp of normal sentient beings. And they revel in the power of that. It’s amazing they can be so brash yet hidden in plain sight.

The Twin Pillars Archetype, The effect of occult (hidden) symbolism on the human psyche is a nicely kept secret. Even though psychologists such as Carl Jung have written extensively on this and it’s clearly pointed out by the esoteric community. People just do not realize they are daily the subject of the sophisticated manipulation of these terribly powerful symbols. Like scientific breakthroughs are garnered by the military, these elite psychopaths have to weaponize everything, instead of using it for the betterment of humanity and our world.

“Signs and symbols rule the world, not words nor laws” – Confucius

There’s much more to this subject. And it wasn’t just Freemasons involved in all this, but they’re a major arm that encapsulates a belief system much of the Illuminati share. Members of this dark cabal are almost always associated with some sort of secret society or practice like Freemasonry or witchcraft, often under a religious cover like the Vatican, Mormonism or Evangelical groups. Rothschild Zionists use both the religious cover and the financial “institution” to disguise and justify their perfidy.

At the occult level the 9/11 event was a ritual, empowered, as is often the case, by performing human sacrifice. War is another such ritual, usually instigated and financed by this same dark cabal loosely labelled the Illuminati. I can’t begin to cover the extent of the symbology and esoteric meaning injected into the 9/11 charade, but I hope this opens up a few things for you to look into further. These same tactics are used constantly on an unwary public at many levels.

The lie is exposed, the spell is broken and the illusion loses its power over you. But the secret weapon of 9/11 was this: it was riding high on the amplified occult, symbolic preparation of not just decades, seeing the “twin towers” as a symbol of world commerce and the “triumph of the human spirit”, but seeing “twin pillars of society” throughout architecture and logos and literature for millenia, both conscious and subconscious, being destroyed before their eyes, over and over and over --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The day of the attack: 11 The Date of the Attack, September 11 or 9/11 = 9 + 1 + 1 = 11 911 is emergency number = 9 + 1 + 1 = 11 September 11th is the 254th day of the year: 2 + 5 + 4 = 11 After September 11th we have 111 remaining for the end of the year. 119 is the Area Code for Iran & Iraq 1 + 1+ 9 = 11 The first plane to hit one of the buildings was Flight 11 The State of New York was the 11th State to join the Union New York City = 11 letters Afghanistan = 11 letters The Pentagon = 11 letters Flight 11 had 92 passengers, 9 + 2 = 11 Flight 77 had 65 passengers, 6 + 5 = 11 Twin Towers look like an 11 Twin Towers had 110 floors

George H.W. Bush’s famous New World Order speech to congress was on 9/11/1990. Exactly 11 years before the attacks. In that speech, Bush encodes another 9-11. “Out of these troubled times, our fifth objective, a New World Order” → 5. “An era in which the nations of the world: east and west, north and south…” → 4. 5+4=9.

“100 generations have searched for this elusive path to peace, while 1000 wars waged across the span of human endeavor” →100+1000 = 1100 → 11

Through gematria we see the first plane, American Airlines Flight 11, actually encodes two 11s. A=1, so AA-11 = 11-11. This also hearkens to the spiritual organization founded by Aleister Crowley known as A∴A∴ The North Tower (WTC1) was impacted at 8:46:40 and collapsed at 10:28:22. An interval of ~101 minutes.

The South Tower (WTC2) was impacted at 9:03:00 and collapsed at 9:59:00. An interval of 56 minutes, 5+6=11. (Yes, those times times are exactly at the minute marks. 9:03:00 is the impact time given in the 9/11 Commission Report. However, NIST established this time as 9:02:59… Shucks, only one second off.) September 11th was the 254th day of the year. 2+5+4=11 Thus, there were 111 days left in the year.

September 11th in the Gregorian calendar is New Year’s Day in the Coptic calendar, the calendar originating in Egypt, traditionally the source of all the Hermetic traditions.

Also a Video here:

➝ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-nzETuIYS1Q ----------------------------------------------------

#Truth #Occult #Esoteric #Elite #Sacrifice #Ritual #Control #Numerology #Gematria

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artificialqueens · 6 years

Text

In Sickness and In Health Ch4 - shalaska - pureCAMP

A/N - okay, here goes.

first of all, i officially dedicate this chapter to my bosom buddy, partner in crime, grandma and best friend, nymph. being your friend is the only christmas present i could ask for, so here’s a christmas gift to you for being so amazing. although it’s not christmas yet, merry christmas to you

that being said, there’s so many more people i wish i could write for, unfortunately i have lots of friends and little time. so for now, all of my love and the happiest christmas wishes go out to wick and frida, dottie, ortega, fudge/nugget, luci, ace, rosie, jazz - really just all of you who have made a positive impact on my life. merry christmas to all of you <3

As expected, the palace in which Prince Ron brought them to was just as extravagant as Sharon’s, but not nearly as tasteful. Alaska found herself cringing slightly at the decor, a sentiment which Sharon echoed with her raised eyebrows. It was too colourful, too overwhelmed with gold and silver and bronze, too shiny and gaudy and clashing.

Prince Ron led them out of the grand front room into the even larger, even more decorated throne room, where he spread his arms wide with a flourish. Despite how tacky yet expensive it looked, Alaska still took it all in. At the top of the room, positioned in the centre on a curved balcony, there stood a large gilded throne, cushioned with fine red velvet. Next to it, a smaller, more slender throne stood – this one purple, edged with silver.

“Welcome back to mi casa!” He announced. “That’s French for my home.”

“No it’s –” Sharon began, but of course, the prince simply wasn’t listening. It seemed he had a habit of only acknowledging Sharon’s presence – Alaska was invisible once more – and not even listening to her when she spoke. No wonder Sharon hadn’t fallen for his supposed charm.

“See that throne up there?” Prince Ron asked, heavily draping his arm around Sharon’s slender shoulders. The force of it roughly pulled their hands apart, and Sharon almost buckled from the sudden weight on her. She was growing weaker, but Alaska knew she was doing her best to hide it.

Sharon followed his eye line. “The red one?”

He chuckled heartily. “Oh, Sharon, you jest! No, the smaller, feminine one in purple. You see it?”

“Yes.”

Prince Ron clapped Sharon on the back; yet another overly-masculine gesture that Sharon struggled to ignore. “Do you like it? After all, I’m sure it one day will be yours. You will be a wonderful queen for our kingdoms, Sharon.”

Sharon hummed, all the while shooting glances at Alaska. “I think I prefer the red.”

The prince laughed again. “When did you become so comedic? Prefer the red? Genius!” He wiped a tear from his eye. “Well, we all know red is the colour of kings, it certainly isn’t for women!”

Alaska tuned out of his pompous voice, scowling as she thought of Sharon’s penchant for red lipstick. Not for women, my ass, she thought to herself.

“I mean, could you imagine? The audacity of treating a woman in such a way! Oh, and speaking of-”

He took a deep breath, ready to perform another dreadfully heartfelt soliloquy. His hand moved to place itself above his heart.

“My, oh my, how it feels so terrible!” Prince Ron lamented. “To give a weapon to a woman! Sharon, how can I live with myself, knowing that by giving you a weapon I’m opening you up to attack? As a man – no, as a gentleman, a prince, a courtier, it is my chivalrous duty to protect a fine lady such as yourself!”

Sharon mimed gagging in Alaska’s direction, clearly unimpressed with his antics. “This fine lady doesn’t need protecting. I’m more open to attack if I don’t have a weapon, Ron. I…” She paused, as though the words were painful. “I need your help.”

Those were the fatal words. Alaska could see it was killing Sharon to say them, but they had the desired effect. Ever the desperately traditional hero, Prince Ron was taken by them immediately.

“What kind of future king would I be, not to help a lady in need? Sharon, of course I’ll help you. If you won’t accept my company, I may as well bestow upon you some of the finest weaponry I have in my possession. Come this way.”

-0-

Unsurprisingly, Alaska was forced to wait outside as the weapon dealing took place. It made sense; regardless of how close her and Sharon were becoming, she had to remember that Sharon was a member of the royal family, not any regular girl. That was why she needed to keep both her behaviour and her heart in check. Sharon was a princess. Alaska was nothing.

Before long, one of the many women in the palace walked past Alaska, doubling back once she realized she didn’t recognise her face. The woman was well-dressed, with kind eyes and a large ring weighing down one of her fingers. At Alaska’s polite smile, she struck up a conversation.

“Sorry dear, I don’t believe we’ve met before?”

Her voice was rich and smooth. Alaska’s own accent sounded horribly common in comparison.

“No, my name’s Alaska and I’m accompanying the Princess Sharon on her travels. She’s just speaking to Prince Ron.”

The woman nodded thoughtfully. “A lovely girl, really. Ever so intelligent. She’ll make a remarkable queen.”

Alaska’s heart swelled, though she tried to ignore it. “I completely agree. She’s going to be amazing when her time comes.”

A sudden sense of trepidation washed over her, cold dread beginning to trickle down her system. She refrained from speaking the awful truth that had entered her mind.

If her time comes.

It was a very real possibility that Sharon would never be Queen. It was a very real possibility that the kingdom would never gather with high spirits to watch their young princess ascend to her throne, each one of them feeling pride as though she were a member of their own family. There wouldn’t be a day off in which the streets would be adorned in colourful banners, in which traditional dances would take place in the square and in which people would drink and laugh and eat cake. There wouldn’t be groups of women discussing the coronation dress, nor groups of men wondering who will be lucky enough to take her hand in marriage.

It was a very real possibility that the kingdom would fall into mourning. It was a very real possibility that they would gather with low spirits at the bottom of the palace steps, laying down flowers in memory of the beloved princess who was gone too soon. There would be a day off in order for the funeral procession to take place, with the casket containing the body of a girl who had barely lived. There would be an influx in the demand for black clothing, and no one would be seen not paying their respects to the late princess in their finest mourning wear.

Alaska only noticed she had welled up when the woman before her asked if she was okay, and she realized that her form was now blurry with tears. Quickly blinking them away, she forced out a little laugh and nodded.

“I spaced out a little then, whoops. I’ve been waiting a while.” She gestured back to where Prince Ron and Sharon had disappeared to.

The woman nodded understandingly. “Well, would you like to follow me to our library? I was looking for somebody to help me pick my next novel.”

Eager to move away from the doorway, Alaska agreed. As it turned out, the library was equally as grand as the rest of the palace, but in much better taste. Grecian architecture was prevalent throughout, with high arches and friezes of old gods and colonnades separating the different sections. It was stunning.

For at least twenty minutes, Alaska perused the shelves, gently stroking the leather-bound spines of the books and tracing the intricate pictures with the tip of her finger. She was sure the stories inside were as wonderful as the illustrations, and longed to be somebody who could read them. Her imagination could never do them justice.

“Alaska, dear, which novel do you think I should read next?”

The woman had laid out a selection of six books on one of the large tables, and seemed to be unable to make up her mind. Alaska studied each one, wishing again that she was able to read the titles. She hadn’t the faintest idea what any of them said, or would be about. She hadn’t read a book in her life.

“Uh… that one.” She decided eventually.

The woman smiled. “Any particular reason why?”

Alaska shrugged truthfully. “The pictures are really pretty.”

As soon as the words had left her lips, she cursed herself. Really? You’re in a palace full of well-educated people and you’re talking about pretty pictures?

To her surprise, the woman laughed heartily. “I like the way you think! Good pictures can make or break a story, in my opinion.”

At that, she turned around and started to put the other books back onto the shelf, climbing onto the wheeled ladder and turning her back on Alaska. Before she could properly respond, the door to the library forcefully slammed open, hitting the wall with an almighty bang. She whipped around, heart racing from the momentary shock, and spotted Prince Ron entering the room in long strides, with a hopeless-looking Sharon following him.

“Mother!” Prince Ron announced.

“Queen Ellena?” Sharon asked.

“Shit.” Alaska murmured.

She scurried to Sharon’s side as they approached the ladder in which the Queen was stood, her skin blushing as the situation dawned on her. This was the actual queen of the kingdom, Prince Ron’s mother – head of the royal family! And she, Alaska, had just been chatting away with zero knowledge.

“My apologies!” Alaska stuttered, sweeping into a clumsy curtsey as Sharon did the same, but tidier. “I-I wasn’t aware it was you, Y-Your Hi-”

The Queen waved her away, laughing gently. “Nonsense, both of you. I have no need to be Queen when I’m inside the palace walls, just call me Ellena. And none of this curtseying business!”

Sharon smiled. “It’s lovely to see you, Ellena. I was wondering if I may borrow some of your books for my journey? I’ll make sure they’re returned.”

Two things struck Alaska; one of them was that Sharon spoke differently to others – be it royalty or not – than she did to Alaska, and the other was her phrasing. I’ll make sure they’re returned. Even Sharon was all too aware that her survival was looking bleak. She wasn’t going to kid around and pretend like everything was fine.

“Of course, my dear! You’re welcome here anytime you like.”

Sharon was quick in her selection, which Alaska was endlessly grateful for. She was still a little embarrassed that she hadn’t known who the Queen was, and the presence of Prince Ron was making her far too uncomfortable to want to stay any longer. Goodness only knew how Sharon had coped speaking with him alone for the amount of time that she had.

“Alaska, do you have any you want to look at?” Sharon carefully stowed three books into her bag, looking up at her with earnest eyes.

She shook her head, her throat closing up. “I…” Alaska practically whispered. “I can’t read.”

Luckily for Alaska, Sharon didn’t visibly react; if she had it would have only added to the inappropriate sense of shame that came over her as soon as she spoke. Who cared if she couldn’t read? Most of their kingdom couldn’t, save for a few who had access to books and education. There was no need to be embarrassed!

Only Alaska was no longer in the company of their citizens anymore. She was in a palace, where everybody could read and write perfectly and had endless stories stored in their minds from years of pages turned and pictures looked at. In this scenario, she was the odd one out.

Sharon nodded quietly, not drawing attention to Alaska as she took one final book, thicker than the rest, from the shelf and slotted it into her bag.

“We really should be off,” Sharon spoke louder than before, causing both Ron and the Queen to look at her. “Thank you ever so much for the hospitality.”

The Queen frowned. “Won’t you stay to eat?”

Biting her lip, Sharon shook her head and politely declined. Alaska was sure they were both thinking of the debacle that had taken place in the palace back at home, with Sharon’s coughing and sickness and the bad temper that had upset the delicate balance of the dinner table. Neither of them wanted a repeat of that to be witnessed.

Eventually the Queen accepted that they wouldn’t stay, and before they could even turn around, Prince Ron insisted he would walk them back through the kingdom, keeping them safe until they reached their carriage. Again, neither of them wanted it – but at the same time, it reduced Alaska’s worry that someone would attack them. The last thing Sharon needed was someone trying to overpower her, especially when it seemed that a single breath of wind could do the job.

At the edge of the kingdom, a five minute walk from where their carriage was waiting for them, Prince Ron stopped.

“Dearest Sharon, this is as far as I am permitted to take you – but do not look glum. One day I shall take you around the whole world. For now, however, I must bid you adieu.”

He took hold of one of her hands, stroking her pale skin. It was a wonder he didn’t notice how skeletal her fingers were, her vivid the veins were.

“Even in the shortest window of time, your presence has the most profound effect on the heart. Until next time.”

It seemed as though Alaska blinked and all of a sudden he was kissing her, tilting her face upwards with his hand to meet his superior height. Though she made no attempt to pull away, Sharon’s nose was wrinkled, one of her hands balled into a fist as she tried to endure it.

Alaska sharply turned away from the two, sucking in a deep breath as her eyesight grew blurry. No matter where she looked, she could see them. The floor, her hands, her feet, imprinted everywhere was that horrible image, the silhouette of his lips against hers and his hands holding her face. I hate this. I hate this I hate this I hate this.

She tried everything. She was upset because she hated Prince Ron, and he didn’t deserve to be kissing someone as wonderful as Sharon. No. She was upset because Sharon was her friend, and she knew Sharon didn’t want to be with him. No. She was upset because… because…

No.

Never.

There’s Prince Ron’s voice. “Take care.”

Sharon. “We will.”

Prince Ron. “Goodbye, Sharon.”

Then footsteps. Alaska turned to find Prince Ron retreating, his back to them, slowly disappearing out of sight. As soon as he was gone, no longer in earshot or visible to either of them, Sharon doubled over and started to cough.

The action was so violent-sounding that Alaska was genuinely afraid she would fall over from the force of it. It was obscenely loud, racking her entire body as she shuddered and hacked. Amongst the horrid sound was a faint rattle, that could only be described as the death rattle of someone who was toeing the line between living and dying. Sharon had gone so long without coughing, presumably suppressing it so she didn’t cause alarm in the palace, and this seemed to be the result. Either that, or – as much as Alaska’s heart ached at the thought – she was simply getting worse.

By the time the fit was over, the grass and worn path were splattered with thick, dark globs of blood, as was Sharon’s chin. With the sleeve of her robe she quickly removed it, her chest heaving as she panted to catch her breath. Each inhalation was wheezy and shallow.

“C-Carriage.” She managed, clutching Alaska’s hand as tightly as she could and stumbling forwards. Her grip was loose – far too loose. Alaska held tight to compensate.

“A-At l-l-least-” Sharon tried again, every word seeming to drain her. “N-No-No-Not f-far…”

With that, her legs gave out beneath her, and she tumbled to the floor. Alaska’s heart leapt as the princess fell, hitting the ground hard and making no attempt to hold her arms out to cushion her fall. She simply took the impact with her body, not even trying to stand up once she’d fallen down. She was far too weak to do that.

“Sharon!” Alaska cried out, lifting the princess into her arms. It was terrifying how light she was, but thankfully it meant that Alaska could carry her, and quickly. She made her way back to the carriage as fast as she possibly could, gently setting her down and promising she’d be back soon.

“Onward,” She breathed to the driver. “Go!”

They took off like a shot; Alaska barely had time to clamber inside before the horses were whinnying and the carriage began to hurtle off the track they had been parked on and away from the village. Inside, Sharon was still in the exact position that Alaska had set her down in, unchanged.

She tried to lift her hand, succeeding in moving it an inch or two before it fell again. “W-Water… b-b-better…”

Alaska scrambled for the water, pouring some out of one of the bottles they had into a small cup. Clearly Sharon wasn’t strong enough to hold it, so she shifted forwards and held it to Sharon’s lips, tilting it slowly to allow her to have little sips at a time. Her breathing began to slow, her chest settling as she relaxed back into the carriage.

“Th-Thank you.” She spoke up, this time clearer and less shaky. “C-Can I?”

Despite the vicious trembling of her hands, Sharon succeeded in drinking a little more water, only spilling a few drops down her front in the process. It was the least of her worries, in any case. Her strength was beginning to return, bit by bit.

“C-Can you tell the driver to st-stop when it’s night? I’d r-rather sleep like th-that.”

Alaska nodded, her heart sinking as she gazed into Sharon’s tired eyes. “Of course,” She promised, beginning to lean out of the carriage once again. “Anything for you.”

-0-

Things were quiet for a good few hours after the carriage continued away from the kingdom. It was still late morning when they had set off, and the comfortable silence allowed Sharon to regenerate her strength and energy without feeling too under pressure to prove that she was okay. In the meantime, Alaska alternated between looking out of the window and checking up on Sharon. Outside, the view had finally started to change, and the endless stream of trees and green grass and hedges finally started to make way for ocean views and sand as they approached the coastline. Having never been to the beach, Alaska was sincerely fascinated by it all. Opposite her, Sharon didn’t change all too much. She sat up a little straighter after a few hours, and her eyes started to look a little brighter, and she began to look more alive and awake than she had before, but that was mostly it.

It was nearing dusk when the silence between the two was breached; the carriage had just stopped, and Alaska had been gazing out of the window for far too long, urging Sharon to look too. It was as if the world around them was rearranging itself, transitioning from blue to gold, rose, violet, thousands of colours streaking across the sky. Far off to the west, the sun was sinking lower and lower into the horizon.

The two got out of the carriage, desperate to stretch their legs after so long of sitting down. Alaska wisely grabbed one of the blankets from the bench she was sitting on, carrying it with her and setting it down on the sand so her and Sharon could sit. There wasn’t much space on the blanket, so they had to sit close in order to be free of the invasive sand. Sharon didn’t seem to mind, and Alaska’s heart was pounding.

“I used to do this a lot. Just staring at the sunset from my bedroom window. I had this amazing view of the entire kingdom and a little further beyond.” Sharon told her. Her voice was tinged with what sounded like bittersweet memories.

Alaska bit her lip. “Ever been to the beach?”

Sharon nodded. “Yeah. Some of my dad’s business things were more vacations than they were business. He’d only really be in meetings for an hour a day, and then we could go out and do whatever we wanted. I used to build sandcastles with Adore and help her dip her toes into the sea.”

She sighed. “When I got sick, it ruined everything for everyone. My dad went to business alone. We weren’t allowed on vacation at all. Not even my mom and my sisters without me. I think Laila resents me for that.”

“That’s not fair.” Alaska frowned. “You couldn’t help getting sick.”

Sharon snorted mirthlessly. “I guess that’s true. Although, being at the beach after so many years away feels like I’m ticking off some kind of bucket list.”

For a moment, Alaska wondered briefly about her own bucket list. Dying hadn’t really crossed her mind before, save for some of the less-plentiful harvests that impacted her grumbling tummy come wintertime. Death just seemed far away, like an inevitable but not so imposing raincloud of a distant storm. It was as probable as birth but it didn’t really mean anything to Alaska. The only real significance it held was that her parents had passed, and one day she would cross over and be with them. It was comforting, at least, to know they were there.

Sharon didn’t have anyone waiting for her. Alaska’s heart broke as she thought about how it must feel, to be young and already facing Death’s cruel penance. She was essentially staring her fate in the face knowing she was walking into it blind and alone.

“Lasky.” Sharon said suddenly, with urgency. “Come in the sea with me.”

Alaska did a double take. “Huh? Why?”

“Think about it!” Sharon replied, almost gleefully. “This is it, for me. This journey is live or die. If I live, I want good memories. If I die, I want to go out knowing I had some fun. This is the bucket list trip, the end of life checklist. Please?”

Slowly climbing to her feet, Alaska grinned. “Last one to the sea is a rotten egg.”

They instantly took off down the sand, Alaska reaching the waves far before Sharon did. Even so, Sharon was running, and Alaska’s heart felt as though it was swelling up just watching her. She’d discarded her hooded robe, and was running with her skirt clutched in her hands to allow for easier movement. As soon as she caught up, she grabbed Alaska’s hand without a second thought and willed her to run further into the freezing sea.

“STOP!” Alaska giggled, screeching as the cold water lapped about her ankles. Sharon did the same, performing a strange jumpy dance as she squealed and ended up splashing more than she spared. “LET’S JUMP OVER THE WAVES!”

The wind started to pick up, but it wasn’t like it mattered. Both girls were cold already, the water now up to the tops of their shins and still icy.

Hours could have passed in which they were simply fooling around. They jumped over waves, until a piece of seaweed wrapped itself around Sharon’s foot and caused her to scream and jump directly into Alaska’s arms, which was succeeded by a laughing fit which caused Alaska to drop her directly into an oncoming wave, and in turn caused her to laugh so much that she, too, was suddenly soaked in sea water. They splashed one another, flinging great big handfuls of icy spray in the others direction and shrieking madly at the cold. Somehow time passed without their notice, with the silly games and endless enjoyment masking the change from the warm colours of the evening to the cool, dark purples and indigos of the night. By the time they stopped, their hair was ragged and drenched, their clothes were soaked, and both girls were shivering with chattering teeth.

They had ended up facing each other, the seawater just above their knees, positively shaking in the biting wind. Alaska noted a tear in Sharon’s eye, though whether it was from laughter, cold or sadness, she didn’t know.

“ALASKA!” She shouted over the wind, more tears gathering in her eyes. Gosh, those eyes. Nothing looked prettier in the moonlight than they did.

“YES?” Alaska shouted back, taking both of Sharon’s numb hands in her own.

“I DON’T WANT TO DIE!” She yelled. Though her voice was hard to distinguish, it sounded heartbroken. “I DON’T WANT TO DIE! I DON’T WANT TO DIE!”

Alaska teared up instantly, and surged forward to tightly embrace Sharon. Both of them were trembling violently, but Alaska clutched her tight to her chest as though she were a lifeline.

“I don’t want to die!” She sobbed brokenly into Alaska’s chest. “I don’t, I don’t, I don’t! I never have!”

Despite her best efforts, Alaska found herself crying too. She cradled Sharon’s head, stroking her hair, the sensation of the sea forgotten.

“I don’t want you to go either. Please, please, please don’t go. You can’t go yet. You can’t leave me. I…”

Sharon lifted her tear-stained face to look up at Alaska.

“I love you.”

The sky was black. The sea was cold. The moon was bright. The poor girl was living. The princess was dying. And the two lovers, entwined and drenched and crying as though the world was ending, kissed on the beach.

#purecamp #in sickness and in health #shalaska #sharon needles #alaska thunderfuck #rpdr fanfiction #submission #lesbian au #royalty au

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watchilove · 4 years

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From over two hundred years of Breguet heritage comes the new edition of the Tradition 7038: a women’s watch adorned with iridescent Tahitian mother-of-pearl and an orange leather strap, reserved exclusively for Breguet boutiques.

With this new Tradition model, Breguet offers a contemporary reinterpretation of an aesthetic conceived by the House’s founder in the late eighteenth century. Visible from the dial, the movement, deep brown in colour, takes up the symmetrical architecture of the historic subscription watch. This innovative timepiece design was created by Abraham-Louis Breguet, in Paris, in the wake of the French Revolution, following a long trip to Switzerland during which he had mused on a great number of projects. Mechanical and feminine in equal measure, the Tradition 7038 is easily recognizable by its off-centre dial in Tahitian mother-of-pearl, inspired by Breguet’s tact watches. A diamond-set bezel adds sparkle to the creation, which is completed with a striking strap in orange leather. Delicately decorated and powered by a self-winding calibre with a silicon balance spring, the Tradition 7038 watch, which is reserved for Breguet boutiques, brings together the expertise of the House.

Breguet is offering this model reserved for its boutiques only with an original case – an elegant matching orange clutch bag fashioned from grained calfskin leather. Made in Italy in accordance with the great tradition of artisanal saddle making, it features a clasp that echoes the rosette pattern on the barrel of the Tradition 7038 watch.

Harmonious Symmetry

An ultra-mechanical yet feminine creation, the face of the Tradition 7038 reveals its historically inspired movement. The balance wheel with a hairspring – the oscillating heart of the watch – takes its place between 4 and 5 o’clock under a bridge protected by a pare-chute anti-shock mechanism, invented by Breguet in 1790. Opposite, between 7 and 8 o’clock, the centre wheel and its bridge perfectly mirror the Breguet balance wheel, with identical dimensions. In golden hues, the central barrel, decorated with a rosette motif, and the wheels of the movement contrast with the deep brown and finely sandblasted bridges and mainplate.

Breguet hands in gold indicate the hours and minutes on the Tahitian mother-of-pearl dial, which is off-centre at 12 o’clock. Its iridescent surface features clous de Paris (hobnailing) guilloche pattern topped with the Breguet inscription and the unique number of the timepiece. A delicate border, engine-turned by hand, outlines the hours chapter marked with Breguet numerals. A fine retrograde hand discretely points to the seconds engraved at 10 o’clock.

The movement of the Tradition 7038 model sits in a rose-gold case, with delicately fluted sides. The bezel set with 68 diamonds highlights the precious aesthetic of the composition, while a cabochon-cut ruby adorns the winding crown. The transparent caseback reveals the reverse side of the self-winding Breguet 505SR calibre. Its gold rotor, embellished with a rosette guilloche motif, echoes the decoration of the barrel on the dial. The welded lugs, which are slightly rounded at the edges, provide a holding place for the orange calfskin leather bracelet.

Inspired by History

The refined aesthetic of the Tradition line is inspired by the design of the subscription calibre created by Breguet in 1796. After two years in Switzerland during the darkest days of the French Revolution, the watchmaker returned to Paris to find his workshops, located on Quai de l’Horloge in Île de la Cité, needed to be rebuilt. In a stroke of genius, Abraham-Louis Breguet, with a reputation for complex timepieces, created the simplest watch ever made: the subscription watch. With a robust construction and a pared-back aesthetic, a single hand indicates both the hours and minutes. The movement is characterized by a centrally positioned barrel, as well as by a symmetrical placement of the balance wheel and the opposite wheel, which are of identical diameters.

Breguet tact watch no 2292

Three years later, Breguet brought out his tact watches, including watch no. 611 which was to be acquired by the Empress Joséphine, wife to Napoleon Bonaparte. The timepiece featured a flinqué enamel dial with diamonds set at each hour and can be viewed at the Breguet Museum in Paris. A subtle evolution from the subscription calibre, a number of these watches featured – along with the external hand – a pared-back dial with only one or two hands. This layout, taken up again in the current Tradition collection, allows both for the time to be read and the movement to be observed.

An Exclusive Clutch Bag

Breguet is offering the Tradition 7038 wristwatch, available exclusively in brand boutiques, with a unique and refined accessory which reimagines the idea of a watchcase. Breguet has called on the services of Italian craftsmen specialized in the traditional art of saddle making for this handcrafted and tailor-made clutch bag in grained calfskin leather. Its bright orange matches the bracelet of the Tradition 7038 and can be carried by hand, or worn over the shoulder, or across the body. The bag’s round and golden clasp is decorated with a rosette design, a larger version of the engine-turned barrel visible on the dial side of the Tradition 7038, which is barely 10 millimeters in size.

An ode to Abraham-Louis Breguet’s creations, Breguet’s contemporary Tradition 7038 model is inventive and precious in equal measure.

#gallery-0-7 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-7 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 50%; } #gallery-0-7 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-7 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

Breguet Tradition 7038 Technical Specifications and Price

Reference 7038BR/CT/3V6 D00D

Tradition watch in 18-carat rose gold. Bezel set with 68 diamonds weighing approx. 0.895 ct. Self-winding brown movement with retrograde seconds. Silicon Breguet balance-spring. Off-centred dial in Tahitian mother-of-pearl, engine-turned by hand. Sapphire crystal case back. Water-resistant to 3 bar (30 m). Diameter: 37 mm. Orange calfskin strap with pin buckle set with 25 diamonds.

This model is available with an original case – an elegant matching orange clutch bag fashioned from grained calfskin leather.

Movement

Winding Self-winding

Power reserve (hours) 50

Calibre 505 SR

Lines 14½

Jewels 38

Frequency 3

Balance-wheel Breguet

Escapement Inverted straight-line lever

Balance-spring Breguet / Silicon

Oscillating weight 18 Carats

Number of components 216

Case

Metal Rose gold

Skeleton No

Sapphire caseback Yes

Case width (mm) 37

Case thickness (mm) 11.85

Water-resistant (m) 30

Price

€ 37 370.00 * * Recommended retail price (incl. VAT)

Breguet tact watch no 2292

Breguet Tradition 7038 for women, a Breguet boutique exclusive model From over two hundred years of Breguet heritage comes the new edition of the Tradition 7038…

#7038 #boutique only #Breguet #Breguet Tradition #Breguet Tradition 7038 #hor her #ladies watch #news #Press release #Tradition 7038

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atlantaartisticweddings · 4 years

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Best of 2019 Wedding Photography | Atlanta Wedding Photographers

The best of the Best Atlanta wedding photography from the Photographers at Atlanta Artistic Weddings

As a Atlanta wedding photographer this year has been a year many blessings! Yes I am going to sound biased but I think we have worked for some of the best couples in Atlanta! It has been an honor to be a small part of their wedding day and captures the candid moments that document their wedding, family and friends. We want to capture their big day with photos they can share with family and friends for years to come. This week’s blog we look back at some of the highlights that made 2019!

We have shot at historic venues, vineyards, converted warehouses, churches, synagogues and hotels through out the metro Atlanta area. As a wedding photographer it is so cool to shoot at so many places. We get to find out about all the great photo locations in the city and it seems like we are always finding something new. We get to shoot as some of the most prestigious event venues in the area. Each venue has it’s own personality. We love the historic venues the best. The have that classic southern charm that Atlanta weddings are known for.

We love our bride and grooms and share their love of Atlanta land marks! There are many classic wedding venues through out the city when you take the time to explore. The wedding photo above was shot at Georgian Terrace in the heart the city. The Georgian Terrace has played host to some of the city’s most glamorous events since its opening in 1911. Once you explore what sets us apart, including three stunning ballrooms and world-class dining, you’ll understand why generations of Atlantans have made The Georgian Terrace the trusted backdrop for their most cherished celebrations. It is located across the street from the Fox Theater where we also did a wedding there this year! See the below photo!

We love the Fox Theater! When you think of Atlanta landmarks you think of the Fox. The Fox was originally conceived as a home for Atlanta’s Shriners organization. To create a headquarters befitting the group’s prominent social status, the Shriners looked to the ancient temples of the Far East to inspire a mosque-style structure befitting their stature. Storied architectural gems like the Alhambra in Spain and Egypt’s Temple of Kharnak heavily influenced the building’s elaborate and intensely ornate design. Bursting with soaring domes, minarets and sweeping archways, the exterior of the building gave way to stunning gold leaf details, sumptuous textiles and exquisite trompe l’oeil art (an art technique that uses realistic imagery to create optical illusions) inside.

here is the Payne Corley house located outside of Atlanta. It is owned their owners Krista and Micheal Ganley are just good people! They treat you like family and that is the best you can do. The building now known as the Payne-Corley House was built between 1870 and 1873 by David Little when Duluth was still known as “Howell’s Crossing.” Built as a farmhouse, the home received a date placard in 1873, the same year that the city took on its current name of Duluth, most likely indicating the year that the Little family made it their permanent home. Now it is the home one of the most beautiful wedding venues in Atlanta. Below are the groomsmen getting ready for the wedding at the Payne Corley house!

I would like to highlight Naylor Hall as one of our favorite venues this year. We have done several weddings there and have loved them all. We have had the privilege to have some great bride and grooms who decided on Atlanta Artistic Weddings to shot their wedding at Naylor Hall. Not only is Naylor Hall a beautiful venue but their staff are real pros! Sunny has been doing weddings for years and knows the ins and outs of a wedding like the back of her hand. Her right hand person is Abby also a seasoned veteran and a great person to work with on your wedding day.

When we talk about Atlanta landmarks and historic wedding venues we have to mention Callanwolde fine arts center. The front facade of the two and one-half story building has medieval half-timbered rhythmical design across the upper stories, crenellated bays and Tudor arches, as well as strapwork ornament, yet all of these elements of Tudor-Gothic design have been subjected to a simplicity or severity of design that is a uniquely 20th century approach to the use of these traditional design motifs.

Callanwolde has served as a filming location for several Hollywood films, including “Sharkey’s Machine,” starring Burt Reynolds, and “Bear,” a feature film about the life of legendary football coach Bear Bryant. In 2003, Callanwolde served as the backdrop for several scenes used in the feature film “Stroke of Genius, the Bobby Jones Story,” starring Jim Caviezel. Support to Callanwolde Fine Arts Center is provided through a grant appropriated by the DeKalb County Board of Commissioners, in part by DeKalb County Parks, Recreation & Cultural Affairs, and in part by the Georgia Council for the Arts through appropriations of the Georgia General Assembly. Georgia Council for the Arts is a Partner Agency of the National Endowment for the Arts.

One more big shout out for this year goes to all the people who have helped me. I am surrounded by a lot of talented and supportive team. We have Sarah who has shot close to 60 weddings with me. She brings her own style of photography to each wedding. I always say that it is not whether Sarah or I get the best shot but that the client gets the best shot!

There is Lizzie our editor. She is one of the smartest and talented people I know. She not only is the one that edits your weddings that make you look good she is the one you can thank for getting that quick turn around on the photos that Atlanta Artistic Weddings is known for.

Most importantly I want to thank my family. With out them I do not know what I would do. My wife has been very supportive through our my career as a professional photographer. I also want to thank my kids for their understanding of the long nights and weekends away from them. I love you all to the moon and back!

Thank you for visiting this Atlanta wedding photographers blog. We are looking forward to 2020! Please drop us a line we would love to hear from you!

Thanks again,

David

#wedding #bride #love #weddingday #weddingphotography #weddingdress #photography #weddinginspiration #weddingplanner #makeup #fashion #prewedding #party #weddings #bridal #weddingphotographer #groom #bridetobe #engagement #weddingideas #photographer #event #weddingphotographers #Atlanta #Atlantaweddingphotographers #AtlantaArtisticWeddings

#blackandwhite

#2019 best of #atlanta #Atlanta Wedding Photographers #Atlanta #photographers #photography #artistic #artistic photography #wedding photos #wedding venues #bride #groom

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tourguideexpert-blog-blog · 5 years

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The Best of 2018 in Archaeology Travel | Archaeology Travel

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The Best of 2018 in Archaeology Travel | Archaeology Travel

London (England) is where I saw in 2018, and Brandenburg an der Havel (Brandenburg Germany) is where I saw it out. London, of course, is the capital city of the United Kingdom, while Brandenburg an der Havel was the Margraviate of Brandenburg in the Holy Roman Empire, a political focal point in the Kingdom of Prussia, and a hub for Soviet activities in East Germany during the Cold War. Although they are very different places, both have fascinating histories and have played pivotal roles in shaping not only their respective nations but also Europe. I have no hesitation in recommending both places to anyone who is interested in European history, particularly the history of Europe following the fall of the Roman Empire to more recent times.

In nine European countries I saw some amazing sites and museums during 2018. It would be dishonest to say there were not some disappointments, but even these did not detract from the many varied experiences I had. These are all written about on the relevant pages of this website. Here draw particular attention to specific highlights of my year exploring the archaeology and history of Europe. In effect then these are my recommendations for 2019.

Before I begin and in the spirit of transparency and full disclosure, I should point out that some of the trips I made in 2018 were sponsored by local organisations which promote tourism to that destination. Many more of my trips last year, however, were paid for by the income raised through this website. All opinions expressed in my reviews are entirely my own; I am not told what to write.

Interestingly, when praising a place I am often told that I get special treatment – especially when it is was a trip paid for by a tourism board or other such organisation.

Yes, this is happens on occasions. But rarely. Waiting two hours in the baking sun (there was no shade anywhere!) for someone to meet me at the ferry port is very definitely not my idea of special treatment. Paying guests arriving at the same ferry port as I did, had their transfers waiting for them before the ferry docked. One hotel I stayed at that was secured by the destination’s tourist office was decidedly uninterested in the fact that the air conditioning wasn’t working, telling me it was a four star hotel and that the hotel was full. These rare negative experiences aside, I do not let special treatment influence how I write about a destination. And neither does it impact on what I write. If I get taken to a site that is closed to the public – I don’t write about it. Our policy on Archaeology Travel is to only write about what everyone can participate in when visiting a place.

What follows then are my opinions about sites and museums I greatly enjoyed visiting in 2018.

Choosing one museum from the many I visited in 2018 has not been difficult. The Europäisches Hansemuseum was by far the most engaging experience I have had in museum in a long time. For some a topic such as the Hanseatic League might seem a bit heavy going for an entire museum. The manner and techniques in which the curators have chosen to draw the visitor into the displays is in my opinion exemplary.

During the Medieval period the northern German city of Lübeck was the capital of the Hanseatic League. This was a powerful trading confederation that stretched across northern Europe from Russia to the United Kingdom, with influence further south into mainland Europe. So it is quite apt a museum that focuses in detail on the League should be established in Lübeck. And the detail is comprehensive; it took me three hours to go through the entire sequence of exhibits. But not in the least bit boring.

What they do to pull visitors in is to get each person to register their interests at the beginning. You slip your ticket into a scanner and a screen takes you through a series of questions to determine your preferences (such as language and age) and interests (regions and socio-politics such as religion, economy, etc.). These are then recorded on your ticket. At various points throughout a very creative and innovative exhibition, you touch your ticket to a pad and the screens there give you more information based on the responses you gave at the start. For example, I chose London as a region of interest, so at each point where I touched my ticket the basic information of the displays was supplemented with information about London at that time – in English.

Perhaps this technique has been used elsewhere, but it is the first time I have encountered it. And I felt much more engaged; it is not a matter of following a set path through the museum reading from a standard set of information panels.

Besides the European Hansemuseum, Lübeck is a impressive city with stunning Brick Gothic architecture.

Staying on London for a few months gave me the opportunity to visit a number of places, including the recently opened Bloomberg SPACE with the reconstructed Roman mithraeum. I was so tantalised after my first visit that later the same day I booked to return the next day. The second visit was as sublime as the first, and getting behind the whole experience only enhanced my admiration for what has been achieved here.

From beneath the rubble of postwar London archaeologists uncovered the remains of a Roman temple where the cult of Mithras was practised. The temple was removed and reconstructed nearby so that building could continue. In 2010 Bloomberg started construction on its new European headquarters, and relocating and re-reconstructing the Mithraeum to its original location was a significant part of this award winning building project.

As with many Roman structures built upon in early Medieval times, there is not much left of the temple. With the second reconstruction visitors see the mithraeum as it was uncovered by archaeologists in 1954. The position is slightly altered from exact original position, to protect recently discovered features of the temple not seen during the 1954 excavations that are too fragile to put on display. A rather simple but ingenious special effect has been used to re-create some of the walls of the temple, without detracting from the archaeological remains themselves.

This use of a special effect is just one part of a creative multimedia experience at the Bloomberg SPACE. From the presentation at ground level of artefacts excavated from the site, to the descent down to the Roman levels, the attention throughout to detail is exemplary. I have always thought that the presentation of the meagre remains of Londinium’s amphitheatre was a stroke of genius. Now the presentation of Londinium’s mithraeum keeps that ‘genius’ in the city, but takes it to a whole new level.

Need more reasons to visit? First, it is free – but it is advisable to book advance online as they only allow a few people in at a time. And it gets busy. Second, everyone I have recommended this attraction to has been as taken by the whole experience as I was.

Source

The Best of 2018 in Archaeology Travel

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kristinsimmons · 6 years

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Splitting hairs with hypertension

By SAURABH JHA, MD

Intrigued by many things in my first few days in the U.S., what perplexed me the most was that there seemed to be a DaVita Dialysis wherever I went; in malls, in the mainstreet of West Philadelphia, near high rises and near lower rises. I felt that I was being ominously followed by nephrologists. How on earth could providers of renal replacement therapy have a similar spatial distribution as McDonalds?

After reading Friedrich Hayek’s essay, Use of Knowledge in Society, I realized why. In stead of building a multiplex for dialysis, which has shops selling pulmonary edema-inducing fried chicken, DaVita set shop where people lived or hung out. It wasn’t a terribly clever business plan but its genius was its simplicity, its humility. If the mountain will not come to Muhammed, Muhammed must go to the mountain. DaVita went to the masses.

The link between Hayek’s wisdom and DaVita’s business plan may seem tenuous. But Hayek has been misunderstood, particularly in healthcare. Many a times and oft in the policy world Hayek has been rated about money and usances. This is because of a misperception that Hayek was all about profit and loss, which are anathema to healthcare. Hayek’s message was simple: local knowledge can’t be aggregated. From this premise sprouts others – dispersed agents in certain times and places possess fragments of knowledge which don’t come easily to central planners.

For Hayek, socialism and capitalism weren’t moral but epistemic issues. Socialism would fail because of a coordination problem – markets would succeed because they could use price signals to coordinate. Healthcare doesn’t use price signals to coordinate, not explicitly, at least. Nor does it capitalize on dispersed agents – on local knowledge. Hayek, a supporter of universal healthcare, didn’t specifically discuss healthcare in his essays. Nonetheless, it would be a useful intellectual exercise to speculate how Hayek might have applied his wisdom to modern healthcare.

What does local knowledge in healthcare even mean? Stated in a rather unlettered way, it is the provision of healthcare locally. AEDs are no good if they aren’t located where people congregate. The value of local presence of medical facilities, particularly in poor neighborhoods, is hardly rocket science. Just as great cities grew near rivers, great hospitals germinated in poor neighborhoods. But, with growing centralization of healthcare, with hospitals becoming multiplexes, futuristic cities with a distinct architectural phenotype, different from the neighborhoods they serve, the value of decentralization can be missed.

A recent artistic RCT underscored the value of dispersed agents in healthcare. The researchers asked if a combination of a barber and a pharmacist in-shop can manage hypertension in black males better than a combination of a barber and a doctor in their office. After screening black patrons for hypertension, barber shops were randomized to intervention and control groups. In the intervention group, trained pharmacists, with partial physician supervision, managed the hypertension in the shop – i.e. started the patron on anti-hypertensives, including long-acting diuretics, checked their metabolic profile, and titrated the drugs according to blood pressure and side effects. In the control group, barbers checked blood pressure, gave structured advice about lifestyle, but the hypertension was medically managed by physicians in their office.

Within six months, the systolic BP in the intervention group fell by 27 mm Hg, on average, and to less than 130 mm Hg, the safest space of BP, in two-thirds of patrons. This whopping treatment effect is similar to the VA hypertension study from 1970. The VA study, to recap, was a ballsie study in which veterans with hypertension were randomized to anti-hypertensives and placebo – yes you heard that right, placebo! The VA study was stopped when they discovered that anti-hypertensives halved all-cause mortality.

What about the control group in the barber study? They were no slouches, either. The systolic BP fell by 9 mm Hg, which is nothing to scoff at – renal denervation would have envied a drop of 9 mm Hg – particularly as this was achieved by barbers just talking to patrons about lifestyle and coaxing them to see their physicians.

The clever nitpicker might forage the supplementary appendix for faults in the trial, and there surely are many. Only 319 of the 4567 patrons originally screened made the cut. Barber shops had to be combined, statistically, to make a cluster. But this was also one of the rare occasions where the researchers underestimated the effect size – the actual effect size, a difference of 21 mm Hg between intervention and control groups, was three times what the researchers had estimated in their stringent power calculations.

Before getting too deep into the trial protocol, it is important stepping back and asking what is being compared. This is not a pharmacist versus physician study. This is not a study showing that non-physicians are as good as, or better than, physicians. This is a study showing that for black patrons, pharmacists IN the barber shop outperform doctors IN their offices in managing hypertension. This isn’t even about pharmacists. This is about being there, about showing up, about location, location, location.

A bird in hand is worth two in the bush. Pharmacists in the barber’s shop are worth 21 mm Hg more than physicians in their office.

The barber study quantifies the value of decentralization in healthcare in barometric units: 27 mm Hg. The blood pressure is not just a measure of decentralization but a surrogate for segregation – the tighter the racial homogeneity in poor neighborhoods, the higher the average blood pressure. BP is the hemodynamic equivalent of the Gini coefficient.

The RCT was cluster randomized – the barbershop was the unit of randomization, the smallest indivisible unit, a Hayekian nucleus. What is it about the barber which gives the barber local knowledge about the patron? Surely it is not mastery of evidence-based medicine, an understanding of bioplausibility, or an awareness of risk factors for cerebrovascular disease. Academics might use fancy terms such as “trusted networks.” But it is scarcely believable that black men trust their barbers more than their physicians about their medical problems.

What gives the barber leverage is that their patrons see them NOT to discuss their medical condition, but for a haircut and a banter. I realize this truism is so obvious that to state it is mildly insulting to one’s intelligence. But it is easy missing the paradox of decentralization – blood pressure was managed so well by barbers precisely because their primary job wasn’t managing blood pressure.

My barber, a rugged individual from South Philadelphia and an unabashed Trump supporter, has given me more insight about politics than mainstream media. I enjoy speaking to him. The barber shop is where many still enjoy life’s trivial pleasures. It’s a social hangout, like a pub, or a coffee shop, or a local diner. Its revolving chairs beat Ikea sofas in boutique medical practices not for their aesthetics or comfort, but what they are used for and, notwithstanding Sweeney Todd’s unconventional practice, the barber’s chair isn’t used for lowering blood pressure.

(There is a cute historical irony. Surgeons used to be barbers, which is why the Royal College of Physicians threw surgeons out when they applied for membership. Still smarting from the insult, surgeons in Britain drop the “Dr.” title and call themselves “Mr.” or “Ms.” once they’re anointed members of the Royal College of Surgeons. That barbers are now “internists” completes the karmic cycle.)

The fastidious might generalize the study protocol and, discovering that it is not generalizable beyond the strict trial stipulations, conclude, after generous self-congratulation, that the trial lacks external validity. To be fair, it is easy missing the essence of this study. RCTs, not known for inspiring artistic wonder, incite a scavenger hunt of the exclusion criteria for confirmation of bias. But the black barbershop study isn’t just about black barbershops.

I hope that policy wonks don’t propose barber shops chains, Haircut Hypertension, in poor neighborhoods, or a billing code for haircut-lifestyle counselling, or require that barbers have minimum CME credits to continue cutting hair. One can so easily imagine future archeologists finding beneath the rubble of barber shops a clunky electronic health record subsidized by Uncle Sam. That would be an epic disaster.

If possession is nine-tenths of the law, compliance is ten-tenths of pharmacokinetics. For many asymptomatic people, particularly from fatalistic cultures, taking pills to prevent bad things, such as stroke and aortic dissection, from happening ten years from now may not be their top priority. There’s nothing irrational about this state of affairs – i.e. there’s nothing irrational in not taking pills because one is not symptomatic.

Hypertension falls in the dominion of anticipatory medicine and, as indubitably effective as anti-hypertensives are in making people live longer, compliance is exquisitely sensitive to many factors including the mere act of turning up to the doctor’s office even, or particularly, if located in Philadelphia’s sassy Rittenhouse Square. Decentralization is particularly helpful for an asymptomatic condition such as hypertension – whether it is value for money is a legitimate, but different question.

It is hard not quibbling with the implications of the study which are both obvious and ground breaking. The black barbershop study not only showed the value of getting healthcare to the main streets of poor neighborhoods, but that trained non-physicians can with some, though sparse, supervision manage chronic conditions. The physician isn’t out of the loop but elevated to delegating and supervising a decentralized local network. In healthcare, centralization and decentralization must co-exist. You can’t have unfettered decentralization.

The study reflexively elicits a peculiar objection, particularly in the socially conscious, which is that by using non-physicians we’re short changing poor people – that is managing them on the cheap. The armchair egalitarian’s ire is roused by the inequities this study inspires – if you live in the gated, privileged community of Naval Square, Philadelphia, you have peripatetic cardiologists at your beck and call, but if you live in North Philadelphia you must do with the barber and his apprentice. The morally sophisticated might liken the dispensation of non-physicians to poor neighborhoods to the presence of fast food in these areas. But with a treatment effect of 27 mm Hg, pharmacists in barber shops aren’t akin to a cheap cheeseburger from McDonalds, but caviar in Ritz Carlton.

It takes an odd moral compass to muster greater disdain for the presence, in poor areas, of non-physicians – i.e. someone – than no healthcare provider at all. The streets of West and North Philadelphia aren’t flooded with independent doctors, for understandable economic reasons. Yes, it’s cheaper getting pharmacists to poor neighborhoods than debt-laden, MCAT-excelling physicians. This is common sense, which is disingenuous to dispute. The objectors, the “MD or no one” crowd, sound like a particularly insightopenic Marie Antoinette; “if they can’t have cake, they shouldn’t have bread either.” If physicians can’t literally get to the mainstreets of poor neighborhoods, they shouldn’t deride those who do.

There’s a lot of talk of physicians empathizing with their patients, and of medical students feeling for poor communities. Communication is an essential skill, and appearing authentic, genuine, is necessary for empathy. Barbers have much to teach doctors on how to make small talk with people.

Not all of medical care is equally susceptible to decentralization. Clearly, there are diminishing returns with decentralization – you can’t manage acute pulmonary edema in a barber’s shop. Nor would it do any good having CT scans next to barber shops. Nor is decentralization a panacea for healthcare spending though, as the direct primary care movement has shown, it can reduce the costs that the segregated information domains of excessive centralization induce.

The most unscalable criticism of the barber study, which would make Hayek squirm in his grave, is that the study is not scalable. Hayek might ask despairingly – did you not understand a single thing I said? By its very definition local knowledge can’t be aggregated, can’t be scaled – it is local information. To scale barber-pharmacists is to destroy the pristine Hayekian wilderness, it is to perforce coral atolls upon arctic tundra, it is to gallantly miss Hayek’s point.

The correct interpretation of the black barbershop study isn’t that barbers can replace doctors, or that cardiologists should offer haircuts to their patients or their services, but that decentralization, which is unique in time and place, is powerful in healthcare. If I were a proponent of markets in healthcare I’d give the researchers a standing ovation.

About the Author:

Saurabh Jha is a contributing editor at THCB. He can be reached @RogueRad

Splitting hairs with hypertension published first on https://wittooth.tumblr.com/

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isaacscrawford · 6 years

Text

Splitting hairs with hypertension

By SAURABH JHA, MD

A bird in hand is worth two in the bush. Pharmacists in the barber’s shop are worth 21 mm Hg more than physicians in their office.

About the Author:

Saurabh Jha is a contributing editor at THCB. He can be reached @RogueRad

Article source:The Health Care Blog

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