#like the first snow of a midsummer night
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A Summoning
ANGELS, I've returned to serve you domestic fluff with a side of holiday mischief. Professor! Gale and Dad! Gale are everything to me so I have wrapped them both up in this story with a little bow on top. Also on AO3 if you prefer. As always, thank you for reading. 💕
Winter brings many things to Waterdeep– the sort of darkness that seeps into every corner of the city, the sort of snow that falls as heavy as a shroud. It brings a season’s worth of holidays, and with them, all their customs, all their visitors called home from every region of Faerun. It bring gifts and songs and lanterns, lit and hung in every window, their light shining off the snow like grounded stars.
Best of all, winter brings them Arabella.
In the girl’s first year at Blackstaff, Tav insisted Gale invite her home at Midwinter break. After all, she'd pointed out, Gale knew firsthand what it was like to be alone in the dormitories when the other students had gone home. It would be better, they’d decided, to have her stay with them in the tower, where they could spoil her and cook for her and help her with her schoolwork.
And so it was.
That first Midwinter came and went, and so did Fey Day and Fleetswake and Midsummer, Stoneshar and Last Sheaf and Feast of the Moon. Every holiday they invited her, and every holiday she came.
By the time Midwinter arrived again, there was no discussion at all. Arabella simply appeared at their door on the last day of school, and was welcomed in just before dinner.
For the most part, her visits brim over with happiness. Gale teaches her the rules of lanceboard and all his favorite recipes, and Tav reads to her and shows her how to pluck out a tune on a lyre. When Tara and Morena come for tea, they tell her stories about Gale’s childhood that turn him varying shades of red, depending on how often he has scolded Arabella for similar behaviors. There is no shortage of laughter or mischief or very late nights, which means also no shortage of noise.
In the mornings, Gale rises ahead of the girls, gathers all his students’ papers and heads to the library to work in uninterrupted silence. If he is lucky, he can get through a good deal of marking before he starts to miss the tower, all its chaos and its company.
No luck today.
He’s only been there for an hour when a family passes by the nearest window, a flock of children shepherded by their parents. They all take turns at catching snowflakes, huge and fluffy, on their tongues, and fall apart in fits of laughter when they miss.
They grin and wave at Gale when they see him, their cheeks flushed and bright with cold, and he waves back, and packs his things, and goes home early.
*********
The tower seems, at first, exactly as he’d left it– silent, sleeping– But they must be up by now, he thinks. It’s late enough.
He might expect them in the solar or the kitchen or the parlor, warming up before the fireplace or hovering over a lanceboard, but there’s no seems to be no sign of them, no sound of them at all.
It is too quiet.
Gale takes the stairs two at a time and makes a beeline down the corridor to their chambers, worry rising in his chest. He nearly rushes past his study when a faint exchange of words drifts through the door, followed by a commotion– a flutter of paper, a rush of footsteps, something dragged across the floor.
He’s almost startled when he reaches for the handle and it opens. Tav is standing at the threshold, bright as ever, smiling wide.
Gale catches sight of Arabella in the background closing a book, setting it back down on his desk with a little thump . Its cover– or what he glimpses– looks familiar somehow, like something he’d studied long ago and has since forgotten. The memory hasn’t fully formed when Tav interrupts it, her lips pressed to his in her usual greeting. She tastes like holiday sweets, like honey cake and mint, like tradition and family and home.
“Hello, darling,” she says. “You’re home early.”
“Hello, you.”
The lingering taste of her is nearly enough to distract from his growing suspicion, but there’s something off about the room that he can’t quite place, something mischievous in the way she’s leaning against the doorframe, shifting her body, tilting her head to obscure his view.
“Am I interrupting?”
“Of course not,” she assures him, in a tone so light and easy it’s almost convincing. “Arabella and I have just been reviewing some of her lessons, isn’t that right?”
“Yep!” Arabella agrees, too enthusiastically for schoolwork. The girl comes to stand next to Tav in the doorway, her hands clasped politely before her. The picture of a well-behaved child.
He is certain they are up to something now.
“And which lessons might those be?”
They stumble over their answers, the words colliding, knocking heads.
“Evocation,” answers Tav, while Arabella says, “Illusion.”
A guilty look, quick as a hummingbird, flits between them and disappears.
Gale raises an eyebrow. “Care to try again?”
“Well,” Arabella swallows, “I was saying you’ve been teaching our class about familiars, and how you got Tara, and–”
“Hang on,” Gale interrupts, a realization creeping over him. He points past them to the desk, to the text that she had dropped when Tav opened the door. “Is that my book?”
“I think you’ll find they’re all your books, darling,” Tav says quickly. “Don’t worry, we’ll put them back–”
But it’s too late.
With a flick of his hand, Gale passes through them like mist and reappears in the room beside his desk. He flips open the front cover– Advanced Summoning, stamped in gilded letters– and turns to a bookmarked page of detailed instruction, his own notes scribbled in the margins in a child’s hand.
“You certainly will put this back,” he says firmly, facing Arabella. “This is magic beyond your years.”
“But you were younger than me when you summoned Tara!”
“‘Younger than I,’ and– nevermind – you're right, but that was very different.”
Arabella wrinkles her nose indignantly. “How?”
“Well first of all, I didn’t need someone else’s private notes to do it. Now, if you’d like a book on familiars, I have a more appropriate one you can borrow–”He is moving in long strides toward the bookshelves on the opposite wall, crossing over the rug that’s been moved– It’s been moved? – to half-cover the summoning circle and–
Wait .
“Have–” he sputters, lifting his shoe off the chalky runes drawn on the hardwood. “Have you made a summoning circle ? In my study?”
“Well, not just me,” the girl protests. “Tav helped!”
“I did,” she cringes lightly, when Gale whips around to look at her. “I couldn’t let her do it on her own.”
“My love, she shouldn’t be doing it at all. This,” he says, turning back to Arabella, “Is complex and dangerous magic. One mistake and you might summon a pit fiend rather than a tressym.” “A very small pit fiend,” says Tav under her breath, but on seeing Gale’s scowl, adds, “Sorry.”
“ Gods,” he groans, dropping his face into his hands. “What am I going to do with the two of you?”
“Help us!” Arabella grins. “We were nearly done anyway.”
“We could use your expertise,” Tav murmurs, drawing close. “You’re the only one who’s done this before.”
He feels her soft hands on his, prying them from his eyes so gently that he almost forgives them right then and there.
“Pleeeease?” Arabella draws out the word like a sustained note. “I won’t ask for anything else all Midwinter.”
“Where on earth are you going to keep it, Arabella? They’ll never allow it in the dormitories, believe me.” The girls look first at each other, then back to Gale. “No,” he says firmly. “Absolutely not. It cannot live here.” “But I’m here all the time anyway!” Arabella protests. “I promise I’ll take good care of it. Besides, you’re always telling me I need to be more responsible.”
Gale sighs until it feels like all the air has left his body.
“And summoning a familiar is going to make you more responsible?” The child shrugs. “It might.”
It is all he can do not to laugh at that, at all of it, at the great karmic joke playing out in front of him. This must be what his mother felt like, all those many years ago. He thinks of writing her his most sincere apology.
After a great deal more sighing and shaking his head, Gale bends and tugs the rug away to reveal the extent of their work. He examines it deliberately, walking around and around, head bent, arms crossed, brow furrowed.
“Your runes are wrong,” he says at last. “Here,” he points, “and here. Let me show you.”
Arabella listens closely as he guides her through the process, far more closely than she listens in his class. She draws new runes in a steady hand, pausing each time for affirmation, and when she finishes Gale’s eyes are full of pride.
“The incantation now,” he nods, and stands and brushes the chalk from his knees.
He moves out of the circle entirely as Arabella takes the center, her command of the words unwavering and true. But for a long and silent moment, nothing happens. She looks from the circle to the book to Gale and back, her disappointment only tempered by confusion.
Then comes a sound like distant lightning, and a sizzling, crackling energy that makes the hair on all their arms stand up on end. A sphere of light appears above them, tears like parchment down the middle, and something tiny, something living tumbles straight into her arms. She nearly drops the book to catch it– a ball of fur with fledgling wings– and when she turns her eyes are bright with tears, a joy Gale still remembers.
#gale x tav#gale of waterdeep#gale dekarios#bg3#baldur's gate 3#gale x fem! tav#professor dekarios#arabella bg3#gale fluff#holiday fluff#domestic fluff#arabella being a regular in gale & tav's home is everything to me#my fic
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Sneak Peek for the Short Story "Dancing among Stars"
A girl was born with music in her heart and dancing in her veins. From a young age her parents could hear her singing as she played and she asked her mother for swishy skirts so she could dance like the princesses in the stories her grandfather told her.
Her parents loved her dearly and wherever she went people found themselves smiling sooner or later. The entire village was fond of the little girl, of her infectious smile and her bright spirit.
The little girl made flower crowns to gift to grandmothers and grandfathers and widows and she made little daisy necklaces for the older children that got ready for their midsummer dances.
"One day I'll dance with them," she told her father as she sat on his shoulders, watching the twirling figures, the bright colors and happily smiling faces with shining eyes.
"I'm sure you will," her father said with a laugh in his voice. "I don't doubt it for a second."
Later that night they saw stars streak across the sky and the entire village held up their cups, shouting their joy up at the sky. A blessing awaited those who saw traveling stars during the midsummer night, for the gods loved the stars and anyone who made them move was sure to be held in high regard.
The bonfire burnt ever brighter that night and the little girl danced and danced until her mother picked her up with a laugh and she promptly fell asleep in her mother's arms.
They walked home to the sight of stars dancing across the sky and the moon's bright shine. And blessings did seem to await the entire village, their harvest was bountiful, their animals strong and healthy and the ale they brewed honey-golden.
The little girl cared little about those things, but she loved how glad and joyful everyone was. People were working hard, but they greeted everyone with smiles and travelers seemed to enjoy passing through.
Traders remarked on how merry the villagers were and how beautiful the place was. Flowers bloomed bright and plentiful and many had gotten to paint their doors this year and re-thatch their roofs. The villagers just laughed and said that they had pleased the stars well with their midsummer festival.
The little girl danced and sang through the seasons, weaving crowns of flowers and straw and grass until winter arrived. Then she danced through the snow and sang with the birds as she fed them crumbs, her parents watching with loving smiles.
The years passed and each midsummer the stars danced with the village and everyone shouted their joy to the sky, holding their cups as high as they could. It was well known by then that good trade could be made in their village, that it was a very happy place.
The little girl had grown into a young woman who would get to dance around the fire at midsummer for the first time. She was so happy she had been singing and humming all day, dancing a little in the kitchen and even when she sat to weave herself a flower crown her feet tapped to the song she was making up.
When she got to dance at last, her dream coming true, she found herself looking up at the sky again and again, the stars shining brighter than ever before.
#my writing#short story#sneak peek#fantasy#stars#dancing#fairy tale vibes#or at least that was the note I was trying to hit#there is going to be something happening on friday#and this story has to do with it
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In the Wintry Forest
yan! ancient entity x reader
Warnings: multiple attempts of suicide.
‘Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen.’
Flurries of white swirl behind the window panes, and you inhale sharply.
‘Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen…’
A bout of paranoia had befallen you recently, like thick bunches of willow leaves hovering above the water, so much so that the thought of sleep, unguarded and vulnerable as you are, sickens you. You have taken measures --- keeping the heater switched off, increasing caffeine intake, counting the second hand --- all serve to ward off sleep as long as you dared.
‘Twenty. Twenty-one, twenty-two-’
“Damnit!”
The coffee spill scalds your fingers, the mug shattering into perilous fragments across the floor. You suck the burnt area, hissing in pain. It burns. You’re so cold. It’s so cold. It’s so-
Warm?
A wrangled cry tears through your throat as the familiar sensation of a not-so human touch ghosts over your nape and shoulder. Knees almost buckling, you fall to your feet, paralysed by the terror inflicted upon you by this being. The reason behind your fear, restless sleep, perpetual feeling of being observed as something akin to specimen, all that paranoia that seems so trivial in the daytime.
To your reaction, it makes no noise, but you know it can. Whispers, like a voice traversing the wind but infinitely more sinister. They can flit across as a breeze, or flood your mind like a howling gale. It was those whispers that you heard being the ghost of your nightmares when the first evidences of its existence surfaced. You could only brush it off as a recurring dream for so long, until they increased in frequency and intensity.
You continue to shiver, its presence having permeated into every crack in the floorboard and corner of the wall, not knowing where it stands but feeling it advance towards you. Ou would not panic, but this is the first time. The first time it has approached you while you are fully conscious and you are caught off-guard. The earliest sightings, or rather sensings of it were in the dead of night, when you’d begun to awake from slumber for no apparent reason. It was midsummer, and it was there. Invisible but no less potent but its presence. You remember experiencing a deep primal fear, closing in from all four corners.
By far the most horrific aspect of it would be the paralysis. Without knowing whether you are asleep or awake, out of the corner of your eye, you swear you see your neighbours come to fruition. A large mass of shadow dispersing into darkness and the relentless cacophony of voices. Sounds and noises and those damned voices that drown out everything including your own thoughts mixing them up into a frenzy of indistinguishable ruckus that blend time and consciousness into an unrecognisable mesh of chaos and madness, until you lose yourself in the insanity of it all.
From then it only started to get bolder. More vivid nightmares where hands roam your body, whispering those accursed indecipherable chants in a long-dead language. Dreams of being hunted down in an endless wintry forest with blurring vision and legs heavy as stone. Peaceful ones as well, where you are held tight by an unknown figure in warm snow, protected and secure in its arms.
Every time you wake up from these cryptic phenomena, you feel your mental fortitude chip away a little. The mind break was immensely heavy, consistent, and you were unsure how much longer you could hold out before reaching the breaking point. Of course, you had tried leaving, packing your things and leaving by the first bus. Even then it provided you no relief, the raging in your mind growing louder, less easy to ignore. The next day you found yourself back in your room, belongings arranged exactly as they were as if you’d never left at all. You tried again. Unsuccessful. Another attempt, to no avail. Countless desperate endeavours, none are fruitful. To rub salt into the wound, the voices only became clearer, more demanding and monstrous as punishment.
This is an entity as old as the ancient forests that surround you. Every thought, every emotion you possessed would not escape its knowledge. Humans are like frail branches, prone to snapping under an excessive buildup of ice. A person can only take so much torment before they crumble under the weight.
It continued to invade the most hidden crevasses of your mind, whispering persistently, unceasingly, day in day out, just a small breathy noise echoing perpetually in your consciousness, until one day you couldn’t take it anymore.
On a stormy August night you waded out into the lake, letting freezing water soak your clothes as you went further and further out, until the water level rose from knees to waist to chest. The whispers grew louder, more resounding, dangerous, akin to a warning. When your feet did not touch the ground you swam. The voices began to scream in unison, morphing into a sound you can recognise. It was much easier to ignore them, at that moment. You swam, eyes blazoning with resolve before finally, under the thunderous sky and thunderous whispers, letting yourself sink below the surface, for a moment glimpsing the dark silhouette of a distant figure.
…
The following morning you awoke in your bed, clothes dry and senses dull. After the incident you almost never heard the whispers again. The thing did not appear in your dreams for a week, perhaps fearful of another attempt on your part.
All that culminates to this moment of uncertainty, The burn on your fingers still throb, and it appears to be in no hurry to corner you. You’re yelling, screaming at it to leave you alone, to return to where it came, to end your misery.
Its presence turns suffocating as it closes the distance. Having learnt from last time, you know its weakness. You pull out a switchblade from your pocket. It incites no reaction from the entity until you hold it to your own neck.
Immediately the knife is sent scattering across the room. The density of the air skyrockets, and you know it is above you. The whispers begin again, but this time it is just one sentence, raspy, deep and terrifying, originating from the very depths of your soul.
“Never…do that… again.”
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For the flower/get-to-know-me ask game:
Sage, aloe vera, palm tree.
Hi and thank you :)
Sage - what medium of art (poetry, music, fiction, paintings, statues, etc) is the most touching to you? why do you think that is?
Oooh. That's a tricky one because it probably depends on my mood. Overall, probably paintings (from that list, anyway) because there's something so overwhelming about the fact that all that emotion and beauty can be captured with a brush. I'm an enormous fan of pre raphaelite art in particular - on more than one occasion I've spent a solid 15 minutes just staring lovingly in galleries.
But, actually, probably live theatre is the number one on my list. On more than one occasion I've walked out of a theatre unable to stop crying because it's just too much to deal with. Prima Facie was probably the most recent I had that reaction to because it was so visceral, but also Triple X written by Glace Chase also gave me that awful, lovely, shuddery feeling and I remember leaving the theatre happy and sad and so, so mad all at once. I once had a tutor tell me that theatre should do what film and TV can't and it's always stuck with me. There something so powerful about having that experience, about the connection with audience, that you just can't acheive in the same way on a screen. I'm so into theatre that deliberately takes advantage of the benefits of its medium by interacting with us (Midsummer Night's Dream by the Bridge Theatre a few years back and it was glorious), but also, even when it's the kind of thing where you can sit in the back corner on your own, it creates this connection whether you want it or not.
... and that was a tangent. Sorry!
Aloe vera - what's something (mundane) you really want to experience in life?
Oh this is hard! I'm struggling to think of things because I feel like the things other people think are mundane aren't mundane to me (and vice versa).
Ok. Here's one, I think. A snow day. Because it sure as hell won't happen here, and even when I was living in places where it did snow, I never had one of those moments where I could just sit at home and enjoy it. Plus, it was never actually heavy enough to stop me doing anything!
Palm tree - do you have a fictional villain you shouldn't like but love regardless?
Not really. Well, unless we count Tesla in 'The Five', I suppose! Oh, or the villain in a story I'm currently writing. She's evil in a 'product of my environment' sort of way but also deeply in love with the hero and that makes her do really dumb things.
(I felt like I needed to keep the last two short after ranting in the first answer 😅)
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Some Jonsa HCs ( post GOT series ) :
. After the GOT series, Sansa, Arya, Jon Snow and Bran all needed some time to heal from their traumas. Between their new positions and duties, and helping with repairing the North and the South after what Daenerys have done
. Sansa hosted a Grand winter ball at the Castle of Winterfell, and Bran hosted a Winter Ball at Kings Landing. They even sent dignitaries from those Realms to each other's winter parties to send each other gifts and well wishes. Jon Snow attended the Winterfell winter ball, and Arya attended both parties ( which are a day apart )
. It was spring when Sansa realizes that she is gradually growing feelings for Jon Snow.
. It came to her unexpectedly, like a gentle breeze tickling at her shoulder, instead of the avalanche of rush like she experienced with Loras
. Sansa struggled with her growing feelings with Jon Snow for a time. She seriously didn't want to end up dismally regarding Jon as she did sometime before
. Her ladies in waiting then soon noticed this and, with exchanging knowing smirks, decided to help their Queen out that
. It turns out Jon Snow has been gradually also developing feelings for the new Queen of North as well, yet he is also nervously that it may end dismally like with Daenerys, or with Ygritte, for the matter
. Jon Snow initially thought he wanted a more brazen adventuress to have drinks with him in a battle quest. It turns out that he needs someone who is calm and measured, and can offer him a real home.
. Sansa initially thought she wants a Prince Charming. It turns out she needs someone strong and loyal, like Jon Snow
. Jon Snow and Sansa began to gradually be more comfortable around each other - going from knight/Queen to something more.
. Eventually, it came to a point where, at one of Arya's visits to Winterfell the day before the Midsummer Ball, Arya noticed the growing chemistry between Jon and Sansa, and Arya helped hatch a plan with Jon and Sansa's attendants to give them an extra push to get them admit their feelings for one another.
. That plan is basically the Don Pedro plan from Much Ado About Nothing
. That night, after Jon Snow and Sansa heard the ' gossips ' they heard outside of their abodes ( orchestrated by Arya and those attendants in tow ), Jon Snow and Sansa are both elated and tremendously relieved that their gradual feelings for each other are reciprocated
. The next morning after that, Sansa soon found Jon Snow waiting for her outside the Winterfell castle, to accompany her to the Midsummer Festival Joust
. Blushing, Sansa agreed to that accompany offer
. That whole Midsummer Festival, Jon Snow is basically Sansa's date. Arya and Bran also witnessed the growing chemistry Jon and Sansa have for each other.
. The Midsummer Festivities included jousting, horse races, and also a spectacular masquerade ball at the castle ( with some entertainment there as well in tow )
. As the party went on, Jon Snow and Sansa snuck to the gardens of Winterfell to have a stroll together
. After gathering up their courage to confess each other of their love, Jon Snow and Sansa happily held each other in their arms, as Jon Snow spun an ecstatic Sansa around, before sharing their first kiss together
. While Jon Snow is often into battlefields or border guarding more often, Sansa is often more into diplomacy and cultural cultivation.
. Things changed since that first date. Sansa offers Jon Snow a real home and solace, Jon Snow offers her protection
. She remembered her old feelings for Loras, where she has jumpy nerves around him most of the time. With Jon Snow, it felt different - she feels comfortable and safe around him, and she can be fully herself around him
. Both soon got a knight and lady like relationship, and both be trying their damn best to help each other heal from traumas
. Sansa herself don't want much to do with Kings Landing again, because of traumas. However, she does manage to bring herself to attend diplomatic functions there when needed. Visiting Bran in those visits also helped with that
. Bran defo gave Jon Snow a, ' Hurt my oldest sister, and the wolves will be after you, ' speech. Arya also gave a similar speech to Jon.
. Jon vows to them that he will be Sansa's protector and worthy lover
. Eventually, Jon Snow and Sansa got engaged in a wintry day at Winterfell. They are on a horse riding winter date when Jon got down on one knee and proposed to her. Shedding happy tears, Sansa exclaimed yes and jumped into Jon's arms
. It was that next March when they got married, in that one spring where Winterfell starts to gradually melt away its heavy snow
. Several Dignitaries across the Seven Kingdoms showed up - that is not very common during those 7 years of the Game of Thrones
. Compared to her 2 previous weddings, Sansa is genuinely, incandescently happy at her 3rd one, finally being able to marry the one she really loves and eventually starting a family with him ( as she wished for a time since she was younger )
. In the wedding reception, it seems that a Dornish maiden has caught Bran's eye. Jon Snow, Arya and Sansa exchanged knowing smirks and know that they may help Bran at that eventually
. Its a miracle how, one can actually have real love coming to them when they stop looking for it. And that certainly happened with Jon Snow and Sansa. Even with the throes of chaos, they manage to find each other and eventually build a comfortable, real home for each other
#jon snow#sansa#got hcs#jonsa hcs#jonsa slowburn is the shit#THEY BOTH DESERVE BETTER#in fact a number of got figures DESERVE BETTER#Arya being a jonsa wingperson. Bless
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2023 Fic Year in Review
Thanks for the tag @longbobmckenzie! Somehow, 2023 was my second full year publishing fics in this fandom!
In 2023, I...
Finished/wrote the following chaptered WIPs:
Are You The One? (Henrik/MC)
Wild Child (Henrik/MC)
Dead to Rights (Bobby/MC)
Deep Dive (Levi/MC)
Uninhibited (multiple pairings)
Like No One's Watching (Ozzy/MC)
Wrote/completed the following oneshots:
Crash Into You (Oliver/MC)
Lessons In Lust (Noah/MC)
Sparks Fly (Angie/MC)
Special (Tai/MC)
Perfectly Infuriating (Blake/MC)
Take The Shot (Lucas/MC)
A Midsummer Night's Song (Rafi/MC)
Image is Everything (Jasper/MC)
Just Say No (Andy/MC)
How I Met Your Mother (Andy/MC)
Wipe Out (Jamal/MC)
Diamond In The Rough (Roberto/MC)
Try (Tom/MC)
Not Another Horror Movie (Rafi)
Evergreen (Henrik/MC)
Frozen (Lucas/Henrik)
Snow Joke (Bruno/MC)
Reached the following milestones:
had two fics reach 100 kudos for the first time, one of which had gone on to blow me away with over 250 kudos
Past 25k total hits on ao3
Participated in three gift exchanges and a trope roulette
Wrote ~400k words in 2023, published ~390k words Wrote for a ton of different LIs (can't even count them all if you count kinktober) Read a bunch of new fics (no idea how many). Made a bunch of new fandom friends
Tagging: @whatisreggieshortfor (LITG or all fandoms, I want to celebrate how much you've written!) @rebelrayne @oodelally3
Don't feel obligated! Let's just celebrate the things we've done this year!
Here's to hoping 2024 is another fantastic year!
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Fortnight Title Analysis
Definition: a period of 14 days, two weeks
In astronomy, a lunar fortnight is half a synodic month, which is equal to the period between a full moon and a new moon
Similar Lyrics:
"We met a few weeks ago, now you try on calling me ‘baby’ like trying on clothes" - King of My Heart
"One night, a few moons ago, I saw flecks of what could have been lights" - Snow on The Beach (ft. Lana Del Rey)
"I counted days, I counted miles, to see you there" - Miss Americana and The Heartbreak Prince
Shakespeare mentioned the word fortnight a handful of times throughout multiple works. These works include:
Coriolanus
Henry IV Part 1
Henry IV Part 2
King Edward III
King Lear
The Merchant of Venice
The Merry Wives of Windsor
A Midsummer Night's Dream
Richard III
Romeo and Juliet
Here are the plays (and excerpts) I feel like are the most important when discussing Taylor and THE TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT.
Coriolanus:
Synopsis: "As Coriolanus begins, two Roman patricians, Menenius and Martius, calm a revolt by the city’s famished plebians. Martius, who despises the plebians, announces that their petition to be represented by tribunes has been granted. When Volscian invaders attack Roman territories, Martius helps lead the Roman forces, and almost single-handedly conquers the Volscian city of Corioles, winning the name “Coriolanus.” The Volscian leader, Aufidius, swears revenge.
Victorious in battle, Coriolanus expects to be made a consul, but by custom he must ask for votes from the plebians. He does this so contemptuously that he is rejected as a consul. The tribunes later charge Coriolanus with treason and banish him from Rome. He seeks his former enemy, Aufidius.
Coriolanus and Aufidius join forces to conquer Rome. On the brink of success, Coriolanus is persuaded by his mother, Volumnia, to spare the city, though he knows it may cost him his life. Aufidius and his fellow conspirators plot Coriolanus’s death. Coriolanus returns to Corioles, where he is assassinated. Rome honors Volumnia for saving the city."
Our business is not unknown to th’ Senate. They have had inkling this fortnight what we intend to do, which now we’ll show ’em in deeds. They say poor suitors have strong breaths; they shall know we have strong arms too.
With each of the plays I have looked over and chosen to speak more about in this post they each give off the energy of the five stages of grief - a TTPD theory that Taylor herself has acknowledged and made Apple Music playlists for. Coriolanus is very reminiscent of the second stage, anger. The aggression, the need for revenge and control is something Taylor has discussed in her writing before and probably will discuss again on this new album. This topic was most discussed on reputation, which also happens to be the first album to have Joe Alwyn as a muse. Also, Coriolanus being persuaded by his mother is similar to Now That We Don't Talk with Taylor discussing the topic with her mother, "I called my mom, she said that it was for the best / I called my mom, she said to get it off my chest." The excerpt that is shown can be put into the context of Taylor and Joe's PR teams having a subtle yet public discussion. It's believed that Joe's team tells The Daily Mail information, while Taylor's tells Entertainment Tonight. This can be seen in respective articles on April 11, 2023 when the break up was all over. When TTPD was announced, a source from Joe said, "If it is a diss album, that is shady. He helped her with song writing on her past album so it will really come as a shock to him if she talks about their breakup, as it is something he has not spoken of at all." Then the response was basically: Taylor writes about her life and will write about the good and bad in every relationship. This is not new and should've been expected. What I'm trying to portray is that Joe already knows what Taylor's up to when it comes to her songwriting - especially on TTPD. Taylor intends to reveal everything in her own way - like she has done multiple times with other exes (Harry Styles being a notable one).
Henry IV Part 1:
Synopsis: "Henry IV, Part 1, culminates in the battle of Shrewsbury between the king’s army and rebels seeking his crown. The dispute begins when Hotspur, the son of Northumberland, breaks with the king over the fate of his brother-in-law, Mortimer, a Welsh prisoner. Hotspur, Northumberland, and Hotspur’s uncle Worcester plan to take the throne, later allying with Mortimer and a Welsh leader, Glendower.
As that conflict develops, Prince Hal—Henry IV’s son and heir—carouses in a tavern and plots to trick the roguish Sir John Falstaff and his henchmen, who are planning a highway robbery. Hal and a companion will rob them of their loot—then wait for Falstaff’s lying boasts. The trick succeeds, but Prince Hal is summoned to war.
In the war, Hal saves his father’s life and then kills Hotspur, actions that help to redeem his bad reputation. Falstaff, meanwhile, cheats his soldiers, whom he leads to slaughter, and takes credit for Hotspur’s death."
O my good lord, why are you thus alone?
For what offense have I this fortnight been
A banished woman from my Harry’s bed?
Tell me, sweet lord, what is ’t that takes from thee
Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep?
Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth
And start so often when thou sit’st alone?
Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks
And given my treasures and my rights of thee
To thick-eyed musing and curst melancholy?
In thy faint slumbers I by thee have watched, And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars,
Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed,
Cry “Courage! To the field!” And thou hast talked
Of sallies and retires, of trenches, tents,
Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets, Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin,
Of prisoners’ ransom, and of soldiers slain,
And all the currents of a heady fight.
Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war,
And thus hath so bestirred thee in thy sleep,
That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow
Like bubbles in a late-disturbèd stream,
And in thy face strange motions have appeared,
Such as we see when men restrain their breath
On some great sudden hest. O, what portents are
these?
Some heavy business hath my lord in hand,
And I must know it, else he loves me not.
The play itself is similar to the first and third stages of grief, denial and bargaining. The excerpt shows bargaining as well. She is begging to know more, to know everything that is causing him turmoil - begging for the footnotes in the story of your life-esque. There are many areas of this section where I can point to folklore, Lover, and Midnights (I will discuss it more in detail in another post).
A Midsummer Night’s Dream:
Synopsis: "In A Midsummer Night’s Dream, residents of Athens mix with fairies from a local forest, with comic results. In the city, Theseus, Duke of Athens, is to marry Hippolyta, queen of the Amazons. Bottom the weaver and his friends rehearse in the woods a play they hope to stage for the wedding celebrations.
Four young Athenians are in a romantic tangle. Lysander and Demetrius love Hermia; she loves Lysander and her friend Helena loves Demetrius. Hermia’s father, Egeus, commands Hermia to marry Demetrius, and Theseus supports the father’s right. All four young Athenians end up in the woods, where Robin Goodfellow, who serves the fairy king Oberon, puts flower juice on the eyes of Lysander, and then Demetrius, unintentionally causing both to love Helena. Oberon, who is quarreling with his wife, Titania, uses the flower juice on her eyes. She falls in love with Bottom, who now, thanks to Robin Goodfellow, wears an ass’s head.
As the lovers sleep, Robin Goodfellow restores Lysander’s love for Hermia, so that now each young woman is matched with the man she loves. Oberon disenchants Titania and removes Bottom’s ass’s head. The two young couples join the royal couple in getting married, and Bottom rejoins his friends to perform the play."
No epilogue, I pray you. For your play needs
no excuse. Never excuse. For when the players are
all dead, there need none to be blamed. Marry, if
he that writ it had played Pyramus and hanged
himself in Thisbe’s garter, it would have been a fine
tragedy; and so it is, truly, and very notably discharged.
But, come, your Bergomask. Let your
epilogue alone.
⌜Dance, and the players exit.⌝
The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve.
Lovers, to bed! ’Tis almost fairy time.
I fear we shall outsleep the coming morn
As much as we this night have overwatched. This palpable-gross play hath well beguiled
The heavy gait of night. Sweet friends, to bed.
A fortnight hold we this solemnity
In nightly revels and new jollity.
The excerpt here, once again, has many points where connections to Taylor's previous work can be easily made. But, also, it shows the final and fifth stage of grief, acceptance.
The Merchant of Venice - In 2019, for Lover promotion, Taylor came out with a playlist called The Playlist of ME! on Apple Music. It featured ME! and eventually You Need To Calm Down when it came out (because this playlist came out originally on May 23, 2019), but also many songs from other artists. One of the songs was Venice Bitch by Lana Del Rey.
Jane Austen has mentioned a “senight” in her letters- which is a week compared to the 2 week “fortnight”
"We have also heard from Godmersham, & the day of your Uncle & Fanny’s coming is fixed; they leave home tomorrow senight, spend two days in Town & are to be with us on Thursday May 2nd - We are to see your Cousin Edward likewise, but probably not quite so soon."
(I would like to mention that May 2nd is a Thursday this year as well and the 3rd is a fortnight from April 19th)
#taylor swift#lana del rey#literature#the tortured poets department#songwriting#music#new music#fortnight#ttpd#taylornation#ts11#fortnightttpd#post malone#shakespeare#william shakespere#analysis#jane austen#jane austin quote#tortured poets department#tortured poets society#the tortured poets society#ts ttpd#ts11 theories#swifties#willy shakes#taylurking#ttpd predictions#ttpd era#austin post
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day 7 of @chrisginnyweek !!
day 7 prompt: together
my interpretation: fluff. just pure fluff.
summary: the day after the play chris and ginny decide to go for a walk in the snow together
on ao3!!
i'll crawl home to her
“I always forget how pretty the snow is,” said Chris, her smile as sparkling as the apparent winter wonderland that surrounded them.
“Yeah, it really looks like something out of a fairy-tale,” replied Ginny, looking around.
It was the day after the performance of A Midsummer Night’s Dream (and the evening the girls had spent in the forest with Neil and his friends) and they had decided to go for a walk in the park and enjoy the gorgeous wintry weather. The snow had fallen even more overnight, so the park they always went to was covered in a thick blanket of gleaming white, reflecting all light that hit it and making the surroundings glow. The trees looked like something from a painting, and it made Ginny wish she had brought her camera with her to capture the moment.
There were very few people outside due to the below freezing temperatures, so the two of them were comfortably walking through the park hand in hand. Well, they could barely feel the other’s hand due to the thick gloves they were both wearing, but the idea was there. The lower half of Ginny’s face was covered by a thick light blue knitted scarf, which Chris had definitely not laughed at when she first saw her wearing it. Chris didn’t have a scarf; the fur on the inside of her brown coat seemed to be doing a good enough job at keeping her warm.
“You know,” Ginny sighed softly, her breath visible in front of her as she exhaled. “I originally felt bad turning Neil down on his offer to go somewhere with him and his friends today, but as much as I love him, I’d rather be here with you. Just you.” She turned her head so she and Chris locked eyes for a moment.
“Really? You know I wouldn’t mind hanging out with those guys instead if you wanted to go and meet them.”
“No, I mean it.” Ginny squeezed Chris’s hand. “I love spending time with you. Besides, I think we had enough of the boys last night with their cave poetry.”
Chris laughed, shaking her head slightly in amusement. “Yeah, that was pure chaos. Todd’s poem was really good though!”
“It was, actually. Did you see Neil’s face as he read it, though? That boy is smitten, I swear.”
“Literally. That cave was so dark, but I could just sense the pining.”
They both knew that was a bit hypocritical given the two of them had been pining after one another for months before finally admitting their feelings. Ginny had probably spent more time staring at Chris with a lovestruck glint in her eyes than she’d spent looking at her any other way.
Ginny hadn’t noticed she’d zoned out, she was too busy thinking about all the time she had spent worrying alone in her room that Chris might never feel the same way she did about her, that she might not want to be friends anymore if she ever found out. She knew that realistically that would never happen - Chris was probably the least prejudiced person she knew - but there was always that dark part of her mind that kept asking what if?
She was pulled out of her imagination by Chris’s voice, but she was further away than Ginny remembered her being.
“Hey, Gin!” she called.
Ginny didn’t even have chance to fully turn around or reply before she was hit in the chest with a snowball, stepping backwards with the impact. She hadn’t noticed Chris had stepped off the path and onto the grass and was busying herself with the snow, apparently collecting ammunition.
“Hey!” Ginny replied, crouching down to make her own snowball to throw back at her girlfriend.
Chris shrieked as Ginny hurled it at her, but just managed to dodge it.
“Ha!"
What was originally a playful moment eventually escalated into a full-blown snowball fight, the two girls constantly picking up snow to toss at one another, giggling away to themselves like schoolchildren. It was the first time in a while that they’d been able to just let go and enjoy themselves, and both of them were loving it.
However, in trying to throw a rather large clump of snow at Ginny, Chris lost her balance and fell over, landing on her back.
“Ow…” she groaned as Ginny walked over to her, laughing.
Ginny stood next to her, looking down. “You know, for someone who ice skates you really do have the worst balance sometimes,” she teased.
Chris scoffed, faux-offended.
“I’ll show you bad balance.”
Within a second, Chris had reached up, took both ends of Ginny’s scarf in her hands and pulled her down so that she fell practically on top of her. Their noses crashed together, leaving their lips barely even an inch apart. Chris pulled the scarf again, bringing their mouths together. The feeling of their lips on each other’s was comforting and warm compared to the crisp, cold air surrounding them, and it made both of them never want to move…for about thirty seconds, at least.
“Wanna go home?” Ginny asked. “I’d love to keep doing this, but someone will see us eventually. And also my hands are numb, even with the gloves.”
“Yeah. This was so fun, but I don’t think I’m gonna be able to feel my feet for much longer.”
Ginny rolled off Chris and slowly stood up, regaining her balance.
“Come on,” she said, offering her hand out to Chris to help her up.
She took it, and they continued to hold hands all the way back to Ginny’s house. They walked even closer together than they had before, desperate for the warmth of the other.
When they entered Ginny’s house, they both wordlessly went up to her room to change out of their cold, wet clothes and into their pyjamas. Within ten minutes, they were sat on the couch in the living room, curled up together with a blanket and hot chocolates. Their legs gradually tangled together beneath the covers until eventually it became difficult to tell whose limbs were whose. Chris was lying with her head on Ginny’s shoulder, both hands on her mug of hot chocolate, and Ginny had one hand carding through short blonde hair while the other was busy propping a book open on her lap.
“What are you reading?” Chris asked after taking a sip of her drink.
“The Poems of Emily Dickinson, it’s an anthology of all her works. Neil bought it for me.”
Neil and Ginny had both bought each other presents for the night of the play. Neil had found the poetry book in one of the local bookstores and bought it, knowing Ginny had once borrowed a different Dickinson collection from the library and loved it.
“She writes about women the way you talk about Chris,” he’d sad after she’d opened it, and Ginny felt a a wave of joy wash over her, so intense she nearly forgot to give Neil his own gift.
Ginny hadn’t known what to get him so had decided on something with more sentimental value instead – she’d torn out the page of her A Midsummer Night’s Dream script that featured Puck’s final monologue and framed it for him. He got really excited after opening it, saying it was going to go up on the wall in his and Todd’s dorm, right next to the original auditions poster and a collection of photos of himself and the other poets with the Polaroid camera Meeks got for his last birthday.
Ginny had been far too tired to start reading the night before, and had only flicked through and marked the ones she remembered were her favourites by folding the corner of the page, but curled up under a blanket with Chris had felt like the perfect moment to get inside the head of a 19th century woman who had a way with words about life, death, nature and women.
“Read one to me,” Chris said, tucking her head further into the crook of Ginny’s neck and getting somehow even more comfortable.
Ginny seemed to hum in contemplation, flicking through her book, finally turning to a page that she’d folded the corner of and reading:
“To see her is a Picture,
To hear her is a Tune,
To know her an Intemperance
As innocent as June
To know her not – Affliction,
To own her for a Friend
A warmth as near as if the Sun
Were shining in your Hand.”
“It’s beautiful,” Chris said quietly. “Read another.”
And so Ginny did. She read Chris her favourite Dickinson poems, all the ones where she talked most beautifully about a woman – her best friend, but also clearly something more. She had just finished reciting Sue – forevermore! when she noticed Chris had fallen asleep on her shoulder. She laughed quietly to herself, then took the mug from Chris’s hands and placed it and her book on the small table beside her. She leaned down to press a soft kiss to Chris’s head before getting comfier herself, following her girlfriend into a warm, restful sleep on the couch.
#guys can u tell i like emily dickinson#also how is it the last day of chrisginny week already :((#this was so fun <3#dps#dead poets society#dps fandom#dps fanfic#chris noel#ginny danburry#chrisginny#chrisginnyweek
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ok now do Greatest Hits
took me a while, sorry anon but i needed to be in a certain mood for it and i'm more willing to listen to this in full even if it's long.
greatest hits - as far as intro songs go i think this is a good one. i like the vocal effects and the way it builds into this stormy atmosphere before going quiet again. 8/10
fuzzy - FUCK YEAH FUZZY WOOOOOOO!!!!! this song is so chewy i don't know how to explain it. the song is about awsten's sleepless nights/sleep paralysis/nightmares but in a really fun way and there's no annoying lyrics here i literally cannot complain about this song the bassline is godly. 10/10
lowkey as hell - and from that hype we are brought back down. i was kinda meh about this song when this came out and i'm still like kinda meh about it lol. it's very much a waterparks song (big rock chorus, lyrics complaining about something stupid that no one else would really) but nothing that really makes it stands out. i think the lyrical sentiment of trying to be there for someone whether it be fans or friends despite your own problems is sweet though i will admit. 6/10
numb - when this first came out i was like "this just sounds like a fandom b side" and what do you know i was close enough. good song to hype up to live i will admit it's a lot better like that than studio recorded. another fucking song complaining how fans only like him when he's sad and more lyrics that were tweets he put in a song for some reason. which. eye roll. c'mon man. 6/10
violet! - i like the transition from numb to this it's fun. a more pop oriented song with it's 80s pop like guitars in the beginning before evolving into this sparkly chorus. lyrically it's about a supposed stalker fan awsten had and with some of these exaggerated lyrics it's hard to tell how real that is, but his own mindset on the situation is clearer than that. i like it. it's fun and tells a story regardless. 7/10
snow globe - when this came out i was listening to a lot of classical piano so i really dug the intro because it reminded me of this piece called la campanella. i like the cold atmosphere it builds with the heavy autotune and desolate synths. lyrically, this follows awsten's self doubts and experience living as a public figure, how he simultaneously experiences loneliness while thousands people know him (loose term) from his music to his online posts. one time i used one of those online mashup sites to create a mashup between this and frou frou foxes in midsummer fires by cocateau twins and it was godly. 7/10 but the remix i got for it gets 8/10 bc shoegaze.
just kidding - cmon man. a song about feeling like shit, what else is there to say. the song chronicles awsten's mental struggles of feeling hated with a touch of implications of using someone as a distraction from this while being passive aggressive to them at the same time. sonically, it rides a sort of chill emo rap wave you might hear as background music to a lofi anime beats youtube if awsten wasn't singing specifically during the chorus where this annoying vocal effect sort of sounds like it's mocking his own words (which i guess is the point? but still). the song is more annoying than sympathetic for me and i don't understand why de'wayne and travis rallied for this song so hard. 4/10
the secret life of me - okay we're back to decent songs again. the sparkly guitars and drums remind me of a classic sonic game soundtrack. the song follows awsten's disassociation after just kidding, where instead of being caught in throes of reality, he gets caught in a maladaptive daydream of better things. i do that too so i can't really bitch here. 8/10
american graffiti - titled after a george lucas movie that was made to "appeal to the mainstream", it's a song about becoming a spectacle of fan interest and dealing with those expectation (believe me you don't have to tell me the irony of me reviewing any of this rn). awsten said this song was supposed to be a "pop punk but make it good" sort of thing so essentially they just made a neck deep song. the song reprises and seems to twist the lyrics from lowkey as hell ("if you need me, i'm here now") showing how that while it is good he can be so accessible, he's so accessible to the point that it's kind of meaningless to the general public. 8/10
you'd be paranoid too (if everyone you knew was out to get you) - wow another self reference. who would've thought. it's another fucking song about anxiety and living as a public figure and at this point in the album when it's so long and repeated so much it's kinda just like "do you have other things to complain about or..." sonically it feels kinda basic with it's rock anthem feel. there's a weird dichotomy between the suicidal lyrics and the ones that try to be lighthearted and it's just. well it's a song. 5/10
fruit roll ups - i like the transition. not much i can say about other parts of this song. was the autotune always this grating. anyways this song follows awsten trying to use random shit he bought as an excuse for someone to try seeing him. instrumentally, it's a lot better but oh my god these vocals and lyrics. i'm not even that convinced he even likes this person that much. also i've had band nerds tell me the song is actually in 6/8 time which makes awsten's statement at the beginning a lie. 4/10
LIKE IT - you guys know how much i love horrible music (i help run a waterparks blog after all) so when i heard this i was like "oh my god this is like modern the blue poptarts, my favorite terrible band." everything down to the rapping feels like a refined version of "it ain't easy being gangsta". again, it's another complaining song, but i think it works better than the other ones because it's not as tonally jarring and gets away with being bitchy by being so ridiculous instrumentally. i feel like he's like one line away from saying that old "cruisin down the street in my tight jeans" line (i learned that was an eazy e interpolation a couple years back isn't that weird). 8/10
gladiator (interlude) - i like the instrumental i don't like josh madden because he's another shill in the madden family and also one time someone said he looked like a thumb so now when i hear this i just think of that. either way his rambling about gladiators as an allegory for working in entertainment becomes very relevant to the next song 6/10
magnetic - the genius page may have rejected my annotations to this song but just remember i am always right. linked to gladiator, this song deals with awsten's internal battle between his public persona and his personal life, which bleed into each other and gets him lost in everything and nothing with things he hates. i love this song i can't lie. not only is this a pretty good lyrically, the electronic tinged guitars are so addictive and crunchy in all the right ways. god and the ending??? god it's so good. 9/10
crying over it all - a love song to someone that doesn't exist lol. a sweet song to someone that's supposed to stay behind once the band is gone and awsten exists outside of that. i really like zeph's backing vocals in this it really adds to this dreamy fantasy the song tries to build. 7/10
ice bath - the sister interlude to the intro title track. a song using the intro vocals and "wakes up" back into reality and awsten gets caught back into his materialism to cope with his mental struggles. 6/10
see you in the future - a song that essentially a chaotic ramble of awsten's life at that point that for the most part settles on focusing on the future (for better or for worse). a lot of these lyrics are probably just tweets awsten never sent amongst the random shit and attempts at insight in his life. it's. certainly a song but i can't lie the drums at the end are so primal and larger than life i remember screaming so hard when otto was doing that live. 6/10
in conclusion, a lot of this album is complaining about the same thing (i mean what waterparks album isn't that at it's core really), but it makes up for its (usually lyrical) faults in some songs with its out of this world, chaotic production. it is still a solid 3/5 stars in my book and this relisten made me realize it's been so long since i overplayed magnetic that i can enjoy it again so thanks for that sort of anon. greatest hits more like greatest shits *ba dum tss*
-iz
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That Isn't What I Pictured When You Said "Speak From Your Heart"
So...guys. This book. This is the book where we get Haven. This is the book where we get companions. This is the book where we get heralds. This book should have been legitimately awesome and...like...yes, but also no? Let's talk Valdemar.
So as the very brief intro probably clues you into, this is a SPOILERIFIC ZONE. There are SPOILERS HERE. Consider yourself warned.
This book picks up after what feels like ten-odd years of the Valdemarans having been living in Haven, which is thriving. They have surplus, they have trade amongst themselves, they're developing their infrastructure, and they're starting to look past survival and at what they want to build. We are told about the plagues, infestations, and other stuff the Valdemarans have overcome while they settled and grew Haven, but when the book actually opens, they're sitting pretty and starting to get to a point where they can do things that start to feel like luxuries.
They're doing real good, so of course we have to fuck that up somehow.
The weird thing about that though, is the pacing and subplots of this book, and also the fact that this book is...NOT GOOD at disability. I went into that pretty deeply in this post, so I'm not going to repeat myself here. But despite still enjoying Kordas as a character and going giddy fangirl over watching the Valdemar I know and love take shape, the structure of this book landed a bit funny with me.
Until the last quarter or so of this book, the driving force behind this book is Kordas's anxiety that Valdemar won't outlive his son's reign, because humans are inherently the worst and without a strong, moral, great human leader the kingdom will fall to base savagery. And y'all, I live in the 2020s. I don't even disagree that humanity's worst is BAD. I do kind of have a problem with Kordas's logic being waaaaaaaaaaaaaay too similar to Trumpian strongman "I am the only one who can fix it" but leaning more toward lawful good ("only a good man can fix it" but we never actually define "good man" more clearly than "Kordas and Restil" so it's a whole thing) than chaotic evil. That's more or less what the companions fix though, so I can get on board with Kordas's thought experiment and working through the anxiety about his legacy.
Once the companions show up though, then we get back to the Kordas I enjoy most: the avid, highly-detailed planner. This man and the first grove-born companions have to basically come up with the heraldic circle on the fly, and watching the heralds be born was VERY fun. That was just great.
I do need to take a minute to call out THAT scene, though. Because here's the thing. By the time this book was written, the lore of Valdemar's founding was pretty set. As it is told in Arrows of the Queen:
...he waited till Midsummer's Day; he went out into the middle of what we call Companion's Field now, and he asked every god he'd ever heard of to help him. [...] Well, he started out at dawn; it wasn't till sunset that he got an answer. Everything went kind of light all over, like when you get too much sun on snow, and all he could hear was the sound of hoofbeats--hoofbeats that sounded just like bells. When the light cleared away, there were three horses standing in front of him; horses with coats the color of moonshine and eyes like pieces of sky.
Which has a sort of grandeur and dignity to it. However, as is kind of a theme with the heralds in general, the stories and the realities rarely match up. And a thousand years of narrative drift also explains some of the differences in details, because there are MANY. Kordas's plea to the gods in Valdemar takes the better part of a chapter, so I'm not going to quote it at you here.
What I will say about it though, is that it took place in the middle of the dang night, and it was less a prayer and more like the scenes in Lerner and Lowe's Camelot where Arthur is onstage monologuing to himself about ethics and sorting out what he should do about whatever decision he is facing at that point in the play. This chapter in Valdemar reminds me most strongly of the closing monologue after Lancelot is knighted, and Arthur is like, "Oh this is gonna be so bad, but all I can do is run the course and be king." However, where Arthur is destined for tragedy, Kordas actually gets some help. Which is impressive because the vibe is half angsty King Arthur and half "character on the West Wing can't sleep and so monologues to the gods." Which honestly...the description still feels like it has more grandeur and dignity than the experience of reading it did, because you're not watching Kordas pace and monologue, you're literally in his head. It's a very weird take on this, and it's not what I was expecting, but I think it did work, for some definition of work.
What I think absolutely did not work was the fact that Mercedes Lackey decided that this was also the book to tell the full story of Shadowdancer and Sunsinger--who those of you familiar with the Valdemar music will recognize from their 2005 album, Sun and Shadow. We also get their legend in Arrows of the Queen. Unfortunately...they're very secondary characters in this book, and despite Rothas pulling a Bard ex machina at the end, they kind of feel completely disconnected from the rest of the founding narrative. Like, I was happy with their legend being in song and retold, I was not jonesing for Rothas and Lythe's story here. It was just kind of...crowbarred in and we never really got to know Lythe at all. I truly do not think this part of the book worked. I appreciate the attempt at complicating the concept of lifebonds, but it broke the narrative's spine a little because there wasn't enough space to really explore it.
The other thing that didn't work was how fast the big bad for this book blew up and how equally fast she was defeated. There was also some ugly sanism around her characterization, and I did not love that. She was a Hawkbrother apprentice who...randomly went mad for *cough* inaudible mumbling *cough* reasons, murdered her bondbird, and fucked off into the wilderness before showing back up with blood magic to try to throw monsters at Haven's gates to conquer it. The book tries to give her a tragic backstory and connection to Silvermoon to add some emotional weight to her, but it doesn't land. The big climactic battle feels weirdly underwhelming, and honestly I would have been fine with this book focusing more on building the heraldic circle and like...diplomacy with other settlements around Haven. Random big climactic battle with crazy mage lady felt off tonally and a bit like an editor went "this is a fantasy book, put a big battle at the end." Which I don't think is what actually happened, given Lackey's fame and experience, but that's what if FEELS like.
So the TLDR on this book is that seeing Valdemar and the Heraldic Circle get born was awesome, the character work was mostly good, but there was some weird tonal dissonance and some really problematic ableism and sanism that kind of soured the reading experience for me.
#mercedes lackey#valdemar#the founding of valdemar#heralds#heralds of valdemar#herald mages#sanism#ableism#companions#hawkbrothers#adult fantasy#fantasy novel#books and reading#books & libraries#books and novels#books#book recommendations
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Thank you @graveyarddirt/ @msgraveyarddirt for hosting hagging out again this month. And thank you for overlapping it with Solstice Squad activities to make it easier for everyone!
My solstice week began the Saturday before, when I started a week long evening prayer/medition. The Chuck Will’s Widows (my solstice video with sound here), frogs, crickets and many, many fireflies were my companions.
The following morning I went down to the creek where I do my outdoor rituals with my Midsummer embroidery and candles blessed at a Candlemas in the snow and one special thunder candle made at Candlemas this year. I created my first solstice fire and made some offerings.
Solstice day is all about food! After work I made bagels and lox instead of our usual poached salmon because there just wasn’t enough time with my work schedule. It was accompanied by what is becoming a traditional strawberry and cucumber salad and Midsummer Iced Tea Punch from Porter’s Seasonal Celebrations Cookbook. I made another solstice fire with candles that night.
After work St. John’s Eve, I made a wreathe of tickseed and fleabane and offered it to the creek. A wonderful foot bath in cool water and a blessing for the Harvest Goddess embroidery.
“Water, dear water, as you run through rocks and roots, run through me and cleanse me of all evil so I might be wonderful as spring, beautiful like the fair zorza, full like autumn and rich like earth itself” —from @slavicafire ‘s wonderful post about Kupala Night.
Midsummer week ended quietly at my indoor altar with a new piece--a beautiful solstice rock that a young teen who is dear to me painted.
@graveyarddirt hagging out
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Joyful Reunion
Translator: foxghost @foxghost tumblr/ko-fi1
Beta: meet-me-in-oblivion @meet-me-in-oblivion tumblr
Original by 非天夜翔 Fei Tian Ye Xiang
Masterpost | Characters, Maps & Other Reference Index
Watchtowers of the Seven Stars
1. Ardent Starlight Shines On the Nineteen Provinces
There is snow north of the Great Wall, and snow south of the Great Wall, but their colours are not the same.
Snow in the central plains is the colour of ice and jade. It falls like the soft bundles that wrap themselves around cotton and willow seeds, drifting across the sky, meandering their way into every wintry night, reflecting and refracting variegated lantern light shining from all walks of life.
Meanwhile, snow in the north is the colour of light. It falls like stars tumbling into the mortal world, sharp, dazzling, covering everything as far as the eyes can see. Each star links to the next to form a single fabric, as though the dam holding back the Silver River has burst so that it spills into the boundless desert, spills into the sombre mountains, spills into the vast, frozen rivers.
The north is untouched by civilization, nothing but wilderness and forest stretching all the way to the horizon, and every tree is weighed down by heavy, northern snow. Every once in a while, a tree would bend and crack, and a chain reaction would go from tree to tree. The sound of branches snapping would go on and on.
The warhorse whinnies as it charges into a snowy forest. Then, a deep, low voice speaks.
“Be quiet,” Wu Du says in a voice that seems magnetic. The horse settles down.
Duan Ling wraps his arms around Wu Du’s waist and presses his cheek tight against Wu Du’s back. “Where is the ambush?”
“We’ve lost them all.”
Wu Du sizes up their surroundings. They’ve taken a shortcut, but in the process, they’ve been separated from their unit and met with Goryeo ambushes all the way here. Wu Du had no choice but to take Duan Ling through the thick forest into the deepest part of the canyon.
He turns to look at Duan Ling behind him, and they face each other without a word.
“We’re lost.” Wu Du steers with the reins, turns their horse around, and stops there. “Are you cold?”
Duan Ling lets out a mouthful of hot air that crystalises before his eyes. Wu Du carries him off the horse. “Let’s move around for a bit.”
“We had marched 'til dawn the night before, and charged down from the highlands,” Duan Ling says. “We’ve been galloping nonstop one day and one night, so if we’d gone south, we shouldn’t have gotten this far out of the way. I fear we may have taken a wrong turn somewhere.”
In the snow, Duan Ling scratches out a rough map of the places they passed through along the way with a stick and studies it with Wu Du. Wu Du says, “You’re right. We should have left the mountains as soon as we saw the first exit to the canyon, but I wasn’t really paying attention at the time, and there were Goryeo assassins lying in ambush there as well, so if we go back that way now, it’s probably closed to us.”
This war with Goryeo has already gone on for half a year. Yuan, Liao, and Xiliang have all been dragged into the war. Southern Chen’s army amassed troops and crossed the northeastern border in midsummer through Shanhaiguan, but got delayed for the better part of a year — until the first snow of this year came along with the biting arctic chill.
This is what Duan Ling hates most: combat in the winter, combat in the north, combat over two frontlines, and combat in the middle of a blizzard. This war of resistance against the Goryeo invasion essentially checked all the boxes. Great Chen sent all of its best soldiers and was planning to give the Goryeo army a decisive blow, but now that they managed to confirm the King of Goryeo’s location, the Chen army was ambushed by the Mongols during a forced march, throwing them into confusion.
“If we go any farther north we’ll reach the Xianbei Mountains.” Wu Du looks up to observe the sky, but it’s all dark. He cuts down a tree with the Lieguangjian to study its growth rings before pointing south.
“Let’s rest for a while.” Duan Ling is utterly exhausted. He walks next to Wu Du towards the snowcapped mountains, finds a mountain cave, and ducks inside.
Wu Du soon returns holding two hares and a bundle of firewood. He starts a fire, propping up their boots next to the fire so they can dry. They lean against each other to roast the hares for dinner.
“Hey,” Duan Ling says.
“Yeah?” Wu Du stares at the campfire in front of him in a daze. Golden flames become leaping, twinkling starlight in his bright eyes.
“When we get back, you’re going to get yelled at again,” Duan Ling makes fun of him.
“I was born to be yelled at,” Wu Du says with a smile, “this time, I’ll at least be beaten with the truncheon ten times before it’s over.”
Several red welts are exposed on Wu Du’s strong arm at the edge of his rolled-up sleeve. They’re from the whipping he got just before the army set off. He’s always being punished over something Duan Ling did, and out of the four great assassins, he’s the one who’s punished most often. He’s already used to it. Every time Wu Du is punished, Duan Ling would stand somewhere nearby, watching, feeling terrible about it, and shouting, “stop hitting him, stop hitting him already! It’s not like he did it on purpose.”
But with all the beatings he’s taken, Wu Du’s gotten better at medical treatment, and he has a lot of ointments too, so whatever superficial injuries he suffers heal within days. Wu Du doesn’t really care, but Duan Ling cares about it something dreadful.
“Hey,” Duan Ling says again.
This time, Wu Du doesn’t answer. He has an arm around Duan Ling, and both their minds are wandering. A heartbeat later, Duan Ling’s hand move along the welts on his arm over to his muscular chest, while Wu Du’s big hand on the small of Duan Ling’s back pulls him closer, and caresses him.
“What are you thinking about?” Duan Ling whispers.
“What else could I be thinking about.” Wu Du kisses Duan Ling’s eyebrow with his warm lips, and laying him down, sniffs him along the side of his face like a wolf. Keeping his weight off Duan Ling with his elbows, he presses his body gently down on Duan Ling.
“Your dad must want to beat me to a pulp,” Wu Du says quietly next to Duan Ling’s ear.
Duan Ling can’t help but laugh. He wraps his arms around Wu Du’s neck and says, “Well then you better behave yourself.”
“Even if I have to die tomorrow,” Wu Du continues, “there’s no way I can behave.”
Then, Wu Du unbelts his undershirt and leans over him, and Duan Ling can’t help but gasp aloud; the two of them are always on edge in the barracks, and once separated from the army they’ve been kept busy dodging their pursuers. On this quiet, snowy night, they’ll finally get to be intimate.
Later, Duan Ling falls asleep on his side, cheeks glowing from the heat of the fire, while Wu Du leans back against the cave’s wall near the entrance, staying up to keep watch with his robes gathered around his waist, his tight, slim muscles covered in a sheen of sweat.
There’s a shallow scar on his nose that he’d gotten from a duel with a Khitan. At a horse exhibition between Liao, Yuan, and Xiliang, Wu Du fought a duel singlehandedly against the other three peoples, and in the end, managed to tame the king of the horses. Once the horse was taken back to Jiangzhou though, it didn’t even live two years before the unsuitable climate led to its death. Duan Ling was quite sad over this for a while.
He has a red burn scar on his arm, which he got from setting fire to the Mongolians’ rations and fodder when he attacked their encampment with Duan Ling. A pillar had been falling, and he immediately held it up with his arm, and that’d left this scar behind.
Several marks crisscross his back. As they were chased down by their enemies, they’d shot at his iron armour with their bolts, bending the metal out of shape. After days of hard travel on horseback, the blisters they’d made had healed and blistered again … rinse and repeat, leaving scars.
One of his ribs was broken before, and Duan Ling was the one who’d set it back in its place. Before healing up properly, he’d gone charging into the battlefield again, so it’d grown back a bit crooked. Each time they embrace, Duan Ling would touch him from his collarbones all the way down, to his waist, then to his buttocks.
He has a bright red mark on the side of his neck. Duan Ling had made it with his mouth earlier.
And now Wu Du stares at the snow outside, at the darkness. The silence is broken every now and again by the hooting of an owl. If there are scouting falcons, he’ll have to put out the campfire to prevent discovery by their enemies.
Duan Ling turns over and yawns. Wu Du pulls the robe over his shoulders like a blanket.
“Hot.” Duan Ling has gotten a bit thirsty in his sleep. Wu Du holds up a water canteen next to his mouth and gives him a drink.
“Let me keep watch,” Duan Ling says. “You sleep for a bit.”
“I’m fine.”
Soon after Duan Ling gets up, rinses out his mouth, and guzzles some water, he tries to burrow his way into Wu Du’s arms again. Wu Du feels himself burning up all over, and once Duan Ling has rubbed up against him for a while, he can’t help but kiss him.
“Actually, this is the one time I didn’t want to come out here and fight on the battlefield,” Duan Ling says. “But once you leave, we won’t be able to see each other for most of the year.”
“I know.” Wu Du smiles. When it comes to Duan Ling, he’s always been willing to do anything. He knows Duan Ling is awfully stubborn too, racking his brains to come up with ways to spend more time with him. Wu Du doesn’t make a fuss about anything else as long as their hearts are beating as one.
With his arms around Duan Ling, he pats him on the shoulder a couple of times. Duan Ling adds, “When I get back I’ll figure out something. We can’t always live like this.”
What can he ever figure out? He’s the crown prince, and Wu Du is an assassin. Coming this far together is already a special favour bestowed by the imperial family — did he think he could really monopolise Southern Chen’s sole descendent, the future Son of Heaven?
This is a problem without a solution. He can’t think of a solution, so of course he can’t push this responsibility onto Duan Ling either. This makes him always so frustrated — after all, it’s not like every man on earth faces the same difficult problem he’s facing. The roads others have travelled on cannot offer him much guidance either.
“One must be content with one’s lot,” Wu Du says with a smile.
“Alright then, I’m not content with my lot,” Duan Ling says helplessly.
“I’m talking about myself,” Wu Du whispers, kisses Duan Ling, and wraps his arms around him, pushing him to the ground. After a long time spent being intimate, they fall asleep together, and the sky gradually brightens. Outside, the snow has stopped falling. Duan Ling is still pillowed over Wu Du’s chest, his breathing even, submerged in his dreams.
At dawn, the chirping of a bird can be heard. Wu Du’s eyes snap open.
Outside, rustling footsteps approach, coming from far to near, quickly getting closer to the cave, like a fox. The sound reaches the inside of the cave alongside the gentle breezes of dawn.
“There are caltrops under the tree outside,” Wu Du says. “They’re poisoned.”
The footsteps halt. Duan Ling hears a vibration through Wu Du’s chest and turns, half asleep, trying to get his face out of the sun.
“There’s poisoned silk strung across the entrance,” Wu Du adds.
A shadow bends down just outside the cave, moving several strands of silk strung across the cave’s mouth like spiderwebs aside with a branch. They shimmer with the blue tinge of poison, and a slight scrape on the skin can kill someone in an instant.
“Watch out above you,” at last, Wu Du says.
The man turns and bends down to avoid a sharp dagger hanging from the top of the cave.
“The whole army’s been searching for the two of you for three days straight,” the man says, hazy morning light shining on his face. “If this took any longer we’d probably be totally annihilated — he’d behead the lot of us.”
Hearing this voice, Duan Ling rubs his eyes and struggles to sit up, half asleep. His lips move.
“Lang Junxia …”
The man who’d come in would be Lang Junxia. Half of his body is covered in mud and grime, and snow is all over his hair. There’s a steel claw for mountain climbing buckled to his left hand and a sword in his right hand.
“What are you doing here?” Duan Ling raises a hand to shade his face from the light.
“What do you think?” Lang Junxia looks rather grim, and he stares at Duan Ling in exasperation. He turns to leave the cave so that Duan Ling and Wu Du can get dressed.
A quarter of an hour later, Wu Du comes out of the cave listlessly. Lang Junxia hands Duan Ling a wine pouch, his reddened eyes showing clearly how he’s been looking for them for two days and three nights without sleep or rest.
“How did you ever find us?” Duan Ling smiles.
“These are the mountains of the Xianbei people,” Lang Junxia says coolly. “The mountains are essentially a part of our dreams, so of course I would be able to find you.”
“Where are the troops?” Wu Du asks.
“They’ve detoured around the southern foothills and headed to the town of Baihe.” Lang Junxia tosses him a bamboo tube. “Dispatch for you.”
Wu Du opens the tube and reads the letter contained therein. Lang Junxia adds, “The Goryeo envoy left their border on the western road, and they’re heading northwest. Probably off to hold peace talks with the Mongolians.”
Duan Ling says, “Why don’t the three of us head over together?”
“No way.” Wu Du doesn’t even pause to consider Duan Ling’s suggestion before vetoing him.
“No way,” Lang Junxia says, frowning. “More people just make for a bigger target, and it’s no joke if you get caught. Did you think we were the only ones looking for you? Borjigin Batu sent out a hundred Mongolian assassins to search all over for your whereabouts.”
Duan Ling can but concede. Wu Du finishes tying his belt, and says, “I’ll go. I’ll see if I can get some useful information.”
Duan Ling didn’t want Wu Du to go on his own at first, but on second thought, he was right. If Wu Du doesn’t go back with him right now and carries out some other mission instead, it would be less likely for him to be punished when he gets back to camp.
The two are reluctant to part. They talk for quite a while before Duan Ling takes the reins and tells him to get on the horse.
“Be extra careful,” Duan Ling says.
“Don’t worry.” Wu Du bends down from the saddle and gives Duan Ling a hard kiss on the lips before he rides off at top speed.
Standing under the tree with crossed arms, Lang Junxia looks bored, having waited for ages before Duan Ling walks toward him, turning repeatedly to look back.
Their eyes meet for a moment, then Lang Junxia raises a hand as if he’s going to hit him. Duan Ling starts laughing right away, dodging this way and that out of his reach. Lang Junxia chases after him, so Duan Ling grabs a snowball and throws it at his face, where it explodes into a mess of flurries. Lang Junxia is covered in snow, but he’s smiling.
“We’re leaving!” Lang Junxia sheathes his sword. Duan Ling walks over to him then, but alas Lang Junxia was just luring him in. Suddenly, he scoops Duan Ling up by the waist. Duan Ling lets out a loud yell as he’s pushed into the snow, where he struggles to get away.
“Help — I surrender!” Duan Ling says in a muffled voice.
Lang Junxia thus picks him up sideways, pats the snow off of him, and puts him on top of the horse. And with a shake of the reins, he takes Duan Ling away from the canyon.
This translation is by foxghost, on tumblr and kofi. I do not monetise my hobby translations, but if you’d like to support my work generally or support my light novel habit, you can either buy me a coffee or commission me. This is also to note that if you see this message anywhere else than on tumblr, it was reposted without permission. Do come to my tumblr. It’s ad-free. ↩︎
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Innocent Or Not.
It is the cause. Yet I'll not shed her blood,
nor scar thout wither skin of hers than snow.
And smooth as monumental alabaster.
Yet she must die, else she'll betray more men.
Othello Act 5 Scene 2
Warnings: Jealousy, angst, porn with little plot, darkfic, noncon, dubcon?, mentions of plans of murder, physical fight, noncon due to jealousy, forced orgasms, noncon fingering, p in v penetration, bitting kink, forced submission, possessiveness, mature language, mentions of religion, blasphemy, bleeding from injuries, blood kink, nipple play, spitting, dacryphilia, breeding kink-ish, praying in inappropiate moment.
Just in case: I do not justify anything that happens in my fic in real life nor do I agree with it happening, this is just a piece of fiction! If you don´t like this type of content don´t read and don´t judge!!
This a self insert as indicated so it'll be written in 1st person with she/her pronouns, however no exact physical descriptions are included except for the fact reader is AFAB
Aclarations: It´s not Pedro Pascal exactly or any of his characters, it´s more like Pedro playing Othello!
This is for the Midsummer´s Night Writing Challenge hosted by @get-your-fics
Word Count: 2663 atm
—Who's there? Othello?— my voice comes out raspy as his stealthy presence wakes me up.
—Yes, it's me—
—Will you come to bed, my lord?— I ask with hope, things have not been great for us lately, far from it, so my hope goes towards at least having a peaceful night with him and for us to rest from all the drama.
—Have you prayed tonight?—
—Yes I have, my lord— I lie, I´ve never really been religious and I stopped praying to his God and believing a long time ago, however for him I´ve been willing to pretend and act convincingly.
—If you remember now any of the crimes you haven´t asked for forgiveness yet, I suggest you pray to the heavens for it immediately—
—What do you mean by that? Crimes?— I am fully awaken from my slumber now, confusion and fear making my heart race rapidly, knowing yet not accepting that our fights are to continue now.
—Don´t pretend innocence with me! Now get on your knees and pray, it won´t kill you...however it might actually kill you if you don´t do it— his tone if filled with anger, without having to raise his voice at me he makes me know how furic he is at me.
—Wait what? Kill me? Is this some kind of threat now? So this is how far you have allowed this whole situation to go, huh— Now I´m getting angry as well, leveling up with my fear.
He just stares at me with an intimidating gaze, they accomplish what he is trying, I feel intimidated however this time I decide that it won´t paralyze me, the need to talk back wins in me, I won´t submit willingly to him again even if it´s the worst mistake I make in my life.
—For a moment I wanted to think you were refering of God taking my life, but...— I start with a little smirk as if I was joking —but deep inside me I know that´s not true. I´ve never feared no man the way I fear you my darling, and even with this I decided to love you from the beginning, your anger has always paralyzed me with fright since the first time I saw you like that...— I finish, already giving up in trying to reason with him and convince him to just drop it.
—Think of your sins— he says, completely dimsissing what I just told him. This only allows me to know that my words have affected him no matter how well he´s hiding it.
—So that´s how you want it to be...okay then. I haven´t commited any "sins" nor "crimes", I´m tired of you accusing me of this! No I´m not lying to you, and no, I´m definitely not fucking Cassio, I don´t even have a thing for him! If loving you is a sin then fucking send me to hell, Jesus H Christ man! I will not allow you to keep disrespecting me like this Othello— I raise my voice at him as I get out of bed and stand right in front of him only inches away, staring right into his eyes. I´m scared yet I don´t let that stop me from finally speaking my mind.
—Blasphemer! Stop lying to me, there is no use of lies now for I have proof of your sin! I know what I saw! It was my- —
—No shut it! I don´t care what you think you saw, I know who and what I am. I am a woman incapable of betraying the man she loves, that means you!— I say stern yet not screaming, wishing only to be heard at least.
—You´re breaking my heart...— he whispers.
—And you´re breaking mine! You are breaking me!—.
One of his hands grabs me by the throat and starts choking me, yet he´s not using the strength it´d require to actually kill me or anyone, it´s more of a warning and a threat.
—You could banish me away from this land, yet you insist on actually killing me...— I struggle to say, my hand holding his not trying to open his, just holding it gently —but you will regret doing so once you find out I´m an innocent, and even a fool for loving a man so blind of the truth...— my other hand sctratches his face, my long nails burying themselves in his flesh, blood pouring out of the trail I´m making.
He yelps in pain, releases me and covers his face, his blood now staining his hand.
—I´ll give you another chance to reconsider— I gasp between coughs as I try to catch my breath. I´ve never felt so afraid before, tears run down my cheeks due to the desperation, my whole body trembles is if it were freezing.
Will I really allow him to kill me? Am I willing to let him own my life by giving him the right to take it from me? No...I cannot, I should fight, I must!! But...I love him, how else to prove him of that? No! Stop! I must not let this happen! For love...I must put a stop to this no matter how...
While he´s still distracted with his well deserved pain I grab the knife I´ve hidden underneath the mattress and hide it under the sleeve of my nightgown.
Once "recovered" from the pain I caused he stares at me in awe and walks closely towards me, retaking the positions we were taking before he attacked me, he towers over me.
—I will kill you...however I will not allow you to go as another man´s woman, you will be mine again!—
It all happens so quickly I barely have time to react, even less time to process what´s happening.
He grabs me by the shoulders and throws me to the bed immediately straddling my hips and holding my wrists on top of my head with one of his hands making the knife under my sleeve cut through my skin and going to a side. I start kicking and try to move my torso and arms abruptly, but no matter my strenght and the adrenaline running through my veins he is just stronger and heavier than me. I know it, I´m now at his mercy and he is to do with me as he pleases, my quickly made plan of stabbing him if he tried killing me and running away, my hope just torn apart...and he hasn´t even begun.
—Don´t do this! You don´t know what you´re doing, you´ll regret it Othello, hear me!— I scream not yet ready to give up completely.
His other hand grabs the hem of my nightgown and stains it with his blood, he rips the think fabric easily, exposing my bare breasts to him. His face goes towards my neck and bites so hard his teeth bore into my skin, marking me. When he draws back he just stares at me, his lips covered with my blood now.
—It will hurt less if you stay still, darling— he hisses the pet name, giving me another mark on my collarbone, making it hurt more. He lifts his hips to leave a bit of space, his hand going between us and groping between my thighs, making pressure right on my clit, moving his fingers in circles.
As much as it hurts to admit, him forcing me to feel pleasure is not the only thing that is making me feel good...
His bites slowly turn to kisses all over my breasts, sucking my skin and marking it, leaving a trail of my blood wherever his lips touch. It´s in this moment when I realize I´m not fighting anymore, my body isn´t trying to get away, it´s just squirming in response to the pleasure and pain he provokes. My pleads for mercy have also stoped and became replaced by gasps and muffled moans when he starts licking my nipples and biting them with a rare gentleness.
—I told you, it hurts less when you stay still and let it happen, after all there´s no stopping what has to happen.— he says mockingly as he continues to tear my the rest of the fabric covering me, immediately after that his hand returns to my pussy, rubbing my lips together so they rub against my clit. His other hand freeing my wrists to grab my face instead and force my mouth open, spitting in it.
—You are mine, your pleasure is mine, your pain is mine...mine and no one else´s—. With that being said he takes the knife out of my sleeve, making another cut on my skin but this time it was on purpose. As I yelp in pain he throws the weapon to the floor and far away from us both. —Now not even you will be able to take away what´s rightfully mine— he hisses
I didn´t even notice how wet my pussy is, but he did, once it started to drip and as he rubbed my wetness spread to my lips and his fingers, making one of his fingers "accidentally" slide in. —That was so easy, you really are a whore! Then...I should make you only my whore!— that last sentence was said with biterness, that destructive biterness and jealousy that got him to this point.
Without haste one of his fingers went inside me, curling and touching that sweet spot that made me lose the little control I had.
—No! Please don´t! I beg you, please just stop!— I cry out in shame, I wanted him to stop no matter how good it felt. I put one of my hands on his chest as if trying to push him away while the other one went to his hand between my thighs trying uselessly to push it away as well.
His finger only went faster, hitting that spot harder, pushing me to the edge. I can´t even control the embarrassing moans coming out of me, and the sounds that his fingers were making inside me only added to my shame, I can hear how wet I am.
—You don´t get to tell me what to do, a sinner doesn´t get to make requests for their God— he laughs out, not getting my hands out of his way, he sees right through me, pretending to fight but enjoying the sensations he makes me have, all of this he finds amusing. Releasing my face to accommodate himself better, his forearm now besides my head standing his weight there and on his knees so he can lift his hips better than before, giving more space to both of our hands between us, his face inches away from mine.
As I feel my orgasm build I try my best to resist it and not allow it to happen, I really try and even contain my moans and gasps.
—Aww, don´t think I don´t see what you´re doing, darling...let´s see how long you last trying, shall we?— he says with a little kiss on the tip of my nose tenderly.
I was holding it well enough...or so I believed, right when I thought I was doing well and had managed to have myself under control, I come undone, moaning almost screaming, my legs shaking and my toes curling, I almost felt like if my legs were going to cramp, my back arches making my breasts rub against his chest and that little stumulation of my nipples against his clothes don´t help my current state. My mind just goes blank, I can only feel the pain of his bites still present and the overwhelming pleasure, everything else is just like if it didn´t exist, just this confusing moment with the man I loved now almost gone, almost like if it were a monster instead of a man.
I lose sense of time, I know I am coming down from my high yet I fail to at least aproximate how long has been, my mind is still vague, I try to speak but I can´t form a coherent sentence, I barely have awareness of my surroundings but I still feel him get off of me, luckly for him I can´t run even if I actually wanted to.
As I regain consciousness I see him sitting next to me with a devilish grin on his face just staring at me, his eyes all over me like if he was admiring his own work of art.
The shame and embarrassment kicks in again, I cover my face and start crying.
—Oh don´t cry, it´s okay to get dumb when the only man with the right of owning you makes you come like the slut you are— he shushes in a calming and comforting voice making the perfect contrast with his words.
I feel him get up from the bed but I don´t even bother to look at him, I feel too overwhelmed but this time with guilt and sadness, trying to process what just happened, wanting to convince myself it didn´t just happen, but when the cold air comes through the open window of our bedroom and hits against my naked body and cooling the wetness between my legs spread all over my pussy it makes my mind stick to the truth.
Next thing I know he´s on top of me again, his hips between my legs, his hard and aching cock already out and positioned near my entrance, his hands taking my wrists and pinning them against the mattress.
—No! Please! You´ve already done enough! You don´t need to do this! Please my lord, I beg you! I´ll do what you ask, I´ll pray and beg for forgiveness for my sins!— I say desperately between sobs.
—Oh yeah? Good...— he replies in a low tone, rubbing his cock against my clit. —Start praying then— he comands and thrusts inside me in an abrupt motion.
It was easy for him to slide inside but the stretch his cock makes hurts, he didn´t prepare me properly for this and it was of course his intention.
—I told you to start praying, didn´t I?—
It doesn´t take long for him to start moving slowly but hard, pushing my cervix harshly with each thrust.
—O-our father, Who art in heaven...hallowed be Thy name; Thy kingdom come; Thy...will be done on earth as it is on heaven...Give us our daily bread; and forgive us...our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass us...and lead us not into temptation, but deilver us from evil. Hail Mary, full of grace. Please Lord! Forgive me from my sins and crimes, I beg for your forgiveness and mercy!— I scream between moans, yelps and gasps. It felt more like I was praying at my husband instead of his God, it most likely was.
—See? It wasn´t so hard was it? You did good, darling— he says, repeting his comforting voice but now mixed with grunts and low moans.
He kisses my temples with sweetness, like he always did before every time after telling me he loves me.
Without warning I come undone again, I didn´t even feel it bulding up this time it just happened, making me squeeze around him as my hips move against my will at the same pace he´s moving.
—That´s it! My perfect whore doing just good!— he praises with a grunt, my orgasm helping him aproach his own, already close to it. —Now take all of me as I mark you as mine, be completely mine as you were always meant to be—. He comes undone, thrusting one more time and spilling his load inside.
He doesn´t get out of me, he doesn´t want to risk his come spilling out of me.
—You are to never be his again...— he says threatening, looking directly at my eyes with such darkness and satisfaction in his stare. —Maybe...it´s not your life the one I have to take...— he finishes his sentence with a hungry kiss on my lips, something he hasn´t given since everything started.
#AMidsummerNightsWritingChallenge#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal fic#dark!fic#mdni#tw noncon#pwp#writing challenge#flower bud 🦈
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MORE TAG GAMES WOOO. Thank you @aquaflora17 for the tag <3 (I always forget that it's you with this username haha and then it takes me a few seconds to remember why it's vaguely familiar, but also not lol)
1. Three ships
Now I wouldn't be in my Gwen era if to this I didn't say
Larissa Weems/ Reader
Miranda Hilmarson/ Reader
Lucifer Morningstar (the Sandman)/ Reader
2. First ever ship
So technically my first ever ship was a straight Teacher Student ship from a German tv soap. But even tho I read and wrote fanfic for that one when I was like 13 I didn't really know that fandom and fanfics were a thing outside of the show.
And then the first ship I ever shipped outsided of it and that I read fics on an actual fanfiction website was snamione (before I swiftly changed to snarry, bc while teacher student was a must for teenage me (I was in love with like half of my teachers, my parents raised me so well lmao) I got bored of the straightness real quick lmao)
3. Last song
The last song that played on shuffle was The 11th Doctor's main theme (what a nerd)
And the last song I added to my playlist was Slumber Party by Ashnikko (a gay nerd)
4. Last movie
Causeway. Literally just finished it and HOLY FUCK. It was u n c o m f o r t a b l e. Really needs a straight men tw that.
5. Currently reading
Apart from fanfics where I am subscribed to too many WIPs atm, I'm also reading Snow Globe by Georgia Beers.
6. Currently watching
Uhhmm... I don't have a show I am currently watching. I am trying to watch a lot of the oscar nominated movies tho before the ceremony next month. Just so that once I can actually give educated guesses. (at the moment I am thinking that Everything Everywhere All at One will either win best actress with Michelle Yeoh (although I think that'll go to Cate Blanchett) or Best Picture.)
Then I guess I am watching Gwen's Version of Midsummer Night's Dream... That I started last month and don't have the energy to actually watch lol
7. Currently consuming
I just had tater tots and I have some water next to me.
8. Currently craving
Something chocolatey and a burger
I'm tagging everyone who wants to do this :)
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Goodfellows
I dance upon a midnight dream
with faeries at my feet,
as ripe midsummer stretches thin
to soon forsake its seat;
but as this moon is rising high,
and magic lights do glow,
the festive songs of cricket mirth
is all my soul will know.
Hand in hand, we’ll greet the night
as dewdrops grace the glades
that hours since were fiery knives
that baked like bending blades;
and as the faerie queen arrives
with king-lord at her side,
we’ll hope the lovers in their shade
will know enough to hide.
The mischief that these folk bestow
upon their human hosts,
spawn oaths when first discovered
but by supper yield toasts,
for anyone who lives among
the forest and the fields,
knows well a deference for the dark
a healthy harvest yields.
The autumn will be coming soon,
and snow waits in the north,
but now at summer’s dewy height
we bring our revels forth;
Diana hides behind a cloud,
the players take their cue,
so frolic forth into the shade
and bring your lover too.
-GeorgeFilip
#poem#poetry#poetrythreesixfive#georgefilip#spilledink#spilledwords#poetsontumbler#poetsandwriters#poetryportal#shakespeare#amidsummernight'sdream#faerie
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Pre-Netflix show Sandman fandom survey:
Pre-Netflix show Sandman fandom survey:
All Sandman fans are welcome to fill this out. I figure there will be new fan surveys when the show comes out so this is the pre-show survey.
1. Who is your favorite Sandman Character?: Morpheus
2. What is your favorite volume (or Volumes) of The Sandman?: Preludes and Nocturnes, Season of Mists, and Overture.
3. Who is your favorite human character in The Sandman: Alexander Burgess. I kind of pity him.
4. What is your favorite Sandman spin-off not by Neil Gaiman (if any)?: The Dreaming: Waking Hours.
5. Who is your favorite Sandman spin-off (not by Neil Gaiman) character if any: Heather After from The Dreaming: Waking Hours.
6. What is your favorite issue(s) of The Sandman?: Issue 2, Imperfect Hosts, and issue 13, Men of Good Fortune.
7. Who is your favorite Dream Entity (Or entities): Cain, Lucien and Matthew.
8. What is your favorite location in The Sandman?: The Dreaming. Specifically The House of Mystery.
9. Who is your favorite Sandman artist?: J. H. Williams III.
10. Do you have a favorite show or film that reminds you of The Sandman?: Over the Garden Wall.
11. Do you have a favorite book that makes you think of The Sandman?: Lilith by George MacDonald.
12. Do you have a favorite Sandman headcanon or fan theory? And if so what is it?: Yes. I strongly believe that Morpheus is spending his afterlife in Hob’s Dream. There’s no other reason for Hob to have dreamt about Morpheus with Destruction. He did not know Morpheus’s connection with Destruction and Destruction was visiting The Dreaming at the time. Morpheus had compared himself to Prospero of The Tempest and said how he thought he would never get off his island. Hob’s dream is on a shore. Morpheus is no longer Dream of The Endless. He is now a dream entity free from the burden of being Dream of The Endless.
13. Do you have a favorite Sandman fandom inside joke?: Sprinkling sweet milk. (Reference to an early translation of the Hans Christian Andersen story.)
14. Favorite song that makes you think of The Sandman?: Morpheus in a Masquerade by Cain’s Offering.
15. Favorite Neil Gaiman work that is not The Sandman?: Stardust.
16. What is your least favorite volume of The Sandman?: The Kindly Ones.
17. What is your least favorite single issue of The Sandman?: Facades
18. Who is your least favorite human Sandman character?: The guy that drowned the kittens in Dream of a Thousand Cats.
19. Who is your least favorite Dream Entity?: The Corinthian (first version).
20. What is your least favorite Non-Gaiman Sandman spin-off?: The Dreaming 1996-2002, House of Whispers, and Nightmare Country. I know Nightmare Country just started but I can already tell the pacing is awful. You shouldn’t be able to read a first issue of any comic and go “Holy Crap, this is slow!” That’s my biggest complaint about House of Whispers too. The Dreaming (first version) was just terrible.
21. Least favorite Sandman Spin-off character if any: Echo from The Dreaming 1996-2002.
21. Favorite Sandman merchandise if any: The fact that there is an actual snow globe that looks like the glass cage with Morpheus trapped inside it never ceases to amuse me.
22. Least favorite Sandman merchandise: The six inch tall Morpheus figure in the tank top. It looks so... so lazy.
23. Favorite thing about the Sandman fandom: The in depth character discussions and the general friendliness of most of the fans.
24. Least favorite thing about The Sandman fandom: Twitter. Just... Twitter.
25. If you could pick someone to write or illustrate a Sandman story that hasn’t done it before who would it be?: Brian Froud.
26. Favorite Endless: Dream (Morpheus)
27. Least favorite Endless: Desire. No, wait... Despair
28. Least favorite non-human character in The Sandman: The Kindly Ones.
29. Favorite work of literature, play, myth, or folktale referenced in The Sandman: A Midsummer Night’s Dream and The Tempest by William Shakespeare and Doctor Faustus by Christopher Marlowe.
30. Favorite Sandman character to appear in other media so far: Cain in Justice League: Action even though he predates Sandman, having started as the host of the horror anthology comic House of Mystery.
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