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shockercoco · 21 days

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Little Do You Know

Austin Butler x reader

Warnings - none just fluff

Word count - 1144

a/n - request: "I have a request. I was think about when Austin was in Budapest filming Dune II and reader showing him or the whole crew (Timothee, Zendaya, Florence) around the city in their free time and Austin gets a crush on the reader and the crew teases him about it" - hopefully i fulfilled your vision :)

“You need to get out of this place, you know, get some fresh air,” you tell Austin as you stand in front of him.

He was currently reclining on the lounge chair in front of you reading Meditations by Marcus Aurelius. The book was literally centuries old, but somehow it caught his attention.

“I went out with you guys earlier,” he says referring to you and Florence, his eyes still attached to the book.

“That was for breakfast, and afterwards we came straight back here. I’m talking about just getting out and walking around to explore. This is your first time in Budapest, do you really want to spend your days off from filming surrounded by four walls all day?”

“It’s no use, he’s been stuck in that position all day,” you hear Florence say. Florence was sitting out on the condo’s balcony – it had been rented to the three of you for the duration of filming Dune. She swivels her chair around to join the conversation currently happening inside.

“I’m not taking no for an answer,” you glance at her before looking back at Austin. “This is unacceptable. You have plenty of time to read, the book isn’t going anywhere.”

“And Budapest isn’t going anywhere either, we’re going to be here for a while,” Austin looks up at you while he speaks, but immediately looks back down at his book when he’s done.

You scoff before you snatch the book out of his hands and hold it behind your back.

He lets out a big sigh and says, “really?”

Austin looks over at Florence as if he was silently asking for help, but she says, “I’m not on your side.”

He laughs at her statement before looking up at you. You raise your eyebrows, waiting for him to say something.

“I guess…I can take a break,” he finally says.

You smile and hand his book back to him, before turning around and heading to your room to change. This causes you to miss the smile he gives you back and the way he stares at you as you walk away. Florence notices, though, but she already knew about his crush on you. It was the main reason he caved in so quickly.

What everyone doesn’t though is his reasoning for not wanting to go out – he doesn’t know how to act around you. When you look up at him he can’t help but smile, he also can’t help the way his neck turns red, but you don’t notice. When you asked him a question and he gave you an answer, he would end up overthinking for the next hour if his response was too long, or wonder if his answer was good enough, or even wonder if he made too much eye contact with you.

“Are you going to tell her, or should I,” she smirks at him as she comes inside from the balcony.

“Don’t you dare,” Austin points at her, and she laughs.

You took responsibility for being the tour guide around the city, this is what you do in all new cities. Anytime it was someone else, you just ended up being in charge in the end, but of course you took suggestions.

“Where to next?” you ask everyone behind you as you look down at the minimap on your phone. Timothee and Zendaya had finished filming for the day and ended up joining you guys on the sightseeing journey.

The sun was setting and you all had just left St. Stephen’s Basilica, or as the locals call it Szent Istvan Bazilika.

“Oh, now you want to ask us?” Timothee jokes from behind you, causing you to turn around to see him smiling at you, Austin standing next to him with his hands in his pockets. You continue walking, but backwards to keep moving.

“Well I wasn’t going to, but I figured it was rude to not hear from the group,” you joke back with a shrug of your shoulders.

“I’m fine with you leading, you’re doing a great job,” Zendaya says from beside you, Florence hums in agreement from the other side of her. You look at Austin for his answer, and he just nods with a grin on his face

“Well thank you, I’m glad my service is appreciated,” you say to no one in particular and then look back at Timothee.

“Do you have a suggestion?” you raise your eyebrows at him.

“Well since I’m the only one that seems to have a problem, nope,” he laughs and you smile back.

Meanwhile, while you were talking to Timothee, Austin was watching you. He watched the way your face lit up as you joked with Timothee, the light from the sunset reflecting on your face. He watched how the whites of your teeth showed when you smiled and the way your lip gloss made your teeth look even whiter.

When you bumped into someone on accident from you walking backwards, he watched the way you immediately apologized and helped the person pick up their dropped belongings. He saw the embarrassment on your face when you turned back to the group to ask, “So no one was going to tell me that I was going to crash into someone?”

You easily brushed it off and turned around to continue walking, allowing Austin to stare at you as much as you wanted. When he heard you laugh at something Florence said, a grin instantly appeared on his face.

Austin felt Timothee nudge him in his side to get his attention. When he looked over, Timothee leaned in with a smirk to whisper, “you’re making it so obvious, just tell her.”

Austin playfully pushed him away. He did want to tell you, he just didn’t know how to tell you, which he knew was ridiculous because you wouldn’t be the first girl he admitted his feelings to. Another thing holding him back was the thought of you not liking him back and just seeing him as a friend.

What Austin didn't know, though, you had feelings for him too, but you were one of those people who would never admit their feelings first. You getting rejected? No. There was no way you could just move on and pretend like it didn’t happen.

Florence and Zendaya both knew how you felt and kept asking you to tell him because according to them “It’s obvious Austin likes you.” You just thought they were saying that to try and convince you, not knowing it was actually true.

Eventually, Austin would admit his feelings to you when it felt like the right time, and of course you would say yes. When everyone found out that you were dating, you two would have to deal with the endless amount of teasing and ‘I told you so’s’ because little did you both know, the feelings were reciprocated.

#austin butler x reader #austin butler #austin butler imagine #austin butler fanfiction #dune part 2 #feyd rautha x reader #dune imagine #austin butler smut

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bystarlightlore · 8 months

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this is just me gushing about the beauty of the boys. they’re heartbreaking & i couldn’t breathe until i wrote this out.

let’s just start with this shot of henry sleeping.

i don’t have the words for him here. every cut & curve of him is absolute perfection & it drives me insane. i always think people are pushing it when they compare certain men to greek gods, but when i tell you that this prince is every myth & every fable. birth, life, and death. he is apollo, achilles, & hercules. he sits in grecian temples. he’s hand-carved in ivory, marble, & gold. he's the pantheon. unspeakable in his ancient pillars, hallowed in his ruins. & he’s just … sleeping. he’s just sleeping.

but his arms are framing the pillows & the pillows are taking such delicate care of his face. his lips are parted & full & red against a whispering white frame. artisans etched him from an alabaster stone, i swear to god. he is artwork, music. an aria unmatched in its melody.

the back, the shoulders, the dimple in the shoulders. the sharp ridge of his jaw, the even-keeled slope of his nose. the eyes. the brows. he looks completely relaxed & it’s just so painfully gorgeous. he belongs in the museums he loves so deeply. it’s too much. it’s too perfect.

alex is just as devastating. he’s what happens when the fates want to give “tall, dark, & handsome” a reference photo.

he’s a roman cathedral, dripping in glittery coppers, deep reds & thick obsidians. if henry is carved, alex is painted. michelangelo’s final evolution. the sistine chapel consecrated by the saints. the renaissance, an archangel — gabriel. (oh sweet, blissful irony)

he’s breathtaking in a way that eases into the heavens. a centuries-old gust of wind crying “glory” from the clouds. a warmth written into the bones of history.

those big, wide brown eyes -- curving like the sun over the horizon line, thinning into creased lids at the center & side of his face. those lashes are a crime against sanity, full & fluttering — i die.

the cappella magna in broad morning daylight. the colosseum. an eighth wonder of the world; six feet of lithe & dancing limbs. a basilica of a boy; brought to life by an artist’s prayer --

-- father, son, & holy spirit — amen.

#rwrb #rwrb movie #red white and royal blue #alex claremont diaz #prince henry rwrb #taylor zakhar perez #nicholas galitzine #firstprince

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arjuna-vallabha · 2 years

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Sekhmet statue in the red basilica, the ancient temple of the egyptian gods in Pergamon, today in Turkey

#sekhmet #goddess #egyptian religion #turkey

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thatshowthingstarted · 6 months

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Secret room, Medici Chapels, Basilica of San Lorenzo, Florence

In 1530, Michelangelo went into hiding after receiving a death sentence from Pope Clement VII. The iconic Renaissance artist had been caught in the political strife of his patrons, the Medici family, who had just returned to Florence after being overthrown by a populist revolt in 1527.

During their exile, Michelangelo worked with the short-lived republican government to help secure the city’s defense walls and so became an enemy of his powerful supporters.

It is believed he spent two months stowed away in a tiny vault stretching just 32 feet long and 6.5 feet wide, with 8-foot ceilings at their highest points and a single window to the street, before the pope rescinded the sentence.

The claustrophobic room also became a canvas for the artist, who’s thought to have sketched dozens of drawings on the walls. Using carbonized wood and red chalk, the artist rendered several figurative works, including the head of the ancient Laocoön sculpture and iterations of his own masterpieces, including his Leda and the Swan painting and iterations of his David statue.

The drawings were hidden until 1975 when the then-director of the Medici Chapels, Paolo Dal Poggetto, was trying to find a new space for the museum exit. A trapdoor under a cabinet led to the room, which was filthy from housing slack coal for two decades. When the walls were finally stripped of two layers of plaster, the museum discovered the artworks.

All images courtesy of the Bargello Museums, Florence

#art #history #design #style #drawings #michelangelo #medici #florence #italy #secret room #bargello museums #renaissance #charcoal #chalk

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thewhumpcaretaker · 18 days

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⚜ 𝓑𝓮𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓭 𝓙𝓾𝓭𝓰𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽 ⚜

Thank you to @evren-sadwrn for the beta read!

TW: gunshot, crying, John and Vincent being generally nasty to each other

Summary: John Wick and The Marquis de Gramont both faked their deaths on that fateful day at the Basilica. But when Vincent seeks John's help, he isn't expecting genuine compassion.

John was alone. “At home,” yes, “reading”, yes, but most fundamentally, he was alone, with a deep, soft-edged hollowness aching all along the Helen-shaped absence in his life. Dog wasn’t filling that loneliness tonight. Some days were harder than others, and this was one of the hard days. The same paragraph slid past again and again, read but not processed, as that ache grew slowly to rage at the bitter remembrances that cycled through his mind in place of the words on the page.

The sound of the doorbell came as a relief. It could only mean trouble - exactly what John was in the mood for. He took the pistol from the bedside table and closed Dog inside the bedroom – a habit he couldn’t seem to shake when answering the door, ever since Iosef.

“Trouble” wore a cream-colored three-piece suit and pearly pink tie, and a face even paler than those accoutrements. It was a comically poor choice of dress for the events fate had wrought on him that day. Even if he hadn’t been bracing himself against the doorframe in a desperate attempt to stay upright, the massive bloom of red spreading from the center of his chest would have informed John that the Marquis was in dire straits, bleeding out, come to his doorstep to beg. Huh. That sight would cheer him up all evening.

John savored it for a long moment and then began to close the door.

“Wait!”

Resting on the doorknob, John’s hand paused its progress and his eyebrow shot up in a silent expression of, “This had better be good.”

The Marquis began a speech that sounded almost rehearsed. “Let’s make this simple. I am offering you the contract of a lifetime. Not a hit, but something even more suited to your habits. Your job is to thwart the High Table on my behalf until my excommunication is reversed, and I am reinstated as Autem Imperator.”

“Excommunication? For what?”

“For your idiocy at the Basilica, which interrupted my contract. Since you were too much of a coward to face me until I had already fired, you are not dead, and I am being hunted by those fils de pute [sons of bitches]. I set out for the states this morning to end you. But count yourself lucky, Mr. Wick. The Table says it’s too late for that. Your head is no longer wanted – for now. So this is your opportunity to redeem yourself after pulling that completely underhanded stunt. Which, I might add, you botched.”

It hadn’t been a “stunt” he enjoyed pulling. Here was a man infinitely weaker than himself, on a deep, personal level, who lived in desperation. And John had used his own arrogance against him. It was what he deserved for hubris, but to give the Marquis de Gramont what he deserved was to destroy him, and John was tired of destroying beautiful things. Mere boys in their 20s, not so different from himself at that age, forced into that same twisted world. He shook his head, dispelling the memory. “You’re coming to me for protection? Why?”

He clicked his tongue impatiently. “Because! All High Table services are closed to me, but you…you’re completely unaffiliated now.”

“And I’d like to stay that way. If you’re trying to make me want to help, you’re doing a piss-poor job.”

“Oh I don’t need to make you want to do anything. You always take the bait eventually, because that is who you are. You answered the door, didn’t you? Bored of your precious retirement?”

John glowered. “I worked very hard for my retirement, as you may recall.”

“Only to relinquish it again and again. You are going to do the only thing you’re good for these days: poke the High Table only to outrun them with your tail between your legs. Except this time, it will be for a purpose that��s worth something. Try to think rationally for a moment. If there was ever a question of whether to leave you undisturbed, I could speak for you. On the other hand, if you spurn me today, you’ll - ”

“Don’t threaten me.” John closed the door. Didn’t even slam it.

He went to the basement, to fetch something. Could have told the Marquis where he was going, but why waste words? Besides, it was worth making him squirm a little.

When he returned to the door, Vincent had not moved from the spot. He blinked when the door opened, as if shaken from a trance.

John made no comment on it. He simply held up a marker. The little, cold weight of the metal felt hateful in his hand. A dreaded thing, a pin at the center of a butterfly. Something he’d only wish on his worst enemy. He handed it to Vincent. “This is not for your reinstatement as Autem Imperator. This is for your survival until you’re freed from the High Table.”

He scoffed. “You think I’m willing to give you a marker for the sake of mere survival? That is not the deal, Mr. Wick.”

“That is the deal. Mark it.”

“Payment upon receipt of services. Let me in first.”

By way of answer, John stood aside, and watched the Marquis drag himself through with a maddeningly victorious smirk. He limped his way to the sofa, with John following, not letting him out of his sight for a moment.

He didn’t even have to use the needle for a finger prick. He pressed his thumb to his heart, where there was already plenty of blood soaking through the button-down, and then into the brass. John took it back and snapped it closed again, sealing the debt.

It was only then that The Marquis added, “We’ll see whether the Table thinks I owe you anything before I’m reinstated. It’s your word against mine as to what that marker was for, and we all know which of us holds more sway.”

“Some way to honor a blood oath.” If he’d actually planned on using the marker, John would have kicked him right back out again for that. But in all honesty, it was just leverage. He opened the door again long enough to glance up and down the street. “Who shot you? Did they follow you?”

“I’m not such a novice as to lead them back. Some hitman at a gas station recognized me, but we lost him. By tomorrow morning, my bodyguard will be in another country, leading the High Table away from here.” He shuddered. “Now shut the door, it’s cold.”

It wasn’t the coldest night. Furrowing his brow, John turned his attention back to his new charge, who was looking paler by the moment. He shut the door. “Lay down.”

The Marquis did not comply. “You’re just an absolute mother hen, aren’t you, ‘Baba Yaga’? Going soft?” he seethed, teeth clenched, breathing through his nose and shutting his eyes in a bid to maintain composure. John knew the look. The feeling of shoving down pain and fear, holding your breath and restraining your muscles, actively ignoring the body’s bright red flashing lights that scream “we are not okay right now.” It was hard, and Vincent was amazingly bad at it. He probably didn’t have to do it very often.

John forced down the twinge of pity that rose up at that thought. The Marquis wouldn’t want it anyway. “Suit yourself. I’m going to get a first aid kit. If you’ve moved from that spot when I get back, I’ll shoot you.”

“Anything you say.” Vincent opened his eyes long enough to smirk and raise his hands innocently, as if playing along with the demands of a child. Unfortunately, the effect was spoiled slightly by the shake in his hands.

Fortunately, when John returned, he hadn’t moved.

“Shirt off.” It was painful just to watch as he tried to raise his arms, wincing, and struggling with the suitcoat. No doubt even more painful to be watched. By the time he got to the tie, John stepped in. “We don’t have all day.”

A venomous glare. He looked ready to cut deep. “Are you so eager to touch me, John? That lonely, in this big empty house, with all your ‘love’? Pathetic.”

Anger got the best of him for a moment and he shoved Vincent by the center of his chest, directly over the spreading patch of crimson. The result was a winded kind of wheezing that afforded him enough leeway to strip away as much fabric as needed. Pink silk sliding through his collar. The top four buttons undone. Underneath, parted flesh echoed the parted flaps of the button down.

Panting, the Marquis chuckled weakly. “Guess I’m right. I got to you.”

“Fuck. Off.”

“How bad is it?”

John had already steadied himself and started inspecting the wound. “Could be worse. Came in at a glancing angle – only tore muscle on the left side. Then it hit your sternum.”

“Je suis à nouveau épargné [I am spared again],” he breathed, with a little dimpled smile.

“Not yet. I need to pull it out.”

“Without anesthetic!? You have to be joking.”

“I don’t have anesthetics in this house. I’ve done this dozens of times. They aren’t necessary.”

“That’s different. You’re a barbarian.”

“And you’re too chicken?”

Vincent tilted up his chin importantly. “Fine. I’m ready.”

“No, you’re not. Bite down, I don’t want a noise complaint.” The discarded tie had found a new use already.

Vincent grimaced at the metallic taste of his own blood on the silk and spat it back at him. “We’d have no concerns over a noise complaint if you weren’t allowed to run rampant and uncivilized. I had forgotten how intolerable the common assassin can be. At least my Myrmidons - ”

John shoved it back in his mouth, and tied it behind his head this time. Without hesitation, he dove tweezers into the wound and Vincent’s muffled screaming filled the room, making the air heady and vivid.

It was over in a second, but then there was the antiseptic, and the stitching took much longer.

It was all one long, meditative moment for John. He was unexpectedly flooded with adrenaline and had to force himself not to rush. There was the rage, but then there was something else, such a desire to make this quick, to offer some kind of mercy. He kept seeing Vincent’s too-wide, horrified eyes the fraction-of-an-instant before he took the shot that pointless, bloody morning in the Basilica Of Sacré Coeur De Montmartre. Neither of them dead, in the end. Just two faked deaths and a few more bad memories. Just a young man, weak, scared of John, scared of failure, driven mad by the constant push towards power, the constant belittling, the constant threat of death from all sides that was life under the High Table.

It was almost over when there was a buzz from Vincent’s coat pocket at the foot of the couch. Shit. The last thing they needed was for Vincent to get even more riled up by bad news.

“Don’t move. You don’t want to look at that right now anyway.”

His eyes were daggers. “The insolence to tell me what I want to do.” He tried to reach for it regardless but failed. “That’s my business phone. Give it to me.”

Sighing, John dove into the pocket and tossed it to him. He caught a glimpse of the screen as it passed: a contract notice. “What does it say?”

“I – nothing. Surely a mistake.” He closed the phone and tossed it aside, feigning indifference.

John picked it up. Contract for Marquis Vincent Bisset de Gramont: $20 Million. Open. International. Special alert to New York. Personal bodyguard already deceased. “The guy who saw you must have called in a tip to the High Table…I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? You're an embarrassment.” Vincent gave a breathy, half-hearted laugh and began to list sideways, deathly pale. John caught him and lowered him into a laying position, pulling his legs up over the armrest. He took Vincent’s wrist between two fingers and his thumb.

“What are you…”

“Taking your pulse.” It was absolutely flying, dozens of little taps flickering against his fingertips in the space of a second. The Marquis’ eyes fluttered closed at the sensation, overwhelmed by the awareness of his own blood. But his expression remained frozen, a desperate grasp for some semblance of dignity.

“You’re either in shock or having a panic attack. Probably both.”

“I am not having a panic attack.”

“Fine, then you’re in shock.”

“So fix it.”

“I’m trying. You need to elevate your legs, and you need to calm down.”

“I need to calm down,” he repeated, sarcastic. The little taps accelerated. Not helping. He jerked his hand away, his voice rapidly pitching upward into a kind of hysteria. “I’m going to die. I’m going to die.” That’s true, John thought, if you don’t calm down. “You. This is your fault, for a second time. This is why you are alone, a pathetic widower. You are cursed. Everything you touch dies, John Wick, you are poison. Good for nothing. Je vais mourir. [I’m going to die.] This is fate. God is against me.”

This time, he didn’t take the bait. The situation was quickly becoming critical. “Vincent. Breathe.”

He was gasping now, between every other word, almost delirious. “Espèce de pion…sans valeur [You worthless pawn]! My name…is The Marquis de Gramont! You will…address me…by my title!”

John muttered a curse under his breath. Think, accommodate this asshole’s massive ego if that’s what it takes. He had destroyed many people, but rarely had someone been so fragile before him, so absolutely in need, and by extension (ironically), so innocent. Looking down at him, he suddenly viewed Vincent as something other than an asshole, something beyond judgement. An animal that lacked concepts like reason or remorse. Just something that suffered, and wanted, and needed, and that he was charged with treating according to its nature. “Marquis de Gramont,” John said calmly but forcefully, and, even though it wasn’t true, “Autem Imperator.” Please don’t pass out, he thought. Please don’t die on me. “Regarde-moi et respire. [Look at me and breathe.]” He pressed a hand into each of his shoulders, physically stopping the shaking. Physical contact, but more dignified than the hug he wished he could offer, hopefully less likely to make Vincent feel pathetic. He let his face go flat and his voice perfectly monotone, neither pitying nor dismissive, but simply a statement of fact. “Tu vas bien. Je ne vais pas te faire de mal. Ce à quoi vous survivez actuellement est extrêmement difficile. Tu te débrouilles bien. Je ne vais pas mentir, je déteste tes tripes, mais tu ne devrais pas être obligé d’être dans cette position. Cela me fait chier aussi. Alors je ne vais pas te laisser mourir. Je veux que tu ailles bien et je ferai en sorte que cela se produise. [You’re okay. I’m not going to hurt you. What you’re surviving right now is extremely difficult. You’re doing well. I won’t lie, I hate your guts, but you shouldn’t have to be in this position. It pisses me off too. So I’m not gonna let you die. I want you to be okay and I will make that happen.]”

He half expected Vincent to spit insults again, but he just stared, unable to respond. It may have been his imagination, but he thought he saw Vincent’s eyes glaze slightly, pinprick pupils finally swelling open. Leaving one hand on his shoulder, John pulled the coat over his body, arranged it into place, and resumed the firm pressure on his shoulders. A human simulation of a weighted blanket. For a moment, he shivered even more violently, adjusting to the heat, and then let out an exhale as the peak of the terror began to subside.

Then those insults began to come. “This is exactly why I hate you. This sickeningly sweet nonsense that you spout. It makes me depressed to look at you. You say this - this fairy tale merde [shit], like you’re noble. But the world doesn’t work that way. It’s an affront to my intelligence. There’s no mercy waiting for you.”

“Maybe not. But there is for you. Even if I have to make sure of it myself.”

“I - “ his voice gave out into a sob and he turned his entire head away, into the cushions.

Heavy, sparkling droplets clinging to eyelashes, half-parted, twisted-up lips pressed into the fabric, the most wrenching sounds… He looked beautiful crying, and that thought did not belong in John’s head. He averted his eyes respectfully, partly so the Marquis would be free to turn back towards him if he wanted, and partly to avoid feeding whatever god-forsaken thing had just reared its head inside him.

They sat that way a long time, in silence, Vincent’s shoulders shuddering under the rock of John’s weight, sobs escaping a torn-open chest.

And as the Marquis’ muscles finally relaxed, John felt something. He felt something for this mess of barely restrained malice and misery pinned underneath him. An urgency, all through his body, his own heart taking flight as Vincent’s came to rest. I want you to be okay and I will make that happen, he had said. That was true.

It was then that John knew he was fucked.

#john wick #john x marquis de gramont #marquis de gramont #john wick fanfic #wickblr #marquis de gramont whumpee #angst #dacryphilia #men crying #emotional whump #hurt/comfort #whump fic #assassin whump #ao3 crosspost #one shot #enemies to lovers

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haggishlyhagging · 11 months

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Every day during that month-long visit in Rome was fascinating, but one day in particular was important. I borrowed a journalist's identification card and went into St. Peter's for one of the major sessions. Sitting in the section reserved for the press, I saw in the distance a multitude of cardinals and bishops—old men in crimson dresses. In another section of the basilica were the "auditors": a group which included a few Catholic women, mostly nuns in long black dresses with heads veiled. The contrast between the arrogant bearing and colorful attire of the "princes of the church" and the humble, self-deprecating manner and somber clothing of the very few women was appalling. Watching the veiled nuns shuffle to the altar rail to receive Holy Communion from the hands of a priest was like observing a string of lowly ants at some bizarre picnic. (In retrospect it seems to have been an ant-poisonous picnic.) Speeches were read at the session, but the voices were all male, the senile, cracking whines of the men in red. The few women, the nuns, sat docilely and listened to the reading of documents in Latin, which neither they nor the readers apparently understood. When questioned by the press afterward, the female "auditors" repeatedly expressed their gratitude for the privilege of being present. Although there were one or two exceptions, for the most part they were cautious about expressing any opinion at all. Although I did not grasp the full meaning of the scene all at once, its multileveled message burned its way deep into my consciousness. No Fellini movie could have outdone this unintended self-satire of Catholicism.

-Mary Daly, The Church and the Second Sex

#Mary Daly #anti christianity #anti catholic #patriarchy #female oppression

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cheriedies · 1 year

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Naoki Urasawa's Monster in real life

So, I spent my holidays in Czechia and realized it would be a good opportunity to try and find the real life references and inspirations for one of my favourite anime series - Monster (haven't gotten my hands on the manga yET). After a bit of research I found that @fuckyeahjohanliebert has already done this almost a decade ago and their account has been extremely helpful. I also used the websites that I've linked at the very end of the post and you should definitely check them out as I didn't get the chance to visit every single location. It is honestly incredible how much work this person has put into their research. With that being said, here is what these places look like as of January 2023, alongside some tips I wanted to share in case you decide to visit them during your stay in Prague!

Let's start with the easiest location: Charles Bridge. It is probably the most visited place in Prague and so it can be quite crowded, especially around NYE.

Next, we have a shot of a tram in front of what today is the Palladium, a large shopping mall. Location: Nám. Republiky 1078/1, 110 00 Petrská čtvrť, Czechia

Okay, this one was a bit tricky because I wasn't able to find the exact reference for the Tri Zaba (Three Toads) sign. Most sources pointed me towards Hotel U Tri Pstrosu (Three Ostriches) which is right besides the Charles Bridge. However, a reddit user posted a picture from U Tri Capu hotel (Three Herons), and someone mentioned it being a possible inspiration in the replies. Therefore, I took pictures of both and upon looking at them closely I honestly cannot be certain about which of the two served as the main inspiration, maybe it was a mixture of both? Looking purely at the shape of the sign the Three Herons (Far Right) seems to be the closest. The positioning of the three ostriches on the other hand (Middle) is more similar to the way the toads are positioned. If you have any sources I've missed pls link them!

I also found this detailing you can spot if you are walking by the Vltava River. A thing to note: I could find this specific fencing only of the side of the river that is next to the Ministerstvo průmyslu a obchodu, If your cross the bridge the design is completely different. Location: Petrská čtvrť, 110 00 Prague 1, Czechia

Now onto the Red Rose Mansion. Fans figured out that the Břevnovský klášter (Brevnov Monastery) served as the main inspiration for the Red Rose Mansion. Unfortunately, the monk that is responsible for the visits was sick during my stay in Prague, and would not be coming back until after I left. You can see the exact room that was referenced for the murder scene in the websites I've linked below. I was a bit sad that I wasn't able to see it with my own eyes but I hope he has a speedy recovery. After all, this gives me a reason to visit this wonderful city again! Tip: Don't be an oblivious zoomer like me and bring cash with you to leave a small donation at the Bazilika svaté Markéty Antiochijské (Basilica of St. Margaret of Antioch). You can get a postcard with the picture of the monastery for about 10 koruna and I'm sure it helps with the maintenance of this beautiful place. Also, there is a small, cozy cafe on the territory and they have really tasty Medovnik cake!

The Rose Garden at the Mansion actually has no roses! It is actually a Cherry Garden, and can be visited at the Orangerie right behind the Monastery (tip: as far as I know it is only open on weekends and closes at 8pm). During this time of year it is obviously not blossoming however it was nice to visit nonetheless and walking in between the tall shrubs made me feel like I was Nina :p

As a bonus I wanted to add this picture of a hanging Sigmund Freud that absolutely startled me on my first day in Prague. Many fans have speculated that the character of Franz Bonaparta was inspired by him, given their similar looks and involvement with Psychology

I hope this was enjoyable and I hope you visit these amazing places if you ever happen to be in Prague! Once again, I'd like to highlight how grateful I am for the research fans have done and as mentioned above here are some of the websites I used:

#Monster #naoki urasawa's monster #johan liebert #dr tenma #prague #czechia #anime and manga #monster anime #kenzo tenma #monster urasawa #naoki urusawa

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dewitty1 · 9 months

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Fic Recs Wrap Up - July 2023(ノﾟ∀ﾟ)ノ⌒･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*☆

Harry Potter: DILF Hunter by Vukovich @vukovich

Auror Potter doesn’t know what a DILF is, but if Malfoy’s one, then Harry’s gonna be the Ministry’s best DILF Hunter ever! Or, five times Harry heard Draco was a DILF, and one time he found it to be pleasantly true. *All spelling errors are Harry’s, not the author’s. Rec Post

Witness Marks by gryffindorhearts @gryffindorhearts

No one comes to Cogg and Bell’s with a working clock. After all, it’s Draco’s job to repair what’s broken and put time – quite literally – back in order. When Harry Potter waltzes in a few decades after the War, red Head Auror robes flashing, Draco expected to serve as a consultant on a case. Instead, Harry offers him the broken Weasley family clock, and with it, the chance to live in the present for once. Rec Post

Bonded Consort by Lomonaaeren

Nineteen years ago, the Potters betrothed their firstborn child to the firstborn Malfoy child. Eighteen years ago, Voldemort was defeated for good. Seventeen years ago, the Potters changed the contract so that their secondborn child was substituted for their firstborn. Now, Draco Malfoy is trying to work out what happened. Rec Post

Blessed Are The Lambs (Do You Walk With Gabriel?) by Cannibalschism @cannibalschism

It’s been eight years of this. Eight years since the tug that drew Harry like the tide pulls the earth towards the Camerlengo and Vatican City. Eight years since he’d last felt what it was to think freely and not around the wretched, awful din. Eight years since the bars of his gilded cage had slammed shut around him all while the Camerlengo spun the key on his conniving finger. But it was today when Draco Malfoy walked into St. Peter’s Basilica, looking so young as though the years had passed him by, and smelling like pennies and dead leaves. Rec Post

I’ll Play Your Game by JayseHasNoGrace @jaysehasnograce

After quitting the Auror department at the ripe old age of twenty two, Harry Potter finds a nice, uneventful job in an apothecary. At least, it’s uneventful until his old rival Draco Malfoy comes into the shop. They strike up an unlikely friendship, which evolves into an increasingly convoluted scheme, which then snowballs spectacularly out of control into a tangle of lies and blurred lines. They’d agreed to a fake relationship — in Harry’s case, to get the wizarding world to take him off his ‘perfect saviour’ pedestal, and in Draco’s case, just to be given a chance in wizarding society at all — but neither of them expected just how difficult that might really turn out to be. Especially when the stakes grow ever higher, and they both start falling for each other. Just a little bit. Rec Post

Butterflies in Winter by Justlikewriting

Of course Harry had known that Malfoy’d been sent to Azkaban, but, to be honest, since the trials Harry hadn’t really thought of the git at all anymore. A random visit to Slug and Jiggers was about to drastically change that, though. And whose exactly were those letters that Harry found there? Rec Post

You Know the Feeling by iota @iota

Harry waits, but the hex never comes. In the mirror, Malfoy’s eyes dip shut, and he lets out a soft sound that goes right through Harry, heat rising in his body, pushing out against his chest. Malfoy turns slowly, careful not to dislodge Harry’s hand. He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing, then speaks, his voice low. “Don’t start something you won’t finish.” *** Harry’s not sure why he’s started hooking up with Malfoy. Boredom, or the heat of the summer, maybe. Whatever it is, it’s nothing too complicated. Right? Rec Post

Here are a few more fics I've read recently that y'all might like to check out as well! (ﾉ^ヮ^)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧

Release by maraudersaffair @maraudersaffair

After serving two years in Azkaban, Draco is ready to finally live his life on his own terms. He gets a job at Borgin and Burkes, rents a crummy flat in Knockturn, and begins seeking out fit Muggles to shag. Then one night Draco comes across a gorgeous man who’s tied himself up and stuck a message on the wall for any stranger to read: Free use. And what’s even better? The man resembles Harry Potter.

All Things Go by iota @iota

Draco’s back at Hogwarts by court order. Harry’s back for no particular reason at all. Some things change, some stay the same. Neither expects to spend eighth-year living in close quarters, playing rugby (poorly), staying up late, sneaking around, and finally figuring it all out.

The Inconvenient Death(s) of Harry Potter by nv-md (ANW815) @nv-md

Harry and Draco have spent the decade since the War avoiding each other, even as they’re forced to work together at the Ministry and their friend groups begin to alarmingly overlap. But what happens when Harry meets a tragic end (in a manner of speaking) and Draco’s the only one who can save him? Or Harry won’t stop dying, Draco’s had too much coffee, and there’s more than enough time for them to make a mess of each other’s lives.

Constellations on your skin by shushu_yaoi_lj @orange-peony

“I’m going to get my scars removed,” Draco announces on a rainy Wednesday afternoon. “Who are you seeing?” Blaise asks. “The best Healer out there,” Draco replies with a little shrug. “Harry Potter.”

and the world is tumbling down by thewakeless @thewakeless

Draco is thirty-five and content. He’s a writer, a painter, and has built a life for himself totally separate from the one he envisioned as a sullen, fearful boy at Hogwarts. Everything is calm—until his house begins trying to kill him.

The Cursed Manor by AhaMarimbas

Ophelia’s been a paranormal investigator for almost ten years, and she’s starting to run out of haunted and cursed sites to explore. When her eclectic roommate and assistant reveals that he owns a large, cursed Manor, Ophelia finds a lot more than just a new career opportunity.

the treehouse near primrose downs by softlystarstruck @softlystarstruck

Draco and Harry have been roommates for years, so buying a magical house in the countryside shouldn’t be a big difference. But in between fresh loaves of bread and beds of wildflowers, things start to fall into place.

( •ॢ◡-ॢ)-♡ I hope you enjoy these fics as much as I have! Happy reading, y’all! xoxo, Carey (◍•ᴗ•◍)♡ ✧*💜💙💚💛❤💗💕💖

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lostinfic · 5 months

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Fic: Winter happens, like a secret

Cesare x Lucrezia | Rated E | 3k words

Summary: Cesare has been gone for many weeks, fighting in the Romagna after the Sforza’s downfall, but one snowy Christmas Eve, he returns home to Lucrezia. Has she forgiven him for killing Alfonso?

The box was wrapped in a handkerchief, tied together with a velvet ribbon. Rather than look inside the box, she unravelled the red ribbon and slipped it around her brother’s neck. He chuckled. “What are you doing?” “You are my present this year,” she said. She pulled on the ribbon lightly, coaxing him closer though he could easily resist it if he so wished. He didn’t resist.

Loosely based on the infamous Folgers commercial, but set in Renaissance-era Italy.

Read on Ao3 or under the cut ↓

Lucrezia woke up in the middle of the night, her light slumber disturbed by a change in the luminosity beyond her eyelids. The night sky seemed aglow behind the curtains. The fire had faded down to embers, and warmth had seeped out of the room. She slipped on a red, fur-lined robe and went to the window. Outside, snowflakes drifted down from the sky, draping the garden in white. It was so bright, moonlight seemed to emanate from the ground itself.

She laughed, delighted by the snow, though the feeling in her heart was closer to melancholy than joy.

Tiptoeing down the stairs, she made her way to the kitchen. The cook and servants had been hard at work preparing food for tomorrow’s Vigila di Natale feast. Lucrezia filled a pot with water, added mint, honey, orange peels, ginger and tea leaves to it, then hung it above the fire in the hearth. Djem had introduced her to tea, and she was pleased to find some Asian ships, trading in the port of Naples, carried the leaves even though few locals drank it. She stirred the simmering water with a wooden spoon, and delicious aromas rose from the pot. She could have woken up a maid to make it, but she wanted to be alone. Admiring the falling snow through the frosted window, she warmed her hands on the earthenware cup and sipped her tea.

Inevitably, her thoughts turned to Cesare.

Lucrezia had spent the Novena— the nine days before Christmas— reflecting on the Bible, singing carols and praying in St. Peter’s. The Pope had commissioned a splendid Nativity scene, and boughs of evergreen perfumed the space with their scent so deeply associated with Christmas. The populace filled the basilica with joyous hymns and brightly coloured attires, unlike Lucrezia who wore her widow’s blacks and whose heart was too heavy to be lifted by music. Six months had passed since Alfonso’s death, regrets rather than grief filled her heart now. Soon, her father would seek to marry her off again. Though who would take her, when rumours of Cesare’s hand in murdering Alfonso circulated around Rome which in turn reignited the gossip of an incestuous relationship. Had anyone heard the prayers she whispered in her mind, it would only have added fuel to the fire: she prayed to rid herself of this sinful desire for her brother, prayed to hate him, but in the same second, she prayed for his safety, his return and his eternal love. She promised God a life of holy devotion yet longed for her brother’s presence and dreamt of his lips at her neck.

Cesare had been gone for months now, on some mission for the Holy Father— punishment for killing Alfonso and ruining their shaky alliance with Naples. Since capturing Caterina Sforza and killing her son and both her cousins, he had made many enemies. Yet he still pursued control over the Romagna. She and her parents hadn’t heard of him in a long time. And it seemed to Lucrezia that half her mind and heart were with him, somewhere beyond Rome. She willed each of her breaths to fill his lungs and each beat of her heart to push blood through his veins. In her darkest moments, she worried he had died, or worse, travelled back to France, to spend the holidays with his new family.

Still, she had made garlands of dried citrus slices to hang around the house and infuse her gloomy mood with merriment, for Giovanni’s sake. The scent of lemon and firewood filled their home. Cousin Adriana would arrive soon with her family, as well as cousins from Spain, seeking some favour from the Pope, no doubt. Would she be able to keep a smile on until Epiphany?

Lucrezia sighed. She’d drank half her tea without savouring it. Snow fell in big, fluffy clumps now.

A man on horseback came through the gates. The horse’s clip-clopping disturbed the silent night, and hoofprints marred the pristine snow. Fear clutched her guts— at this hour, he could only bring bad news. Sweat beaded down her spine as she imagined he would tell her Cesare had died.

The man appeared in no hurry to deliver the news. He stopped in the middle of the courtyard and waited for the stable boy to stumble out. She recognized the familiar grace with which he jumped off his horse, but she dared not hope. At last, the man lowered his hood and looked up in the direction of her bedroom window. Moonlight highlighted dark curls, stubbled cheeks and green eyes. Her heart leapt in her chest.

Lucrezia rushed towards the kitchen door and yanked it open just as he was reaching it.

“Cesare!” his name came out with a cloud on her breath.

She jumped in his arms, and he caught her as he had so many times before. His cold nose tip pressed against her neck and sent a shiver through her. The snowflakes dusting his hair melted against her flushed cheeks. Her other half was back, and her whole body sang with relief.

Holding her up, he carried her in, kicking the door close behind them with his foot. He murmured her name and sagged against her, tension released from his shoulders.

“Why are you slipping in during the night like a phantom?”

She kept her voice down. She should have woken up her mother who worried about Cesare too, but she wanted a moment alone with her dear brother.

“I could not wait any longer,” he said.

He slipped his hands under her dressing gown. However, the minute his frozen fingertips met her waist, she squirmed away with a squeal. He laughed at her reaction.

She loved his laughter, she had missed it. The way it came out of his throat in a burst of giggles, more high-pitched than expected, and how he would try to contain it, pressing his lips together but a smile always remained, like a mischievous kid.

Lucrezia took his large hands and rubbed them between her small palms, blowing warm breath on his fingers.

“I have missed those hands,” she said.

“And I have missed that face.”

They took comfort in repeating those words they had said years ago, as if they could have their innocence back. In that moment, they could pretend their relationship had not changed, that despite sharing a bed and killing Juan and Alfonso, they were the same boy and girl who had once reunited in a deserted Apolostic palace.

He kissed her hands, though with some restraint. His hasty departure, not long after Alfonso’s death, had left some things unresolved between them.

“I’m starving,” he announced.

Lucrezia lit a candle as he surveyed the food laid out in the kitchen.

“Ah, good food, at last,” he said, picking candied fruits and chestnuts from a silver plate.

She pushed his hand away. “It’s for the feast tonight.”

With a cheeky grin, he popped a few honey-coated pistachios in his mouth. She offered him some tea which he sipped gratefully. The stone floor was cold under her feet, so she hopped up on the wooden counter, pushing aside a bouquet of dried rosemary. As he drank and warmed himself, he kept stealing glances at her, studying her reaction to his return.

To be honest, Lucrezia was ambivalent. Though she was beyond happy to see him safe and home, of that there was no doubt, she questioned what form their relationship would take now. She knew what her body craved, what her heart hoped, but her rational mind cautioned her against it.

“I brought you something, sis, from far away.”

He should have waited until the 25th, but he never could restrain himself when he had an opportunity to cheer her up. And this proof that he had been thinking about her while he was away could only bring a smile to her lips.

The box was wrapped in a handkerchief, tied together with a length of velvet ribbon. Rather than look inside the box, she unravelled the red ribbon and slipped it around her brother’s neck.

He chuckled. “What are you doing?”

“You are my present this year,” she said.

She pulled lightly on both ends of the ribbon, coaxing him closer, though he could easily resist if he so wished— he didn’t resist. He stepped closer, leaning on his hands, placed each side of her knees. Sitting up on the counter, she was almost the same height as him. Suddenly serious, they looked into each other’s eyes, and she knew all too well these moments of tense silence in which one of them had to do the right thing. Neither of them looked away. She held onto the ribbon, and he stared at her, steadfast, intense. Anticipation made warmth pool low in her stomach.

She had tried taking a lover, but quickly grew bored of the affair. Cesare had ruined her for other men, it seemed— and wouldn’t he like to know that.

“You were my present too,” he said, in a low voice. “The day Mother put you in my arms, I had never held anything so precious.” He touched the ends of her loose blond waves as if it were spun gold. “I knew, even as a boy, that I would do anything to protect you…”

She realized then, this was about Alfonso.

“Do you forgive me?” he asked.

“We are Borgias, brother, we never forgive.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, pained to hear those words as much as she was to have voiced them.

“And so, I cannot forgive even myself,” she continued, finally saying aloud the thoughts that had plagued her but which she could not share with anyone, “for I also am to blame for my husband’s death.”

Cesare rested his forehead against hers, shaking his head in disagreement. She ran her fingers through his hair and gripped a fistful of curls.

“It is the truth,” she said.

“It was my fault. I wielded the blade and I—”

“Yes, you wielded the blade,” Lucrezia said, working open his leather doublet, stiff with cold, “but I wield your heart.” She slipped her hands inside, spreading them over his chest. “As you do mine.”

Under her palms, his heart was beating so fast it threatened to escape his ribcage. He could not deny the truth of her words.

“Peace, brother,” she murmured soothingly, caressing his chest. His skin was damp under the leather.

He rubbed his nose against hers, slowly, eyes closed, with none of the usual playfulness. He didn’t try to kiss her but neither did he step away. She tasted his honey-sweet sigh across her mouth.

“Lucrezia,” he whispered her name with such adoration, but tainted with pain and reluctance.

Why try to resist the inevitable? Was there virtue in a half-hearted effort?

“Make me yours again.”

His chest rumbled with something like a growl.

When she brushed her lips against his, he captured her mouth. He kissed her deeply, hands tightening in the heavy fabric of her robe.

Though she had not forgiven him in words, it was a kiss of absolution. Ardent and tender and so full of love, tears gathered at the corners of his eyes.

She loved him, always, in spite of everything. He had made her that way, with his gentleness and indulgence, with his jealousy and adoring gaze. She could not even hold it against him. She had blossomed in his light and always would seek it. Nothing else would do. No one else would do.

They broke the kiss well before they’d had their fill.

Cesare searched her face for a sign of reluctance or regret, but he found the opposite. There was still time for one of them to pull away— usually Cesare. Instead, his hand slid up her back, along her spine, to cup the nape of her neck. That touch always filled her with such a delicious haze. Even back when she was too innocent to understand what it kindled in her, she sought it, luxuriated in it. And just like that, God was sitting in the room with them again. Her chest swelled with elation and the top of her head tingled from a shower of invisible, yet tangible light which descended upon them, shielded them. And the silence, only broken by the crackling fire, became almost musical.

She touched Cesare’s chin, and he smiled.

“I’ve missed this,” he whispered before kissing her again.

She parted her lips for him, welcomed his tongue, and spread her legs.

Hips cradled between her thighs, he assailed her neck with ravenous kisses. In his hunger, he nearly ripped open her shift. Her dressing gown slipped from her shoulders. Her short nails raked down his abdomen, towards his belt.

The cold draught in the room was no match for the fever overtaking them. She made quick work of his codpiece, and he tugged her to the edge of the counter.

He pushed her shift up her thighs and, for a moment, seemed lost in the softness of her skin and marvelled at how small she was next to him.

Slipping her hand inside his pants, Lucrezia spurred him back into action. He bucked his hips into her palm with a ragged moan and found her wet and wanting under her bedclothes.

Cesare sought her gaze then entered her in one long, luxurious thrust. Pleasure knocked the breath from their lungs as they clung to each other.

She used to think time and longing had embellished her memory of their lovemaking. Surely, it could not have been as amazing as she made it out to be in her mind. But it was. A miracle. Rapture. She could not doubt they were two halves of the same whole, meant to be together lest they withered apart.

Already pleasure made her toes curl and her core clench with each thrust.

“Oh, God!” she moaned, throwing her head back.

“I don’t think God wants anything to do with this,” he joked.

“Then he should not have made you so well-endowed.”

He grinned, and she kissed him, wanting to taste his joy, to take it inside herself.

Laughter and sighs of pleasure mingled as they moved together.

Anyone could have walked in on them, embracing passionately in the kitchen, but they were too far gone to care.

Out of breath and utterly satisfied, Lucrezia slumped down on the counter, “Happy Christmas,” she said.

He smiled, gazing down at her, admiring her body where her shift clung to her sweat-damp skin. The ribbon still hung around his neck, and she used it to pull him down to her for a kiss.

“I think I’d better not let you get used to having me on a leash,” he said as if that had not already been the case for years.

He removed the ribbon from his neck and tied it in a bow around hers.

“Beautiful,” he said.

He was still in her, half-hard, her legs locked around his hips. There was a risk, she knew, that she might become pregnant. Would the Pope believe it was another Immaculate Conception if she said so? The thought amused her rather than scare her.

After gathering food and wine, they headed upstairs to her bedroom.

Cesare put another log in the fireplace and stirred the embers. He spared a moment to check on his godson, sleeping in the adjoining room.

“Giovanni asked for you yesterday,” she said.

“Perhaps that’s why I was in such a hurry to come back and rode through the night.”

“Or is there another reason, perhaps?”

She tilted her head with an impish smile.

He hooked a finger under the ribbon at her throat and brought her lips to his. His kiss warmed her to her toes.

“Will La Befana bring your son sweets or coal?” he asked.

“Sweets, of course. He’s a angel.” She smiled proudly.

“And tell me, my love, what will she bring me?”

“We shall make our own sweetness, Cesare.”

She picked a sweet from a plate and fed it to him. He sucked the sugar from her fingertips and peppered kisses down her wrist. In one swoop, he picked her up and carried her to bed.

They cuddled under the covers, and talked of nothing important until the room was warm enough they could undress completely. Skin to skin, bodies entwined, they reaffirmed their bond and commitment to each other.

It was one of the longest nights of the year, but the sun seemed to dawdle beyond the horizon just for them.

In the morning, he would pretend his room was too cold without a fire or that he’d lost his way in the dark palazzo after weeks away. Outside, snow still blanketed Rome, it would melt in the daylight, but for now, it protected them with its silence and purity.

#The Borgias #Cesare/Lucrezia #Cesare x Lucrezia #Borgiacest #lostinfic writes stuff #winter happens like a secret

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rubynymphyy · 3 months

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Pokeddexy Day 28: Cutest Pokemon~

Considered Tinkaton but she ended up as Steel so here are... two members of the blue division of the postal service! It's not. QUITE fair to call the blue division the nepotism division but boy howdy are there a lot of-

ANYWAY here are nepo babies Summer and Holy. They're approximately... 30th cousins? Holy's well known for his actual work ethic despite the fact that he got parachuted by his family almost directly into managerial work and the not-so-hidden secret that one of the higher ups desperately wants to be his sugar daddy. so he got landed with managing teen delinquent Summer, who is absolutely not thrilled to be voluntold to work at the family business.

Postal service main office is the Basilica in the old part of town; most of the blue division management is located there, while red management is spread across the city because they need to fly the flag and have more firepower available locally at any time. Is the postal service blessed or are the toge-bloodlines blessed..? They’re so intertwined at this point it’s impossible to say.

Red division’s work is probably... that kind of 'red' or 'black' if you feel me [i also don’t know anything more specific]. While some postal workers act entirely on the blue side of the business, promotion to managerial status requires that you at least be able to defend yourself. for obvious reasons nepo babies are not generally sent into the red division, but there are some toge-families that believe in the school of hard knocks.

The jacket is regulation for management! So are Summer's boots + bag- he's supposed to wear black gloves with it, but he thinks punching with anything but your bare fists is for wimps. one day maybe he'll learn. He absolutely tossed his uniform hat off a bridge the first day he started. I have another Togetic who actually works for the red division but I can’t spend all my energy on postal workers when there are still three more days of Pokeddexy!

I made up all of this background today so nobody quote me on this if i change my mind again tomorrow. I thought I was just going to do small doodles in this style and then something more detailed but. that is not going to happen

#pkg pokeddexy #pokeddexy2024 #pokemon gijinka #pokemon fanart #character design #pokemon gijinka ocs #my art #togepi #togekiss #togepi gijinka #togekiss gijinka #for the toges i kind of cheated in naming convention but also i think i'm hilarious #Sin City pkg

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kemetic-dreams · 1 year

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Saint Maurice (also Moritz, Morris, or Mauritius; Coptic: Ⲁⲃⲃⲁ Ⲙⲱⲣⲓⲥ) was an Egyptian military leader who headed the legendary Theban Legion of Rome in the 3rd century, and is one of the favorite and most widely venerated saints of that martyred group. He is the patron saint of several professions, locales, and kingdoms.

According to the hagiographical material, Maurice was an Egyptian, born in AD 250 in Thebes, an ancient city in Upper Egypt that was the capital of the New Kingdom of Egypt (1575-1069 BC). He was brought up in the region of Thebes (Luxor).

Maurice became a soldier in the Roman army. He rose through the ranks until he became the commander of the Theban legion, thus leading approximately a thousand men. He was an acknowledged Christian at a time when early Christianity was considered to be a threat to the Roman Empire. Yet, he moved easily within the pagan society of his day.

The legion, entirely composed of Christians, had been called from Thebes in Egypt to Gaul to assist Emperor Maximian in defeating a revolt by the bagaudae. The Theban Legion was dispatched with orders to clear the Great St Bernard Pass across the Alps. Before going into battle, they were instructed to offer sacrifices to the pagan gods and pay homage to the emperor. Maurice pledged his men's military allegiance to Rome. He stated that service to God superseded all else. He said that to engage in wanton slaughter was inconceivable to Christian soldiers. He and his men refused to worship Roman deities

Martyrdom

However, when Maximian ordered them to harass some local Christians, they refused. Ordering the unit to be punished, Maximian had every tenth soldier killed, a military punishment known as decimation. More orders followed, the men refused compliance as encouraged by Maurice, and a second decimation was ordered. In response to the Theban Christians' refusal to attack fellow Christians, Maximian ordered all the remaining members of his legion to be executed. The place in Switzerland where this occurred, known as Agaunum, is now Saint-Maurice, Switzerland, site of the Abbey of St. Maurice.

So reads the earliest account of their martyrdom, contained in the public letter which Bishop Eucherius of Lyon (c. 434–450), addressed to his fellow bishop, Salvius. Alternative versions have the legion refusing Maximian's orders only after discovering innocent Christians had inhabited a town they had just destroyed, or that the emperor had them executed when they refused to sacrifice to the Roman gods.

Veneration

Saint Maurice became a patron saint of the German Holy Roman Emperors. In 926, Henry the Fowler (919–936), even ceded the present Swiss canton of Aargau to the abbey, in return for Maurice's lance, sword and spurs. The sword and spurs of Saint Maurice were part of the regalia used at coronations of the Austro-Hungarian emperors until 1916, and among the most important insignia of the imperial throne (although the actual sword dates from the 12th Century). In addition, some of the emperors were anointed before the Altar of Saint Maurice at St. Peter's Basilica. In 929, Henry the Fowler held a royal court gathering (Reichsversammlung) at Magdeburg. At the same time the Mauritius Kloster in honor of Maurice was founded. In 961, Otto I, Holy Roman Emperor, was building and enriching Magdeburg Cathedral, which he intended for his own tomb. To that end,

in the year 961 of the Incarnation and in the 25th year of his reign, in the presence of all of the nobility, on the vigil of Christmas, the body of St. Maurice was conveyed to him at Regensburg along with the bodies of some of the saint's companions and portions of other saints. Having been sent to Magdeburg, these relics were received with great honour by a gathering of the entire populace of the city and of their fellow countrymen. They are still venerated there, to the salvation of the homeland.

Maurice is traditionally depicted in full armor, in Italy emblazoned with a red cross. In folk culture he has become connected with the legend of the Holy Lance, which he is supposed to have carried into battle; his name is engraved on the Holy Lance of Vienna, one of several relics claimed as the spear that pierced Jesus' side on the cross. Saint Maurice gives his name to the town St. Moritz as well as to numerous places called Saint-Maurice in French speaking countries. The Indian Ocean island state of Mauritius was named after Maurice, Prince of Orange, and not directly after Maurice himself.

Over 650 religious foundations dedicated to Saint Maurice can be found in France and other European countries. In Switzerland alone, seven churches or altars in Aargau, six in the Canton of Lucerne, four in the Canton of Solothurn, and one in Appenzell Innerrhoden can be found (in fact, his feast day is a cantonal holiday in Appenzell Innerrhoden).Particularly notable among these are the Church and Abbey of Saint-Maurice-en-Valais, the Church of Saint Moritz in the Engadin, and the Monastery Chapel of Einsiedeln Abbey, where his name continues to be greatly revered. Several orders of chivalry were established in his honor as well, including the Order of the Golden Fleece, Order of Saints Maurice and Lazarus, and the Order of Saint Maurice. Additionally, fifty-two towns and villages in France have been named in his honor.

Maurice was also the patron saint of a Catholic parish and church in the 9th Ward of New Orleans and including part of the town of Arabi in St. Bernard Parish. The church was constructed in 1856, but was devastated by the winds and flood waters of Hurricane Katrina on 29 August 2005; the copper-plated steeple was blown off the building. The church was subsequently deconsecrated in 2008, and the local diocese put it up for sale in 2011. By 2014, a local attorney had purchased the property for a local arts organization, after which the building served as both an arts venue and the worship space for a Baptist church that had been displaced following the hurricane.

On 19 July 1941, Pope Pius XII declared Saint Maurice to be patron Saint of the Italian Army's Alpini (mountain infantry corps). The Alpini have celebrated Maurice's feast every year since then.

The Synaxarium of the Coptic Orthodox Church of Alexandria does not mention Saint Maurice, although there are several Coptic churches named for him.

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bad-fucking-omens · 5 months

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The Witch Twin (Alec V. x OC) - Chapter 8 - Welcome

Summary: When I thought about my future, I was sure that I had the rest of my life vaguely planned out.

Then, my older sister moved up from Arizona to stay with us — and turned my entire life upside down.

I had no idea just how bad it had gotten until I was standing in a castle in Italy, convinced that I was about to die.

Length: 3.2K words (Complete fic 71.8K words)

Fic warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, death, explicit smut (M/F), referenced/implied past child abuse, emotional manipulation by sibling

Chapter warnings: None

Read on AO3 or read below

8. WELCOME

I woke up just as the private jet was about to land in Florence, Italy. My eyes fluttered open and I lifted my head from Alec’s shoulder. He smiled at my tired expression and deftly brushed my hair away from where it had fallen across my face.

“Good morning,” he murmured softly.

“Is it morning?” I asked.

Alec’s smile grew. “No. It’s about seven in the evening. The sun is just starting to set.”

He lifted the shade that covered the window next to him. Golden light spilled into the dim cabin and I leaned closer to him to look out of the window.

“It’s so beautiful. . . .”

I could see the entire, large city of Florence beneath us. The Renaissance-style buildings were all varying shades of pale yellow and beige and white, their roofs all lined with terracotta-colored tiles. The basilica cathedral in the center of the city stood above all of the other buildings. A river ran through the city and mountains surrounded the city on one side.

“It is,” Alec agreed. He looked away from the city to look at me. He trailed his cool fingertips along my cheek. “But not as beautiful as you.”

I smiled at him and kissed his cheek. “You’re so sweet.”

“Only for you,” he whispered teasingly. I laughed and laid my head on his shoulder again. Alec hummed and rested his head against mine, taking my hand and linking our fingers together just as the plane began to descend.

Alec carried my suitcase for me as we walked down the stairs from the jet onto the pavement. He took my hand in his again and led me across the landing strip, through the airfield, to the small parking lot nearby. He put my suitcase in the front-trunk of a white Lamborghini. I smirked and raised an eyebrow at him. Alec simply grinned and moved around the car to open my door for me. He closed the door once I was seated and got into the driver’s seat. He took my hand again once he started the car and began driving.

“How far are we from Volterra?” I asked, looking out of the dark-tinted window and watching the gorgeous Italian countryside pass by.

“About half an hour,” he replied.

I nodded, though I could feel the anxiety begin to crawl under my skin at the thought of returning to the place where I thought I would die. Alec rubbed circles on the back of my hand with his thumb and said, “Eve, I promise that everything will be okay. I will be right by your side the whole time, and I would never allow you to be harmed in any way — not that anyone would dare to harm you. You have nothing to worry about, my love.”

My heartbeat slowed as my nerves settled. I looked at Alec and smiled gratefully. “Thank you.”

He smiled back at me and squeezed my hand gently, linking our fingers together. He said, “Aro requested that I bring you directly to see the masters when we arrive. Aro wants to greet you properly, as my mate.”

“You’ll be with me?”

“Of course,” he said. Alec lifted my hand up to his mouth and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of my hand.

Alec drove through the gates of the city. I looked around at the Tuscan-style buildings as he drove carefully through the narrow streets. Volterra was even more beautiful than I remembered, especially now that the streets weren’t flooded with people dressed in red and I wasn’t worried about my sister reaching Edward in time or worried about both of us dying.

The castle where the Volturi resided finally came into view. Alec brushed his thumb along the back of my hand as my anxiety spiked again and my stomach twisted uncomfortably. The wrought-iron gates to the castle opened to allow the car past the tall, pale stone walls. Alec pulled the car into a part of the castle that turned out to be a garage filled with expensive, European sports cars. He parked in a spot near the doors that led inside the castle.

We got out of the car. Alec grabbed my suitcase from the trunk, then took my hand in his once again. He led me into the castle, to the lobby where the receptionist was sitting behind her tall, wooden desk.

“Welcome back, Alec . . . Eve,” Gianna said with a smile.

Alec led me past her, ignoring her without a second glance. Halfway through the hallway that led to the throne room, Alec stopped walking. He drew me into his arms and held me against his body. I closed my eyes and rested my head against his chest, winding my arms around his waist.

“Do you feel a little less anxious, now?” Alec murmured softly. I nodded. He hummed and kissed the top of my head.

“Alec.”

We broke apart from each other and turned towards the voice. Jane was standing a few feet away from us, dressed in a knee-length, black, sleeveless dress with her hair tied back in a simple plait. Her face was neutral, until she met my gaze. Then, her eyes narrowed slightly at me. Instinctively, I pressed a little closer to Alec’s side, glancing down at the floor.

“Jane,” Alec warned, a slight edge to his voice as his arm tightened around me. “Play nice, sister.”

I looked up as she huffed in annoyance. She looked back at me and said begrudgingly, “Hello, Evelyn.” Her crimson eyes flicked back to Alec. “Don’t keep them waiting much longer, brother.”

He nodded. Jane walked past us and into the throne room. Alec looked down at me and brushed his thumb along my cheekbone.

“Let’s go, my love.”

I followed Alec down the length of the hallway. He slid aside the piece of paneling and opened the plain wooden door hidden behind it. Alec walked in ahead of me, clearly protective as he took measured steps and kept my hand firmly in his, using his body to shield mine.

“Ah, you have returned to us, young Eve.”

I gripped Alec’s hand nervously as Aro approached us, smiling. The other two leaders, Marcus and Caius, were sitting in their thrones, a bored expression on Caius’ face and a passive one on Marcus’. The guards I had seen on my previous trip — and several that I didn’t recognize — were gathered in the room, their red eyes all watching me curiously. All the attention was unnerving, so I pressed closer to Alec’s side and he squeezed my hand gently.

Aro laughed lightly and said, “Relax, young one. We are all quite happy that you have decided to join our dear Alec, and us by extension.” I saw Jane roll her eyes from the corner of my vision. Aro either ignored her or didn’t see her. He extended his hand to me. “May I?”

I placed my hand in his. He clasped my hand between both of his frozen ones, his cloudy crimson eyes staring into mine intensely. No one spoke or moved while Aro searched through my thoughts.

Finally, he blinked and smiled, gently patting my hand. “Thank you, my dear. I am sorry that you anguish over causing your father pain by disappearing from your previous life.” My heart twisted in my chest as Aro looked at the vampire standing beside me. “Alec, take your mate to your chambers. We shall allow her to settle in for a while before she is turned.”

“Yes, Master,” Alec said softly.

Alec bowed his head to Aro before he guided me out of the room. As soon as the door closed behind us, he wrapped his arms around my waist and lifted me up off the ground. I laughed and wrapped my legs around his waist as my arms curled around his neck. He kissed my cheek, then lightly pushed my head down to nestle in the crook of his neck. I smiled against his ice-cold skin as he carried me through the castle.

I barely felt him move, so it surprised me when only a couple seconds later, Alec loosened his grip on me and let me slowly drop down to my feet. He kept his arms around my waist as I turned to look at the room.

The bedroom was large and rectangular, made of the same, light, beige-colored stone that the rest of the castle was built with. Dark oak-colored bookshelves lined most of the walls from floor to ceiling, almost every shelf filled entirely with books. Some books looked ancient and delicate, made of leather and parchment, while others were clearly more modern. A black leather couch, matching armchair, and a dark, wooden coffee table — which also held a couple small stacks of books — stood in front of a fireplace that was built into the wall. A large, flat-screen TV hung above the fireplace and a few gaming systems were resting on the mantle.

A king-sized bed sat between two of the tall bookshelves, covered with a dark gray comforter and pillows that were tucked into black satin pillowcases. To the right of the doorway to the hallway, there were two doors fitted between another couple of bookshelves. I assumed that they led to a closet and possibly a bathroom. Directly across the room from them, to the left of where we were standing, laid a balcony with an intricately designed wrought-iron railing behind two glass doors.

“Your room is amazing,” I said.

“Our room,” Alec corrected softly. He pressed a kiss to my hair.

I laughed quietly. “Our room,” I repeated. I turned around and rested my head against his shoulder. Alec smoothed his hand over my long, dark hair. I reached up to play with one of the drawstrings of his hoodie, twisting it around my finger lazily.

“My sweet girl. . . . We should put your things away.”

I nodded, though neither of us moved to pull away from each other. Alec chuckled warmly and I smiled. Just hearing his laugh made me feel warm and happy.

Alec wrapped his arms around me and picked me up easily. He moved us over to the couch, where he laid down with me laying on his chest. Our legs tangled together as I rested my head on his chest. Alec pulled a thick blanket that had been hanging over the couch over us, gently tucking it around my body. I hummed happily, nestling into his side as his hand rubbed along my back.

“I’m so happy that you’re here with me,” he murmured, brushing my hair away from my face. He took a deep breath and sighed. “I wasn’t sure that I would ever meet my mate, and I would never have imagined that I would bond with you so quickly, but now I cannot fathom living without you.”

“I think in some ways, I’m still in shock from all of this,” I mumbled. “I mean, it’s crazy that just a few weeks ago, I had no idea that vampires were real, and I could never have imagined that I would fall in love with a vampire. But I wouldn’t trade any of it for the world, Alec. . . . Will you tell me something?”

“Anything.”

“What happened to you when I decided to stay in Forks?” I asked, pushing myself up a little to look at him. I could see his hesitation and I said, “Please tell me, Alec. I want to know. . . . Please .”

I could see his resolve crumble at my plea. He sighed and looked up at the ceiling as I laid back on his chest. His voice was quiet as he spoke.

“I . . . I was barely able to do anything other than sit in the corner of my room and focus on the pain in my heart. It . . . it was the second worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life. . . . I kept the shirt that I had been wearing when I first met you. It still had your scent on it, and every time I caught your sweet scent, it made the pain worse and better, as strange as it sounds. The day I came for you, Marcus had come to me. He convinced me to go to you.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, curling closer to his body.

“Don’t apologize,” Alec replied quickly. “This was not your fault, my love. You were manipulated and lied to. . . . But you’re here with me now, and that’s all that matters.”

He brushed his lips along my forehead and I let my eyes flutter shut.

“How long do I have until I’m turned?”

“Aro suggested three days. Is that okay?”

I nodded. My eyes fluttered open as Alec very gently pushed my head up with his finger under my chin. He looked into my eyes for a long moment before he pressed his lips to mine for the very first time.

I gasped softly against his mouth. His lips were as hard and cold as ice, yet somehow he was so very gentle. I took a deep breath through my nose, breathing in his perfect, sweet, intoxicating scent — which put my mind into overdrive. Everything except the feeling of his lips on mine faded away. I fisted my hand in the soft fabric of his hoodie and pressed as close as I could to his body. All I could think about was pulling him closer, closer, closer.

Alec pulled away, carefully holding me back with a gentle hand on my shoulder. I sucked in a deep breath, filling my deprived lungs with air. I panted softly as he brushed his hand along my cheek.

“Are you okay?” he asked anxiously. “I’m sorry, I knew that it would be overwhelming–”

“I’m fine,” I assured him, still a little breathless. My lips tingled the same way my skin had when he had first touched my cheek. “Don’t apologize. It was amazing.”

He smiled a little smugly and I rolled my eyes at him. I jokingly slapped his chest, then hissed at the pain that radiated through my hand. Alec quickly wrapped his hand around mine, letting his cold skin soothe away the ache. He raised my hand to his mouth and brushed his lips across my knuckles.

“Careful, sweet girl,” he murmured.

I sighed after a moment and said, “I really should unpack my stuff.”

“We can just lay here, if you want.”

“But if I unpack, then we will have nothing to do other than cuddle together.”

Alec laughed and said, “That’s a good point, love.”

We slowly untangled ourselves and got up off the couch. Alec moved my suitcase onto the bed and unzipped it. He put his arm around my waist.

“I can take care of all of this for you in a few seconds,” he offered. “Then we can go lay down again.”

“You’re very persuasive,” I teased with a smile.

“Is that a yes?”

I nodded. Alec hummed and placed a kiss on my cheek. Then, I only saw a blur moving around the room as things disappeared from my suitcase. Mere seconds passed before he returned to my side, only the photo of me and Charlie left. I took it from his hands, smiling sadly down at it.

“I wasn’t sure where you would want it,” Alec said.

“Um . . . I’m not sure.”

“Maybe over here?” he suggested, leading me over to one of the bookshelves. I hadn’t noticed earlier when I was looking around that two of the shelves in this particular bookshelf held small paintings and pictures of him and Jane and a couple other members of the Volturi over the years. He took the picture from my hands and tucked it into the corner of one of the large picture frames.

“We’ll get it it’s own frame soon,” he said.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, love.”

“Where did you put my books?” I asked.

Alec smirked and teased, “Somehow I knew you would ask that first.” He took my hand in his and led me over to another bookshelf. He knelt down and traced his fingertips along the spines of the books that I had brought with me to Italy.

“Which one is your favorite?” he asked.

I brushed my fingers through his silky, dark brown hair. Alec leaned into my touch as I said, “That’s a hard question. . . . I really enjoyed Frankenstein when I read it, more than I thought I would.”

“Mm,” he hummed.

I smiled down at him. Alec seemed far more focused on my fingers in his hair than my answer to his question. He rested his head against the side of my thigh and closed his eyes. My smile widened as I watched him, continuing to run my fingers through his soft curls.

“Get off the floor, Alec, you are not a dog.”

The sudden, vicious voice in the room made me jump. I pulled my hand away from Alec’s hair, my eyes going wide as I looked over at Jane. Her lip was curled into an angry sneer, her hands balled into fists as she glared at me.

I looked away from her quickly, glancing down at Alec. Alec’s bottom lip was just barely jutted out into a slight pout, likely from our moment being interrupted. He sighed and took my hand in his, looking up at me as he pressed a lingering kiss to my knuckles. My anxious heartbeat slowed even as I blushed at his affection. Alec stood and turned to look at his twin sister, hiding me partially behind him.

“Jane,” he greeted.

Her eyes finally moved away from me and her gaze lost all hostility as she looked at her brother.

“I was coming to steal you away for a while,” Jane said pleasantly. A surprisingly soft smile curled her lips as she waited for his response.

“Sister, you know that my mate just joined me. I won’t leave her alone,” he replied carefully.

The blonde girl frowned and shot me another glare from over Alec’s shoulder. Guilt twisted my heart.

“It’s okay, Alec,” I said softly. “You should spend time with her.”

Alec turned to look at me, and my heart ached even more when I saw the confusion and slight hurt in his eyes. But only a second later, it all disappeared and he suddenly looked determined. He turned back towards his twin.

“I will visit with you later, Jane. I promise,” Alec added in a softer tone when she sent me another annoyed look. I looked down at the ground. “I want to spend time with Eve right now.”

Jane growled angrily and whirled around, quickly leaving the room. Alec turned fully towards me and lifted my chin gently so I was looking into his crimson eyes.

“Do not put anyone else’s feelings or desires above your own,” he murmured. “Jane will adjust to not being able to monopolize all of my time. We have spent the last twelve-hundred years by each other’s sides. She can handle a few days without me.”

“I just don’t want to come between you,” I said.

Alec took my face in his hands. “You won’t, sweet girl. Jane just needs time to adjust and get to know you.”

I nodded. Alec leaned close to drop a kiss on my forehead.

“Okay. Now, I’ve been a little daft and have forgotten that my beautiful mate is still human and needs to eat,” he said. I smiled with him. “Let’s go get you something to eat.”

“Lead the way.”

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