#this is my first absence of the three that are allowed in latin | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kiyoominous · 3 years

Text

wishes (sakusa kiyoomi)

synopsis: sakusa doesn’t like making wishes, apparently they’re too childish. but he finds himself wishing that he never met you.

pairing: sakusa kiyoomi/reader

warnings: major character death, mention of hospitals

genre: angst, fluff if you squint, established relationship

a/n: i was listening to a lot of mitski when i wrote this :D click here for a youtube playlist to possibly listen to while you read!!!!! cross posted to ao3!

Sakusa wishes he never met you.

He’s never been one to invest in wishes. It makes sense with someone as no-nonsense, as practical, as logical as him. But life tends to push your boundaries and opinions and now he’s a believer, to his dismay.

He wishes he never said hello. He wishes his eyes never found yours. He wishes that he never sat next to you in high school and he definitely wishes he never asked to borrow a pencil.

“Of course!” you beamed brightly at him. Somehow, in amongst the sunny day, the smile on your face blinded him more than the light spilling into the classroom. But he didn’t mind.

Perhaps he got lost in the radiance of your face because he didn’t see the pastel pink mechanical pencil that was waving in front of him. He nervously snatched it from your hands and muttered a ‘thank you’ before quickly returning to his workbook.

He returned home that day, the gleaming image of you embossed in his mind. Reaching into his book bag, he found the mechanical pencil sitting right at the bottom of it. Oops.

The next day, he ran to your desk to dutifully hand your pencil back. It was slightly embarrassing to think that he was so consumed by your glow that he forgot to return what he borrowed. He had never felt himself stand more uprightly as he loomed over your seated form, graphite stick in hand.

“You can keep it, Sakusa. We’re friends now, right?”

Friends? The most he’d let himself call you was his classmate but sure, being friends sounded nice too.

He wishes he never let you speak to him, your intelligent words spilling like a fountain. He wishes he never heard you muse about language, culture, volleyball, anything really. He wishes he never heard the sound of your voice.

You were rambling on about something, Sakusa didn’t exactly remember what. Of course he was listening, it’d be rude of him not to. But he found himself tuning into the melodious noise of your voice rather than the words spill from your lips. He couldn’t help it, you had a way with his ears.

“Sakusa, are you listening to me?” you teased. The aforementioned boy nodded fervently but the sudden spring from his slouched form into a more poised position told you otherwise.

“You were talking about Latin or something.” he drawled lazily. You eyes widen in mock disbelief.

“Is that all you remember? Are you that bad of a listener?”

“Maybe you’re just boring.”

A moment of stunned silence and then a gasp.

“You are going to regret that, Mister Top Three in Japan.”

Sakusa felt a fist push into his arm. The sensation of the punch was so feather light so he thought that there was nothing to regret. Maybe he could get used to this. But not yet. It was too soon to think about a relationship. Or even holding hands.

He wishes he never looped his arms around your waist. He wishes he never soaked in the warmth of your embrace. He wishes he’d never been so close to you that the smell of your laundry detergent lingered in his nose.

First dates were nerve wracking. Sakusa thought it was ridiculous to feel so high-strung about dating, to feel nervous and shy and anxious. It’s just an outing, how bad could it really be? It’s a shame that he started to understand now instead of before all of this.

His hands were sweaty, his chest was pounding and his knees were wobbling. Really, his damn knees? All of this because the thought of having to touch you once in his life was sprinting through the back of his mind.

He knew you weren’t expecting him to kiss you at the end of the date. You were aware — and respectful — of his boundaries. That didn’t mean that he wasn’t feeling peer pressured by every romcom he had reluctantly watched with Komori to let his fingers brush against yours while you walked side by side.

It didn’t help that he wanted to do that either.

A gentle tap on his shoulder and you were staring up at him with puppy eyes he couldn’t resist. He hesitated before daintily wrapped his fingers around yours, pulling your intertwined hands into his pocket. It felt warm. You were warm. And now his body was warm. But it wasn’t warm enough, he wanted to hug you.

Wait, what? Pardon?!

With that, Sakusa felt his hand slip out of yours in favour of wrapping his strong arms around your figure, engulfing himself in your heat. Even with the biting cold, he thought that he didn’t need the jacket over his shoulders to keep him cozy. You were enough to set his heart ablaze, to let that fire warm up his entire body.

“Sakusa…” you gasped. Guess you were both just as surprised. He muttered something under his breath and you begged to hear it again.

“Call me Kiyoomi, please.” he repeated.

He inhaled the winter air and felt the bitter cold fly into his nose. He also noted the scent of fresh laundry detergent wafting amongst the chilly wind. Was he really letting himself be this close to you, so close that he knew the brand of detergent your mother used?

His agenda against physical contact nagged him but he didn’t care. Your touch was something he’d sacrifice his comfort for.

He wishes you never occupied his mind, he wishes you never meant so much to him, he wishes that he never loved you. He wishes that he never loved you because loving you brought him here, in his bed alone.

You were supposed to be there with him.

It was a shame that he loved loving you. He loved everything that you brought into his life. Your laugh, your smile, your terrible jokes. But he wishes he never let himself feel so comfortable with you that you knew him like the back on your hand. If he had just kept his damn mouth shut, then maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much when you weren’t around anymore.

It hurt so much to see you writhing in pain when he got home from practice. The second he saw you collapsed on the floor, his mind hyper focused on you and you alone. His usual shower session was ignored in favour of you.

It hurt so much to drive you to the hospital, to even think about your body lying on a stretcher or in an operating room. Sakusa ran through one too many red lights but he didn’t notice. He didn’t care. All that was running through his head was to step on the pedal, steer the wheel and make sure you came out of there alive.

Five torturous hours later and he learnt that you weren’t going to be breathing he saw you next.

It hurt so much to lower your casket into the ground, you face to never see the world again. His family, your family and all of your friends passed by, long hugs and pitiful apologies in tow. Everyone thinks that performative sympathy is going to help with the grief. It doesn’t.

Now you aren’t around to massage his back after a long day of practice, to listen to him whine about his teammates, to be the shoulder he leans on when he cries. Now Sakusa lies in bed alone, the bed you used to share with him, tightly grasping onto a pillow that he wishes could be you instead. He misses you.

He misses you.

The first few months were agonising. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything. Not even cleaning the house or playing volleyball or eating his comfort foods. You brightened even the dullest tasks in the world and now everything felt so bleak. It still does. The world around Sakusa felt so boring that he swore his vision lost its colour.

It took a miracle and the combined efforts of Komori and the Black Jackals to even get him out of his room.

He got better. After six months of a depressive episode, he pulled himself back into volleyball again. He had to, it was at least one thing he could do in your memory. Days and weeks and months passed and Sakusa saw his beloved sport as a distraction, as a safe haven from the absence of you. If he could, he’d distract himself with the real you instead.

The eventual push back into society didn’t mean that Sakusa was okay by any means. Some nights were easier, practice would tire him out so much that he’d be knocked out the second his body hit the mattress. Some nights proved to be not-as-easy, the sting of your passing pressed down on him like a weighted blanket. An unwanted weighted blanket.

Tonight is not one of those easier nights.

There’s an ache in his chest that he can’t shake off and there’s a rock in his heart that’s sinking it to the floor and there’s just so much pain coursing though his body. He’s never felt so sore before.

He hates feeling this sore.

A tingle rises in his chest and eyes and he knows he wants to cry but the water doesn’t fall. All he can do is heave heavy breaths and weep. Why does he have to live without you? Why? Breaking up with you would’ve been a breeze compared to your death, he thinks.

It’s been a year since his loss. He knows that he’s allowed to grieve for however long he needs but some voice in his brain whispers that he should be over it by now. Sakusa wishes that he’s not in so much pain, that his suffering wasn’t there to begin with, that you weren’t in his life to make him feel this tortured. But perhaps instead of wishing to rewrite the past, he should wish to be okay. He should wish that the memory of you doesn’t pain him anymore. He should wish that he can power through this without you because that’s what you’d want.

And so he does. He sits upright in his bed, closing his eyes in meditative thought.

I wish that this’ll be over soon.

I wish that I can return back to my life.

I wish that I’ll be okay.

So there’s not much of a likelihood that his wishes will be granted. So what? At the very least, he can finally feel the ache in his limbs and the tension in his shoulders and the tug of his heart slowly beginning to vanish.

He’s going to be okay.

158 notes · View notes

dwellordream · 3 years

Text

“England, an island kingdom with a majority population of Anglo-Saxon, Celtic, or Danish origin and a ruling minority of Norman French descent, must have seemed in many ways a strange land to Eleanor. Happily for the queen, England since the 1066 Norman Conquest had had close links with the French and Latin culture prevailing on the European mainland. While the majority of the native population spoke English, the language spoken among the aristocracy at the royal court and by London’s commercial classes was Anglo-Norman French. The clergy and many royal officials knew Latin as well and easily moved from one language to the other.

A number of Anglo-Norman speakers were trilingual, since they found some knowledge of English, the language spoken by the mass of the population, a practical necessity, but French would remain the language of the royal court long after Eleanor’s time. One of Henry II’s courtiers wrote glowingly of the king’s linguistic skill, noting that he “had some knowledge of every language from the Channel to the river Jordan, but himself employed only Latin and French.” Probably Henry could grasp the gist of what was said to him in English, but was far from fluent and unable to make himself understood by English speakers.

Such linguistic plurality was familiar to Eleanor, who had moved back and forth in her childhood between the two French tongues, langue d’oïl and langue d’oc. Yet she never learned English, although she must have had many English-speaking servants. Surviving accounts from Henry II’s early years as king mention his marriage to Eleanor of Aquitaine and little more, but there can be no doubt that shocking rumors about her conduct on the Second Crusade followed her to her new kingdom.

Large numbers of ambitious English youths who sought out the learning of the schools of Paris doubtless laughed over drinks in their taverns at exaggerated stories told of their new queen’s scandalous conduct as Louis VII’s consort. On their return to England in search of employment, many gathered at the royal court, a place filled with clever courtiers, ambitious and greedy men of low birth, who traded on amusing stories to stand out from their fellows in the rivalry for patronage. They readily turned their skill with words toward gossip, flattery, lies, and hypocrisy in order to prevail over competitors.

Doubtless, one means of impressing potential patrons with their access to power was to retell tales of the queen’s immorality that they had heard while in France. Nothing could be kept secret at court, for the royal family lived their lives in public with courtiers and lesser servants constantly present, and they could not avoid being the subjects of much gossip. It is impossible to gauge how far down among the common people gossip about the new queen penetrated. The majority of Eleanor’s new subjects probably knew little more than that she came from a place far away in the south of France and that she had left her first husband, the French king, to marry Henry Plantagenet.

Yet court gossip circulated among Londoners and no doubt spread to their acquaintances in the countryside. Eleanor’s largely unflattering portrait painted by English chroniclers writing toward the end of the twelfth century probably reflects popular opinion. It shows that she did not meet a standard for queenship being defined in the course of the century, part of a reformulation of gender roles that would impose harsher judgments of her than those passed on earlier English queens. Despite a growing animus against powerful women, Eleanor’s four Anglo Norman predecessors as English queen-consorts had enjoyed the approval of contemporary writers.

The chronicler Orderic Vitalis, an English-born monk writing in Normandy, supplies few signs of women’s worsening conditions early in the twelfth century. His stereotypical references to feminine weaknesses are no more than superficial comments made in passing. He portrays queens as companions and helpmates to their husbands, “helping in government in any time of crisis, ruling during minorities, or helping the foundation of churches.”

Other chroniclers similarly described Anglo-Norman queens in conventional terms as models of piety and purity, making benefactions to religious institutions and supporting literary and artistic patronage at the royal court. These ladies attracted no scandalous gossip, were conscientious mothers and worthy companions of their royal consorts, even if occasionally involved in politics, serving as regents during their husbands’ absences from the kingdom.

William I’s wife Matilda of Flanders escaped Orderic’s condemnation for mixing in worldly matters, since circumstances required her to act as governor of Normandy for long periods while her husband was busy consolidating his rule over his new kingdom of England. Orderic recorded without disapproval “the hard facts of her participation in the work of government” later in England, where she acted as regent and even as royal judge. Henry I’s consort Edith-Matilda had exerted similar influence in the political sphere, acting as regent during her husband’s absences from the realm. When exercising power on Henry I’s behalf, she applied her own seal to royal documents, and she expected royal officials to obey her as they would the king.

Yet her activity as her husband’s helpmate did not sully her reputation, for her piety staved off writers’ objections. Indeed, Edith-Matilda spoke openly of her influence over her husband; in a letter to Anselm of Canterbury, who had incurred royal wrath, she told him, “With God’s help and my suggestions, as far as I am able, [Henry] may become more welcoming and compromising towards you.” Eleanor’s efforts as Henry II’s regent during the first decade of their marriage did not win her similar praise, however.

Unlike Henry’s grandmother, whose intercession with her husband on behalf of worthy petitioners had led churchmen to compare her to the biblical Queen Esther, Eleanor did not earn contemporaries’ gratitude for taking advantage of her intimate access to Henry to intervene for the sake of others. Edith-Matilda with her saintliness represented a model of what was expected and esteemed in an English royal consort. Yet her death in 1118 marked a change for English queenship, for by then the eleventh-century reform movement’s fight for clerical celibacy was bringing about a sharpening of gender definitions to deny women any public role.

While Eleanor was queen, English churchmen were condemning great women for assuming such “manly” roles as the exercise of power, and they decried husbands who allowed their wives a role in public life as guilty of “unmanly” behavior. Henry II’s own mother, Empress Matilda, had suffered from accusations of an “unwomanly” desire for power. Eleanor sought a place for herself in politics that went beyond what northern Europeans considered suitable for a queen. Even as a young wife and a stranger at the court of Louis VII, she had demonstrated a desire to share power with her royal husband; and she had resented both her mother-in-law’s influence over her young husband and Abbot Suger of Saint-Denis’s role as his senior counselor.

As a French biographer writes, “It is that constant political activity and her role at court . . . that makes Eleanor an exceptional woman to the point of astonishing the historians of our time and of shocking the misogynistic chroniclers of her own.” Religious devotion was an important quality for queens, who were expected to be models of piety, using their prominence to promote religion in the kingdom. While Eleanor’s predecessors were known to have given pious gifts to monastic institutions, including new foundations, she is not noted for having founded new religious houses in England.

… monasteries or convents favored by her ancestors seem never to have benefitted from gifts of English lands from her as additions to their endowments. Unlike Henry II, who provided Fontevraud with revenues from English properties and encouraged the foundation of Fontevraudist priories in England, no evidence survives of Eleanor’s gifts to that house from her English revenues. Eleanor formed a special relationship with Reading Abbey where her first son, William, dead at the age of three, was entombed in 1156, apparently while Henry II was abroad.

No doubt her husband sent instructions concerning their son’s burial; and his body was placed at the feet of his great-grandfather, to King Henry I of England, Henry’s model for ruling England. The choice of Reading as the child’s resting place was a means of linking the Angevin king and his family to Henry I, founder of the abbey, who had intended it to be a royal mausoleum. Like parents in any age, Eleanor and Henry mourned the loss of their first child. In making a grant for the little boy’s soul to Hurley Priory, a dependent house of Westminster Abbey, the king declared that the gift was made at the queen’s request and with her assent.

…Another rare letter to Eleanor as queen of England survives to cast light on her spiritual life. It was written to her by the prophet and mystic, Hildegard of Bingen (d.1179), another remarkable twelfth-century woman, and a letter addressed by her to Henry II also survives. As Hildegard’s fame spread, she conducted a wide correspondence replying to requests for her advice from powerful persons throughout Europe, including England.

Since the letter cannot be dated more precisely than sometime before 1170, the event that impelled Hildegard to write to the English queen remains a mystery. She addresses Eleanor not so much as a sovereign as a woman who is prey to troubles; and she offers counsel to calm her, advising her to search for stability. She wrote “Your mind is similar to a wall plunged into a whirlwind of clouds. You look all around, but find no rest. Flee that and remain firm and stable, with God as with men, and God will then help you in all your tribulations. May he give you his blessing and his aid in all your undertakings.”

- Ralph V. Turner, “Once More a Queen and Mother: England, 1154–1168.” in Eleanor of Aquitaine: Queen of France, Queen of England

#eleanor of aquitaine #eleanor of aquitaine: queen of france queen of england #history #high middle ages #henry ii of england #english #medieval #queens

10 notes · View notes

queensofthekastle · 3 years

Note

For the dialogue prompt -- how's about 42?? :]

HOLY SHIT OK IT TOOK ME A MONTH BUT I'VE DONE IT. FINALLY. Life was just happening everywhere, thanks for waiting me out. 🙏

TW: descriptions and references to racist police violence.

The prompt was "I'm only here to establish an alibi." I was totally stuck--what could be blamed on Frank that he wouldn't have actually done? Canonically to the comics (though I commend the show for not giving a flying fuck about whether Frank went after glorified DHS cops who were dirty) the only things Frank won't touch are bystanders, cops, and active duty military.

And then I had it. Because 2020 has been A Year and I'm still processing some shit. So, here we go.

-Stellar

************************************

The door rattles under a succinct knock at 2:45 am—just when Karen had been so close to falling asleep, caught in that limbo of vague consciousness and wandering thoughts just on the cusp of falling into dreams. So, it’s with more irritation than concern that she drags herself out of bed after the second round of door-bludgeoning. It being post-closing time on a Friday—well, Saturday now—she's fairly confident what she’ll find through the peephole will be a drunk neighbor with the wrong apartment. It wouldn’t be the first time, nor, probably, the last.

A cautious look through the peephole does not reveal one of her gregarious bar-hopping neighbors though, but a still figure; hood pulled close around his face to shadow shifting eyes that look black as ink in the low, shit light of the apartment hallway. Frank has a lovely mouth, but it’s set now in a tense line. Karen’s heart picks up speed, a fullness in her chest and a pressure in her veins—middle of the night, tense Frank is never a good sign. Though he doesn’t seem to be bleeding from anywhere, which is more than can be said for some of his other visits.

She undoes the door chain, and she’s quietly but earnestly asking “what’s going on?” before she even has the door open wide enough for him to see her face.

“Nothing.” He says, voice rough and low, but calm. “I just need someone to know it’s nothing.”

He looks askance, looks at her. She allows herself a sigh.

“What does that even mean, Frank?”

He shifts his weight and looks at her from under the shadow of his hood.

“I’m only here to establish an alibi.”

“Because you didn’t do something, or because you did?”

“Didn’t,” he says, and she believes him. She always does. It’s one piece of why he’s so dear to her: Frank never lies to her, and she never lies to him.

“This should be interesting,” she says, and opens the door far enough for him to step through. When she’s closed it behind him she asks if he’d like a drink. He answers without looking her in the eye, mind working on something else far away from her little apartment—he asks for his usual, of course. Only Frank would suggest coffee this near to 3:00 am.

“Not sleeping tonight?” she asks. He shrugs one shoulder.

“Guess not.”

“Uh-huh. So you didn’t do anything, but you’re pulling an all-nighter in my apartment? I’m going to need an explanation here soon, Frank.”

He hovers beside the hutch that acts as her kitchen island without looking any more settled than he had out in the hall. His jaw works for a moment before he answers.

“I don’t know how much you want to know. Let's just say I ran into someone with a mission about like mine and I’m giving her space to work.”

“Oh. God. A Punisher copycat? Jesus, Frank. The law turns a blind eye to one of you, I doubt you’ll get away with two.”

“Nah,” he says, “nothing like that. I’m it. This is a one-time thing—lady's got some things to get out of her system. I only found out because she was after the same supply chain I was.”

“Supply chain?”

“Ammo,” he says flatly. Karen holds her next blink a little too hard and a little too long. But he is what he is—she accepts that again every time she opens her door to him—and she doesn’t comment except to ask:

“Who is this person after that you aren’t?”

“It’s probably better you don't ask. If someone comes sniffing after me about it you should be able to say you didn’t know anything.”

“So if one of your Homeland ‘friends' shows up to see if you’re testing their good graces what do I tell them, then? That you just showed up at three in the morning for a chat? No one is going to buy that.”

He shifts, not quite shrugging, looking off into space with the raised eyebrows of feigned innocence.

“Just say I saw your light on, came to say hi.”

“Right. And you were walking around Hell’s Kitchen to see my light on in the first place because . . .?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Hoping maybe if I tried my luck with a walk I’d find you up.”

Karen sighs, turning away to pour his coffee. She’s made it thick as hot asphalt for him, in part because she knows he likes that, in part because she’s so damn tired she’d lost track of how many grounds she was piling into the coffeemaker. Frank takes the mug she offers him with a low “thank you.” And sure enough, after a sip, he smiles.

“You always make my kind of coffee,” he says.

“It’s an easy recipe,” she says, leaning over the counter opposite him, “just make it so no sane person would drink it.”

He laughs, a very short, low sound that rumbles in his chest and rasps in his throat.

“Dare I ask what you were actually in the neighborhood for?” She asks. “If insomnia is your alibi?”

“Probably shouldn't. Let’s just say I had a meeting.”

Karen quirks an eyebrow, conveying as much skepticism with the look as she can.

“Meeting as in you’re probably accessory to whatever it is this friend of yours is doing?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

Karen fixes him with her best piercing journalist stare. He drinks his coffee. They stalemate that way in silence for a minute or so before he meets her eyes and speaks.

“There are some things I don’t touch,” he says. “People doing their jobs, following shit orders and shit training and fucking up in the process—shit I’ve done, Afghanistan . . . I wouldn’t have a leg to stand on. Would be a hypocrite. It’s not my place. And I guess you could call it self-preservation, too. Doesn’t mean I don’t think about it, though.”

“Think about…?”

He takes a long drink, eyeing her over the top of the mug, making some calculation she can’t guess at.

“You know any Latin?” he says finally. “Quis custodiet ipsos custodes mean anything to you?”

It does, and for a moment, she’s sure her heart has stopped.

“Oh, no,” she says. “Who watches the watchmen. Tell me this is what I think it is.”

“I’m not telling you anything, don’t worry.”

“Frank,” she hisses. She doesn’t need his sarcasm right now. She thinks she knows what it could be that he won’t touch and still endorse: with Frank it’s always either war or justice, and every headline for the last month has been about the absence of justice on a battlefield where he could never hope to win. Cops in the city conveniently overlook Frank. He gets the ones they can’t, they have no vested interest in handing him over so long as he doesn’t mess with them. It’s an unspoken arrangement that lets Frank do what he does—and what he does lets him stand to live. Karen knows that. They’ve been over it enough. The police let Frank slip through their fingers and he doesn’t pick a fight in exchange.

But it’s been a long summer, and every day of it has been a fight with police for the thousands of protesters gathering over and over throughout the city. In early June a beat cop—White, of course—used a kind of handheld Taser repeatedly on an unarmed Black man “resisting arrest" for a crime he didn’t commit. Cell phone footage from witnesses made it online despite the NYPD's best efforts, and all anyone saw when watching it wasn’t a criminal resisting, but a victim on his knees, clutching his chest, begging please, please, I have a heart condition, I have a pacemaker, before the cop shocked him again. And again. Until he wasn’t on his knees but prone on the ground, gone still and silent.

The officer was reinstated after a paid leave six days ago. The DA declined to prosecute.

And yesterday, the innocent man, having spent weeks in a coma induced by heart failure, was declared dead.

Frank looks Karen hard in the eye, an unflinching stare that says he knows she understands. She puts her face in her hands.

“There’s shitstorm coming, isn’t there?” she says.

“Probably.”

She shakes her head, drops it into her hands again. She can feel him watching her. A minute ticks by. Maybe two.

“Karen.”

She lifts her eyes just enough to meet his.

“You feel you gotta do something with this?” he asks. It neither a judgement nor a threat. She worries her lip for a moment before answering.

“This person you know of,” she says slowly, “they won’t implicate you?”

“No.”

“And do you know enough of their plan that you could stop them? Tip someone off?”

He takes a long drink, holding her with those deep inkdark eyes, and for the first time, he lies to her.

“No. Nothing.”

She knows it’s a lie. She knows he wants her to know. She could call him on it and he wouldn’t deny it. But she doesn’t.

All she says is “then I guess there’s nothing we could do,” holding his eyes while she speaks, making sure he understands what’s happening here.

Frank nods. It’s enough.

Karen looks away, stares at her hands folded in front of her, tracing the patterns of veins under pale skin.

After a moment she asks, “would you like anything stronger?”

Frank looks at her with cool appraisal that says what he won’t out loud—that somehow, on some level, he helped with what’s to come. And he knows she’s letting him get away with it.

“No thanks,” he says. “But you go ahead.”

And she does. She falls asleep beside him on the couch, drunk with her head resting on his shoulder, sometime after 4:30, an economy bottle of wine that started full and is now half gone still out on the coffee table.

On Monday, Ellison will ask her to look into the story of a body found charred beyond recognition in an NYPD patrol car.

She’ll tell him there was nothing she could dig up, and never mention it again.

#kastle #kastle fic #BLM motherfuckers #queensfic #someday someone at Marvel will have the guts to put Frank up against a precinct of horrible cops #and on that day my only request is they let Garth Ennis write it

41 notes · View notes

mlwritersguild · 3 years

Photo

ornithologists dream of birds (and i of you) by @noirshitsuji

Prompt: Shakespeare AU! Any pairing submitted by @tentativesapling

--------------------

“And what is the message you bring?”

“My master has asked me to tell you of his great love, my lady,” Alix says, head bowed low, trying very hard not to grit her teeth.

“Oh? Tell me, then,” the Countess Chloé sounds as bored as if she were reading a Latin textbook, and Alix fumes.

“It is great, my lady,” ‘Alaric’ mutters, raising his head slightly to offset the patheticness of the plea in his words with the fire he knows hides in his eyes.

The countess shifts in her seat, but portrays no other sign of discomfort.

“He dreams of you every night and wishes you were there to greet him in the morning,” Alix continues, and there is a bit of desperation in there, too, now.

The Duke of Orsino (‘Call me Kim,’ he insisted three days into their acquaintance, ‘for you have proved too valuable to be snatched away from me thanks to the inevitable distance formality brings,’) would not have been pleased with his most faithful servant’s conduct, she is sure, so she snaps up, keeping her eyes locked on the countess’, trying to lower her voice even further.

“He dreads your absence at every meal, my lady,” the words bite the inside of her mouth, but still ‘Alaric’ speaks, “and says he would give up all the stars in the sky for one kiss of yours, though he is certain he shall need to procure more celestial bodies for subsequent caresses lest he die for their lack afterwards. He rhymes your name with all the flowers in the world,” and Alix’s education on the matter extends very far; Kim’s on poetry does not, but the countess need not know that. “He only wishes to be allowed to bask in your company for the rest of his days, as your lawfully-wedded husband, and offers himself fully to satisfy you in his capacity as such. Is this not enough?”

(Laughter in his eyes as he calls over ‘Alaric! Quick, the day escapes us!’, blush in his cheeks from the candlelight as they speak in low voices of distant dreams of travel and mythical horizons.

Who is Alix asking that, again?)

The Countess Chloé stands up abruptly from her chair. “That is quite enough, thank you…?” there is a question in her gaze as well as in her voice, and, strangely, this is the first time ‘Alaric’ has truly felt like he has lost his footing.

“They call me ‘Alaric’,” and though it is not a lie, a strange flash of shame shoots through him as her eyes glint. A moment passes with nothing to fill it, and Alix realises she must correct her mistake. “I do apologise for my conduct, Lady Courtesy. It was–is not appropriate for me to address you in that way. It is just that my master’s passion has transferred onto me.”

“Yes,” the countess replies, that glint still in her eyes. She starts moving towards him. “Please, allow me to escort you outside.”

Alix nods, feeling very stiff, and pivots on her foot to head towards the door. “Will you consider my master’s proposal?”

“I may,” the countess says, nonchalant, and Alix feels a hand, light as a feather, settle on her left shoulder. “Come this way, through the gardens. You must see the flowers. There are some in quite unusual colours, one of them even matches your hair. Truly fascinating, that hair,” that last part is muttered, but it still sends shivers down Alix’s spine.

Oh, no.

(And they dance around the flowers with uncanny resemblance to the two lovers from the tale who dance around a kiss – one of them already in love with another – and Alix barely escapes with her dignity and her chastity intact.

But Kim is smiling so hard when she tells him the news she can’t even bring herself to hurt.)

#ml writers guild #december event 2020 #noirshitsuji #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fic #miraculous ladybug au #ml fic #ml au #chloe bourgeois #alix kubdel #kim le chien #shakespeare au #twelth night

23 notes · View notes

writingmyselfout · 3 years

Text

Because I Could Not Stop for Death - Chapter Ten

Language: English

Rating: Teen+

Pairing: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter

Tags: AU - Canon Divergence, Reptilia28′s Don’t Fear the Reaper Challenge, Manipulative Dumbledore, Black Hermione Granger, Slight Ron Weasley Bashing

Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

Chapter 10: Gimme Some Truth

Summary: The will.

MINERVA McGonagall was not generally known for impatience. In fact, quite the opposite: she was quite possibly one of the most patient women in the world, Muggle or otherwise. So it is with an uncharacteristic sense of impatience that she wakes early Saturday morning to get ready for her day back in London. When she realizes just how early, she forces herself to take her time with eating breakfast before taking the time to leave a reminder to her prefects and the Head Girl, a Gryffindor 7th year girl, that she would be away from the castle most of the day and they were to reach out to either Professor Flitwick or Professor Snape should the need arise.

In truth, she doesn’t anticipate anything of great importance occurring on the first weekend of the school year, but she’d also been teaching for long enough to know that when it came to hundreds of adolescent witches and wizards, it was best to prepare for the worst just in case.

She considers, briefly, letting the headmaster know of her plans but opts not to. His own weekends were usually busy, often resulting in him rarely leaving his office or leaving the school altogether for business elsewhere. Even if this were one weekend in which he was free enough to note her absence, she’s not inclined to give him advance notice of her plans. Perhaps it was paranoia, but considering his attempt to maintain guardianship over Harry, she thinks it possible that he might try to dissuade her from looking into the will, which she was determined to do.

Finally, she heads out. The school’s security measures means she’s unable to leave directly from Hogwarts to Diagon Alley. Instead, she goes into Hogsmeade, greets a yawning Rosmerta in the Three Broomsticks, and borrows her fireplace to Floo to the Leaky Cauldron in London. Most of the shops that made up Diagon Alley kept regular opening and closing hours, including those on Horizont Alley, Knockturn Alley, and Carkitt Market--side shopping areas--with only a few exceptions. Among those exceptions were the Owl Post Office and the Gringotts Money Exchange in the Carkitt Market, and the Healer Shop, Leaky Cauldron and Gringotts Bank directly on Diagon Alley, which were open all day, every day, for the convenience of their patrons. Some of the locations on Knockturn Alley likewise kept such hours, but McGonagall was not one to frequent that district, so which is knowledge she does not, nor cares to, possess.

What matters is that at eight o’clock in the morning, there are few out and about on Diagon Alley, but Gringotts Bank stands at attention at the end of the street, ready for its customers at all hours. And at this particular hour, there are few enough people even within the bank to ensure that she can be attended with little to no delay.

If there is one thing about Gringotts to be appreciated above all else, it is their efficiency. The goblins are not interested in wasting time, and are remarkably good at ensuring that all spells corresponding with Hogwarts and Ministry of Magic records are always working so their own documents are always up to date. They therefore are already well aware that guardianship has moved from the Headmaster to Harry Potter’s Head of House, one Minerva McGonagall.

Upon stating her business, a goblin by the name of Nagnok is called to lead McGonagall to a room off of the main lobby. It’s a small office, with two chairs facing a desk behind which there is a chair, then a set of drawers set against the wall next to a back door. She’s instructed to take a seat as they would return shortly with the documents in question, then they leave through the back door. They are gone for less than five minutes when they return with a large envelope which, in place of a wax seal, has a string and button seal. Nagnok takes a seat at the desk, modified so that he is eye-level with the witch, and passes the envelope across the desk.

McGonagall looks at the envelope for a moment, then undoes the tie to open it. Inside, tied neatly together, is a small stack of papers with two envelopes slightly smaller than the one they’d been in sitting on top. She undoes that tie as well, places the original envelope and tie to one side, then separates the items before her. She sets down first one envelope, then the next, and finally the pages in a stack together.

The first letter has Harry’s name written across it. When she flips it over, there is a gold wax seal with the image of a crest pressed into it. McGonagall realizes she has never seen the Potter family crest; had in fact never thought, as with most wizarding families, that there was none. The practice dated back to the twelfth century, and with the exception of families that had dealings with Muggle royals and received recognition from them, wizards and witches typically earned them for great contributions to the wizarding world after which the crest was magically included in Muggle records so as to avoid its use among Muggle nobles. McGonagall doesn’t quite remember when its usage fell out of favor and stopped being bestowed, simply that it was mostly only seen for institutions. Each wizarding school, for instance, and Gringotts as well as the Daily Prophet possessed their own heraldry. Not that she could recall what it looked like, but she was certain some of the older, wealthier families such as the Blacks and Malfoys similarly possessed their own unique family crest and coat of arms.

She runs her fingers over the wax, feeling the small indentations of the different charges on the small shield imprinted there, and Nagnok advises, “That is spelled to only allow Mr. Potter to open the letter.”

“I’ve no interest in reading a private letter addressed to my student,” McGonagall informs him, setting the letter aside. The second has no name written on the outside, and the wax seal on the back on this one is red and broken, indicating it had been opened before. She assumes by Albus, and she opens it and pulls out a folded parchment, surprised to find it completely blank. “Is there nothing written in this one?”

“As you can see, it is blank, but we were instructed to include it unaltered with the other letter and will. Albus Dumbledore also did not know what to do with it.” Nagnok grinned, amused, and McGonagall had a feeling that he took enjoyment at their befuddlement. There was likely a spell of some sort that only the guardian, or guardians, James and Lily had wanted for their son would know how to surpass.

She put the blank parchment away, setting it aside with Harry’s letter, and turning at last to the will itself. The topmost page was clearly the bank’s, providing information on when the will was last altered, when it went into effect, the date it was first accessed, and a blank spot at the bottom denoting when will was fully carried out. As she set the page aside, magically adding today’s date as the last time the will was accessed.

The details too small to see on the wax seal without much closer inspection were now enlarged and clearly visible. The next page had the full coat of arms and crest in all its magicked glory at the top of the page, before the official writing announcing the document to be the last will and testament of James Potter and Lily Jade Potter nee Evans. The shield of the coat of arms is black, with one large green chevron and three gold chevronelles. At the bottom is an open, azure book with black script that appears briefly, only to disappear again. The coat is charged with three red stags in the right corner, and two grapevines with a wheatsheaf, all three tawny in color, in the left corner. Above the shield, a stag with a caduceus makes up the crest, standing on a wreath of black, green, and gold, with a banner over it with the family motto in Latin. Briefly, she thinks she sees a hint of silver on the edges but the outline of the shield is black, and the lions on either side are gold with a red sash. She’s confident that the lions, considering their colors, are meant to represent Gryffindor, and she smiles. James had once mentioned, while Lily was pregnant, that he was sure to give McGonagall another Gryffindor to look after as all his family had been Gryffindors. She wishes she could tell him he’d been right.

She moves on, not wanting to dwell on things she could not change, and begins to skim through the documents. The will isn’t particularly long, so much as it is filled with legal jargon that makes it tedious to read. Ultimately, it outlines what items constitute the Potter estate, with related legal documents where necessary included with the will. Among such items was a London property that dated back to the 1600s, the cottage in Godric’s Hollow which was an ancestral home older than the London property, and the Gringotts vault, and the two deeds and Gringotts contract for each. There was also a small list of family heirlooms, with equal parts valuable and sentimental items, with a note as to whether it should be found at one of the properties or within the vault.

All of this McGonagall skims over, until she finally reaches the section she’s been looking for, which states that should James and Lily pass before Harry was of age, guardianship is to be passed on to his godfather, Sirius Black III. In the event that he is unable to carry out his duties, Harry is to be given into the care of Frank C.J. Longbottom and Alice Longbottom, or Remus John Lupin. There is not a single mention of Lily’s sister anywhere to be found.

Then there is a section regarding the funds in the vault. Once Harry’s old enough to go to Hogwarts, he’s allowed access to the vault directly, but until such time his key and the funds were to be overseen by his guardian. In that, Dumbledore had been adhering to the will, since he’d had the key, and it probably had been best to not give it to the Dursleys. McGonagall cannot imagine the Muggle pair coming to Diagon Alley to stand face-to-face with goblins, but stranger things had been known to happen in the pursuit of wealth. Granted, as she continues reading and notes that in order to protect Harry’s interests, funds removed from the Potter vault by anyone other than Harry would require an annual accounting to verify its use was in regards to needs directly associated with raising Harry, with a generous allowance to accommodate additional expenditures not directly related to Harry, but likely intended in the case of Harry going to one of his parents’ bachelor friends who might not be able to work as much if they were single-handedly raising a child.

“I have some questions,” McGonagall finally says to the goblin, who has been looking over papers and now looks up at her. “At the time of their deaths, all of the people noted here as possible guardians for Harry Potter would have been perfectly capable of carrying out those duties and being notified. Why, then, was Mr. Potter’s physical guardianship passed on to relatives not provided in the will, and magical guardianship given to Albus?”

“That would be the doing of your Ministry of Magic,” Nagnok informs her, the tone and sneer on his face making it clear how he feels about their interference. “Emergency provisions were put into place to allow for government intervention in the carrying out of wills and guardianship where they felt it best served the safety of the wizarding community, the Statute of Security, and-or the individual or individuals involved.” He’s clearly reciting the mandate from memory. “This was to be effective for two years starting October of the year one thousand nine hundred and eighty-one. It was extended an additional six years, and finally expired just prior to the current Minister of Magic taking office. Instead, it was decided that the provision would only continue to apply to Mr. Potter due to the extraneous circumstances, and there was no interest in challenging it.”

Of course there hadn’t been; the boy’s Muggle relatives were oblivious to the fact that he’d inherited a fortune, or that there had been a will at all left behind. McGonagall had a feeling that, had they known guardianship had been meant for others, they might have jumped at the chance to pass Harry off. It annoyed her to think that Albus had used his influence as such, and prevented Harry from going where he might have been wanted.

He could argue, for instance, that by doing so he had saved Harry from falling into the hands of his godfather, Sirius. However, Frank and Alice Longbottom had been perfectly capable at the time of taking in Harry. And with a child of their own the same age, Harry would have had at least a few happy years before the Longbottoms were captured and tortured by rogue Death Eaters fleeing the law, still trying to locate their defeated leader.Harry then would have likely stayed under the care of the formidable Augusta Longbottom, who was no doubt a strict woman, but one who would have done a much better job at raising Harry than his Muggle relations had done.

Remus Lupin is the only one listed who might still take guardianship, but that as far as she knows lest Dumbledore failed to mention, the man has never reached out regarding Harry either. She could guess why, and thought it likely that even if he had known about being a possible guardian for Harry, he would have relinquished said guardianship to Dumbledore easily. But he is the boy’s only connection to his parents left, and she wonders if she can convince him to take up the mantle his friends had intended for him.

Moving back to the list of heirlooms, she taps a finger at the symbols indicating their locations. “The items listed as being in the Potter vault, of course, I’m sure are present and accounted for; this is Gringotts, after all.” It isn’t mere flattery; McGonagall is certain that if anything had been removed from the vault at any point after the will’s creation, they’d have noted as much. Their records were always meticulously kept. “Would it be possible to get verification that the items that should be here or at Godric’s Hollow are where they should be?”

“For a fee, we could provide services to do just that,” Nagnok advises. “However, bear in mind that Godric’s Hollow was for a time cordoned off by the Ministry as they dealt with the...aftermath of the Dark Lord’s attack.”

She recalls. “Then they let reporters and tourists visit, like it was an attraction instead of the site of a tragedy.” She sighs, still annoyed by it. “Are you saying it’s possible the Ministry, or some other party, removed items from the cottage?”

“Thieves and looters are not uncommon, even today, but especially in times of war.”

Quickly and efficiently, she begins to gather everything altogether. “I presume I will be able to take this with me, in order to review its contents with Mr. Potter?”

“Fine.” Grumbling, Nagnok reaches out to take the Gringotts page, grabs a quill to sign it, and then passes both the page and the quill to the witch to do the same, as there is now a new record indicating that the will is being removed from the Gringotts property by Harry Potter’s acting guardian. “Please note we have a copy of the main will, and should there be any attempt to destroy or alter these pages, our records will be adjusted accordingly. We highly recommend, once Mr. Potter has seen the contents, that the will be returned here for safekeeping until he is of age.”

McGonagall nods in understanding, says she will be in contact in regards to contracting their services to verify the heirlooms not currently at Gringotts, and soon after is walking back outside. It’s perhaps been an hour since she arrived, maybe a little more, but foot traffic on Diagon Alley has already begun to pick up significantly. Nevertheless, she simply stands there for a moment, gathering her thoughts, trying to decide what to do next.

She can go back to Hogwarts, will in hand, and give everything to Harry. She would have to explain what the will says, certain that the will itself will be difficult for an eleven-year old boy to read and comprehend himself, but he would have it. He would know. There have already been so many secrets kept from him, she’s loath to continue the tradition, but she also does not want to do anything that might hurt the boy. What if Remus does, in fact, prefer to relinquish his rights as guardian? What if the London property is no longer habitable? What if he asks to go see the cottage in Godric’s Hollow? What if there’s something in that letter, written just for him, that prompts questions she can’t answer? Or an heirloom that they can’t locate?

“Enough of that,” she scolds herself. She is worried about scenarios that may not happen, and as a former Gryffindor and the current Head, even if the worse were to happen, she would face those challenges as she always did: directly and without hesitation.

The most important task to tackle was attempting to locate Remus Lupin, wherever he might be. She could ask the headmaster, who she suspects has kept a running tally on the whereabouts of all the living former members of the Order not currently working at Hogwarts, but she thinks she’ll leave that as a last resort. She has her own connections in London; friends, former students, or the parents of ones, with whom she might be able to find something out. Particularly those who had been familiar with James Potter and his group of friends during their time at Hogwarts. McGonagall thinks it would be ideal to speak with him face-to-face, but if she’s unable to do so, then the next option would be to try to write to him and hope that he can be found by owl. If that fails, and only if that fails, she will turn to Albus for assistance.

~~~

WHEN she has returned to Hogwarts, it is shortly before dinner. She is tired, frustrated that she’d managed to find three students who’d gone to school with James and Lily, two of whom had been Gryffindors, and yet none knew anything about Remus Lupin. The man, for all his friendliness and general good nature, had kept few friends during his time at school, and of those, none had made it out of the war alive except the one responsible for the others’ deaths. She would have to write to him, which meant deciding how much to put in a letter versus waiting until she could speak to him. McGonagall doesn’t want to admonish him for his lack of interest in Harry to this point, no doubt believing as she had that he’d been well in hand under Dumbledore’s care. However, she does want to impart on him the gravity of the boy’s upbringing, and that he was likely the boy’s best hope of getting away from the Dursleys. He was the last person named in the will, so without him, next of kin took precedence.

If only James hadn’t been an only child.

Then there had been the added frustration of realizing, upon a second look, that there was no address in the will or the deed itself for the London property. She would have to submit an inquiry to the Ministry of Magic, but considering the state of things before their deaths, she wonders if perhaps the London home was also put under the Fidelis Charm. Without that secret keeper, forget finding the place herself, how would they be able to send someone to confirm the heirlooms that should be there?

“Hello, Professor.”

“Good evening.” She looks over at the student moving past her in the hall, notes it’s one of her Gryffindors, and says, “Ms. Spinnet, if you can locate Mr. Potter, please have him come to my office.”

The girl answers in the affirmative before she runs off to do as requested, and McGonagall heads to her office. She’s decided; she will tell him that she has the will, but wishes to look into a few things before sharing it with him. Hopefully his trust in her will extend into believing her when she says she thinks it’s for the best.

She’s a few lines into her letter when there is a knock on her door. McGonagall is only mildly surprised when the one who comes in is not the student she’s waiting on, but the Potions Master. “Severus--” She’s only just started to greet him as he’s closing the door, when there’s more knocking a small, messy-haired head peers in around the still open door.

“You wanted to see me, Professor?”

“Yes. Do come in, Harry. Have a seat.” She motions at the chair across from her, and Snape opens the door further to let him in. The Potion Master then looks back, raising an eyebrow at his colleague who nods for him to stay. She watches him close the door but remaining close to it, as if to ensure no intruder will come in.

“Is this about my parents’ will?” Harry asks.

“Yes. I was able to obtain their will from Gringotts, however there are some things I’d like to look into, now that I’m privy to its contents. I’d like you to wait until then for me to share it with you, all right?” She has set the quill down to one side, letter momentarily forgotten as she clasps her hands together on top of her desk.

Harry is quiet, considering. “How long will that take?” he asks after a few moments.

“Hopefully not long,” she tells him, but admits, “But I don’t know exactly. It may be a few days, or a few months.” She meets his gaze steadily. “I do promise that, one way or another, you will know before the school year ends.”

Silence again for a beat, then another, before he nods his head in agreement. “Okay.”

“Thank you. Now go on, dinner should be starting soon.”

She sends him off with a smile, after which Severus comes over to take the seat he has vacated. “These things you would like to look into; anything I might assist you with?”

“You wouldn’t happen to know where Remus Lupin is nowadays, would you?” She knows the answer, even before Snape’s lip curls in disdain and he scoffs, answering in the negative. It had been highly unlikely, she’d known that, but it was worth a shot anyway. “Well, he is the only one left in the will named as a possible guardian who could possibly take the role.” Severus’s raised eyebrow and incredulous look perfectly convey how he feels about that, but she continues anyway, “If he declines, then it would go to next of kin and Harry remains with the Dursleys.

Snape sighs. “I assume you are going to try to write him?” She nods, and he continues, “I suppose I could reach out to some acquaintances of mine that may be able to locate him, just in case.”

She nods her head, grateful. “Thank you.”

“Is that the only matter?”

“Unfortunately, no. Before they went into hiding, the Potters were living in London. I’ll be sending an inquiry to the Ministry to see if there are records as to where, but as the address is missing from the deed itself, I suspect it may not be so easy.” She reaches into her desk, where she has stowed the will for the moment, and pulls out the blank envelope. “I suspect this might have additional answers, but as its magicked, I’ve no way of reading it.”

“May I?” McGonagall passes it over and Snape looks it over before pulling out the blank parchment.

“According to the goblin at Gringotts, Albus was equally befuddled by this blank letter, so it’s probably safe to assume that it’s not a simple matter of invisible ink or the like.”

Snape nods his head in agreement, passing it back once he has replaced the parchment in the envelope. “I’ll look into what spell may have been used, and whether there’s a potion that might negate it.”

“That would be helpful,” McGonagall agrees, putting the envelope back in her desk. “Otherwise, we can only hope that Remus may have the answer. Other than him, the only one who might help is--”

“Black,” Snape finishes.

“Precisely. And I don’t fancy a visit to Azkaban, though I doubt he’d be keen to be of assistance.”

“Assuming, of course, that his sanity is still intact.”

“Excellent point.” Ten years surrounded by dementors. McGonagall shudders at the thought, and despite his crimes, she pities the man who’d once been her student and James Potter’s best friend.

Story Notes:

Chapter title is a John Lennon song. Hopefully, this chapter doesn't disappoint.

And look, I have no idea what the “J” in Lily’s name actually stands for, so I went with Jade for the obvious connection to her eyes. I didn’t want to put too much thought into it, lol.

For my own edification, and because I couldn’t actually find an answer to this, does anyone know at what point it was no longer required for the heir who inherited the family crest/coat of arms to change it in England? If anyone knows, or has better research skills and can actually find the answer to that, please let me know ‘cause I’m curious. I frankly spent way, WAY too much time looking up information on heraldry, especially considering what a small part the Potter crest I created plays in this and the artistic liberties I took with it anyway, hahaha.

In canon, Harry’s family has no known family motto or crest, which is not impossible but Linfred (the oldest family member we know of) made enough of a reputation for himself that he was able to leave a “significant gold pile” to each of his SEVEN children, laying the foundation for the Potter fortune; and his work was influential enough that some of his remedies/potions were the precursors for stuff in modern use (Skele-Gro and Pepperup are specifically named). Plus, his eldest went on to marry THE granddaughter of Ignotus Peverell, one of the brothers who inspired the Tale of the Three Brothers. Their names were lost to history, sure, but considering there’s a story about them, it means they would have been influential/famous enough in their own time to have warranted that kind of attention. His granddaughter would not be so far removed from his time to not warrant respect due her station, and a marriage to match, considering the attitudes of the time (assuming witches/wizard society was classist, which I think they would’ve been considering current attitudes in canon).

Anyway, I’ll stop rambling now.

#Because I Could Not Stop for Death fic #BICNSFD #Harmony fic #HP fanfic #Harry Potter

4 notes · View notes

popculturebuffet · 3 years

Text

The Three Caballeros Movie Review: Rejoice Now Donald’s Been Laid (Commission)

It’s time at long last we talked about those three happy chappies in snappy serapes. Who say so? @weirdkev27 say so! He’s planning on funding an ENTIRE retrospective on the boys, so in addition to my Tom Lucitor Retrospective (Expect that to return very soon as one of the episodes in it is time sensitive), Road to Just Us Justice Ducks, and look at “The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck”. I’m proud to announce a new recurring feature on this blog “The Ride of the Three Caballeros!”, a look back at these birds of a feather who flock together and their wild and wonderful history cumulating in “The Legend of The Three Caballeros”. Honestly I thank Kev for the idea as it’s a damn good one. Ever since seeing them on House of Mouse, which I both really need to cover and Disney needs to add already as we’re a year into Disney plus already, I’ve loved Jose and Panchito, and reading barks story years ago, and again recently, gave me a lasting love of these goofs. They have great snappy designs are the rare pre-ducktales 2017 non duck bird character, and have wonderful personalities. There’s nothing not to love and thus nothing not to love about covering their adventures. So i’m excited for this and not just for the much needed christmas money. Naturally we’re starting the adventure here with the founding of the trio, though Kev, for now he could change his mind, choose to start with this movie instead of it’s predecessor Saludos Amigos, on this date for two reasons. The first is it’s Friday the 13th, which besides being the basis for an utter classic of a Hey Arnold episode

Which yes for those unfamiliar with Hey Arnold features Arnold dealing with a spell of bad luck, some bullies and his grandmother dressing up wlike a black cat to rescue black cats, which is sweet.. and training them into her horrifying army of the damned, which is somehow still sweet as it is awesome. It’s also the day this guy barges into my house thinking it’s camp crystal lake

I swear to gods Jason GET A FUCKING PHONE WITH GPS. We are not clearly not teenagers. And he’s always so embarrassed and the stab wounds always take so long at the hospital to treat. It’s just a mess. But it’s also, according to this film Donald’s BIrthday! This was during an earlier point in his career, that will be important in a bit, so Disney hadn’t yet settled on their tradition of having their characters birthday’s being the same date as their first appearance. For the record that would make Donald and Della’s current birthday June 7th. I did a special on Donald Duck shorts for it this year. Not sure what i’ll do the next. We will see. And for fun and my own curiosity I looked up the birthdates of some of the other Ducktales castmembers as well as my boys here They are:

Jose: August 24th (World Premier of Saludos Amigos) Panchito: December 21st (The Mexico City Premiere Date for this very movie) Scrooge: November 14th (Thank you INducks seriously it’s a massive help with this. Daisy: June 7th (Debut of Mr. Duck Steps out) Huey, Dewey and Louie: October 17th (First appearance in Donald’s Newspaper Strip) Webby, Beakley and Launchpad: September 18th, thanks to launchpad’s driver’s license as well as all three characters debuting in the opening arc. Though to separate them i’d likely try to find different dates for both. For now i’m going with October 12th for Mrs. Beakly (The airing date for the Ducktales 87 ep maid of myth) and October 29th for Webby (the airing date for another 87 episode, this one about webby and a horse). Gladstone: August 15th, as while it was released in january there is no firm release date for it. Plus a summer birthday fits him better anyways. Thank you Inducks for that. Magica: September 28th, finally a firm publication date. While there’s a creation date unlike Gladstone I see no need to use it. Darkwing Duck/Drake Mallard: September 6th GLOMGOLD: July 26th Was that entirely necessary? No Would I do it again.. absolutely. It also means I really need to do something for Scrooge’s Birthday in two days. But that’s future me’s problem. Current day me has his own problems specifically a movie review to continue. The films genesis was a in a good will tour Disney did in South America, as part of America’s Good Neighbor Policy. FDR started it in order to try and strengthen ties between Latin America and North America, to prevent any sort of war with our close neighbors and to foster good economic ties between both as well as integrate Latin culture into americans lives to make them care about those countries more. And given it was started as HItler’s rise to power grew, and America knew they’d inevitably be dragged into World War II, and thus wanted to put the kibosh on several Latin American’s Nazi Ties. So in exchange for Money, since Disney was struggling due to overextending itself and the big animator’s strike at the time, The US sent Walt and some of his animatiors to South America, where MIckey Donald and Goofy were big and to make a film based there. Hence we got Saludos Amigos which is .. kind of forgettable to be honest, though the Gaucho Goofy segment is fantastic as the “How to” shorts with goofy around the time usually were. But the film gave us Jose, hence why Donald and him are familiar with each other here, and was a moderate success. This lead to the Goverment, who’d already contracted a bunch of propaganda, one of which I covered in my Donald Duck Shorts Birthday Marathon because it contained prototypes for Gladstone and Scrooge, so another feature for South America was a win win: The US got another way to strengthen ties between the Americas, and Disney got a film they could put out during said war to lift spirits, as well as on that would likely be a hit in South America due to them not being under wartime money crunch or the misery of having a war looming overhead. As a side note. I found out after looking at the wikpiedia article on The Good Neighbor Program.. it eventually and sadly collapsed as the US post WWII shifted to the Cold War and thus threw away non interference if it meant beating the Russians. Classy. So yeah.. this film and i’ts predecessor are technically propaganda pictures. There was also another disney full length propoganda picture about fighter jets, I only learned about this thanks to the slashfilm article I found on the movie that told me a lot of this in the first place. It’s not avaliable but it should be.. though at the very least unlike say House of Mouse, Wander Over Yonder, Penn Zero: Part Time Hero, American Dragon Jake Long, The Weekenders, Pepper Anne and MANY more, it’s absence from Disney + makes sense. And I will continue to bitch about this till Disney actually starts adding more legacy animated shows, or at least makes a few of it’s own, though I will concede reviving the Mickey Mouse shorts that Disney Channel started up is a VERY good first step and i’m sure What If and Proud Family: Louder and Prouder will be fine. I just want more animation content on the streaming platform of one of the biggest animation studios in the world with one of the most storied histories. I’m REALLY not asking a lot.

That bit of bitching aside I will give Disney+ credit where it’s due. The service offers MOST of the Disney vault for a very reasonable price a month, in crisp HD, and thus allows someone like me, who hasn’t really dived into the disney vault and slept on watching three cabs despite borrowing it from some friends, to dive into beautiful animation like this any time. It also allows me to explore disney’s older films, the ones I want to anyway, at my leisure and it’s a REALLY nice feeling. It’s also nice to have all the various animated shows in nice clean copies. So while there are sizeable gaps in the library, many of which as highlighted above have no reason for not being there and some like Song of the South have DAMN GOOD reason for never being there, I still apricate the service for being a vast, glorious digital library of Disney content as well as stuff they’ve acquired like the marvel show library, and this review would not have been as easy to do without it. So with my opinions on D+ and the exposition for WHY this exists out of the way, as I couldn’t find much else on this flim’s background, join me after the read more for a full review of the film! Who says so? I says so!

We open with.. the Disney+ content warning again. In my review of the last part of “Catch as Cash Can” I went on about how much I apricated it and it stands: while i’m not blind that it’s a blanket statement to cover disney’s rears, it’s still apricated for them to care enough to force the content warning on the viewer. Given how bad they usually are at falling on the right side of history, this is very admirable. Though thankfully this film isn’t as offensive as the last content warning I got for the last part of “Catch as Cash can” aka “Watch registered White Guy Hamilton Camp play a bad indian sterotype for 22 minutes while my soul slowly dies”. Here there are bits, which i’ll get to now to save me the trouble later: The Littlest Gaucho’s side characters are all drawn pretty carcturish and a bit cringe inducing. The other is of course Panchito our Mexican representative.. who wears a sombrero and shoots two pistols around. And there’s just a tinge of white man going ot another country to get laid with the way Donald behaves throughout the picture. Basically little touches here and there but nothing that spoils the picture overall or makes whole scenes unwatchable. Still worth having the warning up, but not worth getting too worked up over. So onto the film itself and as mentioned i’ts Donald’s birthday! And I will say the film has lots of great little gags here and there.. I won’t be pointing all of them out because this film was 70 minutes long but their very charming. HIs first gift is a projector and screen.. which he naturally has to fight to get working and which first projects on his ass, already a good start. And a general thought I like is how receptive Donald is to soaking in another culture. He just seems joyusly enthralled by the various films, gifts and places his friends bring him..

But again we’ll get to that. Point is it’s very nice to see Disney portay learning about another culture so positively and with such a hot head as donald. Even if i’ts in part to appease the US Goverment, ther’es a genuine feeling that they truly fell in love with these countries and aren’t JUST shilling them because it’s in their contract, but because they genuinelly liked it there. So with that we get to our first segment. See the film is one of Disney’s Package films, anthology films taking a bunch of short segments and pasting them together, but here it’s framed through the narrative of DOnald’s birthday, so there is KIND of a plot.. but it’s mostly an excuse for musical numbers, short films, and more musical numbers.

Dammit Elmo, we will get to it! So naturally i’l lbe dividing up this review into various pieces. First up...

1. The Cold Blooded Penguin: Life of Pablo, The Good Version This is a brief but endearing short about a Penguin named Pablo who dosen’t like cold weather, can relate, and wants to move to some tropical paradise, again can relate. It’s BARELY related to the theme of hte movie, celebrating Central and South America, but it’s so damn charming I can’t help but love it. And Pablo is so damn adorable, as are his friends. I mean look at him.

He’s just so precious and you just want him to finally get to his paradise with the help of his friend, his boiler there smokey joe, and root for him as his farewell party dwindles from a bunch of penguins to just bob and gary here.

I may love Gary, the tall one, more than I love Pablo honestly> His sad eyes or the way he’s the ONLY one who sticks it out to the end, seeing Pablo off at last. Pablo’s first attempts, going without his boiler, which just ends iwth him freezing and attempting to carry smokey joe on his back both fail, he eventually decides to go with a boat and cleverly simply saws the ice berg he’s on so it’ll drift with his house and possessions, and has Gary hit it with a bottle both to christen it and to send it flying. Plus having bags on the bags on my eyes myself, I can relate to their tired expressions. As can we all after this year. Just a month and a half and it’s finally blessedly over.

Pablo makes his way through, finally finding his island only to nearly have his iceberg melt before he gets there. But he persevers and gets his paradise, even adorably eating a banana> Though it ends on a mealoncholy yet still funny note of Pablo missing home even though he has a pet turtle/butler now. Man I want one of those. One final note is that the short is narrated greatly by Sterling Holloway.. aka the future WInnie The Pooh using that exact voice which while a little weird in hindsight, just makes the short that more adorable if you imagine Pooh is reading a story to you. Just a really damn cute short with some good and intentive gags, and penguins. I mean i’ll be honest I have a soft spot in my hart for those tudeoxed boys thanks to the comic strip BLoom County and it’s lead character Opus taking up a LOT of real estate in my heart and brain. Here’s a few samples of him just so you get why.

Just a sweetheart. Though his honker would grow exponenitally with time. And once get grabbed by a card carrying MAGA asshole. But I can talk about my boy here and this strip again another day. Point is I may love pengies but even that aside this is a good short and a good way to start things off. Sadlly the pacing then lops out a bit as the next two bits aren’t QUITE as entertaining.

2. Birds Birds Birds: Of Arcuan BIrds and Toucan Sex Donald then watches a film on birds, and i’ts basically just a bunch of short funny gags with various tropical birds. There are a FEW notable bit sin the short, and I will get to them now, but otherwise it’s just okay.. not great but not exactly memorable. I honestly forgot there was anything BUT the Arcuan bird in this bit. Speaking of which A) The Arcuan Bird, a hyperactive pink little guy who makes a little “yatatata” noise, and boops donald a bit and later shows up in the film to steal Jose’s Cigar. Easily the most entertaining part of this section and there’s a reason why he became a massive fan faviorite, as well as got a more expanded roll in Legend of the Three Cablleros. He’d also apparently later return for another Package Film. What a bird. B) There’s a bit with Toucans, which I remember because I freaking love Toucans, the big colorful beaks look neat contrasted with their black and white bodies and they seem friendly and the one fictional one besides Toucan Sam I can rmemeber is Tuca of Tuca and Bertie. Nuff said. And because they mention the Tucan’s making love. First off this is how a Tucan makes love.

And secondly, clealry the term has evolved considerably, but it’s still chuckle inducing to have that term in a disney movie, especially since it makes me think of a number of things most notably this.

youtube

Which, fun fact, is the song that will likely be sung when Donald and Daisy finally have sex in the Ducktales Reboot. Della didn’t buy those choir robes for nothing. Though the joke here is simply that they can’t kiss because they have big noses. GET IT. Though I have seen incompatable noses end marriages.

See I told you his honker got bigger. Okay onto the 3rd thing from this bit.

C) The Flamingos, who retract into themselves while Donald adorably copies. What a boy. With that I can move on from this segement thankfully and onto... an even worse one!.. wait...

3. The Littlest Gaucho: The Boring One This one’s a leftover from Saludos Amigos, likely because that one already had a Gaucho Bit with goofy and because it’s not very good. But Disney was strapped for cash so use everything you got. And yes I advocated for using everything in my review of life and times part 1.. but that’s more for a shared universe and left “Oh hey I found this short in our garbage let’s put it in another movie to save money” way. I appreciate being cheap, I myself am unemployed and right now these reviews are my source of income, but you could’ve just you know.. let the film be shorter? You didn’t have to waste animation leading inito this bit. This one is the story of a young boy, as narrated by his older self who can somehow see through the veil of time and yell at his younger self. How?

But it dosen’t really help the story as i’ve seen far better interactive narrators and ones clearly editing history. Especially since, despite ending on a VERY sour note, How I Met Your Mother was a pro at this. It’s not the film’s fault, but even back int he 40′s I swear they could do this better.

It’s the simple story of the little Gaucho finding a flying Donkey, befriending him, and then entering him in a jockey race which they win. There’s one or two good gags here, but it dosen’t have the cutness of the previous segments and only one or two good gags. It just feels like filler and if I watch the film again, which I probably will, I will fast forward past this. Thankfully after this we finally get a break.

4. A Song For Bahia: They call him JOSEEEEEEEEE.. and he’s Donald

Jose enters! Donald’s next gift is a book from Brazil that’s smoking..mostly because so’s Jose. The two friends reunite, with Jose in a story book asking Donald about , what I assume is Jose’s home state of Bahia, one of Brazil’s 20 states and spelled Baia in this movie for some reason. We then get an absolutely beautiful sequence of Jose’s voice actor singing about Bahia and showing off how beautiful the country is through gorgeous animation. It’s a really marvelous segment and really pretty to look at. And once that segment’s done the film starts to pick up in energy, though unlike the Gaucho segment, the Bahia song is actually good.

5. Os Quindins de Yayá: The Sleeper Has Awakened.. and by the sleeper I mean Donald’s Penis. There’s a few bits here. We start with the wonderful song, “Have You Ever Been to Bahia?”.. which is almost entirely Jose asking that to donald who says no, with some fun mindscrewy animation.. the film has not BEGUN to mindscrew, but we’ll get to that.

youtube

Also for this segment Jose apparently has Jamie Madrox powers.. or he’s from Cragg.. either way, Donald hasn’t been to Baia so let’s go. The boys take a train, the Arucan messes things up again, etc etc and soon their in Baia where two major aspects of the film show up: Blending Live action with animation, and Donald being really horny. It’s not to a creepy degree outside of one segment, we’ll get there, but Donald being really into live action women is a major part of three segments of this film. If your wondering while Daisy had debuted, she wasn’t the ETCHED IN STONE, presence she’d become for Donald. Which I don’t have a problem with, I love them in Ducktales 2017, their one of the few tolerable aspects of the quack pack’s i’ve watched, and they were great in House of Mouse. I”m just saying some works don’t really have her around in them (Donald’s spy and papernik adventures), while other more charming and eligible women are, while others have her as outright abusive (Legend of the Three Caballeros). I’m not against Donsy when done properly, again huge fan of the Ducktales 2017 version of the couple, I just dont’ think it has to be mandatory. The fact the Italian comics made Donald a fairly likeable alien queen as a love interest proves it.

But yeah here Donald’s thirsty as fuck, can relate, and thus we get our next musical number.. and that blend of live action and animation. I will admit, especially on second viewing.. it’s pretty obvious their mostly using a green screened animated backdrop with the charcters on it. The other segments are much more integrated. That being said.. i’m perfectly fine with it, as Disney was on a really low budget, only able to get financing for package films like this since their main financer wouldn’t given them money for anything but shorts, so it was a workaround, not to mention having a mass talent exodus over the strike and World Fucking War II to contend with. So cheeping out on ONE segment in a large film, and STILL having it come out good is fine just fine. And it truly does, the segment centers around Yaya, a cookie seller and the object of Donald’s affections, though he gets mad when a guitar man slips in and woos her instead for a bit before eventually leaving her alone, with Donald getting a kiss. But while parts of that clearly haven’t aged well, it’s an utterly joyous and fun musical number in an already fun musical, and Aurora Miranda who plays Yaya, and is sister of Carmen Miranda something Disney actually put in promotional materials.... come to think of it I didn’t watch the trailer.. I’ll get to it in a moment. Point is, Miranda is very talented and it’s VERY fun number. Have a listen since the sequence itself is WAY to long to put video of up on youtube.

youtube

And having watched the trailer during that music break, it’s not bad, I expected more cringe. The most I got was them calling the women “latin american lovlies” which.. seems.. wrong. But with the romance of Bahia setting and Donald dragged out by Jose, we can get into our next segement as, over halfway in, we finally get our third Cabllero

6. The Three Cablleros: Who Say So? We Say So!

HERE COMES THE PANCHITO Ladies and Gentleman and Others! HERE COMES THE PANCHITO! the moment you’ve been waiting for! HERE COMES THE PANCHITO! the pride of Mexico! HERE COMES PANCHITO! Panchito Pistoles!

When then meet Panchito who joyfully shoots guns around, because stereotype but thankfully he’s also joyful, jubilant and likeable much like his pal Jose. Panchito’s just a thoughtly likeable character and next to his smooth talking pal, it’s easy to see why the two became huge fan favorites. And thus we get our title track.

youtube

IT’s a beautiful, fun segment, that while some portions, such as Panchito’s yelling or “some Latin baby’ haven’t aged particularly well, is still a fun colorful number with amazing music and great gags, that utterly sells our boys camaraderie. I have no notes, ten out of ten flawless classic number. Who Say So? I SAY SO! Also given both boys kiss Donald at some point.. yeah these boys are bi as fuck and damn i’ts awesome.

7. Mexico: Bored Again, Naturally. Donald then gets a pinata and we get a short story about a bunch of kids going around to places only to be told “no shelter no posada”. Like the Gauchito bit.. it’s pretty boring and nonconesquential and only gets a leg up due to being far shorter and a little adorable versus not really as adorable as the segement thinks it is. The kids end up at a party with a pinata. We do get a fun sequence after this nothing of a story of Donald batting a pinata around while the boys mess with him a bit. It’s fun stuff. Out of the PInata we get another storybook, and another slow segement of Panchito singing about mexico which is a less fluidly animated, and thus far less entertaining, version of the Bahia song.. diffrent song, same premise of a bird melodically and beautifully singing about his home land, but less engaging because it’s just still images. I get they were low on budget but while I can forigve that for the Yaya sequence.. this one.. I just can’t as they not only already did this, but did it less good the second time around. The song is lovely though, and I do miss a time in our culture when we looked at Mexico with fondness and didn’t have a FAR too large portion of our population think anyone from there should go back where they came when they come to our brave country to find shelter, aslym and opportunity just because they didn’t go through “proper channels’ even though that’s difficult. WHat i’m saying is fuck our immigration policy for the last 4 years, and bless the president-elect for planning to fix that ASAP. I felt it was worth mentioning in a review ABOUT a Mexican character who, in the reboot, is an immigrant to America.

8. Everybody Dance: Another fun number.

We’re onto Mexico and it’s time for another musical number

So our heroes dance, Donald hits on some more women.. stuff we’ve seen before but it’s still a fun beautiful song and unlike the last bit while the animation has clearly aged enough to be more obvious, it still looks great next to the various live action dancers and blends real well. A fun time that gives us more great music and another reminder from donald that...

I mean I get being thirsty as shit, again can relate.. but the next segment takes it from Donald and the Boys being kinda horny to.

9. The Beach: Donald Gets Creeptacular

Yeah this bit is .. less endearing. The boys fly the serape over to a beach, and divebomb the girls, which isn’t a sex act.. that i’m aware of. But yeah chasing around several women, and donald leaving the Serape to chase them around old beach movie/benie hill/trying my patience style. It’s cringe is what i’m saying as a man literally chasing a woman around is considered flirtitng here and that’s all kinds of EUGGGGHHHH. The previous segments had Donald be kind of respectful in his woman chasing: while he was pretty horny, he also tipped his hat, flirted a bit, asked to dance you know, normal shit.. not decided “let’s chase them with a serape that will turn them on!’ jesus.. yeah not much to say here either just.. really creepy. But we have not reached peak horny donald yet.. oh no.

10. Donald’s Surreal Revere: WHAT EXACTLY THE FUCK.

Dora Luz appears in the sky of Mexico after the boys exit the book and flip to Mexico’s night life... just go with hit and Donald swoons over her before joining her int he book and after getting a kiss from her and swooning over her.. has an acid trip. I .. I don’t know how else to describe Donald’s surreal reverie. It’s clear Walt just told the animators do whatever. I will TRY to describe this sequence as best I can, but I make no promises except what I describe is exactly what happened, see for yourself.

youtube

Okay so after Dora’s magical floating kisses, just go with it, kiss donald he explodes, in a rocket blast clearly symbolizing his errection, then becomes a neon sign and a hummingbird, just go with it, tries to kiss Dora’s image appearing on a flower, then Jose and Panchito BURST out of the flower with tiny chipmunk voices and gun violence, a SCREAMING TECHNICOLOR TRANSTION, dora singing the song in the middle of a flower again , donald making out with the flower but it turning out ot be panchito with a giraffe neck saying “Some fun eh kid?”, donald falling through a sea of ladies, donald chasing the ladies on a serape. Donald’s disembodied head looking at the ladies before bursting out of the picture to chase them GOOD GOD DID WE NEED MORE OF THAT?! The boys ending up on female bodies and them some sort of horse abomination. Then we get into what must of inspiried a young david Lynch as donald kisses the flower agian, then ends up in one as they replay a creepy whispery recording of either Jose or Panchito saying pretty girls while we see still images of the girls from the beach. Hummingbird Flower Donald then has a romantic duet with a lady because WHY NOT at this point, then multiple donalds before he spins away. We get one last number with donald dancing with living cacti that turn into mini donald’s that’s slightly more sane and finally this bit is done. IN conclusion.

I just.. I have no words. The giant mess of text up there should explain it and I purposfully didn’t divy it up as i’ve been trying to do more often, as it deserves to be one long string of nonsense. I just.. it’s beautiful to look at but what the hell was that. Is this going to happen every time Donald and Daisy have sex? Is this what Donald’s brain is like all the time? Did Panchito inject him with pure liquid acid?

So yeah we thankfully conclude the film after that with

14. The Wrap UP The boys horse around with a bull and then heartwarmingly watch fireworks together.. there isn’t much to add it’s jsut fun to watch and a nice pallete cleanser after loosing my sanity. Isn’t that right keith david?

You always say that! So...

Final Thoughts: I’ve made my thoughts on the various segments clear, but what of the film as a whole? As a whole.. it’s pretty fun. Is it the best film Disney’s Produced? probably not. But it’s a fun, brisk 70 minutes, hampered by a few slow spots and some weird horny bits, and various segments feel like an acid trip despite having never taken acid. But our boys easlly anchor the surreality and thirst and all three have great chemistry both comedically, friendship wise and romantically. It’s also very easy to see why this film and it’s cablleros got big in Mexico and Brazil as the film seems like a love letter to both, and is fairly respectful. WHich for the time, sex tourism aside, is pretty damn inspried. So yeah in conclusion, this is a really fun memorable film, it was even better on a second watch and it’s an enjoyable colorful reminder of Disney’s package film era, which I might dig into a bit.. I just may have to borrow a copy of make mine music.. guess what just got added to my list of “why the fuck isn’t this on disney plussss?”

Regardless this was a fun review and auspcious start to the ride of the Cablleros. if you’d like to comission your own movie or tv review, hit up my ask box or submit box or shoot me an ask to get my discord. You can also join my patreon, patreon.com/popculturebuffet, Until then you can check this space for the various ongoing series mentioned and regular Ducktales coverage every monday. Until then, Adios, with a christmas message from my personal fourth Cabllero

#the three caballeros #donald duck #panchito pistoles #jose carioca #bahia #mexico #donsy #opus the penguin #bloom county #ducktales #aurora miranda #disney #disney plus #disney +#disney+#comissions #ride of the three cablleros

18 notes · View notes

awdawdawfaef · 3 years

Text

he must needs claim that they are not his brother’s

Grudgingly respected for his bowling and still ridiculed for the mismatch between his three triple centuries nike black tn 001 in Ranji Trophy and his ability with the bat. Coughing, sneezing) or direct physical contact with the patient or contamination of the environment by the patient, is unknown. The fact that there already a bit of history between the club it added motivation to gain ground on their division rivals who are hovering in the NHL basement with an 11 20 5 record and 27 points. Griff had let his beard grow out during the voyage, for the first time in many years, and to his surprise it had come in mostly red, though here and there ash showed amidst the fire. Save as jeans moda 2015 donna amazon many as you can.”. So did the first Cleon’s concubine. Little laws that go enforced increase bigger crimes. I am a lecturer like the majority of faculty batteria ai polimeri di litio amazon at the CSU we do not have tenure, yet make up over 75% of the new hires annually.. 13, Core Services Review Will Answer Questions, raises concerns that are not unique to any specific group. Also note the potential chaussure rando salomon homme decathlon damage to the pump finish. Clare, and the South have a right to claim the authority of Mrs. Burly and broad-shouldered, forty if he was a day, and maybe older. We know what so called liberal activists can do. I was informed that my going to school was my job. Harold Chandler was ousted at the company, then known as UnumProvident after a 1999 mega merger between Chattanooga based Provident and Unum of Portland, Maine. “So long as he wears the gem he is bound to me, blood and soul,” the red priestess said. Even Hodor felt it. Southwark had a population of 30,119 in 2011.. Stannis wants the Iron Throne for himself, but his brother’s children stand in his way, so he must needs claim that they are not his brother’s. And she said she's always happy to road test them. "We knew we had an objector to the retail area coming to the meeting tonight, so we decided to withdraw the request," said Tony Corallo, assistant vice president of facilities and campus planning.. We’ll make a dog of you instead. Randyll Tarly and Mace Tyrell had both brought armies to King’s Landing, whilst the best part of the strength of House Lannister remained in the riverlands, fast melting away. But the rest of the queen’s men were conspicuous in their absence. We offer Nike shoes like Air max series and Air Force ones sold at whole price. Some nights she heard talk of him, in the biciclete rusesti vechi taverns and brothels of the Ragman’s Harbor. The All Terrain model, available as a late 2008 model, features the Z71 off road package, heavy duty trailer package, 18 inch wheels, Rancho shocks, zara pantalon chino and myriad cosmetic enhancements. Brown stubble covered his sunken cheeks and receding chin, and strands of dirty hair hung across his eyes. Three months earlier she had written, "After the war I'd like to publish a book called The Secret Annex. Only if you play the game you stand a chance of winning, sitting there cursing your 'luck' having not played is fear twisting your melon, man.. Components of a cover letter always remain the same, you need to add a dash of creativity.. That's why zara pantalon chinomany leaders from around the world have made the Remarkable Leadership Learning System their choice as a one skill at a time, one month at a time approach to becoming a more confident and successful leader. "Reluctant to fire people, they opted for the easiest way out: increase taxes to keep paying them.". But selectors Mathews never willing select him, as seen during last 3 yrs, since axed from No1 spot, soon after

answear sandale copii

174 (12th MOM) in 2013.. The prisoner moved for baby nike trainersa new trial, upon the ground that the offence, if any, amounted only to manslaughter. "His factual understandings are distorted," Pincus said. A company commander in Korea, Harvey earned the Medal of Honor for his actions on March 9, 1951, near Taerni Dong, South Korea. Have anybody watched Rohit's effortless 4 sixes ! Simply superb. Forever remembered as the Freezer Bowl, it was the coldest game ever played in the NFL, as winds gusting up to 40 miles per hour made 9 below temperatures feel like 59 below. I took the subject from a comedy of Scribe’s. The boat is moving and I trying to tap dance and they had a SCUBA diver hiding on the boat in case I fell off.. The engines provide peppy performance and decent efficiency the new 1.0 litre turbo petrol being a particularly strong offering. Once an icicle long as a spear fell to shatter by his feet. As part of this plan, the impact of our network and fleet on CASM will continue to accelerate and provide access to revenue sources in the form of incremental new destinations and customers, who were previously Air Canada's access was limited.. “No? Oh, I recall. Wharton's aggressive focus on globalization included the creation of new international immersion programs for students and faculty. If you've been in this situation and were tempted to snag that hugely discounted, but size too big shoe, you're in luck. Though I said before pausing again, really only one thing I can do for him. This more subtle form of Chi, like our thoughts and emotions, are just as important as the food we eat. If you love the outdoors and crave an active lifestyle, this home is a breath of fresh air!". If this home is allowed to build higher, she argued, "any neighbor can say, 'Why can't I?. We stood behind yellow tape as firemen battled from four sides of the fire to rein it in. “‘One minute,’ he always says,

catalog cercei aur turcia

‘just one minute’ and, mind, he’ll stay on till midnight and then it’s too late to go there. "I think it's maybe hard to compare me to a lot of guys, especially recently. Possible treatments to deal with hip pain while walking are:. Airbus also announced that Synergy Aerospace, a Latin American company, has firmed up a previous $1.9 billion order for nine long haul A330 planes. His father is James Hart, who has been part of many theatrical ventures up and down the Fox River Valley and now Oshkosh, as artistic director of JuBriCoSa.. That's all it takes. When we have sex, he doesn't make eye contact or come even close to my face. Purdue (plus 101/2) at Illinois The Illini announced this week that it will spend $132 million on renovations for venerable Memorial Stadium. Since starting Tsunami, they've ridden plenty of swells and dips of life. She did not know how, no more than I did. I’ll be poor all my life. Anahitta Shroff Adajania, the girl of styling, fashion director of Vogue India and the genius behind Hrithik Roshan uber slick look in Dhoom 2 says: costume used to make do with whatever they could source from limited indigenous shops. Cersei cried out in pain. By 2015, the figure had dropped to 131 hours, a reduction of 15 hours or 10 percent. The film follows their footsteps on the way to attending an intensive weeklong adult ballet camp primarily filled with aspiring young dancers.At any age, walking into a dance studio can be intimidating: You're surrounded by mirrors to remind you of exactly how you look.

1 note · View note

writefinch · 3 years

Text

The Prince’s Offering, Pt.5 (noncon, bondage)

As the wine girl collected her board and scurried off, Karim continued. "It is good that your house sent you, I think. It is not often that an offering of tribute falls through from the boorishness of the emissary, but it is most sad when such a thing happens. But you, Lord Davai, have been naught but gracious and pleasant in my company."

"I thank you, Sir Karim," said Davai. His throat was dry, absurdly dry considering that his entire body now seemed soaked with sweat, as cold as morning dew on every inch of his skin.

"We will enjoy another few cups together, the serving girls will show you to your rooms—they make delightful pillows, so choose freely amongst them—and once you break fast on the morrow I will bid you goodbye to return to your estate," said Karim. He paused, and his brow furrowed. "There is a trifling matter first, however, and I beg forgiveness for thrusting this upon you. My scribe, Farah, had a query regarding the translations upon the scroll."

Davai stared dumbly at the gauze-clad girl as she sat down next to him and unfurled the parchment. Over her shoulder he could see the continuing scene of degradation on the dais, where the Mughal men were fitting the iron masks back on to their captives. Before affixing them, they scooped up the puddles of bile, slobber, and sperm from beneath the hounds' chins and deposited them on the inside of the masks. Each hound was then encased, coating their faces in slime as well as depositing it in their open mouths.

"Lord Davai?"

He snapped back to attention and nodded. "Yes, please, go on."

"I apologize for my confusion," said Farah, "I am familiar with Mongolian writing but somewhat less so with the Latinate script of these lands. The passages in each language are a fair translation for each other in most cases, but there is one line I fear I have translated incorrectly. Beg pardon, could you tell me what the final line of the passage in Latin reads?"

Davai nodded and took the parchment, feeling the sweat wick away from his fingertips. "'...We offer this to you secured in the blood and honour of each noble line within the Houses of the Amber Plains,' is what it says, girl."

"Oh." She looked concerned, and looked between Davai, Karim, and Thom with worry. "That is what I suspected, but that is not at all what the final line of the passage in Mongolian reads. Perhaps there may have been an error in its composing?"

"Why, what does the Mongolian passage read?" asked Karim, his attention occupied by the final brandy-soaked pear as it slid around the serving plate away from the jabs of his fork.

"It reads, um," Farah cleared her throat, and gestured for Davai to return the parchment. He did so, upon which she turned it over and said, "it reads, 'inquire with the man known as Thom the Brigand for further instruction.'"

Karim looked up. "Hm?"

Davai's head shot around to stare at his companion. "What?"

But Thom the Brigand was not looking at Davai, or Karim, or Farah for that matter. He was staring directly at Justyna. "My instructions are but three words: take the gift."

Karim nodded as Davai stared between the two of them in bewilderment. "I see. Very well then," said the host, and then raised his jewel-encrusted hand in the air.

Davai did not see the two men who seized him from behind.

He shouted and struggled and kicked at his assailants to no avail, two of the guards pinning his arms behind his back as a third one slipped a thick leather strap around his neck, strapping it in place and tightening it until it bit into his skin and pushed on his Adam's apple. He panicked, fearing he would be garroted, but as the pressure let off he realized with a deeper horror that he'd been collared. Cold metal closed around each of his wrists, his arms were bent behind his back and his hands were raised up to his neck, pressing against each other in a deeply uncomfortable reverse-prayer position. His wrist shackles were clipped in place onto a D-ring at the back of his collar, and a long length of twine was wrapped around both of his forearms. His captors tightened the loop, forcing his elbows together behind his back. Excruciating pain shot through him as if his shoulders were ready to pop free of their sockets.

The guards pushed him down to his knees, keeping a firm grip on his collar to discourage further struggles. Still he craned his neck to look at Thom, eyes bulging and teeth gritted, his face a mask of rage.

"Betrayer! Thom, you Janus-faced dog-buggerer, what foul bargain have you made?"

Thom's smirk was stomach-churning. "I have made no bargain that you were not privy to, Young Lord. The Houses of the Amber Plains tasked me to deliver their emissary, gift, and letter of tribute to the Great Empire, and I have done as instructed."

"You were tasked with my safe return!"

Thom burst out laughing. "You fool, you highborn vapourhead, I was tasked with the emissary's safe return."

"That's—"

"You said it yourself!" Thom cut him off. "You recited the very customs of the Mughal rulers before we even caught sight of the keep, and you said aloud the rule of gifts: the gift must be a trifling thing to the Mughals and yet terrifyingly dear to yourself." He pointed to Justyna with malicious glee. "Even you, Davai, are not so soft and sentimental as to think that a peasant girl, no matter how comely her face and how warm her bosoms, holds any value to the Houses of the Amber Plains."

Davai looked at him in stunned silence. Horror did not so much dawn on him as it revealed itself—the outline of wrongness had been clear since he arrived, and he felt as if on the cusp of solving an awful riddle.

"Allow me to present something to you all," said Thom, walking over to the shelves and lectern and picking up the scroll case. He returned to the table, tapped the bottom of the ornate case, reached into the opening, and pulled out a slightly thinner tube that had formed a false wall. He gave the whole case a shake, and removed a second piece of parchment that had been hidden within. "Read this, girl," he said, handing it to Farrah.

She read this much-shorter scroll, her eyes widening as she did. "It reads that the young Lord Davai is to be given to the representative of the Great Empire as a gift, stripped of his titles and claims, to be done with as the Great Emperor wills. It is signed at the base by all the signatories of the first scroll."

Davai shook his head wordlessly, the numbness in his shoulders spreading through his entire body.

"The elder nobles cast lots, and it was your name plucked from the pile," said Thom with mocking melancholy. "I am told your uncle was heartbroken over the matter, but he persisted nonetheless. A true believer in the obligations of the nobility."

Desperate, Davai turned to look up at Karim. "Sir Karim, I beg of you, if you will please only—"

He squealed as a fist crashed into his liver, doubling over and retching from pain, and as he opened his mouth a leather-wrapped ring was forced between his teeth and buckled around the back of his head. As he sobbed and writhed, he knew he had missed his final chance to talk his way out of this nightmare.

"I am deeply sorry, Davai," said Karim with what sounded like genuine regret, "but now that you have forgone your noble title, your penalties for rudeness and impertinence have increased quite massively. That gag is a gift of sorts, for it will prevent you from saying anything you might come to regret in this time of adjustment."

"Hlah!"

"I’m afraid that's what they all say." Karim sighed and shook his head. "Guards, take him to the throne."

The struggling noble was dragged up onto the dais as the eight Mughal men finished dressing themselves and stepped down off of it. As he was pushed towards the tattered chair he saw that many of the rags on the seat of the throne were not rags at all, but restraints and leather straps. He howled in protest, resisting as best he could through pain and misery.

"Stop, stop!" shouted Karim, waving his arms and moving between Davai and the throne. "I have made a mistake, and treated the young lord unfairly. He must be given a chance."

Looking up at him with wide eyes, Davai did not dare to let hope burn within himself but was not so consigned to his fate that he could ignore any such offer. Karim crouched down in front of him and held Davai's chin between thumb and forefinger, stroking his boyishly smooth skin.

"I told you three things, Davai," he said. "The first was that our gift, received from the Houses of the Amber Plains, must become a slave and a serving girl. The second was that it is impossible for any true member of nobility to be enslaved, as their very honour prevents such a thing. The third was that I am a torturer by trade."

Davai swallowed. In front of him, Karim opened his palm to reveal the tiny silver fork he had used to spear fruits. He took the fork in his fingers and slowly brought the points an inch away from Davai's eye, until Davai backed away from sheet instinct.

Karim spoke with the soft intensity of a priest delivering last rites. "If you do not wish the indignity of slavery—and it will be a great indignity, your fate will not be a perfect mirror of the hounds to our sides but by Allah it will rhyme—I will kill you. It will not be an easy death. You are a young man and in good health, for now, and I will draw your death out to a fortnight, perhaps a day or two longer even. Your skin will be flayed, inch by inch, you will learn the terror of cold ice and the agony of the hot iron, I will strip your fingers, toes, ears, eyes and teeth away at a rate just slow enough to allow you to mourn their absence before destroying the next part, your bones will be broken, your tendons split, I will feed you broken glass to see your innards torn apart...

He looked Davai in the eye. "But it will come to an end. You will die as a noble, and though your body will lie in tatters I will not—I cannot—strip the honour from your soul. You will not be reduced to a slave, and you will be free in death and life."

Davai stared back at him, his breathing ragged. He thought of Ihsan, the wine girl, of her drugged haze, her lewdly-pierced nipples, and the gilded cage around her cock. This is what he would become for the rest of his life, a toy for men like Thom.

"I can see you are considering it, so here is my offer: ram your head forward and pierce your eye with this fork," said Karim. "If you do so I will kill you slowly. If you do not, I shall grant you a new life."

The torchlight glared off the tines of the fork, blooming until it took up the full field of his vision. Davai thought of his grandfather, a great warrior, felled not by the arrow that struck him on the field of battle, but by the soured wound a month later. His death had not been a quick or pleasant one, but all who knew him remembered his bravery and honour. He reared his head back and prepared to strike—he would only have to make the choice once—then pushed forward.

He flinched, stopping himself a hair's breadth from the point.

"You've a yellow belly to match your golden hair," mocked Thom, as Davai sagged in his bonds, sobbing helplessly. Karim ran his fingers through the lordling's locks, petting him pityingly, and put away the fork.

A guard took a small hunting knife from a walnut sheath and deftly cut away Davai's dull green tunic, tossing aside the sliced-up rags as he did. Karim bade him to pause as he admired the young lord's bound form.

"No hair to speak of, certainly not overfed, it is not exactly a warrior's physique but there are some thews to be softened.... Small nipples but the herbs will help with that of course, and soften the skin even more, yes, delightful..." He looked at the guard. "Leave the stockings on for now, they're rather fetching. Carry on!"

The final part of the tale is here:

https://writefinch.tumblr.com/post/649562103918837760/the-princes-offering-pt6-end

6 notes · View notes

societyofsaintignacio · 3 years

Text

Chapter 1

Father Celestinos Mendes Alvares

Cardinal called us together to investigate the demonic activity that has been reported in Julianos, north of Roma. On the car ride there, he briefed Marian, Rajmund, Hendrik-Jan, and I on the events that have transpired there since March. Cardinal was expecting trouble so we threw our exorcism kits into the trunk of the SUV before we left our dormitory.

The local priests are too few in number to be able to tackle the infestation on their own. While Julianos had an exorcist in town, the only other exorcist in the area was from a neighbouring village several hours away. The poor souls were vulnerable to demonic forces.

We drove to San Luca's Church and were greeted by the parish priest Father Santo and Sister Armato. Santo was in his thirties though exhaustion had aged him somewhat. What once was thick brown hair was beginning to show strands of silver and his face and dark eyes, which were likely beautiful and vibrant in youth, were drawn and cold. Armato was equally as stern and worn as her male counterpart, her frail hands toyed nervously with her rosary beads as she stood on the steps of the church. They were visibly relieved to see us and smiled despite their exhausted exteriors. If they thought that Cardinal's insistence on obscuring his face with dark shades, a scarf and a saturno was odd, they made no mention of it.

I thought nothing of Graetano's absence until Santo mentioned that the good padre was in the hospital and would not be accompanying us on our investigation.

"What happened?" Cardinal's usually monotone voice showed a hint of concern.

"Yesterday we were at the residence of Mr. and Mrs. Visco. Graetano and I were attempting to deliver the final demon from Luna Visco's person when she jumped up and stabbed him with a pair of scissors. Graetano almost bled to death. I am yet to return to give Luna deliverance."

I could not contain my grimace and none of my fellows could either. Certainly, violent attacks during a full possession were bound to occur but fatal injury to a priest was rare.

Cardinal weighed this story for a moment before speaking again. "We need to interview victims. We will need to speak to Lorenzo first, seeing how this all seemingly started with him. I trust your congregation is aware of our presence?"

"Yes, I told them that their cooperation would be necessary."

"Excellent. Have no fear brother, we shall endeavour to save Julianos."

Cardinal split us up and gave us the addresses of victims to interview. Cardinal went with Santo to Lorenzo's home, Marian, Rajmund and Hendrik-Jan went to the town's graveyard and mausoleum while Sister Armato and I went to the Visco residence.

Gianluigi Visco's eyes opened in shock at the sight of Armato and I at his doorstep. He glanced down briefly at my prosthetic hand in confusion before he addressed my companion.

"What's this?"

"This is Father Alvares from the Vatican. Him and his colleagues are here to help. May he ask you and your wife some questions?"

Gianluigi was taken aback but consented and allowed us entry. We were led down a hallway into the living room where our host served us tea. Armato and I were seated on the couch while Gianluigi took the armchair across from us.

The image of Christ, saints, angels, and Mother Mary were present around the entryway and living room of the modest home. Photographs of their family adorned the walls and fireplace mantel and the furniture was worn but clean. What had drawn evil to such a peaceful, unassuming place?

"Mr. Visco--" I started.

"Please Father, call me Gianluigi."

"Gianluigi. When did you first start noticing a demonic presence in your wife?"

"It started in April. She would fall into bouts of depression and anti-social behaviour that would last for days. Then when she wasn't depressed, she was angry and constantly trying to pick fights with me and others. We thought she was sick with something but doctors couldn't help."

I nodded. "Has Luna had any contact with the occult or dark arts?"

"No, not that I'm aware of."

"Was there a medical crisis or an event in April or before that time that may have caused the both of you to be vulnerable emotionally and spiritually?'

Gianluigi paused and frowned, wracking his brain for an answer.

"Say, a friend from church was possessed around that time and Luna often went to visit her before Fathers Graetano and Santo performed an exorcism."

So Luna was present to another possession. Possibly due to her friendship with the other victim, the demons jumped from the friend to Luna. Her emotional distress would have made her an easy target. I told Gianluigi my theory.

"So, it, whatever this thing is, is jumping from person to person? Father, that's crazy-talk."

"It sounds crazy to you, but in my line of work it's entirely possible. It's either that or there are more than one of these 'gangs' traveling around."

Grianluigi said nothing and picked at a loose thread in the armrest of his chair, dumbstruck.

Armato glanced around. "Where is your wife?'

"She's in our room, either asleep or brooding. She still has one of those things tormenting her, Sister."

"May we speak to her?" I asked.

Gianluigi put his hands up. "You can try, Father."

I gestured to Armato to rise and we both left the living room, with Gianluigi leading us up a set of stairs. He pointed us in the direction of their bedroom. The Sister and I strode to the door before I stopped and turned to face Gianluigi.

"Have no fear my son."

Luna lay buried under the covers of their bed, the comforter pulled up tightly around her shoulders. Her hair was wild and unkempt and she glowered at nothing in particular.

I laid my kit on their dresser and unclasped the locks to open it. I wasn't going to take any chances.

Gianluigi tentatively shuffled into the room behind us. "Luna dear, Sister Armato and Father Alvares of the Vatican are here. They wish to help you."

"Go away. I've had enough of priests and their antiquated rituals."

Gianluigi cast a glance at me. "Luna, be reasonable. You still need help and this man here can do so."

"Go away! And take that puppet of the Church with you."

Gianluigi started at his wife's sudden outburst.

"Luna...."

The covers were thrown back and Luna shouted again. Her voice took on an unnaturally low tone. "I've had enough of you!"

I quickly retrieved my crucifix from my kit and held it up to her. "Reveal thyself to me demon."

A hiss emitted from Luna's mouth and she violently shoved me out of the way.

"Don't let her escape!"

Armato and Gianluigi moved to block the doorway and managed to tackle Luna to the floor. She struggled against them, her body contorting in unnatural ways but the good sister and Gianluigi stubbornly held on.

I knelt next down within Luna's line of sight, keeping the crucifix in front of me.

"What do we do, Father?" Gianluigi asked.

"Pray to St. Michael and the Blessed Mother."

I turned my attention to Luna. She writhed on the floor, grumbling curses under her breath.

"Who summoned you?"

"Our master."

"Who? Lucifer?"

The creature within Luna let out a strangled cry, babbling incoherent nonsense in Latin.

"I asked you what is his name? Who is your master?" I demanded.

The creature cackled. "You think I would tell you, cripple?" It spat the final word at me in insult.

"Your lot wouldn't be infesting an entire town were it not for the work of an especially powerful demon being disturbed."

I quickly went and grabbed my vial of holy water. I anointed Luna's forehead which immediately caused her to scream in pain and the smell of burning flesh and brimstone filled the air.

"Who summoned you? Who is your master?"

"Istrakath! He was summoned by Lucifer."

This made little sense to me. An invasion of this scale would not be possible without mortal aid. "There is something you are not telling me."

Luna cackled maniacally. "You shall find out the truth soon. I believe your brother priest Hendrik has sniffed out our portal."

Luna renewed her struggle with a vengeance. Armato and Gianluigi nearly lost their hold on her.

I began the rite.

"En nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti."

Luna cursed at me in Latin, Italian, and Portuguese, wishing pain and misery upon me. I continued speaking regardless, though my companions were terribly frightened.

I urged them. "Don't be afraid. This foul creature shall be purged."

My arm was beginning to ache from holding the crucifix. "Vade post me, Satana. Exaudi Domine Patri!" I chanted.

Luna screamed, frothing at the mouth.

"Vade post me, Satana. Exaudi Domine Patri!"

Luna fell back onto the floor in a swoon. She opened her eyes and gasped. They fearfully darted around the room first at me, than Armato before resting on Gialuigi. She sat up.

"What's going on?" She whispered.

"You were possessed and were speaking in tongues. Fear not, the demon is gone. You have my word."

"Thank God."

"Yes, thank Him." I said.

I suggested that the Viscos, as a starting point, make a habit of attending church once or twice a week, going to confession once every three weeks and praying in the morning and evening.

"You must build up some defense against darkness, especially in these dire times," I explained. "God will shield you, trust in Him."

"Thank you, Father." Gianluigi said.

I had to tell Cardinal and the others what the demon had revealed to me. I wanted to bolt straight out of the Visco's house but forced myself to walk at a reasonable pace down the stairs and out of the house with Armato closely following.

My brethren and I regrouped at the church. I wasted no time in launching into my tale of Luna's deliverance.

"The exorcism was successful but before the creature fled, it revealed to me that the name of its master is Istrakath."

Cardinal turned to Hendrik. "Does that name mean anything to you?"

Hendrik shook his head. "No, but Thomas or Elijah might know something about it."

I continued. "It wouldn't tell me who summoned it or Istrakath but it claimed that Hendrik-Jan had found their portal."

He shifted around on his feet awkwardly as all attention was turned to him.

"How many people know about the catacombs under the mausoleum?" He asked Santo.

"Not many. No one bothers with it. We believed it to be too dangerous to go down there." He paused. "The demonic activity has something to do with it?"

Hendrik clasped his hands behind his back. "I believe so, I can sense it. I don't know if it was a portal I was sensing per say, I would have to go down there to be sure. There's a strong presence there regardless."

Hendrik turned to Cardinal. "We should call the others. Who knows what's down there or what it's capable of."

With his face covered, one could never tell what Cardinal was thinking of. He stood still for some time keeping us all in suspense before he turned to a confused Santo. "The five of us will return at nightfall to investigate the catacombs. If anyone asks about us, tell them that there is nothing to worry about and that we have the situation under control. We must exercise discretion."

Santo looked perturbed. "Very well."

If Hendrik-Jan felt slighted by Cardinal's rejection, he gave no outward sign of it.

We returned to Roma.

#original writing #writing #writing project #novel in progress #chapter one #catholicism #original characters #Catholic Characters #catholic priests #exorcism #demonic possession #rome #orderofvaticancity #fictional religious order #exorcists #demonic activity

1 note · View note

wolfpawn · 4 years

Text

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 148

Chapter Summary - Tom realises something is slightly off with Danielle but it seems even she is not focusing on it.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long. This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

So the spoons story Tom revealed before on a chat show.

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly @salempoe @wolfsmom1 @black-ninja-blade

Tom knew within a few minutes of Danielle's company on his return that his suspicions were correct. Something was bothering her and she did not seem set to share it. It was peculiar, it was as though whatever it was, she was actively seeking to avoid and work around it herself. He watched as she tried to force herself to speak to him as she usually did but there was also a peculiar sense to her too. He tried to make her feel like she could speak to him but she continued to say nothing. She smiled and spoke as close to normal as she could muster, but there was a strain in it for her.

She told him of everything she had to do for the documentation, she showed him who was involved, several of the names were world-leading experts apparently. She mentioned that if she had thought Waters and Safeguard were something to note, this was several times more impressive. When he asked her if there was a possibility of her getting her name in with bigger companies, perhaps set the groundwork for when she would be done with her contract with Safeguard, she nodded and said that if it went well, she could get a job with anyone she wanted and name her price.

Then she explained her triathlon training. To say it was going to be intense was an understatement. Tom stared open-mouthed at the sheer amount of hours a week she was now going to dedicate to training after months of her barely even getting a jog some weeks. She told him of the races she would be doing as a build-up to the main event and that she had already booked her room for the weekend in the small and apparently, going by the pictures she showed him on her phone, beautiful Welsh seaside town. She informed him it was a double room and booked for two and that she hoped he could make it but she understood if he would have work commitments. Whatever it was that was bothering her, he was relieved to see that it did not concern her in a way that meant she foresaw a situation of them not being together in September.

What he noticed more than anything was that Danielle refused to sit still and simply relax. Even when he was not around her and walked into a room she was in, she had the radio on. That was noteworthy in itself, usually, she just chose some album or shuffle to listen to but by actively seeking the radio, she was avoiding her own music. He noted that the radio channels of choice were Irish, or what he assumed to be Irish at least as it was in a language he did not know and the music all seemed to be traditional Irish music, which he knew from his lock-in in Camden where he was forced to learn the spoons to be allowed stay drinking with his friends, or more often, Irish bands and singers. He listened and attempted to at least figure out the gist what was being said, but it was impossible, Irish was not even derived from Latin like a large number of European languages, so nothing made an ounce of sense.

He walked into the kitchen three days after his return with Luke to discuss more work to see Danielle's phone on the worktop and hearing the peculiar language before spotting Danielle filling the bird feeders in the garden.

'What is that?’ Luke asked pointing to Danielle's phone.

'Did you know that when Danielle was small, she never spoke English in her home, that she only started learning it when she was five-years-old in school?’ Tom stated.

'But Ireland speaks English? That's its language.’

'Yes and no. The first language of most Irish people is English but in small pockets of Ireland, such as Connemara, Elle's area, Irish is the first and often the only language spoken.’ Tom beamed.

'So she knows what's being said?’ Luke pointed to the phone and Tom nodded. 'Do you know any of it?’

'Not really, I figured out a word that more than likely means hospital and I know that the HSE was the Irish equivalent of the NHS, so them being so close together was something I was able to work out. Some of the reports are in English, though some of the politicians seem to know a lot of Irish too so I don't always know what's going on. Apparently, they have a huge referendum this month.’ Tom rambled.

Luke just looked at him blankly with no idea as to how to respond to such a statement. Before he could retort in any manner, the dogs and Danielle came back inside. 'Hey.’ She smiled as she walked over and turned off the radio app on her phone. 'How are you gentlemen today? Tea?’

‘I have it there.’ Tom smiled back at her. 'How was the run?’

'Fine, our friend was out to annoy us again.’ She informed him, referencing the photographer that seemed to all but live in Belsize to irritate the celebrities who called the area home. ‘Bobby needs a walk later, I brought Mac with me for the run, could you do it?’

'Sure.’ Tom was slightly startled by her request. It often happened that if one of them was going for a run, they would take Mac with them and the other would walk Bobby later as the pup was not old enough yet to jog with them, but the way she asked him confused him slightly. 'Are you busy, we could do it together?’

'I am going to the office in a minute, I want to sort something.’ She explained. 'I want to get some files, I plan on a solid four hours tomorrow after the pool.’

'Should you be going this intensely already?’

'Tom, I am late getting started and I have not even gotten my bike yet. I will have to see about fitting in some bike time then too and then all three together. I guess that's a good thing about the summer on the coast, I can put all three together there.’

‘What’s this then?’ Luke asked curiously, noting Tom's downtrodden demeanour and Danielle's seemingly mad training schedule.

'I am doing an Ironman in September, so I have to start my training now to be ready.’ She explained.

'Ironman?’

'A swim, then bike, then running competition.’ Danielle explained.

'Sounds exhausting. Rather you than me.’ He retorted. 'Tom told me about your other work also, congratulations, you will be incredibly busy.’

'Yes, it'll be balls to the wall for a while but it's a good way to be. I like being busy when possible.’

'Just as long as you look after yourself, I read injuries are commonplace in training from overdoing it.’ Tom warned.

'I know, Love. Plenty of rest is a big part, thankfully it exhausts you so as soon as I hit the pillows at night, I will more than likely conk.’ She smiled and grabbed her phone. 'I better head to the office, I'll leave the car here and talk to you later, okay?’ She leant up and kissed Tom's cheek. 'There is dinner in the fridge, easy to heat up and sort.’

'Won't you be home for it?’ He asked. 'I can hold off?’

'Don't worry yourself. I'll heat mine when I get back.’ She turned to Luke. 'Thanks for everything at the premiere, I forgot to say. It helped.’

'Of course, that's what I'm here for.’

'I am fairly sure your mother didn't bring you into the world to be Tom's babysitter and to console his girlfriend at an event but okay.’ She joked. 'But, in all seriousness, thank you. I hope I didn't cause you any trouble.’

'No, you didn't. Nothing of the sort, as usual with reference to you, you were nothing short of a dream to deal with. Bar the angry few that still have not realised Tom is a living breathing human being with his own life, once again, you have unanimous praise.’

‘Good, I will endeavour to keep it that way.’ She walked over to Tom. 'Almost forgot.’ She leant up and gave him a kiss. 'Don't go mad in my absence.’

‘Don’t worry, I'll clean it if we do.’

'Oh, I know you will, that's not the reason for my statement.’ Danielle laughed.

'Then what is?’ He questioned curiously.

'I just don't want to miss the fun.’ She smiled as she left the room.

Luke chuckled at her statement before looking at Tom. 'Is everything okay?’

'I don't know. I think something is going on with Danielle.’

'She seems her usual witty self to me but I don't live with her, so I can't say for sure. When did you seem to notice?’

'The premiere.’

'In what way?’

'She's stacking her schedule with work again, making sure she has so much to do all the time and she seems just...off. I can't explain it. She seems like something is bothering her and she is trying to ignore it.’

‘Does she often listen to Irish radio?’

'Apparently, she's been doing it all along and I never knew.’

'Parents birthdays or death anniversaries?’

‘Her mum's was back in January, her father's is next month and birthdays are a little off yet.’ He scanned his mind for the dates he knew meant something more to Danielle.

'I don't know what to say, maybe she is homesick or perhaps she is town weary. A few days in Suffolk will do her good, as will the summer by the sea.’

‘Am I thinking too much into it?’ Tom asked.

'Honestly, I can't stay, but I will say that the best thing to do is air your worries. You two work well together, don't hold that in but also respect that Danielle is not some dependent woman, she is very much her own, driven person. Career advancement and personal goals for her have to be done at a time that suits her, not anyone else. The career thing, she cannot help, that is being steamrolled from elsewhere and regarding her sports thing, it is in the statement you released last year, in papers, online, that she is accomplished at it so this is not completely out of place and at thirty-one, she has to think of her age, her health and the very real possibility that if you two continue as you do, there is going to be a time soon that she will have to forego such goals if you decide to get married and have children. If this is something wants and it will all be done and dusted come September, personally I see it as unreasonable to be irked by it. You both have things you like.’

'She is training several times a week. She went from barely time for a jog to several times a week.’ Tom argued. 'Ten hours rising to fifteen closer the time, it's madness.’

'I agree it's probably a form of madness, as well as a level of dedication that most would never have but in all fairness, she is ambitious in her personal goals, that is something that you have said many times appeals to you about her.’ Tom said nothing back. 'You're concerned that there is no place for you in this, aren't you?’

'She seems to be making little time for us.’

'Have you asked to join her for some of this training, you run, she'll be running, that's something. You could get a bike or swim also.’

'You have no idea what an Ironman is, do you?’

'No why?’

'Google it, Google Ironman distances.’ Luke did as Tom suggested and his eyes widened as his mind computed the words in front of him. 'Bar asking if she has received a sharp blow to the head recently to willingly choose to do this, I don't know what to say.’

Tom did not know how to respond either.

#i hate you i love you #chapter 148 #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fic #wolfpawn

12 notes · View notes

personalcoachingcenter · 3 years

Text

A Smart, Educational Look At What POWERFUL SILENCE VS. AWKWARD SILENCE *Really* Does In Our World

New Post has been published on https://personalcoachingcenter.com/a-smart-educational-look-at-what-powerful-silence-vs-awkward-silence-really-does-in-our-world/

A Smart, Educational Look At What POWERFUL SILENCE VS. AWKWARD SILENCE *Really* Does In Our World

A Coaching Power Tool Created by Melanie Brown (Retirement Preparation Coach, SWITZERLAND)

To hear, one must be silent. Ursula K. Le Guin, 2012

Introduction

Silence as a power tool was inspired to me by a peer coaching experience. I was a fairly new ICA student and having my second peer coaching session. My peer client brought a very personal topic to the table: her estranged relationship with her sister. Every time she reflected after answering one of my (many) questions, I was already ready with the next one, rushing in to fill the gaps, instead of just pausing and giving her the space she needed to reflect on this sensitive and emotionally loaded topic. I wanted to ensure that all PCC markers were covered and most probably also wanted to avoid any awkward silences as I was doing my best to be present, actively listening, and gaining more coaching experience.

During the feedback discussion after the session, she rightly pointed out that she had Asian roots, and brought to my attention the fact that in most Asian cultures a discussion often has a slower pace than in other cultures.

Furthermore, during my first intermediate mentor coaching session as a coach, the ICA teaching gave me a very useful piece of feedback “You might,” she said, “want to think about using a little more silence.”

I thought carefully about what that statement meant to me. I took her comments to heart and pondered what this would mean for my peer coaching practice and how to engage in “more silence”. I was curious to learn more about the use of silence in a coaching context, understand the cultural perception, and most importantly how it could become a powerful tool rather than an awkward pause to be avoided by all means.

Explanation

Silence is often associated with religion or rituals as a means of spiritual transformation or a metaphor for inner stillness. Silence is also associated with shyness or introversion when someone doesn’t want to draw attention to themselves. Silence can also be used as a way to remember a tragic incident and to remember the victims or casualties of an event in a commemorative ceremony. Silence can also be legal protection enjoyed by people undergoing police interrogation or on trial in certain countries.

The cultural aspect associated with silence was a discovery to me, and I realized that it is a key component as the average pause length in a conversation may vary by language and culture. The perception of silence in a discussion may vary tremendously. Chances are that the “pause” will be two or three seconds at most. What one culture considers to be a perplexing or awkward pause, others see as a valuable moment of reflection and a sign of respect for what the last speaker has said.

Research (1) conducted at the University of Groningen in the Netherlands in Dutch and also in English found that when silence in conversation stretched to four seconds, people started to feel unsettled. In contrast, a separate study (2) found that the Japanese were happy with silences of 8.2 seconds –nearly twice as long as for Americans. In cultures such as those in Latin America or Italy, people often interrupt or talk over each other, so there is never or very rarely silence.

Besides the cultural and context, when is silence considered as awkward? A sudden absence of noise can be uncomfortable because it seems unmanaged. During an awkward silence, it could well be that one person might be panicking or that two insecure individuals are simultaneously acknowledging their security. People are not very familiar with silence and usually try to fill the gaps. Let’s now see what happens in a coaching context.

Application

During a coaching session, there is no power game at stake. One person, the coach, is managing the session and therefore the awkwardness described above becomes a space that enables the client to process their thoughts and feelings without distraction. It can be a great coaching tool as silence helps the client to gain clarity of the difficulties they face and consider a possible way forward.

To be able to perceive silence as powerful rather than awkward, an entire shift of meaning needs to be considered.

An awkward silence sounds negative in the coaching context and has synonyms such as quiet, still, gag, muzzle, censor, stifle and speechlessness, wordlessness, dumbness, muteness, taciturnity, reticence, uncommunicativeness, unresponsiveness.

A powerful silence has synonyms for the coaching context such as quietness, quietude, still, stillness, hush, tranquility, peace, peacefulness, peace, and quiet.

1) Disrupting the flow: How brief silences in group conversations affect social needs, Journal of Experimental Social Psychology, NamkjeKoudenburg, Sept 2010

2) Yappari, As I Thought: Listener Talk in Japanese Communication, Haru Yamada, Global Advances in Business and Communications Conference & Journal: Vol. 4: Iss. 1, Article 3., 2015

Shifting the meaning and the perception of silence is a skill that can take a while to feel comfortable with and to master, often feeling that silence indicates that the coach has run out of questions. The coach may be met with silence when asking a question to the client – this could be that the client has not understood the question or they are thinking through the answer. A few things could happen then and experienced coaches will allow silence to give the client enough space to think through their response to the full. Less experienced coaches may want to dive in straight away with another question or rephrase the first.

Coaching silence goes beyond occasionally keeping quiet to provide the client with a few seconds of internal inquiry”. It’s a continual process throughout the coaching session and the coaching needs to create the right atmosphere and environment to allow for all the benefits of silence to be observed. It can enhance the coaching session.

These are the benefits of silence that I see in a coaching session. Silence can be :

A time to make connections, to reflect and wait for words or images to occur.

A space in which feelings can be nurtured and allowed to develop

A space in which the client can recover from “here and now” emotions and observe what he/she feels.

An attempt to elaborate an answer

Reflection

As I continue to train and gain experience in coaching I am also continuing to learn the power of silence and to use silence as a tool. I have realized that not only is silence important but it is also interesting as well to reflect upon when the silence occurs. What preceded the silence? Is the client reflecting? Is it the right time to give more space and allow my client to think through their answer more fully, to consider what answer they have already given, or to explore further options?

My learning has taught me to reflect on what silence means to me and my relationship with silence. I try to resist the urge to jump in or interrupt. It also allows me to be better able to gauge what questions to ask next.

The key learning of using silence as a powerful tool in coaching is actually before the session begins. I now pause and apply silence before a peer coaching session. This allows me to focus and reach a level of inner calm. That pause is an eye-opener for me, and although it feels like an eternity, I now realize that it is very brief.

While it may feel counterintuitive, especially for newer coaches like me, I find that in general when I am present but not intruding, I’m more fully connected to my clients and I feel their engagement in their process grow stronger. I am grateful that I was allowed to shift my mindset from awkward silence to powerful silence in coaching, and I realize now what a gift it is to simply sit with our clients in their deepest moments.

References / Bibliography

BBC Worklife article – “The subtle power of uncomfortable silences”, 2017

“The untapped power of silence in coaching”, ebook

Koudenburg, Namkje, “Disrupting the flow: How brief silences in group conversations affect social needs”, Journal of Experimental Social Psychology, Sept 2010

Yamada, Haru, “Listener Talk in Japanese Communication”, Global Advances in Business and Communications Conference & Journal: Vol. 4: Iss. 1, Article 3., 2015

Prochnik, George, In Pursuit of Silence: Listening for Meaning in a World of Noise, Anchor Books, 2011 Original source:

2 notes · View notes

sol-futura-est · 4 years

Text

When I finally step into my room, I unlace my shoes, undo my jumpsuit, and strip almost naked, save for my boxers. On my desk, besides the dim lamp, is at least four or five stacks of journals, most unread, organized from the formation of the first republic, to the modern era, but I only read about the recent wars more closely. I had returned all but a few of the ones of the beginning. What was open and waiting was Lawrence di Firenze’s account of his movement from Mesopotamia to Saint Petersburg, after fighting numerous skirmishes and enlisting the help of men on the path, he defied the orders of the senate and abandoned a quiet sector in favor of facing the fire, predicting the enemy’s advances as if he knew them more than anyone else. When he arrived to relieve his brother, and routing the siege, he was widely considered by people from east and west to be more than a mere tribune, but a hero worth talking about.

"Today marks the first of February, 2236. I’ve personally, let alone commanded the death of, killed so many of these machines and zealots that I’m beginning to view this war as something eternal, something worth finishing sooner than later. Araasi, the elected chief of the armies and political mastermind of the Svarogovist war machine, has laid siege to the great city of Petrograd, Saint Petersburg, Leningrad, whichever you prefer. As I already made clear to the senate, and the consul, he intends to take the city for the rail lines and airstrips that tie it to the rest of Eastern Europe and north into Finland and Scandinavia. I was ridiculed. I was told he would be stupid to challenge my brothers forces to open combat while entrenched in the city, and that I should take my horsemen and my commandos to greater effect in waiting for another attack from the Caspian Sea, or a new set of tunnels in northern Persia to burst. Despite my track record, despite my national appeal, from Mongols, Sikhs, Latins, Intermarians, even among my auxiliaries from even farther parts of the world, the senate, a handful of men, refuse.

It’s too bad I’m already here, on the banks of the sea to the west, encamped, ready to give the order to advance across the south and give my brother some relief. My chief lieutenant, my divisional legate, is still young. His aptitude is unquestionable, but he’s deeply afraid, almost embarrassingly so. He insists that I’m insane for using my horsemen like I do. I always ask him who won at Sinjar, in Central Asia, or even further back, in Kunduz, or Khalistan. Every time he just shudders, calls me old fashioned. I always tell him that it isn’t the implement, it’s the organization, it’s the application, the details. He insists that my ways will get me killed. In my eyes, this is why I’ve been so successful. Twenty years ago, my adoption and adaptation of coursers was laughed at, until we pushed Araasi’s predecessor into battle and killed him. For the first time in three hundred years, horsemen marched on city streets as heroes. My brother was amazed. He even told me before we deployed that his power armor would be the new knights of old, that I could not be in the spotlight as he hoped. After, it was as if he was seeing horses for the first time. Part of me wishes it was him, that the future, the grand spectacle of old books, where man fought different enemies, with suits of steel powered by space age technology. Little did I know we still used rifles and bows and lances, swords, knives, we even fought in hand to hand ambushes. Those were grand times.

Araasi still has us outnumbered two to one. Most of his other forces are south of us, dealing with Roland in the Caucasus, and the Sikhs further still. All I have to stop is this one individual, and when this front collapses, I can end the war completely. If I end it, that’s just gonna exacerbate what certain voices are already shouting in the west.

It isn’t just youths who want me to take the mantle of dictator for some time, but even a lot of the men and women my age. Rumors that the senate gamed things after the first war, and allowed this one to happen, and my zeal against the enemy, it all makes these folks wish I was the one making decisions, not men who once upon a time were my peers.

These dreams of mine are always alight with the same scene. I’m charging headlong through a valley of fire, against frightened machines, mutilated and disformed men, lowering my rifle and gunning them down. But I can see my horse and myself alight, in golden flame, as if the sunlight was pouring out of me. I can feel the horse galloping fast, the thrusting push of my rifle, even the fear through the air from the demons in front me.

But it goes black suddenly, and I can’t wake up for a few moments. When I wake up, I feel as if the fire had only just gone out, as if Sol was trying to tell me something, but I cannot be sure. I want to believe that his is truly with me, that he was there when my father crossed the alps to take Bern, I want to believe not only that the republic is chosen, but many men themselves, but should I be afraid?"

Almost abruptly, the entry closes. Two weeks later he enclosed Araasi on a field and both of them died in the ensuing battle. Lawrence was found and carried out, Araasi was apparently either mutilated or simply drug back to the underground cities, entombed in whatever strange way they did things.

Specifically, it was this tale that caught my thoughts in moments like this. Two weeks after he penned this, he died. More than that, I know nothing of the man’s ripples in the lake of what remained. My body shivered trying to imagine what that battle was like, how it ensued beyond the tide of time, how the memory that existed on paper was so that the memories of those that adored him could feel his heartbeat through the letters. When I folded the tome and set it down again, next to one of Tarquin’s journals from the first war, I remembered reading it for the first time seven years ago, slowly, each night when one page became ten, ten became twenty or thirty. Mortimer told me once when there was a book or a movie the owners of this place didn’t want a fighter to see in his possession, that he got sent to a mining colony in the Urals. One of the few mandated by the senate, but operated by what used to be Svarogovist refugees. Those were my bedtime horror stories. Mortimer let his hate sew into me from youth on. When I’m stuck here, I can’t know if that’s true.

If the night was going to last forever, I might stay up, read more, but there’s not much reason to. Tomorrow always comes. When I slip under the thin blanket on my bed, I drift closer and closer to sleep as the dim lamp lights my desk, but not revealing the far off corner I was in. Each ride of the waves as they came onto me dragged me into the current, until suddenly…

Stop.

I know it’s a dream, but when I open my eyes again, I’m no longer in the arena, and somehow, I know I’m no longer in Karelia. When I stand, My feet are buried in flowing grass, and my ears can hear the faint whistle of the draft wrapping around me, and in front of me is emptiness, as far as I can see. All there are is rolling hills, the same I have seen every so often in my dreams. If I do dream, it’s lucid, just like this, just as if I can see and feel every little thing in some far off place I’ve never been to. The sun is always at dawn, gleaming rays striking firm into an endless horizon beyond the human imagination, a light that always inflicts on you the fury of comfort, of confidence. Nothing here can hurt you, nothing here is imperfect. Sparse trees and shrubs, hills that come in waves, glimmering dew, glistening blue sky, it all comes together to paint one picture, serene, perfect. Mountains afar stand taller than the ones here in Karelia, and faintly, from the north, is the smell of the ocean, riding the wind. Urban stench, sound, and surefound idiocy are gone. This isolation, the temporal, spiritual, physical isolation is not uncommon to me, but my own life, and I thrive within the quiet moments, where all that is left is to either think or lie down and breathe.

The first time I heard of a dream, I didn’t know what it was. When I found out that Mortimer knew I had dreams, he regrettably mentioned he knew nothing of the dreams I had. When I pried as a young kid, all he could do was shrug, and I came to think there was a local rarity within myself. When I found myself dreaming more than twice a week, I heard comments from the legionnaires, within their own conversations, and I’ve figured out that my dreams weren’t common, but still rare. I got lucky that day hearing that conversation; it helped me not be so afraid of being alone here. At first, all I could do was hope the shadows around trees were the light dancing. Eventually all I learned was that fear is a beast that starves without your hand to feed it, and this world was nobody’s but mine. In domineering it, I domineered the one part I could control.

When all you hear is the wind whipping, every little noise becomes another sound against the background, water running, grass flowing, trees groaning and twisting, and eventually, your own heart becomes an addition to the symphony. I didn’t want anything here. I never wanted more than this, but in my heart, I was curious for more. Every nagging thought, asking if this is all life is, was at times too much. Those nights I would wake up, pace my room, maybe even exhaust myself with two or three hundred push ups until the pain distracted me, and when I finally slept, my eyes simply stared at the absence. Every time I woke, rested or not, I went about my day.

But the questions would stay for night after night until the quiet of my mind returned, and when I finally went back to the dream, to the rolling hills I now sit in, encapsulated by walls of granite on one end, and the endless ocean on another. Each air into my lungs was rhythmic, patterned, as if I was breathing with the earth, with the wind, and no longer was I so detached for a few moments. Even as the hours drew on, the dawn never rose to the day, and the dew never rose up.

Soon enough, my visage faded more and more, as if there was a great weight on me, and just as it began, my eyes shut.

Stop.

5 notes · View notes

itspileofgoodthings · 4 years

Text

NON STAR-WARS THINGS THAT HAPPENED OVER MY BREAK

—finished my first semester of teaching!! It was so stressful near the end but it was also GOOD! One of my quietest 8th graders wrote me a card and said “you are an amazing teacher, I love your enthusiasm and passion for literature—it’s contagious” and I cried. Also another student gave me a plaque that says “please don’t ask me personal questions” in Latin to put on my desk

—I finished Crime and Punishment and cried and it was perfect and solemn and moving. I can’t believe raskalnikov waits until the last page, pretty much, to fully redeem himself but #mood

—I saw Knives Out and it was SO GOOD and twisty and fun but also so so kind. Rian Johnson might just be my director of the decade.

—my younger sister went to DC for a wedding a week before Star Wars and my older sister is, like, officially In Love and headed for the altar and also it was my last week of school—and I literally sat by the Christmas tree and cried because it felt like my entire world and childhood and last 6 years was crumbling around me

—read three books and also started a crossstitch project with all the time full internet absence allowed. one of the books is called “digital minimalism” and is making me rethink my phone use so we’ll see how this goes

—struggled with all my thoughts just becoming thoughts again instead of posts and had to manually work through many mood swings and tears but also welcomed the peace

#me being forced to live my life without talking about it #HARD #about me #i have no idea what is going on with you #pls tell me if i missed anything! if i can pray for you! what’s up etc. etc.

22 notes · View notes

virtchandmoir · 5 years

Text

Tessa Virtue, Scott Moir pushed ice dance boundaries throughout exemplary career

September 25, 2019

The announcement was hardly unexpected, so much so that it created little buzz even on figure skating news groups.

After all, no one thought Canadians Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir would be extending their extraordinary competitive career after taking another post-Olympic leave from the sport with yet another Olympic ice dance medal (this one a second gold) on their résumé.

And retirement is what they in fact confirmed last week.

Yet there was part of me that hoped they would come back again, especially with this season’s world championships not only in their own country but also in the same city, Montreal, as their training base before the PyeongChang Olympics.

Whether they won another world medal or not in Montreal – and a recommitted Virtue and Moir were very likely to be on the podium, if not atop it – the couple would have been awash in deserved acclaim from the home crowd, as they were in winning their first Olympic title in Vancouver in 2010 with a free dance that left me spellbound then and does the same in every re-viewing.

There will undoubtedly be some celebration of Virtue and Moir’s career as they perform on the Rock the Rink tour that begins Oct. 5 in British Columbia and meanders across Canada (with one stop in Cleveland) for nearly two months, playing mainly smaller arenas in smaller cities.

It would be more fitting if they could play the big stage, the 2020 world meet at the Bell Centre in Montreal. Maybe add them to the lineup for the gala? Skate Canada would say only they will have a role at this season’s worlds.

I had done interviews last year in PyeongChang to write an appreciation for Virtue and Moir after they won two more gold medals, team and individual, but that idea hit the digital dead letter file when the women’s singles event generated an avalanche of storylines.

Now, with the confirmation of their retirement, it’s time to use some of those interviews and the history-making achievements on their record to convey and appreciate their singular excellence.

*By the numbers: Virtue and Moir are one of two teams to win two Olympic ice dance golds, one of two to win three medals (gold-silver-gold; the other team, Marina Klimova and Sergei Ponomarenko of the Soviet Union, won bronze-silver-gold.) With two team event medals, silver and gold, Virtue and Moir have a record five Olympic figure skating medals.

In 2010, they were the youngest to win Olympic ice dance gold and the first Olympic dance champions from outside Europe. In 2018, he was the fourth-oldest man, she the third-oldest woman to win ice dance gold. They had competed against their final coaches, Marie-France Dubreuil and Patrice Lauzon, at Skate Canada in … 2006.

*British ice dance team Penny Coomes and Nicholas Buckland used their 2018 Olympic short dance as homage to their compatriots, Jayne Torvill and Christopher Dean, who dazzled the world with their innovative, thematic programs en route to the 1984 Olympic gold medal. Coomes and Buckland see Virtue and Moir’s skating as an extension of what Torvill and Dean had done.

“Torvill and Dean reinvigorated ice dance and took it to a place nobody had ever seen,” Coomes said. “Tessa and Scott have picked up that ball and carried it a little further.”

In the mid-1980s, there were few written rules governing ice dance, so Torvill and Dean revised the unwritten rules about programs that had left the discipline in predictable stasis.

By the time Virtue and Moir began senior international competition in fall 2006, the International Skating Union had implemented a scoring and judging system that codified everything, including ice dance.

Then a big piece of the new rules changed after 2010, with the compulsory dances eliminated. Virtue and Moir simply adapted.

“When the new judging system was introduced, you saw a lot of couples do the same things on the ice,” Coomes said. “Tessa and Scott took the rules and expanded them. Rather than stick in the box, they reached outside the box and grabbed new and innovative ideas.”

Some were in lifts created by Igor Shpilband, one of the coaches who helped them win the 2010 Olympic gold. Others came from their ability to use their surpassing skating skills to create corporeal unison that allowed two bodies to assume the moving shape of one. They were artists and technicians.

Their relationship in performance was so close and complete, especially in romantic programs, that many assumed, incorrectly, they were a couple off the ice as well.

As my colleague Lynn Rutherford wrote during her valedictory to Virtue and Moir: “Skating to the tender music from ‘The Umbrellas of Cherbourg’ or Gustav Mahler’s haunting ‘Adagietto,’ Virtue and Moir could break your heart as easily as they could spin off perfect twizzles.”

The Mahler-based free dance at the 2010 Olympics, to a piece of his Fifth Symphony, is Virtue and Moir’s transcendent masterpiece. As I wrote that night in the Chicago Tribune, they had an “exquisite interpretation … subtly underscoring the emotional power of the music and still managing eye-catching lifts and pirouettes and a striking final position worthy of ballet.”

As a whole, it was a magnificent exercise in understatement, the brilliance of simplicity, down to the costumes – she in a gossamer, white dress with some sequins from waist to shoulders, he in a white tuxedo shirt and black pants. Even in their most powerful moments of that program, what you remember is not the difficulty of the moves but the positions of their arms and bodies, of two people expressing themselves as one.

Then there was the Latin-themed short dance in 2018, an apparently incompatible mash up of “Sympathy for the Devil,” “Hotel California,” and “Oye Como Va.” Virtue and Moir made it a stunningly seamless integration of the very different music by the Rolling Stones, the Eagles and Santana, performing with so much emotional and physical energy, such sassy body heat and such finesse that their scores would allow them to take gold despite losing the free dance.

“I think Tessa and Scott have such a vast range of body of work, it’s possible for every fan and every skating person to find some program they love,” said Carol Lane, a longtime ice dance coach and Canadian TV commentator. “My favorite thing is a short dance to ‘Tears on My Pillow.’”

Virtue and Moir did that in 2004, when she was 14 years old and he 16, when they were still rising through juniors after seven years skating together.

They would compete together over a span of 21 years, so long that they would have two sets of formidable major rivals at the senior level – Meryl Davis and Charlie White of the United States until 2014; Gabriella Papadakis and Guillaume Cizeron after that. Coincidentally, Virtue and Moir trained in the same rink under the same coaches with first the U.S. team and then the French team while they were competing against each for Olympic and world titles.

The Canadians beat Davis and White for gold in 2010, lost to them in 2014, then beat Papadakis and Cizeron for gold in 2018. The three couples won nine of the past 10 world titles – three by Virtue and Moir, who skated in just five of those 10.

“Think back to Vancouver, the acrobatics they brought, the level of technical difficulty they brought … it was unheard of,” NBC Sports analyst and 2006 Olympic ice dance silver medalist Tanith White said. “Now [the 2018 Olympics] to see them incorporate back in the element of dance – it sounds silly, to put dance in ice dance – to bring in that musicality, that flexibility in their movement. That truly set it apart from anything anyone else is doing.”

*It only seems that Virtue and Moir rolled easily from one triumph to another during their careers.

Their move from Canada and Canadian coaches to suburban Detroit to train with demanding Russian émigrés Shpilband and Marina Zoueva in summer 2004 was fraught with teenage angst (she was 15, he 17) in an atmosphere Moir would describe as cold in a 2015 TED talk. From 2008 through 2010, Virtue battled compartment syndrome that would require surgery in each of those years and severely curtained her training immediately before their first Olympics.

And then there was the comeback after a two-year hiatus following the 2014 Olympics.

“We would be lying if we said we were just coming back to be part of the pack,” Moir said when they announced the return. “That’s definitely not the goal.”

The goal was to challenge Papadakis and Cizeron, who had used the Canadians’ absence to establish themselves as the world’s dominant ice dance team with world titles in 2015 and 2016. Despite losing the free dance, they beat the French for the 2017 World title, but just three months before the 2018 Olympics, the French beat Virtue and Moir in both programs at the Grand Prix Final.

It was just another challenge for them to overcome, even if it involved near complete revision before the Olympics of their free dance program to “Moulin Rouge.” The improvements were enough to cut the free dance point gap with the French in half from the Grand Prix Final to the Olympics. That was the difference between silver and gold.

“They are a team that has always gone for it,” said U.S. Olympic ice dancer Madison Hubbell, who trained with Virtue and Moir from 2016 to 2018. “They never seem to play it safe with their elements, with how difficult they make their programs. They always want to be better and they don’t compare themselves with other teams.”

The record books tell us Virtue and Moir had unsurpassed success. They slipped away quietly from the sport in which they are among the greatest ever. Their incomparable skating already has passed the test of time.

—NBC Sports

#tessa and scott #off ice #retirement #press #wow that first paragraph #what a little fucker #and i don't mean that in the cute way

53 notes · View notes

shelovescontrol91 · 5 years

Text

New Camila Interview

https://www.telegraph.co.uk/music/interviews/camila-cabello-latin-revolution-immigrant-america-industry-got/

The interview is locked unless you have a user so I posted it below. Bolded are some interesting parts

One afternoon in March 2012, Simon Cowell was taking a cigarette break backstage at Greensboro Coliseum in North Carolina, where he was judging auditions for the American X Factor, when he came across a girl lying on the ground, sobbing.

The girl was Camila Cabello. She had just turned 15, and for her birthday had asked her parents – Cuban immigrants living in Miami, who were making ends meet as a shop assistant and car washer – to drive her the 12 hours from their home to the auditions. Cabello explained to Cowell that, having been kept waiting for two days to see the judges, she had just been told by the producers that time had run out and she should go home.

“Apparently she was a reserve,” Cowell tells me over the phone. “So I said to her, ‘Listen, I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about, or what a reserve is, but since you’re here, come and audition.’ Five minutes later, she sang [Aretha Franklin’s Respect] in front of 7,000 people, and it was sensational.”

Cabello has a pint-size frame and a gigantic, intoxicating voice. What it lacks in technical finesse it makes up in youthful passion and romantic melodrama. Cowell installed his charismatic young discovery as the (unofficial) lead singer of a group comprising four other female contestants, and Fifth Harmony was born. After finishing the competition in third place, they signed to Cowell’s Syco label, becoming a sort of sister act to his other X Factor protégé group One Direction. Within months, Fifth Harmony had racked up a platinum-selling debut album of chart-friendly feminist anthems, a sold-out world tour, two performances at the White House and tens of millions of young fans.

For Cabello, that was just the start. Last year, Havana, the second single from her number one debut solo album, became the sound of the summer. An ode to the city where she was born and raised, featuring slow, sensual vocals layered over a Cuban-style piano riff, Havana made the singer the first female artist to achieve a billion streams for a single song. Whether or not you’re a fan of Cabello, you’ll have heard it.

This summer, the 22-year-old has repeated the impossible. Señorita, a Latino love song from her imminent second album featuring fellow pop star (and, as of July, boyfriend) Shawn Mendes, has once again conquered the charts. Talk about power couple: according to Spotify, the online music-streaming service, 21-year-old Mendes and Cabello, who picked up two MTV Video Music Awards for Señorita last week, are the most listened to artists in the world after Ed Sheeran. “Havana was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of success, and she’s just… done it again,” says Cabello’s manager Roger Gold, who first met the singer while serving as Fifth Harmony’s lawyer. “We never thought it would be this massive.”

When I repeat Gold’s words back to Cabello over an oh-so-millennial oat milk latte in a vegan café in Montreal – the latest stop on Mendes’s world tour – she grins. “It was the same with Havana,” she says, keeping an eye on the windows for the fans that have been camped outside her and Mendes’s downtown hotel since the couple were photographed ambling adoringly around the city together the day before.

“Everyone said to me, this is a Latin song, it could never be the single. Label heads and friends were saying I needed to add more production, that it was too slow,” continues Cabello, before absent-mindedly pouring coffee on her grey cashmere jumper and earnestly imploring me for laundry advice. We dab her sleeve with water as Cabello tries out my accent. “I’ll have a flaaat whiiite,” she drawls, mischievously, again and again until steer her back to the story. Persuaded that Havana would never get radio play, Cabello released Crying in the Club as her first solo single instead. But when the album was released, it was Havana that listeners pounced on.

“It was surreal: kids were coming up to me asking, ‘Are you Havana?’” she says. The song was nominated for two awards at the Grammys, where Cabello became the first female Latin artist to open the ceremony.

Cabello’s grip on the charts is part of what Gold calls “a ground shift”. “Latin artists have gained enormous global acceptance in the pop world in the last few years,” he says. Until 2017, a Spanish-language number one was vanishingly rare, limited to Enrique Iglesias, Shakira and novelties such as The Macarena. That changed when Luis Fonsi and Daddy Yankee’s 2017 Despacito, written entirely in Spanish, became the most-streamed song in history.

That same year, the number of Spanish-language songs in Billboard’s Hot 100 jumped from three to 19; this year’s tally is already at 16. Such is the influence of Latin culture on current pop that Madonna’s Madame X album single Medellin, released in April, featured Columbian reggaeton star Maluma, and breakout Spanish star Rosalia’s modern spin on old-school flamenco graced the John Peel stage this year at Glastonbury. In between, of course, came the juggernaut of Havana.

Cowell says he never really thought about Cabello’s Latin roots when he met her. “And then of course it occurred to me years later, that she was turning things around.” He has since had success with another Latino group, CNCO. “So maybe I owe a lot to her.”

Even singers of non-Spanish heritage are now cashing in on the genre, as Justin Bieber proved with his hugely popular remix of Despacito. “It’s definitely annoying when people take things, but sometimes I’m inspired by things that aren’t necessarily my culture,” says Cabello. “I think with globalisation, genre doesn’t exist any more. It was surreal hearing people sing the chorus to Havana. So many young people had never even heard of the place.”

Cabello donated the proceeds from the song’s music video to support young, undocumented immigrants known as DREAMers – those who entered the US as minors and are seeking resident status. Her YouTube channel has been inundated with messages from Latino fans thanking her for making them feel more welcome in America. Cabello suffers from anxiety and tends to steer clear of social media but when I mention the messages she clasps her face with both hands and her eyebrows shoot up under her curly fringe. “Really? That makes me so happy. That’s why I want to tell my story, because when I saw pictures of what’s happening at the border, my heart was broken. That’s my story too.”

Cabello was six years old when her mother, an architect, carried her across the Mexican border, telling her daughter that they were going to Disneyland. “I have this one memory of my mother taking me into a gas station, but that’s it,” she says. They were detained for 22 hours before being allowed to proceed to Miami. Her father, originally from Mexico City, joined them illegally a year later after swimming across the Rio Grande. “I didn’t know what was happening,” Cabello tells me. “I just had a Disney calendar and I crossed off every day until he arrived.

“It’s why my mum loves that film, Life Is Beautiful,” she says, referring to Roberto Benigni’s Oscar-winning comedy about a Jewish father and son taken to a concentration camp during the Holocaust. “Obviously I’m not comparing my story to that in terms of, you know… but it’s the same idea of a parent pretending it’s a game to protect their child.”

Cabello’s as yet untitled new album, out later this year, is a tribute to first love. She describes the experience in terms of the 2001 film Amélie, which she watched for the first time last year. “Before, I was Amélie,” she says, comparing herself to the film’s titular dreamer, played by Audrey Tautou. “I was just living in my own imagination. I didn’t go out and meet people. I didn’t really make any friends. Amélie’s thrills are the smallest things, like being looked at.”

As a child, she hated attention so much that she would cry when people sang Happy Birthday to her. Her X Factor audition was the first time she had sung in public, and helped her realise she could transform on stage. “Now I’m like Amélie at the end of the film, when she falls in love for the first time and breaks out of her shell.”

Of the 72 songs Cabello wrote for the album, only a small number will appear, each one dealing with the minutiae of relationships. Keen for me to hear some, Cabello summons her mother Sinuhe, who travels with her daughter everywhere and arrives at the café with an iPhone on which she plays me two new songs. One is a heavy, gothic ballad reminiscent of vintage Avril Lavigne; the other, a Latino song carried by a powerful brass section that makes you want to get up and salsa.

As with her last album, Cabello has a writing credit on every track of the new one – a rarity in an era when so many hits are manufactured by teams of writers and producers. Is she making a statement? “No, but I need to tell my own stories,” she says. “I still regret my first single, Crying in the Club, because I didn’t write it and it didn’t feel like me. I had the chorus to Havana, but I went with what was safe, what industry people said had worked before. Turns out, no one has a clue.”

When Cabello uses the word “industry”, her expression, usually warm and trusting, becomes uneasy. The absence of freedom she experienced early in her career as part of a label-curated girl group appears to have bred a distrust of the system.

“Fifth Harmony was like its own separate person. It’s like we were serving Fifth Harmony,” she says, tugging on the sleeves of her grey cashmere cardigan. After Cabello left the group in 2016, she was accused of betrayal, and things got nasty – when the four remaining members opened the MTV Video Music Awards in 2017, an elevated platform showed the silhouettes of five women, until one was unceremoniously shoved off the stage as the performance began. “It’s so normal for groups to disintegrate. I think it has to be some miracle for five people to stay together,” she says. "I’m so interested to see what makes it different for Little Mix [and X Factor girl group still going strong since they formed in 2011]”.

In 2020, Cabello will make her next career move – into acting. James Corden personally picked her to star in and contribute to the score of a modern musical version of Cinderella, which he is producing. “He saw my L’Oreal advert where I was basically just being an idiot, and he thought that was cool,” she explains. She sounds a little daunted – and is currently taking acting classes – but it feels like the obvious next chapter in a life that is taking on a fairy-tale dimension of its own.

“You know what,” Cowell had told me before hanging up. “I would never have guessed, all those years ago, that when I met someone who was having the worst day of her life, who was crying at the back of that arena, that now we’d be having this conversation. Can you believe it?”Camila Cabello’s new single is out on Thursday

#camila cabello #camilizers #shawmila #simon cowell #james corden

44 notes · View notes