darkxacid

[canbritport]

Destination Dupes

Sintra Portugal Unveiling the Travel Secrets “Discover Europe’s Hidden Gems.” “Forget Spain, Uncover Portugal.” “Trade Hawaii for Algarve.” and ” Swap Florida for Silver Coast” Have you noticed on social media or scrolled through Instagram or TikTok lately? If so, you’ve likely encountered a barrage of intriguing messages like these. Welcome to the world of “destination dupes” – a burgeoning…

[youareinlove]

yes i’m here! don’t worry i love your blog ❣️

omg yay

[yuri-for-businesswomen]

i had a friend who was raped as a teenager and had a really strict mum who did not let her go out so she was really lonely. when she turned 18 she started going clubbing and since we live in a city with a big fetish scene, she started going to the kinky venue. since she was young, naive and very pretty, she was immediately roped in by older men who did bondage shootings with her and everything. she started working in the club. to me, she was clearly groomed, but she works in a fetish shop now and is fully immersed in the scene

i have a friend who answered a job ad for a secretary when she was abroad and she and her friend ran out of money but when they arrived there it was a brothel. they both prostituted themselves for several months. they were only 18. she still talks highly of that brothel, how clean and safe it was, and wants prostitution to be legal

i read the gut wrenching biography of a thai woman who ran away from home, whose parents refused her education and treated her brother very preferably while openly hating her, and entered prostitution in sex tourist destination pattaya at only 13. she was paid by men in their 50s first for her virginity, then to piss on her. she exited at 19 and developed psychosis. she defends sex buyers, hates feminists and wants prostitution to be legal

do you see where im going with this? brainwashing is real. despite the obvious facts, the grooming, the system that pushed and pulled them, the men taking advantage of them; they defend it. so yeah, we shouldnt dismiss firsthand testimony and personal experience, but always take it with a grain of salt, always contextualise, always see it as one part of a bigger picture. liberals dont do that and have duped too many people into not doing it either. „if thats her choice its none of our business“ fuck you!

[ahoycaptainautumn]

Fated Mates Part 10 Final

Synopsis: you, a vengeful vampire slayer, cross paths with the devious and handsome Astarion. Instead of a stake through the heart, Astarion finds something he thought impossible for vampire spawn. A mate.

The finale. The meeting that has been destined in the stars. Shall you both agree to the mating bond, or go separate ways?

Words seep into your brain and wash it in all this new information. You read and reread the passage on Vampiric Mates as if it could give you anything new. It feels like your brain is processing and then restarting at the last moment. This couldn’t be right, right? If it is, if you two are mates, then Astarion knew. He knew and he didn’t tell you. He didn’t tell you when you met, didn't tell you when you had kissed him. Hells he didn’t even tell you when you fucked in that abandoned temple. You had gone through every step of the mating process without a single inkling of understanding. You wanted to be angry. You wanted to feed this into your earlier rage at Astarion’s dismissal of you. But it honestly just made it make sense. Mates didn’t get to choose whom their mate was destined to be. He didn’t have a choice. He never once had a choice in 200 years and once again the universe did not give him a chance. The moment he tastes freedom, feels the sun on his skin again, he lays eyes on his mate. Not just any average person, a vampire hunter with a thirst for blood. Who damn near kills him in his tent. Were you still upset at being duped? Upset he ran instead of talked to you? Of course, you still wanted to punch him in his stupid perfect elf face. But more so you wanted to talk to him. To know what he felt, if this meant anything to him. If you meant anything to him. At the thought of you not, it made your stomach lurch. You recognize the feeling for what it is. That tightening rope feeling. A bond tie. A tethering to him that sung each time you thought of him or were near him. You had thought yourself just a silly schoolgirl for feeling such a strong emotion with his presence. Now it finally made sense. This whole adventure so far made so much more sense. You stood quickly and took a deep inhale. You needed to make this right. You needed to find him. You needed to find your mate.

-

Astarion tears through his chest once more as he paws his belongings again and again. Everything was here but that damned book. Worse yet, your scent lingered around the chest as if mocking him. He wants to believe it will magically appear under some shirt and silly old Astarion simply missed it. But the back of his mind knew better. He saw the hurt and rage in your eyes last time you saw one another. In that dim tavern stockroom. You had ran from him so fast he had barely a moment to think. By the time he got to camp he could smell you had been there, the one trait he is thankful for with this bond. Your scent trailed from his tent to yours. He hadn’t even thought of why you had been near his tent. Without a second thought he had paced near yours. It wasn’t until he gave up and went to his own tent that he thought more about it. Especially with your scent wrapped inside. That’s how he came to be here, rifling through his own things. Desperately hoping you didn’t see the one thing that carried his secret. Well, both of yours secret. His hand rakes back his perfectly sculpted hair as he tries to catch his breath. He had two options. Find and confront you, which seemed horrible. Or pack a bag and run for the high hills and never look back. As much as that option entices him he realizes he couldn’t even if he wanted to. One being that the tadpole would still be a problem and not one he believes he could fix on his own. Secondly it would mean leaving his mate. A dark gnarled pain twists through his spine at the thought. Even just imagining leaving you, never seeing you again woke some ancient horrible feeling that burrowed deep. Well, that left option one. Astarion stood, he tried and failed to calm his nerves. He was just about to open his tent flap when your hand poked through the opening. You lean into the tent and make eye contact with Astarion. The connection bursts through a feeling of utter euphoria. Both of your bodies flamed with the feeling of the entwined bond. Your skin tingles as if it begs to touch his. He feels the same as his teeth aching to plunge into your delectable neck and claim you as his own. To bite every surface you have exposed. As much as he wants to throw himself at you. To forget words and let his body do the talking, he resists. He was tired of that being his form of communication. Of sex and touch being the way people got to him. Of how they perceived him. He wanted.. more. He had not a single clue what “more” included. But he wanted to try. No matter how much it made his fight or flight trigger deep in his belly. His feet ready to take option two and start running. But instead he clears his throat. You reach behind you and hand the mating book to Astarion.

“I believe this belongs to you.” You start, timidly. Your eyes say it all. Your (e/c) eyes swimming with apprehension. You’re so visibly nervous it reminds Astarion of a tender little lamb. Frightful but curious. Anticipating with anxiety. He, the lion, wanting to gobble the lamb whole.

“I guess that means we need to talk.” He replies, not sure how to start this conversation. You just nod your head, Astarion opens his mouth ready to let whatever words spew from his mouth but you hold a finger up.

“Not here… maybe somewhere private?” You ask. He only nods, ready to follow you anywhere you take him. You hold out a hand to him and await his. He looks down at your open palm. How warm and inviting it is. The thought of even just holding your hand sparking hope in his chest. He knew better than to think this was anything but you letting him down. Of denying wanting to intermingle with someone with as much baggage as him. Someone as damaged as him. He wouldn’t blame you one bit. Really he would think it for the best. For you to break this bond and not go near him; or Cazador for that matter. But then you give him a small smile and usher with your hand once again. He tentatively puts his hand in yours. But maybe he could have just a little hope.

You lead him past your fellow companions' tents holding his hand. A few eyes watch you as you make your way towards the forest. Karlach meets your eyes and gives two big thumbs up which nearly makes you snort if it wasn’t for the anxiety bubbling in your chest. You lead Astarion to a clearing near the flowing river a bit aways from camp. You had grabbed a large plush blanket with throw pillows and laid them out before you had gotten Astarion. For once you wanted something to go right. For a special moment to be curated and simple. Not during a battle or on accident. Not in an abandoned temple or a psychics tent. But an evening of just you and him. Of twinkling stars and the silence of a night-lit blooming forest. However this is to go, whatever his decision may be, it would be between the two of you in a neutral setting. Somewhere you could lay your hearts open to one another. You sit down on the blanket and pat the spot next to him. Astarion sits next to you, craning his neck up to watch the stars alongside you. You both sit in silence for just a few minutes. Enjoying watching the stars in each others company. You wish this is all it could be. But you knew it had to be discussed.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” You ask, shifting your gaze from the sky to Astarion. He meets your gaze and you see the flash of anxiety come and go from his eyes. You keep your face neutral as best you can.

“In the spirit of honesty, I don’t really know. I didn’t know what to think or what to do.” He replies with a sigh. He throws his arms behind him and leans back into them. He stares down at the ground as if far away in thought.

“As far as I knew mates were only for true vampires. A rarity for them, not many of them able trust one another to ever find their mate. So naturally being a spawn I thought I couldn’t have one. It simply wasn’t something I ever gave much thought to.”

“And now that you have one?” You prod further. You ache desperately to put a reassuring hand to him. To tell and show how much you support him at this moment. But you didn’t want to persuade him one way or another. Especially not guilt him by any means. He takes a long drag of a breath and continues on.

“I should be asking you this.” You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion. He steals a look over to see your confused face.

“Is this, all of this, what you want?” He ushers between the both of you. You can’t help the little grin that reaches your face.

“Am I not obvious enough?” You tease. He grunts in response.

“I don’t just mean the ungodly good sex darling. I understand I come with my…. Complications. Complications that have been quite a thorn in your side.” He dances around the word vampire. Almost fearful to bring up something he knew was his largest flaw. What good does a vampire spawn do as a partner? He was your antithesis. The opposite of your life’s mission. Plus he would go on to live unless someone got fidgety with a stake. You, however, only had so much time. He highly doubted you would join in his immortality. You look lost in thought, tongue stuck out in thought.

“You’re not wrong. I hated all vampires. I didn’t discriminate between them, all of them monsters to me. My father had foolishly thought to gamble with one, to generate more wealth than we would ever need with a debt owed to Cazador. I never found out what he owed him, all I know is that it was grand enough for Cazador to personally come and slaughter my whole family. Besides me. He had said I wasn’t worth his efforts. So when I met you I naturally hated you.” Before Astarion could make a snarky comment you continued.

“But then I got to know you. To see you for more than what you are. That just because you are a vampire doesn’t mean you’re my enemy. If anything you have been quite the opposite.” You finish. You can tell a bit of tension eases from Astarions shoulders.

“So where do we go from here? 200 years and I’ve never known what more was. That there was a “more”. Forgive me if I am a bit out of touch.” Astarion replies. You nudge your shoulder with his.

“That’s fine old man, we can take it slow.” You tease. He frowns at your jest before a soft smile breaks across his pale face. The moonlight illuminates him giving him an ethereal glow.

“We. Us. I like the sound of that.” He replies.

“And no more running away when we need to talk! I might still stake you, you know.” You playfully slap his arm. He fakes being wounded giving you a pout.

“I make no promises, little killer.” He grins. It would be hard for him to break the habit. Preferring running and hiding. But he could try, for you. “Now may I suggest we consummate this mating?” He leans over towards you, hands resting on either side of your hips. His face just a breathe away from you. A slight chuckle falls from your lips.

“I believe we already have.” You tease. He gives you an award winning smile as he leans in closer. His lips brushing ever so slightly against yours.

“Couldn’t hurt to once more, or maybe a few more times.” His eyes dance from yours down to your lips and back up to you. You lick your dry lips as you watch him drink you in.

“Only a few?” You whisper your head barely beginning to turn into his. Half lidded eyes drawn to him.

“Maybe more than that.” His voice is barely there, red eyes blown wide with lust.

“I sincerely hope even more than that.” He grins as you say that.

“Now that, my dear, is something I can promise.” He says as he seals his lips over your own. You greet his lips in earnest. The kiss is sweet. Perfect. Enveloping the longing, the caring that flowed between your bond. Astarion walks his hands forward, pushing your body back onto the blanket. You follow his steps as you tangle your fingers in his hair. He hovers over you, losing himself in the kiss. Astarion had had many lovers but kisses with you were like no other. As if fireworks set off inside of him. Sparks of pure adoration going off within him. He nudged his way between your legs and you gladly let him. His leg swings upwards, pushing your other leg farther away. His groin comes in contact with your clothed center. Chest to chest, you groan into the kiss. One of his hands comes to glide down to your waist and grip your hip. The other holding himself up by the forearm. You trace down his neck before slipping your hands to his front. You trace his body slowly till you meet the hem of his shirt. You glide your hands under and place your hands flat against his abdomen. Though he feels always a bit cool you feel nothing but flames. You trace random patterns along his front. He deepens the kiss, exploring your mouth. His grip on his hip massaging the tender flesh there. Your hands go higher, nudging him to remove his shirt. He grins into your kiss as he leans back. He grabs his shirt and all but rips it off his body.

You stare awe-struck at him. The way his body is so beautifully sculpted as if he was a statue in a museum. Chiseled to perfection by the universe's best artist. His curly white hair disheveled, flowing with the slight breeze. His eyes hungry and trained on you, gauging your constant reaction. His hands find the ends of your shirt and he teasingly strokes it upwards in slow motions. You lean up and watch him take your shirt completely off. His hand reaches to your jaw as he leans in for another kiss. All the while you begin to loosen his trousers.

“So needy.” He teases into your lips between kisses. You smile and break the kiss. You lean up to and press your lips near his pointed ear.

“I can’t help that I want my mate.” You whisper to him. He shudders at your words. Mate. Gods the title sounded so good coming from you. He nibbles down your neck in earnest. Leaving love bites and hickeys in his trail. He ruts his hips into yours. His hands go all over. Touching every inch of exposed skin he can access. Kneading and caressing every part of you. Your hands wander his body as if touching it for the first time. Mapping out as if you could forget it. His kisses travel across your collarbone and to your sternum. One of his hands comes up to softly play with your breast. His hand kneading the soft skin. Occasionally his fingers come up to twist your nipple in a delcious rhythm. You grind against him in desperation for more touch. For more of him. Your fingers undo his pants and begin to tug as much as you can in your position. Astarions lips come up to your perked nipple and begin to suck. His eyes trained on yours to gauge your reaction. You throw your head back in ecstasy as a rough moan escapes your mouth. You make no show of covering any sounds, letting Astarion hear how good he makes you feel. His hand plays with your opposite breast as he sucks and bites at your sensitive bud. You writhe, desperation growing in you. The fire he builds inside you is quickly building to an inferno.

“Please Astarion.” You whine. He comes off of you with a wet pop before he stands. He makes quick work of his pants and immediately kneels and sweeps yours off just as fast. You lay bare to one another. Basking in the moonlit glow of each others naked bodies. Astarions eyes drink you in. A soft look on his face, adoration evident.

“You’re beautiful.” He tells you. You give a wide grin before you open your arms and usher him closer. He immediately follows and finds himself between your legs again. Though he brings himself much lower than before. His face resting just above your heat. You watch his actions and you can feel your breath catch. His eyes stare hard into yours as he brings his tongue out and licks. The flat of his tongue going from the bottom to the top of your slit. Your nails dig into the blanket as you arch your back. Astarion devours you like a man starved. Spreading your folds with his fingers to delve deeper. His tongue caresses your insides sending shivers up your spine. You cry out his name like a prayer.

“Ah- A- astarion!” You cry over and over again. It only spurs him on, chasing your ecstasy to get you to your high. His fingers join in his ministrations as he plunges two fingers into your wet opening. He curls ever so slightly as he motions a come hither inside of you. All the while his tongue laps and sucks at your clit. The stimulation is all too much, your whole body buzzing.

“Astarion- ahh- I’m gonna-“ you can barely moan out, your whole body too consumed in rapture.

“Cum my love, show me how good I make you feel.” He purrs against your skin. You reach your climax, cumming on his fingers. He works you through it, slowing his fingers' pace. He looks up at you to see your lust filled face. He leans upwards to catch you in a searing kiss. You can taste yourself on his lips. It sends a thrill through you.

“Astarion please- I need you.” You cry, arms grabbing at him senselessly. It’s as if you forgot all sense, Astarion the only thing that mattered. The only thing that exists.

“Oh with pleasure, my mate.” He gives you a devilish grin. You clench at his words. Mate. God you could listen to him call you that a thousand times and not get sick of it. He lines himself up with your entrance, using your slick to lube himself properly. He enters you slowly as you both moan wantonly in union. You wrap your hands around his neck to hold onto something. His arms hold himself up by the back of his forearms on either side of your head. Your bodies touch as he rocks into you. It’s intimate. Something very foreign for Astarion. Everything he had done was quickies. Hard and fast to reach a climax to be finished with. But you. Oh you he wanted to take his time with. To ruin you, completely and wholeheartedly. To mark you as his in every crevice and nook of your body. That his signature would be branded so deeply into your skin no other man would even think to come near you. You are his entirely. His hips speed up in rhythm. Skin slapping onto skin echoing with your shared moans.

“Say it again.” Astarion grunts out. His eyes find yours, begging. You swallow dryly. The bond is so strong in this position, in this eye contact. As if your body thrums with it. You would give him the world and stars if he asked for it at this moment. But you already knew what he wanted.

“Astarion, my mate.” You reply. He groans, biting his lower lip. His hips speed up, becoming sloppy. Your body is wrecked in pleasure.

“Again.” He growls.

“My mate. Mine.” You say once again. At that Astarions fangs plunge into your soft neck. Stars line your vision. You feel out of body. Lost in a sea of utter pleasure. You reach your finish together, Astarion spilling his seed inside of you. The bond ties tightly between you both. Unbreakable. You hug his body close as you come down from your high. He releases from your neck and moves to lay next to you. Your hands intertwine as you look up at the stars together. Both attempting to catch your breath.

“Well, what now darling?” He asks you between puffs of air. He looks over at you. Those crimson eyes full of adoration.

“Well. I guess we save the world.” You reply with a chuckle. He squeezes your hand.

“I think we are going to have a lot of fun together.”

Part 9 here

———-

I really hope you guys enjoyed the series! I will be focusing on one shots and requests from here on out! Also if you got the Twilight reference give me a holla!

[amloveabledeathmo]

(Some background for this idea, Sherlock is Demisexual and after spending enough time with John he realizes he loves John and wants a relationship but we all know he can't start it after telling John he was married to his work and not interested in people. John is bi but after the immediate rebuff at the beginning of their acquaintance he doesn't want to push himself on Sherlock. He also only dates women because the only man he wants is Sherlock, in fact the only person but it's easier to not compare women to Sherlock.)

Sherlock gets a case where people have not only had their personal information (and money) stolen but also their private relationships exposed. He comes to find out that they have all stayed at a fancy hotel. Said hotel is well known for it's discretion and is also a popular destination for fancy business events.

Instead of deciding to go as friends, work colleagues, siblings, cousins, hotel staff, or as people who don't even know each other, Sherlock decides that him and John absolutely have no other option but to go as a couple. John of course agrees, after all Sherlock is the genius and he would like to know what dating Sherlock would entail, even if they are going undercover as not themselves and the dating is totally fake.

They tell Mrs. Hudson since she is their emergency contact. No one else knows about the case.

Once they arrive they are given just a standard two queen room (I'm american and in every hotel I've stayed at that is the default room, no I've never been to a fancy hotel). Safely in the room they stand looking at the beds for awhile before Sherlock says they should probably share a bed as they are supposed to be a couple on their first vacation together and of course you wouldn't want anyone who saw their room to gossip. John readily agrees and they place their suitcases on the unused bed. When they go to sleep they are laying stiffly on opposite sides of the bed but by morning they are closer together and John's arm is over Sherlock's stomach and Sherlock's leg is over John's hip. Of course these brilliant and totally not in love guys just ignore it.

After breakfast they decide to explore the hotel and it's amenities. At the spa they book a couples massage for the next day and continue to the gardens and tennis court and indoor pool. Besides the spa the rest of the stuff is included in their stay. They talk to staff and other guests and before bed discuss their findings.

Afternoon of the next day they arrive to the spa to wait for their turn. Much to everyone's surprise, Mycroft and Greg emerge from the massage room. There are a few beats of shocked silence before Mycroft tells Sherlock he's happy that him and John have finally worked things out and poor mummy and daddy won't be getting any grandkids. John bursts out why not? We can always adopt or go with a surrogate, I think Sherlock would make a great father.

Sherlock turns to stare at John lovingly and Mycroft and Greg kinda cough uncomfortably before Greg says they aren't yet at the stage in their relationship to discuss kids. After some awkward congratulations going both ways about the relationships John and Sherlock go in for their appointment.

Of course they are both convinced that the other is such a good actor so as to have been able to dupe Mycroft into thinking they could actually be together. Both ignore all the obvious signs that they other likes them. In only two more days Sherlock discovers the front desk clerk who has been passing the personal information to reporters about the high level secret couples and the spa worker who has been stealing the credit card or bank numbers from clients.

After they get home, while John is typing up the case, Sherlock quietly asks if he really does think he'd make a good father. John points out all the reasons he thinks he would be and Sherlock goes quiet. John asks if that's something he wants and Sherlock explains that he never thought he'd find someone who he wanted kids with before he met John.

John whips his head around to look at Sherlock who looks shocked he said that out loud. John asks if he really meant that he wanted kids with John. Sherlock apologizes and says he knows John's straight and not interested in him. John cuts him off saying he's bi and has been interested since the moment they met.

Christmas is interesting that year at Sherlock's parents who are absolutely delighted that not one but both of their boys had a significant other to bring.

[dalekofchaos]

How do you fuck up a show about Boba Fett?

I will forever be baffled by how Filoni and Favreau botched Boba Fett's show nor will I ever forgive them for how they did Boba Fett dirty just to be used as a fucking stepping stone for Din and Grogu. Even worse is how Disney refuses to give Temuera Morrison the audience or time to grant him a season 2.

A Boba Fett show on paper should've been the easiest thing in the world. I already made a list of ways how season 1 could've been better. But here's a smaller list.

Boba Fett actually being a crime lord and acts like the ruthless bounty hunter only doing it on his terms

Give us flashbacks to Jango during the Mandalorian Civil War(bonus points. Jango killed Tor Viszla, but Deathwatch refused to give up the Darksaber. By rights Jango is the rightful ruler of the Darksaber and for that very reason is why the weapon is cursed with hints that because Boba is Jango's son, Boba Fett is destined to wield the Darksaber)

GIve us flashbacks of Daniel Logan during Boba's rise as a ruthless bounty hunter and you know, give us the cut Bounty Hunter arc via flashbacks

Keep the helmet on. He shouldn't even take it off for Fennec. If I wanted to see Temuera's face, I would advocate for a Captain Rex show. The mask IS BOBA'S FACE

Instead of being this dumbed down idiot who's more of a sheriff instead of a Godfather like criminal. Boba is 10 steps ahead of everyone. He knows how this game is played and will use the knowledge he's gained from his father and working with Jabba. Instead of being hunted down by the Syndicate, it's him hunting them down.

A good Boba Fett story is easy, it just needs proper execution.

He just needs to be a darker version of The Mandalorian. Instead of being on the run, he is hunting. Instead of showing mercy, he has little.

Where Din and Grogu are the heroes, Boba and Fennec are the clear seedier and morally grey figures.

Hell just make John Wick in space. Spice Syndicate gets ballsy and fucks up his little kingdom, so Boba Fett dons the helmet and doesn't take it off until he's dismantled the entire syndicate one boss per episode tracking them across their galactic network. And when the syndicate bosses thinks Boba's left them alive, Fennec is there to finish the job. Fennec's role is to assassinate targets that could cripple rival syndicates and enrich their own empire. You can have guest stars and cameos, which would be interesting to see pre-established characters react to his ruthless effective extermination. Hell, maybe some object so strongly they fight Boba Fett so the boss battle of an episode is against a good guy.

Or hell. If the rumors of Mace returning are true, maybe you could center the season around that. Mace Windu is Boba's Moby Dick and he's chasing him throughout the Outer Rim. But when he finds Mace, he's just a tired old man who cut himself off from the force after his failure. When the audience thinks Boba might forgive him and give up his vengeance, BAM! Boba shoots him dead. Boba has no mercy.

I mean this shit isn't hard to outline, which is why what we got was confusing.

Boba Fett in Mando was physically portrayed as even more of a threat than Din and took out SHIPS of stormtroopers single-handedly and morally he was honorable but still grey.

Now all of a sudden he's completely different. He constantly needs a bacta nap. He barely fires his weapons. He is easily duped by everyone. He wants to "rule with respect". He gets duped by everyone. And the out of place Mods.

You know what would've been an easy fix to all of this? No Din Djarin, no Grogu and it's all about Boba and Jango Fett.

Imagine instead of Din and Grogu. The Mandalorian was about Jango and Boba Fett. Jango is the Mandalorian and we see his back story and him training Boba.

It could’ve honestly been a generational story

S1: Jango story that fleshes out his time before the prequels to his death

S2: young Boba post prequels to his escape of the Pitt

S3 Boba’s journey post Pitt to after sequel timeline

[geejeewon]

Pumpkins I think the Core Four would get!

Jay : he would fight over this one with chad, how did he win it over? dk 🤷‍♀️he has his isle ways

-

Mal : self explanatory. she would relive her ancient instaroyal account by spam posting these pumpkins. Maybe even create dupes around campus

-

Evie : would set up a little pumpkin carving date w all her friends🤍🤍(who says a pumpkin doesn’t need a fashionable outfit?!?)

-

Carlos : would grab this pumpkin because it looked “lonely” and they were “destined to be” ❕Ofc, Jay would later complain abt the whole destined part, but that’s another story 🙇‍♀️

sorry for not posting as much!! ive been busy w school and spent most of my time making clothes💔💔

[hydrxnessa]

second batch of the senVerse doors entities' designs :] !!

and some more 'headcanons' bout them:

keen eye! yes, dupe does share some similarities with the rooms' A-120! perhaps the two are related in some way?

dupe is probably the opposite of hide: one has a quick reaction time to bite, while the other needs some processing time to react

dupe is quite hyperactive. hide .. is very sleepy. it simply wants to nap in its own little area (hence why it takes the closets)

hide isn't too fond of figure - they view figure to be fairly loud (or thinks the sounds it makes are irritable), so it strays far from the library

hide's closets are like its own personal pocket dimension, that only it can enter. its how it somehow appears to be in every closet in the entire hotel at the same time.

jack respects hide's need to be alone, so whenever hide is seen napping in a closet, it stays in the hallway

if hide is out and about (which is quite rare), jack likes to vibe in the closets to scare the living daylights out of whoever's unfortunate enough to open one. or it just sleeps in it

jack has a particular interest in fashion

ambush is the hotel's emotional support pet :] !! being the fastest entity, a quick whistle will send the big guy over to your destination with its tail wagging (maybe with a few trips and falls here and there)

ambush has difficulty in speaking. it can't eat either. .. try not to mention food around the fella

gets scolded by guiding light for breaking the lights every time it rushes through. it forgets immediately straight after

rush is hella chaotic. worse than ambush constantly breaking the lights and the doors. it's like those cats that slowly push a glass cup off the edge with no remorse, or just screech loudly for no apparent reason.

ambush is the only entity that can probably 'calm' rush down - by slamming down its front doublejointed limbs onto rush's head (in a playful way ofc)

the two like to roughhouse should they meet in their (separate) frenzies. when that happens .. eughh say goodbye to your fragile valuables

rush's outer coat is actually smoke - your hand will probably pass through it if you somehow manage to miss its skeletal structure. it can control the 'firmness' of the smoke, however, so it can receive headpats when it wants :]

!! please do not repost or use without permission !!

[nihilwrites]

Title: Midnight Machinations

Fandom: The Inheritance Cycle (Eragon)

Pairing: Eragon Shadeslayer / Grimstborith Iorunn

Rating: EXPLICIT

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54780202

Summary: Before the final clan meet to select the new Queen or King of the dwarves, Grimstborith Iorunn requests a clandestine meeting with Eragon Shadeslayer. Their passions take over as an alliance is formed…

Eragon was roused from his waking dreams by the arrival of a message.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Argetlam,” said his guard, handing Eragon the missive, “but I was told it was urgent.”

“Is it from Orik?” Asked Eragon, fearing the worst. The final vote to select the king of the dwarves was to take place the following day, and any number of things could have gone wrong in the few hours since he had last spoken to Orik.

“No, it is from Grimstborith Iorunn,” said the guard, “she is requesting that you join her in her chambers immediately for an important discussion. She did not say what about.”

Eragon scanned the scroll quickly and confirmed that it contained no further clues. Iorunn was one of the 13 clan chiefs who had put her name forward to become the leader of the dwarves. So far, it seemed she had garnered little support, but the rock can shift quickly, as Orik was wont to say.

“What says Grimstborith Orik?” Asked Eragon.

“He is… unreachable at the moment,” said the guard evasively.

Ah, so Iorunn is not the only one engaged in some last-minute machinations, thought Eragon. He was hesitant to engage in any political maneuvering without consulting Orik, but there was no time, and to refuse Iorunn’s invitation might cause irreparable damage to their cause.

“Very well,” said Eragon, “can you take me to her?”

Eragon’s four guards led him through the vast tunnels of Tronjheim to a section he had never before explored. The halls were quiet at this late hour, and when they reached their destination, two dwarves in the wolfshead helmets of Durgrimst Vrenshrrgn let them pass without question.

Eragon entered Iorunn’s study with some trepidation. The room was spacious and lavishly decorated with the colors and symbols of her clan. A large table littered with papers and books dominated one half of the room, while the other half was dedicated to a plush collection of couches surrounding a massive wolfskin rug so large that it could only have come from a shrrg, the giant wolves of the Beor mountains from which Iorunn’s clan took their name.

It took Eragon a moment to recognize that the sole figure in the room was indeed the clan chief Iorunn. Until now, he had only seen her at clanmeets where she was dressed in fine silks and embroidered dresses with bright jewels adorning her ears and neck, or else in the armor and wolfshead helmet of the War Wolves. Now she stood before him, without her jewels and finery, in a simple robe, her long hair undone, as if she too had only just been disturbed from her rest.

Eragon found his eyes wandering downward as he assessed this change in attire. This lack of ornamentation did not decrease her famed beauty in the slightest. If anything, it enhanced it, without any gold or emeralds to distract from her bright eyes and hair, or any necklace to obscure the delicate line of her collarbone now visible above the robe, which was only loosely covering the curve of her breasts.

Eragon blushed and abruptly stopped his staring as Iorunn smirked, noticing the direction of his gaze.

Eragon bowed slightly, as much to avert his gaze as to show respect, and said, “You called for me, Grimstborith Iorunn.”

“And you came, Shadeslayer,” said Iorunn, in a light tone that gave no sense of urgency.

Wondering if he had been somehow duped or fallen for a political trick, he opened his mouth to protest, and then shut it again just as quickly, fearing he would offend her somehow.

Turning to Eragon’s guards, Iorunn requested that they wait outside with her own personal retinue so she and Eragon could talk privately.

“Do not fear,” said Iorunn, observing their hesitation, “I mean him no harm. And as you can see, I am unarmed.”

Eragon was confident that he would be more than a match for the dwarf, should it come to a fight, even if she were armed. Renowned warrior she may be, but few could hope to beat a Dragon Rider in open combat. Eragon nodded his head in assent.

As the guards exited, Iorunn added, “and make yourselves comfortable out there. We may be busy for a long while.”

More than the absence of guards, this made Eragon nervous. An extended period of time alone with any clan leader was a daunting prospect, and he had never felt at ease with the way Iorunn looked at him during clanmeets.

The heavy stone doors closed, and Iorunn slid a heavy bolt across the seam, locking the guards out. It would be easy enough for Eragon to unlock the door by magic or by hand, but there would be no way for the guards to enter if Eragon called for them. In fact, looking at the thickness of the doors, Eragon felt it would be unlikely they could hear any calls for help.

He tried to look unbothered, but this was not a situation he was remotely prepared for, and he still didn’t know what it was that Iorunn wanted from him, though he was sure there was something she wanted.

“Please sit,” said Iorunn, gesturing at one of the couches.

Eragon would have felt more comfortable at the table, but he didn’t want to quibble over such a trivial request, so he sat on the couch as directed. It was low to the ground, as befitted a dwarf couch, but it was deeper and softer than he expected. Surely a dwarf sitting here wouldn’t even be able to place his feet on the ground. It was almost a bed, to a dwarf, though dwarves tended to prefer beds of stone to cushioned things like this.

He sank into the unfamiliar furniture awkwardly, as the scabbard of his new dwarven sword poked into the back of the couch and made it impossible to sit comfortably.

“You won’t be needing that,” said Iorunn, gesturing to the sword.

Somewhat reluctantly, Eragon unbuckled the entire sword belt, sword, dagger and all, and set it beside him, still within reach, but not so close as to make him seem paranoid. He reminded himself that he was never without a weapon, as he could always rely upon his magic to get him out of trouble. He sat at the edge of the couch, trying not to sink back into the cushions that threatened to swallow him.

Iorunn approached him slowly, from the far side of the room, speaking as she went, "I am sure you are curious why I have called you here, Argetlam. Perhaps you are wondering why it is you and not Orik who I wished to meet tonight."

"I confess, I do not know your mind," said Eragon, hoping she would cut to the chase, though doubting it would be that simple.

"Don't you?" said Iorunn, "perhaps you do not, at that. Tomorrow, we shall elect a king…"

"Or a queen," said Eragon.

Iorunn smiled at that, "yes, or a queen. And in this decision, I am but one vote, and you have no say at all."

Eragon did not feel that this was delivered as an insult, but he could still make no sense of it.

"So, in inviting you here, I think it is obvious what I can do for you," continued Iorunn, "but perhaps there is also something you can do for me."

Iorunn was very close to Eragon now. She stood just in front of him, and Eragon had the novel experience of having to tilt his head up to look a dwarf in the eyes. There was such intensity in her stare, that Eragon felt a blush creeping up his neck, despite his efforts to stay composed.

"How can I be of service?", asked Eragon, trying to find somewhere appropriate to rest his eyes, and settling on her left shoulder.

Iorunn took another step forward. She was now standing between Eragon's legs, so close that Eragon could smell her faint perfume. She smelled of juniper and sandalwood and some unknown musk that captured his senses and made him almost dizzy. He felt himself go erect, as had so often happened when the beautiful dwarf teased him at the clanmeets with her looks and winks and subtle references.

Slowly and deliberately, Iorunn placed her hand on Eragon's cheek. Then, gently cupping his chin, she tilted his face up to meet her unrelenting stare.

Eragon began to panic. He had never been this close to a woman before, nor had he any reason to expect such a development now. He'd dreamed of such a moment with Arya, of course, and he'd made some feeble attempt with Trianna the last time he was in Tronjheim, though it had been interrupted by Saphira.

Saphira! He had just a moment to feel grateful that Saphira was not there to overhear his turbulent thoughts and feelings, before Iorunn leaned in, closing the narrow gap between them. Eragon closed his eyes in anticipation, but Iorunn hesitated, their lips just a hairsbreadth apart.

For just a moment, Eragon felt her warm breath on his lips, and then, throwing aside all thoughts of Saphira, or politics, or right and wrong, Eragon gave himself over to his instincts.

Their lips met in kiss, soft at first, then more insistent as Eragon reached up to pull her in closer. His fingers tangled themselves in her hair, as soft and thick as he had imagined it would be. His mind buzzed with an unfamiliar feeling as Iorunn's hands wandered from his shoulders to his chest, unlacing his shirt and resting themselves on the exposed skin there, which had never known a woman's touch. Were a warrior's hands meant to be this soft and warm?

Abruptly, Iorunn pushed Eragon back. For a moment he feared that he had done something wrong, but his fears were quickly put to rest as she climbed onto the couch, straddling him. Momentarily stunned into inaction, Iorunn had to take Eragon's hands and guide them to her waist. Eragon obeyed her unspoken command and pulled her hips down so she was fully seated on his lap. His erection pressed hard against - what? What was she wearing underneath this flimsy robe?

Almost in answer, Iorunn untied the sash that kept the ensemble together, and let it fall open. Eragon's vision was greeted by that beauty which Iorunn's gowns had always teased and promised. Round, heavy breasts, appearing all the larger for belonging to a dwarf. Milky white, with pert dark nipples that made Eragon's erection throb in anticipation. His eyes wandered downward past the soft curve of her stomach to the tuft of dark hair above that which he had only heard described by the crudest of men in the depths of their tankards back at the inn in Carvahall.

Iorunn gently tilted Eragon's chin up and whispered, "not yet."

Again guiding his hands, Iorunn placed Eragon' palms on the curve of her thighs, then left them to wander over the smoothness of her body as he saw fit. Sitting up to make herself taller than Eragon, she placed both hands on the back of his head and pulled him in to bury himself in the fullness of her breasts.

Eragon was not sure what she wanted, but he knew what he wanted. He cupped her heavy breasts and held his face between them, breathing deep the rich scent that had permeated his secret dreams for so long. Driven wild by her perfume, he longed to taste her. He kissed first one breast, then the other, then slowly drew his tongue between them, tasting the salt of the sweat on her skin. Iorunn gently pulled his head to one side, guiding his mouth towards her nipple.

Eragon obediently licked the sensitive skin around the nipple, and Iorunn pulled him closer. Eragon began to suck, and Iorunn finally let loose the moan of pleasure she'd been holding back. As he continued to suck, Eragon ran his hands up and down her back under the robe, feeling her arch into him. Finally he reached up to her shoulders and pushed back the fabric there. Iorunn shrugged out of the robe and pressed herself harder against Eragon, still fully clothed in contrast to her nakedness.

Iorunn tugged insistently at the bottom of Eragon's shirt, and he broke away long enough to pull it roughly over his head and toss it on top of the forgotten sword and dagger. Eragon suddenly felt self conscious and exposed. He was strong, but he had the lean strength of an elf, not the defined muscles of a man or dwarf, and he worried they would not impress. But Iorun's eyes glittered mischievously as she leaned back to take in the sight, and she looked nothing less than pleased. Her hair fell wild about her shoulders and her pouty lips slid into a smirk as she ran her hands over Eragon's now bare chest.

Unable to meet her fiery gaze, Eragon closed his eyes and just enjoyed the sensation of being touched. Before he knew it, he was being treated to the same attention he had just given Iorunn, only she was obviously much more practiced than him. She kissed his neck and pinched his nipples in a way that should have been painful but instead made Eragon melt. Her tongue found every sensitive spot Eragon didn't know he had, and instead of feeling embarrassed all he could do was moan in pleasure.

When she finally pulled away, Eragon almost begged her not to stop, but then he noticed that she was trying to undo the knotted strings of his pants and all other thoughts disappeared. He obligingly helped to loosen the pants, awkwardly trying to shimmy out of them while she was still on top of him. When that was done, he found himself seated on the couch, underneath the most beautiful dwarf-woman in Tronjheim, erect cock just inches from that mythic place he had not hoped to know until marriage.

Iorunn smiled knowingly, relishing Eragon's desire for her. But she would tease him just a bit longer. Stroking his cock with gentle fingers, making it twitch and harden further until Eragon couldn't stand it anymore.

Heart beating fast, blushing and panting, Eragon tried to pull her hips over his, but she resisted. "Please," Eragon begged, knowing she knew what he wanted, "Please…"

As if that's what she'd been waiting for, Iorunn ceased her teasing and lowered herself onto Eragon's waiting cock.

Fireworks went off in Eragon's brain and his whole body went hot and cold. Iorunn wasted no time, grinding deeply onto him, riding him hard and fast. After just a few moments of this, Eragon couldn't hold himself back. He grabbed Iorunn's hips and thrust upward to meet her, ejaculating deep inside her. Waves of pleasure coursed through him as he collapsed back onto the couch, eyes closed. Iorunn continued to ride his half-hard cock, sending aftershocks of pleasure through his whole body. Finally she lifted herself off of him, not seeming to care about the liquid dripping out of her onto the couch.

"Incredible," said Eragon, too high on this feeling to care if it was politically wise to do so, "You were incredible."

Iorunn cupped his cheek in her hand and gently kissed the Dragon Rider on his forehead. "Yes," she said, "I was. But we have not quite yet finished our negotiations, I believe."

Eragon's eyes opened to meet hers, and this time he did not look away. Already he could feel his erection returning. "I have quite a big favor to ask of you tomorrow, and we don't have much time left," said Eragon.

"You had better make good use of that time then," said Iorunn, lightly petting Eragon's hardening cock, "to convince me."

[rocknrollsalad]

time zones are my least favorite thing when it comes to fandom. it's not midnight in my time zone and I got up out of bed specifically to post this so it'd be "on time" but the post for the next week is up. i tried. this was all done in, like four hours.

Anyway, for astrangersummer's prompt of royalty au, I give you some stargyle.

no trigger warnings | 1435 words | gen | it's cute and silly

*

For weeks now, Steve had trudged out to the woods. No armor, no weapons, and nothing of use because somehow he’d been roped into little more than babysitting the prince. Joyce didn’t often use resources on the heir to the throne and Steve decided to take this as a change of heart and not a put-whatever-man-you-can-spare-on-it job. 

Jonathan was arguably the least fun member of the royal family, perhaps of any family. However, he was the same age as Steve and did his mandatory training in the same class as Steve. He was insufferable the whole time and not the way one would think. Pulling rank was far more expected than mocking the violence of the situation. It took someone special to belittle the training of those who kept him safe. 

He didn’t really like to pull rank anyway. That’s what had Steve leaving the town limits and forging a trail at this point, walking through to the familiar clearing to check on Jonathan. Ensure he wasn’t involved in anything he wasn’t supposed to be or attacked by…witches whatever Her Majesty was worried about. 

All Jonathan had done was dupe a poor healer (the sort who did it for the love of it) into thinking he was a regular guy and befriended him. Regular guy Jonathan who looks nothing like the royal family, nothing at all, and in need of a home. Someplace warm since he’d never known comfort, certainly not luxury. 

The healer, a guy called Argyle, was too nice to point out the obvious and let Jonathan get away with the lie and taking up the spare room. He also noticed Steve wandering the woods daily, trying to look inconspicuous. Steve was about as good at sneaking around as Jonathan was hiding his bloodline. 

Some days they let Steve in and allowed him to play pretend with them. Other days he was left outside to patrol the perimeter. Those days usually came after he shared a particularly embarrassing story about Jonathan. And, unfortunately for Jonathan, Steve had enough knowledge to ensure he never saw the inside of the house again. 

Not that Jonathan couldn’t and wouldn’t return the favor. After far too many days of pushing each other too far and learning the boundaries (and one particularly cold and rainy day), they’d started to figure it out. 

Jonathan wasn’t as bad as Steve remembered him, dare he say they actually had a good time. Sure Steve was here keeping an eye on him and every night he had to walk back to report that all was well but he’d have gone far enough to call Jonathan a friend. 

Which meant they were both out there pulling bark from trees and pretending they were something other than what they were destined to be. That had Steve wondering all sorts of things he didn’t even know how to voice. Laying back home, retelling the day's events to Robin and wondering if maybe he was meant to be something else. Something more than a babysitter good at close combat.

It turned out Jonathan running away from home to play some cliche that every royal seemed to do was good for more than just the prince. Though, Jonathan had set out to have some more “real” experiences and find a friend. Someone, anyone who liked him for him, and he also got more than he bargained for. 

Then again, so did Steve. 

When Jonathan would head out, and enjoy the open meadow and its offered solitude, Argyle and Steve would sit nearby and watch. Always with some idle work as Argyle would tell stories that had Steve struggling to find the truth in. Alternate dimensions that looked just like this one, filled with creatures, it didn’t sound at all believable but it was the way he told them. 

They’d joke and tease and Steve would bring some meat for supper, and Argyle would give him homemade remedies for headaches. In under a month’s time, they’d fallen into such a peaceful coexistence that Jonathan had to shove Steve out the door every night, a not-so-subtle reminder to go home. 

Steve’s reports were the only thing that allowed Jonathan this freedom but Steve suspected that Jonathan rested a little easier knowing his mom wasn’t worrying. He provided her comfort while taking what he needed. 

Yet Steve wanted to spend more time with the guy who towered over him yet could befriend wildlife, whose laugh was more contagious than the things he healed, and who made Steve's stomach do flips at the worst times. 

Suddenly, the begrudging walk out of town became the morning jog. Steve was showing up bright-eyed and ready to face the day. Sometimes with gifts for Jonathan from his family, other times with things for Argyle because they made Steve think of him. He “traded” fabric for a flower crown and wine for tea. 

Weeks had turned to months, seasons had changed, and pressure was starting to come from the monarch to bring Jonathan back. This had gone on for long enough. Steve feared Jonathan was ready to listen and his reason to sit out in the grass all day was going to leave.

It was rare he had every night free the way he did now. A day off was less likely. Time would pass too quickly, Argyle would move on, and Steve might do the same, he could feel this all slipping through his hands. 

While his first instinct was to stir up trouble, it wouldn’t be a challenge to keep Jonathan out here for longer, Robin shot that down. Then went on a tirade about their future king being so easily manipulated. It took days to recover from that one, meaning she was less than helpful in Steve’s quest. 

Each day he made the journey felt like it could be the last, that he’d return with Jonathan in tow, ready to play nice again. While Steve worried about their friendship, he was far more invested in what would happen once they weren’t taking up the healer’s time. 

It was the sunny day after a string of rainy ones and the pit in Steve’s stomach grew. He wasn’t sure how he knew but this was the day. This was the end. He ran through the familiar path, worn out by his feet alone, and decided to make the most of it. 

Something Jonathan must have wanted to do as well, he’d already left for a “morning stroll” by the time Steve got there. Leaving him winded and no less sure of what to say. Belongings were collected, Argyle was putting the finishing touches on parting gifts, and someone had taken all the air from Steve’s lungs. 

As casually as he could, he walked the perimeter of the house and even managed to spot Jonathan off in the distance. Everything was safe, it always was, and he’d managed to level his emotions enough to reenter the house. 

Back inside, Argyle stood against the counter like he was waiting for Steve and all the words he’d so desperately collected left his head. Standing in the middle of the room, on the handmade rug he’d mocked so loudly on his first visit, Steve ran out of ideas. 

Thankfully, he wasn’t the only one there. 

“Jonathan has given me permission to visit as often as I want,” Argyle said, stepping closer. 

Steve let out the breath he was holding, “Oh thank heavens.” 

Argyle flashed the very smile Steve wasn’t willing to leave, “You did a good job here. Kept him very safe. I hope you get a promotion for your troubles.” 

Like a punch to the chest, everything kicked back in and Steve remembered who he was. Not a worried little lackey but someone who was known for bedding many. His smile grew to match Argyle’s before turning mischievous, “I’d settle for a kiss.” 

Nothing more needed said. Argyle took a single step, moving across half the room, and pressed into Steve’s space. His hand took Steve’s neck and pulled them even closer. Steve swore his knees gave out for half a second. There wasn’t a battle out there that matched the thrill of moments like this. 

Argyle smelled of flowers and tasted like the tea they drank the one and only time Steve didn’t make it home for the nightly check-in. With soft lips and a commanding hold, Steve fell into the kiss. The last coherent thought before they all left his brain was if there was some way to keep Jonathan out there a little longer. He didn’t need to come in the house right now. 

[magdalena-mojennarmor]

Les Anciens crurent que leurs routes étaient noueuses, tortueuses et âpres parce que le Destin régnait, par-dessus leur tête pieuse. Et nous, fils de notre monde, ignorant les astres, on se prête parfois à de romantiques répliques: "mon destin a croisé ta route", "j'étais faite pour ce métier", on parle de "vocation". Mais foncièrement on estime ses expressions être les débris d'un passé défait, les restes d'un mensonge, d'une supercherie dont les Anciens étaient les heureux dupes. On croit que ce qui préside à notre vie est notre propre volonté: on fait notre vie, on la forme, on la crée, on consent à quelques idées de l'immuable puisque l'humain est ainsi fait, mais ces idées ne sont qu'un éclairage livide, utilitaire, pour rendre la route supportable. Au final, après que la force déployée se rompt, on observera l'ouvrage, l'œuvre dissonante de notre vie et on posera dessus notre signature de maître.

Ainsi, Antigone est flottante sur le fil qui sépare le vieux monde du nôtre. Elle savait que le destin avait brisé son père, dévasté ses frères. Elle savait le poids des mots humains, lorsqu'ils se laissent emplir d'incantations divines. Elle savait que le sort aime à s'acharner sur les consciences souveraines, qu'il aime à poursuivre la chèvre au pelage blanc, elle savait son goût de la souillure, de l'humiliation. Alors, elle posa un acte qui exigeait une grandeur inhumaine. Par le sacrifice, elle pu accoucher d'elle-même. Devenant un monstre, elle s'accomplissait enfin et s'érigeait.

Le Dieu des chrétiens, le nôtre, a posé cet acte: consentir à la mort, y descendre, y rester, s'y dissoudre, afin qu'avec Lui meurt la mort elle-même. Il est mort pour que vivent ses fils. Antigone s'est tuée, au détriment des vivants. Et sa mort ne ranima pas son frère. Elle a permis en outre que, dans la mêlée des ombres, la sienne reluise, à la manière d'un vers.

[ryin-silverfish]

So, in summary, the Jie sect was more accepting of the Yaoguai, while the Chan sect did not have a single Yaoguai in their group (except for Shen but that's more like a HC) and they also did not like the idea of Yaoguai as students but also these Yaoguai of the Jie sect may have committed bad deeds before the events.

Could we say that the Yaoguai in fsyy cannot have redemption and are seen more as monsters, while in Jttw they, in some cases, can be redeemed and not necessarily be evil?

Apart from the questionable case of "Does White Crane Boy turning into a white crane on the Old Man of the South Pole's order means that's his true form?", the Chan Sect did have one Yaoguai, the Dragon-bearded Tiger(龙须虎), who was duped into go after Jiang Ziya by Shen Gongbao, but surrendered and became his disciple.

An ancient hybrid of a dragon and a leopard, born in the time of the mystical emperor Shao Hao, he looks incredibly bizarre, with the head of a camel, neck of a goose, whiskers like a shrimp's, body of a fish, taloned hands and a single tiger-like foot. His power is boulder magic——yeah, just throwing large rocks at people.

Unfortunately, he died to Wu Wenhua in Chapter 91 and got deified as the Nine Ugly Star(九丑星). But his existence does suggest that the Chan Sect doesn't refuse yaoguai as disciples on principle, they are just a lot more rare and don't occupy senior positions like the Jie Sect ones.

Also, I wouldn't exactly say that yaoguais don't have redemption in FSYY; even though deification through death is considered the inferior route to godhood, most of them did become gods of the Celestial Realm——at least in the most commonly read Chinese version.

Like the 28 Lunar Mansions(kinda similar to WCB, they were never called yaoguais outright, except they did have some sort of 妖氛, "demonic aura") who all died in the Ten Thousand Immortal Formation, the Seven Monsters of Plum Mountain, and even Lady Rock Demoness, who died to Taiyi before the War of the Investiture began, becomes the Wandering Moon Star(月游星).

The catch is that, well, the names on the Investiture do not stay consistent between editions, and the Ming dynasty version of the Investiture didn't have a lot of the yaoguais that were deified in the "common version". It also has a bunch of inconsistencies that suggest this list might be inherited from an older, now lost version, where yaoguais and non-humans were not considered legitimate candidates for deification.

However, a lot of yaoguais are destined to be taken in by the "Western Sect"——predecessor of Buddhism led by Sage Cundi/Zhunti(准提道人) and Sage Jieyin(接引道人).

The former, apart from defeating Kong Xuan the seriously OP peacock general and making him into Mahamayuri, would also use a bamboo as fishing pole to catch the Black Cloud Immortal(乌云仙), revert him to his turtle form, and take him to the West.

Oh, also, he basically just opened his magical Qiankun Sack during the Ten Thousand Immortal Formation arc and...well, grabbed every nameless opponent who's "destined to end up in the Western Sect" like ancient China's most opportunistic Pokemon trainer.

Apart from the three future Bodhisattvas, Sage Randeng(Daoist-ized Dipamkara) of the Chan Sect would also subdue and take in the Winged Immortal(a golden-winged peng eagle), as well as the flame spirit of Vulture Peak's crystal lamp, Ma Shan.

So even in the version where yaoguais were not supposed to be deified, I'd say the novel still designated a way for them to be "redeemed" through the Western Sect.

But because FSYY has a serious character inflation problem due to the need to fill in The List, characterization for pretty much everyone was on the lacking side.

As a result, its yaoguais are far less memorable than the humorous, lively and more "human" yaoguais of JTTW, but honestly, so do most of its human characters whose sole purpose of existence was to die and be deified.

[sjsmith56]

Across the Waters - Chapter 26, Lord Buchanan

Summary: A delegation from the southern lands brings word of the existence of a supercomputer requiring Bruce’s expertise. An incident at their destination involving Magnus threatens everything.

Length: 5.3 K

Characters: Princess Maria, King Steven, King Thorn, Lord Buchanan, Bruce Banner, King David, Prince Arthur.

Warnings: Theft of Magnus, injury to Magnus, parent fury resulting in physical discipline to child.

Author notes: Brooklyn and the lands to the north and east are higher in elevation than in our world. New York City and New Jersey are under water. Most of the east coast of the U.S. was destroyed by the calamity. This chapter begins the third part of the book, introducing new characters that will share much of the story of Lord Buchanan. It’s where the muse led me.

<<Chapter 25

⛵️ 🌅

The delegation from the Kingdom of Blue Waters that met with King Steven the following day set the stage for the biggest transformation to be felt in the kingdom. Originally enemies who had been duped by Prince Loke into attacking his brother and by extension King Steven's kingdom they became the missing piece of what was needed to mount a joint effort to destroy the asteroids that threatened their world.

The leader of the delegation, Princess Maria, was a no-nonsense woman who had obviously trained as a warrior from a young age. As the only child of the king she had also been educated to a degree unseen in most women of her social rank. Her intellect was keen and she had publicly disagreed with her father over his decision to follow Prince Loke into battle against the northerners. For that she had been imprisoned until the remains of his army barely made it home. The public outcry against the old king had been so strong that he had abdicated in all but name and turned over the running of his kingdom to his daughter. It was her, who upon hearing of the desire for coffee by the northerners had encouraged the pedlars to learn what they could about their distant neighbours as part of a simple trade relationship. From their tales of the scientific discoveries and inventions that were flowing from the creative minds in the north she began searching out the modern women and ancient structures alike in her own realm. Like the northern kingdoms she learned they had also received an influx of modern women into their kingdoms, all with technological skills and knowledge that had long been lost to them. When word of the discoveries of ancient structures in the northern kingdoms reached their ears via the coffee pedlars who had undergone the long journeys back and forth between their kingdom she ordered the nobility to begin searching their lands for ancient structures as well. Two missile silos had been found, as well as the remains of libraries, hospitals, and observatories. They had also witnessed the close encounter of the large meteor that exploded in the atmosphere and from their own observations had concluded that the space threat was greater than any other.

Barely three days into her delegation's visit she made the decision to enter into an alliance with King Stephen and King Thorn to pool their scientific resources together. It happened after two specific events. First was the demonstration of the Queen's Guard put on just for her on the first day, with Queen Peg leading them. The Queen shared her experiences of being a soldier and leader of men in her own world before landing in this one, then impressing the warrior princess with her views of women having equality with the men of this world. Next, with King Steven and King Thorn she met with Bruce Banner at Lord Buchanan's castle after travelling there. Despite his size and skin colour she handled the meeting with candour, asking him questions about his intellect. He was impressed with her scientific knowledge, asking if she had learned from modern scientists. She acknowledged it then asked to see the computers; her eyes widening when she saw them, resulting in her peppering him with questions.

"How do you power them? Where did you get the software to reformat them? What calculations are you running on them?"

He answered all of them then asked why all the questions.

"They discovered a super computer in a kingdom we are allied with," she said. "Our combined scientists have tried to get it to work but have been unsuccessful. We believe it belonged to the ancient's space agency and is in a city once called Abilene, the next kingdom over. There are indications it was moved from its original location in a place called Houston before the asteroid impact that sent a massive tidal wave over the southeastern part of the country that existed at that time. The King and Queen would have come on this trip but she is late in her confinement, and he has his own share of civil unrest. They charged me with representing them. Is it possible you could travel there and try to get it working again?"

"That's a long way and I'm too big to ride a horse," said Bruce. "What are the land conditions between there and here?"

"Not good," she admitted. "We use ships, transport our horses on them, arriving at one of their coastal settlements. My father's kingdom is based in what was Atlanta according to the modern worlders at my palace. It had a higher elevation and was further inland than Houston so it became a refuge from the waves. Much of what was the southern part of the country is under water now although it is quite shallow in places."

"Have you found any television or video cam equipment in your searches?" asked Bruce. "Any transmission towers still standing?"

"Yes, quite a bit of equipment," she replied. "The towers I would have to check. What are you proposing?"

"Site to site broadcast," said Bruce. "Your computer experts could show me what they are doing, the commands, the responses, etc. and I could give them real time suggestions."

"Would my scientists know how to set that up?" she asked.

"I'm sure they would," replied Bruce. "But it is contingent on connecting the transmission towers and that might take time we don't have."

"We don't have the resources," she admitted. "That's why we've asked for metals in trade so that we can fabricate solar panels, wind turbines and the like."

"Salvage," said Bruce, thinking out loud, then explaining his thought. "Let me run some simulations. We know that people survived the tidal wave in this area but to the west which is significantly lower elevation the area was decimated. Our highest elevation here is about 2200 feet and slowly goes higher the further north and east we go so the wave wasn't that big when it reached here. If the original impact was closer to the Gulf of Mexico that's where the highest tidal waves would be. It would sweep everything in a path inland then the surge back would drag debris with it. I can make an educated guess where you could find the remains of wires from the original transmission towers."

A slow smile spread across Princess Maria's face. She looked at King Steven, King Thorn, and Lord Buchanan. "We must have an alliance," she said. "There is just no other answer. This man, Dr. Banner, is brilliant and if we're going to save our world from any more impacts I need him to help get that super computer working. Our scientists, based on records they've found in Abilene believe that the space agency knew about this killer asteroid, their words, not mine, and were desperately trying to come up with a plan to send the missiles there. They faced pushback from the military over it and that was what ultimately killed them. They had all these missiles and no way to reprogram them without the military's help. There is no organized military now, except what each lord has but you have three full missile silos and we have found two. The empty silo, that commander tried but he didn't have the right ... what is the word?"

"Trajectory," said Bruce. "Because he didn't hit it in the right spot he was only able to break a small piece off it and it wasn't enough. If they were tracking that one then they were likely tracking more of them if they were using a super computer. She's right; I need to be there onsite. That machine can out perform all the computers I have set up here in a fraction of the time. We need to get it running. How long will it take to get to Abilene by boat and then walking?"

"Two weeks, minimum," she said. "We can build a cart for you. There are teams of oxen that can probably pull your weight so you wouldn't have to walk."

Bruce looked agonizingly at King Steven, King Thorn, and Lord Buchanan. The King made it easy for him.

"Go," he said. "If that computer can do so much more and give us that much information then that is a priority. You have trained Stark, and the others well and they can probably do much while you're gone. We can start looking for those transmission towers, perhaps even build some of our own on higher ground. Princess, you are welcome to take one of the ham radios with you. Bruce can set it up. Their range is much greater than the regular radios. That way we can keep in better contact. An alliance it is for us. Thorn?"

King Thorn stuck his hand out and she took it firmly, shaking it in return. Then she shook King Steven's hand.

"Would you object if I came?" asked Lord Buchanan. "I have travelled by ship before. I've been to the Holy Land. I can search out other trade opportunities, goods, food stuffs, natural medicines."

"That would be acceptable," she said. "Your wife will not object?"

"I wouldn't say that but she is a modern woman and a Queen's Guard," he said. "She understands the need to serve the kingdom and she is well equipped to manage my estate's affairs."

Three days later Bruce Banner and Lord Buchanan, along with his horse Magnus were all on a ship heading south. It would take a week to get to Atlanta, where the Kingdom of Blue Waters was centred. They would take on provisions then go on to the west to what had been Texas in the ancient world. Long-distance messenger falcons had already been sent requesting a cart be built to accommodate Bruce Banner. The falconer had whispered the directions to the creatures, sending three in case any were injured along the way. Princess Maria affixed her seal to the message they carried so her people would know the order came from her.

When they arrived in Atlanta after a week Magnus became unruly and it was necessary for Buchanan to ride him off the ship first then gallop him for some time to release his pent up energy. Princess Maria watched the horse with interest during the journey, impressed with his stature, recognizing his superior bloodline.

"Do you think Lord Buchanan would be interested in his horse being offered to stud while we pick up provisions?" she asked Bruce. "He is a magnificent beast, one of the finest stallions I have ever seen. I have several mares that should be in heat right about now. Their foals would be fine horses that would invigorate our herds."

"He might agree just to get rid of some of Magnus' nervousness," he said. "He is quite particular with the horse. Only he, his wife and best friend have ridden it."

"I will ask," she said, "I have something to offer in exchange he might be interested in."

Later, in her palace, she introduced the two men to her father, the King. He was impressed by Bruce's size and colour but after a time seemed to retreat into himself and eventually the Princess called for his attendants to take him to bed.

"Our modern doctors say he has dementia," she said, sadly. "It was why he was so easily led by Prince Loke's delegation to join him against your kingdom. At least once that fiasco was over he had enough of his senses to make me his regent."

"My father had it also," said Buchanan. "He lived long enough to see his first grandchild, my daughter, then he died shortly after. I was thankful for that much. Dr. Banner tells me you are interested in Magnus as a stud. He has had his share of trysts with other mares on my estate but all have taken place in an open paddock, with no restraints. Are you comfortable with that?"

"My mares have been bred that way before," she replied. "I have a gift to reciprocate if you agree. Taste this."

She poured each of them a half glass of a dark amber liquid. Bruce smelled his and smiled, downing his in one gulp.

"That is very nice bourbon," he said. "How old is it?"

"This particular bottle is from one of many casks found after the calamity," she said with a smug smile. "It was dated 2023. The King's spirit maker has replicated the process to make an acceptable Tennessee style whiskey. For as many mares as your Magnus can mount while we reload the ship I will give you a full cask of the aged product for yourself, one for your king and one for King Thorn, plus an agreement to ship a significant amount of the replicated product to your kingdom on the return trip. Here is the replicated product."

She poured from a different bottle and toasted their health. Banner downed his in a single gulp, indicating it wasn't bad as a replica of the original. Buchanan tasted both, indicating he could see the superiority of the first drink but that the second would be liked by many. The Princess added that the liquor could be used in cooking, giving a distinctive taste to many recipes which she could also provide. If the product proved popular then she could enter into negotiations with the King for a formal agreement. Buchanan agreed and they went out to introduce Magnus to his harem. He didn't disappoint, mounting more than a dozen mares in the afternoon that had been teased first by a young stallion to make sure they were ready. Princess Maria was both pleased and impressed with his efforts, celebrating the great horse’s efforts with a meal of ribs using a bourbon sauce that both Buchanan and Banner found tasty. A courtier arrived to say the ship had been provisioned, the tide was high and about to turn so they loaded Magnus back on. The princess loaded her mare then they themselves boarded before the ship's captain set a westerly course towards the setting sun.

With a strong easterly wind they made the journey in three days, having to pick a specific course to avoid shallower portions of the sea. A delegation from the King of the Western Plains was there to greet them. As promised a large cart pulled by a team of eight oxen waited at the dock to carry Bruce. He felt like he was on display but was treated with deference by the officials and ignored the stares as they rode the dry and dusty road to Abilene. The King, a tall well built man with hands like a mason waited outside the lab where the super computer was housed. He was dressed in workmanlike clothes and admitted he was a hands on type of man, except for the computers as he still didn't quite understand them. He also was quite taken by Magnus, having already learned of the stallion’s prowess with the Atlanta mares. He offered to buy him from Buchanan, an offer that was refused with a smile. When they entered the building Bruce turned to the King in surprise.

"You have air conditioning?" he asked. "How?"

"The same pipes that bring up heat from deep inside the earth in the winter bring up cooler air in the summer," he replied. "With the fans powered by the sun we are able to distribute the air throughout the building. We use ice in the super computer lab as well to further reduce the temperature. When we first failed to make it run it was thought that was the problem but it is something else. Please, come and wash up. We have clean suits for you to wear inside the lab."

They entered a washroom and all of them cleaned up, put head coverings on over their hair then donned white coveralls before entering the lab. It was significantly cooler in there but Bruce was sure it was cold enough. He was introduced to the team and before they could ask he told them where his PhD was from pre-calamity. Accepting his CV they began telling him everything they had tried in programming, trouble shooting and environment. As they began to get more into the workings of the computer Buchanan, the Princess and the King began to feel left out and the King motioned for them to leave the scientists to work on their own. Outside of the lab they removed the coveralls and the King invited them both to ride to a nearby residence to eat and drink. They stepped out into the heat of the sunny day where the monarch ordered the grooms to bring their horses. They looked at each other uneasily before sharing what the problem was.

"Your Majesty, your horse and Princess Maria's horse are still here but the Prince took the black stallion," said the head groom. "He said you were buying it for him and he wished to try it out. He has been gone this half hour."

Before Buchanan could say anything the King exploded in fury. "Blasted child!" he fumed, then turned apologetically to Buchanan. "My Lord, I am sorry. My eldest is a most obstinate and headstrong boy. He coveted your horse from the moment he heard of it. Now he has shamed me once again by taking it without permission. I will send my King's Guard for him. We will find him and your steed. I promise."

He gave the order to the King's Guard and retreated back inside the air conditioned building to wait. As Buchanan paced angrily back and forth the King tried his best to make amends but the proud Lord said nothing, just showing his fury on his face. At last, the commander of the Guards entered the building with news.

"We have found the Prince and the stallion," he said hurriedly, eyeing Buchanan as he reported to the King. "The Prince is fine but the stallion is injured. I am sure the Royal Veterinary College can treat him for his injury."

Buchanan whirled on the King. "In our lands a horse thief is no better than a murderer," he said angrily. "If I found him on my land I would be within my rights to run him through with my rapier. Pray that the injury suffered by Magnus is not a serious one."

The King took the outburst with grace. "It is our law as well, Lord Buchanan," he replied. "This isn't the first time my son has shamed his station. It will be the last. Commander, order your men to take Prince Arthur into custody. He will never be fit to rule if he insists on behaving this way. Provide Lord Buchanan a horse to ride. Come, sir, let us see what damage my fool son has done to your magnificent beast."

A horse was provided and the three rode out with the Guard commander. The Prince, sitting in the shade and drinking a beer rose insolently as his father and the others approached. Buchanan almost struck the boy when he dismounted the borrowed horse but instead he went straight to Magnus who favoured his left front leg. A veterinarian was already there. The King did strike his son and ordered him arrested for horse thievery.

"Why Father?" he asked as he was bound. "If the horse was mine why should I not ride him as I please?"

"Because he was not yours!" roared the King. "There was no purchase. My offer was refused and you in your arrogance stole that which did not belong to you. You are a horse thief and my hands are now tied as you must be punished as one."

"But I am a Prince," said the boy. "Do not I have station or rank above ordinary people? Am I not permitted to take what I want for that is how I have been raised, that all this will be mine someday."

"You foolish child," said the King. "That horse comes from another kingdom, here on a diplomatic mission. It isn't mine to give and it wasn't yours to take. No man's horse is yours to take even as a prince or a king. The kingdom would have been yours but you have shown you cannot be trusted to conduct yourself accordingly. I disown you and strip you of your rank and privilege. You are no son of mine.  I have no son."

The King turned from the boy and strode to where Buchanan and the veterinarian were still assessing the injury. He ignored the pleas of his son as the guards took him away. The veterinarian began wrapping the left front forelimb of the horse and Buchanan stood, his hand stroking Magnus' neck.

"It is a tendon injury," he said to the King, "but she is unsure if it is a strain or a tear and will wrap it to reduce the swelling. We must get a wagon to transport him to your stables so she can ice the leg. This horse has been my closest companion for ten years. I found him in the Holy Land and we bonded like brothers. Only I and two others have ever been allowed to ride him by his consent. I see the marks of a whip on his withers and excessive pull on the bit. I'm sorry but your son ...."

"I am sick with shame," said the King. "He is my only son and I admit I let him get away with much. But this, this is too much even for me to overlook any more. Please, let me gift you one of my finest horses to ride while you are still with us and take home with you when you return. It is the least I can do."

"Do you plan to execute him?" asked Buchanan, his anger cooling. "Is there no other punishment for a headstrong foolish boy?"

"Banishment perhaps," said the King. "But he has no idea of how to look after himself, no idea how to conduct himself as an honourable man. I have failed him."

"Perhaps he can return to the Broken Lands as a foster," suggested Princess Maria. "No one would know who he is and he could learn to be a good man. I think he would have a good teacher."

She looked directly at Lord Buchanan as she spoke, who coloured and shook his head. "I am still too angry with the boy to even consider fostering him," he replied.

"Yet I heard several stories of your sense of justice and moral code," she said. "For a man born as a peasant you seem to have the respect of many noble born Lords in your kingdom. Perhaps what the boy needs is to be taught how to be a prince by someone who knows what it is to be low born."

The King said nothing, his shame still too great to even ask if Buchanan would entertain the idea. An oxen drawn cart arrived to carry Magnus back to the king's stables and the three mounted their horses after Buchanan helped Magnus step onto the cart. He rode closely on the borrowed horse, beside the cart for the entire trip while the veterinarian stood with his horse, keeping him calm. When they arrived at the stables Buchanan went with her to make sure that Magnus was properly set up. The veterinarian, a modern woman, looked hopefully at Buchanan.

"Magnus took the trip well," she said. "I hope it is just a strain. He is a beautiful horse and I will do my best to heal him."

He nodded his head gratefully then took the saddle which had already been removed from the horse's back and placed it on the saddle rack beside his stall. Taking his saddle bags in his arms he was led by the King into the palace. Word had already reached the Queen about her son's crime and it was said she had taken to her bed, being in the last month of her pregnancy with what was now hoped to be another son, after four daughters. Wordlessly the King showed Buchanan to his rooms and bowed before he left to console his wife. A dresser came out of the bathing room, informing Buchanan that a warm bath had been drawn for him.  The man offered to take the saddle bags to remove his clothes and press them before wearing. Buchanan informed him there was a trunk as well and the servant assured him it had already been unpacked. When he had undressed and slipped into the warm soothing waters he looked at the dresser, Jose, who stood at the ready.

"That is a different name, and you speak with an accent," said Buchanan. "This is not the kingdom of your birth?"

"No, M'Lord," he replied. I come from further south, a mountainous country, under no king's rule. I was fortunate to come here, even more fortunate to get a position in the palace. Someday when I have enough saved I will open a coffee plantation."

"It is this kingdom that grows coffee?" asked Buchanan.

"No, it is in the lawless country where it grows although I have found places in this kingdom that with careful preparation of the soil and the addition of good shade plants it may be possible to grow the coffee plants," he answered. "Since the influx of modern women the demand for good coffee has grown so it is worth it to invest in such a venture."

"What can you tell me about the Prince, truthfully?" asked Buchanan. "You may speak frankly in my presence. I give you my word it will remain between us."

"He is a troubled boy," said Jose in a low voice. "As the only son and heir to the kingdom he has been subjected to great pressures since he was a child. They even started looking for a wife for him before he was ten years of age. His mother coddles him, his father is overly strict and the result is a boy that doesn't understand the limitations of a prince or a person. Is it true he stole your horse and injured it?"

"It is true," replied Buchanan. "Yet it has been suggested I may be able to help the boy by fostering him in my estate far to the north and teach him to be a good man and a good ruler. I admit my first instinct was to run him through with my rapier but I am a guest in these lands and that would be unacceptable. The thought of having him live with me is ... unnerving."

"It would unnerve me also, M'Lord," said Jose. "I will leave you to your thoughts and have these travelling clothes cleaned."

"Thank you, Jose," said Buchanan. "I appreciate your candour."

Buchanan bathed, then was assisted into clothes for dinner after. They spoke no more of the young prince but it weighed on his mind heavily. He found out where Bruce was being housed and knocked on his door but was told he still worked in the computer lab. Of all the people whose counsel he wanted Bruce's voice was sorely missed. In the hallway on the way to the dining hall he met with Princess Maria and offered her his arm as a gentleman.

"I apologize for putting you on the spot," she said. "It was not meant to force you into taking an unruly boy into your care but part of me believes there is still something in him that can be redeemed. King Steven told me that he was fostered with you and your father and that he was not the best of children either."

"No, he wasn't," replied Buchanan, "but his nature was one of a prankster, not a criminal. Princess, I have an unrelated question for you. You export coffee to us but I have learned that the coffee comes from a lawless country. How do you acquire it?"

"It is true that much coffee comes from the mountainous region immediately to the south," she admitted. "There are also lands further south, a month's journey by ship whose rulers are more in line with ourselves. We deal with them more than the lawless ones. But for the right price anyone can make an arrangement with those bandits who control that region. I just chose not to as they are not to be trusted. King David is attempting to set up his own plantations but the plants require just the right conditions and it is difficult to replicate it in this land."

They arrived at the dining hall where Buchanan was introduced to the Queen and her four daughters. She was large with child and Buchanan noticed her eyes were puffy from the news of her son, the Prince. Nothing was said of the boy through the meal. After it was concluded the King asked Buchanan to come to the stables for an update on Magnus' condition. Unfortunately there was no change and Buchanan returned to his rooms disheartened by the news. He opened the door to his rooms, surprised to see the Queen and one of her ladies in waiting seated beside his window.

"Your Majesty," he bowed respectfully, "this is most unseemly and I must ask you to leave my rooms."

"Lord Buchanan, my lady in waiting will stay with us to assure you that all is proper," she replied. "I would speak to you about my son, the Prince. First, I am sorry he stole your stallion and injured him. You must understand that I had trouble conceiving and carrying a child to term, losing three children before he was born. It made me an anxious mother and I excused a lot of poor behaviour from him as he grew. His father tried to correct him but we worked at cross purposes and the result is what you witnessed today."

"Your Majesty," he began but she held her hand up as tears formed in her eyes.

"I understand Princess Maria suggested he go back with you to be fostered and taught how to be a good man," she said, her voice beginning to break. "I beg of you to consider this. He is my only son as I carry another daughter according to our soothsayer who has never been wrong. Our laws do not allow a woman to succeed the throne and if he is disowned or executed the kingdom will be passed on to my husband's cousin who has already threatened to do away with any trade agreements we have with other kingdoms. He is also anti-technology and has indicated he will destroy the super computer. Please sir, Lord Buchanan, I beseech you to help my son."

He took a deep breath, feeling sympathetic for a mother's plight. "Madam, I can only promise to consider it," he said, unwilling to commit. "You have given me much to think upon. I seek another's counsel before I make my decision and will not make it lightly. That is the only assurance I can give you at this time."

She nodded sadly and her lady in waiting extended her arm to her Queen to assist her to stand. With great dignity the pregnant woman walked past him without words and left his rooms. When she left he summoned Jose.

"The Giant, is he still at the super computer?" he asked, to which Jose nodded. "I wish to be awakened the moment he returns. Can you make sure that happens?"

The servant assured him he would stay up himself. Buchanan dismissed him and began undressing himself. Then he made a decision and put his jacket back on, deciding to see one other person before he saw Bruce.

Chapter 27>>

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[kilfeur]

Le thème de la liberté dans tdp (The theme of freedom in TDP)

J'y avais déjà pensé depuis un bail mais en soit j'aime comment le thème de la liberté diffère à travers Harrow, Viren, Finnegrin, Aaravos et Callum.

Pour Harrow en soit bien que roi, il n'était pas libre de son devoir et devait l'accomplir. Et malgré ses erreurs, il était prêt à se racheter pour les conséquences de ses actes par sa mort. Même si au final, ça a laissé un vide dans le cœur de ses enfants. Et pourtant Harrow a pu l'aider dans son rêve l'empêchant d'être tenté par son côté sombre. Lui permettant dans une dernière lettre de lui dire qu'il a toujours aimé Callum comme son propre fils.

Pour Viren, quand il devient roi, il souhaite l'humanité de fleurir, de prospérer. Il a la liberté de le faire mais ça se fait par d'horribles actes, faire tomber Lux Aurea (Ok, la reine était une conasse mais le peuple méritait pas de voir perdre leurs maisons.) Et a essayé de voler l'énergie de Zym avec l'aide d'Aaravos. Et en saison 4, il se rend compte qu'il a essayé d'être quelqu'un qu'il n'est pas. Voulant passer ses derniers jours avec sa fille avant de se faire ressaisir par cette dernière. Puis le rêve de Viren, le fait qu'au final, il ne voulait qu'une chose le pouvoir. Et en soit le faire de vouloir le pouvoir et vouloir que l'humanité prospère ne sont pas incompatibles en soi. Ça fait sens à Viren qui a dû gravir les échelons pour être un Haut Mage. On arrive du coup à la scène où il se fait face à lui même.

Croyant qu'un seul chemin ne peut être possible mais le jeune Viren refuse cette possibilité, il est libre tout comme son autre lui. D'une certaine manière, le jeune Viren voulait sauver le Viren qu'on connaît. C'est là qu'on arrive enfin la révélation, le moment où enfin Viren est sincère est avec lui même, reprenant enfin sa liberté et se détachant d'Aaravos en refusant de tuer Monsieur Bavetout.

Finnegrin en revanche, refuse que sa liberté soit entravé par Domina Profundis. Et que c'est justement à cause d'elle, qu'il a perdu son précédent bateau dont il était attaché avec le crabe qui était à l'intérieur. En ayant Callum captif, ce dernier contrôle sa liberté, incarnant la tentation pour Callum, lui donnant l'illusion du choix. Callum voit sa liberté comme du contrôle et il n'est pas dupe. Sans compter que Finnegrin ne fait que renforcer l'idée à Callum "Non tu n'es pas un mage primale mais à un mage noire" à force d'insister pour le sort.

Callum en revanche a utilisé sa liberté pour pouvoir dépasser ce que l'humanité pensait justement incapable, faire de la magie primale ! Et grâce à cette liberté et son voyage à Xadia, il a pu découvrir, évoluer et en apprendre plus sur lui même. En revanche Aaravos lui prive de cette liberté en faisant de lui son pantin. Lui qui justement avait affirmé que le destin est un livre qu'on écrit. Il se retrouve face à quelqu'un qui lui dicte son destin et peut être facilement manipulable grâce à la magie noire qu'il a utilisé. Alors qu'il n'a utilisé que deux sorts ! Je pense sincèrement Callum a la possibilité d'être un puissant mage mais le fait que cette possibilité, que cette capacité existe et qu'il pourrait avoir la liberté de le faire pourrait justement le terrifier. Il pourrait penser qu'il risque de devenir comme Aaravos. Alors que c'est pas vraiment le pouvoir qu'il cherche contrairement à Viren.

Aaravos voit la liberté comme un moyen, on sait pas combien de temps exactement il est resté dans cette prison. Mais ça l'a affecté émotionnellement et ça se voit selon ses dialogues. La manière dont il dit que Viren va mourir, il le dit d'une telle nonchalance comme si c'était une normalité. Donc ouais clairement, il n'est pas bien dans sa tête. Mais on lui a privé de sa liberté alors il va la reprendre par tout les moyens qu'il faut. Après tout des moyens comme : manipuler Viren et Claudia, posséder Callum, sont des options qu'il est libre de choisir.

I'd been thinking about it for a while, but I like how the theme of freedom differs between Harrow, Viren, Finnegrin, Aaravos and Callum.

For Harrow himself, even though he was king, he was not free from his duty and had to fulfill it. And despite his mistakes, he was ready to make amends for the consequences of his actions through his death. Even if, in the end, it left a void in the hearts of his children. And yet Harrow was able to help him in his dream, preventing him from being tempted by his dark side. Allowing him, in a final letter, to tell her that he had always loved Callum as his own son.

For Viren, when he becomes king, he wishes humanity to flourish, to prosper. He has the freedom to do this, but it's done through horrible deeds, bringing down Lux Aurea (Ok, the queen was a bitch but the people didn't deserve to see their homes lost.) And tried to steal Zym's energy with the help of Aaravos. And in season 4, he realizes he's been trying to be someone he's not. Wanting to spend his last days with his daughter, only to be pulled back together by her. Then Viren's dream, the fact that in the end, all he wanted was power. And wanting power and wanting humanity to prosper are not incompatible in themselves. It makes sense that Viren had to climb the ladder to become a High Mage. This brings us to the scene where he comes face to face with himself.

Believing that only one path is possible, young Viren refuses this possibility, he is free just like his other self. In a way, young Viren wanted to save the Viren we know. Then comes the revelation, the moment when Viren is finally true to himself, finally regaining his freedom and freeing himself from Aaravos by refusing to kill Sir Sparklepuff.

Finnegrin, on the other hand, refuses to let his freedom be hindered by Domina Profundis. And it's precisely because of her that he lost his previous boat, to which he was tied with the crab inside. By having Callum captive, he controls his freedom, incarnating temptation for Callum, giving him the illusion of choice. Callum sees his vision of freedom as control, and he's not fooled. Not to mention that Finnegrin only reinforces Callum's idea that "No, you're not a primal mage, you're a black mage" by insisting on the spell.

Callum, on the other hand, has used his freedom to go beyond what mankind thought it was incapable of: doing primal magic! And thanks to this freedom and his journey to Xadia, he has been able to discover, evolve and learn more about himself. Aaravos, on the other hand, deprives him of this freedom by making him his puppet. The very man who had said that destiny was a book that we write. He finds himself faced with someone who dictates his destiny and can be easily manipulated thanks to the dark magic he has used. Even though he's only used two spells! I sincerely believe that Callum has the potential to be a powerful mage, but the fact that this possibility, that this ability exists and that he could have the freedom to do it, could terrify him. He might think that he could become like Aaravos. But that's not really the power he's looking for, unlike Viren.

Aaravos sees freedom as a means to an end; we don't know exactly how long he was in that prison. But it's affected him emotionally, and it shows in his dialogue. The way he says that Viren's going to die, he says it so nonchalantly, as if it were normal. So yeah, clearly, he's not right in the head. But he's been deprived of his freedom, so he's going to take it back by any means necessary. After all, means like manipulating Viren and Claudia, possessing Callum, are options he's free to choose.

[the-blue-fairie]

Tom Thumb (1958) - Fairy Tale Movie Challenge

(TW: discussions of racism/yellowface ahead.)

Since thealmightyemprex is doing a Fairy Tale Month, I'm at last doing my writeups for the Fairy Tale Movie Challenge. I shall start with Tom Thumb, which thealmightyemprex suggested, directed by George Pal.

Now, I associate George Pal with special effects extravaganzas of fantasy and sci-fi from the 50s and 60s, sometimes with a kitschy charm to them. He made Destination Moon, he made When Worlds Collide, he made the 50s War of the Worlds, he made the 60s Time Machine, he made the 7 Faces of Dr. Lao! This film fits right in among these (sometimes not for the best of reasons, but we'll get there.) They're all a similar kind of "wonder movie." They remind me of Harryhausen films, but sometimes with a more American Christian preachy vibe. But I consider his Time Machine and War of the Worlds classics and excellent films in themselves, not just as 50s special effects time capsules.

Tom Thumb (1958) tells the story of a woodcutter and his wife who are blessed by a wood spirit with three wishes. After squandering them in a comedic sequence, she takes pity on them and grants them their wish for a child, the diminutive Tom Thumb, played by Russ Tamblyn of Twin Peaks and The Haunting. It's based on the Grimms' "Thumbling" tale (and there ARE elements of it) but you get the sense it's... essentially Disney's Pinocchio, for better or worse, George Pal style. Tom is duped by a pair of shady schemers a la Honest John and Gideon, has to save his parents to make amends, etc.

Ironically, the opening of the film before the introduction of Tom is one of the strongest things about it. Bernard Miles (oh MY GOSH he was in 1956 Moby Dick! I know the Manxman in a small role in the film, but he gets that monologue about Moby Dick so it's cool! AND he was Joe Gargery for David Lean!) and Jessie Matthews have such a great comedic chemistry and they make roles that, in other hands, could be overly treacly, work and work well. The sausage-nose routine is classic "squandering three wishes" material and it's really fun.

After Tom is introduced, things get a little shakier. It's not that Russ Tamblyn is bad. He's extraordinarily acrobatic and that makes the long dance among the toys a great watch, even if the pacing drags. But since it feels like the film is going for a Disney Pinocchio innocent child vibe to his characterization, he feels too old for the part. I still like him, though! It's just that line delivery can feel clunky in a way that reflects the worst of George Pal-isms.

AND ON THE SUBJECT OF THE WORST OF GEORGE PAL-ISMS, I made a gloomy quip about the use of yellowface in Dr. Lao just seconds before THIS GUY shows up.

Now, 7 Faces of Dr. Lao was interesting because, although Lao was played by Tony Randall in yellowface and that's awful, at least the character of Dr. Lao wasn't written to be the standard 60s-70s Chinese caricature. Lao was actually able to push back/shoot barbs back at racist white folks in the film. That makes him interesting. Yes, he's still one of those "mystical Chinese characters," but as Arthur Dong pointed out on the Criterion Channel, Lao has more depth and sympathy than most portrayals of the period.

Also, each townsperson's encounter with a different "face" of Dr. Lao is gorgeously written and endlessly interesting.

BUT THIS GUY? He's a toy that serves a bit as Tom's "super-dooper-magical-Chinese-man" to paraphrase Spike Lee. He doesn't have the depth of a character like Lao because he's either Tom's imagination or, if not that, doesn't have a character outside of entertaining/supporting our white lead. Also, his name is the worst thing I've seen since I saw the way that a certain character was credited in the 1925 Larry Semon Wizard of Oz.

Also, they never show the toy in the foreground here up close while looking at it head-on (the one who in this shot has its back facing the camera) but...

...is that a g*lliwog toy? Because if so, yikes.

The romance between Alan Young's mortal character, Woody, and The Forest Queen is a mixed bag. I found Woody initially bland and irritating, but he grew on me. Whereas I found Queenie so interesting, and possessed of such radiant charisma thanks to June Thorburn's performance, that I felt she could do much better than him. I warmed up to their relationship as the film went on, though. They're sweet.

The show-stealers, however, are Terry-Thomas and Peter Sellers as the villains (also, if we wanted to talk about Hollywood yellowface and stereotyping, we could teach a whole class on certain Sellers roles and... whatever Blake Edwards' whole deal was, ooof), especially Terry-Thomas. That man is hilarious. They're doing what they do best, stealing gold and stealing the movie!

Also, the coin-counting routine gave me big "Gandalf tricks the trolls in The Hobbit" vibes and I love that.

Overall, Tom Thumb (1958) gave me what I expected, good and bad - a very late-50s, very George Pal diversion that is not among Pal's best, but which has some fun moments and a lot of charm... as well as some Yikes moments that I was at least bracing myself for, knowing the period and other Pal projects.

@thealmightyemprex @ariel-seagull-wings @princesssarisa @themousefromfantasyland @theancientvaleofsoulmaking

[mmepastel]

Très beau premier roman, et très prometteur.

L’intrigue vous est présentée ci-dessus, elle paraît maigre, mais ce qui compte, c’est l’écriture, et le sous texte qui affleure grâce au talent de l’écrivaine.

Grâce à des petits chapitres courts, la narration procède par touches impressionnistes. On lit, pêle-mêle, le quotidien d’un village de 15 âmes sur une île au large du pays de Galles, à l’aube d’un conflit mondial qui apparaît comme une menace assourdie par l’isolement des habitants, les pensées de Manod, dix-huit ans, qui sait qu’elle a peu d’horizons, hormis celui de l’océan, poétique tout autant que terre à terre.

Une baleine morte s’échoue sur le rivage. Cela relance quelques superstitions, et ravive des récits folkloriques. Cela attire aussi ce fameux duo d’ethnologues qui arrive du continent, et qui se présentent comme passionnés de folklore et d’authenticité. Ils observent (avec l’aide de Manod qui leur sert de traductrice puisqu’elle parle bien l’anglais contrairement au reste des habitants) l’île, ses croyances, son folklore. Mais Manod n’est pas dupe. De même que le cadavre pourrissant de la baleine, bientôt vu comme ressource des amis des ethnologues (graisse et chair prélevées et envoyés sur le continent - ils laissent le squelette), l’île est symboliquement pillée et trahie par les soi-disants amoureux du lien préservé entre les hommes et la nature. Ils fantasment l’île et son authenticité, y voyant une idéologie séduisante qui ne se vérifie pas vraiment dans les faits comme le fait pertinemment remarquer Manod à Joan, qu’elle a d’abord admirée puisqu’elle incarnait une femme érudite, indépendante, au destin mille fois plus enviable que le sien. Leurs rapports écrits ou mème photographiques, censés être documentaires, sont souvent faussés, embellis pour épater le bourgeois.

Cette baleine devient le symbole d’un monde finissant, celui de la nature sauvage peut-être, celui des îles pauvres qui se dépeuplent, celui d’une paix bientôt brisée, celui de l’espoir de Manod qui rêve de quitter l’île pour accéder à une vie plus intéressante que celle qui a usé irrémédiablement sa mère…

Très belle héroïne, intelligente, lucide, courageuse, juste. Sa modestie et sa rébellion intériorisée rendent son destin encore plus poignant. On devine qu’elle redoute de partir sans sa petite sœur, qui dépend d’autant plus d’elle que sa mère n’est plus… cet emprisonnement social est vraiment remuant, pudiquement évoqué, sans effet de manche. Servi par une écriture inventive, aux métaphores inédites, qui font mouche.

Un très beau livre qui, par sa modestie, provoque une adhésion d’autant plus forte, quasi magnétique.