#Rural Link Roads

[kiwichaeng]

Pakistan is drowning, and we need help

Since July of this year, Pakistan has been affected by heavy nonstop monsoons and is yet to stop. It is only getting worse. Rural areas in Balochistan, Sindh, KPK, Punjab and Gilgit Baltistan are the most affected.

As of September 4th, over 1300 people have died and over 500,000 homes have been destroyed along with livestock deaths and ruined infrastructure. The floods have left more than 33 million people affected.

Most of Balochistan is still submerged. Locals are forced to flee and cannot account for their missing relatives until much later. More than 100 districts all across the provinces have been impacted.

Quetta, a major city of Balochistan, has been cut off from the rest of the country as the roads and highways are destroyed.

We get monsoons every year and we are used to them but this is not normal. We are in our 8th monsoon cycle when we usually get 3-4 cycles.

Two of the worst-hit provinces – Balochistan and Sindh – have received 298mm and 689mm rains respectively this year, which is about 400 percent more than the 30-year average. (c)

Along with the floods, there are also landslides and glacier bursts that have claimed lives and made the situation worse.

People from other cities were unable to get in contact with their affected relatives because they did not have electricity. The cloud cover meant no solar power either.

There are more monsoon predictions till September. I don't know how we're going to come back from this.

This is worse than the 2010 floods and the government doesn't give a shit.

This is going to have disastrous impacts on our economy and society but what does it matter? after all, the people are only there to vote, right? :)

It is the volunteers and NGOs helping, it is the public. There was no help when Karachi flooded and people died and they don't care now either.

Here are some links for donations if you can.

Al-Khidmat ways to donate (for international)

Al-Huda

Edhi Foundation

Some GoFundMes

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Sites to educate yourself more on this

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Climate change is very real and I am terrified right now.

tagging some people for signal boost @khaleesiofalicante @binch-i-might-be @gayforcarstairsgirls @all-the-cool-ones-are-gone @elettralightwood @rinadragomir @magnus-the-maqnificent @sociallyineptbibliophile @dumb-ass-biatch @noah-herondale-lightwood @steven--with-a-v

[headspace-hotel]

so, in regards to your recent posts on kane-tucky and usa food industry, do you / how do you keep active hope and not slip in into apathy and "looking out for my own" get out of dodge mentality? im having a hard time articulating this, but what makes you not curl up into a shaking mess in anger resentment and a deep desire for change that likely, if ever, wont happen in our lifetime.... any advice is appreciated

The short answer is "getting out and doing stuff in the real world, educating, volunteering, whatever is within your ability"

I will add that "looking out for your own" is not...bad. Like I don't know precisely what you mean by this phrase, but it's actually very important to come to terms with the fact that your impact is strongest where your feet touch the ground, and you have a responsibility and relationship to the people immediately around you, the place immediately around you.

This has not been a popular opinion of mine in the past, but...you can't and shouldn't care about literally everything on the planet. There is of course huge global disparity with access to resources and aid networks, and the largest communities we belong to are: all of Earth and the whole human species.

However: your level of agency is so low with issues that are happening on the other side of the world from you, compared with issues that are happening in your home town. And we're seeing people just get completely burned out from compassion fatigue without ever doing shit because the global responsibility is pushed on us and the local responsibility is not.

I hated my hometown for a decade. In high school I wanted so badly to leave. It's one of those desolate-feeling towns that's developed enough for a shopping center and big chain retailers but not enough to have a sense of community or a single bookstore. I've never been able to place myself precisely along the urban-rural spectrum because I feel isolated from even isolation: there's nowhere to go that doesn't feel razed by human development, where you can't hear the noise of traffic on roads, but it's all cattle pastures, sprawling storage facilities, auto parts stores, big, empty churches. One wrong turn will put you in a dark valley where there are rotting, derelict trailers on cinder blocks hidden back in the woods, and this place has that same feeling of "nowhere to go."

And I felt paralyzed by everything bad happening around the world and the fact that I was just one person, and I had gotten the horrible impression that the only thing I could do about anything was vote and donate money to links I saw online. The worst lie the internet taught me was that in saving the world, nothing matters except Power, Money, and an unclear third category that involves throwing bricks at cops.

But I touched grass. And the weeds taught me something. Do you see the parking lots, the harsh pavement and gravel and brick? I saw. I was surrounded by this landscape of brutal, totalitarian surfaces, impermeable concrete locking the soil away. But in the cracks in the surfaces, dandelions, purslane, and spurge were thriving.

I observed that the spurge stretched out like a shaggy rug and padded the concrete surfaces. The old leaves of the dandelions, as they withered, caught bits of dirt as it flowed into drainage ditches after rains. Soil was forming, and the sprawling structure of the early weeds seemed specially adapted for the task. In older cracks, more plants moved in; I found a wild ruellia blooming in a paved road, an evening primrose. And in some places, seedling trees.

Have you seen what happens when a sidewalk is left unmaintained for years? It disappears. The roots slowly buckle and break it into pieces, and it vanishes beneath lush leaves and moss. A tree growing in a crack in concrete will slowly pry the slab apart.

This is how my IRL rewilding project got started—just pulling plants from the pavement cracks, raising them in pots. I was surprised and awed at the resilience of the plants. I found little trees in concrete with at least two years' growth on them, that had survived being mowed down multiple times.

The weeds changed my viewpoint on the world forever. Up until that point, certain facts about power and politics and money had seemed like law, but I'd suddenly seen that there was a deeper magic.

The dandelions' survival made it possible for others to survive, which in turn made even more life flourish. They could not demolish and remove the concrete and pavement, but they could overcome it by refusing to be destroyed, because the power to take care of each other is in their nature.

People have made fun of me for telling others to go plant a tree. I think culturally we have this ingrained dismissal of things like that due to the twee, cutesy associations of "tree hugging" environmentalists, except in this instance it's because planting a tree is pointless in light of something something systemic issues, not because climate change isn't real, or...whatever reason people have for finding environmentalists cringe. (That is kinda sus now that I think about it.)

And I'm not saying planting a tree will fix climate change. I'm saying that something in my brain had broken and planting a tree unbroke it.

Go outside. Touch grass. Do the work in the immediate community you belong to, in the place you are in, where you have the best and most impact. We have the power to take care of each other, and that power grows stronger the more we are cared for.

The internet is a good place to share information, but that's fucking it. The real stuff, the stuff you can touch with your hands, the stuff that will heal despair, is out there in the real, touchable world. You need to see and feel what you are doing. Don't just give help—accept it. The power to take care of each other is in our nature, and by nature we can give more when we thrive as a result of others' care.

I hope this helps.

[monpalace]

Twilight is an attentive lover, but he's most used to the affections shared between couples in Ordon— whether he's with the other Links or not. He's always willing to change something he's doing for his significant other so long as it's within his moral values.

Dates are strange if you can excuse his dislike for sitting in fancy restaurants and being crowded around others. He prefers going on walks in towns or (preferably) a forest due to his more rural upbringing.

He prefers using nicknames as opposed to his significant other's name. Doll, sweetheart, and beau are some of his favorites, but he has a much more expansive list. On the off chance he does use their real name, it's likely to call their attention or show his displeasure.

Between being a rancher, the (one of) Goddesses’ Chosen Hero(es), entertaining Ordon’s children, and trekking throughout all eras of Hyrule; Twilight has quite a busy schedule.

The most downtime he has is between past sundown and a few hours before sunup. He knows his significant other might not have the same schedule as him, so he always offers to bring them along with him. He rarely asks them to assist in anything he has to do, not wanting them to get their hands dirty regardless of if they do similar work.

Twilight is just like his (great?) grandfather in terms of being a gentleman. He'll open doors, offer his hand when getting off something or over puddles, and stand behind them when going up stairs regardless of if they're bigger or smaller than him.

Unlike a few other Links, Twilight is the type of lover to walk on the side of the road where all the horses and carriages are, gently pulling his significant other to the side where the danger isn't.

(Wind and Wild are the types to pull someone into the middle of the road with them while traffic is high.)

Twilight isn't the best gift giver and it's a fact he's very aware of. He prefers acts of service, quality time, and physical touch when it comes to giving his significant other a love language. In return, he doesn't quite care which one he receives given his lack of experience in relationships, though any of them are enough to make him flustered.

He loves public displays of affection when he's around the other Links or anyone from Ordon— the issue comes up when it's around anyone with a noble background. He knows he saved his Hyrule, but royalty always makes him nervous. An easy workaround for him is to completely avoid any event he's invited to, but he's easily persuaded into joining.

You can feel Twilight's hands become clammy beneath the gloves he wore. He tries to inconspicuously wipe them off on his button-up, the lace of the collar and the way your arm looped through his made it look more awkward than he intended.

I hate this, he signs as his tongue darts out to wet his lips. I don't know why you talked me into this.

Ignoring his words, you fix the tie that lay between the lace, eyes just barely sliding over the nobility of Hyrule that surrounded you. “Relax,” you respond in a hushed whisper, placing a hand on his rigid back, “they're Hylians, not Bokoblins. They won't eat you.”

Almost against his will, Twilight’s spine begins to curve when you pull away. The arm that held onto his moves to instead grab hold of his hold, pulling him through the conversing crowd to one of the less populated hallways.

The air was less suffocating to him, thankfully, but his muscles still ached from his stiffness.

Twilight has to clear his throat to remove the wavering feeling from it. “You don't think they’ll talk?” His voice was low, almost a murmur of fear. “Do I look fine? Do you think they think I look fine? Is my—”

You shush him by placing a hand on the nape of his neck, carefully minding his slicked hair, and pulling him closer so he could be level. “They don't care,” you hum. You press a kiss to his cheek, ignoring how he chases after you pull away. “They really don't,” you reiterate, “just calm down and act somewhat natural.”

“Do we have to go back?”

“Yes.”

Twilight's mood quickly dampens once more.

(So much for the Hero of Courage.)

[bcacstuff]

Design of Midhope Distillery

The parts of document I'm showing in this post was presented and designed on June 26, 2020

EXECUTIVE SUMMARY

This Design and Access Statement accompanies a Planning Applica- tion for a new Single Malt Scotch Whisky Distillery at Midhope Castle which lies within the Hopetoun Estate on the outskirts of Edinburgh. It is intended this is the first of a series of applications containing proposals to regenerate the Castle, the surrounding listed buildings and landscape setting.

The overall project aims to create an environment to produce, share and market an exceptional whisky. Its success depends not just on the production of whisky but on the ability to invite guests to see the creative process, appreciate its origins and have the time to experi- ence the whisky and the environment. It is intended in the future that the castle will be the venue for a significant part of these activities.

Note, the clients Golden Decanters and Hopetoun estate are the original applicants. Golden Decanters changed their company name since April 2022

Design Team

Project Manager - Curries & Brown

Currie & Brown works across the public and private sectors, including commercial property, consumer goods, defence, education, funding institutions, government, healthcare, high-tech, hospitality and leisure, industrial, mixed-use developments, nuclear, pharmaceuticals and life sciences, PPP/P3, residential property, retail, trans- portation and logistics and utilities and renewables. wWith our global reach, Currie & Brown brings together a large group of talented professionals to offer our clients a comprehensive range of the services, experience and expertise, together with a significant value added offering.

Planning Consultant - Scott Hobbs Planning

Scott Hobbs Planning (SHP) is an established planning and development consul- tancy founded in 2004, servicing clients throughout the British Isles, for major mixed use, commercial, retail and residential development. The practice has wide ranging and detailed experience in all aspects of planning-related work including national policy shaping, development planning and development management; development framework and master-planning; and consultation processes.

Architect - 56three Architects

56three is a design based Practice with projects covering new build, conservation and refurbishment works throughout the UK.

We have an award winning team of architects, technicians and interior design- ers who are able to provide the full range of architectural services from feasibility through to construction.

Landscape Architect - rankin fraser landscape architects

rankinfraser landscape architecture llp was formed in January 2008. Based in Edin- burgh, Scotland the practice brings together Chris Rankin and Kenny Fraser – two Landscape Architects with over 30 years combined experience of delivering award winning projects from conception through to completion

We combine practice with research and teaching to provide our clients with a thoughtful, creative and professional approach to landscape design and place mak- ing covering public realm, landscape urbanism, housing landscapes, education and health projects in urban and rural situations.

LOCATION

The site is approximately 11.5 miles West of the City of Edinburgh, 5 miles to the North West of Edinburgh airport, 3.5 miles to the West of the South Queensferry, and a little under half a mile South of the Firth of Forth. It has an overall area of 6.9 hectares within the beautifully managed Hopetoun Estate. Hopetoun House is approximately 1 mile East of the site.

SITE

The site is located within Hopetoun Estate but outside the area of the Designated Designed Landscape that surrounds Hopetoun House and Abercorn to the east. The site for the new distillery is located to the immediate west of Midhope Castle.

The Castle is reached via an access road runs for approximately a quarter of a mile, west from the road link between the hamlet of Ab- ercorn and the A904.

The site to the east of the Midhope Burn is largely dense woodland. A Fireworks manufacturing business is currently located in a large clearing near the entrance to the site. This clearing was formerly the location of a Saw Mill.

The access road arrives at a small car park. There is a path that leads to the outer wall of the Castle courtyard.

Midhope Castle is to the north-east of the site with a courtyard and a modest walled garden to the immediate South. Behind the castle, just to the north, is a small derelict Victorian, ancillary building.

In the space to the east of the castle toward the approach road there are two Victorian cottages and a doocot.

The site for the distillery building is to the south-west of the cas- tle and in an area that is currently occupied by a number of modern agricultural sheds and some hard-standing left from recent utilitarian ancillary structures. The area is functional and has no obvious sig- nificant historic structures. It currently houses the grounds for a tree climbing and chainsaw training company which is in the process of relocating.

HERITAGE CONTEXT

The original Midhope Castle (recorded as “Medhope Castle”) was built in the late 15th century. In 1587 this castle was partially rebuilt.

The castle was extended in 1664 and reached the general arrange- ment and form that can be seen today. Further extensions and altera- tions took place in 1678.

By the early 20th century the castle was in a state of disrepair and the interior timber staircase recorded as being in poor condition.

In 1988 a programme of consolidation and partial restoration was undertaken. A new roof was formed on the West Tower and steelwork was inserted within the shell of the castle to stabilse the structure. New window frames were inserted into the existing openings. This work seems to have arrested any further significant deterioration.

Today the building is in a ruinous state internally, and most of the in- ternal features have been lost, but is generally wind and water tight.

Midhope Castle was designated as a Scheduled Monument in 1950 and was given a Category A listing in 1971 . In 2018 the Scheduled Monument status was removed and the designation was simplified to the current Category A listing.

The Roy Lowlands map of 1754 shows the castle within the wider context of the Hopetoun House Estate. To the north of the castle are a series of geometrically arranged copses either side of an axis that relates to Hopetoun House to the west. Today some of these trees are still visible.

The landscape around Midhope Castle is also visible on this plan - the series of walls that form the courtyard at the castle, and the larger open area to the west.

The 6 inch map of 1854 more shows Midhope Castle in the form that it can be seen today. The approach path from the east, the Doocot, the gamekeeper’s cottage and the walled garden to the south of the castle are visible.

This plan also shows the state of the landscape to the west of the castle. A path or track extended out from the courtyard into the land- scape and a series of gardens were enclosed to the north.

The south edge of the site was defined by a row of trees that aligned with the walled garden.

The remaining traces of these landscape structures have informed the location of the new distillery building and the landscape strategy.

MASTERPLAN APPROACH

The current application is the first in a series of planned phased pro- posals for the site that will initially improve the setting, and stabilise the fabric, of the castle, and later seek to reuse and regenerate the castle.

The construction of the distillery and the production of the whisky need to be the first steps in order to establish the business and generate income in order to progress to the next phases of the wider project.

In the medium term there are also plans to open parts of the castle to facilitate some of visitors who currently visit the site due to the castle’s association with the “Outlander” television series.

There is the ultimate aim to use the castle for visitor functions that are complimentary to the new distillery – tasting spaces, dining, and potentially overnight accommodation.

All of these future works will carefully balance the repair and refur- bishment of the existing historical fabric of the castle and surround- ing landscape features. Further refinement of the timing and content of these next phases will reviewed as the project develops.

VISION

Initial works

The current Planning Application is for the new distillery building together with the immediate landscaping, a new access road and the change of use of Midhope Castle to visitor accommodation.

An application for Listed Building Consent will follow. This will include the repair and refurbishment works to the landscape features around the castle- the reinstatement of the damaged stone piers, the re- gaining of the walled garden and cobbled castle forecourt and the potential removal of derelict outbuildings. It has not been possible to gain access to the site to carry out these surveys due to restrictions imposed by the Covid 19 crisis.

Next steps

Future Planning Applications and Listed Building Applications are planned as the business becomes established. These include plans for a Maltings Building at the former Sawmill site, work to the castle and extensions as appropriate, repurposing of the Dovecot, and other facilities in the grounds of the castle and distillery.

SCOPE OF INITIAL PHASE

It is possible to conceptually divide the site into two areas, they can broadly be described as modern farm building land and the castle grounds. It is not intended that the physical distinction between the areas be over emphasised in the finished design but it is a useful tool in describing the approaches to the specific areas. The distillery is proposed to be on the farm building land, with the main road and the access road coming across the castle grounds.

The farm building land does not have any obvious structures of histor- ic significance, whilst the castle grounds are rich with elements that are historically significant and referred to in the category A listing of the castle and the Category B listing of the Doocot.

The historic influence on the farm building land is most strongly ap- parent in its relationship to the castle grounds. The land spreads in a relatively level expanse from the castle and forms the base of an approximate bowl. This reinforces the sense that the area that will house the distillery, despite being the larger area, is attendant on the castle as the most substantial historic structure on the site.

Very little work is proposed to the immediate castle grounds in this application. The client wishes to take the time to carefully consider the appropriate design and relationship with the existing buildings. The intention is to intervene in this area as little as possible at this point and only to the extent that is required to access the distillery site without negatively affecting the significant historic fabric.

The castle grounds are subject to ongoing analysis and will be the focus of future applications in subsequent phases.

DESIGN PROPOSALS

The distillery is seens as the first phase of a sequence of develop- ments on the wider site aimed at enriching the landscape and improv- ing the setting and fabric of Midhope Castle.

The aspiration is to create a unique place where the production of Whisky, the landscape it draws from and the heritage of the site can be enjoyed. The setting and location is key to the proposal.

The new distillery building will have two main functions. It will pro- duce over 500,000 litres of whisky a year from Barley grown on the Estate. It will also offer visitors the opportunity to see all aspects of the Whisky production process and to enjoy the unique historical set- ting and landscape.

The setting of the distillery is one that has many layers of history. It will be close to Midhope Castle, which is known to date from the fif- teenth century and along with the land around has been altered many times over the subsequent years. The castle was occupied until the 1920s and each periodw has resulted in change. The additions to the castle are clear to see, and there are buildings around the castle that date from the 1800s. The setting shows a timeline of agricultural use and castle shows evidence of the varied occupation that ranges from aristocracy to the workers on the land.

The castle is the embodiment of the historic significance of the site, and this position is to be carefully maintained. The orientation of the new design is lead by the influence of the existing fabric. It’s form will have a larger footprint but a lower height, it will not compete with the castle but rather work alongside it, and by looking toward the castle’s raised entrance create an exciting new dynamic.

SETTING & ACCESS

The approach to the site will be along the existing track which winds through dense woodland to a clearing that is currently used as a car park for visitors to the castle.

From here a new access route is proposed to take service traffic for the distillery to the south, away from the castle and existing cottages.

The existing footpath leads up to the castle courtyard past the listed dovecot building and existing Victorian cottage and outbuildings to the north.

The courtyard sits between the castle and the overgrown walled gar- den to the south. To the west of this enclosed outdoor space is the open area currently given over to light industrial and agricultural use. This largely flat area of land sits within a shallow depression relative to the surrounding wider agricultural landscape. This will be the site of the new distillery.

The distillery begins to be visible on moving through the courtyard. The new building will align with the traces of an route that once ran through this area out to the west.

SETTING & RESPONSE

The new building consists of three, simple shed-like forms.

The largest is a long, pitched roof building that edges the south of the site. This building will contain most of the distillery production areas and spaces for visitors – a display area containing whisky ma- turing in barrels, tasting spaces, and multi-purpose areas that can be used for exhibitions and functions.

To the north is a second smaller pitched roof form that contains the stills and shelters the worm tubs.

To the south a third pitched roof form encloses external tanks and barrel storage.

A service yard is located to the south of the distillery and sits be- tween the new building and the existing embankment. The service yard and the more industrial activity is hidden from view from the surrounding landscape and most importantly is invisible from the ap- proach road and castle. Access to the service yard will be provided by a new road formed to the south of the main site.

The public areas of the distillery will offer views back to the castle and the landscape to the north. The landscape around the distillery will reinstate paths and routes that we once on the site.

DESIGN DEVELOPMENT

The basic form of the new building has been influenced by common simple, robust utilitarian agricultural buildings. From a distance the distillery will appear as a grouping of simple, quiet forms in the land- scape.

The still house will be wrapped in timber giving it an abstract quality. This building will contain the stills and their copper forms will be vis- ible through the glazed gable facing the castle courtyard.

The still house sits in a cooling pond and forms a gathering place at the visitor entrance to the distillery. This entrance aligns with both the reinstated road and wall running east to west but also with the existing track that leaves the site to the north.

A large framed window on the first floor of the distillery offers pano- ramic views back to the castle, across the structured landscape close to the distillery and further to the agriculutral fields of the estate beyond. These large windows will be edged in bronze metal cladding,

The maturation display area at the east end of the building will be clad in stained or charred slatted timber that will allow in direct light into the space. On dark evenings this end of the building will glow and act as a lantern drawing visitors across the landscape from the castle.

As I showed in my previous post, these plans are now revised and filed again on 8 February 2024, awaiting a decision. This document was filed on 21 March 2024. There are some minor changes to the original plans which were already approved in 2021

[celluloidrainbow]

WILDHOOD (2021) dir. Bretten Hannam In a rural East Coast trailer park, Link lives with his toxic father and younger half brother, Travis. When Link discovers his mother could still be alive, the siblings embark on a quest for a better life. On the road, they meet Pasmay, an openly two-spirit pow wow dancer drawn to Link. As the boys journey across Mi'kma'ki, Link finds community, identity, and love in the land where he belongs. (link in title)

[molly-ghuleh]

Camellia: Copia x f!reader - Chapter 1

Camellia: n. - A flower which symbolizes a deep desire or longing.

Summary: You are a translator for the Ministry. You receive a letter summoning you to the Abbey for a project involving an ancient diary with a mysterious author, but you find yourself wishing you were back home. That is, until you meet the charming Papa Emeritus the Fourth.

Word count: 4.4k

A/N: Hi all!! This is the first long-form fic I've ever written and decided to publish, so I hope you all enjoy!! The first chapter is mostly setup and scene building, so not a lot of interaction with our beloved Copia. But there will be more, I promise!!

Warnings: none for now but there will be some in later chapters.

AO3 Link

Prologue

“Will you help me move this box?” the Brother of Sin says. 

Wordlessly, the Sister of Sin stops what she’s doing and maneuvers through the crowded, dusty basement room to help the Brother. The two crouch down, bracing their hands against the box of books. It leaves behind a path carved into the layers of dust as it slides across the wooden floor. 

Once the box is pushed a few feet out of the way, the Sister lets go and, losing her balance, falls to her hands and knees from the crouching position. She cries out in surprise when her hand sinks through the floorboards as one of the slats gives way. The hole is only a few inches deep and filled with dirt and cobwebs, but the Sister’s hand falls onto something softer than wood. 

She lifts her hand to find that there’s a small leather-bound volume hidden face-down in the small crevice. The Sister can hardly imagine how long it has been there, with how thick the grime lies on the back cover. 

This room of the Abbey’s basement had been long forgotten, until Sister Imperator tasked these Siblings of Sin to clear out the room to make way for new storage. They had half expected to find a ruby-encrusted sarcophagus in the room, with how ancient and opulent the Abbey is. So far the only things of interest they have found are books—it seems that the only items stored in the room are books. 

The Sister gently removes the book from the hole in the floor and replaces the wooden slat. Even through her gloves she can tell that it is close to disintegrating. The distinct orange of rotten leather lines the edges of its binding and a few corners of pages fall to the ground. 

“What’s that?” The Brother asks. 

The Sister carefully turns the volume over so that she can read the front cover. It, too, is covered in dust, so she gently brushes it with her hand in order to read the embossed leather cover. Having been face-down in the crevice, the gold leaf illuminating the embossment is preserved and it shines in the low light of the basement. 

“It says…” the Sister squints to read the small letters, “...Elizabeth.” 

“Elizabeth? Who’s Elizabeth?” 

The Sister turns over the book once more. “I don’t know, just… Elizabeth.”

Chapter 1

The ride from the airport to the Abbey is a long one. The car you had been picked up in took you through the city and the suburbs, to the rural outskirts of civilization where the coniferous trees block much of the sunlight. The winding roads, dotted in late-afternoon sunbeams, feel endless as the car climbs into the hills. It’s been a silent ride, and rather awkward (at least, you feel that it’s been awkward) because the helmeted ghoul who drives the sleek black sedan has not said a word. 

You knew that the Abbey has ghouls. A few abbeys do, as they are big enough to warrant summoning help, but your home chapter is not. This is the first time you’ve met one. 

You wonder if they’re all so stoic, or if the driver simply doesn’t have anything to say. He isn’t impolite, but you wish he would say something, anything to make the drive a little more bearable. You want to ask him about the Abbey–what the Siblings are like, what Papa is like. How many Siblings live there full time? How big is the library? You’ve heard that the ghost of a former Papa haunts the corridors, is that true? Hundreds of questions brew in your mind, but the ghoul remains silent and you’re left feeling like an unwelcome guest in a strange country.

You already miss home. 

The Marseille abbey, your home for the better part of your adult life, is a medieval stone structure built on a hilltop south of the Marseille city proper. The ornate, stained-glass windows of its chapel face west over the Mediterranean so that the sunset streams into the room during Black Mass. The walls are old and drafty, and keep faded tapestries in a constant state of fluttering. The linens line the walls of the refectory in between tall, narrow windows which also overlook the sea. If it were not for the inverted crosses and scenes of the unjust fall of Lucifer, one might think the atmosphere in the chapel—and the rest of the small abbey—is almost holy.

The windows in the Sibling dormitories are small and south-facing, with deep stone sills and wood frames that have somehow managed to survive the ages (although they hardly open without a fight.) Your own dormitory windowsill is lined with personal prayer books. Each has about a hundred loose papers sticking out. They are your translation practice, your way of staying versed in every language you know, because you know the prayers by heart at this point. The papers are experiments: which language makes the prayer sound better, sound prettier? Which language makes the most sense? Which language makes the prayers the shortest, the longest? 

No matter which language you use, to you the prayers sound the most beautiful in your mother tongue. That is how you’d memorized them, after all. Yet… you wish there had been room in your single suitcase to take your prayer books with you. 

“We’re almost there,” the ghoul says, snapping you out of your homesick reverie. His voice is deep and softer than you’d expected. There’s no spurt of hellfire from his mouth as you’d half-thought there would be, and no low rumble in his words that might signify he’s more beast than man. The ghoul, despite his bug-eyed mask, seems shockingly human. 

He steers the car through tall wrought-iron gates which seem to open automatically. You can see the tall peak of the Abbey’s bell tower peeking through the trees, and suddenly the reality that you’re very, very far from home hits you. 

You unfold the crinkled envelope in your hands and reread the letter for the hundredth time that day. 

Dear Sister, 

I hope this letter finds you well. 

We at the Abbey have recently uncovered a very important document which we require your expertise to translate. However, this document is extremely fragile and cannot be transported in the post. Papa Emeritus IV and the rest of the Clergy request your presence at the Abbey as soon as possible. 

We expect this project to take several months. Enclosed is a one-way ticket for you to travel to the airport closest to us, from which a car will transport you to the Abbey. We will discuss plans for your return to Marseille when you are nearing the end of your work here.

We anxiously await your arrival. 

Sincerely, 

Sister Imperator

The letter itself is quite presumptuous. Sister Imperator had assumed you were not busy, and assumed that you would be able to drop everything and travel halfway across the world for a months-long project. And then to use Papa’s name to exaggerate the importance of this mysterious document which she hadn’t even disclosed the nature of? 

Well… you can’t exactly say no to the woman who practically runs the Ministry’s affairs. 

The car takes a bend in the Abbey’s endless driveway and emerges into a clearing. Sitting far back on a sprawling lawn is a massive, imposing stone structure. The rows of trimmed hedges and flower bushes do little to soften the gothic hardness of it. Two pointed bell towers loom over the steep roof of what must be the chapel, with stained glass windows stretching up at least two storeys. The central image is of Baphomet, in his iconographic pose. The setting sun glints off of his golden halo. Sweet Satan, you think, your eyes tracking the window as the car rounds the drive. Baphomet alone must be taller than the entire height of Marseille. 

The ghoul pulls the car to a stop in front of the wide steps leading up to wooden double doors. A woman stands there, her hands clasped in front of her and her back straight, like the matron of this grand palace. You suppose she is–the severity of her expression alone leads you to believe that it’s Sister Imperator who waits for you.

You step out into the chilly air and shut the car door behind yourself. The ghoul already has your suitcase in hand and gestures for you to walk up the stairs before him. You wish he’d let you carry your own suitcase, if only to give your hands something to do, but you are far too stunned to ask. Climbing the shallow stone steps feels like stepping into another world. A world in which you feel far too plain to exist. 

“Sister,” The woman greets with a smile. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes, which squint at you beneath slightly furrowed, well-groomed brows. She strikes you as someone who is all business, all the time. “How was your journey?” 

You return her smile as best you can. She speaks to you like you don’t understand English. “It went well, your dark eminence.” 

She seems a little surprised that you respond so fluently, but she quickly fixes her face into another warm grin. “I am glad to hear it,” she says. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. I’m sure you must understand that this document is very important, and quite fragile. We would not risk losing it in the post.” “Of course,” you nod. “If I may ask, Sister Imperator, what is this document? You did not disclose it in your letter.” You gesture to the envelope safely stored in your jacket pocket. 

Sister Imperator turns to step inside the slightly ajar wooden door and you assume she wants you to follow. The ghoul accompanies you over the threshold, but at the wave of a hand from Sister Imperator, he turns down a narrow corridor with your suitcase and disappears around a corner. 

You are still a bit too overwhelmed to thank him. Instead, you look at the woman beside you. “The ghoul will bring your luggage to a room we have prepared for your stay,” she explains at your silent question.

She continues down the main hall, deeper into the Abbey. Your footsteps echo through the atrium, bouncing up to the high, painted ceilings and off the stone walls. There are a few wooden benches pushed back against the wall, with pots of surprisingly lush houseplants on either side. Framed oil paintings line the walls: some depicting biblical scenes, some of landscapes, and a few large, dignified portraits. You can tell by the distinct Papal paints in each portrait that the subject is a Papa, and you wonder which one depicts Papa Emeritus IV. You’ve never seen an image of His Unholiness before. 

After a few moments of silence, Sister Imperator speaks again. “We found the document last month, in one of the storage rooms in the Abbey’s basement.” She likes to use the royal ‘we’ a lot, you think. 

She continues. “One of our archivists believes that it is at least five hundred years old. It is very fragile, you see, and so we ask that you handle it with the utmost care as you work with it. We would prefer it if you used gloves. And frankly, Sister, I believe that you would want to. The leather is fairly rotten.” You stay silent as you follow slightly behind her. You’ve worked with old, rotten books before. The pages nearly crumble apart in your hands and the leather splits easily, but it’s nothing you can’t handle. 

“We believe it is a journal—a diary, rather, of someone very important in the Ministry’s history.” You find it strange that she doesn’t immediately disclose whose diary it might be. “Who, if I may ask?” “Elizabeth.” Sister Imperator’s voice is clipped as she answers you. She gives no further explanation. Just Elizabeth. 

There are millions of women named Elizabeth in the world. It is very likely that there is more than one important Elizabeth in the Ministry’s history as well. It’s a fairly common name, especially five hundred years ago (if the archivist is correct). For all you know, this document could be some random Sister’s sexual logbook, and documenting her sinful indulgences was her way of praying to the Lord Below. 

You break out of your ponderance over possibilities when Sister Imperator turns a corner to walk down another, slightly narrower (but still wide) corridor. She speaks again. “The book is to be kept in a lockbox at all times when you are not working with it. Under no circumstances is it to be removed from the Abbey library without my express permission, or the permission of Papa. Is that understood?” 

“Yes, Sister,” you answer hastily. Her tone of voice as she lays down the law makes you feel as though you’ve already made a mistake. 

“Now. The reason we need you, Sister, is because none of our own archivists or translators can figure out what language the journal is written in.” 

This piques your interest, and also slightly flatters you. “What do you mean?” you ask.

She releases a long-suffering sigh. “The writing is jumbled. It is a mess of letters and sometimes numbers, with no spaces whatsoever.” 

The possibilities immediately start to stack in your mind. Latin from the Roman era tended not to use spaces, a practice called ‘scriptio continua’. Ancient Greek also did this… but wouldn’t the in-house translators be able to read it? 

“I cannot explain it well enough,” Sister Imperator says. “You will have to see, Sister.” 

The two of you come to another set of large double doors. Sister Imperator pushes one open and steps inside, holding it open for you. You slip past her into a huge, bright room, filled with hundreds and hundreds of bookshelves. Immediately you are hit with the scent of old books and parchment paper, and the gentle sounds of turning pages. To your left sits an ornate wooden desk with one Sibling standing behind it. They are sorting books onto a three-tiered cart, presumably to put them away in the correct order. You accidentally make eye contact, but they smile politely and you respond in kind with a little wave. 

You avert your gaze upward towards the open second floor, which wraps around the large atrium and is protected by a dark oak bannister. A few Siblings linger on the catwalk, carrying books or making their way towards the wide staircase that opens to your right. The bottom floor of the atrium houses several wooden tables where another smattering of Siblings sit. Most other tables are empty save for an abandoned book or two. 

The late evening glow shines down into the room from a large, circular skylight in the middle of the ceiling. There are desk lamps and overhead lights scattered about but none have been turned on yet. 

It reminds you of the University library.

“Come,” Sister Imperator says after allowing you to gaze around the massive library for a moment. “The lockbox is in the restricted section. You will receive your own key while you are here but you are required to return it, directly to myself or the Head Librarian, before you leave.”

She leads you up the carpeted staircase and deep into the bowels of the second floor. Towards the back corner, where the shelves are labeled ‘Fiction - Romance’, there is a wooden door tucked against the wall. A sign beneath its small glass window reads ‘RESTRICTED’. Sister Imperator fishes a rather noisy set of keys from her pocket and finds the correct one to unlock the door. She pushes it open with a squeak that feels loud in the quiet of the library. When both of you are in the room and the door is shut behind you, she removes an identical key from her keyring and hands it to you. “Your copy,” she says. “Do not lose it.” 

The room isn’t cramped, but it is small compared to the atrium. A few single-person desks sit along the back wall, while the walls on either side of you are lined with glass boxes. Each box is shaped similarly to a narrow cubby, and houses a single book. Printed labels on the front face of each box display a box number and the name of the volume stored inside. 

“Your key allows you to access any of these boxes,” Sister Imperator explains to you, “but I do not expect you to require any of them, except for the diary you’ll be working with. It is kept in box number seven, which is here,” she points to a box about halfway up the rightmost column of cubbies. Using her key (still attached to the incredibly jingly keyring), she gently unlocks the box and it glides out like a drawer. 

You step beside her to look down into the glass drawer. The diary is wrapped in white linen, but you can see the faint brown color of the leather through the cloth. “The archivist requests that you keep the white cloth under the book at all times,” Sister Imperator says. She reaches down into the box and gently retrieves the diary, careful not to jostle the cloth too much. “It will protect the leather from further decay.” You don’t need her to explain how preservation works, but you appreciate it anyway. It saves you from having to ask, or endure another awkward silence. 

She places the book down on a nearby table and slowly unwraps the cloth. Already you can see small flecks of brown and orange sticking to it where the leather has rotted, but it seems to be fairly well preserved in light of its age. On the front cover in small, embossed gold letters is the name Elizabeth. 

“Elizabeth,” you say, understanding. 

“Elizabeth,” Sister Imperator replies. “That is the only word we have managed to decipher. Hopefully you will be able to help us with the rest.”

You nod. “I believe I can.” 

She wraps the cloth loosely around the book once more, and returns it to its box. “I do not expect you to start tonight, Sister. We will give you time to settle, and have something to eat. But from tomorrow morning until you are done, this is your sole responsibility. Do you understand?” 

Her sudden, almost intimidating tone surprises you. You bite the inside of your cheek–a nasty habit you’ve had since you were a child. “I understand, your Dark Eminence,” you say with another nod. 

Her face softens, as does her stare. “Please, just Sister is fine,” she says. You follow her again as she begins to lead you out of the Restricted room. “I believe the dinner hour is to start soon. I will show you to your dormitory, and then leave you to get settled.” 

She brings you back through the library and the main hall towards where you’d seen the ghoul disappear with your luggage. The dormitory hall is a long, narrow corridor with windows on one side and doors on the other. Each door is marked with a number and a nameplate, and in between each door are wall sconces lit by incandescent bulbs. Halfway down the hall there is an opening to a stairwell which, you assume, leads up to the second floor of the dormitories. You walk past many, many doors, some of which have two nameplates, until you reach the very end of the hall where there are unmarked doors. Sister finds her keyring again and unlocks one, then removes the key and hands it to you. 

“These rooms here are the guest quarters. They are typically not suited for long-term stays but we have prepared yours to have everything you will need. If you need anything, ask Sibling Superior and they will make sure that you receive it.”

Sister Imperator turns to leave, but then turns around. “You know, Sister,” she says, with a curious look. “For someone of your expertise, I thought you would have been… older.” You can’t tell if it’s praise or suspicion in her voice. “Yes, well,” you stall. How are you supposed to explain that language just comes naturally to you and that it’s not your fault you’re not old and wrinkly? “I suppose once you learn one language, all the rest come easy. Especially romance languages.” 

“Hm,” Sister Imperator hums, sizing you up for a moment. “Find me at the end of the week and we will talk about your progress. I’m sure you will know your way around by then.” 

It seems her well of kindness has run dry.  

~~~

If the loud ringing of the bell didn’t tell you that the dinner hour had started, then the steadily rising sounds of a crowd did. You can hear the murmurs of conversation even through your closed door. A few Siblings emerge from the dormitory next to yours, their chatting and laughing growing quieter as they walk down the corridor towards the refectory. The old wood floorboards creak above you from the movement of Siblings who occupy the second floor. All around you there is an excited bustle, and yet you don’t feel like joining it. 

You have never liked crowds. Especially crowds of strangers. And these strangers all seem to know each other, if the echoes of loud conversations tell you anything. 

But your stomach does rumble, and you feel rather weak from a day of travel, so you decide that it’s best to eat something before you go to bed. Once the corridor seems clear again, you quietly slip out your door (patting your pocket to make sure you remembered your key) and make your way to the refectory. Sister Imperator hadn’t shown it to you but you can make an educated guess as to where it is. 

When you emerge into the main hall, you see a few Siblings occupying the wood benches that had been previously empty. They all hold trays or to-go boxes on their laps. Some speak animatedly, enthralling their friends with stories from their eventful day, while others sit quietly beside each other and eat. You think that it might be nice to sit somewhere to eat so that you feel a bit more connected to the Abbey, but all of the benches are occupied. The ever-growing roar from the refectory does not seem too appealing, either. 

The large room is across the main hall from the library. When you turn the corner you see that it’s not as grand as the atrium, and that it only occupies one level. There are sheer curtains hung over the windows, which allow the sunlight to illuminate the room but keeps it from growing too warm. Siblings, Clergy members, and ghouls alike sit at long wooden tables not unlike those of your home Abbey. But these tables alone are longer than the entire length of the Marseille refectory, and once again you’re reminded that you’re quite far from home. 

No, you can’t eat here. Not tonight. 

There is a long counter stretching nearly wall-to-wall to the left of the door, where a dwindling line of Siblings make their dinner selections. Whatever meal the kitchens had prepared smells delicious but you find that you don’t have the appetite for it. However, close to where you stand in the doorway and nestled in the space between the wall and the counter, are a few baskets of fruit arranged on a small table. The baskets are nearly empty, with the only indication of their contents being the small pops of color peeking through gaps in the woven pattern. 

Despite not wanting a hot meal, you are hungry, and so you enter the refectory and move towards the baskets. You opt for two good-sized oranges–although the bananas do look perfectly ripe–and turn to leave as quickly as you came. Your eyes briefly sweep over the crowd and land on a long table, perpendicular to all the others, situated on a platform at the opposite end of the refectory. The platform isn’t tall, but it is just enough to raise the table’s occupants slightly above the Siblings. The table is entirely composed of men, save for Sister Imperator, who seems to be talking to an older man with Papal paints and long blonde hair–is that Papa?

You look at the others occupying the table, and find that no less than three are also wearing Papal paints. 

Marseille is a tiny Abbey. At any given time, only about ten Siblings reside there at once. And so there is no need for an upper Clergyman to be stationed there. Instead, the Chapter is run by Bishop Beaumont, who (until now) is the highest ranking member of the Satanic Ministry you have ever met, let alone seen. 

So, to be faced with not one, but four Papas, all in the same room, makes your heart thump with nerves. You recognize them all from the portraits in the main hall, but in person they are all so much more… just more. And yet you still don’t know who is who. 

Of course, you know that all four of the most recent reigning Papas are brothers, the order of which was determined by age. The man who Sister Imperator is talking to must be Papa Emeritus I, or Papa Primo, as you’ve heard him called by Bishop Beaumont. The other three look relatively close in age, and so you truly have no idea which man currently holds the helm and steers the ship. 

You realize you’re staring when you make eye contact with one of the Papas. You nearly gasp in surprise, as if you shouldn’t even be on the same plane of existence as him… and yet your eyes met. Of course one of them would have caught you eventually, you think. You were practically ogling them from across the room. 

Hastily, you turn and make your way back out of the refectory and into the main hall. Your eyes fall on the nearest portrait. The Papal paints of the subject match the ones of the man you’d just been caught staring at. You blush as if his portrait could think, and had just caught you a second time. Your eyes flick down to the gold plate affixed to the frame, and read the words. 

PAPA EMERITUS IV.

[rosepinksky]

Pay For My Time (pt. 6)

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female reader

In which Ghost's neighbour drags him in for dinner, and then ruins his life.

Warnings: alcohol use, implied dub-con due to alcohol use but it's stopped in its tracks!, ghost being a possessive mess and i am FOAMING AT THE MOUTH FOR IT

word count: 2.5k

ao3 link

part 1 (smutty!)

masterlist

Ghost had sat there, perched on the stairs outside her floor with his leg jerking in anticipation, for upwards of an hour. He rested his chin on his knuckles, breath misting in the November chill of the stair close. Another glance at his phone- 1:40am- and he rose, storming down into the street. He slipped past the raucous crowds milling outside the pub across the road, his hands clenching in his jacket pockets to keep warm.

The club Lucy danced in was on a side of the city far shittier than the one they lived in, and that was saying something. He could feel the passersby’s eyeing him up as he walked, sizing him up. None approached.

It was sort of understandable, the way this demographic of patrons flocked to this street in particular. The kind of place where everybody implicitly understood to not discuss their activities there in the office the next day. A fucking rural Westworld, tucked away in a northern English city. A casino with its bright neon signs spilling a rainbow onto the chipped pavement, a pub advertising £3 pints- Christ, he’s been in London too much- and the Black fucking Lace, cartoonish vinyl stickers of women on poles plastered to the frosted windows.

He can hear her before he sees her; a cackle of drunken laughter around the back of the building. He heads toward the sound, and there she is; scantily-clad form draped in a man’s suit jacket that hangs on her like an oversized coat, stumbling a little on her ridiculous heels. She’s leant against the railing of the fire exit stairs, eyes glittering and hazy as she grins lazily up at the man spouting shite at her. He laughs, wrapping his arm around her waist to draw her closer, and she lets him, responding with her own bright little giggles.

The bottle of beer in his hand sloshes in his grip, droplets splashing onto her exposed skin and she takes it, taking a long drink as she holds the man’s gaze.

Ghost’s fists clench even tighter in his pockets as he watches the stranger’s eyes light up at her contact, his pig hands sliding up over her lower back. Creepy fucker, touching up the woman practically swaying on her feet in front of him.

He clears his throat as he approaches the pair, Lucy’s head turning to face him. Her smile wavers but doesn’t drop, her eyes taking him in from head to toe. He’s sure he looks the picture of wrath, all squared shoulders and hulking black mass, but tries to keep his expression composed.

“You alright, Vi?” He does his best to keep his tone soft as he keeps his eyes on her, yet to acknowledge the greasy little man with his hands on her.

She nods, taking another swig of the beer. “Never better, John. Did you need something?”

He bristles. “Looks like you might need someone to walk you home. Long night, huh?”

She smiles, and he swears it’s cruel, and she turns her attention back to the man attached to her. “Yeah. Danny here’s got it covered, don’t worry.”

He finally lifts his eyes from her to the man. Danny.

“Danny here looks like he has a bit more on his mind than just making sure you get home safe. Isn’t that right, mate?”

The man rolls his shoulders back, appearing to calculate the risk Ghost poses right now. More than you know, mate.

“You her boyfriend or something, man? Hey, I don’t want trouble. She seemed pretty fucking available to me.” Oh, so he’s a big man now?

“Not her boyfriend. Just don’t appreciate little shits like you taking advantage of vulnerable women.”

Lucy scoffs, stepping between Ghost and the man. “I’m not fucking vulnerable, I’m a grown woman. Back off, Ghost.”

Danny laughs sharply, pulling her back against his chest by the waist. “Ghost? What sorta fucking name is that?”

Ghost’s glare hardens. “Callsign. Counter-terrorism, SAS.”

There’s a moment of tense silence, and Lucy’s eyes are locked onto his. He swears he can see her pupils dilate in the pink glow of the buzzing neon lights.

She shoves the beer back into the creep’s hands without so much as a glance back at him, the liquid frothing and spilling onto his sleeve. “I’m tired. Let’s get a taxi, Smith.” She brushes past the both of them, ignoring the disgruntled calls of protest from the sleazebag behind them. Ghost nods, shooting the bloke a smug grin hidden beneath his balaclava.

He follows after her, resisting the bizarre urge to wrap a protective arm around her waist.

More than protective, actually.

Possessive.

He ruminates on the way he finds her so much easier to digest when she’s sitting quietly in the back of the taxi next to him, her features lit up every so often by the passing lights of the city. He’d always gone for quiet girls in the past, even if he’d never admit out loud that was something he sought out.

She’s not quiet. God, she’s a bona fide wreck, if anything. Her entire being reeks of substance abuse, of nymphomania and likely some deep-rooted parental issues to boot. She is a walking red flag, the kind of person who’d lead you astray and chip away at your morals with her siren-like smile.

He knows this; he’s no stranger to dangerous vices, makes no claim to innocence. Still, while he may not be the top subscriber of the on-base psychology facilities, he’s sat through enough mandated sessions to recognise self-destruction when he sees it.

She doesn’t turn to face him when she speaks. Her voice is lowered, cognizant of the driver separated from them only by a thin plastic screen.

“I know why you came to get me tonight.”

He hums in response, fingers adjusting their grip on his elbows.

“…I’m not going to play the sweetheart just because you wanted to play the hero.”

A pause. He takes a moment to stare at the blur of streets and lampposts outside the window before answering.

“You told me the first night we met that you’re selfish- and I don’t take you for a liar.”

She does turn to face him then, eyes swimming with an emotion he can’t quite place yet. Gratitude. Pride, maybe.

There’s another pause, and she clears her throat. “So- SAS, huh? Anti-terrorism.”

Ghost chuckles then, his expression softening. “You seem surprised.”

She shrugs, smiling softly. “I don’t know. Sort of had you pegged as a preening Coast Guard rookie.”

He laughs again, a little heartier this time. “The Coast Guard do good work.”

Her smile widens. “I know. My brother used to volunteer, when he was in high school.”

His posture stiffens in surprise. “You got a brother?”

Lucy doesn’t move. It’s like she’s gone somewhere; he wonders where. “…Yeah. Two, actually. And a sister.”

Ghost- well, on further introspection, this is Simon talking- raises an eyebrow. She hiccups, and he has to fight to hold back a smile.

“I had a brother.”

She’s quiet for a moment, long nails picking at a loose thread on the sleeve of the suit jacket. The image of Danny the Prick shivering as he heads back inside to settle his bill without it amuses Ghost to no end.

“Had?” She asks, voice gentler than he’d heard from her before.

No, actually, that wasn’t true. Her voice was soft that first night they’d spoken, her hands running along his thighs as she knelt between his legs. He hadn’t seen her like that since; all docile and tone filled with a sincerity that had him believing she actually cared about what he had to say.

He nods, and debates elaborating. She probably wouldn’t even remember this in the morning- God, I wonder how much of her life she’s lost to drunken blackouts. Does she still feel 19 because she can only remember 19 out of however many years she’s lived?

She doesn’t press for more anyway, hazy eyes starting to droop. He thinks, just for a second, that she’ll lay her head against his shoulder, but she shifts her weight to lean her forehead against the condensation-coated window with a stifled yawn.

“…Simon.”

Her eyes flutter back open, and he feels the twist of regret in his stomach as he takes in the patch of smeared foundation of her forehead now.

“Huh?” She frowns at him, the drink and the sleep muffling her hearing.

With his voice still barely above a whisper, he repeats himself. “Simon.” He clears his throat, crossing his arms over his chest. “My name.”

It takes her a second, but a smile spreads across her smudged lips. “Simon.” She chirps back, seemingly pleased with the way his name sounds on her tongue. She chuckles to herself, pressing her knees against his. He doesn’t press back, but does keep his legs in place, feeling the chilled skin of her knees through his trousers. He holds his breath.

He had to practically herd her up the stairs when they pull up to the building, his hands hovering over her waist in fear of her tripping and tumbling down the long flights of stairs. She looks up at him as they stop outside of her door, her fingers curling around the collar of his jacket.

“Are you gonna come in?”

“No, Lucy. Not tonight.” His response is quick, anticipating her question. He untangles his fingers from him, bringing them back down to her sides.

She shakes her head, eyes flickering over his broad chest. “Not to fuck. Just…stay.”

There’s a long pause, and she keeps her gaze down. He furrows his brows, keeping his gentle grasp around her wrists.

“To just…sleep?”

Another fleeting moment of silence, and she nods. He grunts in response, shrugging his shoulders. A flicker of a smile creeps across his lips at the sight of her own, and he’s once again grateful for the privacy mask he’d grabbed before leaving his flat earlier.

She unlocks her door, tripping over her entrance rug as she fiddles with the clasps on her shoes, tossing them in the vague direction of the hallway cupboard. He clicks his teeth at the sight of her numerous lamps and lighting fixtures still on despite her being out for the past few hours.

“Fucking fire hazard, Luce.” He chastises, and she snorts out a drunken laugh.

“Better than cracking my head open trying to fumble for the light switch in the dark.”

He hums at that, an unconvinced allowance at her logic. He follows her through to the bedroom, smirking at the haphazard piles of clothes she’d pulled out of her wardrobe earlier she’d neglected to pick up.

“You were gonna bring that Danny bloke home with your place a tip like this?”

Lucy rolls her eyes at him, shoving the crumpled heaps of lace and satin into a drawer. “Didn’t particularly care about his opinion of my homemaking capabilities.”

She strips off the flimsy material of her dress, tossing it into a hamper. He eyes the intricate straps of her lingerie, clasps tucked under layers of overlapping silk. She brushes her hair over one shoulder, and by God is he tempted to press a kiss to the bare skin exposed.

“Help me out of this?” Her tone is light, innocent, but that woman knows exactly what she’s doing. Ghost complies with a grunt, thick fingers brushing against her back as he undoes the knots, the bows and the little buckles holding the garment in place. He lets it drop to the floor unceremoniously, and revels in the way her breath hitches as he kneels to the floor behind her and hooks his fingers over the hem of her underwear.

He keeps his eyes on the side of her face turned towards him over her shoulder as he lifts the bottom of his mask and presses his lips to the back of her thigh, smiling against her skin as the touch makes her jolt forward on her unsteady legs.

He curls one hand against her knee to still her, keep her in place as he trails his lips upward, breathing in the heady scent of her. It’s a mixture of smells that has him nosing against her, rain and sweat, stale beer and sweet perfume and her. Lucy, not Violet.

He tugs her underwear down, over the curve of her hips and past the flesh of her thighs, letting the scarlet piece of lace fall to the floor next to her bra. He keeps his gaze down as he lets his finger travel up back towards her core, pinky finger extending out to swipe across the swell of her ass.

He stands, pulling her hair back over her shoulder to fall down across her back. “Let’s get you into my shirt again and into bed, princess.” He whispers close to her ear, biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from grinning at the way she shivers.

“Uh-huh.” She nods, turning to face him again. Her hands drop to his belt buckle, glancing up at him for permission. He nods, watching her closely as she gathers the coordination to pull the leather off of him, undoing his trousers too and dropping to her knees just like he had done to pull the hem down to his knees. She stares up at him for a second, pupils blown, before turning her attention towards his boots. She mumbles a soft curse as she struggles with the tightly-knotted laces, acrylic nails too long to let her undo them with any sort of ease.

Ghost chuckles, but doesn’t move to help her. He watches from above as she bends forward to tug and pull at his shoes, doing nothing more than lifting his foot slightly to let her take the shoe off. He throws his jacket over her door, pulling his shirt off over his head and offering it to her.

She leans back on her heels, donning the soft cotton tee. “And the mask?” She asks hopefully.

“Not tonight, Luce.” His words echo the ones he’d spoken outside of her door as he cups her jaw, his hands large enough to take her entire cheek into his palm. “Bedtime.”

She sighs, pouting just slightly, but acquiesces and crawls underneath the floral-patterned sheets. He follows, grabbing at her waist and pulling her onto his chest.

She whines. “The light, Si.”

He raises an eyebrow, lifting his head off of the pillow to look down at her. “Si?” He asks incredulously. She just waves off the question, arousal quickly dissipated by her body’s need to pass out into a drunken sleep.

He chuckles, drawing her in tighter. He tucks his mask back down over his jaw, but not before pressing a chaste kiss into her hair, drawing in one last greedy breath of her scent without the fabric in the way.

Rain. Sweat. Booze. Something pretending to be cherry. Cinnamon- real cinnamon.

(tag list! <3 @simpxinnie)

[ichasewaterfalls]

CAR OMORASHI.

By reading this, you verify that you are 18+ years old, and understand the content you’re about to read is considered NSFW and omorashi-linked, and therefore unsuitable to minors.

I tried to keep the heightening urge to pee in the back of my mind as we sped down the highway towards the mountains. We’d only been driving for an hour or so, and I didn’t want to inconvenience Jake just yet. I was sure that I had a good few more miles left in me before it escalated to emergency status. I’d turned down the initial toilet break before we left, confident in my holding ability and wanting to keep to our strict schedule in order to get to Jake’s parents house before Christmas Eve.

Dismissing the thought from my mind, I instead scrolled the plan I’d written for our trip. Itineraries for each day, special activities for us all, and even a family photoshoot for the entire group. I’d taken joy in planning every family reunion since Jake and I got married 4 years ago. Admittedly, I’d also taken control the 2 years we were engaged, and the 3 years of dating. So with 9 years of planning under my belt, I was confident I knew how to create the perfect festive bash.

That wasn’t the only thing under my belt. My bladder reminded me of its existence as Jake merged rapidly into the left-most lane, and I shivered randomly as a wave of urgency fell down my spine.

‘What the hell? You’re supposed to be in the right lan-‘

Before I told him off for his directional mishap, I looked up quickly to see the lane was blocked off, a massive spill of hay all over the road. Should’ve thought of this as a possibility, since we were just passing the thresholds between country farms and mountainous ranges. My bladder seemed to be passing a threshold too, between uncomfortable and urgent.

‘We’ll have to go the back way. It’ll be about 45 extra minutes added to the journey.’

I sighed with frustration, 45 minutes? Not only did it throw us off schedule, it meant longer for me to hold my increasingly aching bladder.

‘I’ll text your mom.’ I scoffed, quickly shooting the group chat a text to let them know we’d be a bit late. As I put my phone down again, I crossed my legs and placed my hands on my lap, preparing myself to have to place a hand or two between my legs to hold myself.

I must have been shaking without notice, but Jake obviously did. He always did.

‘You alright there? Need a bathroom break?’

‘N-no, I’m fine. I- Yes I need a bathroom break.’

‘I’m not sure where the closest facility is on this road. I don’t normally drive the backroads to mom’s. I’m sure we’ll figure it out babe.’

The drive continued, and so did my need for a bathroom. I now had one hand between my legs, and another hand scanning Google Maps, trying to find any relief stops near us. But of course, rural mountain roads aren’t the most reliable source of internet connection. I thought about asking Jake to stop so I could get out and go, but since everyone was diverted, like us, we had cars in front and behind us. And with narrow, slippery roads, there wasn’t enough space to stop and pull over, or safely get off the road. A sinking feeling set in. My sense of chivalry was no longer important to me, he was my husband after all.

‘Jake it’s getting worse, I need to find relief ASAP.’

‘I don’t know how to help babe, I’m trying.’

He was obviously noticing the severity of the situation, as he placed his foot on the gas, going up to the safest speed limit for these roads. I watched him stare at me anxiously as I shoved both hands inside my pants, trying to hold back the pee from escaping.

As the car climbed higher into the range, my need for a bathroom reached a breaking point, and the urgency in my voice became palpable. "Jake," I gasped, my face contorted with discomfort, "I really can't hold it much longer."

"I know, Clara," Jake signed, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of civilization or a restroom. "Just a little longer, okay? Let's try some deep breathing together."

He reached over, placing one hand on my shoulder to guide me through deep, calming breaths. "Inhale deeply...hold it for a moment...now exhale slowly," he coached, trying to keep his voice steady despite the rising panic.

I squeezed my eyes shut, gripping the seatbelt tightly. "It's not working, Jake," I whimpered, my voice trembling with desperation.

But as the minutes ticked by, my resolve wavered. I clutched the dashboard, my face flushed with embarrassment and defeat. "Jake," I whispered, tears forming in her eyes, "I can't...I'm so sorry."

Before Jake could respond, the inevitable happened. My efforts to hold it in proved futile, as the pee rushed out of me, soaking my jeans and the car seat beneath me.

For a moment, silence filled the car, save for my muffled sobs and Jake's stunned expression. The weight of the situation hung heavy between us.

"I'm so sorry, Jake," I managed to choke out, tears streaming down her face.

Jake took a deep breath, reaching over to comfort me. "It's okay sweetheart," he said softly, his voice filled with empathy and understanding. "Accidents happen. We'll figure this out together."

[suratan-zir]

@saxor117

as per usual, I'm publicly answering to all sorts of disgusting individuals on tumblr instead of just blocking them, because I'm dumb like that and have no chill. I can't stand the injustice. And I will not tolerate someone, who probably never even been to Ukraine nor experienced the war, calling me a liar.

Here's a video where you can clearly see russian missile hitting the mall. Although, if you were interested in truth, than you would easily find it yourself.

I live in a small rural area right across the river from Kremenchuk, just a few kilometers away. I almost rented an apartment in that district for my grandmother who was forced to evacuate from Donbas (because russia if fucking razing Donbas to the ground at the moment). Good thing I didn't. Who knows, maybe she could be in that mall. Or my husband, or me. I am so bad of a liar that I posted about the explosions way before it was clear where exactly this happened. The blast was quite powerful, and I honestly thought it could be my last day on earth.

"Literally no evidence that russia target civilians"? I don't know, how about the whole fucking cities and villages being razed to the ground? Dozens of videos of russians opening fire from tanks at apartment buildings or riding over civilian cars with innocent people inside? Tens of thousands of killed Ukrainians?

Someone today made this compilation of shopping centers destroyed by russia. Are these all military targets?

The thing that you call a "military factory" is in reality the Road machines factory "Кредмаш" and it produces asphalt mixing machines.

But I want to talk about something else. When it became normal to invade a sovereign country, completely unprovoked and unjustified, and target its military even? What about it is okay?

Not only every civilian person killed and civilian object destroyed is a crime for which russia is fully responsible, but the killing of every Ukrainian soldier is a crime as well. Because russia has no excuse, no real reason for this war, other than conquest and genocide.

And here's a link to the video of todays missile strike on an apartment building in Mykolaiv. Just to add to "no evidences"

Fuck you so much

[dmitriene]

— brighter than the sun.

ᴀᴜ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Leon Kennedy, a former USSTRATCOM agent who is now on vacation and found his home as a gardener in a country village, and whom you will meet due to a completely random coincidence in an attempt to escape from the bustle of the city. ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ: re4! leon x fem! reader (this chapter is gn) ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴀɢꜱ: fluff, comfort, using of y/n, mention of kissing. ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: hello! this is my first attempt in the series and some kind of completely my own story that was suddenly born in my head, i hope that i can make a good second part out of this and that you enjoy this work! please enjoy your reading) 🍵

next ch.

 ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌«i wanna take the train with you / i wanna run away with you»

 ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ «come on run away / run away with me»

The bustle of the city is a thing from which after a certain time you want to escape, it is an eternal kaleidoscope of loud sounds and unnecessary movements that falls on the inhabitants of large cities, like you, like an endless stream, exhausting not only physically but also incredibly emotionally.

In this bustle, people become links in an endless chain where work responsibilities are woven, some of their family obligations and a desire, mixed with need, in order to maintain their social status.

The morning hours begin every day with big traffic jams on wide asphalt roads, where everyone tries to escape from the thick of the crowd and be in time for the beginning of the working day, then, refusing to work in the office, people are immersed in an endless stream of calls and emails, urgent meetings and the pursuit of time, which, as it seems, is never enough.

The lunch break turns into an attempt to escape from the working atmosphere, but even in a restaurant or cafe you can’t avoid calls and messages that strongly remind you that the world does not stop, after which you return to the office again, where the struggle with papers, numerous projects and deadlines continues until late evenings.

Lunchtime hours of work are most often the hardest, because all thoughts will be captivated by the thought that this will all be over soon, and as soon as the sun slowly reaches the horizon, painting the nearby high rises surroundings in a crimson color mixed with golden stripes of the last visible rays of the sun, as everyone immediately scatters, noisily and relieved, collecting their things in order to leave work as soon as possible and go home.

Thus, the city has always been for you an inexorable whirlwind of noise, approaching deadlines and heaps of stress, which, after time, began to drain you as much as possible, squeezing out all the feelings and emotions as if you were nothing more than a sponge.

And so, when the opportunity presented itself to change from the cacophony of beeps and sparkling screens to the silence of a rural village, a place that promised solace and family warmth, you took this chance with both hands.

(...)

It all started with a phone call, a sharp ringtone cutting through the monotonous hum of a typical work day, making you curiously look in his direction and notice with surprise the flashing name of your grandmother on the screen.

You haven’t talked to her for a long time, let alone seen her, the demands of a busy city life and work often left little time for such contacts, so with a smile on your lips, you answered the phone, wanting to hear her familiar voice.

— «Hello, grandma!»

you warmly greeted, and your heart fluttered at the sound of her gentle laughter on the other side of the line, forcing you to instantly distract yourself from everything else

— «Oh, dear, we haven't talked in so long»

she reproached playfully, once again making your heart clench at her warm, effervescent laugh, a smile intuitively finding its way to the corner of your lips.

— «How are you?»

The conversation proceeded without much effort, a truly soothing balm for your tired soul, when suddenly, among family stories, laughter and shared memories, your grandmother made a rather unexpected invitation, uttering in a fluttering voice

— «You know, dear, the village is now blooming with the most beautiful flowers..»

her voice is gentle and warm, against the background of the call, her steps were heard and after that your ears were enveloped by the sounds of loud chirping of birds and fleeting conversations, as she continued to speak, her voice, warm and with a touch of excitement, carried along the line

— «And I have a spare room.. why don't you take a short vacation and visit me, we haven't seen each other for such a long time?»

The invitation hung in the air, an oasis of calm amidst the chaos of your life, the thought of leaving the noisy city for the serene embrace of your grandmother's village was enticing, a chance to finally forget and rest that touched the strings of your heart.

A vacation in the countryside sounded like a dream, and the prospect of reuniting with your grandmother as well as escaping from the chaos of the city was irresistible, so with a surge of enthusiasm, you responded instantly

— «You're right, it sounds wonderful, granny, I'll arrange everything and come to you as soon as possible»

(...)

A few days later, you found yourself packing your bags eagerly, already letting your fantasies paint the deepest recesses of your head with pictures of what was to come.

The urban frenzy seemed to recede with every thing you put in your suitcase, replaced by a sense of calm anticipation, and the thought of reuniting with your grandmother made you smile, while the prospect of exploring the countryside added to the excitement.

Packing things for you was like orchestrating a symphony of excitement and long awaited anticipation, a dance between practicality and whimsy as you carefully choose the essentials, allowing yourself to dream of the adventures that await you.

Every item you put in your suitcase becomes a tangible reminder of the journey ahead, a physical manifestation of the excitement that flows through your veins and makes you even a little worried that something will go wrong, or maybe the trip will not be as cheerful as you expect.

The process of packing really becomes a reflection of your full anticipation, a physical manifestation of the emotions seething inside you with every thing that you put inside bags and a small suitcase.

As soon as you zip up your suitcase, anticipation reaches its climax, the soft click of lightning is like turning a page in a book, signaling the start of a new chapter, while your heart flutters with a mixture of nervousness and excitement, like a child on the eve of a new adventure.

Stepping away from your neatly packed suitcase and small bag, you look back with a smile, your mind already wandering to the places you might explore and the people you will meet, whereby the burden of everyday duties begins to subside, replaced by a sense of liberation at the imagining of the journey that looms on the horizon like a once empty canvas.

The night before departure is restless dreams full of hopes and expectations, your sleep is an absolutely fleeting companion while your mind is in a hurry with thoughts of new sights, sounds and experiences, you imagine the excitement and awe that lies in anticipation in your head from the realization that tomorrow everything will gradually begin change.

Morning comes and with it a feeling of cheerfulness, your bags on top of your suitcase are ready at the door, a physical manifestation of your willingness to accept the unknown and surrender to a spontaneous decision, but the excitement seething inside you is palpable, it is a mixture of nervousness and joy from which the heart is beating wildly and the blood is flowing much faster than usual.

As soon as you walk out the door, the outside world seems different, filled with the promise of adventure, and the air seems fresher, the sun is brighter, and the sounds of the city are noisier than usual, as is the expectation of the long awaited vacation that you are closer to with every packed bag in the trunk of your car, before you slammed it shut as you got behind the wheel and pulled out of the garage.

(...)

The journey was scenic, the scenery changing from towering skyscrapers to rolling hills and open skies, the closer you got to the village, the more your heart seemed to expand with a quiet sense of belonging to your surroundings, memories of childhood visits to your grandmother's quaint cottage danced through your mind in the circle — the aroma of freshly baked apple pie, the soft creak of a wooden swing on the porch and the warmth of her quivering embrace.

The verdant landscapes and flower fields were a breathtaking canvas, and your anticipation grew with every kilometer you drove as anticipation swept through your mind as soon as the village appeared beyond the horizon of your view.

(...)

When you finally arrived in the village, you were instantly overcome by a feeling of nostalgia, pleasantly pressing on your heart.

The quaint cottages lined the cobbled streets, adorned with wildly growing plants and flower pots, creating a sense of enchantment and a sort of fairy tale that was hard to resist, the air was crisp and carried an earthy scent of nature with a hint of wildflowers in stark contrast to artificial aromas of the city that seemed to you more familiar than clean air, caressing the lungs with its lightness.

Parking your car in front of Grandma's cottage, you breathed in the silence for a moment, unable to help smiling at the sight of her meticulously manicured garden whose bright flowers painted a colorful tapestry and the gentle rustle of leaves seemingly welcoming you with open arms before you climbed the small stairs in front of the cottage doorstep, looking around a small wooden swing on the porch, when suddenly the front door opened just at the moment when you were about to knock and you were immediately greeted by the beaming smile of your beloved grandmother.

Her eyes shone with joy as her arms wrapped around you in a warm and tight embrace, her presence a reassuring confirmation that some things never change, no matter how much time passes.

In her hands, memories of the summer spent here flooded instantly — laughter, homemade pies and love, which seemed to envelope every corner of the small village, and reunion with her fluttered in your chest, a warm feeling spilling through your veins.

Wrinkles indicating her wise age adorned her cheeks, and her eyes sparkled with joy even more as her embrace became gentler, as if more comforting.

— «My dear, how I've missed you» she whispered in a soothing melody.

Tears of happiness welled up in your eyes as you wrapped your arms around her and hugged her in return, her embrace was like a warm cocoon protecting you from worldly cares and allowing you to bathe in the love that only a grandmother could offer, the comfort that a family can offer.

For a while, you stand like this, as if there is no longer a village, no human fuss, and even no sounds, enjoying only the warmth of the long awaited reunion and the beating of each other's hearts until her warm hands fall off you, gently wrapping around your shoulder and leading you inside the cottage, saying

— «Let's get inside my dear, i'm sure we have a lot things to talk about»

(...)

The days that followed were a blissful spot of relaxation and reunion on your life, pulling into it's rhythm as you helped your grandmother tend her garden and your fingers found solace in the slightly damp earth as you grew plants together.

The sun drenched days were spent in the company of bright flowers and the sweet singing of birds, and the calm beauty of the village penetrated your soul and brightened up peaceful everyday in the circle of this life, bright flowers and fragrant herbs in the garden seemed to sing a welcoming choir, and their beauty testified about your grandmother's caring touch.

And it was on one of those peaceful evenings that your paths crossed with Leon Kennedy.

You were caring for a bed of fragrant herbs, studying them and inhaling their pleasant aroma, watching how well groomed the plants were and their even row on an earthen ridge, when suddenly a friendly voice broke the silence, forcing you to raise your head

— «Hey there! Need a hand with those?»

Standing next to you was a man with startling blue eyes that sparkled with the charming rays of the sun at sunset, reflected in his eyes as if in mirrors while a slight smile played on his lips, and his hand combed back strands of his fluffy blond hair.

His attire, which was a beige apron and a strap with various scissors and spatulas, indicated that he was a gardener, and his presence radiated a sense of calm that matched the surroundings.

— «It would be great)» you responded with a smile, welcoming his offer of help.

Leon knelt beside you as his fingers worked deftly throughout the entire time as he harvested herbs with practiced precision as you worked together, the conversation flowing effortlessly like a gentle stream winding through the landscape of the village.

— «Name's Leon, by the way, Leon Kennedy)»

he said in a genuinely friendly way, giving you a smile, making you politely mutter back

— «Y/n L/n)»

Leon talked about his role as a gardener in the village and how he is a former agent currently on extended leave, as well as working with your grandmother to grow medicinal plants on her property, as she needed both them and help, his passion for growing plants and the welfare of the village were evident in his every word.

The sun began to go down, flooding the garden with warm light as the initial awkwardness gave way to a pleasant acquaintance, and when you two shared stories and laughed, it was like new feelings and future sensations were born, Leon's laughter was infectious, and his tales of events in the villages and its inhabitants painted a vivid picture of life in the area as he enthusiastically shared the therapeutic properties of the various herbs he grows both in his garden and at your grandmother's.

When the evening painted the sky in shades of pink and gold, warming the horizon and numerous glades with warm rays, you and Leon exchanged smiles and parted, the promise to meet again was in the air and the warmth of his presence was still felt next to you in the air, making you look forward to next meeting with him.

(...)

Days turned into weeks and your interactions with nice guy — Leon, became a part of your new routine as you explored the village's hidden gems, overlooked its charming shops and enjoyed the simple pleasures it had to offer, his company was a source of solace, and his light and chesty laughter is like a balm for the soul.

One evening, as the sun set in a glow of scarlet and pink, blazing in the background, you and Leon found yourself by the village pond, a quiet and small oasis that reflected the serenity you found in each other's presence, his bluish jacket resting on your shoulders, being previously offered to keep you warm.

The water shimmered like liquid gold thanks to the iridescence of different shades of red and gold, reflecting the shades of the sky in its depths of a transparent surface through which one could even see some of the pebbles at the bottom.

— «It seems to me that such moments make you appreciate the beauty of simplicity»

the velveteen tone of his voice interrupted the rustle of leaves in the light cool breeze and the slight sound of water, forcing you to look at Leon and tilt your head slightly to the side.

You nodded in agreement, captivated by the peaceful scene in front of you, speaking softly as a smile curled up on your lips

— «Absolutely, it’s a nice transition from urban chaos»

Leon suddenly turned to you, the warmth of the reflecting sky playing in his glassy eyes that sent chills down your spine as you slowly studied how the bright orange light of the beams emphasized his features and fluffy strands of hair that seemed to glisten under the sun.

— «You know, since you arrived, the village has been like a breath of fresh air»

Your heart skipped a beat, and his words lit a gentle blush on your cheeks almost the color of a pinkish sunset in the sky, the connection between the two of you really deepened over time, turning into something with a promise for more, but you didn’t like to think and rush, especially given that you are not in this oasis forever.

— «I feel the same way.. your presence has brought me a sense of comfort and joy that i have been missing, Leon»

You admitted in a soft but confident tone of voice, watching as in the soft embrace of the fading light, Leon's smile was a beacon of confidence and your general silent confirmation of the emotions that blossomed between you two.

When the first stars appeared on the night canvas of the sky, as if an artist had shaken white paint from a brush onto a canvas, Leon stepped closer, and his fingers found yours in a gentle embrace of the slightly tingling touch of fingertips and gentle strokes on the knuckles.

— «You made this village even more special»

His voice is a gentle whisper in the form of pure recognition, while the world around you seems to have disappeared, leaving only the two of you under the gaze of the milky stars.

And exactly at that moment, with a gentle rustle of leaves and a distant chirping of crickets as the only witnesses of everything that happens, you leaned over and touched your lips to his in a sweet and tender kiss, tenderness played on the very tip of your tongue like a cloying sweetness, a whirlwind of butterflies gathered below your belly.

This kiss was like a new kind of conversation and communication between you, talking about sharing laughter and new experiences, peace of mind in the feeling of something beautiful and warm, while your lips parted towards each other with a sense of formed belonging, a feeling that you both found a place where you can drown in the peace of the heart and its rhythmic heartbeat.

In the serene comfort and tremulous embrace of the village, you found solace not only in its beautiful gardens and secluded paths, but also in the depths of this man’s heart, finding in him such comfort and peace that you lack while your fingers continued to intertwine in silent dialogue, and his lips endlessly sensually covered yours, pressing the top of your head against you in between and studying your deep gaze hidden under a fan of eyelashes.

This chapter of your journey will be imprinted in your memory as a cherished memory that suddenly bloomed in the heart of the countryside, but until then, you will not think ahead.

© dmitriene - my masterlist

please, don't copy my works as your own, and if you want to post them somewhere else - contact me.

reblogs, likes and comments are very much appreciated, thank you for reading! ♡

[fatehbaz]

Italian fascism was trying to defeat a nature [...] by declaring it a priority to civilize the marshes of the Pontine Plain. [...] The swampland was still the habitat of the anopheles mosquito and the dominion of the “Goddess of Fever.” [...] [A] flaw of a primal [...] nature, [...] unproductive [...]. The efforts to create “an idyllic rural area consonant with fascist ideals of productivity [...] within the state’s interests” included extensive electrification of the region, constructing thousands of kilometres of roads and canals and “large pumping and drainage plants called impianti idrovori (drainage pumping stations), in Italian literally ‘water-eating’ machinery plants,” founding an anti-malaria institute, having war veterans plant the region with water-absorbing [non-native] eucalyptus trees (these plants performed their job too well, which is why they were later torn out again at great expense [...]), stocking fish [...], establishing an anti-mosquito militia, and putting up children’s camps whose buildings were wrapped in ten layers of wire to protect them from mosquitoes. “The fascist emphasis on the technical and technological aspects of the land reclamation programme were also characteristic of a positivistic view of [technology and institutionalized knowledge] [...] aimed at controlling, rationalizing and ultimately creating an imperium over a previously unknown or ‘untamed’ area.”

Text by: Fahim Amir. “Cloudy Swords.” e-flux Journal Issue #115. February 2021. [Bold emphasis added by me.]

---

On 24 December 1928 Italy’s fascist regime launched [...] a fourteen-year national land reclamation programme aimed at [...] Italy’s ‘death inducing’ swamps [...]. The Pontine Marshes, a marshland spreading across 75,000 hectares south of Rome was given top priority [...]. [T]he fascist regime used an extensive propaganda machinery to promote the programme [...] as a heroic quest [...]. Newsreels documented step by step the struggle [...], with Mussolini himself often featuring, overseeing the project, or even working the land. [...] This policy [...] aimed [...] [at] improving [...] existing cities by removing “unhealthy” urban areas, through the process of sventramento (disembowelment). [...] Indeed, the project exhibits many similarities in aims and scope to a number of modernising plans that were materialised across the world at around the same time: the Tuscan maremma (1928), a large scale coastal reclamation project; the Zuiderzee dyke project in Holland (1920-1932), which produced the Ijsselmeer, an enclosed area of water that would later host urban settlements [...]; Spain’s ambitious national hydrological plan that would “correct hydrologically the national geographical problem” by introducing a system of dams [...]; Switzerland’s Linth valley hydro engineering scheme that drained marshland and provided the geographical basis for a unified [nationalist] Swiss identity [...]; Greece’s Marathon dam project, that would produce Athens as a western sanitized metropolis [...]. All of these projects shared [...] the desire to link these socially constructed techno-natures to a broader project of promoting national unity and [nationalist] identity.

Text by: Federico Caprotti and Maria Kaika. “Producing the ideal fascist landscape: nature, materiality and the cinematic representation of land reclamation in the Pontine Marshes.” Social & Cultural Geography Volume 9. 2008. [Bold emphasis added by me.]

[lairofdragonagelore]

Dragon Age Iconic Patterns: The Sun

In this post I will try to extensively gather all the sun-based or sun-like imagery that we find in all the games of Dragon Age. From the most typical ones to those which may seem obscure or with a hidden allegory/design. I will qualify their resemblance with the Sun symbol as Strong, Weak or other.

This post contains the following symbols

Chantry Sunburst

Elvhenan Culture: Sun symbol among the Evanuris

Elvhenan Culture: Asterisk Symbol and Elvhenan Doors

Elvhenan Culture: Golden Ring

Elvhenan Culture: Crappy Sun

Elvhenan Culture: Elgar’nan and Sylaise

Elvhenan Culture: Murals

Tevinter Culture: Green Star

Tevinter Culture: different decorative elements

Dwarven Culture: Fairel and Dwarven art

Ferelden Culture: The Sun Face and the geometrical Sun

Grey Wardens and the Sun

Avvar and the Sun

Flemeth

Qunari, Par Vollen, and the Solium Constellation

DAO design

Free Marches Rural Areas

[This post belongs to the series “Analysis and speculation of Statues”]

[Strong] Chantry Sunburst

The most typical one that appears in DA series is the Sun or Sunburst with wavy rays, repeated so much along the games that we can identify it immediately. It’s the unequivocally symbol of the Chantry. We found it in many versions, and it represents the “dawn” with the idea of hope and “new beginnings”, but also the fire that “purified” Andraste in her pyre to let her ascend to the Maker’s side. In the posts of Andrastian Art [Andrastian Design: Stained Glasses], we also find that “balls of fire” [which can be interpreted as a Sun in another way] are shown to represent the Maker or the Faith in Him.

Andraste’s single spiked helm seems to be inspired in a single sun ray, at least this is what an illustration in the Chant of Light [book of World Of Thedas] seems to suggest.

In general, most of the representations of the Chantry Sun have 16 rays.

The same sun-like symbol appears in its Tevinter version when we see the Imperial Chantry; the only difference with the Orlesian one is that the Tevinter Sunburst has straight rays.

As a detail, in DAO, we had the typical representation of the wavy sunburst present in some strange devices of Tevinter origin, for example, the ones we found in [Brecilian ruins], while the main Church in Denerim, or in Haven, display spikes that, more than resembling a sun, look like thorns or even a thorny vine. This may be a consequence of an original plan in linking, design-wise, the chantry symbology with the thorny vines that represent the Blight or the Darkspawn [As we explained in the section “Non-mural symbol: Thorny vines” from Murals in DAI: Basics], or merely it was a limitation of the design of the game, as we know DAO suffers from.

We also know that tranquils should display this symbol on their foreheads, burnt with lyrium, but as we saw along DAO, none of them had it. Later we were informed that the devs had problems to add this mark on the npc, therefore, it was never shown until DA2. When it comes to this symbol, it is interesting to see that tranquils carry the metaphor of “a Sun burning their minds and emptying them”, which may or may not be related with Dwarves and their fear to the Sun and potential relatinship of Elgar'nar shoving a fire ball into their underground lands [More details of this concept in Deep Roads [DLC Trespasser]: Lower Walkways in particular with the codex  Torn Notebook in the Deep Roads,].

[Strong] Elvhenan Culture: Sun symbol among the Evanuris

Strangely close to the Chantry Sunburst symbol, we find the “half” sun symbol [tagged along the blog as Sun-head creature] in what we suspect was one of the ancient primordial dragon symbols that some Evanuris took over when they claimed Divinity [for more context, read Attempt to rebuild Ancient Elvhenan History]. It’s hard to say which Evanuris took control of this symbol, but we know there is a clearly sun-like symbol present in the Crossroads of the DLC [as a statue, check The Crossroads [DLC Trespasser]: Entrance] and in the Shattered Library [as an Eluvian, check  Shattered Library; Entrance and Courtyard]. With the release of the Vinyl, we also discovered and reinforced the hypothesis that this symbol belongs to or was co-opted by an Evanuris [read Speculations about the Vinyl Art for details] thanks to the image of an elf wearing a hat with that shape.

A consistent detail of this image is that it’s a half-sun with exactly 7 rays.

[Weak] Elvhenan Culture: Asterisk Symbol and Elvhenan Doors

If we extend this imagery, and check other symbols that may look similar to a sun, we find the ancient Elvhenan Doors [Elven Ancient Shard-based door], which top displays a pointy sun of 8 rays that may or may not be related to the Asterisk symbols [also related to the Titan’s core, which I talked about in the post of Murals  “The Death of a Titan”]. In the way the door gets illuminated when activated also makes us see a “circle” in it that can be loosely related to the “Golden Ring shape”. More details about this ring will be treated below.

This strange sun on the ancient door also makes us think in the Asterisk Symbol [made of 8 points], which lays at the centre of the yellow mosaic, which may be related to the core of a Titan [asterisk of 8 points too]. The link is immediate when we see that this asterisk is outlined by a shape that looks like a star or a Sun, inside a big ball with triangular-shape ends. This same symbol appears in the last Trailer of DA4, behind Solas, when he is presented like an Hermit, mysterious, apostate mage. Around this “sun” we can make out several concentric lines that may refer to a “Golden Ring”.

The Asterik symbol also appears in murals such as  “The Creation of the Veil” or “The Death of a Titan”, which allowed us to relate them with the core of a Titan and its immense power of "making real what you imagine"reinforcing the reality", but this symbol also appears in a corner of Solas’ tarot card.

The yellow mosaic also has some shapes at the four corners that may represent eluvians or something related to Mythal. In the mural of “the Temple of Mythal” from  “The actions of the Inquisitor”, we see that Solas draw a particular star of 8 points inside a door frame that resembles this “eluvian outline”, but it’s also the shape of the doors of the Temple of Mythal which represents Mythal herself in her dragon shape. All these symbols seem to reinforce the idea we explored in “The Death of a Titan”: Mythal seems to be related to the core power of a Titan represented by an asterisk that evolves into a golden ring and into a sun.

As I repeated several times in Speculations about the Vinyl Art, at times, we find some hints where stars or balls of fires [also understood as suns] are related to Mythal and Elgar’nan, making us suspect that, maybe, Mythal and Elgar’nan share a nature similar to Falon’Din and Dirthamen’s: apparently, the same creature with two different aspects from them. If this were the case, associating Mythal with the Sun would make sense, and it would also explain why, if Elgar’nan was so central in the Elvhenan culture, there are so few representations and statues of him, while Mythal overwhelms it.

[Weak] Elvhenan Culture: Golden Ring

During the last trailer of DA4, we see Solas turns into the Black Dread Wolf as a sun in the background becomes a moon [single golden circle] and later, it separates itself into concentric rings, that may or may not be related to the “Golden Ring” so deeply entangled with Elvhenan culture. Thanks to this imagery, we may relate the Sun to the Golden Ring [specially if we consider that the mural presented in Nation Art: Elvhen displays the yellow ring in a position that may be considered “the sun”, but also the "authority/power above"]

We need to remember that the Golden Ring’s presence is always associated with control, power, and occasionally to Mythal and Dirthamen. In the mural of the “zombie elves”, it’s above all of them, and due to this position, it could be interpreted like a “sun” or moon upon the controlled, zombified elves. But I’m not too convinced in this interpretation, since we already explored in posts such as: Nation Art: Elvhen, Exalted Plains: Ghilan’nain’s Grove and the Dead Hand, DLC: Jaws of Hakkon - Frostback Basin, Elvhen Tomb, Ancient Elven codices; Fen’Harel’s mountain ruins, The Crossroads [DLC Trespasser]: Elven Mountain Ruins; Vine-covered Tower, Murals in DAI: The Death of a Titan, and Speculations about the Vinyl Art that this ring was more related to control, power, or even forced change/shape in some cases. Due to its power or potential knowledge, it's also associated to Dirthamen Owl [which also could be Andruil's owl according some inconsistencies in the same Unreliable Dalish legends].

On the other hand, it’s never clear if this symbol may have morphed into a sun along the ages with the loss of memory that the Elves had throughout generations when they lost their immortality. However, I tend to consider that this Golden Ring may have changed into a Sun when it entered in contact with human groups, in the same way that I see the story of Fen'Harel gave enough context for humans to create the Maker myth based on him, potentially during the time of Halamshiral [for more details, read The Chantry and the Mythology of the Chant of Light]

This ring also appears in the last scene of DAI, when we defeat Corypheus, showing Mythal inside it, as bits of red lyrium sprout around it. This can be related to many speculations done in Speculations about the Vinyl Art, where we can conclude that another fragment/part of Mythal is still trapped in the Black City, corrupted, and contained by an immense power that may have been used before by the rest of the evanuris to control their own people.

The Golden Ring has also been seen enclosing Elven Tree Statues and Elven Orbs, implying its relationship with elvhenan power and/or Mythal’s [after all, we know that Mythal took the power from a Titan from which elvhen orbs were developed, and trees are also her symbol, according her vallaslin]. It's worth noting that the only working orb we saw in the game was Mythal’s, so far.

[Weak] Elvhenan Culture: Crappy Sun

There is also a strange symbol that I called “crappy sun” in the ancient tablet we find at the entrance and deep into the tomb of Forbidden Oasis: Solasan Temple [along this blog I’ve tagged it as “Stone in Razikale-Ceremony-style”]. It’s hard to say if it represents a sun or a breach. It may be related to a sun similar to the one of the Elven Ancient Shard-based door that, later, Tevinter co-opted to turn into the several versions of pointy suns we see in Tevinter Pre-blight ruins, [let’s remember they were not Andrastian yet, and still they had this symbology in their buildings and elements because it may have been related to ancient dragons, or taken from another elvhen symbology during the time of the Dreamers since there are some proofs, such as the Tevinter Mosaic [Invasion], that may show that Tevinter had a better relationship with elves back then].

Maybe the original symbol was related to Elgar’nan, as we see in his mosaic, where he shoves down the sun into the earth, and its rays are wavy and a bit “crappy”. If this relationship is correct, maybe what Elgar'nan shoved into the Earth to destroy the dwarves/Titans was not a sun but a breach? Again, a very unlikely hypothesis.

This “crappy sun” also has 8 rays.

[Strong] Elvhenan Culture: Elgar’nan and Sylaise

Elgar’nan’s mosaic was interpreted in the post Evanuris, and basically shows an elf shoving down a Sun of wavy rays into the Earth. It’s easy for us to relate this image to the unreliable Dalish legend of Elgar’nan [read Elgar'nan: God of Vengeance]. Elgar’nan is presented here as the son of the Sun itself, who tried to burn all life on the Land out of Jealousy, so Elgar’nan vowed vengeance against his Father’s cruelty, and his rage won against the fire of the Sun. Then, “Elgar'nan threw the sun down from the sky and buried him in a deep abyss created by the land's sorrow.”

This story can be followed later in the post Emprise du Lion: Pools of the Sun, where we find another unreliable Dalish legend claiming that this place has spring waters because it was here where Elgar’nan shoved the sun into the Earth. I also made a link to Sylaise considering the Elvhenan arenas we can see in this region, the presence of Sylaise’s Shrine, and her thirst for being always competing with someone. These details can make us suspect that this Sun could have been Sylaise [so deeply related to fire, the sun, and also as angry as Elgar’nan according the Song to Sylaise].

It’s very worth noting that these two legends, said by different clans, claim that Elgar’nan pushed the Sun into the Abyss. Another detail we have to assume is that "Abyss", "Beyond the Deep Roads" and "The Void" seem to be one thing related to the places where the Titan sleep [or even inside the Titan themselves] instead of a strange dimensional pocket we never saw before. This links the Elvhenan with the Dwarven in what we speculated in Murals in DAI: The Death of a Titan.

With this relationship, we see again the Sun as a weapon of destruction and control.

[Weak] Elvhenan Culture: Murals

Murals present a red sphere with rays that may imply a Sun .

In the mural “The Creation of the Veil” [1], we find a red sphere inside a black one, making us suspect it’s the big evil released by the Evanuris that Solas isolated with the creation of the Veil. Around it, there are seven “bubbles” with similar “rays” in grey and golden colours that may imply “gates” that would allow us the access to the central “sun” or red sphere.

In the mural “The Death of a Titan” [2] we talked extensively about the asterisk symbol, its representation of a Titan’s heart and all that power associated with it, as well as with Golden Rings. The codex in here speaks of a red sphere that contains fury, and maybe all of this can be related to a sun, or better said, the other way around: a Sun as a sphere of fire, related to fury, and buried below underground to contain its destruction. This also brings us some similarities with the unreliable Dalish legends about Elgar'nan.

In the mural  “Red Lyrium Idol” [3] we also commented how the image looks as if Solas were walking on a sphere of fire. It may be related to the red lyrium idol too. Here, we keep linking this idea of a “sphere of fire” as a potential Sun.

In the murals of “The actions of the Inquisitor” [4], we see several times that the red sphere associated with the big evil isolated behind the thick, impenetrable barrier of the Black City seems to be positioned in places that may allow a soft interpretation as a “sun”in the sky.

These symbols seem to gather more importance as we analysed the Vinyl Art, where we find the concept of the Eclipse [as an ominous symbol of Fen’Harel that covers and hides the Sun] and a lot of iconography of stars, which can be interpreted as “suns”.

[Weak] Tevinter Culture: Green Star

Pre-Blight Tevinter art has a “star” symbol that may be interpreted as a sun, specially if we consider that the inside of this green star displays the symbol of the elvhenan Golden Ring in red colour. However, it seems more likely to be a symbol representing the power that one can extract from the Breaches. The green colour helps in this interpretation and puts it a bit farther away from a sun interpretation than other symbols. However, it keeps linking the Golden Ring with the power of creating a Breach.

[Confusing] Tevinter Culture: different decorative elements

The rest of the symbols in Tevinter objects may have some relationship with the Sun. For example, we find doors, boxes, and columns decorated with an 8-pointed star [1] but we also find another one with 6 points in something that looks like a box [2]. The shape of an “hexagonal” sun of 8-pointy rays can be found as well in objects like the “scrying orb” [4].

Among the outfits, we find a 3-ray comb used by Tevinter women [3], which may be related to the sun-based symbol of an Old God [and potentially related to the corresponding Evanuris associated with it]. This symbol is a lot closer to the "Sun-head creature" we found among Elvhenan objects.

As a curious one, I will always point out the strange, hidden Sun figure that belongs to the Free Marches decoration that can be found at the entrance of the Inner Sanctum in Western Approach: The Still Ruins, Viridis Walk and Inner Sanctum.

I think it’s clear and safe to say that most of the sun-based symbols present in Tevinter culture [and previous to their conversion to Andrastian religion] may have been originated from the contact with the Elvhenan [during the Dreamer time where we can see less repulsion to Elvhen according the Tevinter Mosaics] or [most likely] with the dragons that may have been related to the Elvhenan, as I made the connection in the comic post The Missing.

[Weak] Dwarven Culture: Fairel and Dwarven art

The Dwarves, at least the ones in the Fairel’s ruins, may have some link with the Sun as well. In these ruins we find the same exact stone tablet we find in the Ancient Elvhenan tombs [1], which displays the “crappy sun” I commented above. Once again, it could be a sun but also a breach, so there is no much sense to keep focusing on it.

Another symbol to relate the Sun to the Dwarves may or may not be an old “Dwarven stone-paintings” we saw since DAO, which basically shows a dwarf working the stone [3]. Based on symmetry, we could assume that the triangles on the background are stalagmites, but if we stretch-out this interpretation, they could even be seen as a sun with its rays. It’s very unlikely, since it seems to be more a design resource to highlight the scene of the stone-painting, but for completion’s sake I think it’s worthy to keep it commented here.

However, this simple design allows us to interpret it in different ways: the spikes we see can be pieces of rock protruding from the ground and the Dwarf in it is mining them [as its original codex in DAO seems to imply], but also it could be understood as a quarter of a Sun peeking through the corner of the image as a Dwarf works tirelessly.

Later in DAI we are introduced to another piece of art of similar characteristics [2]. The building was never possible to be identified unequivocally, and in posts like “Architecture of Kirkwall : Gallows and Lowtown/Darktown” I related it to representations of Kirkwall or cities that may be similar to Kirkwall where the runecraft mastery of dwarves was used [and probably, it was a source of pride for these clans, who may have kept the achievement immortalised in a piece of art reproduced among the noble dwarven families]. This piece also shows a background very similar to the one in [3] that may be a representation of stalagmites or a sun, if it’s stretched-out enough.

Another strange symbol in the dwarven furniture is the one presented in some stone-seats: an elaborated metal image that shows thorny vines on or over a sun [4]. This symbol appears in many other parts of the game where there are dwarven rooms, but also in Arbor Wilds :Cradle of Sulevin where we can read the Vir Tanadhal, However, in this case, the symbol is not completely the same one than in the Hissing Wastes: Fairel tomb.

It’s hard to suspect if this is a mere reuse of assets, it has a lore-related meaning, or it’s just a reflection that the Dwarves and the Ancient Elvhen had a relationship quite ancient [as it shows the Elvhen tree and its dwarven, more geometrical style, that I’ve been pointing out since DAO in Orzammar]. We have to remember that the Ancient Elvhenan saw the dwarves as soulless creatures, workers of the “pillars of Earth” and worthless. However, I always claimed it was never clear if this was a reference to ancient Dwarves that were linked to the Titan deeply to the point that they became Sha-Brytol after the break of the link, or were related to more independent dwarves as the ones we see now, who have a sense of Stone, but can’t understand the Titan with the exception of some gifted ones [such as Valta].

Finally, the dwarves have an additional aspect related to the Sun in the very unreliable codex called Torn Notebook in the Deep Roads, Section 2. I wrote about this codex in a more integral way in Deep Roads [DLC Trespasser]: Lower Walkways. But basically an ex-Dalish elf [now a Qun converted] relates Elgar’nan’s fire [which another unreliable Dalish legend, Elgar'nan: God of Vengeance, claims he shoved the Sun into the Earth] to the fear to the Sun that Dwarves experience [Read the section Elgar’nan and Sylaise above]. This may have been a Dev’s choice to makes us aware that there exists a relationship between the Sun and the dwarves, even though there is no lore material that can make it clear enough.

[Strong] Ferelden Culture: The Sun Face and the geometrical Sun

In the Tryptich presented in Andrastian Design: Tapestry and Tryptich, we find three symbols on top of each part of the scene: the six-snakes that represent Tevinter, the golden city above all the image representing the Maker or the Chantry Religion, and over the section of Ferelden/Orlais chantry, a 8-pointed sun which rays look like triangles. Once again, the resemblance of this symbol with the elvhenan sun in the mural “Temple of Mythal” is remarkable [check the Temple of Mythal in “The actions of the Inquisitor”] or the sun shape in the elvhenan yellow mosaic or in the background of Solas in the Trailer of DA:D. This could come from different roots:

1- An Orlesian root, considering how much of the elvhenan influence it had during the time of the Halamshiral and the coexistence of humans and elves in the Dales for some years [to the point where inter-racial families were made, as it was hinted all over the Exalted Plains]. I spoeculated how the idea of the Maker may have been developed during this time in the post The Chantry and the Mythology of the Chant of Light

2- Another potential root is related to the Alamarri root, and therefore, linked to the Avvar: this sun may be a representation of the Lady of the Sky for the same reasons I will explain below in the Section Avvars and the Sun.

We can find similar icon in the book World of Thedas, where they show a unique Ferelden Tryptich [3], which top displays this symbol with a sun that even may have a shape of a Golden Ring within it. In either case, we know that this symbol later was part of the Ferelden Chantry, which sun is very pointy, as DAO showed it [see the first section in this post: Chantry Sunburst].

In DAI, we find in some small towns of Ferelden, a unique strange Sun with a crying face [1]. On it we see a bird and a squirrel. It’s hard to know exactly what this is, [check the post Nation Art: Ferelden], but maybe it can be understood as a representation of Andraste made by Ferelden culture mixed with some local animals and fables created as a mixture of cultures, similar to the tale that related Wyverns to Andraste [check the wyvern section in Dragon Age Iconic Patterns: The single spike].

There is also a fish drawn in the DLC of Hakkon on a fisherman shack [2], which displays a pattern that can be related to the “crappy sun” designs on its skin. Not sure what to make about it. The closest is that the Avvar represented this symbol as a way to reflect what they may have seen in the Isle of the Lady, where a big ancient breach have been there, open, since the time of Telana [read about this in “The Veil and the preservation of the Waking World” from the post Frostback Basin [DLC]: Miscellaneous ].

[Strong] Grey Wardens and the Sun

The typical symbol of the Grey Wardens involves a chalice that represents the Joining ritual. It always displays a Sun, and not any sun: it’s one with a strong resemblance to the Sunburst of the Chantry. Let’s remember that the Grey Wardens was and is an independent Order that doesn’t respond to the Chantry, and even more so: it was created before the existence of the Chantry, and before Andraste was born. So any quick explanation that this sun is present in this object due to some potential influence from the Chantry seem unlikely.

However, as I showed in Western Approach: The Still Ruins, Main Chamber and Hall of Silence, there are griffons with this same chalice that belonged to pre-Blight Tevinter, maybe remotely associated with Dumat in some ways [since they appear in a hall called “Hall of Silence”, and Dumat=Silence]. We know that the Joining, as a ritual of blood magic, came from the knowledge of Arlathan elves and Tevinter Mages during the desperate times of the First Blight when nothing seemed to stop the darkspawn and even slaying Dumat did not work the first time. Therefore, this Sun may have some relationship with the elvhenan, the Old Gods, or just the blood magic that allowed the creation of the Joining.

[Curious] Avvar and the Sun

The Avvar have a symbol that I always found very Sun-like due to its design and cultural concept: The Lady of the Sky. It’s not only the concept; the lady of the sky can be any important object in the sky; moons or suns. Since Thedas has two moons, it seems more plausible to think of her as unique as the Sun itself.

In the painting that represents her (found on a wall in the Frostback Mountains) we see a design of an owl which shape looks like a Sun. Even her sculpture in Skyhold displays small spikes around her neck which give her a low-key “sun-like” design, specially if we relate this shape with the “sun” shape we saw in the Ancient Elvhenan Yellow Mosaic or with the star we saw in the “Temple of Mythal” mural [in “The actions of the Inquisitor”] or with the Sun that appears behind Solas in the trailer.

Curiously, her banner displays her eyes in a shape that looks similar to the Golden Ring shape, but in black colour. That the Avvar have an art that may have resemblance with Elvhenan's is not strange for me if we remember that  Tyrdda Bright-Axe Path’s story narrates that her lover was an elf that, as it is hinted, may have been the Lady of the Sky herself. This means that the Avvar always were a culture under the influence of the Elvhenan and the Dwarves [due to the marriages they arranged with the children of the Stone].

[Weak] Flemeth

Flemeth also had a unique concept art that shows all of her nature in one drawing: her dragon shape, Mythal, as the central part of it over a human figure that may be a petitioner; a bit aside and as if she were in a inner ring of a brown sphere, The Witch of the Wild: Flemeth, with a very particular staff inside a yellow circle that may be interpreted as a Sun. And very hidden in the corner, in the core of this sphere, now black, we see her as an "old, old woman" with a big eye drawn on her apron, at the edge of a cliff [potentially representing the fragment of Mythal that lives inside her]. This kind of eye is very similar to the ones that we see in the concept art armours of Mythal’s temple guardians. I assume it has to do with her omnipresence due to the manipulation of dreams [we know that she presented herself in dreams to an elf and marked him with the Vallaslin of Mythal after awakening, check the video]

Mythal also has bland hints related to Elgar’nan symbology, which is related to the sun, fire, and balls of fire with anger [check all this in the posts Speculations about the Vinyl Art and “The Death of a Titan”]. Flemeth ends up being related to all this since she carries a fragment of Mythal in her.

[Strong] Qunari, Par Vollen, and the Solium Constellation

The Qunari have little link with the Sun, but not the land they conquered. In the book World of Thedas we are informed about the existence of the Fex, a race we never saw nor had much information beyond the fact that they exist. May they be related to the Sun or a Sun-base proto religion? We don't know.

In the Codex Constellation: Solium, we learn that this constellation [which looks like a Sun/Star, image above, pretty similar to the Chantry Sunburst I may add] may have been a representation of the Sun or the Moon [or both] for the Neomerian [Ancient Tevinters], however, it could also represent Elgar’nan, since unreliable Dalish legends claim him to be the “eldest of the Sun”.

Another Codex, called  The Pyramids of Par Vollen, tells us that the Jungles of this continent have ancient ruins that doesn’t seem to be tombs but places of scientific purposes. The shape of these ruins fits perfectly with the constellation of Solium, making them, in some way or another, related to the Sun. These pyramids are a great mystery in the DA lore, especially for their total lack of information beyond this codex. We know their walls show images of “intricate sea creatures, shipwrights, musicians, archers, and kings. Odd figures are depicted, tall, horned, always in a position of authority and respect.” It seems that there was no resistance when the Qunari came to conquer this place, so we can suspect that this previous civilization embraced the Qun without much resistance, in part, because the Qunari have horns, and that caused respect and authority. Or the civilisation had been gone long ago when they came. Or it was a civilisation that was developed by or under the authority of the Kossith, the ancient Qunari who had no Qun.

The brief description of these ruins also makes me link it, potentially, with the underground ruins we find in  The Horror of Hormak .

[Confusing] DAO design

This section tries to relate the Sun shape with designs that may make the connection a bit stretched or not truly reasonable, therefore, DAO leads this part, lol.

We find that many places along the game, specially the ones related to puzzles [Honnleath and Enchanter Wilhelm’s basement] or to Tevinter experiments [Ruins of Brecilian Forest] display a platform on the ground with a symbol similar to the Sunburst of the Chantry. I’m not sure why they are there, specially in the Brecilian Forest, since we know this was a fortress probably developed by Tevinter [ which potentially may have co-opted, as usual, an ancient Elvhenan building and claimed it as its own] just to be taken by Dalish and humans later. This Fortress is a mess in terms of design and statues that it displays, so it’s hard, if not impossible, to truly take it seriously. To me it all feels more like a reuse of graphical resources, but just for the sake of completion, I add the present section.

More of these sun-like platforms can be found in the Tower of the Circle of Magi [which could potentially make sense since the tower was made by Avvar and Dwarves, and it may be a representation of the Lady of the Sky, as we saw in the Avvar section of this post] but also in the Temple of Andraste or in Denerim at the Fort Drakon which makes less sense [unless it is taken as a symbol from the Chantry itself]. Again, these inconsistencies make me suspect the reuse of assets in a game that could not afford to have 5 different platforms designs.

[Confusing] Free Marches Rural Areas

Another place where I found a sun-like symbol was in a very disturbing image of the book World of Thedas associated with a cautionary tale told to Free Marches kids. In it, we see that people/children are punished if they go outside a bubble of darkness with small “sun-like” symbols floating around. Each of these kids have a symbol on their belly or head. Curiously, one of these symbols is a small spiral that I’ve brought the attention upon long ago in the post Hinterlands: Statues, paintings, and structures found in the open where we found the alamarri statue I called Eroded dragon skull which has a “G symbol” on its back, which, at the same time, seems similar to the one present in a reiterative way all over the elvhen artefacts and in some dwarven rug designs.

I don't know how to interpret this image, mostly like the big black bubble that contains these klids seems to protect or shield them from the dangers outside. The kids that "behave badly" are dropped outside of it and are consumed by the dragon fire/jaws of the dangers outside. So in a very stretched way, we can interpret this image that the bubble filled with Suns protects people, or at least, it's the right path to follow not to be eaten by those monsters outside.

Conclusions

To put an end to this post, I would like to bring a short conclusion that we may have reached together along it. The Sun in Thedas is an ancient symbol that mostly every culture took to exploit and use in their own representation of gods/power.

This fact alone is not strange, since in anthropology we can see that severals cultures on Earth have developed religious rites or created Gods out of the Sun itself. The Sun is a symbol related to warmth, light, food, life, and security, so it seems reasonable for DA Lore to take it as the main symbol of Thedas civilisations.

The Sun in current Thedas is immediately associated with the Chantry and Andraste: it is a symbol of hope, of dawn, that provide the idea of new beginnings; it’s also the idea of the Maker itself and the Faith people have in him. It's also the fire that purifies in order to grant ascension [Andraste's case].

When it comes to Elvhenan, the Sun is immediately related to Elgar’nan, who was considered, according to the underaliable Dalish legends, the son of the Sun itself, who in order to save the Land shoved the sun into the ground, potentially causing a great damage to Dwarves and Titans.

There is also a symbol of a half-sun in an Eluvian, a statue, and in a hat worn by an elf, that may suggest that an original god, represented by the sun [potentially an ancient Dragon] was worshipped by the Evanuris. Lately, that symbol may have been co-opted by one of the Evanuris when they took divinity and the identity of the ancient gods they worshiped.

Elvhenan also seem to take the symbol of the asterisk as an oversimplification of the Sun, which across the murals, is also related to the heart of Titans, to power, and to the Golden Ring, which is also associated with control. So, for Elvhenan, we may suggest that the Sun represents immense power, if not, Divinity itself, that may end up being related to the core of Titans. The asterisk is also associated to the orb, a big power object.

Since Elvhenan were the first civilisation we know that started in Thedas [besides the Titans and their children], their symbols of power [asterisk, orb, golden ring] may have evolved along time to reach human groups which developed, later, all the sun symbols that ended up in the Chantry’s.

Thanks to Tevinter, we also can suspect that the Sun may have been a representation of an Old God, since they have a lot of sun-related images in their decoration and objects that belong to ancient times in which they were not Andrastian yet [in fact, so ancient times that Andraste herself was not born yet]. This may mean that the Sun symbol cloud have been taken from the Elvhenan or from the Ancient Dragons. Through Tevinter style, we also realise that the Elvhenan Golden Ring may have been used to create Breaches, which again shows and seems consistent with the idea of relating it to power and control. The symbol of Sun in Tevinter culture may be related originally with Elvhenan or with Ancient Dragons that Tevinter used to worship.

Dwarves have little representation of the sun for obvious reasons, but due to the unreliable legend of Elgar’nan and the war with the Titans, we may establish a relationship in which the dwarves endured the Sun [or the Elvhenan power] at some point in their story.

Thanks to the Grey Warden we can relate a sun with the idea of ancient Blood magic or ancient Dragon blood knowledge, since the Joining is represented by a chalice with a Sun on it.

The Avvar also have a low-key representation of the Sun in their Lady of the Sky, which may be just consequence of their deep relationship with the Elvhenan culture.

Par Vollen may have more answers about the Sun and ancient times, but the lore of DA world is very scarce on this region of the map of Thedas, so we can only speculate.

[northofallmusic]

fic I've posted since I was last on tumblr: a quick masterpost. remember to check the tags on ao3, since this is a super brief summary!

qi ye

a light to drown in (he yunxing/zhou zishu & zhou zishu -> liang jiuxiao, e, 9800 words) / As the Capital approaches a crisis point, Zhou Zishu and He Yunxing set out to spend an evening drinking together and trading stories, and Zhou Zishu fails to avoid the things he wants. / I had to make the ship tag for this one guys 💪💪

tian ya ke

our softest pieces (wenzhou, e, 7900 words) / Zhou Zishu made Wen Kexing want to do things he had never considered before. He was so loose and he wanted to be full so badly, and the idea came to Wen Kexing with a strange air of revelation: I could fit my hand inside him. All of it. / a first time fisting fic! mt also drew this; his art is linked in the endnotes.

spring blossom (wenzhou, m, 1900 words) / A spring afternoon on the road; Wen Kexing explores the scars the nails have left. / early post-canon exploration of scars & intimacy.

contact point (wenzhou, e, 439 words) / Evidence of life under the snow; points of connection between bodies. / a shortly post extra 1 ficlet about. hand-holding. amongst other things

closer (wenzhou, e, 2300 words) / Wen Kexing invites Zhou Zishu to fuck him for the first time: an experiment with an unexpected kind of mixed results. / an exploration of zzs's relationship to his sexual preferences.

tian ya ke but genderbent

memory is what makes you older (fem wenzhou & past zhou zishu/liang jiuxiao, e, 5000 words) / A house on the edge of a rural village, in the middle of a late winter snowstorm; memories of an old relationship; the messy possibilities of a new connection. Or: Wen Kexing and Zhou Zishu circle towards each other, despite the past. / modern au, also with related art by mt linked in endnotes!

the third passenger (fem wenzhou, e, 5000 words) / A year after the end of an illness, Wen Kexing takes care of Zhou Zishu's needa in a more pleasant way. A still-new life; a night train; to give yourself to another person. / a bit of modern au D/s.

[luna-andra]

The Shadows Return | Simon 'Ghost' Riley x OC Retired AU | Chapter 1: Smoke Signals

Summary:

Lieutenant Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley retired from the forces; Task Force 141 was decommissioned once they completed their last mission. Take down Shepherd. Everyone on the team stayed in touch, as well as the other comrades they met along the way. Los Vaqueros. KorTac. And many others. Shadow Company - what remained of it - slipped under the shadows and scattered themselves into the wind. Riley made the decision not to return back to Manchester. He was only less than 30 minutes away on the outskirts in Disley. Soap had put in a good word for Ghost with a local mechanic shop, and having nothing else but military experience and some basic mechanic skills he accepted it.

It was a quiet life, at least that’s what he thought. He started recognizing signs that he was being followed, watched. Maybe it was just the PTSD making him believe it. Until it got so much worse when he became acquainted with his neighbor miles down the old dirt path road, he realized that he would never be free from his past life.

CONTENT WARNING: Violence, eventual smut, MDNI (18+), slow burn, fluff, mentions of mental health

***Chapter 2 is already published on AO3, link in bio!***

He could see the smoke rising from down the street as he was piling into his work truck. “The hell..?” No one should be coming down this road, no one else but him and the farmer neighbor. The chance of some lone driver coming this way was slim to none; they were a mile down from the next main road, and this road ended in a dead end at that. Curiosity got the best of him. Ghost climbed into the cabin of the truck and turned the key into the ignition. His truck rolled down his driveway and he took a right in the direction of the smoke.

Immediately he spotted the farmer’s truck, stalled out in the direction of going down to their house. He reached for his skull balaclava and slipped it over his face, concealing himself naturally. He pulled up right behind the truck and cut the engine, leaving the cabin to approach the truck. Gravel crunched beneath his heavy feet as he took in a grounding inhale, his fist flexed beside him.

The hood was popped open. Ghost could hear the hissing of the engine, followed with aggravated curses coming from what sounded like a woman. He could see her little frame aggravated at her vehicle failing her. “Ma’am, do you need help?”

Her head peered over from the side of the hood. She squinted at first and her brows furrowed in confusion, followed by her honey brown eyes widening in caution.

Ghost put up his hands, realizing how menacing he must fucking look. She couldn’t have been taller than five foot three while he towered at six foot two. His stature could easily overpower hers. Can’t be more than 58 kilos. “I’m your neighbor, I saw your accidental smoke signal from up the road.” He pointed behind him in the direction of his house.

Her shoulders relaxed, but her eyes remained cold and hard as he neared closer to her. Or at least tried to look that way. “Yeah, my truck stalled out on me and started smoking up. Just my fucking luck,” she snarled as she kicked the passenger side tire with her small foot.

“Easy there, gonna fracture that foot.” Ghost immediately noticed that she had an American accent. What’s an American doing out in rural UK? “Let me take a look at it. I got my tools in my truck.”

She blew out a frustrated exhale as she ran a hand through her short brown hair. “Thank you, neighbor..”

“It’s Ghost-” he couldn’t stop himself from finishing his introduction. Still calling himself by his call sign after all of this time. “Simon, I mean.” His true name coming from his own mouth felt unfamiliar, like he hadn’t been Simon in a long time.

She raised an eyebrow at him, amusement kindling in her eyes. “Is Ghost a nickname you go by?”

“Something like that,” He muttered. “Be right back.” Ghost trudged back to his own truck to grab his gloves and tool bag. Fuckin’ hell… sound like a stupid sod. He slammed the door of his cabin and made his way back, watching her lean up against the truck as her chestnut hair blew in the gentle breeze. He took in every detail of her; from the way her red and black plaid shirt was coming untucked at her faded jeans, to how her fingers tapped against her thigh like she was suppressing her irritation at this inconvenience. There was a definition in her arms if you looked hard enough, you could catch her flex the muscle she had. Realizing it was probably creepy, he shook his head and returned his attention to her truck.

“I’m Andra, by the way,” she uttered insecurely.

Ghost peered up to her and nodded. “Pleasure to meet ya.” He got to work trying to diagnose what the issue at hand was, gloving up his calloused hands. She stepped around where she was propped up against the truck to watch Ghost work, eyes peeking up to his masked face every now and then. A silence loomed over them for a moment. He’s used to people talking his ear off, but she was as quiet as a mouse. She's likely still apprehensive with meeting Ghost this way, and he didn’t blame her. “What brought an American to the countryside of the UK, Andra?”

Andra crossed her arms over her chest as she shifted on the balls of her feet. “A couple of different things, honestly.” There was a miniscule southern drawl in the inflection of her voice. Ghost would have easily missed it if he wasn’t paying attention.

“Name one,” he asked gruffly, still concentrating on finding the problem.

Her hair wisped around as she looked away, down the dead end street. “I wanted a new start. Threw a dart at a map and this is where I landed.”

He chuckled to himself, not believing her for one second. No one wanted to come live in Disley, there was nothing out here. “Must have poor aim.” He paused before considering his next question, but he went for it anyway. “Just you?”

“Just me.”

The tone in her voice didn’t reflect any kind of sadness, or anger for that matter. She just stated it with conviction.

 After a thorough look, he stood up straight and rested a hand on the lid of the hood. “It’s a transmission issue.”

Andra groaned and threw her head back. “Just what I needed.”

Ghost pushed the hood shut and pulled his gloves off. “I can tow it to my shop and we can see what we can do about it. We can do some kind of payment plan-”

“No, it’s okay I can pay outright,” Andra protested. “I’m not worried about the cost, I just worry about how long it’s gonna be in the shop for.”

He tapped his fingers on the hood. “I can give you a more accurate time frame and quote when I take it there.”

Andra nodded, clapping her hands together. “Alright, let’s get her in the shop.” Ghost reached down to grab his tool bag and she smiled at him. “Thank you for coming to my aid. You didn’t have to stop to help me.”

Ghost didn’t say anything else, just gave her a terse nod and returned to his truck.

----

Andra felt confined in the large cabin of Ghost’s - Simon’s? -  truck. The drive there was filled with silence. He allowed her to ride with him on the way, and she couldn’t help but think that this is how her murder mystery, unsolved case would begin. A hunking, bulky masked man pretending to assist a tiny American woman, whilst towing her own vehicle. He could easily get rid of her truck, take it to a chop shop and make her disappear. No one would care about an immigrant being found.

Andra tried to shake those thoughts away. He truly appeared to be genuine about his intentions. It was probably good business for his mechanic shop, too. Ghost insisted on driving her back, or at least paying for the taxi or Uber for the way back, but she wouldn’t let him. He had helped plenty enough, moreso helped when they had only just met.

“Where in the states are you from?” Ghost’s brassy British voice broke the uncomfortable silence, keeping his eyes on the road with one hand on the wheel, the other arm resting on the windowsill of the door. His biceps bulged out from the short-sleeved black shirt he wore. The arm closest to her, gripping the wheel, was littered with tattoos. She was too nervous to take a closer look at what they were, to her it was monochrome art littering his tanned skin.

“South, from Texas,” Andra responded truthfully.

He took a quick glance at her inquisitively before returning his focus on the road and let out a heavy exhale. "Texas is nice..." he muttered a response.

Andra was surprised, turning to look at him. "You've been to the states?" Her eyes roamed to the tattoos on his arm once again, noticing what looked like could be military insignia patches. "Wait, you're prior military, aren't you?"

Ghost stiffened, realizing that he gave himself away. "I was in special forces, SAS. Crossed the border into Texas on a mission."

Andra had to keep her jaw from dropping in disbelief. It was making sense now, though, and she laughed softly before looking back to the road ahead of them, now seeing civilization greeting them. "So Ghost was your call sign?"

He side eyed her with furrowed brows. "Are you a veteran?"

She relaxed further into her seat, feeling comfortable enough to open up more to him. "Half of my family is prior military; father, granddad, several uncles, a brother. I'm a little more versed than the average civilian, involuntarily."

He hummed in acknowledgement. Silence fell over them once again. Andra was inclined to find out more about her mysterious neighbor. “Did you grow up here in Disley?”

He took a second to answer her back. “Manchester,” Ghost responded. “Couldn’t stand being in the city, I enjoy the quiet.”

Andra smiled, “I agree.” her hands flittered with the edge of her shirt. “Was there anything you enjoyed while you were in Texas?” She felt like an idiot trying to draw out the conversation from him.

“Not particularly. It’s hot as hell there.”

She cracked up at his response. “You’re not wrong. That’s the one thing I do not miss from there. So much cooler here in the Summer. I do miss having a/c, though.”

He laughed, the rich sound vibrated through her. “That is one thing you Americans do have that we don’t.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “I bet you’ve been to so many places.”

An agreeing rumble came from his throat. “Lost count.”

Ghost was short when it came to small talk, but Andra didn’t mind. Her concern of going missing was put on the back burner in the recesses of her mind. It never ceased to amaze her that the saying “small world” rings true no matter how many times it has occurred in her life. She couldn’t refrain from her growing curiosity.

But her curiosity would have to lead her to revealing more than she may be comfortable with.

----

Andra sat in the waiting area while Ghost unloaded her truck and pulled it into the shop. He had to explain to everyone else what the hold-up was about, but they shrugged indifferently.

“That’s fine,” Rus said as he turned his head to peer at him. “Just don’t take anything other than financial compensation for her work, you hear?” 

Ghost glared at him with disgust when Rus chuckled. He was well aware of how vile some of the mechanics could be in his shop, but it never crossed his mind to entertain similar behavior.

Soap approached Ghost as he wiped his hands with an oily rag. “Who’s the pretty thing that came in with you?”

Ghost was growing irrationally irritated with everyone making comments about Andra, and Soap was no exception to his wrath. His eyes darkened as he silently assaulted him with a venomous glare. “No one.”

“C’mon, Ghost.” Soap followed him to the back of the shop, “You’re not the kind of guy to be picking up random lasses, and I can count on one hand how many have gone wit’ ye anywhere voluntarily. ‘Course they were sloshed at the tim-”

“Johnny.” He growled his last warning.

“Alright,” he dropped the subject and returned to work mode, assisting Ghost with the lift. “Is this her truck?”

“Yeah.”

Ghost kept a watchful eye on her, taking note on how she brushed the hem of her shirt with her small hands. Her eyes scanned inside the shop, examining everyone’s face. When she found him, he looked back down at the diagnostics terminal, and he avoided her gaze for the rest of the time until he absolutely had to approach her.

There was a persistent thought in the back of his mind he kept revolving back around to. Why is an American woman from Texas here? It had to be the wildest coincidence known to man, right? There were times where Ghost would get the sense that he was being followed. Watched. When he went out to the pub with Johnny, while he worked sometime. Even when the two of them would go on hunting trips, where no one else should know of their location. He couldn’t shake the notion that there were watchful eyes beyond the high ground.

It bothered her how easily she trusted him. Accepting help from a neighbor you know is one thing, but from a complete stranger? And why was said stranger so eager to help her in the first place? Ghost’s neck tensed up, he rolled his head as he could feel a headache blooming in his temples.

Soap always told him that he was being paranoid, and he was probably right. If there was something afoot, he could count on him to detect if something was off.

----

Andra had already hailed for a cab, it would be a little while before they could arrive to take her home. She didn’t mind the delay; she was still waiting for Ghost to give her the ETA and the quote on the repair. She sat in the lobby patiently, inspecting her nails as her leg bobbed, crossed over the other. I should’ve grabbed my book from the truck, she regretted. 

Andra had scrolled through her social media and grew bored of that easily. All she was seeing was updates from old friends back home. She didn’t want to be reminded how far away she was from old connections and family. It made her homesick, a notion she refused to acknowledge.

The door to the main workshop swung open, and Ghost walked through. She stood up from her chair as he walked up to her. “I’m sorry for making you wait, I am looking for a supplier to send us the parts sooner than what I have been getting.”

“How long are we talking?” Andra asked nervously.

“Two months.” He answered.

She exhaled in defeat, running a hand through her hair and it fell back in place. “That’s gonna put me in a super tight spot, I won’t be able to sell at the farmer’s market.”

Ghost shifted from one foot to another, looking down at her. “I’m not finished going through our list of suppliers, so I will let you know if anyone can send parts in sooner. In the meantime,” he handed out a plain business card to her. “I put my personal cell number on the back so you can call later or tomorrow for an update.”

Andra took the card and looked down at it before glancing back up to his implicit eyes. “Thanks, Ghost. You really saved me today.”

He nodded. “Do you have any belongings you need to get from your truck?”

“Oh yes,” she remembered. “I just wanted to get my book from inside. It’s sitting on the passenger seat up front.” 

Ghost insisted on retrieving it for her. He opened the passenger door and found the well loved book laying there, looking back up to him. He made note of the title and the author; it sounded like a mystery-horror type of read. Ghost wiped his hand off on his work pants to avoid staining the cover and pulled it out before closing the door. He went back to the lobby and handed the book to her. “Get home safe,” he cleared off as he turned away from her and returned to the shop.

Andra turned over the business card, studying his scratchy handwriting. It was legible enough for her to make out the numbers, and she smirked as he scribbled ‘Ghost’ below.

[bcacstuff]

This post is to answer a number of questions, to correct some anons/commenters/people online seeing jumping to incorrect conclusions and perhaps elaborate on some information I already posted.

First of all, in my initial post I already stressed Sam is not buying the place, nor leasing it. Midhope Castle is (and will always be) part of the Hopetoun Estate which is owned and managed by a charitable Trust. I also linked to more information, here's the link again Please read careful what I write and don't spread all kind of rumors or false information you have no knowledge of.

It is a false assumption to think Sam (or his business) is developing the plans at Midhope Castle. He is not! He is not the applicant for the plans and proposals. The only assumption that can be made with an educated guess, based on all we've seen including last Monday evening's private visit to the site, is that he might consider to invest in the plans. His comment on the documents is not that from an applicant, but from a Public member.

The applicants for the plans and proposals are as I stated Hopetoun Estate Trust and Golden Decanters. Those companies commissioned the plans.

It's also an incorrect assumption that these plans are old, referring to an old article and a company that already has been dissolved. I posted twice the link to my post from September last year where I clearly linked to the article and dissolved Company (Midhope Castle Distillery). From that post:

As you can see on the ownership and application document, the filed date is 8 February 2024. Not 2020, nor 2021, nor any other year but this year, so a few months ago! So if you like to criticize me, belittle me or want to make me look like a fool, better look in the mirror, cause you are the one here looking like a fool! Not me.

In the comments and in Anon messages there were questions or assumptions about the plans as well. Let me elaborate:

As I pointed out in my initial post and showed you, the work is planned to be done in phases, 8 phases to be precise

The plan is to develop the Distillery first, in order to bring it in business and the profit is to be invested in the next phases.

There are 14 Conditions and several Policies the proposed plans take into account. No spade will hit the earth before they meet all the conditions and policies. I wont exhaust you with all the details but they include amongst other:

Conservation Statements of listed building and repairs, reinstatement of the walled garden.

Each phase needs to secure implementation of a programme of archaeological works to safeguard archaeological heritage.

For each phase updated contaminated land site investigation and risk assessments must be completed

Conditions for noise and vibrations, waste for the environment (and plants)

A condition for a construction environment manage plan

Policy to take historic assets and places into account

Policy for zero waste

Policy for liveable places

Policy for Health and Safety

Policy for Business and Industry

Policy for rural development

Policy for tourism

Many things are taken into consideration before work can even start. As to the anon asking about the OL filming proceedings at the Castle, it is taken into account too. In one of the screenshots I posted in my initial post you can see that the final season of OL is mentioned and for continuity it is not possible to change the buildings or structures before filming is completed.

So all the people seeing all kind of bumps on the road ahead, or accuse Sam of things he can't be accused of (as he is not developing these plans) of the fandom of invading the place (wont be allowed)

Nor will it turn into a theme park (for the one who probably said that in jest, but still).

Again, can I all ask you to read what I write and not what you think I wrote, and not jump to all kind of conclusions nor spread false rumors around. The whole phased plans will probably take up to 10 years (if not more).

[itsbiloupsimsmattahants2]

(Request)

Hello Anon! I made this world for the SIMS 2. It’s called “A piece of Manhattan” and it goes something like this :

INSTALLATION & REQUIREMENTS (What you need to download -click on the link to download).

Community lots / amusement and shopping places :

-5th Avenue fashion stores : Armani + Dolce & Gabbana

-Times Square : The red steps + stores + restaurant

-Bryant Park

-Washington Square Park

-Chinatown : Chang’s Spa + Lin’s restaurant

-Little Italy : Tony’s restaurant

-SoHo Art Gallery

Residential lots :

-Harlem Brownstone apartments

-Washington Square Park Townhouses

-SoHo Factory apartments

/!\ Please install the lots with SIMS2PACK CLEAN INSTALLER.

HOOD DECORATIONS

-Map : Smoky islands by xo-stina.

-Brooklyn Bridge 

-NY building sets

-4t2 LIT and SHINY Hood

-Neighbourhood Towers

-Lowedus Emerald city

-ADInc Megalopolis 2

-N99 Deco Neighborhood Buildings

-TNNhorusNYbuildings3t2

-curiousB HelloCity

-curiousB WeBuiltThisCity

-Kridershot More Nature set (video + link)

-Limonaire bunch of random NH deco

-4t2Leoz94 Fences & cars

-Blurry sky #241 LotDay and Nbh (select only this number with its 2 files)

-Lowedus “Lush-Blue version” DEFAULT-ALpondSSN

-3t2 “misc” more,more,cars

-3t2 hood deco cars 3t2

-criquette Simple walkways set

-criquette Neighbourhood Horizon by witheredlilies

-criquette Zagoskin Town Hall & School

-criquette road bridges set

-criquette Better Nightlife

-criquette Neighborhood Lighting Remedy

-criquette Linden Trees Redux

-criquette Hood deco Streetlights Set

-criquette rural charm (you need to download the complete version of this mod)

Credits : cc creators.

To install “A piece of Manhattan”, open the .7z file and move the folder named N010 to your EA Games\The Sims 2\Neighborhoods folder.

DOWNLOAD Neighborhood NO10