#excavation is a romance. it's not a good romance! but it's a romance

[britcision]

Okay this thought has been percolating for a while so let’s piss off people who can’t read

Beau and Fjord were the closest things to villains in Jester’s story

Because Laura very specifically did not create a villain

Lord Sharpe was an afterthought if they happened to be passing through town that Jester hid from for 30 seconds then locked on a second balcony, and he was the closest she ever had

Jester’s story was about growth and reconnecting, neither of which actually came from a beat down fight the way traditional dnd does

So what the fuck does that have to do with Beau and Fjord? Well, that comes back to how each of they interpreted Jester’s arc

Cuz both Marisha and Travis did a good bit of pushing to have Jester go down one of their storylines, even if for the players it was all pre-negotiated fun

Because who were the two potential villains of Jester’s arc, if Laura had wanted to go that way?

Artagan, her cleric patron

The Gentleman, her dad

I believe y’all may now see the two storylines of which I speak?

The Gentleman’s storyline pretty much slipped under the radar until the Nein went back to Zadash and didn’t bother to visit him

After that, Jester admitted she’d been lying about her Sendings to the party, he wasn’t welcoming her with open arms, and he told her he wasn’t her father

Beau, who has Personal Experience with shitty fathers who need to be thoroughly rejected and maybe a beat down, gave Jester some beautiful gentle cuddles and consolation and “well if he doesn’t want you (like my dad didn’t want me) he can go fuck himself he doesn’t deserve you”

But that was not the story Laura wanted to tell

So that’s not the story we got

And oh boy that made the next part where we went back to meet BEAU’S dad extra fucking spicy because she just got to see for the first time that some bad dads really do care

And then Thoreau was still Thoreau and gaslighting ensued but Beau remembered what she’d told Jester, even if Jester didn’t need it

Basically no pushing there cuz Matt didn’t much hesitate to make it clear that the Gentleman was not going to be Thoreau. He was a deadbeat, awkward, and negligent, but not for the same reasons

ARTAGAN THOUGH

Well

Fjord has Opinions and Personal Experience around accepting magical powers from entities you don’t know or trust

And Beau has Opinions and Personal Experience with shady people in positions of power using them against innocent young souls

And neither of them spent 30 seconds to consider Jester might know her childhood bestie better than they do because they were right that he wasn’t a god

So as soon as Matt began dropping archfey hints we got like 40 episodes of “the Traveler’s shady and isn’t a proper god” and “hey Jester we can just kill him for you”

Because they can’t just go kill Uk’otoa, they’re not levelled enough and he’s pretty inconvenient to get to all locked up

But Fjord burned his pact weapon and walked straight into the Wildmother’s arms, and oh boy a lot of people who don’t think about personality types wanted Jester to do just that on the ol’ bird app

(Even Laura agreed Jester’d be more likely to go to the Moonweaver in Talks, either because of the Travelercon thing or the trickery/Mollymauk aspect)

But Laura didn’t want to tell that story either, even if Travis did make off with her warlock class

So Artagan made it explicitly clear, in every interaction, that he knew Jester was incredible without him (that’s why he chose her at all), that he valued far more than just what she could do, that he never even told her he was a god, he just never corrected the assumption

Cuz he’s an archfey and he also has a minor personal history of starting cults (not to himself the first time but bad habits escalate)

Artagan was the one who talked Jester down from just tossing people into the volcano

He was the only one who never joked about her being a bad cleric, but the Nein ain’t ready for that

And he explicitly chose her safety over his own, which for the uninitiated is A Big Fucking Deal for an archfey

Like, the Moonweaver’s response was entirely proportional, because as Fearne has shown, fey aren’t great at the “some things belong to other people and that is okay”, including personal health and wellness

(Laura also mentioned in Talks that if Fjord hadn’t grabbed her while she was holding Artagan Jester wouldn’t have hesitated to go with him but Matt knew exactly what she wanted and they were Never going to go down the “evil Artie” track)

So since we know The Gentleman was never going to be Jester’s villain, and Artagan was never going to be Jester’s villain, what’s left?

Well, just about all you’ve got is the two people who repeatedly challenged her faith and tried to force her into conflict with her first and oldest friend

And maybe “antagonist” is a better word than villain, but I did say I wanted to piss off people who can’t read

Cuz unlike with the Gentleman, the Artagan question wasn’t dropped until the night after Travelercon, where Jester very gently told them to go fuck themselves of course Artagan was there to stay

And of course if Laura wasn’t down with it, none of the pushing woulda happened

But until that point literally all of Jester’s conflict was internal, and nobody really talked to her about it

And Beau and Fjord’s responses make perfect sense for the characters, just like it makes perfect sense that Jester wasn’t gonna willingly confide in people who kept pushing for murder

Jester needed to be pushed enough to break the happy facade and let some of her struggles and thoughts be external, because some people still somehow refuse to believe there’s any depth behind a bubbly smile and dick jokes

For Jester’s growth to be evident and external in the story, she needed something to fight against, and in this case?

It was her new friends hating her old friend

The friend who gave her the power to save their lives

Two of the people she was the closest to whose opinions meant the most

Her original two road companions vs her original friend

And boy did that make for some compelling conflict when Artagan blatantly refused to get involved even in his own defence

In a way Jester kinda did follow Beau’s story; I’ve made the link between Artagan and Dairon before as older, more powerful mentors with unknown intentions

Beau chose to trust Dairon and follow in their footsteps and let Dairon make her more powerful

Jester sort of wound up leading Artagan as much as he led her, which is a fun callback to Beau calling out Dairon’s anti-Krynn racism in Xhorhas

But yeah, tl;dr?

Beau and Fjord were the closest thing Jester got to an antagonist because Laura explicitly refused to make her own and Matt let her have the story she wanted

[ghelgheli]

sorry if you've already answered this but i just read your post about whipping girl and found it so so so insightful!! i was wondering if you have any other recommendations for books/articles/etc. about transmisogyny and the lives of tma people. thank you in advance!!

I'm glad it was helpful! this is the second ask on the subject I've let pile up, because I want to do my best with it but I'm also far from an expert. I think half the work of answering "transmisogyny syllabus" questions is explaining why it's so hard to do so in the first place.

one of the tools of hegemony is the epistemic violence it works against its subjects; this is essential to transmisogyny, thru which we have historically been rendered unable to so much as record our existence, let alone theorize from it. it is incredibly difficult for a tma person to access the institutional devices of knowledge-making, most of all the university. even when we do it is typically for the institutions we work under to shoehorn our work into the hegemonic model, stymieing actual progress. so theories and histories of transmisogyny have had to progress in a patchwork, often informal fashion, upstream and at personal risk. I am not going to be able to give you books that I would recommend without criticism, because the epistemic violence of transmisogyny has made it virtually impossible to write such a book. but with that said, here are some recommendations:

- this post multiplied my understanding of transmisogyny manifold, and was one of the most clarifying things I've read on the subject

- hands off our lives, our stories, and our bodies, is imo essential to anyone interested in a theory of transmisogyny that actually engages with its manifestations in the global south

- I enjoyed My Words to Victor Frankenstein above the Village of Chamounix: Performing Transgender Rage by Susan Stryker for the vibes

- two historical excavations of transmisogyny: Trans Misogyny in the Colonial Archive: Re-Membering Trans Feminine Life and Death in New Spain, 1604–1821 by Jamey Jesperson and ‘Selective Historians’: The Construction of Cisness in Byzantine and Byzantinist Texts by Ilya Maude

- Romancing the Transgender Native is good for learning the trappings of ahistorical and idealist "third gender" attributions

- especially (but not exclusively) if you are yourself a trans woman/transfem/tma, consider reading Serious Weakness by Porpentine Charity Heartscape. just make sure you look up CWs first

- Jules Gill-Peterson's A Short History of Trans Misogyny is great for some case studies in global transmisogyny, and a decent materialist approach. but I think she makes the same mistake serano made re: equivocation of transmisogyny with the oppression of femininity, and she would have done well to read the second article on this list. I've heard her histories of the transgender child is also good—but I can't say for sure until I read it

- follow @ bloomfilters on twitter

if this looks like a hodgepodge that's because it is on account of what I said in the first two paragraphs. I am really not an expert and I am sure there are others who could give you much more. but to echo a friend, you may be just as likely to get something out of a game or a song written by a tma person as you are an essay. every medium can be an opportunity to plunge the roots of our theorizing deeper.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Passionate Dig || Bucky Barnes

Character: TreasureHunter!Bucky × Archeology!Reader

Summary: Archaeologist Y/N and treasure hunter Bucky clash, sparking an unexpected romance during an excavation of ancient relics.

Warning: I wrote this in my phone. I'm sorry if the story not good 😂.

Y/N meticulously brushed away the layers of dirt covering an intricately carved relic, completely engrossed in her archaeological work. Her team, equally dedicated, carefully documented their findings in the newly discovered tomb.

As Y/N delicately handled the artifact, one of her co-workers, Alex, approached with furrowed brows. "Hey, Y/N, you might want to see this," he whispered, nodding discreetly towards the entrance of the tomb.

Following his gaze, Y/N caught sight of Bucky, the notorious treasure hunter, skulking around the excavation site. His rugged appearance and confident stride made it clear that he was up to something.

"Ugh, Bucky," Y/N muttered, frustration evident in her voice. "What's he doing here? This is an archaeological site, not a marketplace."

Alex raised an eyebrow. "Think he's after the same relic we are?"

Y/N scowled, watching as Bucky eyed the team's equipment with a suspicious gleam in his eye. "Probably. He cares more about the price tag than the historical significance."

As Y/N observed Bucky's actions from a distance, Alex let out a sigh. "You know, Y/N, Bucky might be onto something. He found that legendary gem a while back and now he's practically a star – the modern Indiana Jones."

Y/N shot Alex a disapproving look, her irritation palpable. "Fame and fortune shouldn't be the measure of success in archaeology. It's about preserving history, not becoming a celebrity."

Alex winced as Y/N pinched his ear. "Ow, okay, okay! I get it. I just thought it'd be nice to have a bit of recognition, you know?"

Y/N softened her tone, reminding him of their shared passion. "Alex, we're here to uncover the past, to learn and share knowledge. That's worth more than any gem or fame. Don't forget why you joined archaeology in the first place."

#######

Observing Y/N engrossed in her work, Bucky couldn't resist a smirk. He leaned against a nearby pillar, his eyes never leaving her. "Look at the little archaeologist in her element," he mused to his assistant.

His assistant chuckled. "She seems serious about this stuff. You sure you want to mess with her?"

Bucky's smirk widened. "Oh, I love a challenge. Besides, teasing her a bit might spice things up around here." Her passion for archaeology, combined with the fire in her eyes, intrigued him more than he cared to admit.

During their lunch break, Y/N found herself face-to-face with Bucky near the excavation site. He flashed a charming grin, holding out a sandwich as an offering.

"Care for a break from dusty relics, Y/N?" he asked, his tone dripping with casual allure.

Y/N eyed the sandwich skeptically, raising an eyebrow. "What's the catch, Bucky?"

He chuckled, leaning in with a glint in his eye. "No catch, just an offer. I've got a lead on another site. We could make quite the team."

Y/N scoffed, taking a step back. "I work for history, not for profit."

A sly grin on his face. "Why stick to old relics, Y/N? I've got a lead on a thrilling adventure. Join me."

Y/N shot him a skeptical look. "I'm not interested in your version of thrill, Bucky. I value history, not chasing after your treasures."

His gaze locked onto hers, a daring challenge in his eyes. "You're missing out on a different kind of richness, sweetheart."

Y/N retorted with a smirk, "I'll pass. My passion is in preserving the past, not in your reckless pursuits."

Under the moonlit night, Y/N couldn't resist the allure of the excavation site, a place where history whispered its secrets.

As she quietly approached, she was startled to find Bucky already there, his shadow blending with the darkness.

"What are you doing here?" Y/N questioned, her irritation evident.

He flashed a mischievous grin. "Couldn't resist the call of adventure. What about you?"

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Unlike you, some of us value a good night's rest. Now, what are you really up to?"

As they bickered, a glint caught Y/N's eye. An ancient chest, adorned with intricate carvings, lay partially exposed. Their argument ceased as their attention shifted to the unexpected discovery.

Bucky's eyes widened with a glint of greed. "Now, this is what I call a find! Let's see what treasures lie within."

Y/N stepped forward, a stern expression on her face. "Absolutely not, Bucky. We're here to preserve, not pillage."

He smirked, the tension between them palpable. "Come on, sweetheart, don't be so uptight. This could be the biggest discovery of our careers."

Y/N's voice turned stern. "We're not taking anything until we properly document and understand its historical significance."

The heated argument between Y/N and Bucky echoed through the still night air, their voices carrying the weight of conflicting desires.

As they continued to clash over the ancient chest, unaware of their escalating volume, Y/N's supervisor, Dr. Reynolds, stirred from his sleep. And because the others are complained saying "Both of them are arguing again."

"What's going on here?" Dr. Reynolds's stern voice cut through the darkness as he approached the excavation site, his silhouette outlined by the moonlight.

Y/N and Bucky, momentarily stunned, exchanged guilty glances before attempting to explain the situation simultaneously.

"She's being overly cautious, doc. We've found something extraordinary, and she wants to play it safe," Bucky argued.

Y/N shot back, "He's trying to exploit our discoveries for personal gain, disregarding the significance of our work!"

Dr. Reynolds raised an eyebrow, a mix of curiosity and irritation on his face. "Alright, enough. Let me see what you've found."

As they presented the ancient chest, the supervisor examined it with a discerning eye. "This could be a groundbreaking discovery, but we must handle it with care. No reckless actions."

Y/N nodded, shooting a defiant glance at Bucky. "Exactly, Dr. Reynolds. We need to document its historical value before anything else."

Bucky sighed, reluctantly agreeing, "Fine, but let's not waste too much time. There might be more treasures waiting to be uncovered."

Dr. Reynolds then dropped a bombshell that left Y/N speechless.

"Y/N, Bucky," he said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, "you both found this relic together. Your collaboration could bring a fresh perspective to our research."

Y/N's eyes widened in disbelief. Bucky, on the other hand, wore a knowing smirk, confirming the truth in Dr. Reynolds's statement.

"As much as your approaches differ," Dr. Reynolds continued, "there's value in combining your strengths. Work together, but remember, history is our priority."

Y/N, still processing the revelation, mustered the courage to ask Dr. Reynolds, "Why would you suggest we work with Bucky? Our principles are vastly different."

Dr. Reynolds sighed, acknowledging her concern. "Y/N, we need a new sponsor for our archaeological endeavors. The exposure that comes with associating our team and Bucky's name could attract the attention and funding we desperately need."

Y/N frowned, skeptical of the compromise. "But his methods and intentions..."

Dr. Reynolds interrupted, "I understand your reservations, but sometimes we must adapt to the circumstances. This collaboration could open doors for us, offering opportunities to explore history that we wouldn't have otherwise."

Bucky chimed in, his tone surprisingly sincere. "I may not be your ideal partner, Y/N, but I know the value of a good find. Together, we could make headlines and secure the support we need."

Bucky, seizing the moment to inject his trademark charm, couldn't resist a teasing remark. "Looks like we're stuck with each other, Y/N. Who knows, maybe you'll learn to appreciate my methods."

Y/N shot him a skeptical look. "Don't get too comfortable, Bucky. I'm only doing this for the sake of the team, not because I suddenly appreciate treasure hunting."

He chuckled, the smirk never leaving his face. "We'll see about that, sweetheart. Get ready for an adventure you never knew you needed."

Taglist:

@thezombieprostitute

@ordelixx

[doloresdisparue]

i so often see people say "lolita should have been written from dollys perspective" and while i understand the sentiment (apart from the fact that its a stupid argument because a book from dollys perspective would be a completely different book and not fulfil any of the narrative functions "lolita" does) what annoys me here is... THOSE BOOKS EXIST. but theyre not going to become cultural juggernauts overnight, not even the good ones. you have to actually seek them out and read them.

i started looking for lolita adjacent books a year ago and i could name you 5 lolita "spin-offs" off the top of my head, NOT counting 'los diary' because that one sucks or 'my dark vanessa' bc at least that one is fairly well-known (roger fishbite, molly, journal de L, LO, darling river) . i could immediately name you another five non-lolita csa books from the victim/survivor pov that i personally read and liked (mysterious skin, lullabies for little criminals, a good chunk of the george miles cycle, flying in place, gemma) as well as another five that i didn't love but that had redeeming features (living dead girl, a little life, such a pretty girl, tricks, the day before)

this isn't even counting books that interrogate the gender stereotypes in perpetrator narratives (any man, tampa) or books taking the pov of children trying to cope with abuse they cant conceptualise even if they arent directly experiencing sa (room) or the nonfiction book about the horner case (the real lolita), the fictionalisation thereof (rust & stardust) or memoirs heavily featuring lolita (being lolita, excavation).

this is just stuff i found in the last year (as someone who usually avoids drama, ya, romance and crime novels) and i have probably 50 more on my tbr. these books are not hard to find, definitely not in the age of goodreads, but we do actually have to look for them and talk about them if we want to highlight these types of narratives in the cultural discourse instead of attacking another book that happened to get famous for not being something completely different.

[goatpaste]

shout out to the person who put the 'what if Battle Tendency was a road trip across america' AU into my brain because its so good im so fucking obsessed oh my god

gonna gush about it under the cut

kinda stated in the previous ask if you've seen them

but BT set in america

Joseph is an ex-racer turned derby demolition driver (taking some Love Bug inspo here) who is just trying to make paycheck to paycheck while living in new york supporting his granny erina.

one day he gets a call from his uncle Robert Speedwagon that they made a major discovery in their recent excavations, the start of what seems to be a treasure map to a treasure known as 'The Stone of Aja'. A group known as the 'hamon warrors' have contacted Speedwagon showing great interest in obtaining and protecting this stone. predicting a long trip, the hamon warriors are going to need a ride.

Taking any fast major transportation like trains or planes can prove tricky as it easy to be spotted there and can put other innocent bystanders in danger, and they cant trust private transportation because word of the treasure map being found is sure to quickly spread, and theres going to be people happy to kill them to get their hands on this stone of Aja.

So Uncle Speedwagon, has enlisted his favorite nephew Joseph to transport the three Hamon users Suzi Q, Caesar who are both immigrants from Italy who have moved to America to avoid the rise of fascism in their home country, and their master Lisa Lisa who has been sheltering them since arriving in America. SW claims to be old friends with Lisa Lisa and trust her to take the stone, and knows Joseph is a strong and confident driver who can take needed risk and protect them while they follow clues across america.

along the way they run into others who also have heard about the discovery of a map leading to some powerful and/or rich treasure and they want to make it theres.

among these people are a group of three powerful humans who call themselves the pillar men. Their mannerisms and way of talking are a bit outdated, they they seem far more advance than them, especially about this stone of aja.

slowly putting two and two together that these are vampire from Mexico that awoke seeming to have sensed a change and that the Stone is to be found soon, and their leader Kars wants nothing more than to make it his.

wacky hijinks ensue as they travel from New York all the way to Mexico as they face challenges placed by the Treasures previous owner as well as the others wanting to get their hands on the stone.

really thinking of this as a more modern SBR with cars and less straight up stands, but maybe some because i LOVE the idea of stand users existing in a part with non stand users and them just not getting whats going on and why its different than the Pillar Men and their powers.

Moments of bonding as these 4 dorks basically are trapped in a car for DAYS as they avoid being killed, Training Joseph in Hamon, avoid begin killed by pillar men, Lisa Lisa avoiding spilling the beans on being josephs mom, and young budding romance.

[psalacanthea]

Vampires, Romance, and Other Dead Things- Ch. 7

a new chapter in the Modern AU astarion x drow bard tav story found HERE! Having set up a counter-ambush to an anticipated attack from the other vampire spawn, now all Zyn has to do is drag his ass onstage. He promised Shadowheart one live show, and afterward they'll draw out the servants of Astarion's mysterious vamp daddy.

But Zyn's used to working alone, and it's starting to cause problems.

...

Certain the Harpers were shadowing her, she’d found a back street that didn’t look like it would damage too much if there was to be a scuffle here.  Between a half-dozen old buildings converted into multi-housing units there was an empty lot.  There was a No Excavation notice on one of the walls, which explained why it was here.  Seemed like this place was over one of the many dangerous structures under Baldur’s Gate.

Maybe caves.  Or a drop into the Undercity, like the place by hers she’d dumped Aradin’s corpse down.  A scan showed no convenient dumping spots, however.  A broken stone bench, a lot of weeds, and a few bags of garbage.

“Hey Vamp Juniors,” she called, stepping dead-center between the buildings, gazing up at the sky.  How funny would it be if they were up there, being trailed by invisible Harpers?  Stupid vampires.  “I’m here for my money!  My friends are bringing your guy!”

She stood with her hands in the pockets of her jacket, feeling arrogant enough to do it.  They’d cobbled together a pretty good trap.  No way they’d figure it out.

“Didn’t you refuse the offer?  We were told to get rid of you,” an unfamiliar voice said from the shadows, snide and superior.

He walked out of the shadows with another vampire beside him, scarlet eyes glowing, casual upscale bar look slightly impeded by the…well, by the face.  And the hair.  They hair was the worst, really, with the poofing, and the– well, it looked like a guy with straight hair had tried to make his look kind of like Astarion’s.

His face also gave that impression, weirdly enough.

Budget Astarion.

Creepy, but also triggering to…certain instincts enhanced by her having reached out and touched misfortune.  “I don’t make it a habit to speak with men, they’re too lacking in reason and emotional control.”  She turned her attention to the vampire next to him, tiefling woman with scarlet skin.  Glowing eyes.  Hopefully it meant the vamp daddy could…see out of their eyes or something.

She wanted him to watch.

Angry.

“Do you want him or not?” she asked, noting movement out of the corner of her eye.  A trash can lid, jostled, fell to the ground with a thud.  Bad luck for them.  There were more than two of them, for sure.  “And if you try to sneak behind me , I’ll teleport to the roof and fireball this space, so you can either get out here or you can get crispy.”

“Clumsy,” the elven vamp said, voice high and mocking.  Almost childish.  Okay, maybe she wasn’t the one to speak to.  “Sister Dalyria, isn’t that embarrassing for you?”

“Violet, stop,” Great Value Astarion said.

“I was sympathizing.  Everyone’s always picking on me,” Violet pouted, crossing her arms under her breasts.

Zyn couldn’t tense up as two more vamps stalked out of the shadows– a wistful-looking elven woman and the long-haired shirtless guy from before.  Four was still doable.  They were fine.  “Okay, so I can see the tropes we’re going with her.  Insane child vampire was always a favorite of mine.  Bet you’ve got all sorts of creepy dolls!”

Violet glared at her.

“But I can’t quite place you.  Comic relief?”  she suggested to badly-cloned Astarion.

“Can we kill the prattling bitch, already?” he asked, scoffing and taking a step back.

All of their attention shifted, fast as a hastened monk, as the sound of voices started echoing from where Zyn had come from.  All five of them stood poised in silence as the voices and footsteps came closer, people finally emerging from the alley.  Astarion was being carried over Karlach’s shoulder.

Through the high of bullying, Zyn felt a tingle of amusement.  Of course he’d made Karlach carry him.  What a bitch.

“Got him secured?”  Zyn called.

“Put me down, you brute~” Astarion called with posture still completely relaxed, voice lilting a little too theatrically.  She wouldn’t be surprised if his cheek was propped up in his hand.  

How was he a bad liar, on top of everything?

The man was in politics!

[unpretty]

Hey! I saw your post about romance novels and you are so right!!!

I think, as a lesbian, I have not enjoyed all the hetero-need of romance I’ve found in the past and I was wondering if you had any wlw recs!

Thanks so much!!!

here's a couple amazon affiliate links because i figure i might as well, but if you have the library extension you might be able to find them at your local library. this isn't a lot compared to what's out there but it should be a good starting point to dip your toes in

How to Find a Princess by Alyssa Cole

The Lady's Guide to Celestial Mechanics by Olivia Waite

How to Excavate a Heart by Jake Maia Arlow

A Little Light Mischief by Cat Sebastian

[obstinaterixatrix]

The art of magic was lost one thousand years ago. The site of its mythical disappearance, a great stone castle, sits crumbling in the center of a city that is rapidly changing. While the city’s people deliberate on the future of the castle, an art historian and a scholar of theoretical magic are tasked with completing a detailed recording of what remains inside.

this one's a really hefty 70 page m/m comic and it's a really good balance of worldbuilding and romance. I am being completely sincere when I say I love that the main characters talk about the logistics of how the city wants them to do a rush job on a survey of one room AND the university is pushing for an excavation, can you believe this?? plus the art is super gorgeous, the opening has a cool style

here's the dynamic of the main characters btw

[copperbadge]

Ancient Roman jewelry lost in the bath! My favourite juxtaposition of art, history and human foibles. Thank you, Sam! 😊💕🖼 Will anyone in Askazer-Shivadlakia be turning up ancient Roman jewelry? 💍 Or ancient Roman garum (fish pickle) jars? A-S would’ve been a prime site for ggarum production. 🐟🏺

I have been stashing away so many articles about Roman ruins and remains, you have no idea :D They'll find more olive oil than garum, but so far I haven't written a ton on it, so it's yet to develop fully.

While it'll involve a great deal of Jerry and Alanna, as it's on Jerry's estate, it's going to be the romance for Richard, the palace librarian, and whatever archaeologist he manages to turn up to excavate it. Not super fleshed out yet but I do have some fun business with the initial discovery.

Ioanna/Joan, a young teen who we will meet first in Royals-Ramblers when Gregory and Eddie adopt her, has been assigned by Gregory to help her uncle and grandfather sort things out, and she and Michaelis have pressganged Richard into helping.

"Definitely a floor, then?" Jerry asked.

"I mean, I can't see what else it would be," Richard said thoughtfully. "Like His Grace, I'd need to look a few things up before I made a definitive call, but...it looks early to me. I assume you're going to have it excavated, we'd know a lot more if we could see more." 

"Hoping you could help with that," Jerry said. "Anyone got any ideas on how we go about excavation? Who do we call for things like this?"

"I'll speak to one of my old professors, he'll know," Richard said.

"If it's a floor, would it still be safe to walk on?" Joan asked. "Or would all the -- "

"Tesserae," Richard said. 

"Would they chip or crack?"

"Well, they're designed to be walked on. Looks like the grout is pretty well-preserved. Stone is stone -- if it were later they might be glass or terracotta, and then I'd worry, but -- "

Richard broke off, and all three men chorused Joan! in various tones of dismay as she propped herself on her hands, kicked her legs out in front of her from a crouch, and landed lightly on the blue and white tile. 

"Yep, pretty durable," she said.

"Ioanna," Michaelis said, voice deep with disapproval. She gave him a cheeky grin. "I did not teach you to ask forgiveness instead of permission so you could tromp around on a priceless ancient Roman floor!" 

"Joan, please," Richard said. 

"You said yourself the grout's fine. Seems durable to me," she said, crouching again to get a closer look. 

"If this were Noah, he'd already have fallen through a sinkhole," Michaelis said to Jerry.

"If this were Noah he'd be much better behaved," Jerry said pointedly. 

"I don't know about that," Michaelis sighed. "Joan, do try not to move around too much." 

"Look, you can see all the layers," she said, running a finger up the wall of dirt at the edge of the pit. 

"That's the stratigraphy. If you're going to be down there, you might as well take some pictures," Richard told her. She nodded, snapping a few with her cellphone, then tucked it in her back pocket, frowning. She reached out, brushing at a small patch of dirt near the bottom, and came away with something in her hand. Michaelis covered his eyes with his palm, sighing. 

"Here you are, Richard," she said, straightening. "Pull me up."

Richard reached down and grasped her arm; Jerry, instinctively, grasped her other above the elbow, and together they lifted her out. She wasn't very tall, and she was still slimmer than her fathers liked; it wasn't difficult. 

"This ought to help," she said, pressing the object into Richard's hand. He studied it, blinking. 

"What is it?" Michaelis asked.

"It's a coin," Joan replied. 

Richard looked up at them. 

"It's a silver denarius," he said. "It's what would become the penny, eventually."

"Good luck to me," Joan observed.

Richard pushed the denarius up between thumb and forefinger, studying both sides. Leaning close, it wasn't difficult to see the writing surrounding the little bust on the coin.

"Does that say Augustus?" Jerry asked, awed.

[ronearoundblindly]

Hi hi! A thought for your Sweet Sunday prompt (but only if it works/you have time).. could I suggest "a long walk in winter" with your preference of Bucky or Steve? Cosy knitwear vibes optional!

Thank you! Hope these days are being kind to you.

I chose Bucky because I haven't written him in a hot sec. Also, this turned into a love confession, so...whatever. (Wait, how did this get sooooo long?!?! WHY IS IT SOOOO SAPPY???) Warning for mild romance, i.e. kissing and vague groping, I guess.

It's just the most beautiful day.

Unusual of a request as it may be, you're glad you suggested it. The whole team is worn out from an odd mission, and you don't know how to explain why this seemed a better option than going straight back to the compound but you were right.

Within minutes of your mission site is a national park. Last night you tossed out the idea of wanting to explore it, even though the area is usually closed for the season. You all have a jet and you're Avengers; you can handle yourselves in a bit of frost and snow.

Everyone rummaged through their lockers in the morning, gathering all the warm, civilian clothes they could find and trading anything that would fit another better until everyone was properly bundled up.

Most of the group goes off in their own directions for some solitude and a good think. Bucky, Steve, and Sam all walk along with you for a ways as you climb toward higher ground and a better view.

"You hear that, Steve?" Sam stops and points off to his right.

Steve looks focused for a second, brow furrowed. "Either stream or waterfall, I think."

"Wanna check it out," Sam questions, shrugging.

"Sure. You guys...?" He gestures to you and Bucky.

"Maybe on the way back," you chirp. "I want to see the valley with the most sunlight."

Bucky just shakes his head at Steve and turns back around, hands deep in his pockets.

"Alright, we'll catch up later." Steve and Sam wave with small smiles, heading off.

You and Bucky keep climbing, but even when the path is a bit steep--steep enough for you to have to grab forward to step up--his hands remain buried.

It's when you reach a nice lookout ledge that you see it.

Bucky's shivering.

It's not consistent, but the cold sometimes races up his spine so fast he can't contain it. He peeks over his shoulder guiltily, worried you've noticed.

Automatically, you come over to press against his covered, metal arm, wrapping yourself around it and resting your cheek on the shoulder.

"Sorry, Buck. I didn't think to layer you for this."

He may run warm, but the shocking disparity between cold metal, his clavicle, and a lung must be terrible.

"'S alright, doll," he mumbles back.

The team--the whole team--is close. You all have to be to do what you do, to be ready and in sync in the chaos of battle, to communicate without words in a split second. They are your family, all of them, but if you're being honest with yourself, it's always been Bucky.

To you, he's not a broken man and he never had anything to prove. His personality--his real personality--was just a bit hidden. You had to excavate his sense of humor, convince him to joke around with you, and encourage him to enjoy things. It's been the greatest joy of your life and likely your greatest achievement to bring the world back to Bucky...to bring Bucky back to the world.

Of course, you have to remind yourself, it wasn't just you. A lot of that was Steve. Sam, too. The whole group really. You can't take all the credit, but you're still proud.

Finally, he stops shivering, and Bucky presses his arm into your hold a little.

"This was a good idea," he says softly, and you shift your head to see him squinting out over the landscape.

Evergreens are dusted with glittering snow at their peaks. The whole area smells of earth and ice, and it's the purest moment you've felt since...well, since the first time you ever witnessed Buck smile.

Steve said some ol' time phrase you didn't understand, and Bucky just burst into snorts of laughter, like a kid losing his shit over a dirty joke. His eyes flickered over to you several times while he got control over himself. Neither ever explained what was so funny, but you were already a goner for that shy and slightly devious smile.

Bucky pulls his hand from his pocket, making and relaxing a fist before bending at the elbow. The hand presents in front of you like an invitation.

"Do you mind..."

"Oh gosh, of course," you scramble, curling one hand in his palm and spreading your other over the back of the metal digits. "Better?"

The rumble of a hum replaces the path of his shivers.

You both take in the beauty of nature for a long time after that, warming each other, comforting wordlessly. At some point, you shut your eyes and just listen to the quiet whistle of the wind and the sweet song of birds carried along it.

"Doll?" His whisper is so soft that you almost miss it in your mind's floating.

You have to fight heavy eyelids to look up again. "Hmm?"

He's bathed in cool sunlight, cheeks ruddy from the burn of the wind, and Bucky opens and closes his mouth several times. A few whisps of his hair have fallen from the low, tiny ponytail he can get it into now. His icy, piercing gaze stalls your heart without warning. He licks his lips before looking at the ground again.

"What?"

Bucky shakes his head. "Nothing." He drops his hand from yours.

"You want some time alone, too? I can just--"

"God, no--" he turns, both his hands at your waist, and you're shuffled backward by the force of him "--don't leave me. Don't ever leave me."

"I'm not." Your butt hits a solid surface of rock, and he still doesn't stop advancing until his body stands flush with yours. "Buck, I'm not...I'll never leave you," you end in a whisper.

His head is down, forehead a mere inch from your nose, and he nods. "Okay." He nods again, breathing almost labored in the cold, puffing steam across your covered chest.

You have no idea what's wrong, but in all the time you've known Bucky Barnes, he's only ever been upset by bad things. You think he must be struggling with the weight of the mission, burdened by a detail only he witnessed, and you want to help. You've only ever wanted to help him.

You raise your hands to his jaw, sliding them over his rough, stumbled cheeks when he looks up into your eyes, mouth agape.

"It's okay. It's okay, Buck." You continue to move your fingers into his hair, circling lightly over the nape of his neck, and his eyes close again. "You're okay, Buck."

He sighs heavily, and when he starts to lean closer, you think he's going to hug you. He gives the best hugs, so you're melting at the thought alone, but he is not about to hug you.

His arms do curl around the small of your back. He does pull you against him tighter. His chin does not find your shoulder.

Instead, warm, smooth lips find yours, a sharp contrast of scorching heat in the winter air. Your heart is pounding in an instant. The flare of bewilderment stretches your body taut.

"Buck," you question in arms.

His mouth seals to yours again, harsh, needy, and chaste all in one long drag.

"I love you," he whispers. "I've loved you for so long, and even if you don't feel the same, can I just love you? Just for today?"

He keeps pressing little kisses to your lips while you gasp for searing cold breaths. "Okay, Buck," you manage before he's against you again.

"If--" you break away only by tilting your head back onto the rockface "--only if I get to love you tomorrow."

You stroke your thumbs over those scruffy cheeks as before, a comfort to you both this time.

The sky-blue of Bucky's eyes watches the changing expression on your face as it dissolves from shock to sincerity, and then he smiles.

It's a shy and slightly devious smile.

Bucky takes the deal, and again, you're a goner.

[bananaofswifts]

More interested in setting atmosphere than chasing trends, Taylor Swift’s 10th album pursues a newly subdued and amorphous pop sound.

Midnights is about reflection, not reinvention. Taylor Swift has explained that at length, in her own flowery vernacular: These 13 songs are “a collection of music written in the middle of the night, a journey through terrors and sweet dreams.” The thoughts that keep the 32-year-old songwriter up late are the ones she’s spent nine albums excavating: the unpredictable rise and devastating fall of romance; the binary of the “good girl” and the “bad girl,” and the chafing of societal expectation (that “1950s shit”); and the uncomfortable acceptance of her own fallibility. Life, she declares, “is emotionally abusive.”

Midnights is Swift’s first album to be recorded entirely with Jack Antonoff, after nearly a decade of ever higher-profile collaborations. In the past, he has accentuated Swift’s ambitiously vivid storytelling with expressive, technicolor synth pop. Here, in accordance with the lateness of the hour, they explore moodier, more subdued hues. Built around vocal effects and vintage synths, it’s an understated sound more interested in setting atmosphere than chasing trends. On the mid-album centerpiece “Midnight Rain,” against a backdrop as crystalline as the titular weather, Swift examines the pursuit of career over partnership. Exaggerating her natural uptalk, the production morphs her voice into a dramatic slant: “He wanted comfortable/I wanted that pain.” The woozy “Snow on the Beach” sketches an image of strange beauty in twinkling synth and violin, as Lana Del Rey’s warm background harmonies add a welcome coziness. Later, as Swift hesitantly enters a new relationship on “Labyrinth,” the production mirrors the ice melting around her heart, each synth quiver a pump of new blood.

Building on the softly stuttering Reputation tracks “Delicate” and “Dress,” the album at times recalls the way the spare, hazy beats of Lorde’s Pure Heroine cut through the denser radio hits of the early 2010s. While it’s gratifying to hear Swift push her idea of pop beyond the fireworks of her pre-2020 material, the evolution can feel uneven. In her transition from the Americana-lite of Folklore back to sparkling synths, she’s also restored some of her more theatric impulses. On “Karma” she conjures her sassy, shit-stirring alter ego in a less vindictive mood, luxuriating in her rivals’ inevitable comeuppance. The ominous, wobbly murmur lurking beneath the revenge fantasy “Vigilante Shit” recalls Billie Eilish’s debut, though Swift’s attempts at edginess come across as a costume; she was a far more believable killer on Evermore’s murder-mystery ballad “No Body, No Crime.”

If Swift’s previous recordings were full-blown productions with radically distinct aesthetics, this one would be best staged in a black-box theater, where the stories change but the physical space remains consistently austere. The effect is most curious on “Maroon,” which opens in medias res on the aftermath of a night fueled by some roommate’s “cheap-ass screw-top rosé,” a syllabic feat. This doomed romance unwinds atop a downcast rumbling, with drums that echo as if from within a black hole; by the final chorus, Swift’s vocals are processed within an inch of their life. In stark contrast to the passionate hue of her words, the overall effect is oddly impersonal, bordering on numb. Of all of the songs on Midnights, “Maroon” may be the one that keeps me awake at night.

On 2020’s Folklore and Evermore, Swift stepped away from autobiographical songwriting and found new depths of feeling in fictional narratives. For perhaps the first time in a career built on curated lyrical bloodletting, she gave herself the gift of emotional distance. With Midnights, she returns to a diaristic style, addressing the central conflict of Taylor Swift, the individual and the persona: She’s self-conscious to a fault but rarely self-aware. “I’ll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror,” she sings on lead single “Anti-Hero,” more weary than winking. She has fun with her self-loathing, likening herself to a performatively selfless politician and a Godzilla trampling a city of sexy babies; “It’s me, hi/I’m the problem,” she says at the bridge, cracking a wincing smile and imagining the memes to come. Owning the “problem” isn’t quite the same thing as changing, and she’s betting that you can relate.

Swift revisits this tension in the final minutes of Midnights, on “Mastermind”: “I swear/I’m only cryptic and Machiavellian ’cause I care.” Movingly, she writes herself a twist ending: The lover whose attention she’s spent the entire song scheming to capture sees right through her designs. Swift has often portrayed love as something that happens to her; from “You Belong With Me” to “Don’t Blame Me,” she is forever at romance’s whims. But the “Mastermind” not only achieves what she wants and deserves through her own efforts, she finds someone who recognizes how important it is for her to assert creative agency. The sentiment is echoed again on “Sweet Nothing,” a hiccuping nursery rhyme written alongside her partner, actor Joe Alwyn (credited as William Bowery): “On the way home/I wrote a poem/You say, ‘What a mind’/This happens all the time.”

As has become Swift’s recent custom, this latest release is accompanied by a suite of bonus material: The seven additional songs on the surprise “3am Edition” vary in quality and offer little insight into the album proper. “Glitch” and “Paris” are just dumb fun, at least when considering the hilariously overwrought lines, “Sit quiet by my side in the shade/And not the kind that’s thrown/I mean, the kind under where a tree has grown.” The best of the 3am songs reunite Swift with the National’s Aaron Dessner, her collaborator for the bulk of Folklore and Evermore. One of these, “Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve,” is seemingly a follow-up to 2010’s “Dear John,” drawing out the complexities of a teenage girl’s relationship with a manipulative older man and considering the weight of his violations with mature, nuanced perspective. It’s one of the best songs of her career, but its charging gallop would have pierced Midnights’ blanket of fog.

The closest comparison from the original release is the radiant “You’re on Your Own, Kid,” which indulges in some classic Swiftian mythmaking: Fueled by unrequited love, the outsider holes up in her bedroom and writes the songs that allow her to escape small-town stasis. The reality she finds is no fairytale. “I gave my blood, sweat, and tears for this/I hosted parties and starved my body/Like I’d be saved by a perfect kiss,” she sings, quietly nodding to her struggles with disordered eating. She concludes on an uplifting note, urging her audience to “make the friendship bracelets,” recognizing every misstep is a lesson learned. But the painful memories linger in the back of her mind, ready to creep into focus at the stroke of midnight.

[cliozaur]

Timid and melancholic argot transforms into something shameless and jovial in the eighteenth century. There’s more imagery related to mines and miners here, with processes happening underground, imperceptible on the surface, Restif de La Bretonne, who “excavated in the masses the most unhealthy gallery” and so on. After the significant effort put into rehabilitating argot in the previous chapters, Hugo now condemns “the laughing argot,” presenting it as something potentially dangerous.

Oh, I like how he interprets what was going on in the eighteenth century. Of course, it was not the Enlightenment itself or the philosophes to blame for the transformation of argot. They were all about light and progress. The blame lies with some sophists. Hugo unintentionally touches on a valid point: the philosophes were too elitist to care about reaching the masses. They were more interested in educating the public which is not synonymous with the common people or the masses. In fact, they often disdained the masses. Oh, the things they wrote about the people, presenting them as conservative, most loyal subjects of the monarch! Hugo laments that their writings were banned or even burned, but the public was not particularly interested in them (except for Rousseau, this guy was a real bestselling star), they wanted to read trashy fiction which is now really forgotten. They did not want to be educated, instead they developed “low taste” in literature: pornography, soapy romances, and scandalous revelations. And Restif de La Bretonne was on a high end of this literature. (Robert Darnton has much to say about the forbidden bestsellers of the Ancien Régime.) Some of these texts incited “the hatred of the unfortunate classes lights its torch at some aggrieved or ill-made spirit which dreams in a corner, and sets itself to the scrutiny of society. The scrutiny of hatred is a terrible thing.” This hatred and fear can lead to what Hugo calls “jacqueries.”

And then Hugo shifts attention to Revolutions vs. jacqueries. Chapters about the June revolt are coming soon, and it’s time to remind readers why revolutions are inherently honourable and good. Hugo suggests that the eighteenth century could have ended with a jacquerie if not for the French Revolution. A jacquerie embodies chaos, unchecked violence, revenge, and destruction. In contrast, the revolution, according to Hugo, is moral and lawful, albeit cruel. While this idea might sound good in theory, Hugo may be idealizing the impact of the revolution on the nineteenth century a bit too much! The closing image of barefooted rag-pickers guarding the treasure is quite utopian. I suppose that the conclusion might be that argot cannot have the same destructive impact of inciting people to jacqueries anymore. Or maybe I got it wrong.

[thelightningthatjumpsbetween]

Chapter Seven

RE8 | Wintersberg | Romance, Slow Burn | Action, Sci-Fi

Sequel of Winters and the Beast, a Resident Evil: Village Story

Table Of Contents

Ethan's Journal

August 20

So, I finally met her.  Ada Wong.  It wasn’t as awkward as I thought it would be.  Actually I have her to thank…I saw a different side of things when she spoke with Karl about the Mold research.  I was kept in the dark so much, listening to the BSAA.  I still blame that organization for what happened with Miranda, because they moved us here under pretense of “protection.”  It only made things worse.  Some of the things Ada said made me sick to my stomach.  I don’t know how Chris does it.  It's still so hard for me to forgive him.  Maybe one day.   

Things have been hard since Rose’s birthday.  Even though it was an adorable party and she was so happy to see our friends from the Roma village, and Zoe (so was I), I can’t help but think about how simple life was like just a year ago.  Things were so different.  I had no idea how much truth there was to discover. 

Seeing Rosemary blow out her candle and smash her cake made me so unbelievably happy.  I feel so lucky to be here with her.  I just want her to be a happy kid and know that she is loved more than anything in the world.  I have to defeat Miranda to ensure a future for both of us, and get justice for everything and everyone she destroyed.  

Eva agreed with the Duke about trying to find some sort of talisman for this King and communicate with him, and she gave me some advice on how to try after the Duke pointed out the possible location of the item.  I told her I would do it.  This week Karl is going to clear more of the land with the clan, and invited us.  The water from that river is turning the area by Moreau’s old village into a huge swamp and he wants to dig out a path to reroute the water.  I think he just wants to play in the excavator.  

—-----

Ethan was moderately pleased with the truck Karl had bestowed on him (the same one he’d gotten pounded while being chained to, several days earlier) even though it was by no means the Challenger he intended to buy; he drove the trio of himself, Eva, and Rose down to the work area: the old once-fishing village.  It was strange to be in the hollows of the village where nothing tangible remained, and debris lurked just under the surface.  Still, Ethan thought, it was less unsettling than seeing Donna’s house looming over his head as he had before the ceremony for Eva. 

He stared out at the expanse of the valley and the castle silhouetted silently against a darkened mountain, before muttering to Eva, “You sure you’re okay to watch Rose?”

She sighed, and turned to face him while he focused on the road.  “Always.  But Ethan…you make Heisenberg so sad.” 

“He’s in a gigantic piece of equipment!” Ethan said defensively, gesturing toward the field where the men worked.  “He’s busy! And he's....being Heisenberg! How can he be sad?"

She pursed her lips; he read the silence, and cut his eyes toward her in exasperation.  “Not you too.”

Maricara had already lectured him on this twice, he and Karl had fought over it once, and Zoe had defended Karl during her birthday visit to see Rose.

“Do you not trust him?”

“Eva, I don’t trust anybody or anything farther than I can throw them these days.  I can’t throw Heisenberg at all.  I do trust him, as much as I can."  Ethan inhaled, then sighed.  "Sometimes I still...remember what it was like.  Before.  I can't help that.” 

“But he senses that.  He is so good to all of us, Rosemary especially.” 

Ethan sighed.  “He is.  And I’m not singling him out.  He just does things like…work in excavators.  That’s all.  And.”  Ethan paused, wondering if he should say the other part of what was on his mind.  He chewed on his lip for a moment as the truck rolled down the gentle sloping road; made by Karl and the men, of course.  

“I feel like I can’t ask you to go into the Mold.  It should be my job.” 

“Why do you feel that way?”

“You were trapped in there for a hundred years,” he said with a halfhearted laugh.  “I figured you were tired of it.” 

She actually smiled, and gazed out the passenger window.  “You are…not wrong about that.  It is a beautiful world, but this one is so much more tangible.  Ephemeral.  It is a breath of fresh air.  I cannot wait until this is over.  To actually think I could see the world, see the things that I could only read, or look at through glass.” 

“We’ll plan a tour,” he agreed, his smile widening.  Ethan’s hair ruffled in the breeze from the rolled-down window.  “But, until then, I’d like to…give you a chance to just be here.  I need to learn everything I can to be a weapon myself,” he scoffed.  “Miranda was supposedly intimidated by Rose.  I’m going to find out the reason why, and use it against her.  Me.  Not you, not Heisenberg, definitely not Rosemary.”

“You don’t have to do things alone, Ethan.” 

“I know.”  They were close to the area where the castle gate had once stood; it was now rubble, but the drawbridge beyond it was intact.  The once-pond was now swampy mud, but it looked cheery with the wildflowers in bloom.  It had been so cold, so foreboding in the winter.  Ethan felt a shiver run up his spine despite the midday heat, as he surveyed the area.  He glanced over the drawbridge and the doorway beyond, surprised that Karl hadn’t just driven the excavator through the path and started clawing at the stone foundation.  Then again, there was still plenty of daylight left.  

“I’ve got this, Eva.  Go have some fun.  Catch yourself a big one.”  He pointed his thumb toward the antique fishing poles in the back of the truck, and she actually rolled her eyes at him.  This caused Ethan to beam at his own Dad humor.  He kissed his daughter and turned once more toward the looming, intimidating Castle Dimitrescu.  If he tilted his head very far back, he could see most of the structure, but it made him dizzy.  

Ethan paused at the approaching rumble of a large engine; sure enough, Heisenberg drove his ancient Frankenstein of industrial mining equipment toward the truck.  Rosemary squealed with joy at the monstrosity of metal.  Ethan heard the rush of air from pneumatic brakes, and the machine halted.  Now it idled as a graying tousled head of hair poked out of the window in the cab, gesturing toward Eva and Rosemary.  

Ethan felt his heart flutter at the sight of the manly man in his big machine, but he called out a jeer.  “Heisenberg.”  

The head turned; though hidden in shadow, he could see the glint of the glasses.  Ethan poked his thumb toward the drawbridge.  “I’m going in through the carriage gate.  D’you wanna stab me in the guts and kidnap me like a fucking psycho?”

The silhouette of Karl raised its left hand and flipped Ethan off.  He saw the red glow of a cigar ember.  Ethan waved in response as the machine started up, and then Eva, who was halfway between both men, called over to Ethan, “He said he will turn your truck into a metal frisbee when you leave.  What is a frisbee?”

—------------------

Ethan remembered his words as he’d crossed this threshold the first time.  Nothing but blood and death, huh.

“Elena,” he sighed, remembering her terror.  What he wouldn’t give to see her again.  But she, like many others, had only existed ephemerally in the Mold’s consciousness.  Wiped away by Karl’s recalibration, forgotten as if she were nothing but a dream in someone else’s mind.  There was nothing to be done about it, he reminded himself.  

Ethan’s sorrow was cast aside; his heart flew into his throat when he walked through the entryway where he’d first met Heisenberg.  He was anticipating something; his body seemed to remember the encounter.  It responded with adrenaline. 

Recalling the bizarre interaction actually made him smile as he crossed through the open doorway.  He was still afraid, still expecting a fight, but somehow Ethan could see the interaction in a different light, knowing the man now.  Heisenberg was still a fucking bastard, though.  The blond’s thoughts drifted back to that church meeting…well, what memory he had of it.  He’d been so confused, whacked in the head by some of Karl’s flying scrap metal.  

As Ethan strode through the silent gardens, which were now overgrown and covered in wild roses, he remembered Alcina’s booming voice.  The screeches of Angie, so close to his face.  Miranda farther away, mysterious, hidden in shadow.  How Karl had moved so quickly in front of him, the hammer ringing.  

God, Karl was one thing, Ethan mused.  Living with him was like owning a perpetually agitated, buzzing telekinetic bear.  Cute and cuddly every so often, but dangerous and confusing every other moment.  He knew that Karl would do anything to protect them, but still, the man had a wild, unpredictable streak.  It was never more obvious than when they’d met.  Heisenberg had seemingly discarded him several times, and then taunted him, watched him, while not so secretly expressing his admiration for the blond.  How could Ethan possibly be considering bringing back any of the other Lords? 

The thought made him frown deeply as he approached the final entrance door.  Ethan’s eyes drifted over to the spot where the Duke’s wagon had originally parked and the frown faded momentarily.  

The Duke–someone he trusted, someone who had always looked out for Ethan, openly…who had picked him up and carried him, while he fell apart, to his final destination, and who had shown only warmth and compassion-wanted the Lords back, too.  

With a rather disgusted sigh, Ethan exhaled and put his foot on the step.  He could do this.  Had to do this.  For Rose, he reminded himself.  Rose, who was happily frolicking in the sunkissed field below, not hugging the cold edge of a mountain castle.  

—--------

It would be in the Great Hall, the Duke wagered.  A treasure worth bragging about, particularly if the rivalry between Dimitrescu and Heisenberg’s ancestors was half as intense as the pair’s.  A patera was the item in question.  He’d been frustrated, running a hand down his face.  “What the fuck is a patera, Eva.” 

Some kind of shallow bowl used by Romans, originally.  It was depicted in some of the manuscripts with other treasure (the Duke had annotated heavily here, beseeching anyone reading to locate these artifacts.)  Apparently this King was a real show-off in battle, and had drank wine from the bowl at every public opportunity.  So... a showy flask, Ethan noted. 

The descriptions of the man and several illustrations of him drinking from his bowl matched the other writings that mentioned the ruler; he was several generations after the founding Kings of the village-the men whose terrifying statues guarded the ceremony site for their descendants.  According to official tapestries, his given name was Godric.  

Eva knew some of the history from her time in the Mold–at least some of the collective minds had belonged to scholars and historians of the area.  The King was beloved amongst his knights, and even peasants enjoyed the man’s rowdy and boisterous presence.  At least one medieval bard song existed about him, though it was lost to time.  

He had been very protective of his homeland, and led many battles that kept the area independent as Islam, then Christianity swept through the area.  He also gave the order for a quarantine wall to be built during the plague years that ravaged most of the countryside.  The man was by all accounts a good, just ruler who lived an unnaturally long life, perhaps thanks to the mutamycete.  

And then something terrible happened and he disappeared from all memory and history.  This was a bit of a mystery and Eva had no answers for it.  Ethan was cursing about the lack of clarity while digging through the ornate decor in the Great Hall when he paused, brushing past a plate.  

It was gaudy.  Bright gold.  Had a sculpture of a man in the middle of it…it was more like a bowl than a plate, he mused, and now he turned the ugly thing over, staring at the even more gaudy carvings on the bottom.  Runes, he noted curiously.  Ethan’s fingers moved along the Germanic alphabet and he studied the orgy depicted on the bottom of the patera.  This was likely not Christian.  Didn't need an anthropology degree for that. 

Now he straightened, his long legs stiff from kneeling while rifling through the cabinet.  The blond looked uneasily around; he was in the main hall, and the display area had been in shadow under the grand staircase.  Now Ethan strode out onto the marble floor, hearing his own footsteps echo in the cold room.  

He was nervous, but less nervous than he’d been before.  The castle at this point felt like an extension of the home he had here; it was burned into his mind as a location where he’d spent lots of time.  Not in any particularly enjoyable way, but it was memorable, at least.  

With one more furtive glance around, Ethan closed his eyes.  Eva had coached him on moving through strata; to just be still, and let the pages of the book flip around him.  He supposed it was something like Karl’s magnetic fields.  To send energy out around him, and then use that energy to focus on a person, or a question, or a thought.  Casting a line. 

He only hoped he wouldn’t fucking catch Miranda.  Here in the castle, it seemed unlikely.  But so did channeling a mad King who had existed hundreds of years ago and had no discernible presence within the collective consciousness, other than from the few memories from ceremonies that Ethan had seen before.  In those memories he was faceless, a shadow with an imposing presence.  

Ethan gripped the plate, closed his eyes.  The quiet echo of the castle turned into a rushing sound around him, and he tried to focus only on the entity that he knew so little about.  Godric.  He thought of the silhouetted, faceless figure on the throne.  

A heaviness broke the flickering sound as something tugged on the bowl in his hand.  Ethan’s eyes popped open, then widened.  There was another hand on the bowl.  The blond couldn’t even focus on the fact that he stood in the liminal space, where the castle blended into glitchy, overlapping colors behind them.  He was entirely encompassed by the man in front of him.  

Big. Wide.  He towered at least six inches over Ethan’s head and smirked at the blond’s dumbfounded expression.  

If Ethan squinted, he could almost see Karl in his features.  The shape of the face, the shaggy hair and beard.  The sparkle, the hidden smile, in his eyes.  This man had striking, light hazel irises, and a single scar over his eyebrow instead of an array across his face.  Ethan tilted his head.  The nose was right, too.  Dark skin.  

“Mi a fene,” spoke the stranger finally.  It was a question, aimed at Ethan, who continued to stare dumbly.  

[cupid-styles]

I feel like you have some good book recommendations, can i ask for some?

this is the best compliment omg!!!! YES of course! I'll include them under the cut :)

romance

icebreaker - Hannah grace (people have mixed feelings about the mc but the smut is great especially if you love hockey romance idc)

wildfire - hannah grace (not really a sequel to icebreaker but lives in the same world. I think I actually liked these characters better and it's a summer camp romance plot, again with 10/10 smut)

once more with feeling - elissa sussman (ex lovers plot)

take a hint, dani brown - talia hibbert (POC mcs, super smutty)

my roommate is a vampire - jenna levine (cute supernatural romance!)

you again - kate goldbeck (the characters are a little annoying sometimes but it's one of those "we've been running into each other for years" type romances, lots of pining)

normal people - sally rooney (ouch but happy ending)

dark fiction/thriller/just look at the TWs on these before reading

my dark vanessa - kate elizabeth russell (there is some controversy about this book and it's alleged that it's based on a memoir by a POC, called excavation by Wendy c. Ortiz — I haven't read the latter yet but PLEASEEEEE read content warnings ahead of time if you decide to)

the secret history - donna tartt

the girls - emma cline

my year of rest and relaxation - ottessa moshfegh

eileen - ottessa moshfegh

bunny - mona awad

novel obsession - caitlin barasch

boy parts - eliza clark

nonfiction and fiction that won't scar you/isn't a romance novel

ghosts - dolly alderton

any of the taylor jenkens reid books are great and fun!!

everything I know about love - dolly alderton

ALSOOOOO if you're into sociology of the internet/are an OG Tumblr user or 1d fan, I highly recommend everything I need I get from you by Kaitlyn Tiffany!!! it's an entire book about fangirls being the root of pop culture and it's all about 1d. very interesting but only if you're into nonfiction lol

[bibliophilecats]

Read recently: How to excavate a Heart by Jake Maia Arlow

This is a fun holiday romance. I have not read many books with Jewish protagonists yet and it was great, learning something new. And it is a good starting book for the holiday season as there is not a lot of Christmas, only a little.

The relationship is fun, a little chaotic and feels real. Despite this being labelled Young Aduld, because the protagonists are in their first year of college, they are a bit more mature than high schoolers which I found refreshing. And Shani's mum is amazing!

[fledbeast578]

Have any Lu Bu thoughts on the mind?

It’s funny you asked that now! The answer is yes, actually (well it’s always yes but this is a recent thought)

Fun fact they recently (well 2017, but it was fully excavated recently and they didn’t know it was him until the end) found the actual Lu Bu’s grave, like full on. Apparently it took so long to find because it was pretty disheveled and not very prestigious (CaoCao certainly didn’t care for him and his family was quite poor). Fun fact he had a spear instead of a halberd, which is actually pretty interesting but I suppose it makes sense. He was never actually mentioned as using a halberd in proper historical records, and romance of the three kingdoms is pretty sensationalized. He was also buried with a few spears, and was mentioned as using spears a few times in stuff like his biography

Not to say it makes him any less cool, spears are cool looking, and it makes sense he’d use it on horseback. I’m curious if any arrowheads were also found, since Lu Bu was super famous for his archery, but I can’t find many good articles on it in english. I’d love to visit it in a few years, assuming they allow it to be visited.

Er in terms of proper fate Lu Bu thoughts, recently got him to bond 13 which got me enough sq to get a Spacetar (and they say he never helps his master)! Didn’t even need to throw him in the backline, often times I just needed a strong st servant and Lu Bu with mana battery append gets the job done. I wonder when if when I get him bond 15 I’ll be able to summon Lu Bu Rider without him betraying me lmao. Or at least get the fgo subreddit and twitter to shut up whenever I say literally anything about wanting an alt Lu Bu form. Er this is more of a rant but it’s actually the most annoying thing ever, because it means literally nothing. If I had a nickel for every time they said a servant couldn’t be summoned only for Fate to go “jk lol” and let them be summoned anyway I’d be rich. Just shove a “can’t be normally summoned” in his profile.

Also currently beseeching Camazotz to give me Lu Bu alter