#you have the honours of my first david drawing ever

[abeluser]

happy birthday @yummycrummy 🎂

[themculibrary]

Tattoos Masterlist 2

part one

And I Will Wend My Way With You (ao3) - mariana_oconnor bucky/clint E, 29k

Summary: After four long years, Bucky's mission is finally complete. All he needs to do is leave the Hydra Empire and make his way back to the Kingdom of Brooklyn with the information he has obtained. He definitely doesn't need the added complication of a slave, especially not one as angry and handsome as Clint Barton.

Apartment 409 (ao3) - 74days steve/bucky T, 4k

Summary: Steve Rogers meets the repairman for his building one day and now he's running out of things he can 'accidentally' break. Luckily, Bucky doesn't seem to mind the house calls.

A Tattoo of Parker Luck (ao3) - maroonweb harley/peter T, 5k

Summary: Guests started looking over at the commotion, when one of them walked over to get a better look.

Penny's eyes met Tony Stark's and she flushed when he looked over the mess they'd made. His disdainful gaze settled on her tattooed arm and he pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

She knew Tony would never be able to pick her out of a crowd, but to have him think of her so negatively upon their first meeting hurt more than she ever could have imagined.

AKA Penny Parker gets a tattoo that seems to embody Parker Luck.

Drawing gold from the dark (come inside) (ao3) - viverella clint/natasha T, 21k

Summary: “Hey,” he says. He puts his most winning smile on his face and says cheerfully, “You here to make a bad decision?”

The corner of her mouth curves upwards in a hint of a smile and she says in a soft voice that makes something jolt under Clint’s skin, “I was hoping to, yeah.”

OR: that AU in which Clint runs a tattoo shop that Natasha stumbles into one day and then keeps coming back to, and Clint gets maybe a little too invested and Kate teases him relentlessly.

His For All The World (ao3) - queerlyobscure (softestpunk) steve/tony E, 1k

Summary: As a drunken 21-year-old, Tony got a tattoo. As a sober 42-year-old, he's finally in a position to show it to the person it was in honour of.

Or, how Steve discovered that Tony has a tattoo of his shield on his butt, and what he did about it.

Ink (ao3) - Caiti (Caitriona_3) darcy/brock T, 1k

Summary: Darcy has zero intention of getting a tattoo . . . though the sexy artist might one day change her mind

Ink & Flowers (ao3) - Gottoomanyships steve/tony, bucky/sam, pepper/natasha N/R, 4k

Summary: Was Tony being absolutely ridiculous? Probably, but what else was new? He wasn't going to simply stand idly by while Rogers insulted him (even if he did look like a inked up version of Michelangelo's David). Sure, sending some passive-aggressive flower arrangements might have been a waste of his time and resources, but that wasn't going to stop him.

Or

The Stony Tattoo-Flower Shop AU that no one asked for.

Ink Mark (ao3) - druswriting rhodey/tony G, 6k

Summary: Five times Tony got a tattoo for Rhodey, and one time Rhodey got a tattoo for Tony.

Invisible Ink (ao3) - ctimene matt/foggy E, 16k

Summary: The One Where Foggy Is A Tattoo Artist And Matt Is The Worst

Lucky Seven (ao3) - BetteNoire (WeAreWolves) steve/bucky, clint/natasha E, 94k

Summary: Captain America trashes his motorcycle a lot. Tony says he'll fix it, then never gets around to it and just buys him a new one. Steve, the Depression-era kid, can't stand the waste and goes looking for somewhere near him in Brooklyn where he can get his bike fixed. That's how he finds Red Star Bike Repair, and the hot Russian-immigrant bike racer who runs it: all long hair and muscles and tattoos. And for the first time since he woke from the ice, Steve feels a connection to someone; a comfort in the other man's silences and his space, an attraction in his sheer skill at racing. But James Barnes isn't exactly who he seems...

Mine (ao3) - lilsmartass steve/tony E, 1k

Summary: Tony has a very interesting tatoo.

much tattoo about nothing (ao3) - Deisderium steve/bucky E, 14k

Summary: Steve Rogers gets a lot of email requests, but never one like this: James Barnes wants to use his healing factor to practice tattoos.

Turns out tattoos give Steve boners.

Nice For What (ao3) - grimeysociety bucky/darcy E, 3k

Summary: “Well, maybe I want to hang out with Bucky for once. We’ll wear black and roam the streets looking for victims. And then we’ll eat candy by the pool.” “Sounds like a date,” Bucky said, not quite believing she meant what she said.

Signed, Sealed, Delivered (ao3) - NeverBeenSane steve/bucky M, 172k

Summary: Steve Rogers was content with his life. He loved his shop, loved creating works of art for people to display on their bodies, had a tight knit group of friends who cared about him, and had finally paid off his student loans and the loan he'd taken out to start his business. But it still feels like there's something, or someone, missing from his life.

Everything's going to change when he decides to take Natasha's advice and sign up for a military penpal program.

stuck on me like a tattoo (ao3) - letter2thepast maria/natasha T, 967

Summary: Maria Hill and Natasha Romanov are both tattoo fiends. Just in different ways.

The Arm (ao3) - singthebeginningofmoana steve/bucky G, 688

Summary: Before the war, he’d never thought about tattoos at all. But after seeing them be so commonplace in the twenty-first century, he realized that having some of his own might bring him a great deal of comfort.

Bucky gets tattoos. Steve sees them for the first time.

Tumbling Your Way Into My Heart (ao3) - jujukittychick clint/tony T, 1k

Summary: Tony Stark knew what he wanted and was willing to pay for it. So when he decided to get a tattoo, he did his research, asked around, found the best of the best. What he wasn’t expecting was a cute deaf klutz with a caffeine addiction worse than his own.

you're stuck in my head (stuck on my heart, stuck on my body) (ao3) - notcaycepollard sam/bucky T, 5k

Summary: "You don't gotta hold my hand," Bucky says after a minute or two. "It's not like it hurts."

"Sure it does, asshole," Sam tells him, but he knows it comes out almost fond, and his hand is warm, and Bucky apparently leaves it at that.

When the artist goes over the edges of scar tissue, Bucky tightens his grip, and Sam doesn't say anything at all.

[historieofbeafts]

What about some of the weirder and underappreciated sea monsters?

I’m going to level with you, this took forever because whenever I see the words “underappreciated sea monsters” a part of my brain statics out & starts chanting ALL👏 OF👏 THEM

but since I can’t figure out how to turn a beam of concentrated enthusiasm for every sea monster ever to exist into a tumblr post, here’s an attempt to cover some greatest hits:

Serra/Sawfish

Underappreciated really only applies in modern times, since the sawfish had a wildly successful career as a medieval ocean menace & is one of the few marine creatures to regularly appear in bestiaries

Isidore of Seville describes it as having a serrated back that it uses to cut through the bottom of boats (clearly based on Pliny the Elder’s account of swordfish stabbing passing vessels)

But in its most popular iteration the sawfish is more irritating than lethal. Standard operating procedure is to force any ship it sees into a race, only to get bored and tired partway through and plunge back into the depths out of frustration                         

This is supposed to teach a moral lesson about persistence, but it mostly seems like a fun random encounter

The real delight is that, because no description other than “serration” and occasionally “wings” is really offered, artists were free to draw whatever they thought a commitment-phobic sea nuisance should look like

Is it a bird? A dog? A fish? Unimportant! It’s here to cause problems 

[Bibliothèque nationale de France , Latin 10448, fol. 119v]

[The Morgan Library & Museum, MS M.81, fol. 69r]

[British Library, Sloane MS 278, fol. 51r]

[British Library, Sloane MS 3544, fol. 42v]

[Det Kongelige Bibliotek, GKS 3466 8º, fol. 44]

Flying Turtle

This implausible little guy’s first recorded appearance is on a 1558 edition of a map of Northern Europe by Dutch mapmaker Cornelis Anthonisz

It was quickly copied by many of the biggest names in 16th c. cartography, including Abraham Ortelius & Gerard Mercator (of Mercator projection fame/infamy)

In Sea Monsters on Medieval and Renaissance Maps Chet Van Duzer suggests that, since Anthonisz’ publisher printed under the sign of the turtle, it’s possible this was a piece of branded content that got mistaken for a real creature

That’s both great marketing and a great origin for a cryptid. Modern publishing houses take note

“According to all known laws of aviation, there is no way a turtle should be able to fly...”

[Michele Tramezzino,  Septentrionalium regionum, Suetiae, Gothiae, Norwegiae, Daniae et terrarum adjacentium recens exactaq. descriptio.]

[Urbano Monte’s 60 sheet manuscript map of 1587, fully digitized and assembled into a planisphere @ the David Rumsey Map Collection]

[Mercator, Tabulae geographicae Cl. Ptolemaei ad mentem auctoris restitutis ac emendatis.]

The Sea Pig of 1537

Blatant favouritism because this is both my icon and the only thing on this list I’ve written about semi-seriously, but it’s forbidden pet time!

In 1537 a pamphlet was printed in Rome briefly describing a monster found in the North Sea and much less briefly explaining how it was a sign of moral decline

Sample interpretations: extra eyes to signify lust & gluttony, a moon on the back of the head to signify turning away from truth, four dragon feet to signify malice from all four corners of the earth

*slaps the roof of sea pig* this bad boy can fit so many allegories for sin in it

Was this propaganda related to growing tensions between Catholics and Protestants? Probably! Was it also cutting edge marine biology? Yup, and it was a breakout hit, making its way into the works of Olaus Magnus, who calls it “ominous in every feature,” and Conrad Gesner, who reclassifies it as a kind of hyena

[The 1537 pamphlet, Monstrum in oceano Germanico a piscatoribus nuper captum & eius partium omnium subtilis ac theologica interpretatio, available in a bad scan from google books here]

[Conrad Gesner, Historia animalium liber IV, digitally available @ the Biodiversity Heritage Library]

Honourable Mention: Whatever This Is

I genuinely don’t know

It shows up off the coast of Sardinia in the 1584 Mercator edition of Ptolemy's Geographia & the monsters in that are mostly derivative, but I can’t think of any source with this much hair, so here are some other possibilities:

Timetravelling wookie

Bigfoot’s No Good, Very Bad Beach Vacation

Lost dog

[ Mercator, Tabulae geographicae Cl. Ptolemaei ad mentem auctoris restitutis ac emendatis ]

Dishonourable Mention: This Guy

Only appears in two sources that I know of, for which I’m eternally grateful

Those sources are 16th c. world maps by Giacomo Gastaldi and Urbano Monte, men who owe everyone an apology for what they’ve unleashed upon the world

Here’s Chet Van Duzer’s translation of Monte’s description: “ …in the ocean here there often appear some fish in human form of such strangeness, that raising themselves above the water they surpass the highest masts of ships, so that, screaming horribly and making some valleys in the water, they move themselves with their arms which they have in the shape of great tree trunks twenty-five palms long, and there is no boatswain’s mate so brave that he would not be terrified by their monstrosity.”

Don’t care for that at all

Joking dislike aside, this resembles a water spirit of the kind more commonly found in bogs, fens, marshes, ponds or streams, and it upsets my sense of order to see it out of its natural habitat & in the open ocean

[Again, you can find Monte’s fully-assembled 60 sheet map at the David Rumsey Map Collection, and it truly is a work of art despite containing this man]

[atsukashii]

Hi! I love your writing so very much 🥰

For the event, could I possibly get: Tirza x Midoriya + she/her pronouns + ☀️ + green

Thank you thank you 🥺💕☺️

how long do I have to wait how many nights do I have to pass

✘ he was the one who got away, but now the number one pro hero has returned to japan, and come home to you

✘ GENRE: fluff

✘ WARNINGS: none

✘ WORD COUNT: 1.4k

To the world the name Izuku Midoriya was synonymous with the pro hero Deku. But to you, Izuku Midoriya is synonymous with sorrow, desperation and hurt. To you, Izuku Midoriya is the one who got away.

You’d been by his side since elementary school, where Katsuki Bakugou had coined the name Deku, which caught on in the opposite way than what he had initially intended it to be interpreted. You had been friends with the shy, hero crazed boy who had helped you draw your hero costume and equipment when you had decided you both were going to be pro heroes. You had been by his side as this quirk he was supposedly ‘born-with’ had manifested. And you knew, from the moment you saw All Might talking to him, just who’s quirk he had inherited.

You had been by Izuku’s side from your earliest memories, and you had loved him for as long as you could remember. You’d loved him for so long, and you were planning on telling him the moment you had finished your studies but never got the chance, because he’d left for the U.S a day later, working at an agency courtesy of Professor David Shield. And you had let him go, and took your heart with him.

Those six months had turned into three years, and now he was back.

“Can you please at least say hello to him? That’s all I'm asking here,” Your friend Ochako pleads from next to you, and you finally turn away from the bar to face her. You had been dragged out to a bar by your friend, only to discover the whole thing was an official ‘welcome home’ party for your first love that you hadn’t seen in years. So you’d reacted like any mature person, and hidden amongst all the bodies at the bar, cradling the same glass of water because you had work tomorrow and couldn’t afford to turn up hungover.

“I will,” you reply, looking over across the room at the green haired man laughing along with a bunch of your old high school friends. You give Ochako a pointed look as you swirl back around on your stool. “Later.”

“For fucks sake, even Bakugou is over there. Ba-ku-gou!” She combats, waving her hands to emphasise her point.

“Good for him.” She huffs out a breath of frustration at your antics but really, you don’t want an audience when you first talk to him, because you don’t know what is going to come out of your mouth. Will it be what your heart wants to say, that you missed him every single minute he was gone, or your head, where you’ll just simply say welcome back and move on with your life. You weren’t willing to take that gamble in front of your closest friends.

“Go have fun, I’ll talk to him later, I promise.” You swear, and even hold out your pinky which makes your friend let out a shocked laugh.

“Why don’t I believe you?” she asks, and you simply shrug, watching as she shifts through the crowd towards the table and the star of honour. The minute you know you’re out of eyesight and earshot, you leave your glass on the table, grab your jacket and sneak out the side door of the complex. Inhaling the chilled night air, you hesitate in the alleyway of the bar, letting yourself revel in the silence of the outside world. Getting used to having Izuku was going to take a while, especially considering he would no doubt be visiting his mother, who still lives next door to your own. You could never escape him, and why should that change even if you want it to? You only take a step further into the alleyway before the door bangs open behind you.

“Y/n?” His voice is deeper than you remembered it, but then again, he had been only a high school graduate when you’d spoken to him last. Slowly you turn around to face him, taking in Izuku’s face one inch at a time. Freckles still dusted his nose and cheekbones, and those deep emerald green eyes still glowed like sea glass - stop, you mentally plead. Don’t go down this road.

“I thought it was you. I saw Uraraka talking to you at the bar, and I wanted to see you before you left.” He’s taller too. You’d been the same height through most of your schooling, but now he towered over you by at least a foot. As Izuku stops under the dim light on the wall, you notice the undercut he now has and hate how it makes goosebumps break out on your skin.

“How have you been?” He asks, one of his hands clutching his other wrist in a nervous tick that holds your attention. How have you been? How have you been… miserable, lonely, lovesick, missing you… but you can’t say that. So instead you muster all the confidence in you to tell him the opposite, that you’ve been fine.

“I-” Your voice breaks on the word and you feel the world around you freeze. Your heartbeat echoes through your head and the happiness on Izuku’s face shatters and pain flickers to life in his eyes as he looks at you. A scarred hand reaches up and gently caresses your cheek and only then do you notice that you’re crying.

And the moment you recognise their existence, your chest heaves and you burst at the seems. The gruttal sob that leaves your lips has Izuku lunging forward and bringing you into his arms. Burying your face into his chest, you don’t try to stop what you’re feeling, and just let it run its course as you listen to him talk.

“I’m so sorry Tirza.” He repeats over and over like a mantra, softly running his hand over your hair whilst holding you close to his chest. Once your sobs cease and your tears slow do you finally trust yourself to talk.

“I missed you,” you get out, stepping out of embrace so that you can look at him properly, and gage his every reaction. If you’re going to get your heart ripped out, you’d at least like to try and see it coming.

“I missed you so much, but I couldn’t tell you. I missed you, but I was so proud and happy for you, because you were doing what you loved and even though I loved you, I didn't want to try and take you away from what you were born to do.” You try to explain, knowing you're making a mess of it all, but still trying to get it all off your chest. Izuku’s green eyes blink at you owlishly for a second, and fear enters your body for a second. But only for a second.

Because in the next, Izuku has your hand in one of his, and his lips on your own. Your eyes widen in surprise at the sudden affection, and you carefully place your hands on his shirt to push him away? To pull him closer? You’re unsure, but when he finally pulls back and looks down at you with so much adoration, your heart almost stops in your chest.

“I’m so sorry I left. I wanted to tell you how I felt back in highschool, but then I got offered a placement in the U.S. I almost didn’t take it too, but then I knew you would kick my ass if I didn’t,” Izuku rambles and you nod, knowing fully well that you would have. “And then I was going to come back after six months but they asked me to stay longer, and then I came to visit, but your mother said you hadn’t been back home since you graduated.” You cringe at the memory, knowing you hadn’t gone back because you didn’t want to be asked about him.

“But I get it.” Izuku finishes, pushing your stray hair back from your face. “It’s the same reason I went and sat on the beach when I missed home.” Because across it was you. “I’ve loved you since I was in middle school, and I’m sorry it took me so long to say it.” You let out a shocked laugh at his words, which turns into a soppy one as you grin at the man in front of you. He was home, that’s all you’d wanted, and now it was staring you in the face. Him. It had always been him.

“I love you Izuku. So so much.” You say, crying into your laughter as he joins you.

“We’re idiots for waiting this long,” He groans, leaning his head on your shoulder, and another laugh slips from your mouth, but one that actually has you smiling.

“The biggest idiots to ever live.”

a/n: Thank you for your kind words anon, you get a big MWUAH from me :)  i didn't mean for this to have an angsty start, but oops... also i think these are getting longer and longer. Note to self, you can't write short drabbles for shit. Looks like its full length fics for me

✘ EVENT STATUS : OPEN  ✘

[blindbatalex]

proud to present the next installment of the carraville royalty au (masterpost; ao3) [[cw for implied past character death]]

~*~

Gary startled awake.  

He had been stuck in the past again, in the grip of another nightmare, but the dream did not grant him so much as a memory of itself as it receded out of sight, leaving behind only that tell-tale dread that sits deep in your chest.  He sat up in bed.  It was dark, no doubt the middle of the night; he was alone; the only light came from the fire which was throwing strange shadows across the floor.  Far too bright for this time of- he thought but he startled again before he could finish his thought.

 “Hey.”

 Jamie.

He was not alone in the room.  Jamie was sat in an armchair he dragged by the fireplace.  He was only a silhouette with the firelight behind him, more shadow than man.  Gary got out of bed, and walked over to him, not bothering to hide his frown.

“Is your shoulder acting up?”

Not like him to be awake in the middle of the night otherwise; that particular honour was exclusively Gary’s.  

“No,” Jamie replied and Gary noticed now the cup in his hand, the wine bottle on the floor—his flushed cheeks and unfocused eyes.  His husband was wholly and totally sloshed by the looks of it.  “Just enjoying myself some peace and quiet without your constant chattering.”  He took a swig of his drink and smiled.  “Was, anyway.”

Gary spared a longing glance at the courtyard visible outside their window.  Things he would have given for some fresh air now, but alas, ‘Manc lord sneaks around Liverpudlian castle at night’ did not bode well for the tentative peace between their two countries.  He sighed, and as he walked over to the table to get his own cup before dragging the second armchair across from Jamie, he pretended that was the only factor stopping him, that he would have been able to ignore how broken Jamie’s smile was and leave otherwise.

He poured himself some wine, opting to wait for Jamie to say something first.  A drunk Jamie was a talkative one and indeed it barely took him two minutes before he said- 

“The sighting of the first stork of the year is very important in my family.”  

Gary didn’t know what he was expecting him to say, really, but it was not that.  Then again he did have a habit of surprising Gary in the most unexpected of ways.  Gary took a sip of his own drink and waited for him to continue.  

“If the first stork you see is in flight, it means prosperity for the next year, but if it is sat on a branch or the ground, it heralds misfortune, and the more storks you see the more pronounced the effect.”  Jamie’s eyes were lost in the fire.  He was frowning and Gary had a strong urge to rub his eyes—all of this over storks?  

“Last year, Stevie and I were travelling through the Merseyside woods when we sighted the first one,” Jamie said quietly.  “Five of them.  All perched on the branches of an elm tree.”  

Ah.  Half of a log broke off in the fireplace, eaten alive to its core by the merciless flames, and fell with a great crackle, in a flurry of sparks like a fallen warrior. Jamie did not speak of G.errard, not to Gary, not outside of a passing reference.  Gary did not speak to him of David.  They carried with them wounds no eye can see and no balm can heal but these were theirs to carry alone.

“We were making camp in a clearing for the night,” Jamie continued.  “Stevie grinned when I pointed the storks to him.”  Jamie’s lips curled up with the ghost of a smile, G.errard’s smile, maybe. “‘Don’t you worry, James,’ he said, ‘if any sorrows come to bother you, I will draw my sword and fight them off for you.’  Then he drew his sword and pretended to fight what I presume were the upcoming sorrows.” Jamie shook his head.  “He never took it seriously.  But he was like that.  He was such a respected leader among the men, always so serious; you wouldn’t believe what he was like when it was just the two of us.”  He chuckled, the sound bitter as it was wistful.  “Five storks.  I saw them and I let myself get distracted by his grin and-”

Jamie stopped with an uneven exhale.  Gary could see him there, in that clearing, much younger even if it was only a year ago, smiling despite himself as G.errard fought off invisible enemies and light faded around them.

“Yes, indeed—if only you had, you could have singlehandedly stopped a war that was years in the making.”

Jamie’s gaze snapped to him.

“Don’t be smug, Gary,” he sneered.

He had warned Gary of his temper when they first met and yet Gary had only seen it in brief flashes so far, like now.  He didn’t know if Jamie just did not show himself to him or if that part of him had died alongside everything bright and beautiful about them with their late husbands in the war.

Gary lifted his free arm in a show of surrender, and after a short moment, Jamie let his eyes drift back to the fire, jaw still clenched, still frowning.  

For a while, the only sounds in the room were that of their breathing and the crackling of the fire.  

Until they weren’t.

“David was the life of the party, of any party.  He could charm the pants off of anyone and the king would regularly ask for our presence when he had a tricky foreign guest to entertain.  Last feast we were at, at our own castle-”  

Gary stopped as if his brain had only now caught up to his mouth. He did not talk to Jamie about David, he never had.  The wine burned his throat but was already warm in his veins; the log from earlier had burned into nothing.  He wanted to stop, but he could see it there so clearly, their great banquet hall, David laughing with his hair as golden as this fire in front of Gary, his head thrown back.  It was so vivid Gary thought he could reach in and touch it if he only strained enough.

“After-” he continued, “we were one of the last ones to leave the banquet.  On the way back to our chambers, I said something, I can’t remember what it was exactly.”  He had thought and thought about it since, tried to recall what he said, but like water through cupped hands, it had slipped past his mind and was now gone.  Like David.  “I said, ‘everyone loves you,’ or some such thing, and he laughed.  ‘Good thing I love you the most, then,’ he said.”

Mm, Gary had replied in return.  He said he didn’t mind David glowing with attention, and he didn’t, but well, he couldn’t say he minded this not-so-occasional reminder either.  Of course, so did David.

‘What do you mean, mm?’

Gary could not deny him anything he asked for, never could.  He didn’t even drag it out.

‘Means I love you more than anything too.’

David’s head snapped to him then and he was grinning now, a grin that stretched from one ear to the next and sparkled in his eyes.  

‘More than anything?’ 

He was more than a little drunk and so was Gary.  

‘Yes, David.’

He was the most beautiful person Gary had ever seen, even in the dimly lit corridors of their castle.

‘More than the world?’

He was positively preening now.

‘Yes, David.’

‘More than-�� David hiccupped and lowered his voice.  ‘Mancunia?’

‘Yes, David.’

He gave Gary a skip and a curtsy.

‘More than…’ He snickered,  ‘Mrs. C.antona’s snowcakes?’

Gary snickered too.  

‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.’

Drunk as they were, he didn’t expect David to come at him like he did and pin him against the wall, hard enough for the stone to dig into his back.

‘Is that so?’

One of his eyebrows was cocked in an arch, challenging Gary, his cheeks rosy with the wine.  Gary looked into his beautiful green eyes, and said

‘Yes.’

*

When he managed to tear himself away from the past, he found Jamie looking at him. staring almost.

“I just wish,” he said and he was more tipsy than he thought. He did not talk to Jamie about David. “Just wish I told him I loved him more than the cakes.”

Jamie laughed, a sincere full-bellied laugh that roared through the room, and it was now Gary’s turn to be offended.

It was silly, he knew that, but no sillier than storks surely, and time after time he had gone back to that moment, to that ‘is that so-’

Because David had kissed him next and they stayed there tangled in one another until they heard a servant scuttling past and came to their senses, and Gary never did revise his answer when he loved David more than any cake in the world.

“Oh come on,” Jamie doubled down.  “You told him you loved him more than the whole world, and your kingdom, which I’m pretty sure counts as treason, by the way.  Obviously he knew you loved him more than some bloody cakes.”

“Not just some cakes!”

“Fine, more than Mrs C.antona’s snowcakes, specifically.”

Gary was feeling daft now at having brought this up in the first place, and yet, stubborn as he was, he doubled down too.

“You never had them.”

They were served at their wedding but Jamie had not so much as touched them, even after Gary suggested he should.

“What does that have got to do with anything?”

At the very least, this was the Jamie Gary knew, stubborn and obstinate and not moping over storks.

“They are my favourite cakes in the world, which David knew.”

Jamie laughed again, although it was softer this time and shorter, as if a friend he loved had told a brilliant joke.

“If I had to choose between you and the cakes, for example, I would choose the cakes,” Gary bristled, but when he looked up, Jamie’s eyes were- he looked down quickly, at the stone floor, a canvas now for the patterns the firelight drew and retracted.

“Look, Gary,” Jamie’s voice, like his eyes, was fond.  Gary really wanted some fresh air now, a way out of this room and out of the past.  “I will say this once and only because I’m sloshed.  I will deny it rigorously if you bring it up again, alright?”  He groaned, as if steeling himself for something thoroughly unpleasant, and Gary found himself looking up again, too curious for his own good. What was the Scouser playing at? 

“Alright,” Jamie muttered, mostly to himself, before he turned to Gary.  “You are insufferable.” 

Ah well, and here Gary was expecting something unexpected. His bad.

“Yes,” he replied pointedly, “you said so before,” but Jamie barreled on.

“Even leaving your kingdom aside, you can’t sit still, the kitchens have really had it both with your endless appetite for dessert but also for your attempts to improve things that require no improvement.  I will honestly not be surprised if one of them kills you in your sleep one of these days.” 

“Is there a point to this?” Gary felt the need to interject. Because he had heard all of this before, multiple times. 

Jamie met his gaze. 

“Yes,” he said.  “But, you are a good man, simple as that.  And if I can tell that in only a couple of months of knowing you, there is no way B.eckham didn’t know just how much he was loved.”

Five words, five simple words; he had spoken them so quickly and yet they had somehow reached in and lodged themselves in Gary’s throat. He didn’t know what to say, what he could say.  Was it a trick of the firelight, this look in Jamie’s eyes?

“Well, your reason is just as dumb,” he scoffed eventually.

Jamie’s mouth curled downward, the look was gone, and, good, Gary thought to himself.

“There was no way you could have predicted nor stopped the war based a few storks and you know that.”

Jamie opened his mouth to interject but Gary didn’t let him. This felt good.  Anger felt good, familiar like a well-used bow.

“A-a-a, I know what you are going to say.  But if you had taken your ominous warning seriously, if you had known, then you would have used the time you have left so much better.  You would have let him fuck you senseless each night and told him you love him every morning, over and over again. Memorised his smile, the colour of his eyes, every inch of his body.  If you had only known.”

From the expression on Jamie’s face, Gary could tell he hit the nail on the head.  “I know,” he said, laughed.  “Well, life doesn’t work like that, alright?  You couldn’t have known, not based on storks, not based on anything.  None of this is your fault.”

Gary stopped and the silence that rushed in was deafening. Jamie wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his tunic for they were shining now.  Gary touched his own face and frowned at his own fingers when they came back wet.  Across from him, Jamie’s shoulders rose and fell, just the once, in a quiet sob that Gary felt in his own chest.  He wanted to do something he never had before, something like- like- to wipe those tears himself, or to cup Jamie’s cheek in his hands.  Comfort him, like he had comforted Gary after so many nightmares that left him a broken, sobbing mess.  But it was more than that.  What he wanted-  God. What would David think of him if he saw him now?

I miss his smile, Gary wanted to say, because he did, every day.  He missed David and he loved David, so much.  He wanted someone to know, to understand.  And yet, here he was- God.

Jamie for his part, took in a deep and wiped his eyes again, and the moment had passed, leaving only something curling and pulling in Gary’s chest where his heart used to be.

“Let’s never do that again,” Jamie huffed and Gary agreed readily.

“Backgammon?” he asked; he didn’t think any of them could go back to sleep just then.

Jamie nodded, smiled even, and Gary stood up to fetch the board.

[reallyhardydraws]

insp by what could come after @look-at-your-shattered-children‘s fic practically married, with some flower advice from @ladytrelaw … so have a drawing and a ficlet from me!

In the end they go for the smallest possible ceremony, just a little affair in Bristol’s city hall. Dea chooses a dress by touch, picking one in satin that swirls around her legs and makes her feel like Titania amongst the forest tangles. By smell she chooses lavender, of course, and weaves a stem into the braid in her hair, along with a few sprigs of baby’s breath because she’s heard they’re traditional, and a few larger chicory blossoms because Gwyn always said they remind him of her.

Gwyn himself wears charcoal grey and a bolo tie with a cold metal clasp, on which there’s the raised design of a wolf, and Dea had delighted in feeling out the point of its little snout. Looks like Mojo, she’d said, and Mojo had woofed his agreement. It had been her father’s, of course, since he’d had his western phase as a young man and Gwyn couldn’t be convinced into wearing a real tie come hell or high water, (though if you asked Dea, she’d say he was really only griping for show, and truly wanted nothing other than to wear the thing, with it being so special to Ursus.)

Of course she wears Gwyn’s mother’s bracelet, her something borrowed for years now, and elects Josiana her maid of honour, because as soon as Dea had mentioned wedding bells around her she’d essentially claimed the position for herself. And that’s alright - Dea’s world is little and once they’d got over their initial jealousy about each other, the two young women found they got along much better than anyone expected them to, what with their similar passions for Gothic romance and tragic theatre. Jojo had thrown herself into dress shopping and hairstyle choices and creating invitations for all of the three extra guests in attendance, and when Dea had found herself teary eyed on the morning of the event, Josiana had been the one to wipe away her tears and hug her tightly before they got into their dresses.

She meets Gwyn now at the altar, Mojo having led her up the aisle, and Gwyn reaches for her hands and holds them tight as Angelica, in the role of officiant, speaks. Together, they say all the necessary responses, and giggle like the schoolchildren they’d been when they first met once they hear the words I now pronounce you married. They kiss and Gwyn has been unmasked from the start, it’s only their dearest friends around anyway, (and everyone in attendance will say afterwards that in the springtime light pouring through the windows, you could hardly see his scars for his smile and the overjoyed tears in his eyes.)

Dea can feel those scars crinkle under her fingers as she holds his face in her hands, her mouth moving against his for a sweet, chaste moment before they pull away, and then they’re husband and wife. And someone snaps a photo and everyone cheers, and suddenly she and Gwyn are the sweet bubble-gum centre in a group-hug lollipop, with Osric’s good arm flung around Gwyn’s neck, and Ursus’s hands on Dea’s shoulders, and David and Jojo squeezing them around the outside, Angelica dragged somewhere into there too.

Together they emerge into the sunlight, and the perfume of roses hits Dea’s nose as tossed petals fly in her face and settle on her hair and shoulders. She holds on tight to Gwyn’s arm and presses her forehead into his shoulder and breathes deeply, deeply.

When they all get back to the house, (with a few white streamers pinned to the walls and a few vases of fragrant flowers on the sturdier surfaces,) Ursus gives a speech, a toast. He takes them all back to the day a scruffy twelve-year-old Gwyn had rescued a tiny eleven-year-old Dea and how, with some coaxing, he’d stuck around afterwards – and just how glad Ursus is that he did so. To my darling girl, he finishes, and my strong, brave lad. May you have many happy years together. May you never have to be apart for long. Beside her, with her hand on his back, Dea can feel a sob bubble up in Gwyn’s chest.

And they all drink, and the dining room table’s been turned into a buffet of home-made delicacies - pierogi and a huge pot of bigos from Angelica, she’d gotten the recipes during her studies in Poland, a selection of misshapen sandwiches because that was the best David and Osric could manage on a team effort and their combined culinary knowledge (which was negligible). There’s a cheeseboard Ursus put together based on a cookbook from 1978, and a cake Josiana commissioned from the best baker in the city - a three tier sponge with sweet buttercream and delicate sugar flowers. An hour later Osric climbs into the sofa with his shoes on and he’d be reprimanded on any other day, but today he gets away with it and gets to give a somewhat tipsy toast of his own, Gwyn, Dea, congratulations! Best ceremony I’ve ever been to, I think, bar that time I stumbled in on a biker wedding in Glasgow – yours a much classier affair I have to say, hey, good on ye!

You’ll be next! someone shouts up at him. Osric sticks out his tongue and gives a drunken chortle, stumbling down from the sofa before flinging his good arm lazily around David’s shoulders, spilling his champagne flute in the process. Jojo fiddles with plugging her phone into the stereo speakers so that they can dance - it’s no expensive wedding reception but they clear a little space in the kitchen for a dance floor and pair up, first father-and-bride and then maid-of-honour-and-bride and then bride-and-tipsy-dundonian and bride-and-tipsy-dundonian’s-boyfriend ‘til finally Dea finds herself in Gwynplaine Trelaw’s unmistakable arms.

“Hello,” he says, bending close to her. “We’re married.”

“Yes,” she replies, giggling. “That we are.”

After so long being practically married, she has to say it doesn’t feel all that different, or at least not yet, but she’s happier than she can express that all their friends were there to witness it happen. And she’s very happy with her dress, the slippery-smooth feel of it just like magic.

“I'm…” Gwyn starts. “I’m really happy. I mean, I didn’t think I wouldn’t be, but now that we’re here…”

“You’re right,” Dea says. “It’s wonderful, isn’t it? Maybe we should get married every week, so we can always feel like this. We could go to Las Vegas.”

“Oh really,” Gwyn replies, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Or we could do a destination wedding and head somewhere tropical.”

“The Bermuda Triangle!” Dea says, thrilled. “And then we’ll honeymoon in Dracula’s castle.”

Suddenly, Gwyn’s lifting her in the air and laughing as he spins them, like he almost never does, like he doesn’t care at all, like everything’s wonderful. Because everything is! Everything’s wonderful, right now, and Dea shrieks with surprised laughter too, still giggling when he sets her safely back down.

“I love you,” Gwyn says, breathless, like he’s so happy he could sing. “I love you.”

“I love you,” says Dea, “I’m going to tell you every day, 'til you’re sick of it.”

“I couldn’t ever be!” Gwyn says, and he twirls her, and they dance. They dance, and their friends dance with them long into the night, and they hold each other tight until everyone else has gone home, and then they dance once more even after all the music has been switched off, when they’re just in their pajamas and the flowers that had been in Dea’s hair are now in the sink, and they hold each other tight until the morning. 

There’s a ring on Dea’s finger, and a matching one on Gwyn’s. And Dea thinks, yes, they might just have to get married a few more times, because after all, she really likes her dress. It’d be a shame if she only got to wear it once.

[nooneelsecomesclose17]

I’ll leave what I’m chasing - part 3

I’m not entirely happy with this but I think that’s my own issue with my writing. Next time: Sarah and Aaron try to make it all better.

(AO3 Link)

The bed is empty when Aaron wakes one morning, a few weeks later and for a second he panics that it had all been a dream, when he hears a noise from downstairs.

The past weeks have gone pretty well after Robert’s little breakdown, he and Seb had got to know each other again, having their own little part of the day, just the two of them, when Seb came home from nursery. Things with Ana hadn’t been quite so easy, she’d taken to crying when Robert picked her up and no matter how many times Aaron assured him she was just cranky his words fell on deaf ears. He was so stressed out about doing something wrong still that Aaron was sure she was picking up on it.

Checking the clock he’s shocked to see it’s half past nine, he can’t remember the last time he slept so late and he can’t help wondering how Robert had got on with the morning routine all by himself.

He’s still pulling on his t-shirt when he starts down the stairs, stopping when he hears Robert talking. He can just about see him, flitting about the kitchen like he always did, constantly turning to check on the little girl in the highchair at the table.

“Do you think Daddy will like pancakes, eh? I think he will. Don’t worry, I made one for you because you were such a good girl this morning when we took your brother to nursery. I know I haven’t been here but I promise from now on I’m going to be the best Daddy ever, aside from Daddy Aaron obviously.”

“Mornin’.”

“What are you doing up? We were going to bring you breakfast in bed.” Aaron gasps at Ana making her giggle. “Sit. This will have to do.”

“I reckon I’m in trouble. Morning sweetheart. So to what do I owe this honour?”

“Do I need a reason?” Robert presses a kiss to his lips as he sets a plate in front of him.

“S’pose not. How was Seb?”

“We had a slight crisis when he just had to take his bear to nursery and I couldn’t find it, but he was placated with his giraffe. I thought...well, you’re going back to work for a bit today aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” He mumbles around his pancakes ignoring the wrinkle of Robert’s nose at his manners. “Paperwork. I’ll only be an hour or two. Why?”

“I thought I might take her out for a bit, walk round the village, have lunch in the cafe.” Aaron looks up, startled.

Robert’s been reluctant to spend much time in the village since he came home, only the trips to nursery with Seb the exception. Aaron hasn’t minded, has enjoyed spending all their time together as well as glad he hasn’t had to run into any of his family.

“I can leave the paperwork if…”

“No. I meant just me and her. I can’t stay shut away in here all the time, and I can’t have you there to hold my hand either.”

“Ok. How’s about that sweetheart, a trip out with Daddy. Sound good?”

“Maybe we can go to the pub tonight. I’m sure Mum can babysit.” Aaron almost chokes on his breakfast. He’d hoped to avoid the inevitable conversation for a while longer, but obviously Robert had other ideas.

“Oh yeah. No, wait. She has book club on Thursdays. Another night yeah?” It wasn’t a lie, not really. Sarah did have her book club, but he also knew she’d drop it at a moment’s notice if they needed her.

“Sure.”

Thankfully no more is said about it and he leaves the house as Robert is trying to convince Ana that she doesn’t want to stay in her high chair all day. His mind isn’t on his work though, it’s on Robert. He has to tell him why they’re avoiding the family, everything that went on and he knows it’s going to hurt.

They might not have got off to the best start but he’d really thought when they got back together that his family had accepted Robert, and how much in love they were. The way they’d all helped with the wedding had seemed genuine enough but now he doubted it. The way they had all turned on Robert when he was sentenced had told him different. The worst thing had been his Mum, and Paddy getting into Liv’s ear and ruining the relationship she’d built with Robert over the years.

They haven’t spoken about prison or how Aaron coped either, both of them skirting round the issue every time they came close to mentioning it. That was something else that needed to change.

In the end he gives up and heads home needing time to work out how to broach the subjects Robert might not have wanted to be out and about in the village all that much but that would no doubt change, so they’d inevitably run into one of his family. He didn’t even know if they knew he was out. Liv did, or she’d known it would be soon and that’s when she’d decided to move to Dublin, still angry at Robert, probably fed up of being in the middle of everyone. He’s surprised he hasn’t heard from his Mum but he’s relieved.

“Aaron!” He stops, key in the lock as Sarah’s voice comes from up the drive. “I’ve been calling Robert but he’s not answering.”

“He’s taken Ana out for the day. He might be in the cafe. Here give me those bags. Did you leave any food in David’s?”

“Oh hush. I thought I could cook you and Robert dinner tonight. I can give book club a miss.” Aaron looks down at his feet. “What?”

“He wanted to go out, to the pub, ask you to have the kids. I begged off, telling him you weren’t free.”

“Love, he’s going to run into them sooner or later. Come on, put these bags in the flat for me, then you can make me a cup of tea.”

“How come I’m always making you a cup of tea?”

“Because you once told me mine tasted like the last puddle you stepped in if you remember.”

“I didn’t know you then!” He can remember going bright red when Robert introduced them. He’d taken Aaron to Whitby for the day not long after they’d got together and when they’d gone for a cup of tea in a cafe he hadn’t told him that it was run by his Mum. Aaron hadn’t spoken to him for the rest of the day as punishment and had been embarrassed about it ever since as Sarah could never resist bringing it up.

They’re still laughing as he puts the kettle on, jumping as the front door banged open and they’re greeted with Ana’s screams and Robert cursing under his breath.

“Rob? What’s happened?” Aaron reaches him first, hand on his arm as he releases the baby from her pushchair. Robert doesn’t answer, keeps fiddling with the buggy as if it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. “Robert!”

“Saw your Mum in the cafe.” He’s jiggling Ana in his arms as he speaks, to no avail as she keeps crying and Aaron looks back at Sarah, eyes filled with worry.

“What did she say?”

“Nothing to me. But she had plenty to say to Brenda, whispering away like a pair of witches around a cauldron. They knew I could hear.”

“Here, give her to me.” He holds his arms out for her but Robert takes a step back.

“I can do it!”

“I never said you couldn’t. Just thought you might want to take your coat off.”

“Let me take her, love. I think the two of you need to talk.” He nods, not taking his eyes off Robert. Sarah takes Ana and her bag, pressing a kiss to Robert’s cheek as she goes, and then they’re alone.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on now?”

“First I’m going to make us both a cup of tea. Then, yeah I’ll tell you.”

He draws out making the drink as long as he can, ignores Robert’s irritated sighs, trying to get his head together, but then he can’t put it off any longer and sits himself down next to him, hands clasped round the mug, the warmth comforting him.

“So Mum didn’t say anything? Nothing at all.”

“No. Just gave me her death stare and went up to the counter. Then Ana started crying and I know what they were thinking, that I can’t cope with her. Maybe they’re right, she cries whenever I pick her up...”

“No they’re not. Besides, my mother is the last person to know what Ana’s like seeing as she’s never even met her.” That has the desired effect of stopping Robert in his tracks.

“You what?”

“I gave her a choice. So now you know why I’ve been putting off going to the pub.”

“But...you can’t just leave it there. This is because of me isn’t it? Not only did I mess up our lives now I’ve messed up you and your Mum too. I should never have come back.” He gets up before Aaron can stop him, storming into the kitchen, clinging to the kitchen worktops, breathing hard. “You’re all better off without me.”

“Oi.” He’s on his feet before he realises, pulling Robert round to face him. “Stop that right now. There’s no time or anywhere where I, or the kids better off without you. Never, you hear me?”

“But Aaron, your Mum…”

“My Mum, and the rest of ‘em made their choice just like I made mine both times I married you. I don’t need them. I do need you.”

“All I do is hurt you.”

“Yeah, you’ve hurt me, same as I’ve hurt you. But we’ve got through that, and we’ll get through this. You’re back...home, that’s all I care about.”

“But...I still don’t understand. How did...what happened?” Aaron sighs, knows Robert won’t let it go until he knows everything. He sits back on the sofa, managing to rearrange them so they were comfortable and Robert was right next to him, showing him how much he loved him as best he could.

“It started not long after you were sent down. Like I said before I might not have liked you cutting off contact, but I got why, but they didn’t. Mum went mental, said if you could do that then you obviously didn’t really care about me or Seb. She was in my ear every time I set foot in the pub. Paddy too, then they pulled Liv into it and I know part of it with her was her family being broken again and she was angry but I’d just had enough of it. They hated that I took no notice.”

“You didn’t ever think they might have a point?”

“No. I could cope with that, nothing I’d not heard before was it. It was…” He looks over at him, eyes shining with hurt and he can’t tell him. “Never mind. It’s done now.”

“Aaron, come on. Tell me. I’m sure your Mum will shout it at me at some point. I’d rather hear it from you.”

“You know we hadn’t told her Natalie was pregnant, we were waiting like you’re s’posed to. Well after the first scan, I wanted to tell you more than anything, that this tiny little speck on a screen was all ours and as I couldn’t.” He grabs Robert’s hand as he moves away slightly, guilt written all over his face. “As I couldn’t, the next best thing, or so I thought, was to share it with my family.”

“And?”

“Mum was fine at first, said all the right things, and I thought maybe the thought of another grandchild would mellow her, bring her round. Then all night, all she did was tell everyone ‘look at my son’s baby’ and how great a Dad I would be.”

“She’s right.”

“But she didn’t mean it like that. I knew what she was doing, blocking you out of Ana’s life. No mention of you. She’s ours, always has been.”

“Ok, but that’s not it, surely?”

“Next day I went round, told her that the baby was ours. She went off on one about you again, how I could do better, how I should get rid of you because you were in prison, that you were violent.”

“She thought I shouldn’t be around them? Aaron I’d never…”

“Don’t even finish that sentence. Don’t even think it. You don’t think I’d hurt them do you?”

“Of course not! Why would I?”

“I’ve been done for GBH, same as you, so by her logic...Anyway, I don’t think she even meant it, she was just saying anything to get me to do what she wanted. It didn’t even seem to register with her that whatever she was saying about you she was also saying about me.” He sniffs, brushes away a tear that has escaped. “I didn’t speak to her for weeks after that, only having Cain on my back made me try again.”

“And it was no better.”

“If anything it was worse. Paddy was there backing her up.”

“Well he’s never been a fan.”

“Idiot.”

“Still, surely you could see why she was so angry. I mean I had cut off her baby boy, leaving him to deal with having a baby.”

“Course, but that was before…listen, he didn’t hear anything, he was playing,” Robert’s eyes darken a little and he wishes he didn’t have to tell him. “I’d left Seb with Lydia, just for an hour. Mum was out so I said he’d be ok going with her to the pub. He was feeling poorly so I kept him off nursery but I’d arranged to meet your Mum at the station and I didn’t want to drag him there. Mum must’ve come home early, and we walked in to see him playing on the floor while the two of them were gossiping about you in front of him.”

“Gossiping how?”

“Katie, Rebecca, Paddy, ripping off Kim, Lee.”

“All my greatest hits. Wonderful.”

“He didn’t hear, I don’t think he would’ve even understood, but that was the last straw for me. If she couldn’t even keep her bile to herself while he was in the room then I didn’t want her anywhere near Ana. So I told her, she either accepted that you were my husband and promised not to speak about you like that anymore, in front of Seb or otherwise, or me and her were done and she wouldn’t get to know her granddaughter. Like I said she made her choice. The others fell into line like good Dingles. Except for Cain and Moira, they’ve been same as always.”

Robert doesn’t say anything, almost like he’s stunned, and Aaron can’t do anything except keep his arm around him.

“Talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to say, is there? I should’ve known they never really liked me. Wouldn’t have them pegged as good actors though, should give ‘em credit for that.” He jumps to his feet. “I’m going to lie down.”

“Rob…”

“I just want to be on my own Aaron.”

[offspring-of-calliope]

Pins and Needles (Newsies Gang AU)

Chapter 3

Description: Davey's and Les' first day as Newsies and they already meet the famous Katherine Plumber.

words: 1675

warnings: There's no warnings on this chapter but if I did miss something triggering, feel free to tell me.

A/N: I know that there are only approximately two people and a shoelace who are even interested in this story but still - I'm sorry for not having updated this in ages. I kinda had a big writer's block which I've overcame for now, I guess, but we'll see how long that may last.

Also, just stating the obvious here but considering latest complications between my gender and me, I changed my username from "daughterofcalliope" to "offspring-of-calliope", I hope that's not too confusing.

As always, feel free to tell me if I've made some mistakes considering grammar or spelling. Comments in general are very appreciated.

I hope you enjoy it at least a little bit,

Sincerely me,

Lélo

-----

If David had thought that the Manhattan Newsies had been loud before, now he was convinced that the concept of volume got a whole new meaning when being around these boys. Selling with them was like sitting in the front row of an opera performance you hadn't even planned to attend.

David sighed. His thoughts were so misleading that he feared that people who he'd tell them to might think he hated the Manhattan Newsies. It was quite the opposite. Despite his urge to keep everything in order, to not overstep boundaries and to behave like a mature boy his age, being with the chaos that were the Manhattan Newsies filled his insides with joy.

The people he talked to at school couldn't really classify as real friends, seeing as their discussions were always aimed at topics they'd covered in their lessons or some other things that didn't relate a lot to something like free time. They were always so serious and David sometimes felt as if the other people didn't even want to talk to him more than absolutely necessary. With the Newsies, it was different. Some of them were even regularly trying to include him in their conversations, to find out about him as a person. Ironically, every one of them seemed to make a better spy than him, who couldn't even think of important questions to ask them that would lead to something that Sarah could work with.

Right after leaving the circulation gate, some kids named Kid Blink – a guy with an eyepatch and a charming smile –, Race – who constantly had an unlit cigar dangling between his lips – and Jojo – who had the most animated facial expression David had ever witnessed – had pestered him to tell them if Italian or Spanish was the more beguiling language. (While they'd been bickering, David had started to regret telling them that he was currently teaching himself Spanish. That had been the trigger that had started his inclusion to the debate.) The whole conflict had been postponed when a guy named Romeo had loudly declared that neither Spanish nor Italian was the real answer and that no language was as enthralling as his love language. Then, he'd proceeded to lure a pretty woman to buy a paper from him – the other Newsies were too nice to make him aware of the fact that she'd only bought the pape to escape his flirting – by sweetly talking in a language David didn't know. (It had been Tagalog, as Jack had later explained to him.)

Yet in his defence, David had also managed to overhear some conversations that hadn't been for him to hear – cue his bad conscience. One conversation in particular had irritated him. Some redhead – Albert was his name, he distantly recalled – had at one point asked Race if “it was cloudy up there”. That in itself hadn't been confusing since it was indeed very cloudy this day but Race's answer had been: “Oh, don't worry, I was just thinkin' 'bout somethin'. Everything's sunny as could be.” The sun didn't even shine! But maybe that was just a code David simply didn't understand.

“Sing 'em to sleep, will ya?” A voice was breaking through his thoughts and David only now registered that he had been blaring the words “Extra, extra! Does somebody want a paper?” for quite some time without actively concentrating on actually selling some newspapers.

The owner of the voice, Jack, - because of course it was Jack, why did Jack always seem to be near him? - took the most recent newspaper from his hand and exclaimed: “Extra, extra! Terrifying flight from burnin' inferno! You can hear the story right here!” It didn't take long for some guy to come and buy the paper.

David scoffed. “This story isn't even in the paper.”

“Well, I didn't say that, did I?” Jack retorted, a cheeky grin on his face.

“My father taught us not to lie,” David said, clutching the remaining newspapers in his hand tighter. He didn't want Jack to take papers from him again, or else it might become a habit for the other boy.

Jack only shook his head, holding one of his own papers into the air. “And mine taught me not to starve. Seems we both got an education.”

“Jack, Jack, look how few papes I got left now! I did everything you said I should do and the people just wouldn't stop buying the papes!” An excited Les ran over to them, smiling brightly and holding up some money for David to put away. “This is so much better than school,” he added.

“Don't even think it.” David tried his best to put on his strict-older-brother face.

A few feet away, Jack laughed. “At least someone listens to me.”

“Yeah, maybe if you'd start to actually say some things that are true, it'll be something worth listening to,” David answered. He didn't even know where the sudden burst of confidence came from. At first it had been difficult for him to focus around the leader of the Manhattan Newsies. However, after getting to know Jack a little, focusing was still difficult but now he couldn't suppress taking out his frustration on the other boy.

“I see you're making a habit out of attracting people who will put you in your place some time.” Suddenly there was another voice and upon turning around, David surprisingly found himself face to face with Katherine Plumber.

“Hello, Miss. Can I interest you in the latest news?” Jack said and his smile grew somehow even bigger. It made David's stomach twitch.

Katherine chuckled and held her hands up. The fabric of her dress wrinkled around her elbows and David noticed some spots on her clothes that were patched up. He'd always assumed that rich people would just buy new clothes when their old ones were torn but apparently Katherine didn't fit this assumption. “I'm sorry to disappoint you, Kelly, but I've bought two papers already. One from Specs this morning, the other from the little boy here.” She was pointing at Les. “He truly is a talented student of yours.”

“Hey!” Les exclaimed. “I'm not that little!”

“Of course not! But compared to Jack's ego, everything is little,” Katherine conceded amused.

Jack, who had somehow managed to sell a paper during the former exchange, crossed his arms before his chest. “Why are you all hating on me now? First Davey, then ya, too. That reminds me – Les, Davey, meet the wonderful Katherine Plumber. Kath, that's Davey and his brother Les.”

It seemed as if Katherine only now started to examine David closer. It made him so nervous that he completely forgot to tell her that it was actually David and not Davey – nobody had ever called him Davey before and he didn't know what to think of that – and without further ado, his hands started to flutter. Eventually, Katherine smiled and said, “Nice to meet you both. Say, do we know each other already? I feel like I've seen you before.”

Panic bubbled up in David's stomach. Did she somehow know that he was Sarah's brother? What if she suspected something and the whole charade – which hadn't really been that good to begin with – blew up? He looked over to Les, maybe to search for help, maybe to feel a little more at ease. And then he remembered that indeed, he had talked to Katherine before. Relieved, he let out a breath. “Yes, we already met each other once. Or better, we talked once on the street. I'm a big admirer of your work, Miss Plumber.”

“Oh, please, just call me Katherine. Kath is fine as well, friends of Jacks are also friends of mine. And thank you, I appreciate that. Perhaps we could talk more about this topic another time? I'm kind of in a rush right now but I would like to hear your opinion on some of my articles – I got this feeling that lately, something is missing but I haven't really been able to figure out, what.” Katherine was just as modest and friendly as he remembered. It was interesting that she also had a teasing side on her when it came to Jack, apparently.

David blushed. “It would be an honour, really.”

“Great,” Katherine said, then proceeded to pat both his and Les' shoulders. “Kelly, it was nice seeing you, maybe I'll stop by the lodging house later.”

“Well, it's not like you's paid a lota attention to me,” Jack retorted with a teasing grin. “Don't flirt with my colleagues that much, a boy might get jealous.”

David only registered Katherine's laugh after that. He didn't really know why but something in him refused to listen further. Well, he did know why but it was totally unfair and irrational of him to be jealous of Katherine. It was not like he was interested in Jack or something. The boy was frustrating and distracting, always had a snarky remark on his tongue and – as even Katherine had said – had a really big ego.

That was also really fragile, at least as far as he could see. The way Jack's smile had faltered for a second upon Kath's remark. The way he wouldn't take credit for the thoughtful things he'd do, like tying Crutchie's shoelaces or trying to help Romeo to court a pretty girl that had watched them doing an impromptu dance performance for a while.

“Hey, Davey.” Breath on his ear, Jack's presence right next to his – didn't he know of some thing called personal space? “If ya keep starin' at Kath like that, maybe I should draw a picture of her and pin it to yer head for a day, aye?”

David sighed and elbowed Jack in the side. Forget the thoughts of Jack being thoughtful – the boy was such an idiot.

[nazyalenskyism]

Share This Dance

Summary: A last dance between a general and her king. A/N: A late day 14 of @spookywafflesandkruge ‘s Soft/Angstober prompt list using ‘dance’ and ‘cry’! I enjoyed writing this one and I hope you like reading it! <3 As always any feedback is appreciated!  Ao3: Share This Dance

“Thanks,” Zoya mumbled, taking a glass from a passing serve hoping that maybe this drink would be enough to help ease the pain. It probably wouldn’t, but that wouldn’t stop her from trying. Across the room, she saw Genya, with David at her side entertaining a group of guests, Tamar and Nadia flirting in a corner, and Tolya stationed a slight distance away from the stage at the front of the room. And then there, in the middle of the dance floor, Nikolai spun his new fiancé around in their first dance as an engaged couple. Zoya refused to let herself turn away. This was a reality. She was the one who had pushed and pushed for this exact result, she didn’t get to feel wary about it now. Her king, her country, her people, this decision was what was best for them all. 

        She wondered if she could leave yet. Maybe she could excuse herself, saying she was unwell, falling asleep until this nonsense was over. But she was commander of the Second Army, a member of the King’s Grisha Triumvirate, a high ranking general, and a woman who would be murdered by Genya Safin if she even thought about leaving less than an hour into the festivities. As if sensing her traitorous thoughts, Genya’s eyes found hers, and she could see the warning in them, ‘if you leave…’ she didn’t want to finish the thought. Giving Genya a small nod, she continued to scan the dance floor, looking for a distraction as the music ended, when he looked right at her. He held her gaze for a moment, and for that second, Zoya thought she saw something flicker in his eyes. Something. Nothing. But sooner than she could think on it, he turned, offering a hand to Genya and pulling her onto the floor for the next dance. Zoya took the opportunity to leave her comfortable corner and stand with David, as she knew Genya would want her to do. She spent the entirety of the next song chatting with the Duke of somewhere and the Duchess of elsewhere, grateful for all the times Nikolai had dragged her along to his meetings with nobles. She had been standing in for the role that Nikolai had now filled, a wife, a queen, who would help with that, and in all other aspects of his life too. The foolish part of her mourned that time now lost as she sat alone in her chambers, finishing her work in a tired silence without the companionship of the last three years to make it bearable. 

        The last few notes of the quick tempoed song ended with a flourish as she assumed people clapped at Genya and Nikolai’s enthusiastic performance, the two best dancers in the palace were also the two biggest show offs. Zoya’s conversation partners hurried off as whispers spread of the next song after the break being a classic for the Lantsov’s parties. Surrounded by Ravkan’s in all their finery, she felt the stone tumbling down the well of loss inside her, they all left her. They always left her. She was as alone as she had always been.                                                                                                                ***

        As Genya scurried off with David in tow. Nikolai took a second to catch his breath, Genya could give him a run for his money with her dancing. Her last words before she pulled away replayed in his mind, ‘I can see the way your eyes follow her.’ He’d brushed it off in the moment, but the more he thought about it now, the more discomforted he felt. She had been able to see something within him that he would never be able to acknowledge again. 

        Whispers filled the air about the next song that would be playing. Nikolai had chosen it to be the third dance of the night, it was nearly twice as long as the standard song, and it carried a significance he couldn’t afford to put into words. Her eyes were closed when he approached, as if she was trying to pause time to take a single breath. Under the brightness of the chandeliers and moonlight she looked like a lonesome saint, in her sapphire blue of her elegant gown she shone in a manner that would put the vault of Lantsov jewels to shame. 

“Commander Nazyalensky,” her eyes flew open, and he thought he saw a spark of anger following her initial confusion. Was she mad at him? Or had he imagined it? Perhaps she was simply irritated that he’d interrupted her quiet. “Commander Nazyalensky, would you do me the honour of sharing this dance with me?” Zoya’s eyes darted to his extended hand, the slight inclination of his head. Her fingers shook near imperceptibly as she slipped her hand into his gloved one and he led her to the dance floor. She carefully placed her hand on his shoulder in textbook position, making sure there was a solid distance between them. 

        “Speak, Nazyalensky. If you keep scowling at me like that, people may think you don’t like me.”

        She rolled her eyes, her posture relaxing slowly as the music began to play. “I don’t like you.” 

        “Three years working together and you can’t praise even one of my many good qualities?”

        “What’s there to praise?” she scoffed, “ even if there was, I couldn’t risk your ego getting any bigger.”

        Nikolai felt himself smile as they swayed across the dance floor, the distance between them slowly getting smaller. Something had changed in the past few weeks. He’d been busy with Ehri and planning for the ball in addition to his usual work, anything to take his mind off of a certain raven-haired storm. Since that night in the fold, he felt like they’d toed a line, but that they hadn’t been able to cross over to either side, so now here they stood, with no choice but to stay faltering in the middle or be torn to either side. She had been perfectly civil in meetings and when they had joint tasks, but he missed having her there in the mornings when he woke up, in the evening when they worked as a team, at night when she locked him away. She’d insisted that none of it was necessary anymore, and she’d been right, they both knew it, but it didn’t ease the heart of the boy who longed for his companion. 

        “So,” Nikolai began, shaking out of his reprieve as the music began to pick up.

        “So…?”

        “Did you know that this song was composed for the very first Lantsov King by Sankt Grigori? It was meant to be the Saints’ gift to the new king.” Zoya nodded, and he paused to spin her, trying to ignore the way his heart lurched when her hand braced on his chest before settling back on his shoulder. “It’s supposed to be a welcome to the new king, a piece reminding him about loss but also a hopeful future.” 

        Zoya hesitated, “so you chose it to make a statement? To celebrate your new engagement, and to usher in a brighter future?” She felt that same jolt of pain she’d felt when Nikolai had announced his engagement. She had no right to feel anything at that. He was not hers, he had done nothing to indicate that he had ever wanted to be hers— and even if he had, they both knew that it would never be possible. But as much as she tried to rationalize it, it still stung. She had always wanted to know if someone like Nikolai could love her— and now she realized, as the moonlight lit up his intelligent eyes, she’d also wanted to know if someone like Nikolai would. 

        Was it the ridiculous emotions bubbling inside of her, or was he drawing her closer? “Lantsov.”

        “Nazyalensky?”

        “What are you doing? Don’t think I won’t step on your foot for your impropriety.”

        “I have no doubt that you would,” he smiled, but she could sense a hint of wistfulness in his gaze as he drew her in closer yet, still a socially acceptable distance but much closer than she’d been earlier. “I just wanted to enjoy this moment,” he whispered slowly, not meeting her eyes. “I thought you might appreciate the meaning behind the song. When I was revisiting it’s history I thought of you.” 

        Her eyebrows furrowed, “you thought of me? Why, because I’m a hopeful future? For what? Ravka, as it’s ‘protector?’” She was truly confused, what was he going on about?

        “Each Lantsov king interprets it differently.” Nikolai drew in her for one final spin as the last notes of the song played out, and she felt his lips brush her ear as he guided her past him. “It’s a song of loss, of what could have been, the hope of a future that we may never see, to me.”

        She felt her feet stumble at his words. She tried to meet his eyes as the song ended, demanding an answer but before she knew it he was pulling away, bowing slightly before kissing a chaste kiss to her hand. He turned, marching back to Tolya while she blindly made her way over to Genya’s side, dumbfounded. 

        She was itching to go to the library, she needed to read about the song, but she still couldn’t leave, not with Genya glowing with pride at her creation. She suffered through hours more of the ball, entertaining dignitaries while watching Nikolai’s gilded hair rounding the dancefloor from the corner of her eye. When the festivities were finally over and the king had left, she broke away to the library, needing to know what that idiot had been prattling on about. Only when she was back in her chambers did she open the book. There, under the passage about the different interpretations of the song was a sentence underlined in black ink, leading to a note carefully calligraphed in the margins. She recognized the writing, she saw it daily. She recoiled as she read the words, sinking back against the door. The words were what he’d said to her before the Saints had taken them.

           “This is the part where the king of Ravka surrenders himself, and the love we never had lives on in ballads and song.”

        Zoya let out a hiss as she felt anger and pain build behind her eyes, blurring her vision. She had wondered, wanted to know if someone like Nikolai could love her, would love her. But the problem was, someone like Nikolai would never be Nikolai.

[watching-pictures-move]

Movie Review | Kill Bill (Tarantino, 2004)

This review contains spoilers.

I recently watched a Taiwanese exploitation movie called The Lady Avenger. It’s a rape revenge movie that isn’t overtly artful by any means, but plays with a real urgency (likely helped by the production circumstances, which I’m guessing were pretty marginal). But in between the punchier moments we associate with exploitation, it finds room for notes that catch us off guard, lingering on images and emotional beats that seem at odds with the uglier content that preceded it. It’s a dynamic not entirely impossible in respectable cinema but seems endemic to exploitation, where the exploitative, outrageous content that gets asses in seats creates the contrast necessary for the moments of depth to land. I bring this movie up because seeing it so soon after a rewatch of Kill Bill brought my thoughts on that film into focus. Kill Bill seems more clearly now than ever to me an exploration of that very idea, founded by a belief that the movies it’s pulling from are in fact good movies and not just sources of cheap thrills.

Of course, thrills are in ample supply, particularly in the first half, which threatens to overwhelm us with the surface pleasures of genre cinema. We get the glimpse of the inciting incident, the heroine’s (Uma Thurman) wedding shot up by her former comrades, and then a lightning fast two hours of high style and splatter (the movie doesn’t even slow down enough to give her a name; she’s known only as the Bride), culminating in an epically violent fight scene in which the heroine takes on dozens of henchmen, systematically chopping them to pieces, and then facing their leader (Lucy Liu) in a one-on-one showdown in a snowy garden. The reference points are numerous and on full display: Shaw Brothers, Lady Snowblood, the Lone Wolf and Cub series, but Tarantino treats this set piece like a plaything, scoping out the location as if it were a dollhouse with roving overhead shots that move to the rhythm of the music of the 5.6.7.8′s. The music changes to Morricone, and soon he begins gleefully smashing his toys together to wreak havoc. (I assume Tarantino had a few Kung Fu Grip G.I. Joes, or at least a Snake Eyes.) His love for these influences doesn’t overwhelm the sheer thrill of the combat itself, which he depicts in a mix of lush colour, black-and-white and silhouettes, shifting from one technique to another as if the heroine is leveling up through a video game and keeping the audience guessing as to both what flourish and what giddily violent act he’ll serve up next. The film on the whole isn’t the most authentic exercise in grindhouse style he’s made (that would be Death Proof), but this sequence does offer his most full-bodied interpretation of said pleasures.

The second half decelerates from this manic pace and begins to unpack what transpired. We revisit the opening massacre and learn that the heroine actually has a name. She’s moved from archetype into actual character, and we get a sense of the wounds that led to and came out of that fateful event. There’s a training sequence, where Gordon Liu (who previously appeared as a commander of the henchmen the heroine slaughtered in the first half) plays the Pai Mei character he once battled in Executioners of Shaolin, and aside from being enjoyably stylish, this scene really buys into Lau Kar-Leung’s idea of kung fu as self improvement, marrying martial arts with character development. Throughout this, Tarantino challenges us to identify with the characters’ motivations, both the heroine and her nemeses, and to question the extent to which we derive mindless enjoyment from the proceedings. The Bride’s killing of the Vivica A. Fox character in the first half is juxtaposed uneasily with that character’s daughter walking in on them. Yes, Fox wronged her, but she too has loved ones and a life not without value. She meets a smooth-talking pimp (Michael Parks, in another neat bit of double-casting), but his capacity for cruelty quickly comes into focus when we glimpse the mutilated face of one of his prostitutes.

In probably the most affecting passage of the film, we spend time with Bud (Michael Madsen), Bill’s brother who has now retired as an assassin and works a demeaning job as a bouncer for a strip club. This formidable killer is now reduced to haggling for shifts and cleaning up overflowing toilets. There’s something poignant seeing him so defeated, even when Tarantino makes no excuses for his failings (he’s the only one in the film to use a racial slur, which like in Reservoir Dogs is used as shorthand for a character’s flawed nature), and his confrontation with the Bride finds him re-energized, if not necessarily more likable. There’s little warmth however in the character of Elle Driver (Darryl Hannah), the eyepatch-wearing assassin who may be most unapologetically cruel of the film’s characters. (Lucy Liu’s character in the first half is similarly vicious, but the film shows it to be at least in part out of necessity.) Yet her disgust at Bud’s unceremonious method of trying to kill the Bride rings true to the movie’s heart. These characters may hate each other, but there is a twisted sense of honour between them and a respect for each other’s true natures. The confrontation between the Bride and Elle Driver also features a gruesome shot of a bare foot squashing an eyeball, which suggests Tarantino, a notable foot fetishist, challenging even himself on his mindless enjoyment of this kind of thing. (Either that it’s doing a lot for him.)

When the Bride finally reunites with the eponymous Bill (David Carradine, bringing his entire history in genre movies to imbue his character with a certain depth), she finds him to be loving father to her daughter, who survived the opening massacre, and to be full of remorse. How much should we really cheering for her to kill him? This movie doesn’t have the political conviction of Tarantino’s subsequent films, but it does share with them a sense of morality so severe that it can’t help but draw out the discomfort in carrying out a quest for revenge. Tarantino has frequently mined pop culture to add meaning (my favourite example is a fairly succinct one: Bruce Willis finding courage and honour through a samurai sword in Pulp Fiction), and here he has the Bride bond with her daughter over Shogun Assassin, another film about a parent-child relationship in a world of great violence and cruelty. Bill gives a speech about Superman that summarizes the themes of the film in one monologue.

“Superman didn’t become Superman. Superman was born Superman....You would’ve worn the costume of Arlene Plympton, but you were born Beatrix Kiddo, and every morning when you woke up, you’d still be Beatrix Kiddo. I’m calling you a killer.  A natural born killer.  Always have been, and always will be.”

Ultimately Kill Bill is about grappling with one’s true nature, both the characters, ruthless killers despite how they rationalize it, and the film, an exhilarating exercise in and shrewd deconstruction of exploitation.

[bbbrianjones]

tagged by @david-watts to do this tag where i answer a few questions! thank you, always fun to do these.

NAME: my full name [obviously minus the last name] is emmanuelle liliane sibylle. emmanuelle after an actress and liliane sibylle after a family member who my mama was close to!

NICKNAME(S): emmi is the most common one, sometimes get called em. family nickname i got was ‘lutin’ which means leprechaun due to my height >:^(

GENDER: female i guess

STAR SIGN: cancer sun. sagittarius moon. aquarius rising. don’t know what any of it means so help :))

HEIGHT: 164 cm which is roughly 5′4. 

TIME: it’s like. two am. send help

FAVOURITE BANDS: the rolling stones, the stone roses, pulp, depeche mode, pet shop boys, britpop bands, especially blur and oasis, the stranglers, the cure ++ many more !!

FAVOURITE SOLO ARTIST: don’t listen to many but kate bush, nick drake, lana del rey, marina, vashti bunyan, julian cope ++ many more. why cant i think of more.

SONG STUCK IN MY HEAD: it’s underwear by pulp. rather than it being lyrics, it’s the music, especially the solo in the middle. i think it’s insane!!

LAST MOVIE: the umbrellas of cherbourg. i will never get over geneviève and guy!! it’s so unfair!!

LAST TELEVISION SHOW: midsomer murders baby!!! gavin troy is the only tory i can deal with in any universe!! it’s like a fever dream every time he opens his mouth.

WHEN DID I CREATE THIS BLOG: i created this blog in nov. 2017 but didn’t put my first post up until jan. 2018.

WHAT DID I LAST GOOGLE: liam gallagher’s twitter because my mama messaged me saying that he “ended” the feud with noel and i needed to make sure it wasn’t a joke. needless to say it’s the best thing i ever read.

OTHER BLOGS: an old blog about the kinks that will never be revealed! 

DO I GET ASKS: i do and i love all of them so much!!

WHY I CHOOSE MY URL: he has been the love of my life since i was eleven years old

AVERAGE HOUR OF SLEEP: i don’t keep count but this week hasn’t been the best

LUCKY NUMBERS: eight or nine. used to draw these numbers on frosted windows when i was a child. even better when it’s eighty-nine. 

INSTRUMENTS: i did piano for about eleven years 

WHAT AM I WEARING: my blue jacket, black flared pants, my blur sneakers which i customised myself, and my silicon teens shirt because i need to honour god (or andy fletcher as he’s more commonly known)

DREAM JOB: i want to be an optometrist because i used to adore going to see the optometrist as a child and when i was at school, it seemed like i destined to do that. however that is an incredible difficult course to get into, which is understandable so i’d love to be a secretary at a legal firm. it would be such a disappointment for my parents but i love doing paperwork and filling out appointments!!

DREAM TRIP: literally anywhere other than where i am at the moment. i usually go to london each year to get my yearly dose of food poisoning but this year i wasn’t able to go so whenever i can go, i’d drop everything.

FAVOURITE FOOD: i do love fruit!! there’s so many fruit that i just adore but my favourite would probably be peaches 

FAVOURITE SONG: any song from the different class by pulp, any song released by the stone roses, special mention goes to she bangs the drums or made of stone, any song depeche mode released between 1981-1989. favourite song at the moment is sorted out for e’s and wizz by pulp or underwear by pulp.

LAST BOOK I READ: the one i remember was la dame aux camélias by alexandre dumas fils. i have read it before many times and it’s a bit of a gulity pleasure book because it’s filled with cheesy romance but it makes my heart swell with how beautiful it’s written.

TOP THREE UNIVERSES I WANT TO LIVE IN: wherever the umbrellas of cherbourg is set because all the colours are so beautiful and i get to wear so much pink!! i could be so happy!! the mighty boosh world would be so cool to live in as well, at least then i’d get to shop wherever vince gets his clothes!! and i guess tintin would be fun, despite every time you go outside, you suddenly get twenty assassination attempts for ears-dropping. 

[roman-catholic-mass-readings]

6th November >> Mass Readings (Except USA)

  Feast of All Saints of Ireland 

    or

Friday, Thirty First Week in Ordinary Time.

Feast of All Saints of Ireland

  (Liturgical Colour: White)

       First Reading

Ecclesiasticus 44:1-15

Their name lives on for all generations

Let us praise illustrious men,

 our ancestors in their successive generations.

The Lord has created an abundance of glory,

 and displayed his greatness from earliest times.

Some wielded authority as kings

 and were renowned for their strength;

others were intelligent advisers

 and uttered prophetic oracles.

Others directed the people by their advice,

 by their understanding of the popular mind,

 and by the wise words of their teaching;

others composed musical melodies,

 and set down ballads;

others were rich and powerful,

 living peacefully in their homes.

All these were honoured by their contemporaries,

 and were the glory of their day.

Some of them left a name behind them,

 so that their praises are still sung.

While others have left no memory,

 and disappeared as though they had not existed,

they are now as though they had never been,

 and so too, their children after them.

But here is a list of generous men

 whose good works have not been forgotten.

In their descendants there remains

 a rich inheritance born of them.

Their descendants stand by the covenants

 and, thanks to them, so do their children’s children.

Their offspring will last for ever,

 their glory will not fade.

Their bodies have been buried in peace,

 and their name lives on for all generations.

The peoples will proclaim their wisdom,

 the assembly will celebrate their praises.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

    Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 14(15):2-5

 R/ The just will live in the presence of the Lord.

Lord, who shall dwell on your holy mountain?

He who walks without fault;

he who acts with justice

and speaks the truth from his heart;

he who does not slander with his tongue.

R/ The just will live in the presence of the Lord.

He who does no wrong to his brother,

who casts no slur on his neighbour,

who holds the godless in disdain,

but honours those who fear the Lord.

R/ The just will live in the presence of the Lord.

He who keeps his pledge, come what may;

who takes no interest on a loan

and accepts no bribes against the innocent.

Such a man will stand firm for ever.

R/ The just will live in the presence of the Lord.

    Gospel Acclamation

Matthew 5:3

Alleluia, alleluia!

How happy are the poor in spirit:

theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Alleluia!

  Or:

Matthew 5:6

Alleluia, alleluia!

Happy those who hunger and thirst for what is right:

they shall be satisfied.

Alleluia!

  Or:

Matthew 5:8

Alleluia, alleluia!

Happy the pure in heart:

they shall see God.

Alleluia!

  Or:

Matthew 11:25

Alleluia, alleluia!

Blessed are you, Father, 

Lord of heaven and earth,

for revealing the mysteries of the kingdom

to mere children.

Alleluia!

  Or:

Matthew 23:11,12

Alleluia, alleluia!

The greatest among you must be your servant, says the Lord:

the man who humbles himself will be exalted.

Alleluia!

  Or:

Matthew 11:28

Alleluia, alleluia!

Come to me, all you who labour and are overburdened

and I will give you rest, says the Lord.

Alleluia!

  Or:

Luke 21:36

Alleluia, alleluia!

Stay awake, praying at all times

for the strength to stand with confidence

before the Son of Man.

Alleluia!

  Or:

John 8:12

Alleluia, alleluia!

I am the light of the world, says the Lord;

anyone who follows me will have the light of life.

Alleluia!

  Or:

John 8:31-32

Alleluia, alleluia!

If you make my word your home

you will indeed be my disciples,

and you will learn the truth, says the Lord.

Alleluia!

  Or:

John 13:34

Alleluia, alleluia!

I give you a new commandment:

love one another just as I have loved you, 

says the Lord.

Alleluia!

  Or:

John 14:23

Alleluia, alleluia!

If anyone loves me he will keep my word,

and my Father will love him, 

and we shall come to him.

Alleluia!

  Or:

John 15:4,5

Alleluia, alleluia!

Make your home in me, as I make mine in you,

says the Lord;

whoever remains in me bears fruit in plenty.

Alleluia!

  Or:

John 15:9,5

Alleluia, alleluia!

Remain in my love, says the Lord;

whoever remains in me, with me in him,

bears fruit in plenty.

Alleluia!

    Gospel

Luke 6:17-23

Happy are you who are poor, who are hungry, who weep

Jesus came down with the Twelve and stopped at a piece of level ground where there was a large gathering of his disciples with a great crowd of people from all parts of Judaea and from Jerusalem and from the coastal region of Tyre and Sidon who had come to hear him and to be cured of their diseases. People tormented by unclean spirits were also cured, and everyone in the crowd was trying to touch him because power came out of him that cured them all.

Then fixing his eyes on his disciples he said:

‘How happy are you who are poor: yours is the kingdom of God.

Happy you who are hungry now: you shall be satisfied.

Happy you who weep now: you shall laugh.

Happy are you when people hate you, drive you out, abuse you, denounce your name as criminal, on account of the Son of Man. Rejoice when that day comes and dance for joy, for then your reward will be great in heaven. This was the way their ancestors treated the prophets.

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

      ——————————-

  Friday, Thirty First Week in Ordinary Time 

(Liturgical Colour: Green)

       First Reading

Philippians 3:17-4:1

Our homeland is in heaven, and from heaven comes Christ to transfigure us

My brothers, be united in following my rule of life. Take as your models everybody who is already doing this and study them as you used to study us. I have told you often, and I repeat it today with tears, there are many who are behaving as the enemies of the cross of Christ. They are destined to be lost. They make foods into their god and they are proudest of something they ought to think shameful; the things they think important are earthly things. For us, our homeland is in heaven, and from heaven comes the saviour we are waiting for, the Lord Jesus Christ, and he will transfigure these wretched bodies of ours into copies of his glorious body. He will do that by the same power with which he can subdue the whole universe.

So then, my brothers and dear friends, do not give way but remain faithful in the Lord. I miss you very much, dear friends; you are my joy and my crown.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

   Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 121(122):1-5

R/ I rejoiced when I heard them say: ‘Let us go to God’s house.’

I rejoiced when I heard them say:

 ‘Let us go to God’s house.’

And now our feet are standing

 within your gates, O Jerusalem.

R/ I rejoiced when I heard them say: ‘Let us go to God’s house.’

Jerusalem is built as a city

 strongly compact.

It is there that the tribes go up,

 the tribes of the Lord.

R/ I rejoiced when I heard them say: ‘Let us go to God’s house.’

For Israel’s law it is,

 there to praise the Lord’s name.

There were set the thrones of judgement

 of the house of David.

R/ I rejoiced when I heard them say: ‘Let us go to God’s house.’

    Gospel Acclamation

2 Corinthians 5:19

Alleluia, alleluia!

God in Christ was reconciling the world to himself,

and he has entrusted to us the news that they are reconciled.

Alleluia!

  Or:

1 John 2:5

Alleluia, alleluia!

Whenever anyone obeys what Christ has said,

God’s love comes to perfection in him.

Alleluia!

    Gospel

Luke 16:1-8

The master praised the dishonest servant

Jesus said to his disciples:

‘There was a rich man and he had a steward denounced to him for being wasteful with his property. He called for the man and said, “What is this I hear about you? Draw me up an account of your stewardship because you are not to be my steward any longer.” Then the steward said to himself, “Now that my master is taking the stewardship from me, what am I to do? Dig? I am not strong enough. Go begging? I should be too ashamed. Ah, I know what I will do to make sure that when I am dismissed from office there will be some to welcome me into their homes.”

Then he called his master’s debtors one by one. To the first he said, “How much do you owe my master?” “One hundred measures of oil” was the reply. The steward said, “Here, take your bond; sit down straight away and write fifty.” To another he said, “And you, sir, how much do you owe?” “One hundred measures of wheat” was the reply. The steward said, “Here, take your bond and write eighty.”

‘The master praised the dishonest steward for his astuteness. For the children of this world are more astute in dealing with their own kind than are the children of light.’

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

[magistralucis]

lib sebinsky/at a party/you pick also side note I Love U💟💟💟💟💟💟

At a party, celebrating // Lib Sebinsky

———————

When the hour is nigh you rise to your feet and gesture for your Captain to join you outside. He seems surprised, but complies, letting the door fall shut; the conversations of the evening fade behind it, and you are left alone together, snowy moonlight drifting past your feet. "Sebastian. Something wrong?"

“No... it couldn’t be further away from wrong.”

Twenty to midnight. This is it. You take a deep breath, pull out a small box from your pocket, and lower yourself on one knee.

“This was a very long time coming.”

Your Captain gasps and stares at you in disbelief. Your smile, faintly bashful, perhaps even chastised - but above all, honest. Surprising how it took you both so long, and around such complicated paths, to convey something so simple. But it’s here now. You’ve thought about this moment for so long the speech accompanying it flows like water.

“In our years together I could never choose the right time to do this. And we had many obstacles in the way: war scars, misunderstandings, my selfishness.” You close your eyes and shake your head, guilt stinging your heart, as it has done ever since you and Vincent fixed your relationship. “I am guilty - yes! I am guilty of throwing away our moments. I shan’t repeat that mistake again. You have been by my side for a full dozen years, Vincent, I should be honoured if you will be mine for ten times that.”

“Sebastian.”

You open the box. Two rings in brilliant white gold are nestled within. You are already acquainted to yours, it’s the same one Vincent gifted you as a promise so very long ago; well, it has its partner now. “You are the river of human kindness. You steered me this far. At this point in the journey of our life, I wish to keep you with me for ever: Vincent Belorgey, will you marry me?”

He stares at you some more. Slowly, a smile drifts to his lips. The smile becomes a laugh, which soon dissolves in tears of joy. Wordlessly, he pulls you to your feet and pulls you fast to his chest; this is not quite enough for him, and within seconds he’s lifted you up with a triumphant shout, spinning you in a circle. When he lets you down he makes his answer known in a way you didn’t expect, which is: another ring, in its own box, blue velvet to counter your red. His is more elaborate with an inset band of diamonds. You look up at him, astonished.

“I was going to take my chance after midnight.” He confesses, his hoarse-voiced happiness mingling with the dark mischief he learnt to tame for your pleasure. "I received the Madame's permission years ago. But it wouldn't have been right to spring it on you at the start of your presidency, and for years - I wondered if it would ever be the right time-"

And the sting again. Yes, for many years, it seemed like there would be no light at the end of the tunnel. “Oh, Vinco-”

"But I kept hoping such a day would come. Oh, Bastien, I am glad. If we were still in the palace when it happened, I wanted the top floor converted into our suite - for the honeymoon, or whatever else, let’s do that! - and if we weren't, I was going to take you to Grasse. Obtain us a cottage and a beautiful yard in springtime, plead your grace on one knee! I thought you might like to be stolen away, in the same way I think you'd like being gently but firmly taken against the wall." He hushes your blushing protests with a finger, pressed tenderly against your mouth. "It depends on circumstances, but from everything I know about you, I was pretty damned certain you'd love it."

"You scoundrel.” But you can’t resist taking the tip of his finger into your mouth, teeth edging slightly against the skin. “I hope you didn't say that to my mother."

"My lips are sealed." Vincent laughs, eyes twinkling. He leans in. "Unless my Sebastian desires otherwise. I'd much rather please you with them, than to merely talk about it."

The sentiment is mutual. You present your hand to him, playfully haughty as he kisses the back of it and slips his ring onto your finger. You do the same for him with yours, and seeing that he’s pleased with this arrangement, reach up to kiss him fully. It is a short kiss, for the clock is ticking and you have places to be, but wholly satisfying: Vincent slips his hands along your body, feeling for you beneath your regalia, and the caress pleases you.

Already his ring is warm against your skin. Against the wall, indeed. Perhaps later.

---

After that the plan goes without a hitch. When you enter hand in hand, you and Captain both, an air of understanding sweeps across the receiving room right away. People put down their glasses, give you their full attention, and Franck slips away from the crowd. (They will later confirm they were similarly commissioned by Vincent, but kept their loyalty to you, aware you would get your chance first.)

“Have you enjoyed tonight’s festivities, beloved ones?”

Nods and murmurs. You smile wide and raise your hand up high, at the same time as Vincent, presenting your rings in unison to the crowd.

“Might you have room for one more, perhaps?”

Stunned silence. From the back of the room Franck pulls a cord with flourish. One of the many burgundy drapes there, indistinguishable from the rest, falls open instantly; the sound draws the crowd’s attention, and as Franck presents the new Presidential portrait they painted of yourself and your fiancé, the tension breaks free like a flood. First there are gasps, then a thunderous cheer, breaking forth like wildfire. Sonny is the first to throw himself into your arms, sobs of utter relief and joy interspersed with his congratulations.

That painting there is barely a week old, but already it’s set up for a sequel, this time with all three of you. You lavish paternal kisses on him and lift him high above your shoulders.

"Mesdames et Messieurs," you cry as you hold tight the two men dearest to your heart, "a happy family!"

Everyone swirls around you then. A sea of applause, handshakes, and hearty slaps on the shoulder (for Vincent more than you). It took you so long to get to this point, but you got there in the end, and something is finally complete. A camera materializes, already mounted on a tripod. Franck is the operator. With eager gestures they quickly wave everyone in the room close to you, gathered in position in two neat rows, you and Vincent and Sonny at the very centre. Tonight they will immortalize your family as it was and is; at the wedding, which will hopefully be very soon, this picture will be taken again with the addition of Franck in the crowd.

They will always be there for future photos as well. The transference of the old into the new, incorporating the new, and again and again for as long as you prosper.

Xavier and Gaspard are closest to you, faces beaming with joy and a mutual love for one another. Pedro and David are closest to the Captain, their expressions as serene as can be, the former's arm playfully resting on the latter's shoulder as if to show off his taller height. Beside them stands your chauffeur, Quentin and Bruno beside Xavier; then all the subordinates, and the palace staff who were so faithful to you all these years. You glance at Vincent amidst this big and wonderful family you have amassed, and he smiles back you; you lean in and kiss again, picture perfect with hands entwined, as a second round of cheers erupt again.

“Ouistiti!”

You keep that photo in your bedchamber forever.

[thisbluespirit]

Ten Favourite Characters

Memed from @mariocki​  And despite the numbering, not really in strict order, although I tried and no. 1 is definitely no. 1. 

10. Kathryn Janeway

"There are three things to remember about being a starship captain. Keep your shirt tucked in, go down with the ship... and never abandon a member of your crew."

Okay, basically, me and Star Trek is: I like it if it has Captain Janeway in it.  If it does not have Captain Janeway in it, I might go so far as to mildly enjoy it from time to time, but Janeway is the essential thing.  I walked in one day and saw Kate Mulgrew on the screen and sat down immediately, eventually asking my friend, in hushed tones of awe, “Who is that?”  (I’m not even joking.)  (I don’t hate the rest of ST or anything, but, you know.  It’s not Doctor Who and it doesn’t have Captain Janeway in it, what can I say?  I like the one with the whales, too?)

9. Jenkins

“Magic is not an exact science. If it were, it would be science.”

With Jenkins (John Larroquette), The Librarians takes a mythical character I never gave a thought to, or imagined I would want to, and gave me All the Feels about him.  By the end of S1, I was drawing hearts around Jenkins every time he appeared and that happens all too rarely at the moment, so I think he has to go on this list.  (I’m a Doctor Who fan, how could I not love a grumpy immortal caretaker with a magic door and a heart of gold?) *draws hearts around him regardless of his disapproval and annoyance at said hearts*

8. G’kar

“No dictator, no invader can hold an imprisoned population by force of arms forever. There is no greater power in the universe than the need for freedom. Against that power tyrants and dictators cannot stand. The Centauri learned that lesson once. We will teach it to them again. Though it take a thousand years, we will be free.”

G’kar’s arc is just beautiful (from semi-villainous schemer to unwilling religious icon), as is every part of his epic relationship with Londo, and he is my favourite.  There was a period in S1 where there were about 7 episodes without him and I nearly died.  And, I mean, I really like Babylon 5 and everybody else in it, but that was just cruel and unusual.  Thank goodness it never happened again.  Andreas Katsulas was just brilliant.

7. Seventh Doctor

"That's what guns are for. Pull the trigger, end a life. Simple, isn't it?  Why don't you do it, then?  Look me in the eye, pull the trigger, end my life.  Why not?"

What do you do with a thing like Doctor Who in a meme like this?  I could do my top ten fave characters just in Doctors, let alone companions, before we even get started on minor characters, so let’s have my favourite Doctor do the honours for everyone here.  He hates unrequited love, loathes bus stations (terrible places, full of lost souls and lost luggage), and knows we all have a universe of our own terrors to face, and he’ll be back in time for tea.

With Ace, of course, who is also the best.  As are so many of the rest.

6. Servalan

"There’s no one as free as a dead man.”

It’s so hard to choose Blake’s 7 characters!  They’re all so fascinating, that’s why it still gets watched and loved.  If I’m honest it’s Vila or Servalan, and today I went for Servalan, which probably will save anyone from getting stabbed in the back.  I love me an evil lady and Jacqueline Pearce’s Servalan is probably my favourite villain in anything, especially in terms of characters who remain irredeemable, but are also plausible and interesting.  She’s certainly the most fabulously dressed, anyway.

5. Lynda Day

”I don’t do conversation.  Everything I say comes out like an order.  I say hello and people salute!”

Like every other girl of my very specific age demographic in the UK (Press Gang was watched by something ridiculous like 80% of its target teenage audience, which I don’t think has ever happened before or since), I wanted to grow up to be Lynda Day, dictator editor of the Junior Gazette.  It’s probably as well that none of us did, but she was the very best, and I remain grateful to have had her around, and Julia Sawalha was always fantastic right from trespassers will be exterminated to there are crocodiles. 

4. Silver

Sapphire: “You’re supposed to lose sometimes.”

Silver: “Oh! I wondered why I wasn’t having any fun.”

So, Sapphire and Steel are pretty amazing, right, but let’s be honest, I was always watching this for the red-headed guy in Assignments 3 & 6, and he did not disappoint.  I mean, Sapphire & Steel is the weirdest, creepiest low-budget thing with our srs bsns inhuman heroes and then suddenly David Collings turns up and makes light-bulbs glow and turn into glitter.  He is the sparkliest, no one can deny it and he can slide right into the perfect OTP and turn it into the even shinier OT3.  Not that that stops him flirting with everyone else as well, of course.

3. Regina Mills

“There's no redemption for me. There's only suffering. Because now I have a curse. The curse of knowing the difference between good and evil. And I'm caught between them. If I revert, I lose everyone I love. Henry, my friends, everyone. And if I go forward trying to be good, I have to live with my past darkness and all its well-deserved consequences... But for me, it's a simple choice really. I'd rather suffer than see that pain on the people I care about. This is my fate.“                            

Regina gets to go from being Once Upon A Time’s original OTT fairytale villain to hero (and plays out every possible shade in between, plus various cursed and alternate versions of herself, not to mention her evil doppelganger), and Lana Parrilla’s just amazing at All The Things.  I went from not even liking her to somehow letting her rip my heart right out of my chest when I wasn’t looking.  (Bonus shout out to her mother Cora Mills/Queen of Hearts (Barbara Hershey) too.)

2. Frank Marker

"Have you heard about old heads on young shoulders?  Well, you employ me, you get an old head.  You get old shoulders, too, but then no-one's perfect."

I’m with @mariocki​ here: Alfred Burke’s run down, small-time enquiry agent in Public Eye (TV 1965-75) is one of the most utterly 3D, real and compelling TV characters I’ve ever come across.  (With a bonus mention for the very lovely Helen Mortimer (Pauline Delany), because I might even love her a tiny bit more than Frank some days. <3)

1. Ruth Evershed

“I like to think no institution in the country is safe from me.”

I had to think about this long and hard a while ago, and Nicola Walker’s Ruth from Spooks | MI5 is still probably my favourite character in anything.  It’s tough.  But RUTH.  I love her so much.  There’s a S2 DVD commentary with Howard Brenton and Nicola Walker on her first episode and basically Nicola just sits there going, “I love Ruth.”  And I’m: “ME TOO.” From her first appearance, dropping the files, buggering the Home Office, and breaking the desk lamp to more serious, angsty, later stuff, she’s just so damn good at her job (and in Spooks that’s a tragedy waiting to happen).

It’s really hard to list only 10 though.  I’m an all-eras Doctor Who fan.  I’d need three posts at least just to start on that, I keep falling in love with characters from ancient telly and every now and then I even watch new things...

[chainofbeing]

Adam Escapes the clutches of the Anthronesians and finds himself in the company of something far greater

Rhostiran Guard: Adal Rifai

Craiova Iwa: Bettrys Jones

Anthronesian 1: David M. Sledge

Anthronesian 2: Tomix

Sword of Nemesis: Lucy Campbell

Epicurosa: Laura Rogers

Alexander Ashton: Jonathan Aroloye

Sound design, Writing, and Adam Delta 5: Cai Gwilym Pritchard

An Extra Special thanks to our patrons

Theresa Shiban 

Anthony Hyde

email us at chainofbeingofficial@gmail.com

follow the podcast on twitter @chainofbeing

Subscribe to the patreon for exclusive content and rewards!

The music used in this episode was:

A fucking tribute to the mysticism of your fuckin sound - alpha hydrae

Poisson Grêlon - Cuicuitte

violin concerto in g minor rv 315 'l'estate' ( summer )

[a light hum and some music playing over a radio in adams cell]

I can’t stop thinking about the solar system, about earth. It was never my home, that honour belonged to Eden (wherever that may be). It’s such a complicated topic, you think human, you think earth, that’s just how it’s ingrained into the collective unconscious. But there is no earth, not anymore, beacons surround the planet broadcasting warnings to all those who approach, it’s a wasteland filled with concrete thorns bursting from the ground, mazes of black concrete monoliths spread across the landscape, no patch of land left untainted by radioactive waste and toxic pollutants, no ocean not made poison by the calloused hand of corporate greed. No amount of terraforming can heal a planet that broken. The death of earth was not one of glorious nuclear fire, but was instead a pathetic and gradual death rattle caused by willful ignorance ignorance and avarice. No one in living memory is from earth, but there’s still this misguided association with it. I’m sure, over time through a multigenerational game of telephone, all the bad about earth can be forgotten and people would begin to idolize something that never was. That's what I think birthed the Anthronesians, a desire to return to an idealized version of the past because you don’t like the state of the present. There’s a guard outside my cell, he doesn't seem like the rest of the Anthronesians to me, he shies away from those more committed when they pass and does not hold himself with the same menacing demeanor. The door is made of an opaque glass that lets me see their side profile, my cell is filled with propaganda books, nothing I want to waste my time reading, and a short metal desk. 

I knock on the door, my back against the wall which bows outward slightly, to get the best view of my captor “Hey,” I say, they ignore me “what’s your deal then, you from the solar system like the rest of them?” they continue to ignore me “come on man I just wanna get to know you,” they move ever so slightly “seems like we’re gonna be spending a lot of time together right?”

“Rhostir Arnofi,” he says finally, seemingly reluctant to offer the information

“That's a hydroponics station right? What’s it like?”

“I don’t remember really, I was born there but… when the Council started relocating because of the overpopulation crisis we got taken to a Veatorian farming colony: Stymphalia,”

“That must have been hard,”

“It was!” they say, a little too enthusiastically “ahem, it was. They do things so differently and we didn’t speak the language and-”

“So how’d you end up with them?” I say cutting him off before he goes on a rant. I gesture to the group of far more menacing looking Anthronesians

“Well I was on a corsair vessel, we crashed on this planet and so we took up in a small village. We had loads of weapons and stuff so when the Anthronesians came and offered refuge for any humans, I thought ‘it's gotta be better than this’ and it was. I always hated the council, I mean why do I have to share with Veatorians?”

“What about the rest of your crew?”

“Well, none of them were humans and they fought back so… yeah”

“I’m sorry, you must miss your friends”

“Oh I wasn’t friends with them I just worked in the kitchen,”

“Do you think you could do me a favour?”

“I don’t think-” he says reluctantly “Just hear me out, ok?”

“Alright,” he says cautiously

“Can you bring my bandolier? It’s got some medication that I need to take”

“What kind?” 

“It’s, uh- immortal stuff, I need it or my bones melt, now go get my bandolier I- I can feel it coming on, quick!”

The initiate runs off in a panic and I pause for a moment, unsure if I actually managed to get away with that before I get to my preparations, each of the heartbeats will be monitored by the ships ai, so using one of the more lethal artefacts is out of the question, plus, I don’t want anymore blood on my hands. Something comes to mind and I wait, the group of Anthronesians leave and the guard returns with my bandolier. He opens the bowed glass door and hands it to me, I take out a white stone icon of a beetle and hold it up, it begins to rattle and emanate a strange smoke like chalk dust thrown up in a breeze, a look of dismay covers his face “you were tricking me weren't you?”

“Yep,” I say

“You fucking-” I cut him off before he can finish his insult, a line of white stone extends from the icon, strikes the guard and he is instantly calcified, his face frozen in an expression of betrayal and meathead anger. The icon of Saint Tarates is an unpleasant one, under the calcified exterior the guards heart still beats at a regular rate, aside from the lack of movement everything would seem normal to an observing AI. Anyone looking at him would of course see the calcified skin and muscle but hopefully by the time that happens I’ll have done- something, my path is still annoyingly unclear, destroy the dissimulation field, a mantra I’ve been repeating to myself for the past few days in captivity on this vessel, the ASC Barachiel. I don’t know what has happened while I’ve been on this planet, if  Dhāra jamīna is still even around, what havoc Ovig Nadal might have caused, It may already be too late, but judging by the fact that concepts aren’t just floating around with no relation to each other, that the laws of cause and effect are still in tact, and that I still recognise the universe around me, that is not the case. I  leave the brig and find myself in a corridor. There’s an electronic sign displaying directions to various rooms and systems. The sign cycles through several archaic languages, I see what I’m looking for “armoury”. I head in the direction keeping highly aware of the sounds of approaching footsteps. I don't know what time it is on this cruiser, they certainly won't be using the council regulated settime due to the Anthronesian hatred of everything Nimonean. The reason that I’m so eager to know, as I slink around the long oddly shaped hallways of the super cruiser, is that I don’t want to be caught during a changeover. On a ship this size it makes no sense to have everyone share the same time table, so (depending on its population) a military vessel will have up to 5 different day cycles at once, meaning that all the systems that are physically manned are done so consistently. If I get caught during one of the changeovers, it’s back to square one. 

I enter the armoury, one of many I’m sure and find it, surprisingly, empty. It feels almost as if the supercruiser is drastically understaffed, the main runway and essential facilities are well maintained but there are great stretches of empty corridor and seemingly important rooms left unattended, perhaps that explains their keenness to recruit new forces from the surrounding area. I approach the terminal, at least I think it’s a terminal, the screen sits in a thick cylindrical tube with a second metal tube set beneath it acting as a way to navigate the system. In order to work it you must place your hands on the sides and twist, a design so antithetical to how a human expects a computer to work, there are indents for fingers where you would expect but the layout over all is so… strange. I place my hands on the side of the cylinder and navigate through the inventory system. “Sword or gun, sword or gun, sword or gun. Why not both?” I mumble to myself as I select a nice looking sword and a submachine gun from the listing. The printers at the side of the room activate and by the time I go over they’ve printed, I grab the sword, smg and ammunition and go to leave. I exit the room and turn to continue down the hall when I run into two Anthronesians, who have yet to spot me, engrossed in their conversation. 

“There’s this new recruit, she seems promising,”

“Which one?”

“Uh, Shiban, Theresa Shiban,”

“Oh yeah she’s great,”

They stop in their tracks as I draw my sword. For a moment we stop and just stare at each other

“If you just turn and walk away-” I begin, but the first Anthronesian draws her sidearm and so I swing at her with my sword. He takes a step back and the second one tries to restrain me, I draw the smg and open fire before he can grab me. The sound reverberates down the hall. My cover now being blown, I turn to the first soldier and swing my sword at the sidearm in her hand, knocking it away. I point my firearm at him and she holds up her hands.

“Aren’t you gonna shoot me?”

“depends,” the soldier glances down at her fallen comrade

“On?” 

“How high of a security clearance you have,” Her eyes focus on the gun and I gesture with it, “Well?”

“I was up to become the next dagger of nemesis,”

“What’s your name?”

“Craiova Iwa,”

“Well, Craiova, do you think you’d be able to get me into the chamber at the center of this ship?”

“You mean the Ctenizid?”

“Yeah sure,”

“I’m assuming you’ll shoot me otherwise?

“Yeah,” I say, grateful for the suggestion

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I say with more confidence

She turns and we begin to march down the hall, a group of Anthronesians rush down the hall and take stock of the situation. They lower their weapons and let us pass.

“Just shoot him in the back,” I hear one whisper to the other

“I’m immortal dipshit!” I shout behind me, bluffing, if they did fire on me I’d probably collapse from the pain. But they take me at my word and we move out into the large cavernous space. The space is dead silent. Instead everyone in the space stands and watches us pass, the balconies that line the sides of the space holding even more forces pointing rifles at me. Even the scientists hold some kind of weapon. We reach the huge doorway and I nudge Craiova

“Well? Open the door,”

“Oh I can’t open the door, only the sword can do that,”

“So what was your plan?”

“Bring you out here, let you get shot to shit, presumably die in the crossfire,”

“But I won’t die,”

“Yeah but it’ll stop whatever you were going to do and, well, you were gonna shoot me anyway right?” I tighten the grip on my weapon and go to pull the trigger, at least taking a fascist with me before my escape attempt fails, but the door clicks and opens slowly onto an empty lift. I take a step back onto the platform, not looking the proverbial gift horse in the mouth. I keep my weapon trained on Craiova as the door starts to shut. She turns and meets my eyes. “Good luck,”

The lift starts to rise, moving forward and up, and I ready myself. Sword in one hand, submachine gun in the other. I fear just destroying the dissimulation field will not be enough. So I intend to begin a manifestation and then destroy it, that pillar is what’s creating it. I’m sure.

The lift jolts and the doors open. I tense up and swing my sword down and onto the blade of a halberd wielded by the Sword of Nemesis. She pushes toward me and I step back and fire, her armour absorbs the shock and pauses, I take the moment to bring my sword down at her neck but she recovers in time and jabs her weapon at me. The room is empty as we fight. 

[the sounds of grunting, metal hitting metal, scrapes and gunshots]

The lab in the corner of the room is scattered with equipment and a half constructed angel core rifle sat on the altar. The Sword hits my side with the end of her polearm and I hunch down in reaction to the pain. She lifts the strange looking halberd above her head and swings it down. I meet the blade with mine, parry it toward the ground and swing the submachine gun so it points directly at The Sword. Through the mask I meet her gaze and pull the trigger. Blood pours outward from a large bullet hole in her mask. She slumps over. I stand and return my sword to it’s sheath. The console in front of me hums into life after I flick a few switches, remembering what the scientists did to begin the manifestation. I stare down at the golden pillar, an artefact of some unknown origin that generates the dissimulation field. I take a deep breath, open the airlock and, make my way down the metal walkway, the atmosphere around me filled with Noble gasses. I wade through the water. The pillar thrums with a divine energy, I cannot imagine how a bunch of human supremacists that worship earth got a hold of it. I raise my gun and hear a shattering above me. I look up to see the form of the Sword of Nemesis diving toward me. I step away and she lands where I stood. With a ferocity to her actions that I had not seen before, she swings at me, I just barely manage to block and parry. She stops, her breathing laboured “You do not know what you toy with here,” her voice takes on a strange quality “We are blessed, you may slay me here, but I answer to something greater,” 

“I’m going to put a stop to this little project of yours, the Anthronesians will die here,”

She begins to laugh

“You think this is it? Our armies are vast, I stand among a faction of untold numbers, we are everywhere. The fact that you think that this small act will impede the inevitable progress of the Anthronesians shows just how unprepared your kind are,”

I pull the trigger and the room fills with a white light. 

[a hypnotic tone emanates from the surroundings like an inorganic humming that approaches and retreats just as quickly]

What takes place seems to do so in a vast white space, entirely separate from the world around us. Seemingly in slow motion I watch everything around me disassemble, the walls delaminate, to reveal the rest of the ship in a slow state of disassembly, machines and weapons break apart into their composite parts, wires separate from their casings, railings unweld, the metal frame of the ship shatters. I see people in a similar frozen state unwrap, clothes unstitch and unravel skin separates from flesh, flesh unwinds from bone, bones unjoin and separate. Their internal organs float up into the air like kite strings. In front of me a shape, hazy and unfocused, becomes apparent, it fills me with awe and calms my heart, the complete ruin of everything does not faze me as I stare at this form. The shape solidifies, a tall and slender figure, dressed in grey robes of an unidentifiable material, in each of their eight arms they hold the ornate skull of a different creature, each hollow and wearable as a mask. They place the black skull of a wolf like creature to their face and with their free hand grab the sword of nemesis, who’s flesh has not begun to unwrap, they lift her up and meet her gaze, the ornate bronze mask shatters, the shards slowly floating away, her is face young but rotting, her eyes glow blue, totally and entirely.

“You’ve sworn fealty to something,” the shape says, and I fall to my knees, an inexplicable longing and devotion in my very soul, “To be investigated later,” they say, lifting the Sword of Nemesis, who is pulled through a black hole that forms above her head.

[the sounds of a wet squelch and gravitational forces pulling her through]

The shape removes the wolf skull and replaces it with the skull of a large rodent, they turn to me

[with each new mask the quality of Epicurosas voice changes, each different and strange, while still maintaining the same voice]

“Meet the gaze of your creator Adam,” I lift my head and meet the gaze of Epicurosa in their common form, the only form I had ever known. I feel as if I am staring into a bright light, my eyes sting but I cannot look away. “It’s not often I pry away from my celestial form, you’ve done well here, but your work is not done, as I’m sure you’re aware, it really is a pleasant surprise to find you, it works out quite nicely actually. Come,” Compelled by some internal force I stand and follow Epicurosa

“Might-Upon-Serenity-” I begin

“She is Holden-Hearts problem, she means nothing to me” 

As she opens a second, larger black hole for us to step through the white light that fills the world disappears, and the floating components of the ship begin to fall, the unravelled corpses collapse to the ground, alongside weapon parts and scraps of cloth. A strange scene for the scavengers to pick apart.

We are pulled through the black hole and into an office in a whirlwind of corporate toys pens and papers.

[the sound of an office, some banjo music plays in the background, mufflled slightly]

A human receptionist looks up at Epicurosa who swaps their rodent skull mask for a decorated black goat skull, missing a horn. They bend down to the receptionists level. “I believe I made an appointment,” the receptionist nods, The God gestures to the doorway, “may I?”, the receptionist nods again “Thank you,”. We enter the office, the high floor to ceiling window presents a view of Azyl, the artificial stellar system humans call home, the walls of the office are lined with paintings and artefacts, the oldest and most expensive being remnants of earth and the newer pieces being from the various Human colonies. Sat at a desk is the human representative, Alexander Ashton. 

“Ah, Epicurosa, how wonderful it is to see you-” 

[he switches off the music]

he begins before his eyes dart to me “Adam!? Where the hell have you been? We searched everywhere on  Dhāra jamīna and found no trace of you!” I go to speak but Epicurosa holds up her free hand to me and I say nothing. The adoration and enthrallment I felt when looking at them has begun to die down the longer they hold their common form but I still do not dare to interrupt or ignore them. The god says to the senator, 

“I have come to relieve you of Adam Delta 5, he has important work to attend to with me”

The senator leans forward,

 “His time under the council is not up, he still belongs to us, it was not you who indentured him to us, you have no right to take him”, Ignoring the senators extremely daring move. I look up at Epicurosa who looks down at me through the eye sockets of the goat skull

“What do you need from me that you cannot do on your own?” 

Epicurosa looks out the window, seeing more than all mortals have and ever will see, understanding more than all the great scholars and scryers ever have and ever will. 

“To me the realms are equal, the physical materials that make you up hold no bearing over the intellectual and moral ones. And so the death of the non-divine such as yourself often holds as much significance to me as forgetting an idea, it is a shame, but another will take its place. But not you, adam delta 5, something has turned its benevolent gaze upon you. Something greater than me, and so I enact it’s will.” 

they pause for but a moment, for reasons so beyond my realm of comprehension it wastes time even thinking about thinking about it. 

 “Our universe exists on a set path, ultimately, one atom bounces off of another at a predictable angle, cause and effect etc. We are all the man locked in the bedroom, we think we want to stay but in the end we have no choice in the matter. One thing causes another with no unpredictable insertions into this sequence. However that is only applicable within the way our universe is constructed. For something that has come from outside of this, the laws are not so binding. By entering our universe, ovig Nadal has provided an unpredictable insertion, he has disrupted the chain of being, the predetermined order of events and entities in the universe. The complex order of orders. For a mortal, chaos is something that can be half imagined and dismissed. But true and utter unpredictability is horrifying to a god. And it would seem you are important to ceasing this edgeless horror.”

“My goddess, I ask that you understand, the council is not in the good graces of the galactic population, our… mishandling of the population crises means we need a win,”

“It’s far more than just that fiasco,” I say, the senator shoots me a look and continues

“To have it be us that solved this universe threatening problem would be… a great triumph to us,”

“No,” The god says tersley and begins to usher me out of the room

The senator, now flustered, bangs his fist on the table

[it slightly rattles the desk]

 “Epicurosa, my progenitor, on behalf of the rhetores and the council of nimonea I pray to you and request that adam stays with us!” A dark anger covers their form, they exchange the goat skull for that of a large cat, spins and  slams four of their fists, skulls still in hand, onto the white metal desk, denting it in two places.

[the sound of metal creaking and a large crash, shaking the desk massivley]

“You ‘pray to me’? You wish to control me through worship? As you did the forces of nature you worshipped in your early history. You feel that you can sway and change my actions through sheer force of will don't you? I am just as indifferent if not more so than hurricanes and earthquakes and typhoons, for they simply exist, I make the active choice to ignore you,”

“I-”

“If you speak once more, you insolent mortal, I will eviscerate you, you shall be annulled, your destruction shall be so righteous and glorious that evermore the name,” they lean forward, stooping down to read the nameplate on his desk “Alecksander Ashton, will only ever be associated with complete and total annihilation and whatever administrative loopholes you closed and lives you think you have changed by shifting currency to and fro will forever be overshadowed by your wondrous undoing, do you doubt my power to do such a thing?”

The senator shakes his head. Somehow, by some miracle, maintaining his composure. In this moment I feel a newfound respect for Alecksander, even in the face of his very creator he sticks to his principles and tries to serve the council. Epicurosa opens up another portal, before we step through I look up at them “Where are we going?” I ask

“Somewhere I will be able to understand some things about you, a great many forces have coalesced to support you Adam. More than just the Rhetores and their attempted deification. But the true divine, before all that I must see if you are ready,” she opens a portal and steps through, I turn to look at Alexander Ashton one last time, he stands and stares out of his window, watching those he was charged with protecting, they are there in front of him, he is simply unable to perceive it all. In that respect I feel we are alike. I turn back and follow Epicurosa through the portal.

[weepylucifer]

Shortie with David during the war

tw: homophobic slur

----

Tucked behind a tree, out of sight from the rest of the men, they were allowing themselves a rare moment of privacy.

Normally this would occur at night, nestled in their shared foxhole, or sometimes, when they could get it, in the luxury of a tent, normally they would have been more careful, but tempers were frayed, and David found he couldn’t wait. Thomas had removed his helmet, and David tugged him closer, ran a hand through his hair. Gratefully, Thomas leaned against him, a solid weight in his uniform, loaded with all his equipment. They all wore so many layers nowadays which it was rarely safe to remove, and touch was so scarce. David felt keenly the starvation for it, felt it resonate within and reflected by his lover. Captain Nightingale was not invulnerable, no matter what the lads thought. He needed comfort just like any other man, and David was here to provide. A good lieutenant was an invaluable aide to his commanding officer, something David knew all too well.

“My songbird,” he murmured, let his hand slip lower, cradled Thomas’s jaw. “Do we have time, do you think...?”

“Not much,” Thomas said, even while he put a hand on David’s and lifted it away from his face to kiss the open palm. “Krauts might be aware of our position already. We can... stay, for the moment, just like this.”

“Right.” David kissed him, intending for it to be brief, but Thomas chased his mouth with his own, and he made that little... sound, and all caution was dashed. David wrapped an arm around Thomas’s waist, pulling him closer, flush against his front. Thomas embraced him in turn, kissing him hungrily, so needy for any touch, anything they could give each other in this brief, stolen moment, any gentleness that the war usually didn’t permit.

Just as they let go, ready to return back to the company and be soldiers again, as David looked up, he caught sight of a movement between the snowy trees. Startled, he stared over Thomas’s shoulder and directly in the face of one of their privates.

Not a Kraut, he thought in momentary relief as his mind identified the uniform as distinctly British, but the relief was short-lived, and pure panic followed on its heels. He saw us.

Thomas, having noticed him tense, took a step back. “What is it?”

David broke the embrace, stooping down to pick his helmet up and plunge it back onto his curls. “Nothing, sweetness,” he whispered. “Just wait here a minute.” No need to bother Thomas with this just yet when it might all get cleared up. Their Captain had so much on his mind. A good lieutenant was an invaluable aide.

The man had turned and gone, fled, rather, back to where they were dug in for the approaching night. David pursued, and caught up to the lad.

“Private, a word.”

The man’s steps didn’t slow.

Arkwright, David’s mind supplied. That was his name. Clive Arkwright. A replacement, first mission in the field. Barely of age, barely with the company a week. The staff in his hand all new and shiny. David rested his hand on the handle of his own, scratched-up, much-used one. “Arkwright!”

The private stopped and turned. “Sir.” It was almost a sneer.

David drew level, and caught him by the arm. “What did you see, private?”

“Don’t touch me.” The kid yanked his arm out of David’s grasp. “Once we get back to CP, I’m reporting this. Disgusting...”

The disgust couldn’t be helped. The consequences...

Discovered. Even as the horrors of warfare piled on, this still frequented David’s nightmares. For so many years they’d been so careful. Now David felt hot and cold all over, his heart hammering in his chest to the point of pain. Hell, hell, this must be what the hell feels like that the Christian boys always talk about...

“You will do no such thing, private,” he said, lowly and more quietly than he felt. “That’s an order.”

The kid spat at his feet. “I don’t take orders from a rug-muncher.”

He might as well have slapped David in the face.

For an endless moment, David was reeling, left to imagine the torment that would come. The court-martial and then, who knew what would happen then. At best, this would see them dishonorably discharged, ousted from the Folly, everything they had worked for in tatters, needing to start over somewhere far away with nothing of note. Neither of them had a huge inheritance to draw on. For an endless moment, David saw in his mind the pained faces of his parents. And this was the best of the possible outcomes. At worst...

At worst...

He imagined his beauteous songbird, who had done so much for King and country, locked away behind bars, now painted a deviant. Or worse, an institution, and people attempting to reform, to break and re-mold. G-d, please, David begged in silence, I don’t care what they do to me. But please, spare Thomas.

And within that endless moment--

A voice shouted, “Incoming!”

Muscle memory took over as the shells whistled overhead. David threw himself down beneath the husk of a dead tree, unclipped his staff from his belt and covered it with his body, the thin length of wood that was so vitally important to any serving practitioner. He cast his shield and then, eyes screwed shut, breathless, he waited.

Explosions, stationary bursts of light, tinged his world in red. Debris collided with his shield and bounced off. The sound of trees splintering, of shells whistling and finding home, someone shouting orders, urging the men to cast shields and find cover. And the screams. And the screams.

And after a minute, an hour, an eternity, the silence.

David staggered to his feet, not yet quite daring to extinguish the shield. Alive another time, miraculously alive.

The trees were -- gone, the untouched snow a grubby mess now. Splintered wooden ruins surrounded him, like some giant’s fist had hit the scenery and swiped it all away in one uncaring blow.

He had to get to the others. See if they were okay. Check for wounded - find Thomas.

In his dazed state, he nearly tripped over the body a little ways off from where he’d crouched to wait out the shelling.

Right, the boy. The boy he’d been talking with. The one who’d wanted to report them.

Clive Arkwright.

The boy hadn’t found cover fast enough. His legs were twitching, still attempting to get the body to its feet, perhaps simply convulsing in a desperate, senseless effort. Everything above the waist was mangled. Blood was gushing from a torn throat, the hand trying vainly to clutch it shut already weakened, growing limp. David stared at him.

It was not the first body he had seen, not by a long shot. Yet, he stared, rooted to the spot.

The boy’s mouth opened and closed a few times, but no sound escaped. David could imagine fairly well what word the numb lips formed. Could see the plea in the boy’s eyes.

And David...

...David, valorous, faced uncertain ruin, lifted honour over the intact lives of himself and his lover, his Captain, The Nightingale, this beacon of hope that the men so fervently relied on, he sealed the boy’s throat shut with a strong, steady hand, lifted him up on his shoulder, called for the medic, and maybe Clive Arkwright still died here, the wounds too grievous to salvage, but maybe by the slimmest of chances, a week later, Clive Arkwright awoke in a field hospital, and two weeks later, Clive Arkwright smiled at David and said, thank you, sir, and said, I see now, lieutenant, and sorry for what was being said, but maybe...

maybe not, because that was how it happened in fairytales, and life was not a fairytale, and Clive Arkwright still delivered a report, and David watched powerlessly as his love was torn away from where he was so desperately needed, as his love was torn away to rot...

...and David couldn’t take that chance.

David felt cold as he stared down at the young man, and the least he could do was force himself to wait it all out, bear witness until the last possible second, and he pressed his lips together and he did not look away as the young man’s eyes widened, perhaps in the pain of his death throes, perhaps in a horrible understanding of what was going to have to happen.

And the coldest part of David, the one part he forever flinched from, whispered, Oh, now you’ll take help from the likes of me?

He waited until the young man had stopped twitching. It was a matter of nary a minute. Then he called for the medic.

Then he crouched against the nearest intact tree and threw up what felt like everything he’d ever eaten, and couldn’t reach down quite far enough to purge his disgust with himself.