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xiaq · 1 year

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Is it time for a Steddie time travel fix-it AU? (yes)

A03

There’s something wrong with Steve Harrington.

It’s not that Eddie’s watching him. Not that he pays any special attention to him. But the guy is noticeable. He’s the closest thing Hawkins has to royalty: Rich. Star athlete. Attractive. He’s the cliche golden boy of every teen movie with his polos and letterman jacket and vacant, pretty smile as he walks down hallways with his arm around the girl-of-the-week. He’s a predictable staple; a static figure in the horror script that is Eddie’s high school existence.

So when Steve Harrington shows up to school on an otherwise ordinary Wednesday looking and acting really fucking different, Eddie notices.

Well, he doesn’t actually look all that different. The clothes are normal. But his hair is far from its typical careful coiffure, and there’s a frantic energy to him as he shoves his way through the double doors and jogs into the empty hallway.

He doesn’t see Eddie, tucked in the bathroom alcove.

The only people at the school this early are the marching band kids, wrapping up their hellishly early practice, and Eddie, waiting to sell to a tuba player with no concept of how much weed should actually cost. Eddie has no intention of informing him.

Steve Harrington, pacing in front of a segment of lockers, checking his watch, shoving his fingers through his hair, is wildly out-of-place in the bright-lit early-morning hallway.

And then, things get weirder.

Because Robin Buckley exits the band room and they both freeze.

“Fuck,” she says, “are you––”

“Rob,” Steve says, and it's the most gut-wrenching sound Eddie has maybe ever heard in his life.

She throws herself at him and they hug like—Eddie doesn’t even know. Like the people you see on the news from war zones who thought their family had been killed before a miraculous reunion.

“Are you ok?” she asks, voice cracked and carrying in the empty hallway. “I woke up this morning and my mom was just acting like everything was normal and I had to get to practice and I thought maybe it had all been some fucked up dream but even I’m not that creative.” She pushes away from him, tugging up the bottom of his shirt, “what about––are you––?”

He grabs her wrist, shaking his head. “No, I’m fine. I’m completely fine. I’m just…1983 me.”

What the fuck, Eddie thinks.

Well, he’s already been thinking that, but. What does that even mean? What else would he be?

“Are the kids ok?”

What kids?

“I don’t know. I don’t have a walkie or anything anymore it’s all––” Steve gestures, “reset. And if this is ‘83 then they’re all actual children again, El might not even be––and what if they don’t––”

“They have to. I mean, if we do, they have to, right?”

Are they on drugs? Is he on drugs? The blunt he smoked last night shouldn’t cause hallucinations. He pinches himself. Ow.

The band hall doors open again and Eddie shifts further into the alcove as several horn players walk past.

“We can figure things out after school,” Steve murmurs. “We just have to hold it together until then. I don’t know if we’re stuck here or not but if we are––”

“Right. Act normal. Just normal, 16-year-old Robin things. No problem.”

They grab each other again, a tight, desperate, embrace that is not at all normal, Eddie feels it’s important to point out. He didn’t even think that Harrington knew Buckley existed. It’s almost as strange as if Harrington decided to hug Eddie. Inexplicable.

They separate, Robin rubbing at her eyes and Harrington muttering something about not remembering his locker combination. Eddie’s customer arrives before he can decide if he wants to investigate things further.

Focusing in his first period is even more impossible than usual. Focusing on math is tedious enough normally, but when Robin Buckley and Steve Harrington are having some sort of shared nervous breakdown it’s even harder to care about logarithmic functions.

He sees Steve again in the hallway after first period and Eddie will admit he’s actively looking for him now. Steve is talking in hushed tones to Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Beyers of all people. His hair is an absolute wreck, and his posture is…Eddie doesn’t know how to describe it. 'Aggressive' isn’t quite right but it’s close.

And then, like Harrington has some sort of intuition he’s being watched, he glances up and meets Eddie’s eyes.

Eddie doesn’t know why he runs. His fight or flight instincts have been well-honed his 4 years at Hawkins High and there’s something about the feral-ness in Steve’s stance, the completely unfathomable emotion in his eyes, that has Eddie shoving his way around the corner and into the bathroom. He drops his lunchbox into the sink and pushes both hands into his hair with a quietly muttered: “fuck.” He feels like he might be going crazy.

The door opens.

“Eddie,” Steve says.

It sounds strangely similar to the way he’d said “Rob” that morning–full of something Eddie doesn’t understand.

“Harrington,” he says warily.

Steve takes two steps forward and Eddie automatically scrambles backward, running into the wall and bashing his elbow against the paper towel dispenser. Steve has never actually hurt him before, but some of the guys he hangs out with have and—

Steve freezes: both hands out, reaching for nothing.

“You don’t—?”

There’s a question, there, but Eddie has no idea what it is.

“Eddie?” he says again. This time, it’s desperate and Eddie has no idea why.

The only time he’s ever seen someone’s eyes look like this is when he was looking at his own reflection in the church’s bathroom mirror, clinging to the sink at his mother’s funeral.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks.

Steve’s jaw works. “You don’t remember,” he says blankly.

“Remember what? You’re kinda freaking me out, dude, which is impressive, considering,” he gestures expansively to himself, gives a little shake of his hips so the chains rattle.

Steve doesn’t laugh.

“You don’t remember,” he repeats, more to himself than Eddie. “But you’re ok?”

He’s looking at Eddie’s chest.

“Yes? A-okay. Tip top. Hagan barely touched me yesterday, if that’s what you’re talking about.”

“Tommy hurt you?” Steve says.

Well, shit. The crazy eyes are back.

“Man, why do you care?”

“Sorry,” Steve says. “I’m sorry, I know this doesn’t make any sense to you, but can I just–”

Eddie lets him approach, this time. Lets him reach out to touch. It’s just one hand, at first, tentative, like Steve is expecting to be rebuffed, palm cupped to the ball of his shoulder over his jacket. “Sorry,” he says again, letting go only to reach for the hem of Eddie’s shirt, “Sorry, I know I probably sound crazy, I just––” he pulls it up, stares at Eddie’s side, and then lets out a hysterical little noise that sounds like a cross between a laugh and a sob.

“You’re ok,” he says.

His fingers are hot on Eddie’s skin, pressed light and shockingly reverent to the space between his hip and rib cage.

“You’re ok,” he repeats. It sounds like he’s trying to convince himself.

“Hey,” Eddie says, it comes out more breathless than he’d prefer but Steve fucking Harrington has him backed against a wall in a bathroom with his hands up Eddie’s shirt so he thinks a little lack of air is warranted. “Are you ok?”

The fingers on his abdomen flex.

“No,” Steve says. His eyes are wide and fathomless and the look on his face is terrible. “No, I’m not even remotely ok.”

It sounds like a confession.

Steve lets go of Eddie’s shirt.

He takes a studied step back but then stops, palm still splayed on Eddie’s side, free hand reaching for Eddie’s arm, for his elbow, to cling, like he can’t quite force himself to stop touching; not yet. He’s looking at Eddie like Eddie has broken his heart which doesn’t make any sense because they don’t know each other. They’ve never spoken directly to each other in their lives. So there’s no reason that Steve should be looking at him, like, like––

Like he is.

They’re breathing each other’s second-hand air and Eddie can smell him and there have only been a few times in his life when a boy has looked at Eddie with even half the want that Steve Harrington is looking at him with now. And never, never has a man who looks like Steve Harrington looked at Eddie with anything approaching whatever the hell is on Steve’s face.

“Eddie,” Steve says, and he sounds so lost.

Eddie’s not proud of it.

He runs away.

He shoves Steve to the side, wrenches open the door, and runs without stopping through the hall, outside, down the sidewalk, and onto the main road. He runs until he has to stop because he can’t breathe and only then does he bend over, hands braced on knees, and look behind him. He almost expects to see Steve has followed him.

He hasn’t.

Eddie can't decide if he's relieved by that or not. And then he realizes he’s left his entire stash in the lunchbox in the bathroom.

“Fuck,” he hisses, straightening, hands on his head, lungs aching.

“Fuck,” he says again, just for the hell of it.

He has no idea what’s happening.

But what he does know is that something is seriously wrong with Steve Harrington.

Pt2 here.

#steddie #steddie fic #time travel #myfic #mywriting #steve harrington/eddie munson #eddie x steve #steve x eddie #robin & steve

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neptunefairytales · 5 months

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I just found an old french edition of the GO book (2006?!) And the cover is way nicer than the actual version!

I wonder who inspire the designs for our ineffable husbands! Crowley has horns, widow's peak hair and is (litteraly) smoking! and Azi is a twink with glasses! XD

In the back their is even a line about the infamous "soon-to-be-made american movie!" XD

Now some rambling in french:

J'adore vraiment ce design de couverture! Bien plus que celle rouge actuelle toute moche. Je trouve même qu'il y a un petit coté steampunk! J'adore leur look général à tous les 2 même si je suis pas fan de leur coiffure! Et puis Crowley qui fume! Non! (même si je sais qu'il y a des partisans! ^^) Aziraphale me rappelle quelqu'un mais je sais pas qui???

Le coup du "bientôt adapté au cinéma"! Je me demande quand ils ont su que ça se ferait pas par rapport à l'impression du livre! Et quand je pense à ce qu'aurait pu être ce film je sais pas si je dois en rire ou en pleurer! XD

La traduction est un peu différente de celle d'aujourd'hui (genre Warlock s'appelle Abbandon, alors que celle d'ajd c'est Seth) certaines phrases et descriptions sont tournées autrement, c'est fun de comparer ^^ (maintenant il faut que je trouve l'édition de 99 (ou 95?) avec l’espèce de dragon/chimère)

@bucky1984 on a vite-fait parlé sur mon post de la couverture actuelle, t'en penses quoi de celle là?

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starblightbindery · 1 month

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Binder's Note for Forms by Trebia

How Forms fits in the long tradition of Star Wars fanfic.

My hope is that this project captures a snapshot in time from Star Wars fandom het shippers between December 2015 and December 2017, before the franchise confirmed any emotional intimacy—if you can call it that— between Rey and Kylo Ren in Star Wars: The Last Jedi (2017).

Trebia, then aged 24, wrote and published the first chapter of Forms on Archive of Our Own on December 18th, 2015—the exact release date of Star Wars: The Force Awakens. When posting this first chapter, Trebia noted, “I’m just working off of memory from the one viewing I saw last night.” The entirety of the fanfic was completed and posted an exact month later, making this fic historically significant in Star Wars fandom as one of the earliest published “Reylo” stories.

A serialized novella that was churned out in an astonishingly short time frame, Forms is notable for predicting many elements of The Last Jedi (2017) and The Rise of Skywalker (2019), including the Reylo Force bond, Rey walking away from her training with Luke Skywalker, Kylo Ren pleading with Rey to join him, and Kylo Ren pushing his Force energy into Rey to save her life.

Throughout the story, Trebia mashed new and old Star Wars elements together—characters like the Mandalorians and Admiral Daala, settings like Illum and Kuat⁠—evincing her fondness for the Galaxy Far, Far Away. Forms has classic tropes from this franchise, like stealing a uniform to go undercover in an enemy base and the forced proximity of a “Slow Boat to Bespin.” Present in Forms are scads of fan theories from between the release of The Force Awakens and The Last Jedi. These included the theory that—echoing a Legends plot line from Dark Empire (1991) where somehow Palpatine returns and Luke Skywalker joins the dark side to try and take him down from the inside—Kylo Ren had strategic reasons for his apprenticeship to Snoke. Like many Reylo fan-works set in-universe, Trebia lends justification to his many antisocial acts, part of shipper efforts to make the character more self-relevant and sympathetic.

Forms weaves in tantalizing threads that were tossed around by fans and concept artists but ultimately not pursued, including Dark Rey, Stormpilot (Finn/Poe Dameron), and Rey's saberstaff. Trebia even predicted the Kuat Drive Yards plot line started in The Last Jedi (Rose Tico’s contempt for weapon's manufacturers on Canto Bight) and continued in the abandoned Episode IX: Duel of Fates script by Colin Trevorrow. Forms also addresses loose ends that probably should have been covered for a more cohesive nine film saga, like the Chosen One prophecy and direct interaction between Anakin Skywalker and Kylo Ren.

No discussion of Forms can be complete without also placing it in the context of Star Wars fandom in 2016. Reylo was a fringe pairing that made intuitive sense to many Star Wars fans, particularly women; however, prior to The Last Jedi, the ship was dwarfed by the popularity of slash ships like Finn/Poe and Kylo Ren/Hux. At the time, many fans theorized that Rey was Luke Skywalker’s long-lost daughter, making her Ben Solo’s first cousin, making Reylo an incest ship.

As noted on the Fanlore wiki, the tags on this fic changed over time. In addition to “Riding the bus to hell either way” Trebia joked with tags like “Possible incest?” and “Not incest until proven guilty in the court of law.” Following the release of Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Trebia celebrated by replacing those tags with a celebratory “IT AIN’T INCEST.”

The story's strong influence in early Reylo fandom reflected a hunger for more Star Wars romances about the pull between light and dark. After all, the sequel trilogy did not set up Kylo Ren as a horned, alien-appearing monster or a wrinkled geezer. Unblemished by the ravages of the dark side, Kylo Ren was depicted with pillow lips and a fabulous, voluminous coiffure unencumbered by his helm (which really should have flattened it to his scalp.) The groundwork for a lightsider/darksider romance was previously explored in other Expanded Universe stories. At the forefront of these were watered down lightsider/darkside romances like the tepidly written romance between Luke Skywalker and former Palpatine agent Mara Jade. Given Mara Jade was hardly a champion of the dark side, there was no risk of corrupting Skywalker. But the Expanded Universe also boasted stories that played with this dynamic, like the twisted connection between Fable Astin and Jaalib Brandl by Patricia A. Jackson for the Star Wars Adventure Journal (1994), the conflict between Jaina Solo and Zekk in Kevin J. Anderson's Young Jedi Knights (1996),or the passion between Darth Revan and Bastila Shan in Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic (2003). In this respect, Forms and the rest of the Reylo fan fiction oeuvre continues the grand fan tradition of Star Wars villain fucking.

“Darksider and lightsider conflict is one of the most fascinating points of Star Wars,” Trebia said in 2016, when interviewed by Spencer Kornhaber for The Atlantic. “Rey and Kylo represent the fight to find the balance.” Yet, at the time, the fledgling “Reylo” ship was abhorred by affirmational Star Wars fans who despised the emphasis on shipping with a female gaze, as well as scorned by media commentators who found the ship to be “problematic.” In male-dominated, established fan spaces like Reddit and Jedi Council Forums, discussion of Reylo was effectively banned by moderators through the freezing of threads. In other fandom spaces like Twitter and Tumblr, discourse about Reylo mirrored larger purity culture. The ship became a convenient target for alt-right misogynists, and also for anti‑shippers concerned that the ship “romanticized abuse.” Productive and unproductive debate arose around media consumption construed as agreement or approval, whether a sympathetic Kylo Ren lends people to give more latitude to real-life white right-wing men with anger management problems (or if it's the other way around), and if shippers can tell the difference between a fictional antihero and the same dangerous thing in real life. Critiques of Reylo fandom also included the implicit racism inherent in the sidelining of John Boyega’s heroic character Finn in favor of white whiny fascist Kylo Ren. (It did not help that 2016 also saw the election where white American women voters decided to displace a competent Black man with a white whiny fascist.)

In the September 2020 issue of the Journal of Fandom Studies, Andrea Marshall notes that Reylo “fan fiction acts as a locus of resistance to gendered oppression as feminist authors construct selves that critique the source material and the fandom for gendered oppression within tropes and attitudes.” By having Rey actually interact with and befriend a woman other than Leia, Forms already improves on the source material. It's a delight to see Forms depict older women over age fifty who are plot-significant and interact which one another, if only because Star Wars movies are fairly gender regressive. On the other hand, Rey's strategy to convert Kylo back to the light is to uh, suck the badness out of him. It's Padmé Amidala logic—sure, he arranged the wholesale slaughter of an entire village, but he can also deftly finger you to orgasm! Granted, Star Wars is infamously a franchise of excuse making, where really shitty dudes manage to turn it around and do the right thing at the last minute. Forms also doesn't push all that hard to actively resist the neo-fascist allegory in the sequel trilogy, particularly in Trebia's appendix, which dissatisfactorily explains that all of the First Order war criminals in the story ended up as instructors in military academies. (Who would even hire them, Albus Dumbledore?!)

Fics like Forms led to “ship wars” discourse, which led to the publication of ozhawkauthor's “The Three Laws of Fandom” meta essay on January 1st, 2016. “Laws” is a bit of a misnomer since there is no enforcement body; the essay is more of a request for courtesy in fandom spaces. The laws were also meant to apply specifically to shipping, not fandom or media criticism as a whole. “It’s not up to you to decide what other people are allowed to like or not like, to create or not to create,” wrote ozhawkauthor. “That’s censorship. Don’t do it.”

For fans conscious of fandom history and the impact of censorship in spaces like FanFiction.net and Livejournal, ozhawkauthor's guidelines—(1) Don't like; don't read, (2) Your ship is not my ship, (3)Ship and let ship—felt intuitive. This is reflected in spaces like my bookbinding guild, Renegade, which—similar to Archive of Our Own—takes a hands off approach to policing content. This did not prevent widespread handwringing about Reylo content. Star Wars fan ughwhyben reflected on the “gigantic fandom that is suddenly experiencing a renaissance, where an influx of mainstream folk are trickling into (or running into) the fic side for possibly the first time right now and don’t have this training. It’s like we’re flickering back and forth between the modern evolution of fic side fannish culture and what things were like in, for example, 2001 when I first stumbled in.”

Decades ago, in May 1981, Lucasfilm reacted to the publication of “Slow Boat to Bespin” by Anne Elizabeth Zeek & Barbara Wenk by declaring a ban on smut in fan fiction. I've included in the errata of this binding a letter from 1981 written by the Star Wars fanclub president to circulating fanzines threatening legal action. While slash was also caught in this net—disproportionately targeted given non-explicit gay romance was not okay even though Star Wars has non-explicit het romance—it was this fairly tame (by fic standards) heteronormative fic, featuring Han Solo and Princess Leia, that signaled to Lucasfilm that smutty fanfic was no longer on the fringes and now needed to be addressed to protect the “wholesomeness” of the franchise. Subsequently, fanfic writers had to make a conscious decision to flout Lucasfilm’s policy and go forth with propagating their smut.

And, in 2016, of all the ships in all of fandom, it was the Reylo Star Wars pairing, featuring this specific heteronormative female power fantasy (of being able to leash a villain by the dick to drag him back to the light) that led to a communal reaffirmation of these fandom norms. In her interviews with the The Atlantic, Trebia directly quotes from the Three Laws of Fandom, endorsing “ship and let ship” as a basis for creating Reylo fanworks. “I am fully involved in the garbage compactor that is this pairing, and I love it,” Trebia said. “No matter what way it goes, I will stick with it.”

After studying early romance novels from the late 1600s and early 1700s, Ros Ballaster observed a polarity between didactic love fiction and amatory fiction. Didactic love stories are sweet—aspirational, moral, and idealized—while amatory fiction is spicy—erotic, transgressive, untethered from social sanction. We do see representations of didactic love in Reylo fan fiction, particularly in contemporary romance “Modern AUs” like Ali Hazelwood's The Love Hypothesis (2021)where the Kylo's homicidal Sith rage is sanitized to a more socially-acceptable grumpy academic brooding. One can comfortably bring Adam Carlsen, Ph.D home to meet Mother. But certainly, the majority of Reylo fic written by fans gravitate towards and come with the self awareness of the amatory. For one, Trebia loudly proclaims in her Chapter Two author note: “MORE TRASH FOR THE TRASH GOD.”

Discourse over the “morality” of Reylo fan fiction tends to overlook the distinction between the didactic and the amatory. As compelling as the idea of a “Force dyad” is in fantasy, this relationship is not meant to be aspirational in a literal sense. Yet, readers of Reylo fiction were and continue to have to defend their interest in the archetype with disclaimers—yes, it's trash, yes, I know it's problematic—while men in fandom are not held to the same standards when it comes to “problematic” media they consume or enjoy, whether it's a Michael Bay blockbuster film or male-gaze pornography.

As Deborah Lutz notes, “The Dangerous Lover Romance” is a centuries old, conventional way to represent erotic desire and romantic love. The “sublimely tormented Byronic hero” is hardly groundbreaking, to the extent that Rian Johnson's depiction of Reylo in The Last Jedi subverts the trope—at the end of the film Rey isn't enchanted, she's repulsed. The same way Star Wars replicates Joseph Campbell's Hero's Journey monomyth, Reylo stories like Forms reflect the broad appeal of the “how-the-turntables” Dangerous Lover romance—where the woman protagonist, initially subjugated by the debased, restless misanthrope, ends up subjugating him through her strength of will and the power of love. Trebia's Kylo even sports malevolent scars like so many Gothic male romantic leads before him—always on the face. In the Gothic romance, the heroine accesses socially undesirable aspects—power, rage, craving, desire—as expressed by her double, the Dangerous Lover. His presence in the story provides a basis for her disinhibition. The Reylo ship follows a well-trodden cultural script of transgressive female desire.

Forms the fan fiction novella is a notable cultural artefact reflecting a distinct period of time in Star Wars fandom. At the time, Reylo fanfic held all the promise of improved representation for women characters, crossed with the instinctual, regressive insistence that maintains a white male character in the forefront. Reylo fan fiction produced in early 2016 also led to the reification of anti-censorship values in fandom. Seven years later, a fandom that was once derided has gone fully mainstream, as fic writers like Ali Hazelwood, Ashley Poston, and Thea Guanzon top traditional publishing bestseller lists. What Trebia knocked out, hours after her introduction to the characters, is now it's own Star Wars literary tradition.

#fanbinding #bookbinding #reylo #reylofanfic #fanfic binding #ficbinding #star wars history #holocron #jedi holocron

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otherworldseekers · 2 months

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Something's Gotta Give chapter 7 scene 1

OMG! An update! Remember, this picks up from the Gold Saucer date. Previous scene here.

Something's Gotta Give Masterpost

It was very late, or very very early indeed, when Severia and Nero walked together down the long hall that led to their guest rooms. Arms linked and carrying her shoes in her other hand, Severia leaned her head drowsily against Nero’s shoulder. If she had been clear-headed she might have been horrified to see herself acting so familiar with the man who, just hours ago, she had been furious at. But just at that moment she felt blissfully relaxed and comfortable and the irony quite escaped her.

In unspoken accord, when they reached the door to Severia’s room they paused and turned to each other, both reluctant to end the evening. She leaned back against the door and tilted her head to look up at him, her pulse quickening at the sight of his loosened collar, the stray hairs from his no longer immaculate coiffure hanging over his forehead. Her body was sending her signals she didn’t quite know how to interpret. She’d spent the past few hours in his arms, but their contact had been limited to the forms of the dance, and right now she felt that it wasn’t enough.

Nero took one of her hands and raised it to his lips. “I trust your evening proved to be more pleasant than you anticipated,” he said with an easy smile.

Gods, what an understatement. “It was lovely,” she admitted. It was the single most wonderful night of my life. “And I… thank you.”

Nero tucked a loose lock of hair behind her horn and let his fingers linger along her jaw. “It’s a pity we were interrupted earlier on the balcony. There was one more technique I wanted to teach you.”

Severia felt her pulse quicken, but tried not to show her interest too obviously. “Oh? What kind of technique?”

“Instead of telling you,” Nero said with a smirk, “wouldn’t it be more fun if I showed you?”

Severia’s breath hitched as the hand that had been holding hers snaked around her waist and pulled her body against his. The heat radiating from him ignited a similar warmth within her. Her arms seemed to loop around his neck of their own volition, her hands itching to dig into his hair and leave it even more disheveled. Then his mouth covered hers and as before she was taken aback by how perfect his lips felt. How dangerously close she was to losing herself in his kiss.

His lips coaxed hers apart and she opened for him, only a little surprised when his tongue slipped into her mouth. The true surprise was how much she liked it. The feel of his tongue against hers, the taste of him, the low moan he released when she responded in kind. That moan sent something unfamiliar and indescribable thrilling through her abdomen. And she liked that too.

Feeling him begin to pull back, Severia’s hands fisted in his hair. “Don’t stop,” she whispered, their mouths still just a hairsbreadth apart. There was the brief flash of a grin before their lips connected again.

Nero’s hands drifted down and gripped her curves, lifting her up and pressing her against the wall, nesting himself between her thighs. His kisses had become hungrier, needier, leaving her panting for breath. And then his lips slid away from hers to move slowly down her neck. She felt his tongue against her scales, sending bolts of sensation throughout her body, and gasped out his name. Without conscious thought, her legs wrapped around his waist, causing him to hum against her neck in appreciation.

“Severia,” he murmured between kisses along her collar bone. “I want you. Let me stay with you tonight.” He trailed a finger tantalizingly between her breasts.

“Yes,” she moaned as her head fell back against the wall, her eyes closed. For the first time in her life, her entire body coursed with desire and she wanted to give in to it, wanted to have it completely and utterly satisfied.

Nero’s hand found the high slit of her dress and the warm skin of her thigh. He traced the lace hem of her small clothes, ran a finger along the fabric between her legs. It was too much.

Severia’s eyes flew open. Clarity poured into her like ice down her back. She could not do this. For all their play acting, they were not just Severia and Nero. She was the Warrior of Light. And he was Nero tol Scaeva.

“W-wait.”

Nero removed his hand, but wasn’t ready to give up. “Let me make love to you, Severia,” he pleaded. “Let me give you pleasure such as you’ve never had before.”

“I- I don’t know,” she whispered. A part of her wanted it, oh how she wanted it. But there were so many reasons that it was a bad idea. She still could not trust him. If only… If only…

Gently, she pushed him away, her feet coming to rest on the floor again. She needed to breathe. And think. She needed to know the truth. Looking up him with eyes full of trepidation, she asked, “What is it that you really want, Nero? Do you want me… Or do you want Allagan power?”

The implication was clear. He couldn’t have both.

“Is that really…” But he looked into her eyes and saw that look of determination he had so often admired. She would not let this go.

Nero ran a hand through his hair. He didn’t know what to say. His desire for her felt overpowering, but he had spent a lifetime chasing Allagan power. If he couldn’t have both… If he didn’t choose… Would he be condemned to have neither? Stricken with uncertainty, he turned his face away from her. It was answer enough.

Severia exhaled her held breath, heavy with disappointment. Her hand fumbled toward the door knob behind her. “Goodnight, Nero.” She managed to get the door open just enough to slip through and shut it before he could react, leaving him alone in the hallway.

#Severia x Nero #WoLNero #Severia Zetsuen #Nero tol Scaeva #Something's Gotta Give #my writing #All My Tomorrows #ffxiv fanfiction

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dujour13 · 9 months

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Inspired by @commander-lariel, @angrygoatwoman, @turbulentpumpkin43 and @tenmillionbees to write a little intro for Saedra as companion.

You spy a tiefling woman rising to her feet among the wreckage. She’s attractive, with dusky blue skin, and black hair in an elaborate coiffure, long braids thrown over her shoulders and graceful horns spiraling out of the buns on either side of her head. She dabs the corners of her dark eyes to fix her makeup.

As you approach she straightens her overflowing bodice and dusts off the trousers hugging her hips, glances over with a languid smile and gives you a long, thirsty once over.

“Well, hello there.”

Her smile broadens. “Another survivor? You can call me Saedra. Anytime honey.”

As she winks your tadpole gives a sudden shudder, and frantic images flash one after another of a dark, candlelit library, arcane manuscript swimming in your sleepy vision, a blast of light, noise and leering faces in a bustling tavern, and flesh, sweat-soaked and writhing in pleasure. The one constant is the sense of a curious, inscrutable presence—you are not the only one watching.

Her smile vanishes. “Looks like the bastards got to you too. Not that I have anything against tentacles, but I don’t appreciate people sticking things places without my consent. I suppose we’re both out of the frying pan and into the same fire. What do you say, love? I do fancy some company.”

#going to steal dolly's tag #bald guy 3 #saedra #what a great idea #i feel like tagging other people to do this but i don't want to be annoying #if you see this consider yourself tagged!

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p-isforpoetry · 2 years

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"Dolores" by Cyril Henry Morton Horne (read by Dan Stevens)

Six of us lay in a Dugout At ease with our limbs astretch, And worshipped a feminine picture Cut from a week-old ‘Sketch’. We gazed at her silken stockings, We studied her Cupid bow, And we thought of the suppers we used to buy And the girls we used to know, And we all, in our several fashions, Paid toll to the Lady’s charms,

From the man of a hundred passions To the Subaltern child-in-arms. Never the sketch of a master So jealously kept and prized, Never a woman of flesh and blood So truly idealized. And because of her tender ankle, And her coiffure - distinctly French - We called her ‘La Belle Dolores’ - ‘The Vivandiere of the Trench.’

Source: The Poetry Hour

#Dolores #Cyril Henry Morton Horne #poem #poetry #p-isforpoetry #Dan Stevens #Youtube

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44gamez · 5 months

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10 Best Trainer Designs in Pokemon Scarlet & Violet

Pokemon Scarlet and Violet are filled with quite a few Trainers with distinctive kinds, Sort preferences, and personalities. With so many brilliant and vibrant character designs, Era 9 in a short time turned acknowledged by gamers for having one of the best assortment of character designs in a single Gen. To focus on a few of these phenomenal ideas, we’ve befriended ten fortunate people from Paldea to debate, so comply with alongside beneath.

Kieran

Picture Supply: The Pokemon Firm Kieran’s design is arguably one of many extra attention-grabbing ideas within the recreation; within the Teal Masks DLC, he’s obtained that basic, emo child power along with his messy black hair, full with purple strands beneath for additional edgy factors. Kieran’s outfit may be very easy, being a variation of the Blueberry Academy uniform — nonetheless, it’s not this that makes him stand out, however extra so the truth that he’s the one character to obtain two completely different designs. Within the Indigo Disk DLC, Kieran has undergone some adjustments, carrying a a lot sportier set of garments to point his new, brutal coaching schedule. On high of this, his hair has been pulled again from his face, which adjustments the coloring to point out off the purple undertones in full. Each of Kieran’s designs completely stability simplicity with the concord of complementary colours, which makes his look attention-grabbing and straightforward to establish. Contemplating lil’ Kiki right here has two profitable designs, he deserves his rightful place on this checklist, unquestionably.

Drayton

Picture Supply: The Pokemon Firm Drayton is one in all a number of new characters added by way of the Indigo Disk DLC, carrying a choice for Dragon Sort Pokemon. That is hinted all through his design with delicate components, such because the flowy, cape-like garment he wears round his waist, and his horn/scale-shaped coiffure. On high of his love for Dragons, Drayton additionally will get some bonus factors for having a Maschiff design on his jacket just because who doesn’t love doggos? Drayton additionally has a robust silhouette that portrays his confidence, and his clothes is a superb mixture of Academy uniform with distinctive additions, which helps him stand out from the gang of different NPCs.

Iono

Picture Supply: The Pokemon Firm Iono is the Electrical Sort Health club Chief in Paldea and likewise has a secondary job as a streamer, so I’d say Pokemon hit the nail on the top along with her design. She has that comfortable, but trendy apparel that so many streamers and content material creators are recognized to like, and even has brilliant, funky-colored hair break up in hues of pastel pink and blue, which is a little bit of an e-girl basic, at this level. Nevertheless, there are additionally some actually attention-grabbing additions to this apparel to point her Sort choice and add some originality, similar to her shark-like enamel, screw-like elements of her sneakers, and naturally, her huge Magnemite hair equipment — which might detach and float round her. Or…perhaps these are precise Magnemites which have been painted to match her hair? Both means, they make her very attention-grabbing and positively add to her silhouette, making Iono one in all a number of characters who stand out within the Paldea Area probably the most.

Grusha

Picture Supply: The Pokemon Firm Grusha has been a beloved Pokemon Scarlet and Violet character ever since he was first teased in one in all many trailers main as much as the sport’s launch and for good purpose. I imply, simply have a look at his design — Grusha is so easy, but attention-grabbing. His design clearly portrays the presence of Ice Typing, and the chosen coloration palette makes him seem chilly, but heat and approachable nonetheless. That Poke Ball scarf? An absolute spotlight. If I had been Grusha, I’d be snuggling into it and letting it cowl my face, too.

Crispin

Picture Supply: The Pokemon Firm Crispin is one other character launched within the Indigo Disk DLC, and as soon as once more portrays excellent readability in his design by his easy particulars and coloration palette. Proper from first look, earlier than we even witness him converse, we will inform that this man is a passionate prepare dinner — his Blueberry uniform is modified right into a chef coat, and he’s holding his finest battle stance with that frypan. On high of this, Crispin’s Hearth Sort choice is indicated by delicate additions of purple, yellow, and orange, similar to his scarf, sneakers, hair, and the trim of his coat.

Jacq

Picture Supply: The Pokemon Firm Jacq has that excellent nerdy, quirky trainer look, full with a really good coloration palette of purple hues. His biology and educating roots are indicated with the quite a few books he carries in his hand and coat pockets, and the room cellphone sitting in his shirt pocket. The hexagon-shaped glasses and rips in his pants are a pleasant little contact of element that provides to his character, and the dad sandals truthfully simply full Jacq’s total vibe as he he takes on a step-in father determine strategy and runs round after his class, ensuring they’re all wholesome and comfortable.

Brassius

Picture Supply: The Pokemon Firm Brassius is the Grass Sort Health club Chief in Paldea, and in my view, maybe one of the best Grass Sort Health club Chief design of all time. His total design is themed round thorns and vines, and that is pulled with nice success. The thorn-like spines in his shirt, the belt wound round his physique, and even his hair; every part is formed like a thorn, which provides to his silhouette and makes him stand out whereas additionally preserving issues strongly associated to his Sort utilization within the excellent means. Brassius’ design isn’t overcomplicated, both, which is kind of spectacular. An idea similar to this might be straightforward to go full ship on and make every part tremendous busy and complicated, but Brassius right here stays eye-catching, straightforward to learn, and attention-grabbing, holding simply the correct quantity of thriller to make you wish to know extra.

Atticus

Picture Supply: The Pokemon Firm Atticus actually stands out as being one of many brightest and daring character designs in the complete Pokemon franchise. Don’t let this overwhelm you, although — this dude’s look suits his character and background completely, and as soon as examined, it turns into apparent that this is among the most attention-grabbing designs in all of Scarlet and Violet. Atticus is alleged to be a descendant of ninjas, therefore his distinctive apparel. Nevertheless, he’s additionally modernized his tackle ninja put on by including his touches — black and white chest straps, brilliant coloring, and sludge-like patterns to point his Poison Typing and a hood that creates an phantasm of dripping poison overlaying his face. Truthfully, it’s straightforward to see why he was chargeable for developing with the Crew Star outfits; this man is a design whiz!

Ortega

Picture Supply: The Pokemon Firm Look, if there’s one factor I've to say about Ortega, it’s that he one way or the other managed to make me love and hate him abruptly…but when he’s adequate for the remainder of Crew Star, he’s adequate for me. That being mentioned, Ortega has an exceptional character design, and there’s no denying it. His design tells a lot about his character that even only a slight look can point out that not solely is he a Fairy Sort consumer, but in addition that he’s a wealthy little boy from a rich background. Placing his background apart, this ‘match truthfully simply fits Ortega’s character to a T. He positively offers me the vibe that he’d at all times wish to be wearing correct high quality apparel, so this matching costume coat and pants actually do the trick…and I do love his little bowtie. Nevertheless, one of the best half is unquestionably, his golden Poke Ball employees. I imply, have a look at the Poke Ball — it has little pixie wings to as soon as once more point out Ortega’s Sort choice. Little particulars like this go a great distance, which is why Ortega’s general character design is such an enormous success.

Professor Turo & Professor Sada

Picture Supply: The Pokemon Firm Scarlet and Violet are the primary video games to supply model unique professors, and for good purpose — one for the previous (Scarlet), and one for the long run (Violet). These design variants are pulled off with nothing however success, too. I’m truthfully blown away just a little at simply how a lot the previous/future aesthetics of Paradox Pokemon had been capable of be indicated by Sada and Turo’s designs, while nonetheless holding that basic Pokemon Professor have a look at the identical time. Turo takes on a futuristic bodysuit with glossy patterns and markings that give off sci-fi and cyberpunk vibes, whereas Sada has a really cave woman-ish vibe to her, full with little beaded belts and necklaces that seem to have jewels resembling fangs or claws hanging from them. One other factor that's attention-grabbing about these designs, is that with them being Arven’s mother and father and Sada resembling the previous whereas Turo resembles the long run, leaves Arven as the current. Placing all three of those characters facet by facet makes the designs much more harmonious as a bunch, which exhibits off simply how nicely thought out every character is. In regards to the writer

Grace Black Grace is a author and digital artist from New Zealand with a love for fiction and storytelling. Grace has been writing for Twinfinite for one 12 months and within the video games trade for 2 years. She's an fanatic of every part spooky, an occasional anime enjoyer, and a die-hard Ghost-Sort Pokemon fangirl. Her favourite video video games embrace Overwatch 2, Life is Unusual, The Final of Us, Baldur's Gate 3, and Pokemon - all of which she's going to by no means tire of. Source link Read the full article

#designs #Pokemon #Scarlet #Trainer #Violet

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logothete · 6 months

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John D's Morning Ritual

He only talked to himself in the morning. These conversations took place in front of the mirror as he refreshed the comb over. Back to front, back to front, with a jaunty swirl. John D never got over the other children making fun of him for his large flat head and thinning hair when he was 12. He looked so serious like a little revolutionary Vladimir who wanted to preach about the miracle of compound interest. The children made fun of him for that too. He was smart enough to stay away from creepy Alger who was always trying to get the coal boys alone. Creepy Alger fooled the adults with his soapbox speeches about pulling yourself to prosperity by your boot heels. But the coal boys and jockeys knew to stay away. John D thanked his large flat head with its wisps of iron gray hair that tingled when stranger dangers came around with their pasted on smiles. His grey hair stood on end when calamitous family members showed up demanding respect as if it it was not earned but an obligation you never signed up.

John D never spoke to himself about the times he fought the other children for sewer coal and the excess hair from the morgue. Sometimes he completely forgot about the times he rushed to the spinning lathe operators with the long strands shaved from drowning victims trying to beat the opium eaters and dipsomaniacs to the eyelash buyer. John D could forget all that like it never happened even though he turned down all investments in spinning lathe factories for some strange reason.

This five minutes was the only time he spoke to himself. He didn't even know he did it. The one time his wife mentioned it just like a good Presbyterian should he got angry with her for the first and only time and accused her of making things up. She never mentioned it again and eventually did her coiffure in the other master bathroom.

In the last 30 seconds, putting in the final swirl, which rose up, up, like the horns of the brass bull guarding the exchange John D said the words he started to say at the end of that horrible day when he woke up finding his hair had fallen out showing he had a flat topped head with the whole thing shaped like a disorderly triangle irregular on the left. That day his class mates noticed him for the first time and made fun of him and the gray which had been red the day before. He still had not cried when he got home to fall asleep in the corner with his lucky piece of coal. Just before he fell asleep; in the trance state nobody know about he would whisper : "I'll show em. I'll show em. for making fun of me for my large flat head. When I have millions of dollars they will be sorry. They'll be sorry. So there." Then he would dream of girders upholding contracts in the air so thick with coal smoke you needed to light a bundle of T-bills to find the way.

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helenflaneur · 1 year

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2023 South with the Spring April and May

Chalons-en-Champagne to Lyon

130 locks,

2 tunnels, (Souterrain de Balesmes: 4.820m and Souterrain Condes: 308m)

505 kilometres,

5 moving bridges,

And the disruption of one film set …..

Chalon-en-Champagne had been our winter mooring since early October 2022 enabling us to return to Oz for 3 and a half months. It was now time to cast off our lines and on Easter Saturday, 8th April, we extracted Le Flâneur accompanied by a blast of boat horns from the remaining inhabitants of the boat harbour. All antipodeans, of course.

It was so, so good to back on the road again.

Our route south was along the ‘Canal entre Champagne et Bourgogne’ formerly know as ‘Canal de la Marne a la Sâone’. Obviously, a much sexier name for a canal for the 21st century. That’ll bring in the boats.

Not far down the canal was this sobering sight at Vitry-le-Francois.

It was time to re-skill line handling techniques in the 71 ascending locks.

The architecture along this route varies from Art Nouveau style to Jacques Tati-esque.

The ‘Canal entre Champagne et Bourgogne’ took us into the heartlands of France, La France Profonde, very rural and traditionelle. There are few towns along the canal and it’s always been sparsely populated.

Some villages were retail free, not even a coiffure or auto l’ecole. Incroyable!

But a few villages sported this sorry excuse for a take away.

‘Artisan Pizza’???!!!! Talk about taking the piss.

Fortunately they do not cater for the gluten free diet.

We cruised alongside the Marne river up to the watershed, 340m above sea level, through the Balesmes tunnel and down the canal along the Vingeanne river down to the Saone river.

Maximum headroom along the canal is 3.50m. Our headroom was estimated to be 3.45m. Mark rigged up a sacrificial piece of hose at the bow as an indicator for the low bridges.

The procedure was to slow right down (we were only doing 6km/h anyway in the canal) before a bridge and into neutral as we went under. Many times we could not believe there was room for us to fit but all it takes is 5mm and you’re through.

Until we came to the bridge with the attached new sign stating a height of 3.45m!

We held our breath, thought heavy thoughts and scraped through sort of side ways.

At Riaucort (a tiny, retail free village) we selfishly refused to move Le Flâneur ‘for just 30 minutes’ for an amateur theatre company. They arrived at 5.30pm (aperitif time), changed into pretend 19th century costumes (with 21st century wigs from the $2 shop, tres authentique) to film something for their company. They remembered to dress the set with old barrels and wicker baskets but ‘someone’ had not remembered to reserve the quay for the filming.

And the ‘cinematographer’ would not consider changing his shot list/POV.

And we were right in the way.

If it were possible we would have moved for the sake of art (and amateur dramatics).

But there was nowhere safe for us to move to. The sides of the canal were fallen in, there were no trees to tie off to and a steady breeze was blowing down the canal. Madame thought we were a car and if we just reversed for 15mins then we could return in 15 mins while they filmed.

She even thought she could bribe Mark to do this by allowing him to be an extra in their ‘film’.

As if! (I’d rather shit in my hands and clap.)

The predicament went on until a well known negotiator, M. Macron, was summoned on the phone and he solved it all by having them reserve the space next Saturday when they could frock up all over again. Luckily our negotiations managed to divert a nationwide strike and an international incident.

Baby tunnel ‘Souterrain Condes’ is two ways as it is 18m wide.

Exiting le grand tunnel ‘Souterrain de Balesmes’ after 4.820m (one way only).

Spring smells : wisteria, jasmine, pollen surrounded us as we moved slowly south down the canal. There were cows, of course, munching away in the fields and barns, coypu (much despised but very cute rodents introduced from South America to eat the pond weed from North America. Both now prolific in the French canals. Maybe they could try Cane Toads and Prickly Pear next?) frogs, horses, cuckoos, herons, geese, swifts, woodpeckers, a small flock of sheep herded by a bike riding shepherd, and the always optimistic fishermen.

It took us 3 weeks and 2 days to reach the Saone river. We started in coats and hats and jumpers and have now packed away all winter clothes.

Mark parading some of his new summer clothes from Tournus.

Saone river and approaching thunderstorm.

Trevoux was très beau.

Attention now turned to preparing the boat for the sea and stowing things safely. First, the Ebersbacher heater received a pipe trim. Those pipes were taking up way too much real estate and were cut back to bare bones. More storage room created. And the heater is about three times more efficient. We figure if we get rid of it altogether it will be 100% efficient.

Then Napoleon Rip-the-boat-apart cut holes into the floor allowing for proper access to the 4 x 80 kg batteries plus installation of storage boxes for tools. All very satisfying.

We’ve arrived in Lyon. The decks are ready for oiling and the sun is set to shine. We await our first guest of the season, Bernie, to help us enjoy this lovely city.

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clarklovescarole · 1 year

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July 1938: Carole Emulates Clark

July 3, 1938 – Richmond Times

Romances come and go as often as Thursday afternoons and all that glitters over a movieland luncheon table is not love. But paragraphs have to eb made, press agents must eat and lots of people like to see their names in print. So nobody minds much.

If a Hollywood romance lasts a year, you can be reasonably certain (but don’t bet too much on it) that it is real and not reel stuff. Few of them last that long. Carole Lombard and Clark Gable have been going around 18 months. There has been no indication that Clark will get a divorce so he can marry Carole.

July 4, 1938 – Philadelphia Inquirer

Recently Carole Lombard received a dozen trees for her new ranch. Among them were a Kentucky coffee tree, the gift of a Long Island City fan; a sack of black walnut tree seeds from Washington DC, and a Michigan pine from Abbotsford, Michigan.

July 4, 1938 – Cincinnati Enquirer

Hedda Hopper’s Hollywood

Carole Lombard, busy as a bee digging for angle worms, will go fishing with Clark Gable in his father’s new outboard motor boat, which Clark bought him for a birthday present.

July 4, 1938 – Des Moines Tribune

Carole Lombard is supposed to go to work Tuesday at Selznick International, but it probably will be a couple of weeks before she dons grease paint.

Carole hasn’t worked now in more than six months. That’s her own choice. She is one of the beauties most in demand here.

Her return to work will mean that she and Clark Gable will reverse positions. While Carole has been loafing Clark has been busy. Carole has visited him almost every day, sometimes sitting for hours on sets on the back lot. Clark finishes his present assignment just about the time Carole signs out at Selznick’s.

So Clark will be the one to do the visiting. And you can bet he’ll be there to see Carole every day, too.

July 5, 1938 – Star Tribune

What was the matter with Carole Lombard the other Sunday? Carole was visiting Clark Gable. Outside his ranch she honked her horn very loudly, jumped out of the car, and, yelling some sort of gibberish, ran through the gate to his front door. She seemed in an awful hurry.

July 16, 1938 – Atlanta Constitution

Carole Lombard went to the fights last week with her special boyfriend, and the mob was so excited an entire sleeve was torn from her fur coat. “I’ll never go to a (public) fight again,” vowed Carole.

July 16, 1938 – Star Tribune

A woman pedestrian gazes with unbelieving wonder at the man in the long shiny auto on Sunset Boulevard. “Clark Gable,” she whispers ecstatically. Mr. Gable frowns, grimaces, honks his admirer out of the way, and speeds on.

July 18, 1938 – Chattanooga Daily Times

Clark Gable pays half of his gigantic salary to Mrs. Rhea Gable, which is why it is taking him so long to collect the $400,000 he has agreed to settle on the second Mrs. Gable when they were divorced…

July 18, 1938 – The Record

Clark Gable and Carole Lombard forgot their screen work long enough to participate in the first round-up on Leo Carrillo’s Rancho De Los Quiotes (Ranch of the Spanish Daggers) in Southern California. Gable looked less romantic than in this picture when he fell from a horse and sprained his fingers while calf roping.

July 19, 1938 – Evening Star

Clark Gable, I understand, has expressed disapproval of Carole Lombard’s new short coiffure, which makes her neck too long. So you may expect Carole to revert to the more becoming long bob. ‘Tis said that Carole wears Western clothes, and has become a complete country maid to please Mr. Gable. A girl who will do that for a man is surely capable of any sacrifice.

July 21, 1938 – Honolulu Star

By Alexander Castro

The other night Stuart and I were in the Warner Brothers’ theater on the Boulevard when we noticed that we were sitting right next to Clark Gable and Carole Lombard! They had come in late, and, naturally enough, left early to avoid being gaped at and besieged by autograph hunters.

July 30, 1938 – Wilkes Barre Record

A fashion magazine representative made a date with Carole Lombard to pose for a picture in the outfit she wears while skeet shooting with Clark Gable and she showed up in a blue denim shirt and khaki trousers. Startled, the fashion expert asked her who designed the outfit – Omar Kiam or Travis Banton. “Neither,” replied Miss Lombard. “It’s the Army and Navy store’s latest creation.”

#clark gable #carole lombard #1938 #old hollywood

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probablybadrpgideas · 2 years

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a tiefling posing as a high society genasi/whatever other race with colourful skin by hiding their horns in most ostentatious coiffures and wigs

I may need to send this to my tiefling assassin player - Paper

#rpg idea #submission #character idea #fantasy

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freckleslikestars · 2 years

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Cestrum Nocturnum

An AU thought experiment looking at if Bedelia got pregnant in Florence. I really don’t know what this is other than severely fucked up. Soooo....enjoy.

1141 words, read here on AO3

He returned to her anguished and lost. Fell to his knees and grovelled at her feet.

Worshipped her.

At the first taste of her, he paused, glanced up at her with a somewhat surprised expression and returned to press his lips back to her weeping cunt as her manicured nails dug into his scalp and tugged him closer to where she reclined on the fainting couch.

She was sensitive, came with a strangled gasp far sooner than either of them expected.

He nuzzled his face against her soft inner thigh for a moment, deep in thought, before pressing upwards, lips brushing a soft kiss just below her belly button, ‘how have you been?’

She snorted, carded her fingers through his hair and shook her head, ‘perfectly pleasant. And your trip?’

‘Hmm. I am both satisfied and not with how I feel it went.’

They left conversation at that, and she lay back as he explored her body, reacquainted himself with her. He was ravenous, pouring himself over her and into her, more urgent than he’d felt in a long time.

When they were residents, surgeons training together, they had a very honest conversation, late at night as they stood next to one another scrubbing blood from their palms. They’d been quizzing one another on the reproductive organs when she’d sighed wearily, ‘I hate the weakness I feel every time I bleed.’

‘Many women find it empowering. The proof they can give life.’

‘I only feel the flaws of the female body. Did you know that only fifteen other mammals menstruate? Nine other primates, four of species of bat, the elephant shrew and the spiny mouse?’

‘And you think that makes it a weakness?’

‘You don’t?’

He cocked his head and shrugged.

‘I’ve stopped mine, though. The pill,’ she’d reached for the paper towels and patted her hands and forearms dry.

He understood her, of course. The sense of control she got. Taking away something from nature. It wasn’t something she would relinquish easily.

But he knew, he was sure he knew. She tasted different. A little more salty than normal, a little more metallic.

He left her sleeping, went to the all-night pharmacy. Walked past the aisle three times before he reached out and wrapped his fingers around the box.

She was snoring when he returned, sprawled out on silk sheets, hair a mess. When awake she was pristine, always perfectly coiffured and set, showing weakness only when it was to her advantage. Never a hair or button out of place. But then she slept, and the chaos that she fought from her waking hours entangled her.

He rather liked it when she was asleep. It reminded him how human she was, how fragile and breakable. But now there was something more. She felt more alive than ever as he settled into the chair in the corner of the room, watching her as she moaned softly and rolled over.

He didn’t sleep as he kept vigil, every movement of hers clocked. He wondered if she knew; if she even had a suspicion. Surely she must?

The scent of the wisteria and night-blooming jasmine that draped like fine silk from the wrought-iron balustrade that wrapped around the balcony permeated the air, with the almondy-vanilla of the night phlox in her treasured window boxes adding a subtle undertone. She, like her flowers, seemed to bloom in the warmer, dryer clime of Florence in comparison to Baltimore’s cold winters and humid, hazy summers.

Dawn broke, warming the room through the balcony doors, a crown of gold glowing upon her head. She didn’t stir for a long time, her body sunken in deep, heavy exhaustion; a sleep so deep there were moments when he was certain she’d stopped breathing.

But as the city awoke around them, car horns and the loud chatter of people down on the streets below, she moaned, rolled to her side and fluttered her eyelashes in the bright morning light diffused by the voiles fluttering over the open balcony doors. She luxuriated in Egyptian cotton and Italian sunlight until something alerted her to his presence in the corner of the room and she startled, bolting upright.

A question in his name, her voice husky from sleep.

A question about how she slept, how she felt.

An offhand comment about needing coffee.

He remained where he was when she rolled out of bed, studied the way she yawned, the way she walked through to the bathroom, stayed silent and motionless as she clattered about. Only stood when her movements stilled.

Her voice, trembling, ‘Hannibal?’

He leant against the doorframe, lithe, as she turned the box over in her hands, shaking her head.

‘What...what is this doing here?’

‘Take it.’

‘No.’

‘Bedelia.’

Her shoulders tensed, jaw clenched, ‘I don’t need to. I’m not pregnant, Hannibal.’

‘Then prove it.’

‘No, I-‘

‘You taste different.’

That stopped her, and the part of him that enjoyed the scent of her fear pricked up as she swallowed, something subtle in her expression changing, not much, but enough to compare her to a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming eighteen-wheeler.

‘No. No, you’re-‘

‘Wrong? How often am I wrong, my dear?’

An hour filled the space of three minutes, the only noise the rhythmic drip of the bathtub faucet.

Two lines.

A death sentence.

He didn’t need to look at the little fortune teller to know her fate, her wavering body gave it all away.

‘We should talk about this.’

The concrete walls she constructed about herself fell into place as she looked up at him with a glare, ‘there’s nothing to talk about.’

‘Well, I’d say there is quite a lot to talk about. Doctors’ appointments. Our parenting styles. Our beliefs.’

She scoffed, a crack in her exterior, ‘I am not keeping it. The only thing we need to talk about is how far along I am in order to procure an abortion.’

He stalked towards her, wrapped a hand around her wrist, felt the rapid flutter of her pulse and the tensing of her muscles, ‘oh, my dear Bedelia, you and I both know that will not be happening.’ His grip remained tight until she slackened, deflating with defeat and resignation. With a nod of his head he let her go, followed her as she shifted past him and, shell-shocked, stumbled through to their bedroom and collapsed into clouds of Egyptian cotton. She rolled so her back was to him, and he could feel the radiating waves of her anguish, her desire to cry and her even stronger desire to hide her emotions from him completely. ‘I will call the doctor today, make an appointment,’ she looked back at him, a spark of hope in her clear blue eyes, and, with bitter pleasure, he grinned ‘we need to ensure you are both healthy.’

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bm-african-art · 3 years

Photo

Sande society mask (zogbe), early 20th century, Brooklyn Museum: Arts of Africa

Wooden helmet mask framed by intricate coiffure. Bulbous forehead projects as a ridge over facial features: eyes as 2 incised slits (one slightly higher than the other); blocklike nose, wider at base than at top; mouth as a lightly incised depression in area of chin which swells outward; ears at sides as inverted c-forms with a raised ridge. Coiffure; series of six ridged lobes of hair-resembling horns that extend from the crown to the sides of the head and taper to a point at the tips; surface ridges take on a herringbone-like configuration; 2 knoblike protrusions at either end (front and back-back knob perforated by a circular hole); series of parallel horizontal holes around perimeter of base. Color: black Condition: Good. Proper right side: break in surface between 1st and 2nd lobes of hair patched with a piece of tape painted black. Crack along contour of 1st lobe of hair also patched with tape. 2 cracks in surface of crown. Slight chipping off of coiffure tips, proper left side of nose. Size: 13 x 9 1/4 x 9 1/4 in. (33 x 23.5 x 23.5 cm) Medium: Wood, pigment

https://www.brooklynmuseum.org/opencollection/objects/148306

#museumarchive #africanart #brooklynmuseum

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aic-african · 3 years

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Mask for Egungun (Ere Egungun), Yoruba, 1901, Art Institute of Chicago: Arts of Africa

This vibrantly colored Janus-faced mask reflects the diversity of Egungun masks of the Yoruba. The word egungun means masquerade, and these masks are used in Odun Egungun festivals, which are performed for ancestors throughout the Yoruba region. This mask’s elaborately grooved horns and central conical coiffure, which is painted blue, rise dramatically from the mask’s two faces. Two monkey figures once ran down the horns with front legs perched on the head, but one of the monkeys is now missing. The horns may signify its use as a hunter’s mask. Hunters are one of the few Yoruba social groups that are linked across different lineages and who have their own Egungun masqueraders.While the costumes and rituals for Odun Egungun festivals are distinct and usually quite diverse within each region, these celebrations universally commemorate the ancestors who founded the lineage and continue to affect the daily existence of the living. Through rituals lasting several weeks, the masqueraders may visit lineage compounds to bless or punish their descendants.The Egungun masquerade originated within the Yoruba kingdom of Oyo, perhaps as early as the 17th century, and spread to other corners of the Yoruba region over time. Today, many Yoruba communities have an Egungun society—made up of adult men and women who represent the community’s lineages—that plans the appearances of Egungun masqueraders at funerals or other special family occasions, as well as at yearly or biennial Egungun festivals. During these celebrations costumed men move through the town embodying the presence of their ancestors while songs are sung in their praise and invocations are offered to them. Though women and children participate by singing, dancing, and watching, they are kept at a safe distance from the masqueraders, whose actions are unpredictable.Egungun masquerade costumes are commissioned and owned by men. The making of a costume involves close consultation with a tailor and sometimes a sculptor if a wood mask or headdress is required. It also necessitates the assistance of a diviner, who can communicate with the spirit world; an herbalist, who makes packets of protective medicines that are attached to the costume; and the leader of the Egungun society, who performs rituals to sanctify the costume and select the young man who will wear it while performing. Taking on the responsibility of owning a masquerade costume is demanding, but it also brings personal prestige and demonstrates a man’s commitment to his extended family, which is held in great esteem by the Yoruba.—Permanent Collection Object Description Gift of Dr. Jimmy and Mrs. Jetta Jones Size: 80 x 25.4 x 27.9 cm (31 1/2 x 10 x 11 in.) Medium: Wood and pigment

https://www.artic.edu/artworks/152739/

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