#he would be famous for blending into the shadows

[nomiqbomi]

Updated designs for Fophid and Lepignito commissioned by my friend @plus-sizedscribe! Plus a new middle form, Impodster, and 4 distinct formes that Lepignito can take, based on the environment it evolves in.

More info under the tab!

Fophid are timid creatures with many predators. Their carapace has evolved to blend in perfectly with an arboreal environment. When provoked, it wields the branch-like appendage on its abdomen like a lance. It has no venom, it's quite sharp!

Impodster attaches itself firmly to tree limbs, disguising itself as a small branch. Once it has done this, it is impossible to detach until it evolves. (It would be much easier to take the entire branch with it!) It does not budge, even after being discovered. Individuals who have camouflaged themselves poorly can often be found with leaves full of holes, made by bird Pokemon that attempted to carry them away.

When Impodster evolves into Lepignito, it takes on a perfect likeness of its immediate environment. Four unique patternings, based the biomes it occurs in naturally, have been officially recorded; however, it is believed that new patterns could be created by evolving the pokemon in a unique environment.

Even when their immediate environment does not match the markings on their wings, they somehow still manage to obscure themselves from view. Many theories have been pose as to how they are able to do this, but none have been proven, as this behavior is quite difficult to observe.

It prefers to sit motionlessly and evade detection, but when provoked, it uses its stealth to confound opponents and catch them unawares. Once the opponent has become disoriented, it flies off into the shadows, never to be seen again.

---

The line is based on the Peppered Moth, which are a famous example of natural selection that has actually been observed and recorded in real-time. The moth originally evolved to camouflage against lightly-colored trees, but a melanic mutation became more genetically favorable during the industrial revolution, when the trees became blackened with soot. After environmental standards were introduced, the white variant became common again. Today both variations can be found, and they are often mistaken for different species!

Plussized-Scribe helped conceptually with the variations/typing, with his own rom-hack in mind. I may add more variations for my own fan project.

I had originally designed Fophid to camouflage with the forest floor, but during my redesign I found out that the peppered caterpillar camouflages itself as a tree branch. I thought that was neat, to I went with that angle instead.

I also added a middle form to make it a better counterpart for the Pareyeva line who use the opposite form of self defense!

Edit: @plus-sizedscribe wrote some really great Pokedex entries for his hack that he allowed me to share here as well:

"Unlike Sewaddle, the leafy bits Fophid sport are not fashion statements, but specialized organs for camouflage. In autumn, their bodies release chemicals to redden the organs and match the foliage.

The base of the headcrest pulls double duty as a third mandible. Thus, Fophid can chew better while also maintaining camouflage, as the shaking of the crest resembles a leaf trembling in the breeze."

"Having secured themselves on a sturdy tree trunk, Impodster steadfastly await evolution. Very little can dislodge these Pokémon, which are nearly helpless if they happen to end up on the ground.

Impodster with poor camouflage are often found with leaves full of holes. These are made by naïve bird Pokémon attempting to carry them away, only to realize they picked almost the worst prey they could."

"Some people claim to have fallen for a person who always wore a long coat, only for their lover to turn out to be a Lepignito. The veracity of these bizarre anecdotes is suspect, to say the least.

Lepignito live in trees whose bark match their wing patterns. They boast different patterns to blend in with the available types of trees in the regions they inhabit. At least 25 different varieties are known."

#would people like it if i made more comprehensive posts like this of fakemon I've already finished and posted? #I think some consistency would be nice #Pokemon #fakemon #bug type #moth #caterpillar #cocoon #character design #monster design #artists on tumblr #photoshop #digital art #writing #insects #pokemon chartreuse #no offense but ash forme is kind of mothman

[juxtp0se]

i kept thinking about 1980s trad goth cesare and who he would be trying to capture and then i made an oc. lindsey tricks people with fake products, news and advice and aims to become famous worldwide to influence the masses. like his themed truck, the only way cesare fits in in the 80's is by blending in with the punk crowd, convincing them to help him take down 'Big Media Propaganda' or whatever. he defeats lindsey by getting his show cancelled and knocking him into the underworld through a trashcan. classic deadbeat-tv-star-thrown-into-alley-and-he's-got-a-5-o-clock-shadow style you know what im talking about???

#bigtop burger oc #btb oc #btb #bigtop burger #btb cesare #dez draws #cesare in the goth club like u guys want to infiltrate a talk show. and gets offered drugs and is liek no thanks im not hungry #lindsey isnt a real doctor and says things along the lines of the ITS TURNING THE FROGS GAY! #btb oc lindsey #dr lindsey blarney

[licially]

Mordelina: Serce nie kłamie.

// again another gift for @wpk12art, and her Mordecai x Halina ship. Honestly, I don't think I wouldn't be writing this much if I didn't meet her, so this serves as a thank you gift making me the (rather incompetent) writer that I am today <3

The wind’s howl subsided, the rainstorm yet again reminded the pair of the murder underneath a deafening crash. St. Louis streets’ many mysteries seemingly halted by the torrential downpour that washed through the city’s dirty secrets; the corruption between officials that ran amok amongst the decrepit apartments, crime scenes that plastered itself throughout the city’s underground, and speakeasies alike. For some, the rain offers the city something not even the police and justice department could fathom, and they took the silence as tranquil. For the others, they took more challenging approaches to the evening.

A flurry of bullets interrupted one such corner, nearer towards the Mississippi, as five gunmen dashed through the wet stone pavements which squeaked with every other step. Some of them carried a more famous weapon: a M1921 Thompson, two of which had drum mags whilst the other opted for a slimmer mag for a faster reload, and the other two with sawed off shotguns. To them, they had the firepower to easily overrun anything within the vicinity. However, as akin to cats, they are irritated and sought for bloodlust. They had a target intended, and one of them limped behind with a gunshot wound towards the back of their legs.

The alleyways twisted and turned as they continued on, shooting rampantly at any and all covers they deemed suitable enough for their targets to be hiding behind, before a frustrated grunt would follow up and complaints shouted in the heavy rain that masked their words. Unbeknownst to them, one of their crew seemingly vanished between the streets, but they never bore no mind to such. As they moved out of the back alleys and through the empty roads, the silence that filled the shadows of these buildings was interrupted by one quick slash of a hatchet, before the night’s activities stirred down again, none the wiser from those who feigned ignorance.

Before long, two separate footsteps trailed the group that had set out towards the streets, rather than catching up to them, they silently traced the steps the group had been through. The two cats’ calm demeanor almost made them blend into the pitter patter of the rain, and their secrecy is blessed, blissful for those spectating for a moment, as they soon watched the group traverse the streets from a distance. Distant conversations can only be heard through little pauses between the rain, as Mordecai Heller soon held his gun again, given his last kill had been with the help of that crimson hatchet, whose bloodied appearance appeared reflected on his expression and glasses.

His ears twitched slightly as a raindrop fell onto it, slightly ruining his concentration to the group at hand but nothing exactly occurred. From the shadows, he raised it up again, slowly zoning out of the rain dance and subsequently the conversation. The street itself, lit up briefly by the lights that surrounded it, soon blurred itself as his eyes concentrated through the iron sights of M1911, with the .45 ACP that could very well pierce through anything that was exposed, let alone for the FMJ rounds that he had prepared earlier. Although limited, he hadn’t used any of them so far, with the last kill given to the hatchet woman that leaned against the opposite wall, waiting for the shot that ruptured the silence, and the target, whomever it concerned. The clock, ticking away at his ear, started. 

First, second, third, fourth. Time stopped, the fifth and six riled up the seventh tick, the eighth ominously coincided with the squeezing of the trigger, before the ninth and tenth ticked by.

Then, the shot rang out. 

The bullet bounced itself through the light rain, and struck the target; one with the shotgun, through the cheekbone, almost instantly rendering him unconscious as he dropped the gun and collapsed, as the others turned around to face the killer responsible. He ducked out of the way towards the hatchetwoman, as shots riddled the wall where Mordecai once stood, this rain of bullets overcoming the rain itself. Only for a short while, as the shots slowly diminished with every passing second, seemingly having seen one of their colleagues being murdered in front of their eyes made them cower in an unforeseen fear.

Time continued, as the two gave pursuit back through another set of alleyways, and the rushed steps hushed themselves over a corner they had turned, before being cornered themselves. Before they did flee the opposite direction, they garnered a plan for the last ditch effort to flank the opposing two that straddled closer and closer towards their positions. Two of them hid themselves behind the darkness that accompanied the roundabout of a corner, whilst the last feigned an immediate surrender, and telltale of lies and trickery through a rough voice.

“Alright, alright! I lost.” He cried, trying to lure the duo through the corner turn.

However, instead of seeing the familiar figure that he had known about during his time in Marigold, a slimmer figure walked out, drenched in the rain. Obscured mostly by the shadows, the dragging of the hatchet proved difficult for the old timer to determine what she’d be like, the former associate to Maribel's booze and bootlegging business. As a result, he’d never really… seen, nor has he heard anything about Mordecai’s partner in crime. The figure finally spoke up, flicking her single streak of hair towards the side.

“You seem more lost than a blind rat, Mr Lerrain.” Her voice almost imitated Mordecai’s calmness, although it had a sting of anger into it. 

“I’m not familiar with you- you don’t appear to be the Mordecai Heller that I’ve always known about.” He cackled, at the annoyance of Halina. It was more apparent here, now that the rain had paused.

“This conversation has moved past him.” She spoke through the coarse laughter from the opposing party, which reminded her of the forced laughter that Mr Sweet had normally enforced on her and Mordecai. The man known as “Lerrain” finally calmed down, and shrugged.

“I’m never aware of anyone besides him, so having you here is a surprise. To think that a person like you would be taking his slot.” Before long, he whistled for the other two that watched from behind shadows to show themselves, guns tightly gripped and a more than determined face forced themselves on everyone’s face as they thought it’d be an easy kill. Her arms, and body, stayed unmoving as Lerrain moved closer and closer towards Halina, his eyes and expression noticeably similar to Asa’s as he continued with a pointless threat.

“This matter should have been dealt with by now, if he had been here.” He finally poked fun of Halina’s lack of killing intent, which soon turned out to be a mistake that he’d have the misfortune to relive through. 

Without hesitation, Halina lunged forward at the mockingbird, as the other two had no time to react to her sudden movement. Confused, they turned and shot at the two but the bullets ended up at Lerrain’s body and Halina having quickly turned back into the darkness that she was proficient under. Hesitation, and a bunch of confused looks, as Mordecai finally emerged from the corner, making quick work of the amateur gunmen by shooting at both of their shoulders, making them writhe in pain as they dropped their guns. The ‘Black Widow’ emerged once more, as Mordecai stood over the three of them, still expressionlessly as ever. The two had planned out this elaborate murder of an associate that was well known for embezzlement of Marigold, corruptly using that money to fund his own bootlegging business. Now, as he held his wounds that drove deep into his side, he coughed out the last words towards the duo of perpetrators.

“I won’t ever let you get away with this.” His voice masked by the light rain that started up again, as they stood in silence.

“Justice… justice will do way towards-” He coughed, as one nodded towards the other. Soon, a sharp clang chipped the stone pavement within the alleyways. From the dark, towards the light - a stark contrast - walked Halina Dabrowska. Her eyes, once muted by the dark skies, now bore a resemblance of her partner and long time triggerman. 

“JUSTICE WILL HAVE ITS WAY TOWARDS YOU, YOU…”

The words of anger, and pain, soon stopped by the same pain that got them here in the first place, as she kicked the blade into the air in a twirl. After the second word, she had a momentum that kicked her ax upwards and over their heads. Gravity acted upon the fourth, as the fifth and sixth words soon fell victim to a swoop of the crimson blade. A blood-curdling hack, and deep cut landed on his throat and tore deeper and deeper towards his torso. His last words, uttering mercy, were met with mercy.

The two stood still, finally having their jobs fulfilled. They remained silent, as Halina ripped the hatchet out of the body and wiped it on the clothes of the dead. 

“Łatwo przyszło, łatwo poszło.” 

She scoffed, turning back towards Mordecai, where he had been collecting the guns that were leftover from the littered corpses of this failed breakoff from Marigold. Curious, she held her hand out towards a nearby pistol that caught her attention. A Ceska Zbrojovka vz. 27, something never seen from any of the gangsters that held a gun that she encountered. A different model than expected of the M1911s that people carried around, and something that certainly was unique.

Still, she pocketed the poor thing before nudging the two gunmen that attempted to kill her before she had the chance to. One, with blood pooling around their legs, never reacted to the blade that poked their sides, whilst the other was still breathing, albeit quietly and only noticed by Mordecai as he walked over.

“It seems we have an alive one.” Mordecai said, finally breaking the ice.

“There can be no witnesses.” She said, picking up the nearby sawed off shotgun, before lodging it into the heavily injured cat’s forehead. His eyes widened, as Halina mercied the poor bastard with a shot that finalized the killings. Throwing the gun to the side, she held Mordecai’s hand. He had done the same, before taking him and her back through the streets from whence they came from.

For the streetlights lit a path for a pitter-patter, as the rain scattered through the empty streets that they  had the misfortune to walk under. One with an empty trigger, the other sported a tinted hatchet, both with a hush as the streets offered more a moment of peace from the night’s gaze. In reality, they’d both been after this particular group after a moment of back and forth from Mordecai and Asa, in which she could do nothing and stood back as Asa reprimanded him about him spending his time off, and that he had “no say in the matter regarding this company” before they were both dismissed.

Ever since that moment, they had to take part in something that felt more personally motivated than company related. Lerrain had been like one of Asa’s closest friends, and having this betrayal in something that was both unnoticeable and unheard of, as Mr Sweet never bore no mind to the profits and incentives at hand, just so long as he was the one at a net gain he was satisfied.

Annoyed, both by that and in part by their recent ventures out in the rain, Halina held close to Mordecai’s right arm, her entire body always leaning onto it for some warmth. Throughout the cold winds, and even through the rain, he’s been there thick and thin, time and time again. It’s only through him did she ever see a slight change in her expression.

As the night progressed, they took time to sit down near a closed up coffee shop with their umbrella that was outside, Mordecai took the time to wrangle out his jacket. As did Halina, who didn’t take much time to sit back down again, sitting on the ground as she sparked a conversation.

“It doesn’t seem usual for you to stop here.”

“It’s a necessity.” He remarked, still squeezing out some more of that rainwater. 

“Frankly, my dear, we could have made it back to the apartment.” 

Truthful, given they were both a ten minute walk away from it. It’s partially the reason why Asa chose the both of them for this job. In full honesty he couldn’t bear to pay up to some other people to take care of this, and it was the whole reason for their argument prior to this conversation. Mordecai had intentions to spend the rest of the night, tucked away within their residence and without the disturbance from the rain. 

Instead, all they got was a rejection, and a sour mood that washed over the both of them and reflected in the anger that they had, save for the misery from the other party. Their misguided eyes only watched on as the rain slowly picked up again, causing both of them to take residence under the umbrella, watching as the shade they sat under provided them much assurance and safety they needed. 

Mordecai hadn’t been the biggest fan of doing things at the dead of night, yet doing it with Halina sparked a certain degree of emotion. The downpour seemed endless, such as their time under the abandoned shop, as Halina started pondering about an old saying. Something her mother had taught her, and something she had on her mind through everything that occurred. 

Then, the winds began to blow, the weather having finally taken a turn for the worst, and proven even worse for the two - for a lack of a better term - wet cats that soon cuddled together for a chance for warmth. The midnight coldness overtook the two’s warmth from beneath the howling winds, with the overwhelming drumming of nature upon the cover and walls. Halina took this time to sit closer within the storefront, with a low and slow body temperature from overexposure to the rain. Her hair was sogged from the water, some strands were leaking water towards the pavement. 

Mordecai, however, was almost in the same conditions, and despite his best efforts to clean out the tiny glasses it wielded a more unsatisfying result. He sighed, fixing back his glasses towards his eyes a little more, as Halina slightly leaned over and onto his shoulders. She’d put down her axe towards the opposite side towards the open rain, and the rain had helped in cleaning some blood off of it, but nature does what it does best, and disrupted what was meant to be an uneventful night afterwards.

“...the rain came unannounced.” Mordecai remarked, annoyed at the state of the weather.

“The force of nature spares no one.”

She added, rebuttal from his point. Mordecai didn’t say much more, and looked back out into the streetside and its lampshade that appeared foggy, given his glasses. Mordecai sighed again, his ear flickered.

“Rather disappointed. But, it’s times like these I’d…”

His words faded out, maybe he just really wanted to stay here with her. Someone who’s worth more to him, and someone that could hold his trust accountable. As they sat there, a peace shared between the two, only held them closer with the pin-drop. The weather, the sky, and the night seemed to slow down, as the weather only got colder. It seems like they’ll be here for a long time, but eternity is more akin to what Halina had going, as she laid on Mordecai’s dominant arm.

As if the winds whispered something, as did she. Softly, slowly, carefully.

“I’d never want to leave you.”

#mordecai heller #lackadaisy #lackadaisycats #licially #fanfic

[hargreevesd]

Broken Daffodils [1]

Summary: You are so art deco - Lana Del Rey

Chapter one

For some reason she did not have any motivation to draw that week. It was weird since she always had, even if it was 4 A.M. She tried many times to draw something, even a simple flower or a small house but she could not even draw a single line.

"Ah what is wrong with me!" she screamed and her maid came to her room scared.

"Oh I am so sorry for scarring you Betty, I am alright do not worry."

"It is okay miss, I am also here to inform you that your cousin has returned!"

"Really? Oh thank you so much Betty dear for telling me!" she immediately ran to the hall to find her cousin. The hall was painted by pastel colours, decorated with many different flowers, Y/N's and Dorothea's favorite ones. Next to the door was a huge gold mirror and exactly next to that were many shelves with books. Under the shelves was a comfortable chair that you could read and relax. Dorothea and her mother were sitting in the main sofa's at the center of the room to take a break after so many hours outside shopping and walking.

"Y/N! Look at my dress!" Dorothea rushes to her, suddenly she was alright again, not tired at all. She grabs her box to pull out the dress "Isn't it so pretty?"

"Indeed Little one! Lavender is definitely your color and truly matches you."

"We have one for you too!" Her aunt joined them, holding a box with a bright pink bow.

"What, why? Auntie I told you I do not need any dresses!"

"Well, I saw it and it reminded us of you, also you need a beautiful dress to attend tomorrow's ball!"

"So early? Agh I wish I had their energy and patience right now."

"You are not wrong, but it's been like that since forever dear! Also Dorothea I heard Daphne is making her debut this year too!

"Daphne? Daphne Bridgerton. Oh she is the ultimate diamond auntie!"

The Bridgerton's... Interesting she thought. She did not know any of the famous and noble families since she did not care to ask about them. She was about to leave and go to her room since her aunt and her cousin were talking but her aunt called her.

"Hey Y/N look at your dress, it's the right box!"

She did not want any dresses really but it was rude to not see her aunt's gift.

"Pink?" she sounded offended.

"I thought it was your favorite color!" her aunt answered with a look full in complaint.

It is.

"I mean I do not want to show up with such a dress I would-"

"You will look so pretty dear stop thinking otherwise." She did not even finished her sentence, her aunt already knew what she was going to say.

Maybe her aunt was right, but all she wanted was to blend in, hide in the shadows not be the center of attention, because with a dress like that, she definitely would be.

"My dear Y/N!" Her uncle just stepped in, he sounded like he was running miles to get there. He was holding an envelope. A big one to be exact. "Guess what. Your Lost at Sea painting made all of those"

She lost a heartbeat for a second and immediately let go of the dress and grabbed the envelope with the money and opened it. "A single painting made all of those? This is enough to live for a year!" she could not believe her eyes.

"I know dear I know. When I went to receive the money I was shocked and I rushed back home to tell you! I knew it would make you happy!"

"Happy? I am speechless. I can not even breathe." she fell into her uncle's arms to find her comfort and feel alive again after the shock of her great success. Even though her motivation was at the absolute zero this week, this made her feel complete.

"Y/N the world must obey to your talent!" Dorothea was on the sofa and gave her a "medal" for her success, a flower from the vase next to the book shelves.

"Oh come on Little one, you are flattering me!"

"No, no, no, you deserve much more. Everyone in the town must be talking about your painting now!

"Mama!" "MAMA!" a deep male voice echoed on the walls of a big and lovely house.

"Benedict dear, please do not scream I can still hear" a woman responded with the same tone.

"Who is this?" Benedict asked as he entered the room.

"Who is what?" his Mama asked confused about her son who was now doing circles around the table. "You seem nervous."

"This painter's name!"

"How should I know my boy, ask your brother he may know!"

"Agh, he signs with a fake name this is so unfair."

"Why all of the sudden you want to learn about a secret painter who hides his identity?"

"You truly need to see at his artworks to understand. They are brilliant, fascinating, breathtaking. His talent is extraordinary. I am not jealous, I am amazed. I want to meet him, to tell me his secrets, his inspirations, it is truly making me nervous."

"Before you ask me too brother I have no idea about your painter" his brother also entered the room with a big bunch of papers to sign.

"Brother I did not expect anything else from you"

"Oh you are lying, you definitely thought I would know." Anthony said with a smirk.

"Whatever. One day I will find him I assure you. Both of you!"

her perspective:

"Y/N!"

"Yes?"

"Come on darling we will be late!"

oh. OH. How did I even forgot this. This is Dorotheas day and I will ruin it. I have to make haste. Um what to wear, I do not know. Maybe this? No too white, oh that one! "BETTY!"

She opened the door "Yes ma'am?"

"Can you help me with this foolish dress?"

"Of course, turn around!"

What even is this presentation all about. Just for the Queen to pick a diamond for this season. All girls are diamonds and this is unfair. But who am I to disagree to the British rules.

Dorothea was gorgeous. Her aura could tell it too. She was so pretty with a bright smile and full of elegance. She is like my little sister and I want her to keep that pretty smile forever in her face. The Queen had a face that I could not understand until now. She stands up and reaches Dorothea and smiles at her. Ah my Little one did so well! I wish I could run and hug her now but that was inappropriate so I had to wait.

To admit it, it was boring. Honestly if it was not for my cousin I would never do that. Watching all these girls do the same thing in repeat... No that was definitely not fun. Until a caught a man looking directly at me. The first thing I noticed was his eyes. A very light green. He was so-

boom

A girl just fell on the floor. Okay that was interesting indeed. Social events are not that bad after all, maybe I am just not used to it. But even with this accident the man still looks at me. Why. Have I done something, do I have something in my face? I do not understand what is wrong.

"Daphne Bridgerton" the guard said.

And now he turned along with all the people near him to look at the girl.

The Bridgertons.

"Dorothea, I hate you. Why did I give that promise in the first place."

"Oh do not be so miserable Y/N, it is just a ball everything will be alright."

"Oh yes I am so sure about that!"

"Look at her she is shining!" she showed me Daphne Bridgerton who was talking with her mother.

"Indeed! But so do you! So let me be and go dance Little one!"

"Okay fine, I just want you to have fun!"

"I am having fun as long as you are. Now go"

She was an angel straight from heaven. Her dirty blonde hair with her dark eyes and her olive skin. I only know her two months now and she became my sister since day one.

What should I do to entertain myself instead of staring. Lemonade! Always fresh, always there for you. I turned to go to the table but a lady took my hand and pushed me behind.

"Pretend to be my friend for a bit!" she said with a shaky voice and then I turned to see her.

Daphne Bridgerton?

"Is there something wrong?"

"No. I mean yes. This annoying man keeps following me and speaking to me and I am tired so this is the only way for a bit. Oh I am so sorry I did not introduce myself. Daphne Bridgerton!"

"It is a pleasure to meet you Daphne. I am Y/N Theo!"

"Theo? Do you happen to be a sister of Dorothea Theo?"

"She is my cousin! I just moved here to be honest so I do not really know any families or-" I could not finish she seemed so happy and desperately wanted to speak.

"Ahh I did not know Dorothea had a cousin! I am so happy to hear you are a Theo! Your aunt is a lovely woman! So you are new here? If you want to one day come by and I can show you around and tell you things you must know about people here! You are my guest!"

"Daphne it is not necessary, I am alright do not worry!"

"Oh no, you are my friend now! I am sure you and I will have a great time together Y/N!"

"Daphne you should not leave your suitors like that!" A man spoke that was behind us, I assume her father or her brother.

"Anthony let me be please. I was talking to my friend and you are interrupting a girls talk!"

Oh, so her brother.

"Your friend? I am pretty sure it is my first time seeing her."

"We just met my Lord, do not worry!"

"And your name is?"

"Y/N. Y/N Theo."

"You do not look like you are from here really..." He was looking at me with a weird look, a judgy look full of doubts if he was kind or extremely rude.

"Because she is not Anthony, leave us now I was in the middle of something!" Daphne answered for me. Thank God she was a fast thinker and knew what she had to say.

"No young Lady, you are coming with me. As for you Miss Y/N have a great night, you will continue your chat with my sister another time!"

And I was left alone once again. To be honest I liked Daphne's company. She just wanted a friend to talk to. Just like me. And truly I forgot why I started walking too. Oh lemonade! Right. But I guess the universe did not want me to get that glass of lemonade today, because as soon as I reached the table someone fell on me.

"I am so sorry Miss, I was searching for-"

He raised his head to look if I was alright and he stopped talking.

"You."

"For me?" I asked. That was the man that could not keep his eyes off me last time. Why he was searching for me he does not even know my name.

"Oh yes! I noticed you my dearest Lady, on the presentation and I had a feeling that you would be here tonight."

"An excellent feeling you have Mister Bridgerton!" Another Bridgerton, another brother of Daphne's. Three out of three today.

"Oh, so you do know me! But I do not know your name, it is not fair."

"It is alright, I guess you will live without my name."

"I am not sure about that to be honest. But of course if you do not tell me I am pretty sure I will end up learning anyway." He smirked at me and leaned to the wall next to him.

"Are you planning on becoming a detective?" Of course he was not. He was looking for something more artistic more-

"Oh of course not I do not think I have a talent on that. I have talent on other things"

Let me guess, flirting?

"Okay Mister Bridgerton since you are not planning to leave if I do not say my name... Y/N Theo, pleasure to meet you."

"And you are from Italy? Or France?"

Is this man serious?

"Greece."

"Are all the women in Greece like you?"

"Excuse me? Why is that?"

"If yes, I must visit this country as soon as possible."

"That is how you start a conversation with a lady?"

"Aristotle, Plato or Socrates?"

"What?" I said that out loud accidentally but it is my honest reaction to this question.

"Aristotle, Plato or Socrates?" he repeated

"Aristotle."

"Iliad or Odyssey?"

"Iliad."

"Favorite line from the Iliad?"

"Μῆνιν ἄειδε, θεά, Πηληϊάδεω Ἀχιλῆος"

"You speak ancient greek?"

"What is the point of your questions? And yes I do speak ancient Greek."

"No point I just wanted a proper conversation with you and I was sure you would know about your country's history."

Oh.

"Well thank you for wanting to have a proper conversation with me but I am busy!"

"Really? With what may I ask?"

"With... With um." I looked around to find a reason "Lemonade!"

"I can get you some if you want!"

"No I can get one myself!"

"I do not doubt it, Miss Theo. Now tell me, do you happen to know anything about art because-"

"Benedict! Go dance with your sister." a voice behind us interrupted.

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

Okay thank you Lord Bridgerton.

"Are you meeting my whole family?"

"To inform you, my Lord, they talk to me first. Just like you now." He gave me a strange look and left. The eldest Bridgerton was honestly such a confusing person.

Benedict. That was his name. From Anthony's appearance and speech he must be the first son and Benedict the second? Unless I am missing someone.

"Did you see the girl mister Bridgerton was talking to?" "Ah yes she was pretty and she had a really nice dress too." "I do not care if she was pretty, she is not even from here and she has already pull the hardests ones. Even the first son!" "She seemed rude, she should be proud that lovely Benedict even spoke to her." "Maybe this artist is looking for his muse this year ladies, it is our chance!"

Artist? Muse? So I guess Mister Bridgerton is famous among the ladies. Such a pleasure. Ugh this man just flirt with any female he sees? He indeed had something artistic on him. Once I look at him again, dancing while he moves effortlessly and his hair fall into his face and cover his eyes, he seems different than before. He speaks art. He is shinning. He even ignores all the other ladies in the ball room and only speaks to me.

"Missed me, Miss Theo?"

"Not at all Mister Bridgerton!"

"How is that? I caught you starring a while ago!"

"This is a rude observation for a lady Mister Bridgerton!"

"Call me Benedict, Y/N."

"Is there is reason behind that?"

"Not at all. There must not be a reason behind everything. Life is a weird thing and you can not explain every move of yours"

"You are right but I am keeping my senses together and I found it necessary to ask."

"Well Miss Y/N, you are free to ask whatever you want. Either way we are born to be free."

"You may be, but I do not think this includes me Benedict. Now if you excuse me, I will go and check my cousin"

I did left him at the ball hall but he did not left my mind that night. His eyes, his hands, his voice, everything remained pure into my head. A little party never hurt no one, but after that ball he is the only thing I have on my mind. And this was annoying. Annoying to think of his stunning face all the time. I did not want a man on my head. Especially him and his annoying smile.

A/N: so here is chapter one! Interesting how art deco vibes they both have? And how they both realized it? Also the iliad quote is the first line of iliad <3 thank you for reading!

@ayoitsmickey @preciousbabypeter

#benedict x reader #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #regency fic #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton imagine #Spotify

[writing-in-sin]

In the Nick of Time

Based on my old post, where Kaito's busiest day date was on the same day when Shinichi followed after Vodka. Seeing the detective chasing a man who dressed similarly to Snake made Kaito run after Shinichi, saving him in the nick of time from Gin

-------------

It was honestly by chance.

Beyond a sense of unease, Kaito didn't think much of the murder by the roller coaster that had a whole crowd gathering around. That is, until he spies the foreboding figures of the two men in black standing by the rows of witnesses

Worried and alarmed, he made sure to send Aoko back with Jii before he carefully blends into the crowd and watches, almost unbiddenly, as the famous high school detective solves the murder in record time. On any other day, Kaito would allow himself to be impressed but as it is, he's more focused on the two men that he can only assumed to be colleagues of Snake's

But why? There's no Big Jewel on display, he'd know if that was the case. In fact, the only Big Jewel nearby was the Angel's Crown he barely managed to steal and used to clear his name merely an hour ago.

Well, whatever the reason is, it's never a good idea to be careless around anyone resembling people like Snake.

"Go on ahead, Ran!"

"Wait, Shinichi...!"

Although, it seems like Kudou didn't get the very obvious memo if running after the stockier man is anything to go by

"Shit," he curses under his breath, conjuring a cap before chasing after the reckless detective

As if today wasn't busy enough already!

Finding the detective is easy enough, spying the younger teen hiding nearby out of sight. No, not good enough. Not when there's supposed to be two of those bastards

Spying a flash of silver, Kaito quickly whisks Kudou within the shadows just as the silver haired man rounds the corner. Before the detective can struggle, Kaito firmly traps Kudou in his arms, a hand clamping against the other teen's mouth while wrapping an arm around Kudou's waist

"Don't," he growls in warning as Kudou stands rigid in his hold, the detective's back flushed against his chest. "Not unless you want to get us both killed."

Miraculously, Kudou stays still

After a moment of painful eternity waiting, the two men finally walk away with their sniveling accomplice in tow. But Kaito's been hunted by these men long enough to know that he needs to be extra cautious even if the coast is seemingly clear. So with care, he guides Kudou away from the scene until they're at a safe enough distance

Once satisfied, he lets go, barely avoiding the kick to the head with a mocking laugh

"Is that how you thank someone who just saved your life, Heisei Holmes?"

Kudou glares, pale and flushed. "Who the hell are you?"

"Me?" Kaito chuckles, giving a showman's bow. "Why, I'm but a humble thief."

Kudou falters at that, confused. "...a thief?"

"Yes."

A gentle breeze rustles the canopy above them, streams of moonlight cutting across the darkness of the night as Kaito stands across the detective.

Kaito grins, wide and unholy. "Kaitou KID to be exact."

#kaishin #kaishin au ideas #kaito kuroba #kaitou 1412 #kaitou kid #kuroba kaito #magic kaito #dcmk #shinichi kudou #shinichi kudo #kudo shinichi #kudou shinichi #kaito x shinichi #detective conan #meitantei conan #drabbles #kaishin drabbles #writing drabbles

[measlyfurball13]

Fanwork creators self rec! When you get this, reply with your five favorite fics/art/podfics/etc. that you've made, then pass on to others. Let’s spread the self-love 🌼

Well, I'm a fic writer, so prepare for an esoteric assortment of fics in no particular order!

I'll open with my most recent, and the one I consider my best. This is a found family hurt/comfort fic starring Team Dark (comprised of Shadow the hedgehog and his two closest friends Rouge, and Omega, for those unfamiliar with the franchise.) Shadow is immortal, nearly indestructible, and saddled with some truly terrible PTSD around the ones he cares about dying on him, and it was interesting to portray that through a narration style I'd never tried before. This was also the fic where I really fleshed out how I write Omega, who is my all-time favorite character in the Sonic franchise. He's the most delightful blend of blunt and violent but also more caring than he lets on.

This one also deals with the unusually serious subject matter of post-mortem care. I remember waffling about posting this fic for weeks, worried that people would think a Sonic fanfic with such a down-to-earth subject matter would be scoffed at. Surprise! I was wrong. Once I posted it, this fic got a ton of positive attention, which I was grateful for.

Next up is a truly strange pick- it's a League of Legends fanfic, yet it's not about Veigar, the character I hyperfixated hard on for a solid year. I like the fics I've written with Veigar, don't get me wrong, but I like this one better. It stars Kassadin, a lone desert warrior who lost his family to the darkness he's trying to find the heart of, and Kai'sa, a woman who was consumed by said darkness but managed to wrestle back control of her body.

I really got to develop a unique character narration for the lead, Kassadin. It's a particularly strong, mature, and unique character voice, one that I enjoyed writing a lot and am quite proud of. I also leveraged some fantastic dramatic irony- anyone familiar with League lore knows that the monster he encounters is actually his long-lost daughter, Kai'sa. Yet his attitude towards that fact continually fluctuates, before ending on a negative-leaning note, something that was very challenging for me to do! (I'm a chronic therapy-speak writer, something I'm constantly working to avoid.)

I think it's underrated. League isn't a big fandom anyway, and I posted this onto an otherwise Veigar-focused blog. Perhaps I should post it on AO3.

I just had to mention one of my famous Sigma Overwatch fanfics on this list. I wrote a shitload of fic for this character, and almost all of it blew the fuck up back in 2019. I was the first person to post fic for Sigma once he came out on this website! (Not this fic in particular, mind you, but I thought that fact was worth a mention.)

Of my absolute deluge of Sigma fic, this is probably my favorite. The rest are good, but are a little simple. This one, though, has the thematic thread of "control" woven throughout it that I'm quite proud of. I also feel that this is the fic in which I captured the morally grey character of Moira the best- her emotions towards Sigma are complicated, but ultimately, she is his superior and the one responsible for a portion of his mistreatment here at Talon. This fic is essentially about her coming to that realization, and I think that's a powerful moment. It's a character dynamic I haven't seen anywhere else in media/fic. I'm proud that I wrote it.

Okay this next one is weird. By all odds, it should be my least favorite work, right? I'm not a romance writer. Doomfist is far from my favorite character. Hell, I'm not attracted to men, yet this fic continues to linger in my conscience as one that I'm immensely fond of.

I wrote it for and to evoke the writing style of the lovely amazing @ow-old-men. Gabe (op of that blog) has such fucking amazing imagery in his fics, and my imitation of that resulted in some of my favorite imagery and vibes I've ever written. I also think it's some rather strong character work- it's a moment where a confident, practically invincible socialite allows the mask to slip for just a second with a stranger.

Particularly, it's that singular moment that the entire fic was based around, the one that I suggested to Gabe in the first place. The idea that one of the proudest and most powerful men in the world would kneel for you without question so that you could kiss his forehead. Idk man, I still remain in love with the vibes of this one, even though it's so far outside the confines of my usual writing.

And finally, to finish this list off, I just have to plug my longest posted fic to date. This is my incredibly niche crossover of two obscure sci-fi shows that have my whole heart. It was also my first true practice at writing a long-form character arc, to which I think I succeeded.

Kitt, the AI from Knight Rider, wakes up far in the future and realizes that his closest companion is likely long gone. Over the course of this fic, he goes from wanting to deactivate to learning to open back up and allow a new person into his life. There's also some good ol' buddy-cop shenanigans between him and Garibaldi, the security officer aboard the space station that Kitt wakes up on, including a particularly fun scene where Kitt helps him cheat at cards.

This fic is showing its age just a tad with some of the writing and characterization of the Babylon 5 characters, but I'm still immensely, immensely fond and proud of it. Writing this fic taught me a lot that I'm applying to my current projects now. I wouldn't be where I am now without this one.

#writing #blessed post #sth #babylon 5 #knight rider #league of legends #overwatch #thank you so much for this ask!! I love talking about my work so much and this was the perfect excuse. #I wanted to pick some more esoteric fics of mine that I'm fond of #I've been in some niche-ass fandoms #also- once I finish my Metal Sonic longfic that one is going to blow all of these out of the fuckin' water #so keep your eyes peeled for that ;)

[bearbluebooks]

Chapter 7 - Je Te Lasserai Des Mots

Gwyn goes on a mission for her Helmerra familiar, the sarcan, and finds a different companion along the way. Or does he find her? Stubborness, paradise, vulnerability and ... a bird?

Read on AO3 or under the cut :)

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6

This chapter is partly based on the most famous Gwynriel commission of all time by smahesh.bookish @freyjas-musings! Check her page out, it's a treasure trove of beautiful art.

You can find the piece I am talking about on her page: https://www.instagram.com/p/Cm4Jcwuqy9O/?utm_source=ig_web_button_share_sheet&igshid=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==

A link exists between magic and the world we inhabit. This channel is provided by sarcans. Without them there is no focus, no tie connecting us with the magical forces that surround us.

Sarcans can be found at the beginning of each students’ career. Sarcans are enigmatic creatures and no guidelines could possibly prepare you for this crucial part of your studies.

Most important to note: whatever you do, sarcans find you, you do not find them.

Students who don’t connect with their sarcan by the end of the second school year, are strongly advised to leave Helmerra.

Helmerra Handbook, section 224, paragraph 13

Gwyn POV

Lightning split the air in two, as white flashes shortly illuminated her surroundings. The forest surrounding Helmerra was beautiful this time of year. The changing leaves fell in the moonlight air, covering the ground she walked on. The vibrant green that signaled the vibrancy of spring, slowly made way for fall, as the leaves transformed to a dark auburn. The crackling noise of the dry leaves eased Gwyn’s mind, until remembered its opposite effect on predators. She slowed her steps to a whisper in the wind, as she clutched the dagger in her hand a little bit tighter.

As soon as evening prayer ended, Gwyn moved to her dorm where she had prepared a survival bag. She gathered everything she could possibly need to endure a week in the woods. Enough food to nourish even Cassian, a bottle of water to gather water from the rivers she marked on a map, notes on a survival book she had read in preparation, a blanket, and… a book -Smut Sisters stopped for no one. Not even a crisis.

Self-defense was an important part of her survival bag. She read about all the dangerous animals lurking behind the shadows of safety. Luckily Gwyn was nothing if not prepared. The dagger she temporarily borrowed from the secret rooftop training would provide safety. Even if only imagined. She had never participated in a fight before- not a real one anyway. It didn’t count if the other person cared if you survived or not. Gwyn had a feeling the beasts in the woods would see food rather than friendship in her teal eyes. She had trained meticulously, and the dagger was her talent- as Cassian affirmed- she just preferred it not be a vote of confidence and rather an unmistakable fact.

She really wished she packed a friend, too. She underestimated the heaviness of her mind, which seemed to weigh more than her overpacked bag.

Even though the solitude of the woods was tough, there was a peace she couldn’t find inside the school walls. She preferred the scrutiny of savage survival over the malicious pleasure she often felt at Helmerra. It was as if students and teachers constantly looked at her like a mystery whose solution lingered one rumor away.

In the woods, she felt like she could finally inhale. It was empty of prejudice and dust, and full of possibility, freedom, and chilliness. Gwyn loved it. Her problems felt miniscule compared to the grandness of the trees. As if the forest obscured her individuality. Like she could blend into the collectiveness of the world if she just looked up.

Problems of the natural world still affected her, as heat remained absent in the coldness of the night. The outer walls of Helmerra left her sight four hours ago when she entered the outer tree line into a world unknown.

Gwyn had never left Sangravah before arriving at Helmerra. That first step away was filled with lead. As if her body recoiled out of habit. Then she remembered overhearing the other students:

“Did you hear about that village that was attacked?”

“Again? Why wasn’t it in the papers?”

“My dad said prime-minister Oak wants to keep it a secret to not worry people.”

“Fuck that, people are already worried.”

“Did you hear they slaughtered ten children this time, what’s to stop them from coming here.”

“Shhh. Isn’t that the girl from that village that was attacked?”

She shivered at the memory. Or was it the cold that was finally affecting her?

Gwyn tried to summon fire, in hopes of providing some guidance in the darkness, or, even better, heat. She severely underestimated the drastic change in temperature with fall approaching.

Due to the nearness of the sea, Sangravah remained at a constant temperature all year-round. Clothes knew as many seasons as she did: one.

There were benefits to Helmerra’s climate. Leaves started changing color. The air turned crisp. Helmerra in fall was truly a sight to see. Gwyn had to admit that what was magnificent inside, could be disastrous outside. She felt the coldness on every inch not shielded by clothes. Luckily, most of her body was covered by her training leathers, consisting of black leather pants and a jacket, paired with black sturdy boots. She wore her pale blue priestess robes for extra insulation.

Fire was necessary to survive the coldness of the night. Not to mention to keep the predators at bay. What made matters even worse, she had nowhere to sleep tonight, she thought she could perhaps sleep in a tree, or in an abandoned cave.

Some crackling embers escaped her hands, catching on the leaves giving Gwyn hope, only to quickly extinguish, and smothering her hope with it.

One-two-three-four BOOM. That was very close. Gwyn thought. She should hurry up and find some shelter. 

“Going for a nice late night stroll? A deep voice said behind her shoulder. “The wolves prefer this time too.”

Gwyn turned around, she knew who the captivating voice belonged to, but her eyes needed confirmation for what her heart already knew.

The shadowsinger found her. He was wearing his Illyrian fighting leathers and all of his kobalt blue siphons.

“What are you doing here alone Gwyneth?” Azriel said with his hands crossed over his chest. Moving in front of her, with strong disapproving eyes.

“What are you doing here, Azriel? Last time I checked it was a school not a prison. I can leave whenever I please.” Gwyn said, mirroring Azriel’s stance.

“You’re strongly advised not to. So I’ll ask again, what are you doing here, Gwyn?”

There was a silence. Gwyn contemplated telling the possibly distressing truth and risking him to stay, or telling a reassuring lie and continuing her solitary mission. Nobody else needed to get into trouble.

“I heard some other students talking about another village that was attacked.” She decided to tell the truth. Was it so bad if Azriel stayed?

“I thought if I had my sarcan I would have my powers and then I could actually help.” She silently added “then no more children need to die.”

“Okay. But why is no teacher accompanying you?”

“You know sarcans are supposed to find you.” He replied. Looking slightly less accusatory

“They were grading exams and… I can’t let another village get attacked, Azriel, I can’t let more people die.” She said with what looked like a mixture of defeat and defiance.

Azriel moved closer when he said, “I can accompany you.”

Gwyn stayed put, hands slowly returning by her side, “I don’t want to be the reason you miss your lessons.”  Azriel laughed as he said, “I could teach those lessons.”

Gwyn didn’t think he was lying, she still scoffed, especially when he said- “and I have a suspicion you will teach me a lot.” he said with a wink.

Gwyn blushed, but she still wondered: how did he find her? She had been walking for over five hours. She was so careful and she told nobody, not even Nesta or Emerie. She made sure to participate in her daily routine, to not arouse suspicion by missing class or prayer. She even did all her tasks for Merill, when she would have paid to miss those. It was as if she became more demanding and less kind as the days went on.

She was happy Azriel wanted to accompany her. It couldn’t hurt to have an extra set of eyes. And muscles. And beautiful eyes. And big hands- okay Gwyneth.

Still, curiosity won over distraction.

“What are you doing here, really? Were you following me?” she finally asked.

“I told you that you have fans.” He said with a glimmer in his eyes.

“Is that al it is?” she dared to ask. Azriel always relied on the cover of his shadows in more ways than one.

“They told me you were here, and I wanted to keep you safe.” He said with his eyes slightly downturned.

“I can keep myself safe.”

“I have a knife, look”- she said, as she waved the knife in front of him,

“I can see that, Gwyneth.” There was that glimmer in his eyes again.

“And how did you acquire that knife?” “I’m temporarily borrowing it.” She said turning around, away from the judgment.

“Borrowing, you say? I’ll tell Cassian that when he wonders where is favorite dagger is.”

Oh Mother, did she really steal- temporarily borrow-  Cassian’s dagger? He would punish her in the ring, or betray her to Nesta, even though she was fairly sure Nesta would side with her on this.

Did she want to know the answer?

It’s always better to know: “really?”

He remained silent.

Then he smiled, and it was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen. As if light shone through a sea of darkness.

He was kidding. The shadowsinger had jokes.

“Okay shadowsinger. I hope you brought your own dagger and snacks!” She said whilst turning around with a smile.

----------------------------

Azriel POV

He didn’t lie about his shadows telling him about her sneaking off. What he did omit was that he had been following her around since she left Helmerra. He knew how important independence was to her, and he didn’t want to impose. But it had been five hours of mindlessly walking around. His shadows informed him of five beasts in the vicinity, it was getting dark, and she still had not figured out shelter. Azriel couldn’t take it anymore. So he decided to step out of the shadows.

If she didn’t say yes, he would have kept following her.

What was she doing out here in the woods in the middle of the night anyway? He knew why she was doing it, but why was she doing it alone? Surely she knew which dangerous creatures lurked in these woods.

When she told him about the students, he wanted to cut out their tongues. Gwyn didn’t need to be reminded of the continued violence by those Sun bastards. There were people working on it. She did not need to worry about it.

At least he was here now. She allowed him to stay.

And he knew just where to go.

“I know a place not too far from here.”

“Are you up for flying?” He asked, already knowing the answer. Gwyn loved flying, she said as much last time he held her in his arms.

With pure joy in her beautiful teal eyes, she said “Always!”

He had to calm his heart, which was beating so fast it seemed as if it wanted to leap out of his chest straight to Gwyneth’s.

“Gwyneth?”

“Yes, shadowsinger?”

Would it ever get old? His title out of her mouth. Never, he knew the answer in his heart.

“Why do you like flying?”

It was silent for a little bit. As if she wanted to be sure the next words out of her mouth were right.

“When I was a child, there was this flock of birds that would visit this specific part of the mountains in my home village.”

“Every summer they would stay for a month, before they went to the next village.”

“Kynthia’s, that’s what their species is called. You can recognize them by their grey wings and black beaks. Their wings seemed so little in comparison to their big bodies.”

“Even though their mouths were different, I knew how they could eat, but, I would never be able to know what it would feel to carry yourself on the wind. To have that freedom, of not being bound to the earth with every step you take. To leap off the earth, into a different world. To trust the wind to carry you.

“To feel heavy and light all at once.”

“I knew magic was real before Helmerra, because I saw those birds fly Azriel.” She smiled at the memory. Then a tear rolled down her face, as if she remembered everything else too.

All Azriel could think to say was a heartfelt “Thank you” and a vow to make this night as magical as the existence of that bird.

----------------------------

Azriel found the secluded spot two winters ago. He needed some space from Elain after a particular pointless fight and Helmerra always seemed too small on such days. As he flew over the forest surrounding the school, he noticed a sudden change in temperature. The air in the forest maintained a steady chilliness throughout winter yet this spot radiated a warmth distinctly different.

Fuck it, he thought as he descended into the densely packed forest with lightning speed.

As he cascaded through the canopy of trees, he stumbled into a different world entirely. The clearing was small of space, yet significant in atmosphere.

If spring had a smell, this place was it. Every empty space was decorated with pink flowers. Giving off a distinct soft floral aroma.

The pool of water in the center of the clearing seemed to absorb the midnight sky. The pond was filled with illuminated water lilies, finalizing the nights sky. As if enchanted by a gravitational pull from the water, a thick branch grew directly over the small lake.

The branch offered the perfect place to absorb the magic of the clearing. It was the perfect spot to spend the night.

“I call this the Wandering Forest.” Azriel said slightly worried she wouldn’t like it, as he softly landed next to the tree.

“I love it.” Gwyn said softly.

He delayed putting Gwyn down for as long as possible. She didn’t seem to mind.

A rustling sound released them from their spell, and Azriel put both her and her bag down.

“We should get changed and get some sleep. I will prepare some food” he quickly offered. “Okay” Gwyn answered with a smile as she moved towards the cover of a tree.

Azriel was no stranger to packing in a hurry. He would go as far as to call himself quite the expert after countless missions assembled at barely a moment’s notice. He knew what to pack, and more importantly what to absolutely not pack. Rhys still struggled with it sometimes, by claiming that extra pair of pants was absolutely necessary.

“You packed that to sleep outside in?” it sounded as if he was complaining. But he thanked the Cauldron for the nightgown Gwyn packed. It was a delicate long white gown, that reached down to her feet. She wore slippers with thin black straps that tied around her toes. Bands of fabric clung around her upper arm, with fabric streaming down like a river. Her were shoulders remained uncovered and teased pale skin with hundreds of tiny freckles.

She looked ethereal. Like she was exactly where she belonged. In paradise.

“Don’t judge me, Shadowsinger. Some people wear other things than black and leather. You should try it sometime.”

He smirked. “I’ll help you pack next time. Maybe I’ll throw in some of that black leather you like so much.”

She rolled her eyes and smiled, as she walked towards the tree branch to sit at the far end of the branch.

The illuminated water lilies reflected in her eyes and made for the most extraordinary sight.

He was entranced. And almost forgot to give her the dinner he prepared: Blueberry and Mushroom Surprise. His specialty.

He walked after her, taking the space on her opposite side, as he leaned his wings back against the tree. They ate in companiable silence.

She admired the scenery, and so did he. His appreciation included less nature and more of a copper haired female.

As they finished eating, something rustled in the trees again. He took up his fighting stance, leaving the comfort of the tree to guard Gwyn from the impending danger.

He never encountered a beast in his paradise, but composure not bewilderment helped him survive this long.

Suddenly he heard a laugh.

“It was just a bird Azriel. Look!”

As he turned back towards Gwyn, he saw a bird with dark grey wings and a black beak. Was that a…

“A Kynthia” she whispered, finishing his thought.

A white light emanated from her body, in perfect harmony with the luminescent white lilies. As if her happiness could no longer be contained in her body, and escaped into the world through pure light.

As he quietly returned to his spot on the tree, he never broke eye contact with Gwyn. He didn’t think she could get any more exquisite, until he reveled in the quiet peace they created in their togetherness. It was unlike anything he ever felt before. Like his soul could finally breathe. As if a golden thread bonded them together, calling them both home.

----------------------------

Gwyn POV

She didn’t know anything about him. If she was going to spend so much time with him, she should know more about him.

It was also bothering her that she felt instantly safe in his presence and she had nothing to base it on. After what happened in Sangravrah she didn’t know what to do anymore, what to expect. Was she safer with him, or without him?

What if her body was betraying her? Then she would still have her mind, she concluded.

“Tell me something I don’t know, Shadowsinger.”

Silence answered her first. Then he continued, as if he made his choice which information to divulge.

“That flower is called a Grim Poppy. It looks alluring, but it will kill you if you come too close. Like me.”

That annoyed her. Because it was funny, and not what she asked.

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Okay Gwyneth. What would you like to know?” He said as if very pleased with himself.

Why did she have to like that smug face so much?

“Why do you always wear gloves?”

She really wanted to see his hands.

His grin turned sorrowful.

Oh no, what did she do? “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to!”

“I used to look at birds the same way you did.” Gwyn wondered how that was possible, weren’t Illyrians born with their wings?

“I am the bastard son of an Illyrian lord. He kept in a cell until I was eleven.

“Illyrians instincts force you to fly, but I couldn’t. On bad days the only thing that helped me was singing. It would get me out of my head. Then the urge to fly came back. But so did my shadows. They were the only ones who answered in the dark.

I have two half-brothers. One day they wondered how much damage they could do despite my healing abilities.”

“They set my hands on fire.”

“I hate the constant reminder of that part of my life Gwyn.”

“I hate how people look at me with pity.” He said without making eye contact. To not see which emotion his story evoked in her “with disgust” he added. His eyes sank to the lake. Perhaps, hoping it would hold the reassurance he wasn’t sure she would give him.

Her heart broke in two. For the child who was so lonely shadows became his companion. For the adult who still bore the scars. For the male who sat in front of her, head bowed in silent sadness, bearing his soul, and awaiting new hurt.

She slowly made her way towards the other end of the tree. She paused in front of him. Situating herself in between his legs, which were now on either side of the branch. She pulled his hands in hers.

“Is this okay?” she asked, as she slowly pulled one glove off his hand. He slowly nodded.

She took both hands in hers, making sure to keep constant eye contact- examining every emotion written in them. She saw fear and hesitation overpowering his hazel eyes. As if at any moment, he would retrieve his hands to break the sudden vulnerability.

His hands weren’t used to the observance, and neither was his heart. She vowed to never make him feel unwanted again. Not his hands, nor his heart.

So she kissed his scars. One by one. He startled at the sudden contact. As if he expected her to recoil at the sight, never mind touching them with her mouth. As if disdain was less strange than affection.

But every scar she could put her mouth on, she kissed. Her eyes never leaving his.

Something seemed to change in him. As if every kiss of affection gave him more trust. More acceptance. Of her. Of himself. Cauldron she really hoped so.

“I’m so sorry Azriel” -she said as she placed another kiss on his scars. “I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

A tear ran down his cheek. As if something in him unloosened. Exiting his body with the single tear. He took a deep breath, and asked: “tell me something I don’t know, Gwyneth.”

----------------------------

The next morning, Gwyn awoke strangely refreshed. The night was magical and definitely not what she expected. She was fully prepared for a humid cave, even though her clothes weren’t.

Azriel brought her to the most magnificent place she had only read about in fairytales, where he finally showed her his hands. The ones he kept hidden from judgement, vulnerability and pain underneath those black gloves. She vowed from that moment on to make it undeniable how much she cherished those hands. To her they were a sign of survival. Of strength.

She understood what it meant to have scars. He may wear his past on his body, but not every scar was visible to the naked eye. Cauldron did she know. She also knew what it meant to want to escape your past because the hurt and shame was still connected to the present. Through reflectionism she learned that shame belonged to the person who inflicted the damage, not the one who endured it, she would make Azriel see that too. With time. And lots of small kisses.

They talked until she became so tired her eyes had trouble staying open. Let’s get you to bed, Azriel kindly urged

Azriel gathered leaves into a bed-shaped pile, he put his cloak over it to act as a shield against the cold earth. Gwyn used her blanket for added warmth, Azriel claimed he didn’t need it because of the fire he successfully created, but Gwyn suspected he wanted to make sure she felt a respectful distance.

When she woke up, Azriel was already gone. “Azriel? Shadowsinger?

Did he leave her already?

Maybe he was gathering some water?

She could use some. Her throat was always so dry when she woke up.

As she made her way towards the pond, she quickly halted.

There he was… in the water… completely naked, safe for that little scrap of clothes barely covering his manhood.

Mother, were all of them that big?

Was Nesta right about the wingspan? She didn’t really have anything to compare it to. But she was sure that was not normal. Just like his body was obscene, his muscles were as big as the tightness of his shirts hinted at. No male had the right to look that good.

He suddenly turned towards her.

And the world stopped as they stared at each other.

Neither of them made the first move. Both enduring the powerful culmination of electricity in the air. Until suddenly the Kynthia, patron bird of breaking tension, showed up. Both eyes turned towards the white bird, until they quickly found each other again. Gwyn swiftly turned away, rushing back towards camp, leaving the magnetism behind.

Her dry throat could wait.

Azriel returned moments later, washed and dressed. “Let’s go to Southtide, it’s were a lot of students find their sarcan. All first-years have a school trip there at the end of the year.”

“Better late than never I guess” she said whilst still not daring eye contact.

Would courage ever find her again? Or did she leave it behind in the pond of delusion and devotion?

The next days would hold the answer, she thought, as they packed up camp to leave their paradise, into the land of mystery.

#gwynriel #acotar fanfiction #a court of silver flames #acotar #gwyneth berdara #acotar alternate universe #gwyn x azriel #gwyn acosf #azriel shadowsinger #ao3 fanfic

[jomiddlemarch]

gingerbread

3. “Are you sure you should be up, Gil? You mustn’t risk a relapse,” Anne asked, frowning a little. He was still terribly pale and drawn after his nearly fatal bout of typhoid and though she knew his mother would be the first one to tell him to stay abed, she couldn’t help worrying he was pushing himself too hard. She’d learned, the night of his crisis, how deeply she loved him, but she hadn’t felt she could say anything direct and possibly burden him with her feelings if they were unrequited.

“It’s all right, Anne. Both my mother and the doctor said I might get up and get some fresh air, walk around, start to rebuild my strength,” he said. “It’s hardly that taxing, sitting with you on the front porch.”

“If you feel cold, you must say something right away. It won’t do for you to take a chill,” Anne said. It was a beautiful early summer day, the fields and trees the loveliest shade of green, the sky a blue that made it impossible not to believe in the divine, and there was the most delightful breeze carrying the scents of lilac and rose, but Gilbert was far from his hale and hearty self and she knew he wouldn’t complain in the slightest if he thought she was enjoying herself.

“Have you graduated from Redmond with a B.A. or a degree in medicine, Anne?” Gil said, laughter in his voice. “It’s good for me to be outside, leave the sickroom and remind myself there’s a whole world to return to, not just what I can see from the window across from my bed.”

“As long as it’s not tiring you too much. As long as I’m not tiring you too much,” she said, intending to sound cheerful and frank, hearing the hint of anxiety in the words, adding a bright smile as if he’d only stayed up late to study for an exam or to help bring in the harvest with the hired men.

“It’s not. You’re not, not at all,” he said, his hazel eyes bright. “You’re far better medicine than any tonic or tincture Dr. Spenser prescribes. And I’ll have you know, this isn’t the first time I’ve been out of my sickbed.”

“Is that so? Won’t you take some lemonade and some biscuits?” Anne said, gesturing to the table before them laden with a pitcher and two glass tumblers, a plate of biscuits, some with ruby red jam sandwiched between two wafers, others a lovely golden-brown and shaped like five-petaled mayflowers.

“I will if you’ll join me,” Gilbert said. She put several cookies on small plate and poured out a glass of lemonade for him, then served herself a smaller portion of each, nibbling first on a spiced mayflower.

“These are good. The famous Blythe gingerbread,” Anne said.

“I’m glad you like them, even if they’re a bit out of season in the summer,” Gil replied. “I made them yesterday afternoon, after I got your note that you’d call today.”

“You made them yourself? But, that’s too much work, you needn’t have, you’ll wear yourself out, and, they’re not even burnt, they’re perfectly exquisite—" Anne spluttered.

“I imagine my professors will be glad to find I improved my dexterity with a knife before they let me take a scalpel to actual patients instead of gingerbread dough,” Gilbert said. “It was an accomplishment to finally get the spice blend properly balanced. I’ve been too heavy-handed with the clove before.”

“Gil, really, you shouldn’t have troubled yourself, you’re meant to be convalescing, not slaving over a hot oven,” Anne said. You came so close to dying, she thought but didn’t say. I couldn’t bear it, couldn’t bear losing you, she couldn’t say.

“I liked doing it, Anne. You can rest assured Marie-Louise hovered over me and made me sit in her chair in the corner while the biscuits baked. She was even more fussed I was in the kitchen than you are now,” Gilbert replied.

“I don’t know what to say,” Anne answered, looking down at the rest of the biscuit in her hand and then back at Gilbert’s face, the shadows beneath his eyes, the length of his dark lashes, the way his vest hung open and his collar, making it clear how much weight he’d lost lying insensible with fever.

“That’s rare enough. It’s truly enough just to sit here together,” he said, reaching out his hand to touch hers, his fingers warm and sure as they’d ever been. “Believe me, Anne, this is all I wanted, when I was most ill, to have an afternoon like this.”

#anne of green gables #anne of the island #hurt/comfort #gingerbread #shirbert #anne shirley/gilbert blythe #this is the prompt fill that doesn't know when to quit #fruitloopsforlife #romance #a little angst this time #still pretty fluffy #aogg #the famous blythe gingerbread

[noxexistant]

more on the fight club au ? 👀👀

i would love nothing more <3

the first time jack goes down there, he swears to himself it’s with the sole intention of shutting the place down. he doesn’t know how long it’s been running, but he knows it’s been a while - a few weeks, at least - and the simple fact that nobody told him is proof that they were keeping it secret from him, which is never a good sign. but the murmurs inevitably reach him eventually, as all murmurs do. ain’t nothing that goes on in mahattan that he don’t know about, or find out about, and he listens for a while to the whispers between his boys before he moves.

he finds out quick that the delanceys are running it, and that’s right when he makes his decision to ax it. he tells himself that anything the delanceys are involved with is bad news, especially anything that has his boys bearing black eyes and sore ribs and split knuckles, so he goes down there - despite the fact that, when he’d been hearing his boys talking about it, it’s always with grins and sparks in their eyes, voices low and chests puffed. the same fire in them as when they talk about soaking some other newsie for territory, or squealing some lie to a bull for their own gain, or stringing some skirt along with a heart-wrenching tale that didn’t contain a single true word. picking a pocket, picking a fight, the sort of stuff newsies just do because they love it. because it scratches an itch they all got.

it’s an old warehouse building - the ring that the boys have been talking about. jack follows the flow there after selling all day, after dark, and keeps his head down to blend in as best he can. morris delancey’s on the door, attention split between the people coming in and the crowd of newsies inside, and it’s a deafening wall of sound as soon as jack gets through. a throng of older kids shouting and jeering and cursing, and at the centre of it all there’s a ring marked out like the boxing rings on the streets. but there’s no rope, no cage, just lines on the floor and a gap in the crowd that’s moving with the violence of the two figures inside it, dodging back and getting louder every time one fighter gets tossed too close. when they get especially close, those on the edge’ll shove the fighter right back.

jack can’t see who it is in the ring, but he raises his fist and hollers for it all to stop anyway, just in case it’s one - or two - of his own boys being beat into the concrete for the crowd right now. the crowd quiets and the fight stops, but not one person looks happy about it - least of all oscar, who steps out of the shadows where he was watching the throng and steps up to jack with a dark look in his eyes.

jack explains what he wants - to stop this, all this, before someone gets hurt bad, and half the crowd starts stepping down the way all jack’s boys do when their leader tells them to, while the other half starts booing, vicious. that side is more kids jack doesn’t recognise, boys and girls from other boroughs, further afield. jack sees spot conlon step out of the ring and shove roughly through the crowd, their nose and mouth a mess of blood, and they’re booing too.

“you wanna shut us down?” oscar says, shoving jack hard in the chest, squaring up to him so they’re almost nose-to-nose. “how ‘bouts you earn it, huh? you crawl in here and clim’ up those ranks, same as anyone, an’ when you’re at the top, you can call it. but you gotta earn it. ain’t no use walkin’ in here tryin’ to be the famous jack kelly. you ain’t nobody here.”

“who’s at the top?” jack demands. oscar points, and spot bares their teeth.

so, jack steps into the ring with them. spot’s got their hair tied back, knuckles wrapped, their girls jumping and hollering and telling them exactly what to do to jack. jack’s got oscar, watching with a grin on his face and morris leaned against his shoulder.

and jack gets his ass kicked.

spot stomps him, and the roar of the crowd is echoing in his ears for hours afterwards, his head spinning. morris has to haul him up off the floor, and hold him half steady so he can hear oscar speak.

“maybe next time we’ll sort you out wit’ a more even match, huh?”

jack tells him to fuck off - spits a mouthful of blood at him, which only makes oscar laugh harder - but he does come back, when murmurs reach him that oscar’s sorted him out another opponent to go up against, start working his way up the ranks. he tells himself, again, that it’s just to shut the place down, to make it to the top and cut the head off.

but, by his second or third fight - and second or third win - jack’s forgotten all about that.

(he tells himself it’s just so he doesn’t have to fight spot again. refuses to admit it’s just so he can keep fighting everybody else.)

#newsies #jack kelly #spot conlon #oscar delancey #fight club au #my writing #cw violence #answered #justgotword

[angiix08]

I don’t think I talked about some fun, new pure ghosts I have for this universe. Here is some ghosts exclusive to the 150+ year sequel of Danny Phantom. 

Johnny 13 and Kitty are the type to have a kid and not take care of him like any good toxic couple. Edward 16 seems like a funny enough name. He is just like any 16 year old boy who rebels against his parents. He wears a black leather jacket, has a small ponytail, and carries around a spray can. 

- Edward 16 is the embodiment of our modern day bad boy. He wears too much eyeliner, too much black, and wears sunglasses indoors. He slouches and has baggy pants. He thinks he’s the hottest thing around. 

- His main weapon is the spray can, similar to how his parents have an object as theirs. With his spray can, he can vandalize anywhere he wants, but he can make people vanish with it, similar to his mom. He has Shadow as his loyal friend. His obsession is him breaking all the rules.

- Edward 16 encounters a certain little halfa and it has peaked his interest. She’s not like the other girls and he loves a challenge.

Another unique ghost for this universe is the Puppeteer. 

- Someone is making the dolls dance move and it’s like a horror movie when they chase after a person. I’m thinking too it could be fun to think about Annabelle and Child’s Play as just the Puppeteer having their way with the humans. Ghosts live off the fear of others after all. 

- I want the puppeteer to be dressed very fancily, almost blending in with humans but something isn’t right. They could be balding a bit and something is crooked in their stance and smile. Their obsession is not being gifted a doll. 

Another unique ghost for this universe is a music one related to Ember. She would be a female Phantom of the Opera. Instead of playing a guitar like her, she plays the classic piano. She flies around on her grand piano and can bewitch anyone who listens. 

- She died playing her last piece and never got to play an encore. Her obsession is playing the piano. 

One last ghost is the artist ghost. They were the aspiring artist who died young and their works got sold for large amounts of money after they died. They are bitter they didn’t get to be famous while they were alive. Their obsession is getting their art hung in Amity Park’s art museum. 

- They haunt the art museums and often try to paint over anything. They have the power to draw a face on anything and make it come alive. 

- Some other funny ideas is a Karen ghost, Rickroll ghost, and Judge Judy ghost.

#danny #danny phenton #danny phantom #danny fenton #alternate reality #alternate history #au #skulker #johnny #johnny 13 #ember #ember mclain #kitty

[twistedtummies2]

Gathering of the Greatest Gumshoes - Number 27

Welcome to A Gathering of the Greatest Gumshoes! During this month-long event, I’ll be counting my Top 31 Favorite Fictional Detectives, from movies, television, literature, video games, and more!

SLEUTH-OF-THE-DAY’S QUOTE: “The world will look up and shout, ‘Save us!’ And I’ll whisper, ‘No.’”

Number 27 is…Rorschach, from Watchmen.

A lot of you are probably surprised to see a character as iconic as Rorschach – arguably the most famous character from one of the greatest graphic novels of all time, “The Watchmen” – so low in the ranks. Well, trust me, as iconic as Rorschach is, there’s a good reason I place him where I do, but we’ll get to that in a bit. For now, let’s focus on the character himself.

Unless you’ve been living under a rock nowhere near a book-and/or-magazine-vendor since the mid-80s, then the chances are good you’ve at least heard of “The Watchmen.” This was the arguable masterpiece of English comic book writer Alan Moore. This man is something of a strange legend in the world of comics, responsible for such titles as “The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen,” “V for Vendetta,” and “From Hell,” as well as being the author of “Batman: The Killing Joke.” However, many agree that when you hear his name, “Watchmen” is the first of his works that seems to come to mind. This graphic novel was a hyper-dark deconstruction of the superhero genre as a whole, and set the groundwork for a lot of comic book stories that would come after it. The idea of “superhero deconstruction” has sort of become a sub-genre within itself, to be honest, and while parody and satire of the genre did exist long before Moore whipped up this piece, “Watchmen” is almost universally agreed to be the place where the idea of taking superhero fiction and giving it a psychological and sociological bend, and showing that superpowered beings in the world aren’t necessarily the end of all problems, became REALLY popular.

The main protagonist of “Watchmen” (at least ostensibly) is Rorschach. Most of the characters in Moore’s book were based on pre-existing comic book characters, sort of blending original elements with older concepts to create recognizable figures and play off of established tropes. Rorschach is sort of a conglomeration of Batman, the Shadow, the Question, and a much lesser-known character called Mr. A. The story of the graphic novel focuses on Rorschach – real name Walter Kovacs – trying to solve the murder of his former superhero teammate, the Comedian. The adventure grows increasingly more bizarre (and thoroughly messed-up on MANY levels) as Rorschach uncovers a vast conspiracy and plots to commit mass slaughter, leading to many of the former Watchmen banding together again to try and figure out how to stop the chaos. Without going into too much detail, for those who don’t know already…yeah, it doesn’t exactly go how Rorschach – or, indeed, anybody – really planned. Rorschach is a fine sleuth, and the visual design of him – a noir-style detective’s getup combined with a bizarre, shifting inkblot mask – is certainly one of the most striking in all of comics, many would argue. However, what truly stands out about Rorschach is his philosophical viewpoint: Moore created Rorschach as a sort of satire on the strict objectivist policies many of the characters I mentioned earlier notoriously had. These were characters who seemed to see the world in a strictly black-and-white perspective, where good is good, bad is bad, and there’s basically no gray moral ground in-between. He does what he feels is right based on this ideal, but the problem is…that’s a REALLY hard ideal to put into practice in the real world without seeming like a complete idiot or semi-psychopathic. Rorschach’s steadfast nature, his determination to stick to his ideology, is both his greatest asset and his greatest failing: it’s an asset because it’s what allows him to get through as far as he does and keep focused on the case at hand. But it’s his greatest failing because his inability to cope with the gray area, and reason out anything beyond his basic, fundamental viewpoint, leads to a lot of personal problems, and ultimately to his own downfall. This is actually why Rorschach ranks as low as he does. To put things in the simplest terms possible: while I love the deconstruction and homages present in Watchmen, I feel like I prefer other takes on these concepts more, and I also prefer some of the characters that inspired Rorschach over the Watchmen's chief sleuth himself. Still, he's more than worthy of placement in the Top 31: when I think of comic book detectives, he's one of the first I imagine.

Tomorrow, the countdown continues with Number 26!

CLUE: “Truth brings closure.”

#list #countdown #best #favorites #top 31 fictional detectives #gathering of the greatest gumshoes #number 27 #rorschach #watchmen #dc #comics #superheroes #mystery #alan moore

[themculibrary]

Irondad + Winteriron Masterlist

And the truth came out... (ao3) - Whaatimidoing31 T, 4k

Summary: Peter’s classmates don’t believe that he has an internship at SI, and when they go there for a field trip, they realize that there’s so much more that they don’t know.

Or, the overused Field Trip Trope that we all love.

career day (ao3) - pomegranateboy G, 2k

Summary: peter parker has no one to come for career day... or does he?

"Code Mauve" (ao3) - dragonsarmors T, 8k

Summary: After the events of Endgame, Tony finally got his husband and son back, it was something worth losing an arm over. While he has healed physically, mentally he can't stop seeing himself dying. So FRIDAY, Bucky, and Peter have a system in place to help Tony through the darkness in his mind, the system is named "Code Mauve". It can be activated at any time, even during, say a field trip to Stark Tower by the Midtown Decathlon team.

Even Darkness Must Pass (ao3) - Finely Honed (jaqen_hgar) M, 15k

Summary: “Fake it till you make it,” Bucky whispered to himself, swallowing around his panic. Sam had drilled the idea into him, and it had become a mantra of sorts, something to hold onto when all he wanted to do was blend into the shadows and disappear.

“You’ll be fine.”

Steve placed a warm, strong hand on Bucky’s shoulder and squeezed, his super soldier ears having picked up Bucky uttering the now familiar saying.

Bucky nodded, tried to believe his own words, and followed Steve onto the common floor, a wall of sound hitting them as they entered.

Fire in my Soul verse (ao3) - SyoshoHiataki 56k

Summary: In which Toni Stark has grown as a person, not letting the Rogues get to her now that they have been pardoned. Only now, she has to deal with that she is falling for one James “Bucky” Barnes. What is even her life

Gone in a Second (ao3) - Avengers_Whore T, 14k

Summary: “I’m gonna show daddy my new wood chip collection,” Peter said, digging into one of his pockets and pulling out a handful of chips.

“I’m sure he’ll love it, baby. We’ll find you a jar to put them in,” Tony purred, ruffling his pup’s hair. He opened his mouth to talk again-

Boom.

And then there was an explosion and everything went black.

Just Add an Adorable Child and an Ex-Assassin and Everything Will be Fine (ao3) - Whoops_my_hand_sLIPPED 23k

Summary: A man with breathtaking anger issues, two assassins/spies, a Norse god, a star-spangled man out of time, and a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist are already an odd team, but throw in an ex-HYDRA assassin and an adorable little kid? Well that team just got a whole lot more interesting.

Basically a rewrite of The Avengers if Bucky and Peter were in it.

Letters to a Soldier (ao3) - CityofAangels M, 42k

Summary: When Peter Stark, son of the famous tattoo artist Tony Stark, signed up for a program to write letters to a soldier, he didn’t know what Bucky Barnes would change in his and his father’s life…

Place in Your Heart (ao3) - Potrix T, 3k

Summary: They try to hide it, Bucky can see the effort they all put into making him more comfortable, but Bucky isn’t stupid, he knows they’d rather have him somewhere else, somewhere far away from their home, the place where they’re supposed to feel happy and safe.

Reed Richards: Accidental Matchmaker (ao3) - Potrix M, 3k

Summary: Kids don’t normally fall out of holes in the sky, not even in New York City, but if they do it is, as Tony’s been informing everyone for the last fifteen minutes, entirely Reed Richards’ fault.

Second times the charm (ao3) - ShadowsintheClouds E, 23k

Summary: Tony never thought he'd ever see his mate again. Not after that one heat they shared. Hell, he hardly remembered what the guy looked like. He only really had a name. James. Tony certainly wasn't expecting to meet the man again while the world seemed to be collapsing around him.

And he certainly wasn't expecting him to be a 100-year-old brainwashed assassin.

The sticky situation (ao3) - Self_conscious_mess T, 8k

Summary: Tony and Bucky have a bit of a scare when they realise that their son's hands are inexplicably sticky.

#themculibrary #tony stark #bucky barnes #winteriron #winteriron masterlist #peter parker #irondad #irondad masterlist #masterlists

[homomenhommes]

THIS DAY IN GAY HISTORY

based on: The White Crane Institute's 'Gay Wisdom', Gay Birthdays, Gay For Today, Famous GLBT, glbt-Gay Encylopedia, Today in Gay History, Wikipedia, and more … November 16

42 BC – Tiberius, Roman emperor, born (d.37 AD); second Roman Emperor, from the death of Augustus in CE 14 until his own death in 37 AD. Tiberius was by birth a Claudian, son of Tiberius Claudius Nero and Livia Drusilla. His mother divorced his father and was remarried to Octavian Augustus in 39 BC. Tiberius would later marry Augustus' daughter Julia the Elder (from an earlier marriage) and even later be adopted by Augustus and by this act he became a Julian. The subsequent emperors after Tiberius would continue this blended dynasty of both families for the next forty years; historians have named it the Julio-Claudian dynasty.

Tiberius was the predecessor to Caligula and he was certainly the appropriate curtain-raiser. His sexual excesses were widely known, especially when he "retired" to Capri, governing Rome via correspondence, and becoming the patron saint of that future gay mecca. Suetonius reported that Tiberius trained young boys, whom he called his "minnows," to stay between his legs while he was swimming so they could lick and nibble him until he came. Suetonius reports that Tiberius can be credited with the "daisy chain" or spintriae - a conga line of people joined front and back in sexual congress.

1942 – Barton Lidice Beneš, born in Hackensack, New Jersey (d.2012), was an artist who lived and worked in New York City. He studied at Pratt Institute, Brooklyn, New York and Beaux-Arts, Avignon, France.

His father, the son of Czech immigrants gave him his middle name in memory of Lidice, the Czech town destroyed by the Nazis that year. He grew up in Queens with Czech-born grandparents, who instilled in him a dedication to the Roman Catholic traditions of reliquaries and memorials to the dead.

Barton Beneš' art incorporated shadow boxes filled with bits and pieces that revealed the myths and ironies of life. The fragments in Beneš' work often involved famous people and events, from a piece of Elizabeth Taylor's shoe to a crumb from the wedding cake of the Prince of Wales. His travelling exhibition series about AIDS, "Lethal Weapons," was the focus of an independent documentary film released in 1997. "Lethal Weapons" consisted of 30 vessels such as a water pistol, an atomizer, and hollow darts, all filled with the artist's or other people's HIV-infected blood.

Another work, "Brenda," was a wall relief carpeted with red AIDS-awareness ribbons and slathered with a coat of gray paste made from the cremated remains of a woman who had died of AIDS. "I absolutely hate those [AIDS] ribbons," he said, contending that wearing them did nothing more than assuage people's consciences.

Although galleries and museums refused to show this work, they were displayed without incident at the North Dakota Museum of Art in 1993. Beneš did not forget the courage and commitment to art of this prairie institution. When he died he left instructions to be cremated and have his remains placed in a pillowcase on his bed. The bed was the central part Beneš last completed and most personal work, his 850-square-foot home in Greenwich Village containing thousands of objects including masks and religious relics and the mementoes and remains of his loved ones. This enormous piece with its thousands of contents will be moved to Grand Forks, North Dakota, where they will be exhibited in a replica of the apartment

Among the museums that have acquired his works are the Chicago Art Institute, the National Museum of American Art, the National Gallery of Australia, and most importantly the North Dakota Museum of Art.

Scott Wittman (L) with Marc Shaiman

1955 – Born: Lyricist and director Scott Wittman, who, with composer Marc Shaiman, his partner in life and collaborator in theater, film, and television projects, has a long list of credits in the entertainment industry. Their work on the musical version of John Waters' Hairspray earned Tony and Grammy awards in 2003.

Both Shaiman and Wittman grew up in the vicinity of New York City, the former in Scotch Plains, New Jersey, and the latter in Nyack, New York. Both were fascinated with musical theater from an early age and dreamed of careers on Broadway. Shaiman played piano with local community theater groups from the time that he was twelve, and Wittman apprenticed in summer stock in his hometown. Such was their love for the stage that they both cut high school classes to travel into New York for matinees.

Wittman attended Emerson College in Boston but left after two years to pursue a career as a writer and director in musical theater in New York. In the city's East Village he crossed paths with Shaiman, who had quit high school at sixteen to join the New York musical scene. Wittman was directing a show at a club in Greenwich Village when Shaiman came in and started playing the piano. Wittman promptly hired him. They subsequently fell in love and have been a couple since 1979.

The two soon began collaborating professionally, writing songs that Shaiman describes as "full of anarchy and joy."

Since 1997 Shaiman and Wittman have contributed and directed music for the Academy Awards presentation show. At the same time Wittman, who humorously calls himself "a great diva wrangler," has directed concerts. In addition to working with Bette Midler, he has had a long association with Patti LuPone and has worked with Christine Ebersole, Raquel Welch, Dame Edna Everage (Barry Humphries), and Lypsinka among many others.

Shaiman and Wittman's greatest triumph thus far is Hairspray, an adaptation of the 1988 John Waters movie for the musical stage. Shaiman and Wittman wrote the music, and Mark O'Donnell and Thomas Meehan the book for the play.

The show dominated the 2003 Tony Awards, winning eight, including best musical and best score. At the end of their acceptance speeches Shaiman declared to Wittman, "I love you, and I'd like to spend the rest of my life with you." The couple then embraced and shared a long and tender kiss. News outlets around the world took note of this affecting moment.

1964 – Waheed Alli, Baron Alli is a British multimillionaire media entrepreneur and politician. He was co-founder and managing director of Planet 24, a TV production company, and managing director at Carlton Television Productions. He was, until November 2012, chairman of ASOS.com. He is the chairman of Silvergate Media, which purchased two of the media rights previously held by Chorion Ltd, where Alli was former chairman. He is a Labour life peer and is described as one of only a few openly gay Muslim politicians in the world.

In British political terms he is considered Asian, though both of his parents are from the Caribbean. His mother, a nurse, is from Trinidad, and his estranged father, a mechanic, is from British Guiana (now Guyana). His mother was Hindu and his father Muslim; he has two brothers, one of each faith. He was named one of the 20 most important Asians in British media in 2005. At the same time, he maintains ties with his Caribbean roots, both with other British-Guyanese politicians such as Valerie Amos and Trevor Phillips, and with President Bharrat Jagdeo.

Alli joined the Labour Party at the persuasion of his neighbour Emily Thornberry, to whom he remains close. He is also close to Anji Hunter, Director of Government Relations in Tony Blair's first government. Prime Minister Blair used him for years as a means to help him reach out to a younger generation (aka "yoof culture"), and as such he is considered one of "Tony's Cronies". He was made a life peer as Baron Alli, of Norbury in the London Borough of Croydon, on 18 July 1998 at the age of 34, becoming the youngest and the first openly gay peer in Parliament. He sits on the Labour benches in the House of Lords. The BBC summarised his appointment as "the antithesis of the stereotypical 'establishment' peer – young, Asian and from the world of media and entertainment".

Alli has used his political position to argue for gay rights. He spearheaded the campaign to repeal Section 28. He advocated lowering the age of consent for homosexuals from 18 to 16, equal to heterosexuals; this eventually became law as the Sexual Offences (Amendment) Act 2000. It was during a heated exchange with conservative opponents, led by Baroness Young, that he informed his fellow peers that he was gay. In April 1999, he said in a speech, "I have never been confused about my sexuality. I have been confused about the way I am treated as a result of it. The only confusion lies in the prejudice shown, some of it tonight [i.e. in the House], and much of it enshrined in the law."

In 2009, he spearheaded an effort to repeal clauses in the Civil Partnership Act 2004 which prohibited religious institutions from conducting the ceremonies on their premises. This campaign culminated in a bipartisan amendment, which became part of the Equality Act 2010.

2007 – Breakfast With Scot - In 2006, straight Canadian actor Tom Cavanagh began filming Breakfast with Scot, in which he plays a gay retired hockey player who becomes an adoptive father to a young boy. The film, released on this day in 2007, drew attention as the first gay-themed film ever to win approval from a major league sports franchise to use its real name and logo; Cavanagh's character formerly played for the Toronto Maple Leafs.

1989 – The Center for Homosexual Lifestyles was established in Berlin. It was the first time in Germany that a public office was established specifically to deal with the concerns of lesbians and gay men.

1995 – A directive was issued by the Canadian Government allowing workers in same-sex relationships to take time off in the event of a partner's illness or death.

1999 – The Rhode Island Supreme Court rules that all pending consensual sodomy prosecutions at the time of the 1998 legislative repeal must be abandoned.

[grandmaster-anne]

Camilla The down to earth Duchess

Words by Juliet Rieden, Photography by The Duchess of Cambridge | Published 13 July 2022

It’s early afternoon on the first day of Platinum Jubilee celebrations in London and the Duchess of Cornwall has had a frenetic, thrilling and at times unexpected morning. Just a few hours ago she was seated with her stepdaughter-in-law Catherine and the rambunctious Cambridge trio – Prince George, Princess Charlotte and Prince Louis – in a magnificent horse-drawn barouche, the royal children barely able to contain their excitement as they waved furiously at the tens of thousands lining the route from Buckingham Palace down The Mall. On horseback behind them were the husbands of these two future queen consorts, the Prince of Wales and the Duke of Cambridge, resplendent in full military regalia.

In the week leading up to the event, the two duchesses had also been together, this time at Camilla’s private home, Ray Mill House in the rural county of Wiltshire, where Catherine turned photographer for our very special garden shoot. The Duchess of Cambridge’s prowess behind the lens is well documented in her many photos of her children, but this is the first time she’s taken an official portrait of her stepmother-in-law. In her royal life the Duchess of Cornwall has had to get used to being constantly photographed, but it’s not a comfortable place, so having Catherine take these birthday celebration photos is very welcome.

The bond between the two wives of Windsor is evident and the shots capture the Duchess off-duty and relaxed in one of her favourite places: her garden.

Back to today, and after the pageantry and crowds of the parade, all is calm in Clarence House’s elegant Morning Room, where the Duchess and I sit down for a wide-ranging and surprisingly personal interview. “I’m still in Trooping dress,” she apologises, looking down at her outfit, its striped pastel shades blending in with the soft blue of the famous room which was the Queen Mother’s favourite when she lived at Clarence House and which today is bathed in sunlight. “It’s lots of ribbons sewn together. Very clever. I can’t sew anything,” she chuckles. “I did mean to change into something more casual, but I thought I would keep everybody waiting.”

I first met the Duchess at Clarence House a decade ago. She was preparing for her inaugural visit to Australia with Prince Charles, and in advance of the tour I was invited to spend a week shadowing her. Since then I have continued to follow the Duchess as her royal work has burgeoned along with her profile, but this is the first time she has agreed to a private interview.

Casting her mind back to that first taste of Australia, Camilla smiles. “I think he [the Prince of Wales] always wanted to take me there and show me what it was like. He was proved absolutely right. I love Australia,” she declares.

Prince Charles’ unique connection with this country began when he was 17 and went to school at Geelong Grammar, his first major visit overseas and a chance to escape the royal bubble at a very formative time for the young heir apparent. “He’s always spoken about it, his time at Timbertop, which he said was pretty hard but he loved it. Probably after Gordonstoun [the Prince’s school in Scotland known for its “character building” regime and where he was bullied by some of the boys], it was light relief to go to Timbertop. He said everybody was very kind and easygoing and I think it toughened him up.”

The Duchess says that, like her husband, she appreciated what she affectionately calls the “take it or leave it” spirit of Australians. “I like that everybody’s down to earth and they say what they think. I’d much rather people were out there saying what they think than beating round the bush, telling you a lot of porkies. And I like the Australian humour. You have a jolly good laugh with them. I just think it’s a lovely country. This year we were ready to go back again, but we just couldn’t fit it into the Jubilee schedules. But we’ll be back soon, I hope.”

In the meantime, the couple closely follows what is going on in Australia, and during the Black Summer bushfires in 2019, GIVIT charity CEO Juliette Wright OAM was blindsided when out of the blue she received a message from the Duchess’ team. “I was giddy with excitement,” confesses Juliette. “The Duchess was devastated by what she was witnessing on the television, her heart was going out to people affected by the bushfires, and she said she would like to give a personal donation to support an animal charity and also a charity that’s helping people on the road to recovery.”

In the interests of raising awareness, the Duchess allowed GIVIT to mention her support on social media. The response was immediate – a 46 per cent increase in traffic to the website. “I’ve never seen such a spike in donations. It was like she created a cyclone of giving just by her act of generosity, so more donations were flowing to those in urgent need,” says Juliette who, seizing the day, asked if the Duchess would become their patron. “They came back a day later and said she would be honoured.”

Queen Consort

The Duchess celebrates her 75th birthday on July 17 – a milestone not least because, at a time when most of her peers are kicking back and smelling the roses, she is preparing for the biggest job of her life. When the Queen used her February Platinum Jubilee message to express her “sincere wish” for Camilla to be known as Queen Consort “when my son Charles becomes king”, she rubberstamped the monarchy’s future and her daughter-in-law’s title. Public opinion, which had vacillated on the topic, noticeably shifted. While Camilla has never sought the limelight, her quiet and dedicated service was there for all to see. She would be our next Queen.

“Obviously it’s a great honour and I was deeply touched for Her Majesty to have given me this role,” says Camilla, who as Consort will be following in the footsteps of the late Duke of Edinburgh. It was the Duke, she says, to whom she often turned for counsel while learning the royal ropes. “The Duke of Edinburgh was always a very good ear. He was a role model to me and a very good person to take advice from because he always told me what he thought, which was very helpful, especially with things about the army because I took over the Rifles [regiment] from him.

“He was always two steps behind the Queen, which for a man must be much more difficult than for a woman – and somebody as macho as he was, who’d commanded ships. So I think [from the Duke] I learned that your place is several feet behind the monarch. You’re there as a back-up.”

It’s a role she could never have imagined when growing up in rural England playing with her ponies. But I suspect it’s that practical, carefree country childhood which gave Camilla the stable basis to cope with the roller-coaster of royal life in the spotlight.

“I was one of the very lucky ones. I had the idyllic childhood right in the country, sitting on the South Downs with my brother and my sister and our pets and our ponies. I think it was a very simple childhood,” she says, casting her mind back. “Sometimes in the summer we used to ride to school on our ponies, probably something that’s more Australian than English, but we used to ride and then tie them up and ride back again. It just shows how things have changed, because in those days there was nothing on the roads. Can you imagine now letting a child ride to school with its satchel on its back? I mean it wouldn’t happen,” she laughs.

Young Camilla Shand was nine years old and in heaven. “It didn’t happen very often, but when it did it was lovely. We just pottered along this very pretty road with two or three cars going past. Life was very laid-back. The awful thing is, I suppose I thought life was always going to be like that … It certainly gave us all a very good grounding, because we could start off with a smile on our face. As far as I remember it was perfect.”

Camilla was the eldest of three and she, Annabel and Mark were a tight-knit unit. “I never took the lead very much, we just did things together. My brother had a very bad temper and was quite spoiled sometimes, but it was very evenly shared out.”

Life lessons

Their mother was the glamorous and well-connected Rosalind Shand (née Cubitt), who hailed from a wealthy aristocratic family and was ‘Debutante of the Year’ in 1939. Camilla was very close to her and says the greatest lesson she taught her children was the art of small talk, something that certainly prepared her for royal life.

“My mother was absolutely brilliant at making us speak to people,” the Duchess recalls. “She used to have people to dinner; it didn’t matter who it was, old or young, some of them we thought were incredibly boring, but she used to sit at the end of the table and say: ‘Talk! I don’t care whether you’re talking about your pony or your homework, just talk!’ She was also quite forthright and never minced her words.”

Putting people at ease in formal situations is now part of her daily work and something the naturally gregarious Duchess enjoys, but she notes that taking the lectern for speeches – which she is called to do with increasing regularity – is torture. “I get petrified making speeches,” she says. “I hate every moment of it. People always say it’ll get better and sometimes I find it’s all right if I really know my subject, but sometimes [I get] that awful thing beforehand of really shaking and feeling seriously sick.

“The first speech I ever made was about osteoporosis in Lisbon, before I was married, and the night before I was out of bed tying my sheets together to see if I could escape and go home. I’m never going to enjoy it.

“My husband is very good; he loves it. Because he’s a very good actor, I think. You’ve got to have a bit of acting experience. I was the worst actor in the whole school. If I was given one line to say, it always came out backwards. So I think speeches – no, they’re never going to be my favourite things.”

Camilla’s father, Major Bruce Shand, was a dashing officer in the British Army who was captured by the Nazis in World War II. He married in 1946 and left the army in 1947, but growing up Camilla knew very little about his war years. Then decades later he started to open up to his grandchildren.

“We couldn’t get him to talk about it. Yet when my children [son Tom and daughter Laura] and my sister’s children came along, especially the boys, he started to,” she says. “He was captured at El Alamein and was very lucky, really, because he was shot. He was in an armoured car, about 100 yards from Rommel’s encampment, when my father opened his mouth to shout a command at his wireless operator and the bullet came zinging from the German, went through one side of his cheek, out the other and killed his wireless operator. It was extraordinary because it missed all his vital organs, his tongue, his teeth, but obviously his face was blown to pieces. Then a second bullet got him through the leg.”

Major Shand was held captive. “He remembered Rommel in his greatcoat walking off and climbing aboard a tiny aeroplane. That was probably the last time he was seen!” As an injured prisoner of war, Camilla’s father was taken to a hospital in Greece, where “there was the most brilliant plastic surgeon. Nobody had ever sewn up anybody from the inside [of their mouth] before. You would have never known my father had anything wrong. Afterwards he was shipped back from Greece to Spangenberg Castle in Germany, where he was a prisoner for two and a half years.”

The Major, who died in 2006, a year after Camilla married Prince Charles, would undoubtedly have loved to have seen his daughter playing such a key role in the Trooping the Colour parade. “He’d be so pleased knowing that I was Colonel-in-Chief of the Rifles now. I don’t think anything would have made him more proud,” she adds wistfully.

Losing Rosalind

Camilla’s mother didn’t live long enough to see her daughter marry into the monarchy. She died “far too young” in 1994 at the age of 72 following a long battle with osteoporosis.

“She was in her mid-60s when she got it,” says the Duchess. “Nobody in those days knew anything about osteoporosis. So when she suddenly used to scream, which she did if somebody touched her, we thought, ‘Why is she making such a fuss about this? It can’t be that painful.’ She was a strong woman, capable of anything, but she shrank and she shrank and she started bending over like a croquet hoop. It affects your stomach and lungs, so her breathing became very bad. She couldn’t eat much food and was in agony the whole time.

“We were at such a loss to know how to help. She used to go to the doctor who would say, ‘There, there, you’re old and frail, all old people get the dowager’s hump, that’s what happens!’. She gave up in the end. She was a wonderful gardener, but she couldn’t garden, she couldn’t do anything at all.”

The pain of losing her mother to this cruel but preventable disease is with Camilla every day. “It was terrible, because we felt so helpless,” she adds.

That experience inspired her 21 years ago to become President of the Royal Osteoporosis Society (ROS). Increasing bone strength is crucial, she says, to preventing the onset of osteoporosis, and one of the latest initiatives she can’t get enough of is the Silver Swans, a dance class for over-55s launched by the UK’s Royal Academy of Dance, whose president is ballerina Darcey Bussell, and Camilla is now the Academy’s Vice Patron.

The Duchess tells me she will never forget the first time she saw some “Swans” in action. “They were taking me around [the Academy] and said, ‘We’ve got a Silver Swans class.’ I said, ‘What’s that?’ ‘It’s ballet for people getting on.’ I said, ‘You must be joking’ and thought to myself, ‘Oh dear, we’re going to have to sit through a lot of very old people crashing about all over the place. I don’t know how I’m going to keep a straight face.’ I went in with my teeth gritted, biting my lip, mustn’t laugh – but some of these people, I couldn’t believe my eyes.”

Camilla was so impressed she decided to join. “I said to the dance teacher, ‘Would you ever take a private class? I’ve got a few friends who’d be very interested.’ So she comes here when I’m in London and we crash about very happily and it’s great fun.

It’s jolly hard work – you get really involved and I find it’s a really good way to exercise.”

The Duchess’ support of the program has had a huge impact, Darcey tells me. “She’s very happy to talk about her own experience. She’s very funny, too. When we had the opening of the new headquarters of the Royal Academy of Dance recently, she came into a class of Silver Swans. There were men there as well, some in their 80s, and she was like, ‘Oh gosh, they’re much better than me’, and I suddenly saw her competitive spirit coming through.”

I ask the Duchess if she has managed to recruit her husband yet. She shakes her head, laughing. “He’s a very good dancer and loves ballet, but I’m not sure how good he’d be on his tippy-toes.”

As a young girl the Duchess had lots of dance lessons but never ballet. “At school we had once-a-week dancing, rather like Strictly [Strictly Come Dancing, Britain’s version of reality TV show Dancing with the Stars]. We learned the waltz and the quickstep, the cha-cha-cha and the Charleston, but I was always the boy so I always pushed people around the floor. Even now I find it quite difficult going the other way.”

Strictly is one of the Duchess’ favourite TV shows and also – apparently – a hit with Her Majesty. “I love seeing people who can’t dance at all. They arrive with no sense of rhythm, and then you see them progress and they end up as professional dancers.”

The Duchess has now developed a friendly bond with Aussie dancer and Strictly judge Craig Revel Horwood. The unlikely couple met in 2008 working on a “Boogie for your bones” campaign for the ROS. Camilla came to an event and they ended up on the dance floor together.

“I thought she was going to be terribly posh and aloof,” says Craig. “But actually she was so down to earth, so full of beans, such a great dancer and totally up for all of it. I never thought for one moment we would ever get into holds and start doing a cha-cha-cha in front of everybody, but we did! My family was sitting around the six o’clock news at home in Ballarat, Victoria and then suddenly I came on dancing with the future Queen of England!”

Over the years Craig has been a regular at royal functions and says the Duchess and Prince Charles are a fantastic couple. “They have a laugh, and they care about people,” he shares. “I think it’s taken people time to get used to the fact that they are together, but their relationship has really shone and that’s what people pick up on.”

Darcey Bussell agrees with that. “Obviously there were tough times with Diana and that whole transition, but marrying Charles and realising what a bond they have and a force of positive strength [they are] together, I think that has really resonated with the public.”

Finding her voice

In her royal work Camilla talks to strangers from every walk of life, and while she is naturally a shy person, her ability to connect with those she meets, no matter their background or circumstances, has become her secret weapon. It’s something Jude Kelly, CEO of the Women of the World Foundation, has watched unfold. “The Duchess has a clear sense that she has a powerful voice and she wants to use it for people who don’t have a powerful voice. She’s chosen to use it for women who are dealing with horrendous levels of violence.”

This work has become a significant focus for Camilla, who will never forget the moment that sparked her involvement. “It was when I first went to a meeting of SafeLives – in 2016 – of which I’m now patron. It was unbelievable. We all sat around in a circle and six women told their stories. I remember sitting opposite this woman who was about my age and she wasn’t talking, but her daughter’s friend got up to talk and I watched this woman’s face, which was tragic, and I knew something awful was going to come out. Her friend told the story of Jo, who was married to a British Airways pilot, very wealthy, they lived in the middle of Ascot, two children, and he’d been abusing her. Eventually the police came in, he had a restraining order and he wasn’t supposed to visit her.

“For some reason he was allowed to see the two children, so he took them out for the day and instead of dropping them where he was supposed to, he brought the children back into the house, took out a cleft hammer and beat his wife to death. Fourteen blows on the head, with the children in the next room.

“We all sat there in complete and utter silence. Nobody could breathe, desperately fighting back tears. It shocked me so much. I watched this woman, who was my generation, aged 70, and was going to have to bring up her grandchildren because her daughter was dead and that father was in prison.”

The Duchess knew she had to act, and while the SafeLives charity is a long way from usual royal patronages, issues of domestic violence, rape and coercive control have become a calling. “I think they were very surprised. But it’s just something that gripped me. I couldn’t just let it go. At least I can try to do something that might help others by standing and shouting about it.”

Away from her public life, Camilla’s favourite role is grandmother. “I’ve just said goodbye to several [of the grandchildren] who’ve been staying here for Trooping. That’s the best role there is,” she says, beaming. “The girls are becoming teenagers, which is a bit of a worry. I’d quite like to put a lid on their heads and make them small again because they’re all sweet and scrubbed and nice. Now they’re quite keen to have a good argument!

“They’re just fun to be with. I love being with them, eating together, going to see a film or a play. They’re great enthusiasts. And it’s always nice to be in touch with that generation because it keeps you abreast of young people’s feelings and ideas. It also makes me think how much has changed between their childhood and my childhood. Things are so different. The idea of us having these phones full of games and everything else they can do with them, and then they seem to get on aeroplanes and go here, there and everywhere. We hardly knew what an aeroplane was. I think it’s a much more difficult world that they’re growing up in than the world I grew up in.”

If Camilla has wisdom to impart it would be, “Be yourselves. Just do what you think is right, but if you’re worried in any way about it, take advice from somebody older and wiser because I think young people can help old people. That’s why we get on so well. We’re different ends of the spectrum. They can learn a lot from us, but we also can learn a hell of a lot from them. I remember I always went to my grandmother to get advice, so I rather hope they might come to me.”

And finally to 75, a number Camilla is not celebrating. “Nobody particularly wants to be 75, but I can’t do much about it. I think you’ve just got to get on with life and make the most of what you’ve got left.”

See page 181 to discover The Duchess of Cornwall’s favourite Australian novel, reviewed exclusively for The Weekly.

SHONA WILLIAMS. DESMOND O’NEILL. SHUTTERSTOCK. STEVE SOLOMONS/PA WIRE. GETTY IMAGES.

#queen camilla #i loved reading this! #should've read it sooner #The Australian Women's Weekly #article #interview #princess of wales

[theflyingfeeling]

Could you do 05 with Niko/Olli? I think it's something Niko would do 😄

P.S. not Finland, and it's been more than +15°C for only 3 days here, so you're not alone 🤝

Oh, most definitely! Great choice, my friend 💓

P.S. And isn't it the worst? 😩 Spring, where art thou?

05. I’m reading under my favourite tree and you introduce yourself as the author. (2545 words)

~

The weather was a bit chillier than it had looked when Olli had peeked out the window in the morning, and he regretted not bringing a warmer jacket. Stubborn to enjoy the little sunlight he was being graced with, Olli packed his backpack with a light lunch of rye bread sandwich and a smoothie he had blended the night before, a small pillow to sit on and his current read, and stepped outside. He defied the gloomy, blueish grey clouds that roamed just above the horizon, hoping they’d have the sensitivity to dodge at least the park he was headed to. 

Arriving in the green area, his eyes immediately focused on the large, budding  elm that towered over its smaller siblings and distant cousins, its far-reaching branches offering a shadow for all sorts of leisure time endeavours, such as playing mölkky with your friends, having a romantic picnic with your sweetheart, or reading an entertaining novel, which, indeed, was Olli’s chosen pastime.

He was pleased to find the shade of the tree vacant, as one would rightly assume at eleven in the morning on a weekday. He’d have a generous couple of hours to kill before he’d have to return home and start getting ready for his afternoon shift at the library café, and he intended to spend them by resuming the fairly new paperback he had picked up from the library the other day.  From what he had understood after twelve chapters, it was a coming-of-age story of sorts, narrating the tale of a young man in his twenties with a dream of becoming a world-famous musician while also battling against the demons of his past. As the plot unfolded, Olli realised he could easily recognise himself in some of the insecurities of the main character Robert, which was comforting and troubling at the same time, while also being the main reason he found it impossible to put the book down.

At the end of the chapter he had left off the night before, Robert had just been invited to an underground party by a rather flamboyant person Robert referred to as “Pork” with whom he had made acquaintance earlier in the chapter. Olli was yet to find out the real name of the new character – not to mention the story behind the unusual nickname – but he was positive it would all make sense in the end (or at least he really hoped so).

Olli appreciated the author’s impatience as he began reading chapter thirteen and noticed the hero of the story was well on his way to the mysterious gathering; it didn’t take long for Robert to find “Pork” and for the two of them to seclude themselves from the rest of the crowd in some deserted restroom.

Then the plot took an unexpected turn.

Olli’s mouth went dry as he read about “Pork” gripping Robert by the hips and pushing him against the sink while grinding his own on the other man’s crotch. The situation escalated quickly when the third-person narrator described how Robert’s tongue slid along “Pork’s” exposed chest and neck, and suddenly Olli felt a heat pool in his own lower stomach. Now even more than earlier he was happy he  seemed to be alone in the park as he fixed the front of his shorts to make himself more comfortable.

Robert felt his arousal awakening when Pork panted in his ear, whispering obscenities that would have had a more bashful man turning scarlet. Not Robert, though, for he was just as eager to undress Pork of his tight leather pants, through which he could already feels Pork’s hardening mem–

“Hi!” 

The greeting came out of the blue and frightened Olli, absorbed in the recent events of the story, that he flinched and slammed the book shut with haste, causing the nearby flock of pigeons to take wing with a surprised choir of coo.

Once Olli recovered from his initial shock (and subtly adjusted his shorts once more), he looked up and saw a man with long, brown hair and a sugary smile staring him down.

“Sorry!” the man laughed, “didn’t mean to spook you. I just passed you by and, well, I couldn’t help but notice…” he gestured towards the paperback Olli was now clutching to his chest, as if to hide its sinful contents from the outside world. 

“Wha– what of it?” Olli’s fingers wrapped around the spine of the book as he felt his cheeks heat up.

“How do you like it?” the man asked, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Olli liked it very much indeed. 

‘Liked’, in fact, was a strong understatement in the current situation.

“It’s,” Olli paused to clear his throat that had gone dry again, “it’s alright, I guess.” He wasn’t at all sure of how indifferent he had managed to sound, and decided to shrug to emphasise just how alright he thought the latest plot twist was.

“Just ‘alright’?” the man pouted. “Jeez, I believed I had done a better job than ‘alright’.” The crunch of the man’s forehead deepened as he crossed his arms over his chest, wrinkling the thin fabric of his loose, white button-up. A light breeze waved his hair around in a calm motion and a few strands got stuck on his lips. A reflex of some kind almost had Olli getting back on his feet to brush them aside, but then his brain finally took in what the man had just said.

“You…sorry, what?” 

“And here I was thinking all those publishers had been in the wrong for rejecting me. Buh!” the man harrumphed, puffing the hair off his face.

“You mean…you wrote this?” Olli took a glance at the cover of the novel to read the author’s name, written in the same messy handwriting as the title: Niko Vilhlem.

“Not sure how proud I am to announce that now, but…yeah. That’s me.” The sly grin that had previously decorated Niko’s lips had now turned upside down, his hands no longer on his chest but in the pockets of his baggy, black trousers.

Olli thought the shift in Niko’s mood was all his fault and, considering how he, in fact, thought the book was certainly more than ‘just alright’, he saw it as his job to save the situation somehow; he stood up and walked closer to the man.

“I’m sorry, I was just confused for a second there. I’ve actually been enjoying the story.” He tried not to think about exactly how much, but felt his cheeks catching fire again. “I’ve enjoyed it a lot, in fact,” the daredevil in him added anyway.

“Thanks, but I don’t need your pity. There’s a reason why it’s self-published,” Niko muttered to the ground and kicked an invisible pebble.

“No, I’m serious! Your story-telling is super intriguing, I’ve hardly put the book down since I found it in the library the other day.” 

(Olli didn’t see it necessary to specify that by ‘found’ he meant ‘I was actually trying to get the book next to it but the shelf was so high that I had to stand on my tippy toes because my friend Tommi had been busy and I lost my balance just as I was reaching for the book and this one fell on my head instead’.)

Niko shook his head, unamused. “You’re just saying that to be nice because you’re feeling bad for the sad, pathetic author whose prose is equivalent to that of a primary school spelling book.”

“You think I’d come here in my favourite park to sit under my favourite tree and spend my precious freetime reading a book I’m not into?” Olli raised an eyebrow.

Niko looked at him for a while, as if evaluating the truthfulness of his words. Then he shrugged.

“People do the weirdest things for fun.”

“Well, I don’t, thank you very much. I know a great story when I see one, and this,” Olli patted the book’s cover, “this definitely is one. And I’m not just being nice.”

Slowly, the corners of Niko’s slips started curving upwards again as his eyes moved from the book Olli was holding to his eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Hell yeah!” Olli tried his best to make his enthusiasm appear as sincere as he was. 

“Well, what else do you like about it, then?” Niko asked and dragged his foot against the gravel in an almost bashful manner.

The question made Olli straighten his posture; it wasn’t every day one was given the chance to discuss a novel with the author who wrote it.

(“That’s because all your favourite authors died about fifty years ago,” Olli could almost hear Tommi’s monotonous voice in his head.)

“For starters, I really love how you put into words the thoughts and struggles we all probably face at some point in our lives without being dismissive or tedious about it. Like… I can sort of relate to a lot of this, if I’m being honest.” Olli cursed his fair complexion that probably revealed his blush in no time, so he glanced down at the ground where Niko was still drawing shapeless patterns with the tip of his Vans.

“I’m happy to hear that,” Niko then said softly. “That you find it relatable, that is. Not that you’re struggling, or anything,” he added, and Olli was delighted to notice he wasn’t the only one getting colour on his cheeks, which gave him just enough confidence to go on.

“And the characterisation is…refreshing, for lack of a better term. I particularly like this “Pork” that was just introduced in the chapter I finished last night.” 

And all the fun he brought to the plot, but I’m not gonna tell you that.

“Ah! I actually based him on a friend of mine.” Olli was melting at the brightness of Niko’s smile. “And believe me, he’s double the madman he is in the book. I even had to tone it down a little.”

Hopefully not too much, Olli wanted to comment, but bit his hip and grinned instead.

The sun forced its light through the branches and cast a thin, persistent ray right across Niko’s face, so that when he looked at Olli, the green in his eyes seemed as if it was being mixed with liquid gold, and still it was only half as dazzling as the smile on his lips. Only when Niko cleared his throat and fixed his hair, averting his eyes to look elsewhere, Olli became aware he must have been staring at him for a little longer than was appropriate from someone you had just met five minutes ago.

“So, umm, I suppose I’ll leave you to it,” Niko nodded at the book and took a few steps backwards, drawing away from Olli. 

Later that night, when Olli lay in bed contemplating the happenings of the day, he still couldn’t pinpoint why he had done it; was it merely a desperate whim to make Niko stay with him for a little longer in case their paths never crossed again, or was it something out of his control, a higher power of sorts, although Olli believed in none, that made him walk after Niko and force the man to hold his gaze.

“Unless…” he said and could only barely stop himself when his hand went on to reach for Niko’s, “unless you’d like to read for me?”

He swallowed as he watched Niko’s mouth fall open. His heart was beating rapidly, and he was given probably a whole five seconds to regret opening his mouth or stepping outside of his house in the first place before Niko answered.

“I… ” The thumping in Olli’s ears became louder. “I mean, I’ve never read my work to anyone out loud but–”

“It’s okay!” Olli nearly yelped in his haste to unsay his absurd, inconsiderate request, “I understand! It’s– it’s too weird, obviously, silly of me to even ask–”

“I’d love to,” Niko interrupted Olli’s panicked blabbering. 

The thumping in Olli’s ears stopped, and for a minute he was convinced he was having a stroke and would drop dead any second. 

“No one’s ever asked me before,” Niko continued, supposedly to fill the awkward silence Olli’s brainfreeze had suddenly caused. “Well, to be fair, I’ve never met anyone who’s read my book, other than my family and friends, and they’re all more or less sick of hearing about it by now. I’ve always thought it would be fun to read it to someone, though.”

If just a few seconds ago Olli had been stiff like a corpse, now his knees were about to give up on him upon hearing Niko’s quiet confession. He exhaled in relief and took one step closer to the other man. 

“In that case…” he held out the book for Niko, “I’d be honoured to be the first.”

Their eyes kept staring into each other when Niko took the book out of his hands.

Olli should have known better when a mischievous smirk appeared on Niko’s lips.

“So. Chapter thirteen next, is it?”

~

*three years later*

Olli’s keys made a clunking noise when they fell on the porcelain bowl on the side table next to his front door. It had been a hectic day at the café with a broken espresso machine and a sudden swarm of senior citizens on a field trip, so the bliss he felt was priceless once he closed the door behind him and listened to the perfect silence of his house.

Perfect, safe for the faint, rhythmic tapping of a laptop keyboard.

With a drowsy smile, Olli padded to his spare bedroom they had renovated last spring; a new window glass to replace the old cracked one, and a proper windowsill for the plants Joonas had gifted them back when Niko had moved in. Niko’s extravagant friend had also fallen in love with the old, rustic cabinet Olli had inherited from his grandmother; he had been happy to give it away, as it had been far too big for any of his rooms, and its removal conveniently gave enough space for a small two-seater sofa for when Niko wanted to write in a more relaxed position.

(And for cuddles, of course.)

“Hey,” Olli said softly as he entered the room. He walked behind Niko and wrapped his arms around the author’s shoulders, pressing a kiss on his cheek. “How’s writing going?”

Niko said nothing at first, his eyes were fixed on the laptop screen and his fingers dancing on the keyboard, but then he tapped the enter key one final time before planting a swift peck on Olli’s mouth in return.

“Just finished rewriting chapter 24.”

Olli’s lips caught Niko’s before they would escape again, melting into a lazy, loving kiss Olli would have gladly let go on until the next sunrise if his position hadn’t been quite so awkward.

“When will I get to hear it?” he mumbled against Niko’s mouth.

“Whenever you have the time,” Niko told him with a husky voice.

It was all that was needed to make Olli throw himself on the sofa, and soon enough Niko joined him, lifting Olli’s legs to put them on his own lap while balancing his laptop on the armrest and giving Olli’s soles a light tickle.

Then he began reading.

#blind channel #blind channel rpf #blind channel fanfiction #spring fluff by theflyingfeeling #here to give you a sensible chuckle

[zak-kondo]

In Millenium Actress, Satoshi Kon teaches us to find our ambitions and the meaning of hope. The key to the greatest thing there is was never meant to be for a lock or answered by the film; you must provide the answer for yourself. What the key is, is just the drive towards finding the love of accomplishing that greatest thing. To the painter, his art was his passion, and the key to his art supplies box locked inside painting, the greatest thing there was for him.

Millenium Actress became my key towards finding great anime during that period where I had almost stopped watching it all together. I would never have made it this far making anime analysis content if it wasn't for me watching this film, and the few others from that period during those earlier days where I had almost completely lost hope.

Chiyoko was in a dark place. Her future was tied between indecision. Suddenly, during a time of political upheaval, she bumped into a tall painter. She saw his kindness and that he was a revolutionary, wounded and bloodied. Once the authorities came, she decided to help him get away. Though he was a political activist with a target on his back, she took him in. During that night conversation under the moon, she felt moved by his poetic words.

He told her he admired more the moon that was less bright than the one that is full. That is because the full moon has already peaked, it can only diminish. The not so bright moon still has potential, and the thrill and beauty of it struggling to be more beautiful, and the hope in every tomorrow that brings for it to reach that goal felt greater to him. It's been said time and time before, it's not about the end; it's about the journey.

As Chiyoko listened with fascination, she began to feel inspired by how passionate this man was about his art and what drives him. He told her that once he gets home when peace returns, he'd paint in the snowy landscape, which felt like a faraway world to him, even if it hurt from the cold. She decided then and there to go with him, and they make a promise to see each other again since he had to leave soon to dodge the authorities.

Eventually he vanished, and left behind the key while escaping from the authorities. Chiyoko would keep it around her neck after finding it, and tries to find him during the chaos of the war. She decided to take up acting, not because she cared about it. More so, she wanted him to see one of her films to lead him back to her. An amateur, she started off bad. Despite that, her strong emotions to find this man she fell in love with gave her the passion to deliver her lines beautifully. She became famous in the process. Still, the only audience she was looking for was just one man. As long as she kept the key and the memories, she'd keep trying to find him. There is a loneliness to this despite her grandiose career.

Eventually, a ghost appeared. It haunted her by telling her throughout her career that she has been cursed by an endless pursuit if love that will burn her up. The ghost tells her that she hates her and loves her both more than she can bear. No matter how much Chiyoko ran after him and made progress, the ghost laughed in the shadows behind her, telling her that she can't escape the curses' fate. It even told her that those who are alive who don't manage to meet up get to do so in the afterlife, which frightened her.

This films feels like I am watching a dream. The dream of an old actress who's memories have become so hazy that they have blended not just with the story of her love interest, but with the movies of her career as she tries to tell her life story throught the film for a documentary on her life. This is Satoshi Kon's specialty. The brilliance and surrealism of the edits, the blending of fantasy and reality that has so much wonder and mystery it goes over the viewers' comprehensions. Then there's the film crew in the movie. A camera man who thinks what the viewers think out loud, and provides humor for balance. On the other hand, there is Genya. He feels like Chiyoko's most loyal follower, a humble man who also loved her more than he could bear.

What a shame that such talent was taken so early from this world. Kon had a way with invoking the exact feeling I look for in anime. It pains me that his next film, which was supposed to be Dreaming Machine, will probably never be finished, because he is just outright irreplaceable, and the staff left behind can't find someone with his talent to direct and finish it.

The type of feeling that Millenium Actress brings is one that folds knots all over the inside of your heart. The ending throws a curveball at you and tells you that there is hope in the end. Whether or not you reach your goal, the lifetime you spent chasing it, the progress and hope you gained along the way, the accomplishments, were what really mattered.

Every time I begin to forget this film, I watch it again, learn something new from it, and enjoy it even more. I'll never stop talking about it. Some people say that all that could be said about an anime has been said, that the discussion is over. That couldn't be farther from the truth. There will always be people with new interpretations. In fact, the more I watch this film, the better I can talk about it the next time. That's why I can appreciate those that try to review older anime. Those that pump out endless seasonal reviews usually make them all bland because they only saw them once and weekly without notes or meaningful thought.

Last and certainly not least, this film was blessed with the music of Susumu Hirasawa. The soundtrack can toss you around with sadness, terrifying uncertainty, suspense, and bittersweet wonder.

Afterwords, Millenium Actress still asks the question to it's viewers in the end: What is the greatest thing there is to you?