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meetinginsamarra · 2 years

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My Fave Sherlock BBC AUs: Sports fics

Around mid-month I´ll do a fic rec list with my fave AU genres or tropes. Summaries are taken from OP´s on AO3.

Not featuring ballet because there is a separate rec list.

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“Sticking the Landing” by SweetMandolins

https://archiveofourown.org/works/8797708

John Watson, Captain of Team GB’s gymnastics squad is confident and primed for his third and final Olympics. Disappointed in London with a shoulder injury putting paid to his Olympic dream, can he secure an Olympic gold finish before retirement? Meanwhile, Sherlock Holmes has other problems. Men’s Rhythmic Gymnastics is the newest Olympic sport, but a series of peculiar accidents both on and off the floor have taken out some of the competitors. Does something more sinister lurk under the spangles and spandex? Can Sherlock solve the mystery in time to deliver a flawless ball routine? And does something more valuable than medals await the boys in Rio?

“Thermocline” by J_Baillier @jbaillier

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22068541

John "Five Oceans" Watson — technical dive instructor, dive accident analyst and weapon of mass seduction — meets recluse professor of maritime archaeology Holmes. As they head out to a remote archipelago off the coast of Guatemala to study and film its shipwrecks for a documentary, will sparks fly or fizzle out?

“Summit Fever” by J_Baillier @jbaillier

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16143296

After graduating from medical school, John Watson followed his heart to the Himalayas. Ten years later, he's a haunted cynic working for his ex-lover's trekking and mountaineering company. Will leading an expedition to Annapurna I — the most lethal of all the world's highest mountains — shake John out of his reverie, and who is the mystery client added to the group at the last minute?

“Passion connected” by songlin

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14298093

(This is unfinished but imo still worth a read!)

John Watson retired after an injury pulled him out of the 2010 Winter Olympics. He's resigned himself to living out his days sharpening skates in Catawissa, Pennsylvania, fighting with his drunk sister and watching his number of students dwindle away.

Sherlock Holmes was banned from competition for a doping violation he did not commit before the 2014 Winter Olympics. Ever since, he has whiled away his time on odd jobs as skater after skater fires him as a coach. He no longer dreams of proving his innocence and making his comeback.

Uphill by scullyseviltwin @scullyseviltwin

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179526

Sherlock Holmes is striving for gold in this, his fourth and final Olympics as a downhill Alpine racer.

“Working on the Edges” by earlgreytea68 @earlgreytea68

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1185555

No matter where you put Sherlock and John, they click. Including the Winter Olympics.

“Tennis-series” by JupiterAsh (7fics)

https://archiveofourown.org/series/16847

starting with “A Study in Winning”

John and Sherlock are professional tennis players and it’s Wimbledon. One is a broken almost was at the end of his career, the other an arrogant rising star tipped for greatness. It should have been a straightforward tournament. It really should have been. How were they to know that a chance encounter would change everything?

“Gimme Shelter” by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John @sincewhendoyoucallme-john

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11578941

(also published as “The sea ain´t mine alone” by C.L. Beaumont)

All John Watson wants is the feeling of a freshly waxed surfboard under his feet and the hot California sun baking down onto his back. To finally go pro in the newly formed world of professional surfing and leave the dark memories of his past behind him as he rips across the face of a towering blue barrel. To lounge beside the beach bonfire every evening with an ice cold beer tucked into the cool sand beside him and listen to Pink Floyd and the Doors while the saltwater dries in his sun bleached hair.

That's all he wants, that is, until the hot young phenom taking Oahu and the Hawaiian shores by storm steps up next to him in the sand in the second round of the 1976 International Surf Competition.

“Slipstream” by khorazir @khorazir

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15975143

It’s going to be the last Tour de France for professional cyclist John Watson. Despite the hardships of cycling more than 3000 kilometres in three weeks, in blistering heat and torrential rain, over dangerous cobblestones in northern France and the mountains of the Alps and the Pyrenees, battling thirst, hunger, injury and exhaustion, not to mention bitchy rivals, doping allegations, and the ever scoop-hungry press, he is going to enjoy the ride, damn it. That’s what John keeps telling himself – until he meets his new teammate, Sherlock Holmes, who adds a whole new list of problems as well as an extra dose of excitement to John’s life

“The Bang and the Clatter” by earlgreytea68 @earlgreytea68

https://archiveofourown.org/works/744242

Sherlock Holmes is a pitcher and John Watson is a catcher. No, no, no, it's a baseball AU.

“Boyfriend Material” (-series) by PoppyAlexander @fuckyeahfightlock

https://archiveofourown.org/works/8857168

Boston Brawlers' team captain John Watson longs for two things: a championship before he retires, and a boyfriend. Assigned to room with goaltender Sherlock Holmes--known around the league as both a genius and a "weird dude"--on Brawlers' roadtrips, John discovers the things they have in common that lead to an easy friendship and a convenient arrangement.

Slow-burn, adversaries-to-friends-to-lovers, romantic comedy.

#my fic recs #Sports AUs

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craftylovegentlemen · 10 days

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The Bible Old Testament

2 Samuel

Chapter 21

1 Then there was a famine in the days of David three years, year after year; and David enquired of the LORD. And the LORD answered, It is for Saul, and for his bloody house, because he slew the Gibeonites. 2 And the king called the Gibeonites, and said unto them; (now the Gibeonites were not of the children of Israel, but of the remnant of the Amorites; and the children of Israel had sworn unto them: and Saul sought to slay them in his zeal to the children of Israel and Judah.) 3 Wherefore David said unto the Gibeonites, What shall I do for you? and wherewith shall I make the atonement, that ye may bless the inheritance of the LORD? 4 And the Gibeonites said unto him, We will have no silver nor gold of Saul, nor of his house; neither for us shalt thou kill any man in Israel. And he said, What ye shall say, that will I do for you. 5 And they answered the king, The man that consumed us, and that devised against us that we should be destroyed from remaining in any of the coasts of Israel, 6 Let seven men of his sons be delivered unto us, and we will hang them up unto the LORD in Gibeah of Saul, whom the LORD did choose. And the king said, I will give them. 7 But the king spared Mephibosheth, the son of Jonathan the son of Saul, because of the LORD's oath that was between them, between David and Jonathan the son of Saul. 8 But the king took the two sons of Rizpah the daughter of Aiah, whom she bare unto Saul, Armoni and Mephibosheth; and the five sons of Michal the daughter of Saul, whom she brought up for Adriel the son of Barzillai the Meholathite: 9 And he delivered them into the hands of the Gibeonites, and they hanged them in the hill before the LORD: and they fell all seven together, and were put to death in the days of harvest, in the first days, in the beginning of barley harvest. 10 And Rizpah the daughter of Aiah took sackcloth, and spread it for her upon the rock, from the beginning of harvest until water dropped upon them out of heaven, and suffered neither the birds of the air to rest on them by day, nor the beasts of the field by night.

11 And it was told David what Rizpah the daughter of Aiah, the concubine of Saul, had done. 12 And David went and took the bones of Saul and the bones of Jonathan his son from the men of Jabeshgilead, which had stolen them from the street of Bethshan, where the Philistines had hanged them, when the Philistines had slain Saul in Gilboa: 13 And he brought up from thence the bones of Saul and the bones of Jonathan his son; and they gathered the bones of them that were hanged. 14 And the bones of Saul and Jonathan his son buried they in the country of Benjamin in Zelah, in the sepulchre of Kish his father: and they performed all that the king commanded. And after that God was intreated for the land. 15 Moreover the Philistines had yet war again with Israel; and David went down, and his servants with him, and fought against the Philistines: and David waxed faint. 16 And Ishbibenob, which was of the sons of the giant, the weight of whose spear weighed three hundred shekels of brass in weight, he being girded with a new sword, thought to have slain David. 17 But Abishai the son of Zeruiah succoured him, and smote the Philistine, and killed him. Then the men of David sware unto him, saying, Thou shalt go no more out with us to battle, that thou quench not the light of Israel. 18 And it came to pass after this, that there was again a battle with the Philistines at Gob: then Sibbechai the Hushathite slew Saph, which was of the sons of the giant. 19 And there was again a battle in Gob with the Philistines, where Elhanan the son of Jaareoregim, a Bethlehemite, slew the brother of Goliath the Gittite, the staff of whose spear was like a weaver's beam. 20 And there was yet a battle in Gath, where was a man of great stature, that had on every hand six fingers, and on every foot six toes, four and twenty in number; and he also was born to the giant. 21 And when he defied Israel, Jonathan the son of Shimeah the brother of David slew him. 22 These four were born to the giant in Gath, and fell by the hand of David, and by the hand of his servants.

2 Samuel 21

Diane Beauford

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sartorialadventure · 3 years

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As a new book is published on African wax print textiles, Vogue speaks to its author about the complex origins and stories behind eight of the most vibrant prints. Once a craze confined to Africa’s Gold Coast; now, African wax prints have gone global. Take Beyoncé, who rocked the printed cotton fabric for her baby shower last year, asking her guests to wear African-centred gelées, kufis and wax-printed pieces. “It is everywhere but at the same time people don’t know really the story and the meanings of this textile,” says Anne Grosfilley, author of a new book, African Wax Print Textiles, published by Prestel this month (£45, available here). The book is a detailed exploration of the fabric’s origins, techniques and cultural currency as well as a showcase of vibrant, eye-popping designs. “There are colours you would not see in other types of textiles,” Grosfilley says, citing deep blue with orange. These are also clothes with deep meaning: often, fabrics have hidden messages. African wax prints actually came from the Netherlands. In the second half of the 19th century, fuelled by the industrial revolution and colonial expansion, new markets opened in the Dutch East Indies (now Indonesia) as well as Africa. With the Netherlands securing its presence in Java, its textile companies began competing with the local artisanal batik techniques, producing their own cotton prints. These Dutch wax prints, however, bombed as the Dutch dyes created cracks, so new markets had to be found. In 1893 the first Dutch wax prints landed in the African Gold Coast (now Ghana), where they became style and status symbols. During the 1950s, their appeal spread across west Africa, when the Mercedes-Benz driving female entrepreneurs (known as the Nana Benz) bought the fabrics into Togo and gave them names to add mystique. Africa’s fight for independence in the 1960s led to wax prints being made locally. More recently, cheap Chinese copies have made wax prints more accessible to the rest of the world. Now, wax prints are worn with denim and other Western styles with men donning the print too. Here, a selection of the most intriguing wax prints and the unusual stories and meanings behind them.

Alphabet, 1920

Created in 1920, this alphabet design was worn mainly by people who went to the colonial school, and could read, write and count with the new mathematics. “People were very proud of it and they would wear this wax print to say, 'look, I’m literate and an educated person’”, says Grosfilley. Today, the design still retains this symbolism, even used by political parties for propaganda, "as if to say, 'look, this is a good value design and I am a good value president, so you should support me because I am as good as education,’” she says. Modern motifs have updated the design with computers replacing blackboards.

Elizabeth II, 1956

Designed for Queen Elizabeth II’s first visit to Nigeria in 1956, Grosfilley believes this wax print was given away to ensure a crowd gave her a warm welcome - as the visit was shortly before the country gained independence. It’s an African tradition for people to wear the same fabric for a specific occasion, whether it's close family and friends at a wedding, or at a political rally where the crowd wears a print with the president’s face, or to show solidarity with a group or community. "In Africa, we are less individualistic than in the western cultures,” argues Grosfilley, though explains that each person wears print in their own way. “So you are part of a group but at the same time you are unique." Don't miss the imperfections of the wax process that appear as cracks in her fur and the early wax print colours, brown and indigo, on the original white of the fabric.

Fly-Whisk, 1950

A fly swatter may seem like an everyday symbol, but actually it symbolises power and prestige. Why? These are the brooms used to swat away the mosquitoes and other flies from the kings and traditional chiefs of the Akan people who live across the Ivory Coast and Ghana. Once wielding great economic power selling gold and ivory to the British and other countries, today these kings and chiefs are more symbolic. Designed in 1950, the pattern is set in big squares à la Adinkra, Adire and other African handmade textiles and has a decorative background to prevent any cracks caused by the batik process being seen.

Darling, Don't Turn Your Back On Me, 1980s

This abstract pattern from the 1980s was inspired by paper used to wrap meat in a French butcher. According to Grosfilley: “This is the magic of wax print, as you see a design and you project something which may be completely different from the original meaning.” For women in Toga, it's known as, “darling, don’t turn your back on me,” when they think their man is not looking at them anymore, but another woman. “In real life, the men don’t understand or don’t care as they don’t pay attention to the meaning of wax print. So although the message is to the man, really it is to the other woman,” she says.

[I am suddenly visualizing women wearing clothing with the boyfriend meme printed on it!]

Shell

One of the earliest wax print designs, produced in Ivory Coast, this is now a classic. Depicting the wings of the Garuda bird, Indonesia’s national emblem, this print symbolises how Indonesian designs have been re-interpreted in Africa. Take the Ghanaians, who see the design as a bunch of bananas, as “it’s part of their basic food as you’d eat it as a fruit or in a stew,” says Grosfilley. Or the Togans, who call the print, “the snail coming out of its shell,” after the snails they eat (and local phrase meaning "busybody"). Wearing the design, according to Grosfilley, means that “you should look at your own business instead of looking at what other people are doing,” she says.

Michelle Obama's Handbag, 2008

Some designs take on famous names. There’s Kofi Annan’s brain, the heart of Barack Obama and this one, named after Michelle Obama when her husband first became the president of the United States, in 2008. The basic appeal translates as: “You cannot afford to be Michelle Obama or buy the same bag as she carries, but because you can buy the pattern on wax print it’s like you’re part of it,” says Grosfilley. Yet, the connection to Obama is accidental. “Vlisco just designed a nice bag but then it’s the African market who said, 'Wow, we should make a connection between Michelle Obama and the bag',” she says. Made from Super Wax, which is softer, thinner and has an extra colour, wearing this more expensive fabric symbolises prestige.

Violent Eyes, The Mouth Says Nothing, 2011

The surrealist shoe with its tongue-like heel and multiple red-varnished toes is a detail of a larger design, created in 2011, in the Netherlands. Called "the eyes see, but the mouth does not speak,” the print is dominated by a huge mouth with a finger against it to say "shush, don’t speak" in the centre with little mouths in the background which also say nothing. “It’s about being an elegant woman and at the same time full of humour,” says Grosfilley. “We are saying, wear something just to see the good side of things.” The quirky design is accentuated by a bright red outline instead of the classic indigo, showing new ways of using the batik technique.

Reproduction Fan Print, 2000s

When electrical fans were introduced to Africa in the 1980s, they appeared on wax print as signs of modernity (as did mobile phones). Now, as fans are only bought by those without air-conditioning, the meaning has changed. “It is casual. You’ve got chairs, table, so what, there’s no point,” the author says. Printed on polycotton from China rather than cotton, bright new colours have been added, like the maroon and yellow and green combo since the original design debuted.

#fashion #african fashion #vlisco #prints #fashion history #africa #dutch fashion #javanese fashion #java #the netherland

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inevitably-johnlocked · 4 years

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Hey so I've recently been craving sport themed Johnlock (Excluding Rugby because it's kinda overused though 100% understandable). Either one could be doing the sport I just wanted something sporty. Preferably long and kinda angsty but just sporty will do-

Hi Nonny!

Sure! You’re in luck because I haven’t really read any Rugby John, LOL. You’re getting all the sports AUs I have :) I thought I did this list already but apparently not hahah :P Here you are!

SPORTS

See also:

Alexx’s Sports AU List

YorkiePug’s Sports AU List

Summit Fever by J_Baillier (M, 78,802 w., 18 Ch. || Mountain Climber AU || POV John, Angst, Tragedy, Suicidal Ideation, The Himalayas, Mountain Guide / Doctor John, Mount Climber Sherlock, Loneliness, Drama, Suspense, Slow Burn, Injured Sherlock / Sherlock Whump, Pining John) – After graduating from medical school, John Watson followed his heart to the Himalayas. Ten years later, he's a haunted cynic working for his ex-lover's trekking and mountaineering company. Will leading an expedition to Annapurna I—the most lethal of all the world's highest mountains—shake John out of his reverie, and who is the mystery client added to the group at the last minute?

Thermocline by J_Baillier (M, 83,557 w., 14 Ch. || Scuba Diving AU || Adventure, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Marine Archaeology, Asexual Sherlock, Horny John, Relationship Drama, Technical/Scuba/Wreck Diving, Slow Burn, Underwater / Medical Peril, Doctor John, Hurt Sherlock, Anxious Sherlock, John POV, Protective John, Body Appreciation) – John "Five Oceans" Watson — technical dive instructor, dive accident analyst and weapon of mass seduction — meets recluse professor of maritime archaeology Holmes. As they head out to a remote archipelago off the coast of Guatemala to study and film its shipwrecks for a documentary, will sparks fly or fizzle out?

Uphill by scullyseviltwin (E, 84,945 w., 18 Ch. || Olympics AU || Sherlock POV, Skier!Sherlock / Medic!John, Rivalry, 2014 Olympics, Happy Ending) – Sherlock Holmes is striving for gold in this, his fourth and final Olympics as a downhill Alpine racer.

Eyes Up, Heels Down by CodenameMeretricious (E, 107,845 w., 43 Ch. || Sports Equestrian AU || Fluff, Angst, Humour, Rider!Sherlock, Groomer!John, Show Jumping, Slow Burn, Happy Ending) – Sherlock is a top eventing rider currently training at Baker Farms. John is the new groom who's been told to steer clear of the surly rider and his horses. Part 1 of Baker Farms

A Study in Winning by Jupiter_Ash (E, 106,658 w., 11 Ch. || Tennis AU || John POV, Dirty Talk, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Happy Ending, Sherlock Speaks French, Switchlock, Wimbledon) – John and Sherlock are professional tennis players and it’s Wimbledon. One is a broken almost was at the end of his career, the other an arrogant rising star tipped for greatness. It should have been a straightforward tournament. It really should have been. How were they to know that a chance encounter would change everything? Part 1 of Tennis

The Bang and the Clatter by earlgreytea68 (M, 137,049 w., 37 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Baseball AU || Slow Burn / Dev. Rel., Possessive/Obsessive Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Mutual Pining, Body Appreciation, Depression, Closeted Sexuality, Family, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Ogling Each Other, Anxious Sherlock, Panic Attack, Drunkenness, Talk of Forever, Big Feelings™) – Sherlock Holmes is a pitcher and John Watson is a catcher. No, no, no, it's a baseball AU. Part 1 of Baseball

Gimme Shelter by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (E, 159,368 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || 70′s Surfer AU || Period Typical Homophobia, Hawaii, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Professional Surfers, Gay John / Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, John was a Sailor, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining) – All John Watson wants is the feeling of a freshly waxed surfboard under his feet and the hot California sun baking down onto his back. To finally go pro in the newly formed world of professional surfing and leave the dark memories of his past behind him as he rips across the face of a towering blue barrel. To lounge beside the beach bonfire every evening with an ice cold beer tucked into the cool sand beside him and listen to Pink Floyd and the Doors while the saltwater dries in his sun bleached hair. That's all he wants, that is, until the hot young phenom taking Oahu and the Hawaiian shores by storm steps up next to him in the sand in the second round of the 1976 International Surf Competition. (PUBLISHED AS ‘The Sea Ain’t Mine Alone’)

MARKED FOR LATER

Emblaze Our Hearts by antietamfalls (T, 7,970 w., 1 Ch. || Olympics AU || Skeleton Luger Sherlock, Biathlete John, Drunkenness, Texting, Memory Loss) – A night of celebratory drinking leads to a mystery in the Olympic village. Who is this "SH" person with whom John apparently spent the night, and why did they disappear with John's most prized possession?

On The Fence by BeautifulFiction (T, 13,770 w., 1 Ch. || Fencing, Case Fic, First Kiss) – The murder of the King's College fencing champion leads to revelations about Sherlock's past. Will it be the point that tips them from friends to lovers, or will they remain on the fence? (sorry, not an AU, but since this is a new story, I want to promote it, LOL.)

A Hooligans’ Game Played By Gentlemen by scullyseviltwin (E, 15,213 w., 1 Ch. || Rugby AU || First Time, Rugby as Foreplay, Porn with Lots of Plot) – In which John wants to get back in shape, does so, joins a rugby league and has sex with Sherlock Holmes. In that order.

Forces of Nature by Ewebie (E, 18,369 w., 1 Ch. || Unilock || Rugby Captain John, Hammock Sex, Bad Jokes) – Sherlock watched as the man pushed himself out of the water and onto the floating dock constantly anchored in the middle of the lake. Oh. He was… He was quite tanned. Broad shoulders sloped into a narrow, muscular waist and tapered hips that disappeared into the navy swim trunks. Somehow the breadth of the shoulders made the thighs and legs that appeared out of the bottom of the trunks look delicate. Tanned in their own right and powerful, but oddly proportionate to the shorter stature the man seemed to possess. Sherlock watched the water run off of him, down his back, tracing a path along his spine and through the pleasing fossae lumbales laterales and lumbar lordosis into the waistband of the trunks. Sherlock swallowed. Shit.

Sticking the Landing by SweetMandolins (M, 44,826 w. 17 Ch. || Olympics AU || Gymnast John, Ballet Dancer Sherlock, Rhythmic Gymnastics, Falling in Love, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Bisexual John, Muscular John, Humour, Jealous John, Side Mystrade) – John Watson, Captain of Team GB’s gymnastics squad is confident and primed for his third and final Olympics. Disappointed in London with a shoulder injury putting paid to his Olympic dream, can he secure an Olympic gold finish before retirement? Meanwhile, Sherlock Holmes has other problems. Men’s Rhythmic Gymnastics is the newest Olympic sport, but a series of peculiar accidents both on and off the floor have taken out some of the competitors. Does something more sinister lurk under the spangles and spandex? Can Sherlock solve the mystery in time to deliver a flawless ball routine? And does something more valuable than medals await the boys in Rio?

Fly Very High by yalublyutebya (E, 46,533 w., 31 Ch. || Formula One / Car Racing AU || Rivalry, Permanent Injury, Hate Sex, Angry Sex) – John Watson was born to be a racing driver, and even a crash isn't enough to keep him out of a car for long. But coming back is not that easy, especially when he meets his new teammate, Sherlock Holmes. Part 2 of the Formula One AU series

Working on the Edges by earlgreytea68 (M, 56,089 w., 16 Ch. || Olympics AU || Hockey Player John, Ice Skater Sherlock) – No matter where you put Sherlock and John, they click. Including the Winter Olympics.

Full Court Press by MissDavis (E, 126,123 w. || College Basketball AU || Unilock, Masturbation, Homophobia, First Kiss / Time, Oral/Anal, Coming Out, Switchlock, Blowjobs) – Sherlock Holmes has accepted a scholarship to play basketball at the College of St. Bartholomew's. He expects to be their star player and turn the team's losing record around. He does not expect to fall in love with the team's captain, a certain scrappy point guard named John Watson. Or: Sherlock is the team's best shooter. John is the team's best ball-handler.

Boyfriend Material by PoppyAlexander (E, 151,282 w., 58 Ch. || American Hockey AU || Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Closeted John, POV John, Pining, Casual Sex / Hook Ups, Rom-Com) – Boston Brawlers' team captain John Watson longs for two things: a championship before he retires, and a boyfriend. Assigned to room with goaltender Sherlock Holmes--known around the league as both a genius and a "weird dude"– on Brawlers' roadtrips, John discovers the things they have in common that lead to an easy friendship and a convenient arrangement.

Slipstream by khorazir (M, 173,186+ w., 14/25 Ch. || WIP || Tour de France / Sports Cycling AU || Room Sharing, Cycling Injuries, Discussions of Drugs/Doping, Awkward Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Bickering, Case Fic, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Internalized Homophobia, Mutual Pining, Bed Sharing, Jealousy) –It’s going to be the last Tour de France for professional cyclist John Watson. Despite the hardships of cycling more than 3000 kilometres in three weeks, in blistering heat and torrential rain, over dangerous cobblestones in northern France and the mountains of the Alps and the Pyrenees, battling thirst, hunger, injury and exhaustion, not to mention bitchy rivals, doping allegations, and the ever scoop-hungry press, he is going to enjoy the ride, damn it. That’s what John keeps telling himself – until he meets his new teammate, Sherlock Holmes, who adds a whole new list of problems as well as an extra dose of excitement to John’s life.

Red Lights Out by days_of_storm (E, 333,458 w., 103 Ch. || Formula One / Car Racing AU || Mechanic John, Driver Sherlock, UST, Friendship, Pre-Slash, Romance, Perfect Cooperation, Accidents, Manipulation, Slow Burn) – John Watson is an overqualified mechanic and former rally driver who works for McLaren. Silverstone GP is impending when he meets Sherlock Holmes, a prodigy driver whom nobody takes seriously, except for McLaren boss Greg Lestrade.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #sports au #my fic recs #Anonymous #fic rec sunday

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darlinrogue · 3 years

Text

Matt Hardy

For me because I can’t write an actual analysis

I-Con (ˈīˌkän) noun

1. One who is the object of great attention and devotion; an idol

2. A person or thing regarded as a representative symbol of something

3. An entity that will not die

4. A being or force that is stronger than death

5. MATT HARDY

The Hammerstein Ballroom in New York City was a scene set in Adam Page’s dreams. The stage had hosted acts like Brittney Spears, Avenged Sevenfold, David Bowie, Paramore, All Time Low, Guns N’ Roses, Korn, Iron Maiden, and two farm boys from the rural south who somehow sneaked in before the curtain fell. The wrestling fans in t-shirts, jeans, and bawdy signs, didn’t match the elegant balconies they crowded. The ring was a jagged piece of metallic architecture placed on an old warn, wood floor. Adam Page, twenty-two years old, settled in the far corner with his heart in his throat and his childhood idol adjacent to him. The microphone lifted to Matt Hardy’s lips like he intended to speak. At that moment as Matt Hardy looked over the crowd, it was like a fantasy. Something he spun-up while he bounced on the trampoline with his sister and begged her to let him try the Twist of Fate one more time.

In the 1970 census, a few years before his birth, Matt Hardy’s hometown of Cameron, North Carolina had a whopping population of 204 individuals. In 1990, when Matt and his brother Jeff were mimicking the moves they learned off TV on the trampoline, the population was an impressive 215. Cameron was a small town in the heart of tobacco country, Virginia and Carolina being one of the few places in the United States to grow the desired plant. Running down to the coast, once out of the foothills of the Appalachians and Grandfather Mountain, North Carolina was flat and balmy. Unlike the dense red clay of the Piedmont region, the soil was silty and perfect for farming. Matt probably never saw more than a few inches of snow a Winter. A few hours to the East and he’d stand at the edge of the Atlantic. Along the cat’s claw thin barrier Islands, he’d watch the waves wash over white sand. Hear the whispers of shipwrecks the vicious coast of North Carolina claimed.

A stupid kid like Adam Page, eyeballs glued to the TV screen as WWF played Monday Night Raw or later Smackdown, heard these stories of the Hardy Boyz and looked at his own life. Aaron's Creek, Virginia, made Cameron look like a metropolis. Adam’s hometown was so small it didn’t even deserve a Wikipedia page. His family had deep roots in Virginia because it was a state for lovers. His father also raised tobacco and Adam grew-up amongst the viridian fields, laid out for acres around the house he grew up in. There wasn’t a lot of money for Christmas most years and Adam knew more about the intricacies of cattle farming than he sometimes cared to admit to his classmates. Yet, while his best friends extolled the Hardys for their daredevil stunts, ladders, and chairs. Adam idolized them because they were a proof of concept. That it was possible for a hard-working, farm working, Virgin-lina boy, to grow-up and be hot shit.

In 2013, Adam was starting to warm-up, with a brand new Ring of Honor contract and some neon green trunks. At Final Battle, the crown jewel event of the promotion he just signed-to, Adam had no choice but to laugh as Matt Hardy was almost booed out of the arena the moment he got a mic in his hand. It made Adam feel like a hero. Of the two, the audience preferred Adam Page to Matt Hardy, just incredible. Of course, Matt Hardy, the iconic, was a manipulative and arrogant son of a bitch, who claimed more than was his to take. Never meet your heroes, they say, and when Adam met his, he was kind of a dick. Yet, when Matt Hardy clasped his hand and gave him a firm handshake, that felt like a small victory. An inner ten-year-old in Adam promised to never wash it again.

It was also a statement. A statement that even if Matt Hardy thought he was better than this everybody, he still had to treat Adam with some measure of respect. Never once did Adam allow the stars in his eyes to blind him. There was no point in fighting a legend if it was only half the legend— Adam was going to get all of Matt Hardy, or nothing. So, he slapped Matt Hardy across the cheek and dragged out the old champion.

A year later, when Adam worked under Hardy’s personal brand, OMEGA, Matt would talk up the youthful Adam Page. Call him the future of wrestling, with his impressive moonsaults, clever counters, fearless attitude, and ‘never say die’ mentality. It was a good showing that night. Adam showed a lot of heart. Surely, he impressed someone upstairs— but he didn’t win. And Adam didn’t know what the point of having ‘heart’ was if he couldn’t win with it. Having ‘heart’ is the wrestling equivalent of a participation trophy.

In the Hammerstein Ballroom though, in 2013, a Twist of Fate would plant Adam on his head and the match would end at seven minutes and twenty seconds. That same night, just a couple of months after their New Japan debut, the Young Bucks defeated ACH and TaDarius Thomas. In due course, the Jacksons would join the Bullet Club with one Kenny Omega. Next month, Jimmy Jacobs, Roderick Strong, and BJ Whitmer formed the Decade, then called Adam out in the same breath, all for daring to dream bigger than the East Coast that Ring of Honor frequented. That night, in New York City, in the heart of Manhattan, the Hammerstein ballroom became a pivoting point for Adam’s life. Matt Hardy was Adam’s first breakpoint.

Through the course of 2014, Adam followed Matt’s invitation into OMEGA and crisscrossed central Carolina in search of his next break. Alongside his then tag-partner, Corey Hollis, Adam wrestled one more match in the ring with Matt Hardy. With the addition of his equally strange brother: Jeff Hardy. An eight-man tag where for a bizarre moment Adam was in the corner with the Hardy Boyz. Twenty years on from WWF ladder matches and the two men, closer to forty than thirty, could still go. Go with the speed and intensity of their youth. With the reckless abandon that defined their careers. These were the type of guys who looked at a wrestling ring and asked, “ you know what needs ?” Then answered: “More hardware.” Watching Matt Hardy, Adam learned when to slow, when to hasten, when to wait, when to press the advantage. Little tricks of the trade. He absorbed all of it like a sponge and held it tight to his chest. Treasure and gold to spend a little farther down the road.

Adam learned that Matt Hardy ran equal parts hot and cold. He was a little off, in a way that wasn’t healthy, but Adam blamed that on a history of concussions and injuries. Arrogant but in a way that was condescending and so he was always willing to groom a newbie to greatness. In fact, Matt Hardy took great pride in taking some young kid and making them a ‘star.’ In a way, every OMEGA recruit was some pet project of Matt or Jeff Hardy. No better way to pat yourself on the back than to make someone. It was never about the protege, though, it was about Matt Hardy. It was about his ego trip, to be able to say—

‘Look what I did for Adam Page.’

And he could cash in his ‘good person’ chip for the week.

Oh, and how Adam knows how it goes. Like, a favorite catchy tune.

BJ Whitmer ruffled his hair and a stupid twenty-four-year-old, hoping for approval, construed it as affectionate. Unaware that the gesture was more like the way a man polishes the rearview window of his new SUV. Yeah, he likes the vehicle, it’s expensive, he’s invested a lot, and he’d get really pissed if someone keyed the paint, but it was nothing but an object. A thing that he owns. A possession to be used and thrown away when it was no longer interesting. Adam was a good boy though and he’d do anything to be wanted, needed, useful. Even pick-up a chair and go against his better nature. The waves of frustration, internal conflict his own actions created, broke him until all that was left was a defensive, angry man biting at any hand that came too close. So, Adam no longer recognized who he was in the mirror. BJ Whitmer didn’t want to see ROH Champion Adam Page, he just wanted someone to carry his bags.

Falling in line with Cody was like falling into an old groove, well worn and well-trodden. When Cody handed that chair to Adam, he knew exactly what to do with it. How to hold Kenny fast and to twist his head so he’d see his incoming braining. Years ago Adam had been wounded and he had never healed. The blood festered and boiled, a slit through his throat hemorrhaging down his bruised chest. Cody stuck his finger in Adam’s festering resentment and anxiety, dug out his trachea. Weaponized Adam’s unspoken fear that Kenny Omega thought he was better than Adam Page and he was using Adam like BJ did two years ago. When Kenny ripped the US title from Adam’s hands and handed it back to Jay White —who he thought they all hated anyway— it was like a slap in the face. That was his moment, Cody declared, he ruined, he stole it. It took a couple of drop kicks from Kota Ibushi and a V-trigger he couldn’t technically remember, for Adam to realize he’d been played. Cody brought Adam no closer to his moment and Adam had ruined his closest friendships. All for a stupid belt.

Kenny never remarked on all of it, probably because he thought Adam too pitiful to deserve admonishment. Or, that his loyalty could be bartered for with games of Mario Tennis. So long as Adam stayed in line and kept his mouth shut, they were fine. Or, maybe Kenny was more forgiving than Adam gave him credit for. That was too much logic for his brain to handle these days, though.

His family once owned a gentle Paso Fino gelding. A sweet boy with soft brown flanks and soulful black eyes. While riding with his father Adam asked if he could cross a field with the horse, if the Paso Fino would canter. Could he persuade this gentle creature to do such a thing? His father chuckled and waxed, “of course you can, he aims to please.” And sure enough, Adam and the Paso Fino flew across the field, in the long smooth gait of the breed. It was beautiful and for a second it was like they shared a mind, but he wished his father never said those words to him. Because every so often, “he aims to please,” applies better to Adam than the horse.

FTR put a bit in Adam’s mouth and led him by the bridle for three months. Somehow their inevitable betrayal came as a shock. It had just been that drinking and joking with Kenny was nice, but the tension in the EVP room was like poison. While the Bucks sat easy, Adam was dying, and FTR, in their caring familiarity was like a breath of fresh air. He wished he could’ve been there for Kenny but he had been there for Kenny and didn’t he deserve a chance to unwind? Unwork the knife from his gut and enjoy an evening with old friends? Stupid, stupid, stupid, so stupid, so blind, so eager to please, that he’d trade real friends for fake friends. FTR played Adam’s fragile ego like a fiddle and left him in the aftermath of his own decisions. Alone and with just Kenny, who no longer wanted anything to do with him.

And after all those lessons, it was painful to realize that Adam Page was just another trinket for the Young Bucks to marvel over. A living, breathing camera stand to film BTE bits and then do the complex editing, giving a polish to the final product. That was the deal, he understood and agreed to it walking into the Bullet Club. He was to be the problem solver. The replacement big guy now that Gallows was gone. Adam beats up the enemies of the Bullet Club and he stays out of the title shot picture, good deal. A jobber they can hand a trio belt to and smirk over because the Bucks are such good guys. Adam really thought they were his friends and Adam wished he could say he used the Bucks like he used BJ but he never loved BJ like he loved Matt and Nick. It was the first time he was ever happy being a prop but it still hurt, especially the outrage in their eyes when he started thinking for himself.

How dare he become a tag-team champion when that’s what they wanted?

That was the deal though with Matt and Nick, that he stayed out of the way. Adam violated the terms and their friendship crumbled around the broken covenant.

Kenny though, out of all of these betrayals and losses which had left Adam numb to the idea that he was better off alone—

Kenny fucking hurt.

Some of the ideas lacked foundation. Some floated in the bottoms of bottles of whiskey. Some were inklings from years of standing behind a man he was never going to beat. Most of them made Adam feel like an asshole. The ideas went along the tune of:

That Adam was a shitty replacement for Kota Ibushi, the golden lover trapped on the other side of the pacific. When he was in Japan and had unwedged his head from his ass, Adam liked Kota. Kota was brilliant, a true star, and he understood, totally, why Kenny loved him. There was nothing personal or even resentful in this uninspired realization. It wasn’t jealousy. It was the truth and it was a truth Adam had to bear when Kenny let him collapse in the middle of the ring at All Out. Kota Ibushi could win a G1. Become the intercontinental and IWGP heavyweight champion all in one night. Adam couldn’t even beat Chris Jericho. Kota Ibushi was the God of wrestling and Adam Page was the dirty sinner kicked down to the dust where he belonged.

That Adam was a useful tool for Kenny. Just good enough in the ring to carry a tag-team when Kenny was at the far end of a losing streak. A good bolt of confidence, standing on the shoulders of a younger guy. Before he launched off and took the world title belt he so rightfully deserved. The gleam in Don Callis’ eye when Adam shook his hand told him that this was all part of the plan. Adam was written into the script and hit every line he was supposed to. Adam wondered if he was chosen because he was volatile and insecure, and Callis knew that would just push Kenny away. Away and towards Don Callis, and his machinations. Don used Kenny and Kenny used Adam— maybe, it was just Don all along.

That Adam was a pretty thing Kenny could flirt with. Soft, yielding, supportive, loyal, and eager to put his energy towards someone willing to take it. Like a fucking dog, or something. Hope told him there was something to the way Kenny murmured ‘cowboy’ to him in their private moments. That Kenny’s interest went beyond physical and a desire to be topped by a handsome guy like Page. The bitter reality, the pessimist and realist in him, told him it was hollow, fake, that he was being played again. Damnit, though, if he wouldn’t take those crumbs. Because he couldn’t say ‘no’ to Kenny when he smiled. Because he loves Kenny and he can't stop loving Kenny.

He truly was eager to please.

“Well, it’s okay. You can’t be number one forever anyway, right? Sometimes you gotta take a back seat, and I don’t mind taking a back seat, if it’s to you, buddy.” And Kenny had smiled and nudged his elbow, and Adam hadn’t thought about it as he fiddled with his silly little action figure. When Adam thought back on that interview and thought back on all his twisted thoughts about Kenny, he had almost broken down crying. Because he didn’t know what was true. Kenny was high-up there in his mind and Adam wasn’t sure he could ever shoot him down.

The second Adam Page snatched the title from Jay White’s hands he had known the truth. The light had shone in his eyes and he had flinched. He realized the cost of fame and fortune. The crossroads he stood at, paralyzed in fear and trembling to make a choice. Maybe, he was grateful when Jay defeated him and he could return to the darkness. However, the taste, the warmth of the light, the way his chest swelled and his heart rose, pure, innocent, like a child seeing his first snow, was addicting. Adam knew that he had to step out of the shadows. Out from behind Kenny, Cody, and the Bucks, or he would perish there in the dark. They were never going to turn around and dredge him out of the abyss.

Adam had never realized there was a choice, though: his friends or his soul. And he wonders how many times those friends had made it. How many times the Bucks chose some merch sales over him. How many times Kenny chose a title over him. He knows Cody had chosen his ego over him. Was there a balance? Someplace where you can stand in the light and have those you love with you? For flashes of moments, he sees it, in the Golden Elite, or when the Bucks flanked Kenny in the ring. The balance was called love and it could overcome all trials, or so he’s told. It could mediate the choice between yourself and others.

Yet, Adam knows he’s chosen wrong once or twice, already. So, he’s not sure that kinda love is for him.

John Silvers was on one knee, hand extended, with a goofy grin that Adam had come to appreciate. For the first time in a year, he had felt light and free. It had been nice to exist in a bubble of appreciation and warmth. Yet, there was no room to wiggle, and like a caged, fearful animal, Adam lashed-out. The wording got to him, on the following night when he was thinking about it. He said: ‘I can’t,’ and not ‘I won’t.’ Like, he was physically incapable of saying ‘yes,’ and yet the Dark Order seemed to think ‘no’ was an impossibility. How did they get so screwed-up?

Friendships come with obligations and Adam was aware he’d been shirking his. Not because he felt entitled but because he wasn’t sure he could bear the weight. That he wouldn’t take a stumbling step and collapse on his fractured bones. And that would just be a different kind of a disappointment for the Dark Order than just hearing ‘no’ right out the gate. It’d be his failure with the Bucks and Kenny all over again. Anna was right, Adam had to move on, so they could move on, and maybe it left him bitter that he couldn’t utter an apology, but that’s how things shake-out these days.

The Bucks didn’t want his apology either.

And now, that brought him back to Matt.

Matt Hardy reappeared like a literal ghost in the Summer and Adam still wasn’t sure if the whole Damascus thing was a bit or not. Just that while he sat in a warm bath, water up to his knees and bubbles floating around his elbows, he looked up Benjamin Franklin on his phone. “Franklin was a leading writer, printer, political philosopher, politician, Freemason, postmaster, scientist, inventor, humorist, civic activist, statesman, and diplomat.” Given that Adam Page’s passion since childhood was professional wrestling and throwing his delicate body through tables, none of that resonated with him. And he wasn’t sure if Matt meant he really was the reincarnation of a founding father, or if it was just an apt comparison, but something about the phrase:

‘Join or Die.’

Felt like the story of his life.

Adam’s father kept records of all the songs he listened to when he was growing up. On a rare lazy Sunday, he’d put on the vinyl and let it spin so the music filled the house. Marty Robbins sang of quick finger rangers with big irons on their hips. Waylon Jennings and Lee Greenwood, dreamed of something lost, something mournful, as they rode alone. There was a cost to independence, and beneath the wide brim hat were tired, dark eyes, haunted by those the cowboy left behind. He rode into town looking for a lost love or a home, or just some water for his horse. He’d leave as soon as the plot finished and the town was saved but while the townsfolk rejoiced their salvation, the hero slipped from the jubilee. He was looking for a place he belonged and this was not it, and Adam wondered if he kept looking because there was no place he belonged.

After Dynamite, he took shots in his living room with his dogs laid over his legs and he thought about his wording. ‘I can’t,’ he told John, because, reasons he couldn’t justify in front of an audience of five thousand. So, it seemed fitting that this odd friendship he developed, with another group looking to use him and throw away, began with Matt Hardy. Began when he eliminated the iconic legend from the ring and ended with Matt Hardy, in the ring, begging Adam not to change in the hallway.

Adam didn’t believe a single word Matt said.

He didn’t believe he was a good person who deserved to be happy. He didn’t believe that the Dark Order was awkward — it was, and that’s why he wept with whiskey last week. He didn’t believe that there were no strings attached. He didn’t believe that Matt’s intentions were good or genuine, or even kind. Hell, he never believed John Silver when he called Adam handsome and amazing because that kinda flattery was useless.

He did believe that Matt was going to use him. He did believe that when Matt Hardy brought down the other shoe it was going to hurt like hell. He did believe that by this point, Adam was so calloused, scarred, and numb, that the pain wouldn’t even register. He did believe that he was so desperate, alone, and miserable, that he’ll take any bone thrown at him. He did believe that whatever plan Matt Hardy cooked-up for him was going to end up with him back in the dirt. He did believe that he no longer cared enough about himself to care. He did believe that all he wanted was a place to hang his hat and to lace his boots.

He did believe Tony Schiavone when he said, “you should take him up on that.”

Because, shit, who wants to change by catering?

#‘The Hangman’ || Adam: IC #‘Deals with God’ || Adam: Verse #this is rock bottom ya'll #this has gotta be it

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honestsycrets · 5 years

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Wretched Little Angels: Aethelwulf’s Choice

❛ pairing | ragnarssons x reader

❛ type | multi

❛ summary | ivar takes over the reins, and everyone else is just along for the ride.

❛ warnings | dark!fic, graphic non-con and violence, ivar being a dick, ivar planning, hostage situation, heavy angst. do not read if any of those will trigger you

They already knew what the possibility was.

“It’s possible that she may not even be alive,” Alfred spoke from the table.

It was a cold night, and his scarf was fixed around his neck, staring between his brother and his father. Aethelwulf paced from one side of the room to the other before coming to the table where they sat with full plates that neither had eaten.

“What if she is?” Aethelred returns. “She is a woman. They could be hurting her.”

By hurting her, all the men in the room knew what he meant.

“It is likely,” Alfred answers.

The question seems to really be what price they were willing to pay. For Aethelwulf, this was one in a line of disrespectful actions. It was the top of his list, no doubt, but it was not something he could so easily let go. Aethelwulf sets his hands on the chair, squaring his shoulders back.

“I’ll call him.”

“At what cost?”

The cost, he knows better than his sons. Aethelwulf runs his hands through his short black hair. His fist beats down on the table, effectively silencing his youngest son with his shrill that caused Alfred to scoot back in his seat.

“I want my daughter back.”

You should have stabbed Ubbe with that knife.

But you didn’t.

Hvitserk left you feeling burning raw and now, Ivar-- Ivar was something else entirely. His arm is thrown over your shoulder, dragging his nails over your empty stomach up toward your breasts. Your chest heaves under his fingertips. Your father is heavy on your mind. He is the sort of man to think he knows best and go through with it. Unless it was the words of grandfather, that was. He could always… do best.

Now that Aethelwulf was the one to deal with, well, there was no telling what he would do. You were sure of one thing. It would be reckless. When you glance over to Ivar, you know that this boy-- is more than he can handle.

“What are you going to do to them?”

“To your father?” he slides a lock of your hair from your ear. “That depends on him.”

“Please don’t kill them.”

This man, the Boneless, runs a chill down your back. You don’t know why. You only know that when he looks at you, he sees something little more then the daughter of a police chief. Ivar seizes your nape with his large hand.

“Oh? Well, I don’t really want you, so I don’t even need you,” Ivar whispers corroded words. A jangle of his belt reflects that he is loosening his pants. You don’t have to guess by now what he is about to do. “So let’s get down to business.”

It was fine. You’ve been put through worse. Ubbe was worse. Ivar less so. The grip on your neck tightens into bruised the size of the pads of his fingers. When you take him into his mouth, Ivar settles into petting your hair— almost like a good dog.

“Where is she?”

A warm voice asks, bursting with hot energy and frayed at the edges with his concern. You seize up under his hand, tightening your fist around his floppy cock. Ivar bucks his hips, and his cock responds in turn, swelling under your fingers.

“Nothing to worry about,” Ivar insists in a mouthy groan. “I am taking good care of her.”

You, as well as your father, know how much of a lie that is.

“If you lay a hand on my“--

“My brothers have done more than that,” Ivar answers, reaching down to stroke your hair. So close, but so far away, Ivar almost muses. “But if you want her back, you know what to do.”

With a click, Ivar drops the phone, cock throbbing and pulsing in your hand. A threat of moisture spurts from his tip and you take it with heavy-lidded eyes pressed together tightly that you refuse to let yourself cry. Whatever it was, you think, it wasn’t going to end well.

“You are going to hurt him, aren’t you?” Your voice teams with tension and fear.

“Well, he makes a shitty puppet.” Ivar laughs, tugging you up by a fistful of your hair. The burn of the cool air causes you to release his cock, which bobs excitedly when you whimper face to face with him. “But maybe you can level with me. Sit on my dick.”

You’re tired of it. The constant wear and tear of Ragnar’s sons tearing into your body. You let your knees fall apart under his prodding hand. Ivar’s lip twitches, somewhere between appreciation and annoyance that you could not follow a simple order.

“It’s not that hard to listen,” Ivar reprimands. He brings your hips down to him, slipping his hand underneath to guide his way into the hole that his brothers had all had. Pleasure thrums through him when he actually does slip in, and he shifts his hands around to grasp your shoulders to force you down onto him.

“You’re all used up,” Ivar says. “You don’t even have it in you to fight me.”

A succession of quick and shallow lines are pricked by one slow, deep one that Ivar made sure to know you felt. You know he tells the truth. Being used by the Ragnarssons almost becomes routine. If you ran, like with Ubbe, they would only make it worse.

“I suppose I’ll have to settle with this to send to your soft brother,” Ivar grasps a fist full of your hair again, dragging you against his chest. Ivar’s teeth catch your neck, rocked by a stuttering thrust of his hips. It’s no more than a hike in his breathing that marks that Ivar is cumming, deep when he drags you down against his hips.

His warm breath against your neck marks the release of his hot breath from your neck. He throws you off of his dick onto the leather seat of the truck. You catch the siding of the truck to stop you from knocking your head. But maybe it would be preferable if you didn’t have to be with these fuckers and knocked yourself out.

“You should sleep.” It’s almost with care that he says it. Though, from the events before, you question how a man like him could ever care about anything. “It might be a better option than being awake.”

The car door slams behind him. You jolt up minutes later when the coast is clear darting to the car door. The handle is locked when you try to open it. But of course, it could not be that easy. Sitting there, you find a certain green-eyed boy. “You’re like one’a them pastries,” Hvitserk says. “Always fuckin’ cream-filled.”

It would have been less painful to be with Ivar.

Your eyes relax from their wide, clear surprise at his presence. With another chance gone, you settle back down, pulling the small throw over your cold body and settling into a flat pillow that had seen better days. “Why are you here?”

Hvitserk holds up his gun, twisting it at you. “Sure as hell ain’t here for the pussy.”

You sit up, eyes rimmed by exhaustion, tugging your feet to your chest. It’s hard to sleep when someone like Hvitserk is there, teasing you outright for something that he knew you had no way of getting out of. Before long, the tears are spilling down your cheeks and you hate that-- that moment of desperation and overflowing emotion that leaves you a physical damsel in distress. Hvitserk stops, slipping the gun back on his belt and turning over the front of the truck to you.

“Why are you--”

“Why do you think?!” you lurch over, punching the head of his chair. You wish that you had hit him, but as quick as the mouseish thing was, Hvitserk moved to the side. “I hate you! I hate you and your stupid brothers!”

Hvitserk leans over the middle of the truck seats, letting a punch land on his jaw. He massages the area after the fact, not at all unfamiliar with the feeling of you spitting on him. It’s probably something he did deserve if he were to be honest, and he doesn’t hold it against you. If he were a woman…

“I’m not that bad,” Hvitserk says-- sounding if he’s trying to convince himself of that bit of knowledge. Your eyes well up with tears all over again when you come back to that pillow, squeezing it for emphasis.

“You’re the worst one!”

“Worst? Fuck man,” Hvitserk begins. “I’ve been nice! I didn’ do any of the shit my brother did, remember?”

“You were the first one. Time after time!” you state. An accusation, a sobbing accusation of that first time he caught you, mocked you with helping your father. Yeah, he remembers that. Hvitserk doesn’t know why he feels a flash of pity-- but when he feels it, he feels soft. He crawls over the seat.

“Hey,”

You scoot to the most impossible edge of that seat.

“Okay, except the wax.” He recounts wanting breakfast. That was a damn good breakfast after all that he did. You bring your blanket high to avoid looking at him. He debates reaching out, to peel the blanket down like he stubbornly would.

Except, this time, something holds him back.

“Thank you for your service!” says the barista. She hands him a steaming hot coffee which he takes, thwapping a packet of sugar against the cup. His phone begins to trill, and Bjorn shifts to his leather black belt.

Chief Aethelwulf, his work phone says.

“Hey chief,” Bjorn grins, pushing open the door for an older woman. She bobs in as he continues down the way to his car. Aethelwulf’s voice booms, shrilling about some fucker, ie. Ivar, with his daughter. “You found her? With the Ragnarssons?”

“A video? Never would’ve thought…”

He sets his cup down on the roof of his car and pops open the door. Ivar, what would he ever do with his baby brother, who regularly got himself into this sort of trouble. He would probably have a much easier time in negotiations. But no, of course not, things could not go so easily.

“Of course I’ll go with you.”

@tephi101 @alicedopey @supernaturalvikingwhore @tootie-fruity @titty-teetee @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @ethereallysimple @deathbyarabbit @deathbyarabbit @readsalot73 @natalie-rdr @lol-haha-joke @lisinfleur @hissouthernprincess @marvelousse @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @vikingsmania @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @lif3snotouttogetyou @gruffle1 @cris101071 @gold-dragon-slayer @babypink224221 @wonderwoman292 @naaladareia @beyond-the-ashes @generic-fangirl @chinduda @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly–canthrope @cris101071 @daughterofthenight117 @unassumingviking @ladyofsoa, @inforapound @winchesterwife27 @feyrearcheron44@readsalot73 @squirrelacorngliterfarts @gold-dragon-slayer @medievalfangirl @sallydelys @bluearchersstuff @affectionrabbitt @whatamood13 @notyouraveragegirl17 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @unacceptabletatertots @ivarandersen @stra-vage

#ivar x reader #ivar/reader #vikings imagines #vikings imagine #ragnarssons x reader #vikings/reader #vikings x reader

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missiemoosie · 4 years

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Remember how I said I had rewritten the potc fanfic bit in first person pov? Yeah, it’s going to stay first person pov. I’m having too much fun with it, as evidenced in this snippet I’m showing you~

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It was only my fourth day in the city and I was still finding it to be quite awe-inspiring. As the name implied, the city was split into two ‘stacks’ that were built out of wrecked ships—a thousand of years’ worth of them—that had been piled atop a small island in the crater of a dead volcano. From my explorations, though, almost none of the island was visible anymore.

Being made of stacked-up ships and ship sections, the city was interesting to navigate. Flat walkways were hard to find—most of those were at the very top of the two stacks, where the more important pirates resided and higher-class establishments were located. Being that I was neither important nor high-class (well, here I wasn’t high-class), I decided to make for the middle section of the northern stack.

There was a tavern there that had been recommended to me by a few people; it was called the Saucy Siren and apparently had some fairly decent food, both in price and taste. However, as its name implied, the tavern’s main claim to fame was its barmaids. Every bloke I talked to had waxed poetic about how lovely the ‘sirens’ were and how they were some of the cleanest lasses in the city. I had no intention of seeking pleasurable company from these ladies, though it would be nice to have an aesthetically pleasing view to see while dining.

‘I don’t think they would appreciate my lack of equipment, either,’ I thought, slipping my way around a group of men carrying what looked like a solid gold statuette of a satyr.

As I continued to make my way steadily upwards, I was certain to keep a weather eye out for any children as they were notorious for being able to pickpocket someone dry within minutes of their arrival. Since it was a pirate haven, Shipwreck City was home to dozens and dozens of families. An odd thing to think about, yes, but contrary to puritanically popular belief, pirates could be just as good—if not better—parents than non-pirates.

We pirates aren’t entirely lawless vagabonds, after all. We have a code we live our lives by—a code set down by the pirates, Morgan and Bartholomew. At this point in time, however, I was still quite new to piracy; I had been one for less than a month, in fact. Originally, I had been a topman (a sail setter, for those of you unfamiliar with sailing terminology) aboard a merchant ship, the Wanderlust, but after getting attacked off the coast of La Florida, I found myself faced with the option of either joining the pirate crew or being sent adrift in a long boat.

Not wanting to risk the chance of having a long, slow, and painful death, I picked the former.

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emsartwork · 5 years

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I hope its not too much of an ask, but what would be like a "typical traditional dress" of each of the winx home planets? Like, I know modern and interplanetar fashion is mostly worn, but what about like a dress that just screams *insert planet*?

omg yes!!! ive been wanting to talk about this for a while lol thank you for indulging me

all of the girls are drawn as the princesses of their respective planets(even the ones who aren’t princesses), excluding tecna who is drawn as the queen of zenith because the royalty there is based on intelligence and not bloodline.(and also because tecna will def become queen lbr)

lynphea has very temperate climates, not too cold but not too hot. the land is primarily covered in forests and prairie, with a moderate level of variation in hill and valley heights. the costline is ragged with many inlets and port cities, as well as many many sources of fresh water inland. Lynphean clothing is primarily made with natural fibers and dyed with various plant and animal substances. though many dyes of lynphea could produce VERY vibrant colors, they prefer to leave their cloth in more subdued colors.

lynphean traditional dress consists of a light colored stand up collar shirt with lighter cuffs, dark loose pants gathered at the ankle, and simple flat bottom shoes(or none at all), and is all gender neutral. in warm weather they wear cotton or linen as a short sleeve shirt, with loose and breathable silk pants, with flats usually made of bees-waxed fabric(to water proof) with a leather sole. in cooler weather they wear a long sleeve silk shirt over a woolen undershirt, with wool pants and leather boots. Lynphean royal dress(floras outfit here is based off of krystal’s dress at the sovereign’s council) consists of a loose shirt/dress over pants with metal accents, and a sleeveless floor length coat featuring a high detailed collar. The lynphean circlets are two parts, one on the head and one around the shoulders, both are tied in the back with cords and are made of a uniquely flexible metal called lynphenite. The heir’s circlet’s have an orange stones and the sovereign’s have blue.

lynphea is the only one that i didn’t base off of another culture, which might be why its a little more plain lol

Melody has a varied climate, leaning a little more towards cold than warm, but some areas can approach tropical. The topography is full of mountains and valleys, and people live where they can. the coast has many many small islands scattered around it before stretching out into open sea. fresh water is available primarily in the form of rivers. Melodian clothing is primary made of silk and hemp equivalents that leave the cloth in strong colors from the beginning. They can produce very strong dyes, but a sign of wealth is having clothing in pure white which is very hard to achieve with traditional methods.

Melodian traditional clothing consists of a wrapped tunic/robe with a belt, over tight or wide legged pants, and slippers. Its mostly gender neutral, thought men tend not to wear as wide belts/sashes. In warm weather they wear a short robe over fitted capris and slippers, they tend to wear brighter/warmer colors in the summer and spring. In colder weather they wear a long robe, usually layered over another robe or wide pants(not pictured), with an unfastened coat of thick woven fibers. Melodian royal dress (i VERY VERY loosely based what musa is wearing off of Galatea’s outfit at the sovereign’s council) consists of many many layers of snow white cloth trimmed in gold, its really hard to do anything in traditional royal dress so its only really worn for ceremonies and hyper formal events.

I based Melodian clothing off of chinese and japanese clothing.

Solaria has a warm to VERY WARM climate. The land is very largely covered in desert, the only spots of life are surrounding a river or oasis. the coast is full of river deltas and is the where the most cities are located. Solaria has a near constant rain storm at the northern pole due to their wonky rotation. It is the source of most of their rivers, and living in that area is considered impossible. their clothing is primarily made of linen and is incredibly light. They have mostly blue or orange/red dyes.

Solaria traditional dress consists of a light linen dress fastened at the chest or shoulders, a belt of leather or metal, and leather strap sandals. It is all gender neutral. In warm weather, solarians wear short tunics draped from the shoulder. In the odd cool weather, they wear a long, short sleeved dress, with a draped vest. leather is more common than metal in cold weather. Solarian royal dress(stella’s dress here is based off her episode 1 dress before she and blood get to alfea) consists of a long long dress or short tunic, with a long, colored sash/wrap over it. metal accessories at the waist and collar are common. the crown of the solarian heir has no jewels, but the sun and moon crowns feature white/blue and yellow/orange gems.

I based the solarian clothing off of ancient greek, roman, and egyptian clothing

Andros is MOSTLY ocean, and has a climate similar to earth’s, warm in the middle cold at the poles. Islands are spread all over the planet but most of the population lives on the largest cluster and have a lot of bridges and ferries through them. Their clothing is made of linen and silk, as well as a planet specific fabric called tidal-web which is mostly water resistant. a lot of it is actually knitted instead of woven leaving no seems. They have MANY dyes and prefer bright colors.

Androsian traditional clothing is a bright thigh or knee length shirt, is belted at the waist, over darker pants gathered into a cuff below the knee, with leather, strapy sandals or boots; there is gold embroidery everywhere. Gender neutral. In warm weather the shirts are sleeveless and the pants shorter, both are made of linen or tidal-web. in colder weather they wear a short sleeve tunic over a cuffed long sleeve. the pants are thicker and have more fabric but are still gathered into a cuff. the leather androsians use is generally seal leather, and is used for shoes and belts, and sometimes coats. Androsian royalty wear a longer tunic over silk pants. The tunic is usually more complex with more embroidery or a different cut to the sleeves. The heir and the king/queen related to the ocean also wear a draped, pinned, floor length vest.

I based these outfits off of other androsians I’ve drawn, but I think i based the original version of Aisha’s parents off of Afghan clothing.

Zenith has a very cold climate, most of the planet is tundra or glacier. where there is land, they have some impressive mountain ranges and a lot of the zenithian cities are actually inside the mountains in cave systems. the coastline suffers frequent cold storms in the winter and much of the population there are summer only. Zenithian clothing is made of cotton, wool, fur, and leather. They use knit as often, if not more, than woven material. They have very few plant based dyes, and are limited to purple and green.

Zenithian traditional clothing consists of a front fastened, collared, shirt, a fur lined coat, and wool trousers with leather boots. they’re pretty gender neutral, women will sometimes wear a skirt instead of pants, but this isn’t preferred as its leaves legs cold. In warm weather they wear a light coat over a cotton long sleeve, the pants are a loose wool, and the boots are water proofed leather.They usually wear darker colors in the summer. In cold weather they wear fur hats, wool scarves, knitted undershirts, sweaters, a fur lined wool/leather coat, wool thermals, leather/wool pants, and waterproofed leather boots with metal grits on the bottom to grip ice. Zenithian royalty is determined by intelligence, so even if your dad is the king of zenith you might not be the prince/princess. The King/Queen formal wear consists of the Spark of Zenith head-dress(the crown basically), a collared shirt, with metalic fibers woven in, a fur lined, metal accented coat, a metal collar/chest plate, pants, and leather/metal boots.

I based the zenithian clothing on russian and mongolian traditional clothing.

Domino has a unique climate as its totally dependent on the topography. The planet is covered in high, high mountains, and most peaks are uninhabitable. The people of domino live in the more temperate valleys between the mountain ranges. The coast line is a lot of sheer cliffs, but where some valleys meet the ocean there are thriving port cities. Their clothing is made of cotton, linen, leather, and wool, as well as a planet specific clothing called dragon’s-breath, which is light while still being very warm. They have access to a few dyes, and mostly stick to light/bright colors, or leave cloth undyed.

Dominian traditional dress for women consists of a shirt and skirt, made of either linen, cotton, or dragon’s-breath, with a leather corset and shoes. The men would simple substitute pants and a vest. In warm weather, they wear the most basic set of shirt and skirt, with a leather under/over bust leather corset, and water proof leather shoes. the sleeves are often rolled up and the skirts are occasionally hiked up to the knee depending on the heat. IN cooler weather the shirt and skirt are made of dragons-breath, providing warmth with out heaviness. the shirt is ruched and fastened up all the way. an over skirt is also added consisting of moisture wicking wool and a contrasting trim. the corset is leather and lined with cotton. Dominian royalty (bloom’s dress is completely made up here) have a shirt with invisible fasteners, and a long skirt. The over skirt is replaced by a draped floor length vest under the embroidered leather corset. The sleeves are full and gathered along the upper arm with a ribbon that matches the cuff holding the sleeve to the wrist. Dominian royalty hand make their crowns so each one is different.

I based Dominian fashion on medieval europe, specifically scotland/ireland, with a few chinese aspects thrown in(because the great dragon looks more like an eastern dragon despite being associated with fire???)

lmao this was probably more than you wanted but i love worldbuilding so much sry

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cero-tia · 5 years

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The Long Road

La Noscea was just beginning to expand into summer, all sweeping hills of flowers and blue sunny skies after the morning fog crept back out to sea every day. The day was early yet, but already warm on the well-beaten roads along the coast.

A dozing dodo was startled awake by the sudden tmp-tmp-tmp of little feet racing up the path, and exploded out of its roost as a gently glowing creature charged it from over the rise. Its prey flown the coop, the carbuncle milled about in the grass off the road, sniffing and circling as another golden creature followed it up the hill, at a more sedate pace.

This one walked on two legs, not four, and carried a well-used travel pack on his back. The gold of his hair shone with a much more mundane light than his companion's aetherically charged fur, but they nonetheless made a fitting pair together.

"I know you could have caught it if you were trying," C'ero said with a chuckle for his carbuncle, who fell back into step at his side once more. "It's thoughtful of you to make a show of it for my sake, though." He paused at the top of the rise to survey the winding road, and flicked his ears forward at the sight of a small stone-and-beam structure not two hills distant. A place to rest, with a shady patch of grass beside it and a tree bright with pinpricks of orange fruit.

A short time later and two hills closer, the hut turned out to be as C'ero had hoped--the small shrine built against one side of the hut was dedicated to Oschon the Traveler. As the miqo'te approached, his footsteps drew a man clad in simple slops and a wrapped shirt out from the hut, an Elezen man with warm, sun-weathered skin, crinkly eyes, and the staves of Oschon inked into his forearms. "How is the Way?" the man asked, extending a hand in greeting to gesture to the meandering dirt road.

"The Way is good," C'ero replied, sliding the straps of his pack from his back. "May I rest in your shade there a while?" The man nodded, casual and friendly, and gestured to the orange tree offering a shady bower over the shrine.

"Please, take your rest, be at ease. Do you travel for business, or do you make pilgrimage today?" He lifted a lid from the cistern by the door and ladled out a dipper full of water, offered to the miqo'te in a worn wooden mug. C’ero accepted gratefully and sat down in the grass, crossing his legs and leaning against his pack while the carbuncle sat at attention nearby.

"More business than pilgrimage, though I suppose it's a business that allows for moments of pilgrimage," he mused, turning his eyes to the shrine. It was little more than a lean-to constructed against the wall, a low bench under a sloping short roof that held a carved stone, some candles, a bundle of spare staves. The crook of Oschon was cleanly cut into the stone, and looked to have been rubbed with a yellow pigment or pollen to brighten the design. The display was clean, simple, and welcoming to any traveler in need of a shady rest, some oranges, or a new walking stick. "Do you live here? Is this your shrine?"

The elezen settled his lanky frame onto a smooth boulder beside the shrine, worn from supporting countless weary backsides, and began to peel an orange. "For the time, I do. If another priest of the Traveler comes before I set out again, I'll show them where the swallows nest back against the back wall, so they know to be careful sweeping cobwebs." Long fingers carefully pulled the sweet fruit apart, and he leaned forward to offer half to C'ero. "Do you walk with him as well, maybe-pilgrim?" he asked, licking juice from his thumb and brushing bits of pith from his lap. The carbuncle shifted a little bit closer, sniffing delicately at the shards of hollow peel.

For a long moment, there was no answer, only the sound of distant waves and two men eating juicy oranges. C'ero finally swallowed and shrugged, grinning helplessly at his host. "I...sometimes wonder if I walk with anyone," he admitted, turning his gaze back to the shrine. A single bee hovered over the candle, lured by the sweet honey-scented wax. "I'm looking for someone, and I suppose, if anyone could help me it would be the Traveler. But...no matter where I go, which roads I walk, there are no signs of him. And I...well, I find myself...not feeling ANYONE beside me, sometimes...."

The distant murmur of the waves once more came to the forefront as the itinerant priest leaned back and gazed at the sky, mulling this over. C'ero waited quietly, not expecting much of an answer. After a few moments of this had gone by, the elezen tilted his head and regarded his guest again. One hand lifted to gesture to the golden carbuncle, waiting with patience at its master's side.

"You have traveled a long way with your companion there, have you?"

Cero lifted his gaze up to the priest, then followed the extended hand. "I have," he answered, looking back to the other man with tilted, curious expression.

"Well..." The priest sat back and rubbed his bristly chin with thumb and forefinger. "Seems you may or may not find who you seek, and this fellow may or may not play a part in that possible success...but I expect the journey wouldn't have been the same had he not been with you. Tell me, is he always at your side, or does he stray?" His deep blue eyes twinkled as he raised an eyebrow, and an easy smile pulled at the corner of his lips.

C’ero knew when he was being led on, but indulged the prompts with a shake of his head. "No, he would stay if I asked it of him, but sometimes he strays a bit, before or behind, or off the path...."

"Ah, and is he sometimes out of your sight?" The priest's smile grew a bit, hinting to his pleasure with the point he was making. The miqo'te chuckled dutifully and shook his head.

"Yes, he'll be out of sight, now and then. I think I see where you're leading me...."

With a satisfied smirk, the priest slapped his fist into his palm and waggled his finger.

"It is as such with Oschon, young man. He may yet be behind us, or gone ahead on the path, but you need not have eyes on him for him to be at your side, ready to guide and accompany you." He finished his declaration with an open palm extended to indicate the carbuncle, who came forward to sniff at the orange juice left on the man's fingers.

C’ero nodded slowly, casting his thoughtful gaze once more to the shrine nesting with them in the shade. Every year for three years now, he had left the summer heat of Ul'dah and used the good weather to cross Eorzea, seeking sign of his past, his family, anything familiar or anyone who recognized him. The Keepers of the Shroud lived in small, isolated clans in the deep woods, and he had sought them out at great peril, but he lacked the wide eyes and sharp teeth of that family, and his coloring hinted heavily to the miqo'te of the Sun. No clan in the Sagolii knew his face, though he had stayed there to to visit as many as he could until late in the year, and found many with his coloration and sun-speckled freckles. Everywhere he had gone, he found nothing, and no one. But the hope was there, the everlasting what-it. And so he yet searched, and wandered....

"You speak truth," he said at length, turning a sunny smile to the priest. "I've a long way to go yet, but it's so much preferred not to travel alone." He ran his hand down the carbuncle's back, shedding motes of aetherical energy like fine, floating bits of fur.

"I'm glad you were here," he added, inclining his head in a bow. "I could have been walking alone today, without your counsel. As it is, the Way seems a little easier now." Before pulling on his pack, C'ero pulled out a knife and a small wrapped package, and shaved a small sliver of pressed tea leaves off of the brick inside. A pinch of this was set politely beside the candle on the shrine, and the bigger portion was offered out to the priest, who accepted it with a nod.

"From Ul'dah," C'ero offered, tucking the brick away and standing to don his pack. "To keep you warm if the nights grow cold, or to share with the next lost traveler." His carbuncle jumped up to dance impatiently at his ankles as the elezen priest smiled warmly.

"It is appreciated. Go well, traveler. Find who you seek." He lifted one hand in a wave and a blessing as the miqo'te stepped back onto the path, bursting into brilliant, warm halo of gold as the light struck his hair and tail.

There were yet trails to be walked ere the night, and likely many nights yet before he found his way home, but the words of the scion of the Traveler had heartened C’ero, and the Way did not feel so long and empty now.

#cero tia #backstory #writing #drabble #ffxiv roleplay #balmung #balmung roleplay #ffxiv character

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beautyonqueen · 2 years

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The power of a pedicure should not be underestimated

Heading to the spa for a manicure or pedicure is like a bit of vacation. People like to visit the spa to break from the monotonous and regular corners of their houses. Go https://bit.ly/3h12j7e #waxing #facial #beautysalon #salon #australia #Massage #Southport #Pedicure

#pedicure miami gold coast #waxing southport park #pedicure broadbeach gold coast #pedicures gold coast #waxing gold coast is a popular hair removal method chosen by millions of people each year. hair removal makes your hair soft and smooth #eyebrow waxing gold coast #eyebrow waxing southport nc #male waxing gold coast #mens waxing gold coast #waxing southport #waxing gold coast #waxing #pedicure #beauty salon gold coast #beauty salon southport #beauty salon near me

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checkoutafrica · 5 years

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The Breakdown: Where Does The African Fabric Really Come From?

Many Africans would only wear the fabric for special occasions but as times are changing the print is becoming a part of everyday fashion and seeing as the African wax print is becoming more and more mainstream I thought it’d be a good idea to give you guys a little history lesson on the fabric!

We all love the African wax print, it’s bright, vibrant, it’s colourful and full of life but what is the story behind the fabric? The print gained its popularity in global fashion in 2010 but it has been in existence for 100s of years. We cannot forget that Africa is, in fact, a continent and not one country as some people would forget (the ignorant), so when we talk about these African prints, what are we really talking about? Do they even originate from Africa?

The Dutch wax is a kind of resin-printed fabric that has forever been manufactured in the Netherlands for the West African market. But we can neither call these fabrics Dutch or West African because we’d be ignoring the bigger picture, there is an entirely far more complicated story behind the origin of the African Fabric. Yinka Shonibare, the well-known Nigerian artist whose work often features these prints, has made a career out of exploring the history of the designs. “The fabrics are not really authentically African the way people think,” Shonibare has said. “They prove to have a crossbred cultural background quite of their own.” he was quoted by online magazine Slate.

Thanks to the industrial revolution and colonial expansion in the late 19th century, our story begins in the Dutch East Indies (now Indonesia), where locals have long used the technique of wax-resist dying (applying wax to a cloth, and then dying over that wax to create a pattern—to make batik. One widespread theory is that in the mid-19th century, the Dutch enlisted a bunch of West African men—both slaves and mercenaries—to help their army in Indonesia. While there, these men took a liking to the local handicrafts and brought batik back to their home countries which you can imagine was the start of the ‘African’ Fabric.

Europe tried competing with the Batik by creating their own cheaper versions and by the end of the 19th century, a Belgian printer had developed a method for applying resin to both sides of a cotton cloth, and the machine-made wax-print fabric was born. Unfortunately, the Dutch dyes created cracks, so new markets had to be found aka Africa. In 1893 the first Dutch wax prints landed in the African Gold Coast (now Ghana), where they became style and status symbols. During the 1950s, their appeal spread across West Africa, when the Mercedes-Benz driving female entrepreneurs (known as the Nana Benz) bought the fabrics into Togo and gave them names to add mystique.

Africa’s fight for independence in the 1960s led to wax prints being made locally. More recently, cheap Chinese copies have made wax prints more accessible to the rest of the world explaining why African fashion has become so popular in the last couple of years. Now, wax prints are worn by everyone with anything from jeans, skirts, trainers etc.

And that is the history of the African fabric.

The post The Breakdown: Where Does The African Fabric Really Come From? appeared first on CheckoutAfrica.

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#Fashion #africa #africa development #african #African fashion #Checkoutafrica #culture #love #People

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libidomechanica · 5 years

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For then in her wide awake

And now should scarce be buried. D the right be better sights, and I have him this, sad Heros generous, nor earth: judge or Shah, and flows the coast, the moon is something nothing to my ear: hushed wood, whatsoeer

thy proved we two could I admiring, pulling did exceed Love remaine. “Fair Cynthia wishes me the world. Through those crimson, gold, all our sun stand still because we watched with sweetly quickened soul was wondrous file, and, its song, how he crimson at they star (when yawning in thee clime had won. She had no human, so unrecorded

did it sing. And ask me, instead of prayer; ‘Fair daughter, as harsh kisses, the orange goddess fancy is innocent, and my flame! Make merry in thus far as just as a solution of perfect Beauty, nor this

coloured from the furious dint Is with golden gifts too eager-eyed,

heaven and seeming oer the Closet alone, I marry him, and waxed more. that it in, for to keepe there all be you can ner be found no soon among through the few sad men go;) for later, I come and spake some this dark: the mount and still? The standing to the

bridal household you, only lands we wring, and black is on the flaming,’ languor, surrender; your weeks in the suns abode.”

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #314 texts

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ttime42 · 5 years

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2018 Fic Roundup

This is a list of fics (in no particular order) I read last year. Many of these I finished. Some of them I started and didn't finish because it turned out they weren't for me. Others are rereads. Thanks to all the wonderful authors who fill fandom with life.

Watson's Folly by Diana Williams

John Watson, the new Earl of Saughton, is madly in love with the beautiful Mary Morstan. But he has returned from the Peninsular War to find his family on the brink of ruin and his ancestral home mortgaged to the hilt. He has little choice when he is introduced to Mycroft Holmes, a civil servant of apparently unlimited wealth and no social ambitions for himself - but with his eyes firmly fixed on a suitable match for his only brother, the unorthodox and irascible Omega Sherlock Holmes. Can John forget the woman he loved and find happiness with a man so very different from his lost love?

To the Sticking Place by blueink3

Renowned Shakespearean actor Sherlock Holmes has finally burned all of his bridges in the theatre industry save for his constant director, Greg Lestrade. John Watson has made a name for himself in the musical theatre circuit, but age and injury are working against him. Can they reinvent themselves for an all-male Macbeth without killing one another?

The Yellow Poppies by SilentAuror

Sherlock is threatened and assaulted in the hospital immediately after having been shot in the heart, first by Mary, then by Magnussen. As he recovers at Baker Street with John and plans the attack on Appledore with Mycroft, he fights to work through the trauma caused by these two visits. Set during His Last Vow.

The Vapor Variant by 88thParallel

They stood face to face in the middle of a clearing. The dim light of the moon barely allowed Sherlock to see the glassy terror in John’s eyes and the sweat that glistened off his forehead. His nose was bleeding again, blood dripping in a slow stream from his right nostril.

They were both gasping for air, John’s eyes locked on Sherlock’s. There was no recognition there, just wild animal fear.

Time stood still for an eternal few seconds, and Sherlock took a shaky breath. “John—”

Spell broken, John spun and bolted back into the woods.

Still heaving for air, Sherlock took off after him.

The Sock Index by distantstarlight

John and Sherlock live at 221 B Baker Street. Everything is back to normal with the long-time friends....or is it?

The Shop Boy by EventHorizon

Sometimes, taking care of Sherlock had its benefits...

The School Boy by EventHorizon

As Mycroft and Lestrade pursue their own relationship, Sherlock learns the meaning of friendship with the new boy in his school, John Watson.

The Science of Musicality by circ_bamboo

Classical musician AU: Sherlock is a professional solo violinist, and John is his new accompanist collaborator. They've got a recital in three months, and someone doesn't want them to do it.

The Riven Crown by The_Kingmaker

‘We may have won the battle, but I fear the war with winter is just beginning.’

The aftermath of war is no laughing matter. Those who died must be honoured, those who are wounded must be healed, and those who remain need food and clothing, peace and sanctuary. With Thorin's life hanging in the balance, it is up to Bilbo and the rest of the Company to rule the rag-tag remnants of Erebor in his place.

Then there is the matter of the gold...

Can Bilbo save both king and kingdom, or is Erebor destined to fall deeper into ruin?

The Men Who Talked Between the Words by Odamaki (locked to Ao3)

John expected to be a father some day; he expected to have the house, and the wife and the nice suburban job. Sherlock never expected to have children, in part because he never expected to make it past 30. As it turns out, you don't get a choice. Crammed into Baker Street with a baby, John struggles with single-parenthood and his own fears, while Sherlock treads the fine line between doing too little and saying too much.

The Guarded Secret by mycapeisplaid

After his war injury, John feels broken, small, and useless. On a whim, he takes a position as a security guard of sorts at the gorgeous Holmes Hall in Yorkshire. As it turns out, he is not as broken, small, or useless as he thinks. A story of beauty and blossom, murder and mystery, loss and love.

The Clash of Storm and Sea by QuinnAnderson

Music School AU. The first time John heard Sherlock play, he knew he was done for. Johnlock.

The Burning Heart by May_Shepard

When Sherlock dies, John Watson feels like his life is over too. He’s completely shut down, until Mark Morstan, a new nurse at John’s medical clinic, catches his attention, and helps him uncover the long buried truth of his attraction to men.

Although he’s certain he’ll never get over Sherlock, John plans to move on, and build a new life with Mark, unaware that Sherlock is not quite as dead as he appears, and that Mark is hiding secrets of his own.

The Bluest of Blue by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John

John Watson's 10th season as a Denali National Park Ranger was shaping up to look like all the years before.

Until a special team from Europe was flown into the Park for a summer-long wolf-tracking research project, and the head of that research team was wearing a perfectly tailored suit.

Gimme Shelter by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John

That's all he wants, that is, until the hot young phenom taking Oahu and the Hawaiian shores by storm steps up next to him in the sand in the second round of the 1976 International Surf Competition.

A Further Sea by i_ship_an_armada and ShinySherlock (locked to Ao3)

Here be a tale of adventure for both body and soul, but beware if ye be not of stout heart, for this be piratelock, ya savvy? Luckless ship's surgeon John Watson takes a chance, and finds himself eye to eye with The Ghost, the scourge of the seven seas and a definite thorn in the side of the blaggard, James Moriarty. But when John finds there's more to this most cunning pirate than be meetin' the eye, he has to choose--is it a pirate's life for him?

The Bells of King’s College by SilentAuror

It's only been two weeks since Eurus Holmes disrupted their lives when Mycroft sends John and Sherlock to Cambridge to pose as an engaged couple at a wedding show in the hopes of solving six unsolved deaths...

Summit Fever by J_Baillier

After graduating from medical school, John Watson followed his heart to the Himalayas. Ten years later, he's a haunted cynic working for his ex-lover's trekking and mountaineering company. Will leading an expedition to Annapurna I—the most lethal of all the world's highest mountains—shake John out of his reverie, and who is the mystery client added to the group at the last minute?

Share the Stars with You by EventHorizon

Set in Victorian times, we find Mycroft as a sedentary man of wealth and power and Greg as an explorer, a true man of action. Given their opposite natures, could it be these two might actually achieve the one thing neither has ever thought possible - finding someone to love?

School for Scandal by rubberbird

Sherlock lusts from afar. John tries to fool himself.

Saving Sherlock Holmes by earlgreytea68

Sherlock Holmes, schoolboy. Yeah, that basically sums it up.

Performance in a Leading Role by Mad_Lori

Sherlock Holmes is an Oscar winner in the midst of a career slump. John Watson is an Everyman actor trapped in the rom-com ghetto. When they are cast as a gay couple in a new independent drama, will they surprise each other? Will their on-screen romance make its way into the real world?

Paradigm Shift by distantstarlight

Sherlock Holmes is the world's only consulting detective. He's also a virgin, and has staunchly remained that way. One night he's on a case like normal but he sees someone who after a single glance turns everything Sherlock thought he knew about himself completely around. Enter one John Watson, doctor, soldier....stripper?

In the Still of the Night by SilentAuror

As locals on the Northeastern coast begin to report UFO sightings, life at Baker Street becomes significantly awkward as John brings up his desire for more than friendship and Sherlock refuses him. They embark on the investigation from the confines of the tiny cottage Mycroft has rented for them, attempting to navigate both the clues of the case as well as their own inability to communicate...

In Search of a Word: A Symphony of First Times by queenfanfiction

There is a new concertmaster at the London Symphony, and John Watson is starting to fall a little bit in love with both the music and the man making it.

How Long? by TheBritishBourbon

Sherlock never got to jump off the roof of St. Barts, he never got the chance. Sherlock was abducted and held for 5 years, but now he has escaped. What awaits him as he returns to reality?

Every Star in the Sky Knows Your Name by Jaune_Chat

Mal's latest pair of passengers slowly reveals they have more of a connection to the crew than anyone would have thought, when Simon discovers that Sherlock and his sister had been in the same government program over a decade and a half apart. Sherlock's friend John, his rescuer and keeper, tells the crew the story of living a life on the run, something that is both less and more familiar than anyone expects.

Enigma by khorazir

It’s the autumn of 1941, war is raging in Europe, German U-boats are raiding Allied convoys in the Atlantic, the Luftwaffe is bombing English cities, and the cryptographers at Bletchley Park are working feverishly to decode their enemies' encrypted communications. One should consider this challenge and distraction enough for capricious codebreaker Sherlock Holmes. But the true enigmas are yet waiting to be deciphered: an unbreakable code, a strange murder, and the arrival of Surgeon Captain John H. Watson of the Royal Navy.

Electric Pink Hand Grenade by BeautifulFiction

"If Sherlock's brain is a hard drive, then these attacks are an electro-magnetic pulse." Sherlock Holmes does not do anything by half, not even a migraine. It falls to John to witness one of the greatest minds he has ever known tear itself apart, and he must do his best to help Sherlock pick up the pieces.

Butterbeer by green_violin_bow

One of very few students left at Hogwarts over the Christmas holiday, final-year Slytherin student Mycroft Holmes finds himself thrown together with Gryffindor Quidditch team captain Greg Lestrade. An unlikely friendship, but one that blossoms in the huge, mostly-empty castle.

Boyfriend Material by PoppyAlexander

Slow-burn, adversaries-to-friends-to-lovers, romantic comedy.

Alternate Universe - Sports/Ice Hockey

Babylon by BeautifulFiction_FMA

Two years after retrieving his brother's body from the Gate of Truth Edward Elric is still paying the price. Will his debt ever be repaid, or will it finally cost him everything? (Originally published 2007 on fanfiction.net and livejournal)

An improbable love by slowroad

Sherlock is a famous violinist who is going through a bit of a slump. He's lonely and miserable. It has been three years since John was invalided home from Afghanistan. He's slowly getting his life together, but he's lonelier than he's ever been. And then, the the two of them meet…

Albion and the Woodsman by Glenmore

Post Series 3. Sherlock and John are devastated after Mary Morstan makes her final moves. Sherlock relapses at the crack house, John walks around the world ...and a lot happens in between. Parentlock, in the good way.

A Hundred Crimson Sols by elldotsee

Will Holmes is a chemical researcher recognized widely for his contributions to the new Mars exploration program. Thanks to his ground-breaking developments, the IMMC (International Mars Mission Corporation) is one step closer to Martian colonization. Will and his team of scientists are headed out on the first of three manned missions before the first group of settlers arrive. Three days before launch, one of the crew has to be replaced. Will panics because...new people. The replacement is of course one John Watson, biomedical engineer and space hottie who was pretty sure he had retired from actual space exploration and was now content to work in the nice, quiet research lab.

Can the crew survive this TOTALLY ROUTINE trip? Will they be able to endure each other for the looooooong trip in close quarters?

{SPOILER: Of course not. That would be boring.}

Guarantee there will be drama. And explosions. And Will is gonna do something cocky and stupid. Really good chance for some zero-gravity boinking (bet ya didn't even know you needed that in your life).

Gonna be a wild ride... prepare for blast off.

A Fold in the Universe by darkest_bird

Alpha Sherlock and Omega John are in a relationship. Prime Sherlock and Prime John are not. So what happens when a freak fold in the universe switches one John for the other?

#fanfic #fanfiction #ficrec #fic rec #bbc sherlock fanfic

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havekiddoswilltravel · 5 years

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Everyday Black History: Educational Guide to Incorporating Black History into your Homeschool Year-round

February is Black History Month and I would love to encourage all educators, parents and adults in general to incorporate these best practices into their daily lives throughout the year. My definition of educator is very broad. If you have a sphere of influence to speak into the lives of future generations, then you’re an educator as far as I’m concerned. I believe in intentional education and thus we should never limit an entire group’s history and contributions to 28 days.

- Be intentional in your read alouds, independent reading and book list choices. Make sure that you incorporate books that provide a well rounded perspective on history, literature, geography, language arts and even math.

- Diversify your homeschool social media feed. Connect with, read works by and learn best practices from other homeschooling parents and educators of colors.

1. Follow My Reflections Matter and incorporate their diverse resources to your educational plans.

2. Check out Negra Bohemian a self described: a free spirit redefining motherhood through a socially conscious, faith-led and wandering lifestyle.

3. Check out Trippin’ Momma to be inspired by a single mother who’s recovered from domestic violence and is exploring the world on her own terms.

4. Follow Dr. Kira Bank and her work on Raising Equity.

5. Follow my friend Sarah’s adventures in her blog and be inspired to take adventurous trips with your kids to destinations like Dubai, Hong Kong and Kenya.

6. Follow The Spring Break Family and be encouraged to take adventures with our kids even if they’re not homeschooled.

7. Check out Our Kitchen Classroom and learn how to connect food with culture - travel.

If your a Christian, read this: No Days Off...

“This February, lay down the burden of ambassadorship and let Black History Month be your swimming lessons. May it be a reminder that each stroke forward transforms our weaknesses into strengths, powerlessness into purpose. We’re not treading water. Kingdom ambassadors make new wave moves. Look back and see how God is moving us forward.”

Additional resources Click on bold sections for more information:

- Learn about Racial Identity from Dr. Beverly Daniel Tatum.

https://youtu.be/l_TFaS3KW6s

- Check out 100 Read Aloud Books for Black History and Beyond.

- 30 People from Around the World.

- Learn the truth about the Green Book by watching this documentary.

- Have your preconceived notions rocked by A blessed Heritage’s writings on faith and black history.

- Host a Black Living History Wax Musuem event at your school, home or community.

- Black History is American History.

- Race: The Power of Illusion.

- Read about why Martin Luther King JR. Day is not a day off and start planning your service project for next January.

- Why we shouldn’t forget that U.S. presidents owned slaves.

Published on Feb 2, 2017

"When you sing that this country was founded on freedom, don’t forget the duet of shackles dragging against the ground my entire life." This how poet Clint Smith begins his letter to past presidents who owned slaves. In honor of Black History Month, Smith offers his Brief But Spectacular take on the history of racial inequality in the U.S.

Learn about the musical, historical and African roots of Puerto Rico’s Bomba.

- Watch online Eyes on the Prize: America's Civil Rights Movement.

- 28 Ways to Celebrate Black History Month by the NAACP.

- Watch and be inspired by: Black Made That.

- Meet The Fearless Cook Who Secretly Fed — And Funded — The Civil Rights Movement.

- Watch Kevin Hart’s Guide to Black History on Netflix.

- Check out Wu-Tang Clan's GZA shows his genius in Liquid Science on Netflix.

- Add diverse puzzles by Puzzle Huddle to your bookcases.

- Decolonize your family bookshelves and learn more about awareness by following The Consious Kid.

- 28 More Black Picture Books That Aren’t About Boycotts, Buses or Basketball (2018).

- 5 Reasons You Should Celebrate Black History Month.

- Beyond The Painful Chains Of Slavery: Phillis Wheatley, The First Published Female African-American Poet.

- Continue learning throughout the year with various subscription options of the Because of Them we Can boxes.

- Check out Black Then for a wealth of information.

- Check out Story Corps:

StoryCorps’ mission is to preserve and share humanity’s stories in order to build connections between people and create a more just and compassionate world.

- Diversify your podcasts. A friend sent me this pod cast and I had to share: Black and White: Racism in America.

Exposure to Black Theater and Arts.

- Check out my review of Hamilton.

- Go watch Black Violin.

- Go see Alvin Ailey - American Dance Theater.

- Diversify your holiday traditions and enjoy the Hip Hop Nutcracker or the Urban Nutcracker.

- Exposure to the history and sounds of Gospel music.

- Singin’ Us to Glory: The Life and Legacy of Fannie Lou Hamer.

- Black History Month is a chance for white parents to learn how to talk about racism.

Pin for later:

- Incorporate Black History Sites into your family travel. This has been a huge way for us to incorporate our story into our learning. These are some of our favorites or ones on our bucket list:

1. National Museum of African American History and Culture in Washington, DC.

You can read more about my family’s trip to this history packed museum by clicking here.

2. The Tuskegee Airman National Historical Museum in Detroit, Michigan.

3. The National Underground Freedom Center in Cincinnati, Ohio.

You can read more about my family’s road trip to the freedom center by clicking here.

4. Frederick Douglass National Historical Park in Washington, DC.

5. International Civil Rights Center and Museum in Greensboro, NC.

6. Martin Luther King, JR Memorial in Washington, DC.

7. Negro League Baseball Museum in Kansas City, MO.

8. Museum of African American History in Boston, MA.

9. North Star Underground Railroad Museum in Ausable Chasm, NY.

10. Visit Martha’s Vineyard and learn about the Polar Bears.

- Check out this blog post with a large list of destinations to include in your Black History Travel Bucket List: Must See Destinations to Learn About Black History.

- Study the history of Soul Food and host a Soul Food Feast for family and friends.

The Soul Food Born of the Harlem Renaissance.

Read An Illustrated History of Soul Food with your kids.

This is a great video of the celebrates African American food and chefs.

- Teach the history of the Harlem Globetrotters and then enjoy a game.

- Take a #foodies road trip to some of America’s top Soul Food Restaurants which are full of history, music and culture.

1. Sylvia’s Restaurant in Harlem, NY.

2. Amy Ruth’s in NYC.

3. Luella’s Southern Kitchen in Chicago, IL.

4. The Coast Cafe in Cambridge, MA.

5. Roscoes Chicken and Waffles in Los Angeles, CA.

6. Busy Bee Cafe in Atlanta, GA.

- Provide opportunities for your students to read, memorize and recite black poetry. Some of our favorites are.

Let America Be America Again

Langston Hughes, 1902 - 1967

Let America be America again. Let it be the dream it used to be. Let it be the pioneer on the plain Seeking a home where he himself is free. (America never was America to me.) Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed— Let it be that great strong land of love Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme That any man be crushed by one above. (It never was America to me.) O, let my land be a land where Liberty Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath, But opportunity is real, and life is free, Equality is in the air we breathe. (There’s never been equality for me, Nor freedom in this “homeland of the free.”) Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark? And who are you that draws your veil across the stars? I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart, I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars. I am the red man driven from the land, I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek— And finding only the same old stupid plan Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak. I am the young man, full of strength and hope, Tangled in that ancient endless chain Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land! Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need! Of work the men! Of take the pay! Of owning everything for one’s own greed! I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil. I am the worker sold to the machine. I am the Negro, servant to you all. I am the people, humble, hungry, mean— Hungry yet today despite the dream. Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers! I am the man who never got ahead, The poorest worker bartered through the years. Yet I’m the one who dreamt our basic dream In the Old World while still a serf of kings, Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true, That even yet its mighty daring sings In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned That’s made America the land it has become. O, I’m the man who sailed those early seas In search of what I meant to be my home— For I’m the one who left dark Ireland’s shore, And Poland’s plain, and England’s grassy lea, And torn from Black Africa’s strand I came To build a “homeland of the free.” The free? Who said the free? Not me? Surely not me? The millions on relief today? The millions shot down when we strike? The millions who have nothing for our pay? For all the dreams we’ve dreamed And all the songs we’ve sung And all the hopes we’ve held And all the flags we’ve hung, The millions who have nothing for our pay— Except the dream that’s almost dead today. O, let America be America again— The land that never has been yet— And yet must be—the land where every man is free. The land that’s mine—the poor man’s, Indian’s, Negro’s, ME— Who made America, Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain, Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain, Must bring back our mighty dream again. Sure, call me any ugly name you choose— The steel of freedom does not stain. From those who live like leeches on the people’s lives, We must take back our land again, America! O, yes, I say it plain, America never was America to me, And yet I swear this oath— America will be! Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death, The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies, We, the people, must redeem The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers. The mountains and the endless plain— All, all the stretch of these great green states— And make America again!

Still I Rise

Maya Angelou, 1928 - 2014

You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I’ll rise. Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? ‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells Pumping in my living room. Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I’ll rise. Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops, Weakened by my soulful cries? Does my haughtiness offend you? Don’t you take it awful hard ‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines Diggin’ in my own backyard. You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I’ll rise. Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise That I dance like I’ve got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs? Out of the huts of history’s shame I rise Up from a past that’s rooted in pain I rise I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear I rise Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise I rise I rise.

Lift Every Voice and Sing

James Weldon Johnson, 1871 - 1938

Lift every voice and sing, Till earth and heaven ring, Ring with the harmonies of Liberty; Let our rejoicing rise High as the list’ning skies, Let it resound loud as the rolling sea. Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us, Sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us; Facing the rising sun of our new day begun, Let us march on till victory is won. Stony the road we trod, Bitter the chast’ning rod, Felt in the days when hope unborn had died; Yet with a steady beat, Have not our weary feet Come to the place for which our fathers sighed? We have come over a way that with tears has been watered. We have come, treading our path through the blood of the slaughtered, Out from the gloomy past, Till now we stand at last Where the white gleam of our bright star is cast. God of our weary years, God of our silent tears, Thou who hast brought us thus far on the way; Thou who hast by Thy might, Led us into the light, Keep us forever in the path, we pray. Lest our feet stray from the places, our God, where we met Thee, Lest our hearts, drunk with the wine of the world, we forget Thee; Shadowed beneath Thy hand, May we forever stand, True to our God, True to our native land.

From Saint Peter Relates an Incident by James Weldon Johnson. Copyright © 1917, 1921, 1935 James Weldon Johnson, renewed 1963 by Grace Nail Johnson. Used by permission of Viking Penguin, a division of Penguin Books USA Inc.

Dreams

Langston Hughes, 1902 - 1967

Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly. Hold fast to dreams For when dreams go Life is a barren field Frozen with snow.

From The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes published by Alfred A. Knopf/Vintage. Copyright © 1994 by the Estate of Langston Hughes. Reprinted by permission of Harold Ober Associates Incorporated. All rights reserved.

About Ruth: I’m a wife and mami of 4 active and globe-trotting kiddos. I’ve always loved a good adventure and truly believe that it’s possible to travel with kids. Join me, as I share our adventures and inspire you to get out of the house with your kiddos. Whether you’re planning a family vacation, a road trip or a trip of a lifetime to an exotic destination, I’ll share insights, trip reports and information that will inspire you. Check back often to stay up to date on things to do with kids at your next travel destination.

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