#1001 places

[ithinkineedamoment]

1. Neon Bible - Arcade Fire

1 of 1000 - Recordings

This project is almost 15 years in the making. Had I been wiser at the debilitating age of 12, I’m sure writing for the sake of writing would have come to me a hell of a lot more naturally than it does now.

Regardless of that, it looks like a 26 year old me is finally getting around to it.

At the tail end of 2010 - I was living in Ramstein, Germany where I found a copy of Tom Moon’s 1000 Recordings to Hear Before You Die. I (my dad) bought it for $15 and there I went becoming evermore insufferable thinking I’m the first person who ever discovered 10 by Pearl Jam. I quickly found two more versions of the “1000... before you die” list - movies and places. Armed with these three lists, I set out to conquer the “best” of the “best” and do obviously do it before I die.

Lofty goals.

But I’ll unpack that I’m sure in a later essay.

Since that time, I’ve plowed through 430 albums, 574 movies, and 142 places. But what of it? What does it matter? Is it enough to watch “Schindler’s List” in a double feature with “The Sound of Music” once and think I can fully process what I’ve experienced? Fuck no!

So in an effort to combat that insanity - I’m starting this project. I will write something on each and every entry of these lists. Will some be long? Absolutely. Will some be short? I hope so. But what is the point of consuming what is meant to be essentials of a lifetime and not give it a second thought? There is of course the argument that these lists are arbitrary and are actually heinously filtered through the lens of old, Cis, straight, white men and women. This idea will undoubtedly come up several if not a thousand times and I don’t think I can ignore it. What I’ve gained, however, from venturing down this yellow brick road of content is greater than the sum of its parts and that is what is interesting to me. How has inundating myself with this “canon” for most of my life shaped who I am and where has it led me?

So as an artist who is constantly stonewalled by the mere act of creation, I asked myself - where do I start? How does this project begin?

Randomly, obviously. I had Sergio scroll through the lists and pick whatever caught his eye.

Somehow, picking Neon Bible by Arcade Fire makes sense.

With this very first entry I begin with The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, the 2013 adventure comedy starring and directed by our pal Ben Stiller. For the uninitiated, this movie features Ben Stiller as Walter Mitty, an employee at Life magazine who is forced on a Carmen San Diego-esque adventure to find Sean Penn in the mountains taking pictures of snow leopards. And it ROCKS.

Everything from the settings to the humor to Adam Scott’s haircut screams the spirit of adventure. I remember sitting in the theater watching this movie having goose bumps down my arms as Mr. Stiller ran for that plane - reading the Life Magazine motto: “To see the world, things dangerous to come to, to see behind walls, to draw closer, to find each other, and to feel, that is the purpose of life.”

Fuck meeee, it’s good.

My depressed ass sat there smiling and crying - thinking of how much of the world was out there - all the places I’ve never been and the adventures I’ve never been on. It was enough to keep me going, even if it was only for the rest of the day.

The part that I really want to draw attention to, however, is the song that plays over the scene that I just mentioned. As the words of the motto appear hidden in the scenery, a sick fucking guitar lick kicks in. Suddenly, the absolutely bonkers Arcade Fire hit, “Wake Up” is blaring through the speakers and I am transcended. From their 2005 debut album Funeral, “Wake Up” has been included on all sorts of best songs of 2004, the decade, the century, of all time lists. With lyrics touching on the embarrassment of youth and the gift of growing up, it’s one of the most inspirational songs I’ve ever heard...

(until I listened to the soundtrack and realized that to SOME people, the song “Wake Up” was never in the movie and instead the absolutely DNA-altering Jose Gonzalez song, “Step Out” took its place. Dear Reader, please note it’s a detail I’m moving on from since these songs exist simultaneously in my head for the same reason and since I have Google I found out a licensing issue made us all watch a different version of the movie. Leave me alone).

Ever since that day - whenever I’ve embarked on a new journey, I’ve played these songs. When my plane took off from Germany back to the states, when I walked on my college campus for the first time, whenever I start a new job - they become the soundtrack to my life. “Children, Wake up” to “House on fire leave it all behind you”. It’s the music to my proverbial first steps into my new life.

So again, it’s fitting then, that the first recording, the very first essay of this project, is Neon Bible by Arcade Fire. Their sophomore album released in 2007, Neon Bible is an extrospective triumph of organs and religiosity exposing the world for what it truly is in this post-9/11 hellscape. Full of angst and persistent drums, it’s truly no wonder how this album crosses the boundaries of what is Indie and what is mainstream.

Relistening to the album this morning and thinking about this project, it almost makes too much sense to start here despite its randomness. Take for example the opening track, “Black Mirror” which in my sleep depravity I could have sworn was the intro to “Changes” by David Bowie. Here, Win Butler muses on the notion of the “black mirror”, an unrelenting echo of all the worst parts of ourselves and our world. Impossible to separate from the contemporary connotations of the words “black mirror”, we quickly realize this album is not interested in the joyous release of

Funeral. We’re confronted with screens, cameras, and content - the black mirror of a sleeping iphone or of a buffering video. What does it mean to see ourselves in that reflection? We’re beholden to it.

As we continue through the album, we’re bombarded with rising crescendos of emotions that dissipate uneasily like unlit waves at night - “Black Wave”. There is no comforting exaltation or resolution of discord. It’s isolating! Butler says so himself in “Intervention”: “We’ll go at it alone”. As the number of black mirrors around us increases, the time spent as an individual also increases. It’s interesting that so much of the imagery evoked in Neon Bible is that of the ocean - black, reflective, ever expansive. This brings to mind another song from a few years later: Los Campesinos!’s “The Sea is a Good Place to Think of the Future.” It should be obvious enough from the title as to why I think this is relevant. The rocking guitar of this jam sways back and forth like the crashing of waves as the lyrics wax poetic on what it means to be alone - “and all you can hear, is the sound of your own heart” - and how hopelessly small you can feel in front of an unchanging ocean before you - “A thousand years, no getting rid of me”.

This cynicism, this anger, I feel is what fuels this album. There is no joy in the face of the “Ocean of Noise” in front of us. There is no reconciliation at the church of the “Neon Bible.” There is nothing new I can say on our modern relationship with technology or media here that hasn’t been said already in a New York Times Op-ed. We are losing control of ourselves to an ocean of influences, media, thoughts, and content. We can scream, and we can shout, but the only escape - according to Arcade Fire - is the place where “No Cars Go”, the liminal space between turning off the lights and before we fall asleep. There, we are finally free from the world and all its power over us. This is the craven freedom that brings the album its only truly joyous song.

So I guess it’s now that I’ve realized the point of this essay - the point of this whole project. I’ve spent years of my life thumping the bible of a church that doesn’t care about me. These lists have become a religion - a system of other people’s beliefs in what should be exalted and glorified. I’ve consumed the content I was told to consume and thought what I was told to think. I don’t think that I’m alone in wanting to challenge “the canon” either. There will always be an unavoidable conflict between what is experienced and what should be experienced; I’m just no longer interested in justifying one over the other. I refuse to let the ocean carry me away. Just as Arcade Fire has ushered me into new phases of my life, Arcade Fire will now usher in a personal rebellion that hopefully will manifest itself across this project where I can Reflektor on what it means to be me.

I have no idea what this rebellion will look like - but my body will no longer be its cage.

[abirdie]

Gael García Bernal in Rosewater (2014, dir. Jon Stewart)

(these gifs also feature Claire Foy, Haluk Bilginer and Kim Bodnia)

Gifs are all 540px wide so you can click to see larger.

[other gael filmography gifsets]

[writeouswriter]

Convinced Christopher Nolan paid all of you off to give The Prestige that many 10/10 reviews, convinced Christopher Nolan cloned himself a thousand times to give his own movie that many 10/10 reviews, some of you are lying to cinema and to yourselves

[majestativa]

— Placing the Poet: Badr Shakir al-Sayyab and Postcolonial Iraq, compiled by Terri DeYoung, (1998)

Odysseus/Sindibad.

[bonni]

I actually can't tell if the p&r joe biden jokes will be more or less funny now

[terrainofheartfelt]

WAIT "Changes" of charles bradley & big mouth fame was written by Black Sabbath????????????

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Could I request Aegon X reader with prompt #9?

9. ‘’Where did you learn to do that?’’

Request: Aegon waking his wife by going down on her

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (f receiving)

—

Nothing compared to the bliss of waking up to your husband’s head between your legs, placing kisses down your inner thighs. Aegon’s lips were almost featherlight, which intensified the sensation. 

Your eyes were struggling to open, your mind still half asleep, but your body was wide awake. A soft whimper left your lips when he reached close to your cunny, followed by a long whine as he gave each lips a slow lick with his tongue. 

Aegon then switched to the other thigh, repeating his loving ministrations and taking his sweet time. 

‘’Do you like it?’’ he asked, lifting his head and looking up at you with a devilish grin. 

‘’Yes.’’

He dipped his head down again, kissing the top of your mound before going lower, right on your clit. Your legs lifted off the bed as he took your bud between his lips, suckling and sending jolts of pleasure up your core. 

You moaned, throwing your head back against the plush velvet pillows.

''Where did you learn to do that?'' you had asked the first time he went down on you.

You would assume that, having spent his youth in a brothel, Aegon only knew brutish and selfish pleasure. At first, it was like that — just mindless fucking. But that was because he had never known love or affection. As you showed him love, he learned to be gentle and how to give you pleasure, showing that he was capable of more than just pounding into you like a ragdoll until he spilled his seed. 

Although, you didn't hate when he manhandled you and was a little rough...sometimes. 

His name rolled off your tongue in a breathed whisper as he flattened his, licking a long stripe along your slit. He feasted on you, humming and lapping and kissing your cunny while grabbing your thighs and pressing you against his mouth.  

‘’I could spend all day between your legs,’’ Aegon said, giving kitten licks to your clit before blowing air on your pink flesh and making your thighs tremble. He chuckled at your reaction, and went back to business. 

You pulled at his hair again, feeling yourself about to climax, but there was a knock on the door, interrupting your intimate morning activities. 

‘‘Erm, forgive for bothering you, my King, but the armorer has brought your armor. He wishes His Grace tries it on to ensure it fits perfectly or see if adjustments are needed,’’ the hand, Otto Hightower, said. There was an uncomfortableness in his tone, having likely heard what was happening behind the doors.

Aegon lifted his head, your wetness glimmering down to his chin. ‘’In a moment!’’ he called out in return. ‘’I'm breaking fast!’’

—

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[hedgehog-moss]

Do you know much of the history of the town you live near? I noticed some very old-looking stone buildings in your photos from the cow parade - does much of the town look like that or were those heritage buildings?

Unfortunately almost every town has some Ugly Modern Houses, but they're usually in the outskirts, while the centre is quite preserved. It's mostly ~200yo houses though, with the occasional very old house (like, 17th century). The towns that used to have a castle often still have a mediaeval layout, with a cluster of houses and narrow streets; sometimes (remains of) ramparts. And every village worthy of the name has the mandatory mediaeval church in the plaza (except mine which has a modern Victorian Gothic church that's like 150yo, but we have the ruins of a mediaeval monastery to make up for it)

One little local history fact I know is that this town that had the cow parade was named after a Central Asian tribe that invaded the region ~1,600 years ago and later helped fight off Attila when the Huns were invading! The cows don't know that. I love knowing where place names come from (unless they mean stuff like "by the river" which is boring.) I went to visit a Gallo-Roman site recently and there was a sign displaying some text by Julius Caesar in which he listed all the Celtic tribes he defeated here, and I thought it was so cool that some of these names are still familiar because they are preserved in place names. The Roman invasion days, two millennia ago, already feel quite faraway but by then the Celts had already lived here for centuries—I wish the specific Gallic tribe that started farming around here in the Iron Age could know that 2,500 years later people are still farming in this place that's still named after their tribe.

Your question made me realise that what I associate with "appreciating local history" is like, going to see the ruins of some 2nd century Roman thermal baths or temples or learning that a town was named after a guy who owned the place in 847 AD, and I don't pay enough attention to the 16th century houses near my dentist's office or the 12th century church in front of the vet clinic. I should appreciate these time periods more! I do love the look of mediaeval towns with their tiny tortuous streets that make life difficult for people who drive stupidly big cars. And I love mediaeval castles, though I've only visited 2 of the 150-or-so castles (not counting the ruins) this region boasts (I use 'boasts' ironically, there's another region nicknamed "the 1001 castles" so our score is pitiful.) (They don't actually have 1001 castles, they're lying, it's like 600, plus some glorified manor houses that don't count)

Last-minute addition: I drafted this reply last weekend and today I saw some ruins in a town where I went to have my spring water analysed, and decided to pop by the town hall to learn more. I learnt that the ruins are what remains of the town's castle, which "successfully resisted many English attacks" (that's what they always say) and was then offered by the King to a courtier in the 1450s, and the courtier hated it because it was 400 years-old and cold and draughty and falling apart so he never lived here. The town hall lady was so unimpressed by her town's attractions it was funny—I imagine if I'd been a tourist she would have tried to sell it to me more but knowing I live nearby she was like, well our town has a 13th century church like everyone else and here's our "castle" that's a ruin now and that was already a ruin in Joan of Arc times. To add some fun fact about their castle she said that a Valois Queen had slept there for a few nights at some point and I said eagerly "Queen Margot?" and the woman said "... no it was in the 1300s. Queen Margot went to [better castle farther North]", in such a humble tone that I felt bad for accidentally pointing out that unlike [Rival Town] they got one of those obscure Valois queens no one cares about.

[marc-spectorr]

𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒘𝒊𝒎

pairing: duke leto atreides x fem!reader

summary: It's the night before your wedding to Duke Leto Atreides and he finds you struck by panic about your future in Caladan.

warnings: 3.1k wc. arranged marriage, panic attack, anxiety, mentions of conceiving. my limited dune-lore knowledge. soft!leto.

a/n: first leto fic ahhh!! i may or may not write more parts to this in the future. i had so many ideas but if i wrote them all in one fic, it would be a long one (not to mention it would take 1001 years to finish and post). anyway, feedback is very much appreciated! hope you enjoy :)

—

Caladan.

There is a beauty to it that you cannot deny. It's captivating from the very first glance. An indescribable sight, unparalleled to anywhere else in the universe.

Of all the worlds you could be in at this moment, a part of you is glad it's Caladan. In spite of the circumstances that brought you here, you try to be grateful for it. Surely, there are worse places to live on than this.

Here, the ocean is vast, stretching far beyond the starlit horizon. A fresh breeze carries the salty scent of the water towards you. It tickles your skin as if it were a feather, the light coolness sending goosebumps along your arms. You tug your shawl more closely around your shoulders.

It is far from the hot desert landscape you know and love. Despite its recent hardships, that planet was once home to you. It still is. You wonder how long it will be before you consider Caladan as such. It's been one week since your arrival, and you're in a period of adjustment, which in truth, has not been too easy.

The beach is empty, unsurprising as the moon has moved far past its highest point in the sky. You can't sleep. You haven't for so long. Similar to all the nights prior, you had tossed and turned endlessly under silken sheets before deciding to go for a walk. You found no comfort in your bed despite the mattress beneath you being the softest there ever was.

It could be the chambers themselves, surrounded by four dark walls that are still very much foreign to you. You must get used to it, you remind yourself. In fact, it's more than just a room that you must get used to.

Tomorrow, your life will change more than it already has when you moved to Caladan.

Tomorrow is the wedding—your wedding. Many esteemed members of the Great Houses will be in attendance, alongside your closest family and friends, who are now worlds away from you. They will all be present to witness you exchange vows with Duke Leto Atreides, a man you barely know.

You exhale a deep, long sigh and draw your knees under your chin. Gentle waves lap onto the shore, the white foam almost reaching your toes before ebbing away. You watch in comfortable silence, the hypnotic rhythm of the waves creating a sense of calm.

Unwittingly, your mind combs through recent events. You spent plenty of these last few days surrounded by those more interested in your upcoming nuptials than you are. You've grown weary of feigning smiles every second in their company, of pretending to be okay when you are far from it.

You feel alone. You are alone.

It’s a sacrifice—leaving behind the life you had to help your struggling home world. Things are changing faster than the time you have to process them. But you can't afford to wait—the sooner you marry Leto, the sooner your father and your people's burdens will go away.

You are doing the right thing. The noble thing. It's what you were raised to do. The last thing you wish is to be seen as a disappointment.

Still, it doesn't mean you have your worries and doubts. You lack experience, having never courted someone before. You question whether or not you would be fit to be a wife to the stranger who is the Duke of Caladan. You're well aware of the responsibilities you would have to uphold, the expectation that one day you will need to bear him an heir…

You shut your eyes, trying to push past the feeling of your heart starting to pick up and thud heavily against your ribs. But the pit of anxiety gnawing at your stomach grows and grows, and it's a losing battle. Not even the ocean waves that mesmerized you moments ago could distract you from the mounting panic inside.

Your thoughts batter you from within like a storm raging out of control. The pressure and expectations others have on you— that you have on yourself— can't be stopped. 

They're too loud; they refuse to be ignored this time around.

Your body trembles, your breaths are short and shallow, and it feels like you are drowning; you're helplessly caught in a dangerous current that pulls you under the water. The weight in your chest drags you down and deeper, sinking and sinking until you hit the very bottom of the depths of your own mind, deprived of any air, any light.

It's only until a voice calls out your name over and over again that you resurface. Warm, gentle hands urge you to sit right back up, and you don't have it in you to fight against them. You don't remember curling up on your side, wound in a tight little ball, nearly burrowing yourself into the sand bed as if wanting to be swallowed whole.

"Breathe, darling... Listen to my voice and just breathe, alright? One... two... three..."

You can't see him, not through the hot, stinging tears obscuring your eyes. But you can hear him. His voice's hazy, soft lull is strangely familiar, yet you cannot place whose it is.

He coaxes you repeatedly, and you focus on his words as if they are your one and only lifeline—as if they are the calming waves reaching the shoreline. 

You do as he says. You breathe.

"One... two... three... That's it, my lady. Deep breaths for me, and again— one... two... three... Good girl, and again. Breathe..."

You're unsure how long has passed by the time your heart slows, and your breathing evens out. Your blurred vision clears once your tears have settled, and your eyes widen when you recognize the face before you.

Duke Leto Atreides kneels beside you, dressed in a manner you have never seen him in. He has on a loose white shirt and dark lounge bottoms, his graying head of curls mussed by the wind blowing past.

You're uncertain why he's at the beach alone at this late hour despite being seemingly ready for bed. Perhaps concerned guards informed him of your wandering about the castle in the dead of night. Did he come all this way in search of you?

Leto’s dark eyes search your face for the reason of your distress. Embarrassment sweeps over your cheeks— you cannot imagine how much of a pitiful mess you look. God, what if you've ruined it? What if seeing you this way, so weak, and frightened, and pathetic, has Leto wishing to rescind his agreement to marry you? What if, what if—

"Hey, shh… Relax. There is no need to fret," Leto soothes. He must have seen the worry in your eyes, but instead of ridicule as you anticipated, he looks at you with concern.

You cast your gaze down, catching sight of your hand in his. He hasn't let go of it since finding you, and when he notices your muscles tense up from the anxiety that seizes your body once more, he squeezes.

Leto squeezes your hand firmly but nowhere near the point of pain. His words are a quiet murmur in your ears. "Don't go back there, darling. Stay here, on this beach. Squeeze my hand back so I know you're here with me. Can you do that for me, please?"

With his other hand, Leto places a finger under your chin to tip it upwards, meeting your eyes. Again, he holds your hand tightly and brushes his thumb over your knuckles. You concentrate on him, matching your breaths to his. The tension starts to slip away bit by bit, and when it does, you finally squeeze his hand back.

"There you go. Just breathe, you're alright," Leto murmurs with a small smile. It dawns on you how close he is when the sound of the ocean becomes second to his voice. "Better?"

You swallow, then nod following a brief pause, not trusting yourself to speak.

Moving slowly so as not to startle you, Leto picks up your shawl from the ground, dusting it clean of grains of sand before draping it over your shoulders.

You expect him to leave, seeing you have regained some semblance of composure. You much prefer that he would. You can't handle explaining to Leto what was wrong. Is wrong.

The air turns silent as you face the water, wiping the dried-up tears from your cheeks with your fingers. You don't see Leto in your peripheral vision, but he's there, watching you. You can feel it.

"Here," you hear Leto say. Glancing to the side, you find him still sitting next to you. He offers his handkerchief, gently motioning it toward you when he senses your hesitation.

With the slightest smile, you accept the piece of cloth, whispering a "thanks" and looking away. 

It occurs to you then that this is your first true moment with Leto. Before today, you had only seen glimpses of him. The most time you have spent with him was during your first encounter, and even then, it wasn't for long.

You chalked it up to Leto having no genuine interest in you. Why would he? He has duties that are much more pressing than entertaining you.

It's not much of a surprise. It would be wrong of you to expect for more. Ultimately, this marriage is not one for love but born out of necessity. A political alliance. A guarantee that your people will be well taken care of. That's the agreement.

Not to mention, you've heard them— those hushed talks amongst the servants and guards about how Caladan does not stand to gain anything from the union.

They are not wrong; many have supposedly expressed concern, including members of the Duke's inner circle. You wonder if he will come to regret his decision one day.

"You've had quite a fright there."

Leto's voice cuts through the silence between you. He shuffles from behind, sitting where he can better see you. You stop yourself from glancing down; it would be rude, and you don't want to tarnish both your image and your family's name even more than you already have.

"I-I am deeply sorry, my lord. You shouldn't have to see that," you manage to get out, catching the way Leto's brows knit together in response.

"There's no shame in such. Why apologize?" he asks you in a soft tone. "And please, there's no need for formalities. Call me Leto. After all, we are betrothed to one another."

Your throat suddenly dries at the reminder that the man before you is your soon-to-be husband. You wring your hands in your lap and give him a nod, skirting from answering his earlier question.

Leto is quick to pick up your nervousness. You can almost see his brain working to piece it all together and grasp what was happening when he stumbled upon you.

You dread what words Leto might say, fearing they will be judgments made against you. You hide from his piercing stare, picking at your nails until a pair of rough yet gentle hands gathers yours, halting you.

Leto squeezes your hands softly, very much like he did before, and it soothes the part of you that has always ached but you could never get rid of.

"You do not have to carry your burdens alone, my lady," Leto murmurs, leaning to catch your eyes once more, and he does. "Whatever it is, unload it on me. Now, tell me what's wrong."

It's almost cruel that your instinct is to doubt him. But if the sincerity bleeding into his voice wasn't enough for you to give him a chance, then it's the tenderness in his gaze. You see the understanding in them, the concern and genuine desire to ease your troubles away.

Your initial perception of Leto has been wrong. You've been wary of him. Intimidated. But this is no man holding no care for you. He could have easily walked away after finding you amidst a fit. Instead, he stayed. He's here when you were convinced he would never find the time to be.

You open up to Leto like a floodgate, admitting to him the thoughts that plagued your mind from the day you learned about this marital arrangement, your nervousness for tomorrow's wedding and your fear of solitude in Caladan in the days that would follow.

You feel selfish, guilty even, for saying all of this out loud. You have no right to complain when the locals here have treated you with only kindness. Others would dream of being in your shoes—of living in a beautiful land, gaining an honorable title, and having a husband who would make you the envy of many.

Why must a blessing cause you great grief?

Leto listens to every word with undivided attention. He lets you speak freely and honestly, never once interfering between your sobs and sentences. He clears his throat only when the whispering waves of the ocean have lingered in the space between the two for some time.

"You are right when you said some of my advisors opposed me marrying you," Leto begins softly, gauging every bit of your reaction as he speaks. "They told me it would bring no benefit to House Atreides—that all we'll do is use up precious time and resources for a dying planet already beyond saving. Their words, not mine."

There is a quiet beat. Leto glances towards the horizon, where the first faint inklings of dawn break through the skies. He continues: "I realized then that those men do not uphold the same values I believe in. Caladan has more than enough riches to go around. There is no humanity in turning a blind eye to people's suffering—especially when we have it in our power to provide aid.

"I've had plenty of disagreements with my advisors, but I couldn't allow those without hearts to remain on my council. My lack of presence is not because I had no interest in getting to know you. Rather, I was ensuring those who showed little care for my bride and her ancestral land no longer served as advisors of mine—a task that regrettably stole time I would have spent with you."

You fall silent. The breath that leaves you seemingly takes more of the load on your being. Your respect for Leto grows. You see now the kind, thoughtful, benevolent man he is. 

How could you have been so wrong about him? You'd been irrational, too assuming. So afraid he would turn out to be the complete opposite when he gave you no valid reason that he's such. You should not have been quick to judge his character when you had known nothing about him in the first place.

"I... thank you, my lor—Leto," you eventually say, turning to him. Shame and remorse cling to your tongue. "I am terribly sorry again. Had my mind been sound, I would've realized my distress is unwarranted."

"Nonsense. You're overwhelmed; your worries were reasonable. All I want is the two of us to be on the same page," Leto replies. The warm smile that adorns his lips when you correct yourself and address him by name lingers. “Let's start over, shall we then?"

You watch as he stands on his feet, reaching out his hand towards you. With Leto's help, you pull yourself up from the sandy floor, shaking off the pins and needles stinging your limbs. He holds his hand out once more, this time for a handshake.

"Hello, I am Leto and welcome to Caladan. It is a pleasure to meet you and an honor to have your presence here."

A smile blooms across your face as you shake his hand, formally introducing yourself to Leto the way he had. "I cannot thank you enough for agreeing to this. I, my father, and our people are eternally grateful for your generosity."

Leto makes a small bow of his head, capturing your hand between his own. Something inside you feels lighter now. The air around you, once thick like water, isn't anymore.

"You will no longer have to worry about your home world. I will make certain they receive all that they need—as for you, as well. I am here for you, even if it's simply as an ear to listen."

A pause. Leto's voice melts a touch softer. He looks at you with eyes deep and brown as the bark of a pine. "In a matter of hours, you and I will wed. It's merely for formality's sake. What goes on between us as husband and wife is nobody's business but ours. Please know that I ask for and expect nothing in return for agreeing to this arrangement. You will never be forced to do anything you do not wish to. Ever. Is that understood?"

You take in Leto's words, becoming aware of the unspoken ones, those hidden between the lines. Their implications settle on you, and you let out a quiet breath of relief into the air.

"I do," you assure before adding, for what could be the hundredth time since Leto has joined you, "Thank you."

“You’re welcome, my lady.”

The sun peaks over the skyline, casting bright golden rays over Caladan. Leto briefly glances in the distance, the silver strands of his mane and beard catching the light, and they glimmer before your eyes. He smiles wide, the lines on his face crinkling as he watches the sunrise.

You also find yourself smiling, spending a moment more studying Leto's profile before turning to what's ahead of you.

Caladan takes your breath away, even more so in the daylight. You can fully appreciate it now that the storms in your mind have passed, and it's as clear as the skies.

"It's a beautiful day to get married." Leto remarks as the two of you gaze out to the water. After basking in the peaceful silence, he meets your eyes again, offering you his arm like a gentleman would. "Come, let me escort you back to your room. We both should rest up a bit before the festivities start."

Nodding in agreement, you quietly say goodbye to the ocean and allow Leto to guide you away from the beach. The sand beneath your shoes eventually turns to a rocky pathway at the foot of Castle Caladan, its grandeur towering over you.

A warm hand slips into yours.

"From now on, you will never feel alone," Leto says, pressing a soft squeeze to your hand. His hold is comforting, and reassuring. “You will always have me at your side, darling. I promise you that."

You smile at Leto, feeling something tender unfold in your chest when he returns a smile of his own.

You believe him, and for once, you think you will be okay.

—

taglist: @pigeonmama

please note that i’m starting a new taglist for my fics. if you would like to be included, let me know :)

[ithinkineedamoment]

2. Paris, France

1 of 1,000

I feel like it’s way too early in this process to even fully begin to unpack this one, but here we go. 

Realistically, it makes sense. Barely a month ago, Sergio and I got off a plane from attending the 2024 Summer Olympics in France. It was a once in a lifetime event that I had been planning and replanning tediously since January 2023. There were tickets to be won, booked out hotels, over priced planes, and a whole lot of unknowns. 

Sergio had never been to Paris or France. I, on the other hand, grew up no less than 20 minutes from the French border, in Germany, for my teenage years. Birthdays, long weekends, grocery shopping, flea marketing - it’d all happen in France. So in planning this Tour de France, it was less about me, and more about what I thought was worth seeing in France for Mr. Man’s first time. I stressed over every detail - was it worth going out of our way to Mont Saint Michel? Will he like staying in this neighborhood in Marseille or should I pick somewhere closer to the water? I begged and pleaded for his engagement for over a year and piecemealed together a plan. So much needed to be figured out, but not for a single minute did I worry about our weeklong stay in Paris. 

It was September 25th, 2010 and our high speed train from Kaiserslautern had just arrived in Gare Montparnasse. My family had barely been in Europe for two months and there we were, dressed in our American best pretending we were citizens of the world. The photos of this trip are hilarious given that these were before years of military propaganda and attempts at assimilation (our military TV, AFN or Armed Forces Network, showed several commercials threatening terrorist attacks if you left your military base looking or acting like an American). 

Regardless, we were there for one day to celebrate Mom’s birthday. It had not been an easy move to Europe. Over the past few months, Dad returned home from a year long deployment and he and I quickly fell into a quasi-estranged relationship. Weeks later, we found ourselves in Germany living in a concrete box on a military base, ostensibly, in the middle of nowhere. Mom would lash out, leaving scuffs and indents in the walls of the staircase that would never be fixed. The four of us were each other’s only support system, changed by the reintroduction of Dad to the mix after his yearlong absence. Who we were to each other and how we operated as a family unit was actively being rewritten in a militaristic world we had always been a part of but never formalized. It’s been 14 years, but I don’t remember we were ever happy in those early months. So stepping off that train felt energizing. Here we were in Paris - Paris! We were finally fulfilling the promise we were told of travel and seeing the wonders of Europe. It felt like the pain of getting to this point was finally paying off. 

Truth be told, I barely remember anything from this specific trip to Paris. Scenes of this trip playback like the photographic screensaver that used to run on the family computer. But there would be more trips. A Memorial Day foray through the Louvre and the Gardens of Versailles with family friends, a spring break stay at EuroDisney, the three of us zipping through the Metro to catch sights of Mom running her first and only half marathon, a couple days here, an evening or two there - all these visits from our time in Europe exist in my mind as a living map of the city. “Remember when we were here last?” we would ask each other, only to respond “of course! New years 2011,” while standing under the Eiffel Tower. Each trip was significant enough to be noteworthy, but when played back over and over again, they lose their place in time.

This timelessness, I feel, is the point. When you’re sneaking down the Cour du Commerce Saint-Andre, just off the Boulevard Saint-Germain on the Left Bank, it makes sense. The stories you hear of winding streets flush with candlelight, the chattering of wine glasses and the clinking of vape pens against the metal tables, and somewhere, a street performer playing an Edith Piaf song because beauty is innate in every Parisien (and not because they’re catering to a tourist economy) - all of this combines to reaffirm your preconceived notions. Some find it romantic, others, a caricature to be avoided at all costs. And yet, we visit - experiencing a city designed to be beautiful by people who inspired its destruction.  For every cathedral vault, there is a riot and barricade, for every newly built city wall, there was a force itching to invade. 

In the fall of 2019, in the “blissful” months of post-college “freedom” that usually consisted of downing a bottle of wine by myself in bed watching old seasons of “The Amazing Race”, I felt the need to leave. I had some extra cash, not because my job paid well, but because I was paying next to nothing to live in the converted living room of a shared apartment with two former classmates. It was lonely - feeling as if you were entering adulthood having spent the past four years destroying yourself for a chance at success. So I planned a trip that I knew would hopefully spark some joy into my life. I booked my first solo trip to Paris. 

Except it wasn’t solo. Within a few weeks of booking, I reconnected with Rick for the first time in months. I don’t remember who reached out first but after my fallout with Sergio, it felt harmless enough. While sipping a margarita at some restaurant in Midtown New York, long since closed, we caught up. He pummeled me with questions about what I was doing, where I was living, who I was fucking - convincing himself that the two classmates I was sharing an apartment with were my two boyfriends. I sipped on my drink and wondered what I was even doing there. It was just good to see him. 

Eventually, we parted ways, tearfully. Texts became more frequent and the fear of repercussions dwindled and I mentioned that I was going to France - had booked a whole trip to go to Paris and see other places in the country I had never been to as a treat for myself. I never asked him to or made any indication it was something I wanted, but the next thing I knew, I was planning a trip for two. It’s funny how organizing a trip with someone who has money makes the entire planning process significantly easier. I didn’t complain, but knew that it was most likely a disaster in the long run. 

A few days before the trip, Rick visited the doctor with a horrendous cough. He was told it was the flu and it’d pass, but it certainly wasn’t contagious anymore (Covid was knocking at the door). He could walk only steps at a time before needing a break and was constantly breaking out in a cold sweat. He was adamant that he’d still go on the trip. So there we went. 

The trip was emotionally brutal for the most part. Traveling to Paris with him felt like trying to recover from alcoholism in a winery. Insane on my part. But he was sick! He couldn’t do anything. I’d leave the hotel and roam for hours just to return back to sweaty and upset Rick. I didn’t blame him. He could barely talk yet wanted to know everything, he couldn’t walk, but wanted to experience the city. I felt bound by some duty to give up the things that I wanted to do to support a man who I had loved through the city of it. Suddenly, the sights and sounds of the city I had treasured as the escape from my life through my youth felt like a prison. I was there but I shouldn’t be, I wanted to grow but I couldn’t. I was reminded of all the ways I would minimize my existence growing up in my parents house and performed them with wine stained lips - filling the silence while refusing to acknowledge my part in it. I missed him and I missed his company. I still do now, at times. However, that shouldn’t have been the reason I let him come on this trip. A part of the depression and mess I had been recovering from in New York was now sitting across from me at the dinner table in a foreign country I wasn’t supposed to be in. He wanted so desperately for me to love him again, and I knew a part of me did, but to admit that would have destroyed what was left of me. 

So on the day before we were to leave Paris for our next city, I set off on the day’s journey. I remember the streets being quiet as I crossed the Île de la Cité. In December, the cold hangs over the city like a layer of frost no amount of warmth could penetrate. The buildings, the sky, everything seems a bit paler than it should be. I roamed and I roamed, climbing to Montmartre and realizing I had never been there. Ascending the winding streets and into Sacre Coeur, my mind flicked through the rolodex of bad ideas that could save me from my current situation. After cresting the hill, I found myself going west and eventually to Montmartre Cemetery. The sun was peeking through the grates of the Pont de Caulaincourt while the trees’ remaining leaves swirled down to their crunchy grave. It was cold, and it was quiet. 

I took to the uneven cobblestones that lined the cluttered pathways of the cemetery. The tombs and mausoleums crowded each other like the misshapen buildings of a neglected city. I was alone in this necropolis, the city of the dead.

At a certain point, surrounded by the silence, I found a bench under a Maple tree.  I don’t remember how long I sat there, sipping in the silence as one might a Vin Chaud, letting it numb me. Hector Berlioz, Edgar Degas, thousands of others all lay in their final resting place around me at peace and I was living. Why couldn’t I be at peace? Why did I have to be living? Living with the regret of not being strong enough to save myself, with the want of falling asleep there in the cold and praying I’d awaken to a different life. I had loved so hard and loved so deeply, but could never seem to love correctly. I gave everything I had to everyone else, and with everyone gone - I had nothing left. 

Almost in response to my isolation, a small black cat emerged quietly from the untrimmed brush that twisted between the two tombs in front of me. The only other sign of life in the cemetery curled their way to the top of the tomb and pawed gently at the leaves, clearing a place to rest. I don’t remember whose tomb it was but time seemed to collapse. It didn’t matter whether the interred died 100 years ago or 500 years ago. Side by side, they were all equal in death. And we, the cat and I, were there now.

In the epilogue of Alistair Horne’s Seven Ages of Paris, which I only read this past year, he muses on the significance of the French words for love and death being so similar. Paris, to me, had always been a city of history, of art, of good food, and of love. It was an escape - a vision of a better world, a better life. It was never anything real. Love, as I knew it growing up, was using and being used - it wasn’t care. Paris was a city I used. Now death - death I could understand. Growing up in the military, it surrounded me. I begged for death several times before I should have. Death is inevitable and everyone will know it. All around Paris are markers of this knowledge - these memento mori. Cemeteries, catacombs, monuments, statues - all in remembrance of those who have come before us and had made this city beautiful. It is on the mounds of the dead that the sprouts of new love and life are able to be shared. It is in death that a tomb can become a bed to a sleepy cat. 

I can’t say I bounded from the cemetery, energized by the notion of life. I did not run back to Rick and take him in my arms and promise myself to him forever. I knew that France would be the last time I would ever see him and as of today I’ve yet to be proven wrong. For the rest of the trip, I treated the death of our connection with patience and care, lulling it to sleep as you would a child. I knew that I could not give more of myself to him and I had to stop pretending that I could. What mattered more now was remembering that I will, in fact, die having lived a life for myself. I knew what was left of me was worth saving. I might have felt there was nothing left for me to give, but I could always create more. I couldn’t die without ensuring I left even the smallest bit of beauty behind. 

Now, almost 5 years later, I’m freshly returned from another stint in France, this time with Sergio. We still have never discussed what happened between Rick and I or what happened in France, and I don’t know if we ever will. As I stated at the beginning, we were there for the Olympics and I cannot overemphasize how incredible it was. Yes, most of the city was empty save for the hordes of tourists, but who am I to complain? We were tourists too. It was exciting to return to a city I felt I had history with and not for the city’s sake. Seeing Sergio witness the city with fresh eyes and fresh criticism brought the city to life. In walking hand in hand down the banks of the Seine, it didn’t matter that we were passing the Musée d’Orsay. It mattered that we were there together. We had multiple, lengthy conversations about the struggles of our relationships and the ways we don’t show up for each other while also unpacking complicated feelings of family and home. It was hard, tiring, emotional - but the person I was 5 years ago could never have done so. My parents, who were also attending the games, made guest appearances a few times during our trip. It’s worth noting that shortly after that cemetery visit in 2019, my parents and I fell out of touch - no longer on speaking terms for years. Yet, here we were, back in the city that started it all in 2010, each willing to give Paris and each other another chance. 

On our final night in Paris, as the Olympics drew to a close, Sergio and I grabbed a bottle of wine and made our way to the Jardin du Carrousel. The Olympic cauldron, as made famous by the fact it wasn’t a fire, was a giant hot air balloon whose basket was a ring of lights and smoke that would lift into the air at sunset and shine over the city and all the various arenas. I posited that it was most likely because the first manned hot air balloon ride that brought man to the skies back in the 1800s had taken place in Paris. Either way, we stayed in the garden commenting on the past 16 days of travel and what it meant to each other. For him, an opportunity to discover and appreciate a history he had always known but had strong prejudice against due to France’s imperialism (fair, lol). And for me, an appreciation of feeling present in a place with a history that had not always been easy. Home is a concept that I struggle with, but sitting there with him, it felt like home. 

The sun set and the crowd around us leapt to their feet as the giant balloon in front of us unceremoniously slid into the sky. The empty wine bottle laid at our feet as the two of us stayed seated. The city had never felt so magical and this love had never felt so beautiful. 

[zerobaselove]

you're worth it | han yujin

pairing: yujin x reader

genre: fluff

word count: 1001

warnings: none! lowercase intended, not proofread!

notes: yujinnnnn!! my little guy ugh he is just so cutie i am so devastated. anyways this was so fun to write as i procrastinate getting ready for work LMAO so i hope y'all like it <3 thank u anon for this idea it was so lovely (i know i didn't go too in depth w the actual sleepover part im SORRYYY)

you didn't consider yourself someone who got nervous particularly easy. especially not when it involved your best friend yujin. everything was easy with him. was. before you had developed a little crush on the boy.

you had done a pretty good job at ignoring the way your heart would speed up when you caught him looking at you, or when your hands brushed when you walked side by side. but you weren't sure if that same ignorance would hold up for tonight, your first sleepover at his place.

it's not a big deal. you repeated in your head. repeating the phrase like a mantra as you approached the door for his dorm. you had met a couple of his roommates in passing but the idea of meeting so many new people definitely didn't help the nerves that bubbled up in your chest.

raising your hand you knocked on the door a few times, the once silent apartment erupted in muffled noises. screams, maybe? you considered, not even having a moment to consider why there would be screaming before the door opened to yujin with a sheepish grin on his face.

you almost didn't notice the swarm of other guys standing in the apartment with wide grins on their faces. some giggling to themselves or whispering, while one you recognized, hanbin, lightly hit them on the arm in an attempt to get them to stop. you couldn't help but giggle at the group of boys, giving them a small wave before greeting yujin.

yujin hadn't realized why you were giggling until he turned around to walk with you into the apartment, letting out a groan, "please just ignore them they're being annoying." he put emphasis on the last word, some of the boys feigning offense, hands over their chests like they had just been betrayed.

"we just wanted to meet your little friend," one said with a wiggle of their eyebrows, "is that so bad?"

yujin let out another huff before reluctantly introducing you to the group. you soon learned the two giggling to each other were gyuvin and gunwook. everyone was so nice and welcoming to you that you immediately felt at ease there. the teasing remarks to yujin also seemed to help as you all laughed together for a bit.

who you remembered to be matthew spoke up as he faced you and yujin, "yujin you're really gonna let them stand there carrying their bags this whole time? not very gentlemanly of you." he shook his head, jokingly wagging his finger as he told him off causing a laugh to leave your chest before you insisted it was okay and that you didn't mind.

"no he's right, you can put your stuff in my room, follow me." yujin smiled shyly, leading you to his bedroom. you both tried to ignore the whistles and whispers from the boys behind you as the door shut behind you both.

yujin sat on his bed with a sigh, "sorry about them, they're a lot." he chuckled. you put your bag at the end of his bed before plopping down next to him.

"don't apologize," you reassured him with a smile, "they're really fun actually, i was more worried if they'd like me or not."

he turned to you with a smile, "oh don't worry, they loved you before you even got here." you let out a relieved sigh before you took a moment to process what he had said, raising an eyebrow.

"yujin," you smirked, holding back a giggle "do you talk about me to them?"

his eyes widened at the accusation, knowing deep down what it implied about his feelings towards you. "well," he brought his hand up to rub the back of his neck awkwardly, "you see," his voice trailed off.

"so that's a yes?" you giggled, placing your hand on his, "don't worry, i think it's cute." as soon as the word cute left your mouth yujin started stuttering some denial as his eyes darted between you and your hand on his.

watching the way his brain started malfunctioning, you knew you were the only chance of this conversation continuing, so you opened your mouth again, feeling more confident now. "i don't know if you know this jinnie," the nickname rolling off your tongue so naturally, "but i like you, a lot."

you watched as he processed your confession, a wide smile spreading across his face. "oh!" he exclaimed, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart, "i uh," his hand squeezed yours lightly, looking for reassurance, "like you too, also a lot." you giggled at the boy in front of you, his smile becoming infectious, soon mirroring his wide grin.

"well good," you smiled, placing a kiss on his cheek, "now let's head back out there before they start getting the wrong idea." you didn't even give him time to think about the small romantic action before you dragged him up and to his door.

what you weren't expecting as you opened the door was the sight of 8 boys toppling over each other. yujin let out a whine at their antics, "were you guys listening to our whole conversation?" he exclaimed, not even that surprised that they would do such a thing.

"pffft no way! we were just,"gyuvin glanced around the hallway, "uhm," his voice lowered to a whisper, "gunwook help me out."

gunwook perked up, straightening out his tshirt, "we were just expecting the door hinges," he said nonchalantly, "one of them has been squeaking and we were trying to see which one it was." he came up with the excuse so quickly and with such confidence that you almost believed him.

you both laughed as you shook your head and walked past the group of boys, making your way to the kitchen, "you might wanna get used to stuff like that, especially since you'll probably be coming over more." yujin smiled as he grabbed your hand, giving it a light squeeze.

"don't worry yujin, you're worth it."

[motimatcha]

Friend

hazbin hotel Adam x reader.

“ what does it mean to be Adam's friend? ”

To be Adam's friend means to be practically on the same level with him. You can be a little worse or a little better, it doesn't matter as long as you're on the same page.

You'd have the tendency of those same friends where one is openly crazy and the other tries to be the voice of reason but ends up joining in on the antics.

Friendly protection and covering for each other. For example, Adam would diligently stall for time when talking to someone while you indulge in your not-so-legal prank; or you cover for him in front of Sera, who is unhappy with Adam's actions and then you list 1001 reasons why Adam was right and he is good.

The highest degree of trust he can give you is to talk to you without his mask, and, in principle, to spend his time with you without the need to wear his exorcist uniform. Even Lute is not always given such an honor, think about it!

Sometimes you can just hang out all day or days at his place or yours. In the first case, Adam sometimes deals with documents and orders, as the head of an army of angels; I believe that after the day of exterminating the demons, Adam should make at least a rough plan of what the angels will do: training, theory, vacationers, appointments to positions. He doesn't particularly like it, but with your best help, he can complete at least half of these tasks before turning everything over to Lute's care, and then just checking on the progress of the work.

On particularly lazy days when you're both at your house, Adam offers to order food to your home and is even willing to pay for it out of his own (!) pocket. Just don't make fun of him about it.

Adam may allow you to touch his wings, just don't do it too often or for too long. Don't forget to praise his wings.

If you like his soft clothes and often nuzzle your face into his monk's robe, he may jokingly tell you: “I think you're only friends with me because of my clothes.” If you agree to his words, he may be offended and, out of principle, will not let you closer than a meter to him.

Both of you can act more slutty and not hold back. I mean, Adam maintains some kind of reputation anyway, being the first person and all that, but he has days and moments when he wants to give up, yell at someone, and so on. At such moments, you get together somewhere and express everything you think, the most ugly truth and words that angels should not utter.

[kimberleyjean]

Good Omens S2 Discontinuity Roundup

Hello Good Omens fans! Did you know the Good Omens team has put a lot of work into making “errors'' in the second season? Whether you were already aware, or just catching up, please take a look at the links below. Clicking any link will take you to one of the original posts that mentioned the discontinuity.

This post will continue to be updated and extended as new meta are published. Is there anything missing that you'd like to add? Reblogs, comments or messages are welcome!

Why are there so many discontinuities? Well, existing theories include different perspectives being shown, time-loops, separate timelines, a story told “out of order” and more! What's your opinion?

Discontinuities across multiple episodes:

Crowley’s sideburns.

Crowleys’ sunglasses.

The bookshop clock is frequently showing the “wrong” time (and other time inconsistencies).

The bookshop porch pillars/columns are sometimes clean, sometimes marked.

Randomly dusty streets (on a closed set no less!).

Street signage (Maggie’s and 1001 nights).

Almost every scene with visible extras, see here, here and here for examples.

Episode 1

There's TWO scrolls in Before the Beginning?

Gabriel’s/Jim’s entrance happens twice.

Crowley's conversation with Shax in the park shows him putting down the newspaper twice, and Shax's bag is all over the place.

Honolulu Roast sign.

Moving lamps inside GMCoGMD.

Disappearing eccles cakes.

Crowley's watch is set an hour ahead of his phone.

Episode 2

The lane where Crowley parks his Bentley varies between being wet and dry as well as the position it’s parked in, the colour grading, and the amount of dust on the Bentley windscreen! Also - the backdrop of the lane where Crowley parks the Bentley is impossible.

The amount of dust on Jim’s book changes in between cuts.

Job Minisode - varying wigs used for Bildad.

Episode 3

Muriel's arrival continues from a much earlier scene in E2 - see here and here.

Aziraphale parks in an unexplained location before going to the Resurrectionist pub, and also mysteriously loses his suitcase.

Resurrectionist Pub’s outdoor sign has two versions (no I don’t just mean the Jesus side!).

Bentley now 4-door (may be explained by the transformation sequence).

Awning of a new age, extras are discontinuous and standins for Nina and Maggie are visible.

Edinburgh Flashback - Crowley’s muttonchops change in size during the mausoleum scene.

Episode 4

Each time they are at the Windmill theatre, items in the background keep disappearing.

The polaroids (yes, two!) on screen are different sizes.

The polaroid itself is very confusing with Crowley’s weird arm.

The morse code in Hell is saying something slightly different to the loud speaker...

Episode 5

Nina and Maggie switch places? (Who knew they could teleport like that lol?)

High ranking demons are bottom of the barrel?

The “Surrender the angle” sign is thrown in twice?

A child randomly appears upon exit from the ball (approx 32:36).

Episode 6

Gabriel’s statue sometimes has a cross, sometimes not.

Crowley/David's stand-in is visible as Nina and Maggie leave.

French restaurant Fairy lights.

Final 15 clock shenanigans - why does the clock change from 9:25 to 9:40?

Are there two suns at the end of the episode?

These are the one's I've seen published so far and I'll keep adding to the list as more are published. In the meantime, if you spot anything missing from my list, please share the post about it :)

[curiositypolling]

speed test

[kryp-does-random-stuff]

Storytime.

While I doubt it was intentional from the directors of Supernatural (or whoever),

i find it being a cute coincidence, that it was G a b r i e l, who was given the scene with >>Hungarian reference<< of all things, especially as a rebuttal to the p*rn lady's question "Polish?"( WHILE delivering hungarian sausage mind you).

So hear me out.

Hungary happen to have a legend with Archangel Gabriel (Hartvik-legend), where, according to the story, he appears in a dream to Pope Sylvester the II.

The watered down version is, that the pope was about to give a crown and benediction and all that jazz to the polish monarch at the time, Miesko, but the night before the emissary arrived, Gabriel appeared in his dream to tell him about another, foreign candidate (the prince of Hungary) that will arrive early in the following day, and will ask for the crown and blessings.

And that the Pope should just do what the hungarian envoy asks and give the hungarian prince the crown instead of the Polish one.

And he did.

And thus, the now baptized Kingdom of Hungary was born in 1001 AD.

Oh and so, in Budapest, there is a big ass statue (beautiful af imho) on Heroes Square depicting Gabriel delivering the Crown and the apostolic cross. That's the last 2 pics.

And this is why i felt the need to draw this mashup.

My mind is a weird place folks....

[egypt-museum]

Silver Coffin of Psusennes I

Third Intermediate Period, 21st Dynasty, ca. 1047-1001 BC. Tomb of Psusennes I, Tanis. Now in the Egyptian Museum, Cairo. JE 85912

Psusennes I’s silver coffin is especially remarkable (silver being considered rare than gold in Egypt) and bears the likeness of the King, as does the stunning gold mask found within placed on the mummy.

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