#I thought long and hard about how the fall of the Ottoman Empire and the formation of the republic of Turkey would play into his character

[bluebrrytea]

I’m working on designing Dr. Hooves (aka time turner aka dr whooves) into @bixels ‘s 1920’s AU!

I heavily based the design on David Tennant as the 11th doctor, which I think is the one mlp takes inspiration from. In this AU he’s Turkish (bixels’ idea) which I made a really complex background for that I probably will completely scrap.

But! I think he would be from Izmir (because I said so) and his Turkish name would be Dr Ahmed Zaman (in reference to time turner being his earlier name) and when he moves to America, Dr. David Turner or Dr Hoover. He has a PhD in Quantum Physics and is trying to make time travel possible. He moves to Ponyville because it’s easier to track the results of his experiments without disrupting the whole world’s timeline. Meanwhile he will stay under the guise of the local watch repairmen/inventor/general mechanic. Anyway yeah! Just wanted to share what I got so far

[sixth-light]

The Crusades: A Fandom Primer

Like many of you, I am very excited to see a whole lot of fic about everybody’s favourite new Crusades-era Muslim/Christian immortal warrior husbands! However, a preliminary reading indicates that fandom is a bit hazy on what actually happened during the Crusades. Or where. Or why. They’re a much-mythologised piece of history so this isn’t surprising, but at popular request – ok like five people that counts – I’m here with a fandom-oriented Crusades primer.

Please bear in mind that I’m not a historian and this primer is largely based on my notes and recollections from several undergraduate history courses I took in the mid ‘00s. I expect the field has moved on somewhat, and I welcome corrections from people with more up-to-date knowledge! There’s also this very good post by someone who is a lot less lazy about links than I am.

Where did they take place?

The Crusades, broadly, describe a series of invasions of the Eastern Mediterranean (modern Israel, Syria, Lebanon, Beirut, Jordan, Cyprus, and parts of Turkey and Greece) by (mostly) Western European armies, religiously justified by their belief that the city of Jerusalem should be part of ‘Christendom’, i.e. ruled by a Christian monarch. In the first expression of European settler colonialism, nobles from the area of modern France and Germany founded four Crusader Kingdoms (aka ‘Outremer’, ‘overseas’) – the County of Edessa, the Principality of Antioch, the Kingdom of Jerusalem, and County of Tripoli.

  After a first unexpected wave of success in the First Crusade (1096-1099), which surprised everybody including the participants by conquering Jerusalem, the Crusaders were gradually driven and the last part of Outremer was lost to European control with the fall of the city of Acre in 1291. Crusades after that still nominally aimed to take Jerusalem but rarely got very far, with the Fourth Crusade famously sacking the city of Byzantium, their nominal Christian allies, in 1204. During this whole period activity that can be considered part of the ‘Crusades’ took place around the Eastern Mediterranean.

The most important thing to remember is that modern national boundaries didn’t exist in the same way; Italy, Germany, France, Spain, and the UK were not unified nations. Most of the southern Iberian peninsula (modern Spain) was ‘al-Andalus’, Muslim kingdoms ruled by nobility originally from North Africa. Sicily had been an Emirate up until very recently, when it had been conquered by Normans (Vikings with a one-century stopover in France). Italy and Germany in particular were a series of city-states and small duchies; Genoa, if you’re curious about it for some reason, ;), was a maritime power with more or less a distinct language, Genoese Ligurian (their dialect had enough of a navy to qualify). England had recently become part of the Anglo-Norman Empire, which ruled most of England (but not Wales or Scotland) and also large parts of modern France, particularly Normandy.

The Muslim world was similarly fragmented in ways that don’t correspond to modern national boundaries - there were multiple taifa states in Iberia, the Almoravid Caliphate in Morocco, the Fatimid Caliphate in Egypt, and (nominally) the Abbasid Caliphate in Baghdad, one of the great cities of the era, although the Seljuq Turks were the major power in Anatolia (modern Turkey) and what we describe as the ‘Middle East’. 

The largest Christian unified power in the wider European/Mediterranean region was the Byzantine Empire, centered on the city of Constantinople (modern Istanbul), which quite fairly considered itself the direct continuation of the Roman Empire, the capital having been moved there by the Emperor Constantine in 323. In fact, the really big political and religious question of the time for Christians was who got to be considered the centre of Christendom (there was no real concept of ‘Europe’ at this point) – the Orthodox Church, the Byzantine Emperor, and the Patriarch of Constantinople in Constantinople, or the Holy Roman Emperor (er…dude in nominal charge of a lot of German and Italian principalities) and the Roman Catholic Church led by the Pope in Rome. The Orthodox Church in Constantinople and the Roman Catholic Church had agreed to disagree in 1054 in the Great Schism, so in 1096 this issue was still what you’d call fresh.

Onto this stage of East-West disagreement and the heritage of Rome crashed the Seljuq Turks, a Muslim group from Central Asia who swept through Anatolia (modern Turkey), Byzantium’s richest province, culminating in the Battle of Manzikert in 1071 which wiped out Byzantium as an independent military force. The southern provinces had fallen under Muslim rule long ago, during the era of the first Umayyad Caliphate – including Jerusalem, famous as the birthplace of Christianity and a holy site for Judaism and Islam as well, but also a fairly uninteresting provincial town. Until...

Until…what?

Here’s why all the geography matters: It is generally accepted that the First Crusade kicked off largely because Alexios I Comnenus, the then-current Byzantine Emperor, requested aid from Western Europe against the Muslim Seljuq Turks. Byzantium often recruited mercenaries from Western Europe; the Normans (aka the Vikings), who had settled Normandy and southern Italy in the past century were frequent hires. Hence those runes in the Hagia Sophia.

Meanwhile in Western Europe, the Pope – Urban II – was having difficulty with the current Emperor, and was eager to heal the Schism and establish the primacy of the Roman church. He declared that an expedition to aid the Byzantines would have the blessing of the church, and that a new kind of pilgrimage – an armed pilgrimage – was religiously acceptable, if aimed against the enemies of Christendom.

Pilgrimages (travelling to holy sites, such as churches that held saints’ relics) were a major part of European Christianity at the time and many people went on pilgrimage in their lives, so this was a familiar concept. Western Europe was also somewhat overpopulated with knights – don’t think plate armour, this is 1096, think very murderous rich men with good swords – who could always use forgiveness, on account of all the murder. The Roman Catholic church, unlike the Eastern Orthodox church, also subscribed to the concept of ‘just war’, that war could be acceptable for the right reasons. And so a whole lot of nobles from the area of modern France, Belgium, England, Germany, and Italy decided that this new Crusade thing was something they wanted in on – and they took several armies with them.

I’m going to skip over a bunch of stuff involving the People’s Crusade (a popular movement of poorer people, got literally slaughtered in Anatolia), the massacres of Jews in Eastern Europe, and a lot of battles, but the takeaway is this: Alexios probably thought he was getting mercenaries. He got a popular religious movement that, somewhat unfortunately, actually achieved its goal (Jerusalem), did next to nothing to solve his Anatolia problem, and gave a succession of Popes a convenient outlet for errant knights, nobles, and rulers: going on Crusade.  

How many were there?

Official Crusades that anybody cares about: Nine, technically. Crusade-like military events that immortal soldiers might have got involved with, plus local stoushes in Outremer: way more. WAY more.

The First Crusade (1096-1099): First and original, set a frankly (heh) terrible precedent, founded the Crusader States and captured Jerusalem. Only regarded as a clash of civilisations by the Western Christians involved. For the local Muslims it was just another day at the ‘Byzantium hires Frankish mercenaries to make our lives difficult’ office.

The Crusade of 1101: Everybody who peaced out on the First Crusade hurried to prove they were actually up for it, once the remaining First Crusaders took Jerusalem. Didn’t do much.

The Second Crusade (1147-1150): The County of Edessa falls, Eleanor of Aquitaine happens (my fave), the only winners are the people who semi-accidentally conquer Lisbon (in Portugal) (but from Muslim rulers so that…counts?).

The Third Crusade (1189-1192): You all know this one because it has RICHARD THE LIONHEART and SALADIN. Much Clash of Civilisations, very Noble, did enough to keep the remaining Crusader kingdoms going but access to Jerusalem for Christian pilgrims was obtained by treaty, not conquest. Indirectly responsible for the Robin Hood mythos when Richard gets banged up in prison on the way home and is away from England for ages.

The Fourth Crusade (1202-1204): Aims for Jerusalem, ends up sacking the Eastern Orthodox city of Constantinople, just not a great time for anybody, more or less the eventual cause of the fall of Constantinople to the Ottomans in 1453.  

The Fifth Crusade (1217-1221): Still going for Jerusalem, starts with Cairo instead, does not get anywhere it wants to even after allying with the Anatolian Sultanate of Rum, making the whole ‘Christians vs Muslims’ thing even murkier than it already was post the Fourth Crusade.

The Sixth Crusade (1228-1229): Somehow these things are still going. Nobody even does very much fighting. Access to Jerusalem is negotiated by treaty, yet again.

The Seventh, Eight, and Ninth Crusades: Seriously nobody cares anymore and also nobody is trying very hard. Kings have better things to do, mostly. People end up in Egypt a lot. We covered these in one lecture and I have forgotten all of it.

The Albigensian Crusade (1209-1229): Why take a three-year trip to the Holy Land to fight pagans when you can fight the ones in your own backyard (southern France), AND take their stuff? Famously the source of the probably apocryphal ‘Kill them all, God will know His own’ quote, regarding the massacre of most of a city harbouring Cathars (a Christian sect deemed heretical).

Can we circle back to that ‘massacres of Jews’ bit? WTF?

Crusades, historically, were Not A Good Time for Jewish communities in Europe; when Christians were riled up to go and Fight The Infidel, it was a lot quicker to massacre local Jews than travel to the Holy Land. Also, then you could take their stuff. I will note here that it is VERY TACKY to use historical pogroms as backdrops for your non-Jewish main characters so keep this in mind but, like, use with extreme caution in fanfic, okay? Generally life was a lot easier for Jewish communities in Muslim-ruled states in this period, which is why so many Hispanic Jews ended up in Turkey after they were expelled from Spain. 

What were they really about, then?

Historians still Have Opinions about this. Genuine religious fervour was absolutely a key motivator, especially of the First Crusade. The ability to wage war sanctioned by the Church, or to redeem your local sins by going and fighting against the pagans, was part of that, too. Control of key trade routes to the East was probably not not a part of it. The Crusader States were definitely Baby’s First Experiment With Settler Colonialism, and paved the theological and rhetorical ground for the colonisation of the Americas. But many individuals on the Christian side would absolutely have believed they were doing God’s work. The various Muslim rulers and certainly the local Christian, Jewish, and Muslim inhabitants of the Holy Land itself were mostly just getting invaded by Franks. As time wound on the Crusades became more and more political (frequently featuring intra-religious violence and inter-religious alliances) and less and less about their forever nominal goal, control of Jerusalem.

How’s Wikipedia on this?

Basically not too bad but I’m not totally confident on some of the bits about motivation (see: white supremacists love this period, ugh.)

Why did they stop?

The prospect of re-taking Jerusalem vanished entirely as the Ottoman Empire centralised and took a firm hold over most of the Levant (and made inroads into Europe, as far as Austria, taking Constantinople in 1453 and finally ending the continuous Roman Empire), the Spanish Reconquista and various intra-European conflicts (the Hundred Years’ War, for example) absorbed military attention, and then the Reformation happened and half of Europe stopped listening to the Pope and started stabbing each other over who was the right kind of Christian. But the concept lingered; white supremacists love the Crusades. Which is why it is a very good idea to be sparing with Crusader imagery around Niccolò in fanfic set in the modern era, and please for fuck’s sake stop with the ‘crugayders’ tag, Yusuf wasn’t a Crusader.  

What other fun facts should I keep in mind re: Nicky | Nicolò and Joe | Yusuf?

·        Genoa is not the same as Italy; Nicolò is Nicolò di Genova and would have spoken Genoese (Ligurian) and considered himself to be Genoese. Italian as a language didn’t really exist yet. The language he and Yusuf would most likely have had in common was the ‘lingua franca’ (Frankish language, literally) of the Mediterranean trading region, a pidgin based heavily on maritime Italian languages. Yusuf 300% would have thought of him as a ‘Frank’ (the generic term for Western Christians) and probably annoyed him by calling him that until at least 1200 or so.

·        Yusuf is apparently from ‘Maghrib’, which I assume means al-Maghrib/the Maghreb (as his actor is IIRC of Tunisian descent), i.e. North Africa. He could have had relatives in al-Andalus (southern modern Spain), he may have spoken languages other than Arabic natively (Mozarabic or Berber), his native area had universities before Europe did. Basically: this is as useful as saying he’s ‘from Europe’, do better backstory writers.

·        Taking the whole ‘Nicky used to be a priest’ backstory at face value: being a priest in 1096 looked pretty different to how it did even 200 years later. They were still working on the celibacy thing. The famous monastic orders were still forming. Some priests could and did hold lands and go to war (this wasn’t common but it happened, especially if they were nobles by birth). Nicolò di Genova would not necessarily have seen a conflict between going on Crusade and being a priest, is what I’m getting at. If he was ALSO trained as a knight, he was from a wealthy family; it took the equivalent several villages to support a knight.

·        ‘Period-typical homophobia’ is going to look very different for this period. They are NOT getting beaten up for holding hands. Or sharing a bed! Or even kissing, depending on the circumstances! I am not an expert on Islamic sexual mores of the era but Christian ones were heavily on the side of ‘unsanctioned sex is bad, sanctioned (marital) sex is slightly less bad’, and there was no concept of ‘being gay’. An interfaith relationship would be in some ways more of a problem for them than the same-sex one (and in some ways less difficult to navigate than a heterosexual interfaith relationship.) The past is another country.

·        Look just no more fanfics where Yusuf is trying to learn ‘Italian’ in the early twelfth century I am BEGGING you all

[stargaze-sunflower]

There's a lack of Goldie and Louie cintent in the world, and if u still taking promps: What about Louie leaving to live with Goldie after a fight with his family or smt like that

It was only fitting that it would be raining when Louie ran away from home. Because why would things be easy? Why should he get to be dry as he wandered aimlessly through the streets of Duckburg? Why should he get to be anything other than completely miserable?

He laughed sharply to himself, his shaking hands shoved deeply into the pocket of his hoodie, soaked-through and cold. He had his hood pulled over his head, but it had been a while since it’d been of any use. He supposed the same could be said about himself.

Louie hunched in on himself when a car went speeding by, going faster than was strictly needed, in this weather. Water traveled through the air in an arc, kicked up by the tires that had come and gone with not a thought to his predicament, and Louie couldn’t help his flinch as the cold and dirty rainwater splashed against his right side. Irritation sparked somewhere in the mess of guilt and dejection tangled in his chest. He was already wet and tired and alone, and that had just added insult to injury.

There was no one else on the sidewalk with him, and besides the car that had just made his terrible day even worse, there was no one in the street, either. He was by himself, with the memories of the day’s events playing on a loop in his head, from his failure of a scheme, to his disappointed family members, to crawling out the window and sneaking away, hoping that no one would bother to wonder where he was. The problem that he had now, however, was that he didn’t really know where he was going. He was standing still in a puddle on the side of the road, soaked to the bone, and he had nowhere to go. Everyone he knew would turn him in to his family in two seconds flat if he turned up at their door looking like he did, and he wasn’t ready to go back yet.

Well, actually, there was someone who might hold off on snitching. There was someone who understood him, maybe better than any other adult in his life. And he just so happened to know that she was in town.

A new plan forming in his sluggish mind, he looked up from the ground to try and make sense of his surroundings, squinting as if that would help him see in the dark and rain. There wasn’t much to go off of, but he was sharp enough to gather that he was near the edge of the city. (Too sharp, a part of him whispered. Too likely to hurt.)

Goldie was less than two blocks away. He wondered if he’d been heading that way subconsciously, but didn’t really have the energy to think too much about it. He just sighed and kept walking, hoping that she hadn’t left yet, and that she wouldn’t mind a fellow outcast hanging around for a while.

It was raining even harder by the time Louie made it to the apartment complex Goldie was supposedly staying in, and he pulled his hood further over his face until he made it under the cover of the overhang, forcing his tired legs to carry him up the stairs to what he hoped was the correct door.

He just stood there for a minute in silence, breathing hard and dripping water all over the place, trying to gather the courage to knock. He wasn’t ready to have to explain himself. He wasn’t ready to admit that it had all been his fault. He wasn’t ready to fall apart. (He never was.)

Mostly stalling for time, he slowly pulled the hood off his head, wincing as it smacked heavily against his back. He hadn’t felt this physically uncomfortable in a long time, not since the winter when he was eight where they didn’t have the money for heating. He’d been cold then, just as he was now, but he hadn’t been lonely. He missed it.

The door in front of him swung open suddenly, and he jumped about a mile in the air, his heart leaping into his throat and choking the startled cry that had started to grow there. He wouldn’t have to knock after all.

“Wha— Sharpie?”

Louie looked up at Goldie with wide, tired eyes, and she stared back at him in shock, one hand gripping the doorknob and the other hovering near her pocket, where she no doubt had some sort of weapon. Her eyes quickly checked him over, taking in how absolutely awful he looked, and then they darted up to scan their surroundings, perhaps thinking that someone was chasing him. Louie just let her look, not quite ready to tell her that no one was coming.

“Hi,” said Louie, wincing at how small and unsure his voice sounded. Her gaze snapped back down to his, her beak twisted into a faint frown. He cleared his throat, looking at everything but her, noting the paint peeling off the wall near the window. “Can— Can I stay here? Please.”

There was silence for a moment, and he risked a peek up at her, beginning to shiver. A knot of trepidation twisted itself into his stomach as the silence dragged on, leaving him to stand there with the pouring rain at his back and hope that she didn’t think this was a con.

“I can’t go home,” he said eventually, pushing his hands back into his hoodie pocket and trying to keep his words steady. “And I can’t go to anyone who will make me.”

There was only a soft sigh in response, and the creaking of the heavy door moving on old hinges. When he looked up, there was a sad sort of almost-smile on Goldie’s face, and she stepped aside to make room for him to walk into the apartment.

“Get in here,” Goldie said, simultaneously stern and gentle. “And don’t drip water on my carpet.”

Despite himself, Louie smiled a bit, relief blooming fast and strong in his chest. He trudged through the door, trying to calm himself with a few deep breaths as Goldie closed it behind him. He stood still on the welcome mat right inside, looking down at his wet clothes and damp feathers. He opened his mouth to ask Goldie for either new clothes or a miracle, but as soon as he lifted his head, something smacked him in the face and fell limply into his arms. A towel.

“Bathroom is down that hall to the left,” Goldie said, leaning against the wall a few feet away and giving him an unreadable look. “You might wanna clean up.”

He stared at her. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Goldie said, not budging, and then she huffed. “And I’ll wash the hoodie, if you think you can stand to part with it for a while.”

With nothing left to do, Louie gave Goldie his hoodie and went down the hall to take a shower. When he got out, there was a plain green t-shirt waiting for him outside the door, and he put it on, thankful for it even though it was too big. Ottoman empire was playing quietly on the TV when he made his way back into the living room, and there was a glass of water waiting for him on the table.

He sat on the couch and wrapped himself up in a blanket while Goldie worked on something-or-other at the kitchen table across the room, and they talked about random, unimportant things for the rest of the night. He fell asleep sitting up, but he awoke in a reclined position with a pillow beneath his head, and he knew that everything would be okay.

[horrorslashergirl]

Slasher OC: Decebal Avram Chirilă

Full Name: Decebal Avram Chirilă

Nickname(s): Dacia, Dece, The Impaler, Vladislav, Tiger, Lynx, Dracula, Casanova

Age: 38

Gender: Male

Nationality: Romanian

Place of Birth: Bucharest, Romania

Current Location: Travels from country to country

Occupation: Former Romanian Soldier; Now Hitman

Languages: Romanian, English, German, French, Italian, Hungarian, Russian, Turkish

Appearance:

Height: 6'8

Weight: 240lbs

Body Type: Middle Bulky and Atheltic

Skin Color: Warm Beige

Hair Color: Dark Brown

Hair Style: Short on the sides and longer on top, wavy

Eye Color: Pale Grey, almost white, giving the impression he is blind

Face Claim: Stephen James

Clothing: He opts for comfortable clothing mostly because of his job as a hitman and because he is always on the run. He mostly goes with black T-shirts or shirts, a khaki army coat with many pockets, along with camo army pants again with many pockets and black combat boots. He has a long black scarf with the colors of the Romanian flag trimmed along that belonged to his father.

Other features: He has many scars on his broad back and down his arms; his back's scars are covered by tattoos of an eagle and a grim reaper with two swords in an X shape. His has full sleeve tattoos down his arms, picturing all kind of nature scenarios from his country, mountains and wild animals and AK-47's on each forearm. His neck, chest and legs are also covered by tattoos along with his hands. This guy is all inked up. He also has a silver earing on his right ear. He also wears an eyepatch that is covering his scarred eye that he got from a fight with his brother Alexander, the scar mimiking the ones Alexander has, coming from his eyebrow down his eye and over his cheek.

Weapons: Twin Swords, Twin Guns, and throwing knives.

Power/Skills:

Murderous expertise

Brute strength

Skilled usage of weaponry

Skill in hand-to-hand combat

Knifesmanship

Swordsmanship

Multilingual

Cunning Nature

Charisma

Driving expertise

Ruthlessness

Fearlessness

Manipulation

Marksmanship

Master tactician and strategist

Stealth mastery

Symbols: Here is the link to Decebal's symbols

History/Bio:

Decebal was named after a Romanian king by his parents, father Apostol Chirilă, and his mother, Maria Stratulat of Moldovic heritage. They were a poor family that lived in Bucharest during the communist times, a hard period for them. Decebal's father, Apostol was one of the rebels that were against this form of a system of social organization in which all property is owned by the community and each person contributes and receives according to their ability and needs.

Because of this Apostol and Maria, along with their three years old son, Decebal, were dragged into the communistic jails where they were tortured in all kinds of ways from whipping to starvation to being chained into coldness.

Decebal tried to protect his parents even though he was a small child and the army warden that took care of the horrific jails was surprised by the child's braveness and he took him away from his parents, not before forcing him to watch how his parents were killed brutally.

During the rest of his childhood and teenage years, Decebal spent most of his life in the dark underground jail, training with the soldiers, doing hard work. Despite that, the warden thought Decebal about all kinds of languages, cultures, and history. 

'Just because you're a stray dog that doesn't mean you cannot learn to bark and bite.'

In his late teenage years as he grew into an adult man, he got more to the light outside, following the warden wherever he went and did was his so-called 'father' figure did; smoke, drink and got laid with all the ladies.

The warden's words during a drunken late-night:

'You know boy, you will do something big, much bigger than you can imagine. I saw how all these sluts looked at you... You make them fall into your arms like they are desperate whores.'

'Use everything you got; charms, brains, muscles. In this world, there are the ones that walk every inch of the ground as they own it and the ones that follow, all chained. Tell me, boy... Which one you are?'

One of the greatest abilities that Decebal earned during years in the darkness was that he got so used to it that now as an adult, he sees perfectly into the darkness, just like cats do. 

Some people called Decebal 'Lynx'; the moniker originates from the fact that Lynx has exceptional night vision, remarkable hearing, and incredible instincts. The spiritual lesson Lynx carries to you is a reminder to partake of quiet observance, remembering there’s more to the world than what’s accessible through the physical eyes and ears alone.

After communism fell down in Romania, Decebal still maintained the attitude he grew up around; being sadistic, cold, and cruel. People weren't too fond of his attitude; his habits including fighting and torturing people that opposed him, getting laid with other men's wives, strolling down the streets like he owned everything.

He disappeared from Romania when there was a reward on his head to be finally executed. The Romanian army was hot on his trail, turning against him, but he simply vanished.

He strolls from country to country, not having a definitive home and working as a rogue hitman to earn money and to survive.

After a brutal fight between him and his twin little brother, Alexander; the two brothers which resulted in both of them almost dead, they get on an agreement of peace between them, with the help of their third part, their little sister Nadia.

Family: His little brother Alexander Chirilă and his little sister Nadia Nikolina Chirilă

His favorite killing style:

He prefers a kill that will put on a good show, he will shot his victims in both their knees, then he will dismember them with his sharp twin swords.

Personality:

Decebal has two paths of personality; the civilian one and the hitman one, that sometimes cross path depending on the situation at hand. In hi day to day life, he is a charming, handsome man, confident and sure of himself, but also having a modesty edge, just to draw people in closer, because he loves the attention, having a God-like complex.

Despite his childhood, he is a very educated man that speaks many languages, sometimes taking people by surprise, he can even put on fake accents. He also has vast knowledge about other countries history, mostly because that's what his 'father-figure' talked a lot about.

He is a flirt, he simply adores to make women swon by his charming looks and mysterious persona wherever he goes, people always wondering from where he comes. He knows how to sweet-talk people, being extremly manipulative. His looks; big and strong, in his eyes a flaming white glow.

You will rarely see Decebal without his charming smile or dark smirk that makes the ladies sigh and faint. He always puts on a winning attitude, knowing for creating many divorces along his travelings. 

Here goes his saying: 'If the female raised her tail, who I am to deny.'

He has a romantic side, after all he does speaks the romance languages, but it's highly influenced his his Casanova attitude.

He is blunt; this man will tell if you're damn gorgeous or if you're down-right ugly or stupid. He has no problem putting his opinions straight on the table.

His favorite drink: Țuică- is a traditional Romanian spirit that contains ~ 24–65% alcohol by volume (usually 40–55%), prepared only from plums.

His favorite food: Sarma is a dish of vine, cabbage, monk's rhubarb, kale or chard leaves rolled around a filling of grains, like bulgur or rice, minced meat, or both. It is found in the cuisines of the former Ottoman Empire from the Middle East to Southeastern Europe.

His scent: Decebal's scent could be described as a 'game of seduction' with an "exciting rush" of citrus and cool spice top notes. Pungent bergamot "bites" with freshness, revived by cardamom and lavender. Caviar gives a provocative and erotic touch “like a trickle of sweat on a man’s chiseled body.” Masculine and rough notes of tobacco and orris root facilitate the heat of the composition. He has that scent that could be described as smoky confidence irresistible to women.

Other Characteristics:

He is a very good dancer, especially traditional ones and he also knows singing. Attending important parties with his 'father-figure' he learned from the women how to dance and sing. The women basically made him such a charismatic man.

He is a heavy drinker and holds his alcohol like it's water; his moldovic genes showing off. 

He is more of a night person that a day one, mostly because of his very good nocturnal sight.

He is pretty much an Outlaw.

His accent sounds like italian, latin, but with a little bit of russian or another slavic accent. (That's how a Austrian woman described his accent one night)

He is a master at Poker. Another way he earns a lot of money is through poker and plus, he is a master cheater. FUN FACT HERE: He won a man's wife through poker for one night.

He is a sword swallower, bonus he has no gag reflex.

He also loves to smoke from his pipe.

============================================

There lived a certain man in Romania long ago

He was big and strong, in his eyes a flaming glow

Most people look at him with terror and with fear

But to Bucharest chicks he was such a lovely dear

He could preach the Bible like a preacher

Full of ecstasy and fire

But he also was the kind of teacher

Women would desire

DE DE DECEBAL

Lover of the ROMANIAN queen

There was a cat that really was gone

DE DE DECEBAL

Romania's greatest love machine

It was a shame how he carried on

He ruled the Romanian land and never mind the Tsar

But the kazachok he danced really wunderbar

In all affairs of state he was the man to please

But he was real great when he had a girl to squeeze

For the queen he was no wheeler dealer

Though she'd heard the things he'd done

She believed he was a holy healer

Who would heal her son

DE DE DECEBAL

Lover of the Romanian queen

There was a cat that really was gone

DE DE DECEBAL

Romania's greatest love machine

It was a shame how he carried on

(This is an interpretation of the song ‘Rasputin’ by Boney M, mostly because the song inspired me into creating him)

For power became known to more and more people

The demands to do something about this outrageous

Man became louder and louder

"This man's just got to go!" declared his enemies

But the ladies begged "Don't you try to do it, please"

No doubt this Decebal had lots of hidden charms

Though he was a brute they just fell into his arms

Then one night some men of higher standing

Set a trap, they're not to blame

"Come to visit us" they kept demanding

And he really came

DE DE DECEBAL

Lover of the Romanian queen

They put some poison into his țuică

DE DE DECEBAL

Romania's greatest love machine

He drank it all and said "I feel fine"

DE DE DECEBAL

Lover of the Romanian queen

They didn't quit, they wanted his head

DE DE DECEBAL

Romania's greatest love machine

[Spoken:] Oh, those Romanians...

=======================================================

But when his drinking and lusting and his hunger

[mc-critical]

Pertaining to MYK2, it’s an observation of mine that as Kösem got older she grew more bitter, more angry, and felt overall more resentment towards the overall Ottoman lifestyle and dynasty which was a mere glorified prison for her. I would even go as far to say that her actions toward her children later in life were possibly due to her seeing them as an extension of her trauma and imprisonment in a way? I believe she only clung to power and titles the way she did because she truly believed it would be all she could have going for her and the only thing that could get her to be afforded basic human decency on some level in the enviornment she was trapped in. I especially see it towards the end when she has plans to dethrone her grandson and remarks “when one grandson goes the other comes” and you can see how she’s just..gone. There’s no longer a shred of resemblance to the innocent and life-loving Anastasia. She completely internalized the hatred and the death that surrounded her and became it..I’d even call it a cinematic parallel to Saifye. What do you think?

Overall, I think you hit the nail right on the head.

The loss of innocence is the central theme of the show: we consistently see how it begins to flourish, all the little hints, all the big actions, and Kösem, being the protagonist, will of course be the epitome of it all. It's a given that everything she has experienced would lead to trauma sooner or later, a trauma that really brings hatred, bitterness and then again, misery, because when you look at it, she couldn't take a break even for a second. To me, Safiye killing her father, was namely where it began - Kösem, just like Hürrem, had to completely let go of her past to begin this new life, but unlike her, this character arc was quick and rushed and harder, and she didn't get the fullest time necessary to do it in narrative, for her to actually get used to it. Her past is quite a part of her innocence, of her previous being, and when people (like Safiye and Raihan Aga) tell her to forget about it, she resists so much more, because there is hope that things would be just like before. Say, Hürrem adapted so quickly and so efficiently, because there was a lot to win, but nothing to lose - everyone she knew was perceived as dead, she had nowhere to go, it was lost and it was gone and she had to move forward. (Nigar's advice and the dream with her parents highlight that.) And when Leo appeared, Hürrem had already adapted, already planted seeds in this empire and had found the man she truly loved. Anastasia not only didn't have this chance, she still had nothing to do out there, knowing she could return to her family once again (they didn't kill anyone when they kidnapped her, remember?), was fond of Ahmet, but that was it, and didn't have any heirs yet. What would she do there, why would she forget her home, especially when there was a person just as eager as her to return to his roots (Iskender), and we had someone who was the narrative culmination of her hope to put everything back to normal (her father)? I feel that her refusal to Iskender to escape with him was only an intentionally forced tool for her and Iskender's character arcs, she stayed only out of necessity back then and one could say that, she probably never truly adapted. When her father died, was just when she realized there is no turning back now.

When she symbolically became Kösem, she had fought many fights in her life: she fought because she wanted justice (her exposing Fahriye and Dervish/Handan), because she wanted revenge (against Safiye), she fought for her life. (post-E25 and season 2.) But she did it out of necessity, all the roles she had to take she took out of necessity, she represented the country, acted as a regent even when Murat took that away from her.. only out of sheer necessity. That's what she did in episode 7, she stood up to all these people in need, and when she did that, she was suddenly regarded as a hero, as this blessed angel who saved everyone and could do no wrong, but she obviously couldn't stay so. She perhaps could've gained some kind of a savior complex, to have something to protect out of obligation. And that something had to be connected with her "first act" and with her whole arc in season 1 - that is, the country. She took her whole life to represent the country and protect it. ("The country you talk about wouldn't exist, if it weren't for me!") It turned into the very meaning of her life, she merged herself with it and she had to fight for it. The fights she had throughout the entire show were very exhausting, draining everything out of her, because there were countless times where it was all about to be over. She had to face enemies much stronger, much sneakier and much more experienced than she herself was, and she knew very well that they wouldn't hesitate even for a moment to do what they had to do. They were brutal and they were ruthless, all of them. And they were against this very thing she cherished, the very power she equated to the country. She spent her whole life to fight and protect it, turning her heart into iron and stone, automatically realizing every threat and striving to remove it, no matter what it takes. That goes into her conflict with Murat and into the rest of her children (by that I mean Ibrahim), as well, once she feels they are a threat, she began removing them. But this isn't a facade that can be kept so easily, this isn't some worthy life, so it all bottles up inside of her eventually and she has no time to let it out, because this period, her life, is just so dynamic. All her enemies were tough and persistent, making something happen almost every other day, the revolts, the parental conflicts, the attempts, the traps, the intrigues, the backstabbing... All that including her daily duties and all the meetings she has to attend to to keep things running smoothly. It all takes a toll on her, and it's understandable why when everything falls apart, she just doesn't care. She took the very last strip of her innocence, her humanity, with sealing the pact to kill Ibrahim. And guess what? She did this only for the country, she did this because someone pushed that weakness, that pressure point of hers. All she fought for was doomed the second Murat took things into his own hands, and she realized it. By Murat's death, it was now or never, because the harder she fights for this position of hers, she loses what made her so remarkably human in the first place. It's going hand to hand, really.

There is a point to be made about the parallels S02 Kösem had with Safiye, because while their arcs hit many of the same notes, they divert from one another in quite a bit of ways. Safiye was everything Kösem fought against - she made the darker side of S01 Kösem what it was, because taking revenge on Safiye, what she took away from her, was the primary "shadier" motivator of her character then. Azis Mahmud Hüdai (I hope I'm writing his name right) even warned her to the dangers of power and the similarities with Safiye that slowly grew in her. And there is some irony in this, because Safiye also played her part in the tragic Osman storyline by manipulating him from the get-go that Kösem could act against him because she wasn't his real mother. And the guy she sent to manipulate him was there for a long time. What I mean to say is, Kösem and Safiye had that fight going until the very end, and Safiye openly gave her the thematic ring (тм), perhaps due to the similarities they share. Safiye had this desire for neverending power, she never gave up, even when all odds were against her. She became used to it after so many years and it as well became what defined her. On the surface, the same could be said for Kösem, as well. Both of them did the unthinkable to keep this prestige and these titles. Both loved their power, but in different ways: Safiye wanted power for the sake of power, she loved the very concept of it, to wake up in the castle, to prepare for the day, to issue orders and to eclipse everyone, for Safiye it wasn't something morally right, it was about her and her only. She would lose her life, but never her power. It was already something she had always had and losing it would mean they took something that was rightfully hers, without debate. Kösem had this power for the country she felt obliged to protect, to the point power and country became synonymous to her, whatever she did was for the country, but in her eyes, it was the right thing, for the state to live, for the people to be safe and sound, for everyone to have a tranquil life without imbalance. (in E47 we had this parallel act to E07, where she once again, stood up in front of the people, to calm them down after Murat's unexpected disappearance; we have her show Kasım to the people in E53? etc.) And she would lose her life, as well as her power. (the narrative delivered its own symbolic meaning with her death.) She thought it should be all hers for a long time, but not by right, rather through all she had achieved in her life. At the end, she realized this loss, and accepted it, symbolically giving the thematic ring to nobody, while Safiye did in her death after all, thematically continuing the cycle herself. She no longer gave a damn about the world and all she wanted was to die in piece.

There is also another key difference between Safiye and Kösem - Safiye kept her power through cunning and manipulation from the very beggining, while Kösem consistently reached out: to the people, to the Janissary, to Murat even. Safiye thought they misunderstood her, that you couldn't win this war by peace, while Kösem often tried to find the optimal, peaceable solution - she killed only as a last resort, only when she found out nothing else worked, it took her a whole season-long arc to realize that Murat wasn't worth it (and even in E60, it was hard for her to kill Ibrahim and it all had to come to Turhan's manipulation). Safiye, just like Gülbahar, who was the main enemy to S02 Kösem for a reason, had buried her conscience deep within, while Kösem, even with all she's done, still had the reflection of Anastasia in the mirror and in her head, no matter how much she tried to shut her up. ("Admit it, you liked having power!" - quoting by pure memory here.)

Thing is, what Kösem experienced, truly shaped up who she was, and just like so many, internalized that toxic way of living to a huge extent. And no matter how hard she tried to fight with it, she let it sink in and fully embraced it. And when she finally got out of it, what was done was done, and destruction ensued. But she probably found piece in her death, getting rid of this burden, plaguing her whole life.

[nosferatvpussy]

distorted lullabies [chapter IV]

Word count: 4,113

Warnings: vulgar language

Pairing: Dracula x reader

AO3 link 

Author’s note:  Listen... I wrote this chapter this past week and I must say I'm not happy with it. My brain is mush due to work so that's all I could come up with. I wish I could've done better but I know if I delayed posting it I would never do it. Feedback would be greatly appreciated on this one (good or bad).

  “Oh my fucking God.”

My day had started out fine. I had woken up in a surprisingly good mood considering it was Monday and then I ruined it. 

With the exception of Count Dracula’s visit to my house, my weekend was pretty uneventful. Sunday was spent grocery shopping with Diana and reviewing cases to prepare myself for court sessions during the following week. Occupying myself with work was not only necessary but also served as a good distraction from the deal I had struck with the Count. 

Being arrogant had its advantages in my line of work but after proposing a deal to a vampire, I was starting to think how quickly that arrogance could turn into vanity and plain stupidity. A deal from which I had yet to glimpse a way out of? Could I outsmart a centuries old vampire and wiggle out of that deal? On Saturday night I was pretty sure I could. Now… Not so much.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I muttered, receiving ugly looks from people on the tube. 

My hand covered my mouth so I would stop cursing and to stop it from falling open.

Reconnaissance was part of any good lawyer’s job and that was what I had decided to do as my first course of action against Count Dracula. As soon as I had found a good spot to sit in the tube, I googled him by his title. All of the pages included the interesting moniker Vlad the Impaler followed by his actual name Vlad Dracula. That in itself was enough for a chill to run down my spine but each line I read managed to make it worse. 

He was born in the Middle Ages, more precisely in 1431, which put him somewhere over five hundred years old. So, I had made a deal with someone overly experienced in the matters of life, which wasn’t ideal but could be remedied. But then I was met with medieval drawings depicting him dining amongst a field of impaled people. One particular page had supposed accounts from Ottomans and Saxons describing the atrocities committed by him. Boiling people alive, nailing hats to people’s skulls so they wouldn’t take it off, setting beggars and thieves on fire to “cleanse” Wallachia were just some of his various lovely bedtime stories. Those tales had elicited my first string of curses, which yes evoked the name of God in a blasphemous way but at that point I didn’t care if I offended a higher power or not.

Not only was he abhorrently vile, he was smart. Smart enough to send people infected with the plague to infiltrate enemy camps, using them as biological warfare and weakening enemy numbers. Not many people would have thought of such a tactic in the Middle Ages. Apparently the sight of the impaled people put on display around the city Targoviste was so repulsive that the Ottoman Empire simply retreated. And albeit having half or sometimes a quarter of the army of his opponents, he still managed to win several battles because of his cunning. 

That was the part that made me curse several times as some sort of mantra. A ruthless and smart ruler that had been a monster long before he became a vampire, that was who I was up against. And he had five hundred years of practice under his belt. How nice for me. 

My body took control as my mind raced and I got off at Canary Wharf station, making my way to the overly modern glass plated building where I worked.

The Middle Ages were a long time ago and it was a notoriously dark and violent time. Desperate times call for desperate measures, one could say. It should serve as a logical explanation to make myself feel better but the cold sweat on the palms of my hands was an obvious sign that it wasn’t working. I resorted to my earbuds and played one of my favourite songs to try calm myself but I was barely paying any attention to it. The noise inside my head was far louder.

I willed my brain to catch up with my body once the elevator doors opened to the 17th floor. Work, now , I told myself. I could think about how to escape the Count’s grip later.  

Greeting my colleagues, I made my way to my desk at the far left of the office. We occupied half of the 17th floor while the other half was made up of a café and a small finance firm. Smelling croissants and fresh coffee, I placed my purse and briefcase on my chair and was already making a b-line for the café when Renfield peeked his head out of a meeting room and waved for me to join him. 

I threw my earbuds over my shoulders so the string could hang from around my neck and stuck my phone on my trousers' back pocket. Renfield promptly closed the door as soon as I stepped inside. He splayed his arms over the doorway, blocking it. Eyes with dilated pupils watched me from behind thick glasses. Frowning, I looked out through the blurred glass walls that outlined the meeting room we were standing on. If he was about to reprehend me for something I’d done then at least I wouldn’t have to deal with the embarrassment of the whole office witnessing it. 

Renfield had always been composed and taken great pride in his work and looks. For the past few days that stopped being true. Not only was he acting in a disturbing manner, he also appeared unwashed. His hair was greasy and a few strands stuck to his forehead. His suit had a stain on a lapel and he didn’t have a colourful handkerchief peeking out of his front pocket as he usually did. Overworked, I guessed, but never in all the years I knew him had I seen him this way. When I joined the firm as his intern, he let me write most of his opening and closing statements so I could learn and he would rehearse them on his office as I watched and explain why certain phrases should be changed to provide the necessary punch in court. He taught me the basics and all the clever little tricks one could use to dribble a prosecution. He was in the audience when I worked my first case alone in front of a judge. He was there when I won my first case and he took me out for a beer. And he was there when I lost for the first time and he took me out for whiskey. We still went out to celebrate whenever one of us won a case.

“Good morning, Y/N,” he rasped, barely sounding like himself. “Are the Mast-- the Count’s documents in your possession?”

The Master’s, that’s what he almost said. A little too late I remembered that Renfield was Dracula’s servant and automatically took a step back to put distance between us. The Count had arrived at London a week ago, which could explain my boss’ disheveled appearance. 

“They’re at my desk.”

He nodded and licked his lips in a way that made me think of a lizard. 

“And what did you think of him? Of Count Dracula?”

The lunatic gleam in Renfield’s eyes made my decision before I could think through it very much.

“He’s polite and handsome,” I said in the most neutral tone I could manage. “I’ll get the documents and bring them to you. Excuse me.”

I closed the distance between us with more confidence than I felt. Nudging Renfield’s shoulder to the side so he would make way, I tried to grab the doorknob and then he was on me. He pinned me against a glass wall before I had a chance to push him back and his hand yanked my shirt’s collar down, exposing my neck. 

“Ah! Ah!” he exclaimed loudly. “I knew it!”

I tried to fight him off, terrified of the crazed look on his bulging eyes, but he slammed me back on the glass. It trembled under my weight. 

“ Why … you ?” Spittle landed on my face as he spoke and I cringed. “Why would he bestow such a gift on you?!”

Understanding dawned on me and for a second I stopped trying to escape. He was infuriated because Count Dracula had bitten me and not him, like some sort of drug addict that had his vice taken away. 

“Let me go,” I said, summoning a calm semblance. “Ask him about it. It’s not like I offered him a drink.”

“No, not a drink. If he wanted just a drink he would have killed you. He’ll make you his bride. But I-- I have worked so hard, so so hard. I deserve it, I do, I do,” he was whimpering now and shaking his head to the sides like a child. 

“I know, I know,” I cooed but I had tears on my eyes. 

His hands wrapped around my neck and squeezed. My eyes instantly bugged out of my head and the tears flowed freely down my cheeks as I struggled. My hands found his face, trying to slap him or scratch him, anything that would get him off of me. I hit the glass wall with the back of my heel repeatedly to try to get someone’s attention outside. Air couldn’t reach my lungs anymore and my windpipe would probably collapse if he pressed harder. The pressure on my head was enormous. I could barely see and my face felt like it would explode at any second.

Several figures burst in the room. Two of them tried to pry Renfield off of me and the other three screamed for him to let me go. The crushing force on my neck ceased all of a sudden and I went down like a sack of potatoes, falling on my side as I gasped for air. 

“Master! Master!” Renfield howled, struggling against his captors. “I was good, I was good! MASTER!”

A hacking cough seized me as I tried to will air into my lungs but failed to do so in the speed I needed. Slowly my vision returned and I saw Henry and Mallory kneeling next to me, trying to get me to sit up. Renfield’s deafening screams filled my ears. 

“What happened?!” Mallory asked as Matthew, another colleague of mine, and a security guard tried to pin Renfield to the ground as he continued shouting.

“Not h-his fault,” I croaked, covering my neck with my hand. I would have a new bruise to match my bite now. 

Mallory and Henry started talking about what they should do while I found myself trapped in Renfield’s demented eyes. He wasn’t in there, not anymore. 

“A psychotic episode,” I whispered to Mallory. It hurt to talk. “Call medics, not the police. It’s not his fault.” Mallory and Henry exchanged a look and nodded.  

More people filed into the room to gawk at the scene. Several more people gathered around me, trying to be helpful to the point where they started to resemble vultures and not good samaritans. I allowed myself to be coddled by these people while my mind ran amok. 

My chest tightened as if the sorrow I felt hurt physically as well. The man I had looked up to as an outstanding lawyer, the man I inherited the poise and the commanding voice… was gone. Reduced to the likes of a mewling baby and a deranged man.

I hardly paid attention when paramedics arrived and took Renfield away but when a paramedic wanted to check my neck, I was pulled back to reality by the bond I had to Count Dracula. 

“No,” I told him, one hand securing my shirt’s collar to my neck so it was covered. “I’m fine, really.”

“Miss, please. By what your colleagues described he nearly choked you to death.” His hands hovered on the air around me as a second silent request to let him look at the bruise.

I shook my head vehemently but tears were welling in my eyes again. 

I wanted desperately to tell someone just then. To explain about Renfield and the bite on my neck that marked me as his . But I couldn’t. My voice wouldn’t leave my throat because that too had become his . Even if I was able to tell someone, I knew it wouldn’t be the right thing to do. Bitten by a vampire? Surely I would be thrown in the psychiatric ward as Renfield would.

“I can’t,” I said weakly before pushing him out of my way and running to the restroom. 

    London’s night lights kept me company as I worked overtime on the firm. After spending the rest of my day warding off preoccupied people, I decided that I would need to add extra hours of work. At home I would succumb to my bed’s embrace and wouldn’t get any work done. 

My desk lamp was the only source of light coming from inside the office and it illuminated the papers spread haphazardly in front of me. I had attended court earlier that day only to request an adjournment to Judge Llewellyn, who scowled and immediately demanded I explain myself. Matthew, my colleague, accompanied me to speak on my behalf since my voice box wasn’t strong enough yet to project my words to a courtroom. When Matthew explained the ordeal to Llewellyn I had the satisfaction of seeing the judge’s face dismantle in embarrassment for questioning me so harshly. It didn’t matter how much satisfaction it brought me because at the end of the day my case was delayed which impacted the life of a very dedicated mother who was disputing custody of her children with her ex. Catching up on cases and preparing future statements was my way of rectifying it.

I scribbled on a post-it and stuck it to a page before putting that pile to the side. I still had three more cases to review, draw up a plea bargain and think of a way to escape Count Dracula. I was procrastinating the latter.

The elevator opened with a ding on the other side of the floor and I raised my head to see who could it be at this time of night. A silhouette stepped out, standing in the darkness for only a moment before the hall’s motion activated lights came on. At once I sunk in my chair.

“Renfield... Where are you?” Count Dracula pitched his velvet voice in a mock song as he strolled in the office. 

My heartbeat shot up in response and I shrunk further, trusting the darkness to conceal me. He swiveled his head directly at me as if my fear had drawn him. The lights from the buildings outside only illuminated half of his face.

“Y/N,” he said. My name on his lips sent a shiver through my body. “Working in the dark, are we?” When no answer came from me, he clicked his tongue. “I can’t seem to get ahold of Renfield but I suppose you’ll do. My assets were supposed to have been released today. The bank said I need-” He had been strolling my way as he talked but he stopped abruptly, whiffing the air. “You’re scared. Of me?”

He resumed his pace slowly, almost dragging his steps. Just then, I truly understood the feeling of being stalked by a predator.

“Why… are you... scared?” 

He quickened his pace suddenly and covered over half the distance between us in seconds. I jumped from my seat and backed up as I searched frantically for a way out. The back of my knees hit a desk and I had to reach my hands back to stop me from toppling over it. I let out a squeak as I tried to regain my footing but it was too late. Dracula towered over me, so close I could smell his cologne. My face was turned away from him so I wouldn’t have to meet his eyes. I had a feeling that if I did he would devour me whole. 

“Tell me why,” a whisper. His breath smelled like copper. “I will not have you of all people cowering from me.”

“Renfield was committed to a psychiatric ward this morning,” I blurted. 

“Your voice,” he said.

Another squeak escaped my mouth as he grabbed my face and forced me to look at him. I expected to be met with a monstrous face but it was just him. Familiar dark eyes and lush lips. His stare fell from mine to my neck and he furrowed his eyebrows. His bite was well concealed under my shirt but the ligature mark was just beneath my jaw and in plain sight.

“He attacked me,” I provided in my frail voice. “Because you bit me.”

He pulled his lips down. Anger or disapproval, I wasn’t sure. 

“I see,” he muttered.

“Is that what will become of me?” I asked.

“I told you-- I would never make you a servant.”

“No. Will I become a monster like you? Will I be uncaring? Will I enslave people? Kill them, torture them?”

He squished my cheeks between his fingers with every word I spoke. Perhaps provoking him wasn't a smart choice but I wouldn't simply lower my head and accept my fate.

“Only if you wish," he replied.

“You won’t even try denying it?”

“If I did I would be a hypocrite. And you think you are without blame.”

“Me?! How am I to blame for anything?"

He loosened his grip on my face until he finally allowed his hand to rest on the side of my neck. 

“Yes, you. You the lawyer that defends robbers, murderers and rapists. And you know what’s interesting? I haven’t found much guilt about it in your blood. And now you accuse me of such things with disgust in your face? That, my dear, is a hypocrite.”

I swallowed his vitriol and it burned on the way down. Suddenly I didn’t like being provoked as much as I liked doing so. 

“You ruined Frank!” I blinked at using Renfield’s first name. “He went mental today! Never in his life--”

“He’s weak , always has been but you never saw it. One look. One look was what it took for him to practically kneel before me. You shouldn’t hold people like him in such high standards.”

“Doesn’t bloody matter, he’s my friend!" The threat of tears made my voice tremble and I caught hold of myself before they spilled. “I don’t suppose you understand what that means.”

The snarl on his face made me think he would kill me right there. 

“I should kill Renfield for what he did,” he murmured, stare searing into me. “But you wouldn’t like that.”

“Why does it matter what I like, Impaler?”

His brows softened as comprehension crossed his face and his lips parted in a grin.

“That is why you’re afraid, isn’t it? My darling, that was my human life, you have no need to worry.”

“And you’ve been an angel since then?”

“Oh never.”

I shifted uncomfortably. I was still supporting myself with my hands on the table behind me, slightly tipping backwards so the Count didn’t crawl on top of me. 

Did I see a monster when I looked at him? Quite honestly no, yet I knew I should. He had done horrible things and I only knew about the things history had kept record of. I had learnt over the years that people are complicated. I had never met one person that was fully good or bad. If I had to classify myself, I wouldn’t know. My entire job was one big gray area. I swiveled around the lines of good and bad, never fully committing to any of them because I was paid for it. That wasn’t to say I didn’t have my own moral compass outside of the law. Count Dracula however… I had yet to find out if he had any moral compass at all. 

“Will Renfield get better?” I questioned.

“He might. It’s difficult to predict how my power can affect some individuals, but he will remain my servant, that much I know. And he won’t attack you again, I’ll make sure of it.”

“Let him go.”

“I will not. He's quite good at being a servant.”

Renfield’s shouting replayed on my head.

“Let him go and I’ll let you feed from me whenever you want,” I said, shocking myself with my words. “But know this, I will never be yours.”

“Another deal? Tempting.” He licked his lips and my stomach coiled. “So very tempting.”

He reached to my waist, digging his fingers in my skin and I held back a gasp. 

“Take the deal,” I urged. 

Excitement grew within me. I preferred to believe that that was due to the possibility of tricking the Count into another deal but the tingling scar on my neck told a different story. I closed my eyes trying to concentrate and take full control of my body but it wasn’t responsive to rational thought. If he took the deal then it meant freedom for Renfield. That’s where my mind should be, not the rush of pleasure I had felt three nights ago when Count Dracula had bitten me. But by God, that’s what I wanted. I wanted to feel it again, feel his teeth sinking into my flesh and the dreamlike daze that followed. 

Dracula’s arm circled me and smashed my body to his in a single motion, causing the gasp I had been holding to escape my lips. His thumb caressed my jawline while his fingers teased the back of my neck. In the little light between us I saw his black eyes swimming in carmine red. My heartbeat quickened lower in me when his tongue snaked out once again to lick his lips. Suddenly his fingers found my scar and massaged it lightly, evoking a moan from me. I rose my hands to hold his shoulders as an attempt to balance myself.

I felt more than heard his laughter. 

“Look at you," he said. As he spoke I caught a flash of long and jagged teeth before it was gone. “‘I’ll never be yours .’ Liar, liar.”

I collected myself and pushed him away when I realised he was mocking me. He didn't move at fist but when I pushed him again he stepped back of his own volition, still laughing. 

“Are you taking the fucking deal or not?”

“No,” he enunciated the word slowly. “I like this game we’re playing and I don’t want it to be over just yet. As powerful as you think you are, you don’t have the power to control me with your blood. I’ve granted you enough as it is.”

“I wasn’t trying-”

“Don’t lie.”

I closed my hands in fists. 

“Fine. Can you at least say you’re sorry?”

“For what?” He raised his eyebrows.

“For Renfield,” I snapped, as if it wasn’t obvious.

“Do you want me to lie to make you feel better?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I want you to do.”

“I wish Renfield hadn’t attacked you,” he said, sticking his hands on his pockets.

“That wasn’t the apology I was looking for.”

“I know.”

Why did I even want an apology? Was I desperate to find some semblance of regret on him? Desperate to find anything remotely good in him to justify my desire for him? I bit the insides of my cheeks to keep the tears away, hating myself for letting him affect me like that. My whole body desired him while I knew I should hate him for what he did to Renfield, for what he was doing to me. It made me feel like his plaything. 

“Can you please leave? I have work to do.” 

He nodded.

“I assume you’ll take over as my lawyer to assort my affairs.”

“Not like I have an option, is it?”

“Quite. I’ll leave you to it. See you Wednesday!" 

He had already turned away, walking back to the elevator when I fully registered what he said.

“What happens on Wednesday?” I rose my voice to get his attention.

"I take you on a date," he answered over his shoulder.

I marched after him and stopped when I realised what I was doing. What could I possibly do or say to threaten a creature like him? I probably bothered him as much as soft wind did.

"I'm not going on a date with you after what happened today."

He slowly turned to face me again, a big grin on his face. A victorious grin. If he was winning, then I was on the losing side - of what, though?

“Oh but you are. Your deal clearly stated that I am to convince you that immortality is worth it. You didn’t express how I should do it. Therefore that end of the deal is mine to fulfill however I wish. ”

I groaned. Had I removed my brain at some point when I made that deal? I was used to being the winner inside courtrooms, and I had stupidly condemned myself by binding a contract between Count Dracula and I. As much as I would like to withdraw it, I didn't think he would be open to the idea. He had made it clear that he would make me a vampire whether I liked it or not. I had no choice but to abide by my own rules until I came up with a way out.

“I’d rather meet you," I said at last. "Where are we going?”

He smiled widely as he walked backwards, facing me.

“I’ll text you on Wednesday. Goodnight, darling.”

“Night, Dracula.”

   .

.

.

Taglist: @festering-queen​ @mr-kisskiss-bangbang​ @thorin-smokin-shield​ @hoefordarkness​ @dreamer2381​ @girlonfireice

[therealjordan23]

Some Louna?

Sure :))

26 year old Lena knocked on his door. 

Ever since Louie had moved away from McDuck Manor a few months ago, he hadn’t been spending as much time with them as before. His brothers dismissed it, thinking that he had been busy with his new company, but Lena knew better. He had been acting strange ever since she began dating Kit Cloudkicker, but before she could confront him about his odd behaviour, he left. He would occasionally visit them, but those were becoming shorter and less and less frequent. Even after Webby had her first child with Dewey, Louie chose to leave after two days. 

But why? 

“Louie? It’s me!" she called, knocking on his door again.

No answer. Lena bit her lip.

"Louie? Are you in there? Please, I need to talk to you!" she pleaded. 

Silence.

"Are you hurt?! Louie, I’m seriously going to kick your ass if you don’t open this door!”

Still, no one answered. Her heartbeat quickened. What if he wasn't home? What if he was hurt? Louie was the type of person to hide his pain, and pretend that everything was okay. 

"Louie, I'm coming in!" Lena shouted.

She pushed the door with her shoulder and it opened so quickly she nearly fell on her face. It had been unlocked. Lena scanned the room until she spotted him. He was lying down on his couch, his back turned to her. An episode of Ottoman Empire blared on the TV.

"Louie!" she cried. 

She ran to him and gasped when she saw him in full view. He was sitting on the couch with his shoulders slumped, head falling forward, fast asleep. His right arm was wrapped around his torso, and his left hand grasped an empty wine bottle close to his chest.

Lena knelt down and placed her hands on his shoulders, and shook him.

"Louie, wake up! Louie!"

He blearily opened his eyes, and sluggishly raised his head.

Lena gasped. His left eye had a purple bruise underneath, and was halfway swollen shut. There were two identical bruises on his jaw and one smaller one on the right corner of his mouth. A bruise the size of her hand decorated the upper right of his forehead. This one was uglier than the others, and she could see a line of dried blood starting from it. Louie's bloodshot eyes stared at her. 

She suddenly had a horrible vision of Louie stumbling to the couch with a bottle of wine, and drinking the whole thing while clutching his side, leaving his injuries untended. She imagined the blood trickling down his face. Her heart broke at the thought of him being alone like that. He couldn't bring herself to imagine him crying. He couldn't bear the thought of him like that.

"Hey." Lena said softly. He blinked.

"Lena? God." he said in a groggy voice. 

He straightened his back, wincing as he gripped his side. He looked at the empty bottle in his hand and set it down.

"What are you doing here?" Louie asked wearily.

"I came to see if you were alright, bonehead! You haven’t been hanging out with us, you haven’t been returning my calls, I’m so sorry I haven’t checked on you before—”

"Don't." Louie cut her off. "Don't apologize it's not… it's my fault. I-I deserve this.” he gingerly rubbed his good eye.

Lena felt her eyes watering. "You definitely don’t deserve this." she bit her lip. "Where's the bathroom, let's have a look at your face. Can you stand up?"

Louie sighed, and pushed himself upwards. He swayed a little and she put her hands on his shoulders but he brushed her off.

"I’m fine…” he tried, but she gave him a hard look. “It’s this way." 

Louie limped to the bathroom which was a nice, big one. A map of Duckburg was framed over a white tub. Louie stood in the middle of the room and looked at her.

She commanded herself to hold it together. "You go sit somewhere. I'll wet a towel.”

Louie pulled down the lid of the toilet and sat on it.

"Head up." Lena ordered. 

He turned his head and faced her. His face was a mess but she could still see him underneath the bruises. His eyes were trained on her as she wiped the dried blood and gently rubbed cold water on his bruises.

"What even happened?” she fussed. 

He shrugged. 

“Louie.” she deadpanned. 

“I… I got into a fight. I went to a bar, I wanted to forget everything. I thought living on my own was good for me, b-but it’s not.”

“Oh, Louie…” she sighed. 

“A few guys recognized me as Scrooge McDuck’s nephew, and jumped me. I managed to crawl back to my apartment.”

Lena softened. “You know you can visit us anytime.”

He knit his brows together. “I-I know. Hey, weren’t you supposed to go to Cape Suzette today?”

Lena sighed. "I cancelled. Who else would've taken care of your purple face Llewellyn?" she joked halfheartedly.

Louie looked down. "No. You shouldn't have cancelled."

Lena bit her lip. 

“H-how’s your side?" Lena asked shakily.

He didn't say anything so she lifted his shirt slowly. There were two big bruises along his ribcage. She pressed them slightly, and Louie stifled a groan. Nothing seemed to be broken. Bending down, she pressed the wet towel on them.

"Thanks." Louie whispered.

"It's nothing," Lena released a sigh. "Can I ask you something?" 

"Yeah."

"Why did you leave?" 

She felt him tense a little. She tensed too, She didn't know what to expect. She probably shouldn't have asked him that now. 

Louie stayed silent for a minute.

“I… I was, I still am, in love with you.” 

She paled, and dropped the towel. “You… you love me?”

He gazed at her, and she shrunk under his intense scrutiny. “Ever since I called you ‘my favourite’ on the beach all those years ago.” she tried to open her mouth, but Louie shushed her. “Please don't say anything,” he pleaded. “I… I know you’re with someone else, but… god Lena, I just needed to tell you.”

A tear escaped Lena's eye.

"Louie I…” she tried, but he shook his head a little.

"Please don't say anything,” he pleaded, this time softly.

So she didn't. 

Lena finished up with the bruises and stood up. Louie stood up as well. They didn't look at each other. When they reached the door she turned to him. The gap between them was now filled with things that were tearing them apart. Louie's feelings for her. Her unacknowledged feelings for him. Her relationship with Kit. How these things might affect their lives? 

Louie stepped forward.

"I'm sorry about everything." Louie said softly.

Lena found herself stepping forward as well. 

"Don't be." she said, her voice just as soft.

Her pulse quickened when she realized that if she moved her hand an inch more, her hand would touch his. Slowly, he bent so close to her that his lips grazed hers. Lena's heart skipped a beat. Louie pressed his lips a little firmer. It was so gentle. Barely even a kiss, but it was saying everything they couldn't say out loud. It was a small suggestion, one that was now standing brave against everything, such a fragile one, that they both needed to step in to protect it.

He pulled away, just a little and she released a shaky breath.

They locked eyes.

He looked so sad. Lena realized how this was for him. He loved her. It felt so strange but beautiful and intimate altogether. And she definitely felt something for him. Something too big for her chest to hold. They were both standing on opposite sides, trying to reach each other but it was so big. It felt so big. And despite their feelings, he was the one who was alone. 

Lena reached for his hand and held it tightly. Louie closed his eyes and placed his head on her shoulder, nestling it on the crook of her neck.

It was a complicated gesture. He wasn't asking for something, but wasn't turning her down either. It was a gesture that showed surrender. Surrender to their problems. For now he just needed her to hold his hand and let him lean against her. She wanted that, too. For him to hold her and feel him against her. She hurried her head on his shoulder. Louie lifted his head and pulled her to a hug. Lena wrapped her hands around him. 

It felt nice. It felt right to be with him like this.

"I want this to work." Louie whispered.

Lena didn’t bother responding, opting to kiss him again. It was a big gap, she knew it, but they would work on it. Somehow, they were starting to build a bridge.

She pulled away. “Me too.”

She leaned her head against his chest, and he softly carded his hands through her hair. And for the first time since moving away, both of them felt okay. 

Everything would be alright as long as they were together.

[script-a-world]

Submitted via Google Form:

How do I write a world where non-earth religions (I’m creating them) are both diverse, and also common place to see people participate in multiple religions’ festivities or rituals. One, because there’s distance to actual religion and entering common lifestyle. Example like on earth plenty of non Christians are holding Christmas parties, it’s a common thing and not overtly religious. Two, or why not because of the diversity, religions simply mix together. Like on earth why not have fasting like Muslims do simply become a common lifestyle custom alongside Buddhist meditations also being common lifestyle customs. Three. Like two, but why can’t someone on earth be both Muslim and Buddhist?? Does that even make sense?

I only gave you real life religions as example only, for ease of explaining, not at all what I’ll use.

Also in this kind of world, how would you see religious tolerance? Can it honestly really be in harmony? How about the bigots? There’s still got to be some won’t there? Especially when daily lifestyles, or simply in the architecture and design throw all sorts of religion in their faces they can’t avoid unless they live under a rock.

Feral:

I’m not sure what the question is here. Should some people in your world participate in religious festivals that do not align with their beliefs? It’s certainly possible, and it depends on the religion in question. Christianity is inherently an evangelical religion; “witnessing” is the call of every Christian, so Christian religious activities tend to be geared towards welcoming non-believers with the intent on making them believers. Not to mention nearly all Christian festivals were the festivals of other religions that Christians reshaped into their own. And not to mention the commercialization of Christmas specifically has fundamentally changed how Christmas is viewed by Christians and non-Christians alike; I’ve heard it said, and am inclined to believe more or less, that even Christians in Victorian England really didn’t celebrate Christmas until Charles Dickens wrote “A Christmas Carol.” So, Christmas, for example, is of such mixed ancestry and exists in such a way as to be welcome for outsiders to “celebrate” without already believing in the underlying religion. It’s very important to keep in mind that this happens in culturally Christian regions or where Christmas has been so commercialized that people couldn’t even tell you its religious significance; and a lot of people of minority religions really fucking hate it - it’s insulting to be told that displaying a hanukiah at work is against company policy because you can’t have anything overtly religious on display when you’re surrounded by Christmas trees and listening to Christmas carols like “Oh Holy Night” piped in over the sound system. So you’ll want to keep in mind that some people will view a religious festival that’s “ubiquitously” celebrated as a dominant religion being forced on them at the expense of their own religious identity. You’ll also likely have religions that don’t proselytize and have absolutely no interest whatsoever in non-believers participating in their holy days - they’re holy! They’re meant for the people who already believe.

I’ve already briefly touched on why some religions would have a problem with non-believers crowding in on their holidays, but it’s worth repeating - not all religions are like Christianity. I’d go so far as to say that no other religions are like Christianity in this particular way. As for your examples regarding “Muslim fasting” and “Buddhist meditation”? People do fast. People do meditate. And it has nothing to do with religion. A lot of what makes “Muslim fasting” Muslim is prayer and dedication to Allah; if you’re removing that religious aspect of it, then you’re just fasting. And fasting is part of a number of religions, so it’s really hard to say which religion it comes from once the religion has been stripped away. As for meditation, meditation gained a lot of traction in the West because of the explosion of yoga. Which is a religious practice in Hinduism and Buddhism (and Jainism). It’s just been stripped of the religion, and like with fasting, meditation is found in many religions around the world; it’s just not that unique.

So, Buddhism is quite famous for being adoptable into other religious practices. Like if you had asked “why can’t someone be Muslim and Hindu?” my answer would have to be a run-down of the many fundamental theological reasons why those two religions are incapable of coinciding in a single person’s beliefs; however, Buddhism or Buddhist practices can be practiced alongside most religions. It’s non-theist, so there’s no creator deity that could contradict the beliefs of monotheists, polytheists, and atheists. Buddhism and Christianity have this whole huge long history, and Buddhism and Catholicism specifically dovetail really nicely together. What you’re talking about is syncretic religion, and it’s pretty common worldwide and throughout history.

The answers to all of those questions depend so intimately on how you build your religions and what their specific beliefs are. Some religions are naturally exclusivist, or you might have soft polytheism. It’s your world and your religions; we cannot make these decisions for you. If you want fundamentalism and bigotry to be a part of your world, then you can build your religions in such a way that those things would naturally occur. If you want harmony across religions to be a part of your world, then you can build your religions in such a way that that would naturally occur. You can even have it both ways! A world is a big place, and how people interact with their religion and the religions of others depends largely on where in the world they are and who else is there with them. A cosmopolitan culture where you have everyone brushing elbows with everyone else will have people developing a tolerance and softening their hardline views that would not occur in a more homogenous society where one religion is dominant.

Delta: A note about bigotry and prejudice: In geopolitics on earth, religious intolerance tends to be about one of two things: first, the majority religion (in the western world, Christianity) feeling compelled to force itself on other populations who do not share their beliefs. Examples of this include the Spanish Inquisition and, to some extent, “evangelical aid.” In Christianity, evangelicalism is a very important concept; sharing the religion is almost as important as a person’s personal faith. Off the top of my head, as Feral discussed, I can’t think of another religion with quite the same focus; so, by eliminating this element of religion, a huge amount of conflict could be eliminated if practitioners weren’t compelled to make all their acquaintances agree with them all the time. (Which is not to say all Christians just walk around proselytizing all the time, but it is fairly common in America; though I understand it to be somewhat less common in Europe, which through both culture and law has become more secular; more on this later.)

Second, it’s also about not wanting to concede power or control. A huge motivating factor behind all the Medieval Inquisitions, including the Spanish Inquisition, was the effort to curb what people in power considered religious heresy or just straight-up religious differences. They thought it was their place to dictate a group’s religious beliefs. Spain in particular was trying to stop the spread of Islam through the growing Ottoman Empire, which comes down to Medieval geopolitics as much as it does the religious differences between Islam and Christianity. Modern Islamophobia and religious conflict falls in this category a lot, too. But if your religions weren’t tied to more extensive geopolitical conflicts, you won’t have politicians using them as leverage to take and keep power like we do, so you could reduce religious tolerance that way, too.

Finally, secularism, which doesn’t directly address your question, but I wanted to mention it. In China, the official Communist Party has been somewhat infamously aggressively secular because religion was seen as a potentially rebellious force. Soviet Russia had similar experiences, both particularly with Muslim populations with whom they have political differences with besides, religion in this instance becoming a motivating factor for rebellion.

This is different from someplace like France, which aims to simply be neutral. Europe, overall, does not share the same public religious zeal that places like Israel, America, and Saudi Arabia have, but that doesn’t mean the conflict isn’t there.

Utuabzu: Something worth considering is are these gods real in the world you’re building? If the gods are demonstrably real, religiousness will be a lot more common and people are probably going to be more accepting of those that worship different deities given that any claims about them being false are easily refuted. Another thing to consider is the difference between philosophy and religion. In the West, Christianity fills both slots for many people (Judaism and Islam also do for some). In much of Asia, however, philosophies like Buddhism, Taoism, Confucianism, Yoga (the Hindu philosophical school, one of six major Hindu schools), etc. are practiced in addition to a more localised traditional religion, often comprised of a local pantheon of gods and some degree of ancestor worship. To some degree, even Christianity is sometimes treated like this, see the Chinese Rites controversy for example. It is entirely possible to have people simultaneously believing in local animistic deities (local forest/mountain/river gods), regional major deities (Sun god, moon god, justice god etc.) and one or more universalist philosophies. Add in the possibility of mystery religions (closed faiths that do not publicise their theologies and often don’t accept converts, see Mithraism, the Orphic Mysteries, or for a modern example, Yazidiism) and ethnic religions that don’t seek or don’t accept converts (see Judaism, Sikhism, Zoroastrianism), and it is very possible to have a wide variety of beliefs coexisting in a society. If they’ve been coexisting over a long period, one would generally expect most people to be aware of the major festivals, ceremonies, etc. of each, and while some may be open to all and treated by non-believers as more of a cultural festival (probably the animist ones), others may be believers-only, or invitation-only. Some festivals might be shared by several religions, because they either come from the same root, or both revere the same prophet/saint/whatever, or both worship the same deity, or maybe just had similar festivals happening at roughly the same time and though mutual influence ended up doing them at the same time. It really depends how you’ve built these religions and what their stances on non-believers are, how long they’ve been coexisting and how orthodox/orthopraxic (emphasis on believing the right things vs. emphasis on performing rituals correctly) they are.

[unnursvanablog]

The TV shows I watched in 2020 / part 2.

Episodes I finished: 😊

Snowpiercer: I wasn't sure if it could live up to the movie and in my opinion it didn't even get close to it. I wasn't into the murder mystery. After a few episodes I was just watching it with one eye.

The Last Kingdom: What can I say, I'm incredibly fond of period shows. The Last Kingdom managed to tell a very contained story within each series that always managed to grab me and I had to know what happened next, while also raising the stakes for the next seasons and so on. I found this part of British history new and exciting and I liked the strategy and the comradery that we got to see here. This show is incredibly male centric tho and does fall into the traps that can come with that, which can be annoying.

Maximilium: Epic and sad. I really want to watch more period shows, and just shows in general, that is not contained to like British history or medieval fantasy inspired from that part of Europe. I really liked this show, I found it really pretty to watch and really well excecated.

Was it Love?: In my opinion this drama started of well. It was just some fluffy comedy with a ridiculous plot and I was just having a great time with it. But then over time, the episodes just got more frustrating and boring and so did the characters. It takes a bit of a skill to have four guys fighting for the attention and love of the main character and none of them end up being a good option.

It's Okay not to be Okay: unfortunately I thought the story here was stretched a bit too far, even though the basic story was cool and interesting. And that led to me not enjoying it. Most of the supporting characters were boring to me and therefor I got bored watching their filler scenes and product placements just so these episodes could be over an hour long. The story was not long enough to fill in every episode and it just dragged on.

Flower of Evil: I was amazed at how much I ended up loving this drama. It normally not the type of thing I go for. They were dramatic, dark and very emotional and I never knew what was going to happen, it kept me on the edge of the seat all the time. I loved it.

Cursed: this show had a really great idea, it tried to do something new with the Arthur legend. But they just weren't well written at all and just end up being a pretty big fantasy cliché.

The Medici: Masters of Florence: Neither the second nor the third series reached the same heights as the first one did for me. But still, this is a good period show. I just do not find the main character in the second and third series that interesting. He kinda irks me.

Ottoman - Rise of an Empire: A really fun and informative tv show / documentary. I knew little about the Ottoman Empire so I found it very exciting. And I do like battle strategies.

Record of Youth: I wanted to get so much more from this drama than I got. I cared so little about most of the character and even the ones I did care about didn't seem to do much towards the end. A little too slow for me, the plot wasn't interesting and I'm tired of some kdramas saying that they are about these two or more characters, but then just focus on the male character and the female lead is just there for the romance. It was a waste of both my time and Park So Dam's time.

The War of the World: A very interesting sci-fi period piece. Really well done, would have liked a better ending that answered all the questions I had, but I enjoyed the ride a lot.

The School Nurse Files: These episodes were so weird, but I mean it in a good way. I felt like I was watching a long and weird Doctor Who episode from the Russell T Davies era. They sometimes felt a little bit confusing and would have liked if the story was a bit more concise.

Lovecraft Country: This became this odd blend of horror, fantasy-adventure tale and then some sci-fi - Some of these episodes gave me a little Indiana Jones feel, which I enjoyed. At times it felt all over the place, yet it did serve a purpose. I expected more horror if anything, as I had been told it was really scary, but then I didn't really get scared. Maybe because I'm not the targed audience for these shows, as a white person from Europe. Really interesting show tho. Well worth the hype.

The Haunting of Hill House: Very cool show. I really enjoyed how each episode just raised the bar and you could start to see the story more clearer and better with every passing episode. And seeing how the house affected this family throughout their lives while we got to know the characters and their backstory was brilliant. You hate and love and understand almost every single character, as they all have their own baggage to carry. Really well made horror.

The Haunting of Bly Manor: eh, I felt like they never reached the same heights as the previous series. The story wasn't as captivating, the horror not that great, and I had already seen where the story was going long before it happened.

La Révolution: The story started slowly, but there was a really cool mystery at the center of it and this escalating tension that really just grabbed you and pulled you along. I also just really like a lot of the character. I thought it was a very interesting take on the French Revolution, and the horror elements surprised me in a really good way. I like period dramas that have horror elements to them. It's just a mix of two things I like. Visually it was stunning, it was well crafted, well acted and I'm excited to see more of there is more.

The Tale of the Nine Tailed: There was something about this drama that just didn't capture my heart, although I think the idea is cool and I really enjoyed how myths and other things were woven into the story. It always felt like it was trying a bit too hard to be like Goblin, you could see the influence there, and it just left me a little cold. The second leads and their story were also just a lot more interesting than the main ones. I got quite bored like half way through it.

Private Lives: I really liked this drama in the beginning. I loved how much it centered around the female characters and the story seemed cool. It sometimes jumped between timelines, which I did not like and I don't think it helped too much with the mystery. And once the more political aspect of the mystery started to creep in I found myself not as into it. And I wanted more comradery.

Birthcare Center: Cute and quite silly, but in a good way. It's really short, only 8 episodes in total, so it never dragged. I loved the whole cast and the dynamics that the character had and I felt like it did talk about some important topics about motherhood and the expectations set on women - says I who is completely childless. I enjoyed it, but I was not incredibly into it either.

The Crown: I don't think I have enjoyed this show as much as this season. In this season I had someone to root for and someone to emotionally connection to. A lot of the characters in this show are interesting, but very cold and distant, and I find it hard to relate to them, which can make it hard for me to fully get invested. But Diana was absolutely the heart and soul of this season and I loved her. The show needed her.

Queen's Gambit: I've never found chess interesting until I watched it in this show. I found it amazing how these episodes managed to create a whole story about chess tournaments and how it affected all of these characters. Amazing story, the characters were complex, and each episode just became more and more exciting and interesting.

Barbarians: I shall say it again! I love historical shows and period dramas. It isn't anything new under the sun, it feels a bit like other period shows such as Vikings, but I enjoyed it. I felt the story grew with each episode, with the first episodes being a bit more formulaic as they were setting up the story. But each episode always ended in a way that I just wanted to know more, there was something that grabbed me and I had to watch the next episode.

Sweet Home: quite a fun horror, and I usually really like how Korea does horror so while it did hit some sweet spots it also does follow some of the common apocalypses and horror tropes and I did think it brought too many new things o the table when it comes to these stories. I felt like a lot of episodes sort of lacked tension and just fell a bit flat.

Bridgeton: I love a costume dramas, especially like these romantic ones, with a hint of humor and a whole lot of yearning. I have a tendency to fall into such stories and people's lives, although it seems rather frivolous and unexciting to people who don't enjoy this romance. I sympathized so much with these characters and their ridiculous lives. I couldn't stop watching this show and it became all I thought about over the days I was watching it. There is something new about it, but it still rather familiar and maybe not as progressive as you might want at all times. For me, the main romance lost me a bit towards the end, but it was a great fun.

Show I did not finish: ☹

OCN Train: I am sure it was a well made show, I have not heard any bad review about it, just not the kind of drama that is really for me or to my taste. If I am suppose to watch and enjoy these types of show it sort of needs to do something amazing for me to be hooked into a murder mystery.

The Devil Punisher: I decided to try watching a drama from Taiwan again, since I had not done so for years and year. And although I thought the idea was cool, the first episodes were rather long-winded, all over the place and really about everything and nothing at the same time. So I just gave up.

Run On: I could actually feel it from the first episodes that this drama was not for me. Just not the kind of story that I am into at the moment. Mostly just about the lives of the people in it, but there is no bigger plot that pulls you forward. Too slow and light and not really about that much.

[theawkwardterrier]

things left behind and the things that are ahead, ch. 39

AO3 link here

He’s gotten pretty settled in with his coworkers at Stark Industries a month into the job, and it’s absolutely stunningly hot, like the air’s drenched, woolen, nearly physical as it fills every little space, but Bucky finds himself going out for lunch. That happens to him sometimes, the need to not be around people, forced to make conversation, to joke and be fine. Because sometimes, still, he isn’t fine; he came home with a weight on his shoulders that can be lighter certain days and heavier others but which is always there, and he’s trying, still, to be okay with that.

He usually eats on the later side, so the afternoon concert is already nearing its close though the music is still apparent from the spot he’s chosen. The file he’s brought with him is only a prop. He keeps it open on the bench beside him but doesn’t really look at it, staring around instead as he unwraps the sandwich he bought.

He’ll try to remember to call Steve tonight, because his best friend made him promise to phone when he feels like this, but he already feels a little guilty about it. He knows that Steve’s got his back, the same way he’ll always have Steve’s, but the Carters are working on adopting their little girl next month - Rose is her name, Steve said - and he can tell that the two of them are stretched pretty thin so he doesn’t want to add on. He has an appointment with his shrink next week, and he could probably make it sooner if he needed it, but this feels like the sort of thing he should be able to handle by himself.

Despite the time that’s passed - six years since Steve and Peggy brought him back, more than ten since whatever happened down in that lab - he hasn’t quite grown used to the ways in which he came home different. If anything, he’s reached a point of annoyance with himself that he’s had all this time and all this help, and nevertheless can find himself overcome by something as simple as a crowd, a noisy room. He remembers by now being the life of the party, ready with a quick remark, lighting girls’ cigarettes with a flick of his wrist and a flash of a grin. He remembers following Steve’s good-hearted, hairbrained schemes throughout their childhood, coming up with schemes of his own, talking their way out of trouble with teachers or the cops on the beat (even if he had to rest his whole weight on Steve’s toes to keep his big mouth closed). But that doesn’t feel like him anymore, and it grates on him that he can’t figure out how to make it be.

He shakes his head at himself, picking a couple of fallen scraps of roast beef from the sandwich wrappings before balling up the wax paper. If he still feels like this at the end of the day, he has the number that Charlie Gibbs gave him before he left Washington, the one answered by a man Charlie describes as “someone who saw a thing or two over there” and who can gather more like them to drink a beer and talk things over if they need to.

In the meantime, there’s still fifteen minutes before he has to get back to the office, and he tips his face upward, limbs sprawling out a little in relaxation as he soaks in the sun. It always makes him feel sort of stupid to have these sorts of moments, the overwhelming of his mind, during the summer, as if the sunshine and freedom should drive them away. But the warmth feels so good, too, that he tries not to think about that, tries to just lean back and enjoy.

When he brings his chin down again, his gaze catches on the bench across the plaza from his. The woman there - one hand holding open a book, the other her own sandwich, a thumb that he can’t quite track wiping away a drip of mustard from the corner of her mouth - is familiar. He stares awkwardly for a moment, trying to place her. She glances up as she tries to flip a page with a thumb (he assumes her clean one) and gives a slight raise of her sandwich in his direction in recognition.

He can picture, like a photograph, the smile he might have given her before the war, cocky, glinting sideways and a bit suggestive. Now he settles for a nod and a tip of his hat, tucks his hands in his pockets and starts walking back.

It’s only as he pushes through the glass doors into the Stark Industries building that he remembers where he’s seen her before: lab coat and safety glasses on, silky dark hair (longer than was truly fashionable) pinned back, in one of the labs during his tour of the building. “The chem fellas, for what they’re worth,” said the guy showing him around, swaggering onward with barely a glance. But Bucky had looked back, caught a glimpse of a raised middle finger.

He sort of wants to ask her whether it was for the “fellas” when she was clearly standing right there, or if she just feels that strongly about chemistry.

She’s there again the next day, sitting on the same bench, holding a different book, Frances Parkinson Keyes’s The Royal Box. He’s actually read this one at Peggy’s recommendation, but he doesn’t say anything, just touches the brim of his hat when he stands. She’s wearing a hat today too, a wide tan straw thing that shades her face, and she touches her brim back at him.

He finds himself grinning as he stuff his hands into his pockets and starts heading back.

He’s actually feeling better on the third day after a night out with Charlie Gibbs’s friends (well, they might even be his friends at this point) and an invitation from Becca to come over to her place for dinner Saturday. He’d wondered when he moved back if being around his family, especially the new generation and their energy, might be too much. But it’s actually invigorating to be around them, to be used as a climbing structure, given random hugs and sticky kisses to his cheeks. He never laughs as hard as he does when Jimmy tells some story about the indignations of his school day or Baby falls unconsciously into an impression of her grandmother. And the youngest is nearly four months now, and Becca swears he smiles all the time, so that’ll be nice to see.

So there’s no real reason he strolls out into the July heat instead of staying in his office, no reason his feet lead him once again to Bryant Park. No reason he stops for only a second, then keeps walking over when he sees a familiar figure sitting not on her regular bench, which is empty across the path, but instead on his.

“I thought that if we were going to keep meeting like this, we should at least know each other’s names,” she says, squinting up past him as he stands over her. Her voice is even, confident, but not strictly businesslike; there’s a smile at the edge of her words. She extends her hand to him. “Layla Mansour.”

He shakes, sits down beside her. “Bucky Barnes.”

“Really?” she says, so dubiously that he actually laughs.

“It’s the name I’ve got.”

“I seriously doubt it,” she says, “but there’ll be time for me to figure out the truth later.” And with that she unwraps her sandwich and takes a bite.

Three weeks later, Peggy requests that Howard send over a chemical engineer and a mechanical engineer to SHIELD headquarters at Camp Lehigh. Bucky’s an easy pick for the mechie considering they won’t even have to go through any extra security rigamarole, and when he hears they’re looking for someone else, he knows right away who to recommend.

Bucky’s never learned to drive, never had to and at some point decided he never really wanted to, so he’s particularly impressed by the ease with which Layla directs the borrowed Stark Industries sedan. She brought gloves with her, a crisp pair, white with bleach, but they’re draped over her handbag in the backseat. Her fingers on the wheel are not long, but they’re easily capable, with short, even nails.

“Where are you from?” he asks like clearing his throat, because he has the feeling that staring at her hands is not an entirely normal thing to do, and because he realizes that he actually doesn’t know. They’ve been talking over lunch for weeks now, but it’s been about preferred sandwich spots and the best things on the menu there, about work, and about her endless books. (She brings a new one nearly every day, and he has no idea how she’s able to read them all. Her library card gets more of a workout than anyone else’s he knows.)

Her mouth tucks in at the corners for just a second, then she says, too brightly even for her, “My grandparents were from Syria. Well, I suppose it would probably be Lebanon now, though, what with the borders shifting and all. And at the time that whole area the Ottoman Empire, but...Now you have the general idea of it, I imagine.”

“Oh,” he says. “No.” Not that he hasn’t noticed her dark, dark hair and intense eyes, but… “I meant, not too many people learn to drive in the city. And um—” He glances out the window, taps a finger on his knee, tries not to mumble. “You have a little bit of an accent. Only sometimes. You drop your r’s, and you’re the only person I’ve ever heard pronounce the number four the way that you do.”

A laugh startles out of her. “I’m from just outside of Boston. Watertown.”

“Don’t know it,” he says, shrugging, turning over in his head the way she says it: Watatown, Watuhtown. “The only thing I know about Boston is the Red Sox.”

Again, he’s impressed as she manages to execute a smooth turn off the main street even while eyeing him sharply. “Be careful what you say. I might live in New York now, but I’ve been going to games at Fenway since I was a kid.”

Bucky lifts his hands in defense. “Hey, they might not be here anymore, but I’m still for the Dodgers. We can hate on the Yanks together.”

“Excellent,” she says, with a grin. “That’s all I ever need,” and she pulls up to the guardhouse at the edge of the base.

He’d expected to be directed to whichever scientist they’d be working with, but Peggy’s actually there to greet them herself.

“We’re honored,” Bucky says, leaning to kiss her cheek.

“You had better be,” she responds. “Good to see you, Barnes.”

“You too, Carter.” He hasn’t seen them in probably a month and the reason why is written in the exhausted lines of her face. It strikes Bucky as a little odd that he hasn’t gotten to meet his friends’ child yet, doesn’t even know what she looks like, but it’s easy to tell how overwhelmed all the Carters are - perhaps the newest one most of all - so it just hasn’t been the right time. They hadn’t even made it into the city for Bucky’s mother’s Labor Day dinner, and Bucky knows how Steve feels about Labor Day and Winifred Barnes. That same exhaustion from Peggy’s face is obvious in Steve’s voice when they talk on the phone these days, catching up late at night when Steve has a minute between cleaning up whatever messes Rose had made during the day. Bucky hadn’t thought Steve could get tired like that since the serum, but apparently kids really do a number on you, or maybe it’s just Rose.

As evidence, when Peggy turns to introduce herself to Layla, Bucky spots a small patch of oatmeal dried onto the shoulder of her blouse. It’s just a little thing, the cream of it blending into her shirt anyway, but it’s large on Peggy Carter; he doesn’t know that he’s ever found her so disheveled, and he’s seen her in the middle of battle and during the frigid center of the winter and after days without a real bath. He’ll point it out to her later - hopefully she’ll have enough brainpower to care.

Still, when she puts out a hand and says, “Peggy Carter,” it’s with that familiar firmness.

“Dr. Layla Mansour.” He can see that Peggy appreciates that she doesn’t shy away from using the title she’s earned, or from shaking back with an equally firm hand. “What can we help with?”

Bucky likes that, himself. Still, when Steve calls that night and waits a whole five minutes before asking casually about Bucky’s new friend that Peggy told him about, Bucky pretends not to know what he’s talking about.

“We just eat lunch together sometimes,” he deflects, and decides he’ll overlook the way Steve’s “hmmm” sounds knowing and just a bit suggestive.

And they do eat lunch together, two or three times a week, sometimes more. As the autumn grows cooler, glancing quickly around before they bring up their favorite and least favorite colleagues, the projects that they’re working on, what they’re most excited about starting next. Inside the newly opened diner down the street during the winter, talking about what brought them to the careers they have now, finding out that Layla went to CCNY too but only for her PhD and a couple years ahead of Bucky - they never came across each other there.

(“Lucky thing we met each other now,” she says around the bite of chocolate cake she is pretending she hasn’t just stolen from him. He smiles, sideways and then more, and echoes, “Lucky thing.”)

They continue into the spring, eating as they walk beside each other in the blossoming warmth, trading stories about how things were for them growing up, about their families, about how home doesn’t feel quite the same when you come back all grown up. Hearing her talk about Ted Williams and Jackie Jensen, her hands flying as if she might snag a baseball out of the air at any moment while he grins at her side, he actually has to hold himself back from gaining some affection for the Red Sox.

(Once, in May, he asks her about her weekend plans and she says briefly that her mother's set her up with a date, the son of a friend of a friend, before turning to toss her bread crust to a couple of squirrels. He doesn't ask more, or mention that the few times his own mother has urged him to go out with nice girls from church or the daughters of her sewing circle friends, he's walked away thinking that somehow they were perfectly nice and normal and somehow not quite right. The next week, she tells him, a bit pointedly, that she's going to see 12 Angry Men over the weekend with some of the other girls from her rooming house.)

He brings her to Steve and Peggy’s for dinner in July. Though he’d seen her not even two weeks ago, at the barbecue that was allegedly for Independence Day (Steve was meant to have a different birthday now), Rosie drags him into the house as soon as they arrive, then squints at Layla, coming through the door behind him.

“Who is that?” she asks, not quietly. “Who are you?”

“We told you that Miss Layla would be coming,” Steve says, striding over, drying his hands on a towel. “Be polite, Rose.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Rose.” Layla steps forward, puts out a hand, doesn’t waver as she is eyed suspiciously and for a nearly uncomfortably long time. Finally, Rose shakes briefly before darting back off into the dining room.

Steve sighs. “Sorry about that,” he says. “I’m certainly happy to finally meet you.” His polite smile turns somewhat more broader and more youthful, teasing, as he catches Bucky’s glare that means don’t say something like—

“Bucky talks about you all the time,” Steve finishes angelically.

Layla looks over her shoulder at Bucky. “All the time, hmm, James?”

Her hair, normally worn back, is down around her face for dinner, set and curled up at the bottom. Bucky shrugs. “Maybe once or twice. He can’t count very well.”

“Perhaps you should move this conversation toward the table,” Peggy calls. “I think Rose is about to dig into this delicious meal herself, and I might join her.”

Steve and Bucky, mannered as they are, both gesture Layla ahead of them. Once she’s passed, Bucky punches Steve in the shoulder, hard enough that it might even bruise.

All the time? he mouths. Jackass.

Steve tucks his hand in his pockets, raising an eyebrow and mouthing back James?, grinning as they walk in together.

They don’t leave until nearly eleven, after they’ve eaten Steve’s delicious dinner (seriously, when did Steve learn to cook? Bucky can remember when he could practically only boil water, though that might have been because there was barely more in the house than that) and the absurdly rich chocolate mousse tart he made for dessert, after Rose had tucked herself into the chair in the living room where she could still listen to them and fallen asleep, after Steve’s told half a dozen stories to embarrass Bucky and Bucky had given just as good back and Peggy had topped them both.

Layla’s laugh is even lower than her speaking voice, Bucky’s noticed. He can recognize the start of it now, when it’s still a barely audible chuckle, and it makes him smile.

It’s a good night. He’s feeling good, even as he shifts the muscles of his back and shoulder a little. The arm isn’t as heavy as most, and it supports itself pretty well, has control nearly the way a flesh and blood one would, doesn’t just hang from his sleeve as a placeholder - Howard actually started a medical technology division after he worked with it. Still, when he wears it for this long, the discomfort becomes more and more obvious in the later hours.

“You can take it off, if you’d like,” says Layla.

He hadn’t even realized she’d noticed that little movement. Honestly, he hadn’t even realized she’d noticed the arm at all, which is stupid - she’s got two perfectly good eyes, she sees him nearly every day, but she’s never stared or asked prying questions or even looked purposefully away, making unwavering eye contact the way some people do to avoid seeming rude.

There had been that first day they were working at Lehigh, when one of the others on the team was walking across the lab to show them a delicate instrument, holding it carefully and eyeing Bucky’s hand where it was visible past his shirt cuff. “You sure you can handle this?” he’d said, like Bucky was going to thank him for his concern, before he’d crashed to the ground right as he passed where Layla was standing. Even Bucky’s eyes hadn’t tracked her foot flicking out across the floor, just catching the very end of the movement as she set it innocently back where it had been. “Goodness,” she’d said, tilting her head in pity. “Are you certain that you can handle it?” But that’s the only acknowledgement that she’s ever given.

“I’m fine,” he tells her now. “It’s fine.”

She makes a low hmmm sort of sound. “Maybe,” she says. “But it’s also fine to sometimes not be fine.”

“Not for me, it isn’t,” he says, the words out before he can check them. He’s been doing pretty well in the months that he’s known her, talking to Steve and Peggy and the shrink and guys who served, spending time with his family, getting good sleep when he can and taking long walks in the night air when, however increasingly rarely, the nightmares mean he can’t. He doesn’t take time off from work if he can help it, and he’s mostly been able to help it. But he knows that his healing is a slow process, inches and years, that he has to do his best to keep a good face through it all.

He doesn’t know how to explain that to her, really, to tell her that the version of him that she’s spending time with...it hasn’t been a show, but it hasn’t been all of him, either.

“All of us,” she says with conviction, as if she can read his mind, as if she already knows, as if he’s already told her everything and she doesn’t care. “All people are allowed to not be fine sometimes. And you count in that too, whatever you might think of yourself.”

And as she drives them back, soft darkness and the sounds of crickets around them, he tries to let himself believe her.

She gets promoted late in October, which she’s proud of but also finds irritating - it means a lot of extra paperwork and administrative duties. They don’t get to eat lunch together as often now that she has a heavier schedule of meetings. He takes to staying a couple hours later, turning up by her desk around 7 to make sure that she wraps up for the day. They usually go out to supper together after, sometimes even a picture if there’s something good playing.

One frigid night in February, Bucky holds Layla’s coat out for her, trying to douse his nerves by listening to her complain grouchily once again about how the new position means that she’s down to reading a book every two days or even every three.

“The librarians probably have you in their prayers,” says Bucky once again as they wave to their favorite waitress and head toward the door. Before Layla can push it open, Bucky puts a hand to her arm.

“Wait,” he says. “I just wanted to—Well, it’s Valentine’s and you’ve been working hard so I—Here.” He pulls from his coat pocket the little pink case, watches her pop it open to examine the pink rose inside nestled amidst baby’s breath and a sprig of greenery. She’s practical, doesn’t really go for elaborate things, but he’s seen the little flashes of prettiness in the glint of jeweled pins and flowered clips when she has her hair pulled back or up, the various necklaces he’s only caught glimpses of, hidden as they are beneath the necklines of her dresses and blouses. He thought she would like this, and he doesn’t tuck his head but instead watches as she smiles, removes the flower and takes in the scent, runs a gentle finger over the petals.

“Thank you,” she says, tucking it back inside and closing the little case with care. “It’s lovely.”

“I’m glad,” he says, letting out a quiet little breath. He’d searched around during his lunch hour for something remaining at the florist in good shape and kept it in one of the cool rooms at work, waiting for the right chance to give it to her. Feeling lighter, he reaches for the door, only to have her stop him this time, a hand on his forearm.

“Are you ever,” she says, “going to ask me on an actual date?”

“Oh.” For all the nights he lay with his hands behind his head and imagined saying those words, he finds that he can’t manage them now, not right away. He almost wants to look away, to gather his head, but he breathes deeply, watches the calm in her brown eyes, the patience there.

“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” he finally says. “Fair Game’s at the Longacre; we can see if there are tickets. Or West Side Story, if you’d rather. Or The Music Man - that’s supposed to be good too, if they’re not sold out.”

“Marian the Librarian?” He can hear that sound, the very beginning of her laughter. “I’ll see if I’m available.”

“You will, huh?”

“I think I can probably make the time,” she says archly. “For you.” And she holds out a hand to him, waiting as he secures his fingers gently between hers, before opening the door.

More chapters here

[deathsmallcaps]

August’s Story

Swan Lake was the story for this month! It’s the sixteenth Win A Commission. If you’d like to read it and see the drawings again, please

ACT I

Prince Siegfried arrives at his 21st birthday celebration on the palace courtyards. Here, he finds all of the royal families and townspeople dancing and celebrating, while the young girls are anxiously seeking his attention.

During the exquisite celebration, his mother gives him a crossbow. She informs him that because he is now of age, his marriage will be quickly arranged.

Hit with the sudden realization of his future responsibilities, he takes his crossbow and runs to the woods with his hunting group.

ACT 2

Getting ahead of the group, Prince Siegfried finds himself alone in a peaceful spot by an enchanted lake where swans gently float across its surface. While Siegfried watches, he spots the most beautiful swan with a crown on its head.

His buddies soon catch up, but he orders them to leave so he can be by himself. As dusk falls, the swan with the crown turns into the most beautiful young woman he has ever seen. Her name is Odette, the Swan Queen.

Odette informs the young prince about an evil sorcerer, Von Rothbart, who happens to be disguised as Prince Siegfried’s mentor. It was Rothbart who turned her and the other girls into animals. The lake was formed by the tears of their parents' weeping. She tells him that the only way the spell can be broken is if a man, pure in heart, pledges his love to her.

The prince, about to confess his love for her, is quickly interrupted by the evil sorcerer. He takes Odette from Prince Siegfried’s embrace and commands all of the animal maidens to dance upon the lake and its shore so that the prince cannot chase them. Prince Siegfried is left all alone on the shore of Swan Lake.

ACT 3

The next day at the formal celebration in the Royal Hall, Prince Siegfried is presented with many prospective princesses. Although the ladies are worthy of his attention, he cannot stop thinking about Odette.

His mother commands him to choose a bride, but he cannot. For the time being, he satisfies his mother's request by dancing with them.

While the prince dances, trumpets announce the arrival of Von Rothbart. He brings his daughter, Odile, on whom he has cast a spell to appear as Odette. The prince is captivated by her beauty and he dances with the imposter.

ACT 4

Unbeknownst to Prince Siegfried, the true Odette is watching him from a window. The prince soon confesses his love to Odile and proposes marriage, thinking that she is Odette.

Horrified, Odette flees into the night. Prince Siegfried sees the real Odette running from the window and realizes his mistake.

Upon his discovery, Von Rothbart reveals to the prince the true appearance of his daughter Odile. Prince Siegfried quickly leaves the party and chases after Odette.

Odette has fled to the lake and joined the rest of the girls in sadness. Prince Siegfried finds them gathered at the shore consoling each other. He explains to Odette the trickery of Von Rothbart and she grants him her forgiveness.

It doesn't take long for Von Rothbart and Odile to appear in their evil, un-human, and somewhat bird-like forms. Von Rothbart tells the prince that he must stick to his word and marry his daughter. A fight quickly ensues.

Prince Siegfried tells Von Rothbart that he would rather die with Odette than marry Odile. He then takes Odette’s hand and together they jump into the lake.

The spell is broken and the remaining animals turn back into humans, with the exception of one spider who helped Von Rothbart with the illusion magic. They quickly drive Von Rothbart and Odile into the water where they, too, drown. 

My Notes

The title was basically copied off the Barbie Swan Lake one. Apparently it’s really difficult to draw a football shape, because I must’ve tried at least 20 times! 

So, originally, I meant to draw the prince running with the crossbow for the first picture. But the journal I had with me at the time was pretty small, and I couldn’t get the angle right, so I gave up on that. Often with these drawings, I’ll have an original idea, find out its beyond my capabilities at the moment or that it’s kind of boring, and then switch it up. (Oh, the best laid plans of mice and men…) So instead I drew the crossbow. It has a swan on it at least!

The second picture was another one that ended up quite different from the original. For one, I wanted to draw inspiration from the Barbie version of Swan Lake (one I hold dearly in my heart) and the movie The Swan Princess, which was a musical comedic retelling of Swan Lake, except the villain wants to marry Odette to rule her kingdom, Odile is his henchwoman, and Siegfried (who has a different name) grew up knowing Odette. You may have seen versions of it - it was actually a really great movie but Disney shut it down pretty quickly, so the studio that made it became poor and now make crappy sequels for the movie instead. ANYWAY I suddenly remembered, when I was only in the figure drawing phase, Stephanie Kurlow.

Stephanie Kurlow, as I am writing this, is credited as the first Hijabi ballerina. So while she’s probably not the first Muslim ballerina, she is the first one to insist on an outfit that honors her religious beliefs. She is an Australian teen who wishes to make ballerina outfits more accessible to different beliefs, and she and her mother have started a studio that does respect beliefs. I guess that a lot of professional studios, due to the wish for uniformity for its background dancers and the bigger difficulty in dancing well in longer skirts, have trouble with this concept. But in any case, she and her outfits heavily inspired Odette’s dresses. I did not draw her face for Odette, but I was very heavily inspired by her.

For the third picture, that was pretty much a mix of Barbie’s Swan Lake, the Swan Princess and Stephanie Kurlow again. The prince is the one from Barbie (his hair was brown and your mom doesn’t believe me that for a short while the Ken characters had brown hair!), Odile’s evil reflection was based off of Odette from Swan Princess, and of course she is wearing a Stephanie Kurlow outfit. Did you see the evil spider in the corner? I’ve only found one version with the spider, but it fit my purposes :). 

Last picture is a toughie. I want you to know, that despite its inclusion in the story, suicide is NEVER the answer. If you ever feel like you’d be better off dead, or even if you start thinking about what the world would be like without you, a lot, please talk to someone. It can be your parents, someone at your church, a counselor, or someone else you trust. They will help you. (Okay back to the drawing stuff)

I wasn’t sure how to draw the spirits rising up, so I kind of just drew Odette, with the prince at her back, rising towards the moon. It was hard figuring out where the billows of her dress go, lol. But yeah, they’re rising up from the lake. I decided to make the moon look like the one on many flags of Islam because I thought it would be cool.

(Apparently, when Islam spread to what is now Turkey, the people in the area worshipped a moon goddess, so the moon was incorporated into their worship, just like Easter, a celebration of spring fertility, was incorporated into Christianity for the German peoples. They later added a star to the moon because the Quran, their holy book, has a lot of mentions of stars. Then, when the Ottoman Empire fell (Turkey was its base), Turkey was the biggest remaining Muslim world power, so its flag with the moon and the star became synonymous with Islam, and many groups adopted it.)

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed coloring! Good luck for next month!

@boopboopboopbadoop​

[lizziestudieshistory]

Books of 2020 - April

April was a strange reading month for me, on the one hand I read 10 books which is double my average 5-6 books a month! On the other I completely failed to read my OWLs Magical Readathon tbr... I did manage to read books that worked for the prompts but they weren’t the books I meant to read. Oops!

(Once again I haven’t proof read this and I’ll just apologise in advance for any mistakes, I’m lazy...)

OWLS Magical Reathon: Hogwarts Professor (what subject I specialise in will depend on the NEWTS...)

Wyrd Sisters - Terry Pratchett (Discworld #6, Witches #1)

OWLS: History of Magic

I loved reading Wyrd Sisters, it was so much fun! Pratchett retold Shakespeare’s Macbeth from the witches view point, but with his usual satirical twist. Granny Weatherwax, Nanny Ogg, and Magrat Garlick shine through the narrative, offering a no nonsense, ridiculous, and lovable take on witchcraft (or headology) as worked to protect Lancre from Duke and Duchess Felmet after they assassinated King Verence.

The Shakespeare references, puns, and reworkings in this book was sublime! I had a great time picking them out and watching as the acting company performed the most ridiculous versions of Shakespeare’s greatest works. I adored the witches - which was a bit surprising. I’d gone into this thinking I’d dislike the Witches sub-series after reading Equal Rites a couple of years ago (to this day it is my least favourite Discworld book...) However, Granny Weatherwax is a very different character here and the story is so separate from the narrative in Equal Rites that I refuse to see this book as the second installment in the Wtiches sub-series. I’d highly recommed reading Wyrd Sisters, and it would be a fantastic place to start with Pratchett if you like retellings and/or Shakespeare!

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight - Anon, trans. by J.R.R. Tolkien

OWLS: Potions

I enjoyed this translation of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, Tolkien’s style and tone suits this style of poetry (would you call it epic? It’s more of a romance...) Tolkien brought the story in Sir Gawain to life for me, in a way I’ve never experienced in other versions I’ve read. I fell in love with this simple tale from Arthurian Legend, which I’ve never done before... It’s beautiful, simple, and captivating. I would highly recommend reading this edition if you’re interested in Sir Gawain. 

The Last Hero - Terry Pratchett (Discworld #27, Rincewind and the Wizards #7)

OWLs: Astronomy

This is a book of two halves for me. The story itself is a bit too simple for my tastes... We see Cohen the Barbarian (the only Discworld character I actually hate) heading towards the Hub to return fire to the gods, however, Ankh-Morpork sends a party afte him to prevent him from destroying the Disc. This party was hilarious: Rincewind, the Librarian, Leonard of Quirrm, and Captain Carrot Ironfounderson all confined to a tiny ‘spaceship’... This was not a combination of characters I ever expected to see and their personalities, particularly Carrot and Rincewind, created several spectacularly ridiculous moments I loved! But the plot itself wasn’t great, I was expecting a bit more from Pratchett at this stage in in the Discworld.

However, the artwork in this book was stunning! It worked so well to elevate the story, I couldn’t help but love it... If the artwork hadn’t been included this book would have been a lot weaker... It’s hard to rate the book because of this, but I did really enjoy it (and hopefully this will be the last time I have to read about Cohen the Barbarian and the Silver Horde.) Also, look up Rincewind as The Scream, it’s brilliant!

We Should All Be Feminists - Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

OWLs: Arithmancy

I usually don’t read essays for pleasure, nonfiction has been relegated to academic pursuits for the last 5ish years... Yet, this classic (I’m calling it a classic, everyone should read it) essay from Adichie was incredibly powerful. It emphasised the importance of feminism to non-western/European women and highlighted how important and beneficial feminism is for everyone. It’s a really important piece for people to read and I’d highly recommend finding the audiobook, or a reading, done by Adichie as her passion for the subject shines through her words.

Beren and Luthien - J.R.R. Tolkien (Middle Earth)

OWLs: Transfiguration

I ADORED Beren and Luthien, it was the best book I’ve read all month. I was expecting to dislike this book because of it’s formatting. It’s told through several fragmentary versions of Beren’ and Luthien’s romance that at Tolkien wrote throughout his life. Christopher Tolkien edited together 5 or 6 (maybe?) manuscripts along with his own commentary, introduction, and parts of the Earendil story to give us a fleshed out picture of Tolkien’s greatest romance. Unlike The Fall of Gondolin, which I read earlier this year, the format worked beautifully for Beren and Luthien, probably because the different versions that have survived were incredibly different and more complete.

I was feeling a bit so-so about this collection until we started seeing the Lay of Leithian (sp?) woven in between a few prose versions of the tale. The verse in the Lay of Leithian was gorgeous, it was beautiful, etherial, and passionate. I actually cried reading a few sections from it, such as the end of Felagund’s part in the tale. It was such a shame Tolkien never finished the Lay as it probably would have been his best work within the Middle Earth legend. It was captivating and the poetry suited the tone and style of Beren and Luthien’s story. The verse would have made the final acts of Luthien in the Halls of Mados exquisite, poignant, and heartbreakingly tragic.

I cannot love this book more - it might be my favourite in Middle Earth, knocking The Silmarillion off the top spot... But, I wouldn’t necessarily recommend this book for everyone. If you’re a Tolkien fanatic then I’d consider this a must read, it contains Tolkien’s most beautiful writing along with his most tragic romance! If you’re only mildly interested in Middle Earth then I don’t think you’re going to enjoy it.

The Children of Earth and Sky - Guy Gavriel Kay

OWLs: Charms

The Children of Earth and Sky was an incredibly read, it’s a powerful but understated historical fantasy set in a world based on (I presume) renaissance Italy and the Ottoman Empire at its height. There’s not a vast amount of story here, however, the character work, world building, and thematic discussion around history, religion, the ability of an individual to change the fate of nations, corruption of power, and so much more, was stunning. It was a beautiful study of characters and cultures, which was complimented by Kay’s sumptuous writing style. This was a gorgeous read! 

My biggest criticism is for the romances, Kay had 4 main characters - two men and two women - and rather predictably they ended up in relationships by the end of the novel... The relationship between Danica and Marin did make more sense to me by the end of the book than the relationship between Leonora and Pero. However, both were a bit instalove-y and could have done with more development.

Nevertheless, I’d highly recommend this book! It would be an excellent read for people who aren’t fantasy fans as the fantastical elements are minor. The focus is on the historical influences, themes, and character development. It’s an excellent standalone fantasy book and I’m excited to read more of Kay’s work in the future.

The Merchant of Venice - William Shakespeare

OWLs: Divination

Most of what I could say about The Merchant of Venice has already been said before. Shakespeare’s portrayal of Shylock is incredibly problematic (I haven’t got the time or energy to go into why, but there are literally thousands of books, essays and blogposts about this, go forth and read if you want more details), the relationship between Portia and Bassanio makes NO sense, and I cannot believe that ending means anyone is going to be happy...

However, this play has a certain charm that I loved. I couldn’t help but like the relationship between Antonio and Bassanio, Portia and Nerissa are darlings, and I had fun reading the wacky plotline and (yet more) crossdressing shenanigans going on in here! I think most of my enjoyment came from the RSC version I watch alongside the play (currently availbale on Marquee TV). Either way, I’m happy to have read the play AT LAST and be one play closer to my goal of reading every Shakespeare play!

Assassin’s Apprentice - Robin Hobb (Farseer #1, Realm of the Elderlings #1)

OWLs: Defence Against the Dark Arts

We all know how I feel about Robin Hobb and the Realm of the Elderlings. I adore this world, Fitz and the Fool are (probably) the best written characters in fantasy and two of my all time favourites! I reread this for the Elderlingalong (that I somehow missed...), which gave me the perfect excuse to pick up the new 25th Anniversary edition with the GORGEOUS illustrations from Magali Villeneuve. I had a wonderful time rereading this and if you’re a fan of Hobb and you haven’t seen the work this book already you MUST get your hands on it ASAP. 

Non-OWLs books

The Gathering Storm - Robert Jordan and Brandon Sanderson (Wheel of Time #12)

I wrote WAY to much to include it on this long list of books... I’ll post my thoughts on The Gathering Storm separately. 

Conclusion of my ramblings: I really liked it, there were flaws in Sanderson’s writing and treatment of some characters (Mat in particular), however, it was a really good installment in the series! Sanderson really impressed me and I’m slightly nervous and very excited to read the last two books in the series!

The Fellowship of the Ring - J.R.R. Tolkien (Lord of the Rings #1)

I’ve already put up a lot of my thoughts on my latest read of The Fellowship of the Ring here. I really loved rereading this book (as I always do), I had a lot of new thoughts, and I gained a new appreciation of Boromir and Tolkien’s poetry. My annotation reread will continue in the near future with The Two Towers - I just need to clear a few urgent reads off my shelves first!

Currently Reading

Nevermore: The Trials of Morrigan Crow - Jessica Townsend

Buddy read book! I’ve actually finished this at time of posting but I’m trying to give an accurate view of my April reading!

The Long Way to a Small Angry Planet - Becky Chambers

I was supposed to read this for Arithmancy, but I didn’t get round to it... I’ve also finished this one early this month.

Words of Radiance - Brandon Sanderson

Another buddy read with @towerofleeza​! We’re not the best at reading this at the same time (sorry dear!) but I think we’re both loving it, I certainly am!

Witches Abroad - Terry Pratchett

I couldn’t help myself I needed more of the Witches! I’ve also finished this one at time of posting this and enjoyed it.

[yourcoolfriendwithallthecandy]

Silk, Spices and Lies Part 2

At the end of this part, just imagine Hvitserk doing that^ That is THE CUTEST. omg. Tagging @waiting4inspiration​ and @inforapound​ who wanted to be tagged. 

Silk, Spices and Lies Part 2

It took a couple of days to get set up and settled in. In that time, King Harald made no less than seven stops to see if you needed anything and was your group’s first customer. Because your interpreters went out to ascertain the latest news and reports, they confirmed that he did indeed lose his wife, who had been pregnant with his child, and had died on the battlefield. And so you gifted him incense to soothe his spirit so that he could grieve her properly in your opinion and you used your interpreters to explain how to burn it and the next day, it seemed to work, because his spirit seemed much more at ease and he smelled of the incense and he confirmed that he was able to sleep very soundly the night before after burning it in his home and had nothing but good dreams, although he seemed a bit reluctant to share what they were about. 

“So now...do you look for a new queen?” You asked as you insisted on helping get him measured for another tunic, this one, you would make special, giving it a lining of silk and an outer shell of cashmere, a garment fit for any king as you got his measurements of his back while he had taken his shirt off so that you could get the proper measurements to fit him while in the back of your mind, your brain tormented you with thoughts of what else you’d like to be doing to his body as you marveled at all his tattoos and his battle hardened body. You could practically feel your essense drip down your thighs, this was ridiculous. 

Contrary to custom, you had laid with many men, usually to lure them to their deaths, but the thought of doing that to him did not sit well with you and it bothered you and you were so grateful you had not been sent here to do that, you’d be damned if something bad happened to him, especially while you were here. Your instincts screamed at you to take care of him. Even though you knew it was not your place to do so. But you did so in subtle ways anyway. Like giving him a deep discount on the very garment you were making him. You were giving him the fabric at what it cost the group to buy it from the textile place it came from and you were gifting your time in sewing it together. Usually there would be haggling involved but he did not haggle with you. He simply accepted the price you gave him. You were also going to add pockets and a belt for free because you could and you wanted to. 

“I do, I don’t suppose you’re available?” He returned and your jaw dropped as did your measuring line which made Kezia snicker a laugh at your reaction from behind him as she was writing down your measurements that you were making and watching the scene unfold with great interest. She had watched you shut down every other man’s attempts to flirt with you so to see one finally get somewhere was exciting and to see you react to him like he was the first man to flirt with you was incredibly entertaining. Usually you were really good at demanding the best prices for these fabrics so to see you give discounts and offer things you had not offered anyone, not even yourself when you looked through these fabrics for your own clothing, was telling. She could see that you liked him as easy as one sees the moon in the clear night sky. Being a lady of the Sultana meant that if you were released from her- you could potentially get any man you wanted but the fact that you were falling for a king, even a foreign one made sense. Even she was impressed that Harald was the kind of man he was and she respected that you would be drawn to him. By the accounts, he treated his queen well and she knew norse women had freedoms even she could only dream of. It would be a good match but she also knew that voicing such things would only make you withdraw from him and so she kept her mouth shut. For right now anyway. No sense in saying anything that would embarrass you in front of him at least. , 

“You are a King, you should marry a noble lady, one with a dowry fit for the kingdom you rule. All around the world, it is so. Royalty only marry nobility. I will probably die as common as I was born because my family is poor and I have no dowry.” You stated matter of factly as your face became downcast even though your heart leaped at the thought. Even though you were far from home and you seemed to be in a constant state of culture shock, the romantic notion of marrying a king from a far off land who would not hold you to the strict code of conduct you were raised with, seemed too good to be true. While it was not unheard of for your people to get married to norseman, it wasn’t terribly common either. And he was a warrior king, who knew how long he would live? Could you really sacrifice what you already had...for him? Especially not knowing if you’d be making such a sacrifice only for him to die shortly after and you’d be stuck and stranded in this cold, wet land. You didn’t know. Not yet anyway. 

“I am King, I can make whoever I choose whatever I want, I could grant you nobility and there is no need for a dowry, my kingdom is as rich as it needs to be.” He offered and you were struck by how generous he was being. You didn’t know if he was simply being flirtatious or if he was being serious, but still, that was one hell of a smooth line. For now though, you should be cautious. 

Should. 

“Although your offer is wonderful, I have a family back home who depend on me to serve the Sultan and Sultana the way I do. My family…” You tried to explain but couldn’t find the right words and the interpreters were thankfully far away because right now they’d be arguing with him over such a thing, themselves being eaten alive with jealousy. 

“Do they hold your family hostage until you get back?” He asked, his usually rough voice was surprisingly soft and...very soothing and comforting just now but you could sense just how sincere he was. He was genuinely worried about your family! Oh Allah! You were in so much trouble. 

“No, not that. My parents are poor people, with many daughters, no sons, being a lady to the Sultana, I earn enough to take care of them, since women usually are fobidden to work outside the home. But since I am one of the Sultana’s ladies in waiting- my life...surrounds her and I live to serve her, I have made a vow to her for life, only she can set me free from it. It was she who sent me here and it is she who will call me back and I will have to answer her. Everything I am and have is thanks to her. I owe her everything, my family owes her everything too. It is because she heard about the Great Heathen Army that she sent me here to see it with my own eyes since she is...stuck..or maybe... can not leave.. her palace. As her lady though, I’m allowed to leave, and I am her eyes and ears here, she lives through me while I am away from her and it is her that has paid for them to take care of me while on this tour of the north, otherwise I never could have dreamed of even traveling far enough to see the arabian sea on my own.  She will be happy to know that such a kind king is willing to offer so much to a woman he barely knows, simply because he wants to. You will be blessed for this, my heart tells me so.” You explained as Kezia’s eyebrows nearly went into her hairline, even to her, you concealed your heart, so to hear you say that to him was huge. there was enough sexual tension in this room between you and him that she feared the cloth would set on fire as you came around to his front to measure his arms that were currently outstretched at his sides and offered him an appreciative smile through your rather sheer veil you were wearing today. He could actually almost make out most of your face from this proximity and the gods were torturing him ever so sweetly because you were a goddess, your beauty was unparalleled, while it was true that you were not fair as his culture would consider a fair beauty, you were universally beautiful.  

“So how do you feel about being in such a strange place?” He asked, undeterred. Oh he was going to free you from whatever vow or whatever was keeping you from him. If he had to sail to the Ottoman Empire to see this Sultana himself, he would. He would find a way to claim you for himself. Come the fires of hell or the high waters of flood and if he had to pay your parents for you, he would. He’d try to offer your weight in furs or whatever they wanted. 

“The same way a fish feels when it’s pulled from the water. Where I come from, deserts surround us and any green, we have to work very hard to make it green. Here, there is green everywhere I look, it’s in all the trees, grass covers every step on the ground. There is so much water here it’s even in the air. Where I come from, we only get rain a few times a year, otherwise we have to get water from very, very deep wells. Here, just in the last month that I’ve been traveling, I have seen more rain than I have ever seen before in my life. When the sun shines, everything turns everything into a...hot...um...bathhouse, but when it does not, it turns colder than anything I’ve ever felt. I have spent more money on furs than anything else, I can not pile my bed high enough with them.” You chuckled as that seemed to give him ideas for what to get you although if he was honest, he knew exactly how he would love to warm your body up with his and wondered if you tasted as rich and spicy as you smelled. Your scent was filling his nose and making his mouth water. What he’d give just to be able to lift your skirts and taste your pussy would be obscene. 

When he left Kezia couldn't help but snicker a laugh as she looked at you with a knowing smirk. 

“What?” You asked her, your cheeks burning hotter than fiery coals as you put the fabrics he asked for aside before you picked out a few more that you wanted to make into different clothes for him, picking colors that would compliment his complexion best. 

“You could have been a Queen of Norway just now.” She gently teased. 

“He was flirting, he wasn’t serious.” You dismissed. 

“He seemed pretty serious to me. I thought he’d be putting either a little prince or a little princess in your belly if I turned around for too long.” She hinted and now your ears were burning and your chest was flushed at the thought.  

“Oh hush!” You shushed her which made her snicker more. 

“If I were you, I’d be taking him up on the offer. You told me that you had mentioned that you would not try to convert him and that he agreed to not convert you, yet norsewomen have freedoms even we could not hope for or even dream of. They do what they want and even though their cities are not as large or as nice as the ones you’re used to, they have potential for growth and from what I heard about his last queen, is she was a strong willed as he was and he liked her that way. I can see him following you back home just to at least try to buy you from the Sultana himself, and I don’t even need my crystal ball for that.” She shrugged. 

“Did you see his palms?” You questioned thoughtfully. 

“I did, he loves as strongly as he fights fiercely. There is wisdom in his age and experience and he would use all of it to care for you and please you well. He would keep you warm through the long hard winters and while you would rule Norway side by side, in the bedroom, you’d rule him.” She prophesied as your heart swooned. Fuck. 

“Tell no one...” You began. 

“Tell who what?” She returned, feigning ignorance before she pulled another few fabrics and cut a few yards of each and added them to your order for him as she finished making a rough pattern for his body. 

The following two weeks, you didn’t see him at all. Which was both bad because you worried where he went and what happened to him and if he was ok because you had began to look forward to seeing him at least twice a day yet good, because that meant you could get closer to the other sons of Ragnar. To Hvitserk especially. He showed promise as a possible match to your princess. He was royal in that he was technically a prince, he wasn’t necessarily as strong willed as Bjorn was and he seemed pretty easy to manipulate and his loyalty swayed, serving Ivar one moment, Bjorn the next. He was rather perfect for your princess. The poor bastard. You could almost feel sorry for him. 

However the look on Harald’s face when he walked into the long house, carrying in the butchered leg and rack of ribs of a reindeer when he saw you talking with Hvitserk he looked so...wounded and jealous, you realized as an afterthought.  

“Harald!” You exclaimed in relief at seeing him though and practically rushed to him, quickly running across the whole hall which was uncharastically empty which made his facial expression change before you seemed to stop just short of actually embracing him. 

“You’re safe?” You asked as you clutched your hand over your pounding heart, looking him over anxiously to see if any of the blood all over him was actually his. Although sense told you that you didn’t need to be worried for him, he was a mighty warrior, surely it would probably take something like a panther or a pack of wolves or a bear to take him down, not quite getting the right words but the look on his face told you he understood what you meant to say. 

“Yes, I’m safe and I’m ok.” He offered as you blew out a breath of relief. 

“So...not your blood?” You asked as you gestured to it. 

“No, not my blood, the kill’s blood,” he reassured you as you finally relaxed and nodded in understanding. 

“You went...hunting?” You asked as Hvitserk came over to take the carcass from him to take it to the kitchen. 

“She’s been searching the city looking for you and asking everyone for you since you left, I told her you went hunting, she’s been coming by every day to see when you’d be back.” Hvitserk informed Harald with a smirk and a hidden wink and it was Harald’s turn to look relieved and so very pleased. So the feelings and attraction was mutual. Good. 

“Yes, I went hunting, you said that you’ve been cold and you needed furs, I went hunting to get them for you, I wanted it to be a surprise, I didn’t mean to make you worry, I’m sorry, I should have told you.” He informed you and you burst into tears. He...went hunting...for you! He troubled himself with actually trying to provide you with...what you needed! He was so...damn it, he was perfect! Not for the Princess, but still. Perfect you were sure for a norseman. In talking with the others, his men deeply respected him and were loyal to him till death. He led by example and even though he had a relatively small kingdom, you were sure it would be great someday, hopefully in his lifetime. 

“My lord, I am...I am unworthy of such acts. You are a king, a king of Norway, a kingdom that...that has much honor that you are destined to see greatness in your lifetime. I am only a servant. A foreigner at that. You and your life are too precious to be risked for such a thing.” You began to weep as you knelt at his feet, feeling supremely humbled yourself before he reached out and pulled you up to your feet again before he framed your face in his hands. If anyone else dare do such a thing you’d be pressing a blade to their throats after cutting their hands off. 

But yet, here you stood, grasping his wrists gently feeling the strength in them and looking up at him with so much gratitude and adoration. Wanting, no, needing to kiss him as he mirrored your look, the softness in his eyes was something you never thought you’d see in any man’s eyes. It’s always been lust or ownership, which before had always made you feel sick, but now, you wanted to see those things in his eyes. He was unlike anyone you had ever known. 

“Then you are lucky. Because as a king, I can do whatever I want. And I wanted to do this for you. Honor me by accepting my gifts.” He insisted as you were nodding before you realized it before he wiped your tears from your eyes with his thumbs but made no move to remove your veil. Since in talking with Bjorn who had experience with Muslims knew that to remove a woman’s veil was forbidden. 

“Only if you will honor me by accepting a gift in return.” You managed to laugh through your tears, leaning into his touch before Hvertserk came back into the room but only for a heartbeat before he quickly left it again when he saw the scene before him which broke you and Harald out of the little trance you had put yourselves into before you reluctantly pulled away and regained your respectful distance, wiping the tears and smudging the eye makeup you put around your eyes. 

“Name it.” He replied as he simply grasped his own hands in front of him but stayed planted where he was. 

“I will make you a feast fit for the great king you are. It will take me about three days to prepare for it though. Can you be patient?” You asked him hopefully. 

“For you? I’d wait years.” He answered and you had to look away as your cheeks flushed again but you couldn’t help the bashful smile from blooming on your face which made him smile in return. You liked him back! Surely he thought maybe he was too old for you because he couldn’t tell how old you were so he assumed that you were younger than him. But clearly an adult and close enough. 

“Three days, don’t..go away or...get hurt between now and then,” you urged him before you put the package that had his clothes that you made for him into his hands. 

“I swear, I’m not going anywhere or will get hurt between now and then.” He repeated before you said goodbye and took your leave because if you stayed a moment longer you were going to lose all sense and actually try something that was likely to get you killed back home- like fucking him were he stood.  

But nothing was going to stop you from making him a feast greater and finer than any Sultan had ever eaten. Hopefully he would like it. 

“So? How’d it go?” Hvitserk asked giddily as he peeked into the room a few moments later after he witnessed you leaving a giddy and bashful smile on your face, his grin as cheeky as his ass. 

“How would you like to go to the Ottoman Empire with me to free her from her Sultana?” Harald asked him with a grin just as mischievous before he walked over to a nearby table to unwrap the parcel and marveled at your handiwork before he realized, you made him a few garments! There was a tunic that could be worn two ways, either inside out or right side in, one side had the silk. The other- the softest wool- you had called it cashmere, from a goat apparently on the other and both sides were decorated and a matching pair of pants! He didn’t remember you ever taking measurements for his legs but still. They were reversible too and the colors and designs of the fabrics, you had used pieces of both to trim the other so you could wear one- one way and match it by wearing the other- the other way. It was brilliantly done. His best garments he now owned before he realized he now had a few tunics, all made exceptionally well, with extra fabric at the seems so that it could be taken in or let out accordingly and it even had extras that he didn’t remember ever picking out but they were perfect. He knew you must have spent the entire time he was away making these for him and he was so touched. He would definitely be wearing these to the feast you were going to make him. Which that initself he could hardly wait for. 

“Sound’s fun to me.” Hvitserk nodded in agreement.

[hookedonapirate]

Trivia Tuesday - The Princess and Her Sultan

Creators: give a “behind the scenes” look at one of your works. This could be things that got removed or changed, the origins of ideas/details, whatever you like!

Via AO3commentoftheday

I decided to try this for The Princess and Her Sultan because there are many things I have changed since I started brainstorming for this fic.

Now, before I had even written an outline for this story, I had started doing research and watching Magnificient Century (before it was removed from Netflix) as inspiration, so I really had nothing written down at this point, it was mostly all in my head for a long time, along with a few notes on a page because I had a difficult time deciding things.

The first major change and decision that I was torn between for a long time, was killing off Milah. You can ask @teamhook​, she gave me a hard time about this decision lol. The first reason for Milah’s absence in the fic, other than her name being mentioned, I originally toyed with the idea of following more closely to the show (and real life) and making Milah Killian’s wife and the mother of his heir. Then when Emma came along, he would essentially ignore Milah and would make Emma his second wife when Emma gave birth to a prince. Normally the mother of the Sultan’s son would remain in the capital until the son turns 15 or 16, and then she would leave with the prince when he is to govern one of the provinces. Now, I am not a Millian fan, but to me, tossing the mother of your child aside for another woman was a little harsh to me, even in this time period and setting. Also, this would make Emma and Milah rivalries for Killian’s affection, and if you’ve seen the show, you know that the Sultan’s first wife, Mahidevran did some ruthless things to Hurrem, and vice versa, and in real life, they would’ve been beheaded for these things or at the least exiled from the capital. The rivalry between the two women was also the case in rl but it probably was more dramatized on the show. The alternative to this was to have Killian love both of them equally, and the three of them would've been happy with the situation, and yeah again, I’m not a Millian fan. The third reason I decided to kill Milah off was that I didn’t want to follow the show (and rl) that closely, and yeah I’ve followed a couple of scenes so far, but overall I wanted to the story to be its own thing. Mind you, I came up with the premise of the story because of the real-life Sultan Suleyman and Hurrem, not the t.v. show’s version of the characters. I only learned about the show during my research on these two, so I didn’t want it to be a copy of the show. And this way, Emma is the mother of Killian’s heir and she is his only wife, so I think we can all agree that it was the best decision. I think so at least.

The second change was the cast. I was originally going to make Emma the adopted daughter of Arthur and Guinevere, and make Mary Margeret Killian’s sister and David his best friend who falls for Killian’s sister, and then Regina would’ve been the evil queen who had Emma kidnapped during Emma and Baelfire’s wedding. But this changed as the story in my head started to evolve, and I decided on the twist that I won’t mention for spoiler reasons. Also, I just couldn’t picture anyone but Mary Margeret and David as her parents for this story.

The third change was to make the entire story an au. So rather than having Killian a Turkish speaking sultan of the Ottoman Empire, I made him Sultan of Neverland and I turned Topkaki Palace into the Jewel of the Realm. This was by the insistence of my beta, because by her words, our boy Killian is “whiter than sourdough bread” and this also gave me the freedom to tweak and make things how I wanted them without anyone saying it’s historically inaccurate or thinking that I’m trying to offend Turkey, which is far from the truth. I find this culture and time period very fascinating (in a good way) and in no way wrote this story to trash it or it’s cultures or religion. I wrote it because I fell in love with the idea of making this real-life couple cs, and I really enjoyed learning about this setting and time period. And it was pretty easy to make the changes for the story, I think it worked out well overall.

So what do you lovely readers think? Are you happy with the changes I made or would you have preferred one of the original ideas? (@teamhook, I already know how you feel ;P) Feel free to toss in your thoughts or ask any questions you may have about the story, either via this post, pm or my ask box. I’d love to hear from you!

[ruminativerabbi]

Nuremberg, Seventy-Five Years On

There is a kind of poetic justice in the fact that the chief Iranian nuclear scientist Mohsen Fakhrizadeh was assassinated just days after the seventy-fifty anniversary of the beginning of the Nuremberg Trials, the courtroom setting in which the most important members of the surviving Nazi leadership were finally brought to some version of justice.

The Trials have long since faded into history for most people, but at the time they not only garnered the attention of the entire world because it felt so important that at least some of the Nazi leadership—even absent the arch-fiend himself—be brought to justice, but also because the trials themselves were legally innovative: it was at Nuremberg that the concept of “crimes against humanity” was first used as an actual actionable offense for which individuals could be tried in a court of law. (The term itself was devised earlier on and was used during the First World War by the Allied Power to describe what it referenced as “new crimes of the Ottoman Empire against humanity and civilization.” But it was at Nuremberg that actual defendants were actual put on trial specifically for having committed offenses against humankind.)

I was eight years old when the movie Judgment at Nuremberg came out in 1961. I didn’t see it then (none of my friends’ parents would let them see it either) and it was actually about the so-called Judges’ Trial of 1947 rather than the “big” Nuremberg Trial of 1945 and 1946 in which twenty-four members of the Nazi leadership were put on trial in the city that just a decade earlier had proudly lent its name to some of the most barbaric, discriminatory, base legislation the world up until that point had ever seen. But the movie—a blockbuster in its day featuring Spencer Tracy, Burt Lancaster, Richard Widmark, Marlene Dietrich, Judy Garland, Maximilian Schell, and other Hollywood stars—was a landmark in its own right because it brought the war crimes of the Nazis front and center in the consciousness of the American people just when they might otherwise have begun to fade. And yet, even though it really was a huge hit and the concept of bringing Nazi war criminals to justice was more than resonant with audiences across the world, there was nonetheless something slightly pathetic about the whole scene as depicted on the screen. Just watch the movie and you’ll see what I mean.

In the defendants’ box were two dozen old men, one greyer and less terrifying-looking than the next. Together with those among the Nazi elite who had either escaped capture or committed suicide, they were collectively responsible for the deaths of scores of millions of people. (The war against the Jews was particularly savage. But the Nazi war machine cost scores of millions of others their lives as well, including an unbelievable twenty-five million Soviet civilians.) And yet these men on trial looked not only harmless but pathetic in their grey ordinariness. Years later, Hannah Arendt used the phrase “the banality of evil” to describe Adolf Eichmann when he went on trial years later in Israel. But she could just as easily have applied it to the defendants at Nuremberg.

The pathetic part wasn’t how contemptible the defendants looked, however, but the simple fact that they were on trial ex post facto for crimes committed over the long years that featured the rise and the fall of the Third Reich. Even years before they came to power, the Nazis made no secrets of their plans or their program. The Führer’s loathing for Jews, his hatred of gay people, his disgust with mentally handicapped individuals, his plans to turn Europe’s Slavic peoples into the slaves of their Teutonic masters—none of this was sprung on the world in 1939 in the wake of the invasion of Poland. It was all there for all to read in Mein Kampf. Hitler expressed himself vocally and unequivocally on all the above topics in a thousand public speeches. The Nuremberg laws of 1935 were merely the migration of these ideas from the realm of theory into the domain of deeds. And yet the world looked on, as though paralyzed by the thought of taking action, of interfering in the right every nation claims to chart its own destiny forward.

If our country, or the U.K. or the Soviet Union, had used the full force of its military might to quash Nazism in the mid-1930s instead of appeasing Hitler and hoping he would go away with an entirely earned bellyache if only they gave him enough of the ice cream he was demanding be served to himself and his people, the history of the world would have unfolded dramatically differently. But the world preferred to stop up its ears and look the other way, justifying its inaction with reference to a dozen different fantasies. Eventually, that contemptible little man will be voted out of office. Eventually, the Nazis themselves will go away. Eventually, the Nazis will become a normal political party and abandon its own excesses. And as for their vocal, endlessly repeated threats to the Jews, to the Slavs, and to all the other sub-human races they perceived to be living in their midst—all that was dismissed as mere rhetoric, as the stuff of bombastic speechifying, as nothing more than turgid fustian. People preferred to laugh at the little man with his tiny moustache rather than to listen carefully to what he was saying and to imagine, and fully to take seriously, what would or could happen if he were to be successful in transforming his proposals into a new European reality. When the Jews of Germany had been made into pariahs in their own country and the invasion of Poland was fully underway, of course, no one was laughing. But then, of course, it was years too late to cancel Nazism and force the Germans to embrace their own better angels and elect a government formed of sane, patriotic citizens and not madmen.

And what did Nuremberg accomplish exactly? Twelve of the defendants were sentenced to death and eleven were executed. (Martin Bormann was tried and sentenced in absentia.) Seven went to jail. Five were either acquitted formally or at least not found guilty. So that doesn’t sound like much…but what it really did do was to make it clear how important it is to listen carefully when people threaten to murder millions, when the governments of nations openly announce their plans for genocide. Nuremberg was the best we could do once the war was behind us. But the war itself could have been averted easily had the nations of Europe and our own nation been listening carefully and acted forcefully based on what we heard.

And that brings me to Iran. When the Iranian leaderships calls for a “final solution” to the Jewish presence in the Middle East, I listen carefully. When the mullahs use Nazi-style language to describe the Jewish people—referring to Israel as a kind of cancer on the face of the world or as the country-version of a rabid, predatory dog capable only of infecting those it comes into contact with, or when they use the vocabulary of virology to describe Israel as a source of infection, disease, and misery that the world should be eager to eradicate—I listen carefully to that too.  When I see footage of Iranian military parades featuring missiles that the government boasts will shortly be deployed against Israel’s cities, I take that seriously too. And when I read that the late Fakhrizadeh was working—no doubt among other thing—on a way to create nuclear bombs small enough to be attached to missiles capable of reaching Israel, you can be sure I was listening carefully to that too.

To label Fakhrizadeh as a man of science and thus to mourn his passing is almost fully to miss the point. For one thing, Mohsen Fakhrizadeh was a brigadier general in the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps and thus as much a military man as a scientist. There doesn’t seem to be any question about the fact that he was leading the Iranian effort to develop a nuclear arsenal. The avowed reason for acquiring that kind of weaponry, repeated countless times by the Iranian leadership, is to strike Israel and annihilate its citizenry. It’s a bit hard to imagine what the world today would be like if a roadside bomb had taken out the Nazi leadership in 1933 or 1934. Who would have become Germany’s new chancellor, what that person’s policies would have been, whether the ethnocentric expansionism that brought only misery and death to an entire continent would have retained its appeal with the German populace—none of those questions has a certain answer. But that the world would be a better, safe, saner place if the Second World War hadn’t happened? Does that question really need answering?

[d-a-anderson]

Loksha had white sand. It was a fishing village, just off the side of Morocco. But now it didn’t fish fish—it fished insects.

It used to be for fishermen. After all, the coast there was once teaming with them. Boats would come in and out of its worn docks, those long pilings of wood that could’ve been there since the Ottomans. But after the die-offs, the fish were replaced with locusts. And the fishermen, bored and poor, would lay against the brick and worn concrete walls of the local church. Cool, northwesterly winds were replaced with southeasterly gusts, and with them, the bugs came.

It’s fascinating how a local culture can change so quickly. Some things stay the same, but other things—other people—adapt at a glance.

When we arrived—when I arrived, as a student—we were journalists documenting the changes in the area. The war with the Turks had gotten out of hand, and now the whole Mediterranean was in a quasi-conflict that left flights cancelled and economies halted in their tracks. Some said the whole thing was biblical. But who thought that biblical-scale plagues could be so… well, boring. It’s not like John of Patmos sat in an airport and wrote Revelation because he had nothing better to do. He had an axe to grind, supposedly: an axe called Nero.

But then, maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to judge. Maybe John had to eat bugs too.

The most common trade of Loksha was net weaving. A certain specimen of reeds grew plentifully around the coast, planting roots down such that some said the whole land was held together by the roots of these reeds. The locals dried the fronds, rolled them tight into twine, and wove them together such that they were as strong as any rope. I heard one grandmother joke once in her native Lokshan that if a piece of the reed could choke a fish, it could certainly choke a man.

But the winds changed. The fish used to be so plentiful that children could walk out onto the beach with basket-shaped reed nets, like something that could’ve passed for a Swedish furniture light fixture, dip it into the ocean, and pull it up with dozens of sardine-like creatures caught inside. Giggling, they’d bring the easy catch home, and the grandmothers would cast the fish on tight chain-link grills so the meat wouldn’t fall through. Salt and pepper. Delicious.

Now, the catch was locusts.

They came every summer. There were crops in the area, mostly corn, but that stopped after the first wave. Then, even the fronds started to fall prey. Seemed like the bugs didn’t like the fronds too much though—maybe the one thing they didn’t eat? The locals called it a blessing; at least they had something to make their nets with. The weaving craft didn’t need much changing; instead of dunking the nets into the sea, shaped like an oversized lightbulb with the top open to the sky, they now mounted them on the corners of buildings facing the southeast. Sometimes they mounted them on poles in a spiral fashion, like a multi-layered windmill. Bugs would get stuck, skewer themselves on the open fronds, dry in the sun. They dumped them out in droves and spiced them with paprika and oil.

I visited the church. The priest was kind enough to let me in. He was an old character, had lived in the town for years, grown up there, and had seen the changes. Writ on his face. I didn’t really need to ask him about it; it all seemed obvious.

“You grow up here too, son?” He asked in native tongue.

“Yes,” I answered, solemnly, as I stepped over carapaces on the church floor.

“This too shall pass,” he said in the same tone as mine, looking toward the far end of the basilica. His words were more optimistic than his tone, but even then I had a hard time believing him. I looked at the far end; the apse that had been painted with two fishes in the form of the ichthus, an ancient symbol Christians used to identify each other in the Roman Empire during the persecution, was painted over. In its place, to my subdued revolt and awe, was a cicada with outstretched wings. It reminded me of a less romantic version of the Egyptian scarab. Its red eyes were painted in cinnabar, and the yellow lines of its carapace were traced with gold leaf. I’m not sure if I hadn’t noticed before, but the carapaces on the floor were not just locusts, but cicada casings.

“They came up from the ground,” the father said. “The Lord is teaching us a lesson. One plague is a disaster—but two, more… I read a message.”

“What message is that, father?” I asked, honestly wishing for an answer.

“We are out of order,” he said. “First the fish die, but that wasn’t our fault. That was the fault of ships off the coast bringing oil and spilling. But the lands dried up, so they had nowhere to swim. Birds ate fish, but they ate the locusts too; no fish, but even with plenty of bugs, no wetlands were left, so the birds made no nests. More locusts. Locusts ate the crops, and then the cicada brood came, once for every seventeen years.”

His broken Lokshan halted, but I wondered if it was him just piecing the events together or if he himself didn’t believe it.

“So why did you repaint the basilica?” I asked, my own Lokshan wavering. “Why paint over the ichthus?”

“You forget; must be many years since you were here last,” he said. “Our church was dedicated to the fish. Do you remember what it says in Genesis, the first rule God gave us?”

I shook my head, forgetting my Sunday school.

“Lord commanded Adam and Eve to take care of the garden,” he said. “When they failed, he turned the garden to thorns.”

Father pointed at the cicada painted on the apse.

“We were dedicated to the fish. Now, we are dedicated to the ones with wings. Little angels, we call them. They are a curse, but they bring us blessings. They are like manna; bread from heaven. Even as he curses us for our sins, Lord feeds us.”

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Photo Source: Artur Pastor - Série “Lugares da Memória”. Faro, décadas de 50/60.