#all the other poems are men talking about war

[biblicallyaccurateangel03]

I had to learn by heart a lot of Sapho poems and their greek transation, for my exams, and, hooooolly shit, that bitch was a true looser lesbian

[gremlingottoosilly]

Eat your Young (viking!Konig x fem!Reader)

You weren't afraid when the Vikings came. Your ruler pays them well, and they protect you from enemies far worse - there is nothing to worry about as you, an unmarried maiden, wander into the embrace of one of them. They are on your side. Right? Tags and CWs: Age gap, size difference, Konig is a bit obsessive and a huge perv, mentions of violence, Vikings Are Actually Kinda Nice No For Real, hand jobs, oral sex, naked man/clothed woman, slightly historically inaccurate, jokes about inbreeding Thanks to @angelbabysblog for the idea. I changed quite a lot because I was reading articled about how many of the Slavic cities were actually cool with Vikings and worked with them AO3

The Vikings are here. Your Father never allowed you to meet them before – as an unmarried girl, even if you’re already of age, it would be…scandalous. Not smart. Dumb, really – everyone knows that girls that are messing with the warrior from overseas often end up being taken away. And you couldn’t survive sea travel. The Vikings are here, but it’s not really a problem – you know that there are other countries over the sea, the countries that die and burn every time a ship is sailed in their harbors. You also know that you do not live in a country like that. That sound of Vikings approaching is a good one – that you’ll be protected from the other enemies your country has. You always stole glances, despite what your father has told you – you were a curious thing, always searching for trouble, always interested in everyone outside of your small village. You’re on the border – stuck between sea and great plains, open for any enemy if it weren’t for mercenaries who deemed this place as worthy of their camp. They live here, occupying the territory outside – even build themselves houses, despite every rumor calling them nothing more but overseas barbarians who would tear you down for a flick of a coin. 

Well, you always thought you’d have nothing to worry about – you are not made of coins, after all. The Vikings had a leader, the one that stayed in the long house just outskirts of the village – the one that would always visit the elders, discussing the payments and the spoils of war. Father always punished you if any nosy neighbor would see you sneaking out to look at the warriors – but you couldn’t care less. If you are going to end up in a marriage with a fool, you could at least steal a few looks at the real men. Not the ones from your village – they felt more like brothers than anything else. Some of them were – second, third, fourth, just diluted enough to make the babies a bit less disfigured. 

But, oh, nothing compared to the vikings. You see them when you run for the lake, far from the shore. They are clean – cleaner than sailors from Byzantine who sometimes stumbled upon the small village by the sea. You think you heard them talking about how cleanliness is a sin – and just how silly it sounded. You think you didn’t like people from this place very much – sailors were often drunk, always handsy and never spared a kind word without an insult…not that you knew their language – but you are smart enough to know that if a man is attempting to grasp your breasts while sneering something through his teeth, it won’t be a love poem. 

— What are you doing here? 

Ah. 

You were spotted. Like a fox in a hunter’s trap – you are standing in the tall water grass, looking at the man through the weeping willow branches. Maybe, if you are lucky enough, he’d think you were a mavka, trying to drown him – some men were foolish enough to fall for the act, sparing you the consequences of your curiosity. You aren’t sure if the Vikings have legends of mavkas – if they even have lakes back where they are from. All travelers are mixed in your head – desserts, great plains, barbarians who would steal your sisters if you’d been blessed with some. Sea beasts who will take you on your ship, away from your father and…ah, it doesn’t sound too bad. 

— Can’t you talk? 

His voice is rough, and accented. Younger than you thought he would be with a body like this – a seasoned warrior, ginger hair covering his muscular chest and a small trail falling down his…

Viking knows your language. Shouldn’t be surprising – they are working for the elders and your ruler, after all. They get gold from your village, they get food from your village. They get sons – you heard about at least some of the women falling pregnant to the guests overseas. No one dares to say anything against it – but the rumors are still falling. You wonder if it’s as bad as it sounds. — I can talk. 

This sounds dumb, but there is no use in hiding. Your intentions weren’t innocent – you are curious and curiosity is what leads to the devil. Or god of death. Or goddess – you are not well-versed in matters of spirit and while half of your village is still worshipping old gods while the other preaches about new, stronger ones, you wonder what kind of beliefs Vikings have. You heard their women can wield magic – and can count. And read. You would love to read, you think. — Gut. Thought I spotted a Margygr.

The word is weird. Rough. You don’t know what that is, but you certainly aren’t one. You take a step forward, not caring that your linen dress is getting drenched in water – not caring about what your father might say after. You would just tell him you wanted to go and drown since he was so adamant on marrying you off to some one-eyed half-wit quarter brother of yours. He wouldn’t be surprised – and you probably wouldn’t be missed. A whore to be, as some older women from your village would say. 

— What is that? 

He tilts his head to the side, his blue eyes looking at you. You notice a piece of cloth in his hands – something that must have been covering his face, you think. He is covered in scars and dirt, blood from some battle is getting washed away into the water of the lake. Gods, you say to yourself – you won’t even be drinking from it again. Although you promised it to yourself a few years ago already, when you spotted a dead deer lying in the water – and it’s not like you held to your promise. Better than seawater, after all. — A…drowned creature. Drowning creature. Your people are calling them… — Oh. Mavka. — Others call it mermaid. Selkie. Mermaid sounds harsh too. Rude. Other languages are rude – still, you would like to know more. Still, you would like to do anything to get out of your village. Learn to read. To write. Maybe hold a baby goat close to your chest and not have it ripped away for the nearest dinner. 

— I’m not…that. 

— I can see. 

He laughs and you steal a peak at his manhood. You should be ashamed, really – if your dear mother was alive, she’d beat you up for being so immodest. If your dear mother was alive, you wouldn’t be allowed to sneak out like that – but she isn’t, so you stare at the man who can crush your skull in one hand. You stare at the trail of ginger hair going down his waist. The muscles flexing and the scars on his hips, glossy from cold lake water. 

Hm. 

Is it supposed to be this big? 

He coughs and you peek to look at him again. Coughing isn’t good – he can be sick. Contangenous. There is a sickness coming around from sailor to sailor – you wonder if vikings have it too. You don’t want to get sick – but it would surely keep you out of marriage for a long while. Maybe, if you’re lucky enough, you could be buried like a pretty maiden. White dress and mourning relatives. That would teach them how to send you off to marry some dumb cousin you never knew before. Or knew too well. — You shouldn’t come here, Schatzen. 

— Why? 

— My men won’t be as nice as I am when they see a maiden in the lake. 

You smile, tilting your head to the side. There are rumors – you can’t invite foreign mercenaries into your country without them taking their toll on the locals. Some people like them, some people are scared of them. Some are going out of the ordeal pregnant and some are not returning at all. But, you can run. But, this is your lake. You like it here – the quiet, the tranquility. You think that if your father proceed with calling you an old bride who should be married as soon as possible, you could just run away and live here. Fish is nice and there are berries when it’s not too cold. — Where are your men? 

You never saw Vikings in battle. Never saw a group of them up close – you’d like to, of course. There are warriors in your village, but their best shot is wolves and deer. Not other men – you think you’d like to see war sometimes. Maybe, all the boys of age would die and you won’t have to worry about anything anymore. You would be nice as a local witch – or a local healer. Old hag sounds nice too. — Around. Waiting for the order. — What order? 

You ask so many questions, König thinks. Pretty thing – smart, too. You aren’t afraid of him, even though you have to be. Most women would be screaming and crying if they saw someone like him in the lake next to them. Not Viking women of course – but people from around here are soft. Cherished. Coddled. You also seem soft, too soft, too gentle – a woman living in a small village on the shore without a husband shouldn’t be this careless. König knows you’re just lucky that the ruler of your country is kind enough to pay the overseas mercenaries instead of suffering the pillaging. Not all of people are this lucky. 

If he won’t get a promised weight in gold this village won’t be lucky either. 

König looks at your sweet face, at the way your eyes constantly dart to his crotch. Curious little thing you are – he isn’t sure if he is that happy that the payments have been consistent up to this point. That he can’t just screw this all over and demand a payment in other ways. That pillaging this village and taking all of its women isn’t really an option while they get their gold from here. Your long linen dress clings to your skin - you’re shaking, he notices. From cold, probably, dumb lady who is too curious for her own good. Hm. He has furs not far from here. He can…

— We’re protecting the shore. The border, too. You smile, nodding. And here he thought the locals knew why the foreigners were here – but he can’t expect too much, he guesses. At least it seems like you haven’t heard of most of his accomplishments. The rivers of blood would be enough to fill this whole lake three times. Or, maybe, you heard – and didn’t care, brave and fearless little thing. König likes the sound of that. 

— Are you cold? 

You ask him, to his surprise. Your gaze is switching from his face – he is open, cheeks flushed from the cold and a maiden right next to him, and he can’t even find it in himself to cover his scarred mug – to his cock. It’s standing proudly, heavy, balls hanging low as if asking to be held in your soft palms. König isn’t embarrassed – but he is surprised that your body, showing only a little bit in that dress of yours, is already enough to make him this bothered. This ready to give up the supposed protection of this village and take what’s his. — You can warm me. 

You tilt your head to the side, mimicking his action from earlier. Curious bird – he could keep you at his ship. Tied up to the post, ready for anyone to use you. You’re strong, and resilient. Should survive the long way home – and he is getting quite ready to find someone at last. If the ruler of your little kingdom won’t be as stingy as the previous one, König can walk away with a sack of gold hanging on his shoulder. Enough for him and for him men. Surely enough to sway you. — How? 

— Do you have a husband? 

He knows, you probably don’t. A husband wouldn’t allow his wife to run around and flirt with other men – and if König was yours, he surely would keep you locked in like the treasure you are. There is too many men ready to take what doesn’t belong to them. 

— No. And I won’t.

— Why? — Soon I will be too old to be a bride anyway. Not that I want it. He laughs at that. Surely, little bird, it wouldn’t be your choice. If the luck is on his side, it wouldn’t even be the choice of your father. — Touch me, Schatzen. You want it, ja? 

He says this with more awkwardness than before. Swaying women by his side isn’t his strong suit – and even with his strength, not many of them would just throw themselves at him. Being a mercenary leader might bring him money but with the whole team consisting of equally strong and handsome men, the broody leader usually isn’t the first choice. He gets his fill eventually – but not the one that would make his heart flutter. With you, however… Your hands are traveling down his abs. Caressing every bit of skin you see – sending goosebumps down his navel and straight to his hard and leaking cock. He wonders if you’ve done this before – but your actions are the one of an explorer, not a professional. YOu grab his cock with both hands almost as if strangling him, and König lets go with a choked moan. 

You retrieve your hands, nervous. Good girl. Eager, pretty. Such a shame this village usually pays its tolls. — Are you hurt? 

— Nein, it’s…go on. You proceed to touch him, the softness of your touches is making him groan from pleasure. This is something else – you’re something else. Having the power to bring a seasoned warrior to his knees – god, how much he liked the way you looked at him. Eager and curious, always going down to touch his cock some more. You press your palm together, making s steady rhythm – using the pre-cum from his cockhead like a lube. 

König relishes in the feeling – he might be one of the strongest soldiers, but it was the first time he felt victorious. With your hand pumping his cock up and down, the pleasure settling in his stomach and threatening to burst, he felt like a king. No, the king. Gods, you were beautiful. Worthy of throwing this village into the fire for. Worthy risking the payment. Your mouth is warm on his manhood – he didn’t expect you to be this active, to wrap your lips around the bulging head and bop your head just a bit. Up and down. Tongue swirling, as if tasting him. Making him sweat that you will decide to take a bite out of it, just to satisfy your curiosity. To his peace, you didn’t. He came shortly after you decided to put your mouth on him – when your tongue started to swirl around and collect the bitter taste of his pre-cum. When your curiosity about foreign warriors bathing in your lake finally made you do something about it – and he would feel bad about pressing a hand in your hair and forcing you to choke on his length, your nails digging small red paths in his pale thighs. You choke and squirm and cry and this is the sweetest sound he ever heard – so when he finally drags you away from his cock, smiling as you wipe your mouth and whimper. Squirm again, some more. The light in your faded a little as he pushed one calloused finger into his mouth and pushed your lips apart. Poor thing, he thinks. — You did good, little bird. 

His seed tastes weird on the tongue. You wince, but swallow – it’s what good brides should do, you think. Somehow, looking at this warrior, you don’t feel so bad about being considered a bride. Maybe…no. You stalled here for long enough – you saw the Viking. You touched him. Tasted him. Father is probably looking for you. 

You don’t even bother to say goodbye as you come out of the water – but König stops you right on the edge of the lake, firm hand on your shoulder. Squeezing. Touching. Feeling. 

— I…I apologize, maiden. I lost control. 

His voice is hesitant. You don’t like how unsure he sounds. It made you feel unsure too. Weird. Uncertain and meek. 

— Are you going to leave soon? 

He stops mumbling, looking into your eyes. This is settled – he is not leaving you here. You must return to your family, say your goodbyes. Maybe enjoy a few weeks of peace before his troupe finally gets a clearing on killing whatever enemies grouped at the border – and he will take you no matter the payment your ruler can give him. Nothing will be worth more than you. 

— Yes. Yes, I will. You turn away, almost running. He didn’t stop you this time – you need to get as much freedom in your lungs as you can. He will take you eventually and, well…you best enjoy freedom as much as you could before this. 

When your village will burn along with all the cousins, half-triple brothers, and elders, you’ll find out why most countries fear the Vikings. When you will be hauled to the wooden ship over a giant’s shoulder, with his hand sitting firmly on your ass and his other palm preventing you from screaming, you’d know why taking the attention of overseas mercenaries is a bad idea. When your ruler would refuse to pay the warriors for their service and force them to just take everything by force, you’d know why making payments on time is so important. 

When König would finally make you his wife, you’d understand why you should have drowned in that lake instead. 

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Salome!

"La Belle Dame sans Mercy" ("The Beautiful Lady Without Mercy") - A ballad by John Keats

"The poem is about a fairy who condemns a knight to an unpleasant fate after she seduces him with her eyes and singing." please

This screams Knight!König x Fairy!Reader to me.

I just know König would gladly die by the hand of such an ethereal being.

"She looked at me as she did love, and made a sweet moan."

"And sure in language strange she said—'I love thee true.'"

That’s it. Thank you.

I swear this artwork kills me everytime I see it....

Ok this became the silliest fairytale ever 🩷✨️

CW: Historical AU blending with mythical/supernatural AU. König being a dreamy mess of a knight who doesn't fit in "normal" society. Reader is part of faefolk. Heavy Arthurian Romance vibes.

König returns to the castle one day. The son of a great liege lord, a warrior through and through, but some people say he should’ve been a poet: so dreamily he looks beyond the battlements at times, sighs after drinking too much wine, stares off into dark corners of the room while tending to his sword and armour as if he can see little pixies dancing there.

His siblings sometimes hit him on the back of his head, or wave a hand over his eyes when he’s about to slip into the fairy world, a forgotten plane that is not supposed to reach the castle. But the castle stones were taken from the moors and the woods, the old land not bending to the priest’s will no matter how many crosses they brought here. Fragile souls are wanton prey for the elves and the fairies who would take them to their land the moment they drop down their guard, and only prayer and fasting hold them at bay. In the fairylands, there is no toil or sorrow; the food is golden honey and wine, the dance and love everlasting, and the fae girls more beautiful than any human maid.

It sounded too good to be true, and it was: God had created men to work and women to give birth, and all the land was theirs to use and cultivate, it was not made to simply run and frolic upon. Some say that these were just old tales and that Christ would banish these creatures away, turn the land to yielding crops and tame firewood.

But some still believed.

When he was a child, the mighty son of the feared lord took porridge and almonds to the woods. “For the fairy people,” he said with bright, trusting eyes. Stole food from under the mistress’s nose, and no one ever dared to say anything about it.

But when this nonsense carried on to adulthood, people had to intervene. There was work to be done, war, harvest and building, and no matter how many coins this man paid to the visiting bards, it would never turn their stories true.

His arm was strong and his strike was true, but his head seemed to be filled with dandelion wine, even when he hadn’t been drinking. Sighed after this maiden or that, wished to travel to foreign lands, courted every nobleman’s daughter who visited the castle, but no one ever took him seriously.

This man had to watch how lady after lady chose some other valiant knight as their husband, some men whose heads were not filled with fairytales and dreams. They did flirt with him, for who could’ve resisted the temptation of making this giant a little sweaty under all that armor? Armor that demanded plate for two people, and a smith who had the talent to forge such a beastly thing.

Nevertheless, he was always left without a warm embrace, and so he was usually found outside, looking at the full moon or spending time in taverns, choosing the company of thieves and rascals over his serious kin.

And now he has returned from the woods, having been gone for months.

People thought he had finally left to fight for some other lord, posing as a simple footsoldier, a disguise that would relieve him of his tedious duties as a knight. Or to court some “lovely peasant girl” he always talked about – such talks were usually crushed by his father, demanding him to be sensible for once in his life.

But he doesn’t prattle about peasant girls now, nor does he ramble about screaming ships at the bottom of the sea. He doesn’t hold a speech about forgotten stone circles in the forest, the ones that already grow moss. No, he has finally lost it completely.

His eyes are wild, as is his hair; his armour is nowhere to be seen, and his sword is without its sheath. He doesn’t talk about what he saw in that forest to anyone, nor is he willing to tell where he has even been these past few moons.

He seems very shaken when he’s told they were worried he wouldn’t make it to the May Day feast, and asks for how long he was gone, drives a hand through dishevelled hair when he hears that he was away for three full months.

“Three months…” he mutters to himself, then leaves to his room, the huge sword dragging against the stone floor as he goes. He has always, always made sure it wouldn’t dull, but now he’s treating it like it’s become a part of him, confused and lost.

He doesn’t eat, hardly speaks after that.

The food tastes like ash, he says, and the ale tastes like bile. But the following evening, when his mother orders someone to pour her poor son some more wine, he looks up helplessly like a child.

“I have to go back,” he says.

A clamour arises, huffed exclaims of “What on earth is he on about” and “Sir, you only just got back!” His father rises from his chair and orders him to stop this nonsense at once. But this time, there is no embarrassed sweep of hand through hair, no red colour that rises on this peculiar knight’s cheeks. His lips only make a thin line before he rises as well and leaves the hall with a weight on his shoulders and dark determination in his stare.

At the stables, a stout Moorland pony and poor stable boy get to witness the drunken bawls of a forlorn knight. The wine sack almost slips from his hands to the dirt as he slumps against the timber of the stall, distorted face coming to rest against a wide, shaky palm.

Luckily, a friend of his knows where to look, and the stable boy sneaks into the shadows, slightly scared of the sorrow of such a big, intimidating man.

But even the companion who always listened to every enthusiastic story since they were kids and ran across the moors, throwing little rocks at his father’s soldiers and laughing when their helmets made a funny clinky sound, can not understand the drunken babble that comes out of König’s mouth this time.

He starts from the middle, which is highly unusual, and talks in strings of sentences that don’t make sense. “She was real, I just know it,” he repeats, over and over again in the middle of confessions about how beautiful she was, how her hair was like the softest spun yarn, her body incredible, naked and wild when she came to him. That her laugh was like the chime of little bells or the sound of the loveliest harp, a song on its own when she walked to him.

She was fascinated with his sword, especially the pommel and the handle interested her, and the curve in the middle of the blade she brushed with her fingers as if it was an entire vale.

He had never seen a woman touch his sword like that… They were never interested in such things, but she was, and she asked him so many questions.

Had he ever felled a tree?

Did he like squirrels?

Were his thighs as hairy as his chest?

She took him down the river, or he followed her; he can’t remember. Her step was so light it didn’t make a sound, and the moss seemed to turn brighter every time her little foot stepped on it. Her hands were tiny too when she wrapped them around his neck, pressed her body against his, and kissed him until there was nothing left of him: no helmet, no sword, nothing but sun and her, her hands and her lips.

Her mouth was still on his when she whispered she didn’t like his armour because it was so hard and rigid and cold, oh, she wondered if there was a man inside there at all.

So of course he showed her.

She giggled at the sight of him, especially his thighs, knelt down on the moss to see how hairy they were.

And would you believe the way she touched him then? It makes him heady even now…

Yes, he took her. But not the way a man takes a woman. She came to straddle him and laughed again, and the things they did together… He can’t even speak about them, but he knows the sun always shined when they rolled on the grass. Her giggles and moans surrounded him, her soft little thighs were stronger than they looked, her breasts so round and soft, so perfect he swore he had gone to heaven.

He bathed in her, with her, all day long. And the nights… You wouldn’t believe the nights: there was song and dance and more giggling women, and also a man dressed all in leaves, so big and thick he first thought he was a tree. An old king, she said, nothing he should worry about. And the wine tasted like summer and honey and gold; it was red, perhaps, but also like sea amber and sun…

She fed him flowers and laughed, caressed his face and said he’s the biggest and hairiest human she had ever seen. She let him lick honey from her fingertips and caressed him with heather and ivy, opened her mouth before feeding him a soft, sweet piece of cake, showing him how he needed to open his mouth as well if he wanted it on his tongue.

She kissed the crumbs from his lips and trailed a finger down his chest, all the way down, until…

Oh, he can’t talk about it.

It was better than he ever even imagined: better than the stories they tell in the taverns. It was like his wedding night, over and over again, it was like he was Lancelot, and she was his Guinevere.

No, no, she was not an enchantress, although everything about her was enchanting... All the stories came alive with her, even the moon was bigger than anywhere he’d ever seen, the deers ran past them while they made love, and the birds sang even at night.

He told her he loved her, but she didn’t know what it meant. When he explained it to her, she looked at him gently, so gently…

He cried from joy then, but she never mocked him. She only said it’s a sign that he’s hers. That he will never forget her. She said he’ll always find her, even when he’s old: she will make him young again. He’s welcome here if he wants: she has so many places to show him.

He thanked all the saints for having found her, Saint George and Saint Mary first, but stopped when her little brows furrowed with sorrow. Her eyes, filled with starlight and love, turned so sad that his heart couldn’t bear it, not for one beat.

The sea is far wilder here: he should come and see the ocean as it was at the dawn of time. The ivy is so strong you can use it to climb the trees and see the whole world from atop the tree, the whole land, covered in forest, such as it was before humans came. There’s no smoke or fire or war: just green everywhere, wild rippling streams and honey bees and berries and fish for everyone who ever feels hungry... They can make love day and night, and she’ll teach him all the songs of old. Humans only remember bits and pieces, but she knows how things really happened, she can tell him everything about heroes, kings and queens.

She said she wanted to sleep, and so he took her from the feast and laid her on the grass… She might’ve sung to him, he can’t remember, but it was like an angel’s caress all over him, somber and sweet before the dreams took him, a dream within a dream.

He slept for ages, it seemed, saw so many dreams, each more beautiful than the last until he woke up and saw that the forest had turned grey.

There was no maiden in his lap, no dance and song in the distance, no scent of flowers and dreams and springs to be found. The sun was up in the sky, but it didn’t paint all the colours with gold or fill the streams with light. The forest was half dead to him, just old, thick trees around him, a green-grey forest floor and a shaggy squirrel who chirped and squeaked at him as if it was his fault that the fae folk were gone.

He searched for her, called for her, but she didn’t answer, and how could she have? He didn’t even know her name. He only knew how lovely she felt, how soft her hair was when it fell to cover him like a veil, how adorable her sighs and tiny little gasps were when he filled her, over and over again.

His armour was nowhere to be found, and his sword was somewhere downstream, half covered with leaves and dirt, rusty and beaten by the wind. It was early spring when he came here; the land was still barren and grey, but now, everything was green. Still, it was not the green he wanted. It was not the green that filled his vision entirely, bright, blooming green that pulsed with lush joy. It was just… earth and grass and dirt.

So you see, he has to go back. He has to find her, whatever it takes. She promised he could always come back… She promised…

He cries once more, head bowed and mighty shoulders trembling from the force of his sorrow, and it is no use to tell him that the fae folk are evil. That they’re from the Devil and only want to make good, decent men like them forget. Forget their duty, their laws, their Christ.

It’s no use to tell him that it is not natural, the place he has seen. No doubt he has been somewhere, but it cannot be anything good… No man can survive on flowers and spring water for three months; they cannot frolic with the faeries for days on end without losing their mind and soul.

And König is already lost; he was lost since he was a child, rambling about how he received flowers, sticks and stones as tokens of the faefolk’s gratitude because he brought them food.

He tries to tell the boy who never grew up, the mightiest man in this kingdom, the dreamiest knight there ever was, that he needs to return to the real world. No fae woman would have him as a husband, they are only after his soul. But surely some human lady would take him into her bed, think about it, for God’s sake, please... He has duties here, people who love him, his father would make him a lord if he only put himself together. What kind of knight would abandon his sword, helmet and armour for the sake of an elf who despises the saints...?

But in the morn, König is gone.

His rusty sword is on the floor, the wooden cross taken off the wall. There lies a honeycomb and a flower on his window, a blossom so sweet it cannot be plucked from any field around here. Too exotic and bright, especially when placed atop the rough, grey stones, it looks like it could never wither from how beautifully it blooms.

The peasants now tell a tale of a man that haunts the woods: a huge giant dressed all in green, donning a leaf cloak of some sort and a beard that grows ivy. But they say he is not evil: he only shows himself to hunters who are about to fall a deer, or children who remember the land with little gifts.

Old men say they saw a green man when they were kids and brought bread and milk to the faeries, they swear to this day they saw a man who greeted them with a smile. And when they looked again, there was nothing but a tree where this giant stook, a young oak, sighing with the wind...

[written-with-blue-ink]

Patrochillies headcanons? Literally any in general, I love these two depressed gay men so much.

Hey! Here are a few headcanons! I love these two gay men so much <3

Patrochilles Headcanons, Hades 1&2

Odysseus is the one who sets these two knuckleheads together. He saw brooding Achillies fawning over Patroclus who wasn’t picking it up at all and set them up.

He picked some yarrow flowers and left a note for Pat to meet his secret admirer at the edge of camp, and left Achilles there for him to confess with a bouquet of the yellowish petals. 

Patroclus started writing poetry because Achilles had terrible nightmares when they were growing up and in the Trojan War and didn’t wanna sleep. Pat’s poems and running fingers through his golden locks were the only things that put Achillies to sleep. 

After Pat died, Achilles kept a scroll/book of all of Pat’s poems and would read it every night instead of sleeping. 

Achilles is really good with braids and other hairstyles. His mother taught him growing up how to take spectacular care of his hair (at least in Ancient Greece where Shampoo was a new invention).

All this led Achilles to do Pat’s hair in large communal baths, braiding it and helping it heal after years of neglect (because Pat seems like the type who doesn’t care about his hair and it fell into tremendous disarray after he died).

The first thing Achillies does when they reunite (after hugging and kissing and crying) is sit Pat down and comb his hair out, dipping the comb into the river Lythe to help wrangle the curls and knots

Achilles, as a child of a sea goddess and related to the sea nymphs, has a heavenly singing voice. Patroclus called it “his siren song” whenever he sang. 

Pat always talked about growing old together so when both of them died, they accidentally chose similar ages (around 50's) because they died around 25ish max.

Achilles has always been extremely protective and cautious around new items, especially if they would hurt Patroculus who was naturally really curious and danger-prone as a child.

After the events of the first game, the two pseudo-adopt Iphigenia (which I headcanon is the Supportive Red Shade).

She chose to look younger (well, younger than she was when she died) by a few years, around 11-14.

They ran into her when they went to watch a match between Zagreus and Theseus, tagging along in her loud and vibrant cheers before they ever realized who she was.

Things were awkward between her and Achilles on part of the whole “thinking they were engaged before the truth came to light that she was there to be sacrificed” thing.

They train her in combat and she tags along with Achilles sometimes to meet Zagreus (who immediately recognizes her and absolutely adores her).

Achilles loves seeing them get along, his pseudo-adopted kids and Pat make his world whole. 

They have monthly nights where they kick Agamemnon’s ass (Achilles' enemy during the Trojan War and Iphigenia’s abusive father for those who don’t know).

[alovelywaytospendanevening]

Lit Hub: How Wilfred Owen and Siegfried Sassoon Forged a Literary and Romantic Bond

Wilfred Owen first mentioned the presence of a new star on his horizon on August 15, 1917. He had been busy acting, editing the hospital magazine, arguing with his mother by letter about whether Christianity and the war were compatible (he thought not, and he had hard words to say about the Archbishop of Canterbury, who did). So he may not have noticed at first the presence of Siegfried Sassoon. At their first meeting, Sassoon treated Wilfred with a certain lordly condescension. Wilfred persisted, however, and their next meeting was warmer. They talked about poetry, and Sassoon asked Wilfred to help him decipher a handwritten fan letter from H.G. Wells, written in pale pink ink. Wilfred was in the full throes of hero worship, while Sassoon, although he may have been better at concealing his emotions, was beginning to feel a powerful attraction for his handsome young admirer, critiquing and rewriting Wilfred’s poems, who had sent home to his mother and sister for every scrap he had written. It should not be imagined that the relationship between the two men was all one way. Sassoon recognized in Wilfred a greater poet than himself, but his own poetry also improved as the two men worked together. Still, it was Sassoon who remained in Wilfred’s eyes “the great man,” an impression no doubt influenced by class. [Wilfred's] brother Harold scoured his letters so thoroughly after his death that it is impossible to tell whether Owen had a physical relationship with Sassoon, but in every other respect it was the closest he would ever come to a love affair. “Spent all day [with Sassoon] yesterday,” he wrote his mother ecstatically. “Breakfast, Lunch, Tea & Dinner.” Wilfred and Sassoon spent their last evening together at the Scottish Conservative Club in Edinburgh, eating a good dinner, drinking “a noble bottle of Burgundy” and laughing uproariously over a volume of especially bad poetry. Sassoon had given Wilfred, as a parting gift, a thick envelope, which he opened in the club while waiting to take the midnight train. It contained a ten-­pound note and a letter of introduction to Robert Ross in London, the friend, editor, and devoted defender of Oscar Wilde and a literary luminary almost as well connected and admired as Edward Marsh. Ross was a friend of H.G. Wells, Arnold Bennett, and Osbert Sitwell, as well as a central figure in the homosexual literary and social world. Sassoon must have hesitated before including the ten-­pound note for fear it might be taken as an insult, but Wilfred responded with genuine gratitude. "Know that since mid-­September, when you still regarded me as a tiresome little knocker on your door I held you as Keats + Christ + Elijah + my Colonel + my father-­confessor + Amenophis IV in profile…. I love you, dispassionately, so much, so very much, dear Fellow, that the blasting little smile you wear on reading this can’t hurt me in the least….And you have fixed my life—­however short. I was always a mad comet; but you have fixed me. I spun around you a satellite for a month, but I shall swing out soon, a dark star in the orbit where you will blaze." He ended his letter with a phrase he had used earlier to his mother to describe his relationship with Sassoon: “[We] knew we loved each other as no men love for long.” (Full article)

[tree-obsession]

Aventurine, the Waste Land, the black hole, and luck- analysis on aventurine's possible fate

possible spoilers for 2.1 trailblaze mission

possible tws for suicide/suicidal idealization, mentions of slavery, and a massacre

ok there is. a lot to unpack for this mission but I would like to focus on the references to The Waste Land (by T.S. Elliot, fucking amazing poem btw) that were in Aventurine's parts?

First of all the achievements- the "Sibyl, what do you wish for?" and "She answers, I wish to die" or something like that. That is the very first thing in the poem we see- to put a long story short, it's a reference to how there was this oracle named Sibyl in Greek Mythology, blessed to live forever by Apollo. Apollo got angry after she refused to have sex with him and cursed her so that while she would live forever, her body would slowly waste away, eventually becoming dust kept in a jar. A couple of boys one day come up to this prison jar and ask her "Sibyl, what do you wish for?" and then she answers that she wants to die. This could be a reference to Aventurine, who is always so lucky but at that moment truly didn't wish to be lucky, and really did want to die. Yet he was stuck, unable to live- considering he is something of a "chosen" of Gaiathra Triclops, she could be the one who cursed him, in disguise of a "blessing" of good luck.

second, the maze scene. there were two references here, both from the fifth(fourth? it's been a hot minute since I read this poem, the details aren't all clear) part of the poem. it talks about a deserted waste land, where rain never falls, there is only lightning and rocks/sand. this matches up with descriptions of sigonia, as a desert planet that's referred to as "the unclaimed desolation", and also some of those lines are directly said in the white text that floated around the maze(which i'll be referring to as floating text from now on). the second reference was also in the floating text, which talks about how "there is another presence/person beside us", or something very similar. I don't have the direct quotation, but this is also a direct reference- within the poem, there are two travelers in this "waste land", and the narrator mentions feeling a presence that wasn't truly there. According to Elliot himself, his inspiration for this part of the poem was from an account of an Antarctic journey, where the person who wrote the account said he and his men were so out of it due to exhaustion they had begun to hallucinate another presence who wasn't actually there. this is probably referencing how mini-aventurine and present-aventurine both exist, and have existed, but the future-aventurine technically does not exist yet and literally is just popping up, clearly not "real" in the physical sense but definitely there. within the poem, there are a lot of speculations between scholars about why Eliiot decided to add this hallucinated dude in but one popular theory is that it's Christ, in disguise, which is really interesting considering The Family's Christian imagery. something to watch out for when Aventurine returns to the story (he def isn't dead, but as to when he's returning... :( i can't get my hopes up) or if anyone else analyzes this more deeply.

now, why the waste land? it's universally considered a pretty depressing poem, about how the world after World War I was torn apart and collapsing in on itself, and portrays a lot of characters who aren't living life to their fullest at all. it references many famous texts and literary works, pointing at literature as an amalgamation of all other literature and also acting as a metaphor for how everything builds off each other, so one thing collapsing could result in everything collapsing. there are a lot of references to different religions as well. perhaps the best way to put it is that Elliot was portraying a world under threat of total collapse, and asks the reader if there is anything humanity can do to save it, or if we must simply salvage what we can. the ending also implies peace is a far-off, perhaps unreachable thing since everything is so discordant. but you get the idea at this point- the poem is about decay and rotting over time. I don't have the greatest grasp on either this poem or aventurine's psyche, but the 2.1 quest revealed a lot- he is an incredibly lucky person who is in a lot of bad situations but gets out every time, and has never lost a bet (despite his life otherwise being absolutely terrible). the waste land itself could simply be sigonia, and then perhaps aventurine himself is a representation of the characters within the poem. practically all scholars agree that in this poem, all the female characters coalesce into one character, and the male characters do so too, and then there is one uniting character between the "male" and "female"- tiresias, who according to Elliot has "foreseen and foresuffered all". he is described as the most important figure in the poem by Elliot himself. Tiresias is an androgynous figure, but is referred to with he/his. he also is the only one to say "I" in the poem, and despite the fact he is blind he can see all, even the future- in mythology, he was a prophet like the Sibyl. "what Tiresias sees is, in fact, the substance of the poem", as Elliot says- in other words, what he sees seems to be the closest thing to the truth you will get.

now obviously that's pretty valuable, considering literally everyone is lying in penacony (in the livestream they said the entire guest list is filled with question marks in place of names, implying everyone's identities there were fake- other than Sparkle's, but she's a Masked Fool and will trick people just for the hell of it, so not exactly the best ally). however (this is where speculation starts) I think this could be possibly very subtle foreshadowing for Aven's return! and I know this may sound delusional but. it's established he's not dead. his stone is out, but that's quite possibly because he's next to a fricking black hole and also Acheron possibly had "freed" him, in some sense? that conversation he had with her obviously changed a lot of things for him as a character, and she said she could break the harmony's bonds on him... also, clearly if he wasn't dead while waking up next to a black hole, that's certainly a surefire way to tell his luck hasn't run out yet. the entire mission was spent establishing his luck is perfect, given by the goddess of his planet, and will never fail him. this is like near emanator-level shit- obviously not quite in terms of any special power, but he was specifically chosen by this goddess, was born on a special day, and due to sheer luck is the last one standing of his clan (apparently). literally everything was set up against him and he's only still alive due to a literal goddess-given power, which is absolutely nuts and almost overpowered if it weren't for the fact that he also seems to be in many scenarios where luck and gambling is the only way to get out at all. the massacre, the enslavement, killing his old master, the weird warlord thing that got brought up, penacony... his luck is purely for getting out of bad situations, it seems.

that was kind of a tangent. anyway! the whole mission was establishing how good his luck was. he got into this situation where the only solution is to walk into a black hole and see the other side of penacony- that is a classic example of "there is an extremely, extremely narrow chance of getting out alive". acheron did it, or something similar, so clearly it's possible- but luck and chance would be the only way. this is the cycle of his life- he's in an absolutely shitty situation, but he will get out due to luck. imo it's a terrible idea writing-wise to keep him explicitly alive up to the very end and going into a situation- alive- which he can survive in due to his luck, right after giving him fulfilling conversation with both acheron and his past self and seeing the uplifting note from Ratio... just to offscreen him, or kill him for some reason related to this "other side of penacony". it wouldn't line up with all that we know about him now. granted, I can't imagine it'll be pleasant and his mental state will be even worse at the end of it... but he'll be alive, and he's made it through a lot of hellish situations. he might not like his luck all the time, and it can be either a blessing or a curse given the scenario, but he's kind of stuck with it- until he withers away, just like Sibyl. Death does seem to be inevitable, but as of right now it's not knocking on his door.

tldr: for now, our boy isn't dead and his luck might be a curse to him but it's clearly going to keep him alive for quite a bit longer :)

tysm for reading and have a nice day!

[crownmemes]

Serenity Sentences

(Sentences from Serenity (2005). Adjust phrasing where needed)

"I have neither a rank nor a name."

"Do you know what your sin is? It's pride."

"Secrets are not my concern. Keeping them is."

"You know, in certain older civilized cultures, when men failed as entirely as you have, they would throw themselves on their swords."

"Would you be killed in your sleep like an ailing pet?"

"Do you understand your part in all this?"

"This is what I do, darling!"

"Do you know what the definition of a hero is? Someone who gets other people killed."

"I'm a hair's breadth from riddling you with holes!"

"I'll kill a man in a fair fight… Or if I think he's gonna start a fair fight, or if he bothers me, or if there's a woman, or I'm getting paid. Mostly only when I'm getting paid."

"Eating people alive? Where's that get fun?"

"You shouldn't be so clean. It's a dead giveaway that you don't belong, you always being tidy."

"How can you be so cold?"

"Can I make a suggestion that doesn't involve violence?"

"You know I always look to you for counsel, but sermons make me sleep."

"When I talk about belief, why do you always assume I'm talking about God?"

"What are you doing here? I never thought for a second that you would be stupid enough to come!"

"Yes, I've read a poem. Try not to faint."

"I have no stomach for games."

"I am, of course, wearing full body armour. I am not a moron."

"Coming from you, that means almost nothing."

"If your quarry goes to ground, leave no ground to go to."

"I'm a monster. What I do is evil - I have no illusions about it, but it must be done."

"I aim to misbehave."

"Do you really think any of us are going to get through this?"

"I didn't plan on going out like this."

"My one regret in all of this is never being with you."

"Do you really believe that? Are you willing to die for that belief?"

"You take care of me. You've always taken care of me."

"You've done remarkable things, but you're fighting a war you've already lost."

"It's not over, you know."

[ishytori]

Let’s talk about character’s prototypes! Roland goes first.

(I’m sorry, English isn’t my native language so there could be some mistakes.) (Also I really want to thank my dearest friend Lio for proofreading this for me.)

Roland is the main character of the oldest French medieval heroic epos, La Chanson de Roland. He is a nephew of Charlemange. He was born in secret to Charlemange’s sister Berta and seneschal Milon du Angers. He got to French court as a young man and impressed Charlemange by his enormous power and courage. He was the strongest knight and the bravest and the mightiest warrior. He was considered to be an epitome of medieval morality: he mercilessly killed “pagan” Saracens and loved battles. According to La Chanson d’Aspremont young Roland was not allowed to join the battle with Saracens due to his young age. Yet he and three of his friends went to war armed with kitchen utensils and saved Charlemange. Roland thought that making peace deal or asking for help is a terrible dishonor. That moral code led him to his demise: Roland and his squad died in Roncevaux Pass in the battle with Saracens.

Medieval epic poems (chansons de geste) glorify Roland’s bravery, his friendship with Olivier, his love to his horse and sword (the interesting detail is that in French Durandal, Hautclaire and other named swords usually have feminine gender). Talking about women… French medieval literature was modest and rarely mentioned Roland’s bride or wife. Sometimes it underlined that Roland lived with her as if she was his sister. No worldly desires! These were totally forbidden! XD

Italian Renaissance poems were different.

Italian poets gladly used another nations’ epos including La Chanson de Roland and other chansons de geste. The most prominent works are Orlando Innamorato by Matteo Boiardo and Orlando Furioso by Ludovico Ariosto. These remarkable works of art use storylines and tropes not only from French epos but also from Arthurian legends, Greek mythology, international tropes such as vengeance upon the cheating husbands and some good old fairy tale motifs. The only divergence from the reality that was made in La Chanson de Roland was replacing Basques that Charlemagne fought in real life with the Saracens. Yet in Orlando Innamorato and Orlando Furioso there are fairies, wizards, giants, griffins, harpies, dragons, magic springs, curses, prophecies, transformations of men into tree or stone and back to the human shape, magic gardens hidden at the bottom of the lake, spells of invisibility, immolations and even a flight to the Moon.

Roland (Orlando in Italian) fell in love with a beautiful Chinese princess Angelica. He forgot everything including his loyalty to Charlemange and pursued Angelica trying to make her love him back. He fought other suitors including his own cousin Rinaldo. Roland experienced different adventures, helped other beautiful ladies (and sometimes fell in love with them, but of course his feelings towards Angelica are the strongest!). Sometimes his desire to help beautiful ladies led to disappointing consequences: one fair maiden deceived Roland several times leaving him horseless, swordless, naked and bare-footed.

Roland’s story reaches its climax when he found out than Angelica hadn’t chosen a glorious knight such as he was, but went for some Saracen shepherd instead. Roland descended into madness, tore his clothes, uprooted trees, killed bears and poor innocent people with his bare hands and ran all the way to Africa where he got caught by his comrades.

Astolfo, his another cousin beside Rinaldo, saved him and returned his sanity. But this is a different story =)

[calisources]

𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑻𝑼𝑫𝑶𝑹𝑺. all sentences have been taken from the showtime drama, the tudors. change names, locations, pronouns as you see fit. this is a redo of another meme.

“Without knowledge, life is not worth having.”

“I have come here to die. I die a Queen, but I would rather die the wife of Culpeper.”

“One day I shall lie beside you again, I promise and we shall sleep together for eternity.”

“Your Majesty's life is far too precious to be put at risk against such a common rabble.” 

“Of course, if you choose to go, you'd be like a lion among wolves.”

“My friend, if all ambassadors were beautiful women I'd be serving my country day and night.”

“You hate him like a scorpion. And why? Because he would not satisfy your ambition.”

“Diplomacy is nearly always settled by such proximity.”

“I call Mary my English mare, because I ride her so often.”

“You are a poet as I am a woman. Poets and women are always free with their hearts, are they not?”

“There's something deep and dangerous in you, Anne, those eyes of yours are like dark hooks for the soul.”

“As a humanist I share your opinion. As a King, I'm forced to disagree.”

“Though I love Your Majesty and I'm loyal to you, in every way, I cannot disguise my distress and unhappiness.”

"I should only ever tell the king what he ought to do, not what he could do. For if the lion knows his own strength, no man could control him."

"Blessed lady, Queen of Hearts, there will be even greater crowds than these to welcome you when you return to London."

"For every scholar that votes for you...I could find a thousand who would vote for me."

"You and I are both young, and with God's grace, boys will follow."

"You have no one to blame but yourself for this.”

“I was a true maid without touch of men. And whether or not it be true, I put it to your conscience.”

"Seduce me. Write letters to me. And poems, I love poems. Ravish me with your words. Seduce me."

"I have never known another man....and nor would I ever want to."

"If I had to choose between extreme sorrow and extreme happiness, I would always choose sorrow, for when you are happy you forget about spiritual things, you forget about God.But in your sorrow, He is always with you."

"Chastity? You talk to me about chastity when you have a mistress and two children, your Eminence."

“This, I vow, that my eyes desire you above all things.”

“As a humanist I have an abhorrence of war. It's an activity fit only for beasts yet practiced by no kind of beasts so constantly as by man.”

“What if the King doesn't know what's in his best interests?”

“If you want to keep the love of a prince, this is what you must do: You must be prepared to give him the thing you most care for, in all the world.”

“Lady Anne is so beautiful, it is the duty of every man to love her. Of course I loved her, but from a distance.”

“You treat me so unkindly and in public neglect me.”

“My only satisfaction is that in frustrating you I hasten your fall from the King's good graces, an outcome I desire above all others.”

“Mistress Boleyn, you should not abuse the Queen's honor with such language!”

“He was a lion in my defense. Now he will die ashamed and alone in a prison cell.”

“Then here's the truth. You must shut your eyes and endure  like your betters have done before you!”

“Don’t you know that I can drag you down as quickly as I raised you?”

“I am more convinced than ever that he is the agent of Satan. If I could, I would strip him from the King's side- and burn him.”

"I know of no Queen of England but my mother. And I will accept no Queen but my mother."

“If the King's mistress would intercede with him on my behalf, then I would be grateful."

"Lady, you must know how beloved you are to the people—as was your mother before you, God rest her soul."

“I'm a lot older than I was when I first knew you. And wiser.”

“have no heir. The Tudor Dynasty, all my father's work, finished, and it's MY fault!”

“He will tire of you, like all the others.”

“You know perfectly well what the King desires and what he shall have.”

“You can't have 3 people in a marriage!”

“I am surprised to receive such a request from such a wise and noble man as you.”

“ I am but a poor woman, lacking in both wit and understanding. How am I supposed to respond to such a request made to me out of the blue?”

“I know what you are trying to do, but do not think to take the King away from me. Let him play with you. Let him give you gifts. But he cannot give you his true heart.”

“I make you this promise. When we are married, I will deliver you a son.”

“I was wondering if you'd like to become my mistress.“

“The brat is now officially a bastard.”

“Everything will change for her. That kiss is her destiny and fortune.”

“People of England, your King is unharmed!”

“An important question, whether it is better for a king to be feared or loved.”

“I do imagine there are some at court who would like to see the Queen replaced.”

“Lady Bryan, if I cannot please the King, will he kill me?”

“For he who possesses the heir to the throne will very soon possess the throne itself.”

[stalkerofthegods]

Athena Pallas/Minerva Deep dive

To the wisest of the wise, to the goddess that tells us the wisdom, may we all cheer for her, like how men and women and all equal in war would cheer after victory.

Herbs • Olive tree, Tiger lilies, geranium, oak, cypress, Hellebore (Christmas and Lenten rose), and citrus tree, walnuts, pears

Animals• owl, snake, rooster, griffins, horses (she taught men how to tame horses), female lambs, doves (as a symbol of victory), rams, eagles, tigers, leopards, and other cats (could not find why but many were in agreement.)

Zodiac • She was mostly celebrated in June/July so I would say, Gemini, Cancer, and Leo.

Colors • gold, orange, yellow, emerald green, and royal blue

Crystal• bronze, metal, gold, silver, Azurite, Iolite, ruby, star sapphire, turquoise, lapis lazuli, ivory, Amazonite, Iolite, Bloodstone, Clear Quarterrtz, onyx.

Symbols• owls, olive trees, snakes, the Gorgoneion, golden shield, and helmet, serpents 

Jewelry you can wear in their honor• you can veil in their honor

Diety of • knowledge, knowledge in war, crafting, inspiration, strategy 

Patron of• Military, justice, skills, close combat, good counsel, prudent restrain and practical insight, weaving, and spinning, crocheting, the defense of towns, heroic endeavor, and protection agriculture, she is known in the arts as well with Hephaestus, protectress of the phratries and houses, authority of the law, the order in the courts and the assembly of the people, mathematics, strength, asexuality, librarians, peace, judges, protests, metalwork, birds (called the goddess of the birds), teachers

Offerings• She was sacrificed bulls, rams cows, all female except a lamb, it must be a male lamb, Locrian maidens or children are said to have been sacrificed to her every year as an atonement for the crime committed by the Locrian Ajax upon Cassandra (do not do, just here for historic offerings.), Olives, Bread, Grains, Olive oil, Cakes, Olive tree branches, Owl figurines or imagery, Silver jewelry, Honey, Milk, Books, Strategy games, Quality chess boards, Snake figurines or imagery, Fountain pens, Handmade objects, Clay items ( ex- plates, bowls, vases), Yellow and/or white candles, Yoghurt, Daggers, Swords (including small decorative versions), Devotional poems, Studying, Learning something new, Using what you learn as a way of growing and developing as a person, Standing up for yourself, Improving yourself, Owl pellets, Owl decoys for gardens,Work out clothes/gear, Fidget toys for when you’re working, Brain imagery, Spider imagery, Crafts you have made, Certificates/degrees/awards for achievements, Favorite books/books on mythos or Greece, Knitting/crocheting/crafting materials, Needles, Your glasses, Coffee/tea, Nice pens/pencils, Journals/notebooks, Voting stickers/cards, Spears/swords/daggers/helmets, Protest signs, pears, walnuts, Garlic bread, Start a small side business.

Devotional• Read a book, become a librarian as a summer job, or simply check out or return a book, join a book club, host a book club, learn Battle strategies, learn Wars and how they were won, learn What led to wars being lost, read The Art of War by Sun Tzu, learn about Politics,  Democracy in Ancient Greece, learn about Armor and weapons, Catch and release spiders in your home, do Pottery, learn about Cross stitching and knitting, Tutor someone/get tutoring for areas you need help in, Watch TED talks/listen to educational podcasts, Plan out your day/keep a planner, Thinking before taking action, controlling our anger,  Learn new vocab words, Make your notes pretty, Learn study techniques, Take appropriate study breaks, Do projects for Her, Challenge yourself, Learn grounding techniques, Do your homework, Give up things that are unhealthy for your brain (ex-  smoking cannabis, drinking.), work out, Learn basic first aid, take CPR classes, Take care of your body, Go to protests/advocate

Ephithets• will post later, postponed due to motivational issues, will come soon. 

Equivalents (alike but not the same)• neith (Egyptian), thrud (Norse), Minerva (roman), Athena (Greek) 

Alter• I would not put her alter near Heaphestus, be tried to violate her in a myth, I would not put her alter near Aphrodite because they are known to not get along in myths, but things could have changed. She does work well with heroes, so if you worship Hercules or Perseus I would put her alter near them, I would not put her near Arachne and keep her alter away from spider areas, etc. Keep her altar clean and orderly. She does not like the giant Pallas, he tried to ruin her chastity.

Signs they are reaching out• Encounters with owls, olive trees, or feelings of wisdom and inspiration, seeing owls in the day, going to the library more often, staying after school. 

Vows/omans• to stay a virgin forever, and to change her name 

Number• 6 or 7 and 5 (I couldn't find a website that could agree.)

Morals• Morally lawful

Personality• Strong, endearing, respected, smart, confident, practical, clever, a master of disguises, and a great warrior. Brings Harvard teachers to shame. 

Home• Mount Olympus 

Mortal or immortal • Immortal 

Fact• Some say she invented the flute, she invented the plow, and the rake, borrows tools from Zeus to do war saves people when fate counts on it, she repels Ares, some say Athena’s full name is Pallas Athena, but they say she added the name Pallas to hers after she accidentally mortally injured her friend Pallas during a practice session in her youth.  Athena was seen naked bathing, she felt bad for the man, she covered his eyes and made him blind, making him an oracle.

Curses• blindness, more spiders, spilling tea, dyslexia getting harder, losing ur glasses, no one knowing who you're dressed as during Halloween, getting into fights, unjust detentions, no one showing up to class, getting fired as a teacher or librarian (unjustly), dropping books and learning stuff all of the sudden, forgetting materials that you learned on your test, your quizzes and tests get lost.

Blessings• remembering test materials, witty replies in arguments, detentions all of the sudden going away, getting into your dream college, getting into a book club, finding ur books, getting a librarian or teacher or tutor job.

Roots• Greek, near the river Triton born after or in the Titanomachy era.

Friends• Pallas (her friend growing up)

Parentage• Some say Poseidon then she went to Zeus after a dispute and became his daughter, and some say metis and Zeus, some say Hepeastus.

Siblings• Artemis, Aphrodite, the Muses, the Graces, Ares, Apollo, Dionysus, Hebe, Hermes, Heracles, Helen of Troy, Hephaestus, Minos, Perseus, and Porus.

Children• She does not have any romantic lovers, but she has adopted children, who are, Erikhthonios/Erichthonius.

Pet• one white and three dark horse and an owl, (she shares a chariot with Artemis) 

Appearance in astral or gen•  a stately woman armed with a shield and spear, and wearing a long robe, crested helm, and the famed aigis with the the Gorgon Medusa on a shield

Festivals • The cleansing Festival/Plynteria and Kallynteria Festival, the threshing festival/Skira Festival, the festival of Minerva/Minor Quinquatrus, The panatheanaea/Athena Festival, The Vintage festivalOschophoria Festival, the artisans Festival/Chalkeia Festival.

Day • she does not have any day of the week, the 23 of each month, and the first day. 

Sacred places• The Parthenon on the Acropolis of Athens is dedicated to her, and Athens.

Status• Wisdom goddess, One of the major theoi and goddesses in Greek mythology 

What angers her • If you stop worshiping her, I would clean up and part respectfully and know she understands, she does not like the sudden removal of an alter and the trashing of one.

The music she likes• classical and lo-fi study music.

Planet• Pallas Athene (minor planet) and the Asteroids 93 Minerva and 2 Pallas

Her Tarot cards• queen of swords, queen of wands, justice card, balance card

Remind me of• the saying “hitting the books” and someone actually throwing books, twilight from My Little Pony, Dead Trees (books)

Scents/Inscene • Patchouli, dragon’s blood, musk, indigo, orange blossom, cinnamon, and cedarwood

My opinion • She's cool.

Prayers• 

Prayer To Athena by Liz “Morning Dove” La Posta

Oh, wise Athena with your spear and shield, protect me and my family from injustice and harm. Council me with your wisdom so that I may make the best decisions. Grant me success in my endeavors, but keep me humble so that I might not become condescending to others. I thank you for the many times you have guided me on my Path. Share with me your mysteries and I will do my best to follow. Athena my Goddess, I pray this in your sacred name, and I vow to always be your faithful dedicant.

Prayer to Athena for Wisdom

Clear-eyed Athena, unrivaled in wisdom, daughter of Zeus and Metis whose craft and wit excelled among the mighty Titans: Athena, I pray to you. Wise in all things you are, goddess; your cunning and guile are well known. In time of war you have no equal in tactics or in strategy; many armies have you guided to victory. In time of peace your blessings fall on those whose work is of the mind–friend of the philosopher, the scientist, the student. Advisor of kings, patron of clever heroes and bold-hearted adventurers, defender of the thinker, mistress of reason and understanding, goddess to whom a strong arm and a sharp sword are nothing without the sense to wield them well and the insight to know when words are worth more than weapons. Athena, grant me a sound mind and steady temper, bless me with good judgment, show me the long view.

Links/websites/sources •seleniangnosis https://www.theoi.com/Cult/AthenaTitles.htmlhttps://www.britannica.com/topic/Athena-Greek-mythology https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Athenahttps://www.perseus.tufts.edu/Herakles/athena.html https://www.theoi.com/Olympios/Athena.html

https://www.worldhistory.org/athena/#google_vignettehttps://greekgodsandgoddesses.net/goddesses/athena/https://olympioi.com/greek-gods/athenahttps://ilfiorello.com/athena-the-importance-of-the-name/https://www.theoi.com/Cult/AthenaTitles.htmlhttp://www.goddess-athena.org/Encyclopedia/Rituals/Festivals/index.htm ATHENA'S BIRTH ON THE NIGHT OF THE DARK MOON - JSTOR 881 Athene - Wikipedia Athena | Olympian Goddess of Wisdom | Born from Zeus SkullGoddess Gift https://www.crystalvaults.com/goddess-athena/#:~:text=Crystals%20such%20as%20Azurite%2C%20Iolite,Athena%20can%20bring%20to%20you.Athena: Greek Goddess Of Wisdom And Craftsmanshiphttps://www.museandmoonstone.com/blogs/blog/crystals-goddess-athenaThoughtCohttps://www.thoughtco.com › what...What Are the Symbols of the Greek Goddess Athena?numeralgame.64g.ruhttp://www.numeralgame.64g.ru › ...Numerology and ancient Greek myths. Pythagorean numerological number 5. Goddess Gifthttps://goddessgift.com › goddessesAthena: Greek Goddess Of Wisdom And Craftsmanship Number Seven Facts, Symbolism & Meaning - Study.com Holy And Unholy Numbers - Street Directory Athena: Greek Goddess Of Wisdom And Craftsmanshipseleniangnosis travelingthief Titanomachy Definition, Myth & Impact - Study.com Athena Siblings - 1379 Words | Internet Public Library - IPL.org Athena Justice, Mythology Tarot Enamel Pin - LitJoy Crate Inner Goddess Tarothttps://innergoddesstarot.com › go...Goddesses in Tarot: Athenahttps://www.hellenion.org/athena/prayer-to-athena/https://www.tumblr.com/tarotbee

I use resources, I do not own the info, and most deep dives have UPG (that I use in my work.) And I only take some information from sources. I am 14, this is my hobby, I am learning but I spent many hours and days on this, and I am always open to criticism. I have been doing worship for 5 years. Please know you can use the info, I do not sue, but I will take action if this work is used without permission and not put as a resource if used in any work. without permisson and not put as a resource if used in any work, for the public.

[mariacallous]

The pictures are haunting. There are portraits of Ukrainian men and women who have spent months and years in Russian captivity: soldiers, civilians, paramedics and volunteers. All experienced torture and brutal treatment. Many carry physical scars from their time as inmates. They are among the prisoners of war swapped since 2014, when Vladimir Putin began his Ukraine invasion, with a covert takeover in the east.

In 2019, the Ukrainian photojournalist Zoya Shu began photographing those freed from Russian detention. Over five years, she spent time with former prisoners of war (PoWs) in their homes, talking to them about their life stories and listening to their harrowing accounts of beatings and other forms of daily abuse.

“They suffered. I see them not as victims but as survivors. What they experienced is horrendous,” she says.

Some of those she photographed have terrible wounds. In 2014, Russian “separatist” fighters carved a swastika on the back of a local man, Bogdan Sergiets, in the eastern city of Donetsk. They accused him of supporting Ukraine and being a “Nazi”. Another photo is a portrait of Aiden Aslin, a British volunteer captured in April 2022 while fighting for Ukraine. He and his fellow British prisoner Shaun Pinner, who were both threatened with execution, say they were beaten, stabbed with knives and electrocuted.

Other wounds are less conspicuous. Many prisoners, both men and women, said they were subjected to sexual violence and rape. In Russia and occupied areas of Ukraine, interrogators used a wind-up military field telephone to administer electric shocks, attaching crocodile clips to genitals and nipples.

“There is physical and psychological trauma,” says Shu. “It’s difficult to deal with, and profound. It takes a long time to heal.”

Another torture method is starvation. One former prisoner of war, Borys, said he lost 45kg (99lb) during two years in various camps: “I got very thin. When I was released I was so weak I couldn’t put my leg on to a step.”

Borys says a fellow inmate was so emaciated he became unable to walk and “went mad”, adding: “He couldn’t lift his arms. He stopped eating. They took him away. We don’t know what happened [to him].”

Borys says his captors hit him with plastic pipes and shocked him with stun guns. This was done in a corridor, where there were no CCTV cameras to record the abuse. One day, his guards said his situation would improve if he gave an interview to a Russian propaganda TV channel. They also tried to “re-educate” him.

“They loved to teach us about ‘history’ – we were ‘fascists’. They told us Ukraine was always a part of Russia and didn’t exist,” Borys says.

Other ex-prisoners said they were made to sing the Russian national anthem and recite patriotic poems and songs from Russia. “One goal is to destroy Ukrainian identity,” Shu says, adding that a soldier from western Ukraine who could not speak Russian received extra punishments.

“There is a pattern of constant and systemic violations [of human rights],” Shu says, calling this “state policy”.

Some former detainees have successfully rebuilt their lives. Others remain haunted by their experiences and suffer from depression and panic attacks. According to Kyiv’s Coordination Headquarters for the Treatment of Prisoners of War, 3,405 people have been returned from captivity, including 95 PoWs on 17 July. Tens of thousands of Ukrainians, military and civilians, are believed to remain in Russian jails.

The exact tally of PoWs is unknown. The figure includes about 1,500 soldiers captured in May 2022 when the garrison defending the Azovstal steelworks in Mariupol surrendered. The Kremlin refuses to give a comprehensive list of the people it holds, adding to the agony of families whose loved ones went missing in action.

Shu is critical of international organisations that help detainees. In her view, they have failed to pressure the Kremlin to improve dire conditions for prisoners and to end widespread abuse.

“Where is the Red Cross? Where is the UN? Where is everybody?” she asks. “There doesn’t seem to be much activity or urgency. The level of brutality and torture in Russian prisons requires immediate action.”

[particular-one]

genshin men with their s/o as taylor swift songs

synopsis. assigning a taylor swift song to the following characters with a brief scenario of their relationship with reader. genre. mix of fluff and angst. characters. childe, kaeya, zhongli, al-haitham, and thoma x reader (individual) author's note. if you can't tell, she's my biggest writing inspo. if you guys want other genshin characters for this, lmk!

childe.

⋆｡ﾟ��︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ THE GREAT WAR. he was a fatui harbinger, you were a sole survivor of a fatui-orchestrated attack on your village and is now seeking for revenge. you and childe were the epitome of cat and mouse - but the both of you enjoyed the thrill of a chase. the both of you constantly came across each other during your travels, that it’s almost comical how destiny is pitting you against each other. you were always teasing him, and vice versa. he talked about his family back home, to which you gladly listened — but those sweet moments are always fleeting due to the nature of his job, which he never disclosed to you. it pained and annoyed you, being left in the dark, especially when you were starting to fall in love with him. when childe knew of your story, he knew he would do anything to keep his secret … well, a secret. he really took a liking towards you, and he couldn’t bear to see the look on your face if you find out. for now, he was willing to be the hand you reached for whenever you were having a nightmare about your past.

kaeya.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ MINE. you had been dreaming of becoming a knight ever since you were a child, to be a protector of the weak. you loved everything about the knights of favonius, but the last thing you expected to love the most is the charms of mondstadt's cavalry captain. it did not help that you had just gotten out of a bad breakup and the last thing you wanted was another whirlwind romance to end in flames. despite this, kaeya was rather .. different. though he constantly teased you, he actually respected your boundaries and never tiptoed across them. it took you months and years before you realized just how much you've fallen for his whims, which scared you at first. but with every drink, every laugh, and every moment you shared with kaeya, it was undeniable. kaeya, who had liked you since, was pleasantly amused to see your gradual affection for him. though the chances of failure were high and risky, considering how you wanted nothing to do with romance, he still fell in love with you, a careless man’s careful daughter, and he wanted nothing more than to call you his.

zhongli.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ SWEET NOTHING. you were a regular liyue citizen. there was nothing special about you, except for your passion to write poems. you were friends with hutao, which is what got you acquainted to zhongli. it was love at first sight for you, which was embarrassing for you to think about now. the both of you hit it off immediately, but you kept all your feelings to yourself - though you were painfully obvious, hutao notes. you shared zhongli some of the poems you wrote, to which he compliments and praises highly. you summoned up the courage to finally dedicate one to him, which was what got you guys in the soft and tender romance. it was like a fairytale ending, but you never knew of the secret that zhongli hid. although you fell first, zhongli fell harder. he loved each and every poem you wrote for him. when he was feeling forlorn, he would read a poem you wrote for him. when he was happy, he would still do the same. he only wished he could whisper all these sweet nothings to you, not to your tombstone.

al-haitham.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ MASTERMIND. you and al-haitham were one-sided academic rivals, and you were determined to see him fall. maybe, that's why you got along so well with his senior, kaveh, but that was besides the point. you schemed long and hard, until you figured it out! romance! it was outside of the rationality that al-haitham prepared for, which should trip him up. and so, you resolved to make him fall in love with you to distract him - while you swoop in and become one of the best students the akademiya has ever seen! ... except, the more you spend time with al-haitham and attempt to woo him, the more your plan is turned against you. but that couldn't be! you had planned to make him fall, not for you to fall in love with him. while you were too caught up in your master plan, al-haitham had been many steps ahead of you. while you laid the groundwork, there had been a wide smirk on his face - he knew the entire time. al-haitham was amused just by how you would make him fall, without knowing that he, too, was getting strung along to becoming your future partner.

thoma.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ INVISIBLE STRING. you were thoma's childhood best friend. you always spent time with him during his mondstadt days. the both of you were a dynamic duo, but you always felt something more for him. you never got to summon the courage to tell him, though. you did not want to risk your friendship with thoma by overcomplicating the circumstances. when he got stranded in inazuma, your worry increased tenfold and you hadn't heard from him since. it was only when you received a letter with a sakura petals that you cried in relief - that he, the man who still had your heart, was alive. you exchanged letters until you decided to take a trip to inazuma once the borders reopened. your reunion was a rollercoaster -- and you couldn't help it but confess everything to thoma, no matter the risk. thoma had never thought of how attached he was to you until the day he left mondstadt. you never left his thoughts when he was in inazuma - almost as if there was an invisible string tying you to him. it only hit him why he cared about you this much when you reunited with him again, with your words like music to his ears - he cared about you so much and he never wanted to let you go.

written by carlyle (@particular-one). copyright: all content belongs to particular-one on tumblr (2023)

[terresdebrume]

More fic covers | More fic recs

I mentioned I made fic cover in a recent post and it reminded me that I'd meant to make one for SJTrinity's Band of Brothers fic: Under Thunder and Rain which is THE Webgott fic, as far as I'm concerned. I've reread it something like five time in the past three months, it's ridiculous. You should read it to.

More about my thought process under the cut, with some spoilers.

So, the entire fic is amazing, of course, but the scene that keeps standing up in my mind is the one in chapter 4, where David is about to sail away on the Tusitala and Joe tries to convince him not to. I love this scene, the vulnerability in both of them, the fact that they find each other, the fact that Joe doesn't realize that it's him David was looking for in the sea. (I know David compares himself to the Shark from the Frisco chapter, but to me his fight to catch said shark is also an excellent parallel of the way he constantly has to reel Joe in and then give him some slack before he breaks the line in his struggle.)

All this to say: I had to have the Tusitala on the cover, if only because if this boat could talk it would be able to tell the tale of how Joe and David finally stop struggling and come together for good. The rain, of course, is a reference to the title and the poem David writes Joe in chapter 5, but I still wanted a bright blue sky as the background because I feel like the vivid and peaceful color are a good contrast to the way they struggle to find their way to one another (and also it reminds me of Episode 10 of BOB, where the color is back in the world and it feels like everything should be alright, but Easy is still losing men and none of them is free of the weight of the war.

The title and author name being on pieces of paper is, of course, a nod to Joe's box full of David's letters and notes, which is also featured against the title card. I wanted watercolor of a bag of groceries for the upper left corner, to further reference that first note and the fact that we don't know how significant it is until the end of the story, because Joe keeps all his cards fucking close to the chest, even if he also betrays himself in his struggle.

(Full disclosure, on my latest rereads the bits that caught my brain were

the time David asks Joe if his future wife does have a smile to die for and Joe says "yeah, it's a great smile. Drives me nuts." While running a finger over David's lips

"He wouldn't add or take away a single thing, and the people who read that book would know how fucking lucky he had been, how he had fought against it and gotten it anyways, this symphony of a life.")

Unfortunately, I couldn't find any graphic on Canva that fit the style of the rest of the cover, so I got a pastry instead. I picked the croissant because, while not extremely sweet for a delicatessen, it's very buttery, and, well: "Copious amounts of sugar and butter clearly loosened him in a way even sex couldn't achieve, because when David came and stood beside him by the stove, Joe threw an arm around his shoulder and bumped their heads together, then playfully tried to wrestle him off his feet." which I feel is also a delightfully deep insight into Joe in general.

And last but not least: the transparent text is the last note David writes Joe in the fic, standing in as the last page of Joe's unwritten book of them.

[the12thnightproject]

@echoes-in-the-forest asked: Mr. Tiger of Kai and Mr. Good of War, I need your help. There's this guy I really like, but he won't give me the time of day because he's... Let's just say obsessed with his work. And maybe his boss. What can I do to get him to notice me? I think I'm just a caterpillar in his eyes. Do you have any tips? Please help! 😭 Yours truly, A sad caterpillar

Dear S.C.,

Angel, please, take my hand towel to wipe away your tears. There is nothing more painful to me than seeing someone cry. Now, breathe, take a step back and assess your situation. First, the man. If someone is obsessed with their work, there is likely a reason behind it. Most people do not work to the exclusion of all else-

[Lord Shingen, are you acquainted with the definition of irony?- Moderatelyawesomeninja]

[I am not obsessed with my work to the exclusion of all else, Sasuke. I play as hard as I work. - Takeda Shingen.][In fact, you do, Lord Shingen. I expect the Mitsumono have finally infiltrated the depths of the Azuchi Gazette and the report is ready? ~ Naoe Kanetsugu]

As I was saying, Angel, discover why your blind-to-you hero works too hard. Perhaps he is working in support of an important cause or ideal. Do you also believe in that cause? Do you admire him for doing this work? If so, see if there is something you can do to help this cause as well. Having a common cause to talk about may help him see you as a person, rather than as a caterpillar who is interrupting the work.

[Caterpillar… Lord Shingen, I fear this particular caterpillar may be interrupting the work through means far more devious than you think. ~ Naoe Kanetsugu]

Is there simply too much work to do? Offer to help take some of the burden off, by perhaps acting as a scribe. He may begin to value your presence. However, Angel, only do this if he is truly overburdened and only if you have the time to spare. Do not undervalue your own time and your own interests. 

[Yes. Go sit in the corner with your writing kit. ~ Naoe Kanetsugu]

Another possibility is that the object of your interest has indeed noticed you, but doesn’t want to notice you. If that is the case, he is simply working overtime to avoid being with you. You then have two options. One, don’t let him avoid you. Be around him until he can’t help but interact with you. Or two, give him what he thinks he wants, and let him be driven mad by your absence.

[DON’T GIVE HER IDEAS ~ Naoe Kanetsugu]

Does he feel that he has some kind of obligation to his boss? That is a harder obstacle to overcome, because he might see interruptions as bothersome. If that is the case, wait until he is not working, and try to get his attention then. At this point you might be asking, ‘how?’ Make him think that you are interested in someone else. Now… normally, I would not advocate this kind of deception, however, in these kinds of cases, a  little shock value goes a long way. Find a willing partner, someone who would be happy to pretend an interest in you (might I suggest a rather tall tactician who also is more than happy to flirt for a cause), and make sure that the object of your affection notices you with this new person. If he appears to be jealous or distressed, then congratulations, it is working. 

[Lord Shingen, the report was due yesterday. ~ Naoe Kanetsugu]

If however, he doesn’t notice, or seems to be happy for you, then well, perhaps there is something more to the boss-obsession. 

But don’t be sad, Caterpillar. It might seem this way now, when you are in the midst of these feelings, but there are other men in the world, men who would be willing to treat you as the butterfly you will someday become. Just… look around. Comfort might be closer than you think. Much closer.

Tiger of Kai

  sad caterpillar cocooning self in soft silk someday butterfly

[Cousin, did you perhaps doodle a poem on my response? - Takeda Shingen]

[I may have read the letter and become inspired by it. -Yoshimoto]

[These writers come to us for advice. Your poem is not advice. - Takeda Shingen.]

[Is it not? Did I not convey the exact thing you did, in far fewer words? Note, we both suggested Sad Caterpillar will become a butterfly - Yoshimoto]

[Can we not… mention… butterflies? - Moderatelyawesomeninja]

This is not all that Art of Love has to offer. Check out @lorei-writes for the God GOOD of War’s answer to your question.

Note: text from Kanetsugu provided by @lorei-writes

[corleonewrites]

Wandering winds

AU: The Terror (2018)

James Fitzjames x Original Female Character fanfic

Summary: Alexandra Walton’s life was always surrounded with sea: either it was her walks near the seashore with its cold waters, or deep sea of her senses. Her father taught her to throw herself headlong into it, without fear of being drowned and she used to it since her childhood. She dived into love with the same courageous way. And even when everything and everyone was talking about the hopeless state of things she continued to believe in the opposite: that her loved one will return to her safely.

Chapter 1. He comes with western wind, with evening’s wandering airs

______________________________________________________________

I would never forget the night when our eyes met and everything suddenly went quiet. Your hazel-green eyes captivated me and I never wanted to remove my gaze from them.

It was one of those greeting evenings in the Admiralty, which usually transformed into balls, welcoming our heroes back either from expeditions or battlefields. In 1844 there was a welcoming evening for you and my brother Alexander: both of you came home from the First Opium War.

Your charisma attracted me, your recklessness and the stories you told about your actions, your battles – everything fascinated me, making my heart skip a bit.

We danced the night away, never changing partners in our dances, and it was basically a declaration of marriage.

I remembered the anticipation of waiting for new meetings with you. Those long walks near the seashore, those parties, those theatre plays we attended, those poems by Brontё sisters I used to tell you which I knew by heart.

______________________________________________________________

The proposal came shortly afterwards. The wedding took place in the end of September, my favourite time of the year, when the nature was surrounded by golden-like leaves, which were falling from the trees. The bells were loud and cheerful, they celebrated our joy with us and with our closest friends and family members. I would never forget our first night together as husband and wife, when you whispered “I love you, Missis Alexandra Fitzjames” and I never knew that I could love someone I’ve never knew before in such strong way.

You became my guidance, my closest friend, my support, the one to whom I could finally open my heart, not afraid of being misunderstood. It felt like our souls could understand each other, they weren't wandering around anymore.

Of course, I knew who I was marrying, as men of my family were in Admiralty. I knew what long separation was, what unbearable worries and losses were, what it felt like to wait impatiently for loved ones to return home safely, it surrounded me from my childhood. That was all I've ever known. You entered my life like cold wandering air of endless sea, but for me it was like warm sea breeze.

______________________________________________________________

When on February 1845 your invitation to participate in the Arctic expedition came, I was happy for you and I was ready to let you go for an indefinite period of time, just how I was letting go my father and brother when they were going to their expeditions or battles, waiting for them. Wherever they were going I knew that they would come home safely.

This time, when the expedition was only a few days away I felt the same way, despite the fact that at the same time I felt uneasy as if something could go wrong. I told you that, but you reassured me that everything would be alright and I believed you. My senses were feeling the same way.

We said our goodbyes on the morning 19 May 1845, when huge beautiful ship Erebus sailed from Greenhithe in Kent, followed by its sister ship Terror. I didn’t want you to see me crying, and I did not shed a tear, I smiled for you and gave you the handkerchief with my initials on it. You never knew that I cried quietly, when I reached home.

______________________________________________________________

Your last letter came from Disco Bay the same year. Your voice sounded in my head as I ran my fingers over each letter and the curls of the letters, rereading it over and over again. Time passed by slowly and as stretched as never before.

When the silence and uncertainty were growing more and more with every new month the feeling that something terrible happened with the expedition was crushing me inside.

Questions about the rescuing expedition sounded louder with every year. With every new month of each year chances for your return were lower. Finally, not only my father and brother, who supported me since the silence fell after your last letter, but the rest of members of The Arctic Council agreed to arrange the search of now lost expedition to return home. It was the beginning of 1848.

______________________________________________________________

Every day I came to seashore of the northernmost post after which the endless ocean began. Cold waves and air surrounded me and my wandering thoughts. My gaze was chained to the icy ocean: it seemed that at any moment a rescue ship would appear out of the thick fog and rain.

My inner sense was as calm as ever again: I knew that you would come back home. I refused to believe in any other outcome and continued to stare at the ocean, feeling like I was dissolving with it in its icy waves.

______________________________________________________________

Wandering winds masterlist

[whentommymetalfie]

Tommy, watching Luca and Alfie bicker: Guys, stop. You're both pretty.

(what happens next?)

Setting: I'm imagining breakfast-time in Alfie's kitchen. Tommy's sat by the table dressed in just Alfie's old shirt and shorts, barefoot and still with sleep mussed hair and a cigarette between his fingers. Luca -down to his shirt sleeves but looking impeccable as always- is making tea. Alfie -looking like he always does aka. 'disheveled' (Luca's opinion) alternatively 'charmingly relaxed' (Tommy's opinion)- is on breakfast-duty, simply by virtue of being up and out of bed first. Otherwise Luca is more than happy to take care of that. Which is just one of the things they're currently bickering about.

Well. Following Tommy's statement, a moment of befuddled silence follows as they both look first at Tommy and then at each other.

Alfie harrumphs. "He might be," he says with a nod in Luca's direction. "I'm more the ruggedly handsome kind, wouldn't you say, treacle?" Not usually one to guard his manly pride like that but well it's different in front of Luca, isn't it?

"Oh so you think I'm pretty?" Luca says and looks annoyingly smug which was not his intention at all and Alfie feels like he's been caught in a trap because fine, he'd be blind to not see that Luca is objectively easy on the eyes but that doesn't mean he has to admit it.

"No I find you utterly repulsive, not to mention unbearable to be around," he grunts into the frying pan and then continues to mutter to himself in Yiddish while he aggressively stirs the scrambled eggs. But Luca still looks like a cat who's swallowed a canary. Sets his teacup down and goes to stand behind Tommy's chair, bending down until he can kiss him lightly on the forehead, hands cradling his chin. He smiles down at him.

"Out of the three of us, you're the pretty one, my dove."

"Ha, pretty doesn't suffice!" Alfie exclaims with a wave of the spatula. "Thomas' beauty is astounding and frankly unmatched within the modern era. It's the kind of beauty one must write poems and sonnets about, the kind men start war over-" he's gesturing with the spatula. Tommy much to his annoyance feels himself blush, while Luca watches, one eyebrow quirked with amusement.

"And you're the single most dramatic man in London," he tells Alfie. "Possibly the world-"

"Pfft, you're one to talk."

"But yes, all of that too," Luca finishes, once again giving Tommy a fond smile and bending down to kiss him, on the lips this time, before nodding towards the frying pan. "Watch those eggs before you burn them."

Alfie once again curses, and turns his attention back to his cooking. Luca takes a seat across from Tommy by the table, picking up one of his feet to warm his cold toes between his hands. And for a little while things are unusually peaceful.

They all try quite hard to ignore that apparently there's now such as a thing as 'the three of us' as per Luca's previous statement. Because it makes things infinitely more complicated. But the thing is, it's true, whether they chose to acknowledge it or not.