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starvales · 11 months ago

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wdym i have a head dent?!

narumi gen / gn!spouse!reader

synopsis : "narumi gen is highly respected in his own division, with every officer following him with determination and every platoon leader dyeing their hair like him as a sign of respect."

content : only crack, fluff, gender neutral reader, reader works in jakdf, a few flashbacks, a little bit more on the lore side, the word beautiful is used to describe the reader, shinonome's age is just a guess, mostly shinonome pov, narumi should have his own warning fr, vice captain and platoon leaders are tired.

words : 1.7k

a/n : you can’t convince me that this man hasn’t went out on a mission with a head dent at least once-

part two of 'a cheers to our youth'

She remembers years ago, newly turned twenty, and nervously standing in front of your desk, arms crossed behind her back, posture rigid.

This would be the first time she will be meeting you in person, rather than listening to your demands through a communicator.

Now is the time to make the best lasting first impression. To prove that she is capable of handling things much bigger than an ordinary officer.

"Thank you very much for deeming me worthy of a rank review! I will not let you down!"

"Don't thank me for something as trivial as just a chance of a promotion. I know you'll do well in the future, Shinonome. The person you really need to impress is the First Captain."

You do not look up from your paperwork, and though many will see this as quite cold and rude, she's heard from numerous people that you simply do not have the time to entertain anything or anyone else within working hours.

The fact that you even spared a one-on-one meeting with her was an honour, and Shinonome will forever respect your dedication. Unfortunately, her lips move to articulate her thoughts before she could stop herself.

"I aspire to contribute to the Defence Force as much as you and Captain Narumi, Head! Please wait for me!" She slaps a hand over her mouth.

Stopping your editing to the paper before you, you look up at her in surprise at her outburst. Shinonome is swift in attempting to correct her statement.

"Uhm...! I did not mean it in that way, Head. A-Apologies for speaking out of line. I'll commence however many push ups-"

"Hahaha!" You made no move to hide your mirth and Shinonome does not know whether to be concerned or relieved at your reaction.

She curses at herself. Dammit, well done, Rin. You definitely made a lasting first impression alright. Great, now Head is gonna see you as a clown vying for their hand.

"No need for the push ups. I appreciate your passion, Shinonome. However, I am already married, so I will have to decline." It seems that you will not let her forget this. How cruel...

Wiping a forming tear at the edge of your eye, you sigh lightheartedly. "It's a good thing that you didn't say that to your Captain or else his head would blow up bigger than it already is!"

By now, the officer is bright red at her blunder before your words catch up to her. Wait, married...? Weren't you only a year or two older than her? Is she already falling behind her peers in yet another department?!

And though she does not say her thoughts aloud this time, you seem to be able to read her befuddled face too well. You hold up your hand and lift two fingers up like a peace sign, a soft smile adorning your own face.

At that moment, Shinonome realises that you are much friendlier in person compared to when you are communicating with Captain Narumi.

During missions, it was like listening to dogs fighting.

"I am two or three years older than you, I think, If I remember reading your files correctly. I just got married really young so don't worry too much about finding love or whatnot for now. Live in the present and all that." You wave off casually.

"If I may be so bold to ask..." Shinonome only now notices the metal band that you adorn around your fourth finger and shyly looks at her own twiddling bare fingers.

"Hm? Go ahead." Your focus is still on her.

"What age did you get married?"

"Eighteen."

"?!"

You burst back into laughter when Shinonome's composed and seemingly nonchalant persona crumbles and she is left there dumbfounded.

A feint 'don't mind' playfully slips out as you excuse yourself to deliver your now finished papers and pat her shoulder on your way to the door.

Shinonome finds that you will truly not let her live down her moment in your office.

Even months later, after she was proven competent and promoted to Platoon Leader. Be it during a mission, passing each other in the corridor, or in a meeting.

("Platoon Leader Shinonome, please wait for me in my office after this." / "Shinonome, please wait for the arrival of new equipment sent over by...." / "Ah, Rin. Thanks for waiting for me, traffic was atrocious today!" All of those interactions being followed by a knowing smirk.)

Despite this, the two of you have grown closer, more casual. Dare she say that the two of you were even friends.

She learnt that you are married to the Narumi Gen and that you have known him since you were children (she had always assumed those endearments he torments you with during missions were a joke).

Learns you prefer drinking iced coffee rather than hot.

You only wear shoes you can very easily slip on.

You like to make edits to documents using a purple pen rather than the standard red.

You personalise your lab coats by stitching your initials and operator number to the cuffs (swearing her to secrecy, you tell her that you also stitch Captain Narumi's initials, but instead at the cuffs, it's hidden inside the pocket over where your heart is).

In spite of your seemingly intimidating work front, you are still very much human.

(Years down the line, Shinonome has well learnt that you were never scary, or aloof, or anything of the sort. She guesses your role in the Defence Force just forces you to seem like it, given your importance.)

Shinonome also learns that you and Narumi dye each other's hair.

"Oh, this?" You motion to the groupings of fresh silver highlights in your hair. The Platoon Leader had to deliver some documents and noticed the change and decided to compliment you on it, it fits you. She asks if you had it done professionally.

It looks really nice... maybe she would suit something similar?

"No, I didn't go to a salon. You think I have the money for that sort of thing?" Yes, yes you do, Head.

"I've been dyeing Captain Loser's hair since we were teenagers, and he decided while we were touching up his roots that it's been a while since we were matching and wouldn't leave me alone otherwise. I didn't get to sleep until two last night!"

You say it with such disdain that if she were a new recruit, she would think that you meant it.

But Shinonome knew you better than that, because you could never hide the adoration that shone through your irises, or the fondness in your smile.

Perhaps, one day, she will meet someone that would elicit the same reaction when talking about her...

"He wanted to do my hair without my help so now there's a chunk of under layer hair that's all silver instead of just highlights. If you look even closer, you might see just bleached bits that he forgot to colour! He botched it!"

She would be lying if she were to say she wasn’t jealous.

You are beautiful and intelligent and considerate and sincere. And though you are not physically strong, you show your strength in a plethora of other ways, your contributions named on newspapers displayed along your office walls are evident of that. Your strategies and tactics have led many to victory and the Eastern Defence Force is as strong as ever.

Truly, you and Narumi Gen are forces to be reckoned with and Shinonome could not be more thankful to be so in reach.

She does not realise she was staring at you for so long until you speak up.

"Ah! Would you like me to do your hair sometime?"

"Oi, Dumbass. Stop trying to act cool in front of the newbies."

Narumi, dramatically posing solemnly atop a fresh kaiju corpse, tilts his head back to face the flying drone's camera and shows off a smirk at the sound of your voice.

"Well, if it isn't my darling dearest, everything okay at Comms?" He waves lazily, but this seems to irk you more.

"You were playing Underwatch, when I told you not to, weren't you." You frame it as a statement, rather than a question.

Everyone in Operations and Officers around Narumi watches as their Captain's jaw drops to the floor, eyes bulging out of his skull.

He is quick to grab at the drone and shakes it wildly, as if it was a person he was trying to gouge information out of. The propellers are swift to turn off, you knew this kind of reaction was coming from miles away.

"Who snitched?!" His face is all up on the camera.

At this point, Narumi knew that it was of his best interest to admit the truth rather than make up excuses on the spot, especially if you used that tone.

But how could you have possibly found out? He even made sure to download a special VPN so you couldn't track his gameplay! Was it Hasegawa? It had to have been Hasegawa. Damn you, Hasegawa-

"Your galactic-sized head dent gave it away. Do you not have enough sense to at least fix it before you leave for duty?" You sigh on the other end of the mic, disappointment evident in your admonishment.

"Huh?"

The drone starts up again and Narumi is forced to let go as it turns to face ninety degrees away from him and projects a hologram of himself, but from his side.

Lo and behold, all of the Captain's hair is sticking straight up, as per usual when he is in combat, except for the areas at the centre of his skull, a clear band of hair matted down with a sheen of presumably sweat.

"Pfft, I hope the news articles capture this very flattering side of you! 'What a loser,' they'll all say." You do your best to cover up a snicker. The drone is now happily emoting like an actual person, tilting side to side as if it were someone's head, taunting him.

"NO!!" Narumi is on his knees, frantically trying to fix his hair while maniacal laughter resonates from the floating device.

From a distance, a certain Platoon Leader watches on, irked. Out of all of the people to admire for the power they bring to the Defence Force, out of all the people to strive to be like, why did it have to be these two?

#gn!reader #kaiju no 8 x reader #kaiju no. 8 #kn8 x reader #narumi gen x reader #narumi x reader #narumi gen #actoy

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sugar-grigri · 2 years ago

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Crazy theory, but since I don't really read them, I don't know if it's ever been mentioned before.

I've already talked about this urge to discover the demon of death. So much so that fans see them in every new character introduced.

We know that Pochita punctuates both the birth and death of demons with his chainsaws.

I've always been surprised by the way Pochita calmly took hold of Makima, allowing Denji to knowingly save her by recommending that he give her love

Just as I'm surprised by Fami's interest in separating Chainsaw Man just as Yoru is stubbornly intent on revenge

How can these three horsemen of the apocalypse have so much interest and connection with a single demon?

We already know that Fujimoto has opted for the metaphorical, choosing the instrument designed for childbirth: the chainsaw, as the keystone of his story.

Chainsaw Man is intrinsically linked to birth and death

Denji's rebirth alone is linked to death having been cut up as well as Pochita?

Demons are born out of fear of one thing, so I know it might be strange that Pochita, representing chainsaws, represents death and isn't the chainsaw demon.

But two things: firstly, the impostor is actually the real chainsaw demon.

Fujimoto likes to undo our first impressions, so I find it absolutely INCREDIBLE that Denji should be the impostor from the start, the false Chainsaw Man in a part 2 that focuses on identity.

Secondly, how can simple chainsaws have so much power? I mean, sure, they're scary, but how can they have so much power as to be able to wipe out demons? Why should it be the chainsaw demon who's capable of this, and death remains crouched in the shadows?

This would also explain his promiscuity with the other Knights of the Apocalypse.

The demon of control wanted to play with Pochita - death was the only thing she couldn't totally control, the only thing she aspired to be on an equal footing with.

If Pochita understood her so well, it was as the fourth knight of the apocalypse. If Makima considered him her equal, it was because she couldn't control a demon she knew to be of her own rank. The logic follows with Nayuta.

The demon of war doesn't accept death, it accepts to spread it through conflicts and weapons of mass murder, but a general doesn't accept that death can touch him too. To spread death represents victory, to be touched by it a defeat that demands vengeance.

Famine works hand in hand with death, and is feared because suffering and death are the end result of not being able to eat. She's the one with the clearest goal at the moment: to save humanity. She doesn't hesitate to recruit her fellow Apocalypse members, whether it's proposing it to Nayuta, trying to recruit Asa and Yoru, or splitting Chainsaw Man in two to work with the pure state of the death demon.

The public hunters' aim is also to protect mankind from Nostradamus' prophecy, but by paralyzing death's actions as much as possible. They exploit Denji's flaws and desire to be normal to the full, threatening those around him. While the church, represented by Fami, titillates Denji's heroic side, his abnormalities, they want death to act.

It would also explain why everyone close to Denji is disappearing.

All the signs are pointing to Asa's imminent atrocity.

Wouldn't it be incredible to think that it's because death is in Denji's belly ?

Everything would then make sense: it's normal for Denji's development to stagnate, and for him to go through so many existential crises.

He doesn't know his own identity

What's more, it doesn't contradict my most meta theories: Fujimoto places himself in the work through Denji (cf. chapter 133), just as he responds directly to his fans (chapters 136 and 137).

We're all hating him, seeing all our favorite characters meet unfortunate deaths

It would all make sense if the manga we were holding in our hands, "Chainsaw Man", actually referred directly to death right from the start.

It would all make sense if we saw Part 1 as Denji's introduction to the ranks of hunters governed by an early death.

It would make sense for Aki's love for him to be a metaphor for accepting death, in the continuity of mourning.

It would make sense for Power to be reassured by Death when traumatized by the demon of darkness: she died twice for love, and the total disappearance of body and spirit allows us to escape the darkness.

I don't know if this theory holds, but let's agree...

It's poetic

#csm #asa chainsaw man #chainsaw man #csm part 2 #denji #asa #nayuta #fami #makima #yoru #barem #death devil #pochita #theory

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bridenore · 7 months ago

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HD fic recs : Curses (part 2)

Here are a few recs dealing heavily with curses. This is part two of three and focuses on fics ranging from 30k to 50k words. Listed in alphabetical order, as always. Part one can be found here.

Aeternus Solem by @onbeinganangel [36k]

On December 1st, Harry Potter gets sent halfway across the world to attempt to break a possibly fatal curse on an unnamed British Unspeakable — except said Unspeakable is not unnamed at all and Harry has been in love with him for over four years.

The Arc of the Pendulum by brummell [30k]

After his father casts a mysterious curse on Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy is forced to try to make things right.

Catfished by Saras_Girl [32k]

Draco is in deep water, Harry can see straight through him, and that’s not even the full scale of the problem.

Darkest Before the Dawn by @dualwieldteacup [47k]

The last thing Draco wanted was to show up at Harry Potter’s door, cursed blind and holding a boxful of his friends Transfigured into snakes, but here he was. Between breaking the curse, adjusting to life without sight, and teaching his Defence Against the Dark Arts classes, Draco’s got his hands full. Being forced to live with Harry Potter might just be the death of him. This is a story about the bonds of friendship, fairy tale endings, and learning to ask for help (even from Gryffindors).

Draco Malfoy, It’s Your Lucky Day by @faith2wood [37k]

Even though he’s unarmed, injured, lost in the Forbidden Forest, and facing a possible murder charge, Draco Malfoy gets lucky.

En Passant by @dodgerkedavra [41k]

Harry and Draco survive the apocalypse. This is what happens after.

Fearless by Bounding-Heart (Brief_and_Dreamy) [34k]

“There are two basic motivating forces: fear and love. When we are afraid, we pull back from life. When we are in love, we open to all that life has to offer with passion, excitement, and acceptance.” – John Lennon

Hades Paradox by @romaine2424 [32k]

For reasons unknown to most, Draco Malfoy came to Hogwarts soon after the battle and for five years had never left its premises. Auror Harry Potter comes to Hogwarts to deal with his psychological daemons, but soon realises Professor Draco Malfoy has his own magical and physical daemons to deal with. However, much to Harry’s surprise, Draco is coping well with help from the person Harry aspires to be.

In Our Blood by @secretsalex [37k]

Draco is an accomplished pure-blood curse breaker, and Harry is tasked with accompanying him on his latest job—cleaning up the Van Boer mansion, which has been under a devastating fertility curse for seven generations.

Lover, Where Do You Live? by @dodgerkedavra [38k]

Harry Potter has been running away since the War, disappearing into his job as a freelance curse-breaker. Work is his life. Home doesn’t exist. He’s about to disappear again when he runs into Death Eater-turned-Healer Draco Malfoy. It’s supposed to be a one-night-stand. They’re not supposed to pine for each other. Harry’s not supposed to sleep with Draco a second time. Or a third. Or a fourth. But when a nasty curse sends Harry back into Draco’s arms, he might be forced to admit that home’s been waiting for him all along… Or: Harry wants to go home. Draco wants to be a home. It’s hard to say it out loud.

Orion in the Sky by space_wingding [30k]

Draco Malfoy owns a bookshop in the Lake District. He’s also cursed. Enter: Harry Potter.

Potential Gravity by @lol-zeitgeistic [32k]

Draco is not good at Cards Against Humanity, but Harry’s not good at being human, so it all works out. Except for the explosions. And Harry’s inability to live when Draco’s not around.

Renaissance by @dysonrules [33k]

Harry awakens after a long sleep to find things terribly changed. He’s not in an alternate universe… it just seems like it.

The Rules of War by calrissian18 [40k]

“After having his tentative advance rebuffed, Harry has been Imperius-ing Draco into having a relationship with him. He’s needed to make the curse stronger and stronger, the more he wants – desire, sex, love, marriage, baby. However, when Draco falls pregnant, the power of the curse starts diminishing, no matter what Harry tries. What happens when the curse finally fails?”

Somebody to Love by khasael [31k]

Draco’s life after the war is quite different than it used to be. When he finds himself cursed, with little hope for lifting the spell, he sets out to make the most of the time he has left. Getting to know his Aunt Andromeda and his young cousin Teddy feels like a good thing to do, even if it can’t help him in the long run…or can it?

I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I did!

#my recs #drarry #drarry recs #theme rec

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talonabraxas · 4 months ago

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Solar Angels Talon Abraxas The Solar Angel channels life from the Monad to the lower self, responding to karmic necessities and orchestrating a sequence of incarnations through which the individual can gain evolutionary experience. The Solar Angel’s point of attachment to the human individual is the causal body. It links the mental permanent atom on the first subplane with the mental unit on the fourth. Between these subplanes lies the great gulf that has divided us, since our inception as human beings, and which eventually we seek to bridge by constructing the antahkarana.

The causal body is a sheath that contains the astral and physical permanent atoms and the mental unit. It is the lowest vehicle to survive from one incarnation to the next, and through the three permanent atoms (for convenience treating the mental unit as such) serves to preserve a distillation of the experiences from successive incarnations. Prior to physical birth, life flows down from the causal body to the lower mental, astral, and physical planes, energizing the permanent atoms and sweeping the devas of those planes into action to build the new incarnational form. At the end of that incarnation, life is withdrawn from the lower vehicles, and the permanent atoms are enriched by what has been learned.

For millions of years, the lower self is unaware of the Solar Angel’s existence. For its part, the Angel looks down on its charge, like a hen brooding over its egg, waiting for the first stirring of awareness that can develop into more definite contact. In the Tibetan’s words, the Solar Angel “is in deep meditation for the greater part of the cycle of lives of any one individual, and that it is only when a fair measure of personality integration is set up that the soul’s attention is drawn away from its own interior considerations and egoic affairs to those of its shadow.”

Techniques for developing contact with the Solar Angel can be found in many esoteric systems, whether or nor the concept of the Solar Angel is properly understood. For example, Ron Scolastico’s popular book Doorway to the Soul provides an interesting sequence of meditations that could be used even by people with minimal esoteric training. As the individual invokes his or her Solar Angel, the Angel responds, at first sporadically and then more continuously. Golden Dawn initiate Israel Regardie provides an eloquent description of the process:

The everlasting abode of the Higher Self is the Eden of Paradise, the supernal sanctuary which is ever guarded from chaos by the flaming sword of the Cherubim… From that aloof spiritual stronghold it gazes down on its vehicle, the lower man, evolved for the purposes of providing it with experience—involved in neither its struggles or tribulations, yet, from another point of view, suffering acutely thereby… (S)eldom does th(e) Genius leave its palace of the stars except when, voluntarily, the lower self opens itself to the higher by an act of sincerest aspiration or self-sacrifice, which alone makes possible the descent of the Light within our hearts and minds.

The Tibetan makes a similar point and goes on to emphasize the need for a reciprocal response in building the antahkarana. He tells us that, “as it lives its own life on its own level of awareness,” the Solar Angel “is not always constantly aware of its shadow, the personality, in the three worlds. When the antahkarana is being built, this awareness must be present alongside the intention of the personality.”

Some types of service can only be performed with the Solar Angel’s participation. For example, the Tibetan explains that the practice of white magic requires the Angel’s resources:

Only the solar Angel can do the work of the white magician, and he effects it through the control of the lunar angels and their complete subjugation. They are arrayed against him, until, through meditation, aspiration, and control, he bends them to his will and they become his servants… The worker in white magic utilises ever the energy of the Solar Angel to effect his ends. The dark brother works through the inherent force of the lunar lords, which are allied in nature to all that is objective.

Similarly, in that important application of magic, healing:

The healer who works on a higher level, and necessarily therefore with a higher type of patient; he uses the energy of his own overshadowing soul in conjunction with the energy of his individualised soul, and thereby radiates it forth into the soul of the patient, via both of the auras.

If white magic requires the Solar Angel’s assistance, magic ritual has also been explored as a means of invoking the Angel. The most famous ritual for that purpose was recorded by the medieval Kabbalist Abraham the Jew (1362-1460), but attributed to a sage, Abra-Melin, whom he claimed to have met in Egypt. What is particularly significant about Abraham’s work is that, in a preamble to the ritual, he dismissed the then-customary use of elaborate magic paraphernalia to emphasize a life of prayer and concentration, akin to the spiritual practices of the mystics—or indeed to our own esoteric disciplines. The early 20th century occultist Aleister Crowley adapted Abra-Melin’s ritual to invoke what he termed “the knowledge and conversation” of the Angel.” It is not clear whether Crowley succeeded, but he affirmed that the central role of ritual is “the invocation of the Holy Guardian Angel; or, in the language of mysticism, Union with God.”

Another ritual for invoking the Solar Angel, used by members of the Golden Dawn, focuses on participants’ personal transformation. Interestingly, it refers to the “true Self,” a phrase often used by the Tibetan:

Come forth unto me, Thou that art my true Self: my Light, my Soul… Thou that art crowned with Glory… Thee I invoke. Come forth unto me, my Lord: to me, who am Thy vain reflection in the mighty sea of Matter… Without Thee I am nothing; in Thee am I All-Self existing in Thy Selfhood to eternity.

Yet another includes this affirmation of personal sacrifice and sacrifice and courage:

Let the influence of thy divine ones descend upon my head, and teach me the value of self-sacrifice so that I shrink not in the hour of trial, but that thus my name may be written on high and my genius stand in the presence of the Holy One. In that hour when the Son of Man is invoked before the Lord of Spirits and his Name before the Ancient of Days.

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donotnomi · 8 months ago

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SLOW HORSES S4 FINALE COMMENTARY WITH HUGO WEAVING

source: this interview (worth reading using your browser's translation tool)

I’ve already translated the most interesting and curious parts and made a snippet list here for you. Enjoy and beware of spoiler from season 4.

How he got involved with the series – I was familiar with the books but hadn’t read them yet. When I got the offer to join the cast, I was still torn between intending to watch the series and actually doing it. I had heard so many glowing things about it, and I thought, “I really need to watch this,” but I never got around to it.

Since I had to quickly decide whether or not to join the project, potentially for more than one season depending on the character’s development, I dived into the first book to get a sense of the story, then the fourth and the ones that followed to learn more about Frank and understand what would happen after his introduction.

The changes between Frank in the book and the series – In the series, he’s more of a classic villain, but with a certain messianic aura. During filming, I kept going back to the original text to give him as much humanity and depth as possible. He’s intelligent, has a certain charm, is always calm and in control, and he’s very skilled at what he does.

Somewhere I read this guide for aspiring mercenaries: “Be polite, be professional, but have a plan to kill everyone you meet.” When he meets someone, his professional mind is already planning how to kill that person, if necessary. But I also sense a deep fatigue in him.

The pub scene with River – I love that scene. The whole season is built up to reach that moment, to that exchange of “Hello, Dad. Hello, son.” It was very exciting to film because Jack and I kept imagining how the audience would react to discovering the truth about River and witnessing this first-ever interaction between the two characters. I discussed the pub scene with Jack long before we filmed it, and we prepared for it for a long time.

As for Frank, I think he goes to that meeting driven by a mix of different desires. He really does want to meet his son and offer him a job, no matter how senseless or morally questionable that offer might be. At least by the standards of someone like River. But neither of them can deny the connection: River is Frank’s son, and Frank is River’s father. There’s a magnificent tension between them, culminating in Frank finding a way out through deceit. It leaves the impression that we might see him again.

River, Frank and the other 2 fathers - The grenade is not exactly the kind of gift a father gives to his son, no (laughs). I think with Frank, there’s this sense of training and testing River, giving him advice but also putting him in danger to see how he’ll handle himself. He’s a very dangerous father, and that’s what makes him so fascinating. In that sense, he’s really like Darth Vader: a mix of dark force and paternal will. He takes care of River but constantly puts him at risk.

Frank’s presence also brings out more of River’s darkness, because it connects to other difficult family figures that have shaped him: his mother, his grandfather who raised him. You mentioned earlier that Lamb is a kind of alternative father figure. I agree—he’s the father River has in his dysfunctional Slough House family. So, in terms of fathers, River has three: his grandfather who acts as his father, Lamb as a paternal figure, and Frank, his real father. Since the series revolves around a dysfunctional family, Frank’s arrival adds even more tension.

The atmosphere on set – The atmosphere on the Slow Horses set is very calm, even though everyone gives their absolute best. The people involved are incredibly skilled at their jobs and have a deep love for Herron’s book series. They’re the kind of professionals who watch the final result on TV and feel proud of it. It’s a lot of fun working with them, especially on a set that mixes drama, action, comedy… and a lot of pain.

The growing popularity of Slow Horses – A few days ago, when I was still in Sydney, I was stopped by some passersby who told me they are loving Slow Horses and enjoy my character. The series is gaining international popularity, even though critics have held it in high regard from the beginning. In this season, many people have started watching it.

#slow horses #slow horses s4 #slow horses interviews recap #hugo weaving #frank harkness

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shelh93 · 2 months ago

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Mike/Harvey vampire/old guard au

So, I've been reading some vampire marvey fics and I've also had The Old Guard on my mind, so this came to mind one night hopefully you guys find it interesting

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-Mike, or Mikhail dies alongside his Viking brothers, only to wake up fully healed hours later.

-He travels alone under a different name until he dreams of the next person to join him. Trevor. This happened 20 years after he had awoken. They become best friends always watching each others backs.

-They gained a third member a decade later. A woman named Jennifer, or Jenny. Trevor and Jenny fall in love

-In 1886, Mike meets aspiring Lawyer, Harvey R. Spector.

-Through trying times, Mike and Harvey fall for each other and Mike thinks he can have his happy ending.

-This ends three years later. People are becoming suspicious, so Mike, forced by Trevor and Jenny, fakes his death, devastating Harvey.

-The three leave the settlement behind, especially after dreaming of a fourth member to awaken.

-They still have no idea why they were chosen for this life.

-Harvey tries to kill himself, not wanting to live without Mike. he fails and is found and turned by Jessica who had been interested based on his potential to be the best lawyer.

-He hated her for some decades for saving him when he didn't want to be saved.

-Fast forward to present times, Harvey is a Senior Partner at Pearson Hardman

-Mike's group has remained at four after losing their fifth member during the Renaissance

-vampires are known and have their own governing group apart from Humans

-Mike's group is occasionally called in to deal with Rogue vamps since they can't die (so far anyway)

-Cue Harvey being shocked the day he catches a glimpse of Mike. He thinks he was reincarnated and is being offered a second chance.

-Mike is just as surprised to see Harvey, especially as a vampire

#marvey #suits usa #mike ross #harvey specter #fanfic

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zimmyboy · 2 months ago

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This might be a long post so sit back and relax I suppose

We all know anime awards have started nominations and everyone is arguing everywhere but I wanted to weigh in too

SPOILERS INCOMING BELOW THE LINE, READ AT UR OWN RISK

Im specifically gonna talk about Anime of the Year nominees:

DAN DA DAN

Delicious in Dungeon

Frieren

Kaiju No. 8

Solo Leveling

Apothecary Diaries

Firstly im going to explain y I absolutely would not personally be happy if Solo Leveling wins Anime of the Year as a long time reader and watcher of the series.

While I love Solo Leveling and I absolutely adore Sung Jin-Woo it doesn't deserve Anime of the Year for multiple reasons. While I cannot agree it's copy and paste slop like many say I can say it doesn't come close enough to hit the mark. It's unique in the way it portrays isekai, the fantasy world coming to us instead of us going to it, and the systems and mechanics can be very interesting and vast depending on the section of the story. Not especially extravagant but provides a slightly different perspective that I personally find compelling. The characters are vast in personalities and aesthetics while still being informative, there isn't a single character that is filler, most if not all show up multiple times with backgrounds and aspirations. The Anime is simply an aura farming speed run, I won't deny that, but its enjoyable in it's own way. Still, it doesn't have much new or innovative to it and should not be Anime of the Year.

Next we explore DAN DA DAN.

I love the idea of DAN DA DAN but I wish it wasn't just gooner bair covered up by miscellaneous ghosts and aliens. Takakura and Momo are great examples of real high school kids when in normal settings, Momo is reserved and being a teenager has farfetched goals and aspirations as well as attitude problems that come from a need for rebellion. Takakura is meek and nervous and much like most teenage boys does his best to make a good impression even if nobody likes him. If there was less nudity, more fighting and more romance it would be a good Anime. The mangaka put lots of effort into researching real teenager relationships to make authentic and real feeling relationships. Unfortunately there's nudity and rape every two or three episodes and that completely ruins it for most viewers including myself who is desensitized to those things in ADULT media. Nudity and rape are things that shouldn't be tiptoed around as they're real and do happen everyday, but they shouldn't be romanticized or used for plot relevance just because.

Now we get to Kaiju No.8.

I LOVE LOVE LOVE this series. I have been following it from the beginning with heart shaped eyes like a dog and can say I haven't changed my mind that it's good. Kafka is a good main character, a middle aged man with realistic aspirations and goals. When realizing he isn't fit for something he doesn't mope, he does something else that is just as important to everyone's well being. Even after getting turned into a rank 9.8 kaiju he doesn't stop being Kafka or get on an ego trip now that he's stronger or more capable. He understands that more importantly than being a danger to himself he is a danger to other people and wants to keep everyone safe. The diverse relationships he makes simply by being him, being encouraging and helpful to others who r more capable in his squad. When worst comes to worst he's willing to risk his life for the life of many others, not because he wants the recognition or because he wants to believe he's superior but because the lives of many people are more important than his own. Other characters in the series r personable and likable, going through their character developments both together and on their own throughout the series. It's able to explain it's mechanics and tech without being confusing and the story is both compelling and easy to follow. Kaijus rnt super common in anime and I love that as well, the designs r equally disgusting and intricate.

For the fourth section we go to Frieren.

Frieren is one of the best animes I've watched in my entire 18 years of life. While both beautiful and smooth, it has good continuity, wonderful characters, unique themes and motifs and more! Frieren spends the series looking back on her past relationships over the past 1000 years with her master, friends and apprentices. Once happy to just ignore other people as they will sooner go away than she will she slowly realizes she wishes she knew more about the people she cared about in the past. While juggling her continuous journey to find odd and unique spells with her new friends and apprentice she slowly comes to terms with everything that's happened in her life. Realizing she will lose everyone eventually thanks to her long lifespan, it's more important for her to have good, vivid memories of those she cares about and to make the best of everything. She learns certain quirks she has is because she cared about past companions and is her way of making sure their memories rnt lost to the past even as the #1 adventurers of the time. It pulls at the heart strings with real emotions, shows how difficult it can be to lose the ones u love, shows how to overcome those difficulties, and make amends.

Second to last, Apothecary Diaries.

Me and my mom love this Anime as well, I've also read the manhua and light novel. Maomao, a young, apothecary in China in an era where women weren't allowed to hold jobs of high positions and were disregarded unless providing for a man, makes her way to the rear palace, the place that hold the emperors concubines. While solving mysteries and crimes of the palace she learns more about her trade and the people around her that she cares about. Her immunity to poison makes her a perfect food taster and helps her solve the issues in the palace. This series shows the complexities of women in that time. Until her reasons for acting are confirmed by the main eunuch Jinshi, nobody believes her when she knows what's wrong or is trying to prevent someone's death, her being a woman and a servant undermines her talent and profession. This Anime while not historically accurate puts into perspective the challenges women did and still have to go through to be believed or understood.

Lastly we have Delicious in Dungeon.

I personally have never ever watched this but have heard much about it so here I don't have much standing. Though the concept of instead of adventuring for riches or fame i have an understanding that this is a mix of a fighting and cooking Anime. This is unique and certainly very interesting compared to many other cooking animes that have come out.

Thank u for coming to my ted talk, I rlly had to get this off my chest now that voting is over. Sorry this is long.

Feel free to tell me ur opinions in reposts or comments 😊

#anime of the year #solo leveling #kaiju no. 8 #frieren: beyond journey's end #delicious in dungeon #the apothecary diaries #dan da dan #anime and manga #long post

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santoschristos · 4 months ago

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Contact with the Solar Angel

The Solar Angel channels life from the Monad to the lower self, responding to karmic necessities and orchestrating a sequence of incarnations through which the individual can gain evolutionary experience. The Solar Angel’s point of attachment to the human individual is the causal body. It links the mental permanent atom on the first subplane with the mental unit on the fourth. Between these subplanes lies the great gulf that has divided us, since our inception as human beings, and which eventually we seek to bridge by constructing the antahkarana.

The everlasting abode of the Higher Self is the Eden of Paradise, the supernal sanctuary which is ever guarded from chaos by the flaming sword of the Cherubim... From that aloof spiritual stronghold it gazes down on its vehicle, the lower man, evolved for the purposes of providing it with experience—involved in neither its struggles or tribulations, yet, from another point of view, suffering acutely thereby… (S)eldom does th(e) Genius leave its palace of the stars except when, voluntarily, the lower self opens itself to the higher by an act of sincerest aspiration or self-sacrifice, which alone makes possible the descent of the Light within our hearts and minds.

Image: The Solar Angel Mahaboka

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vacantgodling · 9 months ago

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@void-botanist

ASK AND YE SHALL RECIEVE

so to provide some context and backstory: lord biand sunniva used to be the ruler of The Brass Autumn Court of Alizath--one of the 4 ruling lordoms in the country alongside The Titanium Summer, The Iron Spring, and the Steel (sometimes spelled Steele) Winter; which are all made up of prominent, war and politically savvy families, their nobles, and their vassels who live on their land. many ages ago, these 4 clans were constantly at war with one another, and eventually came to an uneasy peace via pressure of their vassels, who believed that they should not have so much power to turn their lives into turmoil whenever they saw fit. so they created like an assembly thing of some kind that would make decisions for the betterment of all the vassels in every court, and it was basically up to the lords and their nobles ot uphold those decrees. now, this obviously doesn't work that well at first. if you know anything about history and how parlimentary monarchies work, then think that but worse bc not just nobles, but there's basically 4 kings at any given point competing for total influence at all times. however, it takes these political squabbles out of the battlefield and bloodshed, and into the realm of political balls, alliances, and favors.... so at least there's more stability. to a certain extent.

lord sunniva always had grand aspirations, and this hubris would prove to be his undoing... though perhaps less so than his largest rival lord dominiq atherton of the iron spring. but we'll get there eventually cuz rn we're focused on jeanna, who is lord sunniva's younger sister.

after she and biand's parents died, biand took the mantle of lord of the brass autumn, and quickly made it his mission--even if not necessarily to overthrow the council (or whatever im calling it) entirely, that he wanted essentially absolute power over all the other lords because he believed that only through unity would alizath become truly stable. and why not all unify under the most consistent, wealthy, and powerful house, the brass autumn--which it was at the time. biand's parents and ancestors before him did well for themselves, and biand himself was a good ruler, despite his voracious pride.

jeanna herself always found her brother a bit intimidating however. he never had any interest in her, her interests, or her desires, and it lead her heart and mind to stray away from his ambitions, out into the world. she wasn't necessarily looking for love. she was looking for companionship, more than anything. she first initially found that as balls began to take root and the courts began to mingle together; meeting lady love of the steel winter and lady elzbia of the titanium summer. the three of them became a tightnit group of friends, but there was no fourth matriarchal presence that could complete their friendship--as there was no lady of the iron spring; there never was. and the lord of the iron spring; dominiq atherton... he was always a rugged, handsome, and mysterious man.

jeanna's affections first started off as insignificant as a crush. he was handsome, and she could acknowledge that. she, love, and elzbia all tended to have their gossips about the men of the court, so when she mentioned she found him attractive, she didn't think anything of it-elzbia agreed, and while love didn't share their taste she got the vibe. this culminated with her two friends gently encouraging her to speak with dominiq at the balls. jeanna knew her brother wouldn't approve of it because of his hatred of lord atherton, but lord atherton was charming, calm, and made her feel at ease, which was MUCH different than how she felt around her brother. out of her brother's eye she struck up a companionship with him, and this went on for some time before biand found out and berated her super harshly, forbidding her from stepping foot outside their castle walls for a month.

but dominiq appeared at her window with flowers one night. and that was probably when she was doomed.

she became hopelessly enamored with lord atherton; she couldn't help it. he was a safe space away from her brother and the mounting pressure he put on her to conform to his will. maybe she vented to lord atherton about how controlling and heartless he was towards her and how she felt conflicted because she loved him as a brother but many times it felt like he didn't see her as anything more than a pawn for his goals. lord atherton listened and she ate his attention up, none the wiser to his own plan.

it wasn't long before dominiq was able to seduce jeanna into his bed--on more than one occasion. he did everything right and jeanna kept this close to her chest that she'd slept with him, not even telling her closest friends. even though dominiq was isolating her from her brother, she was isolating herself from those who genuninely loved and cared about her and without their guidance she fell deeper and deeper into lord atherton's web. until... it finally happened.

it being that the leader of the council of alizath that was supposed to keep all the nobles and lords working to the people's wishes, was found dead. and lord biand, the most proud, outspoken and perhaps flashy with his displays of wealth and power, was determined to be the most likely culprit. biand wasn't having it, and set to work using their family's witch to try and gain more intel about who actually killed the minister and cleared his name, though his suspicions were always on lord atherton. and he had a right to be suspicious.

when he went to confront dominiq, ready to expose him before the trial... dominiq dropped a bomb. that he had impregnated his sister, jeanna. and it was true. jeanna while all this was going on had begun to experience all the woes of pregnancy and she knew that it would only be a matter of time before her brother found out and discarded her, but while she was having these thoughts, dominiq and biand were hashing it out. dominiq said that he would not only pin the blame on biand, but that he would expose jeanna and ruin their family forever, or, biand could take the high road and skip the trial, but also banish himself from alizath forever--never to return until dominiq himself kicked the bucket. biand had to admit he was out played. and in a rare show of care for his sister (or perhaps more in fear of his reputation), biand withdrew.

he didn't admit fault, but he didn't contest the banishment. jeanna had her baby, quietly, greye, which as promised, lord atherton took as his own. then the sunnivas were cast out of alizath altogether, and the brass autumn's future was left up in the air.

SO all of that rambling to say that jeanna was badly hurt by all of this. she lost her child, earned even further ire and distrust from her brother, and realized the man who she thought was bonding with her, was only interested in using her just as her brother did. but in a worse way. this is 30 ish years before the main story, and jeanna is in her 50s now, and time has both mellowed and hardened her. she no longer questions her brother's will--she just assumes that he's right, because he was right about lord atherton, she just didn't want to see it. so she's become subservient to him and his.... abusive tendencies. she also keeps all her thoughts and opinions to herself. she doesn't agree with how biand is going about getting his revenge, especially involving an innocent girl (kirsi) in it, but she doesn't question him anymore.

to kirsi, she is strict and distant, but can't deny she cares for her. she tries to do as biand wills and not look at her like the daughter she was forced to give up, but she can't help but feel that way, and is softer on kirsi especially once she and kirsi return to alizath alone and get some space away from biand's influence.

overall, i really love jeanna (and most of these characters); she didn't deserve what happened to her, but ik she feels like its too late for happiness for her. but kirsi views her as a mother and wishes she could help her be happy.

#this is so long im sorry #i just keep all my thoughts in my head #ODBC #s: alizath

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thepastisalreadywritten · 8 months ago

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SAINT OF THE DAY (October 4)

On October 4, Roman Catholics celebrate the feast of St. Francis of Assisi, the Italian deacon who brought renewal to the Church through his decision to follow Jesus' words as literally as possible.

In a January 2010 general audience, Pope Benedict XVI recalled this “giant of holiness as a great saint and a joyful man, who taught the Church that the secret of true happiness is to become saints, close to God.”

The future Saint Francis was born on an uncertain date in the early 1180s, one of the several children born to the wealthy merchant Pietro Bernardone and his wife Pica.

He originally received the name Giovanni (or John) but became known as Francesco (or Francis) by his father's choice.

Unlike many medieval saints, St. Francis was neither studious nor pious in his youth.

His father's wealth gave him access to a lively social life among the upper classes, where he was known for his flashy clothes and his readiness to burst into song.

Later a patron of peacemakers, he aspired to great military feats in his youth and fought in a war with a rival Italian city-state.

A period of imprisonment during that conflict turned his mind toward more serious thoughts, as did a recurring dream that suggested his true “army” was not of this world.

He returned to Assisi due to illness in 1205, and he began to consider a life of voluntary poverty.

Three major incidents confirmed Francis in this path.

In Assisi, he overcame his fear of disease to kiss the hand of a leper.

Afterward, he made a pilgrimage to Rome, where he deposited his money at Saint Peter's tomb and exchanged clothes with a beggar.

Soon after he returned home, Francis heard Christ tell him in a vision: “Go, Francis, and repair my house, which as you see is falling into ruin.”

Francis began to use his father's wealth to restore churches.

This led to a public quarrel in which the cloth-merchant's son removed his clothing and declared that he had no father except God.

He regarded himself as the husband of “Lady Poverty” and resolved to serve Christ as “a herald of the Great King.”

During the year 1208, the “herald” received the inspiration that would give rise to the Franciscan movement.

In 1223, he arranged for the first live nativity scene as part of the annual Christmas celebration in Greccio.

At Mass one morning, he heard the Gospel reading in which Christ instructed the apostles to go forth without money, shoes, or extra clothing.

This way of life soon became a papally-approved rule, which would attract huge number of followers within Francis' own lifetime.

Through his imitation of Christ, Francis also shared in the Lord's sufferings.

He miraculously received Christ's wounds, the stigmata, in his own flesh during September of 1224.

His health collapsed over the next two years, a “living sacrifice” made during two decades of missionary preaching and penance.

Francis of Assisi died on 3 October 1226.

Pope Gregory IX, his friend and devotee, canonized him on 16 July 1228.

St. Francis is one of the most venerated religious figures in Roman Catholic history.

He founded the Franciscan orders, including the Poor Clares and the lay Third Order.

He and St. Catherine of Siena are the patron saints of Italy. He is also the patron saint of ecology and of animals.

Francis is associated with patronage of animals and the environment.

It became customary for churches to hold ceremonies blessing animals on his feast day of the fourth of October, which became known as "World Animal Day."

#Saint of the Day #St. Francis of Assisi #World Animal Day #nativity scene

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a-man-for-hire-and-his-archives · 1 year ago

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‘Black Sails’ Star Luke Arnold Is Creating A Graphic Novel With A Strong Creative Compass

Though he’s had a long run as a working actor, Australian born Black Sails and INXS: Never Tear Us Apart star Luke Arnold says he’s always been a writer. He says that’s related to his favorite part of acting – figuring out the strategy for the performance more than the performance itself.

For Arnold, getting into the space to create is vital. Drama school was followed by the start of his on-screen career, but while he was still writing, he felt a truth that will resonate with many aspiring creators: “For so long you’re so desperate for a paycheck and for something to happen in your career that for so long as a young actor, it’s hard to really focus on something [else],” he says while recounting the process of trying to find time to write in between auditions and jobs.

Arnold is talking with us as he readies the launch of a Kickstarter campaign around a new, high concept graphic novel that he-co-wrote with Chris “Doc” Wyatt. The story plays with shifting realities, twisting truths, and anti-science ideas. It sound expansive and timely, deploying multiple heavy-hitter artists (including Bill Sienkiewicz, Glenn Fabry, Jason Howard, Vince Locke, Brendan McCarthy, Andrea Mutti, and M.K. Perker) in collaboration with The Lab Press. This follows his three novels with a fourth on the way.

Arnold’s writing work is the result of a careful balance that grants him the time to carve out dedicated space to write, doing it in a way that seems to not just impact the work but also reinvigorate him when a new acting role comes along. That balance has come from having worked steadily and from legit financial planning.

“I do put time aside and I know I’ve got to make the acting money last through that time. And make sure there’s enough, all the rent and bills and everything are covered while the money isn’t pouring in the same way it does when you’re on an acting job that gives you a check every week,” says Arnold.

Working in this fashion gives Arnold the ability to not be pushed into bad creative decisions by necessity, accountable to his audience more than to the business side of things. It’s a luxury, to be sure, but one that he is happy to lean into with focus and humbleness (believe me, Arnold gets how lucky he is to be able to put one career down for a moment to pick up another, mentioning it more than once).

“If you start spending so much that now you have to make all your decisions based on finances, you start making the wrong decisions, you start taking jobs you don’t want to take.” says Arnold.

The desire to chase a kind of purity with the creative process extends beyond planning and striving for dedicated time. It also factors into how he chose to pursue this specific process, turning to Kickstarter.

“It takes so many barriers away, because so much in publishing and getting books out can be about this whole network of agents and publishers to the booksellers, to the bookstores, to the people in the bookstores recommending it to readers. And that can be such a great pipeline of people, but it can also limit what people have access to,” Arnold says. “Kickstarter is a very level playing field and very creator driven. So it’s a perfect place for this whole journey to start.”

While Arnold also lauds Kickstarter’s creative community and other benefits, he acknowledges the advantage his name recognition brings, though we both agree that it may, at times, be overstated.

“I think that the’ve got to be careful how I say this. I’m sure when I get opportunities like this, some part of it is that I have have a profile from a TV show. But I think it often gets overestimated, this idea of how much of an audience will follow you between different fields and different mediums,” he says, before I co-sign the thought by reminding that there is a big difference between following someone and giving them a credit card number.

At the end of the day, while some may click because of Arnold’s run on Black Sails (the pirate epic is about to hit Netflix in full), the idea for Essentials has to win them over. It’s why we’re talking with him, to be honest. And so, to end off and share info on the Kickstarter, let’s have him make that sales pitch in his own words.

“Essentials follows Harris Pax, who was the one scientist who foresaw this inter-dimensional collision happening where our dimension collided with another. Now objective reality has become untethered. And people’s subjective realities are becoming real, the way they see the world, their fears, beliefs, ideas are manifesting around them. This was a kind-of COVID baby. This was an idea that we were forming in 2020. A lot of it is dealing with that idea of what the hell do you do when everyone is in their own little world. And we can no longer agree on some basic facts, science, the world we’re in, and how hard is it to do what Harris tries to do, which is to go into these subjective realities and try and convince the person inside that they need to come back to the real world.”

You can check out the Kickstarter for Essentials on April 17.

Source: Uproxx

#black sails #luke arnold #interview #uproxx #essentials

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aceofbooks-creative-anthologies · 10 months ago

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Background: Here is the beginning of the end for Ace and Chigiri (can you have an end without a start?)

wc: 4254; first part is in first-person from Ace's POV; second part is in first-person from Chigiri's POV (which features segments in brackets and red text [ ] that are kind of an internal fourth-wall break situation); third part is in first-person from Ace's POV

It's been three years since the tear.

Three years of developing an actual friendship. I might even call him my best friend at this point. Lord knows that the girls on my team have started to resent me, which bleeds into my friendships in the classroom. So even if I don't call him my best friend, he's the closest thing I have.

Three years of carefully measuring myself against the Japanese Olympians. Three years of mediocre training that I have to compensate for elsewhere. Three years of biting my tongue about my potential because I don't want to remind him of what he's lost.

Three years of hiding my growing feelings for him. Childhood cooties turned into a pre-teen crush over a boy I knew next to nothing about. Well, besides his shoe size, his height, his stride length, his speed range, his favorite color of shoelaces, his preferred electrolyte mix, the faces he makes when he's breathing hard, the way his heart beats in the jugular vein when I out pace him..... Those childish fancies blossomed into real romantic yearnings and aspirations. But I'd never act on them.

And now we tell each other everything. Well not everything. I don't tell him about the doodles of our names in a heart. Or that the girls at school make fun of me for my "girlfriend" whenever they happen to catch a glimpse of my camera roll. I don't tell him that I don't tell them the truth because I want to keep him all to myself. If he met any of the girls on my team or in my class, he'd want to—

The news comes over text message:

Red: i've been invited to trial for an exclusive soccer program Red: can i call you? Red: actually can we meet up? Red: i want Red: no i NEED Red: to talk with you about this in person

He's never asked to meet up outside of our time at the park before.

Blue: yeah sure Blue: when?

My phone pings, an alert to a high priority email. I clear it from the activity log.

Red: now? Red: i know it's before dinner Red: so i'll see you in a couple hours Red: but

The blinking ellipses taunt me as he types and erases his message over and over again. They settle as his message finally comes through.

Red: please? Red: *GIF of Puss in Boots pleading*

Blue: fine Blue: omw

Down the stairs and into the front hall. "Hey mum?" I call over my shoulder as I lace up my running shoes. They're looking pretty beat up, will probably only get a couple more meets out of them at this rate—if I'm okay with running without any soles. Maybe I should ask for an advance for my New Year's money from Gramma.

"Yes dear?" Comes my mother's call from inside the kitchen.

"I'm going out to meet up with Red for a bit. I should be back in time for dinner."

"That's odd. You'll just see him after dinner." I can almost hear the furrow in her brow.

"He got some important news earlier. Wants someone to talk to about it."

"He can't talk to his parents?"

I'm halfway out the door as I call back, "I don't know, mum. But this will probably be the first and last time, yeah? Love you." Her response is muffled by the door as it latches into place behind me, but there's a ninety-five percent chance it was about my homework, which is finished anyway.

After a few static stretches in the yard, I take off down the street at a (relatively) slower pace of eight min/km. I don't need to run at my training or race pace when I know he's going to take longer, even though he lives considerably closer.

Unless he's already there and was just hoping that I would agree to show up.

With each stride, I can feel the pavement pounding its way through my shoes. Thump, thump, thump. Doesn't quite match my heart rate yet, but it'll get there. There's a trill from my watch, noting the sudden spike in my heart rate and decrease in my oxygen levels. But no threshold alerts, so I'm all set to keep going.

The high priority email vibrates in my pocket four times before I reach the park.

Deep breaths. In through the nose. Count to five. Out through the mouth. Count to seven. In. Count to five. Out. Count to....

Hands over head. Keep the chest open.

It's like my trainer is in my head. I can almost see his mustache ruffle as he breathes, muttering about how I'm training too hard.

Dynamic stretches to keep the blood from pooling.

Five minutes into my cool down, and he still hasn't arrived. I check my phone, hoping that I don't see a text from him saying that he fell twenty minutes ago.

Nothing from Red, but there is that pesky high priority email. Might as well check it while I wait for him.

From: The Japanese Olympic Athletics Team

To: [email protected]

Dear Miss Ace Kyori,

We are pleased to notify you of our interest in your performance at your recent meets and at our informal training camp last month.

Pending the status of your next few meets, we'd like to extend an invitation for you to compete at our —

"Hey Blue!" I almost drop my phone at the sound of his voice behind me. And then I do drop my phone as I turn around, because I've never seen him not wearing athletic gear. I mean, we've sent a couple of silly selfies at like school or whatever, but this is genuine casual clothing in person. It's just a navy sweater and jeans, but it's still so out of the normal that my heart and brain stutter for a second.

I can feel my face heating up as he reaches down and grabs my phone for me because I haven't moved. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting long." The smile on his face seems somber, like something has made him upset in the almost hour since we last spoke.

"Only an eternity." I sigh dramatically, using an old joke to try and lift his mood. He had good news earlier, and I have some now too! We should be celebrating.

"Right, sorry that me and my handicap—" I wait quietly for him to finish his line in this exchange, a script that we've used hundreds, if not thousands, of times at this point. He lets out a breath after a moment and then, "Sorry. I'm not really in the headspace to joke about it right now."

"Oh. That's fine! Do you want to go for a walk or—"

"No, this shouldn't take long. We can just stay out here."

"Right."

Minutes start to tick by as he wrings his hands and stares at his feet.

"Look, Red. I told my mom that—"

"Right, sorry." He's running a hand through his hair now, trying to pin it back so it's out of his face. I silently offer him my spare hair elastic, but he waves me off with his other hand before letting the first hand, and by extension his hair, fall. It shrouds his face in a way that I know he despises, but I resist the urge to step in closer and brush it away. He takes one, two, three deep breaths......

How do I tell her that I can't do this? I can't look her in the face right now. Look anywhere else! I know that under the concern, she's one wrong word away from a panic attack. She's been so stressed out for weeks, but she won't say a word about it to me. I've had to jog to keep up with her a few times because of the excess energy she's trying to expel.

How do I tell her that I can't do this?

"I'm not going to accept the invitation to the soccer program." I'm looking at the darkening sky above her head as I say it. The streetlight clicks on above us, bathing her in warm golden light. I might have taken the time to admire the view if I wasn't trying to not panic myself.

"I'm sorry?" I look at her now, and confusion is written in every shadow. Not a sliver of the panic I recognized moments ago.

"They're looking to train people for the U-20 league or something. A 'player improvement project' I think it was called. I haven't played in three years, they must have reached out by mistake." Even I can hear the lie, and I rehearsed it all the way over here.

[But is it a lie? There is literally no legitimate reason for them to have reached out after three years of inactivity. What if I was in a wheelchair? They wouldn't have reached out just because I was good three years ago if that was the case, so why is this any different? I've still been inactive, with no indication of going back to a pitch.]

"If they're reaching out on behalf of the U-20, it can't be a mistake. They don't make mistakes. They're obviously impressed by what you were able to do, and want to know what you're capable of now. Especially if it's for 'improvement'!" The confusion is giving way to hope. She really thinks I can do this?

"I'm not capable of anything."

[Another fucking lie. Why am I trying so hard to convince her that I'm not worth her time? That I've never been worth her time.]

"That's a fucking lie, and you know it." God, I've missed the fire behind her eyes. "Don't think I haven't noticed you jogging with me. You're getting your strength back and showing remarkable improvement. You have so much untapped potential that they're looking to train up!" She leans back into the heels of her shoes, a smug smile trying to dance its way onto her lips.

"You've been testing me?! I could've aggravated my injury!" Stupid, stupid, stupid. She'd obviously be more careful than that. She wouldn't throw three years of recovery out the window for a test.

"That's what you took from that?! And it wasn't a test! If I wanted to test you, I would've been doing my training pace!"

[Right, because she's been having to do extra training because of her slow pace when she's here with me, working on my recovery. Her training pace with me hasn't been her actual training pace in three years. I have no idea what her training pace is now. It used to be seven min/km, is she down to six? What's her race pace now?]

"OH, so you don't think I can keep up with you anymore?!" What am I saying?!

"Don't twist my words around! You and I both know that you are more capable than you have been giving yourself credit for!" The smile is gone, as is the hope. It's all giving way to hurt.

[But not the skinned knees or rolled ankles kind of hurt. It's the kind of hurt that's more than bone deep; the kind of hurt that hits you square in the chest. The kind of hurt that you feel when someone you look up to disappoints you. The kind of hurt you feel when someone you care for is only hurting themselves.]

"No I'm n—!"

[This was a bad idea. I shouldn't have asked her to meet. I don't know what I expected.]

"You're just afraid! Afraid of being good at something again! Afraid of challenging yourself! Afraid of going after your dreams!" She's talking emphatically with her hands. She hasn't done that since before my injury.

"I'm afraid of hurting myself again! Afraid of losing any chance at my dreams!" The panic rose into my throat without me noticing. I feel like my heart is going to beat out of my chest.

[She doesn't need to know the whole truth. That I'm afraid of losing her. Running is all we have. It's all we talk about, all we have that ties us together. If I can't run, then she'll just find someone else. Graduation is in March, will she even keep running if she doesn't have something to compete for? I've done nothing but drag her down, slow her progress, since my injury. But she's been the brightest star in my sky. If I get hurt again, I won't be able to walk with her, let alone have any possibility of one day running with her again. The fear of that paralyzes me just as much as the fear of never having my chance to be the world's greatest striker.]

[But if I don't put myself out there and try again, I'm not increasing my chances either. Just living in stagnation. Suspended on a tight rope between two very real possibilities—one absolutely devastating, the other just as equally exhilarating.]

"The likelihood of a repeated ACL injury are incredibly low! If you heal correctly, which you have, and train well, which you have, and work to not make the same mistakes, then you should be fine!" We both know that she's right. She has teammates that had ACL injuries and they're still competing.

"Soccer isn't like running! I can't control what other players are going to do out on the pitch! They could target me, intentionally try to hurt me—" Comparing our sports is a low blow, and it's how I can tell that I'm spiraling. I'm trying to hurt her more so that she'll just drop it, and we can move on and go back to normal.

[We had this argument when I was first cleared for light activity. She had tried to convince me to go back to the pitch then, too. But I was afraid then, just as I am now.]

"And they'll get carded and removed from the game, yeah? So what is there to worry about?!" Her whole body is tense, frozen, like she's holding back a flood of emotion. The only tell is the way her lower lip trembles.

"You don't get it!" So tell her dumbass, make her understand. I'm shouting, trying to drown out my fear or her, I'm not sure. If I'm louder than she is, she has to listen to me. That's how it always worked out when we were little.

"Race me." Her lips set in a hard line, and she crosses her arms over her chest. Steady. Determined. The look that had me accepting her challenge when we were six. The same look that convinced me to walk into the park with her three years ago while I was still getting the hang of my crutches. But the hurt is still there, lurking under the surface, making her eyes glimmer ever so slightly from unformed tears.

It takes me a second to register the change in tone of our conversation, and a little longer after that to register what she said. "What?"

"Race me. Prove that you can't keep up with me, and you can turn the Association down. But if you can, then you need to go." She has to be joking. But she's bending over to check her laces, making sure that they're tight.

"I'm not racing you." I have to clench my fists to keep myself in check. A piece of hair has fallen from her ponytail onto the nape of her neck and I want to fix it, but now isn't the time.

[It never is.]

"Come on, it won't even be that far! Just the length of a soccer pitch, and we don't have to go top speed!" She's standing up now, hands reaching behind her head to take the elastic out, fix her ponytail.

"No." I do my best attempt at mimicking her stance from before, arms crossed, shoulders and hips squared. If it's worked on me twice (almost three times), then surely it will work on her.

"Fine, we don't have to race. You just have to run the length of a pitch." The smug smile is back. Her hair tumbles down over her shoulders in waves of golden silk.

"No." I feel like I'm shaking. I don't know if she can see it, or if it's just in my head.

[Was it always going to end like this?]

"Come on—" The hair elastic is between her teeth now, her plead coming out strained.

"Goddammit Ace! I said no!" My outburst is loud enough to set off a couple dogs in the surrounding houses. I feel red-hot with anger and embarrassment. The hair elastic has fallen from her teeth to the ground, and there's a tear trying to escape from the corner of her eye.

[I've never used her given name before. And now I've tainted the memory of it with my own selfishness. She'll never forgive me for this.]

"Chi—" She's reaching out to grab my hand, like she did three years ago, concern and compassion practically bleeding from every pore on her body.

[This would be the second time we've had physical contact that wasn't explicitly helpful in some manner; physical contact that had emotions hidden within its depths. Not tying each other's shoes. Or getting deeper into a stretch. Or a hand up when we've tripped over a loose stone. It's just a friendly gesture of comfort. But it feels like so much more.]

The urge to hug her has never been so strong. But I still take a step back, out of her reach. Her hand remains aloft, a promise if I would just take it.

"No." Don't say it. "I'm not going to run, let alone with you, ever again. So just drop it." You bastard.

I beat my PR that night. An even four min/km. Too bad the Olympics coaches were nowhere nearby to witness it. I'll probably never be able to do it again. Which my fitness watch will be happy about, because the crash when I got to my door (after running around the block a couple of extra times) had it just shy of calling paramedics on my behalf.

It's been three days. I've had to miss out on practice and training because I'm in so much pain—physically sure, but emotionally too. Mum is tempted to keep me home from school as well, but I have to keep up with my academics if nothing else.

I was a puddle of snot and tears with an erratic heart beat and low oxygen levels in the front yard, so I understand her concern.

But I need something to be normal.

He's been texting me like everything's normal. 'Good morning' at 6 AM. 'Good night' at 10 PM.

He's even tried calling me a couple of times, which we've never done before. I just let it ring out and then go to voicemail. He never leaves one. I don't know why I keep hoping that he will.

I haven't been back to the park.

Day four is a Friday. Coach has taken me off the docket for the meet this weekend. But my trainer says that I can pick up with him again on Sunday if I'm feeling up to it. And Mum said that we can go pick out new running shoes on Saturday—she must have asked Gramma for the advance on my behalf.

There's a knock on the door right after dinner, when I normally would've been headed to the park. Mum goes to answer the door while I finish drying the dishes and start putting them away. I can hear hushed voices at the door, but I'm not bothered enough to try and eavesdrop.

Mum comes back in a rush, taking the currently wet plate and dish towel out of my hands. "There's someone at the door for you." She won't look at me, and her voice is flat, completely devoid of emotion.

Chigiri is waiting for me on the other side of our front door. I close it in his face immediately after opening it.

"Ace! Wait a sec—" SLAM

"Blue, can you let me in?" There's a long pause. I can feel something akin to fire rushing into my cheeks. "Will you come outside at least?" More silence.

"I... I want to apologize. But I'd rather do that face to face. Can I ask that much of you?" I hear him take a seat on Mum's porch swing to the side of the door. "I'll stay out here as long as I need to, to make it up to you in some way."

I finally sigh and shrug on a coat before opening the door and stepping outside in my socks. His face brightens, and I realize that I've made a mistake by capitulating to him.

"You don't have to say anything, I don't even necessarily want or expect you to. Just have a seat with me?" He pats the spot on the swing next to him, as if he's been here dozens of times and this is normal. When, in all actuality, this is the first time either of us have been to the other's home.

I stay standing.

"Right. Okay." He rises from his seat to meet me at eye level. "First, I'm sorry for breaching a boundary. I know 'Find My Friends' is exclusively for emergencies and I shouldn't have used it to come visit you at home. But you haven't been answering my calls or responding to my texts, so I didn't know what else to do to reach you." His arm keeps lifting as if he wants to put a comforting hand on my shoulder, but he stops midway.

I take a step back.

"I'm also sorry for the things that I said on Monday." He takes a half step forward. "I was frustrated, and scared, and I honestly felt a bit claustrophobic by the end of it. But I shouldn't have lashed out the way I did. You didn't deserve it."

"What is this?" I'm looking at my feet, there's a hole no bigger than a pin head over my big toe on my left foot. I can just barely make out my purple nail polish.

"What do you mean? It's an apology...?"

"No it's not."

"Ace—"

"Don't call me that! You haven't earned the right to call me that." I can feel the fire in my cheeks again, but this time it's burning down my throat, lacing my tongue with battery acid.

"And as for your 'apology'?" I emphasize with air quotes. "It sounds like a fucking script! Like you asked your older sister what it was that I would want to hear and are giving it to me verbatim."

I try to take a breath to calm my nerves, but it just gets caught. "It doesn't sound like it's coming from Red. My Red."

It's not until he takes two steps forward and puts a hand to my cheek that I realize that I'm crying. Molten lava, burning away the flesh, leaving me bare and exposed.

I slap his hand away and step down into the front yard. "Don't touch me!" I hiss, doing everything I can to not shout and alert my neighbors.

He's staring at his hand as if it's not attached to his own body; like it acted of its own accord. "Blue, I'm sorry, I—I didn't—"

My vision is blurry. I didn't put my contacts in this morning, and I had taken my glasses off to do the dishes. I'm lifting the collar of my t-shirt to rub at my eyes, trying in vain to mop up the streams running down my face. In the seconds that my eyes are covered, he takes the few strides down the stairs and into the yard with me.

I look up, and he's in front of me once again, albeit a little watery around the edges.

"What can I do?" His voice is quieter than I think I've ever heard it. Below a whisper, more of a visual cue than an audible one.

I press a hand to the base of my neck to clear my mind and find my voice. "Go to the player improvement program. Run your ass off. Become the best striker in the world. And then I'll think about forgiving you for stringing me along for three years."

"Stringing you along? Blue, I haven't been—"

"Either you've been stringing me along, and you've been able to run this whole fucking time, or I've wasted three years of training on someone who was just a distraction. Show me that it hasn't been a waste of time."

"Blue—"

"Goodnight Chigiri." My vision is blurry again, the molten lava returning to their paths down my cheeks. But I'm brushing past him, up the stairs, across the porch, and then closing and locking the front door before I'm collapsing with my back against it.

Mum gives a passing glance out into the yard before turning off the porch light and then carrying me upstairs to my room and tucking me into bed.

She goes shopping without me on Saturday, picking up the exact shoes that I had wanted. I don't go to training on Sunday.

His next text doesn't come until Monday morning.

Red: i'm leaving this afternoon Red: mom will be in touch about details Red: if you want updates or anything Red: i really am sorry Red: 💔

Blue: 👍

#hyoumace #the lovers' library #divider from cafekitsune #divider from saradika-graphics

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talonabraxas · 1 year ago

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Solar Angel Contact with the Solar Angel

The causal body is a sheath that contains the astral and physical permanent atoms and the mental unit. It is the lowest vehicle to survive from one incarnation to the next, and through the three permanent atoms (for convenience treating the mental unit as such) serves to preserve a distillation of the experiences from successive incarnations. Prior to physical birth, life flows down from the causal body to the lower mental, astral, and physical planes, energizing the permanent atoms and sweeping the devas of those planes into action to build the new incarnational form. 29 At the end of that incarnation, life is withdrawn from the lower vehicles, and the permanent atoms are enriched by what has been learned.

Techniques for developing contact with the Solar Angel can be found in many esoteric systems, whether or nor the concept of the Solar Angel is properly understood. For example, Ron Scolastico’s popular book Doorway to the Soul provides an interesting sequence of meditations that could be used even by people with minimal esoteric training. 31 As the individual invokes his or her Solar Angel, the Angel responds, at first sporadically and then more continuously. Golden Dawn initiate Israel Regardie provides an eloquent description of the process:

Some types of service can only be performed with the Solar Angel’s participation. For example, the Tibetan explains that the practice of white magic requires the Angel’s resources:

Similarly, in that important application of magic, healing:

If white magic requires the Solar Angel’s assistance, magic ritual has also been explored as a means of invoking the Angel. The most famous ritual for that purpose was recorded by the medieval Kabbalist Abraham the Jew (1362-1460), but attributed to a sage, Abra-Melin, whom he claimed to have met in Egypt. 36 What is particularly significant about Abraham’s work is that, in a preamble to the ritual, he dismissed the then-customary use of elaborate magic paraphernalia to emphasize a life of prayer and concentration, akin to the spiritual practices of the mystics—or indeed to our own esoteric disciplines. The early 20th century occultist Aleister Crowley adapted Abra-Melin’s ritual to invoke what he termed “the knowledge and conversation” of the Angel.” It is not clear whether Crowley succeeded, but he affirmed that the central role of ritual is “the invocation of the Holy Guardian Angel; or, in the language of mysticism, Union with God.”

Yet another includes this affirmation of personal sacrifice and sacrifice and courage:

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00katrinka00 · 5 months ago

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Not A Love Story Character Introductions

I am taking a bit of a break from my Landcaster legacy to make sure I don't get burned out, so in the meantime I'm planning on playing through a new story I came up with. I've decided to do small character introductions for the main and reoccurring characters throughout the story, so you can get to know them a bit better before I start posting after I get back from vacation. I've decided to name this small story Not A Love Story, and hopefully as I start posting you'll see why.

First up is my MMC, Garreth White. Traits: Bookwork, Overachiever, Gloomy Aspiration: Bestselling Author

Garreth is originally from Windenburg. He's currently a senior at Britechester university studying language and literature. He has 3 older sisters, Marlowe, Sloane, and Cecily. His dad is a lawyer, and his mother is a bestselling romance author. Garreth has always been a pretty quiet guy. Since his mother is a bestselling author he was encouraged to read from a very young age and this sparked his love of reading and writing and it made him want to be an author.

He has a reputation around the writing department at Britechester as being a grade A asshole. Due to this many of his peers ignore him and all of the younger students in the program are a bit scared of him. Garreth doesn't have any friends, and is considered a loner. He has a Persian cat named Esther.

I don't want to spoil too much about Garreth's lore, but I absolutely adore this man, and I would die for him

Second is my FMC, Ainsley Gains. Traits: Outgoing, Bookwork, Romantic Aspiration: Bestselling Author

Like Garreth, Ainsley also grew up in Windenburg, but their upbringings were quite different. Ainsley's father died when she was a toddler and when she was 6 her mother remarried and had her younger sister, Fiona. Ainsley has been quite protective of Fiona always trying to give her all the opportunities she never had growing up. Their family lives above (but doesn't own) the local bookstore where Ainsley spent most of her days reading between the shelves. She used reading as a form of escape from some of the things she was dealing with in regard to her home life. This is why she's decided to study Language & Literature at Britechester, where she's currently a junior.

Around the writing department Ainsley is highly regarded and generally a very well-liked sim. People find her approachable and have no issue coming to her for help or advice. I'd also die for Ainsley.

Third is Diego Gonzales Traits: Art Lover, Loyal, Lovebug Aspiration: Party Animal

Diego is originally from Ciudad Enamorada, but he moved to Windenburg as a child where he met and became best friends with Ainsley. He's currently in his junior year at Britechester studying art history with the hope of being an arts critic after graduation. Diego is a RA (Resident Assistant) in Wyvern Hall. Although he hates this job, he gets free room and board at Britechester as well as his own room, so he puts up with it.

Diego does enjoy attending parties and getting that full college experience. In his friend group he's part of what Ainsley and Delilah have dubbed the 'terror trio', which consists of himself, Scarlet, and Jae, mostly because those three like to have fun and are often getting everyone into trouble.

Diego is ride or die for his friends, and he would do just about anything for all of them, even if he teases them at times.

Fourth is Scarlet Daniels Traits: Creative, Self-Assured, Self-Absorbed Aspiration: Painter Extraordinaire

Scarlet was Ainsley's Freshman year roommate at Britechester. Like Diego, Scarlet is studying art history, but she wants to be an artists after graduation. Due to their shared major, and Scarlet's roommate status with Ainsley she became roped into Diego and Ainsley's little duo and the three have been friends since. Scarlet currently lives in an off campus townhouse with both Ainsley and Jae.

Scarlet is originally from Del Sol Valley, and her parents wanted her to pursue a much more serious career in college, but Scarlet refused. She's never been good at following directions or doing what others want her to do. She can sometimes be a bit mean and judgmental, but that is due to the fact that she's self-absorbed. At the end of the day Scarlet (usually) means well, and she always tries to be there for her friends even if sometimes she needs them a bit more.

Fifth is Ainsley and Scarlet's third roommate, Jae Park. Traits: Ambitious, Outgoing, Nosey Aspiration: City Native

Jae is originally from Oasis Springs. She's a junior at Britechester studying Language and Literature. Unlike Ainsley, Jae is hoping to become a lawyer with this degree instead of going the writing route. That being said she does still enjoy creative writing in her free time. Jae and Ainsley met during the second semester their freshman year. They shared a writing class together, and became friends over the course of the class. Eventually Jae got folded into Ainsley's little friend group with Diego and Scarlet.

Jae is a nosey sim, so she's always interested in whatever gossip is making its way around the department. She is also quite sarcastic, and very rarely takes things seriously. Most anything out of Jae's mouth is likely a joke. She does have an on again off again boyfriend names Milo. At the start of the story they are currently on the outs in their relationship.

Sixth is Delilah Jennings Traits: Loyal, Genius, Perfectionist Aspiration: Academic

Delilah is currently a senior at Britechester studying Biology. She's top of her class, and an honors student. After graduation she does plan on going into the doctor career.

Delilah is a pretty laid back and level headed sim. During her Sophomore year she rescued Scarlet from a group of fratboys who were trying to take advantage of her. Upon finding out that all of Scarlet's friends were out of town for the weekend, Delilah spent the evening taking care of her and making sure Scarlet was okay. After this she and Scarlet became friends.

When Ainsley, Diego, Jae, and Scarlet needed a Biology tutor for one of their gen ed classes, Delilah volunteered herself and she's been good friends with everyone since. Delilah is originally from Willow Creek, and she often considered one of the only sane members of their little friend group. She currently has a boyfriend named Jamal.

Seventh is Jamal Jameson Traits: Good, Ambitious, Active Aspiration: Academic

Jamal is a first year med student at Foxbury studying to become a surgeon (because I say Med/Grad school is a thing). Jamal is the cousin of my sim, Nat, from my Landcaster legacy. He's also been dating Delilah for the last two years, and they live together in a townhouse located in Britechester.

Jamal met Delilah when he was a junior and she was a sophomore in college. They met when Delilah decided to go to Foxbury to attend the guest lecture of a famous medical specialist.

While Jamal has gotten folded into Delilah's friend group, and he does regularly spend time with them, he does have several of his own friends at Foxbury, whom you'll meet they just aren't as relevant to the story.

Overall, Jamal is a very laid back and chill sim, and he doesn't really let much get to him. He is originally from San Sequoia.

Eighth is Isabelle (Isa) Felix. Traits: Romantic, Mean, Noncommittal Aspiration: Romantic Explorer

Isa is a fellow language & literature major at Britechester alongside Ainsley, Garreth, and Jae. Isa is currently a senior, and she's also Garreth's ex-girlfriend. Isa and Garreth started dating about midway through their freshman year at Britechester. They broke up during the spring of their sophomore year, for reasons that will be revealed at a later date.

Around the writing department, Isa is known to be very bubbly and outgoing, but she cycles through friends quickly. Isa has a tendency to know everything about everyone, and she's not above using other people's secrets for personal gain. She loves creating stories, and people are like the pawns in a chess game to her.

She does currently have a boyfriend named Anthony, and she is originally from Ciudad Enamorada. She is not a part of Ainsley's friend group, but Ainsley does try to be nice to her in class.

Last, but certainly not least, is Ainsley's younger sister, Fiona Gains. Traits: Perfectionist, Geek Aspiration: Goal Orientated

Fiona is currently a Freshman at Windenburg high school. Fiona is known to be quite naïve when it comes matters of her home life, mostly because Ainsley did a great job at shielding Fiona from a lot.

Fiona currently works at the bookstore, just like her sister did during high school. Her favorite band, currently, is Janie and the Misfits (👀). Fiona is usually very cheerful. She's also wanted a pet cat for forever, but keeps getting denied.

Ainsley does her best to make time for Fiona whenever she's in Windenburg, so Fiona is no stranger to tagging along with Ainsley and her friends. Fiona does look up to Ainsley a great deal, she absolutely adores her older sister. Fiona is as much Diego's younger sister as she is Ainsley's, he'll tell you as much. Fiona's best friend's name is Eleanor. Fiona likes reading, just not as much as Ainsley does.

#thesims4 #thesims4gameplay #thesims4community #thesims #thesimscommunity #the sims 4 #the sims community #the sims #the sims gameplay #notalovestory

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etruatcaelum · 6 months ago

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On the Branwen Tribe.

In brief, the bandits shown in the Mistral arc represent only a fraction of the Branwen tribe; they're a war party.

The Branwens belong to a predominately-human ethnic minority, the Manogans, indigenous to the Kuchinashi region in southern Mistral. Driven out of their homeland by Mistrali conquest long ago, Manogans have eked out a living for centuries as nomads on the southern fringes of Mistral, where they're regarded as bloodthirsty, warlike thieves and widely reviled.

In reality, however, Manogans have always been shepherds—and capable warriors, a necessity in the grimm-infested hinterlands they claim as their own.

Still: life is hard, the Manogans rely on steel and dust to survive, and the enmity between them and their sedentary neighbors is ancient and deep. Though they trade when they can for what they need, raiding has long been the way of life for many Manogan tribes.

Qrow and Raven were the eldest children of Rook, chieftain of the Branwen tribe, and his wife Corinne. The twins were three when their mother died in childbirth; their younger sister, born sickly, did not live long enough to receive her name. Rook remarried seven years later, and his second wife bore him a fourth child, Vernal, when the twins were eleven.

He was not a kind man, and he held a particular grudge against Qrow, whose semblance he blamed for Corinne's death—an attitude shared by most of the tribe, for tragic accidents did seem to follow in the boy's wake.

Both twins learnt to fight from birth a matter of course, grimm being an inescapable threat; but only Raven aspired to become a warrior, while Qrow joined her in that pursuit because no one else wanted him, and he could at least try to turn misfortune against the tribe's enemies.

In this life, huntsmen were horrifying figures, monstrous men and women possessed of supernatural powers, each with the strength of ten men—a far greater danger to their people than the grimm, which even a child could hope to defeat. Going to Beacon did little to change Raven's view of huntsmen, or even her view of the world: she had, after all, been taught that the strong live and the weak die, and the true mark of the tribe's strength lay in being strong enough to defend its most vulnerable members… Ozpin, it seemed to her, believed in the same ethos. The only difference between him and Rook was that Ozpin saw the whole of human civilization as his "tribe."

So she agreed to work with Ozpin, accepted the magical gift he offered, tried to save the world; but as far as she cared, the warriors of the Branwen tribe were equally justified in fighting to protect their people from grimm and huntsmen alike. This became a frequent point of contention between her and the rest of the inner circle.

When she returned to the tribe, she challenged Rook for leadership of the Branwens and bested him in single combat. Her commitment to the tribe is sincere, and she is bound to many of them through Kindred Link. She appoints her stepmother, Mynah, to rule in her stead when she leaves them to join the fight in Vale.

#MAIDENS AND KINGDOMS ( hc. )#EVERY MAN A BETRAYER ( hc: raven. )#[ points at the bandit camp.#and where are all the children? ]

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adaratrixie · 1 year ago

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Poetry & Blood Chapter 1: The Initiate

By Trixie Adara

Laura held the advertisement in her shaking hand.

“You have to be kidding me.”

This was the address the secretary had sent her to. It was a massive estate, at least four stories tall and almost as large as a city block. In the middle of downtown Memphis? That didn’t make any freaking sense.

Laura checked the ad again:

WANTED: English major. Experience with editing and copy editing. Female. Experience with romantic fiction, reading or writing. Must be able to read poetry with emphasis, clarity, skill, and accuracy.

She found it on her old college campus on a bulletin board. It was dark purple with a picture of “The Purpose and the Passion,” by Camille K, a successful romance writer. She wrote mostly fluff, stories of overly buff and wealthy men pursuing strong and independent women. It made money, but it wasn’t the Next Great American Novel.

Laura had assumed she’d be working for Camille, though the ad wasn’t clear. What she hadn’t assumed was that Camille K lived in a giant estate in the middle of downtown. It looked like a library or a cathedral. It was oddly Victorian, standing out against the modern and concrete aesthetic around. Not many buildings from that time period were downtown, and even fewer had survived a giant fire from the early 1900’s.

Laura shivered. The building wasn’t just impressive. Impressive was a word you used for skyscrapers and giant arches. This was intimidating. Camille K, her new boss, had somehow managed not only to live here, but to afford living here all while writing dressed-up smut. It was entirely possible Laura was way, way over her head.

Laura approached the door and looked for a doorbell. It didn’t have one. All it had was a giant knocker attached to a lion’s face like a nose ring through the lion’s nostril. It was heavy, dark black iron. The circle itself must have weighed ten pounds. Laura pounded away with it and waited.

Eventually, a tiny blonde woman, she looked to be no more than thirty, with a cute pixie haircut appeared. She wasn’t in a maid’s uniform, though Laura must admit she expected a maid from the 1800’s to appear. The woman was in a simple sleeveless white blouse and a black pencil skirt. There was nothing eye-catching or extraordinary about her, really.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“Uh, hi. My name is Laura Delazier. I got hired for the copy editing job?”

Laura had assumed it was a copy editing job. She’d be plundering Camille K’s predictable plots and painful dialogue for typos. But she needed a job. The world wasn’t desperate for English majors unless you wanted to be a teacher. Laura wanted to be a writer, but first she needed to find a story worth telling. She was still looking for it.

Unfortunately, her landlord wouldn’t take that reason for rent. Neither would her grocery store, her student loans, her phone bill, her insurance, nor gas for her car. No one wanted aspirational stories. They wanted money. Camille K had enough money for a mansion, and apparently, enough money to help out lowly English majors only a few months out of school.

“Copy editing job?” asked the woman.

Laura held up the ad. The woman scrunched her nose to try and read the ad, then took it from Laura. As she read, her face relaxed.

“Ooooo, the assistant job.”

“Assistant?”

“Oh, yes. Come right this way Miss Delazier.” The woman disappeared into the estate, and Laura followed. She turned around to make sure the door was closed behind them, then scampered after the short blonde.

As soon as she stepped inside, she wanted to pause and gawk. There was a grand staircase that wound all the way up to the fourth floor, and maybe even the roof. There were three different hallways to choose from. The building was rich with dark wood and pale marble that made Laura feel dirty, clumsy, and poor all at once.

But Laura didn’t have time to investigate closely. The blonde was fast, and Laura had no idea where she was taking her. She lost track of all the turns they take. They seemed to go up a side flight of stairs, and then down another flight of stairs. One floor had a garden in the middle of it, and another floor had a grand dining room.

“Am I getting the tour?” asked Laura.

“Sort of,” said the blonde without turning around. “Miss K is in a meeting. It’s a moving meeting, and I’m to make sure they don’t see you or me. Hence, the roundabout course.

“I’m not going to Miss K?”

“You’ll meet with her shortly. For now, I’m taking you to her primary assistant.”

“She has multiple assistants?”

The blonde stopped abruptly, and Laura almost slammed into her. She turned and gave Laura a look of disappointment and amusement. “Miss K employs a research assistant, a personal assistant, a primary assistant, and now you, an editing assistant. Not to mention: me, two other housekeepers, a personal cook, several lawyers, an accountant, and a personal trainer. Her primary assistant oversees all of us.”

“And she’s the one who -”

“Hired you. Will pay you. And will direct you. You’ll spend most of your time with her.”

The blonde turned back around and led on. They went up to the fourth floor - Laura’s calves were killing her - and came to a glass door. Behind that glass door was a beautiful office that had giant windows overlooking the waterfront of the Mississippi River.

Sitting at the desk, was an elegant Asian woman. She wore a flowing pantsuit that looked like it came off the runway in Paris. The legs flared a little below the knee, but were tight at the thigh. The neckline of the jacket was plunging, but the woman wore a simple white blouse underneath. She had long and straight black hair, going to her lower back. She looked to be only a little older than the blonde, in her mid or late thirties. She stood as she saw them round the corner and opened the door for them.

“Hello,” she said. “You must be Miss Delazier.”

“Please, call me Laura.” Laura extended her hand and shook Miss Lancaster’s.

“I’m Lucy Lancaster, I’m Miss K’s primary assistant. We spoke on the phone.”

“Yes,” said Laura.

Everyone stood awkwardly outside Miss Lancaster’s office. Miss Lancaster and the blonde had some type of conversation with their eyes, and Laura tried to avoid eye-contact entirely.

“Is Miss K still with the -”

“Yes,” said the blonde quickly.

“Good.” Miss Lancaster turned to Laura. “Come on in, Laura. Let me tell you more about the position.” Miss Lancaster turned to enter her office, but Laura turned to the blonde.

“What was your name? I’m sorry, but I never got it.”

The blonde blushed and smiled. “I’m Angelica.”

“Thank you for showing me around, Angelica. I appreciate it.” Laura held out her hand to shake the blonde’s, but Angelic curtsied instead, and walked away. Laura turned and entered Miss Lancaster’s office.

Miss Lancaster was in the wrong job. The woman belonged on Wall Street or in Washington. Her talent, intelligence, and composure were wasted working as the staff manager for a romance writer. Laura respected her immediately, but was too intimidated to like her. She wanted to like her. Laura wanted to like everyone. But Miss Lancaster made her feel stupid and foolish for being an English major. She disapproved of Laura’s tiny writing credentials. She kept saying “we can make that work,” and everytime she said it, Laura died a little inside.

Laura’s job was to be feedback and copy editing for Miss K. Apparently, Miss K often gets stuck on story ideas. She needs help finding inspiration. She needs someone to bounce ideas off of. And yes, Laura will need to go over Miss K’s writing at the end of each day, line by line, to check for grammar, spelling, and inconsistencies in the text.

“What about the poetry reading part?” asked Laura.

“Miss K likes to have poetry read to her. It moves and inspires her.”

“Sure,” shrugged Laura. Whatever Miss K wanted, Miss K was going to get.

Miss Lancaster sighed and pushed back her chair. “Now comes the unpleasantness of this meeting.” She opened a drawer a pulled out a one-inch-thick stack of paper. She dropped it onto the table in front of Laura.

“Unpleasantness?” squeaked Laura.

“Unfortunately.”

“What’s this?” asked Laura.

“This is a Non-Disclosure Agreement, or NDA. It is a legal document binding you to privacy, secrecy, and confidentiality while under the employ of Miss Camille Kontalban.”

“Kontalban?”

“Doesn’t roll off the tongue, does it?” said Miss Lancaster with a smile.

“Not quite.”

“Hence, Miss K.”

“Right.”

Miss Lancaster flipped through the pages and explained them as best she could to Laura. Laura couldn’t tell people things that were happening in Miss K’s books. She couldn’t talk about Miss K’s process or methods. She couldn’t reveal Miss K’s creative or inspirational process. She couldn’t reveal Miss K’s lifestyle or homelife. In short, she couldn’t talk about Miss K in anyway to anybody outside Miss K’s employ unless she wanted an avalanche of legal troubles.

“Should I have a lawyer read over this?” asked Laura when Miss Lancaster was finished.

“You can if you want to. It’s pretty straightforward, though.”

“It’s a lot. And it’s … scary.”

“We’re not trying to scare you. We’re trying to protect Miss K.”

Laura sighed. “Where do I sign?”

“That-a-girl.” Miss Lancaster flipped to several spots, and Laura signed at each of them.

“One last thing,” said Miss Lancaster when they were finished. “And unfortunately, this was not in the add.” Laura went cold. “We insist that while you are in Miss K’s employ, since you will be working so intimately with her, that you should live in the manor.”

Laura’s mouth dropped. “In the manor?”

“Yes,” said Miss Lancaster. She chewed on her pen, nervously. “Is that alright?”

“You mean, I have to move out of my crappy apartment to live in a mansion with a greenhouse, a ballroom, a grand staircase, and and and …”

“A swimming pool?” suggest Miss Lancaster.

“This place has a pool?!” squealed Laura.

Miss Lancaster grinned and nodded. “And a gym. And a hot tub. And a spa.”

“Holy shit,” whispered Laura. Then she gasped and covered her mouth. She blushed with embarrassment.

Miss Lancaster laughed. “Holy shit, indeed.” She seemed to relax and sat back down at her desk across from Laura. “I take it you’re not upset by this?”

“Am I allowed to leave when I want?” asked Laura.

“Of course. It’s just easier for everyone if you’re nearby in case Miss K writes in a fevered passion at five in the morning.”

Laura shrugged. “Fair enough.” It certainly beat paying rent. She’d also get to cancel her membership to the gym? What might have been the sketchiest ad for an English major in history, may have turned out to be her luckiest break.

“I’ll have a full write up on the routines for the house: when meals are served, laundry, guests, etc.”

“Great,” said Laura.

Miss Lancaster stood and extended her hand. Laura stood and shook it. “Graumann will show you to your room.” Miss Lancaster pointed behind Laura. There, on the other side of the glass door, was a man in a white button-down shirt, a black tie, and black pants.

“Um …” started Laura.

“Yes?”

“When will I meet Miss K?”

“Ah, yes,” said Miss Lancaster. “Each night, Miss K has what she calls a Muse Session. You will meet her there tonight to start. It will be after dinner.”

“Not until then?”

“No. And let me make this clear,” Miss Lancaster’s smile faded, “you are not to harass or bother Miss K. You should not go near her office, her study, or her quarters. She will ask for you when she wants you. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” said Laura.

“Good,” said Miss Lancaster. “Grauman?” she asked to the man behind Laura. He opened the door for Laura and gestured for her to exit. She followed him.

“What kind of name is Grauman?” asked Laura as they climbed down the stairs to the second floor, the one floor Angelica had made her skip.

“My name,” he said in a thick European accent. German maybe?

“Right, but where is it from?”

“My mother gave it to me.”

Right, thought Laura. Angelica nice. Lancaster scary. Grauman might be crazy or stupid. Got it.

Grauman was surprisingly young for a butler, or whatever the hell he was. He seemed to be in his late twenties, the closest to Laura’s age of anyone she’s seen so far. He had thick hair that was parted to one side and slicked with something. It was a dark brown to match his dark eyes. Laura didn’t ask him anymore questions.

When they arrived at her room, Grauman held out his hand. Laura stared at it.

“Oh, um,” she reached into her pocket. “Am I supposed to give you a tip?”

“No,” snorted Grauman. “Your key.”

“My key?” asked Laura.

“To go and get your things. Yes, your key.”

“Oooo,” said Laura. “The key to my apartment. Right. Sure. Here.” She took the key off the keyring and handed it to him. In turn, he handed her a key.

“This will open your room, your bathroom, and the front door of the house. After midnight, the house has an alarm. You do not get to know the code.”

“Okay, but -”

Grauman turned around and stomped off.

“Guess I’ll figure that out later,” muttered Laura. She turned around to inspect her room.

It was gorgeous. And spacious. Room isn’t the right word. It was a suite. Laura had a small kitchen, a seating area for guests, and large four-poster bed. She’d seen rooms like this in movies or on television, but she never thought she’d get to sleep in one, let alone live in one.

She squealed when she found her bathroom. It was huge. It had two full length mirrors, a shower, and a bathtub large enough for her to lay down, sprawl out, and share.

Not that she’d shared a bath with anyone ever, but she now she could if she wanted to. Well, she wanted to, but if someone else wanted to, now they could.

After completely freaking out about how incredible her amenities were, Laura went to explore the house. No one had told her she couldn’t, but she felt nervous that she might accidentally bump into Miss K or go into some forbidden section of the house.

Luckily, she wasn’t ten feet out of her room before Angelica found her.

“Lost?’ chirped the blonde from behind her.

Laura turned around and smiled. “Unfortunately.”

“It takes time to get used to.”

“I mostly don’t want to accidentally bump into Miss K. Miss Lancaster made it sound like she’d bite my head off.”

Angelica giggled. “Oh, I certainly don’t think she’d do that. Miss Lancaster is overprotective of Miss K. She wants to make sure nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, interferes with Miss K’s creative process. None of us get paid if Miss K can’t write.”

“Makes sense,” said Laura.

“Anyways, I can explain the house to you like this: fourth quarter is entirely business related. There are offices, like Miss Lancasters’, meeting rooms, etc. Your office will be up there.”

Laura nodded, but inwardly she jumped up and down, screamed, fist pumped, and danced. Her own office? She had her own office and her own apartment and a swimming pool and a gym and a personal chef and …. Her own office?! She needed to get into romance novels ASAP. Apparently the pay is to die for.

“The third floor is for used for a variety of things. I showed you the gardens. That’s also where you can find the gym. There’s also the movie theater. It’s recreational, I guess.”

A movie theater?!

“The first floor is for entertainment. That is where the primary dining rooms, ballrooms, and guest rooms are. If we host as a party, which we don’t do too much anymore, it will stay on the first floor. The second floor is the residence. The east wing is for staff, like us, and the west wing is entirely for Miss K. Her office and suite all occupy that space. Once you come to the double burgundy doors, you’re entering into her space. Stay away from the doors, and Miss K will be left in peace. If she finds you in the garden, you’ll have nothing to fear from her.”

Laura nodded. Double Burgundy Doors are the point of no return. Got it.

“I’ll go through those doors tonight, though, right?”

“Hmmm?” asked Angelica, turning around. “Oh, yes. For the Muse Session. Yes, those will happen in her suite tonight. Yes.”

“Where are we heading now?”

“I want to make sure you meet all the staff.”

Angelica took Laura all around the house (there were so many stairs! Her thighs burned!). She met the personal chef, a man named Jacques. Angelica said he only spoke French. The other housekeeper was a curvy redhead named Nikki. She had an adorable Southern accent. Miss K’s personal assistant was a mousy girl with thick and large glasses named Erika. She wore a thick sweater and scarf even in the depth of a Memphis summer. Those were the only staff that lived in the house. Miss K kept the “non-essential” assistants worked “off site,” normally from their homes.

Laura had dinner with Erika. Nikki waited on them. Erika said nothing, but Nikki talked her ear off. Apparently, she had only been working here a week or two. Miss K felt things were being missed and wanted an additional maid at all times to help out Angelica.

Nikki was sweet. She reminded Laura of her roommate, Claire. Both girls were extremely extroverted and had no issues sharing any bit of personal information. Laura learned that Nikki didn’t have a boyfriend, but she went out several times a week to find “a nice gentleman to ride.”

Laura blushed like she used to do with Claire. Where Laura grew up, people didn’t talk that way. They pretended they never had sex at all. Sex was what whores and prostitutes had. Respectable people made love, at best.

But Claire helped Laura mellow out. Claire liked to tell Laura who she had recently hooked up with and gave her explicit details about it. Laura learned that Claire went to clubs to explore her kinks and fetishes. Laura followed Claire two or three times on these expeditions, out of curiosity. The clubs were strange and hot. People were pushy or needy. It was too intense for her. It was no different than going to a wild pride parade. Yes, people were celebrating their sexuality. No, Laura didn’t want to participate. Yes, she could be around them and not freak out.

That was precisely what was on Laura’s mind as she pushed through the Double Burgundy Doors to Miss K’s side of the second floor. Laura noticed immediately that the air was staler here, stuffier, almost thicker. It felt like Angelica and Nikki had not dusted here in years. Which is strange considering the fact that if Laura was a housekeeper, she’d make sure the area around her boss’ room was the cleanest of all.

Nevertheless, Laura wandered through the hallways, looking for Miss K’s suite. Luckily, Miss Lancaster found her and led her to the right door. Laura hesitated before entering. She’d barely heard of Camille Kontalban a day ago. She hadn’t read a single book by the woman, nor would she read her books if they were given to her. But now she’d seen the house and the staff. The woman must be made of money. And ambition. What kind of woman was she?

Miss Lancaster pushed open the door and revealed an empty suite. “She’ll be in her bedroom,” said the tall asian woman as she stepped past Laura.

“Her bedroom?” asked Laura.

“Yes.”

“What are we going to do in her bedroom?” Laura raised an eyebrow at Miss Lancaster. The woman smiled and waved off Laura.

“I’ll admit, this will be the strange part. But she writes in a highly sexualized genre for women who want steamy sex scenes with gorgeous men.”

Laura blushed and looked down at her shoes.

“But you won’t be doing anything sexual,” said Miss Lancaster, raising her voice as she caught how her words sounded. “I promise.”

Laura looked up. “Oh,” she whispered.

“I promise. We’d have mentioned that in the ad or in a contract or something. There may be sexual things going on around you, but you will not be asked to do anything you’re uncomfortable with and nothing sexual.”

“What kind of sexual things?” asked Laura. Were they going to watch porn together?

“That’s hard to explain,” said Miss Lancaster. “It will be easier to show you.”

Miss Lancaster reached for Laura’s hand, but Laura pulled back. “Wait. Before we go in there, tell me what I’ll be doing. Exactly.”

Miss Lancaster sighed and looked at her watch. “You will be asked to read a poem for Miss Lancaster while she is … serviced.”

“Serviced?” asked Laura.

“Yes.”

“And by serviced you mean …” led Laura.

“Yes,” nodded Miss Lancaster. “Exactly what you think I’m hinting at.”

“She wants me to read poetry while this happens?”

“Exactly.”

“That’s why the ad wanted me to be able to read poetry well?”

“Exactly,” sighed Miss Lancaster. She looked at her watch again. “Are you ready? We really can’t be late.”

“Wait,” said Laura, lifting her hand to Miss Lancaster. “I’m trying to figure out how I feel about this.”

Miss Lancaster stepped forward. Laura almost jumped back, but held her own. “Miss Delazier,” she said with iron in her voice. “You will be paid handsomely. You will edit her work, while having little editing experience yourself. You will copy edit her work while having literally no experience doing copy editing. You will give her feedback on a genre you know little of. You will have access to this home and all its amenities. And you get all this, despite your low qualifications, precisely because Miss K likes the way you read poetry. It is for that you were hired. If you won’t do this, we will be forced to dismiss you. Is that clear?”

Laura thought about all the magical perks of this job. This is the catch. Of course, there’s a catch. It was too good to be true. In order to keep the job, she’d have to participate in Miss K’s bizarre inspirational sex acts.

Well, not really participate. It was just reading poetry, right? She’d recorded poems and read them publicly hundreds of times. Sure, it was weird. But it was just reading. What bad could come from reading a poem?

Laura nodded. “That’s clear.”

“You’ll do as your told?” snapped Miss Lancaster.

“I’ll read the poem,” said Laura. “But that’s all I’ll do.”

“Good.” Miss Lancaster gave a sigh of relief. “Thank you.” She smiled at Laura, and Laura smiled back, though she didn’t know why. But Miss Lancaster didn’t linger. She stepped ahead of Laura and opened the door to Miss K’s bedroom.

Inside, candles were lit all around. There was no lamp of any kind. In fact, Laura didn’t think she saw a single electronic thing. No alarm clock. No television. No stereo. No phone charger. Nothing. There weren’t even outlets for electricity to get into the room. There were no windows, but there were two doors to the far corner. One was to a bathroom, where Laura could see shadows moving inside. The other was closed.

In the room were Grauman and Jacques. They both had unbuttoned their shirts considerable and taken off their ties. Laura admired their physique. Before, they looked like simple servants or businessmen. Now, she could see that their muscles were taut. Their shirts were constricting. They were strong and young. Laura could imagine their abs beneath their shirts. She wondered if they ever modelled for the covers of Miss K’s books. She felt herself flush with desire or embarrassment, she wasn’t sure which.

Neither Grauman or Jacques said anything to her. They barely noticed her. It gave Laura the chance to balance herself and adjust to her surroundings. The room was filled with the scent of candle smoke. Things felt surreal and thick. Laura wandered forward and caught herself on a stool near the door. On it, was a book. It was titled Poems by Marcilla. The book had a brown cover. It was old. The pages were thick and yellowing. Laura opened it and flipped through it. It looked as though the words were transcribed by hand in old ink. The script was flowing in beautiful calligraphy. How old was it? Laura felt she was holding a piece of history, but she’d never heard of Marcilla.

Laura looked up when she heard ruffling in the bathroom. A woman Laura had never seen, in similar clothes to Nikki and Angelica, scampered out of the bathroom and past Laura, almost knocking her over. Laura looked behind her to watch the woman go, but there was a sound from the bathroom. Laura turned to see the light come off and a woman who could be none other than Miss K stepped out.

Laura didn’t know what she imagined Miss K would look like. Perhaps she imagined some mousy bookworm that spent all day writing fantasies with men she would never have. Perhaps Miss K was an elderly woman: wiry, twiggy, and fragile. Silvered and ancient. But Laura never expected Miss K to look younger than her. It couldn’t be possible. Miss K had been publishing for ten years or so, but the woman that stepped out of the bathroom looked like she stepped off of a college campus.

Miss K was pale. Paler than pale. Pale women were cream. Miss K was snow. Her skin almost glowed in the dark room. Her hair was dark and curly, falling over her shoulders in waves. She was neither tall nor short. She wore a thin gold robe parted down the middle. Laura’s eyes were drawn to Miss K’s plump breasts and her ghostly nipples beneath. Laura’s eyes went to the floor, following the length of Miss K’s body. Miss K’s bush was absent, and two smooth and bare lips teased and embarrassed Laura.

But despite her impressive body, it was Miss K’s stride that struck Laura. She took small steps, carefully swinging each foot in front of the other before lifting a leg. Her hips swayed from the effort, but her feet moved in a perfect line. One foot swung out in front of another. There was a breath. Then the other foot swung out in front of the first. And decorating Miss K’s feet were a pair of bright blue heels. At the sound of their click on the wooden floor, Grauman and Jacques stood at attention for Miss K. Laura forgot about the missing maid, the ancient book, the hairless pussy, and everything else.

Miss K commanded the room.

“Laura,” she said with a smile. She reached out both hands for Laura to take, as though they were old friends about to embrace. Laura hesitated, but stepped forward and took both of Miss K’s hands in each of hers.

“I’m so happy you could join us here,” said Miss K. Her voice was heavy and thick, as though it were coming from underground, or through a veil. But it was pleasant and inviting. Laura liked her instantly and smiled despite the situation.

“I’m honored to be here, Miss K.”

Miss K laughed and threw her arms wide, releasing Laura’s hands. Her robe billowed and Laura saw more of her naked body, her glowing skin, her rolling flesh.

“Please,” she laughed. “You’ve seen me naked. The least you can do is call me Camille.”

Laura smiled. “Of course, Camille. Thank you for inviting me into your … process.” Laura tried not to sound judgemental with the last word, but she knew Grauman and Jacques weren’t here for moral support.

“It is a strange one,” admitted Camille with a shrug. “But it’s worked so far,” she spread her arms again and gestured to the entire estate, her entire writing career. “After this, my mind will be brimming with stories and words and sensations to put into my characters.” She stepped towards Laura and whispered, “and thus my readers.” She winked, and Laura found herself smiling again.

“But, let’s get to it.” Camille stepped away and clapped her hands. “Laura, darling, all you have to do is sit on that stool and read those poems. The words and the boys will do the rest.” Camille gestured to the poems Laura had found already. “Start at the beginning. There is a bit of a narrative to it all.”

Laura was about to ask about the author and the book, but Camille shrugged out of her robe. Grauman picked it up and carried it into the bathroom. Camille sat on the edge of the bed, turned, and faced Laura. Jacques went around the bed and sat next to Camille, facing away from Laura. He held a silver bowl, and in it was a flash of black and red. He extended his hand, and Laura saw a chocolate-covered strawberry. He lowered it, and Camille bit into it. Rivulets of red juice dribbled down her lips and her neck. Laura blushed and looked away.

Grauman came back from the bathroom without the robe. He stood in front of the bed, between Laura and Camille, and sank to his knees. Laura finally figured out that he was going to eat out Camille while Jacques fed her strawberries.

All while Laura read her poetry.

Grauman lowered himself to Camille’s flawless pussy. He began with long licks. Camille shivered, but she didn’t pay him any more attention than that. Instead, she caught the dripping strawberry juice as it slipped between her breasts. She licked her fingers and motioned for Jacques to feed her another bite.

She went back to college, back to Claire and the orgies and the kink clubs. She’d seen someone eaten out before. It was strange, asking her to participate with poetry, but no stranger than people dressing up like animals to have sex.

All she had to do was focus on the poems, the words.

She could do that. She could do words for days.

She opened the book. There was no table of contents. No publishing or copyright information. The first page began with a poem, like someone’s personal journal. Laura read:

The Yawn

Across the hall gather the women,

Each watching their husband,

Each daring him to dance with

Each strategic tittle of breast.

But Miss Laura Karnstein

Turns her head and yawns.

Her unadorned neck grows tight,

Then sags with parted lips,

Her mouth wide with boredom.

Laura looked up at Camille. Her mind ran over the name. Laura? The poem is about a Laura? Coincidence? It must be a coincidence. Laura is a popular enough name. But odder than that was the poem itself. This is what she wanted to read? And a poem about a yawn? Again, Laura wondered at the age of the text. Tittle? That’s an old word. This is what Miss K wanted to listen to while she was serviced by her two strapping employees? Laura watched Grauman as he went deeper into Camille’s pussy. His tongue gave long and deep strokes. Camille’s lips were bright red from strawberries. Her chin, neck, and the top of her breasts were also faintly pink.

Laura shrugged and continued:

But her porcelain skin catches me.

The length of her thin neck,

The pale skin masking

So much red life, so much

Thrumming potential,

But she passes it on

As yet another yawn.

I look for Mr. Karnstein,

But he is neither in Miss Karnstein’s eye

Nor among the men.

He must be a yawn,

Missing the twitch in her

Pulsing throat,

The brazen sign of desire

For more than this,

Camille moaned. Laura looked up again. Camille’s eyes were open. She was staring at Laura. Jacques offered her another strawberry, but she shook her head. She ran her hand through Grauman’s hair. Camille kept her eyes locked on Laura and moaned again, tilting her head back, but never looking away. Laura blushed and kept reading:

More than traditional dances.

She pulls away, and I follow.

I see the vein of her neck shiver,

And I join it. The first twitch

Of game before it runs; she rises

To excuse herself,

As though it possible,

As though a resting note,

A caesura,

May be

pardoned

or ignored.

Laura paused again. A line break like that wasn’t conventional for the time period. That’s a visual element of a poem, saved mostly for the early 1900s. She felt tempted to skim through the book, to find more evidence of who Marcilla was and when this poem was written.

Camille moaned again. Laura felt heat rush to her thighs. She blushed at being turned on and the impossibility of the scenario. Heat spread through her cheeks and down her neck.

Her neck. Laura’s neck.

She saw it clearly, Laura Karnstein bored at a party. Laura Karnstein’s neck stretching and yawning. Her neck taught. Her neck bare. Her neck pulsing. Laura’s hand brushes her neck, self-consciously trying to hide it from Camille’s gaze. She dare not look up, dare not see Camille staring into her, moaning at her. She read the last couplet:

But I rise and follow.

She retreats, and I give chase.

Camille let out a shrill moan. Laura looked up and sees Camille’s back arch, her head flung back, as she humped Grauman’s face. Jacques abandoned feeding her strawberries, and licked one of Camille’s nipples. Camille spasmed and let out another moan.

Laura found herself hoping Camille would cum and be satiated. She didn’t want to endure another poem. She wanted to take the book away and pour through it. She wanted to find out how it was made and who wrote it. Who was Marcilla? Was this autobiographical? Was Laura Karnstein real? Her warm, throbbing neck?

But Camille’s moans rolled on. She almost fucked Grauman’s face with her fevered thrusting. Jacques used a free hand to administer to Camille’s other breast, but she stopped him. She paused, hesitating. She went rigid, and then sighed.

Laura couldn’t help but notice Camille’s thighs quiver as Grauman moved away.

Both men went the bathroom. Laura heard the sink turn on, and then both men walked past her and left the room. Could Laura join them? Did she need permission to go? Would Camille dismiss her? Or would she read more? Would she give chase to Laura Karnstein as Marcilla did?

Camille lay on the bed for a minute. Her chest heaved as she caught her breath. Another finger absentmindedly swirled over her clit. Laura’s thighs were warm from watching such a beautiful woman glow in the dark and openly touch herself without shame. What a power, to be so shameless.

No. Shameless implies she ought to be ashamed. Camille was free of shame, and that stirred Laura again.

Camille sat up and smiled at Laura. “Thank you, Laura. That was a beautiful reading.”

“Really?” asked Laura, flustered from the compliment.

“Yes.” Camille came to sit at the edge of the bed, but one hand never left her smooth mound, keeping soft circles rolling over Camille’s clit. “You have a beautiful voice. It fills the room, like your words roll over my body.”

Laura blushed and hid her face.

“But don’t pause next time. Read it all in one rush of emotion. Poetry is a storm, not a story. Okay?”

Laura nodded, embarrassed at the gentle reprimand.

“May I go?” asked Laura.

“Soon, darling.” Camille fell back into the bed and kept touching herself. Laura looked away, wanting to give Camille privacy, though Camille clearly didn’t need it. She flipped through the pages of the strange tome in her hand. She turned to the next poem, something about a peach. She tried to read, but the light was dimming in the room. Laura looked up to see the candles low, and Camille sitting up, her robe back on. Her lips were still bright red. They glowed on her pale skin in the fading light.

Then everything went dark.

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#smut #lesbian #wlw #vampire #romance #gothic #horror #victorian #sapphic #dark #corruption kink #mind control #brainwashing

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