#i was going for those old medieval paintings of beasts

[aniimus]

Sheep In Wolf’s Clothing

Aka Ocarina of Time was a huge influence as a child

[smash-64]

2022 Game of the Year Countdown 3. Fire Emblem: Three Houses Intelligent Systems Nintendo Switch, 2019

It seems fairly obvious to me that Three Houses took a lot of cues from Trails of Cold Steel, and it all came together fairly well. A historic military school filled with both nobles and commoners, the best and brightest of the continent’s youth all put together to build a better future. Exploring the monastery reminded me a lot of exploring Trista or Leeves, and checking up on the many students and faculty was fun. Garreg Mach reminded me a little bit of the university I attended in Spain, or at least the really old sections with old architecture. 

The voice acting in Three Houses is one of the best pieces of work I’ve ever heard in gaming. All the actors do a great job across the board, from the dumb little support conversations about fashion or snacks, to the weighty and emotional ones. Rhea is downright scary at times. Edelgard can be vulnerable. Claude sounds like he’s saying every line with a smile. It’s really impressive and makes up for a lot of the other presentation issues.

As for those issues, almost the entire plot and story of the game is delivered in one of the most boring ways possible for a game released in 2019. Having simple character portraits with facial reactions would have been sufficient 20 years ago, and most of these scenes are saved by the phenomenal voice acting, but the game doesn’t really try to do more than just having characters standing around, doing the same four generic hand motions or poses, and talking to each other in front of a stretched PNG background. 

I was shocked that this was the primary storytelling method for the vast majority of the game’s plot. The animated cutscenes are fantastic and full of energy, emotion, and detail. And while I understand those are expensive to produce, it was a bit disappointing when each short scene was over and switched back to simple “stand around and talk” parts. Like I said, though, the amazing voice acting saves these from being completely boring.

Additionally, Fire Emblem is one of Nintendo’s biggest franchises. They could definitely splurge for more animated scenes, imho. A few scenes are focused around a map as the various countries and coalitions are described or make their moves, and a few others include brilliantly styled paintings that look like Medieval artwork. Yet, while the Medieval style artwork was cool, it often felt overlooked. It’d be shown with a 10 second narration, and then never seen again. Sometimes, I struggled to even understand what the tie-in was from the image to the narration.

The branching and different storylines are really good, however. It’s cool to see what significant impact joining a different house can make to all the students, and Fodlan in general. Some of the routes can produce massively different resolutions to the story, and it’s interesting to think that they’re all canon since there isn’t one single “perfect” route. I was a bit dissatisfied with that, personally, because I definitely do like a “everyone is happy” ending, but I definitely appreciate the decision to go with very different endings.

I find the character design and variety to be pretty good in this game. We get standard hulking masses that are really gentle giants. We get tiny men with supreme strength. The reclusive hermit. The playboy. Nothing feels out of place or lacking in the characters, to be honest. I didn’t find myself disliking anyone overall, and although some I definitely disliked in specific routes, that feels purposeful in an antagonist sort of way. You’re supposed to dislike them because you’re waging war on them! Overall, my favorite character was probably Petra. I can identify as once being a foreign student, and I like her honesty, integrity, and drive. Plus, she’s a beast lol 

Special shoutout to Flayn, as well. Green cinnamon roll. She has this amazing disapproving reaction image

The music in Three Houses is mostly great, but can also miss at times, if I’m honest. Most songs are absolutely great and I could listen to them for hours, but there were a few that I felt were forgettable. I also found the music earlier in the game to be a bit more enjoyable than some of the later tracks, which try to play up the heavier late-game plot a bit more with louder horns and such. It’s theatrical and effective for sure, but it just wasn’t always for me. Some endgame tracks, however, like Seasons of Warfare (or the more somber Edge of Dawn version) are really good and emotional. Winds of Fodlan is another favorite of mine and is one of those songs that can loop for a very long time without getting tired.

The fact that there are four routes to play in the game is a blessing, and you don’t need to buy separate games or DLCs to see them all! I love Fates, but needing to buy two games, plus a DLC third game felt like money farming by Nintendo. They listened to complaints, and put it all into one game. I love this sort of thing and I hope we get to see more of it in the future. 

Combat is really fun, although I still miss being able to pair up two units on the same square. You can do a sort of pseudo-pair up in this game, but you’re limited in number and scope. I loved being able to toss a big, slow grunt onto the back of a pegasus and jet off to a far corner of the map to encircle the enemy, and I still find myself missing that option. That said, scaling back a bit on the weapons triangle was helpful to make things a bit more fluid. You have a little more freedom in how and who you battle, which is nice. I’m no expert or min-maxer, so I can’t really comment on harder difficulties, but I found the combat really satisfying.

One of the last things I’ll say is that the story does feel a bit disjointed as a result of the different routes. Lots of hugely important events happen off-screen, as well. I feel like the intent was to play multiple routes and then call upon events that did happen on-screen while playing other routes, but that hurts the first playthrough by keeping some stuff off-screen. Additionally, there are a few storylines that seem to just vanish or stop mattering, despite past importance being placed on them. It’s odd to see some plot lines come to nothing in some routes, while many still have the same seeds sown in the early parts of the game. 

Finally, this game has done a lot for me when it comes to accepting tragic characters. It’s something I’ve really struggled to not hate in the past because it always felt so dissatisfying to me. But the various routes and just the sheer amount of time the game encourages you to put in let me see a lot of perspectives and really understand the motivations of some characters and embrace the idea of a tragic character. And this is something that will likely extend beyond Three Houses itself, which is really cool.

Despite some complaints, I love this game and it’s easily my favorite Fire Emblem game. I’ve basically played nothing else from late October until Christmas because I just enjoy trying different units and strategies. There’s a lot of game to be played here!

[mrs-gucci]

Rough Around the Edges {Prince Kylo Ren x Reader}

author’s notes: hello, hello! taking a quick break from all the fourth of july stuff to submit this piece for this week’s writer wednesday :) thanks @autumnleaves1991-blog and @clydesducktape​ for organizing this wonderful weekly event!

this story takes place in a medieval AU and is lightly inspired by certain elements in “Beauty and the Beast”.

warnings: angst with a hopeful ending. partially unreciprocated feelings. arranged courtship. time period-authentic sexism (women are meant to please men and that’s all). there’s a kiss.

(possible) tw’s: arranged relationship. implied age gap (not specified, but everyone’s above age).

word count: a touch over 2k

my taglist peeps: @frank-and-honey @shygirl268 @icarusinthesea​ ​@gildedstarlight @mrs-zimmerman​ @soldmysoulagain @roseepossee​​ @pascalisfairyy​​ (if you’d like to be added to or removed from my taglist, the link to the google form is HERE or on the top of my masterlist.)

You sit in front of the mirror while Anna pulls your hair into a flattering updo. Your eyes begin to tear up at the painful sting of your hair being manipulated in such a forceful way, scalp throbbing with each of Anna’s harsh, calculated movements.

"Must you be so rough?”

She offers little empathy in her expression as she looks at you through the mirror’s reflection. “The Prince insisted that you wear your hair up tonight, madame. He was absolutely furious when you wore it down the last time, and I’m the one who had to stand there while he threw a tantrum over it.”

Your eyes roll, knowing all too well of your betrothed’s legendary fits of anger. He’s much too old to be doing such childish things, but god forbid you ever say that to him.

Anna finishes up with your hair, much to your relief, but now the real pain begins. You look over at the corset waiting on the bed and already, your ribcage aches.

“What, are you trying to turn it to stone?” She asks, and you shake your head. “Well, you’re certainly staring at it long enough. Come on now, stand up, we don’t have all afternoon.”

You sigh, rising up out of the chair and walking over to the bed where Anna’s standing, corset in-hand. She wraps it around your torso, pulling the laces impossibly tight over your ribs and stomach, caging them both within the garment. 

After the corset is very securely tied, Anna grabs your dress and helps you step into the golden yellow skirt. She ties the top part with just as much aggression as she tied the corset, making simply breathing a painful process.

“Try to at least look like you don’t want to jump out of the East tower’s window.” Anna remarks as you scowl at your reflection in the mirror. “Have you ever considered smiling?”

“I have absolutely nothing to smile about.” You reply curtly, unamused by this conversation or her suggestions.

She sighs in defeat. “I’m only trying to help, madame. You need to learn how to be a princess, or at least try and act the part.”

“I’m not interested in being a princess, Anna. But, if you ever asked my opinion on the matter, then you’d already know that. Now please, I wish to be alone.”

Anna’s surprised at the hostile tone of your words, but she keeps her lips pursed, knowing she’s in no place to press the issue any further. She simply nods, backing out of the room, leaving you alone.

Your bottom lip begins to tremble as your vision blurs with tears, abruptly turning away from the mirror so that you don’t have to look at what you’ve been forced to become.

There’s nothing that you wish for more than to be free from this life, free to live the way you want to live instead of the one that was chosen for you to live. You loathe the mask you must wear, the painted face that looks back at you through the mirror.

But, you have no choice...you’ve never had a choice.

-

The palace is aglow this evening, thousands of candles burning and casting a warmer shade across the normally-bland ivory color. Your shoes clink on the marble flooring as you make your way to the front steps, looking over the railing at the grand room below.

Lords and ladies, princes and princesses are all arm-in-arm, walking through to the ballroom. Some have stopped to converse with each other, fake smiles plastered on their painted faces. 

You huff to yourself as you reach the top of the staircase, and at the bottom, stands your betrothed. He looks up as you make your way down the stairs, a pleased smirk tugging at the corners of his lips with each step you take.

Kylo holds his hand out to you when you reach the bottom, guiding you down the final stair before looping his arm through yours. The two of you walk towards the ballroom, smiling and nodding politely at the other guests.

“You look nice.” His voice is flat, emotionless.

You huff in false amusement, physically having to prevent your eyes from rolling. “Am I supposed to thank you for saying that?”

"Ah, you’re learning.” He says, stopping to look down at you, fingers holding your chin and forcing you to look up at him while his eyes linger over your face. “Perhaps there’s hope for you yet, little dove.”

You yank your chin from his grip, snarling softly. “Don’t touch me.”

His hand suddenly comes up to wrap around your throat, teeth bared. “I can touch you however I please, young one. You’re mine, and you ought to learn your place.”

Once he feels you relax, feels you surrender under his touch, he lets go of your neck and continues walking as if nothing’s happened, dragging you along with him.

He wears you on his arm the whole evening as he talks to various noblemen and you just stand there, silent with a small smile, pretending like you don’t exist. 

Then, the two of you take a seat at the big table with King Han and Queen Leia, beginning to feast on the royal spread. You barely eat, partially due to the fact that you’re afraid to bust the ties on your corset if your abdomen expands even a little bit too far, and Kylo seems to take notice.

“I promise I didn’t poison it.”

You look over at him with widened eyes. He simply smirks, laughing softly to himself.

“I’m only joking, little dove.”

You’re incredibly surprised, stunned into utter silence at the fact that he’s just joked with you. You'd been convinced up until this point that humor wasn’t a part of his emotional capabilities, that he was only capable of anger, hatred, and inflicting fear. 

His hand hesitantly rests on top of yours, which makes you flinch. He looks conflicted in the moment, as if he’s deciding whether or not to be upset that you react this way to his touch.

“Why aren’t you eating? You need to eat.”

You look away, jaw clenching. “I know you don’t actually care why I’m not eating, Kylo. Plus, none of my answers will be good enough to please you, anyway.”

He stiffens, pulling his hand away immediately.

“Perhaps you’re right.”

Your eyebrows furrow at the tone of his voice. He almost sounds...upset. Not upset at you, though, upset at himself. 

The rest of the time he’s silent, only glancing over at you occasionally. Dessert comes around and you don’t even touch it, simply sitting up straight with your hands in your lap.

Couples rise from their tables as the musicians begin to play an upbeat tempo, gathering on the ballroom floor. Kylo stands up next to you, holding out his hand without a word.

You rise from your chair and take his extended hand, allowing him to lead you out to the ballroom floor. Dancing was customary in Alderaan and was a very popular practice at gathering’s like this. 

Kylo’s large hands drop to your waist as soon as you reach the floor and you reach up to rest your hands on his broad shoulders. The two of you sway in unison and make your way around the dance floor skillfully, gracefully. 

After the song comes to an end and another slower one begins, the Prince tilts his head down to look at you. His face is stoic, unchanging, but there’s something different about this look. It’s not as harsh or as emotionless as it normally is; there’s a certain gentleness to it.

Your eyes keep his gaze, looking back up at him with a curious glint in your eyes, drinking in his up-close appearance for truly the first time since you’ve arrived in Alderaan. He’s intoxicatingly handsome, there’s no getting around that, but his personality and temper leave a lot to be desired.

Yet, despite his hostility and distaste for you, you still find yourself temporarily entranced by his presence, melting under his gaze. It’s in this moment that you catch a glimpse into your own psyche, recognizing the true source of your vehement hate and closed-off behavior towards him. 

All of it is done out of a desire to hide your attraction to the man that you’ve tried so, so hard to dislike. There’s always been a small part of you that’s known this, but you figured that if you pushed it down long enough and acted otherwise, perhaps you’d eventually convince yourself otherwise. But, alas, those feelings of attraction have only grown and festered beneath the facade of hatred.

It is true, Kylo Ren is a moody, closed-off, hostile and frankly childish being, but you’re somehow able to look past that and see the diamond-in-the-rough quality to the young Prince. You know that somewhere, behind the stone wall he’s so clearly built up around himself, there’s a goodness to him. You’ve seen glimpses of it throughout the time you’ve known him, but he almost immediately shuts it down instead of letting it show further, a fact you find incredibly perplexing.

“Y/N?” His voice pulls you from your thoughts.

You snap from your temporary trance and shake your head. “Sorry, I was deep in thought.”

“I gathered.” He chuckles softly. “If I asked what it is you were thinking about, would you tell me the truth?”

“Probably not.”

He nods. “I appreciate your honesty.”

The two of you continue to move around the floor before the handsome Prince clears his throat, cheeks flushing a delicate shade of pink.

“May I ask you a question, completely unrelated to my previous inquiry?”

You nod, and he swallows harshly.

“What is it about me that you loathe so much?”

Your stomach drops and you suddenly feel a touch of lightheadedness begin to pressurize within your skull. You’re frozen for a moment as you try to decide whether or not to tell him the truth.

“I don’t...why are you asking me such a thing? I know you don’t actually care about the answer.”

His jaw clenches and his grip suddenly tightens on your hips. “Why do you always insist that I don’t care?”

“Because I know you don’t, Kylo. At least, not truly.” You reply, squirming beneath his grip.

“W-Well, what if...” He huffs, looking away. “What if I do care? Or am at least trying to care?”

You’re genuinely surprised by his words, taken aback for a moment. This is a turn you certainly didn’t see coming...

“I find your ever-changing moods and stubbornness often makes you difficult to deal with. You never try, at least up until this point, to understand my feelings or show any sort of interest in getting to know me, which just makes me feel even more unwanted than I already do, and I--”

Before you can continue, you’re cut off by a sudden presence on your lips. It registers in your mind, then, that he’s kissing you. You stiffen, and he pulls away slowly, eyes staring into yours.

“You are not unwanted, Y/N.” He says, voice low. “Never...p-please never think that.”

Did he just say ‘please’? That’s almost the most shocking thing he’s said thus far.

“I don’t think you’re a bad person, Kylo. Just...a little rough around the edges.”

His entire demeanor shifts for a moment, and for a split second, you swear he looks happy; truly, genuinely happy. Perhaps a bit of relief was sprinkled in, too. He wears a small, barely-there smile as he continues to look down at you.

“I would like to try and change. We should at least try to get along, considering the fact that we’ll be wed soon. I know you don’t want to be here, but I���d like to at least try to make things a bit easier, h-however I can.”

You can’t stop the smile that quickly spreads across your face, delightfully pleased to hear these words. Your expression widens his smile ever so slightly.

“I think we can certainly give it a try.”

Kylo nods, a subtly optimistic expression etched on his features.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

[petrifact]

Write Your Own Adventure Lesson 9: Research for Your RuneQuest Adventure

This lesson discussed what research might need to be done for an RPG adventure, both of the fictional setting and of relevant details taken from the real world, and asked participants to write down what research they would have to for their particular adventure. Here's what I wrote:

I've already been doing some research about Glorantha to write my adventure. In particular, I wanted to find out as much as I could about the Lismelder Tribe and the Upland Marsh. There's not that much about either in seventh edition materials (though the Gamemaster Adventure book does have some information on the Lismelder tribe), but there was more in earlier editions, in Tales of the Reaching Moon #19 and Wyrm's Footprints #15, so I skimmed through those sources for anything that looked relevant or useful. (I also asked questions on the Chaosium forums and got very helpful responses from the posters there.)

Again, it turns out I missed some important material about Ten Spear, so I apparently didn't research it as well as I thought. Oh well. Moving on...

As for some real-world topics of research, well, the RuneQuest Roleplaying in Glorantha core book mentions that the lismelder Tribe "are famous for their great beer", so I figured maybe Ten Spear could have a brewery. But I really don't know anything about how beer was brewed in the Bronze Age (heck, I don't know anything about how beer is brewed today), so that's something to research.

Oh, yes, and (at least) one more thing. I wanted the spirit in the shard to be the spirit of a long-dead Beast Man of an extinct species… but I hadn't decided on what that species was. With the exception of the ducks, the established kinds of Beast Man of Dragon Pass are all based on creatures from classical mythology and/or medieval beliefs, so I wanted to find some other suitable part-human mythical creature that hadn't been used, but I hadn't settled on what yet. (I can think of a few—the onocentaur, the cynocephalus, the sphinx—but I'm sure there are others I'm forgetting or don't know about.) Oh, hey, and I just found one that I think would work perfectly: the draconcopedes. A snake with a human head mentioned in some medieval bestiaries. That'll do. At least, assuming it checks out when I verify the sources and make sure it's not something made up by some Wikipedia editor.

Hm, wait, on second thought, maybe not. Glorantha isn't a medieval world, after all; it's a Bronze Age world, and while the manticore, for instance, may have been best known from medieval bestiaries, its roots go back to ancient Persia. The earliest references to the draconcopedes seem to be from the Middle Ages, so it's not really old enough. I'll keep looking.

Oh, there's the lammasu, of course. Eh, maybe, but it's not really grabbing me. The buraq… hm.

Hm, here's a part-human part-goat creature, but that may be too close to the broo: https://www.eranshahr.com/myths/ghara-gharnagh

There's also this turtle-person from the same site: https://www.eranshahr.com/myths/ab-laku

Wait, aren't there those ancient cave paintings of antelope-man "therianthrope" figures? Oh, yeah, here's what I was thinking of: https://www.labrujulaverde.com/en/2020/06/the-strange-and-controversial-prehistoric-sorcerer-of-the-cave-of-the-trois-freres

Though apparently it's more controversial than I realized. Still, I'm just looking for an ancient myth to use for inspiration; I guess it doesn't matter too much if it's completely authentic. If I'm going for an extinct type of Beast Man, that might be a good fit. Of course, there isn't really an established name for this figure (aside from the clearly unusable "Sorcerer")… but I guess I could just call them "antelope men", and that would be fine. I'll tentatively go with that for now, though I'll keep my eye out for something I like better. (Hm, interesting, there are also cave paintings of bison-headed figures, apparently: https://www.faculty.umb.edu/gary_zabel/Courses/Phil%20281/Philosophy%20of%20Magic/My%20Documents/Therianthropes.htm Well, I think I'll stick with the antelope for now.)

As for the Bronze Age brewing, I found a few sites with some interesting information on that, including the "oldest known beer recipe" https://www.realmofhistory.com/2017/09/22/oldest-beer-recipe-mesopotamia-ninkasi/ , a description of discovered ruins of an ancient Green brewery https://www.livescience.com/61590-oldest-beer-in-greece.html and an article about Bronze Age beer-brewing in Ireland https://www.irishtimes.com/culture/unearthing-bronze-age-brewing-1.953684. Oh, and this could be useful: a video of a reconstruction of brewing techniques from a 3800 recipe https://ne-np.facebook.com/BeoirFestonline/videos/recreating-a-bronze-age-beer-for-the-modern-world/708828930137367/ Okay, I think there's enough here I can get a sufficient idea of what a Bronze Age beer brewery may have been like.

Oh, yes, one more thing. I was going to have beekeeping as one of the village's more significant industries, so… I guess that's another thing to research. Though this page looks like a promising start: https://www.agriculturalmuseums.org/2020/04/16/how-has-beekeeping-changed-over-time-an-archaeobeekeeper-and-an-archaeological-open-air-museum-in-germany-showcase-pre-and-proto-historic-beekeeping-methods/ Oh, and here are a few more documents I can look at: https://www.evacranetrust.org/uploads/document/2949b8a5ef604548975b4b0eb7d9e738cd654435.pdf https://www.apicultural.co.uk/tears-of-re-beekeeping-in-ancient-egypt

(Okay, yeah, I could make those links clickable in this Tumblr post but, eh, it's taking me long enough to make all these posts as it is, and I need to spend time actually working on the adventure. You can always copy and paste the links if you really want to see where they go.)

[daeva-agas]

＊Sigh＊Chapter 3 was called Wedding Night, and they weren't kidding. After the garden party, which barely lasted 4 pages or so, it’s all bed stuff. For the entire rest of the chapter. No wonder it just kept going and doesn’t end. 

But anyway, Bradford apologized for his misunderstanding and promised to treat Aira better. I’m not entirely sure how much of it she heard because she’s already asleep. The narration said “she didn’t hear that last part”, but I don’t know what was the “cut off”. 

And yeah, see? In the morning she was utterly confused why he’s being nice. Maybe she heard nothing at all. Please talk. I’m too old for misunderstanding dramas. 

Also his admirers tried to send “harassment”, which is absurd to the utmost. Apparently they had Aira’s picture painted to dishware, then they smash it into pieces, and then send the pieces.

Uh. I guess it’s the ~vaguely medieval~ equivalent of sending someone photographs with curses graffiti’d on them? It’s like... that’s a lot of trouble for the sake of trolling. The butler intercepted them and had them destroyed, and even he was saying “this is ridiculous”. 

See, I have been saying that straight up old school “villainesses” still legit exist in shoujo manga and novels. It’s just that otome games are a completely different breed of a beast, and they do not have villainesses. Those cheesy villainess isekai stories would not be incorrect if the MC had isekai’d into a reverse harem shoujo manga, not otome game. 

[ariel-seagull-wings]

FICTIONAL CHARACTER ASK: RAPUNZEL

TAGGED BY: @giuliettaluce​

@princesssarisa​ @amalthea9​ @sunlit-music​ @mademoiselle-princesse​ @superkingofpriderock​ @lioness--hart​ @parxsisburnixg​ @astrangechoiceoffavourites​ @lieutenant-hel-odinsdottir​

Favorite thing about them: Even tough since childhood she lived gaslighted as a prisoner of a person who confused abuse with love, Rapunzel still growed up to be an inteligent, strong willed, resourcefull and resilient woman, who despite her insecurities, never stoped longing and fighting for her right to be free and to be happy with her true love.

Least favorite thing about them:

The 1857 edition rewrite that putted in her mouth the line:

“Tell me, Dame Gothel, how it happens that you are so much heavier for me to draw up than the young king's son - he is with me in a moment”.

The fact that this rewrite is more well known than the 1812 edition version, where the Witch discorvers the Prince’s visits by noticing Rapunzel’s bodily changes happening due to pregnancy, is probably what leads to the misconception that “Fairy Tale Rapunzel is a stupid passive character”.

Three things i have in common with them:

I can be insecure of the outside world, like she was at the beggining of the story.

I am a very sensitive and prone to tears person.

I enjoy the singing of the birds.

Three things i don’t have in common with them:

I usually use my hair short.

I don’t know how to weave.

I don’t have her beautifull singing voice.

Favorite line:

When she presents the plan to run away with the Prince:

"I will willingly go away with you, but I do not know how to get down. Bring with you a skein of silk every time that you come, and I will weave a ladder with it, and when that is ready I will descend, and you will take me on your horse."

This confrontational dialogue exchange she has with the Witch in Into the Woods, after she starts developing PTSD:

“What's the matter”?

“Oh, nothing! You just locked me in a tower without company for fourteen years, then you blinded my Prince and banished me to a desert where I had little to eat, and again no company, and then bore twins! Because of the way you treated me, I'll never, never be happy”!

brOTP: In her main tale, the birds. Outside of her main tale: The Queen from Rumpelstilskin, The Princess from The Frog Prince, Queen Florina, Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Beauty of the Beast, Snow White, Little Red Riding Hood, Goldilocks, Jack of the Beanstalk, Hansel and Gretel, Hop o my Thumb and Puss in Boots.

OTP: The Prince.

nOTP: The Witch. Also, in Shrek 3 her pairing with Prince Charming is a match made in Hell.

Random Headcanon: The anime series Grimm’s Fairy Tale Classics gaved her the talent to play the harp, and i tought this was a nice touch to her character. Also, in my imagination, Rapunzel can imitate the singing of every bird that she listens, and she knows the healing power of the herbs, so she becomes a renowned healer queen.

Unpopular Opinion: I feel that the misconception that “Fairy Tale Rapunzel is a stupid, passive and weak character who just waits for good things to happen to her and her romance with the Prince is rushed and undeveloped, and telling her story nowadays is retrogressive” comes from most retellings made for pre schooler and elementary schooler audiences (wich usually are the versions that most people remember) that not only used the infamous line from the 1857 edition i just complained about and cut away her babies altogether, but even cut the element of Rapunzel coming with the escaping plan! When one comes to read the older italian variants (Petrosinella, Prunella, The Canary Prince) and the original Brothers Grimm tale, we learn that the Prince visits her several evenings, wich means they had a good time to develop the romance. Also in the original Brothers Grimm tale, Rapunzel is the one who comes with the plan to weave a silk ladder to escape with the Prince, meaning she is very strong willed, proactive and inteligent, and at the end, after surviving giving birth and raising two babies in a wasteland, wich also shows great strenght, when the Prince is reunited with her, she is the one who saves him by healing his blindness with her tears!

We also must considerate that this is a medieval renaissance tale collected to paper in the 19th century that portrays positively a relationship out of love between a prince and a peasant girl, while during those times arranged marriages restricted between members of one’s own class were the norm. In fact, Rapunzel’s relationship with the Prince is a rebellious, forbidden, vibrant and egalitarian love, not very diferent from Romeo and Juliet, another famous young couple separated by a tall window.

And, finally, there is the fact that the main heroine has premarital sex and a pregnancy and, instead of receiving a tragic sad ending like it would be expected from 19th century authors like the Grimms, she receives a happy ending! This is specially relevant when we remember that even to this day in our society women who have children out of wedlock are stigmatized.

The fairy tale is not perfect, after all the main villain is still an old single woman (Dame Gothel, the Witch). But there are some elements of it that are surprinsigly progressive, both for the medieval renaissance and 19th century standards and for the modern day standards.

Song i associate with them:

The main theme from Barbie as Rapunzel

The medieval song Scarborough Fair

Green Finch and Linnet Bird by Stephen Sondheim

Favorite picture of them:

Warwick Goble’s illustration for the italian variant Petrosinella:

This illustration by Emma Florence Harrison

This illustration by Arthur Rackham

This illustration by Daniela Drescher

This illustration by Paul Hey

This illustration by Anastassija Archipowa

This illustrations by Alix Berenzy

This illustrations by Paul O Zelinski

This painting by Deann Cumner

This illustration by Trina Schart Hyman

Barbie as Rapunzel

Shelley Duvall (with Jeff Bridges as her Prince) in Fairy Tale Theater

Pamela Winslow Kashani in Into the Woods

Mackenzie Mauzy in Disney’s Into the Woods 2014 (one of the few good things of that movie adaptation)

Luisa Wietzorek in the the German TV Movie Series Grimm’s Finest Fairy Tales

[thelordofdarkreunion]

Magnificent Scoundrels- Gifts

More sci-fi gadgets for all of you.  I go into more detail on the workings of some of the more interesting ones.  As usual, I own no one except Drake.  Enjoy the story.  

Aboard the Normandy

John Shepard pressed the locking mechanism on the doors to his quarters.  The automatic doors slid open noiselessly, and he stepped into the room beyond.  It was dark inside, the only light emanating from a large fish tank on the far wall.  It was his hobby, per say.  A welcome distraction from the rigors and challenges of his life.  He enjoyed relaxing and simply watching the fish swim.  

The rest of the room was simple, yet elegant, in the way that a mid-level hotel was.  Nothing exceptionally fancy, no wild designs.  It had few personalizations, save for several framed photographs and some slight tinkering projects he stored there.  

He sighed.  It had been quite the long day.  Quite the long month, come to think of it.  The implants that had brought him back from the dead all that long time ago...or was it really that long ago? he asked himself.  Well, either way, that had started to hurt again, a constant dull ache, especially located in the back of his neck.  So much to do.  So much stress.  First his death, then the Collectors, who were still a problem, now this.  Now new worlds, which, in turn, brought new problems.  It was the end of a long day, which would lead into a short night, which would bring yet another long day.  The cycle continued.  

He walked, slowly, over to his bed, before his tired eyes noticed something different.  A package, wrapped in plain black paper, lay upon it.  Attached was a note, written in neat cursive.  

To Commander John Shepard, a soldier after my own heart when it comes to personal weaponry.  From, Thomas Drake

His tiredness forgotten and curiosity piqued, he sat down beside the rectangular package, slit open the paper, and took out a heavy plastic case.  With a click of latches, it opened, revealing a sleek and compact silver rifle sunk into black felt.  On the side, where the ejection port of a bullet-firing weapon would be, was a small vent, glowing with purple and blue energy.  A miniaturized plasma reactor.  Three barrels, each heavily reinforced to take the heat buildup of the weapon, protruded from the front.  A small packet came with instructions on the gun’s cleaning and upkeep.  Emblazoned into the side of the weapon, small enough so it didn’t take away any of its looks, was the name X-45 Plasma Repeater.  

Shepard instantly recognized the gun.  It was the same model that Drake wielded during their missions, and the same model he had told them all was the pinnacle of plasma weaponry design in his home galaxy.  Come to think of it, actually, it was the only plasma weapon in any of their galaxies capable of fully automatic fire.  Drake had just...given one to him.  He wasn’t sure if he should be touched beyond measure or extremely suspicious.  He decided on touched.  Suspicion could wait.  It was an utterly magnificent gift.  The personal shields and armor in his galaxy were all designed around stopping projectiles.  He grinned evilly in the darkness of the room at the thought of what he could do with such a weapon.  He had seen Drake’s melt straight through unprotected torsos.  This...this would do nicely.  

Garrus Vakarian, one of Shepard’s closest friends and most trusted advisors, walked through the sleek halls of the Normandy into his own quarters.  Much more spartan and austere than the Commander’s, or, for that matter, most of the other crew members, his room had only various weapons and projects he had been working on.  He didn’t need anything else.  Plus, his culture was not flamboyant like humans or Asari.  He was a Turian, practical, result focused.  His body was humanoid, with two legs, two arms, and a head, but no one would ever mistake him for Human.  His limbs were spindly, his torso massive, and he was distinctly taller than most other species.  His face was flat, the back of his head a crest that seemed somewhat between a lizard and a bird.  Once, a human had compared him to a velociraptor.  He had taken the time to look it up, and found a distinct similarity between himself and the long-dead animal.  Interesting, but, ultimately, unimportant.  

A single bed sat in his room.  Mass produced, it wasn’t luxurious, but it would suffice.  On, it though...something new.  A long rectangular package, wrapped in black paper.  He walked up to it and read the small note.  

To Garrus Vakarian, a sniper of both lethal accuracy and renown. 

P.S.  It’s probably best if Cain didn’t know this was in your possession. 

From, Thomas Drake

His mandibles twitched as he smiled to himself.  He thought he knew what it was.  Long talons tore through the paper, and revealed a long black box, emblazoned with a double-headed golden eagle.  Bingo.   He opened it silently, to reveal the Exitus Rifle.  Nearly as tall as he was, it was a massive beast of a weapon.  While some sniper weapons were just glorified assault rifles with scopes, others were large, unwieldy, and extremely heavy.  The Exitus was far on the side of bulky and brutal.  A huge scope, able to switch between nine different types of viewing the world, was mounted on the top.  The entire thing was painted black, and a golden skull with outstretched wings was embellished on the side.  Garrus snorted.  What was it with xenophobic groups and their odd need to put their symbols on everything?  A good question, actually.  One to ask a behavioral specialist.  But, back to the task at hand.

Drake had given him the gun to use on the Scoundrels' mission against Batarian slavers, and he had fallen in love with it ever since.  While it was too unwieldy to move around quickly, it had a range of over ten miles and enough power to blow straight through any target he aimed at.  Ten miles.  He chuckled to himself.  

Before the mission, Drake, accompanied by a reluctant Cain, had explained how the rifle worked.  It fired bolt shells, .75 calibre monstrosities as long as a human foot.  Emblazoned with the Imperial Aquila (of course), they were essentially rocket propelled explosive bullets.  Fired at an unarmored target would mean it would quite simply cease to exist in a shower of gore.  But, it looked like there was even more to it.  Located in the box, next to the rifle, were a series of small cardboard cartons, each a different solid color.  Judging by the distinct lack of any Imperial iconography, Garrus assumed Drake, or one of his crew, had added them.  Above them was a note, written in Drake’s neat cursive.  

Special issue ammunition.  I can not easily replace it, so use with care.  

Printed on each box was a small note describing each’s contents.  He went over them all in turn.

Shell Breaker Rounds: Will punch through any shielding, even of a ‘magical’ or biotic nature.

Hellfire Rounds: Contains a very powerful mutagenic acid that eats through organic tissue at a rapid rate.  Useful against large monstrosities.  

Turbo-penetrator Rounds: For use against armored targets.  Will punch through most armor plating.

Seeker Rounds: For when you absolutely, positively, cannot miss a target.  Lock on to your target through the Rifle’s scope, and this bolt will follow it by itself.

Oh, this was going to be good.  Garrus would be enjoying himself very much in the coming weeks.

Aboard the Omen

Admiral Adam Vir returned to his quarters.  They were slightly larger than those of the regular ratings and officers, as benefitted an Admiral, but not obscenely so.  Cluttering the room were trinkets and items of personal importance, things he liked to keep from his childhood or his travels across the stars.  But this time, something was out of place.  A black package, about the length of his leg, lay on the bed.  Curious, he walked up to it, leaned over, and examined the note.

To Admiral Adam Vir, whose giddiness at seeing new things is a constant source of amusement.  I’ve heard you always wanted a lightsaber.  This is the closest I could get.

From, Thomas Drake.

Intrigued, he opened the box.  Resting inside was a...sword.  Interesting.  The scabbard was of red velvet, edged and wrapped with gold.  It was approximately two feet in length, and looked like an old Medieval-era broadsword.  The hilt was wrapped in a black material that he didn’t recognize, but it looked as if it would give him an excellent grip nevertheless.  The crosspiece was of a white gold color, and while it was a plain and straight design, it still did not diminish the weapon’s beauty.  Vir picked up the blade and unsheathed it.  

Two long groves were cut in the metal, and the blade itself was wickedly sharp.  As he lifted the weapon, a small note fluttered from where it was tucked in the shealth.  Frowning, Vir bent down and read it.  

Activate the blade by pressing the rune near the hilt.  Be careful, as it can cut through almost anything.  

He turned the blade over in his hands.  A small button, inscribed with a strange symbol he didn’t recognize, was located on the hilt near the crosspiece.  He pressed it.  

Instantly, the blade was surrounded by a crackling corona of blue energy.  He jumped back, slightly startled, but still kept his grip.  Spinning the sword through the air, the energy field hummed and sparked.  

It can cut through almost anything…

He deactivated the sword, pressing the button and putting it back into its sheath.  Turning on his heel, he half-walked, half-jogged out of the room...only to return three minutes later with a length of heavy metal pipe.  Once more, he pulled the sword from its scabbard, and activated the energy field.  Slowly, carefully, just in case he had misinterpreted or Drake was mistaken, he lowered the edge of the pipe onto the edge of the blade.  The energy field, supported by the blade behind it, cut through the pipe like a razor through tissue paper.  Vir grinned, then stood from his crouch.    

He lowered the sword to knee length, then dropped the pipe on it.  The blade sheared straight through it with no effort whatsoever.  Vir deactivated the gift.  He knew he was standing there with an idiotic grin on his face.  He didn’t really care.  There was no one to see it and, goddamn it, he had just gotten the equivalent to a lightsaber.  The only question was: what to do with it?  His smile only widened.  

Sunny, the Chief Weapons Officer of the Omen, trekked into the bowels of the ship.  Her quarters were located deep in the engineering section, into the metal-plated, darkly-lit heart of the ship, as benefitted a weapons expert and engineer.  The walls of her quarters were metal, and covered with drawings, blueprints, and schematics.  Various projects and weapons, some in a state or repair of disassembly, sat on tables and workbenches.  The room was a cluttered mess, the type of space that belonged to someone who enjoyed tinkering. 

Despite the mess, Sunny knew her way around the clutter.  Every object had a place, despite the apparent lack of order.  So it was with great perplexion that she noticed something that shouldn’t be there.  Sitting on her main workbench was a large package.  Bemused, she wandered up to it, and read the small note attached to the black paper.  

To Chalan.  While hand to hand fighting is perfectly fine, sometimes the only way to win the day is through superior firepower.  Plus, I think you are one of the few amongst our fleet able to wield this with any sort of ease.  

From, Thomas Drake

Curious, she unwrapped the package.  Inside was one of the strangest weapons she’d ever seen.  Looking more like a massive box instead of a gun, it was painted black, with tubing underneath, connecting one part, which seemed to be the ammunition storage, to the frontal part.  Twin barrels, both extremely large, with vents cut in the side of them for better cooling, stuck out of the front, while an oversized trigger lay to the rear.  She hefted the weapon with a grunt.  Drake was right, it was huge and heavy.  In fact, it seemed to be created for someone about her size.  Odd.  Some sort of alien weapon?  

Looking down, she saw a sheet of paper with maintenance and firing instructions, accompanied by a small note. 

It’s called a multi-melta.  It fires massive, short-range blasts of thermal energy, designed to go through armored targets.  

Hmm.  Sunny wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.  On one hand, it seemed to be quite the weapon.  On the other, well, she much preferred her spear.  Eventually, she decided that it would probably depend on the situation.  Having a heavy weapon that shot balls of pure heat couldn’t hurt anyone...at least not on her side…

Commissar Ciaphas Cain trudged back to his quarters, a combination office and sleeping area.  Over his long career, he had been assigned to many different quarters, from massive suites in gubernatorial palaces to the cramped and dimly-lit rooms of Mechanicus exploratory ships.  His room aboard the Omen was neither.  It was of decent size, with plain walls and austere furniture.  Nothing elaborate, nothing terrible, they were simply average.  A normal room.  Nothing wrong with that, in his opinion.  

His desk was cluttered with papers and data pads, each describing new aspects of different universes.  He was assigned to report back to the Inquisition on exactly what went on in these galaxies, and, frankly, it made his head hurt.  Councils and Federations and Assemblies, where all species were treated equal, where no one wanted to go to war.  How incredibly strange.  And he used to think the Tau were odd…

He unlocked the door to his room (didn’t want any nosy Guardsmen or, Emperor forbid, xenos rummaging around his papers), but was immediately brought up short.  Laying on his bed was a small package, wrapped in black paper.  Cautiously, he approached it.  Written in cursive was a small tag.

To Commissar Ciaphas Cain, a man who understands that the best way to stay alive is to have a good defense.  

From, Thomas Drake

A frown creased his brow, and he opened the package slowly.  Inside was a black box, about fifteen centimeters by fifteen centimeters.  What the hell…?  Cain turned it over in his hands, then picked up a small note from the bottom of the package.  

My engineers reverse-engineered and combined the shielding from Mjolnir armor and kinetic barriers.  It should stop all but the heaviest weapons, including blows from hand-to-hand weapons.  For it to work, it must be on your person.  To activate it, press the button on the base.  If it starts smoking, sparking, or making funny noises, take it off and return it to me.  We haven’t ironed out all the kinks, but it should work without fault unless it’s hit with sufficient force or dropped from a significant height.  

Cain grunted, then set down the box.  He had a breastplate of carapace armor, worn only on dangerous missions, but this was a lot less bulky, and covered his entire form.  A very helpful gift, if, of course, it worked.  He sighed, picked it up, and walked out of the room.  Time to see if it did what Drake said it would.  He was fairly certain he could find someone willing to beat the pulp out of him.  

Aboard the Milano

Peter Quill’s quarters, were, to put it bluntly, an absolute mess.  Not an organized mess, either, mind you.  Clothing, trinkets, toys, weapons, and other miscellaneous items were strewn throughout the space as if a hurricane had blown through.   He never bothered to organize it.  After all, it took a lot more effort to clean things up and put them into place that it did to search for hidden items.  Despite the mess, he did have a vague idea where things were, so it was with great surprise that he flopped onto his bed, then immediately jumped up as his back struck something hard.  

Rubbing his spine, he peered down at the bed.  On top was a small box-like package, wrapped in black paper.  On it was a small note.  

To Star-Lord, a man who delights in interesting gadgets and weapons.  This ought to fit your fighting style.

From, Thomas Drake

Quill ripped apart the paper, and opened the box.  Inside, was a thin, sleek pistol.  He read the inscription emblazoned on the side: Smart Pistol Mk-6.  Resting on the bottom of the box was a sheet of paper with maintenance and set-up instructions.  Set up?  For a gun?  What the hell?  Neatly folded into the sheet was a small note, written by the same hand as the gift’s tag.

The Smart Pistol scans for hostile targets within a short range and locks onto them automatically.  Any rounds fired will then maneuver to hit the locked targets.  For it to work, you need to synch it to your visor.  Instructions are included.  

Quill rolled the weapon around in his hand.  He briefly considered testing it out inside the ship, but immediately discarded the idea.  Despite what others might think, he did not have a total lack of common sense.  

Re-holstering the gun, he smiled to himself.  This would definitely come in handy.  He didn’t even need to aim anymore!  What fun.  

Gamora stepped into her room aboard the Milano.  Much smaller than its counterparts aboard the larger ships of the Socundrels’ fleet, it was nevertheless comfortable and tidy.  Each piece of gear, each item, object and weapon were in its place.  Not bare and spartan, not large and elaborate, but it would suffice.  Everything was exactly where it should be, so it was with some surprise that she saw a small black package resting on her bed the moment she walked into the room.  Curious, she walked over to it and read the tag.  

To Gamora, a woman of a very particular set of skills, who can find you and will kill you.  I heard you express a desire for a device such as this.  

From, Thomas Drake

Her fingers deftly unwrapped the box, and drew out a silver disk approximately five centimeters across.  What the...

Resting next to it was another note.

Pilot’s Cloak.  Mount it on your wrist, tap the device, and disappear.  However, be warned: it can only last for a short time before it has to recharge, and sharp eyes can still pick out your silhouette.  

Gamora smiled to herself.  Excellent.  One more trick, one more thing to help her in battle.  While the master assassin was good, very good indeed, a little help never hurt anyone but the enemy.  

Aboard the Enterprise

Master Chief John-117 walked to his assigned quarters aboard the Enterprise.  They were grey walled, and though plain, had a simple elegance and comfortable feeling to them.  However, unlike many of the other quarters aboard the ship, they had no decoration or personalization whatsoever.  It was not because the Federation’s guest was not allowed to personalize his quarters.  No.  It was because the Chief had never known anything along the lines of personal items except his weapons and armor.  He was born for war, literally created at a young age to be the perfect soldier.  He owned no personal items of effects.  He did not need them to carry out his duty.  

As he walked into the room, he immediately noticed a black package laying on the borrowed bed.  How strange.  Attached was a small white tag; a note written in flawless cursive.

To Master Chief John-117.  A soldier with no equal ought to have a weapon with no equal.  

From, Thomas Drake

His heavy gauntlets fumbled over the creases of the paper as he unwrapped the package.  Inside was a huge weapon, painted black with hints of purple and red.  The stock and trigger locked normal, but the barrel was a strange cylinder, ending in a purple, cone-like object that looked like some sort of focus.  Surrounding the cylinder were three triangular black fins.  Master Chief turned the weapon around in his hands.  Painted on the side of the stock were the numerals M-490.  

Turning, he looked into the bottom of the box, and found a note.  

M-490 Blackstorm.  Fires miniaturized black holes at a target.  Requires advanced power cells to fire, so use sparingly, as I cannot easily replenish its ammunition.  

Unbeknownst to anyone but himself, Master Chief smiled under his helmet.  A gun that fires black holes at a target was nothing to be scoffed at.  He could put this to great use.  Great use indeed.  

Captain James Kirk looked across the bridge of the Enterprise.  The finest ship in the Starfleet.  He smiled to himself, though his outward appearance remained stern.  He was glad to command her, and even more proud to command her crew.  

“Engines online, sir.  Preparing for warp transition,” radioed the chief engineer, Scotty.  Kirk pressed a button on the command console.  

“Very good.  Proceed.”  After all the strangeness, all the craziness, all the new people, they were returning home.  His mission from the Starfleet had originally been to explore new places, to go bravely where no man had gone before, but that had all changed.  Now there were eight other galaxies.  Eight new places to learn about, and it was all overwhelming.  He was glad to be returning home, to Earth, to present his finds to the Federation.  

He very purposefully ignored the package next to him.  Drake had given him two things.  A suit of armor now hung in the armory of the Enterprise, most likely never to see use.  Drake had pointed out that “a shirt and pants aren’t going to stop any sort of weapon”, but Kirk had never needed armor before, and he wasn’t going to start using it now.  The second gift sat in its box, wrapping paper surrounding it, and left to rot.  It was a heavy handgun, a sleek, matte black .44 calibre monster.  The note accompanying it had been shredded, its mocking message destroyed.

“Stun” is for cowards and fools.  

While some of the people he had met were much like him, and others were simply products of their environment, others were not.  He was going to have choice words to the Federation about Captain Thomas Drake.  

Aboard the Millennium Falcon

The familiar lights and switches of the Falcon’s cockpit were a reassuring sight to Han Solo.  The past weeks had been some of the strangest of his life.  Or maybe not.  He had seen massive amounts of strange things that shook his understanding of the universe before.  This was just one more to add to the total.  He was a man who rolled with the punches.  

He turned and nodded to his furry copilot, currently seating in the chair next to him.

“Punch it, Chewy.”  The world around the cockpit streaked with stars, and the whine of the starship’s engines filled the air.  Another familiar sight in a changing universe.  He was heading back to his home galaxy, giving his report on the new people he had met.  Hopefully Leia didn't try to kill him for being gone too long.  

Before he had gone, Drake had presented him with two gifts.  A phaser, some sort of pistol-like weapon that could be calibrated to different energy levels.  He wasn’t going to ever use it.  His blaster was much more comfortable, much more reassuring.  He knew what it didn, knew how to use it, knew all of its ins and outs.  Something different would be an interruption, and perhaps a dangerous one at that.  The phaser now was resting in a forgotten box in an unused room.  But it was not that gift that was the most interesting.  

The second of Drake’s gifts had been a heavy metal box, about two feet by two feet.  More the size of a trunk than a conventional box, it had been accompanied by strict instructions.

This box is to be delivered to Luke Skywalker in person.  Under no circumstances is it to be opened by anyone else.  While I’m sure your reading skills are fine, and you can understand directions with crystal clarity, allow me to be perfectly clear about this.  This box is not to be opened by anyone other than Luke Skywalker for any reason whatsoever.  

The box itself was sealed and locked, the keys given to Solo along with the instructions and a letter addressed to Skywalker.  Solo turned in his chair.  It emanated a faint aura of dread, as if some dark secret was locked inside.  Although, that could just be curiosity or paranoia playing with his nerves.  Or maybe it was something else.  Luke was a Jedi.  Some dark secret…

Enough.  It’s perfectly fine.  That didn’t stop him from wanting to get it off his ship as soon as possible, though.

And there you have it.  If you have any comments, concerns, criticisms, questions, explanations, or requests, feel free to ask!  

[esperanzagalaxy]

what do you think of Botticelli's version of Virgil? :o

   DA I'M SO SORRY THIS ASK IS. 10 MONTHS OLD. IT WAS SENT BY THE TIME I WAS SUPER NOT ON TUMBLR SO I'M. I APOLOGIZE. AUGH    but onto your question, cause it is such a fun one, are you mayhaps referring to this gentleman? if so hold on tight because this got a little long and i'm neglecting my day job and i am Unhinged. you've unleashed the art history beast

so! you meant him, right? cause we get a lot of straight up Funny dantes throughout art history but virgilios tend to follow a stricter line of design, in my opinion, much more on divine comedy depictions than on regular ol' Life Of Vergil paintings, but fact remains, i'm willing to bet the default image of virgilio you have comes from either that classic mosaic depiction of him with the muses, or the marble busts with the real good hair and lips. that is what i, at least, have seen 98% of classical and contemporary artists go for. cause, like. that was him. possibly. that’s as much confirmation as we can get.

now, botticelli, good ol' botticelli. my man sandrito. his virgilio is A Treat. now: take into account that when i mention the classical depictions we are most likely to have in mind, those pieces are possibly from the xix century. y'know, doré, wicar, ingres, and so on. That is our handsome prettyboy virgilio. 

botticelli was painting his own divine comedy over 300 years before them, but only over a century after the completion of the poem and dante's own death. i won't lie to you, i sincerely don't know When the famed mosaic and busts were found or if botticelli had access to them -but i'm willing to bet he didn't. that said, our boy sandro simply did not have the long history of depictions that the artists that came way after him did have -he was among the first to make his own dante, virgilio & co! (and this is without even talking about his version of the kingdoms. Man)

 might sound like i'm going around in circles but it's to tell you this: in botticelli's time, the Tendencies with which virgilio was later depicted hadn't been established yet. the favored canon was another one, and when you have no idea How this important person looked like, you do what's always been done in european art: make them an ideal according to what an ideal is in your own time!

 and what was the ideal in botticelli's time? in the comedy virgilio is meant to be, among many things, the figure of the Wise Guide. for a european man in the mid to late 1400s, What was a wise guide? it had to be a man, he had to be white, he had to be Older, experienced, he had to Look exprienced and wise, so he'd be Aged and Bearded, but he still had to look respectable and regal -this virgilio is basically a socrates, or a plato! isn't that a delight? it falls into line with a representation i think botticelli Did actually know of, which was giovanni di paolo's, a contemporary of his! 

  yep that’s him in red and dante in blue! (wonder where else have we seen a dante dressed in blue... ;)) ). the fact that vergilius turned out to be a fucking Snack came after, and since us artists have always been going hearteyes after our subjects and muses, artists started to latch onto those younger portraits of the vergster and ended up on the other side of the spectrum -which is, ignoring the fact that he was way older than he's normally depicted as when he reads the aeneid to augustus and octavia, which is a Whole 'Nother Topic (i only know one other old vergil and i don’t like it. wack). back to botticelli’s!   now, do you wanna know the REAL awesome thing about botticelli's virgilio? get ready because this is beautiful. botticelli didn't make him into just Any kind of wise guide. botticelli's virgilio is the magician. the magician is a FASCINATING medieval archetype that found its zenith in Merlin. and what's our and their default image of the magician? old bearded dude! but let's talk about two wild things about the magician: first is that he and magic in general were ever present in the Collective mind of the people in the xv century. people would see this virgil and Would see the magician in him! it wasn't just any old dude, part of the public might not have known who virgilio was or why he was important, but This dude in the image? i'd trust him! good for the guy in red! remember that though art is famed for its elitism it's also developed for CENTURIES the capacity to teach and explain only through images. magician virgilio was Accessible. JUST LIKE THE DIVINE COMEDY BC OF HOW AND WHY IT WAS WRITTEN!!!!!    ahem. and second, the magician is a figure that carries incredible dynamics and meanings with it. the magician is not an evil figure, unlike, i believe, witches and wizards (i think the word is wizard. bear in mind that i'm translating from spanish terms and some are tricky). it's more of a mash between druids, alchemists, but all through a very academia lens. the magician is a Keeper of Knowledge, and that makes him Powerful. this means that a great part if not all of his power depends on the keeping of the Secret. i'm sure you can see & imagine how keeping knowledge Away from people has just... been A Thing for centuries and centuries, esp in cultures built on inequality. so the thing is that if the magician has this power, for them to be able to share it or Entrust it to another, is a big fucking deal. and that's the thing: the magician can have Initiates. the initiate is the inexpert person that a magician takes under his wing and effectively Opens Up The World to them. they share knowledge otherwise forbidden, they're let into the Secret that brings them into contact with what all these self entitled white dudes from the middle ages believed make them Greater than the rest. as such, the magician is fundamentally the one who has skills that others do not, he is someone with the capacity to Change the world around him, he is a Transformative force, he can Accelerate and Cause things. where the alchemist tries to understand and imitate nature, the magician is believed to be one capable of Controlling it. it's worth remembering that an immediate distinction between white and black magic is made, one seeking good and the other bad, hence the differentiation between magician and wizard/witch, where the first of the latter two is usually considered something more Rural than academic, and the latter is just straight out evil because misogyny and racism. i'm sure you can see how, in a profoundly catholic place and era, white magic was also easily linked to miracle making, despite how shifty some bits sound. in short, the magician is a very respected figure in which numerous traditions and wisdom converge.     now! does any of this ring a bell? try applying all these magician traits to virgilio, who was a poet now turned babysitter, being seen through the eyes of a man in the late 1400s. what is a poet if not someone who sees Beyond what ''regular people'' see? what is a respected Epic poet if not something of a prophet? what is a guide if not someone who Knows about what surrounds him, does not fear it, and has the capacity to Explain it to his charge? does the one who guide you through hell and back not Transform you in any way? isn't the relationship between an expert and an initiate who teaches you about the world around you and beyond it not only the next best thing to your love for your god, but also a direct reflection of what it means to be a poet who chose to follow on another greater name's footsteps? virgilio is part of the transformative force that drives dante to change. he is a figure of utter control and rationality. where latter artists would dress him as a roman, either in whites or colors of glory or suffering/passion (gold and red), botticelli dressed his in purples and blues, the (very expensive) colors of royalty & heaven, the world beyond, and trust me when i say that using ultramarine blue on a pagan poet is a big fucking deal, because that hue was Reserved for the virgin mary. goes to show you the respect sandro had for his virgilio, as well as a clear belief in dante's own vision that virgilio pretty much deserved the recognition of any other cool christian if it wasn't for the Rules. and do you wanna know what other figure worthy or respect for his wisdom was dressed in ultramarine blue. THAT'S RIGHT. MERLIN!!!!!!!!    (wipes off sweat) so to summarize, what I think of botticelli's virgilio, is 3/10 on apperance because come on man where the fuck is my hot virgilio? good clothes though but sandro was in the textile industry so he should know; and 10/10 on concept for being a beautiful, EXCELLENT convergence & display of beliefs and traditions that, to my knowledge, no other artists really tried to show with such force in latter interpretations of the comedy. sandrito if you're out there

  apologies for any mistakes! it’s been a while since i’ve had to be Exact about my art history musings but i can’t go into full investigation mode right now. hopefully there’s no blatant misinformation jdsfaasd 

 thank you for asking and i hope you’ve been as safe and healthy as can be!  

[lawrenceop]

Painting the Paschal Candle

Why paint my own candle?

The thought of painting the Paschal Candle for the Rosary Shrine in London, where I currenly am based, first came to me at the beginning of the year. I wanted to have a candle with the Rosary Shrine coat-of-arms, and I thought at first that I should commission a professional painter to do it; looking at the designs in the religious goods catalogues only convinced me that only a custom-designed candle would satisfy me. However, I knew a few friends who had painted their own, and I enjoyed the idea of coming up with my own design. The only problem was that I hadn’t picked up a brush to paint anything since I left secondary school, almost three decades ago! So, I ordered two Paschal candles so that if I made a mistake with one, I had an alternative candle with a ready made design!

Materials I needed

A little research online, and a few discussions with Facebook friends ascertained that I needed acrylic paints including gold and silver acrylic paints and some wax pens. To these, I would need to add an acrylic paint binder which helps the water-based acrylic paint to bond with the wax surface of the candle. And finally I needed to trace a pattern onto the candle. For this I bought carbon paper and an embossing tool. 

Design: Cosmati and the Cosmos

From the outset, I knew I wanted a candle with designs inspired by the artwork of the great Christian basilicas of Rome. I gave some consideration to a design inspired by the Lindisfarne Gospels, but thought this was too complex and ambitious. At another point, I thought of an icon of Christ emerging from the tomb and trampling the coronavirus underfoot! But I thought that it unwise for a beginner like me to try any figural work lest my depiction of the Lord become like the ‘Monkey Christ’ of Borja! So, I returned to the medieval designs that have long inspired me: Cosmatesque patterns. 

Named after the Cosmati family, Cosmatesque patterns are sometimes called ‘opus alexandrinum’, perhaps because they originated in Alexandria. The geometric designs are certainly of Greek and Byzantine origins, and they’re first seen in the Western Church in the 11th century. According to Leo of Ostia, the abbot of Monte Cassino (the influential abbey founded St Benedict) “sent envoys to Constantinople to hire men who were experts in the art of laying mosaics and pavements”, and thus the transfer of knowledge about these Eastern patterns and designs came to the West. Cosmati work flourished in the 12th and 13th-centuries predominantly in Rome, but examples of Cosmatesque work are found throughout Italy, and even in Westminster Abbey in London. Its ‘Great Pavement’ was installed in 1268 on the sacred site where the monarch is crowned. Indeed, Cosmati work is costly, precious, and thus restricted to the most important of churches, often those associated with royalty or the papacy. 

The stones used for laying the mosaic designs are almost always recycled from classical Roman sources, and two precious stones, coloured green and purple, feature in their design. Green porphyry was called Lapis Lacedaemonius by the Romans, and it came from quarries near Sparta in the Greek Peloponnese and was quarried from the Bronze Age until around the 5th century AD. The even rarer purple ‘Imperial Porphyry’, which was reserved to the Roman and Byzantine Emperors, comes from quarries at Mons Porphyrites in the Gebel Dokhan of Egypt’s Eastern Desert, quarried from the 1st century AD until the 5th century. Hence, by the time the Cormati family were active in Italy, green and purple porphyry were antiques that were no longer being quarried. The Cosmati pavements, therefore, accentuate and set off roundels of this legendary stone recycled from Roman spolia.

Cosmati designs generally have two geometric patterns: interlaced circular bands called guilloche, and which are said to represent the Resurrection, perhaps because they form a series of infinity loops; and secondly, the quincunx, which is a central circle surrounded by four circles. The quincunx is an ancient symbol, reminiscent of the Greek cross, which stands for the cosmos or an ordered universe. The Cosmatesque quincunx, moreover, with its triangular mosaics inlaid into the whirling circular pattern stands for the created world. As Galileo wrote: “The book of nature is written in the language of mathematics, and its letters are triangles, circles and other geometrical figures.”  Hence, at Westminster Abbey, the Great Pavement uniquely had an inscription around the central quincunx design that referred to it as representing “the eternal pattern of the universe”. 

At the centre of the Paschal candle, therefore, I placed a Cosmatesque quincunx, with triangles of green and purple around roundels of green and purple, evocative of imperial porphyry. I looked online for a design that could be easily traced, and printed this out, put the carbon paper on the candle, and then traced over this design with the embossing tool. 

At first, I had intended to draw a cross in the central circle, and then, on the other four circles, I wanted to draw the ‘Alpha’ and ‘Omega’, and the year in Arabic numerals: ‘20′ - ‘20′. However, it was only after I had painted the quincunx that I recalled that the five incense grains would have to pierce these five circles, thus obscuring these symbols. So, an alternative solution had to be found! Incidentally, the five incense grains stand for the wounds of Christ, or the nails that pierced his body. I bought these golden pine-cones of wax from Italy, where they’re commonly used to pierce the Paschal candle – rather different from the brass pins we’re accustomed to in England, but they seem to work very well with this candle, and they add to the Romanitas of the design. 

It was fitting, then, that this quincunx at the centre of the Paschal candle stand for the Cross of Christ, and for his Five Wounds – an observation made by James Joyce concerning the quincunx symbol. However, the quincunx is a rich symbol: as we’ve seen it also stands for the whole created order, which is now redeemed and transformed by the Risen Christ; or it stands for Christ in majesty surrounded by his four evangelists; or for the four Platonic elements of creation (fire, water, earth, and air) with the fifth element in the centre being aether, the Aristotelian quintessence. This design, therefore, signifies that all of creation is raised up and renewed by Christ rising from the dead; the whole cosmos is subjected to the imperial Christ, and resounds with the joy of his Gospel.  

 Our Lady’s Rosary and the Paschal Lamb

Having decided on the central cross-shaped quincunx, I knew I needed two more roundels that I wanted to add to lenghten the overall design. At the bottom would go the emblem of the Rosary Shrine, which is the monogram of the Blessed Virgin Mary surrounded by the Rosary. 

I needed another emblem that would balance this at the top, and I chose the Lamb of God, a symbol of the Risen Lord. As St Paul says: “Christ, our Passover Lamb, has been sacrificed for us” (1 Cor 5:7), and this text is used in the Communion chant of Easter Sunday. 

I searched for a medieval design of the Paschal lamb, and found this beautiful example on the ‘Cruz de Bagergue’ that dates from 1200. The Paschal lamb carries a flag featuring a red-cross on a white field, which is traditionally used as  an emblem of the Resurrection, but it also conveniently looks like the flag of St George, i.e., the flag of England, which is the land now rededicated as Our Lady’s Dowry! 

Alpha & Omega

However, what about the requisite signs on a Paschal candle? we needed a cross, and an Alpha, an Omega, and the numerals for this current calendar year. First, I painted a Greek cross in the central circle of the quincunx, using the alternating black and white Cross of the Dominican Order. But I fashioned it as a Greek cross, and around this I wrote the Greek letters IC XC NIKA. This emblem, called the Greek Christogram, has been in use since the 8th century, and it was found throughout Byzantium, notably on imperial coinage. It is a reference to the victory of Constantine at the Milvian Bridge in 312, and the Greek letters spell out: “Jesus Christ Conquers” i.e. through his Cross. By the 9th-century this emblem was believed to be apotropaic, that is to say, it is believed to have the power to drive away evil. 

Continuing to be inspired by Byzantine art, I looked to examples of Crosses which had an Alpha and an Omega, the Greek letters for the Beginning and the End (cf Rev 22:13) hanging from them. The Altar Cross in Westminster Cathedral notably has these letters of the Greek alphabet hanging from its arms, and I researched and found medieval engravings and medallions with the same device. However, in all the old Byzantine images, the Omega was drawn not with the uppercase Ω but rather the lowercase ω. So, on the Paschal candle, I drew two jewelled Greek letters, the uppercase A and the lowercase ω suspended from the Cross-shaped quincunx. Following on from this, it seemed best to put the date above these, but rather than to write the date in Arabic numerals (2020), I opted to stay with the Roman-Byzantine theme, and so I chose the neat Roman numerals (MMXX), inscriped above the horizontal roundels of the quincunx.

Flora and Beasts

Finally, I decided to add a few small elements to the candle so that not everything was centred around the middle portion of the candle. Near the top, I painted some bees, and then I added some to the bottom as well. Why bees? This is again a classical reference: Virgil, too, praised the industry and society of bees, and the Exsultet, which dates to at least the 4th century, says this concerning the Paschal candle: 

“On this, your night of grace, O holy Father, accept this candle, a solemn offering, the work of bees and of your servants’ hands, an evening sacrifice of praise, this gift from your most holy Church. But now we know the praises of this pillar, which glowing fire ignites for God’s honour, a fire into many flames divided, yet never dimmed by sharing of its light, for it is fed by melting wax, drawn out by mother bees to build a torch so precious.”

Where there are bees, there ought to be flowers, so I added a few pink flowers, a reference to the cherry blossom (sakura 桜) which appear at this time, and which the Japanese enjoying viewing in the Spring (called hanami 花見), as a meditation on transience and impermanence, and the fleetingness of beauty. The exercise of painting the candle, I realised, is an exercise in detachment and impermanence because I would also come to sit in church, watching the candle burn down over the course of the year, and so consume and destroy that which I had painted. Sic transit gloria mundi! 

Finally, I added a skep, the medieval bell-shaped hive made from coiled straw developed by apiculturists, and the hive is dripping with golden honey. It seemed fitting that the bees should have a place to live, and that their hive should be of the kind commonplace in Europe during the time that the Cosmati family engaged in their particular golden industry. 

And then, as a little personal indulgence, I added a portrait of my beloved priory cat Felix. First consulting a book of ‘Cats in Medieval Manuscripts’, I adapted an illustration from the ‘Luttrell Psalter’, c.1325-35, and gave the cat the same colouring and pattern as Felix, who has a fine coat that looks like a Dominican habit. Felix has quite a penchant for sweet things – even though he’s not allowed them – and I am sure he’d love some honey, towards which he’s shown extending his paw. 

Technique

I wanted to avoid seeing brush stokes in the quincunx, so I learnt to dab my brush rather than just paint it in broad strokes. I realised that I didn’t need a lot of paint - often a pea-sized blob would suffice, with an equal sized blob of the acrylic binder: mix these well, and then, let it dry a little; the less wet the paint, the easier it was to paint on the wax. I learnt that, with acrylics, if one made a mistake, one could easily run over it with a wet brush, and the water washed away the paint like an eraser. As time went on, I rather enjoyed painting the candle, and it took me about 2 hours a day for 5 days, which is far quicker than I had expected. 

Final Reflections

As Providence would have it, I began work on the Paschal candle on the Monday of Passiontide. By that time, public Masses had ceased because of the coronavirus pandemic, and then, having more time on my hands, this project became a Godsend because it gave me something to focus on; it took my mind off the worries of the present moment. Painting the candle became an act of love, something beautiful and devotional that I could do for God and for the sacred Liturgy; it became a prayer, and indeed, I would pray as I painted the Rosary, or the Paschal Lamb. Finally, on Easter night, I pierced the quincunx with the wax pine-cones of encased incense, and then I saw it lit and raised high on the Paschal candle stand. And then, I was privileged to be the first to incense the candle, and then, to sing the Exsultet that praised God for it, asking that its 

“flame be found still burning by the Morning Star: the one Morning Star who never sets, Christ your Son, who, coming back from death's domain, has shed his peaceful light on humanity, and lives and reigns for ever and ever.”

Amen.

[sherrybaby14]

I Watched You Change

This is for YoungMoneyMilla’s 9k celebration.  Congrats darling!

Prompt:  Change (in the house of flies) by the Deftones (This song reminds me of Queen of the Damned, but I am too scared to write for Anne Rice so I went with the next thing)

Summary:  Dracula AU.  Victorian England.  After being neglected by your fiancé a certain vampire sets his eyes on you

Warnings:  Angst, Dub-con, Mind Control, Cheating, Blood, Death

Pairings: Vampire!Bucky x  reader, Clint x reader

A/N:  This story has 2 endings.  You get to choose your own adventure.  They are marked!!  

                  The air in your lungs burned, your body not wanting to release the oxygen. This was important, you had to talk to him, you could do this.  Right before you were about to pass out from holding in your breath you straightened your back and lifted your chin, releasing the air as you strode toward your fiancé.

                 “Clint, I have to speak to you.”  When you opened the door to the parlor you were not surprised to see the faces of four shocked men.  

                 Women were never to interrupt, but you’d had enough.

                 “Y/N.” He rose from the couch.  “Now is not the time.  I will find you later.”

                 The other men went back to looking at the papers on the table.  Dr. Banner not hiding his annoyance with you.  

                 “There is no time!” Damned the proper etiquette. “You’re never around, and when you are it’s with these men.  We are supposed to build a life together and I have no clue what yours is anymore.”

                 A glance to the papers on the table showed a drawing of a fanged creature, some maps, and medieval-looking weapons.  A hand was around your arm and you looked into the face of your fiancé, his lips turned into a scowl as he dragged you out of the room.  

                 “I am working toward ensuring that life is one of purity and safety.”  He spoke through gritted teeth as he led you back into the hall.  “One where I can protect you.”  

                 “Protect me?”  You pulled your arm away.  “From what?”

                 “There is evil here.” Clint looked over his shoulder, almost ensuring his partners couldn’t hear. “I fear that the minds of women can’t grasp this level of danger.  I need you to trust me.  We are closing in on the beast.  Once he is killed we will be wed.”

                 “Beast?  Killed?” Your head started to swim with his cryptic words, let alone the insult against your gender. “What are you talking about?  You sound mad.”

                 “I’ve said too much.”  His expression melted into pity as he cupped your cheek.  “We have to return to the city for a few nights. It’s safer for you here.”  

                 “Now you’re leaving?”  You supposed it didn’t make much difference since he was never around either way.  

                 “When I return, things will go back to how they were.” He placed a kiss on your forehead. “Promise me, you won’t go outside after dark and wear your crucifix?”  

                 “Mr. Barton.”  Dr. Banner appeared in the doorway. “If we wish to act on this lead, we must prepare.”  

                 You glanced around your fiancé and swore you saw Tony Stark brandishing a crossbow.  Your mouth hung open as you looked up at Clint, desperate for an explanation.  

                 “Patience Y/N.”  He gave another quick kiss before leaving with Dr. Banner, shutting the door to the parlor behind him.  

                 At the start of summer, you thought it was kind Mr. Stark offered you a room at his country estate.  Memories of your arrival and how vibrant Clint had seemed further away than the ten weeks they were.  

                 Once Dr. Banner arrived it was like all the men had gone insane with some private obsession.  Clint no longer snuck into your bedroom in the evening, showed up for dinners or teas, and he halted all talk of your wedding plans, which you’d hoped would be set for some time in the early fall.  

                 Again you found yourself alone.  In a big empty estate.  You debated on finding one of the servants, but they did not hide their annoyance at your presence and refused to treat you like their equal. That drove you nuts, especially since you were nowhere near the class of Tony Stark.  

                 The tears of frustration were starting to pool, but if Clint saw you cry that would only feed into the stereotype he had recently painted you into. The sensitive woman who must be shielded from everything.

                 The suffocating feeling returned.  You grabbed your hat and purse from next to the door before yanking it open and walking out into the summer sunshine.  

                 A walk would do you good.  Calm your rage.  The town was only a kilometer away. Maybe seeing the faces of some people not obsessed with ‘beasts’ would help.

~~

               Clint’s words kept circling you as you tried to make sense out of them. The minds of women can’t grasp this level of danger. More like the mouths of men can’t explain what the hell was going on. You brought your hand to your lips at the thought.  

                 Such immoral words would never leave your mouth, but you couldn’t help picture the look on Clint’s face had you spoken them out loud.   There would be a rage in his eyes, he’d never hit you, but probably think about it as his jaw clenched.  For some reason, the image of the reaction excited you.  

                 “Excuse me Miss?”  A voice shook you from your fantasy.  

                 You looked up at a striking man.  He had long brown hair slicked back, he wore thick sunglasses and a proper suit with a hat that looked tailored enough to rival one of Mr. Stark’s outfits.  But the most peculiar thing was his sun umbrella in his gloved hand.  You hadn’t seen many men carry those.

                 “I have just arrived and I was looking for the solicitor’s office?  Could you point me in the right direction?”  The man’s glasses made it difficult to tell where his eyes were looking, but his voice sent a chill down your spine.

                 You realized you were starring and looked down the street, more than familiar with the layout of the few shops and businesses in the small country town.  

                 “Yes.  It’s the third building on the opposite side of the street.”  You started walking.  “I am headed that way actually.”

                 “Is there a bookstore?” The man followed you.

                 “Excuse me?”  You didn’t know what he was implying.

                 “You look like someone well read.  In town unaccompanied, I assumed it was for a new book.”  He gave you a smile.  

                 “There is a bookstore, but unfortunately, I have read everything I care to that they have.”  You thought about his unaccompanied line.  

                 You were an engaged woman, maybe it was inappropriate to come to town by yourself.  What would Clint think? You walking down the street with another man. Internally you rolled your eyes, he was too busy hunting some beast to be worried about you.  

                 “That is a shame.”  Your companion stopped at the solicitor’s office.

                 In the window was a sign that read ‘Closed until Monday’.

                 “Would it be forward of me to ask you to accompany me to lunch?  I did notice a café down the street and I hate to eat alone?”  

                 His invitation made your mouth hang open, how brazen?  What did he take you for?  Some harpy?

                 “I do not believe my fiancé would appreciate that.” You started to turn.  “Good day sir.”  

                 “Apologies.” He called out before you got a step away. “I meant no harm, to you nor your fiancé. I am new to this country and clearly lacking in its social normalcies.  I understand women are all too aware of potential dangers around them.”

                 His word choice made your heart stop beating for a moment as you froze and turned back to him.  

                 “What did you say?  About dangers?”  You could not remember the last time you were so interested in an answer.

                 “As a species, women are much more practical when it comes to the evils in this world.”  He stepped toward you.  “And thus I clothe my naked villainy.”  

                 A smile spread to your lips as you let out a little laugh.  When was the last time that happened?  A smile or a chuckle?  

                 “Richard III.”  You nodded. “I’m impressed.”  

                 “And I am Count James Buchanan.”  He offered you an arm. “It was never my intention to offend.”

                 “I may have overreacted.”  You took his escort.  “Maybe a light lunch would be appropriate.  Especially if the conversation is about Shakespeare.”

                 “What is your favorite work?”  The Count asked.

                 You smiled, happy for once your brain wasn’t preoccupied with thoughts of your maddening fiancé.  

~~

               The lunch flew by as quickly as the conversation. You lost track of time as the world faded away with the sun.  It was only when the sound of thunder shook the café you were jarred from the Count’s attention.  

                 “Blast!”  You rose from the table and looked out the window as the rain pelted down.  “I am afraid our afternoon must come to an end. I promised my fiancé to return by dark.”

                 “Wise man, obtaining such a promise.”  He looked out the window with you. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss. Y/L/N.  I believe your fiancé must be a very wise man for receiving your affections.”

                 The meaning of his words was not lost on you and again brought on shivers.  When you glanced over at him he finally removed his sunglasses and eyes too blue to be natural starred back.  It almost made you gasp, the handsomeness of this man.      

                 “Thank you for the company and compliments.” You didn’t look away from his hypnotic gaze.  “I was hoping I could ask you for a favor Count Barnes?”

                 “James.” He gave you a knowing glance. “And whatever your heart desires.”  

                 “Could I borrow your umbrella?”  You gave a half smile. “I walked here, and would hate to catch a cold in the rain.”

                 “No.”  His response surprised you.  “I have a carriage.  I will drive you home.”  

                 Before you could respond he was outside, waving his hand to the end of the street.  The horse and buggy arrived right when you walked out.  

                 The driver did not jump down as James held open the door for you.  It would be rude to decline, and with the weather, you were sure Clint would want you to accept the ride.  

                 “I’m at the Stark estate.”  You told James as you sat against the plush leather.  

                 “Anthony Stark, I didn’t realize he was engaged. Won’t he be thrilled when he finds out I’ve spent the afternoon with his fiancé.”  James took a seat next to you.

                 “He is not engaged.  Clint Barton, he’s an old acquaintance of Mr. Stark.”  You felt silly for not explaining yourself earlier. “But you know Mr. Stark too?”  

                 “Of course.  He is the reason I picked this countryside town.  He and his friends practically chased me out Romania to get me here, your fiancé included.”  He gave you a wink.  “Mr. Barton. I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting him in person, but I have heard he is quite strong and reputable.”  

                 “He is.”  You wanted to say ‘was’, but bit your tongue.

                 “It’s a strange coincidence.  After dropping you off my plans were to head to the Stark estate.” James removed his hat. “That solicitor has the keys to my new estate.  It appears I am homeless until Monday.  I was hoping Tony wouldn’t mind boarding me for the next two nights.”  

                 Even you didn’t call Mr. Stark Tony.  It made your eyebrows rise at the informalness.  

                 “Unfortunately Mr. Stark went to London for the weekend.” You gave a frown.  

                 “Is your fiancé acting as master of the estate in his stead?”  James’ confidence didn’t falter at the news.

                 “Actually, I am the only guest at the moment.”  You bit your lip.  Was it your place to offer Tony’s residence to the Count?

                 “I see.”  James nodded. “I am sure that there is an inn I can find a room at.  I would hate to put you in that position.”

                 “Nonsense.”  After how kind he had been to you, and the fact he called Mr. Stark Tony, there was no reason to make him stay at that bug infested inn.  “You are more than welcome to stay at Mr. Stark’s estate.  I will have one of the servants makes up a room for you as soon as we arrive.”  

                 “Thank you.  I am sure Tony would approve of your hospitality.”  James’ eyes flashed with his own approval.  “Does that mean we will be dining together this evening?”

                 Your heart fluttered at the thought, not over the food or the man himself, just the idea of company.  It had been so long.  

~~

               Dinner was just as pleasant as lunch, if not more so and you drank in every word your new friend spoke.  Some of the servants raised an eye while serving the food, but nobody objected to your offering the Count a room.

                 “Would you like a nightcap?”  You rose from the table and started toward the parlor.  

                 “I really would.”  James stifled a yawn. “But I fear I am in need of sleep after today’s activities.”

                 “Of course.”  You felt foolish, forgetting your guest’s travels.  

                 “In fact, I will likely sleep through the day tomorrow I am so exhausted.  Please forgive my rudeness if that occurs.”  James stood up and left his seat, walking with you.

                 “Very understandable.”  You tried to hide your disappointment, knowing it was selfish but you wanted company again.  

                 “But I was hoping, tomorrow evening, the two of us could have a formal dinner?”  He offered you his arm as you walked through the hall to the staircase, which you gladly took.  “I’ve brought my dress coats and I would love to experience an English formal.”

                 “For two?”  You smiled. “I’m not sure you will get the entire experience.”

                 “Humor me.”  James climbed the stairs, leading you up.

                 “I suppose I’ll check with the servants in the morning.” You had a feeling they would jump at the chance, at least the chef. She’d been bored stiff whining about making quick meals all summer.  

                 “Well good night Miss Y/L/N.”  James stopped outside his bedroom, you hadn’t realized you’d walked this far, much passed your own.  

                 “Y/N, please.”  Your eyes didn’t leave him as his lips touched the top of your hand.

                 A lump came in the back of your throat and you swallowed it down.  

                 “Goodnight Y/N.”  James dropped your hand.  

                 Every nerve in your body flared for some unknown reason.  Tingles spread across your shoulders as you spun to walk to your room, muttering a goodbye.

               Thoughts went to tomorrow’s dinner.  You could distract yourself with getting ready and maybe the workers would let you help set the table or something, but they would probably fight you off wanting to tame their own boredom.  

                 At the back of your brain, there was a clawing this was wrong.  You shouldn’t be excited about dining with anyone but your fiancé.  But you told yourself you would be dining with him if he were here.  And besides, as the only current guest of the estate, it was your job to entertain Mr. Stark’s friends.  

~~

               He meant to murder her the second they were in the carriage.  Leave her dead body on the side of the road for the men to find as a warning, but she proved to be much more than the delicate flower her husband talked of.  

                 And the way she smelled, Bucky could only imagine how good she must taste.  He ran his tongue over his lips as he undressed in Tony Stark’s mansion.  He imagined how enraged the would-be vampire hunter would be if he knew.  

                 Dr. Banner was responsible for this, bringing him here into poor Y/N’s life.  They should have left him be, but his arch nemesis thought if he got a gang together maybe he would stand a chance this time.  The poor mortals had no clue how powerful Bucky really was and he had no intention of giving them a demonstration.

                 Still, they had to be taught a lesson.  Killing vampire hunters tended to create more vampire hunters.  Usually hunting loved ones was enough of a deterrent, but it seemed nobody else had any family but Clint Barton.  His fiancé death would send the perfect message to the others, but Bucky didn’t want her dead any longer.  He wanted something more.  

                 He was certain she was asleep by now.  It had been hours since they parted, but she was still on his mind.  There was a risk in using the hallway, he was certain the staff was already suspicious of him.  So he went to the window and with minimal effort crawled across the stone siding toward her room.  

                 The warm summer air meant the panes were open and he went inside with the breeze.  There she was in her bed, a light sweat on her forehead as she tossed among the sheets.  Her nightgown was simple and white, clearly lacking in the wealth of this house.  He enjoyed how thin it was, as it stuck to her skin, the outline of her curves apparent.  

                  He couldn’t help himself as he dipped into the bed next to her.  Her lids started to flutter and he couldn’t have that.  

                 “Shhhh,” he ordered. “Sleep.”  

                 There was a relaxation to her body as Bucky position her between his legs with her on her side.  

                 “What are you dreaming of Love?”  He brushed her hair back and inhaled her intoxicating aroma.  

                 “You.” There was no hesitation in her response.

                 “I like that very much.”  Bucky ran his hand down her bare arm until he got to her gown and started to bunch it up.  “What about me?”  

                 “Kissing you. Touching you.” Her lips puckered at the last word.  

                 “Touching me?”  The white thing gathered around her waist, leaving her beautiful cunt open for his hand.  “I have a better idea.”  

                 She let out a moan as his fingers worked between her folds.  Bucky smiled at how wet she was for him, eager and inviting.   He teased her entrance with his finger, and she lifted her hips.  

                 “The first time I enter you there it won’t be with a finger.”  Bucky dragged along her slit, eliciting a disappointed whimper.  “That doesn’t mean I will leave you wanting.”

                 He pressed down on her tender bud and she gasped as her hands scratched at his chest.  She started rocking against him, grinding down on his hard cock with her movements while he circled and rubbed her clit.    

                 “Cum for me.”  He cared more about her release than his own, a strange occurrence for him. “Tell me what you need.”  

                 “You.”  There was a coo to her voice, but she rocked faster against him.  

                 Bucky increased the pressure and his motions, harder and faster.  Soon the gasping came again and the features on her face tightened.  She was close and he planned on tasting her ecstasy.  He opened his mouth and bared his fangs.    

                 The second her climax came over her Bucky removed his hand and flipped her on to her back.  His thigh pressed against her apex while his teeth sank into her neck.

                 He tasted her orgasm, a rush of pent up repression and denial mixed without any shame or remorse.  It was enough that he felt his cock spasm in his pants as her blood rushed down his throat.  

                 Her death would be a waste.  Bucky knew right then and there he had better plans in store for her.  

~~

               “Miss.”  There was a handshaking you.  “Miss wake up.”  

                 You struggled to open your eyes.  The room seemed extra bright and you shielded your eyes.

                 “What time is it?”  You begrudgingly lifted yourself up on to an elbow.  “Who are you?”

                 “Count Barnes told us about the dinner tonight.” She wore one of Tony’s uniforms. “I am here to help you dress.  It’s 5 pm. Dinner is at 7, so we should get started.”

                 “Five pm?”  That made you jolt up in bed. “I’ve slept the day away.”  

                 “You do look a little ill.”  The woman tapped your neck. “And it looks like a spider may have taken a bite.”  

                 You stood up and went to the mirror.  There was an air of tiredness to your features and two strange puncture marks on your neck.  It must have been a huge spider.  

                 “Please don’t cancel the dinner.”  The girl appeared behind you. “The staff has been dreadfully bored and Count Barnes is paying all of us a very generous additional sum for tonight.”  

                 “I am tired, but I feel more relaxed than I have in months.”  It was like all the tension in your body ran out.  “I wouldn’t dream of canceling on the Count.”  

                 You would have to thank him when you saw him, especially since you said you would inform the servants.  

                 “He had a special dress sent over for you.”  The maid went to a bag hanging.  “I don’t even think Mr. Stark knows how to have something made so quickly.”  

                 She lifted the bag to show the most exquisite piece of clothing you’d ever seen.  It was the right color for you and the details were extraordinary.  

               “I think we should do your hair up.”  The main went on for her plans for you and you nodded along, eager to participate in the night’s festivities.  

~~

               When you saw James he looked more handsome than you remembered, his suit the finest you’d ever seen.  

                 Dinner was another perfect conversation where it felt like he hung on every word you said.  

                 “If I ask for a nightcap will you accompany this time?”  You rose from the table.

                 “Only if you ask nicely.”  James stood as well.  

                 “Please, won’t you join me for a drink?”  You waited for him to offer his arm.  

                 “I must say, that dress looks stunning on you.” He looked you up and down. “Mr. Barton is a lucky man.”  

                 Hearing your fiance’s name made you cringe. It was the first time you’d given him any thought all evening.  

                 “Yes.  You will come to the wedding I hope?”  You looked at James and saw a twinge of disappointment, making you feel even guiltier.

                 “I hope to play a large part in your wedding.” The disappointment vanished.  

                 “Oh.  Of course. I forget you’re acquaintances with all the men.” You walked into the parlor and left James to go pour the drinks.

                 There was a scratching sound and then music filled the room.  You smiled as you looked over your shoulder at James with phonograph.  

                 “It’s a wonderful invention.”  You turned and handed him a drink.  

               “Dance with me.”  He took both glasses from your hands and set them down.  

                 “I don’t think…”

                 “Please.”  He held his hand out.  

                 You knew it was wrong, but you found yourself accepting his proposal and slipping your hand into his, while his other went around your waist and brought you closer.  

                 “You’re very special Y/N.”  James led you as you swayed.  “More than any human recognizes.”  

                 “I’m just a girl.”  You felt a heat growing in your heart between his compliments and the way he was touching you.  

                 “No.”  His had left yours and went to your chin, nudging it so that your eyes were on his. “You are much more than that.  You are a delicacy. One I would very much like to taste. Again.”

                 Hazy visions of laying on top of James, his hand on your most private areas.  The release the ecstasy, the bite on your neck.  

                 “What are you?”  You were curious, not scared, not angry, nothing else.  

                 “I am the only one who can satisfy you.  Give you what you crave.  Knowledge, equality, travel, the world.”  He leaned in closer.  “All you have to do is join me.”    

                 “You’re the beast they’re hunting.”  Things fell into place.

               The crossbow, the picture on the table of the fanged creature, the sun umbrella, the sunglasses, sleeping all day, the puncture marks on your neck.  

                 “You’re a vampire.”  You understood why Clint was acting so mad, had he told you the truth you never would have believed him.  “Am I under your spell?”

                 “Not at the moment.” The music stopped but you continued to sway.  

                 “Then why am I not scared?”  You kept your eyes on his, having no reason to trust him but doing so anyway.  

                 “Because you’re different.”  His gaze did not falter. “Leave with me, tonight.  Let me take you into the darkness.”  

                 He was asking, but you knew he didn’t need to. A mountain of feelings came toppling down.  He was a monster, you were engaged.  He was interesting, you were lonely.  He excited you, you were amazed by him.  Would a no mean death and did you even want to say no?  While your thoughts continued to scramble your heat knew the answer.  

                 You opened your mouth to speak when the door to the parlor flung open.  

                 “Y/N GET BACK!” Clint held out a giant crucifix.

                 James let out a screech and moved you behind his back.  Clint wasted no opportunity jumping forward, a wooden stake in his hand.  It came centimeters to James’ heart when he let go of you to defend himself.  You fell to the floor with a bump and scooted back against the wall.  

                 The two men struggled with each other.  The wooden stake going closer to James before another blow pushed it away.  

                 “STOP!  You’re hurting him!”  You screamed out from the floor.  

                 Both men looked at you.  

                 “Y/N run! Get out of here.”  Clint went back to trying to kill James.  

                 “Y/N you have a choice.  Make it.”  James didn’t sound nearly as winded as Clint.  

                 That’s when you realized this was all a show for your benefit.  James could have snapped Clit in two if he wanted.  That’s where this was headed.  Clint’s death.  James wanted you to do it, but could you?  

                 Two lives danced in front of your eyes literally. One a happy dutiful wife in the sunlight, the other a literal monster.   You knew the correct choice.  

                 Ignoring the faux struggle you walked over to the crossbow, the one Tony must have chosen to leave behind for some reason. It was loaded, all you to do was pull the trigger.  Without hesitation, you went over to the duo.  Neither of which were paying attention to you.  

                 “I wish there was another way.”  You sighed as you lined up and took your shot.

                 In an instant the struggle was over as the body hit the floor with a thud, your life forever changed.

 A/N:  We are going into a little bit of a choose your own adventure.  If you want to be a bad girl skip all the way to ***  

[Begin ending 1]

               “Y/N.”  Clint looked at you with shock.  “Thank God.”

                 He ran to you and tucked you against his chest, the entire time your eyes were glued to James, the arrow sticking out of his heart. His body started to shake and decay at a rapid rate, the beautiful face disappearing.  

                 “Where are the others?”  You didn’t notice the vampire hunting gang.

                 “London.  I just had a feeling that you needed me.”  Clint kissed the top of your head. “That it was wrong to leave you alone.  And I was right.”  

                 “Is it over now?  That he is dead.”  You pulled away and looked up at Clint.  

                 “It’s over.  Our lives are safe.”  He started to lead you out of the parlor.  “The others won’t believe it.”  

                 “Will you tell me the story?”  You looked at Clint. “Why was he here?”  

                 “For another time love.”  Clint squeezed you tight.  “You have had quite a night.  I’m sure you need some rest.”  

                 “To sleep, perchance to dream.”  You were still in a haze.

                 “What?”  Clint asked.

                 “Shakespeare.”  

                 “I’m not familiar.”  He tightened his shoulders as he led you to the stairs, away from what could have been.  

 ***

                 [Begin Ending 2]

                 A failed grunt came out of Clint as he tried to reach for the arrow in his back.  It was short lived as he collapsed dead.   You lowered the crossbow as James stepped over his body.  

                 His eyes bore into yours with pride and amazement. When he reached you he cupped your cheek and lifted your chin, pressing his mouth to yours.  You dropped the weapon and put your arms around his neck, returning the kiss.  

                 “What a choice.”  He broke the kiss as he hoisted you in the air,  your skirts going to your waist as you wrapped your legs around him.

                 “There was never a choice to make.  You would always win.”   You went back to kissing him.

                 This was the kissing you’d always dreamed of, deep and unbridled passion.   You would spend eternity with someone capable of making you feel this way.  

                 You squealed when there was a sharp pang on your tongue,  followed by the taste of copper, then something else, something warm and tangy. James had bitten both of your tongues open and your blood swooshed together in your mouth.  

                 It made you moan as he set you down on the couch. He moved faster than your eyes could keep up with, undressing and then you.  It was dizzying to be naked so quickly, but in a second he bared his fangs and sunk them deep into your neck.

                 A moan left your lips as you felt your blood dripping down your back.  Warm and so filled with life.   Your head started to lull to the side as your soul slid into James’ mouth.  With it all your hang up and pretentions.  

                 Then he pulled your head away and looked at you as a nail ran across his chest, spilling his own.  You didn’t need instructions as your mouth went to him, lapping it up and taking as much of him in as you could.  He tasted like love.   Something you could never get enough and never quite understood how it felt.

                 He spun around and pulled you across his lap, straddling him.   You’d never been in such a lewd position before and loved it as he lined up his cock with your cunt and lowered you down.  

                 James tilted his head to the side and again ran a fingernail, opening up his vein.  You wasted no time dropping your head to taste him again while your body bounced up and down his shaft.  

                 Soon his teeth returned to your neck, crunching down again.   It made you cry out and lose your concentration on your own feeding.   But then the tingling in your pussy began to grow in a way you never experienced before.  

                 James was guiding you, up and down, back and forth. You started gasping, desperate for the release.  Certain that you were going to burst into nothingness.  When the pleasure came it made James suck down harder and you moaned uncontrollably.  Your orgasm was soon met with his own and he stilled your movements but continued to drink from your throat.  

                 Finally he lifted his head, showing his blood-soaked chin and lips.  You imagined you looked much the same when he pressed his mouth to yours, his cock softening inside of you.  

                 The deep kiss turned into a little peck and you fell forward, resting your head against James’ chest, the blood drying.  

                 “We have to get out of here.”  He kissed your head and slid you off of his lap.  “The others won’t be far behind.”  

                 “Where will we go?”  You weren’t sure you were capable of standing as sleep started to tug you down.  

                 “Wherever we like.”  He gave you a devilish grin and kissed your forehead.  “Sleep now.”  

                 You had no clue where you would be when you awoke but were ready to follow him into the night.          

[fabulousahoy]

Original Story - J & O - Chapter 1

I wrote an original story... well part one of it. Dunno if it any good, but imma posting anyway.

A defeated and resigned Pumpkin Man gets a visit from his old “friend” which causes him a lot of trouble.

Far away from all civilization, in a dimension between life and death stands a small house. Hidden from prying eyes of humans and other creatures alike, this house belongs to a certain being. He who once struck fear into the hearts of men, yet now resides here. Alone, detached from everything. He who once commanded the entire might of Underworld, the Lord of Pumpkins himself... Jack'O.

* * *

Returning home with groceries was usually the best part of the "shopping day". Though of course, it's not like Jack'O actually bought stuff. It was more akin to stealing, though he preferred to call it "borrowing without giving back". After all, the only place he ventured to from his pocket dimension is the human world. Buying stuff is quite challenging(impossible) when you have a giant pumpkin for a head. Besides, he did not have any money anyway.

As he crossed over from the usual dirty alley into the dimension his home was in, Jack'O let out a sigh of relief. Navigating human cities always gave him anxiety, even if he does it after dark. Now that he stood at his front porch however, everything was peachy. He snapped his fingers in order to close the dimensional gateway and without even turning back he opened the door with his right foot. There was no need to lock them ever. No one could get into this dimension without him allowing it anyway. Humming to himself Jack'O entered the house, unaware that the gateway did not close completely. A small hole remained through which some sort of black liquid slowly poured in. After couple of minutes it stopped, and the hole closed itself. As if it was alive, the huge pool of black goo began to move towards the house.

After putting away everything he bought, Jack'O sat down down in his favorite(only) armchair by the fireplace and sighed in relief. Reaching out with his right hand towards the table, he took a dart out of a cup full of them and set his aim on the dartboard hanging above the fireplace. This particular one is a custom, which Jack'O made in the image of the creature he despised the most. The dartboard itself had the shape of a demon's head with crudely painted details, such as a shark-teeth smile and an eye patch.

Before he had a chance to throw the dart, a loud knocking noise came from the front door.

- What the...

Jack'O got up from his chair, taken aback by this impossible situation. He simply stood there as the sound continued.

- Who's there?!

The knocking stopped for a couple of seconds, only to resume again at a faster pace. Losing his patience, he decided that the only right course of action is to open the door and face whoever or whatever it is. After arming himself with a frying pan he slowly approached the door and in one swift move opened it. But there was no one there. He stepped out into the porch but he found no signs of anyone or anything.

- Maybe it was the wind. Or maybe I just need more sleep.

With that said, Jack'O returned inside the house and shut the door behind him. Once  back inside however he noticed someone is sitting in his armchair.

- Cozy house you got here, Jacky. Mind if I crash here for awhile?

A long time has passed since he last heard this voice. Voice of the repulsing demon who betrayed him and because of whom he became a literal nobody.

- You...

- Indeed. Me.

The entire house shook to its foundations when Jack'O fired a giant beam of dark matter energy from both of his hands. His poor and trusty armchair exploded into nothing in an instant taking the table and darts with itself. Laying on the floor near the fireplace was a demon woman. Long black hair, pale skin, all white Gothic-like coat, a huge eye patch over the right eye and of course a pair of pointy horns. The look on her face was a mix between shock and genuine confusion.

- How dare you show your face to me, you foul carcass of the abyss?!

Jack'O began preparing another attack. Within his hollow eyes burned a fire, one which hasn't burned for long years.

- Look, Jacky. I know last time we saw each other, we had a bit of an uh... scuffle, you and me but...

The Lord of Pumpkins roared like a crazy beast and fired another shot, this one destroyed the fireplace along with the rest of the wall. The woman avoided the blast at the last second by jumping towards the kitchen then rolling into it like a ball. She stopped by hitting the sink so hard the faucet almost came loose. Now laying on the back with legs over her head she watched as the furious Jack'O towered over her like some sort of murderous madman with a vengeance.

- Okay, could you please stop trying to kill me, Jacky? I'm not here to fight you, and besides, I have had enough of a roller coaster ride today as it is.

- Then why are you here?

- Look, if you'll stop destroying your house and we just sit down like civilized Underworlders, I'll tell you everything.

The Lord of Pumpkins' fire seemed to have been instantly extinguished the moment he realized he just destroyed a wall, an armchair and a table. After short overlooking of the rotten fruits of his carnage he turned to the demoness on the floor.

- This better be good, Ovelia.

* * *

Another day, another load of paperwork done. Although she would never admit it in front of anybody, the amount of dumb requests citizens of the Underworld make is astronomically high. For instance, just today she had to deny thirty different pleas from Underworlders who wanted cleaner air. Like, what is she supposed to do about it?

Yawning, she got up from her chair and looked outside the giant window of the office. Thanks to her efforts the once horribly medieval Underworld became a technological juggernaut. Combining magic and technology yielded results surpassing those of humans. So what if the air is not as clean as it used to be? Everyone(who is a first or second class citizen at least) gets free cable TV and all the wondrous perks of magic and technology at the same time. It's a win-win all around, unless you're a complete failure and can't even afford shoes. In which case, oh well.

Taking out a small mirror out of the pocket in her coat, Ovelia took a look at her eye patch, and seeing that it is crooked she fixed it up.

- Well, nothing wrong with indulging myself a bit.

Back at her desk, she pressed the button four on her intercom. After two beeps a tired voice answered the call.

- Yes, miss Ovelia?

- Hans, if I have any appointments today then I want you to cancel them. In fact, tell everyone I am out and about doing charity or whatever it is.

- You want to watch "Funnies in the Family", right?

There was a brief but tense silence.

- Shut up.

She pressed the button again to terminate the call. Now that all of the "chorepointments" were null and void, she could enjoy the luxury of her favorite sitcom... or so she believed, because the lights went out, and the reinforced glass window behind her simply shattered.

- What. - She mumbled, quite confused.

With multiple pieces of glass now lodged in her back, Ovelia turned into black liquid and then swiftly reshaped back. Now free of the pieces, she took a look around her office which had shards of the window everywhere.

- This is going to be a witch to clean up. Welp, good thing it is not going to be me.

She pressed button four on the intercom couple of times, until it hit her that it wasn't just the lights that went out.

- Drat. Now I'll have to walk.

- Excuse me! Can you finally turn around for scariness' sake?!

Ovelia sighed and turned around towards the raspy voice. What her eyes beheld, could be simply explained as black floating rags, some chains and a bag of bones with barely any meat on them.

- By the seven pits... who let you in here, you filthy hobo?!

- What? I'm not...

- Yeah, yeah. Sure. You probably prefer to be called a "jobless individual". What? Cannot find any work for a fellow of your education?

The bag of bones and rags laughed like a maniac who smoked one cigarette too many in his life.

- Well, you see. I'm not going to be jobless for much longer, Abyss Demon!

- Indeed. That is me.

- Because I'll be taking your seat at the top of the Underworld!

With that said the bag'o'rags laughed again. Ovelia smiled wryly in response.

- Okay, that was cute and all. Now get your tattered bones out of here before I'll have to remove you myself.

- You... you don't remember me, do you?

She raised an eyebrow.

- Should I?

The hobo shrugged and took out a book from behind his ragged cloak. Upon opening it, and quickly skimming through a couple of pages, he began reading a passage in a language most ancient. A magical circle appeared under Ovelia's feet.

- I think I have had enough of your wacky hijinks. Get... out!

Usually at this stage she would make a very scary face, the air would tense up and the intruder would have been knocked out of her office, in pieces at that. Instead, she just lost her balance and fell face-flat onto the floor.

- Buh-wha? - She mumbled, spitting out a shard of glass from her mouth. The raspy laugh resounded again.

- It worked! It worked! Bless your dark heart, Abysswalker!

- What just happened?

Ovelia got up slowly and arrived at the conclusion that she feels much less powerful than usual. It was almost as if she had no crazy broken powers at all anymore.

- This spell was made specifically to deal with you, Ovelia! To be more precise, it seals most of your great power!

Before she could even process this information the raggedy hobo grabbed her by the hair and dangled outside of the window.

- It's a long way down, little abyss runt.

- Who in the seven pits of hell do you think you are?! You will not get away with this!

- Who? Why, I am... The Boogeyman!

With that said, he let go of her hair and in accordance with the laws of gravity, Ovelia plummeted down. In the brief moments during her fall she could hear the raspy, yet roaring laughter of victory. Then, there was only darkness and silence.

* * *

- Hold up. Boogeyman? The same Boogeyman we trashed completely and threw down into the Sea of Gehenna?! That Boogeyman?

- Well, considering he seems to kinda hate me, I think so.

Jack'O sighed.

- Look, if he hates me, then he hates you as well, Jacky.

- He only went after you because you were the top dog in the Underworld. Now that you were thrown away like yesterday's trash I'm sure he has more important things to do than go after me. Besides, he can't find me anyway, secret dimension, no?

- Uhh...

Jack'O sent Ovelia a cold piercing gaze.

- Which brings me to my next point. How did you find me?

- After Boogeyboy noticed I am not dead, he sent multiple assassins after me. I high-tailed it to the human world to lose them. After I wandered a bit, I noticed you going about in the dark with your bags of merchandise. I knew I could hide inside your dimension if I followed you. It was a pretty lucky coincidence, I must say.

- Mhm. - He shrugged. - Alright.

Jack'O turned around towards the kitchen, only to quickly turn back and punched Ovelia right in the gut. The might of the hit sent her flying right into a bookshelf. It immediately collapsed right on top of her. He carefully watched her turn into liquid then reform back into regular form next to him.

- What was that for?! - She asked, pouting.

- You tell me. While I would be otherwise inclined to believe in our "lucky" and "coincidental" meeting, I just simply can't. You said you "knew" about my dimension. From where? Who else knows?

- Uhhh...

Jack'O cracked his knuckles.

- Alrighty! Fine! I kept spying on you after you left, so I could laugh at you! I had special cameras installed at almost every place you visit! That way I always had a fresh stream of your misery!

They both stood there in complete silence for a bit.

- I can't believe this. I need a drink.

With that said, the Lord of Pumpkins simply went into the kitchen and returned with two cups filled with vodka. After staring at puzzled Ovelia for a couple of seconds, he poured both cups down his throat, one after the other.

- So... can I stay here?

- No.

As if on cue, the sky of the dimension split open with a loud and terrible noise and through the crack flew in a giant dragon. Alongside him a four armed being, whose head seemed to be composed of flames, descended upon the house.

- I have found you at last, wretch of the abyss! By the order of the almighty Boogeyman, I, Pyreman - Lord of Fire and Ashes, will cast burning judgment upon you and your comrade!

Upon finishing his speech, he threw a bunch of fireballs down onto the house and laughed proudly as everything around quickly went ablaze.

[lostonehero]

A high school teacher au

"Dude I heard we're having a sub today." A Male student elbowed his buddy.

"Mr. Prince is out today? Ah that sucks." His friend said sitting in his desk. "Wonder who is going to substitute."

"I dunno man, but like I hope it's Mr. Flowers he is so chill."

The two students along with the rest of the class turned to face there substitute teacher.

"Oh shit it's the history teacher Mr. Ceit." The boy whispered.

"Ugh his stupid scar always gives me the creeps." His friend sighed sinking into his chair.

A girl at the front of the class raises her hand when the bell rings. Mr. Ceit nods for her to talk. "Uh Mr. Ceit why are you covering for Mr. Prince you're a history teacher not a English one."

Mr. Ceit just sighed. "I was asked so I will. Now I will only say this once my facial scar is none of your business so I want to hear no comments about it."

A different girl raises her hand then speaks. "So sir what are you going to teach us since ya know you're not a English teacher. Mr. Prince lets us watch a movie when he isn't here."

Mr. Ceit smiles. "Well miss that isn't going to happen." He waits for the groans to end. "What we are going to do is a writing project." More groans filled the room. "Now quiet, the essay will be based on the following story I will tell, and I will only tell it once. Your essay will be a reflection on the tale I tell." He takes a breath. "Now this story takes place a long time ago across the sea...."

.....

Rumors have spread across the kingdom of women going missing. The town folk blame the dragon of the forest, a giant snake with wings, and teeth that can impale ten men at once. The king had already sent many many knights over the span of years to kill this dragon, but this time with the rumors pressure was mounting.

So the king send a special knight of his royal court, one that knows powerful magic, and was loyal to only him. The hero was sent to the rumored cave of the beast. Crowds cheered as he left and promised to kill the terrible dragon.

The hero traveled far through the dense forest finding the beast's cave. To his horror he saw all the missing women from years passed alive. The dragon must be keeping these women as slaves, death would be too good for this dragon. The hero hid until he saw the monster land with more women on his back. He wasn't loosing his chance, he cast a spell, a very powerful spell that he wasn't even sure what it would do to the beast.

The spell hit his mark, and the dragon let out a earth shaking scream, as the beast was turned to a man. The women froze spotting the hero, and instead of cheering they began to yell curses and began to approach the hero with anger in there eyes. The older women helped the now human dragon to his feet, and the mysterious locked box that appeared next to him back to the cave.

Now the truth in this tale was that the dragon wasn't a monster. He was taking in battered women, abandoned wives, and any women who would come with him. The hero destroyed a sanctuary for these women.

What did befall this hero, well what the dragon would tell you is that he took these women by force back to the kingdom. If you asked the hero he would of said he saved these woman from the dragon he slayed. You wouldn't ask the women because they were lost to the whim of the men in the kingdom because they were considered property not equal to the men. The king was pleased with the women returning, he even took a few for himself.

The hero brought back the property of the kingdom, and the dragon was defeated.

........

Mr. Ceit looked at the somber classroom. "Now get to writing, Mr. Prince knows that you will be handing these in."

A boy raises his hand and doesn't even wait until the teacher notices before he speaks. "That is some feminist fairy tale ain't it. Women can't build a society by themselves that's the biggest flaw in your story."

Mr. Ceit slowly smiled. "My I'm sure your mother would love to hear that, and shouldn't you be writing that down."

The way he said this made the boy shudder and look back at his paper not saying another word.

Another girl raises her hand waiting for approval before speaking. "What happened to the dragon Mr. Ceit?"

Mr. Ceit tilts his head. "You're the first to ask that in all my years telling this story. Well I think a locked box tells the answer."

The girl frowns at the cryptic answer beginning to write.

The bell rings after awhile and the students pile out leaving there written essays in a messy pile as they exit the class. Mr. Ceit fixes the pile and sighs stacking them onto Mr. Prince's desk. He then pulled out his worn backpack from under the desk, and headed to his classroom to grade tests. At least he doesn't have to grade those essays on his story.

.......

The next day after classes end, Mr. Prince knocks on Mr. Ceit's open door frame. "Hey Dee thanks for covering."

Mr. Ceit looks up from his desk. "It's Dorian Roman, I hate that nickname."

Roman flinches at his tone but continues to smile moving to sit on his desk. "So what's up with that tale you told? The essays painted quite the picture."

"I have to agree with Roman, Dorian." Virgil poked his thoughts through entering the classroom as well.

Dorian sighs seeing as both English teachers decided to visit. "It was just a old fairy tale I know."

"Not one I've heard of, and as you know Dee I thrive off of them." Roman looks at Dorian who in response pushes him off his desk.

Roman makes a scene of it gasping looking hurt. This only made Dorian roll his eyes. "I mean it's a interesting tale, what's it from?" Virgil asks.

Dorian frowns. "The past Virgil like most everything. Now can you let me finish my work in peace?"

Roman groans. "Oh come on Dee, why won't you tell us?"

"It's not important Roman. Just a tale from the medieval era, nothing is special about it. Besides it's a fantasy not real so drop it." Dorian hisses unconsciously gripping his backpack.

"What's with the defensiveness Dorian?" Virgil quirks his brow.

Dorian's face goes red as he looks away from the two. "It's nothing just something I wouldn't go talking about. It didn't happen so why make a big fuss about it."

"Well legends and story's come from history, and everyday life. So what is it based on? Which kingdom?" Roman's curiosity was lit.

Dorian gets up abruptly taking his worn bag with him. He rushes without a word not noticing a box fall through the tear that grew on the old bag.

Roman ran and caught the bag. "Dee you dropped something."

Dorian ignored him as he headed to the exit yelling. "I'll see you tomorrow Roman."

.........

Roman looked at the box in his hands. It was old that was obvious, but it was beautifully painted and carved. It was like if a fire met scales twisting into a box. He couldn't read what the words were carved onto the surface, but he knows that it's locked from the keyhole shaped like a snake's mouth. He was awestruck at this box.

Virgil saw the look in Roman's eyes, but didn't understand why. "Roman no just return it to him tomorrow."

"But it's so pretty." Roman cooed.

Confusion was painted on Virgil's face. "Pretty? Roman it looks rotten, and like it's barely holding together. It's probably a family thing."

"What are you talking about Virgil it's beautiful. Look even the lock is carved like a snake opening his mouth." Roman hands the box to Virgil who takes it with a grimace.

"Roman are you sure you're ok?" Virgil held the rotting box seeing no lock on the box, but a empty hole to show the box being empty. "It is just a rotten box, and it's empty. You're not on anything are you?"

Roman snatches the box back heading down the hallway. "Virgil I think your eyes are broken. Let us just ask Logan and Patton." The English teacher runs to the science wing with Virgil following him.

The students watch Mr. Prince run down the hall carrying a rotten box with Mr. Nightengale following behind. The students decided to abandon their afterschool activities to see what's unfolding.

Roman bardges in holding the box interrupting a community club Patton roped Logan into hosting with him. The students look at Roman on instinct. "Tell Virgil here that he's wrong, and the box looks amazing."

Logan pushes his glasses up then rubs his temples. "Roman if this is another one of your drama acting lessons please stop."

Patton elbows Logan. "Logan come on it is really good acting."

Roman seems to deflate as he hears the whispers of the students around him, and the comments from his fellow teaches. "Guys seriously it isn't rotten. It's beautiful."

Virgil sighs. "I'm surprised you haven't got a splinter yet Roman."

Roman looks at Virgil then back at the pair of teachers, and sighs frustrated. "Fine I'll ask Dee tomorrow." He stomps out.

"Virgil is Roman ok?" Logan asks.

"I actually don't know." Virgil looks at Roman leave.

.......

Roman actually gets to school early unlocking his classroom heading to his desk. He takes out the box from his bag, and begins to pick at the lock again. It looks like he hasn't slept much. He hears a knock on his door and just makes a noise of acknowledgement.

"Uh Roman kiddo you ok there? I just wanted to drop by." Patton is radiating concern.

Roman sighs sitting back leaving the makeshift lock pick in the box. "I just thought if I opened it you guys could see what it actually looks like. All I'm getting is nothing."

Patton frowns looking at box seeing the lock pick in a rotten hole. "Uh kiddo I don't think that is right."

Roman blinks. "Is it upside down?"

Patton watches as Roman begins to tinker with the rotten box again. "Roman that isn't what I meant by that, you're trying to open a rotten box."

Roman "Patton it's not a rotten..... oh." A soft click grabs Roman's tired focus as a soft tune begins from the box. He couldn't place the music.

Patton freezes hearing the music come from the rotten box. The pair stare at the box not noticing Virgil leading Dorian to Roman's classroom apologising about the whole box thing. Logan was also tagging along wanting to see if Roman returned to normal.

"It is just a old rotten box I was attached to. Stop apologising for Roman." Dorian sighed freezing when he sees Patton and Roman stare at the old box with awe. Then something else hit him it was a sound of a music box. That tune was familiar he just couldn't place it.

Virgil tilted his head hearing the tune and he moves his eyes to the source, it was that rotten box. "Roman if you cursed us I swear."

Logan was standing not believing what he was hearing, they're had to be a explanation for this.

Roman out of sheer awe began to mess with the lock picks again, and another click happens, and the music abruptly ends. The box opens suddenly making Roman jump. "Ah it's open."

Dorian pushes passed Patton looking at the rotten box swiping it from Roman.

The students began to file in, but due to the commotion a mass began to stand outside the classroom watching this unfold.

"Dee come on I just want to see what's inside." Roman says getting up moving closer to Dorian.

"Open it? Roman it is a old rotten box I decided on a whim to keep after things." Dorian hisses finally looking down at the box in his hands. It wasn't rotten anymore, and it was open.

"It isn't rotten anymore.... That is impossible." Logan stammers.

"It's pretty." Patton looks at the box.

"I think this is cursed as fuck." Virgil says stepping back.

Dorian looks in the box and nearly drops it when a glowing smoke slowly sinks out of the box. His eyes began to water, and his lungs burned as the smoke enveloped him. He dropped the box coughing, and he falls to his knees.

The smoke only surrounded Dorian. The others were shocked but wanted to help there fellow teacher, no friend. "Dee are you ok?" Roman rushes towards Dorian, but he can't get pass the smoke that seems to have a mind of it's own.

Logan rest his hand on the smoke like it's a wall. "Impossible it's soild. I can't explain this."

"Dorian are you ok? Come on you can fight this." Patton tries to look brave.

The smoke begins to fade slowly, Dorian is still coughing and tinges of red drip from his lips. He is barely able to kick the box away before he feels the strong urge to vomit. Thankfully Patton rushes with a trash can he immeditally empties the contents of his stomach.

"Call a ambulance, now someone." Patton's skin has gone pale seeing the bright red in the trashcan.

Virgil nearly passes out dialing 911 alerting the authorities of the emergency. Logan began to comfort Virgil who was now having a full blown attack.

Roman grew pale collapsing to his knees next to Dorian. "I sor- this is my fault. Please don't die because I was stubborn. Dorian I'm sorry."

Dorian wanted to say something but he threw up more red, now with large chunks of things he was scared to look at. Everything felt like it was on fire. He was crying even that hurt. He couldn't even produce a sound if he wanted to. Another wave of red comes out, everything sounded quiet and fuzzy. Something was making a buzz next to him, it was so quiet, and he was in too much agony to even try to piece it together.

Roman helped the paramedics carry Dorian to the ambulance he decided to go in the car with him.

......

The trashcan had to be carried out as biological waste with a hazmat team. The box as well even though it was empty, and crumbling. School was cancelled.

.......

Dorian looked around in a haze as noises from every side filled his head. His body still felt like it was being ripped apart from the inside out. Something was in his throat and he needed it out, he couldn't move is arms or legs. He was falling out of his head panicking. There were voices around him, he couldn't focus on them he needed this out. He somehow managed to flip over causing himself more pain. He coughed out more red but it was so blurry he couldn't tell what it was.

He got his arms working so he could push his face off the ground. Someone was trying to pick him up, he tried to yell no because it hurt, but only liquid dripped out of his mouth, and something hard. He started to black out again.

.......

He slipped into consciousness again a bit more lucid. His arms had no more use, and his legs felt like mush. A vague notion of what was happening crossed his mind, he didn't like it. Something screamed at him to accept it. He was too tired and numb to fight.

......

[the-not-so-dark-age]

The Devil of All Earth - Daichi no Akuma

DISCLAIMER: this theory IS NOT MINE, but written by @mostrogobbo. Translated from Italian to English with her kind permission.

After chapter 103 I wondered about Zeke’s true plans and motivations and especially his current situation; initially I thought he worked alone, then with Eren, now I think he works ALSO with Levi and SC…but sincerely, I don’t believe I understood or  have any hints about what’s in Zeke’s mind right now.

We know his biggest secret concerns his royal blood but I’m almost sure there are still things we don’t know,starting with his arrival on Paradis in order to reunite with the other warriors and then to fight the SC at Shiganshina.

Where has he been for all that time? The first time we saw him, Zeke had longer hair and looked like long-standing soldier who has spent too much time in a savage and wild estate (compared to his appearence in Marley).

When, at Castle Utgard, Ymir and Reiner found those food cans with writing understandable by both of them, and the camp too, I suspected that camp was Zeke’s one (since the Beast Titan appeared not too far away from the Castle).

It’s impossible to find reasoning about Zeke without considering ch. 103 and the parallelism with Kenny: both of them had and have a “great dream” , in Kenny’s case it was something simple and common, power. Zeke is more complex, but the reading of this parallelism is quite clear: both of them know that, in order to achieve their goals, it’s required to sacrifice something, someone. Everything? They understand this much, very much. 

I thought that the Beast Titan, just like Kenny Ackerman, was something too powerful for being dominated and subjugated, and so I asked myself: how would the story be if the  “Devil of All Earth” was the ancestor of the Beast Titan? Followed by another immediate question: was there a shifter inside the Devil of All Earth? If so, who was it? Or was this monster different from the current titan shifters seen in the manga?

We know that the Beast Titan has Always been bigger than the others, as said by the Marleyan supervision officials while the young shifters were training on the battlefield back in ch. 95, and by a simple look, we notice the Beast Titan is different from the others.

I’ve always seen the titans as organical machines with one specific function: war.

 Now, if the Beast Titan is a sort of big siege machine (for example, a catapult or something similar like a trebuchet), then why don’t they give it a human-like appearance, deformed but perfect for this purpose, like the other normal titans? Why covering it with animal fur? What’s the function of the fur and of the monkey-like aspect?

Let’s go back to the Devil of All Earth painted with Ymir Fritz, that bears all the typical traits of a devil in christian iconography :

Horns, sharp claws and fangs, a hairy body and feral ears.

Let’s talk about the devil in medieval christian iconography. See as reference this pdf document  I found online, “Il Diavolo nell'iconografia e nell'immaginario medievale - Spolia di F. Rompazzo”:

“At the base of the representation of the Evil in romanesque and gothic art there is the concept of dissimilarity, overturning and turning upside down human features.

Be it the Devil portrayed in human form, as in the Duomo of Torcello Island, where the Devil is depicted as an old man with a white beard, lacking beastly traits, or be it represented with a feral appearance, as in the Mosaic of Judgement in the Battistero di San Giovanni in Florence, his physicality is always, anyway, exaggerated  and monstrous, in order to scare the sinners with the menaces of everlasting punishments; the beastly and monstrous features contributed to distinguish Satan, the damned and the devils from the angels. 

In iconography, from paleochristian art until IX century,  the Devil has mainly humanoid features. It is, in fact, represented as:

a. an old man

b. a little, deform being

c. with claws on the feet

The more typical qualities of the human form are:

a. straight and dark hair, later snake-like

b. eyes on fire

c. long and curved nose (this was due to the stereotype of Jews and the consequent demonisation)

Starting from IX century, the Devil is instead portrayed as an animal or a monster , following the medieval imagination, recalling somehow snakes, cats, wolves, goats, bats.

The most typical features from this period are:

a. tail

b. animal ears

c. goat beard

d. goat claws and paws

The horns, most typical feature of the Devil, began spreading  from XI century. Concerning the dyes and colours used in the representations, Satan was usually painted in black; sometimes blue and purple, all colours which gave importance to its low, dark nature.”

Keeping out the horns, added only later to increase the grotesque nature of the Devil, we have a sort of strange chimera with feral parts in its anatomy.

Now, let’s focus on the origin of Zeke’s name. It’s either a short form for Ezekiel or a slight change of the name “Sieg” from Siegfried (it could also be from the German word “sieg”, which means victory).

So, who was Ezekiel? (see his Wikipedia page for more)

Ezekiel was born in 620 BC, at the end of the Kingdom of Judah, to a family of priests, even if he lived as a prophet. 

He was deported to Babylon along with King Ioachin in 587 BC, and settled in the ancient village of Tel Abib, near the old city of Nippur in Iraq.  Five years later he had the calling as a prophet. He had to comfort the deported Jews and the ones left in Jerusalem. We don’t know when he died, just that he was still alive 22 years after his prophetic calling. While ignored at the beginning of his mission, after the fall of Jerusalem people started to believe him and trust his words. From that moment, his preaching focused on the rebuild of Jerusalem.

From the Bible, we can deduce he received complex profecies and was able to know what was happening in the meantime in Jerusalem, even if he was 2000 km away.

He considered himself as a leader who had to watch over his people, guiding them from inside, and as a beforehand Messiah. He also presented himself as a guardian of his people because he had to announce God’s imminent judgement. Ezekiel accused the Israelites due to their sins and urged them to conversion.

One of his most famous visions is interpreted by Christians as a symbol of the resurrection of the body: a field scattered in bones.

Another vision illustrates four living beings (man, lion, ox and eagle; see Ezekiel 1,10) around God’s throne, and which are seen as the four evangelists’ symbols (man=Matthew, lion=Mark, ox=Luke, eagle=John).

The abundance of visions, symbols, very strange symbolic actions and other allegorical devices are typical of Ezekiel’s writings and profetics; this makes understanding them completely quite difficult, because often we can’t draw a limit, a border where reality ends and the allegory begins. This is valid for the prophet’s actions too: for example, chapter 4, reported below.

Thou also, son of man, take thee a tile, and lay it before thee, and pourtray upon it the city, even Jerusalem:

And lay siege against it, and build a fort against it, and cast a mount against it; set the camp also against it, and set battering rams against it round about.

Moreover take thou unto thee an iron pan, and set it for a wall of iron between thee and the city: and set thy face against it, and it shall be besieged, and thou shalt lay siege against it. This shall be a sign to the house of Israel.

Lie thou also upon thy left side, and lay the iniquity of the house of Israel upon it: according to the number of the days that thou shalt lie upon it thou shalt bear their iniquity.

For I have laid upon thee the years of their iniquity, according to the number of the days, three hundred and ninety days: so shalt thou bear the iniquity of the house of Israel.

And when thou hast accomplished them, lie again on thy right side, and thou shalt bear the iniquity of the house of Judah forty days: I have appointed thee each day for a year.

Therefore thou shalt set thy face toward the siege of Jerusalem, and thine arm shall be uncovered, and thou shalt prophesy against it.

And, behold, I will lay bands upon thee, and thou shalt not turn thee from one side to another, till thou hast ended the days of thy siege.

Take thou also unto thee wheat, and barley, and beans, and lentiles, and millet, and fitches, and put them in one vessel, and make thee bread thereof, according to the number of the days that thou shalt lie upon thy side, three hundred and ninety days shalt thou eat thereof.

And thy meat which thou shalt eat shall be by weight, twenty shekels a day: from time to time shalt thou eat it.

Thou shalt drink also water by measure, the sixth part of an hin: from time to time shalt thou drink.

And thou shalt eat it as barley cakes, and thou shalt bake it with dung that cometh out of man, in their sight.

And the Lord said, Even thus shall the children of Israel eat their defiled bread among the Gentiles, whither I will drive them.

Then said I, Ah Lord God! behold, my soul hath not been polluted: for from my youth up even till now have I not eaten of that which dieth of itself, or is torn in pieces; neither came there abominable flesh into my mouth.

Then he said unto me, Lo, I have given thee cow’s dung for man’s dung, and thou shalt prepare thy bread therewith.

Moreover he said unto me, Son of man, behold, I will break the staff of bread in Jerusalem: and they shall eat bread by weight, and with care; and they shall drink water by measure, and with astonishment:

That they may want bread and water, and be astonied one with another, and consume away for their iniquity.

Some passages really fit, particulary if you want to analyze the story even deeper.

 Ezekiel saw himself as a before-hand Messiah; what if our Zeke does the same, and owns the very titan that started everything:the “Devil of All Earth”, that was none other than an original Beast Titan, whose human holder had a “special blood”, now a synonym “royal blood” due to this peculiarity?

What if Zeke wants to anticipate the Messiah of Paradis, Eren?

What if Zeke is a sentient instrument in the enormous, intricated plan of Eren Kruger, leading to Dina and Grisha’s union, and to the Birth of a child of royal blood? A child Kruger could use for his own purpose…

And…

What if Kruger put a trustworthy man next to this extraordinary child, called by fandom as goggles-kun and by official wikia Mystery Man? In this way, he would have made sure the little Zeke would have done what he actually did, bringing the world to an almost complete destruction, and then “reviving from his own field of bones”.

I’m still convinced that, to the duo goggles-kun+Kruger, we should add also Kiyomi Azumabito (clearly of the same age), who, from what I imagine, is the mastermind behind the lethal coup d’etat happening in Marley now, a coup d’etat in a coup d’etat, the one against the not-born-yet state who Magath should be the General of.

Now the question is: who was the “Devil of All Earth”, met by Ymir in a not better specified underground layer?

I conclude with a quote from “The Lord of the Rings”, one of those that makes you shivers and gives goosebumps, even after years from the first time I heard it, in an old cinema in Bologna, with make-up as a Uruk-hai:

“The dwarves delved too greedily and too deep.You know what they awoke in the darkness of Khazad-dum? Shadow and flame.”

(TRANSLATOR’S NOTE: Wow, I’ve done it! I’ve never translated something this difficult and long! I really really hope that everyone who reads this post can understand the amazing theory. It’s been funny and interesting, a good opportunity to understand how translating is, most of all translating for other people, and not just for getting a good mark at school! 

A special thank you to @shinigami-of-van-eltia for helping with translation and checking my mistakes!)

[twopoppies]

Historical AU Fic Recs

I was asked by @zsolounamanzana to recommend some historical fics (sorry love, I accidentally deleted your ask!). I don’t actually read historical AUs that often, so I will probably end up recommending ones you already know, but here’s a bunch I really liked. I hope there’s some here for you:

Threadbare by kiwikero / @icanhazzalou

Harry Styles was eight years old when Louis Tomlinson kept him from falling into a machine in a Manchester textile mill.

He was 18 years old when nothing, not even the threat of death, could keep Harry from falling in love with Louis.

Howls Like A Beast (You Flower, You Feast) by @indiaalphawhiskey

France, 1754. Château de Versailles.

“You don’t love me,” Louis had said, utterly blasé as he callously fractured the heart of a Harry that was just barely eighteen.

“I do,” Harry had insisted pleadingly, green eyes already watering.

Louis had rolled his eyes, exasperated and flippant in the way only beautiful, young boys could be when faced with the affections of a baby prince. He had run his finger down Harry’s cheek then, had forced him to look into his eyes as he delivered the final blow.

“You’ll change your mind once you’ve seen more of the world,” Louis had teased, pressing a brutally delicate kiss onto Harry’s lovely, pure cheek. “Once you’ve been properly defiled.” He had whispered filthily, delighted by the gasp he heard, the frantic pink blush that had rested high on Harry’s cheeks, the power he had felt at knowing he could make the Crown Prince squirm.

To Honor by Awriterwrites / @a-writerwrites

#46. It's Getting a Little Hard

Ech day me comëth tydinges thre, For wel swithë sore ben he: The on is that Ich shal hennë, That other that Ich not whennë, The thriddë is my mestë carë, That Ich not whider Ich shal farë.

**** Each Very grievous are they One must go hence Do not know when Greatest grief Do not know whither I must go

-Unknown, Medieval English lyrics

Commander Styles leads his men to victory, but at what cost?

And down the long and silent street by whimsicule

The year is 1881 and if you’re alone in this world you might as well be dead, because starving dogs have no mercy.

Or: Wherein Louis and Harry are on the opposite ends of the social ladder, but their paths still cross on the filthy streets Louis calls his home. The odds are staked against them from the beginning, and even more when Louis' past finally catches up with him.

Atlas At Last by @louisandthealien

He doesn’t know what he had been expecting out of the road trip itself besides burping contests and too much shitty gas station food with Oli and Stan, but in the brief moment before Harry ambles up his driveway, Louis idly wonders if this is about to become some sort of Gay Coming of Age story.

Maine to California in ten days. In which Zayn’s an open-shirt hippie they meet somewhere in Ohio, Liam’s the pastor’s son running away from home, and Niall’s the number they call on the bathroom wall.

It’s 1978. Harry and Louis are just trying to get to San Fran in time for the Queen concert.

No One Like You by myownspark / @myownsparknow

Dear Niall,

I was glad to have the chance to talk with you again at the AHA conference. Your idea that the Musee D’Orsay Tomlinson painting is in fact not a self-portrait is an intriguing one, and I may have discovered something that will have a bearing on that theory.

Some background: as you may remember, I’ve been researching for a book I’m writing about Harry Styles. I’ve been in communication with Styles’ last living descendant, who is in possession of a trunk that her family believed to have belonged to Styles himself. It held some personal items she presumes to be his, including two unmounted paintings and a small collection of letters.

Upon spending the last few days in Provins studying these items, I believe there to be a connection between Tomlinson and Styles, and I would very much like your opinion.

Are you up for a trip to France?

Sincerely, Liam Payne

Where Liam and Niall are art historians discovering the truth about two nineteenth century painters on opposite sides of an artistic divide.

The Man Who Saw The Devil by @metal-eye

"The Devil was staring at him.

"Louis shifted slightly in his seat and scratched the back of his neck, picking up his program and reading the title of the play again: L’homme qui a vu le Diable.

"He was wearing a satin red suit, one that certainly stood out amongst the usual greys and blacks of other Paris theatres, and instead of merely appearing the two times that the main character summoned him, this Devil followed the other men around on stage as they spoke and played cards. He kept looking over their shoulders and mocking their awkward movements, jerks and twitches compared to his own lithe prowl. The theatre audience, most readily impressed by gruesome effects and sensationalism, couldn’t take their eyes off him.

"Neither could Louis."

Paris, 1912. Louis is a frequent patron of the Theatre du Grand Guignol. Harry is a performer. Tonight he's playing the Devil.

The Case Of The (Definitely Not Haunted) Styles Mansion by Anonymous

“So there’s a sense of humor buried beneath all that condescension, huh?” Louis said when he’d stopped laughing.

“It’s not condescension, it’s intelligence. I understand you might not be able to recognize it yourself,” Marcel said, then slapped a hand over his mouth. “Oh god, I’m sorry.”

Louis stepped closer, his eyes on Marcel’s face. “For being an asshat?”

“For being rude,” Marcel said, from beneath his palm.

Louis shifted a half-step closer until he was at the very edge of Marcel’s personal space. It felt like he was nudging at it, asking to be let in. Marcel flushed hot for no reason.

“Lucky for you it takes quite a lot to actually insult me,” Louis said taking one step closer. Too close. Too close.

Marcel met Louis’ eyes. Those blue eyes that reminded Marcel of poetry instead of science, lyrics instead of formulas. They were so pretty he wanted to drown in them.

---

Or the Nancy Drew AU where Marcel is a man of logic, Louis is a private detective who believes in ghosts, and the Styles Mansion is definitely, absolutely, positively *not* haunted.

Through Eerie Chaos by MediaWhore / @mediawhorefics

For as long as anyone can remember, Old Hillsbridge Manor has always been believed to be haunted. Everyone in the village agrees and keeps a respectful, fearful, distance. New in town after a bad breakup and an internship that led to disappointment rather than a permanent job, Harry Styles figures taking pictures of the decrepit building could be a great new creative project. Or at least a much-needed distraction while he searches for a job and crashes at his parents’ new house. No one warned him about the apparitions though; about the music, the laughter, the people who flicker and vanish when you call after them, the echoes of a past that should be long gone… Harry has never believed in spirits but even he can admit that there’s something weird going on. What starts as mere curiosity evolves into a full-blown investigation and soon enough, Harry finds himself making friends with an aristocrat from the 1920s and struggling with finding the best way to tell him that he’s dead.

The Ghost Hunter AU where Niall lives to prove ghosts are real, Zayn is a skeptical librarian and Harry gets caught up in a century-old mystery and catches feeling in the process.

We’re What’s Right In This World by BriaMaria / @briannamarguerite

“Why did you talk like that in Brighton? If you weren’t planning on ever telling me?” Louis asked. “Is it because you think you’re going to die?”

“It’s war, Lou,” Harry said finally.

The words were a knife slipped between his ribs. Everything hurt and he was bleeding. He shifted up, his palms cradling Harry’s jaw, his lips against his boy’s. Not kissing, just resting there, so Louis could feel him. “Promise you’ll come back to me.”

Harry’s hands smoothed down the sides of Louis’ body. “You know I can’t do that. I’ll never lie to you.”

“Promise me. We’re going to have our cottage. And our dogs. And our breakfast in the garden where nothing grows because of the wind from the sea. Promise me.”

“I won’t.” Stubborn as always, his boy. “I’ll promise you, I’ll love you all my life. I’ll promise you, you’ll never leave my thoughts. I’ll promise you, you’re my forever and my always. But promising you something I can’t cheapens the things I can.” ---- Or the World War II AU where Harry goes off to fight and all Louis wants to do is be the boy who brings him home.

Paint The Sky With Stars by kiwikero / @icanhazzalou

On 10 April 1912, Harry Styles boards the finest ship the world has ever seen. Still grieving the death of their mother, he and his sister are being sent to America to live with a callous uncle who cares more about his business connections than family. Harry prepares himself for a long, disappointing voyage alone in his stateroom.

Louis Tomlinson has borrowed and saved, and finally has enough to purchase a Third Class ticket to America. With all of his belongings in a single ruck sack, he boards the Titanic filled with hope for a brighter future. Never one to sit still, he can’t resist exploring the massive ship, and soon goes sneaking into First Class in a stolen steward’s uniform.

By a twist of fate, Louis finds himself in Harry’s stateroom, entranced by the most attractive man he’s ever laid eyes on. He keeps returning day after day, even if he doesn’t understand what it is about Harry that continues pulling him in. That’s all right; Louis has a week to figure it out, and Harry is plenty willing to help.

Except they don’t have a week. They have four days. Because on 15 April, their entire world will be turned upside down.

Or, the historically accurate Titanic AU with a happy ending.

Say Hallelujah, Say Goodnight  by @alivingfire

Louis is an angel who is just a little too bad to be good, Harry is a demon who is just a little too good to be bad, and they're both a little too in love to be impartial when angels and demons go to war.

Louis has been alive since life was a mere concept; he watched the summoning of Man into existence, he was there when Eve took the apple. He’s seen seas break the world into separate pieces, he’s watched empires crumble into dust. He’s seen wildfire consume cities, he’s seen the world painted white with snow. He has known the most beautiful humans to walk the planet, he has watched the most powerful mortals gather their riches and influence around them and then die just like the poorest, weakest humans do. He’s met humans whose motives defy explanation, people who use their lives as battering rams, as tools, as weapons, as chess pieces.

None of that stopped Louis in his tracks.

But Harry did.

If you haven’t read Butterfly Gun and you can find someone who has it downloaded (it’s been deleted), read that...it’s set in the 1940′s if I recall correctly and it’s beautifully written. 

I haven’t read this one yet, but it was highly recommended to me. It’s a WIP, but the writing is apparently is finished: 

Victorian Boy by DonnaHaywardsHead

Victorian AU. Harry the virgin Duke of Somerset knows little of love, while Louis the sly Duke of Warwick knows too much. When the two dukes come together for the Bilsdale fox hunt in York, Harry finds himself drawn into Louis' bed. But when secrets from Louis' dark past come to light, Harry fears that the fox isn't the only one being hunted.

This is another I haven’t had a chance to read but friends told me is wonderful:

Back To You And Tennesee by rippedgloves 

Louis Tomlinson rises to rock and roll fame at age twenty three and is thrown into a life of luxury and excess, but being on stage isn’t easy for a boy who has always stuck to the side-lines, and Louis struggles to deal with his new fame as he joins the Grand Ole Opry and is sent out on tour with names like Liam Payne and Elvis Presley. His life takes a turn, however, when his childhood role model, Harry Styles, joins them on tour, and the two become closer than two men in the spotlight are allowed to be.

-

OR, the one where Louis is Johnny Cash and Harry is June Carter

[yuki-d-raizel-blog]

Hero

Chapter 33/??

Relationship: Todoroki Shouto x Reader (Your/Name), (Full/Name)

Summit: It all begin at the Sports Festival when Shouto’s other half met Endevour by mistake. The student never thought to see his partner fight against his father just to show him that he is wrong. It started from that instant, Shouto’s new path started exactly from that moment thanks to his friends and his beloved one.

---

"Crap, they found it out already? " thinks Joel, "Oh yeah, the waves things... Maybe they saw a change in them and they understood it... Shit."

<<You can't decline it.>> the man stopped (Y/N) before she could speak, <<It's a high priestess's order.>>

<<She wasn't very sick?>> retorts Lenka, <<You didn't come last time to force (Y/N) to take the lead of the family? Now, she's fine?>>

<<She is not, but she is recovering.>> replies the other man, <<She ordered that the third coming of Kafka and her servants must return to the estate.>> they turn their heels and exit, then stop in front of Miraje and Hakkai, <<The third Kafka's heir has two new servants, your violation was helpful, so we will not punish you.>>

<<Her name is (Y/N), try your best to remember it, guys.>> Kirishima can't stand those people at all, <<I don't know who the hell do think you are, but you better treat (Y/N) well from now on.>>

<<Do you know who you are facing?>> the woman moves the hand from her mouth to Eijiro's forehead, even with that veil, it's clear that she is looking at the student with an angry gaze, <<Know your place->>

<<(Y/N)!! Hey, hang in there! Call someone!>>

The chiefs open the door again to check what happened and find the girl vomiting blood, bleeding from her nose and eyes. While her childhood friends explain what happened before, the chiefs notice her crystal earring cracking.

<<!! The beasts are going in berserk! (Y/N) control them!>> they're using some strange techniques to help the girl to repress the beasts that are trying to get out somehow.

<<I-I'm t-trying....>> the girl continues to vomit blood and crouch into herself to enduring the pain all over her body, <<T-they won't t-to l-listen to m-me...>>

A strange aura born around her, and the chiefs are ready to suppress her immediately, but Shuu and Joel punch them hardly enough to send them out of the room. Miraje and Hakkai stare at those men laid at the ground shocked.

<<If you want to kill (Y/N), I dare you fucking bastards to do it, but over my fucking corpse!>> both are so upset that it's new even for your grandparents, they’re always so calm, now it seems like they are consumed by their own rage, <<Move a step and this hospital will be your fucking grave!>>

<<Hey sugar cube, we're here, can we do something to help you?>> says Lenka scared of what’s happening, this is all new for all of them, (Y/N) never had symptoms like those.

<<I’m the one... who holds the reins....>> slowly, the aura goes back, <<Obey me... Go to your place...>> a few minutes later, everything is settled, and the girl recovers fast from the crisis. Tenka calls a nurse to change the sheets, while Shouto and Izuku helps you to clean yourself.

<<Come tomorrow to the estate Kafka's child.>> says the woman, <<This is worse than we thought. The high priestess must know this.>> she exits with a fast pace and talks to Miraje, <<Come with me, this is a huge emergency.>>

<<Yes ma'am.>> your grandma quickly follows the leader.

---

The next morning, (Y/N) and her friends, Todoroki and Izuku leave to reach the Ryuhi's mansion. The students are disorientated when they see a boat and a man with similar clothes to the chiefs on board, but without asking anything, they get in and the boat weighs anchor. While you and Shouto rest a bit, Izuku asks politely why they took a boat and Tenka replies to him while plays with a PSP.

<<The Ryhui family is nonexistent for the world, they live and work around the globe, but the high spheres of the family live in a phantom island not reported on maps. That place is used as a training camp for each member of the family to help them to achieve their dreams, or at least, that's what they say.>>

<<They have a fixation for traditions and all those stupid things... Someone in the past died because had broken the rules.>> comments Lenka listening to music, <<Everyone is kind there though, the high spheres are the asshole ones, so until we meet them, you can do whatever you want.>>

"E-eh? They kill people if they break the rules?! Where are we, in the medieval era?" thinks Izuku feeling a huge pressure on his shoulders, <<H-how we should behave then?>>

<<Treat the high spheres like shit.>> says Shuu enjoying the view of the sea, <<Let (Y/N) speak for you and try your best to not do something bad, or she will be in trouble.>>

<<I will never do that, Shuu-san.>>

<<Wait until they meet us to say that.>> the man shakes you gently, you are arrived, <<You're gonna eat those words up.>>

The boat anchors and stops right in front of a wooden bridge. Since Todoroki slept during the journey, Joel summits all the advices that he must respect on these lands, and the student memorized them in once, if they make problems for (Y/N), he will respect those rules better than a soldier.

The view that shows to them is wonderful, everything is painted in green, big cherry blossom trees form a way towards a huge staircase which leads to an enormous oriental castle....? What the hell is that?! Is so big, too big, what the fu-

The tiles are white as the snow, little houses here and there and that's only a side of that place... Their attention is stolen by the same man that was with you during the internship.

<<Young Master, what happened to your hair?>> he says offering his hand to help you to get off the bridge.

<<I wanted to imitate my boyfriend, so I dyed my hair.>>

<<Really?>> the man looks at you confused.

<<Of course not, silly.>> you lightly hit him on the arm and smile, <<I guess I used too much power when my body wasn't in good conditions.>> "No matter how many times I come here... I still hate this place with all my might..."

<<Oh, how careless I am, I didn't introduce myself.>> he bows in front of the students, <<My name is Ran and I am (Y/N)'s guardian. We already met during the Hosu accident, but pleased to meet you again, heroes Deku and Shouto.>>

<<Are you the hero, Ray...?>> asks shyly Izuku.

<<I am.>> Ran and (Y/N) see that a lot of people are forming a way from there until the castle, and the girl sighs already tired, <<Young Master, please bear with it. We can't break the rules.>>

<<We can't fucking do anything here, I see no differences.>> she whispers back.

Suddenly, everyone starts to sing with powerful voices and the group moves forward. Children, adolescents, adults and even old persons, male, female... there's so many people, what is this? Since the two young heroes are confused, Lenka explains what's happening.

<<Every time a Kafka's heir arrives, a hymn called: "Riot of a Hundred Flames" must be played as sign of respect and worship, since the ones like (Y/N) are considered as a god here.>>

<<How stupid...>> whispers Todoroki, looking at all those people lowering their heads while singing.

<<As the world recognizes you as Endevour's son and not for being Shouto, here is the same thing.>> whispers back Tenka walking behind (Y/N).

When they reach the top of the staircase, a huge wide space is waiting them. As the hymn reaches its end, the servants of the house, sit on their knees in a very polite pose, immobile as a statue. (Y/N) stays at the top of the group, staring at the side of the castle where there are a few seats and three servants are attending the arrive of the chiefs.

Shuu remembers to Shouto and Izuku to be mute and let (Y/N) speak, even if they’re the bearers of the beasts, she has more power inside the hierarchy, leave everything to her is the best choice right now. The silence falls upon them, everything is so quiet that Midoriya can hear the sound of the river, the sound of the leaves... A whisper rises from the servants group, starting a conversation.

<<I heard that she fought Seatiel...>> , <<We must reveal ourselves? What she was thinking?>> , <<I don't know, (Y/N)-sama was really irresponsible about the family.>> , <<She is planning to reject the right to lead the family, what a disgraceful child.>> , <<What you were aspecting from her? She is the Black Sun.>>

<<Seems that you did a big mistake this time, right, third coming of Kafka?>> one of the servant who’s waiting near the empty seats, speaks aloud, <<This happened because you didn't obey to our orders.>>

<<Shut up useless bitch, I'm not here to talk with you.>>

<<Mph, talks the unwanted child you are, who is the most useless one here?>>

<<Todoroki-kun for the love of god, restrain yourself!>> whispers Midoriya clinging to Shouto's arm because he was unlocking his quirk, <<We must bear with it, or else, (Y/N)-chan will pay for us.>> "God, Shuu-san was right... It's very hard to not say something back. Why these people are so mean with her? Is this the way to treat someone that you consider like a god?"

<<Talks the woman that couldn't become anything in her life, so she decided to become a slutty dog for a miserable master.>> Joel notices that the tip of her hair is turning black, she is losing her composure, this is bad...

<<You->> a door slides open and the three chiefs walk to their seats. Everyone lows their head a little, but not (Y/N) and her friends, they mustn't do that since they are in a higher position inside the family, and they want to treat those bastards like shit too. Two birds with a stone.

<<Welcome, Kafka's heir and her servants.>> speaks the man, <<Explain what happened in the Hosu prefecture.>>

<<I want to talk with the high priestess about this.>> responds the girl, <<You are not wise enough.>>

<<Your new servants have tamed the power of the beast?>>

<<I want to meet the high priestess.>> your friends understand right away that you’re at your limit, your voice is becoming harsher, <<If you reject my request, I'll do it by myself.>>

<<She is sick today, you must talk with us.>>

<<I've warned you.>> the girl walks a few steps followed by her group, but the woman who was arguing with before and the other servants block her, <<C'mon, do you think that these good-for-nothing can beat me? It's against my vow to hurt someone, I let you step aside voluntarily.>>

<<Dogs don't talk; when your master says come, you come!>> the other man shouts angrily.

<<You might not know this, but I'm a crazy bastard that'll bite her master.>> you smile evilly, <<This is your last chance, let me meet the high priestess.>>

<<Are you deaf-GHA!!!>> (Y/N) grabbed the woman's hand, twisted it and kneed her elbow, breaking her arm. Izuku jumps when he hears what sound makes the other servants that are crushed on the ground so easily and with so much power. They’re groaning in pain in front of the girl, who doesn't even look at them.

<<These bitches aren't suitable even for a warming up. Ran is much stronger than them->>

<<What is all this mess?>>

An authoritarianvoice stops everything.

---Continue...

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 21.5, 22, 22.5, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, Last Chapter

[thewordwideweb]

Horseplay and wordplay

There are a surprising number of everyday English words having to do with horses. Some of them have pretty obvious connections to horses, but some are much more unexpected. 

A good guy on a horse is a cavalier. The word for a gentleman on horseback or a mounted soldier comes from the Italian cavaliere, based on the Latin caballus, meaning “horse.” That’s pretty obvious. 

Less obvious: the guy who was hired to take care of the horse was a henchman. In Old English, a “hengest” was a male horse, and the groom who took care of him was a “hengestman.” It wasn’t a big leap to “henchman.” In the 14th century, “henchman” was a noble profession. It took nearly 500 years for “henchman” to become associated with gangsters and assorted bad guys. 

Others who started out working in the horse barns were the constable (originally in Latin, the “comes stabuli,” or “count of the stables,” and later, the chief officer of the household) and marshal (from the Old French “mareschal” – and modern French “maréchal” – blacksmith, chief groom, but also “military officer or army commander.”) 

I got these other fairly obvious ones straight from the horse’s mouth:

Cavalry. A mounted military force, from the same root as “cavalier.” According to the Online Etymology Dictionary, the Old English word for it was “horshere.”

Stud. From Old English “stod,” the place where horses were kept for breeding.

Curry favor. I did a whole post on this one back in June. You can read it here. I’m not gonna go through it again.

Trappings. The Middle English word “trappe” referred to an ornamental cloth or harness for a horse. Today, fancy clothes and cars and such are the “trappings” of success.

Hippopotamus/Hippo. If you know your Greek, you know that “hippos” is “horse” and “potamos” means “river.” So a hippopotamus is, quite obviously, a “river horse.” 

Then there are the words you probably wouldn’t associate with horses:

Bidet. In French, “bidet” originally meant “pony” (and in Old French, it was a verb meaning “to trot”). The prevailing theory is that the modern bidet got its name because one straddles or “rides” on the basin (like riding a pony) while washing one’s, um, bottom. Not sure I buy it.

Easel. This one is derived from the Dutch “ezel,” meaning “ass.” (That’s ass as in donkey, not ass as in the thing you wash in the bidet). This became the word for a wooden stand for paintings in much the same way that “saw-horse” became the word for a wooden stand for all kinds of things.

Bangs. This hair style – the Brits sometimes call it “fringe” - appears to have its roots (hair…roots. Get it?) in the cropping of horses’ tails. “Bangtail” referred to horses’ tails that were cut straight across, possibly to make them lie flat. Not to be confused with “pony-tails.” Bangs are in the front, pony-tails in back, of course.

Hackneyed/Hack. In medieval Britain, Hackney was a small village known for its horses. The beasts had a pleasant temperament and were good for riding, so people would come from far and wide to rent Hackney’s horses (or, if you were a Cockney, “’ackney’s ‘orses”). Over time, Hackney became a generic term for horses you could rent, and later, for vehicles you could hire to give you a ride. That’s how modern taxicabs and the folks who drive them came to be called “hacks.” As for the Hackney horses, they were so common and so overworked that they eventually lent their name to anything that is overused, overworked and has become stale and trite. Those things are “hackneyed.” Kind of a shame, really.

Hobbled. If you’re hobbled, you walk haltingly, possibly with a limping movement in which you appear to be rocking from side to side. In Dutch, “hobbelen” once meant “to rock from side to side.” In horse racing, hobbles (sometimes called “hopples”) are tied to the animal’s legs to control the gait of pacers. Hobbles can also be tethered around a horse’s legs to keep it from running away. 

Of course, some horsey words have nothing to do with horses at all:

Horseradish/Horsefly. In these words, “horse” just means something big and strong and coarse. A horseradish is a radish with a big, powerful bite. A horsefly is bigger and usually more annoying than a housefly. (But horseflies do bother horses, so I guess there is some connection).

Upset. There’s a popular story that the word “upset” entered our language in 1919, when a horse named “Upset” defeated the great thoroughbred Man o’ War in a race at Saratoga – the only time Man o’ War ever lost. It’s a great story, and the part about the race is true, but the word “upset” had already been around for hundreds of years (probably derived from the German “aufsetzen” and Middle Dutch “opsetten”). And in fact, there were even published uses of the word “upset” in stories about horse racing dating back to 1857. 

And finally, much to my chagrin, I thought I could tell you that “chagrin” (disappointment, anger or annoyance caused by a failure or mistake) was another horsey word, related to “shagreen,” which referred to a rough skin or hide, like that of a horse. But it turns out that was just another false etymology. Horsefeathers!