#i will preserve his name on the pyramid of my heart | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

southotheborder · 3 years ago

Text

SIEMBRA

A Sequel to Narcos

Chapter 7: Oaxaca

Title: Oaxaca

Rating: 18+ (M)ature

Warnings: Cursing, violence, death

Word Count: 2790

Pairing: Javier x Female OC, Female OC x Male OC

Masterlist || Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N: This marks the end of Part I. I am so excited for next chapter! Translations and notes are at the bottom.

Men are nothing, principles are everything.

When Eduardo spent months doing his master’s research in Oaxaca, he was led by the incessant urge to visit the places frequented by one of his inspirations – Benito Juarez, first Mexican president of indigenous origin and national hero that helped create a democratic federal government during La Reforma.

Like Eduardo, Juarez was once an exile in the United States seeking political reform in his native country. As Eduardo explored Oaxaca, he was captivated by the well-preserved pre-Columbian sites. As he stood before the pyramids, he thought about all the natives that lost their lives, their customs, and their identities when the Europeans invaded. Eduardo felt a sorrow in his heart – a sorrow he couldn’t express with words.

He was a proud Mexican, but despite his fervent patriotism, he was always reminded of his Spanish ancestry – whether it was because of the paleness of his skin, the greenness of his eyes, the soft waves of his shoulder-length brown hair, or the comfortable social class he was a part of.

None of his ancestors lived in Mexico during La Reforma or La Revolucion, and yet he was insistent on calling it his struggle – his struggle to help improve the living conditions of millions of indigenous Mexicans who were still second-class citizens in their own country as a result of his ancestors’ conquest.

•••

Javier lost count of how many times he yelled at Angie. The girl wouldn’t talk. Not at first. Her boyfriend was smart. Even if he was in danger, he’d find a way to get out of it. But when Steve Murphy showed up at her door with a DEA badge…she talked.

It was a thirty-minute drive from Kingsville to Agua Dulce. Lucky for both, Javier’s truck was able to make the journey to Cantina Los Gallos.

They sat at the bar and ordered a beer, eying the dark skinned, dark haired, slim young man taking their orders.

There were a few locals conversing with the plump woman wearing an apron. As he slid the Tecate to Javier, Murphy slid his badge over the counter and discreetly shushed him. “Steve Murphy. DEA.”

“Lo reconoces? (Do you recognize him?)” Javier showed him a photo of Thomas.

Before responding, the young man quickly looked over his shoulder, making sure his mother was still distracted by the customers. “Quien eres tu? (Who are you?)”

“I’m the one who’s gonna make sure there isn’t a bullet in your head for being un huevon. Answer the question.”

“Sí,” he fidgeted. “He’s okay, right?”

“You tell your mother you’re goin’ to take the trash back there and meet us outside. You got that?” Steve put the badge in his suit pocket before walking towards the back of the Cantina.

“Como te llamas?” Javier took off his tinted glasses.

“Anibal.”

“How do you know Thomas?”

“He’s my sister’s boyfriend.”

“And the reporter?”

Silence.

“Habla! (Talk!)"

“I think it’s better if I show you…,” Anibal led the men up the stairs to his family’s house and peaked before motioning them to follow him.

He pulled a shoebox out from below his bed and gave it to Javier. Inside was a disorganized stack of newspaper articles, typewritten sheets, drafts, correspondence memos, and photo cutouts.

“How long have you had this?” Murphy raised his voice.

“Not long! He told me to safekeep it…that it’s always good to store a copy somewhere…”

“Thomas gave you all this?” Javier was in disbelief as he rummaged through all the documents.

“No, Floriano Beltran did.”

“Who the fuck is that?” Steve blurted out.

“The reporter...”

Murphy grabbed Javier by the shoulder and pulled him to the side.

“Reports from Mexico City state the reporter’s name as Eduardo Gallegos. Either this kid is fucking with us or the kid got played…”

Javi stroked his mustache in silence, thinking. His gut told him the kid was telling the truth. Why would anyone hide this shit for fun?

“The kid’s telling the truth, Murphy. Think about it, this Floriano guy…he knew people were coming after him. Why would he give his real name? The question isn’t whether he was playing anyone. The question is why he chose that pseudonym.”

“Do you know where this Floriano is?” Murphy turned to face Anibal.

“No. When he gave me this, it was late at night…he ran out from his truck, gave it to me out back, and told me to protect it. Said he didn’t know when they’d be back. Then they drove off.“

“They?”

“Floriano and Thomas.”

“Fuck!” Javier dragged his hand along his face.

•••

Thomas’ stomach clenched at the sight in front of him. Eduardo dropped the keys, too scared to walk any closer. The flies swarmed around the couch in the grimy apartment.

Cesar’s mouth was covered in a white foam. His body - lifeless. On the floor beside him - ripped apart documents along with shattered glass. The door hinges of both rooms were broken. Eduardo could see his typewriter from the corner of his eye was smashed against the wall.

Both men slowly approached Cesar. There were no noticeable signs of trauma, but his mouth smelled like bitter almonds. Whoever wanted him dead didn’t want to use brute force.

“We need to call the police, man.” Thomas paced around nauseously.

“We can’t. Not now. We need to get the paperwork first.”

“Floriano, there’s a dead man on your couch!”

“And we’ll be next if we don’t hurry. Whoever killed him…killed him as a message to us… A man fucking died because of us...” Tears rushed down his cheeks as he stormed into his room to collect what survived. Most of it was stored in a safe behind the wall.

“Us?”

“Yes. Us! Your name is also on those reports.”

Eduardo packed his fake identification papers into a backpack along with a folder of drafts, and letters meant for Ximena.

He stopped himself from taking a pack of cigarettes. The killer could have poisoned those too. The rest of the documents in the safe were copies of his files. He stuffed those in a shoebox and handed it over to Thomas before grabbing a bottle of bleach and wiping down the surfaces in the apartment.

“Seriously? It’s not like we killed him!”

“No…but whoever did isn’t going to incriminate themself. I’m not taking any chances. Clearly, whoever poisoned him wasn’t just any idiot. They’d somehow have to know…where he was…what he looked like…what to mix in his drink…”

“Floriano, it’ll be worse if you wait too long to call the police!”

“Listen. There’s no record of me entering the United States. I crossed the border with false papers…if I call now, I get arrested. Do you understand that?”

“Then I’ll call.”

“Why are you so stubborn! I need to clean. You need to go somewhere safe. Once this is done. I will call from a payphone and get out of here.”

Thomas couldn’t think of a safe place. Wherever he went, he’d put others in danger. He couldn’t do that to Angie or his single mother.

“I…I don’t have…anywhere to go.”

Eduardo washed his hands and turned to face him. He recognized the look in his eyes, the fear of having nowhere to turn.

“Have you ever been to Mexico?”

•••

“Hey man, anything new since you got to the library?”

Javier spent his weekend scanning the university stacks for any relevant leads. A few students had chased him down, tried to make short conversation. He said he was thinking about writing a book. It was bullshit, but it was the first thing that came to his mind when asked why he was still there after all those hours.

“Nothing. The files and drafts in here; they don’t point to anything new. I’m not sure what I’m even doing here anymore. We lost him, man. We lost Thomas!”

“Jav, listen. We’re gonna get him. But I need your help,” he paused. “Come to Mexico with me.”

“You’re outta your fucking mind if you think that’s gonna happen.”

The librarian glared at Javier from the corner of her desk.

“Man, just listen. You know I wouldn’t be asking something like this from you…Just hear me out. One of my guys, he tracked another lead to the Valencias. The man presumed to be supplying them with synthetic drugs… he’s gonna be at an event in Jalisco. DEA authorized us to-“

“Does the kid not mean shit to you? Murphy, his life is in danger, and you’ve already moved on to another lead?”

“Listen man, I know this is your student and you’re worried. But right now, we’re juggling a shit ton of stuff and if it gets us closer to the Valencias…I’m taking it. We’ll find Thomas. We will, but we gotta be smart…and you’re the only partner I trust on a mission like this. C’mon, whether you admit it or not, you know DEA would jump in a heartbeat to have you back.”

“Fuck you!”

Javier hung up and shoved the phone into his briefcase, swearing under his breath after receiving another angry look from the librarian.

•••

Mi flor, I had a dream that you were sitting on my lap, looking at the Pacific. I stroked your hair and kissed your shoulders. You didn’t say anything, you just looked on, listening to the crashing waves. When I woke up, you could imagine my desperation when I realized that you were gone…that the sea was gone, and that I was alone in this world.

The coffee scalded his tongue as he absentmindedly read the typewritten letter over again. It had slipped out of one of the Mexican newspapers in the shoebox.

Javier felt like his eyes were intruding in on something that he didn’t have a right to. He became curious about the man behind the letter, curious about the woman it was intended to, curious about the heartfelt emotion behind the correspondence.

What did it feel like to love another person like that? To be loved in return?

He imagined a faceless couple on the beach, wanting nothing more than be with each other while knowing that at one point or another, they’d have to separate…without a clue of when they’d see each other again.

He continued to read, trying to find clues about the woman intended to read those words.

I hope you had time to think about what we spoke. Will you be my Erifila? The world already thinks I’m mad…for throwing it all away on a revolutionary dream…so why not let them believe it is true? Will you meet me where la mujer Zapoteca sleeps?

He read it over…and over once more, massaging his temples, before scribbling on his notepad:

La Mujer Zapoteca, Erifila, Pacific Ocean

Javier forged the best smile he could and walked towards the librarian.

The Zapotecs were native to Oaxaca. They called themselves ‘the Cloud People’ because they believed they had descended from clouds that were once primordial deities. Several tribes lived in isolation due to the vast mountain ranges, but the geography was an advantage. It played a factor in allowing them, better than most other indigenous peoples of Mexico, to preserve their language, customs, and sites even after the Spanish arrived.

What Javier was about to do wasn’t easy. It was a matter of swallowing his pride, of doing something he told himself and the world he wouldn’t ever do.

“Murphy.”

“If you want to hide in Mexico, you hide in Oaxaca,” Javier read from the book. “The southern state with 370 miles of Pacific Coastline is the most diverse in the country—”

“I take it this is an apology?” Steve sneered.

“I think they’re in Oaxaca. That’s where you need to go. Not Jalisco.”

“How do you know they’re in Oaxaca?”

“Floriano…he wrote a letter to a woman. I think it’s his girlfriend...or a woman he’s in love with… He asked her if she would meet him where la mujer Zapoteca sleeps. It turns out it’s based on an indigenous legend from Mitla, in Oaxaca. Then check this out. He asked her if she would be his Erifila…saying that he was already crazy…I read it over a few times. When I asked the librarian if the names Floriano, Beltran, and Erifilia stood out, she led me to the stacks on Spanish plays. Madness in Valencia by Lope de Vega. Floriano and Beltran are the same character…Floriano disguises himself as Beltran after killing a prince. He is in love with an heiress named Erifila. To cut it short, they both pretend to be insane so that they can be taken to a mental asylum…because it’s the only place they can be together without society trying to break them apart.”

“Jesus Christ...as if this shit wasn’t already a mess. This can’t be a coincidence. For all we know he’s tryin’ to kill one of the Valencias...and run away with one of their daughters?”

“What do you think it is that makes a guy do a thing like that?” Javier couldn’t understand it.

“Why wouldn’t he? Those bastards are ruining his country.”

“No I mean…risk it all to run away together…”

“You read the letter, didn’t you? Whatever it is about her…he’s in love. Smart guys like him aren’t immune from it.”

Silence.

“So… DEA’s already authorized the mission in Jalisco. You want me to find your boy? I can and I will, but I’m asking that you come with me.”

“Not a chance. I’ll give you everything I know so far, but I’m not stepping a foot in Mexico. I’m done with the DEA.”

“Hear me out. The man we're after...his name is Rogelio Iturbide. As of now we have no official proof he’s supplying synthetic drugs to the Valencias. But…what we do know is that he will be attending a gathering at an hacienda a few miles north of Guadalajara…Some sorta convention full of tequila producers, businessmen, and influential people.”

“And what? You’re gonna show up as a random gringo at this hacienda? The fuck are you thinking?”

“Not as any gringo… as an investor, looking to get a foot in the tequila importation business. Already got the fake names, fake contracts, fake business associates. It’s all figured out…I just…I just need my partner.”

"Forget it."

“Answer this, Jav. What do you care more about? Your image or saving this kid’s life?”

•••

Chucho dressed in his best clothes to receive his son that Sunday morning. Javier was somewhat evasive when he said he had something important to say…but not over the phone. It had to be in person. Chucho, being the man he was, thought that such an event merited a good meal and good company. So, he invited Jenny.

She put on her favorite blue dress, a shade lighter than her cowboy boots. Her hair was up in a messy ponytail. Cute. Not too formal. She was more concerned about her cooking. The food would never compare to Mama Peña’s, but that was something she had already accepted.

Chucho read the newspaper while Jenny arranged the table. She had already cleaned the house.

Javier walked through the door wearing a short sleeved yellow button-down with a luggage bag in his hand. She began to suspect more than ever that maybe he would come back to Laredo at least for the summer semester. His phone call with Chucho sounded so urgent that she couldn’t tame the butterflies in her stomach. What is he here to tell us?

He followed the inviting aroma and found her in the kitchen with his pop. Jenny kissed him with enough intensity to show him how much she had missed him, but with enough self-control to not look inappropriate in front of Chucho.

Javier smiled at her. “It’s been a long time since I’ve smelled something this good.”

He went to go hug his father.

None of them could evade the feeling of expectation as they ate. They looked at each other from time to time, but it wasn’t until Chucho spoke up that anyone said anything longer than a sentence.

“Mijo, you gonna keep me and Jenny waiting? What’s the occasion?”

Would it be the moment his son finally decided what's good for him? Decided to settle in Texas with the girl who spent hours cooking for him?

“I could ask the same. What’s the occasion…cooking ma’s recipes now all of a sudden?”

Jenny grabbed his hand. “Just happy to have you back in Laredo, that’s all.”

Javier caressed her fingers and hesitated.

Her heart beat faster as he to put his other hand in the pocket of his jeans.

He pulled out a folded piece of paper. "What can you tell me about the distribution center the engineers at your job are building?"

She shrugged, confused and upset by his sudden disregard. "Why?"

“Because I'm going to Mexico.”

Next Chapter

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Translations:

La Reforma – The Reformation (Mexican Liberal Reform of the 1850s)

La Revolución – The Revolution (Mexican Revolution that lasted from 1910-1917)

Huevon – Mexican slang meaning dumbass

Como te llamas? – what is your name?

Mi flor – my flower

La mujer Zapoteca – the Zapotec woman

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Notes:

Lope de Vega – Spanish playwright, poet, and novelist of the Spanish Golden Age of Literature. Known to be a promiscuous lady’s man…even after he join the priesthood… that didn’t last long.

Madness in Valencia – (Los Locos de Valencia) play by Lope de Vega is a theatrical romantic comedy of two lovers who seek refuge in an asylum.

Zapotecs – indigenous people concentrated in Oaxaca, but also lived in the southern highlands of Mesoamerica, originating in the 6th century BCE.

Mitla – town in Mexico, known for the Zapotec ruin of the Palace at Mitla. The town was a main religious center and believed to be the gateway between the world of the living and the dead.

Oaxaca - pronounced Oahaca

Introductory quote by Benito Juarez

------------------------------------------------------------

Tags: @a-trial-run-on-paper @blueeyesatnight @drabbles-mc @radiowallet

#javier peña #javier peña fanfic #narcos fanfic #pedro pascal #narcos fanfiction #siembra a narcos sequel #javier peña x f!oc #narcos #mexican culture

19 notes · View notes

mattzerella-sticks · 4 years ago

Text

“is scamming gay rights?” - Dean & Jack, DeanCas, Bi!Dean (ao3)

Jack tries teaching Dean about his latest obsession, TikTok, except a breakdown in communication teaches Dean that, sometimes, acronyms can mean more than one thing.

Dean didn’t understand exactly what Jack rambled on about, but he passed the point of no return a few minutes back and couldn’t interrupt without revealing he had no clue what the younger boy prattled on and on about. As it was Jack currently kept pushing his phone in Dean’s face, gesturing at it and shaking it every ten seconds or so. Dean glanced between Jack and it; each time he did there was a new video on screen and by the time he shifted his focus back to his son the lecture had moved elsewhere along a road he had trouble following. By then, he let himself sink into the comfortable numbing cadence of Jack’s speech, sipping at his beer, surfacing only when he recognized a word before diving back under.

His ears perked in familiarity as Jack used an acronym Dean recently learned, and so he tuned back in. Jack drew the phone closer to his side of the kitchen table, tapping on it. “There was this big problem with mlms actually, and even though I filtered my home page to avoid profiles like that, they kept popping up,” he said, “Luckily TikTok went ahead and basically blacklisted and deleted all mlm content. Now, I rarely see any of those kinds of content.”

Dean’s features shuddered, mouth dropping slightly in fright. His ears echoed with the awful drumming of his heart, and a painful wheeze tickled his throat, demanding freedom. He released it on a sigh, slightly curling in on himself. “W-what?” he asked, “You… you didn’t like it?”

Jack shrugged, “I mean, it was kind of annoying, but I learned to ignore them. When I learned how harmful the content was, however, I was very glad to hear that TikTok went ahead and took some sort of action – Hey!”

On autopilot, Dean snatched the phone out of Jack’s hands. He slammed it, hard, on the table between them. Dean pointed a harsh finger towards Jack, snarling his next few words. “I don’t want to ever hear you talk like that again.”

“What?”

“Or!” he added, fist hammering Jack’s phone further into the wood, “use this, this damned app – if this is what it turns you into!” He huffed, hands retreating to steeple at his chin. “You think you’re raising a kid right… raising a kid to be accepting despite being so close to the Bible Belt… and one dumb app undoes all that hard work.”

Jack, frozen in his seat, stared at Dean with concern shining in his comically wide eyes. “What are you talking about, Dean?”

“Look,” Dean said instead, his finger extending once more to point at the younger boy. It was a less accusatory gesture, softened by the gentle tone Dean adopted. “I know I haven’t been the best role model with… with that kind of stuff. Hell of a lot better than my dad was, though… still not the best. But I’ve been getting better, especially after I…” His words bottlenecked on his tongue, and through great effort did Dean spit them out. “After I admitted my own attraction to… to men, especially one man in particular…” Dean’s head felt like it might erupt, magma-like blood swelling his brain to dangerous sizes. “Cas.”

“Yes, Dean,” Jack nodded, “I know that. I’m… I’m confused what any of that has to do with this?”

“What it has to do with…? Jack…” Dean pinched his brow, tense shoulders collapsing as the strain became too much, muscles snapping like bridge cables. “I might not be the most… the most out, or the most proud, okay? But I’m trying. Remember that bi flag pin I wore during that hunt one time? That was me… trying. And I’ll keep trying, because this isn’t something I’m ashamed of.” He reached for Jack, ensnaring his wrist to make sure his message was well received. “So you see, being gay isn’t – it’s not annoying. It shouldn’t be hidden, or… banned and it certainly isn’t harmful despite what some repressed shitheads might think.” Emboldened, Dean levelled a disappointing glare at Jack. His lower lip jutted out in fatherly disapproval. “And I’d rather be staked on some piece of rusty rebar than let a stupid app make you homophobic. No more… Ticking-tock. Period.”

While Jack might not appreciate Dean’s ultimatum now, he will later on in his life. Dean imagined a future where he and Jack, much older than they were in this moment, sat on a porch swing talking about how good a job Dean did raising him to be a decent human being, as Jack’s partner, whose features he couldn’t distinguish from such a distance in their front yard, played with their son, named for the man who set Jack on the right path, obviously. He was knocked out of this fantasy, unfortunately, by the lumbering footsteps of his oafish brother.

Sam entered the kitchen, Cas at his side with a tome held open in his hands. Their conversation withered as they took in the scene they walked in on. “Hey,” Sam said, shuffling his way to them, “what’s going on?”

Dean opened his mouth, about to explain that he was dishing some serious parental law and wisdom. Except Jack hurriedly interrupted, rushing to speak first. “I have no idea,” he told them, “I was explaining TikTok to Dean, and suddenly he starts ranting about how it’s a homophobic platform?”

“Because it is!” Dean argued. He grabbed Jack’s phone, waving it at the others. “Jack told me that they’ve gone full Russia – banning mlms and… and it was brainwashing him, making him hate gay people!”

“Dean! I don’t hate gay people –“

“Because I acted before any of the damage actually managed to take root,” he said, “If you used this any longer you would’ve had more harsh things to say about mlms than they’re annoying.”

Jack groaned, scrubbing his face with twitching fingers. “They are annoying!”

Dean gestured at Jack, asking with exaggerated brows and frown lines, what they should do about Jack’s denigration. Sam, for his part, seemed unbothered by Jack’s callous attitude. “I mean,” he shrugged, “Jack’s not wrong. Mlms are… pretty annoying.”

Betrayed, Dean staggered to his feet. He faltered visibly, enough that Cas rushed over, dropping the yellowed book he held, and offered a hand. Dean accepted it, leaning on his boyfriend’s shoulder. The touch on the small of his back renewed his strength. “Sam,” he muttered, voice cracking, “how could you say that?”

Sam mirrored the confusion noticeably present in Jack’s features. “Dean, why are you taking this so personally?”

“Because, apparently,” Dean shouted at him, “you find me annoying!”

“No more than I usually do,” Sam told Dean, “But that’s never bothered you before?”

“Well, it’s pretty hard staying fucking unbothered when you think my sexuality is annoying.”

“What?” Suddenly, something flashed behind Sam’s eyes, and the fog of bewilderment dissipated as pure rays of understanding shone from his smug expression and annoyingly struck Dean in the face. “Dean,” Sam sighed, “you… we’re not talking about gay people.”

Dean snorted, “Of course you are. I’m not stupid.” Sam’s bitchy expression disagreed. “I’m hip, Sam. I know the lingo – better than you would, anyway… ‘ally’. Mlm… men loving men… What else could it be?”

“Mlm is an acronym for multi-level marketing, Dean,” Sam explained, “that’s the kind of mlm we’ve been talking about this entire time.”

“What?” Dean’s gaze bounced around the room, from Sam to Jack, then Cas, finally returning to Sam. “No, but I… the Internet, mlm is… it stands for…”

“Things can have more than one meaning,” Cas supplied, appearing pained as he spoke, “especially acronyms.” He pressed a consolatory kiss upon Dean’s cheek, touch sparking a flame on his already burning skin. “It was nice to see how outspoken you’ve become, though.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, “Like a modern-day Harvey Milk.”

Dean refused to comment on Sam’s teasing, sinking into his seat again while his mind processed this new information. Cas joined him, continually rubbing soothing circles into his back. Sam sat next to Jack, across from them. Jack, sullenly tracing the cracks Dean made in his phone screen, asked, “Does this mean I’m not banned from TikTok?”

“I just don’t get it,” Dean said, ignoring Jack’s question, “why would something that sounds boring like multi-level marketing even deserve its own acronym, let alone be banned from a whole app.”

“Because it’s bad, Dean,” Sam explained, “multi-level marketing is, like, an evolved pyramid scheme, made more prevalent because of how easily social media disseminates misinformation and reaches impressionable people. Companies like TikTok are doing what they can to try and curb all these kinds of scams because, well… they’re annoying.”

Adamant, Dean scowled and shook his head. “Mlm meaning that is what’s annoying.”

“Too bad, Dean,” Sam said, “that’s probably the universally accepted meaning for it.”

“No!” Dean said, “No, mlm is about gay people. It doesn’t have anything to do with scams.”

Cas scoffed at Dean’s side, mumbling, “But what if scamming people is gay rights?”

It was ridiculous, made in jest, and held no actual weight in a discussion, but Dean latched onto the throwaway line like it were the last life preserver on the Titanic. “You know what, Cas, you’re right!” he crowed, “Scamming is gay rights.”

“It is?”

“It should be,” Dean said, “I mean, do you know the number of times in my life I’ve scammed bigoted jerks for all they had? Scamming definitely feels like something that’s for gays only.”

Sam rubbed his temples, battling an incoming migraine. “I don’t know why, but that take feels homophobic.”

“Hush, Sam,” Cas told the other man, “I want to see where Dean goes with this.”

Jack nodded, camera eclipsing his features. “Just let me hit record first, Dean. This could go viral.”

Dean waited for the signal from Jack, a small thumbs up, and then he cleared his throat. “Okay, so here’s why scamming is a right for the gays and the gays alone…”

#supernatural #spn #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #castiel #destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #sam winchester #jack kline #mlm in both meanings of the acronym #spn crack

28 notes · View notes

grilledcheeseandguavajelly · 5 years ago

Text

“Somewhere Just Beyond My Reach, There’s Someone Reaching Back For Me” -- Wilhemina Venable x Mildred Ratched

Mildred Ratched already owns my heart. That’s just the sad truth. She shares the space with Venable now. Which means that I’m left thinking of the two of them together almost constantly. And eventually it got too loud and I had to write it.

Please bear with me, the show hasn’t even dropped a trailer yet so this is just me having fun with the little I know about Nurse Ratched (and the little I am hoping for gathered from promo pictures/teasers). Also, I wrote it in maybe two days, so I apologize in advance for any typos.

Words: ~13,500

Warnings: None? I’m hesitant to say none on a fic with ~these women~, but yeah I think that’s where we are right now. Just a bit of smut (shhhh)

~I really hope you all enjoy this one, it’s probably a bit different than everyone was expecting, but I couldn’t resist. Alright, LET’S DO THIS~

Wilhemina’s fingers twitched on her cane, thumb rubbing reflexively against the handle as she watched the line in front of her. Stagnant. And she had been waiting for almost twenty minutes.

She was just starting to lose her patience, especially with the man she was behind. Too tall, smelling of cigarettes. The future of her day pressed against her, the knowledge that she was going to be faced with hundreds of these men, large and consuming and throwing too much ego around.

This convention was entirely men, as far as she could see. And as she looked around, took in their shining shoes and their notebooks and their stares, she shifted, setting her posture on her cane and standing up a bit straighter.

Until heels clicked through the room, tapping steadily and coming to a halt just behind her.

And Wilhemina realized that they hadn’t been staring at her.

Soft muttering, a huff, and then Wilhemina turned, her curiosity peaked.

Her eyes landed on a woman, entirely too perfect for her own good, from the way her hat sat at an impeccable angle to the way her feet crossed smoothly, one in front of the other, as she dug through her purse.

A second later, her mouth pursed into a thin line as she pulled out a neatly folded stack of papers. And as she looked up, straightening, her eyes met Wilhemina’s.

A small smirk played over her lips, no doubt at the realization that Wilhemina had been staring at her. And all Wilhemina could think to do in the moment was pop her brow, quirking her head.

Composure. Self-preservation.

A long moment where Wilhemina let herself look her up and down, take in her quartered sleeves, peter-pan collar, the row of thick buttons that ran a perfect line down to a flared skirt. And black, velvet gloves to match.

And then she found her voice.

“I was under the impression that I would be the only woman speaking here today.”

And this woman, so impeccably dressed, so impeccably put together, had the nerve to pop her brow right back.

“Well,” she countered quickly, tipping her shoulders back. “One should never assume.”

And this time, Wilhemina couldn’t help the smirk that pulled at her lips. She offered her free hand, tapping her cane as she spoke. “Wilhemina Venable. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

And to her surprise, the woman took it, gloved hand warm in Wilhemina’s grip.

“Mildred Ratched,” she replied smoothly, eyes hot as a smile curved her lips.

Wilhemina couldn’t help but shift as she shook the woman’s hand, some sort of victory, of smugness, folding into her from the power radiating through this simple gesture. Her nose twitched and then Mildred’s hand was falling away, finding the strap of her small purse and rubbing at it absently as she pulled her composure back around her.

She watched Mildred’s eyes flick past her, and then immediately around the room. Watched the slight shake in her breath as she undoubtedly realized what Wilhemina had only moments before. It really was all men here, save the two of them.

“What are you lecturing on?” Wilhemina asked, pleased when Mildred’s eyes snapped back to her.

“Psychological advances made through study of post-trauma triggers and observances in the field of action.”

Wilhemina hummed, her fingers tightening on her cane as the implication of what the woman said settled around her. “You helped during the war?”

A smug look crossed Mildred’s face, but she morphed it into a passive smile. “Helped might be an understatement.”

There was a long moment as Wilhemina realized that Mildred was probably entirely capable of handling herself around so many men. Commanding so many men. And then the woman spoke again.

“And you?”

Wilhemina swallowed, tapping her cane as she set her shoulders against inevitable backlash that always came when she admitted to never helping with the war efforts.

“No.”

To her surprise, Mildred only chuckled. Shook her head. “I meant what are you lecturing on.”

She set her jaw, fingers twitching at her error. Her mistake. But Mildred hadn’t scolded her. Hadn’t judged. She was only curious. So polite. So focused.

“I’m simply posing the question of technology versus consciousness. And somehow, I have a feeling that these men will not like it.”

A small laugh from Mildred, and then something settled over her that looked almost uncomfortable, an uneasiness radiating off of her like a wave.

Wilhemina quirked a brow. “Perhaps you’re not fond of it either, Ms. Ratched?”

But Mildred shook her head. “Nurse,” she corrected. “And it’s not that. It’s simply...”

Her eyes pulled over the men surrounding them. Staring at them. Undoubtedly murmuring about them as they walked. Always together. Always in pairs.

Mildred fingered the strap of her purse, teeth scraping over her bottom lip for a fraction of a second before she schooled her features.

Wilhemina let her eyes run over her once more, top to bottom and back again. The language of her movements, scribbled down in books on how to cover yourself from the world. How to block everyone out and set yourself atop the pyramid of society.

“Well, Nurse Ratched,” Wilhemina tried, smirking as she tapped her cane once more. “Order on the outside does wonders to keep the chaos safely on the inside.”

And then those eyes, those brown, piercing eyes, viciously slicing through Wilhemina. She knew that look, that shock. She had seen right through her. Exposed her, clear as day. Mildred was vulnerable. Mildred was broken.

Mildred was just like her.

~~~

There was an expression on Wilhemina’s face that Mildred couldn’t read. And try as she might, eyes searching and picking apart the minuscule eyebrow quirks and eyes narrowing and lips twitching, she was completely lost.

And nothing set her more on edge.

Mildred had always been able to read everyone. It was her first priority. Get a feel for them, dig down into them. Find the thing that makes them tick and spin it on its head to stay on top.

But Wilhemina had some sort of wall around her. Something that fuzzed out Mildred’s mind and kept her pulled in tight. A magnet against a metal strip.

A soft, “I look forward to hearing you speak,” and then Wilhemina was turning away, stepping forward in line and giving her name to the man sat at the table just in front of them.

She watched as Wilhemina handed over her papers, shoulders askew and tapping her cane. Impatiently, Mildred realized. And she schooled her features as she recognized the difference between this tap and the way it had clicked when they were speaking. Absently, an extension of herself.

And then, with an irritated smile, Wilhemina was checked in and moving aside, fingers flexing on her cane as she sauntered past the table.

Mildred watched Wilhemina walk away, handing her papers to the man before her. And her eyes stayed locked on Wilhemina as she paused just before she fell out of sight, turning mid-step.

“Name?” the man asked, pulling Mildred’s attention from the smirk that sliced across her face.

She took a deep breath, voice perfectly even as she replied. And as he sifted through files and documentation, Mildred let herself look up again. Wilhemina was gone.

She shoved the pang of sadness aside, straightening out the hem of her glove and shifting her purse further up her arm. And only after clearing the woman from her mind and focusing back on the man before her, did she notice how careless he was being.

“Excuse me,” she tried, voice suddenly firm. Still impeccably soft. “You’re wrinkling the edge of my papers.” Mildred indicated to the corner of the page, where the man’s arm was pressing a nice crease into the side of her registration documents. Her fingers twitched on the strap of her purse as she composed herself.

“They’re just papers,” the man said, offering her a small smile as he finished scribbling.

“They’re just things, Mildred. You don’t need things.”

“Daddy, please. Not mommy’s necklace.”

“You don’t deserve it. You haven’t been a good girl.”

Mildred pressed her mouth into a thin line, taking a deep breath against her father’s voice in her head.

“They’re my papers,” she said firmly, pressing her hand into the table and leaning forward. “And good manners would indicate you having respect for others’ things. Would it not?”

The man’s smile fractured, and Mildred almost smirked as she watched him gulp. He straightened out the corner of her papers, handing them back to her.

“Apologies, Nurse Ratched. Your first lecture is in room 42 B, just down the hall on the right.”

“There’s a good boy,” she drawled, pulling the papers from his fingers and frowning at the line down the edge. “And you’re going to be more careful with everyone else’s belongings, yes?”

“Yes, Nurse Ratched.”

And then she was walking away, that nice little bubble of satisfaction wedging into her heart.

~~~

“Eyes up.”

Mildred’s voice rang out through the hall, and Wilhemina was shocked at how her heart leapt at the tone of it. So commanding. So dominating.

“Our boys sacrificed their lives on these battlefields for us. The absolute least we can do is pay attention and listen and learn, to further the pursuit of medicine that they gave their lives for. Is that not correct?”

“I don’t think they sacrificed their lives for medicine, Nurse Ratched.”

And Wilhemina smiled at the fire that licked over her eyes, watching the way her hands splayed out on her podium. The way she straightened out her neck as her eyes bored into the boy who had interrupted her.

“What is your name?” she asked calmly. Too calmly.

“Jimmy,” he replied smoothly, and Wilhemina’s fingers itched at the smug look on his face. She could barely see him, sitting impeccably still in her seat and tracking him with her eyes. But she knew that tone of voice. She knew that type of man.

“Well, James,” Mildred continued, stepping around her podium and crossing her legs as she folded her hands neatly in front of her. “They may not have gone to war with the intention of furthering medicine. But they did go to war with the intention of saving lives. And how we use these lessons that they have taught us, intentional or not, could change the course of humanity as we know it. So would we not be remiss to waste such a hefty sacrifice? Do we not owe it to our boys to take as much as we can from the lives they gave so freely?”

And the sound that followed as Mildred looked over the men, eyes tracking them sharply as her expression morphed from perfectly concerned to smooth and kind, made Wilhemina’s heart pound. Because you could hear a pin drop. And never in her life had she ever come across another woman who had the same affect that she did on a group of men. Another woman who was so commanding. And so impeccably composed.

~~~

Wilhemina’s cane tapped with her words, punctuating points and emphasizing the way her eyes would narrow at questions.

“So, are you saying that we could make robots, Ms. Venable? Like…from the movies?”

A few laughs threaded out through the room and Mildred shifted in her seat, nose twitching at the innate possessiveness that pooled in her chest.

But as she looked up at Wilhemina, vision blurring, just so, her cane slammed against the wood. Mildred had to bite her lip to keep from smiling at the way the men jumped in their seats.

“If you were listening, Mr. Brannard, you would understand that not only is it a possibility, my colleagues and I have already accomplished it.”

Her eyes narrowed, and Mildred hated the way that even that small act of dominance made her heart pound.

Wilhemina pursed her lips, tilting her head and tutting softly. Condescendingly. “Or are you too naive to imagine that something this advanced could be achieved so soon? By a woman?”

The boy stuttered, looking to the man beside him for help. But he was head down in his papers, scratching out notes.

Mildred took a deep breath, eyes falling back to Ms. Venable as she stalked around the podium. Slow. Practiced. She was making them wait, and she knew they would.

And suddenly, just like that, in a moment — Mildred was addicted to her.

~~~

The door shut behind Wilhemina and she let herself sigh, leaning onto her cane as her eyes fell closed. There was something about being surrounded by men, constantly, their eyes on her as she spoke, that always made her feel dirty. And it was exhausting, having to keep her steel walls up when Mildred was sitting in the back of the room watching her with so much intensity that she should have caught fire.

It was sad when the only place that she could get a moment to breathe was the ladies’ room.

That moment ended quicker than she would have liked, the squeak of the door opening forcing her to stand straighter on her cane and busy herself in the mirror.

Strong. Unaffected.

Heels clicked as Wilhemina wiped at the corner of her mouth, flicking off the smallest speck of stray lipstick. She waited for the woman to lock herself in a stall so that she could make a clean exit. But to her surprise, the footsteps stopped just short of her. And when Wilhemina threw a hot look over her shoulder at the intrusion, she was almost impressed.

“Hello, dear.”

Wilhemina popped her brow, a small smirk making her lips twitch. “Ms. Ratched.”

“Nurse,” she corrected, tipping her chin up as her eyes lit from behind.

“Mildred.”

A pause, Mildred’s gaze falling down Wilhemina’s form. “What are you doing?”

“Well I was intending to use the restroom,” Wilhemina replied, smoothing a hand down her skirt as she turned to face the woman.

Mildred’s eyes were calculating, twitching almost imperceptibly at the corner. “Unacceptable.”

Wilhemina scoffed. “And why might that be?”

“You’re scheduled to speak again in ten minutes. You should be prepping your presentation in five.”

She gestured to the space around them, head tilting challengingly. “Hence why I’m using the restroom now.”

A beat. Mildred stared at her, fingers slipping on the strap of her purse. And Wilhemina had only spoken to this woman once, but she had watched her for almost three hours, and then another two during her own lecture. She knew why her fingers twitched. She could read her like a book.

So she took a step forward, tapping her cane out in front of her and leaning on it, just enough to get in Mildred’s space.

“Did you miss me, Millie?” Venable breathed, eyes flicking over Mildred’s face. And she didn’t miss the way the other woman’s breath hitched, body stiffening. “Were you hoping to get me all to yourself for a few minutes?”

Mildred cleared her throat, straightening. “And if I was?”

A smirk.

“Do you have plans for dinner?”

~~~

Mildred had had plans for dinner. Of course she had. Very rarely did her schedule slip away from her, especially so when she was in a strange city around strange people.

But somehow, for some reason, she had changed her plans. For a woman.

Slap. “Disgusting, stupid whore. Is this who you want to become? Disgrace. Pull yourself together.”

Pull yourself together.

Wilhemina set the plate down before her and Mildred shifted in her seat, smoothing her already impeccably placed napkin on her lap.

And only when she finally pulled her eyes off of Wilhemina, sitting down opposite her at the table and propping her cane against the wood, did she realize that this woman was an incredible chef.

The dish was colorful, sausage swimming in pasta and decorated with fresh herbs. She comforted herself in the knowledge that she was eating better here than she would have been at the restaurant where she had reserved a table.

A logical decision.

They ate in silence for a few moments, Mildred fighting the shaking of her hands and trying to come up with a halfway decent conversation starter. But Wilhemina beat her to it.

“Tell me about the war,” she said softly as she twisted her fork in the pasta, looking up at Mildred with such blatant curiosity and innocence that she couldn’t say no. Couldn’t bear to shove that wall up and bark at her and throw out her usual excuses.

Which is how she found herself, almost an hour later, plate nearly empty as she covered her mouth with her fingers, swallowing around a bite that was just a fraction too large.

“No no,” she corrected, taking a sip of water. “It wasn’t the bombs that were distracting. It wasn’t the gunfire. It was the screaming.”

Something flashed in Wilhemina’s eyes and Mildred stuttered, almost convinced she was about to smile. Almost convinced she was about to cry.

“It was constant,” she continued, fingers playing over her fork as the memories flooded back into her mind. The smell of it, the sound. “Poor boys, too young to be fighting. And they never stopped. They never stopped screaming. Eventually you learn to tune it out. You have to. If you focus on them, if you let yourself hear it, everything else breaks away. You have to block it out. Or you lose the order of your surgical tent.”

Wilhemina nodded, swallowing. “Seems impossible.”

But Mildred shook her head again, shocking herself at how forward she was being. At how the words were spilling from her lips. Like she had known this woman for hundreds of years.

She was almost certain that she had, the way Wilhemina’s eyes pierced straight through her every time their gazes met.

“Logic and responsibility. That’s the key.”

And to her surprise, Wilhemina laughed. A full, pretty sound that was too raspy for her own good.

Mildred flushed, taking a long sip of water as Wilhemina spoke.

“No, no. Rules. Clear lines and boundaries. A straight right and a firm wrong. It’s the only way to keep them all in line.”

“You’re wrong,” Mildred stated, matter of fact. And when Wilhemina rose from her seat, she almost flinched.

But she only stalked over, a smirk slicing across her face as she collected Mildred’s plate and walked it over to the sink.

Cool. Calculated. Every one of Wilhemina’s actions had an equal, opposite reaction. They stalked around each other in perfect circles, and halfway through the dance Mildred’s mind was absolutely spinning. This time, she didn’t have a justification. Didn’t have follow-up. She was losing her grip.

The silence was deafening, exacerbated by the tapping of Wilhemina’s heels and the clattering of tableware against porcelain.

And then, just like that, she was back, pulling out the chair directly next to Mildred and settling down into it.

“Most people don’t get the privilege of telling me I’m wrong.”

Her voice had lowered, dangerous and sharp, a snake bite. And Mildred couldn’t help but dig her teeth into her bottom lip. Because this woman was so perfect, and so beautiful, and so intelligent. Sitting before her like it was nothing. Like the heat in Mildred’s cheeks wasn’t creeping down into her fingers and making them itch.

Her eyes flicked down to Wilhemina’s lips before she could help herself, and her fingers dug into her skirt as she watched Wilhemina flick her tongue over them. Wetting them. So slick. So perfectly shaped.

And then Wilhemina’s hand covered hers, skin soft and smooth and tender against Mildred’s.

She looked back into Wilhemina’s eyes, suddenly dark, suddenly entirely too intense. She wasn’t prepared for this. She wasn’t ready. She wanted this more than anything she had ever wanted before in her life.

And she silently thanked whatever gods lay above her for getting her through the war and straight to this moment. Because her entire life would be worth living if Wilhemina would just—

Wilhemina leaned forward, and that was all it took. Just the slightest tilt of her chin. Mildred hadn’t realized how close they had gotten. But then Wilhemina’s mouth was on hers, so firm and yet so, so delicate.

She let her eyes fall closed, let herself sigh into the feel of it. The feel of her. Turned her hand and threaded their fingers together and squeezed because this was all she had wanted. Since the moment that fire-red hair had turned and she had looked up into those deep, brown eyes.

Wilhemina pulled away before Mildred was ready to let go, and she couldn’t help the half-whine that lodged itself in her throat. That she tried so desperately to swallow down.

“Better?” Wilhemina teased, pressing their foreheads together.

She let out a shaky breath, thumbing at Wilhemina’s knuckles. “Infinitely.”

There was a long moment of silence, and Mildred was almost getting accustomed to these spaces, these gaps between their communication where they just let their feelings hang between them. Let their hearts speak without words getting in the way.

Mildred swallowed, licking her lips slowly as she looked up into Wilhemina’s eyes.

“What are the rules now, Ms. Venable?”

Wilhemina hummed, nudging their noses together as her eyes flicked down to Mildred’s lips again. “You relax and let me take care of you.”

A wobbling breath, and Mildred wet her lips again, hands trembling as she leaned into Wilhemina. So close to what she wanted. So close. “And if I say no?”

Wilhemina smirked, hand coming up to Mildred’s throat before moving to brush delicately over her cheek instead. And when she spoke again, her eyes were lidded and she breathed the words almost directly into Mildred’s mouth.

“Now where’s the logic in that, Nurse Ratched?”

~~~

Mildred toed off her shoes. Delicately. Carefully. And Wilhemina watched in awe of the woman before her. Perfectly pristine.

She always strove for perfection. Perfectly presented to the world, perfectly protected. Perfectly hidden. And she had thought she almost had it. But now, watching Mildred, she realized that perfection was far out of her grip. Not when it looked like this.

Wilhemina wasn’t perfectly presented, not compared to the way Mildred took care with every tiny pleat and line and cuff. Down to the perfectly straight earrings. Down to the parallel lines of her stockings that ran up the back of her calves. And Wilhemina certainly wasn’t perfectly protected when Mildred looked at her like that, eyes wide and lips pink as she slowly, purposefully started picking down the buttons on her shirt.

Wilhemina was only and solely perfectly exposed, her heart entirely too vulnerable around a woman that she knew would protect it. Around a part of her that she didn’t know had existed until it had tapped its way up behind her in line and pulled the zipper on the curtain over her heart.

She couldn’t stop watching Mildred. Not when she let her shirt fall to the floor. Not when she unbuttoned the top of her skirt and tugged at the zip, shimmying out of it and letting it pool around her ankles, leaving her in nothing but a thin, silk slip and black pantyhose.

And then she bunched up her slip and rolled them down, Venable’s eyes tracking the way that perfectly straight line up her calf crumpled as she went, bending and morphing as Mildred let her walls down. Let her in. Let Wilhemina see her for who she really was beneath all of that perfection and obsession and compulsivity.

Suddenly it was too much, and Wilhemina simply couldn’t sit on the edge of the bed watching anymore. She needed to touch. She needed all of Mildred pressed against all of her. Every inch. Every piece.

Wilhemina walked up behind her, wrapping her hands around her stomach and pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder before resting her chin there.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

Mildred turned, a smile flickering over her lips. She had been so serious when she was undressing, her mouth pulled into a line, eyes flicking between Wilhemina behind her and the mirror before her, her hands pulling over herself to smooth everything down, make sure her hair was still curling down her back, making sure her pins were all in place. But now she looked lighter. Now she looked like she had at the table, open and soft and pliant.

“Show me,” Mildred whispered, and Wilhemina pressed another kiss to her shoulder before shifting her in front of the mirror. Her hands found the pins still holding her hair up, pulling them out slowly as she nipped and bit her way up Mildred’s neck, sucking just a bit to hard at the crook of her jaw.

And Wilhemina couldn’t help but smile as Mildred sighed, her hand reaching up behind her and twisting through Wilhemina’s hair.

Mildred knew when Wilhemina got the last pin out, shaking her hair out and fluffing it almost immediately. And then she turned in Wilhemina’s arms, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek as she reached around and pulled the tie from her own hair.

It fell in heaps around her shoulders, and Mildred giggled softly.

Wilhemina’s brow popped, sarcasm pushing through as a weak attempt at self-preservation. “Is something the matter?”

But Mildred only laughed, shaking her head and running her fingers through Wilhemina’s hair.

“Cinnamon sugar,” she murmured, twisting her finger through a lock and admiring it. And Wilhemina felt herself flush against her will.

“I’m almost certain our hair is the same color,” she tried, fingers twitching on Mildred’s waist.

Frustrated. Exposed. Worshipped.

Mildred only shook her head, leaning forward. She hesitated for a brief moment before pressing a soft kiss to Wilhemina’s lips. And suddenly Wilhemina didn’t care if she was giggling or teasing or playing with her hair. As long as she was here. As long as she kept doing that.

“You’re awfully sweet for someone who is supposed to be so intimidating, Ms. Venable.”

Wilhemina scoffed, rolling her eyes before Mildred grabbed at her chin, raking her eyes over her and making a shiver run down her spine.

“Why don’t you take all of that purple off for me, cinnamon? Hm?”

And Wilhemina hated how deeply she flushed, the nickname getting under her skin like it shouldn’t have. But this was Mildred. And somehow, she knew exactly what Wilhemina wanted to hear before she realized it herself.

It only took a few moments, untying the top of her shirt, pulling it up over her head. Sliding out of her skirt, peeling her gloves off. And Mildred watched her the entire time, eyes hot as they followed her fingers.

She held out her hands as Wilhemina stepped out of her shoes, keeping her steady. Making sure she didn’t wobble.

And this time, for the first time, Wilhemina completely forgot to feel exposed. She forgot to feel embarrassed about her back. She forgot to warn Mildred.

But when Mildred kissed her again, this time a bit harder and a bit deeper, fingers wrapping up around Wilhemina’s neck and sliding down over her shoulders, over her spine, nothing happened.

She didn’t flinch. She didn’t recoil. She didn’t even gasp. She just kept kissing her and kissing her and kissing her, until Wilhemina’s thighs hit the mattress.

Mildred pulled back, breaking the kiss as her teeth dug into her lip, fingers rubbing together absently. Just like they had over her purse. Over her fork.

Wilhemina gave her a small nod, tentatively grabbing for her wrists and guiding them to her stomach.

She didn’t miss the way Mildred’s fingers flexed before she touched her, didn’t miss the glint in her eye as she hesitantly, delicately, grabbed Mina’s waist and pushed her down into the bed.

And the way she touched her, warm palms pressing against Wilhemina’s sides before pulling away almost immediately, and then replacing them in an instant. This time firm. This time sure. This time pushing Wilhemina onto her back and smoothing up her stomach so that nails were pricking at the very bottom of her bra.

Mildred crawled over her, pressing a singular, wet kiss just below Wilhemina’s jaw.

“Millie,” Wilhemina breathed, squirming under her.

“My name is Mildred,” she corrected, and Wilhemina let herself smirk, catching the way Mildred hardened and taking the opportunity to flip the switch yet again.

She hooked a leg over Mildred’s hip, pushing her and flipping them and bracing herself above her.

Mildred gasped, a soft whine pushing out of her as she was slammed back into the mattress. Wilhemina leaned down, nudging their noses together before flicking her tongue out and licking the tip of her nose.

“What are you afraid of, Millie?” Wilhemina breathed, hands sliding slowly up her sides before locking over her ribs and pinning her to the bed. “Is someone losing control?”

She couldn’t help but smirk at her own joke, amplified by the way Mildred’s eyes widened and hardened.

“No. It’s just—“

Wilhemina bit down on her collarbone, cutting her off as she squirmed beneath her. She hummed, pushing her further into the bed.

“Oh no? So you’re fine then, right?”

And after a second’s hesitation she nodded again, hands coming up to smooth out her hair as her eyes bored into Wilhemina’s.

The word “yes” left Mildred’s mouth, but Wilhemina had already seen it in her face. The screaming. The need to dominate. The need to be dominated. The want.

“Millie,” Wilhemina sing-songed, bending down to press a kiss to her cheek. She wasn’t surprised it was warm, the flush already clouding her perfect, porcelain skin. She was surprised that it was scorched, Mildred’s teeth dug into her bottom lip as she watched Wilhemina carefully.

“Let go, darling,” she murmured, nails scraping lightly down Mildred’s sides. “Let me be in charge of you for once, yeah? Let those pretty little walls down. I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

~~~

Wilhemina kept saying it. That stupid little nickname. Over and over. She wouldn’t stop, and Mildred couldn’t think. And it was making her furious in the absolute best way.

She was losing control. She had always been so careful. She had always tried her absolute best. But somehow, tonight, she could feel it slipping through her fingers with every kiss, with every gasp, with every moan.

And she was okay.

Her world wasn’t crumbling. Mildred was surviving. And to her surprise, the world seemed to actually sort itself in those small moments, the fractions of seconds where Wilhemina panted that little nickname and Mildred’s body responded of its own accord. Mildred was thriving, Mildred was being loved. Mildred was finally living.

And so she let go.

She twisted her fingers in the sheets, Wilhemina’s name falling off her tongue as she arched into her.

Wilhemina hummed, a nice, satisfied sound, and then she was kissing down her neck, fingers scratching up under her slip, up the inside of her thighs.

Mildred should have wanted to pull away. She should have wanted to clamp her thighs shut and pull her slip down and shove herself up against the headboard. But to her surprise her thighs fell open, and before she knew what she was doing she was lifting her hips off the mattress and reaching down, tugging her slip up over her thighs, up past her stomach.

Wilhemina pulled off of her, for a split second, and Mildred froze. But then she wrapped her hand around Mildred’s and pulled her forward, pulled her up, kissing her temple as she helped slide the slip up over her head. Threw it on the floor.

And then Mildred was completely exposed. Completely vulnerable. Her hands came up to cover herself instinctively, suddenly too cold and too naked without the heat of Wilhemina’s mouth on her neck.

But she was right there, threading their fingers together and pulling her hands back down into her lap.

“It’s okay. I’m right here,” she cooed, and something deflated inside of Mildred. She let out a long breath, squeezing Wilhemina’s hands as she swallowed. And then, in a desperate attempt to gain some kind of control back, no matter how futile, she tried something.

“Touch me, Mina.”

She watched the other woman gasp. Let pride fill her at the pure smile that made tears prick in Wilhemina’s eyes. Traced her thumb over the back of Wilhemina’s hand.

“Mina,” she tried again, suddenly feeling more comfortable with this intimacy. Because now they were both exposed. Equal. Again. Just like they should be.

Wilhemina lunged forward, mouth hot and hungry as she pushed Mildred back against the mattress. And her hands. Her hands. Everywhere, all at once. Like she was trying to memorize the shape of her. Like she needed to touch her or she would disappear. And Mildred understood. Because she had that same ache, the same need within her. If her fingers weren’t on Wilhemina, pulling her tighter to her, pulling her closer, she was absolutely certain that she would vibrate and explode into a billion atoms, right there in the middle of the room.

It suddenly turned so desperate, Mildred just about to beg for Wihemina’s fingers, for more when she felt them brush against her, cold against the heat burning between her thighs.

Wilhemina pulled back, just so, just enough to look her in the eyes. And Mildred pushed all of her emotion, all of her want through, nodding frantically.

“Please—“

But no sooner had she opened her mouth than Wilhemina’s fingers pushed inside of her, filling that space there perfectly and making Mildred finally feel like she was whole.

Wilhemina smirked, and Mildred let out a soft “oh” at the unfamiliarity of it all. The comfort. And then she was moving and Mildred was moving, hips rolling down against Wilhemina’s wrist as she curled her fingers and sped up.

And before she knew what was happening, that heat was building in her stomach, toes curling where her heel dug into Wilhemina’s back. She didn’t know how she had gotten like this, one leg thrown over her shoulder, a hand in Mina’s hair as she pressed kisses to the inside of her thighs while her fingers pumped slowly, gently, intently.

It seemed dirty. It seemed wrong. And Mildred couldn’t have cared less. All she could fathom was that little knot of control, holding onto it as it vibrated, threatened to explode. Gripping into it with her teeth if she had to, clinging to it until that exact moment, the perfect—

It snapped, Mildred scrambling to find purchase on something as she fell through the galaxy Wilhemina had built around her. She knew her mouth was moving. She knew she was probably whining for Wilhemina. But she couldn’t hear anything. Not over Mina’s voice against her skin.

“Yes. That’s it. Perfect. Let go. I’m right here. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

It took too long for her body to come back to her, for her to regain her grip on reality and grab at some sort of control again.

But as she opened her eyes on Wilhemina between her thighs, brow pushed up as the most beautiful, genuine smile graced her mouth, her perfect mouth, Mildred decided that right now, just for this one moment, she didn’t want control back. She wanted to just be.

“Kiss me,” she breathed, and Wilhemina was right there, mouth pushing insistently against hers. And when Mildred tasted something tangy, something sharp and spicy and unfamiliar, she realized with a start that Mina must have put her mouth on her at some point.

She hadn’t even realized. Hadn’t registered.

She had given herself over completely into Mina’s mercy, and she had never felt so happy. So light. So utterly and completely protected.

A small shuffle, sheets being rucked down, and then Wilhemina was sitting up against the headboard, and Mildred was right there, curling into her side and pressing herself in as close as she could.

She smiled as Wilhemina’s arms wrapped around her waist. Almost possessively.

They laid like that for a moment, Mina’s fingers tracing over her side as silence fell down upon the room, all remnants of Mildred’s screams dissolving into air. And then she finally, finally got her feet back under her.

“I want to take care of you,” Mildred said softly, pressing a kiss just over Wilhemina’s heart. But to her surprise, Wilhemina only shook her head.

Lips against her temple, and then she spoke. “Not tonight, beautiful. We both need to be up early tomorrow.”

Mildred wanted to say that she didn’t care. She wanted to argue and protest and throw something until Mina listened and let her feel her. All of her.

But somewhere in the back of her mind she recognized that she would have to deal with those same men tomorrow, lecturing and commanding and spending too much of her energy trying to keep herself in control. So she nodded. Because they needed sleep if they were going to survive.

“Tomorrow,” she sighed, looking up at Mina with eager eyes. And Wilhemina smiled, pressing another kiss to her temple.

“Tomorrow.”

She curled further into Wilhemina, letting her hands wander just a bit further than they should have, suddenly feeling so entitled to this woman. She had permission to do whatever she liked to her. Just not quite yet.

Wilhemina hummed, pressing one last kiss to the top of Mildred’s head, and then time slowed and the air grew thick as she started to move.

Mildred felt her shift, turning just so and pulling an arm from around her waist as she reached for the lamp by the bed.

“Don’t turn off the light, please. Daddy, please.”

“Why, are you afraid of monsters?”

A nod.

“Oh honey, the only monster you have to be afraid of is standing right here.”

A sickening grin.

"You’re a big girl—“

“I’m not—“

“—you can handle this. Besides. Nothing is going to get you... As long as you don’t make a sound.”

Tears welled in Mildred’s eyes as she watched Wilhemina’s fingers inch closer. And how was she supposed to tell her about this? How was she supposed to explain that this one, tiny thing was her absolute weakness? She almost didn’t. Almost made it. But just as fingers brushed against the lamp, the hair on the back of her neck stood up and she tasted something bitter, bristling.

Time sped up all at once then, Mildred clawing at Wilhemina’s hand and wrapping her fingers tight around her wrist to stop her.

“Wait—“ she tried, but it came out broken and wrinkled.

Wilhemina froze, looking down at her. “Is everything okay?”

And Mildred couldn’t help the tears then, sniffing as they blurred her vision and letting her fingers fall from Wilhemina’s arm.

“Please don’t turn it off just yet,” she tried, and she scolded herself for how weak she sounded.

Unacceptable. Pull yourself together.

Something crossed Wilhemina’s face that she couldn’t read, and her heart dug down deep in her chest as she braced herself.

But then Wilhemina softened, brows raising, just so, as she stroked her thumb over Mildred’s side. A smirk pulled at her lips and she quirked her head.

“My my, Nurse Ratched. Is someone afraid of the dark?”

And the way she said it, almost laughing, simultaneously made Mildred feel like a child being scolded and a woman being loved.

It was a blessing that she had used her title. It had given Mildred that shock to her system to jolt her out of her vulnerable state, building her walls back up as quickly as she could as she formed the searing negation on her tongue.

Of course not. You’re mistaken. Don’t be ridiculous.

But she couldn’t land on one that felt quite right. Because lying didn’t feel quite right. And Mildred told herself, assured herself, that it was only because she hadn’t thought of the perfect logical theorem to support her argument. She wasn’t prepared to have this conversation. Once she found one, she would be back in control and she could right her world back on its feet. And one time, maybe this time, they could turn the light off.

She hadn’t realized how long she had been silent until she felt Wilhemina press a kiss to her hair. Mildred was still staring her down, nose twitching as Wilhemina’s eyes searched her face.

A deep breath, a hard swallow. And then she nodded.

And there it was. That was it. The most open and vulnerable and exposed she had ever been with another person in her life.

And Wilhemina, her Mina, took it in stride, simply humming before threading fingers through Mildred’s curls and pulling her up closer so that she could pepper soft kisses across her face.

“Oh, Millie,” she whispered, and Mildred was shocked to find a gentle smile on her lips.

“It’s childish, I know.”

She shook her head, fingers playing over the edge of her face. “Not to me.”

“You can turn it off once I’m asleep. I just—“

“No. If you prefer it on, we leave it on.” Wilhemina hooked a finger under her chin, tipping it up. “That’s that.”

A sniff. A shaky breath. “Are you certain...?”

“Anything for you.”

And that night, when Mildred closed her eyes and steadied her breathing and melted into the warmth of her lover, she somehow, some way, felt like she had finally found her way home.

~~~

“That’s it, just like that.”

Wilhemina cooed, smirking as Mildred whined and rolled her hips down her thigh. A soft gasp, and Wilhemina tightened her hand in her hair, forcing her head back to expose more of her neck.

“Oh my, Ms. Ratched,” she tried softly, ignoring the way her mouth watered at the sight of her muscles pulling taunt. The way she swallowed.

“Millie,” Mildred gasped, letting out a small cry as Wilhemina latched her mouth to her neck.

She hummed as she nodded, relishing the taste of her when she was unraveling like this. Sticky, hot. So different from that sharp, sweet, clean taste when she was still dressed and still protected and still in charge.

“You’re learning.”

Mildred scoffed beneath her, and Wilhemina had a split second to brace herself before nails were raking up her thighs and up her lower back, Mildred’s hands splaying out and holding her close.

“And you’re going too slow.”

Wilhemina was flipped before she knew what was happening, gasping as Mildred grabbed her shoulders and shoved her down in to the mattress. Hard.

“Millie—“

But Mildred cut her off, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek. And when she pulled back she was smiling. Sickly sweet.

“Besides, I thought we had an agreement that I could take care of you tonight, yes?”

Wilhemina’s brow furrowed, the need to top Mildred too intense for her to think of anything else. Until Mildred spoke again, her voice threading through the air, slicing through Wilhemina’s need like a knife.

“Unless you were planning on breaking the rules, Ms. Venable?”

And now it was Wilhemina’s turn to smile, laughing sarcastically as Mildred pinched at her sides until she squirmed.

“Mina,” she corrected over a giggle, biting down on her lip to keep from completely losing herself.

Mildred smirked, cocking her head as she repeated Wilhemina’s words back to her.

“You’re learning.”

“Shut up and fuck me.”

Mildred quirked a brow. “Language.”

But Wilhemina was too desperate, reaching for her hands and pushing them down over her hips.

“Now, Millie.”

And when Mildred smirked, nails pricking into Wilhemina’s tender skin there, something caught in Wilhemina’s chest.

Her eyes were razor sharp, lips twitching from a smirk to a smile, back and forth and back and forth. And just when Wilhemina was starting to think she looked almost sickening, she spoke, leaning down and pressing their foreheads together. Just out of reach. Just a bit too far.

“Oh now now, cinnamon. You know better than to rush me. I’m in charge tonight. That was the agreement. And I decide when you get my fingers. Understood?”

And Mina found herself nodding.

She was rewarded with a delicate kiss to her lips. Not nearly deep enough and entirely too sweet.

“Just so long as we’re both on the same page.” A moment, a breath spent staring into those predatory eyes. “Now why don’t you spread those pretty legs for me, hm?”

~~~

Mildred combed her fingers through Wilhemina’s hair, laid out so beautifully across her, head in her lap, fingers tracing the bones of her ankles.

Intimacy entangled.

“What did they do..?” Mildred breathed, running her fingers delicately over the morphed skin. A fleeting touch.

Wilhemina drew a slow breath. Calculated. Shaking. “First it was the brace. Screwed in. Stretched.”

“And the appointments for the table?” Mildred asked, her own breath starting to tremble at the idea.

Wilhemina nodded. “Yes.”

“How old were you?”

“Seven,” Wilhemina said softly, gasping as Mildred’s fingers tucked under a soft piece of her spine, bumping along the gaps in her vertebrae.

“And it hurt.”

It wasn’t a question. She knew it had hurt. Especially on someone so young. So pliant and vulnerable.

But Wilhemina didn’t answer, instead plowing ahead. “And then the surgery when I was thirteen.”

Mildred flinched, the images flashing through her mind. She had seen the slides. She knew what they did. Sliced tendons and ligaments. And there was rarely any progress.

“It didn’t work.”

Again, not a question. And this time, as Wilhemina shook her head no, Mildred found what she was looking for. The scars from the screws. Spaced evenly apart, marred by scars from the surgery. Exactly where they should be.

Wilhemina’s breaths stuttered as Mildred’s fingers slid over them, and she found her own breath speeding up at the thought of this woman on a table. So small. So scared. So cold.

“And the tethers?” Mildred asked, running through the typical steps in her head. Trying to remember what she had learned in her training.

But to her surprise, Wilhemina shook her head. She was panting now, and Mildred could feel her chest tightening in response as she trailed her fingers further down, where the spine corrected and compensated and bulged in the opposite direction.

“Electroshock therapy.”

Wilhemina had barely spoken, barely whispered. But Mildred heard her, completely and solely focused on this poor, fragile, broken thing beneath her. And she couldn’t help the way her heart lodged in her throat.

“W-Why?” she asked softly, her thumb brushing absently over a particularly bad scar.

Wilhemina took a deep breath, fingers flexing in the sheets. “There was a time where they thought it would help. A misalignment of the neurotransmitters firing. Especially with younger patients. I was already through puberty. It wouldn’t have made a difference. But I was broken. They were desperate. I was the shame—“

“—shame of your family,” Mildred finished for her. And she surprised herself when a tear fell onto her cheek. A quick swipe of her thumb and it was gone, and she leaned down and pressed a small kiss at the very top of Wilhemina’s spine. “You’re not the only one.”

Wilhemina shifted in her lap, fingers tracing Mildred’s knee as her breaths pulled long and shaky. As they slowed.

Mildred closed her eyes, centering herself. “Did they do the final surgery? With the pins and the staples?”

And she hated herself for how clinical it sounded when she asked. She wanted to be vulnerable. Wanted to be softer. For her.

For her.

But Wilhemina didn’t seem to mind, only shaking her head and sighing, her eyes fluttering closed. “I was pushed out of the house after the shock therapy didn’t work. And by the time I had earned enough of my own money to pay for the surgery, I was too old. It was too late.”

“It’s never too late,” Mildred tried, the motto ringing through her head.

“But it was,” Wilhemina replied, her voice low and raspy. “Even if it would have worked, I was already an adult. I was already... who I was. And I didn’t know who I was without my disability. Without my cane. Without my past and my pain and my perseverance. I’m not myself without this. And I can’t fully be myself with it.”

Mildred hummed, shaking her head softly. Because she knew. Of course she knew. The more she spoke to Wilhemina, the more she was convinced that they were the same person. The same soul, split between two bodies. With the same wants and needs and desires.

Her fingers skimmed down Wilhemina’s spine for what felt like the hundredth time, and suddenly she had this all-consuming need to memorize the exact shape of it. The exact way that it bulged and twisted and dipped. The exact way that this faulty thing kept this woman up and held her on her feet.

Another kiss. A sigh. And then, fingers shaking as they pulled through Wilhemina’s hair, brushing it back from her face.

“I know exactly what you mean.”

“Stay with me,” Wilhemina breathed, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of Mildred’s thigh. And Mildred’s fingers stuttered in her hair as another tear fell, unbidden, onto her cheek.

Because she wanted to. She was pulled tight to this woman, an anomaly of existence, the very piece of her that she had always felt was missing, that she had always been searching for.

But she could never be so irresponsible to leave her home and leave her work and settle in with a woman that she had only known for two days.

“Stupid, idiotic girl. Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

Could she?

~~~

She had said no. And Wilhemina had broken right there, exposed and entirely too vulnerable, in her lap.

She had cried herself to sleep that night, curled against Mildred as she cooed and shushed her and stroked delicate fingers through her hair.

And when she woke in the morning, filled with the smell of Mildred and the feel of Mildred and the taste of Mildred still on her tongue, everything seemed a bit grey.

They made breakfast, speaking politely and laughing occasionally. Always broken, always half-formed. Got dressed and ready for the day, separately. Dolled themselves up in different types of armor—pantyhose, gloves, skirts, glasses.

And then Mildred left.

And then, she came back.

It was like the universe couldn’t fathom them being apart, a rip torn through their plane of existence when Mildred boarded her train and went back home, clear across the country.

Wilhemina hadn’t gone with her to the station, but she could feel when she left the city, when she left the state. It was a series of ties being broken, strings snapping in her chest as each one was pulled to breaking and eventually gave out.

Except the last one. The one that left a buzzing in Wilhemina’s ear, a ringing every time her cane tapped down that sounded so awfully close to the way Mildred sighed just as she was about to orgasm. The way she hummed, barely audible, when they kissed.

That tie remained. And one day, almost three months later, it got hotter.

Wilhemina had been making dinner, listening to the television drone on as she stirred her pasta in the pot, when her chest warmed. It was so sudden and so all-consuming that she almost dropped her tongs, Mildred’s name pounding through her head on a loop.

She had known what was coming before it did. She could sense her presence. Could practically see her smoothing down her skirt and running a finger over the brim of her hat as she walked up Wilhemina’s drive.

But the knock on the door — soft, three times — had still made Wilhemina jump, a lump of emotion lodging in her throat as she grabbed for her cane and walked slowly to the front door.

She knew it was her. Deep down, she knew it in her soul. They were tied together, whether Wilhemina liked it or not. But there was still that tiny, nagging voice in the back of her mind that told her not to get her hopes up. That wishing only led to disappointment.

Until she opened the door, heart pounding, and saw Mildred Ratched standing perfectly straight on her doorstep, a singular suitcase in hand.

“Millie,” Wilhemina breathed, like she needed confirmation. Like she was seeing a ghost.

Mildred swallowed, the smallest of smiles pushing at her lips.

“I was transferred to an institution not far from here,” she said softly, pointing absently behind her before ducking her head against her blush.

But Wilhemina caught it. She caught everything with this masterpiece.

“I couldn’t stand the thought of living in this city and...” She cleared her throat, fingers fidgeting with the handle of her suitcase. “And being apart from you.”

And just as Wilhemina glanced past her at the taxi sitting idle in the street, Mildred looked up, eyes glassy and almost vibrating with emotion.

“Does your offer still stand?”

Wilhemina had to physically bite the inside of her cheek to keep tears from her eyes, her fingers itching and playing on the top of her cane accordingly.

“Are the rest of your bags in the taxi?” Wilhemina asked, trying not to focus on the way Mildred’s chin was trembling. Trying not to hear the pounding in her head to kiss her.

Mildred nodded, and then Wilhemina was moving past her. A gloved hand skimmed over Wilhemina’s shoulder as she passed, just fleeting enough to be a tap.

“I haven’t paid the driver yet, I—“

But Wilhemina turned, and the angle was exactly like the first time she had walked past her in that stuffy university. But this time, the setting sun was glinting off of Mildred’s hair and there was a hope in her eyes, an intimacy that had Wilhemina’s hand tightening on her cane to keep her balance.

“You go inside,” she started, swallowing against the dryness in her throat. “Make yourself comfortable, set your things down. I’ll retrieve the rest of your bags and take care of the cab fare.”

It’s the least I can do, for him bringing you back to me.

Not even five minutes later, Mildred’s luggage was stacked in the foyer and the cab was driving away as Wilhemina stalked back up the short walk to her door.

She had expected Mildred to be sitting at the dining table, or putting her things in the bedroom. But to her surprise, when she closed the door, locked it safely behind her, and turned, Mildred was standing in the middle of her entryway, still holding tight to her suitcase and watching Wilhemina with sharp eyes.

Wilhemina tapped her cane, swallowing, and she didn’t miss the way Mildred’s eyes flicked to it.

And then, just like that, Mildred dropped her suitcase and practically ran to Wilhemina, gloved hands pulling her face down, pulling their mouths together.

Wilhemina let herself moan, tears instantly pricking her eyes at the memory of how good this felt. How right. And then Mildred’s hands were on her waist and she was pushing her back against the door. Hard.

“I missed you so much, Mina,” she breathed between kisses, peppering them over Wilhemina’s cheeks and down her jaw.

And then the tears did fall, because she had missed Mildred, too. So, incredibly much. More than she would have missed the air she breathed, the food she ate. More than she had ever missed anyone or anything in her entire life.

Her soul had been ripped from her, torn away and shipped off across the country. And now it was back, and with every kiss, they sewed themselves back together.

Stitch by stitch. Piece by piece.

~~~

She crowned herself with her nurse’s hat, pinning her hair back carefully around it and buttoning it up in the back. Wilhemina watched her. Watched the way she stood a bit straighter. Watched the way her feet came together and she shifted her weight, perfectly even. Perfectly level.

Wilhemina walked over, drawn to her like a magnet. And her cane clicked as she went, tapping down beside her and forcing a smirk to curl Mildred’s lips as she glanced at Wilhemina in the mirror.

She walked right up to her, snaking an arm around her waist and pulling Mildred back against her chest as her mouth found her ear.

“You look impeccable, darling.”

Mildred quirked a brow, eyes like daggers as they bored into Wilhemina from the mirror. She hummed.

“Almost good enough to eat.” Wilhemina pressed a kiss to her jaw, letting her eyes rake over Mildred’s perfect neck, the way it quivered as she swallowed, the shine of her hair pulled up in impeccable fashion just above her collar. She fingered the fabric there, letting her nails scrape over the soft skin just below her ear.

“Why don’t you take a bite, hm?” Mildred’s voice caught as Wilhemina’s nail pricked against her pulse point, and when she spoke again it was low, raspy. Dangerous. “See what happens.”

Wilhemina growled, leaning forward and tugging her earlobe between her teeth. She pulled Mildred flush against her, hand splaying out on her stomach. And Mildred gasped as her fingers found Wilhemina’s thigh, nails piercing the fabric. Wilhemina felt her swallow down a moan, tense, stutter. And then there was a long breath and a shaky sigh, and the nails in Wilhemina’s leg retracted as Mildred pulled away.

“I can’t be late for my first day of work, dear.”

She brushed down her dress, straightening out that perfectly pinned crown and putting the finishing touches on her hair.

And then, before Wilhemina could blink, Mildred wrapped her slender fingers around her tie and pulled her forward, dragging her out of the bedroom and through the house to the front door.

A disapproving tap of her cane, a small frown, and then Mildred had her purse and pressed a soft kiss to Wilhemina’s cheek, skirting out the door with a dark, “See you tonight, cinnamon.”

And she almost felt like it was a threat.

~~~

Wilhemina had never known love.

She had told Mildred flat out over dinner one night when traumas and pasts and fears were all laid bare on the table.

Mildred was different. She had known it and lost it. Seen people shattered beyond repair because of it. And she had put up those brick and mortar walls around her heart so that she couldn’t feel that kind of sadness ever again.

Yet somehow, every night that she came home to Wilhemina’s arms and her small smile and her absolute and complete honesty, she felt those walls start to fall. Little by little, brick by brick. And every morning when she awoke in her lover’s arms, after breakfasts shared and dressed zipped and buttoned, she had to rebuild it. Fortify herself for the world that lay just outside their door. The evil of it. The hurt.

It became all-consuming, this uneasy thought of love. It permeated every minute of her waking day, and haunted her dreams like some sort of cruel, intangible thing. But she always woke in Wilhemina’s arms. Safe and protected and entirely too vulnerable.

And one day, one tiny day that should have been absolutely nothing, Mildred was so consumed with the inkling of possibility of falling entirely too hard in love with Wilhemina, and what that meant for her future in this world, that she lost herself. Faltered, for a moment. Had to do up the buttons of her uniform twice before getting them to align. And forgot her lunch as she grabbed her purse and walked out the door.

~~~

It wasn’t unusual for Mildred to leave for work before Wilhemina did. It wasn’t unusual that she left for work before Wilhemina was even awake and out of bed.

At first it had scared Wilhemina, waking up alone and cold in a bed that had been so comforting and warm just hours before. Abandoned. Forgotten.

But Mildred had only been in the kitchen, cracking her eggs with such precision that Wilhemina had almost decided right then and there never to touch another egg again.

It just so happened that Mildred’s mornings got earlier just as Wilhemina’s nights got longer, the flex and pull of their schedules only crossing at certain points. A whirlwind of a double helix in flux.

Those days, Mildred would slip out of bed so quietly that Wilhemina wouldn’t even notice, usually awoken by the inevitable cold of an empty bed, rather than some sound from the bathroom or clattering from the kitchen.

Today had been no different. Today had been routine. Until Wilhemina opened the refrigerator almost three hours after Mildred had gone, only to find her lunch sitting packed and abandoned on the second shelf.

It wasn’t even a thought, the decision to take it to her. Just an action. The institution was on her way to work — well, almost on her way — and Wilhemina was already running early. It was nothing.

Until it wasn’t.

Wilhemina picked through the patients that crowded the common room, pursing her lips against the disgusted expression that was forming against her will. She stepped carefully, cane tapping lightly as she watched where she was going. The facility was impeccable, but this space, so unlike the hall, belonged to the patients. Not the nurses. Blankets were left forgotten on the ground, and shoes had been kicked off. And Wilhemina was just uncomfortable enough to worry about losing her footing.

She made it all the way to the other side of the room, coming up on a window like a sanctuary, before she realized that Mildred wasn’t here.

But just as the thought crossed her mind and she leaned forward to peer outside, Wilhemina heard her.

It was easy enough. The rooms were lavish, but mostly tile, and Mildred’s voice tended to carry, no matter how soft. But right now, it was hard. Harder than Wilhemina had ever heard it.

“I don’t care if he won’t take it, he needs it. If he doesn’t take his medicine, then not only will it put everyone else here at risk, but how soon can we expect them all to start refusing their medication? They need it, Betsy. They don’t know what is good for them. We know what is best.”

Wilhemina turned from the window, Mildred’s lunch clutched between gloved fingers. And Mildred must have noticed the movement, because she looked up. But just as Wilhemina let her guard down and offered a small smile, fingers twitching in a half wave, Mildred’s face melted, something like humiliation flushing through her perfect complexion as she marched straight to Wilhemina.

Shit.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing here?” Mildred whispered, gripping her fingers into Wilhemina’s elbow and pulling her back across the room to the nurse’s station.

“You forgot your lunch,” Wilhemina tried, keeping her voice down. Because somehow this was what wasn’t allowed. This was what was compromising.

A lunch.

Mildred’s humiliation shifted to horror, glancing for maybe the first time down at Wilhemina’s hands.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I don’t understand what the issue is, Nurse Ratched.” Wilhemina made sure to drag out her title. Just a bit too loud. Because she couldn’t seriously be upset with her for trying to be kind. For trying to do the right thing. She couldn’t possibly—

Mildred’s eyes narrowed before she glanced behind her. And when she spoke, it was through gritted teeth.

“Go set that down over there.” She indicated to a desk in the corner of the room. “And then go back to work before you screw something else up.”

A flat laugh fell out of Wilhemina almost before she could help it, fingers tightening on the bagged lunch. And before she knew what she was doing, she had shoved it into Mildred’s hands, leaning in impossibly close as she growled.

“Go set it down yourself.” She tapped her cane, too hard. Too loud. A few of the patients covered their ears. “You can be certain that this is the last time I ever do you any favors. Do you understand?”

Mildred’s nostrils flared, and her fingers twitched over the bag. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

And then Wilhemina straightened, nose twitching as she quirked her brow. “And let’s hope you never need it again.”

And then she was gone, breezing past Mildred before she said something else and the tears sticking in Wilhemina’s throat pushed up and fell.

She heard the bag crunch as she hit her cane on the floor, propelling herself forward, one step after the other, closer and closer to the exit. And she hated the way she hoped for Mildred’s voice to ring out, to call her back.

She almost looked back over her shoulder, a moment of weakness that she couldn’t afford. So she ducked her head instead, plowing ahead and storming down the hallway. Out the doors. All the way down the stairs to the street.

She fumed in the taxi, fumed all the way to her desk. Fumed for the next nine and a half hours that she sat at work, fingers picking at her typewriter as she swiveled back and forth in her chair, digging and twisting her cane into the weak wood floors as she ran over arguments and words to spit at her Mildred. Her Mildred. Nurse Ratched.

They weren’t the same woman. But neither was she. How could she be?

By the time Jefferson came to get her, going over final plans for the next day and collecting her paperwork, she had dug a nice little dent into the floor.

Small, deep. A bullet hole kneaded slowly and steadily. Just like the one Mildred’s words had worn into her heart.

~~~

“You wouldn’t like it if I showed up at your place of work without warning, would you?” Mildred’s voice was steady, arms crossed over her chest.

“Don’t—“

“Would you?”

Wilhemina’s cane hit the ground. “Stop that. Don’t treat me like you treat them. Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Like what? I’m just asking a simple question. The answer is either yes, or no.”

“Mildred, stop shrinking me.”

“You think I’m trying to control you?”

“No,” Wilhemina growled, stalking over to her as the last of her patience wore through. “I know you’re trying to control me. And you know that that’s not how this relationship works.”

She bent over Mildred, practically panting, and Mildred was shocked when a pang of regret shot through her. But then something hardened, because no. Wilhemina didn’t get to win this one. She had come to her office out of the blue. Could have exposed them. Put them both in danger.

Because Mildred had been careless. Forgotten her lunch. All for being so consumed with the idea of—

Mildred tipped her chin up, eyes hard as they met Wilhemina’s fiery ones. She stood her ground.

“Apologize.”

Wilhemina set her jaw. “No.”

She leaned up on her toes, leveling their height. “Apologize.”

Wilhemina shook her head slowly, eyes narrowing as her nose twitched. As her jaw set.

And then there were hands on Mildred’s shoulders and Wilhemina’s mouth was on hers, hard and fast and furious as she pushed her back, back, back, slamming her hard against the wall.

“Fuck,” Mildred hissed, and then Mina broke from her, mouth on her ear as she purred.

“Language.”

She scoffed, shoving at her, needing her off of her so that she could breathe. Think. Because when her hands were on her like this, and she was breathing like this, quick and ragged and right behind her ear, Mildred’s mind only comprehended one thing.

“Mina,” she tried, nails digging in as Wilhemina pulled her off the wall for a split second, only to throw her back against it again. She cried out, something hard knotting over her heart.

So this was how it was going to be? Fine.

Mildred lunged forward, kissing Wilhemina sloppily, desperately. Any way she could hold on to some semblance of control.

And she gasped, just as Mildred knew she would. So she took the opening, gripping hard into her waist and pushing her off, before her nails raked down Wilhemina’s arm and her fingers closed around her wrist.

Mildred pulled, yanking Wilhemina after her, across the living room, around the sofa. Down the short hallway, pulling harder every time Wilhemina tried to plant her feet. Until she threw her into the bedroom, Mina practically spinning around and pinning Mildred against the wall, the door jam digging into her spine.

She cried out, hands flying to Wilhemina’s shoulders. Clawing at her. Grappling for something to hold her down and hold her steady so she could get her advantage back.

“You’re so fucking infuriating,” Wilhemina growled, biting hard on Mildred’s neck. But no. She didn’t get to win.

So she pushed, hard, and sent Mina stumbling back. And Mildred was right there, stalking after her and shoving again, and this time, when Wilhemina stumbled, she landed hard on the bed.

Mildred was over her in seconds, panting as she crushed her mouth back against Wilhemina’s, tongues fighting as their teeth clashed. Her fingers found buttons and she yanked, the rip cutting through the room.

She didn’t even wait for Wilhemina to shrug the shirt off, fingers already dug into the waistband of her skirt and rucking it down, down, down.

She got it down around her ankles, but as she braced herself on Mina’s knees and pulled herself back up, Wilhemina’s hand found her chin, pulling her in for a bruising kiss and holding her firm as her free hand flicked open the buttons on her shirt, one by one, so fast it should have been impossible.

“Get your shirt off,” Mildred panted, hands scrambling to find purchase on Mina as she crawled up on the bed and straddled her.

But Mina pulled back, a smirk like death making her eyes go black.

“Ladies first.”

And that was the last straw. Mildred’s patience had already been tested from the ordeal this morning, amplified by the unexpectedness of Wilhemina showing up at her work. That stupid, thoughtful way she brought her the forgotten lunch. The tiny wave. Like she cared. Like she—

Mildred growled, practically a scream as she grabbed Wilhemina’s shoulders and shoved her down until she was swallowed by the mattress. Splayed a hand out over her chest to keep her pinned. Keep her down.

She could feel Mina’s heart hammering, could feel how fast she was panting. Gasping.

Nails clawed at her arm, dragging down as Mildred cried out. There would be blood soon. She knew that feeling.

But then Wilhemina pulled her hand from her chest, twining their fingers hard and pressing hot, wet, quick kisses down over the already reddening marks. Yanked her fingers back. Licked. Right over her palm.

Mildred moaned, the feeling going straight to her core, and then her hands were in Wilhemina’s hair and she was pulling her neck taunt to get better access. So she could bite and suck and mark her for everyone to see.

She sat up on her knees, gaining leverage. And Mina’s hands were on her ass in an instant, kneading. Hard.

“Logic would imply that I shouldn’t let you touch me until you apologize,” Mildred managed, back to base form as she leaned into Mina’s hands. As she moaned into her neck.

Her teeth dug into a particularly sensitive spot, pinching the already flushed skin. And just as Mina gasped, just as she thought she’d won, Mina’s hands fell to her thighs, the world spun, and she was on her back. And Mina’s hand was wrapped tight around her throat.

“No more talking,” she growled, her free hand scraping roughly down Mildred’s stomach, under the band of her skirt, and straight between her thighs.

“Fuck, Mina,” Mildred gasped, the words melting into a groan as her thumb slid over her underwear.

Wilhemina shoved her further into the bed, fingers tightening. And Mildred’s vision blurred at the edges as she gasped for breath.

Perfect. Delicious. Exactly what she wanted.

No talking. Only feeling. Only Wilhemina.

But then Mina spoke, voice hot by her ear.

“I said no talking. I don’t want another word out of you until you’re ready to apologize.”

She pushed her underwear aside on the last word, slipping two fingers easily inside. Mildred cried out, hands grabbing for the arm braced on her throat and holding on tight as her hips started rocking of their own accord.

“Apologize for what,” she panted, eyes screwing shut as Mina curled her fingers.

A flat laugh. A squeeze to her throat. Heat pooling between her thighs.

“For making an entire scene just because I brought you your lunch. Because I took time out of my day to make sure you were taken care of.”

Mildred was slammed back into the mattress again.

“What does your logic say about that, Nurse Ratched?”

There were tears pricking at Mildred’s eyes now, because she wouldn’t break. She wouldn’t. But Wilhemina’s fingers picked up their pace, and then her mouth was on hers, and Mildred knew exactly what was coming.

Mina bit down on her lip. Hard. Yanked at it, pulling until Mildred whimpered.

“Apologize,” she growled, fingers twisting and curling and nails pricking against Mildred’s throat.

Mildred barely had the competence to shake her head no, but she managed it. Because as loud as her body was screaming with a need for more, for so much more of this woman, her brain wouldn’t let her.

The rational part of Mildred’s brain kept the words stuck down in her throat, pounding that she didn’t need to say them. That this wasn’t her fault. That she had only been protecting herself. But the sentimental part kept pushing them back up again, harder and harder the longer Mildred stared at Wilhemina, eyes dark and predatory and so filled with hurt.

“I’m not letting you come until you apologize,” Wilhemina scolded, nails scratching over Mildred’s throat as her fingers moved faster, harder. Her thumb brushed over her clit.

Mildred sobbed, entire body vibrating with the beg for release.

It almost felt like she was choking, the way she was swallowing the words down, only for them to get stuck again. Suffocate her.

Wilhemina shook her head softly, holding Mildred’s eye contact like a lifeline as the smallest smile graced her lips. An angel above her. Salvation.

And that was it. Mildred broke for the millionth time with this woman, relinquishing control.

Letting go.

Her orgasm hit her without Mina’s permission, shaking through her body and sending lightning down her spine. And the words were pulled from her just before her vision went black, hands twisting on Mina’s arm and toes curling hard in the sheets.

“I lo-ove you.”

She didn’t realize that she hadn’t apologized, the wrong words coming out of her, until she blinked her vision back and saw Wilhemina’s wide eyes, clarity piercing through whatever hurt and determination had been there just moments before.

And then Mildred realized why the words had burned so hot in her throat. It wasn’t an apology. It was the truth. The reason. The explanation of why she had behaved the way she did and why she had lashed out. Why she had felt so scared and vulnerable that she couldn’t emotionally handle seeing Wilhemina somewhere she didn’t expect her.

She wanted to apologize then, wanted to take them back. Because she had let herself slip. Again. And all it seemed to be doing was causing more trouble. She wasn’t tampering anything down, she was spinning the world further and further out of control. Unthreading her reality and watching the picture unravel before her eyes.

“How do you always seem to mess everything up?”

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—“

“Everything you touch turns to dust. How is that even possible? You should win some sort of prize for screwing this many things up. I swear.”

Wilhemina’s hand over hers brought her back, the air deathly still as Mildred’s voice rang off the walls. Over and over and over.

She met Wilhemina’s eyes, heart still hammering in her chest as she fought to regulate her breathing. To calm herself down. It had always been so easy. Why was it so difficult now?

“Does that scare you...?” Mina asked softly, shifting over her as her gaze burned through Mildred.

Before she knew what she was doing, she nodded. Because it did. She did.

And Wilhemina matched her, nodding in time. “It scares me, too.”

At that she did apologize, a soft “I’m sorry” falling from her lips in a last desperate attempt to calm the situation. To salvage the last piece of anything. To pull control back down over herself.

But Wilhemina only shook her head, a softness in her eyes that Mildred had never seen before.

“Don’t apologize.”

And then that heavy silence. So familiar. So comfortable. Give their souls space. Let them figure it out.

The words would come when they were ready.

Wilhemina sniffed, tracing her thumb over Mildred’s cheek. “Do you remember when I told you that I had never known love?”

And Mildred nodded again, finding herself unable to do anything else with the way Mina was staring at her. Eyes glittering. Galaxies.

“I’m not sure that’s true anymore,” she whispered, gaze falling to Mildred’s mouth. Across the ages and spaces and miles between them. It could only have been inches now. “I don’t think it’s been true for a while.”

Mildred let the words swim around her, furnishing her sanctuary here, pressed into a bed underneath Wilhemina. Locked in orbit, pulled in tight and unable to do anything but stare.

She startled as a tear fell onto her cheek, swiping at it quickly as she sniffed. Came back to the present. The room fell back into place.

And then her world, her life, her eternity, her Wilhemina kissed her.

“My beautiful Millie,” she murmured, kissing her until she couldn’t breathe. Until the world swam again, this time for a completely different reason, happiness and joy threading through her and pouring like stardust in her veins.

“Yours.”

~~~

“Shall we?”

Mildred threaded her arm through Wilhemina’s, pushing her hair up and letting her fingers ghost over the rim of her hat.

“I’d love nothing more, Ms. Venable.”

And the way that they walked together, their steps perfectly in time, Wilhemina’s cane tapping as she moved forward steadily, one foot after the other, matched with Mildred’s calculated walk, the way her feet barely crossed and she was almost pigeon-toed, like she was strutting down a runway.

It should have been illegal, just after the war. It should have been frowned upon. But the power that flowed off of them when they were arm in arm like this, the way Mildred’s heart swelled and her chin tipped up and she managed to physically look down on everyone in her path, had people scattering like rats as their heels clicked along the tile.

And the entire night, everyone at Wilhemina’s office party steered more than clear of them. Hushed whispers behind their backs had Wilhemina’s hands skirting just a bit too far down Mildred’s hips as she took small sips of her champagne, setting her gloved fingers itching and her thighs pressing together under her perfectly asymmetrical skirt.

And Mildred made it a point to turn her head, just so, and whisper in Wilhemina’s ear whenever she was mid-conversation with her coworkers. Sometimes it was nothing. Sometimes it was filthy.

But either way, she knew just the breath on Wilhemina’s ear was enough to make her pulse run a bit quicker.

And sure enough, before dinner was even served, Wilhemina had made some sort of excuse and the two of them were running from the taxi, through the rain, and huddling together on the porch as Mina dug for her key.

That night was her favorite night.

Both of them soaked to the bone, sharing over-poured glasses of wine, half-dressed and drying out in front of the fireplace.

And when Wilhemina gave her that smile, that particularly fond smile where her cheeks pushed up and her eyes softened, Mildred pushed her tongue into her cheek, fighting her own grin.

They kissed until the fire burnt out, embers barely flickering in the black room. And just as the last of the light died, Mildred and Wilhemina sticky and naked and curled together on the floor, Wilhemina made to get up.

Mildred’s hand on her arm stopped her, and she snuggled further against her to keep her still.

“No light tonight,” she said softly. And she meant it.

She wasn’t frightened. Not now. Not anymore.

“Millie?”

And Mildred let herself smile as she nodded. Because she had never been more certain of anything than she was of loving Wilhemina in this moment, and of letting herself be loved in return. Letting herself go.

The world wasn’t logical. The world wasn’t ordered. Not when it came to her. Wilhemina had come in and spun her right out of control. And she kept doing it. Over and over again. Like it was a game.

Maybe it was.

And as Mildred leaned forward, capturing Mina’s lips in a languid kiss and humming contentedly, she realized that she was absolutely fine losing, if it meant that she got to have this.

Tag List: @shineestark @duchessfics @darling-dontforgetme @midnight-lestrange @nerdaroo @thatgirlintheleatherjacket

215 notes · View notes

theforbiddenpriestess · 4 years ago

Text

His Lotus Flower 𑁍

Summary:

An archeologist accidentally awakens the mummy of Egypt's famous unnamed Pharaoh. Soon she finds the reason why.

Chapter 1

The sound of your voice is sweet Full like the taste of date wine And I, drunken girl in a tangle of flowers Live only as a captive to hear it. -AN EGYPTIAN LOVE POEM, C.1300 B.C.

𑁍𑁍𑁍𑁍𑁍𑁍𑁍𑁍𑁍𑁍𑁍𑁍𑁍𑁍𑁍𑁍𑁍

“Hello?” the young woman yawns as she stretches herself out of bed.

“Mana! Where are you? For crying out loud! Your flight leaves in an hour!” her boss demands from the other side of the line.

Practically leaping towards the bathroom, the young woman shrieks, “Oh no!”

Hanging up and swearing at her alarm clock, the young woman manages to get ready in under five minutes and scrambles towards the airport, her luggage rolling behind her.

As she tells the cab that she’s heading to the airport, she cannot help but chuckle to herself on why she was running late. She did not want to wake up as she was once again dreaming of the beautiful place, filled with soft sand, a long and big gorgeous turquoise pastel river, and sweet flower scents from the garden. Then she felt the arms of someone hugging her, making her feel valued, loved, and… safe.

No matter how many times she tried, she could never see his face. This man, who held her with such grace and love, presented a dark shadow face.

Never allowing her to see who she dreamt about.

However, he wasn’t the only one. There were more people she dreamt of that she never got the chance to see their faces. It was as if the only people she ever dreams of only had silhouette faces.

The woman smiled as she leaned her head on the cab’s window and looked at the passing buildings. Ever since she was young she dreamt of sandy lands, hiding inside of a giant vase, and being held so high before being placed on the shoulders of someone who her heart knew she felt an immense amount of love towards.

Before she could continue to daydream more the driver announced that they had arrived. Thanking the driver after a nice tip, Mana turned around and glanced at Domino city one last time before stepping into the airport.

Something in her heart practically screamed at her that things were about to change, but as always, she continued forward bravely.

𓀨𓀨𓀨𓀨𓀨𓀨𓀨𓀨𓀨𓀨𓀨𓀨𓀨𓀨𓀨𓀨𓀨

Mana whined as she stretched her arms and legs like a cat awakened from a long slumber. However, she wasn’t in slumber. She had been brushing all day the pyramid’s floor tiles. She slowly turned her head towards the legendary royal garden, which is just a few strides away. Though the garden was nothing but sand and rocks now, even under the red sun of late July Mana admires what's left of the garden.

Mana’s gaze slowly moves towards the desk and her lips form into a soft grin. There, sitting so proudly on the wooden desk are the newly discovered relief pieces of artwork of the nameless Pharaoh and Dark Magician Girl. Mana smiles at the process she has done since the morning.

After arriving in Egypt for her summer project to investigate the newly found palace, Mana was taken towards the Egyptian Museum in Tahrir, where she was escorted to their mummy preserves. There, she was permitted to see the famous nameless Pharaoh’s tomb. She recalled almost crying at such sight as if she was destined to always meet it. With the archaeologists and scientists at her side, she was allowed to touch it gently and she recalled feeling an aurora surrounding her at the moment. A spark, a ignite of fire, a beautiful deja vu. It’s as if she- she was meant to do that. Only she was meant to touch this Pharaoh’s tomb.

Soon after that, she was taken to the newly discovered lost palace of the nameless Pharaoh. It had taken nine years to uncover the palace but it was a groundbreaking discovery. A palace everyone had given up as lost forever within the sand’s time.

She remembered gasping when she stepped within the palace’s crumbling walls. It was breathtaking for her. The long hallways filled with endless secret paintings and hieroglyphics. Countless broken vases made her heart swell in pain and the shattered pillars almost made her cry. It was such a beautiful palace and from what Mana could tell, the people who lived within these walls were happy.

It brought her joy knowing that long long ago, not only was this a palace, but also a sanctuary filled with beauty, honor, and peace. They must've been so happy here, Mana muses, thinking absently of the Pharaoh and his servants. Though she wishes he lived a long happy life, she knows, after years of research, that the Pharaoh sadly departed too soon from this world.

“Need help, Mana?”

Mana stands up from the floor and smiles.

“It’s alright Mr. Muto. Thank you though!”

Archaeologist Solomon Muto chuckles at Mana’s bright personality. “As much as I love your enthusiasm Mana, don’t you need to head back to your hotel? We’re the only ones left in this palace.”

“Thank you for your concern, Mr. Muto,” Mana begins. “But I want to finish something so if it’s no bother, I’ll stay for a bit more.” Mr. Muto shoots her a worried look which makes her smile widely. “Nothing to worry about Mr. Muto, I’ll be okay. The sun is still up, is it not?”

Solomon thinks for a moment before nodding slowly. “Alright, then Mana. Please be careful and just know that security is a walkie-talkie away or outside these palace walls.” Mana nods.

Solomon bids her farewell but before he can completely disappear from her sight he turns around. “Oh, Mana!” Mana immediately jogs towards him. “Yes?”

Solomon snaps his fingers as if he just recalled something. “I almost forgot. The CEO, who is also our sponsor, is coming over in a while to see the progress our team has been doing. He’ll be picking up some documents on the table stand over there. If you want I can stay and-”

Mana shook her head. “No, Mr. Muto. You need to rest. Besides, isn’t your grandson expecting a call from you soon?” Solomon gives her a look to which Mana grins at.

“Fine then. Take care, Mana.” Solomon laughs softly before he waves at her and leaves. Mana smiles in triumph as she watches the old man go. He needed the rest, Mana thought as she turned back to her work.

Half an hour passes and as she hums expecting some scrolls she tilts her head and groans at the dull pain in her neck. She lifts her head and she catches a glimpse of a shadow in the distance, within the crumbled walls of the palace’s hallway.

Mana pauses and hesitates. Though she wishes for this person to scram off and to not be stepping all over her team’s survey marks she remembers what Mr. Muto told her. Realizing the CEO had arrived, Mana takes her eyes off the scroll and takes off her gloves before heading over to the figure.

Mana skips cheerfully towards him, excited to know who her team expedition sponsor is. Getting closer to him the man turns gently towards her. A soft gasp escapes from her lips as she stops.

It was a young man, who looked around her age or a little older than she was. His skin was quite pale as if he had been hidden away from the sun for too long.

He was wearing black pants, a dark midnight blue vest, a leather choker with metal pieces, golden armbands around his muscular arms, and black leather shoes.

His hair was the most peculiar type of hair Mana had ever seen. It took every strength of her own to not touch it. It consisted of three different colors, with most of his hair spiked up. Most of it was black, except the edges, which were tainted with magenta. Though some of his golden locks spiked up with the rest of his hair, golden locks fell to each side of his face, like lighting bolts

However, the reason why Mana gasped was because of his eyes. Beautiful, crimson eyes that shined like red rubies. Oh, how she just wanted to stare at them forever. Though he had an intimidating gaze, he was also so handsome. His stance which showed his full of confidence only enhanced that idea.

He was utterly divine.

“Oh, you must be the CEO!” Mana cheerfully says clearing her throat as she breaks away from her train of thoughts.

The stranger stares back at her, unabashed.

“This palace… based on the limestones, was from 3000 B.C, no?”

“Yeah!” Mana tries to recover her foolish staring at him. She wipes the beads of sweat off her forehead and replies, “You’re the first who guesses correctly. We've had many people answer incorrectly as they get lost at calculating how old the palace is.”

He smiles softly. Mana’s heart swells up.

“You work here I assume?”

A sheepish smile paints Mana’s face, “Yup, if my clothes don’t give it away. Hehe.” Mana gestures at the sweat-soaked tee and loose blue jeans covered in dust and mud.

The stranger doesn't respond but Mana sees in his eyes a spark of joy and fondness. He gestures around them, “Is researching ancient Egypt a passion of yours? Or is it some kind of dull research project?”

Mana’s eyes lit up as she replied, “Oh yes! Researching ancient Egypt is my passion ever since I can recall.” She paces around and eyes the structures with fondness, “My orphanage took me and the kids to some local museum, and that month the museum was displaying ancient Egyptian finds. Imagine the horror adults felt when four-year-old me could understand the hieroglyphics on the displays.”

The stranger looks at Mana carefully. His eyes filled with amusement.

Mana’s eyes widen as she does a double-take and bows, “Oh I am super sorry! So sorry, my name is Mana.”

She stands straight again and extends out her hand, “What’s your name?”

The stranger takes her hand and looks deep into her eyes, making her freak out internally.

“Yami, Yami Yugi.”

“Yami. Yami.” Mana pronounces his name, liking how it sounded.

Note(s):

You can continue reading this story on either my Fanfiction.net account or Wattpad account.

My FF.Net is forbidden-priestess

My Wattpad is @Forbidden_Priestess

#vaseshipping #pharaoh atem #mana #atemxmana #yami yugi #Ancient Egypt #romance #manaxatem #atem #Yu-Gi-Oh!

9 notes · View notes

notapaladin · 4 years ago

Text

oh you take all of the pain away

Acatl has nightmares. Teomitl helps. That’s it.

Also on AO3

The shadows on the wall were taunting him. Acatl closed his eyes again, but it didn’t help.

This is ridiculous.

“Mmm,” Teomitl murmured into his ear. “I can hear you thinking.”

That was also ridiculous, but oddly endearing. He huffed out a breath and shifted back to curl more fully against Teomitl’s lean, well-muscled chest, enjoying the warmth of his skin for a moment before it occurred to him that if he could still feel said warmth, something was definitely wrong. Namely, that he was still awake, and it was far past sundown. “Mrrrgghhh...”

Teomitl’s arms tightened around him, and a soft nose pressed into the curve of his shoulder. He was being cuddled like a child’s favorite toy, and if he hadn’t been so irked by his continued state of wakefulness he would have smiled. His lover could really be terribly sweet sometimes, even when his speaking breath tickled. “Go t’ sleep.”

He unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth to grumble, “I am trying.” There wasn’t any heat in it. He was far, far too tired for that. After the night they’d had, where Teomitl had slipped into his courtyard at sunset and proceeded to very thoroughly make up for the time they’d spent apart in pursuit of the loose threads to a particularly nasty haunting case, every muscle in his body felt like half-melted rubber. He ought to be sleeping like a corpse. He was almost too tired to think.

And his body refused to quiet down. He rolled onto his stomach, burying his face into his arms with a grunt; it was an action that took him out of Teomitl’s arms, generally something he regretted, but cutting out distractions—and Teomitl was certainly a distraction, half-asleep and so wonderfully warm—sometimes helped him sleep. Not always, but sometimes.

Besides, it wasn’t like his lover was going anywhere. A hand smoothed down his spine, gently shifting his hair off his back, and he let out a long sigh. Maybe if he just lay here, he could become one with the mat.

There was another soft mumble behind him. “Night.”

He hummed in acknowledgment. Good night, love.

In the cool, still darkness, Teomitl’s presence a bulwark at his back, with no sound save for their steady breathing, he slowly felt himself fall.

And fall.

Down and down and down...

Only to land on his knees with a shock like a distant blow. The ground was cold and hard under him, and strangely lumpy; as he got to his feet, he saw why.

It was not dirt, nor carved tiles, but hard-packed bones made of gold and jade. He touched a fallen clavicle. It was slippery. Feeling disconnected from his own skin, he picked it up and turned it over in his fingers as he walked. Teomitl fidgeted with things like that, too—not bones, but rocks and sticks and whatever he happened to be holding. He said it helped him focus.

It didn’t help Acatl focus. He walked through the Sacred Precinct, but it was a Sacred Precinct unlike any he had ever seen before. Beautiful, shining, with gold plating every temple wall and turquoise set into the very steps of the pyramids—but empty. There was no sound, not even his own footsteps. A river of blood flowed down the steps of the Great Temple to collect in a pool at its base, but even that made no sound. There were no priests chanting hymns, no commoners offering penance. He was alone.

Alone...

No. Not alone. Teomitl was here somewhere, he knew it. He couldn’t hear that familiar, impatient tread, but he knew it was just ahead of him, that if he ran faster or called out his lover’s name he would be there and—

And—

He opened his mouth. He closed his mouth. What good would calling out do?

He turned the corner and entered the palace gates, and the first sounds he heard fell like hammers on his ears, for all that they were the thin, chattering-infant voices of ahuitzotls.

“All hail...”

“...our great Revered Speaker...”

“Drowning, drowned, all are drowned...”

The courtyards were not empty. He thought he would have preferred it if they were. No, they were filled with ahuitzotls on their hind legs, dressed in the feathers and gems of nobility, and all chattering amongst themselves. As he walked past them, they stopped to watch him go. His skin crawled. He knew better than to run.

“...They cast the reeds...”

He kept walking, and the palace changed around him. Now the frescoes were set with gems, now hammered gold had been set into them to accentuate the eyes of the gods that were, he felt, definitely not watching. Under his bare feet—when had he removed his sandals?—the floor grew warm and slick in a way he recognized far too well. Fresh blood. Another river. No. Another lake, mirroring the one on which Tenochtitlan lay.

The doorway in front of him stood wide, and he knew what he would see when he walked in. He didn’t want to. Duality preserve him, the last thing he wanted was to walk through that door.

His legs carried him forward anyway, and when his gaze adjusted to the brightness he choked back a noise that wanted to be a sob.

Teomitl had gotten there ahead of him, and was sprawled negligently on the throne with a bloody macuahuitl in his hand. The blood was deeper here, lapping at his calves and Teomitl’s sandaled feet, and his lover looked...bored. No, not bored. Vacant. There was gold on his arms and fingers, turquoise at his lip and ankles, and his face was as expressionless as a doll’s. Fear stopped Acatl’s throat.

Before he knew it, he was wading towards him. The blood parted like humid air. “Teomitl!”

Teomitl lifted his eyes. There was no hint of recognition in them. “We do not give you leave to call Us by that name, priest.”

“Teomitl—it’s me—”

His next step went through nothing at all, and the world was filled with blood-tinged saltwater. Teomitl’s throne cracked and broke apart as he watched, sending him tumbling through the depths an arms’ length away. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t move.

Terrified, he opened his mouth to call Teomitl’s name again, but water rushed in to fill his lungs instead of air, and he thrashed desperately.

Now, for the first time, Teomitl was looking at him as though he knew him, and his eyes were wide with panic. A flailing hand reached for him—their fingers were close enough to touch—but when it encountered his skin, it slipped through as though he was already a ghost. “Acatl!”

He couldn’t respond. Blood and water filled his mouth. I’m sorry. I love you.

Eyes wide open, he watched Teomitl sink into the darkness.

“Acatl-tzin!?”

Everything was dark. His limbs refused to obey him.

Something shook him, hard. A voice he knew as well as his own snapped in a note of panic, “Wake up!”

All at once, it was like a spell had been broken. His eyes shot open, and the tension coiling through his paralyzed limbs finally resolved itself in a jolt that had him sitting up and staring into space. His heart was hammering fit to escape his ribcage, and each breath burned. When he felt wetness on his face, he realized he’d been crying. “Hah,” he managed, aware now that Teomitl was staring at him. He couldn’t turn to face him. He couldn’t bear to.

Teomitl’s hand hovered in midair, as though he was afraid to touch him. “...Love...”

“Just a dream.” He sucked in a breath. His chest still hurt, and it was hard to breathe through the horrible congested feeling of too many tears. That’s right. It was just a dream. It wasn’t real. Wherever my soul wandered in my sleep, I’m here now. This...this mat under me, these four walls around me, this is real. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“I was awake. Ish.” Teomitl made a quiet grumbling noise, and Acatl immediately felt much worse. Of course Teomitl had been easy to rouse; as swiftly as he dropped off to sleep, he’d always struggled to stay that way, and what sleep he did get was all too frequently disturbed by nightmares. He’d sworn that Acatl’s presence helped, but...well. It clearly hadn’t tonight. “How do you feel?”

Acatl grimaced, staring down at his hands. If he balled them into fists, they didn’t tremble so badly. “I’m fine,” he lied. It would be true eventually.

Teomitl saw through him in an instant, as always. And, as always, he had no patience for it. Gaze focusing into a sharp glare, he snapped, “You are not, you’re shaking. I’ve never seen you have a nightmare like that before.”

He focused on his breathing. In. Out. In again. Slowly, his heart started to calm, and the residue of that sick terror started to drain out. “...I’m...” But he couldn’t finish the lie.

Seeming to come to a decision, Teomitl moved to cover Acatl’s hand with his own. The touch was a shock for a moment—that was right, he had a body other people could interact with—but then it sank in. The warmth of his lover’s skin, the smooth callouses from his swordwork, the faint raised scar across his palm. “No. I heard you weeping for me.”

He closed his eyes briefly. No, that wasn’t a good idea. He could still see the ahuitzotls when he blinked. He opened his eyes again, and this time he looked at Teomitl. His beloved looked drowsy, moonlight shrouding his features, but he could make out a hard, stubborn set to his mouth that he knew very well; it said that Teomitl knew what Acatl was doing, and he didn’t appreciate it. And Acatl had promised him honesty. Reluctantly, he nodded. “Mm.”

Teomitl gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “...Want to talk about it?”

Despite himself, a smile tugged at his lips. As carefully as the question was phrased, it was obvious what Teomitl wanted to hear, and he wouldn’t stop until he heard it. No matter how much he’d grown, he’d always be the man that had upended Acatl’s lonely life and built a space for himself in it with nothing but dogged persistence and a radiant smile. “...You won’t take no for an answer, will you?”

Ah. Perhaps he’d been a bit curt, because Teomitl looked stung. “I would. You know that. But if it disturbs your sleep—if wherever your soul has wandered has hurt you—then I want to know about it.”

“So you can kill it?” Acatl quipped, half-serious. Granted, he wouldn’t put it past him...but still.

“Hrmph,” Teomitl muttered. “If I can, yes.”

Oh, my love. He exhaled. “...Alright, then.”

But saying he’d tell his lover about it and actually making his mouth form the words were two different things, and for a long moment he couldn’t figure out where to begin. Finally, with Teomitl’s thumb making little circles over his knuckles, he started to speak. “I was in the Sacred Precinct, and everything was made of gold, but I was alone. I knew you were there somewhere, just ahead of me, but I couldn’t see you. So I went into the palace...and it was full of ahuitzotls dressed as noblemen and warriors, all praising you. All calling you their savior.” Teomitl’s muttered, “ew” bolstered him somewhat, giving him the strength to continue. “Then I found you, and...”

He trailed off. He couldn’t continue. Teomitl’s fingers tightened on his. “And?”

“You didn’t know me.” His voice shook. “You were on the throne, dressed as an emperor, with blood up to your ankles, and you looked at me like a stranger.”

Teomitl sucked in a breath. “I could never.”

“I know. But you know how things are in dreams.” He was starting to suspect what had brought it on, too; the army was preparing to put down another rebellion, one that would take his lover away from him for weeks, and there was always the effects of Tizoc’s presence to worry about. He’d thought he’d gotten over his concerns. I trust him. We trust each other. But...I suppose my sleeping mind doesn’t agree.

“...I do.” Teomitl grimaced. “But that doesn’t sound like the worst of it.”

Acatl shook his head. “It wasn’t.”

“You don’t have to—”

“No, you were right. Talking...it does help.” It reminds me that it wasn’t real. It hasn’t happened, and Duality willing it will not.

Teomitl laced their fingers together, biting his lip. “Alright.”

He’d lost his momentum, and it took a while for him to regain it. “Anyway. Then...then...” He took a breath. “We were drowning in blood, and I saw recognition in your eyes again as you died in front of me. You—and I was right there!” He shuddered at the memory, feeling cold despair grip his innards again. I was right there. I watched you die. I watched you drown, still trying to call my name—calling for me to save you, and I couldn’t. “I couldn’t touch you—it was like you were already a ghost...”

“Acatl,” Teomitl breathed.

He swallowed, shaking his head. Enough of that. Teomitl’s right here, holding my hand. I shouldn’t be this affected. “I’m sorry, I’m overwrought—”

Teomitl kissed him. It was quick and sudden and hard, licking into his half-open mouth and leaving him reeling from the sensation of a hot mouth and a clever tongue and the faint sting of teeth. He was kissing back before he knew it, grabbing for his lover’s shoulder just to keep himself upright; when a hand found his waist and gripped hard in response, fingers digging in to the meat of his side, he let out a breathy whine that wasn’t even remotely one of pain.

Then Teomitl broke the kiss, gazing steadily into his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered. “You’re mine, aren’t you? I won’t leave you behind.”

“You can’t—” Promise that, he was going to say, but then Teomitl’s mouth was on his again, stealing the words. This kiss was slower, more tender, but no less devastating for that. When that tongue slid into his mouth again and the hand at his waist slid up his ribs, he arched his back with a moan. He might still leave me, came the treacherous thought. He is a warrior, and once he is crowned he’ll have no shortage of enemies. But that’s not tonight, is it?

Teomitl shifted attention to his throat, lips moving against the sensitive skin. “I can, and I will. Let me prove it to you.”

Then he was uncurling himself, sliding a thigh between Acatl’s legs as he pressed him down to the mat, and Acatl let himself be molded. Yes, this was what he wanted—Teomitl on top of him, all solid muscle and strong, gentle hands, a mouth pressing kisses to his collarbone and a hand lightly tugging at his hair to keep him in place. His hands just seemed to fit at Teomitl’s back, mapping out muscles with his palms and making his lover shiver appreciatively; he had a moment to feel smug, but then teeth nibbled at his throat and he shuddered all over, feeling the tension in his own spine drain away. “Mmm...”

“That’s good,” Teomitl breathed. “Lay back, love. Let me take care of you.”

A hand skimmed down his stomach; as tired as he still was, his body twitched to life. Falling in love with Teomitl had done wonders for his stamina. The thigh between his legs rubbed against his rapidly stiffening cock, and he exhaled sharply. “Oh.”

“See?” Teomitl’s voice was soft. “We’re both here and alive. Together.” He wrapped a hand around Acatl’s cock, thumbing the sensitive spot below the head as he started to work him to full hardness. It didn’t take long, not with the friction of that perfectly placed thigh, and when he squeezed a little harder Acatl gasped.

“Ah...!” It trailed off into a sharp cry, because Teomitl knew just how to touch him. The twist of a wrist at just the right angle made him shudder anew, rolling his hips into that wonderful hand. He was full of sensation, had to do something with it; needing more, he slid a hand up into Teomitl’s hair and drew him up to for another long, hungry kiss. Yes. Yes. Every beat of his heart said it—that they were here, that they were alive, that nothing would part them if Teomitl could stop it.

Teomitl returned the kiss eagerly before drawing away with a wicked smile. “Oh, I wish I could see you now.” He punctuated his words with a slow upwards stroke, and when Acatl sighed in pleasure he chuckled quietly. “You sound as good as you feel.”

That was accompanied by another rippling squeeze, and for a moment Acatl couldn’t even think. Heat rose slowly through his veins, coiling in the pit of his stomach, and he rocked steadily into it. There was Teomitl’s sure, strong hand and the steady pressure of his thigh rubbing against his balls; he ground against it breathlessly before finding words again. He knew he was blushing. “Nnh...voyeur...”

Teomitl smirked, unrepentant, and pressed up with his thigh, pulling a ragged groan out of him. “You deserve to be looked at.”

He huffed out a breath, turning his face away. You always say that. That I’m beautiful, that I’m desirable—I don’t know where you get that from. You’re the beautiful one. And the one that deserved attention too; when he shifted, grinding against him, he could feel Teomitl’s hard cock grazing his own. Loose-limbed with his own desire, he managed somehow to get a hand between them and reach for it; it all but twitched against his fingers, and he gasped a little at how eager his lover was. “Nnh...wait, wait, let me...”

But Teomitl was shaking his head and drawing back, robbing him of his prize. “No.” His grin flashed white teeth in the darkness. “This is for you. You can make it up to me in the morning.”

And there would be quite a lot to make up; Teomitl was still keeping that slow, steady pace, but it was relentless. The building pressure at the base of his spine was enough to make Acatl groan and arch, letting his head fall back. That exposed his throat, and when Teomitl’s mouth found it again he let out a ragged moan at the faint scrape of teeth at his pulse. The way he was going, there would certainly be makes the next morning. He thought he should probably care about that, but at the moment it didn’t seem to matter. No, this slick rolling pleasure was far more important.

“Mmm...” More, he wanted to say. More of this. He couldn’t find the words, but that didn’t matter either; Teomitl knew what he wanted. He only had to let him give it to him. So he bucked into that clever hand, grinding against on his thigh on the way down, and let the sparks coalesce into a blaze.

“That’s it, c’mon...nnnh...” Acatl had slid against Teomitl’s cock again, and this time his lover wasn’t able to ignore it; he gave a rough, wonderful little growl and wriggled against it, seeking more stimulation. When Acatl reached for him again, he didn’t pull away.

Oh, and Teomitl was so responsive. He had to have been hard since nearly the moment they’d started touching; when Acatl squeezed, circling the head of his cock, his groan was loud and sweet to Acatl’s ears. Emboldened, he did it again, establishing a steady rhythm. “What was that,” he breathed with a hot grin, “about me making it up to you in the morning?”

“Acatl-tzin.” It came out in a near-whine, one that went straight to his cock; he shuddered, fucking into Teomitl’s grip, and redoubled his efforts. Teomitl kissed him roughly, all teeth and tongue and a deliciously reverberating moan, and as the hand on his cock sped up he knew he was close. It would be easy to lay back and enjoy it, but he wanted to please his lover as well.

I love you, he thought, and when he got his mouth back—Teomitl had moved to his throat, muffled gasps and soft cries setting his blood to simmering with desire—he gasped out, “Need to touch you—oh.” He hadn’t thought Teomitl was holding back on him, but evidently he had been; he shifted to press their cocks together, grinding hard against him, and it turned the world behind Acatl’s eyes to white sparks. Words failed him. He was so close—gods, so close—

His orgasm rolled through him like the tide, and all he could do was groan as the inexorable tremors rippled through him. Teomitl’s followed a moment after, hitched breaths ending in almost a sob as he spilled himself over Acatl’s skin.

Even when they both came down from that high, they didn’t move. He knew he should clean up, but he was utterly content to lay on his back like a lizard and bask in pleasantly languorous postcoital bliss. His nightmares had never felt further away, nor had he ever been so wonderfully aware of the body he inhabited. Teomitl was the one to wipe their combined spend off their stomachs with the nearest piece of fabric and immediately flop onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow and gazing at Acatl so tenderly that it made his heart melt. Acatl had to touch him again, settling a hand on the curve of his waist and letting his lips curve in a soft smile. My beloved. You’ll always keep me safe, won’t you?

Even in the darkness, Teomitl’s smile was like a sun rising. “...Think you’ll sleep better now?”

“Mm...” He considered it. He was tired, both in body and mind, and his release had certainly relaxed him. But there was sweat drying on his skin, and the temperature had dropped quite a bit. “It’s a little cold.”

Then he squeaked, because Teomitl was scooping up one of their discarded cloaks and wrapping it and his arms around him like a giant tamale. He found himself with his face buried in Teomitl’s chest, soft cotton cocooning him gently, and he drew in a long breath that was full of the scent of his lover’s skin. He was safe. Teomitl would protect him. “Mmm...”It was a little difficult for him to get his arms free of the fabric, but he persevered until he could slide them around Teomitl’s waist, holding him close. There, that was better.

“Warmer now?” Teomitl nuzzled into his hair, sounding gently amused.

He yawned, working his jaw in an approximation of a word. “Mm-hmm.”

“Good.” Teomitl stroked his hair, and his eyes fluttered shut on a long exhale. His lover’s voice lowered. “Let’s go back to sleep. I’ll be here in the morning, Acatl.”

He smiled. “I know you will.”

#obsidian and blood #acatl #teomitl #teocatl #not work safe #paladin writes stuff

4 notes · View notes

antiquitiesandlabyrinths · 4 years ago

Text

Pyramids

We all know what pyramids are. Tombs in which the Pharaohs were buried, but there were a wide variety of them, each of them housing no more than one Pharaoh.

First you have to understand the mythology surrounding burial ceremonies in order to understand the use of the pyramids. Starting with the basics, we know that bodies were mummified in an effort to ‘preserve’ the body on the journey to the field of reeds, a place a bit like ‘Egyptian Heaven,’ though it’s mostly an imaginative display of what Egypt would be like if it were 10x better. With the belief that the ba, or the soul, would continue into the afterlife with everything it was buried with, there were a number of things put in the pyramids to secure the Pharaoh’s safety on the journey.

The journey through Duat, otherwise known as the Egyptian underworld, was a perilous one. It was imagined to have had 12 caverns, each with gods and beasts the deceased would need to tame in order to reach Osiris. Once Osiris was reached, the heart of the deceased could be judged, and both the Gods and the deceased would find out if they could pass into the field of reeds. People were scared of this journey – of course they were, and like most other cultures, they compiled solutions to their fears. Maps of the different tunnels. A script of negative confessions, descriptions of the land, secrets of demigods, all compiling into something called the Coffin Texts.

There is no known ‘official’ copy of the Coffin Texts, but they’re in almost every single tomb. Even in those not in royalty, those in the high, middle, and lower class had some form of the Coffin Texts in their tombs. The richer could afford custom instructions – specific spells they thought they would need, information they thought important, while those of less wealth purchased premade.

Oftentimes the interior chambers of the pyramids were stocked with items – beds and vases, great works of art and wealth the Pharaoh believed important to carry into the next life. Unfortunately, over time more and more pyramids got ransacked, leaving modern historians with vast, empty graves barren of even the Pharaoh’s body. It’s one of the reasons Tutankhamun was so famous – his was the one of the only royal graves found practically untouched.

One thing grave robbers couldn’t take – or at least couldn’t easily take – were the paintings on the walls. These weren’t present in just the pyramids, but in many graves, though most grand of course the Pharaohs. Pictures of these hieroglyphs melding so well with their art delight me; it’s one of my favorite aspects of the culture, and a wonderfully preserved tomb to look at is this one.

The well-known tomb of Ramesses VI. A beautiful sight to be sure, but the deeper into the build you go, the clearer the paintings.

Beautiful, isn’t it?

Another beautiful aspect of the pyramids is the way they looked when they first were built. They didn’t always look beaten down, and originally they weren’t even colored that familiar yellow we now recognize them as.

Now ancient Egypt was Ancient. To Rome, ancient Rome thought Egypt to be ancient. That’s how old they were, and by the time Rome was galavanting around Egypt, the pyramids of Giza were already deteriorating. But there are recreations of what they would’ve looked like in their prime, and it’s rather beautiful.

Now here’s a recreated image of what the cities back then looked like.

Gorgeous. This is one of my favorite paintings made by an artist who has several other recreations of Egypt, a man I believe is named Mohamed Aboul Fotouh, and his page can be found here. You can truly imagine the metropolis Egypt was.

The pyramids were also a gateway between our world and the underworld, and while this is obvious, Egyptians took the belief a little more seriously. They genuinely thought that in the depths of graves, you could find a weak point in the veil and enter the Duat.

Oh, and by the way – for those who like gold, the treasures of the pyramids can be a real treat to look at.

Here’s another interesting fact about the pyramids: they were precise. Like, beyond their time precise.

This close attention to detail has led many theorists to believe aliens had to be involved in both the hauling of the massive bricks and the pyramid’s alignment with the north pole. Though not yet widely realized, the travel route actually has been discovered. They hauled the bricks onto boats, allowing them to be able to transport the massive hocks of stone easily across the land. As previously mentioned, slaves didn’t build the pyramids – just hard workers, who had a union and could demand better workers right, and at times actually did.

As for the alignment of the stars, I’m afraid I don’t do so well with math, but if it’s a subject you’re interested in learning more about, an excellent place to do so is at Building the Great Pyramid, which goes into detail about the various outcomes and calculations of the architects.

#ancient egypt #pyramids #egyptian archaeology #pyramid of giza #history #ancient history

31 notes · View notes

nancybryans · 3 years ago

Text

No, sir; it is to fall upon the less wealthy class of our citizens, chiefly upon the non-slaveholder.

No, sir; it is to fall upon the less wealthy class of our citizens, chiefly upon the non-slaveholder. “After the big battle where the King-Beyond-the-Wall was killed, the wildlings ran away, and this woods witch said that if they went to Hardhome, ships would come and carry them away to someplace warm. All this deeply wounded the good-hearted Nikolay Sergeyitch; for a long time he refused to believe his senses. Sam yowled, the bird flapped off, corn scattered. Further along an illuminating set of rooms explain the head scratching behind band's more notorious stage designs, including the giant inflatable Honky Tonk Woman and the Lotus design used in Madison Square Garden, and of course the development of that famous logo. "We believe it is more important than ever to be a platform for women's voices and to offer inspiration whenever possible we do this continually through our work at the Women's Freedom Center and once a year at the Women's Film Festival.". Pain crackled up her leg like lightning, and far away she heard her northman say, “You bloody cunt,” as he lifted up his axe for the blow that would finish her.. “A dog haibike e mtb 2020 takes after its master,” declared Mace Tyrell. In its 2012 annual report, Air Canada estimated that a $0.01 change in the value of the Canadian dollar would have a $33 million impact on its yearly operating income. Over 85 percent of the city's Housing and Preservation Department's operating budget comes from federal funds. His guests were in danger. O, ma’am, mine’s been a long sorrow, a long sorrow! I’ve borne this heavy cross a great many pendientes bulgari precio years.”. Bridal Village has been left high and dry and unable to confirm if any of their orders will still go through.At the peak of wedding season, one of our country's busiest wedding dress retailers has filed for bankruptcy and closed its doors. All it takes is one to bring us all to ruin. The higher ranking cadets generally pull in higher bids, with a bid of $210 for the regimental commander, cadet Andrew George. McShay said Cook can "put himself in better position" next year.. I think that’s been described somewhere by Tolstoy: two people promise to call each other by their pet names, but they can’t do it and keep avoiding using any name at all. (You get a good workout, too.) The salt acts like little nonabrasive sanding blocks. donna di porto pim una storia riassunto How could I have been so blind for so long? The Crone came to me with her lamp raised high, and by its holy light I saw the road that I must walk. Low hanging lamps and creeping vines offer just enough ambience for first dates, but the mood is casual. You can ask Ivan Petrovitch, he’s here now and he will confirm what I say, that Natasha’s jealous, and though she loves me so much there’s a great deal of egoism in her love, for she will never sacrifice anything for me.”.. The farm totals 300 acres, 40 of which are scored with vines. Friday: Next generation trickery by the world's most daring riders. Because of Lusk, he said, "I always knew I had a home.". He makes himself into a ball and shouts. I'll just have to iron out the details of our vacation and secure some Sandals Beaches Resorts promo codes for us, and then I can announce the good news to the kids and we'll soon be on our way to an enjoyable summer getaway once more.. This was a great game between worthy opponents who left their body, minds, hearts, and souls on the field of play. The Lord of White Harbor had furnished the food and drink, black stout and yellow beer and wines red and gold and purple, brought up from the warm south on fat-bottomed ships and aged in his deep cellars. To converse all star alte maculate the Dover track before but I had never been as immersed as I am now. He can establish you, and, if you wish it, find you an excellent position . When Jon and Tormund entered, a sound went through the biciclete rusesti vechi hall, like wasps stirring in a nest. “Bring the cart.” The dragons would be more docile once fed. What?s the point of even using one if you?re soaked or end up with a big, red bruise on your face?. We must find you a husband who can teach you courtesy.” The queen turned her glare on Jon. If the aggression is ongoing, bring him in for adidas stan smith j white tactile blue a check up with your vet so that any medical issues can be ruled out.. Sunday, March 4, in the Marmion Academy gymnasium at 1000 Butterfield Road in Aurora. Her accomplice stole her sandalias doradas gioseppo body to get the drugs. I find their recipes to be heavy and the favor is strong rather than subtle. Real world use will not achieve the full speed increase, but the Low Energy Data Length Extension will be a welcome addition to the specification as more and more devices gain connectivity. The new ALMA observation shows that, when the intergalactic weather conditions are right, black holes can also gorge on a clumpy, chaotic downpour of giant clouds of very cold molecular gas. And a clever man might question why your father would engage a hedge knight to train you in arms instead of simply sending you off to apprentice with one horno teka hc 610 me blanco of the free companies. Giddy Funeral Home and Chapel, 280 St. “And with that coin and the others in his purse, he paid a certain man. So, that family il tablet amazon that gets the "great" deal on a foreclosed property, is probably still on loss job away from being the next foreclosure victim, because the banks will run the same game on them.. It something we not seen a measurable amount of in Louisville for 16 straight days now. She remembers that I was in great agitation. However, the Pirates got rolling in the second period and took a 26 24 lead into the half. Soak the affected foot in a solution of Epsom salts and warm water, then apply a moisturizing cream and wrap the foot in a plastic bag. One of his wife’s handmaids has found her way into the bed of my own fool. I meant to bring it to you as a gift for my silver queen, but four of the Cats cut me off and came snarling and spitting after me. Do they fear me dead? I flew off on a dragon’s back. He will be safer as a hostage. At other inns other names are being bruited about, never doubt.” He took another bite of egg, chewed, swallowed. We do not kill to serve some lord, to fatten our purses, to stroke our vanity. They nike air max 102 essential white were too far away for Theon to make out any of the words, but the fear on Fat Walda’s round pink face spoke volumes. Davos had always been fond of this city, since first he’d come here as a cabin boy on Cobblecat. You know our circumstances. A great wind came up then, a wind that filled their sails and swept them north and east and north again, toward Meereen and its pyramids of many-colored bricks. When he was there, he was clearly one of our best player. AND so the Ichmenyevs moved to Petersburg. Kitchen will be helmed by Shane Wilson, theformer head chef of Bistro Dom, who will bring his passion for local, seasonal produce and foraged ingredients to the modern Australian dishes set to populate the restaurant and take out menus..

1 note · View note

emy-loves-you · 4 years ago

Text

Sanders Sides AU-gust Day 16: Treasure Hunters

Patton and Logan are husbands and partners, traveling across the globe in search of hidden treasures. The one expedition that Patton can’t attend, Logan bites off more than he can chew. Patton/Logan POV, Logicality and Prinxiety

Day 15 | Masterlist | Day 17

Patton sighed as his husband ran around the kitchen. “Lo, I can clean up on my own.”

Logan huffed as he finished cleaning up breakfast. “Your metatarsal is fractured, Patton. I do not want you performing any strenuous activities and potentially hurting yourself.” He gestured to Patton’s foot, which was wrapped up in a light blue cast. “Besides, what kind of husband would I be if I couldn’t help my love when he’s injured?”

Patton smiled. “You’d still be my perfect hubby.” He slowly got out of his chair in the dining room, using his crutches to maneuver himself. “If you won’t let me clean up, then I’ll be crocheting in the living room.” He made his way to the living room, his eyes briefly moving towards the different photos and artifacts that lined the walls. Every inch of this room painted a picture of their lives. Patton and Logan Sanders. Archaeologists/Treasure Hunters of 12 years, husbands of 10. Patton sighed dreamily, remembering when they’d met on the outskirts of Turkey. It had been love at first sight (in Patton’s opinion at least). Patton continued to reminisce as he sat on the couch, pulling out a scarf he was making. It was currently early November, and Patton wanted to make scarves and hats for the two of them to wear when it started to snow here in New York.

Eventually, Logan finished cleaning the kitchen and joined Patton in the living room. Patton made his scarf while Logan leaned on his side, reading a book. Patton glanced at the book a bit back a snort. Judging by the images, it seemed to be an instructional book for reading hieroglyphics (in Egyptian of course. Logan was so extra when it came to learning). They spent the next few hours in relative silence, the occasional clink of crochet hooks or the turn of a page lulling them deeper into the peaceful scenario they’ve created.

Eventually, Logan sat his book down and spoke. “I can still cancel my trip.”

Patton shook his head. “You’ve always wanted to go to Egypt, Lo. And who knows when you’ll get another opportunity like this. You’re gonna be the first person to see inside that tomb!”

Logan sighed. “But it won’t be the same without you there beside me.”

Patton chuckled, running his fingers through Logan’s hair. “I’m sure you’ll have fun. And as soon as you get back, we’ll have the rest of the years to ourselves. I’ll even bake you a pie for when you get back!”

Logan winced. “Please don’t. I’ll just be worrying about you getting burnt the entire expedition.”

Patton smiled softly. “Then I’ll make you something that doesn’t require an oven.” He leaned down to kiss Logan’s forehead. “I’ll be fine on my own, I promise.”

-------------------------------------------------------

Patton sighed as he took in the now empty house. The expedition was set to last for three weeks. Three weeks of crocheting and cleaning and not having a worrywart husband breathing down his neck (Patton loved Logan’s protectiveness, but sometimes it was just too much). Patton hummed to himself as he sat down to finish his scarf. He wanted to get all of the scarves and hats done before Logan got back.

-------------------------------------------------------

Logan sighed as he listened to the local’s ramblings. Usually Patton was the one to gather public information while Logan gathered written information, but sadly his love wasn’t here with him. Logan ignored the thoughts and focused on what the man was saying.

Apparently, one of the men had stumbled upon the undiscovered tomb of King Roman, one of the less commonly known Pharaohs. That was because he never took a lover. Well, he never took a female lover. While his twin brother Remus provided heirs and directed the kingdom financially, King Roman was the general of his armies. He was present in nearly every battle alongside Virgilius, his second-in-command. They were suspected to be in a romantic relationship, and it was rumored that after Roman and Virgilius died on the battlefield, Remus preserved both of their bodies in the pyramid. While the textbooks say it’s because Virgilius was Roman’s loyal protector, most people believed it was because of their relationship. It was said that after King Roman was killed on the battlefield, Virgilius slaughtered the opposing army single-handedly before dying. Whether he died from battle wounds or if he took his own life was up to interpretation.

None of the locals wished to enter the pyramid, lest they be cursed. Logan knew the real reason, however. Homosexuality was still illegal in Egypt. They most likely either didn’t wish to sully themselves by entering the resting place of a homosexual ruler, or they were afraid that they would get ‘cursed with homosexuality’ if they trespassed. The amount of aggression towards homosexuality upset Logan greatly, and for the first time on this expedition, he was thankful that Patton was not present. It was upsetting enough to still be using his original surname (he had taken Patton’s last name when they married, but he used ‘Croft’ in all work-related scenarios in case the country they were in was homophobic), but it was always soul-crushing to treat Patton as nothing more than a coworker on these expeditions.

Logan fiddled with the thin chain of his necklace, where his wedding ring sat under his clothes. He was only a few days in, and he was already wishing to see Patton again.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Patton took off his wedding ring and pulled on a pair of rubber gloves. Today was cleaning day!

Patton hummed several tunes under his breath as he cleaned the house from top to bottom. Even with a broken foot, he completed each task efficiently and enthusiastically. He cleaned the bathrooms, the kitchen, the bedroom, the guest bedroom, and now he was cleaning the living room. He whistled as he dusted off different artifacts and photo frames. He smiled fondly as he dusted a photo from their wedding day. He let his mind be pulled back to memory land as he cleaned. Everything from that day brought happy tears to his eyes. From the preparations, to Logan’s face as he saw Patton walking down the aisle, even the brief scare when they couldn’t find the rings. Patton felt his eyes water as he blew some dust off of the frame, their wedding vows playing in his head.

‘I will love you, forever and always’

----------------------------------------------------------

Logan felt his eyes water as he blew the dust off of the sarcophagus. There were multiple hieroglyphics and what appeared to be old Latin written on the casing. Logan struggled to read it.

‘...find...afterlife...live again...forever and always’

Logan snapped a few pictures with his camera. Latin was Patton’s area of expertise. Maybe he could decipher it when he got home. Logan examined the sarcophagus. It appeared to be the tomb of Virgilius. Logan opened up the sarcophagus and was unsurprised to find a mummified corpse. What did surprise him was the necklace around the mummy’s neck. Logan readjusted his gloves before carefully removing the necklace. It was a beautiful onyx color with what appeared to be amethyst gemstones. Logan carefully sealed it in a plastic bag before setting it inside of his satchel. Once he discovered nothing else of value in the room, he closed the sarcophagus before making his way to the next room. He left the mummy alone for now; it would most likely be donated to a museum, and he had multiple days to analyze the body before then.

After a few more hours of searching, Logan finally found what he assumed to the sarcophagus of King Roman. The inscription on this tomb was less corroded, and Logan was able to read another part of it.

‘...find...afterlife...blood...awaken...live again...forever and always’

Logan took another photo before opening the sarcophagus. Like Virgilius. Roman’s mummified corpse had a piece of jewelry on it. It was a gold bracelet with ruby gemstones. Logan went to remove the bracelet when it suddenly moved. Logan watched as the bracelet shot up and latched itself onto the sliver of bare skin between Logan’s glove and arm. He went to remove the bracelet and quickly found that he couldn’t. It looked as if it had melded to his skin. Logan turned back to the mummy and screamed.

---------------------------------------------------------

Patton screamed as he smacked the wall with his broom. Spider spider HATE SPIDERS! Patton continued to scream and smack until he was sure that the spider was dead. Even then, Patton couldn’t stop his racing heart. Not for the first time since Logan left, Patton had wished he didn’t tell Logan to go. Patton depended on Logan, just as Logan depended on Patton. They needed each other for physical, mental, and emotional support. And for killing creepy-crawly death dealers.

Patton jumped as he heard his phone ring. He smiled as he read the caller ID: Lolo <3. Patton quickly answered the phone. “Hey Lo, you will not believe what just happened-”

“I’m coming home.”

Patton was shocked at being cut off, then frowned at what Logan said. “Why?” Logan was only 3 days into his expedition. This was probably the first day he’d entered the pyramid. So why was he already leaving?

Logan’s voice was shaky as he answered. “I-I’ll show you when I get home, Pat. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you over the phone.”

Patton snorted. “Lo, I took you to a fairy circle on our anniversary. Try me.”

Logan sighed. “King Roman, the dead Pharoh? He’s not dead anymore.”

#sanders sides #AU_gust_2020 #treasure hunters au #logicality #prinxiety #logan sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #mummies

12 notes · View notes

daimonclub · 1 year ago

Text

Labor Day

Labor day quotes and history Labor Day, an article that explains the history, the major facts, the meaning, the celebrations and quotes to honor and recognize the American labor movement and the works and contributions of laborers to the development and achievements of the United States. Our labour preserves us from three great evils - weariness, vice, and want. Voltaire, Candide The ceaseless labour of your life is to build the house of death. Michel de Montaigne He who works with his hands is a laborer. He who works with his hands and his head is a craftsman. He who works with his hands and his head and his heart is an artist. Saint Francis of Assisi I am opposing a social order in which it is possible for one man who does absolutely nothing that is useful to amass a fortune of hundreds of millions of dollars, while millions of men and women who work all the days of their lives secure barely enough for a wretched existence. Eugene Debs You count the waves. (Labour in vain.) Proverb, (Latin) To have one's labour for one's pains. Proverb The poor have to labour in the face of the majestic equality of the law, which forbids the rich as well as the poor to sleep under bridges, to beg in the streets, and to steal bread. Anatole France In vain our labours are, whatsoe'er they be, unless God gives the Benediction. Robert Herrick What needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones, The labor of an age in pilèd stones, Or that his hallowed relics should be hid, Under a star-y-pointing pyramid? Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name? John Milton The gain in self-confidence of having accomplished a tiresome labour is immense. Arnold Bennett Every job from the heart is, ultimately, of equal value. The nurse injects the syringe; the writer slides the pen; the farmer plows the dirt; the comedian draws the laughter. Monetary income is the perfect deceiver of a man's true worth. Criss Jami Enable every woman who can work to take her place on the labour front, under the principle of equal pay for equal work. Mao Zedong No man needs sympathy because he has to work, because he has a burden to carry. Far and away the best prize that life offers is the chance to work hard at work worth doing. Theodore Roosevelt Even in the meanest sorts of labor, the whole soul of a man is composed into a kind of real harmony the instant he sets himself to work. Thomas Carlyle Even in the meanest sorts of labor, the whole soul of a man is composed into a kind of real harmony the instant he sets himself to work. Thomas Carlyle We've no use for intellectuals in this outfit. What we need is chimpanzees. Let me give you a word of advice: never say a word to us about being intelligent. We will think for you, my friend. Don't forget it. Louis-Ferdinand Celine The fruit derived from labor is the sweetest of all pleasures. Luc De Clapiers A man's best friends are his ten fingers. Robert Collyer Labor is man's greatest function. He is nothing, he can do nothing, he can achieve nothing, he can fulfill nothing, without working. Orville Dewey He that hath a trade hath an estate; He that hath a calling hath an office of profit and honor. Benjamin Franklin Labor is the source of all wealth and all culture. Ferdinand Lassalle Who will not suffer labor in this world, let him not be born. John Florio I tell you, sir, the only safeguard of order and discipline in the modern world is a standardized worker with interchangeable parts. That would solve the entire problem of management. Jean Giraudoux Excellence in any department can be attained only by the labor of a lifetime; it is not to be purchased at a lesser price. Samuel Johnson Labor is the curse of the world, and nobody can meddle with it without becoming proportionately brutalized. Nathaniel Hawthorne If a little labor, little are our gains. Man's fortunes are according to his pains. Robert Herrick Labor is the instituted means for the methodical development of all our powers under the direction and control of the will. Josiah Gilbert Holland Life gives nothing to man without labor. Horace Every man is dishonest who lives upon the labor of others, no matter if he occupies a throne. Robert Green Ingersoll Take not from the mouth of labor the bread it has earned. Thomas Jefferson Labor, if it were not necessary for existence, would be indispensable for the happiness of man. Samuel Johnson Genius begins great works; labor alone finishes them. Joseph Joubert Syzygy, inexorable, pancreatic, phantasmagoria --- anyone who can use those four words in one sentence will never have to do manual labor. W.P. Kinsella Precious gems are profoundly buried in the earth and can only be extracted at the expense of great labor. Sri Anandamayi Ma I believe in the dignity of labor, whether with head or hand; that the world owes no man a living but that it owes every man an opportunity to make a living. John D. Rockefeller The miracle of the seed and the soil is not available by affirmation; it is only available by labor. Jim Rohn It is not, truly speaking, the labor that is divided, but the men divided into mere segments of men, broken into small fragments and crumbs of life, so that all the little piece of intelligence that is left in a man is not enough to make a pin, or a nail, but exhausts itself in making the point of a pin or the head of a nail. John Ruskin There is no real wealth but the labor of man. Percy Bysshe Shelley Labor is still, and ever will be, the inevitable price set upon everything which is valuable. Samuel Smiles If a man loves the labor of his trade apart from any question of success or fame, the Gods have called him. Robert Louis Stevenson The biggest labor problem is tomorrow. Brigham Young

Labor Day, facts and quotes Labour Day (Labor Day in the United States) is an annual holiday to celebrate the achievements of workers. Labour Day has its origins in the labour union movement, specifically the eight-hour day movement, which advocated eight hours for work, eight hours for recreation, and eight hours for rest. For most countries, Labour Day is synonymous with, or linked with, International Workers' Day, which occurs on 1 May. For other countries, Labour Day is celebrated on a different date, often one with special significance for the labour movement in that country. Labour Day is a public holiday in many countries. Labor Day is a federal holiday and falls on the first Monday of September every year. It was initially organized to celebrate labor unions and their contributions to the United States' economy. Labor Day is a public holiday. It is a day off for the general population, so all Government offices, organizations, and schools and most businesses are closed. Many cities, towns, and neighborhoods organize and hold public celebrations such as firework displays, picnics, and barbecues. Labor Day 2020 will occur on Monday, September 7. Labor Day pays tribute to the contributions and achievements of American workers and is traditionally observed on the first Monday in September. It was created by the labor movement in the late 19th century and became a federal holiday in 1894. Labor Day weekend also symbolizes the end of summer for many Americans, and is celebrated with parties, street parades and athletic events. Many residents take advantage of the long Labor Day weekend to take a last summer trip. Because of this, there may be traffic congestion on highways and at airports. Public transit systems do not usually operate on their regular timetables. For students, Labor Day is the last chance to take a break before school starts again for the fall session. The American football season begins on or around Labor Day, and many teams play their first game of the season during the Labor Day weekend. The first Labor Day was held in 1882, and its origins stem from the Central Labor Union's desire to create a holiday for workers. It became a federal holiday in 1894. Originally, it was intended that the day would be filled with a street parade to allow the public to appreciate the trade and labor organizations' work. After the parade, a festival was to be held to amuse local workers and their families. In later years, prominent men and women had speeches. This is less common now but is sometimes seen in election years. One of the reasons for choosing to celebrate this on the first Monday in September, and not on May 1, which is common in the rest of the world, was to add a holiday in the long gap between Independence Day in July and Thanksgiving in November. In the late 1800s, at the height of the Industrial Revolution in the United States, the average American worked 12-hour days and seven-day weeks in order to eke out a basic living. Despite restrictions in some states, children as young as 5 or 6 toiled in mills, factories and mines across the country, earning a fraction of their adult counterparts’ wages.

Labor Day parades and celebrations People of all ages, particularly the very poor and recent immigrants, often faced extremely unsafe working conditions, with insufficient access to fresh air, sanitary facilities and breaks. As manufacturing increasingly supplanted agriculture as the wellspring of American employment, labor unions, which had first appeared in the late 18th century, grew more prominent and vocal. They began organizing strikes and rallies to protest poor conditions and compel employers to renegotiate hours and pay. Many of these events turned violent during this period, including the infamous Haymarket Riot of 1886, in which several Chicago policemen and workers were killed. Others gave rise to longstanding traditions: On September 5, 1882, 10,000 workers took unpaid time off to march from City Hall to Union Square in New York City, holding the first Labor Day parade in U.S. history. The idea of a “workingmen’s holiday,” celebrated on the first Monday in September, caught on in other industrial centers across the country, and many states passed legislation recognizing it. Congress would not legalize the holiday until 12 years later, when a watershed moment in American labor history brought workers’ rights squarely into the public’s view. On May 11, 1894, employees of the Pullman Palace Car Company in Chicago went on strike to protest wage cuts and the firing of union representatives. On June 26, the American Railroad Union, led by Eugene V. Debs, called for a boycott of all Pullman railway cars, crippling railroad traffic nationwide. To break the Pullman strike, the federal government dispatched troops to Chicago, unleashing a wave of riots that resulted in the deaths of more than a dozen workers. Who Created Labor Day? In the wake of this massive unrest and in an attempt to repair ties with American workers, Congress passed an act making Labor Day a legal holiday in the District of Columbia and the territories. On June 28, 1894, President Grover Cleveland signed it into law. More than a century later, the true founder of Labor Day has yet to be identified. Many credit Peter J. McGuire, cofounder of the American Federation of Labor, while others have suggested that Matthew Maguire, a secretary of the Central Labor Union, first proposed the holiday. Labor Day is still celebrated in cities and towns across the United States with parades, picnics, barbecues, fireworks displays and other public gatherings. For many Americans, particularly children and young adults, it represents the end of the summer and the start of the back-to-school season. Labor Day is in good company since the Uniform Monday Holiday Act of 1968 changed several holidays to ensure they would always be observed on Mondays so that federal employees could have more three-day weekends, and so other holidays that always fall on Mondays include: Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, George Washington’s Birthday (or “President’s Day”); Memorial Day; Columbus Day. Here are the major U.S. holidays. In some cases, businesses, government offices, and schools will be closed, and also the International Days list. New Year’s Eve/New Year’s Day MLK Jr. Day President’s Day Valentine’s Day St. Patrick’s Day Easter/Spring Break Mother’s Day Memorial Day Father’s Day 4th of July Labor Day Halloween Thanksgiving Christmas Eve Christmas Day International Days List Read the full article

#American #Carlyle #celebrations #culture #Day #Facts #history #Jefferson #labor #Milton #Monday #quotes #Roosevelt #SamuelJohnson #September #Shelley #Union #USA #wealth

0 notes

lunelantern · 5 years ago

Text

Naruto Manga is complex

~ Understanding Naruto Manga ~

🧠🏯📖🔦🕯️💡✏️✒️🖊️

[Phylisophy and interpretation🕯️ >>>>> than punches🥊]

... Such an infinitesimal and superficial leafing through the Manga infuriates me🤬

Naruto Manga broaches so many interesting and unique topics and far TOO MANY people still waste time into arguing whose character is stronger than the other and whose punches are stronger *sigh* 😩 🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️🤦‍♀️

List of Naruto Manga themes and subjects:

1. Camaraderie - - as per particularly studied on soldiers, the bond of camaraderie between war soldiers is so strong that it stands on par with family bonds and even goes beyond; warriors are ready to die for each other and to save a friend. Same feelings and bond that's used as liaison to concept the dynamics between Ninja 3 man cells (Team 7, Team 10...);

2. Cosmogony - - the origins of the universe as imagined and depicted by the author in Naruto Universe, based on the Yin-yang dichotomy (the skeleton of the manga is constructed on the Yin and Yang parallelism - - Naruto and Sasuke);

3. Feminism and women empowerment - - the pioneers of the feminism in Naruto Manga (who also made an insidious and questionable disappearence in the parenting guide new Boruto Series 🤔 - - Tsunade and Ten Ten are a welcomed addagio in a deeply rooted patriarchal society, which should have been caresses and developed more, in addition to approaching and pulverizing the discrimination of childfreeness (see Kakashi, Gai sensei, Tsunade, Ten Ten...);

4. Politics - - needless to say that Naruto manga offers an ample introspection into politics and studies of security in a complex and intricate manner. The repertoire explores tyranny, communism, totalitarianism, democracy, anarchy, as well as the role of secret services and Intelligence (Itachi, Danzo, Uchiha, The Root), supported by illustrative characters;

5. Phylisophy and classic literature - - these avant-garde elements are a fresh dive first into the inner coordinates of every characters and highlight the author's superb analytical skills coupled wirh vast, deep savviness and knowledge of classic literature and phylisophy. Arthur Schopenhauer's nihilism, negativism and Antinatalism, Nietzche and Machiavelli's "The Prince" are just few notable examples of how the Manga's smart construction intertwines with classic notes, nuanced and valences. The entire construction and phylisophy of the Uchiha Clan is constructed based in phylisophy.

Uchiha Itachi's famous quotes paraphrase excerpts from Machiavelli's "The Prince" : "Men will not look at things as they really are, but as they wish them to be - and are ruined" (his words to Sasuke prior to their battle finale - - "all men like with false preconceptions that they call reality")

"I'm not interested in preserving the status quo; I want to overthrow it" (Niccolo Machiavelli) ~~ "The current system created THIS problem... I will execute the Five Kage in the Infinite Tsukuoymi... I want to become Hokage and change the world... What I want is... REVOLUTION!" (Uchiha Sasuke 😎)

"Everyone sees what you appear to be, few experience what you really are." (Machiavelli) ~ "All of you, without measuring your own capacities... Had no idea of mine" and "How far are you able to see with THAT Sharingan of yours, Sasuke?" (Uchiha Itachi)

And probably the most iconic catchphrase that became the definition of the HOKAGE in the Manga "IT'S NOT TITLES THAT HONOR MEN, BUT MEN THAT HONOR TITLES" (Niccolo Machiavelli) ~~~ "You don't become Hokage to be acknowledge by everyone. The one who is acknowledged by everyone becomes the Hokage" (Uchiha Itachi).

... And examples are teeming.

You can't not love this mange, for it's abounding in brainy elements and phylosophic concepts, about the propose of life.

6. Bildungsroman - - as the German concept refers to a prose that portrays the development of a character form childhood to adulthood. Needles to say that Naruto manga is picture frame perfect definition of this principle of construction for we follow the main characters from childhood to adulthood in all the splendor of their complexity, dynamics and inner emotions.

7. Religion - - I'm always delightfully amazed at the author's genius to perfectly and objectively carry us on a journey through the phylisophy and dogmas of the Main World Religions. The elements of Buddhism and Hinduism perfectly blend with Christian notes (the Biblical reference of Eve and the original Sin are the foundation of Kaguya Otsutsuki the chakra progenitor aka Eve the first woman , Black Zetsu aka the Serpent and the Chakra Fruit aka the Apple of knowledge).

8. Love - - even though the Manga is an action oriented shonen manga, love is the antagonist feeling of pain that preserve and supports the tryumph of goodness, light, democracy and hope, as it produces the effect of catharsis or purification through Art. We have the grandios story of Sasuke and Sakura written in a sumptuous realistic romance and Naruto and Hinata as the complacent, peaceful and comfortable homey cohabitation as illustrative for an idealized family picture.

Love "come in many forms" (thank you, Uzumaki Karin) in Naruto Manga as the ultimate bond between shinobi.

9. Art and the Genius - - Deidra and Sasori are two unique, refresh and polivalent interesting characters, for they explore two themes that are rare in modern literature, namely the condition of the genius and the torment and inner demons of an artist. Their anthitetical plylosophy about the concept and the purpose of art as healing, everlasting and cathartic is brilliant. Sasori suggests that art encaptures the soul and emotions and the very "heart❤️" of the artist into a creation that preserved and defies time - art is supposed to encapute eternal beauty, art never dies, never grows old, art remains forever. While Deidra suggests that wet is a transient moment of shock, of pure visual impact that engages all the senses into a devastating "blast💣💫💥" that's irresistible and no one can escape it's fulminant powers.

The torment of the GENIUS, the hallucinating pain of a brilliant, introspective superior mind that's perceived as encompassing as harrowing and irresistible is perfectly limned through the evolution of the Manga Geniuses; all undergo tremendous physical and psychological torment that rams deep and consummate their very souls to the point where they borderline insanity and madness - Sasuke, Madara, Danzo, Itachi, Orochimaru.

10. Discrimination - - this is one of the Manga's laitmotif; nearly all the Manga conflicts stem from a form of discrimination, from the discrimination and ostracization of the Uchiha Clan and Naruto as the natural fear of the strongest from the weaker average men, to the discrimination of poor. And also we have some nuances of the discrimination of black people but the author does a great job into emphasizing their qualities (The Land of Lighting - - A, Killer B...) (I love the Rap references as the usage of art and music to voice their feelings and pain as a retort to discrimination and long-term oppression and white supremacy).

11. Paleo astronomy and ancient aliens - - that's definitely a bold, brave and new approach from the Master Masashi Kishimoto - sensei, which I can't help but applaud 👏👏👏 paleo-astronomy and ancient aliens link our terrestrial human life to extraterrestrial forms of life which dwleve deep into the origins of our hystory, existence, origins and evolution. Some claim that vestiges of their interference can be found in lost ancient temples, as well as irrefutable evidence of extraterrestrial and UFO contact with our ancestors (the Great Pyramid, the hierogliphs, the Nazca Lines, the Mayans and Inca temples, Stonehange...).

Boruto Manga revolves around the idea that Naruto Manga tossed in its closure; that aliens are in close contact with terrestrial beings. Otsutsuki Clan brought the chakra from the space and offered it to humans / Otsutsuki use the chakra to feed on themselves / Hagoromo's brother eloped to the moon and life evolved since then keeping portals on earth that connect the two planets.

And more recently, Sasuke is tracing Kaguya and the Otsutsuki while searching for ancient temples and hystorical vestiges from the Otsutsuki aliens (Kaguya's castles and ruins), just like a veritable paleo-astronomer.

Hats off for the author's avant-garde approach and vast knowledge 🎩

12. Pitagora's theorem, Euclid, the Tree of Life and Immortality - - Orochimaru in a nutshell. Orochimaru is the genius scientist who craves to defy death, obtain eternal life and endless knowledge. The basis of Pitagora's theorem has deep implications into unlocking the secrets of eternal life, as well as his geometry and Euclid's theorem; it's no coincidence that the theorem fits the construction of the Great Pyramid. And we have the Tree of the Chakra Fruit as the symbol of the Tree of Life that represents immortality and knowledge.

This list is nowhere near exhaustive, for the complexity of Naruto Manga spans further that my modest understanding of its concepts.

#Naruto manga #Naruto Manga interpretation #Naruto symbols #Naruto Manga is complex #Naruto interpretation #Naruto Manga analysis

12 notes · View notes

jsmulligan · 5 years ago

Text

Destcember Day 13: Theism

From the journals of Warlock Aviur Menacham.

God. A word that carries a lot of different meanings to different people. For some, it refers to an all-powerful, all-knowing deity that created the universe and everything in it. For others, it has meant a pantheon of beings of various levels of power that influenced different aspects of nature. Then, for some, it was simply a concept to be scorned and left behind. These days, the concept is a topic of frequent debate.

First, there was the Traveler. When that great, floating orb showed up in system, it was a marvel. It could terraform planets in a way humanity had only dreamed. Thanks to it, human life-spans were tripled and humanity’s Golden Age began. There were people then who began to consider it to be a god, and after the Collapse, Traveler worship cults became common. Now we have the Fallen, or Eliksni if you prefer, in our system, who worshipped it as a god when it first found their people. Even now, they revere machines and craft their Servitors in its image. Whether their strange form of machine worship lead to them accepting the Traveler as divine or sprang from it, we cannot yet say.

From the Traveler came the Ghosts, filled with Light and able to raise the dead, a miracle in itself. These Risen then were imbued with fantastical powers that some of the ancients would certainly have attributed to gods, things like immortality or the ability to summon fire or lightning seemingly at will. At the very least, they would have been hailed as demi-gods. Before the Iron Lords changed things, there were even some Risen who saw themselves as gods, with baseline humanity something for them to control or use.

In the years since the Collapse, several other enemy species have invaded our system, each of them with their own notion of god. Some of them were even called gods themselves, creatures like Crota and Oryx. Once we understood more of the Hive, we grew to understand that these “gods” were beholden to the Worm gods, leaving Oryx and his ilk as some for of second tier deity. Some of the Cabal seem to venerate their emperor, and the Vex had the Heart of the Black Garden. Such an odd concept, machines with faith.

So where then does that leave us?

Oryx, Crota, and the Black Heart are all dead. A team of three Guardians slew one of the Worm gods on Mars. I would venture to say that being killed by mere bullets would strip any claims of true divinity.

A number of Guardians have had encounters with Emperor Calus, or at least machines posing as him or delivering messages for him. From what I can ascertain, he is a madman. Calus claims to have seen the end of all things and wants to reserve the right to be the final thing alive in the universe. He has even had scribes writing out “future history”, which includes a Guardian siding with him, and helping him wipe out everything else that could take that claim. I do not imagine a god would need to fear being the last one standing.

The Traveler still hovers over our City. It was caged and trapped during the Red War, and somehow awoke from its long slumber to free itself, but had done nothing overt since then. I say nothing overt because there does seem to be an increase in the number of Guardians that claim to have received some sort of communication from it in recent years. With its shell cracked the way that it is now, we can see more of the inner workings of it than ever before, lending more credence to the name given to it by the Fallen, The Great Machine. It is incredible, and obviously capable of great power, but it is no god.

Could it be a conduit to one, though?

We have these vague concepts of “Light” and “Dark” to describe the ontological powers that seem to be waging a conflict that we are stuck in the middle of. One Guardian claims to be receiving communications from the Pyramid ship on Luna talking about beings called the Gardener and the Winnower, which seem to be actualizations of the Dark and Light, and claims that they existed before, and brought about, all things through a game. Could our universe and existence be the result of a pair of deities playing a game of probability? It is a bold claim for sure, and impossible to prove or disprove currently.

That is always what it comes down to, isn’t it? The impossibility of proof, of being able to label and test something that could lie beyond the scope and realm of our ability to study and dissect it. I have seen, experienced, and felt enough in my time as a Guardian to be able to say one thing for certain, a quote from a playwright who lived a millenia ago, “There are more things in heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

That and hope that if there is a God or Gardener out there, that they preserve us from the scythe that both Emperor Calus and that Drifter seem to see coming.

#Destcember #Destcember 2019 #destiny the game #destiny 2 #fanfiction #lore

2 notes · View notes

maladaptive-ninja-returns · 6 years ago

Text

J.B.B. (13)

Bucky x Reader

Content: Who am I kidding. It’s all hurt, pain and the worst here.

Warnings: Please do not read it if you have a weak heart as I am sensitive bitch who cries and wants to watch others cry in the name of a good story.

Word Count: I’m sorry.

A/N: @lokis-lady-death as you can see this was inspired by the theme you followed. I cried so you have to cry. Those are the rules.

MASTERLIST

^J.B.B., ^Part 2, ^Part 3, ^Part 4, ^Part 5, ^Part 6, *Part 7, !Part 8, ^Part 9, ^Part 10, !Part 11, ^Part 12, Part 13

"How you been Buck?" "Not bad for the end of the world." Steve took him for his word. Clearly seeing the light in his eyes brighter than the day they'd first arrived in Wakanda; clearer than the daze he'd seen in his best friend's being when he had met him for the first and the last time here. Steve could see that something had changed about Bucky. There was his old friend from Brooklyn with a hint of something new. Steve couldn't really place a finger on it till he saw a familiar face walk towards him from behind Bucky. "Hey there, Captain." You greeted the man who had gone full nomad with his beard and suit.

"Y/N," Steve smiled up to his eyes as he hugged you tight, "So good to see you." "You too, Steve," you responded, your screaming nerves already feeling a little better, engulfed in his towering stature. Steve's here. Almost everyone's here. We should be good. "Come on, now you two. We're standing here too." Natasha appeared from behind him. "My favourite assassin," you gushed as you hugged her firmly. "My biggest fangirl." "Hey," Bucky quipped beside you, "I thought I was your favourite," his features clearly hurt at your declaration but you knew him too well by now to know what lied behind that humour. "Get over it, old man," Natasha teased him. "I'm surprised you're still here," Sam hugged you back, making you chuckle. "This country has good health insurance and pay benefits for teachers and science students. I'm surprised no one's moved here by now." "Who is she?" you heard a deep voice filled with unsurity whisper from behind the Falcon. "Right," Sam brought his face closer to yours to whisper, "don't be surprised," before turning aside and allowing your eyes to go wide at the figure of Bruce Banner and James Rupert Rhodes. __________ "I. Am. The. Worst," you grumbled. "Take it easy, tiger," Sam chuckled, "Banner has seen worse today. I bet you nearly squealing was actually a welcoming site for him." You scrunched up your nose at Sam while placing your comms in position, standing between him and Bucky, discussing the new threat that was out to get the earth. "How's Wanda doing?" Sam looked at you and you knew within a second it was the worst for her and Vision at the moment. "I wish I could help them up there in some way." You were clearly feeling useless right now. Shuri had taken the reigns and you knew for a fact she could help vision all on her own. "So," Sam raised his voice a bit, breaking your worrying thoughts as his eyes continued scanning the perimeter, "what's up with you two?" "Sup?" you asked Sam, not clear what exactly he was looking for. "You guys having something serious now or are you still trying to work stuff out." You inhaled the question and turned to Bucky, whose eyes mimicked your movements. The heat in your cheeks was rising by the second. "We..." you trailed off trying to calm the tremble in your voice before continuing, "have been living together for some time now." You eyed Bucky for some sort of visual confirmation and he nodded at Sam, who was elated at the news. "Nice. Cool." "Hey, Y/N," Rhodey called for you as he came back outside in his war machine battle armour, "the General says to remind you of something about the berries?" You groaned, your hand reflexively going towards your stomach as the mind revisited distressing nausea from this morning. "Berries? Is he talking about those berries?" Of course, Bucky was quick to catch on to it. We are at the verge of an alien invasion. How are we still discussing the berries? You took in one lungful of air. "I got sick this morning because of those berries." Bucky's entire body turned towards you to comprehend the words he'd just heard. "Again." You added, making his face feel a tiny jolt. "I'm fine now, really," you added before Bucky could say anything, "I wouldn't be geared up for battle if Okoye hadn't given me an all clear." Bucky shifted his weight to give you a sarcastic stare with his brows. "You are not going anywhere near the battlefield, doll. Not today," he announced. "I can only manage one crazy with no sense of self-preservation at a time," he grumbled not taking his eyes off you. "Wow. You two are cute." Rhodey stood beside you, making you squirm with his presence. The War Machine was friends with your friends who themselves were a bunch of superheros. What lifetime am I living? Is this real? Of course it's real. You've been living in a utopia for more than a year now...doll. Your boyfriend- who just asked you to marry him- is the softest supersoldier you've ever met. This is as real as it gets. Your lips involuntarily stretched into a smile. It is real. The breathing eased as you looked up, thanking the forces for this; all of this. All the pain you'd suffered were now bumps on the road that had always led to this. The clear blue sky sparkled. A tiny ray reflecting the golden you thought was from the sun. It was the smile on your face that disappeared first. "Guys," your voice bearly even a whisper, trying to bring the soldiers' attention-who were still bickering about the berries- towards the sky. "Guys!" You voice grew louder with urgency, bringing their focus to the direction you were looking in. "Cap, we got a situation here." Sam announced into the comms right the second his eyes caught anomaly. A dark solid structure burning up in the earth's atmosphere was headed straight for the capital. Right before its impact with the buildings, it blew up in the sky by the highly reactive forcefield that engulfed the city, sending the destroyed spaceship fracturing into every direction after the explosion. "God, I love this place," Bucky breathed. "Yeah, don't start celebrating yet guys," Rhodey voiced, "We got more incoming outside the dome," he declared for everyone to hear as a shower of similar golden specks went by towards the grasslands. The ominous alien pyramids landed with considerable impact outside the forcefield's perimeter one after another, destroying all the flora and fauna within the radius of their brunt, sending their vicinity in flames and dust that stopped at the edges of the protected borders. You activated your comms and adjusted the frequency to know what was going on inside the lab. "-need to destroy the stone now," Vision's voice crackled in your ear, making your nerves light up in the worst ways. Natasha was having none of it while T'Challa confirmed they will hold them off. "Wanda, as soon as that stone's out of his head, you blow it to hell." Steve's voice echoed through your ears, making you turn towards Sam and Bucky. Wanda was supposed to destroy the stone? "Steve," you whispered with the weight of the one question building up like an anthill creeping with the worst scenario inside your head. "I will," Wanda's voice showed no sign of hesitation. __________ "What do you mean I can't go?" "You are going to stay here with Shuri and protect her." It was getting really hard keeping pace with Okoye, especially after her unforseen decision of keeping you off the battlefield. "Does Bucky have something to do with this? Okoye!" She hit her staff on the ground, making you stand still opposite her. "Oh, he most definitely has something to do with this but right now we have enough mettle on the battlefield. I need someone to stay by Shuri's side who isn't present there just for exploiting my princess's knowledge. She could really use a friend right now." You felt like a moron for her having to explain the situation to you. "Have I made myself clear?" "Yes, general." "Good." Following her, you met Bucky outside where everyone was boarding the carriers. "Hey," Bucky stepped away from Sam, coming towards your direction. "I'm staying with Shuri." "Good." You hated it but the ease dripping in Bucky's poise made the sparks of rage bury themselves back in the core behind your eyes. You took his face in your tiny hands, making his pupils dilate at the gesture. "James Buchanan Barnes," you announced as you kissed him before the hidden ambers inside you ignited the sparks in his, "Give them hell." A smirk washed over his heated lips. "I'll tell them you send your regards." __________ The glass walls showed the carriers sending away platoons of warriors to the plane grasslands, near the edge of the border where the enemy waited. Dr Banner was suited up in the hulk buster because his green friend did not feel like it today and it was evident, from where you stood, that the scientist was having a hard time adjusting to it. The Jabari had already arrived on the plains, their cries being heard twice- through the comms as well as the tensed air surrounding you- while the rest of the forces filed themselves up. "Tell me if you need any help, okay?" you uttered to Shuri, who was gearing up the controls, calibrating them to function carefully and precisely around Vision's neuron threads. Shuri simply nodded, all her focus on the task at hand. "Can I get you two anything before she starts?" You asked, turning towards Wanda and Vision. "No, we're good. Thanks." Wanda didn't even make eye contact, which you probably thought was the best thing right now. But just as you walked away from the window, passing her, you heard her whisper, "And congratulations," into your ear, smiling through her bloodshot eyes. It took you a moment before you remembered what her powers were. She already knew about the proposal? Of course she did! She can read freaking minds when she's not controlling them, remember? "Oh! Thanks. We haven't told anyone yet," you kept your voice as low as possible, out of earshot from Shuri. Wanda's brows contricted a bit. "But wouldn't they already know, considering the reason that you're here ri-" War cries resonated through your earpiece, making you turn back towards the scene unfolding outside. "It's beginning." Bucky's voice cursed at the army unleashed outside the perimeter. They were all muddy dots from where you stood but their numbers were incredible. The perimeter lit up right where those dots tried to infilrate through but were evidently having a hard time. Shots were being fired at the ones who somehow made it inside from both the ground as well as air. A few from the cluster of muddy dots were moving right at edge of the perimeter but instead of breaching it they were running around it. "Cap, if these things circle the perimeter and get in behind us, there is nothing between them and vision." Apparently the world renowned scientist was smart when it came to a battlefield as well. His words made your grip harden on your staff as you did not take your eyes off the dots getting bigger and closer to you. "On my signal," T'Challa's voice came, "open North-Weat Section seventeen." Containment. WIth the final warcry in the name of Wakanda, the battalions charged forward towards the masses of aliens running haywire over the land before the barrier was opened on the king's word. You could see two dark figures from the Wakandan battalions running past the army, charging right into the wild aliens without hesitation. "Oh, heavens," you muttered. It was one thing to hear about Steve and T'Challa's incredibly thoughtless methods of charging into a fight but it was a whole different experience to watch them do it from your own eyes. So, that's what you go through, Okoye, Bucky. "How much longer, Shuri?" T'Challa's voice called out through the comms. "I've barely begun brother," Shuri stated, her hands and eyes steady on the structural neurons hologram she was recircuiting as the precision lasers did the physical work for her. "You might want to pick up the pace." And there it was again. The unsettling slither raising the hairs on your skin. You picked up a pair of binoculars and moved closer to the glass. Dr Banner was doing a decent job of taking out the mindless aliens hungry for death and destruction. Rhodey was manning the entrance, thinning out the numbers where they were clustered the most. Steve and T'Challa were beating the hell out of any beast that approached them. Bucky was not missing any shot until an alien punched him, forcing him to lose his handle on the gun. You cursed as you watched the ugly thing tower over him as Bucky's knife went through the alien's skin. But that was not the only site that froze your fast pacing heart. Rhodey was shot out of the air, Steve and T'challa were overpowered by the growing number attacking them while the hulk buster was thrown into the sand as the alien claws tried to scratch their way through the metal. Your insides screamed at the sight of your friends being dragged through the dust one by one. Stop this madness, your inner voice tried to scream. If you're listening right now, please, do something. For a second it felt like a dream, the burst of light that came down right in the middle of the battle field. Was it another enemy attack? You zoomed in to ground zero to confirm the suspicions eating you right now. But what raised your confusion was the unidentified object that came out of the blinding streak of light, sparkling with electricity as it zoomed about, taking down all the aliens in its way. "Oh, God." you didn't realise you were blurting out loud right now. "What is it? Did something happen?" voices called from behind you. It was either Wanda or Shuri but you were too dazed to even notice the difference. "No," your senses tried to find balance, "no. I meant...there is an actual God on the battlefield. It's Thor. And..." you felt the daze coming back at the sight of his companions, "a...uhh...tree and a raccon." You moved the binoculars away from your eyes for a moment. "I swear I'm not high. That's just what they are." "Bucky, the raccoon! On your six!" You announced as you saw the little animal throw curses like greetings at the hoard of aliens approaching him. Bucky turned in time to pick the talking animal and out of their while aiming for their heads. You would be lying if said you weren't internally smiling at the scene unfolding you. "Careful babe, there are laws here against animal cruelty," you smirked. "That thing just asked me the price of my arm. And I don't think the raccoon will be the one pressing charges," he grunted. "By the way, I think the tree just made a new friend." "Let me guess," Bucky responded, clearly hearing your controlled but lightly elated whisper, "Steve Rogers." Before you could say more, a heavy rumble vibrated through the lab, making Shuri stop for a moment as Wanda moved towards the glass walls beside you. A line of greenery toppled down in a clean row till the perimeter where the ground swell up and gave way to connected weaponised wheels ten times the size of a human. And there wasn't just one of them. You turned towards Wanda, whose eyes faced away from the chaos unfolding in front of you. "Wanda," you whispered, placing your hand on her arm. Her eyes locked on to yours and you had no idea how you could see the volume of her pain through them. "Take care of him till I come back." It was more of a request. You tried your best to fight back the urge to accompany her. "I will." The next thing you knew, this woman was taking down the wheels and the alien hounds over the battlefield in numbers unmatched. The sounds of crunching bones and shrieks brought you back inside the lab. "Shuri!" You heard your voice call out for your friend, whose body flew down the platform as the figure of the assaulter came into display. The pale skin of the alien emanating malice shrouded in black was ready to jump down the platform. Before you could get yourself in position a force sent you off into the wall. "I'm sorry Y/N," you heard Vision's breathless voice whisper close to you as everything around you started going blurry, "but you are in no position to be fighting right now." Niether are you, you moron, you wanted to say, but the words never came. You could see outlines of Vision moving towards the enemy finding the table empty, grabbing him and taking him out and down through the glass. You wanted to get up but your head pounded with immense pain. It had been the one to take all the impact after vision had so treacherously moved you out of harms way. Your mind wanted to check on Shuri and call out for Bucky but nothing was moving and everything was turning into a colourful mess before lights went out. __________ The sharp ringing inside your ear didn't stop till you opened your eyes. Your mind took in the familiar surroundings of the lab, the table, the chandelier, the equipment, Shuri. "Shuri," your weak voice called out for her as your throbbing limbs tried their best to get up. The caught up breath in your lungs was released once you were sure she was breathing. You picked her up and laid her in the section hidden away from the rest of the lab, covering her with a blanket. "I'll be back," you assured the princess as your disoriented self walked out of there. "Vision? Does anyone have eyes on Vision?" Static. "Steve? Do you have eyes on Vision?" Silence. Your heart picked up the speed what your steps weren't able to do yet. Picking up a staff lying closest to you you made your way to the elevator. "Nat? Sam? Can anyone hear me?" The silence brought in a tide of fear. Your back felt the cold sweat run down your spine, not wanting your worst thoughts to come true. "Bucky?" your voice gave away. Silence. The cold sweats grew as the nausea came back. Tears ran down your cheeks, nothing stopping the shaking of every cell in your body. "Y/N?" Bucky's voice made a light scream escape your throat. You were already running out of the elevator and through the doors down towards the ground. "Bucky! Are you-" "My lady," a wakandan soldier approached you from the open, "you should stay inside. General's ord-" He stopped speaking and turned to look at his hand holding the staff whither away slowly into ashes, taking the rest of him with it, making the staff land with a loud clunk reverberating through your brain. "Steve?" Bucky's voice came again with a hint of unsurity hanging in his tone. You dashed towards the treeline where you had seen Vision fall in, trying to press away the nausea and pain building up in your stomach all the while pressing away the dark thoughts. "Bucky?" Silence. Your pace accelarated but dropped as the raccoon and the tree coming into view, the latter disintegrating right in front of your eyes. Your eyes wildly went around the forest, catching Steve leaning down into someone's ashes. "Bucky?" a crack called out in your throat as Steve looked up in your direction, not able to gather what just happened. "Bucky," you whispered, making him get up and move away from the spot. You shook your head as your body moved towards the remains. "Buck." Your limbs gave way under you, bringing you down to your knees. Hey, come on, now. Wake up. Bucky's first words of this morning echoed through you in his soothing voice. Okoye's cries for her king and Rhodey's call for Sam dropped in the background. Don't you have work to do today? Natasha came running towards the now lifeless body of Vision being turned by Steve while Bruce, Thor and Rhodey watched from afar. Goodmorning, sleepyhead. Rocket sat defeated near Groot's ashes. So did you, near Bucky's. As much as I’d love to, doll, I would not last a minute under Okoye’s stare of death. Your fingers traced the fragile remains under their skin. "What is this? What the hell is happening?" Rhodey called out. It's never going to be over. The place in your chest where you heart supposedly was splintered into a thousand peices, the force driving the wind out of your lungs. They need me. Steve needs me. It's the end of the world for all we know. Steve finally sat down, dejected. "Oh, God." How are you so calm right now? Your aching body no longer registered the changes occuring inside you into your head. I’m so glad I ran into you when I did. Parts inside you were falling to pieces. I love you, Y/N. Soft thump of the hulk buster's feet coming closer behind you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. "Jesus christ," Bruce's voice marveled. No, silly. I mean I want to marry you. Your breathing slowed down, the ache in your limbs increasing with every passing second, telling your numb mind to stop it. "Nat," Bruce softly called out for her, his eyes never leaving you. "Nat." I have you. The cold sweats made you shiver, the words adding to the lack of warmth inside you. Nat came in your direction, not yet over the shock of vision's lifeless body, looking at Bruce with half the interest. "Nat," Bruce's voice broke, his breathing growing heavy, "I think she's bleeding." Jesus, you’ve gained weight. Your hands rested on your thighs, half open towards the sky, purposeless. Nat looked at your armour, confused at the sight of no open wounds until her eyes went down. "No," she came by your side within seconds, her breathing fast, her heartbeat faster. You are here. "I'm here," your voice barely a whisper. Nat picked up your unresponsive limbs, Steve coming behind her to help. "She's in shock." Nat shook her head at Steve's words. "Steve, this is worse." "I'm here," the inaudible whisper escaped again. It didn't take long for it to dawn on him, all the last breaths leaving his tired lungs. "No." He looked at your lackluster eyes still stuck on the sight of the ashes. "No, God, no." His arms wrapped your shivering body into themselves, his hands stroking your hair. "Captain," Okoye’s trembling voice called from behind him, her tears from losing her king and friend still not dry, "we have to take her inside. Now." "I'm here," the words mechanically escaping one last time before Steve's arms carried you away, from where Bucky's remains rested, all the colours around you mixing into complete darkness. I'm here. Where are you?

^J.B.B., ^Part 2, ^Part 3, ^Part 4, ^Part 5, ^Part 6, *Part 7, !Part 8, ^Part 9, ^Part 10, !Part 11, ^Part 12, Part 13 ...

(Yes, I am the worst person right now, probably. But it isn’t over yet. This is definitely going to get a happy ending but for that we will have to wait for Avengers 4. So...I suggest you enjoy some of my fics which are far less torture and more fluff. Or not. PS- J.B.B. readers, I am going to start Steve Rogers fic soon so if you’d like to be tagged do let me know. No, we wouldn’t have to wait for a happy ending in that one so you can enjoy that one. I can only write heartbreak when it is served to me on a platter.)

TAGLIST

Permanent

@greenarrowhead @magiclolipopqueen @choke-me-sweet-pea @classy-swiftt @smexylemony @hazzastyles2471 @lokis-lady-death @lokixme @l0kisbitch @bambamwolf87 @tarithenurse @hiddlestonstansworld @itheoneofmanyfandomsi @nalokoniloki @fuckidontknow @qualitynerdwasteland @cryinglots @unipanda1006

J.B.B.

@lost-and-wandering-alone @imsunnysu @vxidnik @sebbies @unknownuserhasjoined @cauraphernelia @queen-of-elves @doitfortwitter @ladywintersoldat @introvertfangirl @alt-er-love-er-alt @klmpun @loving-life-my-way @picapicapicassobaby

149 notes · View notes

callistolivia · 6 years ago

Text

Asteroids Part 4; Origins of Vesta, Symbolism of the Asteroid Vesta

What we know of the Greek mythological origins of Vesta (or Hestia) is that she is a virgin goddess usually depicted as a veiled woman or a hearth (fire) itself; hence the symbol that represents her, a V with a flame. In Demetra George’s book Asteroid Goddesses, she primarily focuses on these Greek origins and pre-Hellenic origins of Vestal cults. I look at this with a critical eye because firstly, looking at how a goddess is worshiped is simply seeing the microcosm without the macrocosm and secondly, there are clear indications that Vesta (or Hestia) has earlier depictions as Isis. It is nevertheless interesting that specific ancient civilizations took this idea of Vesta and developed highly sexual rituals around her, but we also have to keep in mind that this was a time of shorter lifespan for humans and therefore quite common to conjure up idols to promote fertility and sexual practices. There was also a tendency for ancient civilizations to believe common people were gods; this speculation reaches to considerably higher gods such as Poseidon or Zeus. If we revisit what I mention in Part 1 and 2 of my asteroid research, then we already know the clear connection these asteroids have to Ancient Egyptian origins. Researchers such as Graham Hancock have theories that these ancient civilizations had considerable knowledge of astronomy and astrology, so much so that the pyramids were built to align with the constellation Orion (but this would mean that the pyramids were constructed at a much earlier time than most Egyptologists suggest).

Before I go into Isis’ connection to Vesta, I want to explore the importance of Vesta’s fire and home symbolism. In the Ancient Greek and Roman worships of Vesta, fire alters were created in the homes of the people and she was worshiped as a hearth that provided warmth (...as fire does) and therefore symbolized hospitality and protection to these people. In each state there was also a public hearth dedicated to Vesta called the prythaneum. Regardless of putting a name to a place of fire, fire itself has always been a place to gather for warmth, cook food, give light, promote life, etc. which could be the very reason why humans worship fire; it is like god on earth and it serves for us. Fire or a flame is also a metaphor for life– the “flame” within a person. The fire inside our hearts and of course there’s a connection of the fire sign Leo ruling over the heart. The word pyramid is derived from the greek word pyramidos which supposedly translates to “Fire in the Middle,” and pyr or πυρ translates to fire. I make this connection because as mentioned earlier we find the fire or hearth a worshiped symbol at the centrepiece of homes. Furthermore, Egyptologist, Stephen Mehler elaborates on ignored translations of the word pyramid in an article,

“My Indigenous Wisdom Keeper teacher, Abd’El Hakim Awyan, states unequivocally that the ancient Khemitians used the term PR.NTR, Per-Neter, for pyramid. Per means "house".... One of the main purposes of the Great Per-Neter was to generate, transform, and transmit energy.”

More recent research from Egyptologists would conclude that the pyramids had nothing to do with actually burying bodies, but rather it had something to do with this “fire in the middle.” Likewise, we can conclude that Vesta has a lot to do with the “fire in the middle.”

As I mentioned earlier and in my previous postings, many greek Goddesses are derived from the ancient Egyptian Goddess Isis. I have enough evidence to believe Vesta is another derivation of Isis. In Manly P. Hall’s The Secret Teachings of All Ages, he mentions Isis depicted as the Virgin,

“From a golden ring on her left arm a line descends, to the end of which is suspended a deep box filled with flaming coals and incense. Isis, or Nature personified, carries with her the sacred fire, religiously preserved and kept burning in a special temple by the vestal virgins. This fire is genuine, immortal flame of Nature– ethereal, essential, the author of life. The inconsumable oil, the balsam of life, so much praised by the wise and so often referred to in the Scriptures, is frequently symbolized as the fuel of this immortal flame.” P. 130

Isis as the Virgin obviously has a strong correlation to the astrological sign, Virgo. She embodies her elements of purity, service, resilience, and power over nature. Vesta, as I had discussed, has an obvious connection to fire. I believe Vesta is the combination of this Virgo essence and fire. It makes me think of the allergical symbolism behind the major trump La Force (Strength) which is also mentioned in Manly P. Hall’s book. It portrays a girl with her hands on the mouth of a lion. Hall writes, “the young woman symbolizes spiritual strength and the lion either the animal world which the girl is mastering or the Secret Wisdom over which she is mistress. The lion (Leo) signifies the summer solstice and the girl, Virgo, for when the sun enters this constellation, the Virgin robs the lion of his strength.” P.419

In conclusion, Vesta, a derivation of Isis, is a symbol of immortal flame. She is Virgo with the Strength of Leo. She embodies the courage to open the mouth of the beast and obtain the key to knowledge. Her flames purify, master, generate, and regenerate. She has domain over nature like nature itself. She is worshipped because she serves. She makes sure that the flame within the physical body is indeed immortal and carries it over to the afterlife. In the next part of my series, I will discuss the asteroid Vesta in the natal chart.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

#astrology #vesta #the signs #asteroids #guess who didn't check for errors again lmao #manly p hall #virgo #leo #isis #egyptology #goddesses

83 notes · View notes

notapaladin · 3 years ago

Text

oh you take all of the pain away (redux)

Because I am the only person writing Obsblood fics, I wind up rereading them a lot to get my fandom fix!...so I notice when I can definitely do much better with an older concept. This is The One Where Acatl Has Nightmares, But Better.

Also on AO3

Older version here.

The shadows on the wall were taunting him. Acatl closed his eyes again, but it didn’t help.

This is ridiculous.

“Mmm,” Teomitl murmured into his ear. “I can hear you thinking.”

There was another soft mumble behind him. “Night.”

He hummed in acknowledgment. Good night, love.

In the cool, still darkness, Teomitl’s presence a bulwark at his back, with no sound save for their steady breathing and the measured thumping of their heartbeats, he slowly felt himself fall.

And fall.

Down and down and down...

Only to land on his knees with a shock like a distant blow. The ground was cold and hard under him, and strangely lumpy; as he got to his feet, he saw why.

Alone...

And—

He opened his mouth. He closed his mouth. What good would calling out do?

He turned the corner and entered the palace gates, and the first sounds he heard fell like hammers on his ears, for all that they were the thin, chattering-infant voices of ahuitzotls.

“All hail...”

“...our great Revered Speaker...”

“Drowning, drowned, all are drowned...”

“...They cast the reeds...”

There was a particularly large one blocking his path through a doorway. As he edged around it, it met his eyes. “He is our Emperor,” it hissed. “Not yours.”

Ice flooded his veins. He opened his mouth to respond, but no sound came out.

The doorway in front of him stood wide, and he knew what he would see when he walked in. He didn’t want to. Duality preserve him, the last thing he wanted was to walk through that door.

His legs carried him forward anyway, and when his gaze adjusted to the brightness he choked back a noise that wanted to be a sob.

Before he knew it, he was wading towards him. The blood parted like humid air. “Teomitl!”

Teomitl lifted his eyes. There was no hint of recognition in them. “We do not give you leave to call Us by that name, priest.”

“Teomitl—it’s me—”

Terrified, he opened his mouth to call Teomitl’s name again, but water rushed in to fill his lungs instead of air, and he thrashed desperately. Knowing there was no use in calling for Lord Death, the words of a prayer nevertheless drummed through his head. Though it be jade, it is crushed, though it be gold, it is tarnished. Only for a little while do we have the feathers, the jade, before it must come to Your embrace...

The voice of his patron rang through the water. “No.”

He froze, floating suspended in the current. My Lord?

Mictlantecuhtli wasn’t there. Not physically, at any rate; even in a dream, Acatl knew he’d feel it if he was in Lord Death’s presence. But even so, He was suddenly sitting on His skeletal throne, gazing dispassionately down at them both through a curtain of blood, and Acatl felt his heart quail in his chest as He spoke again. “He must die. Such is the way of the world.”

No! Desperate, he lunged through the water. Yes, of course one day Teomitl would die, as all men did, but not like this. Not when he was young and strong and beautiful, not when he hadn’t completed what he’d set out to do. He should die at a great age surrounded by his loving grandchildren, not choked to bursting with the waters of his own lake. Acatl couldn’t let him.

“Why do you struggle? You know you cannot stop this.”

That was right. He couldn’t. He shouldn’t even try. He was the High Priest of the Dead, wasn’t he? It was not for him to interfere. Maybe Teomitl had even been meant to die of the plague. Maybe he should have left him there. Maybe, when Teomitl had spat out the words of his heart—red up to his ears, not looking at him, fingers white-knuckled in the folds of his cape—he should have turned them aside and continued on the solitary and cold and lonely path set out for him.

He couldn’t respond. Blood and water filled his mouth. I’m sorry. I love you.

Eyes wide open, he watched Teomitl sink into the darkness.

“Acatl-tzin!?”

Everything was dark. His limbs refused to obey him.

Something shook him, hard. A voice he knew as well as his own snapped in a note of panic, “Wake up!”

Teomitl’s grip on his shoulder was tight enough to bruise, but the look in his eyes was wide and soft and frightened. Frightened for him, he realized. “Acatl...?”

Acatl grimaced, staring down at his hands. If he balled them into fists, they didn’t tremble so badly. “I’m fine,” he lied. It would be true eventually.

He focused on his breathing. In. Out. In again. Slowly, his heart started to calm, and the residue of that sick terror started to drain out. “...I’m...” But he couldn’t finish the lie.

Seeming to come to a decision, Teomitl let go of Acatl’s shoulder to cover his hand instead. It was shockingly gentle for a moment; at first Acatl almost couldn’t process it, but then it sank in. The warmth of his lover’s skin, the smooth calluses from his swordwork, the faint raised scar across his palm. “No. You were crying in your sleep.”

He closed his eyes briefly. No, that wasn’t a good idea. He could still see the ahuitzotls when he blinked, could still see the specter of his lord telling him to let Teomitl die. I couldn’t. I can’t. I won’t. He opened his eyes again, and this time he looked at Teomitl. His beloved looked drowsy, moonlight shrouding his features, but he could make out a hard, stubborn set to his mouth that he knew very well; it said that Teomitl knew what Acatl was doing, and he didn’t appreciate it. And Acatl had promised him honesty. Reluctantly, he nodded. “Mm.”

Teomitl gave his hand a gentle squeeze, but his voice was firm. “You should talk about it. It’ll help. Isn’t that what Mihmatini always tells us?”

He didn’t want to talk about it. Gods, that was the last thing he wanted. Maybe if he said nothing, thought about everything else under the sun, it would go away. But...

But Mihmatini had been right, when she’d told them that. And it had helped. Exposing the deepest feelings of his heart had gotten Teomitl to lay down his sword, had turned them from teacher and student to friends and then to lovers. He couldn’t deny him when he asked to be trusted with this, even as he dug a penitential nail into the soft skin of his own thigh. I cannot believe it is right for me to tear myself from him, O Lord. Not from the man who had upended Acatl’s lonely life and built a space for himself in it with nothing but dogged persistence and a radiant smile. “...You won’t take no for an answer, will you?”

“So you can kill it?” Acatl quipped, half-serious. Granted, he wouldn’t put it past him...but still.

“Hrmph,” Teomitl muttered. “If I can, yes.”

Oh, my love. He exhaled. “...Alright, then.”

But saying he’d tell his lover about it and actually making his mouth form the words were two different things, and for a long moment he couldn’t figure out where to begin. Finally, with Teomitl’s thumb making little circles over his knuckles, he started to speak. “I was in the Sacred Precinct, alone, but I knew you were there somewhere.” Every surface gold, and all those rivers of blood, and me in the middle of it thinking only of you. “The palace was full of ahuitzotls dressed as noblemen and warriors, all praising you. All calling you their savior. One told me that you were their Emperor, and not mine.”

Teomitl growled quietly, sounding like an ahuitzotl himself. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I know that now,” he huffed. “But...”

He trailed off. He couldn’t continue. Teomitl’s fingers tightened on his. “But?”

“I saw you in the throne room, the Turquoise-and-Gold Crown on your head, and you didn’t know me.” Underneath Teomitl’s firm grip, his hand clenched into a fist. “You looked at me like a stranger.”

Teomitl wasn’t looking at him like a stranger now. He was, in fact, looking more than a bit disturbed. “I could never. Do you think I could forget who you are to me?”

He shook his head. “I know.” There had been a time, when the plague was threatening them and Chalchiuhnenetl was breathing poison into Teomitl’s heart, that he’d been afraid of that exact thing. Now that he was awake again, with Teomitl’s hand on top of his, he had to agree with him. The whole thing was ridiculous. Ahuitzotls didn’t talk, and Teomitl made no secret whatsoever of his feelings for him. They’d go back to sleep, and it would all look better in the morning.

“He must die. Such is the way of the world.”

He nearly choked on his own breath. My Lord wasn’t there, he reminded himself firmly. That was only a nightmare. I’m doing nothing against His will by loving Teomitl, and I won’t stand idly by while he dies.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” he said automatically.

Teomitl’s eyes hardened. “Acatl. You’re shaking like a leaf.”

He was. When had that started? He took one deep breath and then another, reaching for Mictlan’s presence within him. Cold despair pulsed through his veins, forcing him to swallow past a lump in his throat, but at least he wasn’t trembling. The words came slowly, pulled through his lips by a copper fishhook that tore skin on the way out. “...I dreamed that I saw Lord Death. And he told me...we were both drowning in blood and lake water, and he told me to let you die. You knew me then. You reached for me. And I froze.”

“Acatl,” Teomitl breathed.

“And then I woke up,” he snapped. All of a sudden he was angry—with himself for being such a fool, with his soul for wandering free in places he should have thought it would know better than to go, with Teomitl for cracking the stone walls around his heart. “I woke up, and I realized it was a dream, and I am fine. Lord Death has said nothing against us. There’s no need to concern ourselves with my nightmares!”

“There is when the man I love wakes weeping next to me! Do you think I can ignore that? Do you think I would ignore that?” Teomitl made an angry stabbing gesture with his free hand, the one not clinging to Acatl’s like a lifeline. “I don’t care what your nightmares say. I know perfectly well you serve the gods with all your heart, but you’re still you. You carried me to safety when I had the plague, when I was being a complete bastard to you. You wouldn’t let me drown even if Mictlantecuhtli stood in front of you and ordered it.”

Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. I might. Duality help me, if I ever had to make that choice...I might. He didn’t think he would. He knew that it would tear him in two if he did, that his heart would never be the same, that Lord Death who was always fair wouldn’t demand that anyway, not without due cause. But the possibility glistened in his mind like a bloodsoaked knife, and he couldn’t banish it. “I’m sorry, I’m overwrought—”

Teomitl kissed him. It was quick and sudden and hard, licking into his half-open mouth and leaving him reeling from the sensation of a hot mouth and a clever tongue and the faint sting of teeth. He was kissing back before he knew it, grabbing for his lover’s shoulder just to keep himself upright; when a hand found his waist and gripped hard in response, fingers digging into the meat of his side, he let out a breathy whine that wasn’t even remotely one of pain.

Then Teomitl broke the kiss, gazing steadily into his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered. “I’m yours. I’ll always be yours.”

“You can’t—” Promise that, he was going to say, but then Teomitl’s mouth was on his again, stealing the words. This kiss was slower and more tender, but no less devastating for that. When that tongue slid into his mouth again and the hand at his waist slid up his ribs, he arched his back with a moan. He might still leave me, came the treacherous thought. He is a warrior, and once he is crowned he’ll have no shortage of enemies. But that’s not tonight, is it?

Teomitl shifted attention to his throat, lips moving against the sensitive skin. “I can, and I will. Let me prove it to you.”

“That’s good,” Teomitl breathed. “Lay back, love. Let me take care of you.”

Teomitl returned the kiss eagerly before drawing away with a wicked smile. “You’re beautiful like this.” He punctuated his words with a slow upwards stroke, and when Acatl sighed in pleasure he chuckled quietly. “You sound as good as you look.”

That was accompanied by another rippling squeeze. Acatl couldn’t even think. Heat rose slowly through his veins, coiling in the pit of his stomach, and he rocked steadily into it. There was Teomitl’s sure, strong hand and the steady pressure of his thigh rubbing against his balls; he ground against it breathlessly before finding words again. He knew he was blushing. “Nnh...voyeur...”

Teomitl smirked, unrepentant, and pressed up with his thigh, pulling a ragged groan out of him. “You deserve to be looked at.”

But Teomitl was shaking his head and drawing back, robbing him of his prize. “No.” His grin flashed white teeth in the darkness. “This is for you. You can make it up to me in the morning.”

And there would be quite a lot to make up; Teomitl was still keeping that slow, steady pace, but it was relentless. The building pressure at the base of his spine was enough to make Acatl groan and arch, letting his head fall back. That exposed his throat, and when Teomitl’s mouth found it again he let out a ragged moan at the faint scrape of teeth at his pulse. The way he was going, there would certainly be marks the next morning. He thought he should probably care about that, but at the moment it didn’t seem to matter. No, this slick rolling pleasure was far more important.

Even when they both came down from that high, they didn’t move. He knew he should clean up, but he was utterly content to lay on his back like a lizard and bask in pleasantly languorous postcoital bliss. His nightmares had never felt further away, nor had he ever been so wonderfully aware of the body he inhabited. I was such a fool. How could this possibly displease the gods? Teomitl was the one to wipe their combined spend off their stomachs with the nearest piece of fabric and immediately flop onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow and gazing at Acatl so tenderly that it made his heart melt. Acatl had to touch him again, settling a hand on the curve of his waist and feeling a smile tug at his lips. My beloved. I made the right choice.

Even in the darkness, Teomitl’s smile was like a sun rising. “...Feeling better?”

“Mm...” His nightmares were already vanishing into the mist, scraps torn to four hundred piece by the way Teomitl had touched him. If he went back to sleep now, he suspected his dreams would be much less trying. Quite possibly stranger—the memory of a particularly vivid one where Acamapichtli had turned into a very large owl still stuck with him—but they wouldn’t feature Teomitl dying in front of him. He was looking forward to it. But there was sweat drying on his skin, and the temperature had dropped quite a bit. Honesty. “It’s a little cold.”

Then he squeaked, because Teomitl was scooping up one of their discarded cloaks and wrapping it and his arms around him like a giant tamale. He found himself with his face buried in Teomitl’s chest, soft cotton cocooning him gently, and he drew in a long breath that was full of the scent of his lover’s skin. They were safe. They’d remain safe. Ahuitzotls were not known for their verbal capabilities. “Mmm...”It was a little difficult for him to get his arms free of the fabric, but he persevered until he could slide them around Teomitl’s waist, holding him close. There, that was better.

“Warmer now?” Teomitl nuzzled into his hair, sounding gently amused.

He yawned, working his jaw in an approximation of a word. “Mm-hmm.”

“Good.” Teomitl stroked his hair, and his eyes fluttered shut on a long exhale. His lover’s voice lowered. “Let’s go back to sleep. I’ll be here in the morning, Acatl.”

He smiled. “I know you will.”

#acatl #teomitl #teocatl #not work safe #obsidian and blood #paladin writes stuff

1 note · View note