#isaac (dancing-master)

[xxsycamore]

KING'S GAME

╰┈➤ ❝ I just need to know in case…❞ ❝ In case what? In case you take it a little too far in role-playing? In case you go down on me and the words mon empereur leave your lips? ❞ - After a round of some silly drinking game, MC can't help but have certain thoughts about Napoleon and how easily he takes on the role of someone in power. Naturally, she wants to know his boundaries of it.

Napoleon Bonaparte/MC • rating: E (MDNI) • tags: Drinking Games; Alcohol; Shenanigans; Humor; Sexual Tension; Massage; Kink Negotiation; Sexual Roleplay; Power Play; Dominant Napoleon; Dom/sub; Master/Servant; Blow Jobs; Oral Sex; Choking; Dacryphilia; Stripping; Dirty Talk; Vaginal Fingering; Begging; Vaginal Sex; Creampie; Aftercare • wordcount: 6,055 • masterlist

a/n: The idea for this fic was conceived long before an event of the same theme came to Ikevamp EN... We ended up not seeing them all play together in the game so I hope this right here fixes that, maybe? I have no idea how it ended up being that long. I guess I've been looking for the right opportunity to explore this part of Napoleon's character in a smut fic, namely his feelings about being called emperor and the likes in the bedroom. Hope you enjoy!

"Oh, I know! How about we play the Ousama game? It's a popular drinking game back home, in my era!"

It's rare for MC to be the one initiating activities on game nights, so naturally, all eyes are on her. Dazai is quick to give his enthusiastic approval, wanting to know more about a game that came after his time but originates from his homeplace. Sebastian smiles in a similar fashion.

"Good pick, MC. I think our residents are going to like it. Will you please excuse me for a second?"

As Sebastian stands up from the table and dashes out of the room, someone's comment oh my god, he's totally fetching his diary, can be heard. But really, there are no hard feelings. Everyone's more than happy to welcome Sebastian at the table and see him being more open and relaxed around his masters for once. Maybe it does have to be documented.

"It's not something like Arthur's games, I assume?" Isaac directs his gaze at MC, almost pleading under the surface for an affirmative response.

She rubs awkwardly at the back of her neck. As much as she hates to disappoint him…

"Erm, it's basically a game of dares… but don't worry, you can always refuse a dare!"

"That's it, if you want to take the punishment, Newt." Arthur seems ready to dance on the physicist's nerves with a complimenting chin-cupping stance, elbows rested on the table and all. Theo rolls his eyes.

"Let me guess. Refuse a dare and drink a shot."

"That's correct." MC nods before Arthur can take more liberties at orchestrating her own game, even if they happen to be thinking in the same direction. "Let me go get what we need for the game!"

By the time Sebastian is back and patting his breast pocket suspiciously, so is MC, with a handful of… chopsticks. And a fountain pen.

"So, what I'm going to do now is write a number for each one of us… Vincent, Theo, Arthur, Isaac, Mozart, Dazai, Sebastian, Napoleon, and I…so that means numbers 1 to 8, and on the ninth chopstick, I'm going to write Ousama - which means 'King' - and then we shuffle the chopsticks in a cup - Arthur, can you pass me the empty cup next to you? - then we each take one but without showing our numbers to the others. Whoever gets the Ousama chopstick becomes King and he places a dare for someone, using the numbers! Is everything clear?"

"Uh. What kind of dares are allowed?"

Napoleon nods at the direction the question originates from. "Good point. Hey, maybe tone it down with the sexual stuff. There are taken people at the table."

Arthur snaps, "Why are you looking at me? I wasn't intending to. Besides, if a dare doesn't stand right with you, you can always drink and avoid it!"

Memories of other game nights seem to flood multiple minds at once, so MC lets out a half-chuckle half-sigh and moves on. She does take a mental note of the hint of possessiveness in Napoleon's comment just now who instantly got worried about another man being prompted to touch her inappropriately. As if anyone has the balls to touch Napoleon's woman, she thinks to herself… and kind of likes the way it sounds in her head.

It's a shame that Leonardo and Comte aren't joining them tonight and are instead enjoying a more sane way of getting alcohol in their system, in some quiet corner of the mansion. And Comte is totally not smoking a cigarillo right now while talking to his old friend, claiming that he hasn't had one in forever, again. And for that matter, Jean's presence is missed as well, but sadly (although understandably) he dislikes partaking in such activities. He's a lot like Mozart in this regard, with the difference that Mozart becomes another person when he drinks some. And that person loves joining drinking games with his buddies!

"If we're all ready - here we go!"

MC gives the cup a rather unnecessary bartender-style shake, assuring the chopsticks are well shuffled and ready to make it to all the wrong hands.

Once placed on the table, a crowd of hands quickly reach into the cup and sneakily withdraw in order to hide their new secret identity, with the exception of one person who has nothing to hide.

"I'm the king. My, I wasn't prepared for this."

As Sebastian holds up the chopstick of fate high in the air for all to see, a few pairs of surprised eyes catch his own. And something like a shimmer lights up in Sebastian's ones.

For someone as unprepared as him, he surely doesn't waste time on thinking about his next move. Not at all.

"Number 6, exchange a clothing item with number 1. Number 3, take off your pants without using your hands. And number 4 must do a handstand."

"By Jove, Sebas, your fetishes are showing!" Arthur blinks, both surprised and somehow entertained by the turn of events which (in his own head) kicks him off the position of number one most perverted person around the table. Or at least for the time being. He's only smiling now because he's safe, being the lucky number 7 and out of Sebastian's fantasies.

Isaac and Theo can't say the same. They exchange a look - eyes traveling up and down each other's frames - looking for a convenient clothing item to exchange, given their different builds. Theo is done with his choice first, and he reaches over the table to undo Isaac's necktie. The smaller man averts his gaze, turning his head away as much as he can so it's not in Theo's way, or perhaps out of embarrassment, but it's over before it ever began thanks to Theo's rough but effective methods of freeing the cloth from under his collar. Using the chance coming with the shortened distance, Isaac snatches Theo's scarf in return as the most adequate thing to take.

"Aw, you two are boring." Napoleon mocks for change, drumming his fingers on the table with a smirk. Theo muses with the thin black tie in his hands, turning to Napoleon with an empty look and silently wrapping it around his forehead instead, tying it off at the side.

"Is this better?"

"Snrk. I don't know, what do we think, Sebas?"

"I approve of your new look, Master Theodorus. Or should I drop the 'Master'? I'm the King now, after all."

MC gasps, "Sebas! Oh, this game is dangerous…"

"Tell me about it. My first dare and I already have to drink. Woe is me." Dazai weeps, rising up from his seat to point at his hakama, making it impossible for him to complete the take off your pants without hands dare.

"Guess that leaves me." Napoleon sighs, pushing his chair back audibly as he stands up.

"Ooh! Go for it, Naps!"

"Good thing it went to someone who's in good shape. I bet it's a piece of cake for him."

"We'll see now." Napoleon smirks to himself, rubbing his hands together as he prepares to tackle the handstand. His eyes get serious for a second as he calculates it all, and in the next moment, his hands are flat against the floor changing the center of his weight. While he's upside down, the gravity makes his partly untucked shirt expose his abs.

Someone whistles, and MC finds herself staring. As if for the first time.

All too soon, Napoleon is back on his feet again, dusting off his palms and retaking his seat by the table. Sebastian is beaming. "I like this game. Thank you for the idea, MC."

"Thank you, MC." Mozart chimes in, for some reason, oblivious to Sebastian making history tonight as opposed to quietly observing it from the side like usual.

"Haha, you guys are welcome… so, let's do it again, shall we? Let's see who will be King this time around~!"

After the new shuffle of chopsticks, everyone seems a little more lively, a little more hopeful - some driven by revenge and some simply by the contagious evil brewing in the air.

"Who is King?"

Out of the people looking at their newly acquired chopsticks, Napoleon is the one who speaks up.

"I guess that would be me."

"It's Napoleon, huh…"

"Oh, how fitting! You were born for it, Naps."

"Haha, not really."

"My bad. You're an emperor, not a king. I'm so sorry, Your Majesty."

Napoleon snorts, not playing along - or perhaps his dismissing the extended apology is his way of playing along. MC raises an eyebrow, studying his reaction. Napoleon's attitude towards these things is… rather complicated, as he seems to both loathe his so-called days of glory and simultaneously accept them for what they are, a part of him. She's been confused more than once about what's a good way of navigating through the situation when the topic is brought up in their conversations. On one hand, she hates the change of expression on his face that makes her feel like winter has returned - even if it's never going to feel to her like how it felt to him, the cruel winter - on the other, she knows he hates it when people walk on eggshells around him.

But now they're all at least half-drunk and merely goofing around. No one's bothered to care about these things, and maybe Napoleon prefers they don't anyway.

"Number 5, hold three ice cubes in your mouth until they melt. Number 4, confess about a fetish you have in front of everyone. Number 2, crack an egg over Number 7's head. Number 1, give me a massage."

"N-Napoleon is a sadist!!"

"So cruel…"

And he's laughing too. Sadistic tendencies aside, his laughter sounds every bit as genuine (and loud) as MC always remembers it to be, and it's strangely soothing. Maybe she should refuse a dare just for the shot, just to drown her worries a little more… Taking a look at her chopstick again because she thinks she heard her number, she sees a 1.

Theo goes somewhere, for ice presumably, despite Sebastian's offer to do it in his stead, and Arthur follows. "Wait, I'll go for the eggs."

"Who got the fetish one?" Napoleon browses the faces of the ones left at the table to spot the flushed one. Vincent raises a hand.

"My fetish is, um… I don't really-"

"Come on Vincent-kun, we all have fetishes~"

"I think I could say… maybe… um.."

"Yes? Go on, say it. We won't judge."

"I'd love it if my partner would touch themselves and let me watch."

"That's perfectly normal, Master Vincent. Nothing to be ashamed of."

"Woah, it's both very vanilla and somehow kinky at the same time..." MC muses out loud. "Oh, but nothing to be ashamed of, certainly!"

Arthur and Theo return, with the latter immediately taking note of Vincent's beet-red face.

"What did I miss? Broer?"

"The fetish dare… Don't worry, Theo, I just had a shot instead."

"Oh, that's good. I mean, no it's not! Napoleon, how dare you make mjin broer take a punishment!"

"It wasn't really- Anyway, Theo, let's shut you up now."

Theo groans, dragging on every move as if giving the ice a chance to melt as much as possible before the inevitable contact with his mouth. At last, there's nowhere to escape and he pops the cubes in his mouth, thankfully they fit.

"Okay, I've been waiting for this. Who gets an egg in the head?"

"It's me… I hate this game…"

Isaac cards his fingers through his strawberry locks, as if for one last time while they're still egg-free. In the meantime, Theo's expression twists, less out of sympathy and more because the ice begins to torture him from the inside out.

"And the executioner?"

"Master Isaac, I'm truly sorry, it's me." Sebastian raises his gloved hand.

"Ahahaha! Haha!" Mozart laughs at the turn of events seeing a servant disserving his master. Or maybe the reason behind his laughter is nowhere that complex. One thing is certain, for some reason, he always gets out of the bunch's drinking games taking no damage in the form of nasty dares and punishments.

Sebastian stands up reluctantly, then sits down again. "Should I just drink? But I have to remind, I can't hold my liquor very well, I'm afraid."

"Just get it over with. I won't be mad at you or anything."

Sebastian sighs to show a little more reluctance before committing the deed. He looks like he's trying to miss his target, but unfortunately the raw egg still perfectly lands on Isaac's head, quickly descending down his face. Isaac's grossed-out expression mirrors Theo's current agony. As someone hands Isaac a handkerchief to wipe off the sticky mess with, another jokingly calls the sight erotic…

"Alright, I'm ready for my massage. Who shall serve the King?"

Napoleon relaxes back in his seat demonstratively in anticipation. It's a bold invitation, and everyone looks up to see the chosen one.

"My king."

MC stands up, showing her chopstick marked with the number 1. She tries to mute the sound of the others' reactions in her head as suddenly her pulse speeds up.

Napoleon flashes her a grin.

"Very well. The King is expecting you."

He lifts his glass to his lips as he hasn't touched it since the beginning of the game, probably deeming it worthless with the nature of the game. Not that he's expecting to be drinking anytime soon - he's simply not the type to back out from any dare unless it's too ridiculous even for him. Maybe that's why he started to miss the warmth at the back of his throat.

As MC makes her way to where he sits, she witnesses the singular bobbing of his Adam's apple when he gulps down the liquid, and she watches dumbstruck for a second as he motions for her to take a sip if she wants to, from the same glass. Well, yes, she finished her own drink a while ago. She accepts the glass from his hold.

"Now, what kind of massage should I request? Hmm…"

Arthur's dirty remarks fall on deaf ears as MC focuses on not choking on the liquid in her mouth.

Napoleon is a giver.

But there's something damn attractive when he allows himself to take from others.

"The king orders you to rub his shoulders."

And it's damn attractive when he's commanding like that. She sees now what the others were referring to in their provocations earlier - it rolls so, so easily off his tongue when he gives an order like this. Even if it's for a stupid game, the sharp look he gives her feels rather… real.

Not that this is anything new to her. For all Napoleon's gentleness, in the bedroom, he has this side of him that colors him rather dominant. And she'd be lying if she said she's gotten so used to it by now she doesn't feel anything between her legs right this moment. Instead of being a liar, she blames it on the alcohol.

Standing behind Napoleon, MC puts her hands on his broad shoulders… and really, it's been a while since she last gave him a massage. Usually, it's the other way around, as Napoleon added it to his ever-growing list of skills, even if initially it was something he'd never done before, given his status in his past life. Now she has his shoulders all to herself to knead and push at, and she catches herself putting selfishness in the act of service. Because she can't help but have impure thoughts.

Napoleon groans. It's quiet but she catches it over the cacophony of other noises in the room coming from the rowdy bunch. They're already setting things up for the next round, and here she's still stuck on her dare. She doesn't want to go back to her seat. Maybe Napoleon can read her thoughts like he always does and offer her his lap for the rest of the night; maybe he will go further and excuse the two of them for the night-

One hand at work, she reaches the other into the cup because they tell her to, and it appears to be Isaac's turn to be King. Good for him, but bad for everyone else. Seems like it's going to be a long night…

Later in the night and a few more rounds down the line, apples have been eaten without hands, glasses have been downed, a few mounts were the targets of unpleasant substances, either deadly spicy or deadly sweet, some clothes have been removed, some eyes filled with tears - and the collective level of soberness in the room has been drastically lowered.

It's a surprise how they even managed to put an end to it before the sun came out when naturally there's always someone who didn't get a chance to take revenge on someone else. Napoleon and Theo, being the best at holding their liquor as per usual, felt it their duty to help the others to their rooms.

MC didn't have much to drink, otherwise she'd be asleep on the pile of residents by now. Not that she intended to retain some of her soberness, it simply happened - because the bubbling feeling in her chest wasn't caused by alcohol, to begin with.

Napoleon, always the caretaker. Maybe if she throws herself at him he'll carry her to her room as well.

"Goodnight, Theo, go get some sleep." The sound of him returning after separating from Theo interrupts her daydreams.

Once he sees he's all alone with MC, he offers her a smile.

"And we're the last ones again. C'mon Nunuche, let's go to our room."

"Carry me?"

MC tries her best puppy-dog eyes at him, and he tests her for a second like it doesn't work on him. He then gawks at her laziness, hoisting her up his shoulder and giving her ass a little spank. "Let's get you to bed, naughty Nunuche. Some of those guys will be mad at you for weeks, you know? But you better not give them those eyes. Only I get to see them."

"Mm…Napoleon?"

The varnished floorboards creak under Napoleon's steps as he makes his way down the hall, holding MC's weight securely. "Yes?"

"Do you really enjoy it? You know, being treated like a majesty."

It's a short trip, and MC's perspective soon goes back to normal as the floor and the walls swap their places once more before her eyes. Not that she's interested in it, so she throws herself at the bed in the next second, sinking in the welcoming embrace of the comforter, not bothering with removing it at least for the time being.

"Pfft, where did that come from?" Napoleon says while closing the door behind him. The crickets are still singing their songs under their window, it can't be that late in the night.

"From the game. For a second I was worried it left a bad taste in your mouth."

"Hmm." Napoleon fake-muses, kicking off his shoes before sinking one knee on the bed. "I think I liked it when you were the one treating me like a majesty."

"No, don't joke, tell me seriously."

"I am serious though."

Somehow they end up in this position that doesn't help resolve the tension poisoning the air around them one bit; with him caging her with his body on the soft mattress and her having nowhere else to look at but right at his penetrating gaze. Her fingers twitch, nails catching into the fabric of the comforter, seeking a sense of stability.

"I just need to know in case…"

"In case what? In case you take it a little too far in role-playing? In case you go down on me and the words mon empereur leave your lips?"

Like a spark to the kerosene pooling low in her belly, Napoleon's words make beautiful explosions bloom behind her eyelids that have fallen shut amidst the last sentence. She takes a breath but it only feeds the fire as she can't help the way her exhale sounds raspy.

"Would you like that?"

"Would you?"

MC bites on her bottom lip. "This is not about me."

"I thought you wanted to serve your King."

She averts her gaze, because if she looks a little longer at this alluring jade gaze that reeks of sex, she'll be able to feel herself losing her composure, and she's trying to have a serious conversation here.

"I do."

"Hmm." Napoleon plays with her, trailing a hand down her modest home dress, prodding at the buttons at the front. "This is bad, I don't know what to ask for first. I've lost shape."

"Liar. You were perfect at it earlier."

"Someone's been paying attention. Were you also fucking me with your eyes? Right there, at the table?"

MC takes two sharp breaths, and it resembles panting, all too soon. It's out of irritation and not arouse, not yet. When she pictured their little game, she thought she'd just have to bow her head obediently and indulge in her desire to serve. Not enduring Napoleon's verbal teasing as any other night.

"Is it that bad? Will my King punish me now as he sees fit?"

Napoleon looks at her. For all the things that may be at the tip of his tongue, MC imagines most vividly the tone Napoleon would speak them in and how much he's cut for the role. Her soul sings at the thought, but it's nothing holy.

"Get up then. Don't you think it's a little rude to be lying down in my presence?"

That's fair. With renewed vigor, she pushes herself off the bed and waits readily by the side of it.

"Remember to not look me in the eyes. It's forbidden. You'll only look when I allow you to, if I allow you to. You'll have to earn my grace."

Instinctively, MC wants her nod to be accompanied by eye contact, but she corrects her mistake before it can even take place.

"Present yourself. Take it all off."

MC blinks surprisedly at how fast things are happening but isn't against it at all. She has the feeling that he is capable of making her do all sorts of dirty things with a mere flick of his tongue, undressing for him is nothing.

She makes a show of it, despite not having many articles of clothing on her to take off seductively - before long, she's stepping out of her dress that has pooled at her feet, and she retakes her previous position.

"I'm pleased with what I'm seeing. Come closer. Kiss me."

He doesn't have to ask twice. It's something familiar and yearned for since they crossed the threshold of their room—hell, no, since they took a seat at the table for that game. It's welcoming and fulfilling and it's just what she needed-

Or so she thought, until she terribly embarrassed herself with a rather awkward and rigid pressing of lips against lips, and no movement. In her selfishness, and out of habit, she left her mouth open for Napoleon's invasion. But she's forgetting to consider that kings get tired of their conquests too.

She summons her boldness and turns the desire in her veins into fuel for action. She shoves her tongue in Napoleon's mouth, but gently, not with the intention to dominate, but rather to serve. To kiss him until he gets enough. Her tongue swirls against his own, the movement rather clumsy, the making out of a juvenile rather than that of a skillful lover… but it's what he wants. He wants to see her seduce him, use every millimeter of her body for his pleasure, and keep going until he has his fill.

A thin string of saliva connects their lips upon her withdrawal, and her eyes are shut tight. She has to keep them shut, otherwise she'll look right at him. Napoleon chuckles.

"You may open them."

She does, and the sight is not kind on her fragile composure. Locking eyes with Napoleon has never felt like this, like a privilege, and exploring this new feeling is exciting.

"You're not half bad with your mouth. Undress me and put it to use."

Heartbeat thumping in her ears, MC finds it impossible to conduct herself in that moment; to sturdy her hands into performing the task and to break her gaze from his piercing pools of jade. She starts with the shirt, more tugging at the buttons rather than precisely undoing them, before pushing it completely off his shoulders, and finally letting it fall to the floor. He's glorious with just his trousers on and that scrutinizing, almost cold gaze. She opens the fly enough to take his hardness out, and her stomach tightens instinctively.

She wets her lips and parts them, taking in the head of his cock, letting it rest on her tongue. Even when her world narrows down to the hot pulsing flesh in her mouth, she catches herself dividing her focus between pleasuring her lover and.. the position she's doing this in. There's a little bit of getting used to it being required, and it makes her realize how unfamiliar that is - her being on her knees, on the hardwood floor, and Napoleon standing upright. When was the last time they've found themselves in that exact arrangement? It could've happened once or twice before, in the heat of the moment, or when the space had limited them. But never intentionally. Not because MC has anything against it - rather, it would be Napoleon who changes the position whether he's about to receive oral. He makes sure he's at least sitting down at the edge of the bed, where MC can rest her hands on his hips, or on the bed. Where he can see her better, to check up on her. Now she has to look up to see him, and he seems so far away, or maybe her eyes are doing tricks on her, or maybe her vision is blurring because she accidentally took his cock too deep down her throat and now tears are gathering in the corners of her eyes.

Napoleon brings his hand over her head and collects a fistful of her hair, one unfamiliar thing after another - but before intimidation can mix into her blood, she breathes in deeply, because it's not him forcing her down his cock, it's him forcing her off it.

He holds his cock firmly by the base as he directs it at her parted lips again, but doesn't breach the gap between them. He simply rubs his cockhead on the soft cushion of them, gathering the saliva that starts to droll down and smearing it back on her lips.

"A pretty mouth indeed."

MC can only look at him. She looks at him like she's looking straight at an open flame.

"Next," Napoleon begins, cupping her chin and caressing with his thumb where his cock used to be just a second ago. "I want you to go on the bed and show me the position you want to be taken in. Can you do that for your King?"

MC finally averts her gaze; it happens involuntarily, purely as a reaction to another surge of surprise and embarrassment.

"I— Yes, my King."

Napoleon angles her chin up, a signal for her to rise to her feet. Yes, that would be a good start.

The bed is just two steps away from where she is but MC feels like she can trip thrice on the way there with how much her legs have turned to jelly. Still, she makes it. There's not much room for thinking this through, for deciding on what would work out best for both of them - normally it's him who takes these decisions, anyway - so once she leans forward on the bed, she gives way to impulsivity and the way it saves her from having to give it any more thought. If she has to name the reason, it would be that it aligns with everything that Napoleon is tonight. Of course it would be fitting if he were to take her on her hands and knees.

"Does this… please you?"

She hears the rustling of clothes behind her back, probably the sound of Napoleon getting rid of his trousers, before he approaches her. He doesn't say anything about approving the position or not, and MC can't decide if his silence is worse. He comes to stand right behind her, and she crawls a little closer to the edge of the bed to make sure their skin is touching. Napoleon lets one hand roam from the fold of her knee up to the curve of her butt, and MC jumps lightly at the touch. Needless to say, she's sensitive and oh-so neglected. Her insides throb at the mere proximity of Napoleon's slender fingers close to her sex - it's a miracle she doesn't come undone on the spot as he actually directs his touch to the apex of her thighs. Wetness catches on his fingertips and he wastes little time caressing her folds before plunging two fingers inside.

"Nnghhh…" MC tosses her head, trying her best to enjoy the feeling of finally, finally claiming some pleasure but without losing herself completely in it. Napoleon twists his fingers until his open palm is facing upwards, thrusts in and out a few times in a way that doesn't intend to bring pleasure but rather to prepare - and then his fingers audibly and briskly exit her wetness.

MC whines at the loss of his fingers but finds a new fire sparkled to life inside her, and she's more than happy she wouldn't have to wait any longer for the next dose of intoxicating pleasure.

"Good girl. Do you want my cock?" Napoleon asks, openly and greedy. He's not risking having her beat around the bush by posing a more generic question like what she wants next. They both know the answer to that already.

Not that he spares her the torturous reminder of what she'll get by saying the right thing. He rubs his flushed tip on her glistening folds, pressing it in enough to just barely catch on her entrance; to make her bite her tongue and assume he just might show mercy and put it in without her pleading for it.

"I- Yes, please, Napoleon— take me, fuck me! Please…"

She only realizes once it slips out that she used his name and not the object of their little game of pretend that is his title, but there's no going back.

Napoleon doesn't punish her for it. Instead, he rewards her, giving her what she wants most. The groan he lets out as the familiar warmth and tightness enfolds his aching cock is telling of his own desperation.

MC cries out at the intrusion, only now understanding the difference of not having him finger her for longer prior to this. It doesn't hurt - she just feels a little fuller somehow. A little on edge. He gives her time to adjust, however, and she just basks into this dangerous feeling for as long as it's there until he carefully withdraws only to give it another thrust.

"Ahh!" Her insides squeeze around Napoleon again, as he goes in deeper this time. She blames the position, trying to reason out why she feels him in her guts. Napoleon withdraws again, and then pushes in, trying to fit even more of himself inside.

"You're taking me so well. I'm so deep inside you, I bet you can feel me in your deepest parts."

She groans at his words and their truthfulness as his thrusts grow rhythmic, the place where they're connected burning with the delightful friction, and her arms soon give out. She buries her head between her hands, enduring the change of angle as her rear sticks out, and Napoleon keeps pounding at her. His own sounds of pleasure are barely masked by the sounds of skin on skin, but he's not hiding them either. He lets her know how good she's making him feel, telling her something dirty in a low voice that she can barely register over the drumming in her ears.

"You feel so good- merde- Ngh. I want to stay inside you forever."

He's always holding her tightly when he fucks her, his grip being strong enough to leave marks the following day, but there's something about the way he takes hold of her hips now. At first, MC thinks nothing of it, lost in euphoric pleasure. It's only when she feels her knees being lifted off the bed that she understands what's happening.

Napoleon rises up her bottom to meet his hips, in his standing upright position, taking full control of her body in that moment. He's so strong, making it all seem effortless; and it's not a matter of matching his thrusts anymore - she can't do anything. She's facing away, with one pair of limbs immobilized and the other grasping uselessly for purchase at the covers. Her whole body rocks back and forth, feeling like a ragdoll in Napoleon's arms. There's something primal and simultaneously embarrassing about how good it feels to give herself over to him like that; about the trust she puts in him to have her completely at his mercy.

And then Napoleon stills inside her. And he groans. And before she knows it, a warm spray of come hits her walls. Her eyes widen, only now realizing they've already been going at it for a while, for a while enough that he seemingly couldn't hold back and—

And maybe he just didn't feel like waiting for her to come before he does.

The realization makes her dizzy in an unexplainable way, and she moans so loudly she feels herself pathetically falling into that bottomless fit, just like that, just as Napoleon takes his cock out of her. It's petrifying, coming without him inside her, but strangely the pleasure never ceases. His hand finds his way between her quivering thighs and shoves them apart in a quick manner, beginning to rub at her clit; whispering praises against the skin of her nape, enveloping her smaller body with his own from behind as she presses into the bed so violently, chasing after her peak.

"Come for me. Come for me and scream my name."

And that's enough to tip her over the edge. Coming with Napoleon's load inside her intensifies the feeling; the way her insides are still remembering his shape, the way she's so full yet so empty. It makes her see stars.

"Napoleon— Ahhhhh!!"

"I'm here. I'm here, mon amour."

Napoleon holds her trembling form as he draws out the last of her high, gently moving her into a spooning position. He keeps touching her everywhere, her belly, her breasts, the curve of her shoulder, caressing all the spots that went unloved in their game.

"I felt— so good I thought I might die—"

Napoleon huffs out a breathy chuckle, and it tickles the babyhairs at the base of her neck.

"I'd be lying if I said this doesn't stroke my ego, Nunuche.", he whispers, and it's somehow more shiver-inducing than anything he's said that night. "I think you might be right. I might be enjoying myself a bit too much when I'm calling the shots."

MC turns her neck just enough to look at him from the corner of her eye. She studies him again, with his disheveled hair and boyish smile and his low tolerance of putting up a front now that he gave voice to his most basic instinct and let it rob him of the ability to give anything more thought than he needs to. She leans in for a kiss and he takes the initiative enthusiastically but ends up drawing it out to make the remaining endorphins dance slowly between their bodies.

Letting the tiredness in her limbs settle in just like the fact that the room is several shades a brighter blue than how they entered it, MC only nuzzles back onto Napoleon's chest, trying not to give voice to the heat between her legs beginning to awake again without a sense of the time.

"And I might just love to see you like that. Mon empereur."

Taglist: @arsnovacadenza @kimi00twin @otomelady @privilegedpancake @g-kleran    @thesirenwashere @ravenarld @devonares @galaxyprison @starshards26 @thewitchofbooks @acethephoenix256 @ikevamp-shrine-2 @nad-zeta @crystal13unny @lordsister @ikemen-banshou   @themysticalbeing @otome-scribbles @rhodolitesrose @coornn @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @kisara-16 @chaosangel767 @ikemenlibrary @queengiuliettafirstlady @aurora-morning ​ @ikemenlover24 @mcofthemansion @joy-the-reader @katriniac @ikemen-writer @tele86 @lovely-bubb1es @aria-chikage @babyblue0t7 @rhodoliteschaos @shrimpy-kitsune @nightghoul381 @xbalayage @lucyw260 @kittygrimm88 @lokis-laugh @judejazza @my-day Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged!

[youryurigoddess]

On love and sacrifices

There’s so much more to this scapegoating business and big sacrifices referenced in the Good Omens narrative than the literal goats. And they’re only getting bigger, louder, final.

But let’s take it slow and start with the beginning, quite literally — i.e., with the Good Omens 2 title sequence. As we follow Aziraphale and Crowley on their journey, the universe warps and their usual left and right side positioning switches during the magic show (not accidentally an act of trust and sacrifice required both from the angel and the demon). They stay so throughout the next scene, which is their little dance in the air, and after they seemingly get settled on the A. Z. Fell and Co.’s roof and back to normal, the flipped sky in the background suggests that something’s not quite right yet. In the central part of the shot looms a large, humanlike shadow of the Elephant Trunk Nebula.

The nebula is a part of a constellation called Cepheus, after an Ethiopian king from the Greek mythology who agreed to sacrifice his only daughter in order to appease the gods and end a local calamity started by her mother and his wife, Cassiopeia (talk about generational responsibility). With time and a delightfully ironic twist of fate, the name of said daughter, Andromeda, became more famous than that of her father. Although she was chained up to a rock and offered to the sea serpent Cetus, the girl was spotted by the warrior Perseus, casually flying over the sea — either on the back of the Pegasus or thanks to a pair of winged sandals — after his victory over Medusa. He fell in love on the spot, defeated the serpent (with the help of a magical sword or Medusa’s severed head, depending on the varying sources), and freed the princess. That’s not exactly where their story ends, but we won’t be getting into the rest here.

Not surprisingly, Neil has mentioned two parallel child sacrifice stories from the biblical context back in August. The first is one of the big ones — The Binding of Isaac. God's command to sacrifice Isaac, his only son, was a test of Abraham's faith. The angel of the Lord intervenes and provides a ram to be sacrificed in the boy’s place.

The second one isn’t nearly as popular, but you might have heard a variant of it in fairy tales or as the Law of Surprise invoked in The Witcher saga. In exchange for Israel’s victory over its enemies in battle, Jephthah had rashly promised God to repay the debt with the first thing seen on his return back home. The victorious warrior didn’t suspect to see his only child moving innocently "to meet him with timbrels and with dances" though. In horror, Jephthah covered his eyes with his cloak, but to no avail: ultimately, he was forced to honor his vow to God, and the girl was sacrificed. As grisly as it might look like in the Old Master’s paintings, it’s important to remember that human sacrifices weren’t limited to physical offerings only — Jephthah’s daughter might have been offered to God in the sense of officially shunning her family and dedicating her life to service instead, probably sequestered in a temple somewhere.

Interestingly, the main character of a big chunk of the Bible and the reason for the Second Coming happens to be THE most influential child sacrifice in the modern history. You know, a certain 33-year-old carpenter sent by his Heavenly Father to die on a cross for the sins of the mankind? Someone better call Aubrey Thyme ASAP.

Circling back to Aziraphale, he could be also seen as a representative of the concept of filial piety, since Eden willing to personally take a Fall not only for the humanity’s collective or individual transgressions, but the shortcomings of his Ineffable Parental Figure as well. Our favorite angel angel always fights for what is right and good, sure, but why would that be even a thing if God was truly omniscient, omnipresent, and omnipotent?

If Aziraphale’s medal is anything to go by, it looks like we might get an answer from the way it’s introducing another mythological narrative into the game, that is the story of Daedalus and Icarus. The most absorbing thing about this is the stark contrast to the recurring child sacrifice references for S3 mentioned in this post — Daedalus isn’t a father who wanted to sacrifice his son, it was his attempt to save him from imprisonment that ultimately drove Icarus to his death. The boy ignored his father’s explicit instructions, committing the grave and culturally universal sin of disobedience to one's parents that simply couldn’t go unpunished, one way or another.

But Icarus’s transgression could be seen both as high-flying ambition and striving for personal accomplishment as well as humanitarian sacrifice for knowledge and humanity’s advancement in general.

Similarly to a certain angel who left everything for what superficially seems like a work promotion, but is the ultimate act of love — both for his demon and the children they have been protecting and nurturing together for six thousand years. From the very Beginning, his white wings have been shielding everything he holds dear in this world.

[whumpsoda]

We Search For Stolen Personhood - Graham

Masterlist

cw: pet whump, box boy universe/bbu adjacent, Institutionalized slavery, conditioned whumpees, recovering whumpees

——————

Mutt lied against the bed frame, gnawing at his lower lip as he pulled the bedding up to his lap, fists clenched over the fluffiest of blankets he’d never before used. Wesley slept on the top bunk now, so Mutt could sleep on the bottom one. He’d refused at first, but after Wesley’s insistence on him using a bed he had warily given in.

It was very comfortable, he thought, much better than his crate. Too comfortable. Soon enough he was going to forget his place and step out of line. He already had, sitting on the furniture like that. Like the person that he couldn’t be.

Then again, he recalled what Wesley had explained to him. About all the rescue stuff. These people - they weren’t owners at all, Wesley had said - didn’t want him to be a pet anymore.

Did he?

He’d gotten good at using Wesley’s new name. It came to him with ease, as if Prince had never been right. That made him think maybe… Mutt wasn’t right either.

He swallowed, hard. “G- Graham. Graham.” He blurted from below, just before Wesley could completely drift off to sleep, words cracking in the middle.

Wesley soon replied back, deep drowsiness dripping from his croaking voice. “Huh?”

“You said…,” he was doing it. He was doing it. “Pick a name. Graham.”

Wesley was quiet for a moment, the sound of the two’s breathing all that filled the space as his tired brain processed. “That's… I like it. You look like a Graham.”

Graham breathed out, trembling almost, in relief. “Really?” The idea that he could ever look like he had a name at all was mind blowing.

“Yeah.” Graham heard him let out a little giggle, low and gravely with sleepiness. “Do… do I look like a Wesley?”

“Yes! Yes. Really.” He stumbled, holding his face in his hands with excitement. He shoved down the overwhelming urge to kick his feet and laugh, to dance around the room until he was too tired to move. To act completely unlike himself, overcome with giddiness.

Him. Giddy. His master would have never allowed it. Oh, he was being so bad.

Your master isn’t here, though.

He could hear the nod in Wesley’s voice. “Graham and Wesley. That’s good.” Wesley’s approval only squashed more of the butterflies in his belly, bringing on a swirling warmth of honeydew sweetness instead.

“Do you think… everyone will like it?”

“Who cares if they don’t?” He whispered faintly. “It only matters if you like it. That’s what Isaac said.”

“Oh.” He digested that for a beat, hesitating. Did he like it? Could he? “I like it. A lot.”

“Good.” Wesley shuffled around in bed, getting comfortable again. “Goodnight… Graham.”

He desperately hoped he wasn’t dreaming. That he could wake up tomorrow with a real name for himself, and he would never have to let it go. “Goodnight, Wesley.”

——————

Masterlist

Taglist - @softvampirewhump @ivymyers @taterswhump @octopus-reactivated @tippytappytyping

@distracted-obsessions @starfields08000 @bitchaknso @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @scoundrelwithboba

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

[gh0stlyb34r]

Welcome to my blog !

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[studentinpursuitofclouds]

it's been so long since I was here. But I wasn't to see something

How good do you think the bachelors and bachelorettes are at dancing? Ad as many characters as you like, just please add Lance and Isaac because this question came to mind because of them lmao

Hey hey 👋 glad to see you again ☺️

I decided to go wild and write about all the SDV and SVE marriage candidates (+ Isaac). Hope you like it. Enjoy!

Stardew Valley:

Elliott:

Before dancing, he dresses like a real dandy - everything is ironed, clean and perfect.

He just loves slow dancing, such a romantic.

If he is in the right mood, and with his lover/spouse, he will show himself as a tango master.

Even got a rose in his teeth somewhere, that's how passionate he is about the flavor of the dance.

It is sometimes rare that he will accidentally step on his partner's foot or dress, but as a dancer he is quite good.

Sebastian:

Ugh. Why?

If it were Sebastian's will, he would never have gone to the Flower dance in the first place.

He can't and won't dance, no matter what kind of dance it is.

But the system dictates otherwise, so he had to learn the simplest moves at least for this dumb festival.

Dances very simply, without enthusiasm (unless it's his crush/lover).

Shane:

Yoba, why did Marnie drag him to this stupid festival? He doesn't want to dance.

Besides, he can't dance. Like, at all.

The best he can do is a little duckling dance or a father-daughter waltz (in his case, a niece). And that's because he loves his niece.

But otherwise - no, he will not dance, and he is not a good dancer. Don't even try to ask him.

Alex:

He's ready to show himself in all his splendor.

With Haley as his partner most of the time, he knows the dance by heart.

He's also learned a couple of breakdance moves to show off his athleticism.

A pretty good dancer I would say, but he's not too fond of all those ballet and waltz type dances.

Sam:

Oh, man! Sam can pull off some pretty cool moves. Breakdance, hip-hop - what do you want to see? Uh, waltz? Sorry, he's not really good at that.

(Well, to be fair, he can do it, he just doesn't want to show it).

He whines a little bit about how he looks silly in a suit and he doesn't know how to dance much, but then quickly gets into the groove.

Hey, he's pretty good at it. But he's willing to dance like this only for his partner.

Harvey:

Surprisingly, he's pretty laid back about even the dances whose movements he doesn't know much about.

If it concerns the same waltz, of course. You shouldn't expect him to move energetically, he's not at that age anymore.

He may accidentally step on his partner's foot if the sun is shining directly in his eyes, but this is rare.

But he can learn simple movements and dance well with his partner.

Penny:

Penny loves to watch ballet and waltz, but dancing herself... it's a little tricky.

She actually don't mind to dance and has practiced the moves at home where no one can see her.

But when it comes to dancing in front of people, she gets very nervous.

In dancing with a partner there will always be a follower, but once she gets used to it, she dances very well. The practice hasn't gone to waste after all.

Leah:

She is in favor of any fun activity, so dancing is a pretty good option for her.

The girl is not particularly shy of the audience, even because her movements are not too smooth because of the unusual punch (thanks to Pam).

She doesn't really know how to dance, but that doesn't bother her.

She's having fun, and that's what counts. And if others are having fun - even better!

Haley:

Step aside! Now the dance queen will once again defend her title.

Her dance is perfect down to the last detail. Therefore, more often than not, she will pick a partner who is also a good dancer.

She dances only slow dances because too vigorous movements can make her sweat a lot, ew.

However, will not refuse to dance with friends around a campfire or something else just for fun.

Emily:

Dancing? Absolutely! It's her passion and love.

She can do all sorts of different dances very well, likes energetic dances the most.

The type of people who will drag everyone to the dance floor by the hand, and she does not care that her friends dance like a hippopotamus in a china shop.

The main thing is that everyone has fun! She's ready to rock!

Abigail:

She can't stand all that silly slow dancing, especially in heels and a dress.

But energetic and chaotic dancing with friends is welcome!

She knows youth street dancing very well, yet still somehow manages to get tangled up in her own feet during the flower dance.

Depending on the dance itself, she can be a good dancer as well as a good dancer with two left feet.

Maru:

Oh no, don't even try to get her to dance.

Show her the bare minimum, but more complicated moves? No, thank you.

She considers herself incapable of dancing and confirms it by constantly tripping over everything possible.

Although, maybe if you give her more time to learn the dances, she can dance a little better.

Stardew Valley Expanded:

Lance:

A talented man is talented in everything. So he can dance well, too.

But it's about dancing with a partner, not solo dancing.

Either a delicate and romantic waltz or a passionate tango - his partner's choice.

He dances so perfectly, it's like he's been doing it all his life.

Magnus Rasmodius:

Magnus has a background in dancing, but the memories of those dances only make him sad.

Surprisingly, he is a very gentle waltz dancer. It's the best he can do, but it's beautiful and professional. However, it requires a partner, so...

He won't dance in public though, so it's easier for him to say he can't.

A hidden dancer, just like a diamond in the rough.

Victor:

Well-mannered and very romantic - you think he doesn't know how to dance? Wrong.

He will amaze everyone, and especially his partner, with how well he dances.

He also prefers light and slow movements to classical music. Most often with the object of his adoration.

But if asked, he'll teach a few moves in dancing.

Sophia:

Can't and won't dance. Don't even try to get her on the dance floor, it won't work.

She is terribly shy and may cry if someone forces her to dance in public.

Even a nice pink cake will not lure her to dance.

The most she can do is just jumping on the spot to cheerful music (and then only with her best friend Scarlett). Hardly what you'd call dancing, but still.

Olivia:

To say she can't dance is a personal insult.

Salsa, tango, bachata, rumba, or just slow dance - even now she can show a master class.

Beautiful flowing movements, energetic and passionate. For her, dancing is sacred.

Even though she is already a middle-aged woman, she has enough stamina in dancing to outlast any young dancer.

Claire:

She had waited her whole life for this moment.

Ballet is her passion, and even though she was a little nervous, she showed herself perfectly in this dance.

Beautiful, polished choreography. She has a lot to be proud of - her dancing is excellent, the envy of many famous dancers.

That's what it means to love your hobby! She is simply a wonderful dancer.

Bonus - Isaac:

He certainly didn't originate the idea of dancing.

No one really knew if he could dance, because he turned everyone down (he is still a bitch).

To someone, after all, he did not refuse an uncomplicated dance, and his movements were quite acceptable.

Not a great dancer, but he certainly won't step on his dance partner's feet.

For a beginner dances quite well (if only the movements are the simplest).

[piscesnspices]

ᴘᴀsᴛʀʏ sʜᴏᴘ

🎧 Bᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ Sɴᴏᴡ Lᴀᴜғᴇʏ & Nᴏʀᴀʜ Jᴏɴᴇs ↻ ◁ ɪɪ ▷ ↺

.・。.・゜✭・.

A gust of cold air whistled through the opening of the door, louder than the bell hung at the top of the door. With an abrupt shiver running up and down a young baker's spine, she broke concentration from the cookies she was icing.

"Hello?"

Scrunched brows, those of the baker, approached the front counter.

"I'm sorry sir, but we're closed."

A young man who carried a frantic look on his face, proceeded in long strides and hands stretched out meeting the bakers.

"Please, I need a cake. My idiot friend dropped one in the pool."

An amused scoff escaped from her lips, slipping her hands out of the strangers. Despite his desperate efforts, the thought of a cake being dropped into the pool in the midst of December seemed difficult to get past.

"A pool? How do you-"

"He's an idiot," He quickly responded, shaking his head annoyed, allowing a few loose strands to fall from his once perfectly gelled hair. It's given her the idea that he might've ran all this way for a rebound cake. Also taking into consideration the heavy pants and sweat bead beginning to form at the temples of his head.

"Do you think you could make me another one?"

The baker peeked at the clock past his shoulder, noticing the late hour. There's no doubt that every shop had been closed off by now. She was this stranger's last hope, creating a weight pressing onto her shoulders. "Okay."

His eyes lit up and the relief had taken over him, pulling the bakery for a hug over the counter.

"Sir?" Her voice cracks, stiff as a board, awkwardly patting the back of the stranger who had her in his arms.

"Sorry." He quickly pulled away, scratching a non-existent itch at the back of his neck.

There was a pause as she tried to hold back a smile at his shy demeanor.

"You can come around back." She gestured for him to follow. "No one's here."

The young man had followed, nose in the air, taking in the scent of freshly baked pastries. The warmth of goodies in the oven around them wrapped him cozily, in contrast to the winter wonderland outside.

Tightening and flattening out the apron around her waist she moved fluidly around the kitchen, setting aside a batch of cookies, clearing the area before taking on her new task.

"What kind of cake would you like?" She asked, dusting her hands off.

"Do you think you can make a white chocolate cake layered with strawberry filling?"

She stops in her path to look over at him with widened eyes, "No actually...I'm afraid I haven't mastered that yet,"

His mouth is agape with worrisome eyes, trying to muster up something to say without any actual words spilling out his mouth. That is, until the baker drops the act at his genuine reaction.

"Kidding." She chuckled softly.

He scoffs, and his eyes falling into crescents as he smiles. The ice had been melted away with the warmth in their smiles.

The stranger silently watched her work intently. Never losing sight of her actions and attention to detail. In wonderment of what exactly goes on in her mind while she works with such focus.

"I'm Isaac, by the way."

"Isaac, I'm Andie." She introduced herself, looking back at him.

He'd already been smiling, though the eye contact between each other had caught him off guard. The corners of his lips spread wider, and he'd caught a better glimpse of her up close, noticing her honey skin decorated in specs of rogue chocolate splatters, and a stubborn hair on her cheek that he'd have the sudden urge to brush away, allowing him to fully admire. Of course, he refrains.

"So Isaac, how did your idiot friend drop your cake in the pool?"

Andie continuously uses his name, allowing it to dance and roll of her tongue the way it does. And she liked it.

Isaac releases a breathy laugh, shaking his head away as the memory replays in his mind.

"That man," He sighs, yet the smile doesn't fail at the thought of this cherished friend.

"We're hosting Christmas on the rooftop this year, and he'd thought it was a good idea to make one trip, with both the cake and a tray of biscuits on his arms. Unfortunately, because the cake was too heavy, he dropped the cake into the pool as he made way for outside."

Nabi snickered, eyes cheerful while her hands work on the batter. All the while, imagining what kind of life this guy must've lived for his rooftop to have a pool. Now thinking about it, he did have that city boy look.

It was sort of boy meets Breakfast at Tiffany's, only he was a male Holly Golightly, dressed in classic black attire with a designer coat that suited him fancy with his tall, lean figure and even proportions. And you can't forget the polished shoes, a blinding watch on his wrist and glittering rings adorning his slim fingers. Perhaps a businessman?

"Why are you working so late on Christmas?" He asked, growing intrigued by the young baker who unintentionally poked his brain for answers.

"Believe it or not, the mornings after Christmas Day are always the busiest." Andie answers with a familiar sting in her heart. "I've got to make sure we have enough pastries prepared."

Isaac's eyes softened at the way her smile lost its glow. It was best to leave it at that, and so he does while taking a glance around the kitchen til' his eyes fall on a batch of holiday cookies.

She's just about ready to fill a tin with a batter, before Isaac stops her, taking her by the wrist gently.

"Wait-"

"Do you think you could add a pattern? Like, when you cut into it, you'd see stripes like a candy cane."

"I could, but it would take a little while longer." She replied, but with instant realization she adds on, "Not that I don't want to. make it that way for you... I just assumed you were in a rush."

Isaac smiles, letting go of her wrist.

"I'm not in a rush. I would actually like to help."

Her skin tingles where his hand had previously wrapped around her wrist.

"Sure. You can help."

His brows shoot up as he fixed his posture.

"Don't worry, you won't ruin it." Andie reassures.

"I'm not too sure about that. My mom doesn't call me clumsy for nothing."

She laughs, but the look on his face says that he was being serious. Nonetheless, he was more than happy to help. His heart did somersaults and stomach was home to hundreds of butterflies.

Having washed his hands and wrap an apron around his waist, he stood by Andie's side curiously.

"Is it okay if-" her fingers pointed at his hands.

The confusion in his eyes was quickly wiped away when he realized what she had been shyly asking.

"Yeah," He nodded, eyes studying the details of her smaller hands.

Andie's hands gently held his, and his breath was caught in his through when he felt the warmth. She guided him through the proper filling making process, explaining the procedure in great detail, though her grew distracted by the thumping in his heart and the fire on his skin where she touched him.

"Isaac?" Blinking away his thoughts, he'd realize her hands were no longer holding his. Isaac looked down at his own hands and still felt the sensation as if the feeling was tattooed onto his skin.

"You think you can do it?"

"Sorry?" He replied as he had not paid attention to a single word said.

"It's okay, I can do it. You can help yourself to some cookies instead."

"No, I can do it." He smiled with determination, "But, do you mind showing me one last time?"

She nods, going over the instructions thoroughly without the physical action of explaining.

"I mean- do you mind holding my.."

"...Sure" She laughed softly

Andie held his hands once again, sparking up the same bubbly feeling at each other's core. She paused, studying his hands before looking up and finding him already staring back at her.

Isaac's eyes glimmered and her heart raced at the simplicity of it all. Though, there was nothing simple about the way both hearts race for each other.

ᴍᴏsᴀɪᴄ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ

[omegaremix]

Spring 2001 Mixtape.

All City: “Move On You” (RMX)

Roots Of Orchis: “Building Peaks”

Einsturzende Neubauten: “Was Ist Ist”

Nobodys, The: “Fuck You Too”

Pharcyde: “Oh, Shit!”

Isaac Hayes: “Buns O’ Plenty”

Sonic Youth & Yamatsuka Eye: No

AxCx: “Morbid Flowers”

Devola: “Pigeon Fight”

Chicks On Speed: “Mind Your Own Business”

Starflyer 59: “Wherever You Go”

Fidel Villeneuve: “I Wish I Was Dead”

April March: “Chick Habit”

Mr. Oizo: “Flat Beat”

Boards Of Canada: “Petina”

Ahmad Jamal: “I Say A Simple Little Prayer”

Sea And Cake, The: “Afternoon Speaker”

Company Flow: “Linda Tripp”

Heat, The: “Play The Drums”

Alter Ego: “Nude Restaurant” (Exploding Plastic Strings RMX)

Staple Singers, The: “Let’s Do It Again”

DJ Scud: “Mash The Place Up”

Smiths, The: “Panic”

Tristeza: Dream Signals In Full Circles

Chris Connelly: “Destestimony III”

Jean-Jacques Perrey: “E.V.A.”

Isaac Hayes: “A Few More Kisses To Go”

April March & The Makers: “Sometimes, Sometimes”

Einsturnzende Neubauten: “Fiat Lux / Maifestspiele / Hirnlego”

Camera Obscura: “Theory Of Sex As An Art Form”

Download: Effector

Unsane: “Vandal-X”

Elastica: “Mad Dog”

Autechre: “Flutter”

Gil-Scott Heron: “We Almost Lost Detroit”

Yoshinura Sunahara: “The New World Break”

Dorothy Ashby: “The Windmills On Your Mind”

Cutthroats 9: “Dirty”

Marvin Gaye: “After The Dance”

Chicks On Speed: “Stop Records Advert”

Donny Hathaway: “Singing This Song To You”

David Axelrod: “The Warning”

Company Flow: “Funcrusher Plus”

Wu-Tang Clan: “Cutting Heads”

Isaac Hayes: “Hung Up On My Baby”

Vision Of Disorder: “Pretty Hate”

Einsturzende Neubauten: “Styropor”

Geoff Farina: “The Rights”

Devola: “Well-Oiled Machine”

Peaches: “Fuck The Pain Away”

Johnny Rebel: “We Is Non-Violent…”

Death Cab For Cutie: “Company Calls Epilogue” (ALT)

Slits, The: “Typical Girls”

Ida: “Shrug”

Pharoah Sanders: “The Creator Has A Master Plan”

[bracketsoffear]

Dark Leitner Reading List

The full list of submissions for the Dark Leitner bracket. Bold titles are ones which were accepted to appear in the bracket. Synopses and propaganda can be found below the cut. Be warned, however, that these may contain spoilers!

Andersen, Hans Christian: The Shadow Asimov, Isaac: Nightfall

Barker, Clive: Abarat Barnes, S.A.: Dead Silence Baxendale, Trevor: Fear of the Dark Brennan, Joseph Payne: Slime Brontë, Charlotte: Jane Eyre

Chukovsky, Korney: Stolen Sun Cortázar, Julio: Casa tomada (House taken over) Coville, Bruce: The Shadow Wood

Dean, Benjamin Appleby: Lamplight Dukaj, Jacek: Ice

Enríquez, Mariana: Nuestra parte de noche (Our share of the night) Enríquez, Mariana: Bajo el agua negra (Under dark waters)

Halpern, Jake & Peter Kujawinski: Nightfall Hesse, Hermann: Demian Hodgson, William Hope: The Night Land

King, Stephen: IT King, Stephen: The Mist Kirby, Todd: No Power Kristoff, Jay: Empire of the Vampire

Leroux, Gaston: The Phantom of the Opera Lord Byron: Darkness Lovecraft, H.P.: The Haunter of the Dark

Milton, John: Paradise Lost

Poe, Edgar Allan: The Pit and the Pendulum Pronzini, Bill: Peekaboo

Robertson, M.P.: The Moon in Swampland

Schwartz, Alvin, ill. Stephen Gammell: Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark Sheckley, Robert: Ghost V Smith, Clark Ashton: The Double Shadow Snicket, Lemony: The Dark Snicket, Lemony: The Ersatz Elevator Stine, R.L.: Revenge of the Shadow People Stover, Matt: Luke Skywalker and the Shadows of Mindor

Tolkien, J. R. R.: Shadow-Bride

Weir, Andy: Project Hail Mary Wilson, F. Paul: Nightworld

Andersen, Hans Christian: The Shadow

The story follows a Learned Man on a voyage south from northern Europe. One evening as he sits by a fire, he amusedly observes his shadow dancing and imitating his movements in the light of the flames, and thinks that it would be funny if it was a creature with a will of its own. The next morning, he awakes and finds to his surprise that his shadow has disappeared overnight. But as a new shadow slowly grows back from the tip of his toes, the Learned Man does not give the incident another thought, and soon thereafter goes home to northern Europe. One evening several years later, however, he hears a knock on his door. It is his shadow, the one he lost years before during his journey, now standing upon his doorstep, almost completely human in appearance. Intrigued, the Learned Man invites the Shadow inside, where the two sit down and talk about the Shadow's experiences during its travels and how it came to take the form of a human.

During the conversation, the subject turns to the Learned Man's rather unsuccessful writing career. The Learned Man values the good, the true, and the beautiful in the world, and writes about it often, but his writing seems to garner little to no interest with the public. The Shadow declares that the Learned Man is too much of an idealist, and his view of the world is flawed. The Shadow claims that he, unlike his master, understands the world, that he has seen it as truly is, and knows how evil some men really can be. They soon part ways once again.

The Shadow goes on to make itself quite wealthy, even as the Learned Man barely manages to survive. He eventually grows very ill, and so the Shadow proposes they travel to a health resort. The Shadow will fund the trip, on the condition that the Learned Man pretend to be its shadow instead of the other way around. Absurd as the suggestion sounds, the Learned Man ultimately agrees and they undertake the trip, with the Shadow as his master.

On the trip, the Shadow meets and woos a Princess. When the pair are about to be married, the Shadow asks the Learned Man to remain as its shadow permanently, in exchange for a good life with them. The Learned Man refuses and threatens to reveal the truth to the Princess. Thus, the Shadow has him arrested and ultimately executed, and goes on to live a happy life with the Princess.

Asimov, Isaac: Nightfall

"Nightfall" is a 1941 science fiction short story by the American writer Isaac Asimov about the coming of darkness to the people of a planet ordinarily illuminated by sunlight at all times.

link

Barker, Clive: Abarat

"Candy lives in Chickentown USA: the most boring place in the world, her heart bursting for some clue as to what her future may hold. She is soon to find out: swept out of our world by a giant wave, she finds herself in another place entirely... The Abarat: a vast archipelago where every island is a different hour of the day, from the sunlit wonders of Three in the Afternoon, where dragons roam, to the dark terrors of the island of Midnight, ruled by Christopher Carrion. (...)"

Half of the islands in Abarat are night islands and most of the main bad guys work for forces of darkness trying to bring eternal monstrous darkness to all islands.

Spoilers: Can't speak of it in detail cuz I have not read that part yet, but the bad guys apparently succeeded in bringing forces of darkness to the islands.

Barnes, S.A.: Dead Silence

A GHOST SHIP. A SALVAGE CREW. UNSPEAKABLE HORRORS.

Claire Kovalik is days away from being unemployed—made obsolete—when her beacon repair crew picks up a strange distress signal. With nothing to lose and no desire to return to Earth, Claire and her team decide to investigate.

What they find at the other end of the signal is a shock: the Aurora, a famous luxury space-liner that vanished on its maiden tour of the solar system more than twenty years ago. A salvage claim like this could set Claire and her crew up for life. But a quick trip through the Aurora reveals something isn’t right.

Whispers in the dark. Flickers of movement. Words scrawled in blood. Claire must fight to hold onto her sanity and find out what really happened on the Aurora, before she and her crew meet the same ghastly fate.

Baxendale, Trevor: Fear of the Dark

Synopsis: "On the very edge of the galaxy lies Akoshemon: a putrefied world of legendary evil.

In the year 2382 archaeologists land on Akoshemon's only moon, searching for evidence of the planet's infamous past. But when the Doctor, Tegan and Nyssa are drawn into the lunar caverns they find more than a team of academics — and help uncover much more than ancient history.

Something is lying in wait, deep inside the labyrinth of caves: something that remembers the spiral of war, pestilence and deprivation that ruined Akoshemon. Something that rejoiced in every kind of horror and destruction.

An age-old terror is about to be reborn. But what is the hideous secret of the Bloodhunter? And why does Nyssa feel that her thoughts are no longer her own? Forced to confront his own worst fears, even the Doctor will be pushed to breaking point — and beyond."

Why it's Dark: The Doctor does battle with the literal embodiment of darkness and evil, as unseen monsters in the dark pick off crewmembers one by one. Even by the standards of this series, this book is incredibly grim.

Brennan, Joseph Payne: Slime

Originally published in the March 1953 issue of Weird Tales. The title creature is a black, amorphous blob from the bottom of the sea. In fact, it's so black that it's all but invisible at night; witnesses to its attacks pretty much see their friends and loved ones "taken by the darkness", as though the dark itself were alive and hungry.

Brontë, Charlotte: Jane Eyre

As you read, the shadows get deeper and darker, and you start hearing noises from overhead. It sounds like it's coming from the attic? Do you have an attic? Why would anyone be up there if you did? No, you can't look! It's my attic! Anyway, secrets and shadows and the unknown.

Chukovsky, Korney: Stolen Sun

A Russian children's poem that narrates how the crocodile consumed the Sun and how the bear gave him a proper pummeling and forced him to release the star back into the sky. No, it doesn't make sense in context either, but it does take on the motifs of Slavic myths about a dragon stealing the Sun and imprisoning it for thirty-three years, cueing global night and cold.

Cortázar, Julio: Casa tomada (House taken over)

It tells the story of a brother and sister living together in their ancestral home which is being "taken over" by unknown entities. The mystery that revolves around what those entities are is largely left up to interpretation, allowing the genre of the story to vary from fantasy to psychological fiction to magic realism to political fiction, among others.

Coville, Bruce: The Shadow Wood

The hero faces down and defeats an army of living shadows with a magic candle... until his own shadow rises up and blows it out.

Dean, Benjamin Appleby: Lamplight

Standard sort of evil shadow monsters made interesting by the fact that the only way to stay safe from them is to be in pitch blackness -- no light, no shadows.

Dukaj, Jacek: Ice

The story of the book takes place in an alternate universe where the First World War never occurred and Poland is still under Russian rule. Following the Tunguska event, the Ice, a mysterious form of matter, has covered parts of Siberia in the Russian Empire and started expanding outwards, reaching Warsaw. The appearance of Ice results in extreme decrease of temperature, putting the whole continent under constant winter, and is accompanied by Lute, angels of Frost, a strange form of being which seems to be a native inhabitant of Ice. Ice freezes history and philosophy, preserving the old political regime, affecting human psychology and changing the laws of logic from many-valued logic of "Summer" to two-valued logic of "Winter" with no intermediate steps between true and false. It can also be used to create candles that cast shadows instead of light. This isn't normal darkness, but rather a sort of "anti-light", which can make people and objects in its radius cast "anti-shadows" made up of non-darkened areas, and seems to have an odd effect on the minds of people who spend a lot of time exposed to it.

Enríquez, Mariana: Our Share of Night

This is like a chronicle of some alternate universe People’s Church of the Divine Host. It centres on a cult devoted to a menacing entity that possesses appropriate hosts, manifesting in rituals that summon a devouring darkness that leaves devotees scarred and maimed. There’s also an abandoned house that may exist in many places at once and is brimming with unnatural darkness that acts as a conduit to either the entity itself or its native realm. Beyond the more straightforward darkness, the book’s themes related to obscured knowledge—the central relationship is between one of the darknesses’s hosts and his son, anticipated to inherit his father’s abilities. We see again and again how Juan works to hide his son’s abilities from the cult and also hide knowledge of the cult and the world that he inhabits from his son, even to the point of hurting him very badly with zero explanation in an attempt to keep him safe when he’s gone.

Enríquez, Mariana: Nuestra parte de noche (Our share of the night)

A woman’s mysterious death puts her husband and son on a collision course with her demonic family.

A young father and son set out on a road trip, devastated by the death of the wife and mother they both loved. United in grief, the pair travel to her ancestral home, where they must confront the terrifying legacy she has bequeathed: a family called the Order that commits unspeakable acts in search of immortality.

For Gaspar, the son, this maniacal cult is his destiny. As the Order tries to pull him into their evil, he and his father take flight, attempting to outrun a powerful clan that will do anything to ensure its own survival. But how far will Gaspar’s father go to protect his child? And can anyone escape their fate?

Enríquez, Mariana: Bajo el agua negra (Under dark waters)

In this short story, a detective called Marina goes to a town to investigate some strange murders. There, she finds a cult that adores something that lives under the black water of the polluted lake.

Halpern, Jake & Peter Kujawinski: Nightfall

On Marin’s island, sunrise doesn’t come every twenty-four hours—it comes every twenty-eight years. Now the sun is just a sliver of light on the horizon. The weather is turning cold and the shadows are growing long.

Because sunset triggers the tide to roll out hundreds of miles, the islanders are frantically preparing to sail south, where they will wait out the long Night.

Marin and her twin brother, Kana, help their anxious parents ready the house for departure. Locks must be taken off doors. Furniture must be arranged. Tables must be set. The rituals are puzzling—bizarre, even—but none of the adults in town will discuss why it has to be done this way.

Just as the ships are about to sail, a teenage boy goes missing—the twins’ friend Line. Marin and Kana are the only ones who know the truth about where Line’s gone, and the only way to rescue him is by doing it themselves.

But Night is falling. Their island is changing. And it may already be too late.

Hesse, Hermann: Demian

Religious imagery, seen very often w/ the Dark (i.e. Hither Green Chapel, Montauk's cult that I forgot the name of, etc), especially blasphemy (seen most clearly in Manuela Dominguez's statement). Max Demian of Demian fame would be an avatar of the dark I think. There *is* a hint of the End in there but not enough to qualify it

Hodgson, William Hope: The Night Land

The Sun has gone out and the Earth is lit only by the glow of residual vulcanism. The last few millions of the human race are gathered together in the Last Redoubt, a gigantic metal pyramid, nearly eight miles high, which is under siege from unknown forces and Powers outside in the dark. These are held back by a shield known as the "air clog", powered from a subterranean energy source called the "Earth Current". For thousands of years vast living shapes known as the Watchers have waited in the darkness near the pyramid. It is thought that they are waiting for the inevitable time when the Circle's power finally weakens and dies. Other living things have been seen in the darkness, some of unknown origins, and others that may once have been human.

King, Stephen: IT

Pennywise is the boogeyman, the monster under the bed, the shapeless fear in the dark.

King, Stephen: The Mist

In the wake of a summer storm, terror descends...David Drayton, his son Billy, and their neighbor Brent Norton join dozens of others and head to the local grocery store to replenish supplies following a freak storm. Once there, they become trapped by a strange mist that has enveloped the town. As the confinement takes its toll on their nerves, a religious zealot, Mrs. Carmody, begins to play on their fears to convince them that this is God’s vengeance for their sins. She insists a sacrifice must be made and two groups—those for and those against—are aligned. Clearly, staying in the store may prove fatal, and the Draytons, along with store employee Ollie Weeks, Amanda Dumfries, Irene Reppler, and Dan Miller, attempt to make their escape. But what’s out there may be worse than what they left behind.

This exhilarating novella explores the horror in both the enemy you know—and the one you can only imagine.

Kirby, Todd: No Power

A blackout. A bloodthirsty beast. The Bronx. This is not how Tom pictured his 17th birthday... His plan was far more bleak. When Manhattanite Tom Walton wakes up from a suicide attempt, he finds himself in a Bronx hospital being attacked by an ancient, savage creature that thrives in the darkness of a summer blackout. Tom, the son of a rich and racist New York politician, teams up with his fellow patients — a diverse group of Bronx natives — in an attempt to fight back. As Tom falls helplessly in love with Kiki, a badass teenage patient, he gains a deeper understanding of the source of his pain and reconsiders his stance on life. But when Tom’s true identity is revealed to the crew, he must work to unify the group and escape the hospital… or be eaten alive.

Kristoff, Jay: Empire of the Vampire

Daysdeath is the term used to describe the sudden shroud of ash and smoke which rose into the sky twenty-seven years prior to the beginning of the story. The exact cause remains unknown, though most people suspect a falling star which crashed into the earth with enough force to send tons of debris into the lower atmosphere, blanketing the skies and preventing more than a smidgen of sunlight from passing through the shroud. The shroud has not abated in strength over the following decades, and the results have been devastating - repeated crop failure and abysmal harvests, the withering of forests and other natural greenery and the resulting food and material shortages, but perhaps worst of all, the undead no longer being constrained be the daily need to hide from the sun, their numbers quickly multiplying as the lesser vampires were no longer destroyed by the sunlight. The ancien vampires soon realized the opportunity this afforded, and not only have they embarked on a campaign of global conquest, they actively work to eliminate any chances of mankind dispelling the shroud through artificial means.

Leroux, Gaston: The Phantom of the Opera

Everything revolves around the hidden and unseen opera ghost -- the lights are harsh and the dark is a refuge for him, one that he tries to tempt Christine into.

Lord Byron: Darkness

Written in the 'Year without a Summer' of 1816, Byron was inspired by the ashen darkness to compose this poem about the end of the world, and the gloom that would accompany it.

Lovecraft, H.P.: The Haunter of the Dark

The main character, Blake, inadvertently summons an eldritch being into his local church. The being can only go abroad in darkness, and is hence constrained to the tower at night by the presence of the lights of the city. However, when the city's electrical power is weakened during a thunderstorm, the local people are terrified by the sounds coming from the church and call on their Catholic priests to lead prayers against the demon. Blake, aware of what he has let loose, also prays for the power to remain on. However, an outage occurs and the being flies towards Blake's quarters. He is subsequently found dead, staring out of his window at the church with a look of horror on his face.

Milton, John: Paradise Lost

The primary imagery for Satan and other demons is unadulterated darkness. "No light, but rather darkness visible."

Poe, Edgar Allan: The Pit and the Pendulum

The protagonist describes the horror and uncertainty he feels in stumbling through his darkened enclosure, only able to feel around for the instruments of his destruction.

Pronzini, Bill: Peekaboo

From TV Tropes: The only character in the story is a career criminal pretending to be a reclusive writer hiding out in a rented house a good distance away from the closest town. One night he thinks he hears an intruder in the house and decides to investigate while armed. While he's searching his suddenly creepy hideout, he can't help but reminisce on the games of Peekaboo he used to play when he was a kid, as well as the old rumors of occult worship and paranormal activities surrounding the house. He's a nervous wreck by the end of the story, and when he finally reaches the basement after finding nothing in the rest of the house he giggles in relief. There's nothing there after all, it's just him, all alone, hiding under the stairs.

"Peekaboo," a voice behind him said.

Robertson, M.P.: The Moon in Swampland

Hidden in the dark, marshy bogs of Swampland, the wicked and mischievous bogles hide from the Moon, and lie in wait for travellers. Anyone who wanders too close to the edge will feel clammy fingers dragging them beneath the murky water. When the Moon saves a young boy called Thomas, she gets captured by the bogles, and Thomas must set out to save her. Can he end the bogles' reign of terror?

Schwartz, Alvin, ill. Stephen Gammell: Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark

Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark is a collection of short stories, written for children. The stories themselves are pretty standard stories that are just spooky enough for kids, but the illustrations are what most people remember. Each story is accompanied by a picture that are still unnerving to look at as adults, let alone as kids. Growing up with this book, it felt like a test of bravery just to turn the page. It reminds me a lot of the Season 4 TMA episode, in Callum Brodie's domain - an avatar of The Dark planting images of monsters in kids' heads and letting their imaginations do the rest of the work in scaring them.

Sheckley, Robert: Ghost V

The protagonists visit a planet with an atmosphere full of a drug bringing out hallucinations of their childhood bogeymen, potentially lethal as if you think you're dead, you are. They take out a couple of monsters with a magic word and a water pistol, but the last bogeyman is absolutely invincible. It's also capable of getting past any lock and door.

(Spoilers) They do manage to beat it with a security blanket. But hey, Leitners do tend to twist their tales -- it could just as easily finish off with 'the blanket never did anything'.

Smith, Clark Ashton: The Double Shadow

The titular shadow arrives after a master wizard attempts an ancient and unknown summoning spell. It does nothing except approach the casters one by one, very slowly, ignoring every method they use to flee or fight it, until it touches and merges with their own shadow, forcing them into a hideous transformation.

Snicket, Lemony: The Dark

The Dark is about a young lad named Lazslo, who is terrified of the dark. He avoids “the dark” as it mainly hangs out in the basement. Then, one night “the dark” is in his room as his nightlight bulb loses its spark. Lazslo, the young lad, must come face-to-face with his fears of “the dark”.

Snicket, Lemony: The Ersatz Elevator

I actually don't think the whole book is cursed, I'm thinking specifically of those pages that are fully blacked out when they're in the elevator shaft

Stine, R.L.: Revenge of the Shadow People

Afraid of your own shadow? Vinny Salvo is. Lately weird things have been happening to his shadow. It's grown horns. And claws. And big sharp teeth! Now it's coming after him! Vinny needs someplace to hide -- and quick. But where can you hide from your own shadow?

Stover, Matt: Luke Skywalker and the Shadows of Mindor

The villain, Lord Shadowspawn, is a Force-user who has a different view of the Force than that of Jedi or Sith; he believes that the Force is the Dark, which is basically destruction and entropy; he induces visions of the Dark — of being alive in the eons after all the stars burn out — to cause despair that he can then use. On a metaphorical mind-battly level, his ultimate technique is to become a black hole, which makes sense in story.

Tolkien, J. R. R.: Shadow-Bride

This macabre poem is about a man with no shadow who sits like a statue until a woman passes by. Then he wraps her shadow around them both and forces her to dance with him forever, casting a single shadow...

Weir, Andy: Project Hail Mary

The book is about alien microbes extinguishing the sun by siphoning off its light energy to fuel their own metabolism. The book follows the amnesiac protagonist, sent far off into the depths of space to the origin of said microbes to save the world before everything gets too dark and too cold. Basically, the sun is dying.

Wilson, F. Paul: Nightworld

At the start of Nightworld the sun rises five minutes too late. Repairman Jack can't understand why the scientists are so disturbed by this, but when portals to Another Dimension open all over the world, spewing a horde of Eldritch Abominations every night, the fact that every day the sun inexplicably rises later and sets earlier than the last becomes a reason for serious panic.

[beevean]

I need to shrink this down, or I'll never be done.

Have some more tragic Isaactor + Hector angsting.

~

Isaac’s jealousy was a boulder chained to Hector’s ankle that he was forced to drag uphill: heavy, impossible to discard, and completely unwarranted.

It didn’t take long for him to long to get rid of it.

All gentle words had long dried up. Nothing he had ever said mattered. Hector had learned to respond to his friend’s scathing glares in kind, too exhausted to feel sorry for his mistakes.

It was not Hector’s fault Isaac could not keep up. Perhaps had he listened more to his advice and had he not attempted to bite more than he could chew, Lord Dracula would give him more than the faintest of acknowledgments, what a General like them deserved. He had no one else to blame but himself for his cocksureness.

No, words didn’t work with Isaac. They were not what Hector was good for.

Their encounters in the shadows of the castle, once a childish game to hide from their adult responsibilities, had become as much of an obligation as replenishing their armies, a chore to do to keep Isaac at bay: he could no longer hope for anything more.

(What would have happened if one day Hector walked away? The question dared to spring out of him, impossible to answer and impossible to squash.)

Isaac had been forbidden by Lord Dracula from leaving bruises on Hector, which only fanned the flames of his frustration, yet his touches lingered like a film on him; and Hector delighted in painting Isaac’s skin red and purple with his fingerprints, yet Isaac drifted further and further away from him, leaving the rotten taste of bile in Hector’s mouth.

And when Isaac descended on him like a vulture, nails digging through the front of his breeches and kissing with sick devotion the scars left by Lord Dracula, Hector could only wonder.

Why was he incurring in Isaac’s wrath in the first place?

He was General Hector, elite Devil Forgemaster worthy of standing at the side of Death, who had mastered the blasphemous art of channeling the very lymph of Hell. He was imbued with the Dark Lord’s raw essence, surpassing the fetters of his own nature. With his hands alone, he commanded power unfathomable to the average human: life flowed through his body, to be shaped at his will.

With that power, he only killed.

The stronger his armor reeked of blood and guts, the more his Lord beamed with a pride that he did not deserve. The more his body and mind fell apart, the more he drowned in praises that fell through his fingers like ashes. He used the secrets of alchemy to craft weapons so refined that mere humans could only dream of them, and he plunged them in the guts of widows and orphans who had no longer the will to plead. He spent time chipping away at stone, cutting with precision the scales and feathers, infusing his creations with pieces of his very soul, and then he’d send his own innocent children to slaughter children – and how horrid it was, that their love was but a mere mockery, an alchemical mimicry that forced a bond between creature and master, trapping them in a life they could not comprehend.

Was that power?

It was nothing like what Hector had imagined, the day he knelt at Lord Dracula’s feet. The euphoria of the first day he had brought his own Fairy to life was all but a murky memory, replaced by a dull, jagged dread.

Wherever he went, flames would dance in his wake, devouring all life in their path, like he had never fled to find safety all those years ago, and he was still the crying boy heeding the words of demons.

There was nothing to be proud of, in having become a mindless force of destruction.

If you have a good weapon, you use it, don’t you?

That was the creed Isaac lived for, brushing off any kind of concern before they could even rise out of Hector’s throat; the crest scarring his back almost shone brighter at his words.

Was Hector a good weapon?

Was he only worth something in Lord Dracula’s eyes not because of his strength, or intellect, or courage, but because he was an exceptionally sharp sword?

After all he did to seek power, to prove to the world that he was more than a weak unwanted child to be beaten, after he rose higher than anyone else in the world... was he really all that different from the lowly peasants who couldn’t stop the death of one woman, and were being slaughtered like cattle at the will of a mad Lord?

How dare Isaac even burden him with his envy, when Hector had never felt so worthless in his life?

(But deep down in his heart, when the night grew still and their life melted away, Hector knew the only reason he still welcomed Isaac in his arms: it was the few seconds after they both finished dragging pain and pleasure out of each other, when Isaac rested his head on Hector’s shoulder, arms wrapped around his neck and face buried from the rest of the world, needing air and needing his friend.

And if Hector closed his eyes, he could lose himself in the illusion that Isaac didn’t hate him anymore, and he was once again a person.)

[francis-writes]

So this is just a question if Disney did a live action adaptation of the hunchback of Notre Dame, who in your mind would be the perfect actor to play judge Claude Frollo ?

Now, it's a complicated topic. I am not a master of castings but I would love to talk about it.

It isn't just a matter of appearance. You can google "skinny old white actor" and get many possibilities. Choose one and maybe dye his hair gray. But that won't work. Actor who plays Frollo needs no have this spark of malice, cruelty and madness. In theory, you can put Hugh Jackman in Frollo's clothes.

But no matter how much I love Hugh Jackman, I won't believe his character would burn down all the Paris because of a boner. Frollometer: -15/10

There are actors who have this spark but I still don't see them. It's Mads Mikkelsen. I am sorry. He may be a skilled actor, but if they hire him, I still won't see Frollo. I will see Mads Mikkelsen. He's just too characteristic. But maybe... I would give him a chance. Frollometer: 4/10

I would consider Christoper Walken. He played a villain in Batman Returns and I had a crush on him in middle school. Frollometer: 7/10

Ralph Fiennes. He played Lord Voldemort, SSman in "Schindler's List", serial killer in "Red Dragon"... Frollometer: 6/10

Now hear me out. I know that Jason Isaacs doesn't look that much like Frollo but important part of this character is serving cunt. Jason Isaacs played many villains and every one of them could make me pregnant by voice alone. Frollometer: 8/10

Not very creative, because he was the main name when there was gossip about HoND live action, but Peter Capaldi is perfect. I didn't watch anything with him tbh but he has the look and the vibe. Just look at him. Frollometer: 9/10

Charles Dance. No, I won't elaborate. Frollometer: 9/10

[qualcosadelgenere]

PT.2

1) Jean Baker: "Australia's strongest goalkeeper. He is the true Poseidon."

2) David Waterman: "Originally an Aussie rules player but was longing to participate in the tournament."

3) Shine Beach: "He cannot stand it when a sandy beach is dirty and picks up garbage every day."

4) Karmei Kohler: "He keeps art handed down from ancient times in Australia as a tradition."

5) Clark Cain: "Eager to protect the rare creatures that live in Australia."

6) Sully Princeton: "A genius at finding the whereabouts of rare minerals. He seems to know by just looking at the terrain."

7) Matt Angle: "Patience strengthened by spiritual discipline is the key to this player's power."

8) Surf Wyndhas: "A worldwide master at surfing. He waits for good waves to always look at the sea."

9) Niese Dolphin: "The brilliant prince of the sea. He is the man to lead Australia."

10) Reef Hamilton: "He is a master at catching tropical fish in coral reefs by skindiving."

11) Joe Jones: "Attacks at once when it comes to opportunities to quietly creep up on the opponent."

12) Quincy Horst: "He travels the wilderness still looking for a new gold mine."

13) Holly Summers: "Although he has a part-time job as Santa every year he envies the cold areas."

14) Clive Scissors: "He is good at cutting through opponents with the use of his sharp arm."

15) Daniel Barrack: "He is working hard to be the best in the world of horse meat that has been kept at his home in Australia."

16) Bruce Marlin: "Does his footwork with a spring characteristic of a kangaroo."

1) Fermin Sanchez: "Like a bull at a matador, he charges straight through the crowd to grab the ball."

2) José Costa: "He's an experienced and tenacious mountain biker."

3) Rafael López: "He's a great flamenco dancer. Girls are lining up for a chance to dance with him."

4) Antonio Galius: "He's always making sketches for abstract paintings, like Picasso."

5) Querardo Naval: "He's trained to be a matador since he was a child, but he hates hurting animals."

6) Joan Nadal: "He eats five meals a day to keep his strength up when he's travelling overseas."

7) Igor Freire: "He's an avid consumer of paella, but he's really fussy about the type of rice."

8) Mikel Pereiro: "His hobby is making sailing boats. He's assembling an invincible armada in his bathtub."

9) Pedro Moreno: "He's raising a black Iberian pig at home, in the hope of producing tasty ham."

10) Samuel Mayo: "This plucky Pamplonica dreams of one day showing his mettle at the Running of the Bulls."

11) Davi Peroqui: "He's fiercely proud of Spanish football, and doesn't hide his desire to take on the world."

12) Juan Zubeldia: "Everyone is bewitched by his virtuosic skill at flamenco guitar."

13) Isaac César: "An opportunist on and off the field. If he sees a beautiful girl, he'll try to charm her."

14) Laudelino Sastre: "Like Don Quixote, he acts rashly without considering consequences."

15) Carlos Arroyo: "He hopes to raise architectural wonders like the Sagrada Familia."

16) Federico Rubiera: "He'd like to have a go at synchronised swimming, but he can't find a boys' team."

1) Ladji Paara: "Always draws pictures in Montmartre. He wants to be called the pioneer of soccer pictures."

2) Pierre Godin: "His motto is: always play with style and grace, no matter who your rival is."

3) Miguel Arron: "Despite his appearance, this boy has a gift for French cuisine."

4) Franz Poujol: "He wants to make a building more famous than the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe in Paris someday!"

5) Kévin Pinot: "He wants to apply Napoleonic battle strategies on the playing field."

6) Laurent Pérec: "He always spends his days off relaxing at outdoor cafés."

7) Ronny Weiss: "As one of France's best boy models, he is in high demand for fashion shows and photogravures."

8) Stéphane Henno: "A young genius artist of chansons. All of his CDs are big hits!"

9) Julien Rousseau: "He likes to play with a rose clamped between his teeth. Very pretentious."

10) Jérôme Éloi: "Due to having a keen sense of smell, this person is capable of blending the best perfume."

11) Alain Failliot: "The son of a bicycle repairman. He'd like to help out at the Tour de France one day."

12) Émile Razzano: "He considers himself a devotee of French cinema and has a large collection of DVD movies."

13) André Panzo: "He likes nineteenth-century philosophy, but his friends do not understand him when he explains it."

14) Jean Jetin: "Although he has not yet made the leap to fame, this guy is a fashion prodigy."

15) Claude Moreau: "His baguettes are known throughout France. Mmm … They are delicious!"

16) Michel Morin: "He has a gift for gardening, especially if it's about cultivating life."

[starlight-and-whiskey]

My Soul Has Gone Away

Arthur Morgan doesn't say a lot about Eliza and Isaac. He has nightmares about them a lot though. This is one of them. Also can be found on AO3 with my other bits and bobs.

For anyone who cared enough to glance over at Arthur’s cot, they’d see nothing peculiar. Broad arms folded over his ribs, the steady rise and fall of a barrel chest, full lips parted in soft snores. A figure who seemed almost serene, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. But buried deep, beneath the soft ebb and flow of peaceful breaths, there was a storm raging. The underside of the iceberg that no one had witnessed, that no one knew was lurking. A connoisseur of composure when conscious, it seemed Arthur had mastered the skill even when in dreams.

***

Boadicea whinnied, tossing her mane, and slowing down to a trot as Arthur forced her further down the track. Why was she being so fussy? Damn mare. But even Arthur couldn’t deny the unbelievable chill in the air, despite the golden sky above him. Shifting his weight, he patted her on the neck and plastered on a reassuring smile, more for himself than anything else.

“Jus’ a little farther, girl. Don’t be getting’ fussy now.”

Arthur kept his gaze trained on the burnt orange sky, if only to keep his thoughts from the icy mist that had been winding slowly upwards as he rode. Now, it enveloped his calves, nipping angrily at his skin through his pants. Once in a while, he would glance down, astonished at the whisps that danced around him, clinging to him like taloned claws. Despite his better knowledge, he could almost feel that mist grabbing him – the talons not mere vapour, but ridged claws - pulling him down towards the dirt. Swallowing down a lump in his throat, he pressed on.

At the end of the seemingly infinite trail, Arthur came to a clearing. All at once, that mist dissipated, but one glance over his shoulder confirmed that his visions had not been hallucination. Looking back, there – there in the mouth of the darkened woodland trail – was a cascade of white. Smoke-like tendrils reached out to him with curled fingers as though beckoning him back, before dissolving in the heat of the sun before they could reach his skin.

Paying them little mind, Arthur turned his face to the cabin in the clearing. Bathed in the glow of a sunset, his heart lifted. His little piece of heaven. Within that cabin was a girl, a girl he may not have always done the right thing with, but God be damned he would try to do right by, no matter how little his prospects or means. A pretty girl. A sweet, young thing. A girl who he’d got in the family way but who had never asked for a dime, never once asked him to give up his way life for them. Not once.

Just a few minutes more and he would be over that threshold with nervousness bubbling in his chest. She would grin at him and fix him dinner. He’d listen intently as she told him about their life. He would nod and smile, and present her with money and food and toys for the boy. They'd make mindless chatter at how big he'd got while Arthur had been away. Her recalling his first crawl, his first word, his first horse ride.

Arthur would sit there awkwardly, hanging on every word with a pride blooming in his chest he couldn't tell anyone about but her, desperately saddened more and more when he learned he'd missed another milestone. Even the mundane stuff - couple months back his hair started to curl like yours. His writing's coming on now - he wants me to write letters to you. Last night he asked me to say goodnight to daddy for him.

Then the worst feeling that would inevitably come, a feeling of his own making - "You can't tell him Arthur. You can't tell him you're his papa. It would confuse him too much."

After dinner, Arthur’d play on the rug with their child, letting him ride around on his back – Arthur giving his best horse impression – as she would chuckle from the doorway, that worn dishcloth wringing in her hands.

With the boy tucked in bed, Arthur would kiss her on the cheek and whisper thanks, bedding down on the floor in front of the fire, a solemn air hanging in the cabin that this idealistic picture could never last more than a few days.

But maybe today wasn’t that day. Maybe the sunrise that followed would be the sunrise that he stayed. Arthur thought every eventuality over in his head and smiled to himself. Tipping his hat low against the sun, the smile blossomed into a grin.

“I’m staying this time, Eliza.”

Digging his heels in, Arthur galloped towards his destination. A run-down shack by an almost barren river to some. But in that moment, it was his Eden. An idyllic cabin by the water.

The smile slid from Arthur’s lips the moment he knocked on the door, only to find it swing inwards from the weight of his hand. All at once, the world around him went dark, shadowed with looming storm clouds. With breath being stolen from his chest by an icy wind, he glanced back, seeing nothing but endless dark, the sunset snuffed out in one fell swoop. One emotion gripped him. Fear.

Despite the darkness outside, the scene in the cabin remained in pinpoint clarity. Eliza was sprawled before him, her delicate body riddled with bullet holes. Her white apron was stained scarlet, the pool of blood seeping through the cracks in the floor. Racing to grab for her, Arthur fell to his knees, stumbling and crawling until he could cradle her head against his lap. The blonde of her hair was matted with blood.

Gurgled mumblings escaped her, crimson bubbles emanating from her lips as tears of blood spilled down her ashen cheeks. Horrified, Arthur brushed a calloused hand over her hair, attempting to maintain composure.

“Isaac…” she gasped, even as black blood as thick as tar spilled from her lips.

But when Arthur looked up, the room was empty. There was no sign of the boy. Hot tears prickled at his eyes as the waves of laughter from bandits outside cascaded around the room. His world fell on a tilt, each wave of hyena cackling outside those walls echoing into one symphony.

Shaking hands reached for his pistol but found the holster to be bare. “Eliza”, Arthur gasped, hot tears rolling down wind whipped cheeks as he looked down. His arms were empty. Eliza was gone. All that remained was the stain of crimson on his shirt and the pool of blood beneath him that seemed to never end. Instead of her head cradled in his hands, he now held only a small wooden toy. A train. The train that had been secreted in his satchel, that he’d intended to gift Isaac.

“No!”, Arthur tried to yell, the words coming out strangled and small as his eyes darted around the cabin. His eyes caught a figure crumpled in the corner. A swathe of blonde hair, a hand outstretched. As though crawling through syrup, Arthur tried to reach the boy.

“Isaac, no…” he whispered through choking breaths.

The boy held a wooden train, clutched tight in a deathly white hand, wood stained with red. Worse were the eyes. Pale blue and staring right into Arthur.

“Daddy…”, Isaac said without moving his blue tinged lips, “Daddy came back to play with me.”

Arthur’s heart pounded like a freight train, whisps of mist pooling around his crumpled body on the floor. Then the screams came. Isaac’s. Eliza’s. All screaming his name for help. This sadistic melody punctuated by the laughter of ten men in joyous sick serenade. Pressing his palms to his ears, Arthur screwed his eyes shut against Isaac’s terrified screams.

Minutes passed until silence fell. Begrudgingly prying open his eyes, Arthur was met with the sight of Eliza, as she was at 19, the feeling of her soft fingers against his cheek. Relief coursed through his veins. As he gazed up at her, her fingers narrowed to talons, clawing into the soft flesh of his face, her blue eyes misting white.

“You did this to us”, she hissed, “It’s your fault!”

Her hand raised ready to strike, the arm that had once cradled Arthur lovingly now withered to sagging skin hanging from broken bones. Arthur flinched as he prepared for the blow, white light clouding his vision…

***

Arthur snapped his eyes open to a new day. Swallowing air against a parched throat, he took a few breaths to still the hammering in his chest and cleared his throat. Breathing heavy breaths, Arthur swung his legs over his cot and for the hundredth day in a row tried to separate reality from dreams.

“You’re up early again?” he heard a cheery shout, feeling the warm embrace of a coffee mug being pushed into his hand as he glanced up at the swell of tents in the camp. “Fancy a hunt?"

Arthur swigged from the mug and pushed the dream deep down inside like he did most mornings.

“Sure”.

[ask-hector-and-isaac]

hello devil forgemasters! your master arrange masquerade balls? did you both participate in them?

Isaac: Hah! I can't even imagine our Lord arranging such gaudy celebrations. He is a private, reserved person. Besides, as already stated, we cannot dance, and I myself have no interest in learning.

Hector: Lord Dracula would rather dance with Lady Lisa, just the two of them together. The ghosts of the castle accompany them with their music, but the Lord and the Lady are the ones regaling us the spectacle.

Isaac: A charming sight, wouldn't you say? No one could compare.

[mixology-expert]

*… carbine smiles*

you’re welcome.

…. I have to go talk to Grif about something. Thanks for the dance.

*…. Carbine leaves, but not before giving Issac a quick kiss on the hand*

— @master-dealmaker

Isaac smiles ever so slightly and nods.

Isaac stands in the middle of the dance floor, watching Carbine leave, his smile fading as the people around him continue to laugh and smile and chat. It fades into the background as Isaac blocks out the almost painful noise.

He glances back at Simon dancing with Yelena for one last moment, before creaking open the door to the venue and leaving as quietly as he can.

[amethystamanda]

1895, Part 3

When spring came, the Samuels packed up and moved to their new house. They have a barn for animals, a much larger field to plant once the snow clears, and a larger house for their growing family.

Since they're now living nearer to the church, it's their duty to begin attending services. On their first visit as regular church-goers, Laurence was called on to speak. It went well, thankfully, but he hopes this doesn't become a regular thing. He's a farmer, not a preacher!

Virginia's a good big sister and a diligent student.

Laurence has seen Mrs. Rockwell's daughter from a distance, and is relieved that she seems to look nothing like him. She takes after her mother in all ways that he could see.

Candy didn't agree, and if Laurence didn't agree to pay up every week, she was going to tell Lydia. There was coincidentally a sudden, sharp increase in their taxes after they moved.

Andew became a child who was an Insider, Oblivious, and Active. He wanted to be a Playtime Captain.

Laurence had to take time off work to get the garden planted. In celebration, that evening, he splurged on a Love Day dinner out with Lydia.

Olivia turned into an Imaginitive, Wild toddler. Eleanor became Imaginative too, but Clingy.

I can't put any more images, so that's the end of this one.

The new lot is mostly from the Antiquated Brindleton save, except for a few things they brought with them and the fact that I could not face playing in the tiny upstairs rooms, no matter how realistic, so they got expanded a (very little) bit. It is likely to get expanded a bit more if there are any more kids, in this generation or the next. This was the goal house for them for this generation.

The church and schoolhouse are also from that save.

I don't know how long I'll keep up with church (lumpinou's rambunctious religions). I'm not a church-goer, but at the time it was expected, and I've been trying to try the mod for a while.

CC and milestones under the cut, as usual

Andrew maxed Communication, Imagination, Movement, and Potty skills, and got level 4 in Thinking. His milestones:

Cognitive

Art Appreciation

Asked "Why?" for the First Time

Maxed Imagination Skill

Maxed Thinking Skill

Studied Letters

Studied Numbers

Studied Shapes

Firsts

First Nightmare

First Time at Daycare

Mastered Potty Training

Read First Book (a lie)

Threw a Tantrum

Motor

Learned to Climb Stairs

Learned to Dance

Learned to Run

Learned to Walk

Maxed Movement Skill

Social

Learned to Talk

Maxed Communication Skill (a lie)

Played With Others

His CC:

Glamour Wavy Conversion by https://www.mystufforigin.com/glamour-wavy-conversion/ (they tamed his curls...almost)

by @linzlu Samantha Middy Top & Shorts (sailor suit) https://linzlu.tumblr.com/post/613615726759215104/samanthas-collection-i-teased-a-remake-of-my Boys’ Bicycle Outfit https://linzlu.tumblr.com/post/666608935626735616/boys-bicycle-outfit-the-final-1890s-item-is Warm Wool Socks https://linzlu.tumblr.com/post/180752725112/day-3-warm-wool-socks-it-wouldnt-be-christmas Button Boots | For Children https://linzlu.tumblr.com/post/182619708886/button-boots-for-children-i-converted-the-adult

Chemise de Nuit Garçon by @theroyalthornoliachronicles https://www.patreon.com/posts/94953144

ISAAC OUTFIT MESH EDIT by @jewishsimming https://jewishsimming.tumblr.com/post/642495824435265536/heyo-i-have-some-goodies-for-you-all-today

Vintage Swimwear Recolors & Conversions! by @ameyasims https://ameyasims.tumblr.com/post/632176944623108096/vintage-swimwear-recolors-conversions-i-did-it

1894 triple cape coat for boys by @vintagesimstress https://www.patreon.com/posts/35807731

Olivia's milestones:

Fine Motor

Learned Pincer Grasp

Learned to Clap

Learned to Grab

Learned to Reach

Learned to Wave

Put Toe in Mouth

Firsts

First Baby Food

First Bath

First Bubble Bath

First Diaper Blowout

First Finger Food

First Trip to a Park

First Visit to Family Member's House

First Visitors

Peed on a Caregiver

Slept Through the Night

Gross Motor (I failed)

Learned to Crawl

Learned to Creep

Learned to Dance

Learned to Sit Up

Lifted Head

Pulled to Stand

Rolled Over to Back

Rolled Over to Tummy

Social

First Smiled

Learned Peek-A-Boo

Learned to Babble

Learned to Blow Kiss

Learned to Blow Raspberry

Learned to Coo

Learned to Laugh

Said First Word

Eleanor's milestones:

Fine Motor

Learned Pincer Grasp

Learned to Clap

Learned to Grab

Learned to Reach

Learned to Wave

Put Toe in Mouth

Firsts

First Baby Food

First Bath

First Bubble Bath

First Diaper Blowout

First Finger Food

First Trip to a Park

First Visit to Family Member's House

First Visitors

Peed on a Caregiver

Slept Through the Night

Gross Motor (yep, failed)

Learned to Crawl

Learned to Creep

Learned to Dance

Learned to Sit Up

Lifted Head

Pulled to Stand

Rolled Over to Back

Rolled Over to Tummy

Social

First Smiled

Learned Peek-A-Boo

Learned to Babble

Learned to Blow Kiss

Learned to Blow Raspberry

Learned to Coo

Learned to Laugh

Said First Word

Olivia and Eleanor's CC (except for sleepwear, Olivia wears blue and Eleanor wears pink in the same clothes):

From @historicalfictionsims KIT’S CHRISTMAS SHOES CONVERSION https://historicalfictionsims.tumblr.com/post/707557167404826624/kits-christmas-shoes-conversion-bgc ESTHER DRESS V2 https://historicalfictionsims.tumblr.com/post/672921773031948288/esther-dress-bgc

Warm Wool Socks https://linzlu.tumblr.com/post/180752725112/day-3-warm-wool-socks-it-wouldnt-be-christmas

Beauty & the Bonnet by @sims4nexus https://sims4nexus.com/?p=13091

Braided hat for toddlers https://lilitfromhall.wixsite.com/mysite/product-page/braided-hat-for-toddlers

Ruffled Dress with Pinafore https://plumbobteasociety.tumblr.com/post/160912278923/teanmoons-tea-party-birthday-set-to-celebrate

Linzlu Anne Dress, Converted for Toddlers by @lace-and-honey https://lace-and-honey.tumblr.com/post/653450163479871488/linzlu-anne-dress-converted-for-toddlers

1897 TF dress by @vintagesimstress https://www.patreon.com/posts/1897-tf-dress-29516735

There are no more main house birthdays for over a week, thankfully.

[johngarfieldtribute]

A Golden Boy…a TRUE American Hero.

Adam McKay’s DEATH ON THE LOT podcast, episode 3 features John Garfield unjust framing by HUAC.

The guests on the podcast are ALL the people I would have selected to interview: daughter, actor and artist, Julie Garfield; authors, Robert Nott and Isaac Butler, and also a surprise—actor, Lee Grant one of the few remaining to be blacklisted in Hollywood in the 50’s. Excellent commentary by all. Good on you, Adam McKay and team!

The Red-Baiting of a Golden Boy | Episode 3 | A new generation of actors questioned the status quo; a rattled establishment fought back; dire consequences ensued. We’re talking John Garfield, Hollywood’s first method actor. LISTEN

"When I was originally requested to appear before the committee, I said that I would answer all questions, fully and without any reservations, and that is what I have done. I have nothing to be ashamed of and nothing to hide. My life is an open book. I was glad to appear before you and talk with you. I am no Red. I am no pink. I am no fellow traveler. I am a Democrat by politics, a liberal by inclination, and a loyal citizen of this country by every act of my life.”

—John Garfield’s statement before House Un-American Activites Committee (HUAC) on April 23, 1951.

All Julie wanted to do was what he did best: ACT. They took everything away from him. Despite that, he held his street cred. He gave away not a single name during his testimony. No ratting on friends and associates from Julie. Badass.

The others involved: Shameful. Shocking that Julie’s life and livelihood could be toyed with so heartlessly and carelessly. This was a man who did so much for his country. How could the ruthless, power hungry politicians ignore these examples of John Garfield’s patriotism?

During WWII, he cofounded—after bringing the suggestion to Bette Davis—the Hollywood Canteen. The Canteen operated from October 3, 1942 through November 22, 1945 (Thanksgiving Day), as a club offering free of charge: food, dancing and entertainment for service personnel usually on their way overseas. Nearly four million people were served as they were serving us!

The Hollywood Victory Caravan included Eddie Dowling, President of Camp Shows, Ray Bolger, Mitzi Mayfair, Louis Polanski, Stan Laurel, Oliver Hardy, Jane Pickens, Benay Venuta, and John Garfield serving as master of ceremonies. One of the first USO tours, Flying Showboat revue toured U.S. military bases in the Caribbean. These celebrities performed under some extremely trying conditions, as the weather was brutally hot and many of the camps were not equipped to host theatrical performances. The show must go on (!) and it did.

Julie running an event at the Canteen.

Julie entertains the troops! Audience members at the Canteen filled the hall.

Here he is selling War Bonds to support WWII efforts with Humphrey Bogart in 1943. Not sure who is pictured with them.

Julie championed the story of real life marine hero, Al Schmid bringing it to the screen in PRIDE OF THE MARINES. He read about the hero in LIFE magazine and brought the idea for a film to the studio. He stayed with Sargent Schmid and his wife for a couple weeks to portray the man respectfully and honesty.