#purity and smallness and flight?

[brown-little-robin]

🕊️⚡

[drconstellation]

Judgement Day

Aziraphale's Edinburgh Journey: Part 4

Aziraphale's trip to Edinburgh - and most of S2 - is filled with hints and references to the Second Coming. Once you are clued into this, they are everywhere, with some clues more obvious than others. Gabriel's statue is one of them, but it has another role as well (and it's not for hiding anything under, sorry.)

We also have a lot of references to the Freemasons in S2, particularly in Edinburgh, but you can see related symbolism elsewhere - they use some of the same symbolism used around Memento mori, and they also believe in working towards upholding values in life to be rewarded in the afterlife. Judgement Day looms large for all, not matter what their belief.

Judgment in the Tarot

Judgement is the penultimate card of the Major Arcana in the Tarot - the final card is The World, where the journey ends and everything comes together in harmony. But first, one must be summoned to their reckoning, and the past weighed up. It marks the completion of a karmic cycle; its time for renewal.

Three naked figures, a man, a woman and a child, rise out of the darkness of the underworld. Their nakedness denotes their spirituality, they have thrown off the clothes and material things of a physical life. An angel in the sky with a trumpet summons them to be reborn.

But which angel is it on the card? The book I'm favoring to do these card interpretations says its Michael. The information I have about cemetery angels (below) would indicate it to be Gabriel, who is sometimes depicted on headstones blowing a horn. Yet other lore says it's Raphael/Israfel that will blow the horn to start the Day of Judgement. And reading further, on some texts it just says it will be an archangel, they don't specify which one.

Cemetery Angels

The statue of Gabriel in the Edinburgh cemetery is an example of a cemetery angel. The type and pose of the angel is supposed to give some indication of the life that was lived. Small cherubs for children, a lily held for purity, a circular wreath for everlasting life, for example.

Gabriel's statue is doing several things at once: its wings are open, indicating its ready to take flight upwards for the resurrection, and its holding a cross. This is because this statue is a replica of one of the angels on the Ponte Sant'Angelo in Rome and they all hold something relating to the Passion. A cross is probably the most recognizable symbol of all, and instantly connected with Jesus. Everything here is pointing us to the Second Coming.

The Missing Cross

But the cross isn't there in every scene. It's been pointed out that its missing when Gabriel shows his statue to Beelzebub in the present.

This only appears to be the case when we view this scene from a distance. When we see the statue from between their shoulders, the cross is still there.

This is an inconsistent message, and casts some doubt on what its trying to tell us. Can Beelzebub see the cross or not? It can't be a demon thing, as Crowley has no problem seeing the cross in 1827. Is it instead a comment about Gabriel and Beelzebub as a pair?

There are a multitude of meanings that could be applied here around that missing cross: is it do with death and resurrection or is to do with having your sins forgiven and achieving eternal life? If its the latter, then the demons have always been excluded from that, right from the start.

Gazing in Parallel

Then there's this parallel in acts of admiration of the statue:

The very first time I watched S2 and I heard Crowley say "he probably comes here to stare at it," I knew yep, he sure does, and so he did.

Parallel pairs like this usually give us a nugget of information about the characters or story, and this one seems to be another thing pointing us to Gabriel being the peacock mentioned in the Job minisode (i.e. "Did you give wings to peacocks, Job...") An old slang definition of a peacock is "a person, especially a man, who is arrogant or likes dressing or behaving in a way that draws attention to themselves" and "a man who is very proud of his appearance and gives a lot of attention to his clothes and the way he dresses."

Let us not forget at this point that Crowley is linked to Gabriel in S2 as both a parallel and foil, and he, too, takes some pride in his appearance. But while Gabriel admires the creation that is himself, Crowley tends more to admire creations that he has had a hand in working on himself.

But there is a curious moment here that links us up with a scene from the beginning of S2, in Before the Beginning. Notice how Aziraphale looks back at Crowley as he he says Gabriel "Probably comes here to stare at it. Marveling at his own beauty."

Aziraphale has the same jealous look on his face as angel!Crowley marvels at the beauty of his newly created nebula and stars.

We have to remember that Before The Beginning was one of the last parts of S2 to be written, even though its at the start, but it includes a repeated parallel to the dates at the statue - angel!Crowley admires his creation, and Aziraphale looks a little jealous that he's not getting that same attention from Crowley.

Demons in the Mist

There is another, larger, parallel sequence that the statue plays a part in as well, and this connects us to S1, and I suspect to S3 as well. This is one of the mobius strip parallels that I sometimes talk about, where the story history repeats itself ad infinitum. Notice the misty nature of the present day scene below; this is an indication we are seeing more than two times and places at once.

It starts here, as we switch suddenly from 1827 back to present, just after Crowley is sucked down into Hell, leaving Aziraphale gazing up at the statue.

The parallel scene to this is the sushi restaurant in S1E1.

In that scene Crowley has been summoned to the cemetery to receive the antichrist and start Armageddon. He was supposed to be on a date with Aziraphale at the sushi restaurant, but Gabriel turns up instead, on the other side of Aziraphale - the same side the statue is on in S2.

Next, there are two demons. The first time, Crowley was summoned to meet with Hastur and Ligur to start Armageddon. Only this time, in S2, its Aziraphale talking to the demons, not Crowley.

We have an indication that the Scottish pair are demon-related with the taller one having a misspelled tattoo on his forehead (and aren't there many stories of badly spelled tattoos?)

I think they also roughly match the height and size of Hastur and Ligur, too. And it's the Ligur-parallel that offers his phone - just like its Ligur that chats to Michael on the back channels that don't exist in S1.

Free phone call? Not a problem. It's been pointed out that when Crowley hangs up the phone handset in S1 after calling Aziraphale you can hear a coin falling into the coin return box - apparently there was a thing done in the old days of leaving some change in the coin return for people who didn't have any money and needed to make a call; a kindness for strangers, if you will. So it's not a worry that there is no credit on the phone when Aziraphale needs to make the call.

Lastly, we have some S3 foreshadowing, because this an Aziraphale scene and he connects us with the future. The old phone is looking worn and tatty, with the Union Jack on it, a sign of the Empire that is slowly fading, and is well past its peak. After he hands it back with a blessing, it looks renewed, with the St Andrews Cross of Scotland on it. I might live on the other side of the world from the UK but even I'm aware of the political debate around Scottish independence that has been ongoing for, well, many years now.

I can't help thinking we are going to see a parallel to this scene in S3 as well, with Aziraphale demanding some form communication from Hell or some demons for which he does "ask nicely" about. This is all working towards a change in the way the authoritative structure works for the angels and demons (the death and rebirth theme.)

Masonic Symbols

We are alerted to the presence of the Masons when Aziraphale does his detective cosplay and speaks to the barman in the Resurrectionist pub. If you are quick, you can also notice the square and compass symbol on the windows next to the pub as Aziraphale approaches, although most of us are looking at Jesus on the sign (and a reminder that we are looking out of a deliberate copy of the Eastern Gate of Eden here on the sign, too, into the deserted distance.)

The square and compass are a reminder of balance - the square at the bottom is about honesty and integrity, and the compass at the top represents wisdom and keeping one's desires within reach.

But why are we looking at Masons? I think this is because they represent a similar but different alternative to the Abrahamic religions the Good Omens AU is built around - they believe in a Supreme Being (God) and they believe in upholding certain virtues and doing good deeds in life so that they will be rewarded in the afterlife, and that there is an eternal afterlife; they just don't believe in going about it in the same way the church does.* The Catholic church doesn't allow one to be a Mason and a member of the church at the same time because of this clash in ideologies.

The other thing to note about Masons, is that Masons wear black tie evening dress to their Lodge meetings, like the corpse in the next image below. The barman in the present even says to Aziraphale "It's the first time I've seen one in a fancy grey suit, though." This is a big Clue - but you all missed it, because you latched on to the fancy grey suit part of the sentence that screamed "GABRIEL WAS HERE!!" at you and didn't hear the silent part that the barman was saying - that the other person that was with Gabriel was wearing a black suit.

Hello? Anyone paying attention here? No? Just me shouting into the void...right, well, carry on then.

We see three dead bodies in the Resurrectionists minisode, much like the three bodies on the Tarot card for Judgement. The first is this Mason, clearly identified by the apron he is wearing (the other two bodies are a priest and wee Morag.) The decoration on it would indicate what rank or degree of mastery he held within his lodge. The background was always white, for purity.

Coffins were a reminder that one day every one would die and return to dust. They were also a sign of leaving their previous life behind from before they joined the Masons and taking on their Masonic duties.

Skulls and cross bones were part of Memento mori - reminders that life was short. They also appeared on Mason tracer boards.

The hourglass was a particularly special symbol. While it, too, was a reminder that life was finite, it was also a reminder that life and death was a cycle. By turning the hourglass over, one started the cycle again. This also demonstrated the need at times for one to turn one's thoughts and actions around on their journey through life.

It was also a reminder that time was the great equalizer - it didn't matter your station in life, time always moved forward, and death would come for us all.

Onward to Part 5, dear readers! Time to see if we really know where we're going with all this!

Thanks once again to @vidavalor for pointing out the parallel between the statue of Gabriel and the sushi restaurant in S1, where Crowley is pulled away by Hell both times and Gabriel appears on Aziraphale's right.

@kimberleyjean has also put together a collection of all the infinity loops and mobius strip references in GO here.

*I'm not sure what it was like in other countries, but I know in Australia during the mid 20th century to get anywhere in certain jobs and industries you either had to be a Catholic or a Mason. Without the backing of one of those organizations you wouldn't get far. My grandfather was a Mason, but not religious, and consequently rose quite high in the government dept he worked for - took me a long time to put all those pieces together, because it was never talked about in my family. I just knew he went to Lodge. It was only listening to some podcasts about history that I was able to work it out.

The other posts in this series can be found here:

Part 1: Detective Aziraphale Part 2: Aziraphale-Beelzebub Parallels Part 3: Stocktaking in the Basement Part 5: I Know Where I'm Going

[giantkillerjack]

the average person doesn't expect you to be a perfect ethical consumer, that's not possible for the vast majority of us. but what youre saying is it's better to do nothing at all and choose the worst possible options (sweat shops, overseas shipping waste, idea/product theft, all wrapped up in SHEIN) than to put even the tiniest effort in where you can.

[they are referring to this post]

What I said was "some people are doing literally everything they can to survive and have no extra bandwidth to spend extra time and money on their purchases, and it is cruel and therefore un-punk to gatekeep punkness and add additional shame to these people's lives based on that fact."

I think it's still a good thing to try to ethically consume; I literally never said it wasn't. I had never even heard of SHEIN before. Rather, I am much more concerned about what I saw as arbitrary gatekeeping based on ability and income.

And frankly how dare you claim that I am supporting sweatshops and abuse by saying that this additional work you are demanding (in this case, presumably, vetting every clothing company you buy from) is not always possible for people. It is not a light accusation to accuse me of supporting abuse.

"How dare you say we piss on the poor", Etc. 🙄 this isn't Twitter. You are determined to enforce moral purity, but you are failing to see the nuance.

Because when I say "no extra bandwidth," I mean no extra bandwidth. This is not the "car shows it's on E but actually secretly it has a lot of gas left" situation that abled people constantly assume disabled people mean when they say they are at their limit.

This is "the car has stopped moving, and to move it I'd have to break my body pushing it." This is "at a certain point, people will hit a wall in terms of money and time and energy, and any energy spent after that comes directly out of their life force."

So the argument "okay but just spend a little more time money and energy actually" is not a valid one.

And the argument "if you are not able to do this specific task, then it means you're not doing anything else to make the world a better place" doesn't exactly impress me either. You said yourself that it is impossible to be a perfectly ethical consumer for most people.

How do you know what else people are doing to resist oppression? How many hours per week until your standards are met?What if someone works 3 jobs? Does that mean it's harder to be a good person if you're poor?? Why do you get to decide what specific avenue of bettering the world is the most morally repugnant or acceptable? What kind of proof of goodness and effort would make you satisfied enough to lay off on the shame?? Who are you helping??

Clothing is a fundamental human need, and some of us have to buy cheap fucking clothes quickly. Billionaires are buying their seventh yacht this month. The people who own fast fashion companies are abusing their workers and putting local affordable clothing stores out of business - and this applies for basically every company with price points that low because governments are failing to regulate corporations to enforce basic human rights.

I have $300 to spend on a new wardrobe as my old clothes have fallen apart or become too small. Do you have a way for me to get a new winter coat, 3 flannels, 10 shirts, 3 dress shirts, new sandals, 10 pairs of pants, 5 bras, 12 pairs of socks, and 10 pairs of underwear within that budget and also definitely 100% ethically sourced, with free returns in case it doesn't fit? Or will I simply have to use the cheap stores?

I have about an hour to spend on this per week. Many mainstream stores doesn't make clothes in my size, and I am now in *year 5* of needing an electric wheelchair and being unable to get one; plus I live up a flight of stairs, so I can't even bring my walker out with me - so thrift shopping is not gonna cover this. Should I continue to wear small and tattered clothing until I have the time, money, and energy to meet your standards?

Did you know there are more empty homes in this country than homeless people? If I decide to splurge on only 100% ethically-produced products, and I can't make rent, and I become homeless, are YOU going to be there for me?? Or are you too busy litigating the endless tiny shames of poverty in your own community?

So I ask you again, are you SURE this is where you want to direct your punk energy?

Because there are a whole lot of rich people relying on people like us punching down and to the side instead of looking up to see where the money is going.

Because energy and time, as it turns out, are limited resources. And I would never expect you to secretly have more than you claim to have.

[merv606]

Puritan AU inspired thought 🤔

Sweet omega Daniel is in the forest with other devout omegas, finding himself in nature and praying. But, oh no! He gets lost. The night is drawing in and the little darling is scared, desperate to find his congregation. He finally stumbled upon a beautiful cabin, hidden deep in the woods, and goes to beg for mercy.

Terry opens the door, and oh, look at that pretty shivering, doe eyed omega. Daniel, too innocent, begs for help and of course Terry will "help." He invites the little one inside, runs a warm bath, finds some (far too big) warm clothes, heats soup, and Daniel is beyond grateful. He falls asleep, purring and content. Terry knows to be patient with one of these godly kittens. Sure enough, just as Terry thought, the little one awakens and he's overcome with emotions he can't name. Daniel is desperate for something, his head clouded thanks to Terry's dominating scent, and there's a throbbing between his legs.

And yes, Terry feasts on that juicy little pussy all night.

When Terry finally takes him back to town and to church the Priest(s) have no option but to grant their blessing as it's clear Daniel is no longer pure. Perhaps by smell, or maybe there's a swelling to his belly.

“Are you alright little one?”

Terry had been following the scent of distressed omega, although it only took him a few feet from his cabin.

The omega freezes, looking at the alpha with impossibly wide brown eyes.

“Lost? Do you need help?”

Terry steps closer and he can see fear licking the edges of those eyes as he looks up at the towering alpha.

He must be part of the church, Terry thinks. They’re the only ones who come out here, although it’s usually not this deep in the woods. He must gotten separated and now lost; already fearful as night is falling.

As such, the scent of an alpha would be new to him; the churches are rarely comprised of anything but betas and a handful of omegas. It’s clearly adding to his distress.

A low whine comes from the small trembling omega.

“I mean you no harm. I only wish to help.” He gentles his voice, folding in on himself as much as he can in an effort to appear smaller and less threatening.

For good measure, he emits pheromones to help calm the clearly skittish omega. The last thing he needs - the last thing they both need right now - is for the boy to try and run.

Terry’s senses are on high, his alpha pacing, and he would give into instinct and chase, which would only terrify the little one.

This one got away from me. It is long, way too long for an answer so very, very NSFW, and is very, very heavy on the purity/virginity aspect and breeding even for the purity verse / by purity verse standards.

He sees the omega, frozen, poised like he’s not sure what urge to give into, fight or flight, neither which he would win, not against Terry so he is lowly warned, “don’t run.”

The alpha within is only getting more and more on edge, the low whining of the distressed omega adding to the acrid scent of fear which hangs in the air.

The little omega is a beauty, pure and simple, and his scent, once Terry gets past the fear, which is thankfully abetting, that smell is beyond delicious.

He has a feeling of what is affecting his alpha so.

It wants the boy.

Badly.

And he will have him.

Terry takes a few steps forward, carefully and slowly, so as to not spook the omega, and he is able to tell that the omega is coming into season.

It must be adding to his distress. He doesn’t look old enough to have had many heats, if any. Terry wouldn’t be surprised if this upcoming one would be his first. The poor thing, Terry thinks. No wonder he’s acting the way he is, all things considered.

He is probably untouched as well, and Terry can feel his fangs come down in response to such a little temptation, which has wondered into his woods, although he’s careful not to show his little lamb. He’ll find out once Terry sinks inside him; teeth in his neck and cock in his body.

“It will be dark soon, and staying out here won’t be safe.”

It’s not safe inside either, although the little omega doesn’t know that, but he will be well taken care of, of that Terry has no doubt.

He will breed well.

The pious ones always do.

A dark purpose wrapped in the guise of Good intentions; a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Blood will stain pure white soon enough - in so many ways - changing him forever - marked in a permanent way for all to see.

No, he has no plans of letting the little omega go free.

“It’s already too cold for you,” Terry says. The boy looks likes a small gust of wind would blow him over.

As if on cue, he starts shivering now, and it takes everything in Terry not to go over, pick him up and throw him over his shoulder. Take him back to the cabin and ravish the delectable little morsel until he’s ruined for anyone else.

These godly kittens spook easily and do not know the ways of alphas and omegas, especially when it comes to physical love.

For now though, the alpha only wants to wrap the omega into his arms, hide him away, covet him as one does priceless treasure, for that is what he is.

Terry is a selfish man and wishes to have it all to himself, and he will, if he can hold onto his patience.

The omega scents the air, finally drawing the scent Terry is projecting, and he gulps in big breaths.

It does the trick.

“You wish to help, alpha sir?”

Terry has to keep from groaning.

“Of course, little one. It’s what alphas do.”

The omega slowly comes to him, and they walk the short distance to Terry’s cabin, the omega a few feet behind. The pheromones he’s projecting lulling the little omega to a feeling of safety and by the time they reach the cabin, he’s perfectly in step with Terry.

Terry welcomes the omega in, the pheromones having completely calmed the little omega.

“You need to warm up. Please, sit by the fire.” A hand at the small of his back leads him to a small fire which Terry quickly has roaring.

An equally warm cup of tea is placed in his hands, and a blanket around thin shoulders, which he thanks Terry profusely for.

“I’ve run you a bath,” Terry explains. There are leaves stuck in the dark mop of hair, and smudges of dirt on sun kissed olive skin.

“What’s your name, little one?”

“It’s Daniel, sir,” he answers obediently, before hesitantly asking. “May I enquire about yours?”

“It’s Terry,” he answers as he extends an arm out to indicate to Daniel where to go. The little omega stands, clutching the blanket, walking ahead of him. Terry leads him with a hand on the small of his back, although it is dangerously close to the small but still delectable swell of his ass.

“You can change into some of my old clothes when you finish,” he explains. “They’re too small for me, and they’ll be too big on you but it will do until we can get these washed for you.”

He passes the blanket to Terry, but their hands touch, and Terry knows, in that instant.

What his alpha did.

Mate.

Wide brown eyes turn to the alpha, “what …” he mutters, unaware of that feeling was that just shot through him like lightning, but they quickly turn white as they roll up into his head, overwhelmed by the sudden bond that shot through him as soon as skin touched skin.

His legs give out, but he doesn’t hit the floor, Terry moving forward, catching him easily, scooping the now unconscious omega into his arms.

He inhales him - his mate. HIS!

The sweet scent of fertile omega and the smell of home - the best thing Terry has ever scented.

Something that the more he smells, the more intoxicated he becomes.

He knows he will never grow tired of that smell.

Will never get enough of that smell.

Will never give up that smell.

Daniel moans slightly and Terry brushes back sweaty hair plastered or his forehead.

Mate, mate, mate, roaring in his head.

————-

Daniel wakes on a large bed.

His hair is damp and his skin scrubbed clean.

The smell of the alpha is on the sheets, and he can smell the faint scent of the alpha on his skin because of it.

It is unlike anything he has even smelled.

Looking around he doesn’t see said alpha, and he tries to get off the bed, but his head is still fuzzy.

“Oh no,” a large hand, gentle but firm on his chest has him laying back down. “I want you to stay on that bed for me.”

He obeys, and although he would acquiesce to an older alpha’s orders regardless, this feels different; deep down, he feels like he wouldn’t be able to not obey. He needs to obey. He wants to obey.

“I was just heating some soup when I felt you wake,” Terry explains. “Are you hungry? You must be.”

Daniel nods, not picking up on what he said, about feeling him, and he whines the second Terry tries to step away, not even sure where it’s coming from, but when Terry cups a large hand against his cheek, he quiets.

“I’ll be back in a few moments little one. I promise.”

He doesn’t know why but a part of him feels better, and the scent coming off the too large shirt calms him as he waits for the man’s return.

“What happened?” Daniel asks as Terry takes a position next to him on the bed, helping him sit up and then to eat the soup.

“I think the excitement of the day caught up to you,” he lies.

The boy has no clue what it really was, and telling him now would not change the inevitable, and would only serve to spook him.

Even if Terry is sure his little mate has no clue either, in the physical aspects of love between alphas and their omegas.

“Were you separated from your church group?” Terry asks, not surprised when Daniel nods.

“How old are you?” Terry asks. Regardless of the answer, the omega is his but, if he isn’t able to take his husbandly rights yet, because make no mistake, they will be married and mated once Terry returns them both to town, sleeping in another room might be a necessity, if need be, until such a time when Terry can take said rights.

“I have recently celebrated my 18th year, alpha.”

“You have anyone special that might be missing you?”

Not that it matters - the boy belongs to him now.

He blushes, stuttering out that no, his life is devoted to his Lord.

Well, that will change soon enough Terry thinks.

Soon it will be me and our pups you are utterly devoured to.

“A noble cause,” he remarks. “I admire such conviction.”

It will translate over well to his new life.

They finish, and Terry makes sure he wants no more. The little omega is too thin, but, that will change soon enough as well.

He doesn’t allow the little omega out of bed for the rest of the day, the bond usually takes more of a toll on them then alphas. Once formed an alpha must be ready to defend and protect their mate after all.

He does check in every 15 minutes or so or his little one starts to fret, Terry sensing it through the bond which is more akin to imprinting at this stage.

It will solidify once Terry takes him.

Still, he forgot how needy omegas were after imprinting. His impending heat, which Terry suspects will be in a few days as his scent would indicate he’s in preheat, isn’t helping.

Not that Terry minds.

The little omega will take to being mated beautifully.

He will take to being bred as well. Of that Terry is certain.

That night they sleep in separate rooms, so that Terry does not take liberties. Liberties that would be within his rights, but he knows it will be easier on Daniel if Terry has him for the first time during the heat.

His body will be more accepting. He doubts the omega is anything but completely pure, in all ways, and Terry is well endowed, even by Alpha standards.

Daniel will have plenty practise, becoming accustomed to receiving his alpha in that manner, but this will be best, for his first time.

Daniel though, has other ideas, seeking the alpha out, quietly telling him that, “I can’t sleep,” and Terry holds open the blankets so that he can crawl in. Daniel quickly takes the invitation, even if he doesn’t realize what it will mean, come soon enough.

Terry can smell how close he is to being in season; how ripe he is.

For now he waits.

This becomes a routine.

During the day he helps Terry around the cabin, taking over cooking and cleaning duties, things associated to typical omega duties, while Terry makes sure the firewood is well stocked and they have what they need.

His little mate will never want for anything ever again. Him or their pups.

He smirks when he catches the faint smell of arousal wafting off the omega as he sits outside watching Terry work, blushing and looking away when Terry stops to wipe sweat from his brow, looking directly at Daniel as he does so.

At night, he seeks the innocent comfort of curling up in the alpha’s strong arms, feeling truly safe and at peace for the first time in his life. A sense of belonging that, he is ashamed to admit to himself, even the church could not provide.

Terry, for his part, holds the omega tight, a sense of wholeness, like finding a piece he didn’t realize was missing.

Still, he must be careful.

It only takes a couple days for Daniel to stop asking about when Terry plans to return to town, and can Daniel go with him to return to the church.

Terry does have to return to town, eventually. His sojourn away from his company is an annual thing, a way to escape it all for a little bit, but he has no plans to return with Daniel in tow until he is with Terry’s child.

Until there is no way the church could possible protest.

The bump proof of the boy’s ruin at Terry’s hand.

Not that they would.

Everyone knows the power and wealth of the Silver name. Everyone except his little mate, who seems to have no clue who’s web he has fallen into, but he will learn soon enough, what it means to be a Silver. The mate of one

Plus, Terry enjoys a good scandal and this will set tongues wagging, although he doesn’t know if he wants to stay out here until the boy starts to show to really set the rumor mill ablaze. They’ll be able to smell it on Daniel anyway, as a soon as it takes.

And that won’t take long, once Terry gets inside him. Not with how delicious he smells; how fertile.

Each night becomes harder and harder not to spread the boy open wide, bury his face and cock in his omega cunt; to claim him as is his very right.

As it were, a week in and Terry’s prediction comes to fruition. The boy climbs into his bed, snuggling in, and it doesn’t take long for Terry to wake, the scent of wet omega filling his senses.

Sweat gathers at his temples, the hair sticking there, and his face is already flushed, a most becoming shade of red, like he’s already been fucked.

Daniel wakes to Terry removing his night shirt, one of Terry’s old ones, and he realizes he is practically naked in front of the alpha.

“Terry,” he whimpers, not scared but wondering what the alpha is doing, but a wave of searing heat tears through him, and he doubles forward. He feels a gush, worrying he may have peed himself, his underwear uncomfortably wet. The soaked fabric presses against something down there, in a way that has his special omega place tingling.

The alpha places a hand on his arm and it helps.

“You’re in heat little one. The beginning anyway.” With how wet Terry can smell and hear he is, the full blown heat isn’t far off. “This will help.”

A hand rubs his arms and the tingling in his omega place becomes a steady throb, and he squeezes his thighs together, tight.

“Have you had one before or is this your first?”

“I don’t …” he whimpers, his face flushing further,before looking at Terry in a daze. “What’s a heat, alpha?” A sudden urge to call Terry by his designation.

Terry curses - he forgot how naive these pious ones were; Daniel even more so than most.

Oh to be given such a gift.

“Something an alpha needs to help you through.”

“Oh,” he whimpers. “Will … will you? Help me?”

“Of course, little one. I would be honoroed.”

It’s my right as your mate, soon to be husband he thinks, but the little omega will find that out sooner now rather than later.

Terry presses his lips to Daniel - the omega clumsy - his inexperience clearly on display. Terry would say it was his first kiss.

By the end of the night he’ll have many of the boy’s firsts.

In enough time, he’ll have all of them.

Licking into that sinful mouth now, he uses the distraction to test the heat between his legs, feeling how damp the fabric is when he teases his fingers over the mound.

They come back wet.

Daniel gasps into the kiss, which he thinks is the best thing he’s felt. That is until the alpha touches him between his legs, his omega place throbbing.

Still, as good as it feels, dangerously good - sinfully good - at the beginning like this, the heat haze just licking at the edges of his mind, setting throughout his body like poison in his veins, Terry’s touch is the antidote, soothing the burn.

Although the alpha’s hands feel good, and ease the slight burning starting from his core, he knows letting someone he isn’t married to touch him in such a manner is wrong.

“Alpha, Sir…” but small hands grip and cling to Terry’s arms as his hips try to follow the feel burning through him from the alpha’s touch.

Wanton little thing he’ll be - without even knowing or trying.

“This is what an alpha does to help, darling. This is what your body needs. That pretty little pussy played with. Touched. Tasted. Taken.”

Daniel blushes. Although he doesn’t understand the crude words, it’s the way the alpha says it.

“I need you to lay back for me?”

“This will help?” He asks.

“It will. Trust me. I know what you need.”

The thing is, Daniel does; implicitly.

The alpha’s hand trace his sensitive nipples, hard nubs from both the slight chill of the room and the featherlight touch of the alpha’s fingertips upon them.

Down his body, until ….

He gasps. The fingertips tracing the edge of his underwear dangerously; with intent. Although what that intent is, he knows not, but the feeling is causes in him, the accompanying gush of slick, must be a sin.

He tries to keep his legs clamped but a hand, firm but gentle, insistent, not to be denied, opens them.

The scent of arousal fills the air.

“This is helping,” Terry explains, bringing the fingers to his mouth to taste him.

Thighs splayed open, his covered omega cunt on display, the air damp with the scent of his arousal and sex.

Terry starts by rubbing at him through his underwear. The slick dampening the front further, watching as it the patch grows larger and larger, until it goes from damp to wet, the grey colour almost transparent from it.

He watches thin hips press against them, tweaking the hard nubs of small brown nipples that Terry cannot wait to get his mouth on.

There is no inch of his mate he will not have tasted; will not have consumed.

Positioning himself between Daniel’s legs, knowing he is ready for the next step, he rubs his cock through his slick folds - still outside his underwear.

Into his underwear next, running the length of his cock over the cute little omega rosebud, swollen with arousal, pushing them to the side to tease the head of his cock against the stiff bud; slippery skin on skin.

Then, his underwear is removed, and Terry is able to spread his mate’s legs wide, burying his face to taste it straight from the source and the omega wails, convulsing as he comes, the alpha lapping up every last drop.

He’s too dazed to even ask what that was.

Terry is still playing with his entrance, thighs twitching, omega cunt clenching - his little rosebud almost painful to the touch so Terry takes to circling around it but not directly on it.

Back to kissing now, eating the omega’s pretty little noises out of that pretty little mouth, his thumb, wet with the omega’s click, rubbing over his nipples, leaving them shiny with slick.

A finger slides in, to the knuckle, careful about the omega’s precious maidenhead. He won’t be making it through the night with it but Terry would prefer his cock have that honour.

His thumb rubs at the sensitive rosebud above, and Daniel comes again, slick squirting out, walls clamping down on the alpha’s finger and god, it’s going to feel good around his cock, Terry thinks.

The heat is full blown now, and he runs himself through the slick, catching on his hole, the head slipping inside just a bit.

He knows if he seeds the little omega it will result in a child, which would undoubtedly happen anyway, Terry getting his omega pregnant, just maybe not so soon.

He’ll pull out, he thinks, and if need be, give the omega four fingers, to try and simulate a knot.

He whimpers as Terry’s cock breeches his entrance, the first time anything has really been inside him, save Terry’s finger earlier.

“This is how you receive your husband,” he groans although it’s lost on the little omega whose tummy is trembling, and Terry swears he can see his cock through it.

Whimpering as the cock slides inside, slow and sure in its conquest; in its goal.

“Be calm … you can do it …. This is what you were made for - your body is made to take an alpha’s cock.”

His body yeilds, the soft walls giving into the pressure of the alpha’s claim. No other choice really.

His body giving it to do what it was designed for.

Watching now as the omega opens for him as he slowly presses inside, inch by inch, the searing heat of his hole, perfect and tight around him, his virgin body fits better than anything he’s felt.

This gift, Terry will cherish forever.

This gift Terry will spend a lifetime making himself worthy of.

Little whimpers and mewls, the omega squirming on his cock, thin hips shifting, body helping on instinct as it’s filled for the first time; yet still knowing what to do.

It’s a lot, not just for his first time, but anytime. His alpha’s manhood is … a lot. The head of his cock opening him up first, then the shaft which is just as thick and long: inch by inch carving out a space inside him, unrelenting as it stakes it’s claim of the little omega’s until now, unused omega cunt, his body completely pure in every sense of the word.

Steady and sure, Terry presses in, slowly opening him all the way, until his cock is in all the way, as deep as can be, reaching places inside Daniel no one has. Places inside him that will remained untouched by anyone but his rightful alpha.

Already, It feels too good, being inside his mate’s body, smelling how ripe he is, and Terry knows it’s a lost cause. He’ll knot the boy; come inside so deep, fill him so completely with seed, that anything but a child resulting would be impossible.

The boy will take to it though, like he’s taken to what Terry is giving him now.

He starts moving in and out, Daniel shaking and trembling as his alpha has him, his inner omega revelling at being claimed by such a strong and capable alpha. He submits, body and soul, relaxing into the penetration, accepting the coupling, the bond, and although he doesn’t realize it, the subsequent breeding that is sure to result.

The alpha feels the minute the omega accepts the bond, and his knots starts to well, the last step to cement their mating.

Harder and faster now.

Then he feels it - something even wider than the cock coring him, rearranging him. He feels it nudging against his entrance each time the alpha bottoms out.

Terry teases it against the boy’s entrance, grinding in, testing. Can feel the resistance as his knot presses against his already stretched entrance.

The omega’s body stretched impossible wide around the knot that slips in with a snap of the alpha’s hip, sealing them, and he cries out at the massive intrusion but the rush of endorphins as as Terry bites down on his mating gland, the euphoria of the bond cementing, take away any discomfort at the near violence of it.

The smaller body goes limp, boneless, as it accepts the knot, melting into the mattress.

Given no choice but to take it.

Take Terry.

Take his knot.

Take his seed.

Take it all.

Terry soothes his little omega, licking at the bonding bite, rutting his hips in as much as the knot will allow, stuck in place.

Little whimpers of oversensitivity as the knot tug at the sensitive entrance, obscene around the bulge of the knot.

The alpha comes and comes, around the tight fit, filling his fertile womb with virile seed.

“This is being mated - your duty as an omega - to take what your alpha sees as fit.”

“Alpha,” he slurs, knot drunk, crying out as Terry rubs at his rosebud, needing to feel the little omega come around his cock.

Over sensitive, the knot impossibly large inside him, he tries, kitten weak, to push those tormenting fingers off him, away from his still throbbing rosebud, but Terry pins his hand above his head, growing and Daniel comes, weak at best, walls fluttering around the intrusion and Terry groans as it triggers another way of his seed - balls drawing up - soft walls milking him for everything - filling his over stuffed omega cunt even more.

Terry comes several times before the knot abates enough to pull out and by that point the boy is so full, it was seeping out around the knot.

The little omega’s hole is obscenely used; Terry has never seen a better bred cunt.

“These are husbandly rights,” Terry explains. “I’ll be taking them often.”

He allows his precious little one to sleep, knowing he will wake soon needing more.

As predicted he wakes panting and crying for it.

Hands and knees for the next session, Terry doing most of the work, holding the little omega up to be used again.

His mate not even remotely used to physical love, let alone being bred.

Terry mounts him like that - and although he’s sore when the alpha presses back inside, the heat flaring up helps; his body needing to be full again.

When he knots him again the little omega is beyond overwhelmed, head lulling, little ah ah ahs as even more seed feels his tender womb, and Terry rolls them to their side, cooing and praising, soothing his little mate.

The heat breaks after that knotting session and Terry’s alpha roars with satisfaction and pride.

It means it took - his seed - and the omega is with child.

While not surprised, he is disappointed he never got to play with him during his heat more.

There will be other opportunities though.

The boy will take to his pregnancy - this successfully breeding - beautifully. Which is good, as Terry plans to keep him that way.

He runs a hand over his abdomen bloated and swollen from the alpha seed. It won’t stay that way for long - his cunt is fucked open and leaking the excess - but soon it will swell with something else. Something more permanent; for nine months anyway.

The omega purrs in pure happiness; content and satisfied, none the wiser of what the alpha has done, of the precision gift given to him that grows safe and deep within.

Terry kisses his mate and the feeling of love, safety and completeness follow Daniel to sleep.

The next day, he tells Daniel about the bond, that they are mated, and that Terry fully intends to marry him.

Daniel cannot help having fallen for the alpha although he is none the wiser about the child the alpha bestowed upon him.

Daniel cannot contain his excitement, even is despite it all he is somewhat still naive of his new life and duties, serving his alpha in all manners.

Terry allows him a few days to recover, before taking his (soon to be) husbandly rights again.

The little omega is endearingly shy despite the debauchery of his first heat and his first time being loved in such a manner.

Daniel takes to those new duties with enthusiasm though, receiving his alpha, soon to be husband, whenever it is desired of him, and it is desired often.

Their life is ideal in the cabin in the woods, just the two of them, no distractions as they grown in their bond and learn about each other. But when the sickness starts, coming in the early morning, his little omega miserable as he bends over the toilet, the alpha rubbing his back, Terry knows it’s time to head into town, back to their home.

Have his little mate be looked at by the best doctors, and tended to by their staff.

They are going to love him.

Yes, the only thing he plans to have his little mate worry about is their child growing safe inside him.

The boy is young and heathy, and fertile, Terry himself is not that far removed from his twenties so they will be having a big family, of that he is sure.

He’ll break the news to Daniel then as he thinks he has picked up an odd illness of sorts. Terry is not sure the little omega knows yet that taking an alpha inside in such a manner results in a child.

But he knows the boy will worry, once he finds out the state he is in, about what the church elders will say, having gotten with child outside of marriage but Terry will remedy that soon enough and their child will not be born out of wedlock.

The boy will wear his ring and his last name, the only question is will his bump on display when Terry gives him both.

[myemuisemo]

POLYGAMY. In "A Flight for Life," this week's Letters from Watson, young Joseph Stangerson just oh-so-casually mentions that he currently has but four wives, while young Drebber (proven uncouth by having his hands in his pockets and whistling) already has seven.

Poor Lucy! Having come into the chapter with the assumption that, since other wives hadn't come up in Brigham Young's original visit, Lucy would be wife #1, this revelation seems much worse. Women are not Pokémon: no need to catch them all.

As an aside, where are Lucy's friends among the girls of Salt Lake City? Ferrier attended religious services. She must surely have socialized with other girls. Making her Not Like Other Girls seems othering toward the rest of the women: whether they were stolen from wagon trains, born to the culture and miserable, or born to the culture and relatively happy in working the system to be comfortable-ish, they were also people with thoughts and value.

Utah's Adventure Family does a photo tour of the Jacob Hamblin Home, where the parlor seems plausible to envision as Ferrier's parlor, right down to the rocking chairs -- here. Hamblin's stone house was built as part of a mission to convert the local Paiutes. Part of the reason for that U.S. Army expedition in 1857 was fear that the LDS community was turning the native peoples against Americans (which, given how badly Americans and our government treated the natives, would not be that difficult to do).

Horror! Mystery! Ninja Danists! White hero who knows the ways of the native peoples! (That's a trope.) Does Lucy know anything that's going on? Her Victorian purity seems to be winning over her Spunky Western Girl nature, even before we get her "death before dishonor" line.

So we're off to Carson City, Nevada. This means it's definitely at least 1859, since the city wasn't founded until 1858, as a deliberate effort to set up a capital for a proposed Nevada Territory that would separate Nevada's small population from the Utah Territory. The miners and opportunists in Nevada didn't like being governed by the LDS leaders in Salt Lake City. (Brigham Young was governor of the whole territory until the 1857-8 Utah War that appears not to have happened in this timeline.)

Carson City is a long walk. Google Maps is giving me 192 hours, mostly along what's now US-50, known as "the loneliest road in America." Even if we posit more activity due to miners heading west, it is still a haul across rugged mountains, and so, so much desert. (The route does legit skip the salt flats.)

If nothing goes wrong, our little party will be on the road for about a month, through hostile terrain. When they arrive in Carson City (population 714), they'll still be technically within the Utah Territory, as Nevada Territory wasn't split off until 1861. However, it'd take a determined party to come after them, and they wouldn't get a friendly welcome.

(Carson City now has a population of about 60,000, along with the state capitol, some nice late Victorian architecture, and a bunch of antique stores. It may be my favorite spot in Nevada.)

[wofbutgood]

Working out the details of the different dragon species (races?) for my rewrite, still a lot to work out + I need to actually draw and design them (that's a problem for future me to figure out) but here's some details I've got so far.

General

All dragons are significantly smaller than in canon. From smallest to largest:

Rainwings. 2.5-3ft at the shoulder

Seawings, 2.7-3.5ft at the shoulder

Sandwings, 4-5ft at the shoulder

Nightwings, 4.5-.5.3 at the shoulder

Icewings, 4.5-5.5 at the shoulder

Skywings, 5-6ft at the shoulder

Mudwings, 5.7-6.5 at the shoulder

Females are generally larger than the males - still a matriarchal society because of this.

World is in roughly the bronze age.

Pantalla and its dragons don't exist. The planet is still separated into 2 major continents, but there's a large island chain between them, and the 7 main races are spread across them.

All races have their own language, some more similar than others.

There is no 'universal' language.

All dragons are usually expected to be at least bilingual.

Several languages have similar structures/sounds, which makes communication easier (think Norwegian and Swedish).

Mixed-race dragons are common, and its very normal to see a wide variety in cities and towns.

Each race isn't super distinct and defined like I've detailed below, because of the mixed population, so while they are still distinct, it's not all 'blood-purity' like in canon.

HOWEVER the royalty/upper echelons of society do stick very close to their bases, and see that as a sign of holiness, for lack of a better word.

Skywing

Body and wings covered predominantly by feathers. Exact feather coverage depends on the individual but the lower legs, end of the tail, and wing tips usually feature scales. (imagine a birds wing but replace the primary feather with dragon wings basically)

Wing shape more similar to seagulls and other ocean birds. Built for endurance and long-distance flights over speed.

Feathers and scales usually a reddish-brown colour, with some greys and whites mixed in. (see: golden eagles, bald eagles, haasts eagles, philippine eagles, etc.)

Carnivorous, diet made up of mountain-going ungulates, small mammals, and some fish.

Large front teeth for catching prey. Cone-shaped serrated cheek teeth for tearing flesh.

Long horns, typically narrow and spiraling.

Seawing

Covered in dense feathers similar to penguins, though their wings lack feathers completely.

No gills

Their wings have evolved to be curved and stiff, which allows them to launch out of the water and glide, like flying fish, for up to 500m with good winds.

Can't fly 'normally' outside of this.

their tail is a bit stiffer and ends in a fluke for more powerful swimming.

They're excellent divers, holding their breath for up to an hour, and diving as deep as a kilometer.

Feathers come in shades of blue, grey, green, brown, as well as many having bright accent colours like yellow and red.

Piscivorous, eating mostly fish, as well as squids, octopi, and various crustaceans

Robust front teeth for catching prey and cracking open shells. Hooked and serrated cheek teeth for holding onto prey and moving it down the throat.

Lack horns completely. Instead many individuals have large frills on the cheeks and down the spine.

Sandwing

Minimal feather covering, usually only a 'cape' around their shoulders and down their back.

Usually pale creams and browns, as well as darker shades, with some greys and blacks. Usually fairly solid colours, with some striping/barring.

Wings are broad and long, taking advantage of air columns to soar for hours.

Tail is long and flexible, ending in a stinger filled with paralysing venom.

Omnivores, growing root vegetables and hunting for small mammals and birds, and using their venom to bring down larger prey.

Small conical teeth for chewing smaller prey. Larger canines.

Best sense of smell of all dragons; can track their prey from up to 30km away.

Short horns with some curvature.

Icewing

Second thickest coat of feathers after Seawing's. Similar layout to Skywing's but feathers extend further down legs and tail.

Feathers come in greys and browns, with prominent barring down the whole body.

Thick mane of feathers on neck can stand on end, creating the 'spiky' look.

Wings are a similar shape to sand, but larger. Build for passive soaring.

Omnivores, eating mostly fish, seals, and penguins, but also enjoying various fruits when the season allows.

Large, cone-shaped and serrated teeth for tearing flesh.

Long, sharp horns. Tend to curl back then up. Excellent for stabbing.

Nightwing

Again, similar feather layout to Skywing's, but a bit denser.

Feathers are usually dark greys and browns, as well as black. An individuals scales are typically darker than their feathers.

Have white speckling along their wings, on the feather and skin sections, which gives the illusion of stars.

Wings are a broad elliptical shape, have a velvety fuzz along the skin section, and serrations along the leading edge of the wing. These factors allow them silent flight.

Fully nocturnal, though they may venture out occasionally at sunrise and set.

Carnivores, eating deer, small mammals, birds, and reptiles.

Teeth are cone-shapes and serrated.

Mid-length horns. Tend to curl in a large circle behind the head.

Rainwing

Completely lack feathers, instead covered in colour-changing scales.

Wings are small and elliptical, can be used for slowing their fall, or for sudden bursts of speed (and double-jumping, basically) but are too small for sustained flight.

Large, cobra-like teeth deliver a deadly venom upon a bite. The neurotoxins in the venom causes dizziness, vertigo, and nausea, followed by neuromuscular paralysis, and eventually tissue necrosis. If left untreated, the victim may require amputation of the bitten area. The venom is usually fatal within 30 minutes.

Prehensile tails and short, curved claws, allows them to live an almost fully arboreal lifestyle.

Frugivorous, eating various fruits, vegetables, flowers, nuts, and seeds. Though they may also enjoy the occasional small reptile or insect for some extra protein.

Lack horns. Instead have large frills framing their cheeks.

Mudwing

Completely lack feathers, most of their body being covered in thick, keratinous scales.

Come in shades of brown, greenish-browns, grey, and yellowish-brown.

Large, elliptical wings. Slow in flight, they're primarily terrestrial.

They have the strongest bite-force of all dragons, averaging around 5000psi.

While not truly aquatic, they still rely heavily on water to keep cool in the intense heat of their native habitat. They're powerful swimmers and can hold their breath for up to 5 minutes.

Omnivorous, they'll eat almost anything, though they prefer larger mammals like pigs, as well as crocodiles. They grow a wide range of fruits and vegetables, as well as foraging for native plants.

They have short, powerful teeth able to crush through bone.

Mid-length, thick horns. Usually curled down around the jaw to different levels. Some may curve in different directions.

Claws are large and flat, ideal for digging.

[wri0thesley]

Wahh hybrid reader... hybrid reader...

Ayato with such a stereotypical dog hybrid,, sweet, loyal, perhaps a little bit dumb, someone much too optimistic and trusting for ayatos freak behaviours. Whines slipping from their mouth as ayato comes just a bit too close when he corners them while cleaning his private quarters. (Ayato then cooing at them in turn, because it's just too cute)

Bird hybrid reader with diluc. A pretty tail, soft feathers sticking out from behind their ears and little wings(much too small to grant proper flight) tucked neatly behind their back.(pretty and sweet, but such dutiful workers, perfect spouse material) In which the dawn winery becomes a gilded cage. Diluc wants to run his hands through their plumage, help them preen, and while he can't just yet, he has plenty of experience with birds, and will very surely have you bending to his whims soon.

Alhaitham and Kaveh sharing a fluffy cat hybrid(kaveh brought them home and alhaitham got attached). Kaveh trying to dress reader up, taking care of their long fur and constantly harping on about his brand new muse. Alhaitham appreciating readers intelligence, not so much the inherent sass. Keeping reader in line and keeping(well, trying to keep) reader to a schedule, training them to be a pliant pet. Them both constantly arguing over time spent with them and a myriad of other stupid things.

Dottore mouse reader... his little test subject. Squeaky and almost always shivering, they make for such an entertaining experimentee. Cooing at readers complaints and cries as he sticks another drug in them, or spends a bit too long testing their limits again. The perfect victim.

Dainsleif with a lamb reader. Picturesque innocence and purity symbolism going on here. Readers fluffy white ears and tail make him feel so much worse, like he's defiling you 10x more than he would be if you were just a normal human. A sinner and a saint. And as much as he would like to hold back he simply does not have the strength anymore. Reader is just too perfect. Maybe this is repentance for all the pain he has and currently suffers. An innocent little being just for him.

Others like zhongli with a big cat reader(big royal vibes, perfect match for a dragon) , tighnari with a bunny or wolf hyrbid(either way on the food chain, both reduced to messes under his power), itto with a small ferret reader(full of energy, lots of fun and way too easy to manhandle however he wants)

Im insane.

and they are ALL such good concepts. for some reason the idea of cat hybrid reader that kaveh brought home is so so funny to me. he found you in the rainforest during a THUNDERSTORM and you looked so pathetic with your fluffy tail all dripping with water and your soft ears plastered to your head and his bleeding heart insisted that he find you a new home, and where better than with him! alhaitham pretending, at first, to be entirely unbothered by your presence until kaveh walks in to find you curled around him on his lap when you're reading (well, that pre-empted the need for the "we can't keep them" argument he was expecting!). oh and dainsleif lamb . . . agh. thinking! thinking!!!!

[underground-monarch]

maybe a ficlet based on this? hehe

Jimmy’s hands balled into fists as he glared at the latest surprise addition to Tumble Town. It was unquestionably another gift from that big-headed mightier-than-thou “god”, attempting to damage the Sheriff’s reputation.

He wouldn’t put up with it any longer. He’d had enough of being the punch bag, the joke of the empires. He’d had enough of attempting to stand up to the other leaders, only for them to laugh him aside as though he had all the intimidation of a cooked noodle.

He tried to be a diplomat, a cool calm and collected face of the Law. But now the time had come to prove to them, to all of them, that the Sheriff could be a real threat to those who disrespected him.

And where better to strike first than at the heart of the resistance?

Pausing only to grab the entire remaining stock out of his wagon and a flint and steel from one of his chests, Jimmy launched himself into the sky with a burst of sparks, his shadowed eyes glinting as red as the TNT in his inventory.

When Stratos came into view though, every single thought of revenge was dropped from his mind into the rushing wind of his flight path behind him, and his jaw fell open in awe.

The quartz shone pure white in the early-evening light, its pristine purity combining with the Upper Kingdom’s gravity-defying posture to give it a truly ethereal sense of wonder. The gold accents glinted in the sun, beautifully complimented by the teal. The very air itself around the whole empire seemed to hum with mystical energy, a song of love and joy and glory.

Jimmy had never looked at it like this before. He had only ever seen it as the lair of his nemesis, tainted by the mocking presence of the Toy Barn, an ego-boost for a man who already thought everything of himself.

Reluctantly, Jimmy finally realised that maybe Joel deserved his pride in his empire.

The Sheriff’s hands unclenched around the explosives.

Jimmy landed on one of the floating walkways, stumbling a little as his neck craned upwards to admire the nearest buildings. He stepped up to the banister, leaning over to admire the view of the golden-hour light bathing the village below.

Stratos really did feel like the home of a god.

“Hey, toy boy!”

The Sheriff’s hackles instinctively raised at the sound of Joel’s taunting voice, but he forced himself to relax. He wasn’t here on a hostile mission. Not anymore. He quickly tucked the TNT from his hand away in his inventory, hiding it just in time as the God of Stratos glided in on angelic wings and landed beside him with a subtle but nonetheless intimidating shake of the floating walkway.

“What are you doing so far from Toy Town, eh?” Joel leaned casually on the banister next to Jimmy, a smug smirk on his face.

“I’m not here for mocking comments, Joel.” Jimmy gritted his teeth and took a short calming breath before turning to look at the god. Even regardless of the height of the man before him and the surrounding buildings scaled to match, Jimmy suddenly felt like a very small fish in a very big pond. He glanced around at the view again. “You’ve done a really good job on this place, you know.”

Something in Joel’s expression changed at that: while his smirk didn’t move, his eyebrows furrowed slightly, betraying his suspicion at Jimmy’s compliment.

“Uh, yeah, I know!” Joel gestured to himself, “I’m so sexy and awesome and good at everything, obviously!”

Jimmy closed his eyes in exasperation at Joel’s pathetic self-aggrandising in what he was trying to make a sincere moment despite the tension of their rivalry. “I’m serious, Joel. Stratos genuinely looks incredible, you’re really good at building.”

For a second, Joel didn’t react. Jimmy could feel the god analysing his expression, searching for any hint of mockery or deception, but Jimmy kept his face relaxed and soft.

Eventually Joel moved. He twisted away from leaning on the banister and having to look at Jimmy, one hand rising to rub at the back of his neck. “Um… thanks, I guess.” He paused, unsure. “Y’know, I’m… I try.” He glanced back at Jimmy. “D’you really mean that?” he asked, a faint accusatory defensive tone in his voice.

“I really mean it.” And he did.

Joel nodded once, jerkily, avoiding eye contact again. “Well… yeah. Thanks.”

The two men stood in silence for a few minutes, the tension of their rivalry between them slowly dissolving.

“So, um… was there anything you needed from Stratos?” Joel asked, his voice unusually amicable to Jimmy’s ears.

The TNT weighed a little heavier in his inventory.

“… No, I don’t need anything. I was just passing through.”

“Ok. Well, um… see ya, then.” Joel spread his wings and hurriedly launched himself into the air, flying off towards the centre of Upper Stratos.

Jimmy watched him go, and then quickly flew back to Tumble Town.

When he stepped outside the next morning, he was surprised to see his empire looking remarkably normal: all the Toy Story pranks had been removed overnight, and when he opened the chest that had appeared on his porch it contained a single diamond surrounded by gold blocks.

Jimmy grinned, glancing up at the sky to see a distant hovering figure of an oversized humanoid, who promptly disappeared from view over the mesa mountain ridge in the direction of the sky kingdom.

sorry for taking so long to get to this, but I finally had an idea for how this concept could play out so here ya go at last :] also putting it up on ao3

[jeanclamence]

La Mortification d'un Insomniaque

The Mortification of an Insomniac

Original Monologue by Jean Clamence (me)

I cannot sleep. Why sleep, anyway? The night holds wonders far more splendid than the day. I love him with all my heart. I can inhale stars, walk along icy quarters, lay on rigid concrete, and spin around in the pitch black, the void which embraces me and engulfs me into a sweet hysteria of turmoil. I will bang my head against my bed frame and my surroundings will swirl dizzily, laugh about it, then go outside, bump into streetlights with an eclipse of moths circling above my head that yearning for the light. From a stale, flaccid, pink worm, I twist and turn among the lepidoptera, growing their wings and taking flight, possessing their bewitching colour and gaining their curious allure. When day breaks, I will find my body broken beyond repair, that my metamorphosis has come undone and I've regressed to an ugly worm, my soul torn apart with each bit of purity dismembered, and my mind lost in the vastness of a region squashed between heaven and hell. I become aware of the meek fragility of my existence---in matter and in memory---and along with it the utter meaninglessness of everything. Hours will pass, twilight will start, and I will retreat into the night. Then, crimson puddles may dry up on my teeth, turn them brown, rot them to excess, fine dust, and my eyes may swell with tears, begging for the end, spread wide with eyelids parallel under the shade of fifty strands of fried hair, but I don't notice them. I cannot move for myself, but for the thought that seduces me and takes advantage of my blindness: 'What is so hazardous about a tiny cut, a small scratch, a little wound with a few miniscule drops of blood? There is no distinction between an arm lost and a healing bruise. Both will return to me a hundred times over to collect me at my doorstep, abrupt as the appearance of goodness and love, as simply developed and intricate as the act of sin, on an evening when silver skies weep and too, shout with brute force. Both will end me, and in the end my ending is nothingness, for the end is nothingness because the world is nothingness after days abundant of sin and beauty and will'. And so I continue, but the problem that troubles the lover of the after hours is that he is awake, he exists in the present as undoubtedly as the cold, hard wall which he peppers with rims of ash from the cigarette bums he presses onto it. More times than not it will occur to him: the thought that the promise of night is forfeit, for there is a plausibility in the possibility that it will only grant the ephemeral thought of eternal slumber, not the eternal slumber of ephemeral thought, and instead will lock him away, conscious of the reality that he has taken millions of breaths since death was promised to him. When he has alas had enough, all the peer insomniacs scream in unison with him, once again, after the vigor of life, when everybody has dozed off and children have been tucked in their beds with the comforting plumpness of soft, silk pillows and stuffed animals. And they cannot stop, for where else could they grieve but the night? Where else should they grieve but the night? The day cannot free any prisoners. Distraught, it is fully aware of the truth that it is also a problem.

I am striding along elliptically around the base of an oak tree, waiting for day: waiting for it's demands, it's responsibilities, it's shedding light on the actuality of being, the wild unpredictability of a day, an hour, a minute, a second, a glimpse. I know I do not want it now, but I wait for it. The time will come when I kneel, assure it's superiority and beg, for I will feel and think 'I need it'. I frown at the slight appearance of the matter in my consciousness, at it's reoccurring routine, the never-ending pattern of night and day. I can never shut my eyes in the night, nor rest with my eyes open in day; I want to change the world at midnight, but four hours later dawn will come and everything, motionless and locomotive, will show me the short extent to which I can carry out my superficial aspirations. They are different, but they become one in the common torture they bring to me. They merged into one behind my back, under my ears, and I hitherto have been completely clueless; C'est la vie. And la vie est une maladie, a  malady that hides itself in plain sight and sense. It is a killer with excellent skill and strategy, being able to run on it's tip-toes and not make a sound. Nobody died that has not lived. Joy is living. This endless suffering is living. Attachment is living. War is living. It will kill us all because of the pointlessness of it all. I know what I must do now. I pray for neither night nor day. (It's like being given only two horrid politicians to vote for, and asking 'Which one of them has committed a lighter crime: the perpetrator of the genocide of children or the one who kills a child every month? Not only is the question foolish nonsense adorned with perfume made from cow dung, I deserve better.) I only await eternal slumber with no consciousness, only a comfortable hopelessness. Only then---when my remains will most likely lie in a coffin or in a marble jar---can I be free.

[reactor-four-official]

Rare photographs of one of the bathyscaphes used to lower liquidators into the ruins of Reactor 4.

The Sarcophagus of Chernobyl Unit 4 was constructed on top of the ruined reactor hall, using the existing structure as support for its massive weight. Engineers were unsure at the beginning of construction if the building could even support parts of the Sarcophagus. Initially, engineers could only find locations to place the prefabricated pieces of the Sarcophagus using photos taken from the helicopters above the reactor building. On a few occasions, men were sent to scout out potential locations for these structures on foot via passages in the plant. This proved extremely dangerous, and so another solution was brought forward by NIKIMT, a Soviet think tank responsible for several other innovative solutions within the zone; a twenty-one ton lead box with a single leaded glass window 30 centimeters thick. It was equipped with air filters that filtered the air to nearly 100% purity, allowing liquidators to work around the reactor for several hours at a time. Designed to accommodate up to four men, they were affectionately named the batiskaf, or bathyscaphe. These monstrous boxes would be attached to the hook of one of the cranes operating at the site by a short cable and lowered into the reactor hall. This allowed engineers to more closely assess the condition of the structure and find locations to rest the massive beams that held the roof of the Sarcophagus up. Those who worked in the bathyscaphe, known jokingly as “Cosmonauts”, communicated with the operators of the cranes via radio. Work could also be conducted through ports in the walls, through which a manipulator arm could be extended. It was also used on the rare occasion that welding was required on the Sarcophagus. Without this equipment, the Sarcophagus would not have been completed safely. It was also used after the completion of the Sarcophagus to monitor the condition of the construction and reactor hall, until it was retired in 1988 due to instability issues.

Once again, my apologies for low quality images. A few of these images are so rare that I could only find them in one place.

[Image descriptions: Top left image: The bathyscaphe is a large white metal box about seven feet tall, four feet long, and four feet deep, with a single square window. It has several lifting cables attached to its roof and several pipes jut out from it pointing towards the ground to keep it from falling over.

Top right image: they bathyscaphe in ‘flight’.

Bottom left image: The bathyscaphe from another angle, showing the single porthole.

Bottom right image: This is a photo of the bathyschape’s interior. Two manipulator arms sit below the window, and a small stool is welded onto the floor where an operator could sit.

PS feedback on my image descriptions is very much appreciated and helpful. I am new to this, but I think everyone has the right to learn and experience history and if you have any suggestions or comments on how to improve my descriptions please do not hesitate to reach out! I am more than happy to provide more detailed image descriptions as well upon request. Many thanks for your interest!]

[someweirdoreblogger]

I want Hades to send vague hints. Faint ghosts of himself, crawling shadows up to the surface, peering over from the Underworld to let me know he's silently watching me.

Strange phenomenon of unexplained occurrence, a dark ghost hiding in the shell of humanity's vision. Hades is always in plain sight but also invisible. The living and the dead hold limited interactions for several reasons, but Hades lets those who know realize.

I want young, immortal asphodels to spiral into a beautiful meadow around my feet, assorted so a large cluster of spikes and blooming thorns. Long as snakes radiating a hardy purity snow refection, freshest neath Apollo's ablessed veil when I'm sleeping, so people shall think twice on waking me up from my peaceful daze into dreamful nothingness.

I want to feel an overgrowing darkness, hugging me out from under what I consider down and deep. Fleshless yet whole, devoid but real.

Darkness so vast, so godly, so infectiously potent no soft whisper, rhyme, or meaning can be found by mere sight alone. Hades only reveals what he wants you to see, dreams beyond imagination behind the heavy cover of my eyes, in-between the ether and life itself, where feeble understandings are blind thanks to a timeless thread sticking worryless mere mortals to their rightful plane. A shadow of a dominant hand, a dab of cloud-like cotton, tender flutter of caressing invisible fingers across my cheek, a delicate silken-kiss. Wishing me 'good night', a silent promise of a nightmare-less wish after a long day of hard work and deep punches.

I want to see butterflies, wearing chiseled gold wings. Spirits in the most fragile form, pristine. A tiny glimpse of the unnatural, a unique flash of light to catch the attention of no one but me. Notice them more and more throughout my entire lifetime, scattering like stotic Poseidon's rapid ocean currents, peerless Moons of broken glass. Unpredictable patterns crowding me through soft gusts of free air; but, for whatever reason, I can not seem to mind them-as they are hazardless. It feels as if they never dare harm their chosen.

Learn these special little critters, the smallest miracles of nature seem attracted to my stories and opinions, my voice in gerenal like they somehow maintain human ears and understanding.

Even something as small as a whisper, a butterfly just so happens to pass; Prodryas persephone, supposedly extinct-perching like a bird on my shoulder listening on to my next offer for whistling winds of the world. I want to be overtaken by them, guided to safe shelters from sudden rainfall, rare medicines and happen upon a lake with a perfect veiw of the moon, all because I was struck hard enough with curiosity following a stray flight of precious insect beats. A tempting echo whispering a fast secret by my ear. Swarmed in colorful bugs aplenty long lost to human civilization, a harmless storm of fragile mighty bodies, just to bless me with a sight humans can only pray to see in such open variety.

[bobbinacrossafricatake2]

Guardian Angel

June 1 & 2, 2024

We love our itinerary, but the reality is that with the three countries we chose, there’s non-trivial travel between them. We packed up and had our last, relaxing breakfast at Anjajavy. Rather than tipping guides as we went, we singled out the guides who led most of our activities and gave them individual tips the night before. It was so nice that as we hung out for a bit in the lodge waiting for our transport the the airstrip, each guide came over, thanked us, chatted a bit and urged us to come back and/or tell our friends to come visit. There’s a bit of an air of concern for the travel industry here, on which the locals depend so much!

The flight was one of the bigger little planes with the honeymooners sharing the space with us; same pilot who got us to Anjajavy in the tiny plane. On arrival, we were met by an airport escort who drove us the five minutes to the international terminal. We passed by men bringing their zebus to market and a group of dressed up folks at a church for a wedding. It’s quite limited on who can enter the terminal, so he dropped us off in front, assuring us there’s a restaurant inside. Alas, we were unable to check in yet, so were relegated to siting on a concrete block. At one point we tried to go to check in and the guard said they’re not checking in our flight yet. Jill pointed out that this board shows that indeed checking in has started and he annoyedly said no, not checking in yet. Needless to say, we went back to our concrete block. In need of water, Seb went to the little sundry shop where they wouldn’t take USD or a credit card for such a small amount. So she stood in line for currency exchange which would not change less than $5.00. That came out to 22,200 Malagasy Ariary, which got us water, crackers and chocolate. What else would we get with money we would not be able to use after leaving Madagascar?

After we could finally check in (not particularly streamlined), we arrived in a new, quite modern terminal. We had a bite at the restaurant and hung out until we boarded. While waiting, a young woman who works for the company that designed the airport asked us to complete a survey. It was a good way to pass time, although we probably were not the best targets. This flight was less comfortable and more crowded than the others we’ve had, but on arrival it seemed that most folks were connecting, so getting through immigration and customs was easy and quick.

Then, we hit our first big snag of the trip. We kept looking for our normal “Bobbin X2” sign and none was to be seen. We emerged street-side where 10-15 folks were waiting with signs. Still nothing for us. Did we miss him/her? What to do? After a few minutes, we started looking up POCs on our spiffy TravelKey app from Mike. We’ve not needed such numbers, but knew they were there. Jill tried calling Nomad Tanzania on WhatsApp (trickier than one would think) and finally raised them. We tried calling the Emakoko (our hotel for the night) and it was all a bit confusing. Jill tried to re-enter the airport to see if we’d missed our contact but she couldn’t get back in. At that point, Ruth, our guardian angel and a Raddison Blu rep, approached and took charge. She made calls, while we tried, as well. Turns out Bush & Beyond was in charge of us, whose number we didn’t have, but Ruth did. Yay. Her friend, Purity, is the airport B&B rep. Hurrah. Not only did we not have B&B’s contact info, but they hod incorrect info for our arrival. They expected us on a KLM flight (we think the flight we’re leaving on in 7 days) at almost midnight. Yikes! Thank goodness for Ruth! Purity reportedly ran across the parking lot, arranged a vehicle on the spot to take us to the entrance of Nairobi National Park, where the Emakoko driver/guide, Jackson, picked us up. It all took a few hours. If we had to have a mess up, this was the place to have it, but given Sarah has a wicked cold, it was exhausting.

Jackson drove us across the park with views to the lights of Nairobi in the distance and planes coming in overhead. The park at night seemed quite flat, but as we approached the Emakoko, the road went bumpily down into a valley, across a little bridge and to the other side.. The Emakoko is lovely! We both wished we weren’t so tuckered, but passed on a late dinner and the hotel sent soup and bread up to the room. Seb ate and colllapsed. Jill FT’ed her mom and putzed on the pad for a while before going to sleep. It was a good night’s sleep, even if short and briefly disturbed (for Jill) by creatures having a party on the roof.

In the morning, we could better appreciate the beautiful room, balcony overlooking the valley, and when coffee was delivered at 6:00 AM before our 6:30 game drive, it was pure heaven. Tempted to roll over, Seb rallied. Just as we were finalizing our packs for the morning, the power went off. No problem! There was just enough light to see the last few things we needed to pack up or stash in a locked duffel (our security SOP). We headed out to the lobby… then problem! We were in one of the upper five rooms, up a huge cliff and accessible by a funicular. With the power off, the funicular did not work. So, we took the steep steps next to the track. Jackson was ready for us when we got to the lounge. When told him about taking the steps, he seemed a little surprised and admitted to an alternate path, much longer with a shallower incline. Off we went to look for wildlife, hoping the power to be restored in the meantime.

There’s nothing like being out on a game drive early in the morning. Solitude, except for animals starting their days. Fresh air and a clear view as far as the eye can see. The Nairobi National Park was just as exhilarating, but different. It was cold… not what we have had in Namibia and Madagascar (but similar to our 2018 experience). As it is a public park, we began have lot’s of companions on the road. Sometimes it helps with more eyes to spot animals, but sometimes the groups of other cars just create a less than ideal environment for optimal viewing.

We did have a successful drive, seeing rhinos (both white and black), giraffes (even two young males necking), Thompson’s gazelles, impalas, a hartebeast, a big buffalo blocking the road, and a secretary bird. At one point, we came across several other vehicles surrounding someone’s dinner (a kill), with that someone nowhere in sight. Jackson thought it belonged to a cheetah, but the poor hungry cat was waiting for vehicles to leave before returning to his/her meal. Not ever wanting to get in the way of nature, we proceeded on the drive.

After a couple hours, we decided it was time to get back to the lodge. Our stomachs were rumbling and a little time to rest before heading back to the airport was appealing. We were so happy to see lights shining from the lodge as we drove up. Yay… hot coffee and a working funicular. We had few more wildlife sightings before the end of our stay at Emakoko. We found rock hyraxes on the funicular track and the path to the room, then baboons and vervet monkeys on our balcony roused Jill from a catnap, who then woke Seb to see the commotion.

The trip to the airport was easy on a Sunday morning, mostly highway, but then through some local streets with shanties and shops constructed of corrugated metal. Jackson helped us check-in, then a young man with Safarilink took us through emigration and security, delivering us to a small waiting area, with instructions that he would be back to get us when it was time to board. The waiting area got quite busy and we, unfortunately witnessed our first, and hopefully only, example of the ugly American. Three couples, clearly traveling together, were in the waiting room with us. Each time someone from an air service came to collect passengers, they accosted the person about when they would be able to board. When Safarilink came to get us, this group stood in the doorway blocking our way as the air service rep was beckoning us to follow. There was such a sense of entitlement and “me first.”

This first flight of the day, on which we were two of four passengers, landed in Kilimanjaro, Tanzania, which required the whole immigration process to enter the country. We were expecting to handle this ourselves, but found a “Bobbin X2” waiting for us plane-side as we disembarked. It was a lucky break, since he told us how to fill in the immigration form, then led us to the line for on-line visas, which we both had, specifically for seniors, children and special needs (do we look old? Well, maybe since make-up did not make the cut for this trip.) Somehow with all of our diligence in getting details in order before the trip, Sarah’s visa had an incorrect date (note to Seb: work on your proof-reading skills). While Jill and airport helper waited in Tanzania, Sarah bounced amongst a few more lines to get a new visa. All in all it was pretty quick, just a $100 mistake for a new visa. Our airport helper ushered us out of the international airport and through the national airport (including numerous security screenings) to check in for our flight to the Lake Manyara airstrip. Since we were the only ones on the flight, we boarded as soon as we were all reassembled from the last security check, and took off 20 minutes early for the short 30 minute flight.

On arrival, we met Anaeli, our guide driver for at least the first two legs in Tanzania. If first impressions are anything, we knew we’d be in for a great five days. The drive to Entamanu Ngorongoro Lodge was two hours. The first hour we spent getting to know Anaeli and passing through various sized towns and villages. Nearing arrival to the Ngorongoro Crater National Park, Anaeli asked Jill to roll up her window a bit on account of the baboon activity at the park entrance. Sure enough, while Anaeli paid our entrance fees, bands of baboons entertained us through the car window.

The remaining hour was on rocky dirt roads, passing Maasai villages, brightly adorned folks returning to their villages on foot, Maasai farmers returning their livestock to safe quarters and glimpses of the crater. At one point we stopped at an overlook for our first official view. From there we continued to climb and Anaeli pointed out the flat-topped acacia trees at a distance as the location of our lodge. We knew we were finally close when we entered the acacia forest. Of course, arrival was marked by 8-10 staff standing in front waving, then helping us with bags.

Standard camp arrival took place, covering safety and any other lodge-specific topics. After a quick orientation to our bungalow, we headed back to the living room/lounge for a glass of wine, where we chatted with Peter, an Africa travel specialist from London. After dinner, we retreated back to our bungalow and both promptly crashed, getting woefully behind in blogging.

[stardancerluv]

By the Light of the Silvery Moon

Part 3

Summary: Prince Paul and the visiting princess share moments…

Notes: This is an AU take on Prince Paul. It will contain some supernatural elements to it. I wanted to have a bit of fun with this character. I hope you enjoy it! I got inspired to write this story while talking and such with @amethyst-serenade (you’re the best!)

Comments, ❤️s, reblogs are always appreciated. Thank you for reading.

With your lady trailing behind the two of you, Paul and you walked among the gardens. It was already shaping up to be incredibly lovely day. The weather was just warm enough as the sun began to raise into the sky. Conversation with you was far easier then he had expected it would be. Your Russian was far better then he could have ever hoped for.

Glancing your way, capturing your eye he smiled. “I have to ask is it common for those in Germany to learn Russian?” He had to satiate his curiosity.

Your eyes met his, a smile brightened your face as your cheeks dusted with a pink. With a flutter of your lashes you glanced away before looking back at him.

“Just over a year ago, my mother and father learned of the possibility of you looking for a wife and I suggested it.”

“Oh?”

You nodded. “They had showed me a small drawing.” You pressed your lips together. “I thought it would be a delight to greet you in Russian, if we would ever have the possibility of meeting.”

He placed a hand over his heart. “Dear, princess you have done more then greet me.”

“My tongue,” You flushed hard and one of your gloved hands went up to hide your face. Your pace stopped.

Noticing, he stopped as well. “Oh, don’t hide your face.”

Your eyes grew as you glanced at him. Your eyes were moist.

“A rose stands proud, in its beauty of petals and thorns. You should as well.”

You bowed your head. “Thank you, your highness.”

He nodded an acceptance.

“Shall we?” You gestured letting him know you would like to continue walking.

“Yes, please.”

“It was not far into the lessons, that I took to it. So we just continued the lessons.”

“I am so glad that you did. Sure I know we could speak French but this, this is so pleasant.”

“I am so glad, but please tell me if I ever falter. I want to make sure I don’t sound foolish.”

He smiled. “I promise. And as we began walking, all has been quite pleasing.”

“Oh, how absolutely wonderful.” You pressed your hands together.

*******

There was nothing short of a commotion as the queen herself came walking over to the two of you. His heart sank. Seeing the tightness of the expression on her face did not mean good things were ahead.

Once in proper distance you both bowed in reception of her presence. You both exchanged a short glance as you rose to meet her. A few of her attendants were close on her heels.

She gave a sharp smile as her eyes narrowed at the two of you. As his mother turned towards you, he remembered what she had said about the family doctor visiting. A knot formed in his stomach.

“Your highness Y/N, our physician has arrived. A room has been prepared for you.”

“Oh!” You covered mouth with a gloved hand and nodded. “Yes, I remember now. May I follow you, your highness?”

“Very well.”

******

He went to a nearby room and poured himself a drink. Something about this, the entire thing did not sit well with him. You came from a good family. No rumors swirled about you like leaves that take flight in a breeze.

“Are you pouting, like some child?” His mother’s voice sliced through the silence like a razor.

He drained his glass. “I don’t like this.”

“I am assuring you will have purity upon the joining of our houses.”

He felt as if a dagger entered his heart. “What does that mean?”

A small smile flickered across his mother’s face.

“Her father and I talked well into the night.”

Did he dare allow some hope to enter into his heart.

“I do believe,” His mother came to stand in front of him. “this actually is a very agreeable match. Be happy dear son, your choice has pleased me. Now, I am just making assurances that all is right. I do not wish any shame up on us. Do you understand?”

He sighed. “Yes.”

“Once you give our family a son, you will understand.”

He pressed his lips together. “Can you just allow me the simple pleasure of meeting Princess Y/N. And all that will come of it. I know what is expected if me and her. You have never let me forget it.”

“You act like such a child.” His mother muttered. He shook his head and walked away.

*******

Paul left and needed some air. He had no idea when your time with the doctor would come to an end.

The stone steps echoed as he made his way once more downstairs. Happiness should be filling him. He would be able to marry you. You were quite lovely and this morning had been one of the best he had, in some time. But this visit with the doctor truly worried him. What if would change things? What if it soured things between the two of you?

Pausing at the one of the doors, he heard something. It made him pause. It wasn’t one of the hounds. Turning, he looked and followed the sound and the stopped. It was you.

His heart squeezed. Your eyes were more then watery and he couldn’t help but notice that your lips trembled.

He shouldn’t bother you. His mother had done this.

Inhaling, he was about to turn to leave.

Your shiny eyes looked up, meeting his. “Paul?” You bottom lip shook more.

“Yes? I should leave.”

“Please don’t. I wish we could take another stroll. I…I…” Your voice trailed off.

“Are you sure? Your lady in waiting is not here.”

You nodded.

“I have a nice spot. It will turn those tears away.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.” He nodded, following his instincts he offered you a hand.

You took it.

@laura-naruto-fan1998

[alphateamcaptain]

3. or 16. 👀

prompt

3. a  violent  kiss. 16. a  kiss  to  gain  control.

A BLACK FLY is attracted to the deep red of the VENUS FLY TRAP , ignorant that it's beauty will kill it . To take flight too late has been the undoing of all the one sided affairs echoed from the walls . A similar fate between HER and HIM .

Their violence was slow and SWEET , as sweet as summer rot . A mouth of TEETH and poisonous promises he made onto hers , leaving only bruises and the aftertaste of blood .

❝ Kiss me again . ❞

Swallow her WHOLE , meet his pale exterior with his deep red mouth . HER EYES , small and black like flies .

3.

A bathtub of water and blood , WHITE ROSES and their petals float across the surface . What was another drop in their porcelain ocean ? Of loyalty , no longer did he close his eyes only to reopen to BERAYAL . Her skin was just as stained at his when breaking the tension , her MOUTH was all teeth on his , along his throat .

Hands rising from the water , showing the reflection in ripples , of soft splashes when he holds her NAPE , wet hair resting along his nails . As hot and as dangerous as a PISTOL fresh out of ammo , her metal burns his touch .

The droplets run down HER spine and rest , waiting for movement as HIS rest above his brow , along his collarbone . Tangled around each other as snakes coiled together , to satiate a LONGING by consuming their tails . She bites at his neck , her kisses were mean and ravenous and he lets out a breath he had been holding . 

❝ My lady , how PLEASING is it to stand as tall as I do ? ❞

Of purity , as pure as the DISEASE they share can be . Of innocence , of ignorance of her well placed vines , leaving thorns to EMBED in his wretched heart .

16.

[domawriter]

Stone

The sprawling garden was a testament to both the wealth and the vision of the palace that it surrounded. Every inch of it was meticulously groomed, a living canvas sculpted by the hands of expert gardeners who seemed to move with the precision of artists. They trimmed the grass to an even, velvety blanket, and planted each flower with a careful eye, ensuring that nothing was left to chance in this masterpiece of nature and design. The flower beds, arranged with the kind of order that spoke of both discipline and devotion, were filled exclusively with white blossoms. Each petal gleamed like a star beneath the sun’s warm gaze, creating a sea of luminous purity that seemed almost otherworldly. The whiteness of the flowers was not simply beautiful; it was symbolic—a reflection of the divine, of purity, of the sacred ideals that the palace itself embodied. The smell of fragrant roses mixed with the scent of nearby jasmine. The two fragrances intertwined like lovers in a dance, filling the senses with a heady, almost dreamlike quality. It was a place where the cares of the world seemed to dissolve, carried away on the gentle breeze that whispered through the leaves. The garden was as opulent as it was beautiful. The lawns were covered in white sand that shimmered like powdered pearls underfoot. Scattered across this landscape were statues of gold, each one a perfect likeness of the powerful gods and goddesses that the people held in deep reverence. These statues weren’t just decorations; they felt like the gods themselves, watching over the garden with their cold, metallic eyes, their faces calm and all-knowing. When the sunlight hit them, the gold seemed to come alive, casting shimmering reflections that danced across the garden, as if the gods were gracing the earth with their presence. 

The little bird fluttered around the garden, landing on the edge of a flowerbed to rest after a long flight. As it sat there, it took in the array of colorful flowers and the calming sound of a nearby fountain. Suddenly it was drawn to a grand statue standing majestically among the flora. The bird tilted its head, curious about the imposing figure, and started to inspect it. The little bird flew up to the statue. It was different from all the others. It was as if it was made of stone. It was not as ornate as the other statues. Additionally, it seemed... alive? The statue was of an older woman. She was smiling, and her eyes seemed to sparkle. The statue was placed in a beautiful, grand gazebo. Around her, yellow lilies grew, which stood out beautifully among the pristine white flowers. The bird, feeling a shiver of unease, decided to investigate further. It circled the statue, studying it from all angles. The stone was cold and smooth, but the lifelike details of the woman's form made the bird wonder if there was more to the statue than met the eye. Suddenly the bird was shooed away by someone's hand. Startled, the bird fluttered away from the statue. It perched on a nearby branch, surveying the garden for any sign of the mysterious person who had interrupted its investigation.    The Pharaoh of Egypt - Kamilah. He has come. The pharaoh strode through the gazebo, regal and imposing in his gold-edged robes. As he approached the statue standing sentinel among the flowers, Kamilah slowed, his usual confident stride faltering. The statue was of his lover, her face captured in a moment of serene contemplation. Time had not eroded the fine details of her features; each line and curve had been lovingly preserved in the cool, unyielding stone. Kamilah stopped before her, and for a long moment, the air between them was thick with unspoken words. His posture softened, and the iron-clad tension that usually gripped his body melted away, leaving only the man beneath the robes and crown. The bird, perched high above in the branches, watched the scene unfold, its small heart quickening with curiosity. What did this mighty ruler feel as he stood before this stone image? The bird tilted its head, pondering the mysteries hidden behind Kamilah's mask. The eyes are a mirror to the soul but when they are covered, everything is a mystery. Kamilah's hand rose slowly, almost hesitantly, until his fingers brushed the stone cheek of the sculpture. He traced the lines of the woman's face, his touch so gentle it was as though he feared the stone might shatter under his fingers. There was a reverence in his movements, a tender care that spoke of a connection far deeper than mere admiration ; it was an acknowledgment, a conversation between the past and the present, between the living and the immortalized. 

"Hey!"  Kamilah jumped, startled."Frank, didn't I tell you not to sneak up on me like that?" he snapped, running his hand through his long hair. "You'll give me a heart attack." 

"Oh, sorry, didn't mean to scare you." Frank, a tall, slender boy, slowly ascended the steps leading to the gazebo. The metallic clanking of his prosthetic leg echoed loudly off the marble tiles, announcing his arrival. 

"Why did you come?" Kamilah asked with irritation, turning to face the grey-haired young man, but he was nowhere to be seen.  

"Well, I wanted to tell you something..." he heard him say from behind. Kamilah quickly turned around. Frank was completely relaxed, lounging against the statue as if it were a comfortable armchair. One arm was wrapped around it in a casual embrace, while the other hand traced the chin of the girl in the sculpture.   

"Leave her alone," Kamilah took a step towards him. The boy raised his hands in a defensive gesture.  

"Calm down, I won't hurt her," he chuckled. As Frank stumbled backwards, he stumbled over his leg. He reached out to grab onto something, but his hand hit the stone surface of the statue instead, knocking it over. Frank’s stomach dropped as the last piece of the shattered statue skittered across the floor. The sound seemed to echo in the stillness, each tiny clink a reminder of the enormity of what had just happened. He looked up, his eyes wide with fear, to see Kamilah standing frozen, his face drained of color. What was he going to do now? Had Frank just signed his own death warrant? Kamilah stumbled towards the nearest bench but his legs gave way before he could reach it, sending him crashing to his knees. He picked up a piece of the shattered statue, his hands trembling as he handled the broken stone.  

“Kamilah, I’m so—” he started, but his words were cut off as Kamilah gasped, his chest heaving with sudden, frantic breaths.  The world around him began to collapse inward, like the walls of a dark, suffocating tunnel. His heart pounded violently against his ribcage, each beat resonating in his ears like the deafening thud of war drums. His mind raced with a barrage of fragmented thoughts, each one more terrifying than the last. He gasped for air, but it felt like he was drowning, his breath coming in rapid, shallow bursts. He clutched at his chest, desperate to regain control, but the harder he tried, the worse it became. A choked sob escaped his throat as the tears finally began to flow, his body shaking with the force of his breakdown. The panic attack reached its peak, and he was left utterly powerless, curled up on the ground, trapped in the chaos of his own mind.  “Breathe, just breathe,” Frank said, stepping forward, but his voice was shaky, betraying the panic creeping into his own veins. He reached out to touch Kamilah’s arm, to steady him, but the second his fingers brushed against his skin, Kamilah recoiled as if he had burned him. 

“Don’t!” he snapped, his voice sharp and brittle, laced with a terror that made Frank's heart race even faster. “You don’t understand... That- She was...” He couldn’t finish the sentence, his words dissolving into choked sobs.  

“Kamilah, I— I didn’t mean to,” Frank stammered, his mind spinning as he tried to think of something, anything, to say that would make this right. But each word seemed to make things worse, the panic in his movement deepening with every breath he struggled to take. 

"Just stop!" He roared, tears flowing freely beneath his mask. His bandages transformed into writhing snakes, coiled and ready to strike.  He stood tall, his chest still heaving from the remnants of the panic that had gripped his moments before, his anger palpable as he stood amidst the chaos. The broken statue lay in pieces at his feet, each fragment a testament to the deep betrayal he felt. The air around him seemed to crackle with energy, as if the garden itself was responding to his wrath.   

Frank took a hesitant step back, his heart pounding in his chest. He'd seen Kamilah angry before, but never like this. The very air around them seemed charged, crackling with a dangerous energy that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He opened his mouth to apologize, to plead, but the words died on his tongue as Kamilah's voice cut through the tension, sharp and cold. 

"Get out!" Kamilah's voice was a thunderous command. The snakes hissed in unison, echoing their master's fury as they lashed out towards Frank, stopping just short of striking him. Frank flinched, the metallic clank of his prosthetic leg loud in the oppressive silence as he stumbled back. His mind was a whirl of confusion and fear. He wanted to explain, to make Kamilah understand that it had been an accident and that they can fixed it.   

"Please, Kamilah, I—" Frank started, his voice trembling, but Kamilah silenced him with a glare that sent a chill down his spine. 

"I said, leave!" Kamilah's voice was raw, the finality in his tone unmistakable. The snakes snapped closer, their hissing growing louder, and Frank had no choice but to retreat.  As Frank disappeared from view, the garden seemed to exhale, the tension in the air dissipating as Kamilah stood alone among the wreckage. The snakes slowly retracted, the bandages resuming their place around his body as his anger began to subside, replaced by an overwhelming sense of loss. He sank to his knees once more, his fingers trembling as he reached for a fragment of the broken statue. Tears welled up in his eyes again, but this time, they were silent, a quiet mourning for what had been destroyed.  

[theohonohan]

Unlocking

These images show a corridor on the ground floor of the Royal Academy of Arts in London. Since a major intervention which was implemented between 2008 and 2018 by the architect David Chipperfield, this corridor forms part of the public circulation routes of the building. One thing that is not, perhaps, clear, is that this corridor used to have a lower ceiling, or, to be more precise, it had a higher floor. Chipperfield had the York stone floor lowered by a couple of feet. You can see the evidence of this in the seven new courses of bricks immediately above floor level. They are subtly distinguishable from the rest of the brickwork. Visitors walking on the new stone floor are wading knee-deep in the old fabric. The space isn't exactly airy, but the proportions have been made grander, and a corridor that was previously interrupted by a flight of steps now has level access.

The architectural notion of raising the ceiling is noble and idealistic. The labour of lowering a stone floor, in contrast, is tiresome and seems to go against materialistic common sense. On the one hand we have the smooth, effortless route that has been created for the public, on the other, the toil of the workmen who cleared it.

Chipperfield has remarked

"The more you work with museums, the more you realise that the responsibility you have is to unlock things, to make things easier. Most museums don't take that as their first mandate: they mostly see the opportunity to 'do architecture'.

However humble and low-key Chipperfield believes it to be, the notion of "unlocking" has become trendy in architecture. It appeared, for example, in the title of an exhibition about housing in Dublin in 2022.

Unlocking is a familliar action, and usually gives access to something, but if I'm not mistaken, this new usage owes something to video game culture. In a game, unlocking is associated with achievements, and with gaining privileges or resources. Most typically, what is unlocked is an ability or an item: a racing game, for example might reserve access to certain desirable cars for players who successfully complete particular races. Unlocking connotes the release of some stock or potential.

This idea of unlocking as a release might be why the term is attractive to architects who are concerned with the supply of housing: it's pleasant to believe that the new houses are already "out there" in some sense (say, in the form of designs) and are just being held back by a small and soluble problem, something that could be addressed as easily as turning a key.

When what is unlocked is an unlimited supply of a previously scarce item, there is a sense of freedom. The idea of unlocking the door to a treasure chamber connects the action of unlocking with profusion. For Chipperfield, unlocking is about freedom, too, but more about removing blockages or impediments, making a clean sweep and doing away with narrow spaces or low passages that twist and turn. It is about opening up the circulation of a building and an institution—not just the concrete circulation of people and objects, but the conceptual circulation of ideas and projects.

It is a relative process—a totally unlocked space would have no constraining structure at all, and moving from point A to point B would always just involve proceeding along a straight line. A totally locked space prevents all movement. The most rational option is a grid layout, like Manhattan, where every trip just involves some easy to remember number horizontal and so many vertical steps. But the grid's purity and sacrifice of all architectural particularity to order and progress make it, too, an extreme choice.

Commenting on his work with Robbrecht and Daem on the Whitechapel Gallery, William Mann observed:

In the best museums and galleries one finds one's way through a series of rooms, where the artefacts are carefully lit and set off by calm backgrounds. A degree of repetition helps navigation, some variation helps orientation.

These are recognizable as the basic principles of wayfinding. A grid is easy to navigate, but orientation poses a problem—every cell or intersection looks the same. For Mann, the spaces of a. museum should aim to facilitate wayfinding by neither being too uniform nor too idiosyncratic.

In the 70s, the Italian radical architectural practice Superstudio imagined the unfolding of generic Cartesian grids across the whole surface of the planet. In their world, much as in the world of motorways and air travel, it's easy to get anywhere you want to go, but sometimes difficult to tell the difference between places. The standard white cube of the art gallery explicitly creates a placeless, neutral context, much like a cell in an infinite rectilinear grid, or like one of the hotel rooms in an infinite hotel. Being given the key to such a space is less an unlocking of wonderful things, and more of an allocation of a minimum place in existence. Unlocking is only an exciting thing if there's something interesting behind the door.

In many cases, institutions are very interesting—too interesting. To undertake a masterplan for an institution can entail opening a can of worms. A brainy architect is required to untangle the existing arrangement of a building or an institution complex. The design process can and must be involved, but the end result should as simple and straightforward as possible—for the end users, if not for the long-suffering builders who have to make it happen. The building must not only work for all of its users, but it must function as an adequate representation of the institution, in the same way as a piece of media such as a website would. In a sense both buildings and websites are masks as well as inhabitable places, giving impressions to their users as well as operating in a more mundane and practical way.

Le Corbusier asserted that "simplicity is a concentrate". It is the result of boiling down all the existing and desired aspects of the building. This final simplicity reflects all of the constraints—it is not freely chosen. That is what makes it a concentrate. It is a reduction rather than a confection.

Without the true involvement of an architect, a large institutional building risks growing by accretion, getting more complex and less coherent, exhibiting what architects sometimes dismiss as an 'additive' logic. Architecture's function, as unlocker, is to aid in integration and negotiation, so that the resulting new state of the building makes sense. The rational work of the unlocker is a kind of hygiene first, and a form of expression second. A good architect balances the necessary clarity and serial ordering of grids and axes with the more particular qualities and characters of the spaces and forms they connect. In other words, they make the spaces of the institution accessible, and put them into communication with each other, without nullifying the identity of those spaces.