#the nightmare 1795

[sictransitgloriamvndi]

[random-brushstrokes]

Arthur Hughes - La belle dame sans merci (1863)

This tragic tale was popularised by the English poet John Keats (1795–1821). His sensual and romantic poetry, often drawn from medieval narratives, helped to make such themes relevant to a modern audience. Here the knight falls in love with a beautiful woman who lures him to ‘her elfin grot’. There he sleeps and suffers a nightmare, seeing ‘pale kings and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; They cried – “La Belle Dame sans Merci, Thee hath in thrall!”’. The knight wakes to find that he is one of many victims of her unrequited love, and is condemned to an eternally lonely existence. At the moment captured by Hughes, the knight is unaware of his impending doom. (source)

[legal-party]

From 76 Totter’s Lane, to 1795 France.

From the reign of Nero, to the return of Mondas.

From the fields of Scotland, to the Tombs on Telos.

From the World of Fiction ,to no-man’s land.

From the Inferno Project, to the inside of a black hole.

From the war torn rubble of Skaro, to the realm of Xoanon.

From a plot in Paris, to the plant of Logopolis.

From Castrovalva, to the nightmares of the Mara.

From Androzani Minor, to The Doctor’s own trial.

From Iceworld, to the greatest show in the galaxy.

From the R101, to the Divergent Universe.

From the basement of a department store, to the end of the world.

From The Blitz, to the Bad Wolf.

From alternate London, to the impossible planet of Krop Tor.

From barefoot on the moon, to the end of the universe.

From under the shadow of Mount Vesuvius, to the forest of the dead.

From the garden of Amy Pond, to the opening of The Pandorica.

From a death in Utah, to the battle of Demons Run.

From the last day of the Time War, to a small town on Trenzalore.

From the Orient Express, to the second dimension.

From the bottom of a Scottish lake, to punching a wall for billions of years.

From a university campus, to the Doctor’s fall.

From falling to Sheffield, to the lonely realm of the Solitract.

From Niagara Falls, to the night at Villa Diodati.

From the battlegrounds of Sevastopol, to the planet of Time.

From beginning to end, I love this franchise.

[the-lietuverse]

Arturius✦Headcanons

Tw: Abuse Mentioned.

Birthday --> while yes, He does celebrate his independence(march 11) from the Soviet Union (modern day Russia) He actually prefers celebrating the day his country was properly formed together Which is  March 9th, only taking 2 days before his independence day.

☆

Relationship --> Currently he isn't married to anyone But married Twice, Once to his Formal queen and companion Poland; known as the Polish-lithinian Commonwealth which only lasted between 1569-1795 before they got Divorced, Separated in 1791 and officially divorced in 1975. His second marriage was with Russia, after being single for almost 145 years He dated the Russian Man for 2 months before completely rushing into marriage He was so desperate for Love he was willing to marry The former Soviet Union even when he had hurt him he still stayed with him till the every end when there boss forcefully made them separate each other and Forced him to get a divorce in 1990, Eventually he got over his feelings he still feels hurt at times

☆

Hobbies -->sometimes when he is Stressed out he runs away into the woods and hides in a secret cabin he owns just to get away from everybody (he usually does it in the winter or spring time), he even leaves his phone so nobody can contact him the only he tells is Estonia So that way if anyone wants to know where he is at Estonia can tell them but won't give away his location (I.e Estonia will Say he is currently on vacation and he forgot his phone like an Old Buffon) Another hobby of his that he likes to do is cooking ( he actually made his very own cook books which he sells in markets) He makes his own recipes and Actually has his own takes on popular dishes from his culture ( Such as Šakotis, cepelinai, saltibarscial ECT.) He prefers it when He cooks his own meals and even makes Some for The Baltic trio for lunch ( he only gets take out on the occasion when he is too busy to cook)

☆

Music--> He has Oodly specific music taste but the thing he listens to the most are song that are slow and that are all from the 1920s, reason being He likes being reminded of the happy times where he used to dance around with his son Latvia ( Not biological but treats him like one) And they would make Cute recipes together Sometimes he would even Watch the videos he recorded back then while listening and Cry sometimes because he missed those days where nothing didn't feel so hard Music calms him down but also reminds him of the past He actually got into Metal in the Early 2000s when he recently divorced Russia from him It actually been the only thing that would keep his mind off of the divorce

☆

Extra--> It took him about almost 200 years for him to forgive Poland and even then He still felt bitter towards her He has a very specific Taste in coffee and the only one he knows how to properly make It is Estonia Because when estonia wasn't snooping around he was a coffee barista for the adults when he was 16 years old Every Year or so he would visit America and deliver Flowers to him as a thank you Gift for when Lithunia had no where else to go and America let him stay in his home for free Belarus and him are really good friends and Even Read books together as a side Hobby It keeps them entertained when there not busy with there bosses He still has nightmares about Prussia even though Prussia is no longer a nation He still gets scared and even wakes up in his sleep Silently crying because he doesn't want to bother anyone because to him he is a grown man why should anyone be comforting him for a nightmare? ( His still learning how to let people help him in his lives) Chocolate chip cookies are his favorite and he only likes it when Poland bakes them.:)

(-@illukainein Verison of Lithunia)

[scotianostra]

On the 15th June 1844 Thomas Campbell, the Scottish poet, died.

The son of a Glasgow tobacco merchant, Campbell was brought up in the city's High Street and studied at the University from 1791 to 1795. His first volume of poetry was published in 1799 to critical acclaim and he became one of Britain's most popular poets. He was also a biographer, travel writer and magazine editor, and a vociferous champion of the struggle for Polish independence.

Campbell was elected Rector of Glasgow University in 1826 and was re-elected in the following two years. He served his third term despite the opposition of the University authorities: they considered his third election to be illegal, after he lost the original vote to Sir Walter Scott but won a second poll after Sir Walter declined to accept the post.

He is buried in Poets' Corner in Westminster Abbey.

This poem by Campbell is called The Dirge of Wallace.

When Scotland's great Regent, our warrior most dear, The debt of his nature did pay, T' was Edward, the cruel, had reason to fear, And cause to be struck with dismay.

At the window of Edward the raven did croak, Though Scotland a widow became; Each tie of true honor to Wallace he broke- The raven croaked "Sorrow and shame!"

At Eldersie Castle no raven was heard, But soothings of honor and truth; His spirit inspired the soul of the bard To comfort the Love of his youth!

They lighted the tapers at dead of night, And chanted their holiest hymn; But her brow and her bosom were all damp with affright, Her eye was all sleepless and dim!

And the lady of Eldersie wept for her lord, With a death-watch beat in her lonely room, When her curtain shook of its own accord, And the raven flapped at her window board To tell of her warrior's doom.

Now sing ye the death-song, and loudly pray For the soul of my knight so dear! And call me a widow, this wretched day, Since the warning of God is here.

For a nightmare rests on my strangled sleep; The lord of my bosom is doomed to die! His valorous heart they have wounded deep, And the blood-red tears his country shall weep For Wallace of Elderslie.

Yet knew not his country, that ominous hour, Ere the loud matin-bell was rung, That the trumpet of death on an English tower, The dirge of her champion sung.

When his dungeon light looked dim and red On the high-born blood of a martyr slain, No anthem was sung at his lowly death-bed,- No weeping was there when his bosom bled, And his heart was rent in twain.

When he strode o'er the wreck of each well-fought field, With the yellow-haired chiefs of his native land; For his lace was not shivered on helmet or shield, And the sword that was fit for archangel to wield Was light in his terrible hand.

Yet, bleeding and bound, though the "Wallacewight" For his long-loved country die,, The bugle ne'er sung to a braver night Than William of Elderslie.

But the day of his triumphs shall never depart; His head, unemtombed, shall with glory be palmed: From its blood streaming altar his spirit shall start; Though the raven has fed on his mouldering heart, A nobler was never embalmed!

[highwaytothedangerzone502]

Ghost Story - Chapter 28

Pairing: Rooster x Female OC

Word Count: 1795

Warnings: Mention of death

Summary: No one will miss a ghost. It'd been a running joke for as long as anyone could remember, something Ghost herself started, and she always said it with a smile on her face or with mirth in her voice. The untouchable stealth pilot in every sense of the word, no one could've predicted the depth of her turmoil over recent events, nor the extremes she would go to in order to protect the man she loved, not even those closest to her. Now, all that was left of the young aviator for Maverick, Hangman, and Rooster were the memories of the past, which would slowly fade with time. She'd come into their lives and made an unforgettable impression, and then, like a ghost, she was gone... Then again, ghosts can't die a second time.

Notes: The chapters/large parts in italics are flashbacks.

Chapter Songs: Here We Come Born for This

****

Rooster

Sleep eluded him most of the night. When it did decide to grace Rooster with its presence, nightmares plagued him, namely of Ghost racing off to her mission and never coming back. In one, she succeeded in destroying whatever enemy base his mind created, only to have a mechanical failure on her way back, causing her ejection system to not work and her ending up crashing in a fiery death into a mountainside. In another, Rooster watched her get shot down while his plane brought him to safety, no matter how hard he yanked on the yoke to turn back for her. Different settings, different planes, different scenes, but they all had the same outcome: Ghost died. He woke up in a thin sheen of sweat after one where he attended her funeral, and while his body remained unmoving and stoic, the turmoil and sorrow within it screamed in agony.

Rooster stayed up for a while after that one, his heart thundering in his chest and gripping Ghost's hand to confirm she was, in fact, alive and breathing.

She slept soundly beside him, emotionally and physically drained from the day. Tears stains streaked across her cheeks, and Ghost's face hardly resembled someone enjoying a peaceful slumber, but that would come in time. He remembered all too well the horrendous dreams he had suffered after his mom died.

Rooster didn't know what time it was when he finally fell back asleep, but when he woke, Ghost no longer lay beside him. A note rested on the bedside table, folded into a paper airplane. He reached over and grabbed it, reading: Thank you for being there for me last night.

Rooster glanced at his phone for the time: 7 a.m. Where had she gone this early in the morning? Rolling out of bed, he shuffled into the kitchen and discovered Penny cooking and cleaning. She smiled at him and said, "Hey, if you're looking for Ghost, you just missed her."

Rooster nodded. "She head back home?"

"Yeah. Said she needed to get ready for work later. How that girl is working after losing her mom..." Penny shook her head. "I guess she's wanting the distraction."

"Is Mav around?"

"No, he escorted Ghost back to her apartment, and then I believe they have to go to base afterward."

Can't they give her a break after she just lost her mom? Rooster thought sadly. He sighed. "I'll get out of your hair unless you need any help right now?"

"No, I'm good, but you're welcome to stay if you don't have any plans today," Penny offered, grabbing some plates out of the cabinet. "How are you doing? I know you and Charlie were close at one point."

"I guess I'm okay. I haven't seen her in years, but she took care of me when I didn't have Mav or Mom. I'm just worried about Ghost."

"I heard you two are at odds again."

"Yeah..." Rooster found himself explaining what happened that night, the makeup, the fight, the way he turned his back on her, and how he regretted it immediately. "I'm scared to lose her. I'm scared to lose anyone I'm close to, if I'm being honest... it's why I don't let people in easily. I keep most at arm's length. I don't want to feel the way I did when I lost my mom. I-I barely put myself back together after that."

"You also had found out Maverick pulled your papers around that time, didn't you?" Penny asked gently, setting a plate of eggs and bacon in front of him and sitting beside him with her own plate.

"Yeah, that probably made it worse."

"You were almost mourning two deaths at that point: your mom's and your relationship with Maverick. I'm sure it was difficult to put yourself back together after that. However, speaking from experience, it's better to be surrounded by people than to be alone, so even when you do lose someone, you have a large support network to help you through it. If you don't, and you do lose those people you let in, the pain is even worse because it's accompanied by loneliness. You can't let fear dictate your relationships, especially when you love someone as much as you love Ghost." 

Rooster munched thoughtfully on his eggs. "I've let it control me for so long, I don't know how to break the cycle. Every time I've considered it, I start thinking back to my mom, and then panic sets in, and the idea of losing Ghost-" he cut himself off, rubbing his hand over his face. 

"I understand," Penny told him sympathetically, patting his shoulder. "Believe me, I do. But isn't it better to spend any last remaining time with them that you can?"

"Yeah, but I already made the-" Rooster's ringing cellphone cut him off. He picked it up and was surprised to hear Cyclone on the other end requesting him to come to the base. A wave of concern rushed through him. Had something happened to Ghost? To Maverick? Were they okay?

They had to be. If there was something wrong, Cyclone would've told him. Scarfing down his breakfast, Rooster thanked Penny for the talk and food and then hurried to the base. On his way in, he noticed Hangman swaggering across the parking lot. Rooster stopped and waited for the aviator, who appeared equally confused at his presence.

"What are you doing here, Bradshaw?" Hangman asked, removing his sunglasses. "You get a call from Cyclone too?"

"Yeah. Any idea what it's about?" Rooster replied, continuing inside the building with his comrade.

"No, you?"

"It's far-fetched."

"Better than nothing."

"I'll tell you if I was right once we find out." For once, Hangman didn't prod further, and the two men hurried to Cyclone's office, eager to find out what they were being called in for, albeit slightly nervous. When they arrived, Hangman knocked on the door, and the admiral called for them to come in. Upon entering, Rooster saw Maverick and Ghost standing in front of Cyclone. The former turned his head and smiled at the two boys, but the latter remained facing forward, shifting uneasily on her feet.

"Lieutenants, come in," Cyclone instructed, motioning for them to come forward. "As you're probably aware, Ghost has won the tournament and has been selected for the mission. She has chosen the three of you as her potential wingmen. One of you will fly on her wing, the other two will be spares. With the help of Maverick, we have developed a training run similar to how you ran the Gauntlet. You will practice both the course run and dogfighting. Any questions?"

"What's the mission, sir?" Rooster asked, antsy to know if Ghost had been right about it being a suicide mission.

"I need you two to agree before I provide any details. This is a black ops mission, highly classified, highly secretive. What happens on this mission does not leave this room and can only be discussed with those who partake in it. You will be signing documents shortly if you verbally agree to it."

"I'm in," Hangman declared firmly, quickly followed by Rooster's affirmation. 

"Very well. Sign these." Cyclone handed them each a packet of paper. Rooster skimmed through it and, noticing nothing out of the ordinary, signed off on it. Hangman soon followed. Once the forms were back in Cyclone's hands, he said, "Go suit up and meet me in the briefing room. We'll go over the mission and training regimen."

As the admiral started to leave, he stopped in the doorway and added kindly, "Annalise, when is the funeral?"

"There's not going to be one," Ghost responded, her clasped hands and white knuckles contradicting her emotionless tone. "She didn't want one. Just wanted her ashes spread out over the Pacific Ocean. Wolfman is flying out to assist. Should be happening four days from now."

Out of the corner of Rooster's eye, he noticed Hangman's face furrow in confusion. Meanwhile, Cyclone continued, "If you need anything, don't hesitate to call. Maverick, come with me first before suiting up. I need your assistance with some last-minute details."

"Of course, sir," Maverick said, trailing after the admiral. Ghost started to follow, but Hangman moved in front of her, concern etched in his expression. "What happened? Why is Wolf coming out?"

Rooster tried to leave to give the friends time alone, but shockingly, Hangman held out his hand to stop him. Ghost shifted on her feet, her exhaustion clear in her bloodshot eyes. Then, clasping her hands in front of her, she said quietly, "Mom passed away yesterday."

Hangman staggered slightly back. "Wh- oh, God. I'm sorry, Ghost. I'm so sorry. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought your parents or Wolf would've told you already."

"No, no, they didn't. I don't even know if my parents are aware. I wished you would've called me, and if not me, then Rooster-"

Ghost tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. "Why would I want to do that?" she demanded flatly. "Bradshaw turned his back on me, and you told me you wanted distance."

"That's not what I meant when-" Hangman dragged a hand down his face and took a couple of deep, steadying breaths. "I'm sorry I made you feel like you couldn't come to me for this. I should've been there for you."

"You're right. You should've, but you weren't, and we can't change it. Look-" Ghost shoved her hands into her jacket pockets- "I understand I have personal issues to work out with each of you right now, but regardless, I trust you with my life, which is why I chose the two of you to come on this mission with me. I need you two to promise me that whatever personal issues are between us, we push them aside for the mission and figure them out when we get back. If you can't make that promise, then we need to tell Cyclone, so I can figure out who else I trust to go up with me. I understand if you want to back out, and there won't be any hard feelings if you choose not to go. I simply need to know."

"I'm not turning my back on you again," Rooster said, locking eyes with her. He'd practically begged her to let him join her on this mission. Now that she provided him the opportunity, no matter how much he feared possibly dying on it, he wouldn't back down now.

"Where there's a Ghost, there's a Hangman. Count me in," Jake promised.

The tension in her shoulders eased, and Rooster could see the relief flash across her face. "Good. Then let's go suit up. We have a mission to train for."

****

Tags: @supernaturaldawning @shanimallina87 @polikszena @lgg5989 @callsign-milano @bradshawsandbridgetons @harper1666 @shadeops21 @double-j @copaceticwriter @rotating-obsessions @sharkprestige @thedarkinmansfield @lapilark @mickeyluvs @starshipfantasy @bennypears00 @mandowife221b @the-navistar-carol @getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth @carmellasworld @0hb0llocks @nicangelinee @summ3rlotus @3picklesinajar @magentamistress @the-other-hawkeye @elisha-chloe @emilymarie105 @persephone11110 @luckyladycreator2 @boogdleyboo @k0k3 @bibissparkles @lilmonstrjedi @stinkyrat09 @cocoag19 @suburbzchick @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @goodstuff28 @georgiasimpson95 @horselovers2016 @tanithpriad125 @davidshawnsown @sowolfstudentme @agagafafa @callmemana @sec17 @brxklyn15 @h0ppy0the0sheep @tomanybandstolove @abigailannz @mini-bee-bee

Chapters: Chp 1 Chp 2 Chp 3 Chp 4 Chp 5 Chp 6 Chp 7 Chp 8 Chp 9 Chp 10 Chp 11 Chp 12 Chp 13 Chp 14 Chp 15 Chp 16 Chp 17 Chp 18 Chp 19 Chp 20 Chp 21 Chp 22 Chp 23Chp 24 Chp 25 Chp 26 Chp 27 Chp 28

[solidarishkeyt]

Men make their own history, but they do not make it just as they please; they do not make it under circumstances chosen by themselves, but under circumstances directly found, given and transmitted from the past. The tradition of all the dead generations weighs like a nightmare on the brain of the living. And just when they seem engaged in revolutionising themselves and things, in creating something entirely new, precisely in such epochs of revolutionary crisis they anxiously conjure up the spirits of the past to their service and borrow from them names, battle slogans and costumes in order to present the new scene of world history in this time-honoured disguise and this borrowed language. Thus Luther donned the mask of the Apostle Paul, the Revolution of 1789 to 1814 draped itself alternately as the Roman Republic and the Roman Empire, and the Revolution of 1848 knew nothing better to do than to parody, in turn, 1789 and the revolutionary tradition of 1793 to 1795. In like manner the beginner who has learnt a new language always translates it back into his mother tongue, but he has assimilated the spirit of the new language and can produce freely in it only when he moves in it without remembering the old and forgets in it his ancestral tongue.

Karl Marx, The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte, in The Marx-Engels Reader, ed. Robert C. Tucker, 2nd ed. (New York: W. W. Norton, 1978 [1852]), 595.

[ao3feed-destiel-02]

Dreamless In Early Graves

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/7h3K1Pe by 0zym4nd14s Dean's had dreams like this before. He's had dreams like this about Castiel before, but this one feels a little different. Words: 1795, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Major Character Death Categories: M/M Characters: Castiel (Supernatural), Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel & Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester Additional Tags: Dreams, Dream Sex, Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond, Episode: s07e02 Hello Cruel World (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Thinks Castiel is Dead, Angst, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love, Hurt Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Cries During Sex, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Finger Sucking, Anal Sex, Embarrassed Dean Winchester, Wet Dream, Nightmares, Dreams and Nightmares read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/7h3K1Pe

[ao3feed-briennejaime]

Stay With Me

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/O5u8Np1

by Alternate_Pen (RosevalleyNB)

Something felt different. The nightmare wasn’t just another bad dream. It felt like a recent memory, almost like a painful experience she desperately tried to block out.

 Brienne has a rough night and needs Jaime to reassure her.

Words: 1795, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Game of Thrones (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M

Characters: Jaime Lannister, Brienne of Tarth

Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth

Additional Tags: Romance, Established Relationship, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fix-It, Nightmares, Fluff and Angst, Episode Fix-it: s08e04 The Last of the Starks (Game of Thrones), Inspired by Fanart

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/O5u8Np1

[track-five]

a mega fish butty

“as you can see, i don't have a lot of cooking ability so...this is ending up a proper car crash"

louis is notoriously bad in the kitchen, but he figured a fish finger sandwich wouldn't be all too hard. what he didn't account for was the disruptive, half-naked cameraman who refused to help him slice a tomato.

Words: 1795, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: One Direction (Band)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson

Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

Additional Tags: Cooking, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Married Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Canon Compliant, louis appearing on full time meals, he's a nightmare in the kitchen, and harry is a distracting cameraman, Post-Hiatus, LONG HAIR LOUIS ALERT, June 2021

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32059303

[uwmspeccoll]

Fashion Friday

This week we head back to France, 1915-1920, a time when “The nightmare of war is over. A swirl and fold sweeps the world away. And the skirts are always getting shorter. A refinement hitherto unknown in the finesse of the stockings and the elegance of the shoe is born  . . . .” 

These hand-painted pochoir plates are from an anonymous, 2-volume set of hand-colored plates with minimal text showing women’s fashion design in France from 1795 to 1920. Unfortunately, all of our plates have been damaged by perforated ownership markings from one of our predecessor institutions, the Wisconsin State Teachers College Library. Entitled La Mode Feminine, it was published in Paris by Editions Nilsson in 1920. Every few decades are divided into separate fascicules of 20 plates each. Today were are presenting ten plates from the final fascicle that covers the period from 1915 to 1920.

View our other Fashion Friday posts.

[sarahwroteathing]

JOK Epilogue Piece: Better or Worse

Word Count: 1795

Warnings: None

Just One Kiss Masterlist

For a while, Bucky thought his nightmares were finally over, left behind as a relic of his old life when he married you. It was an attractive idea, a hopelessly romantic one. And for weeks, it seemed to fit. The happiness of his waking life, the love you gave him, the peace he found in your arms each night left no room for ugly memories and past trauma.

But the dreams caught up to him, as he should have expected, and sent him lurching out of bed in the small hours of a Tuesday morning. The sensation of wood against his knees - hardwood, not concrete, metal, or mud - jerked him back to awareness, and he drew in a shaky breath. The room was dark and still, a little drafty despite the best efforts of the radiator in the corner. He stayed there a little longer, kneeling beside the bed. As he calmed his breathing, his eyes traced over your shape, softened by layers of sheets and blankets but still beautifully familiar, even in the dark. You were on your side, facing him, but your face rested in shadow.

Unsure whether the sound and movement of his abrupt awakening had pulled you from sleep too, Bucky stayed quiet, fingers uncurling from their tight grip on the bed frame to smooth reverently over still-warm sheets instead.

Home.

Safe.

Loved, he added as your hand reached out to collect his.

“Are you alright?” you whispered.

Bucky pressed his lips together, gave a stiff nod before remembering you probably couldn’t see it.

“I’m fine. Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”

There was a pause, a rustle of sheets, a voice made delicate by interrupted sleep.

“Did the dreams come back?”

Bucky squeezed your hand in silent affirmation before letting go. He turned, settling more comfortably on the floor with his back against the bed, staring towards the covered window. There was more rustling behind him as you moved, shifting to lie sideways across the bed, your chin resting on your folded arms on the edge of the mattress.

“Tell me how to help,” you requested in a much clearer voice than you’d managed before.

His heart gave a faint flutter at the gesture, but he could only offer a helpless shrug. Was there any help for this? He’d thought so before and been wrong.

“What did you do before? To help you feel better?”

Bucky’s brows furrowed as he thought back. The apartment he’d shared with Steve when they got back. How smug they’d felt about finally being able to afford separate bedrooms, even if they did sleep on the living room floor more often than not in the beginning. It had been a relief to have Steve nearby. They’d limped their way through their first months home together.

And though Bucky was reluctant to let you see the rough edges war had scraped into him, he’d found himself more and more willing to open up to you as time went on. Still, there were some truths he’d do anything to protect you from, and to your credit, you always seemed to know when to ask questions and when to offer distractions.

Like now, with your fingertips tracing a feather-light pattern on his bare shoulder, drawing him gently back to you.

“Coffee,” he finally answered with another shrug, lopsided to avoid disrupting your touch. “Going for a walk. Or sometimes Steve would be awake too, so we’d - ” He gestured vaguely. “- talk about things.”

You have a decisive little nod and sat up.

“I can do coffee. Can I turn the lamp on?”

“Yes.”

Bucky blinked harshly a few times as the lamp clicked on, filling the room with a warm glow and tracing your silhouette onto the wall in front of him. He watched your shadow don your robe with a flourish and adjust your hair before melting away into the black mass of the quilts you pulled from the bed.

Moments later, the warm weight of them draped around his shoulders, and he peeked up at you as you patted them into place with affectionate precision. You met his eyes with a soothing smile.

“It’s a little cold for a walk, but I’ll open the window for you. Let in some fresh air.”

Knowing how easily you caught a chill, he was quick to protest.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know,” you said, smoothing back his hair and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “But if it helped you before, then I want to try. I’ll be at the stove anyway. I doubt I’ll feel it out there.”

You crossed to the window, pulling the curtains aside before pushing the window open in one smooth motion. Your fingers brushed through Bucky’s hair again as you retreated from the sudden influx of winter air.

“I’ll bring you some coffee as soon as it’s ready. And I can call Steve too if you want? He might be awake.”

“Don’t call Steve,” he answered quietly. “I’ll be alright.”

You nodded, flashing another small smile before leaving the room. The door clicked shut behind you.

Bucky sighed, gathering the blankets more securely around his shoulders as he moved to the window, bracing his arms on the sill. As the night air bathed his face, damp and cold driving away the last lingering shreds of his nightmare, he fixed his gaze on the floral fabric covering his arms.

Soft ivory adorned with tiny blue flowers and sprays of pale ivy. The quilting stitches were tiny and precise, made by a hand stubbornly focused on a bright future during times that promised no such happy ending. Your hand. The same that had dripped ink onto one of the corners while writing him a letter, a dark splotch you still rub your fingers over ruefully every time it catches your eye. Bucky adored it.

He dropped his head onto his arms, burying his face in the soft fabric and breathing in the faint scent of your soap. He didn’t know how long he’d been that way by the time the door creaked quietly behind him, signalling your return. When he raised his head to look at you, your free hand reached for his cheek, cradling it sweetly as you knelt beside him.

“You’re sure about the coffee? Don’t want to try sleeping some more?”

“Not tonight.”

You handed him his mug, hovering anxiously as he took a sip. Your eyes looked a bit lost, flitting about the room for something to do, some way to be helpful.

“When…” you trailed off uncertainly before trying again. “Did you sit up with anyone? Before? Or…?”

“Usually just found a spot to be alone.”

You nodded quickly, pushing up to stand again.

“I’ll just be in the other room then. Let me know if you need anything. I…”

You hesitated again before abruptly dropping to your knees. Your hands found his face, sweeping your thumbs along his cheekbones before drawing him in for a kiss. Unlike your other touches tonight, this was neither delicate nor fleeting. Your lips, though warm and soft, met his with firmness, with a fierce and loyal love that you always felt but rarely channeled this way. When you pulled away, Bucky’s lips tingled faintly, warmth blooming in his chest when you dipped back in for a final, tender brush.

“I love you,” you said quietly, looking intently into his eyes for a few moments as if willing the message to sink in before rising to your feet and turning to leave.

Bucky caught your wrist.

“I love you,” he whispered back. “You can stay, you know. You don’t have to leave.”

“You’re allowed to need time alone, Bucky. I promise, it doesn’t hurt my feelings.”

His hand slid down to grasp yours, tugging you to his side again.

“Maybe it’ll be better with you,” he murmured, leaning his head against your hip with a sigh. “Most things are. Being with you was never an option before.”

Your fingers combed gently though his sleep-ruffled hair, and his eyes fell closed at your touch.

“I just don’t want you to feel obligated to say I’m helping to appease my pride. I’ll stay if you really want me to, but you have to promise you’ll send me away if that’s what’s best for you.”

“Promise,” Bucky said with a nod, opening his eyes again to look up at you. “Stay with me? Please?”

Your eyes softened, and Bucky set the coffee down on the window sill as you settled on the floor beside him. He reached out for you, folding you against him with blanket-draped arms and fussing with the quilts until you were both adequately bundled in the warm, soft cotton.

You sit in silence for a long time, cuddled together, staring at the small patch of sky visible through the window. The coffee steaming on the window sill left a small patch of fog on the upper pane. You braved the cold air outside the blankets long enough to draw a small heart there while it lasted, and Bucky kissed warmth back into your fingertips when you leaned back into him again.

When his eyelids started to feel heavy, he took up the coffee again. It’s nearly cold by then, but that only let him drink it faster, allowed his hand to retreat back under the blankets more quickly.

The click of ceramic on wood pulled you from your light doze against his shoulder, and you tilted your head up to meet his eyes.

“How are you feeling?”

Bucky offered a soft smile.

“Better,” he said, kissing the tip of your nose before guiding your head back down to his shoulder. “Get some more rest, honey. I’ll be alright.”

“You’ll wake me if you need anything?” you asked, sleep already smoothing a slur into your words.

Bucky let out a low hum, rubbing his hand over your legs soothingly as you went soft and still against him.

And it wasn’t a comforting lie. He did feel better.

There was a warmth glowing gently in his chest that did not draw its strength from the coffee or blankets. It was in the way you touched him, kindly but not cautiously. In your determination to help, to learn how to help, without making him feel damaged or self-conscious. In the way you’d kissed him, steadfast, permanent. And when you’d told him you loved him, it didn’t feel like a pretty thing to say or a sweet consolation. It was a simple, honest statement, a resolute fact of life that welcomed no arguments or second opinions.

You loved him. Full stop. For better or worse, no matter how bad “worse” could be.

And that, Bucky thought, was something to smile about. That warmth was something to bask in.

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

I got really in my feelings writing this. Wow.

If you enjoyed it, please do let me know. Replies, reblogs, and asks make the world go round!

And if you have any questions about their life together, kindly drop it in my inbox to be answered in a bonus drabble or oneshot like this one.

Thank you for reading!

[fanfoolishness]

My Mando fic

Hey folks!  I’ve suddenly found myself writing enough Mandalorian fic that it makes sense to do a masterpost.  All of my stories are also on AO3 under fanfoolishness / LoonyLupin, if you prefer to read there, but if you’d rather stay in tumblr, here we are.

My stories tend to be angsty to bittersweet, with a strong focus on Din and Grogu’s familial bond, with some additional focus on Din’s own trauma.  Occasional appearances by other characters include the Armorer, Peli Motto, Greef Karga, Cara Dune, Kuiil, IG-11, and Boba Fett. No plans for writing any romance, but if I do it will be clearly labeled as such.

Tag: My Mando fic.  All fics listed in chronological order of the series, but are written randomly as they occur to me.

Stories are also tagged #noromo Mando for stories that contain no romance.

duty: 500 words. A Nikto pirate does their best to take care of a strange prize on Arvala-7. Set during episode 1x01.

Holding Space: 1000 words. Kuiil POV.  An Ugnaught’s lifespan is twice that of a human’s, but even a being who holds the long view can still find space to hope.

as the dust gathers, 400 words. The Armorer reflects on Nevarro.

the hollow man: 580 words, Din & the Armorer set during The Sin.

what is true: ~600 words. Din knew the truth once, until it was forgotten.

In It Together: 1152 words. Din and the Child get patched up after their escape from Nevarro.

focus: ~400 words. Din finds a safe haven.

Birdsong: 700 words. The Child sneaks out on Sorgan.

To Stay a Little While: 2800 words. Cara Dune doesn’t know why she lingers on Sorgan.

Somewhere Safe: 1100 words. Din and the Child leave Sorgan. More than a little sad.

A Goodnight Song: 671 words. After a hasty departure from Sorgan, Grogu is inconsolable.

Stories: 500 words. Peli Motto rocks the Child to sleep.

Nightmares: 600 words.  Din confronts a world in which he was too late to help the child.

the naming of things: 1795 words. Din names the injuries he received in The Prisoner, and reflects upon the hunter becoming the hunted.

The Confession: 1000 words. Kuiil and Din discuss the Child on the way to Nevarro.  Kuiil thinks the Mandalorian has changed.

Primary Directives: 2020 words.  IG-11 discovers similarities between itself and the Mandalorian.  Mainly based on the episodes The Mandalorian, The Reckoning and the Redemption.  Whump.

A Warrior’s Death: 1700 words. Din tends to his wounds and armor after the events of the Redemption.

For the Darkness Always Passes: 800 words. Din struggles with guilt after The Redemption.

something borrowed, 400 words. Din cherishes the Rising Phoenix and the gift of beskar.

Contact: 800 words. Din is a touch-starved man, but he’s getting better.

jewelry: 300 words. Din marvels at how much the child loves the pendant.

Waves in Moonlight: 1100 words. Din Djarin and the Child share a meal together under moonlight.

Noctis: 508 words. Din and the Child both struggle with dark dreams.

The Lullaby: 1900 words. Din and the Child are exhausted and try to get some sleep.

The Dove-Gray Sky: 950 words.  The Child sees snow with Din for the first time.

The Scent of Whiteleaf: 4800 words.  Grogu and his protector visit a calm and peaceful world, searching for those who could help them find a Jedi. They find something else instead. Grogu POV. Grogu & Din, some of Din's backstory, and several gentle family bonding moments.

The Outpost: 2000 words. Din and the kid visit Batuu, hoping to find a Jedi.

Vaii Mhi’Yaim (Where We Are Home): 6800 words.  Whump.  Din nearly dies bringing in a bounty to Nevarro; it’s up to Cara, Greef and Grogu to save him.

going under: 800 words.  Din Djarin nearly drowns. Whump.

Fulminating: 5000 words. Din suffers complications after nearly drowning on Trask.  He and the Child recover together. Maybe it’s enough. Even more whump, hurt/comfort.

The Clan Now Safe: 1500 words. Din struggles with feelings of isolation from his kind.

if things were different: 800 words. Greef Karga and Din Djarin discuss the Child before they make plans for the Siege.

The Connection: 195 words. Ahsoka learns what Grogu finds most important.

The Weight: 450 words. The Armorer grieves the past, and prepares for the future.

the hand outstretched: 1400 words. The quiet finds its way in after the Tragedy.

Orphans: Din and Boba Fett discuss their next move in the search for the child. Fett asks a question, or two.

Amputechture: 1300 words. Din returns for his armor after attacking the Imperial base, injured.  Boba Fett lends perspective.

Translation: 2400 words. Din Djarin was a man of few words but many languages. Some thought the Child spoke no language at all. They learn to understand each other.

The Sacrifice: 600 words.  Din never understood the depth of what he had been asked to do until it was too late.

Finding the Way: 2400 words. Din struggles after the Rescue, but Cara Dune is a good friend.

The Good News: 800 words.  Din shares the good news with an old friend. Angst.

Strikethrough: 1250 words. Din struggles with a wound that will not heal. Angst.

five denials and a truth: 3800 words. Five times Din Djarin denied being a father, and once he didn’t. Angst.

the wheeling stars, amidst the dark: 5370 words. Peli Motto is glad to see her favorite customer return, but is worried when she realizes he’s come alone. Grief, angst, friendship.

talisman, 470 words. Cara reaches out to a friend when she realizes he needs to talk.

The Nor'Wester, 1200 words. Din Djarin seeks a new purpose after the events of The Rescue, but memories lurk around every bend. Angst.

How Strange to Stay, 1000 words. Fennec Shand wonders why she cannot seem to leave Tatooine.

going up?, ~400 words. A Mandalorian gets on an elevator. BoBF 1x05.

Onto the Next, ~400 words. Din struggles during Return of the Mandalorian.

in bacta, dreaming, 1200 words. Din Djarin dreams in bacta.

The Invitation: 2600 words.  Din travels in dreams that feel realer than real after the Rescue. A promise is kept.

cobbles, 200 words. Din and Grogu share a quiet moment.

Reverberations, linked to on AO3, 16,500 words. Five times Din and Grogu encounter the Dark Side, and one time they encounter something altogether different.

[ao3feed-snape]

The Obscurial Child & The Power of Friendship

read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/38949141

by tuesdayspectacular

Harry has a cousin who he regards as his sister, Daphne, who is 3-4ish years younger than him. Daphne chooses to use Petunia's maiden name and goes by Daphne Evans. She's an Obscurial who Dumbledore decides needs to attend Hogwarts; he believes she can be healed.

Words: 1795, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Series: Part 1 of Healing the Obscurial

Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Characters: Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape, Harry Potter, Original Hogwarts Professors, Original Female Character(s), Petunia Evans Dursley, Vernon Dursley, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Cedric Diggory, Beatrice Haywood, Chiara Lobosca, Remus Lupin, Rubeus Hagrid, Firenze (Harry Potter), Fang (Harry Potter), Neville Longbottom, Original Merperson Character(s), Kneazle Characters (Harry Potter)

Relationships: Fred Weasley & George Weasley & Original Female Character(s), Severus Snape & Original Female Character(s), Harry Potter & Original Female Character(s), Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Cedric Diggory/Fred Weasley, Beatrice Haywood/Chiara Lobosca

Additional Tags: Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Past Sexual Abuse, Child Abuse, Protective Severus Snape, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Friendship, Childhood Trauma, Flashbacks, Panic Attacks, Trust Issues, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Nightmares, Legilimency (Harry Potter), Centaurs, Unicorns, Bowtruckle (Harry Potter), Demiguises, Obscurials (Harry Potter), Acromantulas (Harry Potter), Merpeople, Occamy (Harry Potter), Kneazles (Harry Potter), Mental Health Issues, Self Confidence Issues, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kelpies, Hippogriffs, Thestrals (Harry Potter), Canon Rewrite, Original Hogwarts House, Protective Fred Weasley

read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/38949141

[slaycinder]

Chiron the Centaur Had Human Front Legs and We Tried To Forget About That as a Society But I’m Dragging It Right Back Up: A Thread

Centaur Chiron, Athenian black-figure dinos, 6th Century BCE, British Museum

Chiron is easily identified on pottery because he was the only centaur depicted with human front legs.

(I haven’t been able to ID this piece yet. If anyone knows its origin, hmu)

He was also the only centaur consistently depicted wearing clothes. Ostensibly, this was to mark his status above other centaurs, as a more civilized being, but we know the truth: it was to hide whatever Human Centipede horror show is connecting his human butt to 2/3rds of a horse body. Like drawing someone’s hands behind their back because you can’t draw hands.

Chiron and boy Achilles, Athenian red-figure amphora, 6th century BCE, Musé du Louvre

We’re all thinking it, so I’ll say it: it hasn’t escaped my notice that he has two “lower” halves of two separate male animals. How many penises does he have? He’s frequently depicted with a laughably small horse penis and his gentleman bits are usually covered by clothes, so the question remains: how many penises does Chiron have? Which one did he use to sire four whole entire children? If he uses the horse penis, are the children horses/centaurs instead of humanoids? CHARICLO EXPLAIN.

Chiron and Nereid, Athenian red-figure calyx krater, 5th century BCE, Museum of Fine Arts, Boston

I would also like to point out that, among other skills like hunting and archery and medicine, Chiron was a teacher of gymnastics.

Now, I know ancient Grecian gymnastics weren’t the acrobatics set at Cirque de Solé, but I think a horseman doing front flips is literally a nightmare I’ve had.

Chiron and the gods attending the wedding of Peleus and Thetis, Athenian black-figure dinos, 6th century, BCE, British Museum

I’ve also noticed that depictions of Chiron with human forelegs seems to drop off outside of Athenian black/red-figures. Either these artists didn’t get the memo, or didn’t want to think about a horseman gymnast with two penises. I know I don’t.

Chiron tutoring Achilles, Greco-Roman fresco from Herculaneum, 1st century CE, Naples National Archaeological Museum

The Education of Achilles by James Barry (1741-1806)

The Education of Achilles by Bénigne Gagneraux (1756-1795)

If anyone else has expertise or input on this subject, feel free to share because I refuse to let this die.

TL;DR: Chiron’s not a centaur, he’s a human man with an absolute Dump Truck of an ass and two dicks.

[scotianostra]

On the 15th June 1844 Thomas Campbell, the Scottish poet, died.

The son of a Glasgow tobacco merchant, Campbell was brought up in the city's High Street and studied at the University from 1791 to 1795. His first volume of poetry was published in 1799 to critical acclaim and he became one of Britain's most popular poets. He was also a biographer, travel writer and magazine editor, and a vociferous champion of the struggle for Polish independence.

Campbell was elected Rector of Glasgow University in 1826 and was re-elected in the following two years. He served his third term despite the opposition of the University authorities: they considered his third election to be illegal, after he lost the original vote to Sir Walter Scott but won a second poll after Sir Walter declined to accept the post.

He is buried in Poets' Corner in Westminster Abbey.

This poem by Campbell is call The Dirge of Wallace.

When Scotland's great Regent, our warrior most dear, The debt of his nature did pay, T' was Edward, the cruel, had reason to fear, And cause to be struck with dismay. At the window of Edward the raven did croak, Though Scotland a widow became; Each tie of true honor to Wallace he broke- The raven croaked "Sorrow and shame!" At Eldersie Castle no raven was heard, But soothings of honor and truth; His spirit inspired the soul of the bard To comfort the Love of his youth! They lighted the tapers at dead of night, And chanted their holiest hymn; But her brow and her bosom were all damp with affright, Her eye was all sleepless and dim! And the lady of Eldersie wept for her lord, With a death-watch beat in her lonely room, When her curtain shook of its own accord, And the raven flapped at her window board To tell of her warrior's doom. Now sing ye the death-song, and loudly pray For the soul of my knight so dear! And call me a widow, this wretched day, Since the warning of God is here. For a nightmare rests on my strangled sleep; The lord of my bosom is doomed to die! His valorous heart they have wounded deep, And the blood-red tears his country shall weep For Wallace of Elderslie. Yet knew not his country, that ominous hour, Ere the loud matin-bell was rung, That the trumpet of death on an English tower, The dirge of her champion sung. When his dungeon light looked dim and red On the high-born blood of a martyr slain, No anthem was sung at his lowly death-bed,- No weeping was there when his bosom bled, And his heart was rent in twain. When he strode o'er the wreck of each well-fought field, With the yellow-haired chiefs of his native land; For his lace was not shivered on helmet or shield, And the sword that was fit for archangel to wield Was light in his terrible hand. Yet, bleeding and bound, though the "Wallacewight" For his long-loved country die,, The bugle ne'er sung to a braver night Than William of Elderslie. But the day of his triumphs shall never depart; His head, unemtombed, shall with glory be palmed: From its blood streaming altar his spirit shall start; Though the raven has fed on his mouldering heart, A nobler was never embalmed!