#Caroline Ardor

[skye-heaven]

ʚ 𝙃𝙀𝘼𝘿𝘾𝘼𝙉𝙊𝙉𝙎

❛ ᴛʜɪs ɪs ... ˢᵏʸᵉˑᵗˣᵗ

⠀ ᵐᵘˢᵉ ՙ. 𝐒𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐀 𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍 𓂅

﹫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐜 १

Los siguientes son headcanons de mi personaje con algunos otros al estilo tumblr y comic vine. Son ideas al aire que tuve en algún momento donde no me daba tanto la imaginación para que fuera un escrito entero pero que creo que ayuda a entender la esencia del personaje, así que aquí están. ♡

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° ┄ 「 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐧𝐨. 1 」

. . . ╱︎ 6 años atrás ╱︎ ︵ . . ⌗ ❜

━━Dios mío, Dean...

Sophia miró hacia el hoyo en el jardín de su tía Bobbie donde momentos antes su novio se había lanzado.

━━Sal de ese hoyo, por favor, no hay nada ahí.

Iban ya tarde a la fiesta de cumpleaños de Caroline, ahora no solo llegarían tarde, sino posiblemente con sus ropas sucias si Sophia se tiraba al hoyo para sacar a Dean Barton de ahí.

—Te juro que el mapache que robó mi sándwich se escabulló hasta aquí y...

Dean buscaba a un supuesto mapache en el hoyo, aunque era claro que él estaba sólo ahí.

━━Dean, no hay ningún mapache en ese hoyo.

Dijo Sophia rendida.

━━Sube aquí. No quiero tener que explicarle a Caroline porqué tienes tierra en el cabello.

───── ⚡ ─────

° ┄ 「 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐧𝐨. 2 」

. . . ╱︎ 3 años atrás ╱︎ ︵ . . ⌗ ❜

—Tienes que comer algo.

La voz autoritaria de Daisy Johnson solía hacerla entrar en razón la mayoría del tiempo. Pero ni siquiera la razón la podía levantar de la cama.

━━¿Tengo qué?

Su voz sonó apagada gracias a la posición en la que estaba acostada. Desde el accidente con el terrigén, Sophia apenas había cambiado de posición en su cama.

—Sophia, por favor...

Daisy dejó la sopa a un lado de la cama de su hija para voltearse a verla.

—Han pasado tres meses ya. Tienes que salir de la cama.

Pero en respuesta Sophia únicamente se dio la vuelta, en silencio.

───── ⚡ ─────

° ┄ 「 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐧𝐨. 3 」

. . . ╱︎ Misión en Harlem ╱︎ ︵ . . ⌗ ❜

—Te dije que lo tenía bajo control.

Caroline Barton cruzó la habitación hasta su amiga que acababa de salir de baño para cambiar sus ropas.

━━Y luego ese tipo se volvió un imbecil.

Replicó Sophia mientras pasaba una gaza de alcohol sobre su ceja rota. Hizo una mueca por el ardor.

—Pero no tenías que levantarte de la mesa y luego golpearlo a él y a sus amigos.

Continuó Caroline con su voz bastante tensa mientras se acercaba hasta Sophia para quitarle la gaza y ayudarla.

—Mírate nada más...

━━Ay, por favor Caroline.

Musitó Sophia mientras cerraba un ojo para dejar que su amiga limpiara la herida abierta.

━━Tengo rasguños, pero ellos van a necesitar un hospital.

Caroline hizo una mueca pero Sophia puso una mano suave sobre la mano de la rubia contraria.

━━Nadie se mete con mi mejor amiga.

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° ┄ 「 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐧𝐨. 4 」

. . . ╱︎ 1 año atrás ╱︎ ︵ . . ⌗ ❜

Solía tomar malas decisiones, pero esa, por mucho fue la peor del mes. Desde el suelo miró el rostro preocupado de Jemma Simmons que se asomó para ver a Sophia.

—¿Te duele?

Habían llamado a Jemma y a un médico unos cinco minutos atrás cuando Sophia cayó al suelo rendida con un montón de rayos pasando por su piel después de un entrenamiento.

━━No realmente. Solo se siente... Extraño.

Sophia podía ver aquellas líneas de electricidad desde el dorso de su mano, pero decía la verdad, no le dolía pero podía sentir el hormigueo.

—No puedes usar tus poderes sin medirte, Sophia.

Dijo Jemma con una voz molesta.

—Puedes lastimarte.

Sophia estaba demasiado cansada para discutir. Pasó su mano por su cabello aún incapaz de levantarse y miró a algún punto en el techo.

━━Tendré cuidado, tía Jemma.

───── ⚡ ─────

° ┄ 「 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐧𝐨. 5 」

. . . ╱︎ Misión en Nueva Jersey ╱︎ ︵ . . ⌗ ❜

—Es el peor disfraz de incógnito que te he visto, Soph.

Brooklyn Hill con peluca la miraba detrás de una taza, incapaz de no hacer la observación.

━━En primer lugar, no sabía que era una misión.

Sophia se había dirigido al lugar creyendo que era una especie de encargo antes de que literalmente tuviera que comprar un gorro y unos lentes de último minuto al saber la verdad.

━━En segundo lugar, los lentes y la gorrita engañan muy bien, aunque no lo creas Brook.

Sophia se enderezó en la mesa del café, y sus ojos azules viajaron a un punto tras su amiga.

━━Y tercero... El objetivo viene hacia acá. Actua normal.

Escuchó a Brook sorber el café para no toser.

—Maldición...

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° ┄ 「 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐧𝐨. 6 」

. . . ╱︎ Departamento de Sophia ╱︎ ︵ . . ⌗ ❜

Pasar la tarde con sus amigas era agradable. Le gustaba a veces intercambiar ropa con ellas, aunque a Kitty y Svetlana Romanoff fueran al menos una talla más delgada que ella y siempre tomaran ropa que jamás usó.

—¿A quién le anda mandando mensaje de nuevo?

Preguntó Kitty desde el baño donde estaba ayudando a su hermana a colocarse un vestido pegado que habían comprado esa tarde.

—A su nuevo novio, espero.

Dijo Svet, asomando con dificultad su cabeza desde el hoyo del vestido sin bajarlo del todo. Kitty se rió por lo bajo antes de que Svetlana hiciera lo mismo.

━━Es Alexander.

Respondió Sophia desde su cama.

━━Dice que pasará por Svet en 5 minutos.

Las risas se detuvieron de golpe. Ambas hermanas abrieron los ojos y se asomaron del baño hacia donde Sophia estaba.

—Ay mierda...—

Dijo Svetlana con un vestido a medio poner.

—Sigo en ropa interior.

───── ⚡ ─────

° ┄ 「 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐧𝐨. 7 」

. . . ╱︎ Casa de Daisy y Daniel ╱︎ ︵ . . ⌗ ❜

Sophia había llegado a la que fue su casa hasta hacía unos años sin tener la suerte de encontrar a nadie. Esperó media hora hasta que el sonido de la puerta de la entrada la hizo asomarse a la sala solo para encontrar a Daniel Soussa entrando a su casa.

━━¿Y mamá?

No pudo evitar saludar de esa forma. Había ido a ver a Daisy en realidad. Daniel parpadeó por la sorpresa y parecía querer entre ir a abrazar a Sophia y quedarse donde estaba. Optó por lo segundo.

—Ella se fue temprano a un llamado de la agencia.

Sophia intentó fingir no estar decepcionada. Daisy siempre estaba en el trabajo, no sabía por qué le sorprendía.

━━Oh... Claro... Yo... No importa...

Necesitaba realmente consejos sobre algo específico. Algo relacionado a chicos.

—Pero puedes decirme a mi, amor, puedo intentar...

Daniel se acercó a Sophia tras dejar las llaves en la mesita pero la rubia ya se había movido para la salida.

━━Lo siento Daniel, ya debo irme.

───── ⚡ ─────

° ┄ 「 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐧𝐨. 8 」

. . . ╱︎ Dos años atrás ╱︎ ︵ . . ⌗ ❜

━━¡Papá! ¡No!

El grito que soltó fue acompañado por un pequeño corto circuito en su televisor el cuál hasta hacía unos segundos había seguido prendido. Sophia se dio cuenta que se durmió con la televisión prendida antes de que otra pesadilla la molestara de nuevo.

Leopold Fitz entró hecho un huracán con un palo de escoba en la mano, mirando a todos lados, antes de darse cuenta la razón del grito. Él y toda su familia estaba enterada de esas pesadillas. Rápidamente se acercó a Sophia, puso una mano en su espalda, y limpió las lágrimas de sus mejillas.

—Mi vida, solo fue una pesadilla.

Sophia desearía que esas pesadillas no se sintieran tan reales, o al menos que no regresaran cada noche.

───── ⚡ ─────

° ┄ 「 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐧𝐨. 9 」

. . . ╱︎ 3 meses atrás ╱︎ ︵ . . ⌗ ❜

Segunda llamada en el día. La sexta en la semana posiblemente. En el mes... ¿Unas 20? Sophia había dejado de contar. Solamente quería hablar con él, con su mejor amigo, quería contarle de Grayson, quería saber cómo estaba.

El teléfono dejó de sonar. Contestó la llamada. Sophia tomó aire y estuvo a punto de hablar cuando escuchó el sonido de la voz de Alexander Rogers del otro lado del teléfono.

—Estoy algo ocupado ahora. ¿Te puedo llamar después?

━━Sí...

Apenas respondió esa palabra, la llamada se colgó del otro lado. Sophia miró su celular.

━━Claro...

Nadie la escuchaba ya, de todas formas. Movió su cabello cuando el aire de la tarde en Nueva York lo lanzó a su rostro.

━━Siempre dices lo mismo...

───── ⚡ ─────

° ┄ 「 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐧𝐨. 10 」

. . . ╱︎ 2 semanas atrás ╱︎ ︵ . . ⌗ ❜

—Te daré tiempo para que lo pienses.

Grayson Ward se encontraba frente a ella mientras ambos se despedían frente a Central Park. Él le había hablado de la posibilidad de salir oficialmente, pero Sophia apenas lo conocía de unos meses. No lo creía correcto.

━━No estoy segura que una relación sea el tipo para mi.

Comenzó, colocando un mechón tras su oreja. Grayson la detuvo.

—Permítete querer.

Él terminó por colocar el mechón tras su oreja.

—Y permíteme quererte.

Sophia le mostró una sonrisa de lado débil pero presente.

━━No es así de fácil.

Replicó en voz baja, pero Grayson ya había tomado su mentón para alzarlo y hacer que lo viera.

—Lo es para mi.

[welcometohelck]

#art stuff #oc #traditional art #sketches #art challenge #Caroline Ardor #sancti #plus sized #plus sized oc

[questionfortheculture]

Dani from Midsommar would vibe

#Spotify #playlist #Spotify playlists #music #indie #dani ardor #midsommar #midsommar vibes #sad girl music #toxic #gaslighting #Kate bush #perfume genius #Fiona Apple #Lorde #mental health #the smiths #paramore #charli xcx #caroline polachek #Lana Del Rey #grimes #bleachers #mitski #the 1975 #Troye sivan #Dua lipa

[vympirestake]

Characters I Write For:

This is probably going to change with time as I watch/read different things so if something isn't here now it could be at some point! That said I am usually open to checking something out to be to able to add someone.

Black Christmas

Billy Lenz

Candyman

Candyman

Chainsaw Massacre

Bubba Sawyer

Thomas Hewitt

Chromeskull

Chromeskull

Childs Play Series

Chucky

Tiffany Valentine

Crimson Peak

Thomas Sharpe

Lucille Sharpe

Criminal Minds

Spencer Reid

Aaron Hotchner

Derek Morgan

Emily Prentiss

Penelope Garcia

Evil Dead

Ash Williams

Friday the 13th

Jason Voorhees

Fright Night

Jerry Dandridge (both 2011 and 1985)

Halloween

Michael Myers

Heathers

Jason Dean

House of Wax

Veronica Sawyer

Heather Chandler

Vincent Sinclair

Bo Sinclair

Lester Sinclair

Interview with the Vampire (1994)

Louis de Pointe du Lac

Lestat de Lioncourt

Midsommar

Pelle

Dani Ardor

My Bloody Valentine

Harry Warden

Psycho

Norman Bates

NBC Hannibal

Hannibal Lecter

Will Graham

Near Dark

Severen

Diamondback

Jesse Hooker

Reanimator

Herbert West

Resident Evil

Leon Kennedy

Lady Demetrescu

Heisenberg

Scream

Billy Loomis

The Boy

Stu Macher

The Lost Boys

Brahms Heelshire

Michael Emerson

Paul

David

Marco

Dwayne

Star

The Originals

Elijah Mikaelson

Klaus Mikaelson

Kol Mikaelson

Rebekah Mikaelson

Finn Mikaelson

Marcel Gerard

Lucien Castle

Tristan de Martel

Aurora de Martel

Hayley Marshall

The Shining

Jack Torrance

Wendy Torrance

The Vampire Diaries

Damon Salvatore

Stefen Salvatore

Caroline Forbes

Enzo St John

Bonnie Bennet

Elena Gilbert

Jeremy Gilbert

Kai Parker

Katherine Pierce

#of course im completely open to doing things outside of this list #the characters listed now are really the only ones from that show/movie i would write for unless i realize i missed someone #i mean again this is totally subject to change with time so ill probably be adding more people here and there #faq #character list

[killem-all-if-they-wont-eat-cake]

Image: Freja och Svipdag (1911) by John Bauer

My text "Freyja en Svipdag" published in Covidnine-zine, a magazine edited by the wonderful Winnie Sluis, idealized by Winnie and Lisa @oppergod, with collaboration of several amazing artists.

“With her eyes closed and very sleepy, she could feel the sea breeze on her face and hear the sound of the tide breaking in nine waves, one after the other, until she finally managed to open her eyelids.

At first, she discerned arches and pillars through the blurred image, which she later identified as the ruins of an old cathedral. The stone foundations of this structure immediately reminded her of Glastonbury Abbey. The sound of the violin came to her, as well as the seagulls’ song and the gallop of a gray horse mounted by a masked young man, who headed in her direction. On the beach, an old lady recited the stanzas of ancient poems. Coffins swept across the sand, such as fragments of a shipwreck. The corpse of the violinist, who once was Yorick, the court jester, suddenly stopped the music, marveling at the horizon and contemplating his next song, as follows:

'Oh  Páter if I only knew who she was...  I swear I would have sought her earlier!  Oh Páter, here comes Gwena, who traces  This plot, full of diminished chords...

Tis  fire, aye, ‘tis pipe’s ember,  Burning slow and steady, steaming  And if I inhale, choke and clear my throat  Bitter-sweet is her surrender, such a delight  This woman...

Yet  I think she keeps  Something restrained  For the One of the strings...

She  dares not look but only glimpse

Her  bearing ever so high,  Still entrapped in a gilded cage  From which one tries to break  With a treble clef... Egnis! Egnis!

Aye,  see as it burns strong,

It is painful for Gaius,  Her way of walking and fluttering  Always a promise of the foreign

 Though  beware not to cut yourself;  For she is like As-Sirāt,  Even if broken, she remains sharp.

More  so she is intricate and complex,  Full of ardor and nothing else,  And seems entirely anti-flustered  Ah! ... but if there is a breach...

 “Tis  for sure the apple-tree”  I answer myself.  Since when I wandered haphazardly,  Wandering, wondering, though not seeing  If there was indeed an olive tree...

 Thus,  if the fire she already brought;  And I always have some cider;  Only the gold is wrought...

What  fire is that?  Mighty and aristocratic,  Convoluted and anti-pragmatic.

Alas,  we get to the story’s end,

If  you expected me to be light-hearted

To  speak of her beauty or noble

character,

 You  don’t see me for who I really am

For  only the sublime pain of a burn

Compares  to shall be required

To  conquer her troublesome

Spirit.

 Nevertheless,  if I allow myself

A  final indulgence, I think it goes

Without  saying.. that she’s beautiful,

Dignified,  and a relief to the eyes,

(Though  quite difficult to contain)

That’s  why I have fallen...O Páter!”

The rider dismounted and removed his mask, revealing a quite familiar face.

Then he burst into tears, moans, and screams, calling out the name “Sophie! Sophie!” A cacophony of chimes and carillon began at an Episcopal belfry, the imposing figure of a castle appeared behind the mist. Brísingamen, the fiery torque, sparkled around her neck as she rose, entirely dressed in white. The young man, who wore black garments, offered her his hand, and spoke:

 “Dear Sophie, your father awaits us.”

 The strangest thing happened; she felt her lips moving without having ordered so. “My darling Joris, at last you have come for me.”

 Although she did not know exactly how, she remembered the young man in front of her was her betrothed, and that they referred to each other by the names of the saints which the ephemeris fell on their respective birthdays. His on the feast day of Sint-Joris van Cappadocië, and hers on that of St. Sophie van Rome.

 “Sophie, the owl told me the baker shall hold a banquet in our honour!”

 “O, here, have a daisy” she said, taking a flower from the garland adorning her long blonde hair. “I would give you give you some violets, but they all withered when the fishmonger sailed to Crete.”

 “Indeed, Aerope told me that Catreus’ ashes are still warm.”

 They walked side by side, with hands intertwined, wearing wicked smiles as they climbed the hill where the castle's Tor stood. Upon arriving, they were received by the King of Guilder and the rest of his progeny.

 “Welcome, my children, to Kasteel Groninger! Our earthly paradise. Pray, remember the road ahead is still long. Fredegund anxiously awaits Siegbert's return, in deep sleep at the Mountain of Obstacles. Do not forget that: Fafnir must yet perish and Sigrdrífa still needs to be stripped of her armour” King Aegir affectionately warned, embracing both Sophie, whom he recognized as his youngest daughter, and Joris, his future son-in-law.

 "Your majesty, I assure you I shall be worthy enough to wed Lady Menglöð" replied Joris, referring to Sophie, the princess of Guilder, by her true name.

 “Heer Valentijn,” asked King Aegir, also calling Joris by his birth name “I believe the sacrifice of Galswintha will not have been in vain: Faith, Hope and Charity shall be glorified, but do not forget to greet your new sisters.”

 With their faces veiled and sitting on the stairs of an old church, the nine daughters of Aegir, presented themselves one by one. The oldest was called Schnecke, “Bloody-hair”, thus called in virtue of her red hair; the second went by the name of Mimi, the “Billow”, therefore known due to her being prone to fits of nervousness; the third was called Caroline, the “Comber”, because of her explosive temper; the fourth answered by Lily, “Pearl-transparent”, on the account of her translucent complexion; the fifth was named Henriette, the “Small-Wave”, due to her short height; the sixth answered by Olga, the “Lifting”, on account of her extraordinary intelligence; the seventh was called Hannah, the “Great-Wave”, thus known for her bulkiness;  the eighth daughter was Jeannette, called the “Well of Origin” for having the habit of reciting prophetic riddles every time somebody asked her something; the last of them, Friederike, the “Cool-Wave”, was therefore called on account of her cold manners.

 Each of them, as Joris approached, answered him with witty sentences related to each of their epithets. At the end of these parables, King Aegir once again addressed him:

 “Valentijn van Florin, I give you my word as sovereign of Guilder that the most beautiful flower in my garden is your dear Sophie, who at this very hour tomorrow you shall take as your wife. Such a marriage will unite our two rival kingdoms under a single crown, as intended your kinsman, Prince Humperdinck, though in far less auspicious circumstances.”

 The bride and the groom waltzed through the castle, covering the walls of each room with snow. Whenever Joris asked if she wanted to be his wife, Sophie burst into hysterical laughing, which echoed throughout the stairs. Sometimes she replied she first owed vassalage to another lord, who was certainly sterner and bonier. This ‘danse macabre’ continued until they faced the stained windows of the cathedral, when the black priest signaled them to stop. For this reason, the nine waves blew out the candles on the candelabrum, one by one, forming a fairy-ring around the two of them and joining their dance wildly.

 Joris mused for a moment and said:

 “Three times nine girls, but one girl rode ahead,

white-skinned under her helmet;

the horses were trembling, from their manes

dew fell into the deep valleys,

hail in the high woods;

good fortune comes to men from there;

all that I saw was hateful to me.”

 For the celebrations to continue Sophie was taken to the hall of Suttungr, while Joris was given the task of finding the severed head of Mimir. Locked up in the chamber of Invitation to Battle, Sophie was punished for exercising her prerogative in choosing differently from what the All-father had commanded. There, Huginn and Muninn, her liege's crows, whispered bad omens at her ears as she repeatedly painted a Byzantine icon of the Virgin of Mercy.

 “Torture me all you want,” she said to her tormentors “a tearing joy overwhelms my soul. Plato's aesthetic dictates the beauty of forms is equivalent to the greater good and that which is purer. I merely follow the example of Paris in his preference for the ‘kallistei’; the beloved is always chosen for blind love, and only love. I admit I may be wrong, but I still believe that his heart is as good and generous as I sensed on our first meeting. The world is sustained by hope, we believe in what we want to believe and how we want to believe; it does not matter if nature and experience tell us otherwise. My dreams have never betrayed me, my heart has never lied to me: it is necessary to follow one’s deepest desires, for they are ordained by the Norns.”

 In retaliation, the crows of the one-eyed king pecked at her ears until her neck was covered in blood. Ignoring the pangs of pain, Sophie continued to draw the icon that depicted a beautiful sleeping maiden, whose closed eyes showed an expression of tenderness and parted lips outlined a tenuous, albeit provocative smile, as though she was caught in a sensuous dream.

 Hence, Sophie chanted in low voice:

“What sort of dream is that, Odin?

I dreamed I rose up before dawn

to clear up Valhöll for slain people.

I aroused the Einheriar,

bade them get up to strew the benches,

clean the beer-cups,

the valkyries to serve wine

for the arrival of a prince.”

At the same time, Joris rode up to the Mountain of Obstacles, where the earth shook and a pit of flames reaching the sky surrounded the red gold of the gods. In this desolate place, the guardian at the gate, who was also the chieftain of the dwarves, gave Joris the sword of anger and the shield of wisdom with which he was able to defeat the horrible serpent, Jörmungandr.

After licking a drop of the creature’s blood on his finger, Joris was given the gift of understanding the crows’ language, which then instigated him to come to the chamber of Invitation to Battle. As soon as he entered the room, he blew on the horn he carried on his neck by a chain. The Virgin awoke from her feverish dream.

Sitting on a golden throne, the queen-like Sophie gladly received him in her father's hall:

“For nine lives I have awaited you, and for nine days you have hanged on the Sefirotic Tree. To you I give my gray horse, so you can ride to Gamla Uppsala; for Memory can only be restored when Gjallahorn descends to the well of origin. There, Heidr will offer you one of her full tits. Drink patiently, but steadily.”

“Frigga, my dear wife, all I ask is for you to grant me knowledge of the nine worlds.”

Before proceeding with her husband’s request, Sophie prayed for eloquence and intelligence, taking her lute in her hand, singing the most beautiful song of shadow and dawn. She praised the day, the night, the gods and goddesses, and the Holy Land where the Nazarene was crucified. After prayer, she harvested liquid from three of her father’s most precious cauldrons and prepared the elixir of life and death, stating it contained enchantments, blessings, songs and runes of power, manliness and pleasure of the flesh and soul.

Sophie told Joris that in the beginning there was nothing, and this nothing was called Njörun. When Njörun became aware of herself, she begot Njöðr. From the union between these two, Mardöll was born. The latter was self-suficient, loving herself and being therefore happy. However, curiosity caused the goddess to create a mirror from her own breath, and when she contemplated her own reflection, she fell madly in love with it. Since then, she divided herself in two: Mardöll of Fire, who saw the image, and Mardöll of Ice, the image seen. After tracing a runic symbol on her body and whispering over it, her reflection became Yngve, her twin brother. The two of them began a frantic dance that culminated in intercourse, from where emerged the rest of the runic spirits.

Sophie then told him how Mardöll first taught the runes to the All-father, how he held the head of Mimir and uttered wise words; and that from them flowed the worlds of the Æsir, Vanir, giants, elves, and humanity. She went on to count all the kinds of runes that Joris needed to know and how to use them. At last asking him if he would like speech or silence from her. To which Joris replied he was not afraid of knowing his fate, even if that meant death.

Shortly after, she took his horn, in which she poured the Mead of Poetry, while rambling: “The beautiful should not perish; the fair should not perish. Eternal love of immortal soul, glittering through my skin like fins. Drop by drop, your spirit will return to me, the first drop will be heavenly!”

The moment Joris took the last sip of this precious drink, the walls opened, and the drums played. King Aegir and the nine waves were finally welcomed to the wedding feast. Circling an oath-ring on a trunk, the sovereign of Guilder joined the hands of his daughter and son-in-law, making a cut on each of their palms so that their blood could mix. Joris and Sophie intertwined their fingers and together declared:

“Ubi tu Askr

Ego Embla;

Ubi tu Embla,

Ego Askr.”

“When thou art the Ash

I shall be the Elm;

When thou art the Elm

I shall be the Ash.”

“Grímnir, the greatest of all gods, is here, he proclaims you to be one flesh, consecrated to him” decreed King Aegir as the newlyweds resumed their bridal dance, accompanied by the nine waves, who happily sang:

“Stampa hårt i marken,

Låt säden flyta  runt,

Ta emot den unga  flickan,

Frej i älskog,

Freja i älskog.”

“Step hard on the ground,

Let the seed fly,

Welcome the Young Maiden,

Freyr in lovemaking,

Freyja in lovemaking.”

Joris enveloped Sophie in a lustful embrace, with each whirl more ardent than before, ‘til they both lost their balance and fell backwards in the hay. At this moment, Thanatos, the black priest showed up uninvited:

“I am a polar bear who has floated here from Greenland on an iceberg. May the gods bless your matrimony with such perennial beauty as that from the coupling of Zeus and Leda. As a wedding gift, I bring you a veil made for an Arabian princess. Please, accept it. O Vanadís, daughter of the king of kings.”

Upon hearing this, Sophie let out a long shriek. She understood what those words meant. For three nights, she and Joris made love at moonlight, in the presence of the court of Guilder and all the creatures of the universe. On the morning of the fourth day, he had to leave her side to wander the nine worlds, bringing the sacred knowledge he acquired to whichever mortals he found. Weeping, Sophie bade adieu to her husband with the following greeting:

“My will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom as great. My sisters receive the heroes at Fólkvangr, serving mead to those slain in battle. When the ash commune with the elm, you shall return to me. Not a second after, not a second before.”

The black priest then proceeded to lead them to the calvary, placing two wreaths of thorns on their heads. “I crown thee, Freyja and Óðr.”

For nine days and nights, Sophie bitterly mourned her lost husband, crying tears of gold for his sake. Once again trapped in the Mountain of Obstacles, she cried out for mercy to the one who was older than time itself:

“That man hon fólkvig fyrst í heimi,

er Gullveig geiru studdu

ok i hǫll Hárs hana brendu;

thrysvar brendu thrysvar borna,

opt, ósjaldan, tho hon enn lifir!

Heidi hana hétu, hvars til húsa kom,

vǫlu velspá,  vitti hon ganda

seid hon hvars hon kunni,

seid hon hugleikin,

æ var hon angan illrar brudar.”

“She remembers the first war in the world,

when Gullveig was hoist on the spears

in the High-One’s hall they burned her;

three times they burned the three times born

often, not seldom; yet she lives! 

She was called Heidr at the village,

the wise völva knew how to cast spells

she practiced seiðr whenever she could

with ravished soul, she performed seiðr,

She was always sought by wicked women.”

As she asked for divine intervention, Sophie devoted herself to the hard work required by the spinning wheel. As though passing in a trance through Psyche's trials, she was accompanied by her sisters, who danced around her, hand in hand. The first branches of the elm emerged from her heart, which enwrapped her in just a few minutes. From her withered body, the most majestic tree of Fensalir was formed. Three times she was struck by lightning, three times she burned; only to be three times reborn the next dawn.

When Joris at last returned from his travels around the world, finding her in such a state he declared:

“Nu em ec aptr kominn,

fát gat ec thegiandi thar;

margom orthom melta ec i minn frama i Suttungs sǫlom.

Gunnlad mer um gaf gunom stóli á

drycc ins dyra miathar; ill ithgiold

let ec hana eptir hafa

sins ins heila hugar

sins ins  svara seva.”

“Now I have come again,

I’d have hardly made it so far;

without speaking great words to my advantage in the hall  of Suttungr.

Gunnlöð gave me, from her golden throne

The precious drink of mead; a poor payment

I gave her in return

for her whole soul

for her  burdened spirit.”

With these sorrowful words he also became an ash tree, his roots becoming entangled with hers. From their union emerged a magnificent swan egg which cracked in two beautiful girls. The Æsir called them Hnoss and Gersemi, the Twin Treasures.’

#Noorse mythologie #noors verhaal #personal #creative writing #freyja #freja och svipdag #john bauer #1911 #1910s #my work #literature #norse tale #covidnine-zine #art met vrienden #winnie en lisa #norse #norse saga #nordic #swedish illustrator #maria kvilhaug #maria kvilhaug translations #prose #poetic edda #norse mythology #allegorical writing #mine #writer #also an excerpt from my upcoming novel #ikke #a work by Frida Arlon

[clumsyclifford]

i would love to read a mashton fic based on vegas, which is an idea that has been in my head since you sent it in for the playlist! i particularly like the lyrics “from coast to coast, I’ll make the most / of every second I’ve been giving with this crowd, / without a doubt, you’re all I dream about” but i would be happy no matter what you wrote

right okay well i have plans to one day write a longer better vegas fic but im capitalizing on the fact that you sent me specific lyrics from the song and just writing around those lyrics so. for the moment this will have to be enough im sorry maggie u deserve more

-

Michael loves performing more than most things.

There are certain people who take precedence — his band, for one, although that feels a little bit like cheating because his band are the reason he can perform — and his family, of course, and a case could be made for Niall Horan, and there are also a few things here and there — a chocolate milkshake at an American diner at three in the morning smack in the middle of the Northeast, the signed-by-Billie-Joe Father Of All… limited edition vinyl framed on his wall at home that’s been played exactly once, a proper pint from the bar they went to when they first arrived in London.

By and large, though, performing beats all. 

There’s an energy that is absolutely unmatched, and no matter how many times interviewers ask, Michael will never be able to put into words the way it feels to play to a crowd who are shouting your lyrics at the top of their lungs. Nobody would understand how it’s possible to get onstage feeling tired and grow more alive the longer you play, feeding off the ardor of the people, entirely detached from the usual concerns of whether or not you’ll remember how to play your part. Michael’s a good guitarist, but onstage he becomes something else, something fucking massive, a piece of something much bigger than himself.

The high lasts only for about a minute after he comes offstage, and then everything else hits him at once; the exhaustion, the sweat, all the notes he’d missed, the pounding in his head from the screams that are dulled but not deafened by the in-ears. They all crash at different times but they always crash soon after the show ends, and Michael’s usually first.

So there are a lot of reasons Michael doesn’t want to come offstage. And if anyone asks, he can offer a wide range of these answers, anything about the rush of performing, about not wanting to feel the weariness of the tour just yet, about feeling more sure about this show than anything in his life, and those wouldn’t even really be lies. They just wouldn’t be the whole truth.

Most of the reason why Michael loves to be onstage is the person sitting at the drum kit.

Ashton is twirling his drum sticks, effortless the way he always is during shows, a broad smile over his face while Luke sets them up for their next-to-last song. Michael takes the opportunity to tune up a little bit and watch Ashton. It’s one of his most favorite things ever, just to watch; he’d stare at Ashton forever if he could and still not have had enough.

Ashton glances up, catching Michael’s eye before Michael can look away, so Michael saunters over to the drums.

“How are you feeling?”

Michael gives a thumbs up. “On top of the world,” he says truthfully. His fingertips are buzzing with what could be electricity, and his guitar feels so light it could almost be floating. “You?”

“Same,” Ashton says, without faltering in his grin. “You’re sounding great.”

“You messed up a few times, but we’ll discuss it after the show,” Michael replies, smirking. Ashton flips him off. “I’m kidding. You sound awesome. Amazing. Like always.”

“Not always. I sound pretty bad sometimes.”

“Only when you’re singing in the shower.”

“I don’t sing in the shower!”

Michael holds up an air-microphone. “Sweet Caroline, bah-bah-bah!”

“That was one fucking time!”

“Yeah, and I’m gonna remember it forever, and laugh at you whenever I hear the song. So thank you.”

Ashton rolls his eyes; somehow he hasn’t stopped smiling, and in fact his smile is even wider. “You should probably get back to your station,” he says. “I think Luke’s stalling to start the song.”

As if on cue, Michael hears, “Oi, Mike! Is it social hour? Are we playing a show?”

Michael grins and winks at Ashton, then slides smoothly back to his microphone. “Sorry, sorry,” he says. “Ashton and I were just plotting how best to destroy you.”

“We’re thinking of putting you on a cooking show,” Ashton puts in from his mic. Michael loves him so much.

The crowd laughs. Luke just rolls his eyes, fond and unable to be cross when they’re playing a show, when this many people are here just for them, to hear their music, and across the stage Calum blows Michael a kiss. He catches it in the air and presses it to his heart; Calum grins and gives him the OK sign with his fingers.

“Anyway,” Luke says pointedly, and then he carries on with the show, introducing She’s Kinda Hot with very little additional preamble, and Michael starts to play it — the riff had been hard the first couple of times but now he could do it in his sleep, so instead of overthinking every note, his eyes roam the crowd, several thousand — a number Michael doesn’t remember but is absurdly high — people here to see them, to see him, some who have put in countless hours listening to their album and making signs and buying merchandise from them already. Michael feels like he’ll burst from the love, and wonders if it’s coming from him or from them. Or if there’s even a difference. They love his band, but not as much as he loves his band.

Ashton’s solo is his favorite part of this song. Not because he has a crush on Ashton. Musically, it’s the most fun, and Ashton has a really great voice for it, and he likes the little call-and-response part, and, okay, also because he has a crush on Ashton and this is basically his free chance to gaze in wonder while Ashton sings.

When the solo rolls around Michael turns his body to watch Ashton, shamelessly drinking in the sight; Ashton, a bandana barely keeping back his sweat-soaked hair and a glistening sheen of perspiration all down his face, neck, and arms, muscles tensing as he plays, tank top sticking to his chest. The lights from the stadium reflect strangely off his skin, giving him a gleaming aura that has Michael blinking sight back into his vision. 

Ashton is everything. He really, really is.

Halfway through the solo he catches Michael’s eye for just a second, and Michael doesn’t look away, caught up in the moment. Ashton smiles so wide his face could break from it and Michael feels that smile right down to his toes. The warmth stays in his chest, unbroken, untouchable.

They stumble off-stage, all four reaching out for full water bottles before they have to go back on for the encore. Michael’s off last — he’s standing farthest from where they come on — and the three others are already gasping out breaths between long chugs of water as he takes his own.

“Well, you all sound terrible, and I sound great,” Calum declares, one arm so tightly around Luke’s shoulders that Michael would be hard-pressed to try and separate them. Not that he’d ever feel compelled to. Ashton comes over and slings an arm over Michael’s shoulders, too, and Michael immediately squirms.

“Gross,” he says, “you’re all sweaty.”

“That’s how you like me,” Ashton says, pressing a kiss to Michael’s cheek.

“No PDA before we finish the encore,” Luke says loudly, pointing an accusing finger at the two of them.

“You’re just jealous that Ashton kissed me and not you,” Michael says. “Ashton, go kiss Luke. He’s feeling left out.”

“I don’t want to kiss Luke,” Ashton says, affronted. 

“I’ll kiss Luke,” Calum says. Before any of them can say anything about it, Calum pulls Luke’s face towards him and kisses him square on the mouth.

Luke looks like he’s been hammered between the eyes when Calum pulls away. “You’re such a sneaky little shit,” he says. “I have to go sing, you know.”

“I have to sing too!” Calum protests. 

“Wait a minute,” Michael says, feeling like perhaps he’s missed something. “How — what?”

“Does this mean I have to kiss you now?” Ashton asks Michael, a glint in his eye. “Because I’m not strictly opposed.”

“Stop it,” Michael says. “They just kissed!”

“They’re adults,” Ashton says.

“You’re not strictly opposed?” Michael says belatedly. “The fuck’s that mean? Are you for or against?”

“Shit,” Luke says, handing off his water bottle. “Gotta go back on. Encore time encore time encore time!” He races onstage, Calum in tow, and Michael groans.

“Worst band in the world!” he says as Ashton gives him one final, cheeky look before sliding away and returning to the stage. Michael follows after, playing the intro to She Looks So Perfect, which is as natural as breathing at this point.

The song goes well, and Michael remembers, having temporarily grown distracted, how fucking good this show has been, how the energy of the crowd is building up under his skin, making him practically vibrate with it despite the steady hands on his guitar. When the song ends, they take their bow and then head backstage. Michael finally takes a towel to wipe himself clean of sweat; the other boys do the same. Ashton gets two towels, because he’s always the grossest.

“So?” Michael asks, loping over to where Ashton is leaning against the wall, drying himself off. “For or against?”

“For or against what?” Ashton says innocently, but his face breaks into a ridiculous smile and he reaches to clap a hand around the back of Michael’s neck. “For, obviously.”

“Oh,” Michael says dimly, blood roaring in his ears. “Okay. Good. I mean, I hadn’t said for or against what, exactly. For all you know you’ve just agreed to my insidious plot to destroy the band from the inside or change our sound to EDM or something.”

“I’m in,” Ashton says immediately. “I’ll take down Luke, you get Calum.”

“I can’t take down Calum,” Michael says, forgetting momentarily that they’re not actually planning the downfall of the band. “He’s been my best friend for so long. I’m pretty sure that would be in violation of the bro code.”

“Okay, but taking down Luke wouldn’t?” Ashton asks, raising an eyebrow. “Fine. I’ll get Calum and you get Luke. Meet back here.”

“Wait, hold on,” Michael says, and picks back up the thread. “We’re not actually plotting the band’s destruction. You were going to kiss me, I think.”

“Was I? I don’t really recall.”

“You were. You said you were for it.”

“I believe my words were not strictly opposed.”

“You said for, obviously, like twenty seconds ago. Like literally twenty.”

“Hmm,” Ashton hums, tipping their foreheads together. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

Ashton gives his biggest smile yet. Michael feels the corners of his own mouth tug upward to mirror it, and Ashton leans in, presses a gentle kiss to Michael’s lips, and pulls away. Michael’s buzzing all over, head full of AshtonAshtonAshtonAshton.

“Oh, hmm,” he murmurs, a little speechless, midway between the adrenaline high of the show and the total post-performance crash. Heavily leaning into Ashton, he says, “I’m gonna fall asleep in like five minutes but we will definitely continue this when I’m not about to be dead on my feet.”

Ashton pats his shoulder reassuringly. “I’m not strictly opposed to that.”

Michael smiles and decides: there are few things he loves more than performing, but Ashton Irwin is one of them.

#the way cake snuck into this fic too.....that has never happened before i didnt know how to react i was literally michael #me after writing the kiss: they just ??? they just kissed??? did i miss something ??????????? #michael clifford #ashton irwin #mashton #mashton fic #5sos #5sos fic #fic #my fic #LGKJDFKGJKCBJ THIS IS SOOOOOO #that being said maggie this prompt is inspired im sorry i did not do it justice #calumsclifford #ask #answered

[histoireettralala]

Joachim Murat: his youth in Quercy.

His steps often joined those of Napoleon. Born 250 years ago in Labastide, Marshal of France, the king of Naples remained, all his life, attached to his native land. His native village now bears his name: Labastide-Murat.

Published on August 29, 17 at 16:05, in ActuLot

Joachim Murat en uniforme de sous-lieutenant au 12e Régiment de Chasseurs en 1792 (Age 25), by Jean-Baptiste Paulin Guérin, 1835

His name will later be inscribed on the Arc de Triomphe de l'Etoile. On April 5, 1791, three young people from Quercy (Murat, Bessieres and Ambert), appointed by the Lot Directory to be part of the King's constitutional guard, whose creation has just been voted by the Legislative Assembly, take the road to Paris. Coming from a family of small social status, Murat will reach the highest military glory thanks to the Republican wars and the prestigious imperial epic.

He was born on a causse with unexplored abysses

Joachim Murat was born on March 25, 1767, at La Bastide-Fortunière, a village in the Causse de Gramat. This physical environment has a certain connection with the future King of Naples' life and character. “La Bastide, a small village on the high plateau, looks like a fortress commanding the country. This majestic appearance amidst the drought, the almost desolation of the limestone soil which unexplored abysses hollow out in some places is the very image of Murat's life, a life full of contrasts where the good and the worst intertwine, where the peak honors and glory are next to disasters, mentions Marcel Dupont in his work on Murat. The sometimes violent wind is still a striking image of the marshal's mind, always filled with clouds and where hopes, vast projects, fury and annihilation collide day and night. Here is summarized in a few strokes, the prodigious and fatal destiny of this horseman who would have no equal to descend like a windstorm on the enemy troops.

His mother Jeanne's favorite child

Yet he seemed destined for a peaceful existence. Murat comes from a family that has lived in the town for more than three centuries. They are hard-working peasants, exploiting poor soil in harsh winters. How could a king arise from this modest environment more conducive to the development of country virtues than to warlike exploits?

This required the ardor of his youth, which will never leave him, but also the revolutionary upheaval. His father exploited the lands of "a few enlightened minds" in the village. Not being the owner, he is the manager, receiving earnings proportional to the crops. These are certainly satisfactory because the couple have a large house in the center of the town. This is the mother’s domain. The ground floor has been converted into an inn and the floor is divided between the family apartment and a few rooms for passing guests. This energetic woman who runs the inn is a caring mother. The good Jeanne Loubières, whom he will adore all his life, in fact, makes of the youngest of her eleven children, her favorite. By her constant presence, her desire to provide Joachim with an education, that goes beyond that of his environment, she will shape this son to the point that he will never forget his childhood.

With his curly hair and cheerful face, he's a rowdy kid, sometimes a brawler, as it should be to be respected in this country where endurance is proof of character. His time at La Bastide-Fortunière school made a good impression on his teachers: he is an average student but whose qualities of camaraderie and friendliness are recognized. His loving mother, who has deep religious feelings, thinks that the day will come when young Joachim will enter the Orders and may be parish priest of La Bastide.

His great pleasure is to lead alone the horses to the village trough. At the age when a horse seems formidable to a child, Joachim, who has an unusual vigor, already knows how to subdue them.

An amazing ability to lead

These predispositions did not arouse any suspicion among his parents who obtained a scholarship to send him, at 10 years old, to the Saint-Michel college in Cahors. He will stay there for 8 years. It is there that he will have as a comrade Jean Bessières from Prayssac, a future Marshal of the Empire. An unwavering friendship is born between these two men who would become close to the emperor.

Far from La Bastide, the young Murat discovers unknown horizons which open up new appetites for him. His intelligence is real. But as soon as he crosses the threshold of the class, he takes a singular ascendancy on his comrades, even develops an astonishing capacity to lead. How to blame him? If he goes too far for his age, he knows how to repent, implore and become very sweet again.

His whole life, he will use these weapons. Many contemporaries believe that he is completely sincere. Going from anger to tenderness, from elation to dejection, he is already and will remain, impulsive, even excessive in everything. Not without kindness and generosity.

At 20, he joins the cavalry

At the age of eighteen, he joins the Lazarists' seminar in Toulouse. But wearing the cassock does not make the seminarian. And this handsome young man of 1.85 meters, with a pleasant smile, already leads, outside the establishment, a private life the "good fathers" ignore. Here comes an important moment in Murat's life: his military engagement. It is allowed to think, with Jean Tulard, that after a quarrel, our too fiery seminarian was excluded from the University and dreading his father, takes advantage of the passage of the Cavalry of the Ardennes regiment to sign up for, he says "a life that does not displease him". In fact, the new Chasseur is "thrilled". He quickly stood out for his ability to train the most reticent horses and quickly became sergeant*.

For the simple rider, the days are repetitive and gruelling. After an early awakening (at six o'clock), you must groom sick animals, currycomb and brush them before preparing fodder, water and oats. It is only after this daily work, at ten o'clock that a soup is distributed. Then the upkeep chores of the stables. Strict rules still from the Ancien Régime! Because already Parisian ideas are swarming in the garrisons.

Giving free rein to his temperament, his need to be a leader, Murat, who places a lot of hope in the new ideas, takes the lead of the discontented men of the Regiment. This behavior is little appreciated by his leaders: he is put on permanent leave and expelled from the army. Humiliated, he decides to go back to the Lot. We are in 1789.

Delivery Clerk in Saint-Céré

Very badly received by his father who cuts him off, he returns to Saint-Céré where he is hired as a delivery clerk. For a few months, he was enraged, champing at the bit with impatience, convinced that his place is not here. The villages are buzzing. He became aware of the real state of France, of the mounting demands of the campaigns. Murat takes advantage of this return to his native land to attend and participate in public meetings of local clubs.

The past winter has been harsh and long. The harvest was poor. Lack of food and unemployment strike everywhere. Castles see their dovecote burned down. " Here will be hanged the first inhabitant who will pay the rent to the lord," says a poster from a Cahors merchant. It’s the revolt. Louis XVI summons the Etats Généraux on May 1, 1789 in Versailles. In 1790, for the Fête de la Fédération on July 14, each department must appoint two to three delegates. You can imagine that Murat is volunteering! The sympathetic, sweet talking but proud young man speaks. And it is in Lotois dialect that he expresses himself in cafes, wishing to reach the greatest number. The Revolution is born: Joachim Murat, who is part of the Third Estate by his origins, tries to change public opinion according to events. Every Sunday, he goes to Cahors: he listens, he harangues the crowd. He is on the Montfaucon list and is chosen to represent the Lot department.

The republican patriot leaves for Paris

Murat, 23, can go and explore the capital. It’s the consecration.

A new man is born. After a secular mass celebrated by former Bishop Talleyrand, speeches on the Champ de Mars ignite the crowds. One hundred thousand Parisians came to celebrate the first anniversary of the Capture of the Bastille. A year later, returning to the army, he is appointed to the King's Constitutional Guard, to protect but also to monitor Louis XVI. Indignant, the protester manifests a flawless patriotic commitment, calling himself a "pronounced republican", facing "this hideout of royalists who gravitate around the king". But the wind turns, Robespierre falls. His revolutionary passion almost interrupted his meteoric career. Bitter and worried, he is put on leave and returns for some time to Quercy, "wanting to become a simple plowman again".

Aide de camp

Skeptical about his future, then dejected, Murat quickly reacts, helped by the deputy for Gourdon, Jean-Baptiste Cavaignac, who encourages him to return to Paris. It is on the night of 12 to 13 Vendémiaire (October 5, 1795) that Murat is put in contact with the First Consul who needs him. He orders him to save the Convention threatened by the royalist riot. Forty cannons are placed by Squadron Leader Murat around the Tuileries Castle. Three hundred royalists will be killed. The government of the Republic is saved again. As Tulard points out: "From now on the star of Murat will merge with that of Bonaparte". No more depression, finally power and glory.

Promoted Bonaparte's aide-de-camp, he leaves for the Italian Campaign, direction Marengo. There, "his clothes will be riddled with bullets", but they will know victory.

He becomes Napoleon I's brother-in-law

In 1800, he marries Caroline, the First Consul's youngest sister, becoming the brother-in-law of the future Napoleon I. This marriage will give Murat an outstanding position among the marshals of the Empire. Quickly, he is invited to move to the Château des Tuileries and becomes part of the close entourage of the new master of France.

The rouser of men from the imperial epic will remain kind to his family at La Bastide. Coming from a small inn in Quercy to fly with his squadrons across Europe and into Egypt, Murat seems like a legendary character. Chateaubriand will devote long passages to him in the "Mémoires d'Outre Tombe". He will be admired by Stendhal, Dumas and Balzac. Three words characterize the King of Naples: ardor, ambition and panache. If he remains the most magnificent rouser of men the imperial epic will produce, he will invest much into the Lot whose deputy he will become in 1803.

And he will show kindness for his whole family. Especially for his mother, for whom he will show a deep attachment: he sends her rosaries blessed by the Pope.

The portrait he has done of Jeanne in 1792 will never leave him. It will be with him, in his homes, in his tent during his campaigns and in Naples, in his palace. He will build a castle for his "La Bastide family" in his native village, modeled on the Palais de l'Elysée, where he had resided as governor of Paris.

The King of Naples dies executed on October 13, 1815.

By André Décup

[Translation is mine.

Note: I translated by ‘sergeant’ the grade of Maréchal des Logis, which is its equivalent in the cavalry (and nowadays in the Gendarmerie).

There is no right translation for “entraîneur d’hommes”, I hope “rouser” doesn’t seem too weird in English.]

#napoleonic #joachim murat #newsletters articles #2017 #anyway i love him

[ardortv]

༉‧₊˚✧ i heard a rumor that farai was coming back for the reunion season of ardor?! they better confirm it within the next six hours. alexa demie is taken.

༉‧₊˚✧ [ ALEXA DEMIE, 22, CISFEMALE, SHE/HER ] ― hold on, is that [ FARAI SANCHEZ ]? i loved them on ardor: [ IBIZA ]. i’m so glad they’re coming back for the reunion season! i noticed during their season they were very [ HARD WORKING ], but i could have gone without seeing them be so [ EGOTISTIC ]. i follow them on spotify and the last thing i saw them listening to was [ OCEAN OF TEARS ] by [ CAROLINE POLACHEK ]. i heard that [ before ] the show aired [ SHE WAS A SOCIAL CLIMBER ]. let’s hope the producers don’t find out about that one! [ c, brt, +18 ]

#twitter rp #oc rp #appless rp #celebrity rp #reality tv rp

[everett-hunt-books-blog]

LOVE'S COLLATERAL DAMAGE

Through the five book series of the Peregrinations of Pitus Peston, I traced the two-fold evolution of Pitus from a cock sure, but uninformed Earth-bound adolescent to an adult experienced in advanced alien technology and the ardors of war and of love. The alien technology transformed him into one no more suited to live in nineteenth century Earth than the exiled travelers who found our planet two centuries before. His experiences with physical love nearly ended his peregrinations. Ellen Lattimore fell in love with Pitus the first time she saw him at the fresh new schoolhouse built in 1780 a mile out of town on the Argyle Road. (This is now St. Rt. 197). Peston was a contemplative quiet person, the kind who are said to have been given an “old soul”. The first time she saw him she caught him stooping to admire a Jack-in-the-Pulpit that rose between two rocks on a warm south embankment in late March. On asking him what he was doing, his almost shamanistic answer seized her heart. They talked incessantly all the way to the schoolhouse; she, probing at his character, he, totally oblivious to it all. She listened to Peston go on about his ideas of other worlds and other peoples, which was anathema to her Baptist faith, though this didn't stop her from avidly listening. Ellen poured on the “wily woman charm” as time went on, but she already had a daunting competitor; Pitus' soul was already captured by the Spirit of Adventure. He, most likely due to his elder brother Lloyd's badgering about Pitus' lack of involvement in the farm, developed a keen desire to get far far away from it's drudgery the moment he became of age. How was one to compete with an ideal? How can thoughts of pleasure break the bands of pain? Many tried to capsize his vessel of adventure. Besides Lloyd, there was his mother Caroline, who, though listening to his speculations about alien life and other worlds with unfeigned interest, really thought as he grew older he would leave off this childish dream and “take to becoming a preacher”. Seeming to fail in this, she connived with the local druggist, Lucius Ordway, to steer him into the apothecary's arts. Those who have read the first two adventures of Pitus Peston's peregrinations, know why Peston's odd-ball ideas were not discouraged by Lucius. All through his wandering to Saint Louis, and down the Mississippi, and back up into what would later be the Dakotas, Pitus met, just like any other mortal man with an immortal siege of his soul, temptations to turn around and re-enter a stable life of complacency. After all, he did promise to return home after Ponchatrain and marry Ellen. However, just as the voice of his conscience hounded him to pay his tithes to mediocrity, the sirens of the unknown whispered him on to 'round the next bend. When he discovered the first proof of his convictions in the bayous of Louisiana, all thoughts of returning home vanished. Think of finding absolute proof of life on a far away world. Could you just walk away from it?   Read the full article

#EverettHunt #Love #Outerspace #PITUSPESTONANDTHEGOLDENAGEOFROOLANDOO #pseudo-science

[welcometohelck]

#art stuff #oc #digital art #jaycrow #jayvandel #Crowen verdin #byte bronte #Liam Foster #kuro akagawa #matthewardor #laurence fraser #joanah vandel #joan vandel #eris hatton #enyo #enyo antquenten #Caroline Ardor #Percy Valentie #Tobias Fraser #Fennu Amaru #Tyler Bramare #Kirai Amaru #Wren Damia #oc relationships #ships #sketches #null oc #sancti #kuma asakura

[lalainajanes]

THESE PROMPTS LAINE HOO BOY kc + “I bet I can dance/move/act like that and I don’t even have to be a dancer/stripper/actor/whatever wait are you turned on?” sex

I Like Your Style

When his doorbellrings at 8:17 PM on a Wednesday, when he’s not expecting a soul, Klaus decidesto ignore whoever thought that dropping by - uninvited and unannounced – was a good idea. His phone hasn’t made a soundall evening and surely, if there were some sort of emergency, someone wouldhave tried to call first. He shifts on the couch, sinking deeper into thecushions, and continues with his Netflix surfing.

He cannot concentrate,idly scrolling without really absorbing anything, as the doorbell will not stopringing. If anything his guest becomes morepersistent, making the irritating ringing infinitely more so by tapping out a melodyof short chimes and long clangs that are familiar. And not in a good way.

Klaus is given a briefreprieve, a moment of blessed silence, and he thinks he just might have managedto out stubborn the doorbell maestro.

Only to be immediatelytreated to another, equally impassioned, performance. Which just about pushesthe limit of Klaus’ patience.

He tosses his remoteaside and pushes himself to his feet before stalking towards the front door. Apassing glance at the mirror in his hallway tells him he’s probably not fit forcompany, he’d already showered and hadn’t bothered with a shirt, but since he’sreasonably certain he doesn’t actually likehis visitor – he might not be able to place the song but it was awful – he doesn’t feel the need to makehimself presentable.

An impulse he regretsupon first opening the door. Caroline Forbes might not have been invited but,standing on his porch in a yellow sundress, her blonde curls loose about hershoulders, she’s far from unwelcome. Klaus is already fully aware of herquestionable taste in music and, since it had been a boon to him just lastweek, it’s in no way a deal breaker. Her lovely blue eyes widen, her sunnysmile dimming slightly as her eyes drop, raking over his torso. There’s a hintof shock, no healthy amount of interest, and more than a dollop of heat as hergaze lingers over his shoulders and flickers lower.

Perhaps there’ssomething to be said for not being presentable. He might even flex a little as he crosses his arms and leans againstthe wall just inside the doorway, silently waiting for Caroline to realizeshe’s quite shamelessly objectifying him and failing to be subtle about it.

It’s unfortunate that thereare no witnesses because Klaus knows she’s likely to deny it later.

Caroline visiblyshakes herself, her spine straightening, and meets his eyes once more. There’sa brief flash of chagrin but determination quickly masks any embarrassment.When she speaks it’s cheery, “Hey, Klaus. Are you busy?”

He glances down athimself pointedly, “Not particularly. Why do you ask?”

“Because I think it’stime we settle our little disagreement.” Caroline tells him.

Klaus wracks hisbrain, trying to figure out what she means. He and Caroline disagree –frequently and often at great volume, much to the amusement of his siblings andtheir assorted friends – so narrowing it down isn’t easy. He’d seen Carolinejust last Sunday, at a dinner at Rebekah’s (a monthly affair where she orderedgourmet takeout, plated it on her designer table wear, and pretended like sheknew how to operate her range). Caroline had spent the evening gleefullytaunting him about his love for the pop group they’d taken in a few days prior.Klaus had been roped into chaperoning Henrik who, in the midst of an epicteenage puppy love, had wanted to take his girlfriend to see her favoritegroup. Klaus, unwilling to face a crush of teenagers alone had, in turn, manageto cajole (and bribe) Caroline into tagging along. He was supposed to help herpaint her living room this weekend, the price they’d agreed upon.

He’d gotten off easy,really. The flashing lights, high pitched screams, and so called music had beenalmost bearable with Caroline at his side, bright and joyous and dancing alongwith the crowd. At one point she’d turned in his direction and he’d quicklyfaced the stage, adopted a look of concentration so she’d not realize he’d beenintently watching her, and not thespectacle he’d paid an exorbitant amount of money to witness.

He’d overdone it andCaroline had taken his feigned interest in the performance as a sign that hewas a secret girl groupie (her words, not his). She’d been texting him gossipabout the band member’s tumultuous love lives and links to interviews posted onYouTube ever since.

He’s mostly beenignoring it, certain that any heated denials would be taken as further proof ofhis supposed ardor. Eventually, he and Caroline would find another subject tospar over. They always did.

What pressing disagreementdoes she thinks needs to be solved immediately? Klaus has to admit he hasn’t aclue.

She shifts her weightwhen he remains silent, hefting a large bag he’s just now noticing higher onher shoulder. “I’m going to need your bathroom for like twenty minutes. AndI’ll have to borrow a chair.”

That just confusesKlaus all the more. “I’m lost, sweetheart.”

She lets out anannoyed huff, pointedly keeping her eyes trained on a point somewhere to theleft of his head. “You told me all your drooling at the concert was over the‘grace and athleticism’ of the dancing, remember? Which I called bullshit on,of course. But you were all blah blah blah artistry blah blah blah years oftraining.”

Klaus fights a wince,recalling that particular argument. It wasn’t his finest moment but he’d had tocome up with something to explain awaywhat she’d seen as fascination. And then Caroline had gotten so offended,calling the choreography ‘cookie cutter sexbot thrusting’ and he hadn’t beenable to resist countering, just to see her color heighten and her hands gesturewildly as she attempted to prove her point.

It was his usual instinct,one he rarely bothered fighting. Really, it was a miracle Caroline hadn’trealized his interest. Every single one of their mutual acquaintances hadremarked on it. Klaus suspected there was even a betting pool.

“And you’re going toprove me wrong… how?”

Caroline’s smile is aslow thing, hinting at an ace up her sleeve, and Klaus is both wary andintrigued. She meets his eyes, hers filled with challenge, “Why don’t you letme in and I’ll show you?”

Wordlessly, Klaussteps aside, waving her in. Sucks in a harsh breath when she pats his stomach,her hand lingering in a way that feels deliberate. She doesn’t look at him,merely strides ahead. “Living room first,” she calls. “We’re going to need tomove some furniture.”

He still has verylittle idea of what’s happening but Klaus follows Caroline’s lead. Obliges herwhen she asks him to push his couch against one wall, the coffee table againstanother. She seems to consider the rug but then decides it can stay. She avoidshis gaze, manner brisk and businesslike, only stopping when he taunts her aboutit, pride stealing across her expressive face. Her eyelids grow heavy when shelooks at him a new weight and anticipation there. She stands close to him,closer than necessary, doesn’t shy away when his skin brushes against her barearm or her clothed back. When the room has been rearranged to her specificationsshe nods her satisfaction. “Perfect. Time for wardrobe. I’ll be right back.”She collects her bag and strolls from the room before Klaus can think to pepperher with questions.

He settles in to wait,finds he can’t mourn the change in his evening’s plans. Not when it seems likeCaroline’s are going to turn out to be far superior.

She strives for calmas she changes, rolling on the shimmery fishnets and wriggling into the blackleotard she’d tracked down yesterday. The scoop neck was modest but it was cutlow in the back. Somehow it still managed to keep her boobs in place soCaroline figured it was worth the drive out to the dance shop she hadn’t evenknown existed until this plan had occurred to her.

It had seemed geniusat the time. Now, minutes away from actually doing it Caroline can maybe admitthat it was a little crazy. That she didn’t do her best thinking in the middleof the night when she’d been tossing and turning and mentally rehearsing newrebuttals and quips for the next time she saw Klaus.

She notices her handsstarting to shake when she retrieves her makeup bag and she sets it downcarefully, taking a deep breath. Clown makeup was not on the agenda for theevening. Though if her lipstick happened to get a little smeared later on shewouldn’t exactly object.

She eyes her phone,resting innocently on the countertop and debates calling one of her friends fora chat. They’d all been dragged to a dance class over the last week, some moregood naturedly than others, and they’d probably be good for a pep talk (Elena)or at least willing to listen to her vent her nerves (Bonnie).

If Caroline called Katshe’d likely even get yet anotherlecture about how she really didn’t need to try so hard, that she could havesaved herself the muscle strain and expense if she’d just shown up at his doorin a trench coat and some fuck me heels. ‘I don’t even like him, Caroline,’she’d said, after taking a deep drink of wine. “And I hate lending people my shoes. But I will do it, for you. And forme, so I don’t have to listen to your verbal foreplay ever again.”

Caroline had insistedthat it was just her duty to prove to Klaus how very wrong he was. She’dspecifically come today because no one thought Wednesday was an appropriate day for a booty call. She’d beensnippy and irritated that her friends hadn’t bought a single word of herdenials.

Standing in Klaus’bathroom, jittery and nervous but also excited, Caroline’s beginning to realizethat she might owe each of them a round of ‘I told you so.’

Assuming this wholething didn’t blow up in her face and she had to flee to another state inhumiliation.

She’s totally going toblame it on the fact that he’d opened the door looking rumpled and delicious,more skin on display than she’d ever seen. Her carefully rehearsed speech hadfled and she’d had a brief, verydistracting, fantasy about dropping her bag and reaching for him with nofurther preliminaries.

Those kinds ofthoughts about Klaus weren’t exactly new. His face had been popping up in herfantasy repertoire regularly, beginning back when he was just an acquaintancewith nice hands and a voice that she was sure was made for dirty talk. He’dbegun appearing with more frequency as they’d gotten to know each other becauseas much as he infuriated her  sometimesshe always walked away from their little spats feeling energized, ready to go anotherround.

It was only natural,she’d told herself, to wonder how their dynamic – the push pull of it that lefther heated and excited – would translate with them naked.

Caroline draws herselfup to her full height and pushes those thoughts away before they can take root.Right now wasn’t the time, she refuses to be blushing and nervous when shewalked out there. Her motives might have shifted but she still had a point toprove. Caroline concentrates on fluffing up her curls in the mirror beforereaching for her makeup again, taking a deep steadying breath. She had a planand she was committed to executing it. She’d just get through the steps she’dlaid out, nice and easy, one after the other. It was time to get her game faceon.

Pessimism wasn’t herthing and at least, if things went horribly, going to insane lengths to win anargument was totally in character. She could spin it, weather the friendlyribbing that came her way, and go back to being Klaus’ friend slash adversarylike nothing had happened.

If she took a shot andfell flat maybe she could finally get over her silly little crush. And on thebright side, if her shot hit its mark, she wouldn’t have to. Her friends wouldstill mock her, of course. But Klaus was totally petty enough to join her insome serious revenge PDA so Caroline thought she’d still come out a winner.

He paces, curiosityraging, straining to hear anything from down the hallway, itching for the tiniesthint about what Caroline has planned. The use of the word ‘wardrobe’ was particularlyintriguing, suggesting that Caroline was in a state of undress in his bathroom,something he struggles not to dwell on knowing full well his attire won’t hidemuch. Unfortunately, not a peep makes it to his ears, and Klaus is left totorture himself with possibilities, most likely too good to be true, until the bathroomdoor creaks back open and he hears her step out of the bathroom.

At which point he throwshimself on to the couch, crosses his ankle over his opposite knee, all in aneffort to look natural and nonchalant.

It’s a waste as he’scertain the way his lips part, body stiffening, in shock as Caroline walks backinto the living room are most illuminating and he’s grateful his legs willobscure the visible tent in his sweats caused by his swelling cock. He swallowsheavily, taking in the sleek lines of her body, lovingly outlined in verylittle fabric. What covers her clings deliciously and his hands itch to skimover her curves. He’s always liked her legs, had vivid desires involving them wrappedabout his hips, and they seem especially endless and tempting in the stockingsshe wears. Caroline tosses him a smirk, flipping her hair over her shoulder,resting a hand on her hip. “My eyes are up here,” she taunts.

Klaus clears histhroat, “Caroline, wh…” he trails off, uncertain of what he means to ask. ‘Whatare you wearing?’ “What are you doing?’ “Why are you all the way across theroom when you could be in my lap?’

He should probably workup to that last bit.

Her laugh is warm, atouch mischievous. There’s a slight relaxing of her posture, her confidenceradiates in the swaying of her hips as she takes a few steps towards him.There’s nothing but innocence in her expression, too much to be natural. “I’mproving a point. I haven’t taken a dance class since college but I bet I can doit just as well as those girls you were eyeing.”

He takes a second todigest that, to ponder the implications. “You’re going to… dance? Now? Inthat?” He’s helpless not to gesture, cringing because he knows he sounds like an imbecile.

Caroline’s fingertipsstroke across the neckline of her top, head tipped to the side quizzically, “What’swrong with what I’m wearing?”

Klaus clenches histeeth together because what he’d wanted to blurt out – that the only thing wrong with the clingy black scraps offabric she had on what that he wasn’t entirely certain he could remove themexpediently – was probably unwise. “Nothing,” he manages, clipped and terse.

Caroline doesn’t seemto take offense, if anything she looks pleased. “Well, now that we’veestablished what I’m doing here, why don’t you take a seat? I’ll be out of yourhair in under a half hour, don’t you worry.”

She breezes away,towards the kitchen, before Klaus can argue with her assumption that he wantsher gone.

No matter. He’ll makea point of mentioning it later.

Caroline worksquickly, dragging one of Klaus’ kitchen chairs into the center of his livingroom, hooking up her phone to his stereo system. It only takes a moment – she’dmonopolized the music at a party he’d thrown once or twice or every single timeeven though he complained incessantly – and she doesn’t let herself look athim.

A girl only had somuch self-control.

He hadn’t bothered toput a shirt on and he wears only a pair of sweatpants, slung low enough thatit’s entirely possible he’s not wearing anything underneath them. She wants toask him about the tattoos, wants to discover the texture of his skin, to see ifhe’ll shudder when she traces his hipbone with her tongue.

She’d want to throwherself at him even if he hadn’t been watching her every move with lustdarkened eyes, the lines of his body taut, a struggle painted clear across hisface.

He wanted her. Of thatCaroline had no more doubts.

She gets intoposition, facing Klaus with the chair in front of her, setting a hand on thetop rung, letting her hair fall down to curtain her face. The music begins,slow and sultry, and she begins to sway her hips in time, bending deeper with everyeight count. Caroline’s certain she hears a noise, a tiny pained groan, andbites the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. She swings a leg over thechair, pausing to turn in profile and run her hand along her thigh as shecatches Klaus’ eye. She spins, and drapes herself across it, extending her legsand dipping low over the other side, arching her back to pull herself up, herhand coming up to play with her hair. She twists, facing him, easing her thighsopen as she glances up to gauge Klaus’ reaction and stills once she sees thathe’s moving. His jaw’s clenched tight and Caroline’s eyes widen when he loomsover her. He pauses for a second, his eyes tracing a hot path down the line ofher body. She fights the urge to squirm but then Klaus is dropping to hisknees, cupping her jaw and tugging her closer. She goes willingly, eagerly,slipping off the chair and grasping his shoulders for purchase. Klaus smilesinto the kiss, wrapping his arm around her waist and hauling into him, chest toknee, shoving the chair away carelessly. He pulls back enough to speak thoughthe patterns he’s tracing along her spine are distracting. “Perhaps I’llconcede. Just this once.”

Her laugh is breathy, “Yeah,you’ll concede. You really are into the whole cheesy choreography thing, huh?”

He shakes his head, atouch exasperated, “I barely saw those girls, Caroline. I was looking at youand you almost caught me.”

She doesn’t botherfighting the pleased smile. “Noted. Totally kicking myself for putting all theeffort into learning a routine now. I didn’t even get to the good part.”

Klaus increases thedistance between them, intrigue flickering across his face, “The good part?””

Caroline’s not havingthat. “Later,” she murmurs, burying her hand in his hair. “Assuming you don’tsuck at the sex thing.”

Klaus is unable totake that as anything but a challenge, just as Caroline had intended. He useshis arm to lift her, his hand coming up to cradle her head as he lays her onher back. He props himself up on one elbow, settling into the cradle of herthighs and leaning down to kiss her once more. There’s less urgency now, theheat builds slowly, his tongue teasing and stroking as their breath quickensand her hips push up searching for friction. Klaus’ hand begins to wander, hestrokes her throat and her head tips back with an encouraging sigh. His mouthmoves to her throat as his fingertips trace her collarbone, hooking into theneckline of her leotard. He tugs enough to bare one breast, his fingertipsgentle on the slope before finding her nipple. It begins to firm under histouch, tightening under the roughening circles of his thumb. He glances down,lips parted. “Lovelier than I’d imagined,” he murmurs. His hand leaves her,head dipping. His lips close over her nipple, Caroline arches up with a moanand he attempts to push the fabric further down. It resists and Caroline letsout a noise of protest as he pulls back, brow furrowed, “How does one removethis?”

She’d laugh at howpuzzled he seems, makes a mental note to make a joke about it later, but it’snot the time for humor, not with her skin tingling and a persistent achebetween her thighs. She pushes him back slightly, hooking a leg over his hip sohe doesn’t go far, and tugs a strap down her shoulder in impatient jerks. Theother quickly follows and Klaus seems eager to help, rolling the leotard down hertorso. Caroline hooks her thumbs in her tights, wiggling her hips so they comeoff too. Klaus freezes for a moment. “You weren’t wearing anything under that,”he mutters, almost to himself, sounding strained.

He’s stoppedundressing her and Caroline’s not having that. Letting out an annoyed huff shegets one leg free, biting her lip to keep from moaning when she presses againstKlaus’ cock, straining behind a single layer of fabric. “It’s not very forgiving.I didn’t want lines. Besides, pretty sure I am not the only one going commandohere.” This time she grinds up deliberately and a shudder wracks Klaus’ frame.She runs her nails along his spine, one drifting up to tug at the curls at thebase of his neck, the other pushing under the waistband of his sweats. His headbows, a harsh breath panted against her throat and he rears up, shoving theirremaining clothes aside. This time she’s helpless to resist the urge to reachfor him, sitting up when he moves to hover over her again, pushing at hisshoulder until he gets the hint and rolls onto his back.

Caroline wraps herhand around his cock, slinging a leg over his hips and shaking her hair back.She strokes him, rubbing her thumb along the tip of him, relishing his harshinhale. Just like when they argue Klaus is completely unwilling to let her win,rolling himself up and brushing her hands aside. He angles his head and kissesher, tempting her to part her lips with a lush swipe of his tongue, a hand onher hip urging her to move against him. Her mouth falls open as she sinksdeeper into the kiss, thighs widening as she searches for friction. She gaspswhen she feels his fingers, parting her folds and coming away slick.

She’s been turned on sinceshe started to dance, ready for him to be inside her since he’d first put hismouth on her nipple. Klaus seems intent on teasing her with light indirecttouches to her clit that tighten the knots in her stomach but give her norelief. His other hand is greedy for all the skin it can reach, smoothing overher back and ass, sneaking between them to palm a breast. Caroline bites downon his shoulder and Klaus hisses, taking the hint and easing a finger inside. “More,”she rasps, soothing the mark she’d left.

He obeys pressing his handtightly to her. She begins to ride his fingers in earnest, thighs tremblingwhen the heel of his hand rubs against her clit. He groans, leaning back towatch her face, “Just like that Caroline. Do you know how many times I’vethought of you like this? Trembling and breathless and wet because of me.”

Hopefully nearly asmany times as she has. He curls his fingers, rubbing against a spot inside ofher that has her head falling back and her vision going hazy, “Tell me,” shedemands, in a voice that’s hoarse and edged in need.

Klaus obliges, and she’dtotally been right about his voice. Thickened with his own arousal it’smesmerizing, “The little dresses you favor make it impossible not to thinkabout sneaking my hand underneath your skirt when we’re at a bar or out todinner. I’d stroke your thighs, a silent question, and you’d spread them forme, eager for my touch. In my mind you’ve been wet and hot around my fingerswhile I’ve gotten you off under a table while you flush prettily and try not tosquirm dozens upon dozens of times.”

Caroline swallowshard, rolling her head forward to look at him. His face is tight with strain,lips reddened and swollen. She manages a broken inhale, scrambling to puttogether a coherent sentence, “Well, we are supposed to do drinks on Friday…”

He makes a harshnoise, low in his throat, his hand easing away from her. Caroline’s mouth dropsopen but his next words stills her protest, “I need a condom.”

She shakes her head, “Ihave the implant and I don’t have anything. Are you…”

“Disease free? Yes.”

That’s good enough forher. She trusts him and she wants him and stopping right now when she’s soclose seems like torture. She lifts up higher onto her knees and reaches down,their fingers tangle but they get him positioned and Caroline sinks down with amoan, looking down to watch him slide inside of her. He grips her hips tightlywhen he’s all the way in, his body a solid line of tension against hers. Shefights the hold, needing to move, andhe eases up with a groan, reaching to tease her clit again when she begins tomove. It’s probably not graceful, more frantic than finessed, but Klaus doesn’tseem to mind, little noises of need spilling from him every time she takes himback inside of her. Their skin heats and slickens and soon she’s short ofbreath and the best kind of dizzy.

Caroline cries out as his fingers rub againsther with more purpose and she begins to shake, gripping him as her orgasmbuilds. “You’re so close, sweetheart,” Klaus murmurs. “Let go for me.”

She slumps into himwhen it hits her, muffling her cry in his skin and Klaus’ arms tighten aroundher as he lets go, snapping his hips up into hers as he chases his own release.He bites out a sharp curse, a reverent whisper of her name, before he collapsesback onto the floor, Caroline following him down. They shift for a minute toget comfortable, and Caroline squirms as he slips out of her before settlingagainst his chest.

The music’s longstopped and she lays her head over his chest, listens to his heart slow as hesifts his hands through her hair. When she feels like she can talk without wheezingshe peeks up, only to find Klaus’ eyes closed, his expression content. As if hefeels her watching his eyes slit open and he smiles, “Something on your mind?”

So many things.

She bites her lip andKlaus’ eyes flare with a new rush of heat as he watches, “Okay, first, Ilegitimately did not plan to seduce you.”

Klaus appears dubious,“You planned to dance for me, wearing what you were wearing, but it wasn’t aseduction?”

Okay, fine, when youput it like that it sounded bad.

“I didn’t consciously decide to seduce you,” sheamends.

He presses his lipstogether like he’s trying not to laugh. “Well, remind me to do something nicefor your subconscious someday. It obviously has discerning tastes.”

She pokes him in theside, narrowing her eyes in a glare. He couldn’t seriously be mocking her,could he? They were naked and she could feel their combined release coating theinside of her thighs.

Klaus hauls her upwith his grip on her hair, kissing her until her lips soften and cling to his. “I’dintended to ask you to dinner for ages. We always just seem to sink intobickering before I can manage and then it seems like bad timing.”

“Oh,” Caroline says,slightly mollified. “Maybe you should be less of a dick then.”

Klaus laughs, “I thinkthat’s unlikely. Perhaps you should be less easy to bait, hmm?”

Caroline has to admitthat also seems unlikely. She sits up and notes the way Klaus eyes her breastshungrily. She moves away before he can make the move he’s clearly considering, “Compromise,”she offers. “We bicker while we dodate things. Starting with food. Now.”

Klaus reaches over hishead in a stretch, and she kind of can’t fault him for ogling her boobs, notwhen she takes a very long look at the way his pale skin stretches over thelean muscles of his abdomen, letting her eyes linger on his cock that seems tobe twitching back into readiness. He doesn’t seem to mind the scrutiny, foldinghis hands under his head, “That’s a compromise I can live with. I’ve heardexcellent things about make up sex.”

Caroline doesn’t lookat him as she stands and makes her way to the bathroom. She’s going to needsustenance because she knows she won’t be able to resist picking a fight withthat statement lingering between them.

Could make up sex withKlaus even be better than the sexthey’d just had? Her legs are shaky and she feels fantastic so Caroline’sskeptical.

But not at all opposedto experimenting.

#klaroline #klaroline drabbles #klaroline smut #will I ever write a short thing again #this was totally my second fave one on that list though so no regrets #goldcaught

[theradioghost]

it’s time for an unnecessarily long post about name etymology in The Penumbra:

Juno, of course, is the Roman queen of the gods, equivalent to the Greek Hera. She was a protector and a patron of beginnings; she was also the mother of Mars, to whom she gave birth (according to Ovid) without a father. She nearly killed her son Vulcan by throwing him off Mount Olympus when she found him too ugly, but otherwise was more known for killing her husband’s children with other women.

Peter means “stone.” His last name is (according to Soph) a tribute to ballet dancer Rudolf Nureyev, and is a Russianized form of the Arabic نُور meaning “light.” (Which is one of the many ties between Peter and Ramses O’Flaherty, whose name is also linked to light.)

Rex obviously means “king,” and names like Duke and Shah also reference nobility/royalty.

Perseus was an ancient Greek hero, a son of Zeus, and ironically one of the few Juno/Hera left alone; he did, however, fulfill a prophecy that he would kill his own grandfather.

Ben, if short for Benjamin, means “son of the right hand” or “favored son.” Apparently not.

Rita means “pearl.” (Which she is.)

Croesus was an ancient king of Lydia who was renowned for his wealth, giving rise to the modern expression “rich as Croesus.” He is associated with an anecdote by the historian Herodotus advising to “call no man happy until he is dead,” since fate is fickle and as long as you live your fortunes can still change.

Cassandra was a Trojan princess, who was given the gift of prophecy by the god Apollo; when she refused him, he cursed her to never be believed when she prophesied. After Troy fell, she was enslaved by the Greek Agamemnon, and murdered by his wife Clytemnestra. Etymologically the name means “shining upon men.”

Cecil means “blind.” Min has various meanings, but one is “clever or sharp.” According to Wikipedia, the surname Kanagawa is written  金川 I’m not sure what the etymology/meaning is, if any, but if you put the characters individually into Google Translate it renders them as “money” and “river.”

Julian appropriately means “youthful.”

Sasha is a diminutive of Alexandra or Alexander, meaning “protector of mankind.” Alessandra has the same origin.

Mercury is the Roman god of thieves, of eloquence and storytelling, of guiding the lost, and less appropriately of luck and financial success.

Ingrid means “Ing is beautiful,” referring to a Scandinavian goddess. Vicky, as well as sounding like “vixen,” is a nickname for Victoria. A “Tod” is a male fox.

A “miasma” is an unhealthy or unpleasant odor, atmosphere, or vapor, but to the ancient Greeks and in medieval Europe it was a contagious, disease-causing power with a life of its own.

IRL, Mag is more commonly a feminine name, and derives from the same origin and meaning that “Rita” does. I just thought that was funny.

Ramses was the name of several Egyptian pharaohs, and means roughly “Ra has given birth to him,” in reference to the Egyptian sun god. The surname O’Flaherty (almost redundantly) means “bright ruler.” Reminescent of that first speech much?

Hyperion, in this same theme, was the Greek titan who ruled over heavenly light, and fathered the sun, moon, and dawn. Juno Steel must be a moth, because he seems to be circling between light sources.

In Roman mythology, Maia is a goddess of spring and the earth; in Greek mythology, she’s one of the Pleiades, and the mother of Hermes (aka Mercury) by Zeus.

Dahlia and Rose are both flowers. Both have extremely scattered meanings, with various Victorian sources on flower language giving dahlia’s symbolic meaning as “forever yours,” “instability,” “elegance and dignity,” or “my gratitude exceeds your care.” Every color of rose has its own meaning, but if you feel like picking one, the blue rose, which is always an added pigment and not the rose’s natural color, signifies mystery, impossibility, and the sentiment “I can’t have you but I can’t stop thinking about you.” They’re also a symbol of royalty.

Mary Anne, according to the official tumblr, is a reference to Maid Marian, love interest to Robin Hood.

Janus is a two-faced Roman god of crossroads.

Depending on its theorized derivation, Marc means either “warlike” or “tender.” Talfryn is a Welsh name meaning “high hill.” Caroline means “a free woman” or “warrior.” Angelo means “angel” or “messenger.” Damien means “he who subdues.”

Not only are Arum and Amaryllis both flowers, they’re both false lilies.

Meanwhile, in the world of flower language, arum means ardor, amaryllis symbolizes pride and splendid beauty, and honeysuckle represents binding and devoted love. (Flower-naming seems to be a romantic theme in this show.)

#my posts #the penumbra podcast #the grandest hotel this side of nowhere #i'm just real into name etymology mmmm

[austennerdita2533]

A/N: This is an AH/AU(?) set 5x11 during Klaus and Caroline’s romp in the woods, because who knows what else they may or may not have been said in the throes of passion. ;) 

P.S. I don’t write smut (as in I’d never tried before this haha) but this idea persisted until I wrote it down, so I hereby deem this my first NSFW piece. Enjoy!

xx Ashlee Bree

Rush of Your Black and White Love

His lips, soft, supple, and as titillating as Lucifer's himself, breached slope after slope of Caroline’s skin, starting behind her earlobe and nibbling along her neck and collarbone, then cascading down her abdomen diagonally until her toes curled; her lungs panting to describe this feeling—to put a name to this hammering, blissful rightness that transcended up and out from the inner reachings of her ribcage. Oh, God, what was it!? What was it? He peppered hints down her arms and across her bare back like a map, his calloused hands grazing across her deftly, smoothly, painting her like he would a goddess: in marble crafted from blue diamond and gold. He moved patiently but coaxingly across her body, almost as if waiting for the realization to ink itself in and shine like a sun that would never fade.

But it didn’t. Not yet.

Instead, Caroline’s thoughts tore and frayed into dust as another taste from his mouth electrified her veins, making her heart falter…then sway. She curled herself tighter into the fortress of his arms and melded into the universe of moonstars spiraling forward from some place far darker, and far more dazzling, than this dusky yellow day among the trees. With her back arched and her fingers tangling in curls at the nape of his neck, she allowed him to penetrate her like fangs which pierced the most lethal of arteries, welcoming the cinnamon sin of his tongue in places long forbidden to him. She let him lick and linger. She let him kiss and consider. She let him taste and savor. She let him cradle her close—so close that the smooth, salty flavor of darkness settled over them and carried their hearts away to some isolated, suspended space, a space only they shared.

“My God! This is ruin! Irreversible, unavoidable, orgasmic freaking ruin!” Caroline exclaimed, her legs hooked and clinging around his waist like a vise, yanking him in harder; deeper. Damp leaves slid and crinkled beneath her shoulder blades, dirtying them and what remained of their tattered clothing, but she was too impassioned to care. “I feel you threading through the marrow of my bones, firing across every nerve I possess; I hear your heartbeat purring my name inside my own head—what magic is this? What madness? What in the hell are you doing, Klaus, turning me into mush?”

“No,” he growled with lust as his fangs nipped her right breast and his hands skimmed across the bones of her pelvis, dipping in-between her thighs, “I’m making sure you never forget.”

“I won’t.” She murmured the words, breathless. “I know I won’t.”

“I intend to haunt your waking dreams, Caroline. I intend to invade your heart like a plague you cannot cure. I want to make sure you never forget the man who riles and ruffles you best, the man who slits you open from skin to skeleton clear through to your soul with one touch, one kiss…with one perfect swerve of his hips. I want to make damn sure you’re starved and always missing this, needing it so much you’re calling out for me through miles of fog, darkness, city lights, and these torturous passing years we’ll spend apart.”

“I will be. I—I promise I won’t forget this, but…more. I want more. Give me more of your love’s rush, Klaus,” she whimpered and shuddered against his neck, her fingernails digging cursive blood into the muscles of his back, “give it to me, please. All of it.”

“You can have it, love. Take everything.” Klaus pressed his mouth back against her body with urgency as he spoke, his kisses tickling and teasing in places that shot tingles from her ears to her toes, their limbs and skin and scents winding together until there was no separate her or him any longer. Just them, together.

Then his fingers trailed along her hamstring, soft as a feather, only to squeeze into her ass cheek in a sensuous way that made pleasure itself want to scream.

“I’ll give you all of it,” he breathed into her hair, his stubble scraping against her face, “all of me.”

“Mmm, why do you feel so wonderful? Like heaven? It’s wrong.”

“No.” His voice was steel, his gaze air-stealing. “It’s not.”

“No man has kissed me this way before, okay? Hell—” Caroline moaned as they rolled into another luscious position, “no man has touched me this way before. I’m molting…on fire…the flames burning me into feeling more alive than I’ve dared to imagine possible!”

Klaus stroked his thumb across her chin and his eyes flashed round with intensity, then softened into liquid gold pools. “Good. That means my evil plan is working.”

“Curse you for that, you ass, curse you!”

“I think you may be looking at this backwards, sweetheart,” he said with a low, rumbling chuckle. “Have you bothered to wonder if perhaps the other men in your life were nothing but boys without the expertise to truly please you?”

“Wow! Full of yourself much, Hybrid Hotstuff?”

“I have another explanation,” Klaus said with a pause, “if you’re interested.”

Caroline rolled her eyes. Scoffed. Then flipped them over so she could bury him, like the naughty old man he was, with forceful thrust after thrust after thrust into the forest floor from her knees.

“F-fine,” she gasped as he drew her forward onto his chest and plunged harder to the left, making her stomach quiver, “let’s hear it.”

“Perhaps…perhaps this is just how it is with us, yes? You, me, us. Together, sweetheart, you and I simply equal rhapsody.”

The way he cupped her head like a pearl and tucked stray hair away so he could look into her face, studying everything, all that her expression conveyed, made Caroline feel precious. Exquisite. Cherished. His tormented, tender eyes searched her to memorize every freckle of her nose, to erase any crinkle of doubt on her forehead, to learn each flicker of desire or pleasure as it crawled into the corners of her widening smile.

“Perhaps it’s only that I am the one man who inherently understands how you need to be touched and deserved to be treasured with fervent, unquenchable tasting, because the universe designed it that way?” Klaus continued. “Perhaps that’s why I feel heat now where once I used to freeze? Because you are my sweet, damning salvation and I—” his shoulders trembled, his words becoming thick and heady, “I am your beautiful, broken ruination.”

“Hm, and how do you suggest we solve this problem, my ruinous man?”

“There’s only one way, I’m afraid.” Caroline straddled her palms on either side of his head and looked down at him, waiting, his answer still dangling.

“We must accept it,” he said with surety etched and blazing in the lines of his face. “We must accept it and…give in.”

“Is that so?” She hoisted him up from the ground at this, her head lulling back and her eyes sliding shut, to encircle her arms around his head and press him into her wild, uncensored heartbeat as fear released its taloned hold; inviting him to chomp all the way through her walls as her body relinquished the rest of control to the delicious, damaged man her heart now demanded that all her secrets be shown. “And here I swore to myself I’d loathe you for the rest of eternity! Ha! But I suppose that’s all out the window now seeing as I refuse to let you or this ecstasy go,” she half-purred, half-panted.

“Elizabeth Bennet once declared eternal hatred for one of her suitors, too, I believe,” he replied. “It didn’t last for her, so why would you assume it would have for you, Caroline?”

At Klaus’ smug and resounding grin which he stifled by pressing a pleased kiss to her lips, Caroline blushed before twisting them sideways. She folded herself against him until they rested chest-to-chest, their breathing labored, and tilted her head to the left to expose the thumping blood in her throat.

“Oh, just shut up and kiss me…bite me…freaking volcanic erupt me!” she begged in a clutching shiver as her mouth brushed along his jawbone.

“Don’t mind if I do, love. Don’t mind if I do.”

Danger swirled with delight and ardor mingled with relish as their hips rocked, bucked, and shifted together long into the moonless night, their movements perfectly attuned to a rhythm of just the two of us; fitting them together like a lock and a key that could never rust. And like the fresh blood evaporating on her tongue, Caroline knew one more taste of him would never be enough. Klaus’ loving rush swallowed every last one of her reservations up and pumped her full of his ancient, black and white plush until the words ‘my soul mate’ marked themselves distinctly and permanently inside not only her heart, but her head.

This was the end and the beginning for both of them—there was no better touch. There was no better shape of love. Falling together forever was better than everything, it was enough.

“With calloused hands

I tasted

the softness of the moon

        xx

in the coldest winds

I discovered my soul’s

warmest fireplace

          xx

in the roughness

of his stubble

the tenderest of love.”

—A Thousand Flamingos, Sanober Khan

I tried to highlight more of the intimacy rather than the physicality of their frolicking and elected a more figurative approach to describing it as much as possible. At least, I hope it came across that way…? *curls into a ball of awkwardness*

Comments are lovely

#klaroline #klaroline drabbles #klaroline fanfiction #half agony half hope #otp: lips that taste of love's blood #otp: sitting waiting wishing #ashlee bree's writing endeavors

[jeremysaffer]

This is what 2019 looked like for me... lots of shoots but not as many as previous years. it means I'll have to ramp it up for 2020 won't I? which one was your favorite (some of these have not yet been released) PHOTO SHOOTS 2019: Mackenzi Johnson, Astronoid, Nekrogoblikon, Wednesday 13 x6, Escape The Fate, Attila, The Mendenhall Experiment, Lindsay Schoolcraft, Lena (Infected Rain), Once Human, Jinxx, Jake Pitts, Stitched Up Heart, Spencer (Ice Nine Kills), All That Remains x2, Jimmies Chicken Shack, Mortiis, Dani Filth. Zeal and Ardor, Shattered Sun, New Years Day x3, Ash Costello x4, Andy Black, Nita Strauss, Angel Vivaldi, Jacky Vincent, September Mourning, Static-X, Edsel (Dope), Dez (DevilDriver), Raven (Raven Black), Ghost, Abbath, Cardinal Copia, Lacuna Coil, Caroline Williams, Kamelot, Demons and Wizards, Charlotte (Delain), The HU, Sick of it All, Municipal Waste, Bruce Campbell, In This Moment, Art of Shock, Steel City, Tango Down, Lizzy Borden, Lauren Hart (Once Human), Seven Spires. https://ift.tt/2MFfsR9

[newyorktheater]

It would be easy to make some wrong assumptions about this dinner theater production of “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” at Café Fae, given its title, its marketing, and the fact that it is co-produced by Third Rail Projects, New York’s most prolific immersive theater company ( Then She Fell, Grand Paradise, Ghost Light), in collaboration with Food of Love Productions.

For one, this is not a mute dance-theater version of Shakespeare’s comedy. The actors recite the Bard’s actual words, in a production that followers of Third Rail Projects are likely to find surprisingly ordinary.

Using a minimalist design aesthetic suggesting story theater, enhanced by composer Sean Hagerty’s lovely and unobtrusive music, the show’s director and choreographer Zach Morris (co-artistic director of Third Rail Projects) stages some fine and funny scenes. The cast is mostly but not uniformly fine, though, and there are only eight of them. (The 2017 Shakespeare in the Park production of “Midsummer Night’s Dream” had 25; Julie Taymor’s 2013 production at Theatre for a New Audience had 37.)  The eight must navigate around a relatively small playing space between the café tables, in a dining room bisected by four central (albeit thin) white columns, which occasionally hampered sightlines.

In keeping with the minimalist approach, Morris and cast member Victoria Rae Sook have also shortened the script, deleting so much of the details that it might be advisable to brush up in advance on the four (occasionally overlapping) subplots — the four lovers; the  “rude mechanicals” who put on the comic Romeo and Juliet-like play within the play; the royal couple about to wed; and the fairy world rife with tension and mischief. I’d say that Morris and Sook cut the script to the bone, but that would be an inapt expression since the little finger foods served at intervals throughout  the show are vegan. (The initial small plate of appetizers, though, does contain some salami.)

That leads to the second possible misconception. The “multi-course tasting menu”  is so paltry – one “course” was a glass jar containing just one mushroom, one apricot and a single olive – that some theatergoers might wonder whether the “Banquet” in the title is meant ironically; others may want to call the Better Business Bureau.

That’s not the only culinary dissonance. Unlike, say, the Russian meal that was served in the pre-Broadway run of “Natasha, Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812,” the food at “Midsummer: A Banquet” doesn’t seem to have much of a connection to the play.  They do make a stab at it. The menu, created by Emilie Baltz, features one course described as a “love bundle” — cherries wrapped in a green and white picnic napkin — that the actors playing love-struck characters casually distributed while reciting their lines (but only to those theatergoers who paid at least $150 for their ticket.)

It is worth noting that the young cast not only had to juggle two or three roles each, and perform as troubadours singing and playing musical instruments; they also had to serve as waiters, and even to bus our tables during intermission. (Another impulse to call someone, this time Actors Equity?)

Still, if as Helena says in the play “Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,” the stomach need not get in the way either.  Having an actual meal somewhere else beforehand, and opting for the cheaper seats — thus forgoing the mushroom, the apricot and the love bundle — may actually increase one’s appetite for the show itself!  Especially savory are the Pyramis and Thisby play-within-the-play (kudos in particular to Charles Osborne as Bottom essaying Pyramis, and Joshua Gonzales as Snout portraying The Wall), and the scene of ardor-filled fighting, which was athletically and hilariously choreographed, among the four sexy lovers – Lysander (Alex J. Gould), Hermia (Caroline Amos), Demetrius (Joshua Gonzales again) and Helena (Adrienne Paquin, who is a stand-out in all three of her roles, and in her guitar playing.)

Even with the less expensive ticket, you’ll still be eligible for the “dessert courses.” But be forewarned.  The sixth course – a chocolate lollipop and a merengue square on a stick – was not served to us at our seats.  In an announcement that was in apparent response to our uncertain, expectant looks at show’s end, we were told to pick the course up in its little cellophane bag on the way out.

Midsummer: A Banquet By William Shakespeare, adapted by Zach Morris and Victoria Rae Sook. Directed and Choreographed by Zach Morris Menu created by Emilie Baltz. Set design by Jason Simms, costume design by Tyler M. Holland, lighting design by Deborah Constantine, and original music and sound design by Sean Hagerty Cast: Caroline Amos as Hermia/Snug/Fairy, Cassie Gilling  as Understudy, Joshua Gonzales as Demetrius/Snout/Fairy, Alex J. Gould as Lysander/Flute/Fairy, Charles Osborne as Bottom/Egeus/Fairy, Adrienne Paquin  as Helena/Quince/Fairy, Brendan Sokler as Understudy, Victoria Rae Sook as Titania/Hippolyta, Lauren Walker as Robin Goodfellow/Philostrate/Straveling, and Ryan Wuestewald as Oberon/Theseus. Running time: Two and a half hours, including intermission. Tickets: $75 to $200 Midsummer: A Banquet is on stage through September 7, 2019

Midsummer A Banquet Review. Shortened Shakespeare and Finger Food via Third Rail Projects It would be easy to make some wrong assumptions about this dinner theater production of “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” at Café Fae, given its title, its marketing, and the fact that it is co-produced by Third Rail Projects, New York’s most prolific immersive theater company ( …

#Third Rail Projects

[exalandopoesia]

"Rosas ao dia do amor e mais amor aos dias de dor, porque nem sempre somos amor, mais nunca perdemos o ardor."

Ana Caroline