#narcissus plays dress up

[spocks-kaathyra]

experimenting w making little trek dolls for the STLV craft swap :))

#sisko first bc idk how I'm gonna make hair LMAO but isn't he so cute?? #made the doll a while ago but I just made his little outfit today and yesterday :)) #hopefully giving them away for free means no one will mind the shoddy craftsmanship lmao #I think I've set a new record for terrible hand sewing. and there's raw edges on the inside. and none of the thread is the right color #but WHO CARES HES SO CUTE!!!! #it's the early ds9 uniform bc I've been watching voy and I'm sooo enamored with their uniforms ugh I need to make an actual life size one #watching voyager will have u saying things like. surely it can't be that hard to sew an invisible zipper?? #anyways. need to figure out how to make hair so I can make characters other than him and picard 💀💀 #ds9 #star trek #benjamin sisko #deep space nine #captain sisko #narcissus's echoes #narcissus plays dress up #(?)

[edgeray]

One Hell of a Butler Pt. 6

Husband and Wife

(Arlecchino x Fem! Reader)

A/N: Guys, sorry for not posting anything in like 2 weeks. School highkey sucks. Have this to make up for it. Sorry for rushed ending, I'm tired but if I don't finish it as soon as possible, I won't be posting anything for another 2 weeks. Series Masterlist Content Warning: None really, rushed ending (I'm tired af), references to Pt.2, but not that relevant. This is also long af, 4.7k words

This scene is becoming far too familiar than you’d like it to be.

An icy nailed finger trails up your bare spine, the blackened hand grazing against the vast, open back your dress allowed, leaving your shoulder blades and a little under exposed. The other hand is draped around your midsection, pushing you against her front as firmly, the lack of her body heat practically numbing against your skin. Yet, hot air cascades against the shell of your ear, a sultry whisper in your air as her lips near your earlobe.  

“You look beautiful, my dear wife,” Arlecchino sighs out, humming in approval as her red-crossed eyes practically devour your form, the hold around your body slightly tightening it. It invokes more shudders, making you let out the softest of groans. 

“So, so beautiful,” she murmurs against your skin, her wet mouth ghosting against your nape. Her hand traces the dip of your shoulderblades before guiding her fingers to your side, her hand grasping one of your hips. “Red is a fetching color on you. Wear it more often for me, won’t you, my Lady?”  

You’re fully aware she’s only partial to the color because it resembles her pupils. She likes to associate herself with this particular hue. Narcissus himself, wasn’t she? 

One of your hands is placed over the one on your hip, wrenching it away from your person before it could creep lower. You click your tongue in ire. By this point, you’re more than aware of her persistent and irritating suggestions, always pushing the boundary between master and servant. Regardless of how many times you reprimand her, she’s undeterred–a trait you almost admire if it didn’t often hinder you. Still, you can’t deny the way your skin always tingles underneath her fingertips, or the way her amative words stirs something deep within you. With every protest and physical pushback, a prickling feeling at the back of your mind shoots through you, something you can attest to allegorize to the figurative biting of your tongue. 

There’s the common rationality that crossing the line will cause inevitable consequences that neither of you will be capable of facing, and yet you let her teeter the line. Toying with it, as if it’s not there, or a better analogy: that it’s nothing more than one of those games she enjoys playing with you. Is it because of your own lack of will or because you indulge in this far more than you should? You find contempt with the acknowledgement that you favor the way she dallies you. 

You knew that this ploy would excite the demon, give more latitude to her already desirous advances and increase her antics, but it was necessary for what you were trying to achieve. Masking as a wedded piar was the only way of concealing your identity while ensuring that Arlecchino remained by your side at all times but you wished there was a simpler guise. Regrettably, a charity event didn’t allow many guises, not with the scheme you plotted. Arlecchino, would undoubtedly, use every and any courting attempts under the guise of your ‘husband,’ throughout the entirety of the night. You only hope you could curb her behavior enough to not result in the right into becoming a blunder. 

“Arlecchino, are you so oblivious as to not be able to hold tongue?” You ask, your frigid words and sharp tongue coating your internal thoughts with a mask of coldness. 

“Why, are you offering to slit it?” She offers, and you forget; that’s precisely something you’d enjoy. Always the cheeky demon that she is. From the mirror, you can see that almost infatuated expression on her face: lips curled into a cutting smirk, eyes narrowed on the image of you in the mirror, and red-crossed pupils glowering. “I’m merely commenting on your appearance, can you fault me when I have such a lovely wife before me?” 

Her words ring through your ears, sounding just like they had numerous times before. How long will it be until she stops repeating those praises, you wonder; how long will it be until they seem credible? You finally gaze up into the mirror, and there’s no objection to her statement. It’s a stunning, remarkably well-tailored scarlet dress, long and flowy with a high slit running from your thigh. It pairs well with the crimson suit that adorns the demon’s form exquisitely. The two of you do appear as an attractive pair, you admit begrudgingly to yourself. You gaze at the mirror for a moment longer before prying yourself away from the demon’s hold, stepping away from her with your back towards her. There’s the small inkling inside you that she pouts much like a scolded puppy. 

“Don’t make me keep you on a tight leash,” you snap, once again swatting Arlecchino’s hand that tries to creep up onto your waist. “Behave yourself appropriately.”

A chuckle erupts from behind you. “If I behaved myself, then our image of doting husband and wife will shatter, no? Besides, a leash may not be very… dignified, would it? It’d be quite the presentation, indeed.”

It slips from your memory at times: how demons, or Arlecchino particularly, have no shame. 

With a scoff and a shake of your head, you reply. “Is that what you want to appear as? A dog I leash around?”

Again, another noise of amusement comes from the demon, but she replies with neither a confirmation or objection. Kinky bastard. 

“The only thing we need are finishing touches, is that right? Accessories if you will.”

You nod, making your way towards the door of your bedroom. “Your gloves and your contacts. You have them, yes?” 

“Yes, but I was referring to something else.” Before you can question it, there’s a grasp on your wrist andd then you’re spun around to face her. With the slyness of a fox, she slips a ring on your ring finger prior to your awareness, and a sparkling gemstone greets your vision. You nearly sputter at the sudden action, jerking your hand away from her hold as you extend out your hand in front of you to view it. A brilliant ruby, no, red diamond glimmers before you, encased by a sleek, intricate, gold and silver design–irrefutably based off of her usual palette she prefers to don. You collect your composure, masking it with a monotone hum. 

“I don’t recall purchasing this for tonight.” You look at her, scanning her expression: the amused gleam in her black pits and the hardly discreet smile across her lips. 

“I acquired it myself. There should be no issue with it, I presume? I thought it would… assure our disguise.” She raises up her hand, wearing a similar jewerly. 

You note that she uses ‘acquired’ over ‘purchased.’ What means have she gone through to obtain this? You don’t have even an inkling of an idea. You don’t care enough to inquire further on how she obtained a ring containing the rarest type of diamond discovered by humans yet. However, it is difficult to argue that it doesn’t achieve the job of solidifying the illusion the two of you aare trying to uphold. 

“We have everything, we need, is that correct?” 

“That’s correct, my Lady.”

“Then let’s go. Come along, Arlecchino, no point in dallying is there, my dear ‘husband?’” 

Unbeknownst to you, your words lit a spark within your butler, an inferno that will remain undying until the next morning. Thrill hums underneath her blackened skin, and the warmth and levity of adoration grips her dead, devoid, demonic heart. 

—

Upon arrival at the venue of the charity event, a grand mansion, it bares much resemblance to the ball that you and Arlecchino went to for information gathering–your first failure, regrettably, on no one’s fault but yours. You had banked on your source of information to be accurate, and what a fool you made of yourself then. Though this time, you had a different objective in mind, this one more promising for success. 

Hosted by Magnate Tartuffe, a philanthropist and so-called ‘Savior of the Poor,’ you have no doubt the charity event is just a convention for his more… shift business partners. The perfect den to gather evidence of this scum’s lies, and a good place to see who else is involved with his web of deceit. You pose as one of the guests invited to such an event…how lucky for you that you just come across her invitation first instead of her. 

Rich people do love their ballrooms, don’t they? 

You observe the dancefloor and the pleasant couples. Unsurprisingly, some of who you recognize: politicians, entrepreneurs, philanthropists; this place reeks of two-faced snakes. Arlecchino’s prickling gaze bores into you, and you have no doubt that your ‘husband’ wants nothing more than to ‘blend in’ among the dancing pairs with you. Sure enough, after a few minutes of wandering through the swarms of people, there is a tug on your dress and you redirect your attention from the various sea of invitees to your butler. 

“We look quite conspicuous wandering about, don’t we? Why don’t we indulge ourselves for a little bit, my love?” Arlecchino says to you from behind, her gloved hand finding yours, intertwining your fingers. She pivots you to face her again, a mischievous glint in her obsidian abysses. Through her gloves, her coldness bleeds through the silk fabric. Her fingers run over your ring with careful deliberation. 

Love. It’s a word that you think seldom comes from a demon’s lips. And yet, you find yourself entertaining the notion of her repeating that single syllable in that distinct lilt. Foolish, you chide yourself, but perhaps there is some truth to her previous statement. Still, now is not the time for dawdling, you reason. 

“Now? You know better that this event gives little leeway to do as we please.” You refute, but you’re swept in her embrace, drew against her with a precise disregard of your words as she often does. She peers down on you, that damnable, infuriating smirk across her features as she practically undresses you with her gluttonous glare alone. You repress the reflex to shudder. 

“Is that so? Not even one dance, darling?”

“No.” You attempt to wring your hand from hers, but then her fingers fixedly but gently wrap around your wrist. She guides your hand to her chest as if she’s safeguarding it from you. 

Through gritted teeth, you enouciate her name, like scolding a disobedient pet. “Arlecchino.”

“What wife doesn’t have time to dance with her husband?” Arlecchino replies back, her voice raising in volume, a faux disbelief present in her voice, her expression imitating likewise as well–widened eyes, raised eyebrows, and a pity-garnering frown. It’s far from the first time she’s done this, act as if she had any human emotions beyond lust, but there’s yet been a time you fell for it, even when she does look like a kicked puppy.  

“This wife.” 

Your butler leans down until her lips brushes against your ear, a lazy, alluring drawl graces your ears. Her other hand seizes your chin, turning it away from her direction and steering it towards the few bystanders watching the two of you’s interaction. You could feckly hear their snobbish remarks, the way their eyes usher away from yours and they lean towards the other, a hand covering their mouths. “Careful. We have an audience. We wouldn’t want to draw attention to us, would we?” 

Her and her diabolical tricks. 

“Fine,” you submit begrugingly, seething anger barely contained in your voice. An amused and smug titter spews from the demon, and it takes a considerable amount of restraint to not deck her across her face; she’d relish in it anyways. 

“Do you mind if I take the lead, my love?” She asks you in a sickeningly, sweet tone like a doting partner would. Your stomach churns, but you can’t discern if it’s in an discomforting way or not, but you could physically feel some of your ire dissipate, humbly tamed by a simple pet name. You detest the wonder if your will was always this frail. What was it this time that broke through your stubborn front of vexation? You’ve been kidnapped, beatened, tortured before, but this was where you fell? Unfathomable. My love, she repeats again, and it rings through your ears, almost deafening every other sound that surrounds you, rendering you powerless. 

Arlecchino places your free hand on top of her shoulder while hers position itself on your side. The hand that is still clasped with yours extends outwards, assuming the waltz position. Abruptly, you’re acutely aware of how clammy your hands are underneath your gloves and you utterly despise the quickening of your heartbeat that drums throughout your entire body; still, you couldn’t muster the courage to look away from the reassuring smile–free of its previous pomposity and ridicule–she sends you. For the briefest period of time, you think that instead of a demon, in place of it is an angel from how ethereal she appears. But you quickly shake your head ridding of that thought as soon as it came. 

Stupid racing of your heart, making you see things that aren’t there. 

She moves slow at first, as if to examine where your experience lies, gradually increasing her pace with each minute. It’s awkward at first, but once she finds a suitable speed, the two of you smoothly glide over the floor. You match her every step with poise and fluidity, and when it’s clear you’ve accustomed to her rhythm, she raises her left arm while dropping your right, twirling you around. In this moment, everything else disappears, the only thing that is of relevance to you is her, your bodies in sync as your eyes lock. With each sway, you wonder if your heartrates are also synchronized–in this breath of time, does her heart races for you like yours does? The unwavering gaze of hers resides on you, and you can’t do no more but reciprocate her attention. You dubiously think that in her eyes, there’s a fondness to them, and oh, how it melts you. How it eases your soul and lightens your steps. How you carefully regard every feature, admiring the lack of blemishes over her skin and the softness of her facial traits; but maybe those observations were made from your own bias.

There’s a silence between the two of you that you find solace in–almost anyone would call it intimate. Outside of you and Arlecchino, the world would think of the two of you as husband and wife truly, and it’s like you’re the only one that knows the truth. You bite your lip harshly, dragging back your imaginative consciousness back to reality. When trying to enact revenge, foolishness and naivety have no place here; your goal is the only thing that dictates your life now. 

That’s right. You have no time or need to fool around with a demon, no matter how charming she is. 

“I wasn’t aware you knew how to dance.” You make small talk, if only to break the growing intimacy between servant and master, attempting to dismiss the way your nerves singe from the warmth she exudes and how loud that beating organ in your chest thumps. 

“Yes, serving a multitude of masters over hundreds of years has allowed me to cultivate an innumerable amount of skills and experience–dancing included. of course,” Arlecchino replies as she spins you, following a dip immediately afterward. As you’re lowered until a feet or two above the floor with only her arms supporting your weight, she leans her head further down, inches away from your face, her breath skimming against your nose. The sudden action has you breathless, heaving for the air she effortlessly stole from your lungs. Her eyes lock with yours for a short while, her expression slack as if she’s in awe, before her lips curl into a smile. 

“You should be underneath me more often,” she has the audacity to comment in that husky, amorous voice, both a stinging annoyance and blossoming fluster bubble inside you. Before you can berate her, ‘your husband’ raises you until both of your feet are flat on the ground and she resumes the standard waltz stance, the two of you sashaying across the floor. 

Nonchalantly, she resumes her answer previously, as if to overlook her brash remark; you know it’s only to further fluster and tease you, that fucking demon. “Waltz is, admittedly, one of my favorite types of dancing. The intimacy it creates between the partners is thrilling. I’ve had much experience with it.” 

And suddenly that placid campfire stoking in your chest ignites into an inferno, like being possessed by something sinister; the previous levity that coats your person is stripped away, replaced with a heavy and overbearing covering that makes you too aware of her speech and her expression, keen in deciphering her thoughts behind that front. She’s… reminiscing? There should be no logical reason it acutely agitates you, but that faraway look–it infuriates you. It’s a sensation that was similar to what brought on about that abrupt and inexplicable fit of irrationality during the ball, when you marked Arlecchino’s neck. You’ve opted to not ruminate over that occurrence after the event but as you feel the same beast’s claws grip your form, it’s with a grim realization that you discover unsightly jealousy. 

It spews out before you can stop it. “And how many people have you danced with like this?” 

Arlecchino’s smile freezes in time, her eyes flicking over your slight scowl, brows lifting bemusedly. Then, her lips curl further upwards marginally. “Quite a few has come before you, my Lady.”  

Is she purposely trying to aggravate you? 

Deciding to avoid another incident like at the ball, you bite your tongue in an attempt to repress anymore thoughtless utterances; you refuse to let her win in this little game she’s trying to play. Fanning the flames inside you won’t mean that you’ll combust. You bitterly question what you thought would come from a demon. Expectedly, nothing genuine. Becoming lost in your thoughts, your eyes wander away from her face, absentmindedly observing the gazes of other observers, watching the two of you sway. You’re broken out of your trance when your butler’s voice cuts through your thoughts. 

“Something more interesting than ‘your husband?’” 

You recover from the shock quickly, glancing back at her. “And if there was?” 

“Then I would be saddened. Perhaps I haven’t captured your attention enough?” 

You choose not to respond, unsure of what to say and what it would lead to. The song in the background comes to a close, and she ends the dance with one more dip. Once the song ends, you immediately wrench out your hands from her grasp. 

“Very. You were an excellent partner,” your ‘husband’ says from behind.

“Satisfied yet? You got your dance,” you sigh, inwardly disgusted with how uncomfortable your gloves feel now with all of the sweat built up. Settling your palm onyour chest, you can feel the faint thumping underneath, still pumping rapidly. Through deep breaths, you try to calm it, turning away from Arlecchino.

Some part of you asks how many times she’s said that before. 

You huff. “Great, now can we do what we came here for?” 

“As you wish, my lovely wife.” 

Stupid demon husband. 

—

Sneaking around the venue has yet garner much success. Currently, you’re searching for the location of Tartuffe’s meeting with his other associates, but no luck. His goons are watching over the hallways; a clear signifier that he doesn’t want others to be probing about where they shouldn’t be. 

“Arlecchino,” you whisper once you’ve found yourself in a secluded hallway, making sure that no one is around. The demon appears. 

“Have you found them yet?”

“No, I’ve yet to find them. Even with my hearing, it appears that they’re not here.” 

“How good is your hearing?” 

“They’re quite sensitive, I can hear so much as a whisper through walls.”

“How thick can those walls be?”

“It’s dependent on the material. Though these types of walls should not prove to be difficult for me.” 

“Hm… it’s less likely that they would move to another place altogether, there’d be no reason to all come here if that was the case. So there’s a high chance they’re still here… Arlecchino, on the blueprints was there any stairwells?” 

The demon closes her eyes momentarily, attempting to recall. “Yes, it would be on the opposite side of the building. Though, when I was exploring that section, there was no apparent stairwell.” 

“That may be where they are. We should–”

Before you can continue, you hear a thudding reverberate through the hallway, the sound growing louder with each second passing by. If you’re spotted here, it’s likely you’ll be expelled out of the event for trespassing and looking around. Your heart pounds rapidly as you try to conceive the notion of another failure towards your goal; no, you cannot let it end here. The footsteps approach closer. Your hands scramble for the doorknob behind you, twisting it to see if it’ll allow you inside and serve as a covert. However, it doesn’t budge, no matter how many times you try. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” you curse underneath your breath when you realize the door is expectedly locked. Is there any way you for the two of you not to get caught. Arlecchino may be a demon, she has teleportation powers, but those powers mean nothing to you when she can’t transport you. You could order her to disappear and allow yourself to be thrown out; she’ll probably be able to find out how to let you back in, but again, that carries risk and you may not have enough time for that, especially when the distance makes coordination difficult for that type of plan and you don’t know how long that meeting will last if it’s started half an hour ago, wait, the footsteps are just about there, rounding the corner, think hard, faster, think, think, thinking fucking dumbass–

A firm, chilling hand places itself on your shoulder, whipping you around before pressing you harshly against the wooden door, making you groan from the immediate impact. Arlecchino’s body towers over you, her pupils gleaming so radiantly that they’re visible through the contact lenses that she’s wearing; her expression is still and emotionless, only adding to the chilling emanation from her. One of her arms is placed beside your hand, and she leans forward against the door. Her other hand hooks underneath your chin, and tilt your face up, viewing her face. The only information that your mind could process at this instance is just how little distance there is between the two of you, and that is enough to send your pulse soaring. The panic of your impending exposure futiley against the thoughts that suddenly revolve around your butler, your husband, who draw nearer. You should push her away and demand what she’s doing, but her speed surpasses that of human capabilities, far too swift for you to even occupy that consideration, and you give up the fruitless struggle in the next moment. 

“Forgive me, my Lady,” she whispers huskily, just a hairsbreadth away from your own and she descends upon you. 

Arlecchino’s cold lips find yours, prying away your oxygen effortlessly with each claim of your mouth. Reality melts away at her touch–she overwhelms all of your senses, you’re mindless except for the flavor and texture of her–as she presses against you even more. She tastes chilling and metallic, like steel; yet soft and welcoming as a pillow; you can’t imagine anything more from your demon, and it certainly doesn’t prevent you from leaning further. She’s nothing and exactly like how you would think she’d be like, and it absolutely thrills you. Heart palpitating, every nerve hums underneath each inch of skin, and oh, how absurdly hot you feel despite her cold lips. Closing your eyes, your hands raise up to her face, cupping both sides and tugging her impossibly closer. A soft grunt escapes from her and her fingers below your chin leave in favor of lagging down below, over your dress before it finds the thigh-high slit and slides underneath. 

“Arlecchino,” you gasp out as her gloved fingers trail up your bare thigh, and she quickly swallows the whisper of her name. Continuing up, they travel innerwards, and your body involuntarily bucks in her direction. You’re filled with only the incessant need for her, more of her touch, more of her taste, more of her everything; you bite her lip, requesting–no, demanding–for entrance, and like the obedient servant she is, she allows entry. Just as she has claimed your lips, you decide replicate it back, exploring every crevice of her mouth with your tongue. You’re further fueled by the throaty moan she emanates, the pit of your stomach fluttering. 

“Say my name again,” she begs out in the sweetest, most yearning voice that’s ever graced your ears, and with that kind of plea, who are you to deny her? 

“Arlecchino,” you whisper out, and then again, and again, like a chant. You pull the slightest bit away just to catch your breath, before leaning back in, but that is when Arlecchino leans away, backing away fully from your lips to your dismay. Her touch on your leg leaves.The sudden break snaps you out of your lust-filled daze, and you look at her like a betrayed lover. Noticing that her eyes are directed somewhere else, you follow them. 

Two men stand by the side of you, evidently discomfortable if the way they’re refusing to make eye contact signifies anything. You rack your head around for a second, before remembering they’re among the security personnel. Still recovering from the intimate engagement you just had with your butler, you heave for breath, attempting to say something to them, but Arlecchino does so first. 

“Is there something you’d like to say to me and my wife about?” Your ‘husband’ gruffs, frigid fury coating her words. 

One of the men cleared his throat before replying awkwardly with, “Um, we’re sorry to have… interrupted you, but guests are not supposed to be in these parts.” 

Arlecchino lets out a faux scoff, and her hand reache for mine, clasping it tight. “Fine. Then let us be on our way back,” she states, turning away from them and wordlessly walking away, leading you along with her. Once the two of you are out of the two men’s sight, you stop her in her tracks. 

“Was that necessary?” You inquire, a bit of indignation in your tone. Because how could she just do that without your permission, without your order? The two of you have just breached a line you promised yourself you wouldn’t cross, and here you were, like a fucking liar. This shouldn’t have happened. 

“We needed a way that would make us not look conspicuous, didn’t we? I thought if we… played up to our roles, they would think that we were just… having a rendezvous.” 

You sigh. It worked as Arlecchino has intended at least. Yet, you can’t help but question if that was all to why she did it. 

Your lips still tingle, her taste still lingers. 

“Fine, I won’t reprimand you for that. But know if you do something like that again, there will be consequences,” you warn her harshly. “Now, let’s go, we still have to proceed with our plan.”

— 

That night was successful, thankfully. You had managed to get all the evidence you needed, and formulate a list of who exactly is working with that damn philanthropist. After you arrived home, you immediately sent Arlecchino out, changed, and retired to bed. But as you lay underneath the covers, you couldn’t help but wish that it was her arms wrapped around you instead of these blankets. And yet you never call for her. It is the same reason why you never mentioned about the kiss to her again. 

Ah, you want to taste her again. Drink her in once more, discover more sounds of her.

Your fingers fiddle with the ring that Arlecchino slipped onto your finger earlier that night. It fits your finger just right. 

Husband and wife? What a funny thought. 

That night, when your eyelids are finally too heavy for you to lift, you dream of eyes with crosses as pupils and blackened hands, chilly to the touch.  

A/N: First canonical kiss. Whoooooo. Only took these bitches 12.4k words for them to kiss. Anyways, I'm going to pass the fuck out now.

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #arlecchino #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact fanfics #genshin fics #genshin x reader #genshin arlecchino #genshin impact arlecchino #edgeray.writes

[vodika-vibes]

Ohhhhh so I have an idea for ....

Forget-me-not and narcissus

You throw yourself in the way to save (clone of your choice), and he gets super angry at you for doing that because he's loved you forever. You both have but never admitted it ...

You can go from there. Love oo

I Don't Want To Forget

Summary: You are a civilian employee on the Resolute and you're a little bit accident prone, which is why you're shocked when General Skywalker wants you out on the battlefield one day. Luckily you have Kix looking out for you...unluckily, you get shot trying to save Kix's life.

Pairing: Clone Medic Kix x F!Reader

Word Count: 1720

Warnings: Reader is shot, and Kix yells

Prompts: Forget-me-not - Don't forget me, Narcissus - unrequited love

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: I'm not so sure about this one. Apparently Kix is a weak spot, lol

“The only reason I’m agreeing to this-”

“-is because it’s not up to you and General Skywalker says that I have to be here?” You interrupt, a small smile on your lips as you look at Kix. 

“This isn’t funny.” He hisses, “You have no business being on the battlefield at all.”

“I know, Kix. I’ll be careful, stay by you, and listen to orders. I promise.” 

He sighs and rubs his hand over his head, “That doesn’t make this any better, cyare.” He rubs his head a couple more times, and then he steps closer to you, “This armor stays on until you’re back on this ship.”

“Got it.”

“I mean it, unless it needs to come off to save your life, it stays on.”

“Kix, I understand. Really.”

He sighs and starts helping you with the armor. It was specially made for you, which means it fits well, but since you aren’t a soldier, this is the first time you’re wearing it. Hence needing Kix’s help to actually put it on.

After a few minutes, he takes a step back, “There, done.”

You look down at yourself, and at the plain white armor, and then you look back at Kix, “I feel like a kid playing dress up.”

“Well, with luck, this will be the only time you have to wear it.” Kix replies, before he frowns and tugs on the collar of your armor, “It’s a bit too big on you. Have you lost weight?”

“...I’m not answering that.”

“That’s a yes then.” Kix tugs on your armor again, his frown increasing, “There’s not that much give, so you should be fine.” He grabs the helmet off the table next to him and hands it to you, “Put it on.”

“Woo. Helmets. Enclosed spaces. Right around my head.”

“It’s fine, you’ll hardly notice.”

“I’ve had nightmares like this before you know,” You say as you lift your helmet, squeeze your eyes shut, and then pull it on.

There’s quiet for a moment, and then a low chuckle, “You still have your eyes closed don’t you?”

“...maybe.”

“Go ahead and open them.”

You sigh and open your eyes, blinking up at Kix who’s standing a lot closer to you, and seems to be messing with something on your helmet.

“Alright. The helmet fits fine, how are you doing?”

“Uh…this might very well be the worst day of my life.”

“You’re being dramatic.” Kix replies warmly, he messes with something at your neck, “Do you think you’ll be able to work like this?”

“...yeah. Probably.”

“Alright.” Kix pulls his own helmet on, “Do you remember what you’re here to do?”

“Yeah. Get in, check the droid, download what information I can, and get back to the ship.”

“Exactly that.” He lightly raps his knuckles against your helmeted forehead, “There will be no heroics from you, do you understand?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright. Then let's head out. Stay behind me.”

Half an hour later, Kix is carefully leading you through a downed starship, shot down by separatists, and you’re miles away from the rest of the battalion.

Which is a good thing, in this case. The rest of the 501st is fighting the droid army, while you and Kix remain unseen.

And you really meant to follow Kix’s orders.

Partly because a part of you thinks that if you follow Kix’s orders he might think of you more fondly and see you as more than just “that accident prone tech from maintenance”, but mostly because you’re very much not a soldier and having set orders to follow is making this a lot easier.

His order of “no heroics” is very easy to follow.

And you meant to follow it.

Right up until you saw a flash of gold out of the corner of your view screen. You turn slightly and see a beat old golden droid (it almost looked like an old HK unit, but that couldn’t be possible) taking aim at Kix.

And you just reacted.

You lurch forward and place your hands on his pack and push as hard as you can.

Kix stumbles forward, and a curse falls from his lips as he rounds on you, but then there’s a sharp pain in your head, and your helmet vision goes staticy, and there’s nothing.

Kix’s gaze is sharp as he keeps his eyes on his cyare.

It was dumb of her to push him out of the way. It was dumb of her to take a shot meant for him, but, at the same time, she saved his life. The blaster round would have gone through an opening in his armor and killed him instantly.

Because of her height, it hit her in the temple of her much thicker helmet.

He shouldn’t be angry.

He shouldn’t.

He should be grateful that she cares enough to save him.

But all he can think about is how his blood ran cold when she hit the ground. All he can remember is the sound her body made as she hit the ground. All he can remember is the panic that he felt when he thought that he saw her die right in front of him.

Tragically, he’s used to watching his brothers die in front of him.

It’s different for civilians.

It’s different for her.

It’s always been different for her.

He leans forward in his seat, and folds his hands in front of his mouth, his gaze lingering on her face. Aside from a massive bruise covering the side of her head, she looks fine.

There’s a low groan, and Kix’s head snaps up. “Cyare?”

Her eyes flutter open and she squints at him, “Kix?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” He stands and grabs his penlight from next to the bed, “How are you feeling?”

“M’ head hurts,”

“I’m not surprised. Do you remember what happened?”

Her gaze drifts to the side as she thinks, “...Did I trip over something?” She asks.

“No, sweetling, you didn’t.” Gently, very gently, he brushes some hair out of her face, and cups her cheek, “Can you try to remember what happened for me?”

She sighs and leans into his touch, her eyes closing as she tries to think.

Slowly, Kix rubs her cheek with his thumb, offering what comfort he could.

And then she sighs again and open her eyes, “I’m sorry, the last thing I remember is General Skywalker sending me a message saying that he needed to talk to me.”

“It’s okay.” Kix uses his free hand to squeeze her fingers, “I can tell you what happened. You were shot, sweetling.”

She blinks at him, twice, “I was shot? Me?”

“You pushed me out of the way and were shot in the temple,”

She blinks at him again, seemingly in disbelief, and then she nods slowly, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. At least you weren’t hurt.”

“At least I…” Kix stops and closes his eyes, “You disobeyed a direct order.” He says flatly, “I told you no heroics.”

“You can’t scold me for something I can’t remember, Kix. That’s not fair.” She says with a small frown.

“What were you thinking?” He hisses, “You could have been killed. If you helmet was any thinner-”

“I obviously wasn’t killed, and of course I reacted to save you. I probably did it without thinking!”

“That’s the problem! You weren’t thinking! You never think and you always get hurt!”

She wilts under his glare, and averts her gaze, “...sorry to be such a burden.” She says quietly, hurt clear in her voice. “Next time I’ll just treat myself-”

“That’s not what I meant.” Kix interrupts. “You are not, and have never been, a burden.”

She still doesn’t look at him, and Kix sighs.

He reaches out and gently tilts her head to look at him, “I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

“S’okay. I’m sure I deserve it.”

“No.” Kix replies immediately, “You didn’t.” He pauses for a moment to gather his thoughts, “It bothers me, you know?”

She tilts her head curiously.

“The only time you come to see me is when you’re hurt.” Kix explains, “Every time I see you it’s because you tripped, or fell, or electrocuted yourself…or got shot, and I…hate it.” He says with a laugh, “I hate seeing you bruised or bleeding, and it’s the only time I see you.”

“...sorry-”

“Don’t…I am not blaming you. I’m,” He laughs again, “venting.” He absently traces your lower lip with his thumb, “I hate seeing you hurt. I wish you would just…come and see me because you want to see me, not because you have to.”

She’s quiet for a moment, “You always seem so annoyed whenever I am brought here with another injury. So I’ve been trying to be more careful, so maybe you’ll stop being annoyed with me. Guess I didn’t do the best job-”

“I love you.” Kix says, “I love you so much, and I know it’s not allowed and I tried so hard to forget about it, to forget about you, but I can’t. And you got shot for me-” He trails off, “Holy shit, you got shot for me.”

She blinks at him.

And Kix leans in and presses his forehead against hers, “I don’t want to forget you. I want…kriff…I want 2.5 kids and a house and a white picket fence, and I want to kiss you so bad that it hurts sometimes-”

He’s not able to finish his, slightly rambling, thoughts as she tilts her head back and catches his lips with her own. 

Kix is so surprised that he doesn’t react right away, and then his hand tangles in her hair and he’s kissing her back like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted in his life.

And maybe it has.

When he breaks the kiss, slowly, grudgingly, he keeps his eyes closed, as if afraid that if he opens his eyes he’ll realize this is nothing more than a dream. But then her forehead is pressed against his, and his gaze locks with hers.

“So,” Kix murmurs, “That was…”

“I like you too,” She whispers, “But I’d prefer it if we waited a bit before we talk about those 2.5 kids.”

He laughs softly, “Deal.” He strokes her cheek gently, “I love you.”

A small, awed, smile crosses her lips, “I love you too.”

#star wars #tcw #vodika-vibes follower celebration #clone medic kix x reader #kix x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #answered asks

[itstokkii]

finally, some aph uzb headcanons

i realize i've done some korea, amekor, and turkuzbek hcs but i've never actually done one of my blorbo uzbekistan. so thats changing right now

- she's of average uzbek woman height(167cm) and her hair is that shade of brown that looks almost black, but when the sunlight hits just right it looks like a faint shade of auburn. you know, that kind of hair shade.

- her name is "nargiza" which translates to "narcissus flower" or "daffodil." her close friends and family(and turkey too ig 🙄) call her nargiz for short.

- her hobbies are embroidery and quiltmaking with tajikistan, trying out new desserts to bake, reading, gossiping, piano playing and knitting(she picked up both from russia), drinking hot black tea in even hotter weather(she's a tea elitist and Will Not Consider iced tea to be part of the tea category)

- best cook. she's the best cook out of the central asians and they always try to have her cook dinner("it just hits different when you cook food for us apa")

- she has a resting scary/angry face. she looks like she's about to kill someone. but when you ask her a question she'll immediately smile and won't hesitate to help you in whatever way she can.

- has the best relationship with kazakhstan and tajikistan. though sometimes she has a habit of babying kazakhstan as an older sister. old habits from the uzbek khanate die hard i guess...

- has a weird relationship with uyghurstan, and they have a few very awkward phone calls per year. if you heard the minutes of silence sandwiched in between their conversations you'd experience second hand embarrassment.

- her relations with iran are interesting. she adopted persian as the official and court language of the bukharan khanate. but she's also tried to take parts of iran's land a few times. for a while iran even exerted control over the bukharan khanate for a few years by persian ruler nader shah until he died. there's been a lot of cultural exchange from iran to uzbekistan historically, and uzbekistan is also considered a part of the greater iran region(maybe i should give her the ahoge...). nowruz, for example, is a holiday that came from persia and is celebrated in the central asian countries, especially tajikistan and uzbekistan.

- she...doesn't like russia. not at all. it's one of the few things she and kyrgyzstan both agree on, and they've both fantasized about throwing themselves at him like rabid dogs for a while(kyrgyzstan was more serious about it, and uzbekistan had to stop him) but after her independence she had to suck up to him due to her economic reliance on him. recently, though, she's been moving away from russia in favor of spotting economic opportunities within uzbekistan that will help with self-growth(and also reaching out to turkey and china for mutual trading)

- she's not the most developed nation out there, but is still very prissy about her overall appearance. she knows how to clean up. don't even get me started on the things she wears to weddings. she isn't worried about competition because she IS the competition.

- at home, she'll wear the usual stuff you'd see an uzbek mom wear, a matching dress and pants cut from atlas fabric. she'll have a small scarf wrapped around her hair to pull it back, and has her hair up in a ponytail, bun, or braids.

- when she's out, she wears perfectly coordinated outfits every single time, hair and makeup perfectly done.

- dont be fooled though. she Will wear the definitely fake chanel sweaters and slippers with pride.

- she fake smiles a lot and tries to stop her habit of having a resting scary face. even though that's her default, she's gotten a lot of flack from old ladies throughout the centuries for it.

- generally, she's not a super expressive, bubbly person(that's her sister tajikistan). she's fine with small talk(and DEFINITELY gossiping) but depending on who it is and whether they're in her social circle or not, she'll either enjoy it or hate every agonizing second of it. When you ask about her house though, she'll tell you everything with a certain sparkle in her eyes.

- if you want her to go through all 44 feelings at once and watch her freak out and overheat like an old gaming PC just bring up turkey i guess

- to get into her social circle takes a lot of time and a lot of waiting for her to open up and talk about personal things. Think maybe...20 years at the very least.

- leading into the other headcanon of her being a little insecure. throughout the years, the uber-collectivist society of uzbekistan caused her to become more and more hyperaware of her actions and how others will think about them. the one exception is that she can't hide her disappointment.

- her predecessors are the khwarazmian empire and timurid empire. she barely knew the khwarazmian empire as uzbekistan was born as one of the few tribes to emerge after khwarazmi was engulfed by the mongols.

- she was old enough to remember timurid, however. he was like her older brother, albeit one with...skewed moral values. he'd always insist that this was all to rekindle the empire that the great genghis khan left behind, and to spread islam as a religion.

"besides," he'd add, "isn't samarqand looking absolutely beautiful lately?"

"yes, because you kidnapped the best artisans and craftsmen after looting their cities." she deadpanned.

- she was quite surprised(and impressed, by a sliver) when her brother managed to successfully siege ankara and cause a civil war in the ottoman empire. she knew timurid was growing, but she had no idea he got this strong. it almost didn't seem surprising when he announced his plans to go after china, before he died(and then respawned as the mughal empire, but that's another story.)

- "russia when i catch you russia" - uzbekistan since the 1870s

- she has a house in tashkent and bukhara, but mostly lives in tashkent now that it's the capital. since she's literally the center of central asia and borders everyone including afghanistan, they all stay at her house when traveling(turkey is stuck at a hotel whenever he visits tho...)

- her spice tolerance? dont even ask. its not there. completely gone. give her a little heinz chili sauce and she's scrambling to find water.

- once korea took her out on a date to a korean restaurant. one bite of the kimchi and it was over for her

- if you ever come over to her house, she'll spoil you with food and gifts. there will be a drama series playing on her tv as you two chat for hours. when you leave expect it to be about 8 hours after you arrived and for the walk home to be extremely heavy as she gives you 3 bags full of gifts and dried fruits and desserts.

#tokki writes #hws uzbekistan #aph uzbekistan #hetalia

[madam-mess]

Okay you've started something now imma be haunting your inbox

Halstarion prompt; everyone at camp is playing dress up with the latest batch of looted outfits. Queue thirsting.

You didn't think I forgot this did you?!? I've been sitting on it and took some liberties.

You didn't specify who was doing the thirsting so have Astarion thirsting after himself! I'm obsessed with this idea of Astarion as Narcissus. He's the prettiest boy and he knows it.

Petty Vanity (1716 words) by madam_mess Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Baldur's Gate (Video Games) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Astarion/Halsin (Baldur's Gate) Characters: Halsin (Baldur's Gate), Astarion (Baldur's Gate) Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Astarion wears a dress, Soft Halsin (Baldur's Gate), Casual Relationship, Developing Relationship, Narcissism, Self-Indulgent, Mirror Sex Summary: Astarion called it "vanity," but what he wouldn't give to see himself in something pretty.

#halstarion #halsin #astarion ancunin #bg3

[viviangreeneart]

At The Foot of My Bed

                             

    I stood at the foot of my bed. I was wearing a dark blue suit I didn’t recognize. The material was clearly expensive and well-tailored, hinting to a fit, lean body underneath.  A neat, white handkerchief was folded with care in the suit jacket’s breast-pocket. Staring forward , my green eyes were not the usual unattractive mix of exhaustion and hatred, but of contentment and maybe a little joy. Dark circles, like permanent eye shadow, of which I had grown accustomed to had not claimed these eyes. No, at the foot of my bed, those eyes did not have sagging, purple-grey flesh clinging to the bottom of their sockets like loose, cooked chicken skin. This skin was pink and tight. This me could be in an advertisement for eye cream they looked so damn healthy. Oh, and my scar! Where was that? The right side of his lips were unblemished. Had I never met the enraged man at the bar? Had his class ring that glimmered in the light as it came crashing down on me, snagging my lip and tearing it apart, not existed? Or had I simply not goaded him into a fight to begin with?

  If I had fought the man with this body, I would’ve surely won. I hadn’t lifted any form of weight in decades and a vegetable had not graced my dinner plate in just as long. The body in front of me most likely thrived on a high protein diet with a substantial side of greens. Perfect me smiled warmly, revealing his pearly white, exceptionally aligned teeth. It was apparent he never missed a single dentist appointment. I self-consciously rubbed my tongue against the bottom row of my broken, grey teeth. I felt like Narcissus gazing into the pool, aside from the fact that I did not have the beauty that the me at the foot of my bed possessed.

“Honey,” a ragged, drained voice called out from just outside my bedroom, ripping me out of my visual love affair with Perfect Me.

   “Uh, yeah?” I shifted my body to the left so I could see down the hallway. I could just make out the silhouette of my wife leaning out the bathroom doorway. 

  “Did you lock all of the doors?”

  “Yes, of course,” I sighed. This was part of our routine. I would say yes even I forgot. I could always lock up during my midnight fridge raid.

  “Oh good,” she said, disappearing into the bathroom.

   My attention returned to Perfect Me. He had only folded his arms during the pointless discourse with my wife. Suddenly a thought occurred to me - what would Tammy think when she saw him? I was still processing this when she ambled into our bedroom, wrapped in her floral house coat. Tammy passed the well-groomed me without a glance, plopping onto the bed next to me. It creaked under her weight as she settled in, shuffling the sheets about. Perfect Me’s eyes followed her movements with palpable endearment. A light smile played upon his lips as he watched her grab a book from her bedside table and open it to where her bookmark had laid snug since the night before.

   I struggled to recall the last time I looked at her with any form of love. Tammy was comforting and sweet in personality, but she was very mundane. I didn’t dislike my wife, but I found no beauty in her, inside or out. However, this undeniably gorgeous version of me, reacted as though Ava Gardner had just sauntered into the room garbed in an extravagant dressing gown. It was perplexing to say the least.

  “You don’t mind if I read for an hour or so, do you?” Tammy asked, eyes already glued to her book.

 “No, of course not,” I replied. I wanted an excuse to keep the lights on anyway. I couldn’t lose sight of Perfect Me. I wanted to speak with him. To ask how and why he looked so good compared to the ghoulish version of me that was hunkered down in a sagging bed next to his mediocre wife. Was he handed better opportunities than me? A better family than the hostile, demanding one I had been presented with? Was he accepted at a proper University instead of the community college I begrudgingly applied to? He certainly had a successful career, as was evidenced by his suit. In this life, I had only rented suits for special occasions. Fortunately, I was rarely invited to any occasion.

  I needed to speak with him, but if I could I only see him, I would look like an idiot speaking to myself. Well, I would be talking to myself. As I struggled to form a plan to communicate with him, I felt the bed sink slightly near my feet. Perfect Me had planted a knee down onto the bed. Too stunned to move, I caught sight of Tammy in my peripheral vision. She was oblivious to Perfect Me’s sudden advancement, with her nose inches away from her book, mouthing the text as she read. Perfect Me then leaned forward, placing his left hand next to my knee. His right hand, which was free of a wedding ring, reached out. Without hesitation, I brought myself upward and gripped his outstretched hand. His flesh was so soft in comparison to the harshness of mine. He must have a job that has been very kind to them, or at very least he moisturizes on a daily basis. My heart swelled as I met his gaze. I no longer cared about the possibility of Tammy looking up to see me holding onto an invisible force. Perfect Me grinned, letting out an easy, melodious chuckle.

  “Would you like to trade?” he whispered.

  My mind went to a story I read in elementary school, the Prince and the Pauper. 

  “Absolutely,” I whispered back.

  “So be it.” His grin widened into a sneer as he yanked me directly into him. 

   Bracing for a collision that never happened, I found myself on my back on the bedroom floor. Sitting up, I rubbed my forehead in an attempt to reorient myself. As I temporarily became distracted by how heavenly my skin felt, an unnatural itch crept throughout my body. I glanced down and saw the expensive suit Perfect Me had worn. It looked so comfortable on him, but on me, it felt like tiny bugs were burrowing their way into my skin. I tugged and pried erratically at the buttons of the jacket to no avail. It was like it was now a part of my skin. Or rather, it was my skin.

  Above, muffled voices broke me briefly from my turmoil. I jerked around and realized I was in front of my bed. Moving to my knees now, I peered upwards. I saw my old self in bed with Tammy. Hideous Me, with the horrific scar and the unfit body. They were deep in conversation. She giggled at whatever nonsense he was spouting. Her book lay abandoned on her lap.

   He pointed to her book and she nodded, giving a him a sugary sweet smile. As her eyes drifted away from him to the book, Hideous Me’s eyes shifted over to meet mine. He winked then returned his attention to my wife. I cried out to her, but could only release pitiful croaks as I fought against my suddenly weakened and dry vocal cords. I banged my fists on the bed as my warnings fell on deaf ears. I doubled over as blinding pain tore through my body. I silently whimpered, as I could no longer create sound. Despite it all, I shakily rose to my feet. Maybe after sometime I could convince whatever I traded places with to switch back. He will eventually regret inhabiting my old, misshapen body with my boring bookworm of a wife. Surely he will, I thought, as I watched him kiss her.

    I stood at the foot of my bed.

#Short story #horror #Horror story #doppleganger

[mk-writes-stuff]

Rewrite Game

Rules: rewrite the snippet given to you, then give a snippet of your own for the next people!

Thanks @illarian-rambling for the tag! My snippet is:

The halawemavar sighed sadly as End pushed over the rest of the carved stones. From their pockets, many cultists pulled jars of paint or sticks of charcoal and began to etch rough stars onto the fallen giants. They laughed as they did—the loud, cawing sound of a soldier trying to ward away madness.

Others began to grab at the Chosen’s body. A grizzled Skysheerian ripped a beaded pendant from the dead man’s neck and spat onto his bloody face. Izjik tried to look away as they strung her once-ray of hope up by his feet, but she couldn’t. Not as she was.

Poor Izjik. I’m not 100% certain if the guy they’re stringing up is the dead guy or a different guy but I’m going to guess it’s the dead guy.

I’ll rewrite this one as:

Izjik managed a sad sigh of her own accord as End used her hands to finish aligning the carved stones.

Laughter - loud, raucous, shaky - echoed from the cultists around her. Some took out paint and charcoal and began to etch rough stars onto the fallen giants. The remaining few started picking at the Chosen’s body - one particularly brave one, a Skysheerian, ripped off his beaded pendant and spat in his bloody face.

Izjik wished she could stop them - wishes she could even look away - but End held her still as they finished their tasks and strung what remained of the dead man up by his feet.

I hope you like it :). Here’s a snippet of mine to rewrite! I’m not sure if I’m supposed to add context but if y’all want to play with description Narcissus looks like this:

“Lord Narcissus,” she said with a curtsy as she got close to him. “You’re looking lovely tonight.”

It wasn’t even a lie. He did look lovely. He had an elaborate red flowery hairpiece made out of real flowers, and he was wearing a tight red cocktail dress that, while definitely scandalous, did admittedly draw attention to his figure. Narcissus was a good-looking man – it was a shame that was his only virtue.

@kaylinalexanderbooks @elsie-writes @somethingclevermahogony want to give this one a go?

#writeblr #tag game #seven station chronicles

[platoapproved]

hades 2 initial impressions after a day of playing:

i am never going to get the hang of sprinting it’s dash or die for me babey

every time hecate turns me into a sheep during her battle it is funny and cute, i can’t help it, i love temporarily desperately scampering away from projectiles while muttering “nooooooo you’ll mess up my woooooolllll :c”

scylla has huge sailor-moon-enemy energy and i love that for her

hestia boons are so sick

still getting the hang of hexes but they mostly feel like a waste of time, sorry selene your dress is really nice though

the voice acting for narcissus is so good. the theseus of hades 2

CERBERUS REFUSED TO BE PET, MY HEART US BROKEN :<

so far the knives are my favorite but they can never replace the fists from hades 1. so much more focus in this game on ranged stuff and incorporating slower moves. I don’t hate that since ranged damage is SO MUCH SO MUCH better in this one. but. my favorite builds are always to stack as much speed boost and sturdiness as i can and then rush in and get in close and nasty and destroy all the enemies before they can even get an attack off. and the knives are just….. not quick enough for that. 😔

i mostly like the resource collecting but it’s obnoxious only having one tool at a time. it just makes me mad seeing something i can’t mine or dig etc when i don’t have that tool.

#anyway I’m having a good time #the art is great #music is great #i know probably no one cares about all this buuuuut #anyway #hades 2 #hades 2 spoilers

[homomenhommes]

THIS DAY IN GAY HISTORY

based on: The White Crane Institute's 'Gay Wisdom', Gay Birthdays, Gay For Today, Famous GLBT, glbt-Gay Encylopedia, Today in Gay History, Wikipedia, and more … December 31

HAPPY HOGMANAY! What's is Hogmanay you say? Why the roots of Hogmanay reach back to the celebration of the winter solstice among the Norse, as well as incorporating customs from the Gaelic New Year's celebration of Samhain.

In Europe, winter solstice evolved into the ancient celebration of Saturnalia, a great Roman winter festival, where people celebrated completely free of restraint and inhibition. The Vikings celebrated Yule, which later contributed to the Twelve Days of Christmas, or the "Daft Days" (really) as they were sometimes called in Scotland. The winter festival went underground with the Protestant Reformation and ensuing years, but re-emerged near the end of the 17th century. A very Scottish thing Hogmanay. Wear a kilt to this evening's festivities to set the mood right!

192 – The Roman emperor Commodus died on this date (b.161). It's New Year's Eve and, after a long year's journey, we are finally at the end of this year. To be on the safe side, why not stay home and watch old reruns of Guy Lombardo and spend a quiet evening in memory of the emperor Commodus, who called his exceptionally well-endowed cup-bearer "my donkey," and was strangled by an over- enthusiastic wrestler named Narcissus on this day.

In 2000's neo-blood and sandals epic Gladiator, Commodus was portrayed by Joaquin Phoenix in an Academy-Award-nominated performance. The historical character of Commodus is fictionalized in the movie as a deranged megalomaniac who murders Marcus Aurelius to usurp the throne. There is no historical evidence suggesting Marcus Aurelius was murdered, much less by his own son. However the movie removes some of the most bizarre eccentricities of Commodus. The film's protagonist, Maximus Decimus Meridius (played by Russell Crowe) is loosely inspired by Narcissus, and was named so in a previous draft of the screenplay, but as in The Fall of the Roman Empire Commodus is killed in hand-to-hand combat. Commodus's death 

Dressing Tony Curtis for "Some Like It Hot"

1897 – Orry-Kelly was the professional name of Orry George Kelly (d.1964), a prolific Hollywood costume designer.

He was born in Kiama, New South Wales, Australia, and was known as Jack Kelly. His father William Kelly, was born on the Isle of Man and was a gentleman tailor in Kiama. Orry was a name of an ancient King of Man. Jack Kelly studied art in Sydney, and worked as a tailor's apprentice and window dresser.

He journeyed to New York to pursue an acting career. He shared an apartment there with Charlie Spangles and Cary Grant. Director Gillian Armstrong writes of this time:

''The big secret is that when Orry first got to New York and was trying to get his start, painting murals on walls and selling hand-painted ties, he ended up rooming with a young British actor called Archie Leach. They definitely became lovers and were living together for about five years.''

The job painting murals in a nightclub led to his employment by Fox East Coast studios illustrating titles. He designed costumes and sets for Broadway's Shubert Revues and George White's Scandals. His lover, Archie Leach, went on to become Cary Grant.

Orry-Kelly went to Hollywood in 1932, working for all the major studios (Warner Brothers, Universal, RKO, 20th Century Fox, and MGM), and designed for all the great actresses of the day, including Bette Davis, Kay Francis, Olivia de Havilland, Katharine Hepburn, Dolores del Río, Ava Gardner, Ann Sheridan, Barbara Stanwyck, and Merle Oberon.

He worked on many films now deemed classics, including 42nd Street, The Maltese Falcon, Casablanca, Arsenic and Old Lace, Harvey, Oklahoma!, Auntie Mame, and Some Like It Hot.He won three Academy Awards for Best Costume Design (for An American in Paris, Cole Porter's Les Girls, and Some Like It Hot) and was nominated for a fourth (for Gypsy). A longtime alcoholic, he died of liver cancer in Hollywood. His pallbearers included Cary Grant, Tony Curtis, Billy Wilder and George Cukor and his eulogy was read by Jack Warner. His Academy Awards went to Jack Warner's wife, Ann.

1948 – Joe Dallesandro, is an American actor and Warhol superstar. Although he never became a mainstream film star, Dallesandro is generally considered to be the most famous male sex symbol of American underground films of the 20th century, as well as a sex symbol of gay subculture

Born into a dysfunctional family, Joe was placed in foster homes. Dallesandro began acting out and became aggressive. He repeatedly ran away from his foster home until his father finally relented and allowed him to live with him. At the age of 14, Dallesandro and his brother moved to Queens to live with their paternal grandparents and their father.

At 15, he was expelled from school for punching the principal, who had insulted his father. After his expulsion, Dallesandro began hanging out with gangs and started stealing cars. In once such instance, Dallesandro panicked and smashed the stolen car he was driving through the gate of the Holland Tunnel. He was stopped by a police roadblock and shot once in the leg by police who mistakenly thought he was armed. Dallesandro managed to escape being caught by police, but was later arrested when his father took him to the hospital for his gunshot wound. He was sentenced to Camp Cass Rehabilitation Center for Boys in the Catskills in 1964

The following year, Dallesandro ran away from Camp Cass. He supported himself by prostitution and later nude modeling, appearing most notably in short films and magazine photos for Bob Mizer's Athletic Model Guild.

Dallesandro met Andy Warhol and Paul Morrissey in 1967 while they were shooting Four Stars, and they cast him in the film on the spot. Warhol would later comment "In my movies, everyone's in love with Joe Dallesandro."

Dallesandro played a hustler in his third Warhol film, Flesh (1968), where he had several nude scenes. Flesh became a crossover hit with mainstream audiences, and Dallesandro became the most popular of the Warhol stars. New York Times film critic Vincent Canby wrote of him: "His physique is so magnificently shaped that men as well as women become disconnected at the sight of him."

A Warhol photograph of the crotch bulge of Dallesandro's tight blue jeans graces the famous cover of the Rolling Stones album Sticky Fingers. Dallesandro explained to biographer Michael Ferguson, "It was just out of a collection of junk photos that Andy pulled from. He didn't pull it out for the design or anything, it was just the first one he got that he felt was the right shape to fit what he wanted to use for the fly."

As Dallesandro's underground fame began to cross over into the popular culture, he graced the cover of Rolling Stone in April 1971. He was also photographed by some of the top celebrity photographers of the time.

He continued to star in films made mainly in France and Italy for the rest of the decade, returning to America in the 1980s. He made several mainstream films during the 1980s and 1990s. One of his first notable roles was that of 1920s gangster Lucky Luciano in Francis Coppola's The Cotton Club. He also had roles in Critical Condition (1987), Sunset (1988) , Guncrazy (1992), Cry-Baby (1990), and The Limey.

In addition to films, Dallesandro has also worked in television. In 1986, he co-starred in the ABC drama series Fortune Dane. The series lasted only five episodes. Dallesandro has also made guest appearances on Wiseguy, Miami Vice, and Matlock.

In 2009, Dallesandro wrote and produced the documentary film Little Joe. The film chronicles Dallesandro's life and career.

Dallesandro, who identifies himself as bisexual, has been married three times and has two children. He is semi-retired from acting, and currently manages an apartment building in Los Angeles.

1948 – The American singer Donna Summer, was born on this date (d.2012). She was an American singer, songwriter and artist, best known for a string of disco hits in the late 1970s that earned her the title "Queen Of Disco" and as one of the few disco-based artists to have longevity on the charts through the late 1980s and beyond.

The question with Donna Summer is, "is she or isn't she?" Homophobic that is!

In the mid 1980s, rumors began circulating that Summer had allegedly made anti-gay comments regarding the AIDS epidemic as being a punishment from God for homosexuality. The fallout from the alleged quote had a significantly negative impact on Summer's career, which saw thousands of her records being returned to her record company by angered fans. However, Summer denied making any such remarks and many years later she filed a lawsuit against New York magazine when it reprinted the rumors as fact, just as Summer was about to release her latest album Mistaken Identity in 1991. According to an A&E Biography program in which Summer participated in 1995, the lawsuit was settled out of court with neither side discussing details of the settlement.

D.L. Groover of Houston's OutSmart magazine wrote that after a 1983 concert in Atlantic City, Summer was talking to the fans, as she liked to do at this first- comeback point in her career. A man with AIDS asked her to pray for him, because he knew of her born-again Christian beliefs, and she said she would be delighted. Someone else piped up that she was being hypocritical. At that point, all accounts get fuzzy and overblown, but every witness says that the heated situation deteriorated, with many outraged patrons shouting as they left the auditorium. In more than one account, Summer said that AIDS appeared in the gay community because of its reckless lifestyle... but did not say that AIDS was God's punishment. She and the gay fan prayed together, she asked him to turn his life to Christ, and she embraced him - a courageous act at a time when most people would have run screaming from the room to get away from someone with the deadly disease.

For her part Summer told The Advocate in 1989 that "A couple of the people I write with are gay, and they have been ever since I met them. What people want to do with their bodies is their personal preference. I'm not going to stand in judgment about what the Bible says about someone else's life. I've got things in my life I've got to clean up. What's in your life is your business." Make of that what you will.

Rick Sandford as Ben Barker

1950 – Rick Sandford (d.1995) was a documentary research assistant, editor and actor of gay erotic movies and author.

Rick Steven Sandford was born in Denver, Colorado, and grew up in the Lake Tahoe area. His early difficulties learning to read led his parents to enroll him in a private school.

After his graduation in 1969, he first went to Los Angeles on vacation, to see the musical, Hair and the Russian motion picture version of War and Peace, and after 1972, Sandford remained in Los Angeles employed in various positions, from an usher at Grauman's Chinese Theatre to a television show stand-in.

In 1977 he met Josh Becker, American writer and director, of films and television, who would become his long-time friend, according to Becker, Sandford only heterosexual friend.

Initially living in a bungalow behind a house in West Hollywood, Sandford was evicted and with his best friend, Stacey, with whom he had grown up in Reno, he moved into a one-bedroom apartment at 666 N. Van Ness.

Sandford received credit as research assistant on 50 Golden Years of Oscar: the Official History of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences and Ronald Haver's David O. Selznick's Hollywood. Sandford served as assistant on the 1990 documentary Hollywood Mavericks.

Sandford appeared on television shows and in motion pictures as an extra and in a few bit parts: in episodes of Police Woman in 1974 and Step by Step in 1991. During the late 1970s and early 1980s he worked as an editor on 3 gay erotic films and appeared as Benjamin Barker or Ben Barker in 13 gay erotic motion pictures including Kip Noll and the Westside Boys, Rear Deliveries, Skin Deep, The Class of '84 Part 2 Jocks, Gold Rush Boys, The Boys of San Francisco, A Night at Halsted's, and Games.In the mid 1980s, Don Bachardy sketched Sandford for his book, Drawing of the Male Nude; both Bachardy and his partner Christopher Isherwood were friends with Sandford. During this time, Sandford introduced Bachardy and Isherwood to Yale-trained actor Peter Evans and his then lover Craig Lucas. Sandford and Lucas had a fling, and Lucas remembered

"He came to New York with a strip show. To [the song] 'Another Hundred People' from 'Company', he arrived onstage with a suitcase, and met invisible New Yorkers, stripping for them, looking for love. Afterward, we had to wait while older men went into his dressing room to make appointments. Or something."

In 1991, his short story Forster & Rosenthal Reevaluated: An Investigative Report was published. In 1994, another of his short stories, Purim was published. Two more of Sandford's short stories were published posthumously, The Gospel Of Bartholemew Legate: Three Fragments and Manifest White. In 2000, his novel, Boys Across the Street was published, also posthumously.

Boys Across the Street is a candidly hilarious look at the gay life of Rick, an exporn star, who lives near a boy's Hasidic school, as he becomes obsessed with building relationships with the boys, leading to a fascination with Hasidism, which reviles his sexual orientation.

Sandford died of AIDS during the evening of September 28, 1995.

1958 – David Pevsner is an American actor, singer, dancer, porn star, and writer. Pevsner appeared in the 1990 revival of Fiddler on the Roof, 1991 revival of Rags, and some other theatrical productions. He also wrote three songs for the 1999 musical Naked Boys Singing!, including "Perky Little Porn Star." He wrote and produced two one-person shows, To Bitter and Back (2003) and Musical Comedy Whore (2013). Pevsner portrayed mostly minor roles in films and television. His major screen roles are Ebenezer Scrooge in Scrooge & Marley, the 2012 film adaptation of A Christmas Carol, and Ross Stein in a 2011 web series Old Dogs & New Tricks. He recorded the 2016 album Most Versatile, whose album cover pays homage to Bruce Springsteen's album Born in the U.S.A.

David Pevsner was raised in Skokie, Illinois. He attended Niles East High School in the same Chicago suburb and participated in its theater program. He graduated from Carnegie-Mellon University in Pittsburgh with a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree.

He appeared in the 1991 revival of the 1986 musical Rags, set in 1910, portraying the dual roles of Saul and Nathan. He appeared in the 1995 theatrical play Party, portraying the role of Kevin. In the play, Kevin, a college teacher who lives with his partner, hosts a party at his apartment, where the males characters play the naked truth-or-dare game. Pevsner appeared in the two-act gay revue musical When Pigs Fly from 1996 to 1998. Pevsner appeared in F*cking Men, the 2009 explicit play written by Joe DiPietro about the lives of gay urban men, portraying Jack, who commits adultery with another man, while his husband does the same.

Pevsner co-wrote the 1999 musical Naked Boys Singing! with the writing team. He wrote three songs for the musical, including "Perky Little Porn Star" and "The Naked Maid."

Pevsner appeared in films, mostly portraying minor roles in such films as The Fluffer (2001) and Adam & Steve (2006). He also portrayed a major role of Ebenezer Scrooge in Scrooge & Marley, the 2012 film adaptation that tells the gay interpretation of the 19th-century novel A Christmas Carol.

Pevsner also portrayed minor roles in television series, particularly a bartender of a gay bar in an episode of NYPD Blue.

Pevsner recorded the 2016 album Most Versatile, whose title was inspired by his being voted "Most Versatile" in a survey back in high school. The album's working title was Shameless, named after his Tumblr blog and "for [being] something with a little skin." The songs of the album explores "a whirlwind of one man's gay experiences" and feature Jim J. Bullock, Maxwell Caulfield, and some others as guest artists. He wrote the lyrics of all thirteen songs.

In his 60s Pevsner is today earning money doing erotic performances on OnlyFans.

Pevsner is Jewish. He is also openly gay.

1969 – The first performance of The Cockettes took place on New Years Eve 1969, at the Palace Theatre in San Francisco's North Beach neighborhood and soon became a "must-see" for San Francisco's hip gay community, combining LSD-influenced dancing, set design, costumes and their own versions of show tunes (or original tunes in the same vein). Initially, shows were performed every six weeks, performing on stage prior to the Saturday midnight "Nocturnal Dream Show" of underground films at the Palace Theatre. Show titles included Gone With the Showboat to Oklahoma, Tinsel Tarts In A Hot Coma, Journey to the Center of Uranus, Smacky & Our Gang, Hollywood Babylon and Pearls Over Shanghai.

Word quickly got out that nothing like these shows had ever been seen before, and within a few months the Cockettes were getting enormous attention from the media. Not only hippie magazines, such as Earth and Rolling Stone, wanted stories on the Cockettes, but also mainstream magazines such as Look, Life and Esquire were anxious to do features as well. The Cockettes were the subject of a documentary called, of course, The Cockettes. If you haven't seen it, do. Torrent users can find it on isoHunt.com

1990 – Ian McKellen, English actor, is knighted by the Queen of England. He is the first openly gay man to be knighted.

2014 – Russian large gay club called Central Station was forced to close after countless attacks of sprays of bullets and being gassed. It later reopened with the use of bulletproof glass.

[bedofthistles]

The Little White Horse: Maria

An analysis and comparison of Maria Merryweather in both The Little White Horse and The Secret of Moonacre

TL;DR

Oh my darling Maria. I honestly love both versions of Maria. This girl has gone through so much, has done so much, and she deserves the world. 

However, Maria is a tad bit different in The Secret of Moonacre than she is in The Little White Horse. While both of their stories are endearing and impactful, I do believe one is more harmful than the other. 

Maria Merryweather, as described in the book, is a sweet, relatively happy girl, who is pure-hearted and brave. She is shown to have a love for her animal companions, the boy from her dreams who she played with as a child, her governess, her cousin, and Moonacre Valley. Her vices, however, are her vanity and a natural curiosity, or at least, those are the vices Goudge has told us are her vices. 

“In this year of grace 1842 [Maria] was thirteen years old and was considered plain, with her queer silvery-grey eyes that were so disconcertingly penetrating, her straight reddish hair and thin pale face with its distressing freckles. Yet her little figure, small as that of a fairy's child, with a backbone as straight as a poker, was very dignified, and she had exquisite tiny feet, of which she was inordinately proud. They were her chief beauty, she knew, which was why she took, if possible, a more burning interest in her boots than in her mittens and gowns and bonnets.” 

Maria is a lady born and bred, and already quite humble at the start . After her description, it's stated she knows that she qualifies as ‘plain’. She does take an interest in her clothes to make up for the fact that she is ‘plain’, however she is scolded for this almost immediately by the parson. 

“Neatness of attire is to be commended in a woman," he told her, holding her hand in a grip of steel. “But not vanity. Vanity is of the devil. And excessive female curiosity is not to be commended either. Nip it in the bud, my dear, while there is time." So he had seen her patting her pelisse and stroking her muff. So he had noticed her trying to see over the door of the pew.”

After this moment, besides when she tries on her wedding dress and looks into Loveday’s mirror and sees the visage of the first Moon Princess, Maria doesn’t express as much care in her appearance or attire. Beyond describing the costumes laid out by Loveday, Maria’s opinions on her clothing is laid aside. The lesson being that she has put aside her ‘vanity’.

However, this is not true vanity. 

In the myth of Echo and Narcissus, the Greek figure is described as so handsome that the first time he sees his own reflection, he becomes so enamored with it that he can not look away. So much so, that the nymph, Echo, who loved him, could not call him away. So engrossed was he with his reflection, that he fell in love with himself. This is true vanity, a gross, and over exaggerated self-love. True vanity is caring about yourself first, and is not limited to appearance, but can also concern the mind, intelligence, talent and many other things. It is valuing yourself over everyone. 

Maria adjusting her skirts during a church service is not vanity, nor is acknowledging her small feet as her best quality. It may very well be that the Parson is warning her of a growing vanity, to not become so enamored with her appearance and looks, but again, Maria knows she is plain. I don’t think she’s at risk of falling in love with her reflection. 

Furthermore, Maria is accosted for her ‘female curiosity’ not only by the Parson, but by Robin as well, who is so opposed to her pestering questions, that he will abandon her when she asks too many. 

“Maria choked down her curiosity, for Robin had always hated being asked questions, and if she asked too many would disappear, and she did not want him to disappear just yet.”

“There was no answer, and looking up she saw that Robin had disappeared, even though as far as she knew she had not asked a single question.” 

As well as other characters, and the narrative itself.

“Her own soul and stomach do not allow her to indulge in that feminine curiosity about the affairs of others which renders her presence so trying to the males whose domicile she shares." - Marmaduke Scarlet 

“Maria was by this time getting used to living in a perpetual state of astonishment, and used to curbing her curiosity, so that at this startling piece of information she just nodded, and one question only escaped her.”

“I am afraid she was rather a bad-tempered old woman as well as a curious one…” -Loveday Minette

It is not only curiosity that Goudge is protesting, but specifically ‘female’ curiosity. However, I can’t imagine why Elizabeth has this gripe. She is a well-educated woman, having attended finishing school and college, most of the plot of LWH revolves around Maria finding out the truth of the Valley and all the evil that occupies it. Maria is constantly pursuing her curiosity, she finds the kitchen she was not shown, she learns who was leaving her biscuits and dresses, she learns the truth about Loveday and Sir Benjamin. 

“Maria suddenly saw it all. Her curiosity was satisfied.”

It is an odd contradiction, for Maria to be scolded by a religious figure - who is only ever seen as wise, knowledgeable, and trustworthy - and for Maria to be punished for her curiosity by Robin, while the narrative revolves around her curiosity pushing the story forward. Without her curiosity, she never would have learned the truth about Loveday and Benjamin, about Marmaduke and the black cat Zacariah, and about how to bring peace back to the valley. 

Goudge also writes Robin as queerly uncurious. 

“Robin, haven't you any curiosity?" Maria demanded almost passionately. “Haven't you asked Loveday?", “No," said Robin. “Why should I? It isn't any business of mine. How I could manage to visit you in London was my business, and so I asked Mother about it. But it was nothing to do with me about her not wanting Sir Benjamin to know she lives here." Maria heaved a great impatient sigh. Truly the non curiosity of men was beyond her comprehension. As for herself, she felt that if she did not get to the bottom of what was between Loveday and Sir Benjamin before she slept tonight her curiosity would most certainly be the death of her. But it was no use asking any more questions of Robin.” 

In the end, Robin M promises Maria that he will always tell her everything so that she will not have to ask him anything. And here, the pieces put themselves together. While Maria is reprimanded for her constant questions and female curiosity, she still needs to learn the truth, and the answer is quite simple: 

“And I'll tell you," said Robin. “If I didn't you'd ask me so many questions that life would not be worth living."

Goudge does not argue that women cannot obtain knowledge, simply that it should come to her, that it is better to be told things than to ask and inquire after them. At least, this is how I have interrupted Maria’s story, and why the narrative punishes her for asking questions, while at the same time is required to give her answers in order for the story to continue. 

Maria Merryweather, as presented in The Secret of Moonacre, is completely different. 

The Little White Horse begins with Maria’s trip to Moonacre, while The Secret of Moonacre begins with the procession of George Merryweather’s funeral, switched from being Sir Benjamin’s cousin, they are now brothers, and we see Maria is distraught by this death. Not only did she lose her mother when she was young, but she has now lost her father.  In LWH, the death of her parents and her orphanhood are plot devices used so that Maria can be a new comer to Moonacre, Goudge does not divulge Maria’s feelings on the passing of her father, and beyond the mention of his death in the first chapter, it is never brought up again. 

Maria (TSOM) however, is seen to have dearly loved her father, she is proud to be his daughter, and defends him to her Uncle when he is called a coward. Maria moving from London to Moonacre is shown as a hard transition, she is used to the comforts and luxury of the city, and her preconceived notions about the country leave her in a despair. 

“How could I possibly go to live in the country? Its full of… the countryside!”

When Maria arrives, Sir Benjamin very rudely brushes her and Miss Heliotrope’s concerns off. 

What’s more, TSOM allows Maria her emotions, while LWH does not even consider the loss of her father to be a big deal, it severely impacts Maria. She is not only moving across the country, but she is dealing with grief. She also learns the truth about her father, that he was not as honorable as she believed, that he was murdered over his debts, and left his only child with nothing but a book. So now, as she deals with his death, she also has to reconcile this new understanding with her love of him. 

From the very first few scenes, we learn that Maria is prideful: she is proud of her name and her father, her position and standing in life. That Maria is arrogant: she swipes dust off the walls of her tower and makes a face, she picks up a dated dress and rolls her eyes at it. That Maria is brave: when faced with four bandits she stands her ground against them. That Maria is curious: she asks her Uncle questions about the house, she wants to know why she isn’t allowed in the forest, she wonders about who is leaving her biscuits in her room, she’s curious about the white horse she sees. That Maria is a lady: that she is proper, and cares about her appearance. She is stubborn as she raises her voice against her Uncle, she is fierce as she storms a castle all on her own, she is just a young girl trying as hard as she can to save a place that she has fallen in love with. 

The Secret of Moonacre does deal with Maria’s curiosity, however it is dealt with and punished in a different way. Maria (LWH) asks questions, and annoys Robin Minette, Maria (TSOM) asks deep, cutting, personal questions, and learns that doing so can hurt the person she is asking. Maria (TSOM) is not punished for her curiosity as much as she’s punished for being callous. 

In the end, Maria is right for asking these questions, for pushing, because without doing so, she never would have been able to understand the Valley, nor her Uncle. 

For a brief interlude, I want to talk about the Sir Benjamin’s. In the book, Sir Benjamin is a jovial man, who is kind and loving to Maria as soon as she arrives. In the movie, Sir Benjamin is a deeply wounded man, heartbroken due to his actions in regards to Loveday and the fact that his brother has just been murdered, despite doing all he could to try and save him. Sir Benjamin offered his brother a loan, enough for his debts to be covered, but George, and his “foolish pride” rejected this offer. 

Sir Benjamin is doing his best, but is dragged down by his past, he is punished for his anger and how he dealt with Loveday, and is haunted by his brother’s death. He loves Maria, I would argue he loves her from the start, but he is in such turmoil, he cannot deal with her properly. He tries to keep her safe by telling her to stay out of the forest and by taking the Chronicles of Moonacre book from her, but struggles with going about it the right way. 

Sir Benjamin in the book is just sexist. He’s proud of the fact that his home has been ‘woman-free’ for twenty-years, he is not distraught by the death of his cousin, nor is he very upset about having lost Loveday. While he still wears the coat she embroidered for him for their wedding day, Sir Benjamin doesn’t show sorrow or heartbreak, and it is very possible he is wearing it because it was well-made and he would not let it go to waste. 

The big lesson of the movie is about letting go of one’s pride and stubbornness, and it is something that all of the characters struggle with. Maria’s pride in her name, Sir Benjamin’s stubbornness keeps him from Loveday and moving on, Loveday’s pride and stubbornness keeps her from returning to Sir Benjamin or her family, Robin’s pride in his clan, and the Coeur De Noir’s stubborn need for revenge. 

I don’t think there is a singular moment in which Maria gives up her pride, such as Robin deciding to help her despite their names, but rather that there are a series of little moments in which she sacrifices her pride and stubbornness for the betterment of Moonacre Valley. 

Stripping down to her underthings to escape Castle Black, she puts aside her ideas of what a lady can and cannot do by riding a horse, she takes care of Serena despite never having an animal to care of before, she tracks Robin down and asks for his help, begs for it practically, because she knows she cannot do it on her own, and of course, her ultimate sacrifice by jumping off the cliff is her putting aside all pride, and giving up her life (she doesn’t know she’s going to be saved by Unicorns!) for the sake of not only her family, but everyone in the Valley, including her ‘enemies’. 

However, Maria never sacrifices herself for the sake of others. And, yes, I do know I just said Maria sacrifices herself by jumping from the cliff. 

Maria (LWH) is told off for her vanity and curiosity, she is told, and learns, to cut off pieces of herself to become more accommodating and tolerable for the world around her, and, really, the men in her life. Maria silences herself, her voice, parts of who she is, to make the world easier for others. 

Maria (TSOM) is prideful and stubborn up and until the very end. 

“At the 5,000th moon I, Maria Merryweather, Moon Princess of Moonacre, do remove the curse that darkens this valley, take back what is yours!” 

This is a very prideful statement, she is still prideful of her name, she is prideful to be the Moon Princess, and is very demanding of the Moon. Which is why when she throws the pearls, they return to her. Not just as a result of her own pride, but because everyone else still refuses to bow to the other. 

“The 5,000th moon, the curse is coming true. If you can sacrifice your pride, we can save our families.” - Maria

“You first” - Sir Benjamin

“No, no, after you!” - Coeur De Noir

“I must do this myself.” - Maria Merryweather 

When Maria jumps, and returns the pearls to the sea, and therefore the Moon, the Curse is broken. However, not because the pearls are returned, but because of her sacrifice, because she puts aside her pride. 

When she returns - resurrected or resuscitated, however you would like to look at it - she is still Maria. She asks “Were you worried, Robin?” She stands tall amongst her peers and family, knowing that she accomplished what no one else could. She is filled with happiness and joy, and is rightly satisfied - or, prideful - at what she was able to accomplish with Robin. I believe the end of the film shows us that the Valley has been saved, not just through Maria’s sacrifice, but through everyone doing the same. 

Robin listening to her in the forest, everyone running to the cliff’s edge, Benjamin asking for forgiveness and Loveday’s hand, Coeur De Noir stepping back and allowing the Merryweather’s their victory, choosing peace over revenge. The Secret of Moonacre’s final lesson is that peace can be reached through everyone working together, that the burden is not just on one person’s shoulders, and while, yes, one person can be a leader among the masses, the one forging ahead and fighting for peace, it is not one person and one alone that accomplishes this goal. 

Maria Merryweather, in LWH, however, is laden with the burden of finding peace for everyone. It is her alone in the forest with Mr. De Noir, showing him the little white horse, her alone who brings Loveday and Benjamin together (with the help of others, of course, but it is primarily her plan), her alone who cuts off pieces of herself, sacrificing herself for the sake of others happiness. As Moon Princess - or Moon Maiden, as she is more commonly referred to as in the novel - she is the sole purveyor of peace and happiness for the Valley. 

Both, Maria from TSOM and Maria from LWH, sacrifice themselves for the greater good. However, whereas Maria (TSOM) gives her life in a final act of love for Moonacre, Maria (LWH) gives up parts of herself to become more manageable. 

One Maria is met with love and honor, while the other bows her head, and submits, shouldering the weight of Moonacre on her shoulders. 

Prev | Final

#Maria Merryweather #I didn't talk about the miniseries because its irrelevant #the little white horse #the secret of moonacre #TLWH dissertation #I love both Maria's but I honestly think one's ending is much more tragic than the other

[lafcadiosadventures]

Madame Putiphar Groupread. Book Two, Chapter XXXIX

Johan Tobias Sergel's Cupid and Psyche + Ingres' preliminary sketch for his uber sexist Zeus and Thetis.

{ @sainteverge + @counterwiddershins }

The first half of the chapter attempts to give us a psychological portrayal of The Madame. She is still a jailer, still a sexual abuser. However she is given a sliver of interiority her sadian equivalents are usually denied.

The situation is Deborah carrying out her plan, which requires convincing the Madame she is making progress/learning, so that she can get an audience with the king, appeal to his humanity and be spared of a life of sexual serfdom.

As readers we move away from Deborah and see a bit more of the Madame's point of view. How does she feel about Deborah, beyond the burning and somewhat ridiculous lust we have already been described. And why do we need to know this all of a sudden? What is the point of making her slightly more humane, in her twisted way.

The portrayal technique has changed. Consider this line:

“(...) for it was truly a lover's courting, an assiduous courting, done with exquisite gallantry; this knightly gallantry of which men have lost all the tradition today. ”

(tr. Cam)

The Madame being exquisite in her so called courting of her student-cum-captive is of course in syntony with the theme of the gilded cage, the coercitive kindness Deborah (and Patrick) are subjected throughout the whole book. The refined rococo coated monsters, eating human flesh from porcelain dishes like in the Rammstein song, etc etc.

But it's an interesting detail, it's very Romantic with its nostalgia for an idealized medieval past (courtly love) and it's kind of strange because are only now told she is being exquisitely gallant (remember the childlike clumsiness of her sailing Deborah scene last chapter, or her hunger for Deborah just making her thrust herself into attempted oral sex. Not very gallant or exquisite. But she might have changed strategies, she is sadly, well experienced in manipulating her wards, she thinks she can read them and deploy a tailor made strategy according to their tempers) But it's also kind of fun her being better than the men at what Borel (and the king) seem to understand as a desire to play the part of a man.

Within the constrainments of a jailer/prisoner relationship, we are to understand he Madame really wants to seduce Deborah, to make her choose her (like Vautrin would say to Rastignanc, make a lucid choice of being with me) to win her over. So when Deborah rejects her too overt advancements, she withdraws, retreats into “ respectful boundaries” however. Her cult, we are told is “more than contemplative and less than platonic” and I'll be more crass than Borel who is really very subtle and euphemistic in this whole chapter, in open contrast to the two previous scenes with the madame which were more or less violent and/or farcical. Deborah wakes up to discover the Madame frequently masturbates and gropes her chest while she is sleeping.

And here we get the Narcisse comparison Cam was talking about:

“Deborah was roused by gentle moaning, heavy sighs, and would find a hand placed on her breast, and next to her, The Madame in a flutter, seated as if on a shore and leaning over her in a state of ecstasy as if she was contemplating herself in water.”

(tr, camille)

The Narcissus metaphor is very interesting because later theories of homosexuality attempt to define the orientation as masturbatory, not fully mature, and narcisitic: the homosexual is, in a superficial quest through the bodies of others to find a perfect mirrored image of themsleves.

Summing up: the Madame is still a jailer and a rapist, but she thinks herself decent and as having some kind of “boundaries”. Since Deborah cannot be convinced to actively have sex with her willingly, the Madame will make use of her sleeping body, once again turning her body into a sex toy, she is a doll that is dressed up and used without her having a say on it. The Madame refuses to be openly brutal and force her while she is awake, this is an act of cowardice and of supreme violence over Deborah, but the Madame thinks herself as some heroic tragic heroine for contenting herself with this masochistic pleasure. The Madame also enacts a courtly ideal that french men of the 1700's had since lost. Courtly love implies (I am no expert) adoring your sire's lady from afar, a cult that could also be less than platonic, but in principle, carnal contact was barred.

The last part of the chapter is less about psychological portrayal of the Madame and more about plot advancement. Deborah has been, extremely successful in convincing the Madame of her change (more than she'd have liked to be) so reports are sent to Putiphar, who in turn announces their success story to Pharao. We are once again illustrated about the mundane and utitlitarian functions of what we now think of as art. Many portraits of Deborah in different thematic attires are painted sent to the monarch, whose desire is inflamed. (thinking of Lord Faarquad and his indiscreet requests to the magic mirror :P) Think of Boucher's catalogue of royal mistresses in varying stages of undress... It's interesting to think how sitting for these erotic portraits was once again stripping Deborah of her agency and revictimizing her.

Pharao can bluntly express his desire to have her, she is a thing, she is his new toy. No need to beat around the bush with the captives of the Parc.

Since Deborah's pregnancy was becoming more and more apparent the staff of the whorehouse/jail are delighted that Pharao's ready to have her so soon (since waiting would imply her getting closer to birth and less easy to hide her state, Pharao was notably afraid of non virgins since he wanted to prevent the possibility of venereal diseases -for himself- as much as possible. Hence the change from soldier's widows to purchased children)

So the Madame preps Deborah for her debut, and it's sad Borel doesn't tell the reader what is the last piece of advice, the one all mothers gave to their daughters before the wedding night (we can imagine but it would be very interesting to know what was considered common sense wedding night advice in Borel's times or the 1700's) It's also interesting that the Madame has resumed treating Deborah like a virgin. Her sexual experience with Patrick could not sufice to impress her so she is still treated like a child. The Madame's child. Deborah is now given a pink dress (wish I knew if there is a kind of symbology behind the dresses color, to my contempo brain pink suggests girlyness and virginity -as opossed to the sexier darker reddish brown that set the madame aflame- are they playing up the virgin angle to decieve Pharao?) she also wears the dog collar with the king's portrait to show him -and her-who she belongs to.

A small but not insignificant detail is that Pharao chooses to visit her at two o'clock in the afternoon. This man never works, never governs, is on a permanent vacation while his lover and ministers manage the country. (In a post french revolution world, Napoleon was mindful of this idea and had David portray him still hard at work at 2 in the morning, but this is a different world altogether.)

The madame makes a false night ambiance in Deborah's room. Deborah is terrified. We are so used to seeing her in control that it's extra painful to see her shaking like a leaf, her heart violently drumming.

As soon as she is left alone deborah puts on a mourning black ribbon on her arm. Terrified as she is, she still manages to stick to the plan.

And what follows is just. My favorite brand of Romanticism, what made me become such a hardcore fan of Vautrin and Nerval, and Borel's Champavert. just savour this:

“(...) blinded, subjugated by this imposing appearance, and perhaps by the prestigious thought of herself, face to face with one of those men whose crime or the inheritance of crime turns him into the shepherd of a nation, Deborah came down to her knees and bowed her forehead to the ground; but Pharaoh took her by the hand and said:”

"crime or the inheritance of crime", to refer to monarchy. As contundent and iconic as Vautrin's "behind every fortune there is a forgotten crime."

And with that abrupt cut we end the chapter. You see how addictive the writing is, why the 3 of us couldn't put the book down in our first read.

Also interesting, Borel relies to portray the King, on a characterization technique I had only seen in Balzac's Vautrin. The character's physical limits are difuse. I mean, the king can be a ridiculous clown, as the first time we see him, an impotent seeming sugar clogged middle aged man, but now he is suddenly formidable. Not only because of his majestic attire, but his face is handsome, his build is strong and imposing, he seems young and powerful. I call this an emotional physionomy and I think it's incredibly effective. There are no concrete limits to the character's body, he is a bit of a shapeshifter, according to his mood or who his intended victim is he will change his appearance. Also perhaps, his victim's pov influences how he looks like.

#madame putiphar #text post

[spocks-kaathyra]

Spock looking for whales at the Cetacean Institute!

#I've got a few more photos I'll put in a separate post I think #shoutout my mom for being an awesome photographer #four (4!) people recognized me. including an aquarium employee!! #this is at the monterey bay aquarium for anyone who doesn't know. it's where they actually filmed the scenes in the voyage home! #the guy was so excited he pointed out all the specific filming locations to me #anyways uhm. face reveal I guess. might regret it but that's for future me to worry abt 🤷🤷 feel free to rb #narcissus's echoes #narcissus plays dress up #star trek #star trek the voyage home #spock #s'chn t'gai spock #star trek tvh #star trek iv: the voyage home #star trek tos #star trek the original series #star trek cosplay #the one with the whales

[sonlisasims7]

Generation 1 Week 3 Part 2

Netta dressed up and visited Porir's house to take their relationship to the next level.

But Porir, completely caught off guard by this surprise visit (and also nervous about her finding out about his wig), went back to sleep, leaving Netta alone.

"Shit, what am I doing?"

By the time he came back down stairs, it was too late. Netta, feeling completely offended, left the house.

(Adoniram is so cute playing with his pet dog, Turtle)

Porir, feeling devastated and on a roll with making bad decisions, called Nadia and asked to meet her at a local campsite to apologize for earlier.

As he walked over he felt a closeness and...

...he kissed her.

Nadia, caught slightly off guard by this welcome surprise, kissed him back.

(Oh no 🙈)

They enjoyed it so much they went for round 2.

(Absolutely zero shame)

On the other side of town, Maria and Narcissus met up to talk about work.

"Oh my god, you won't believe what just happened!"

"I'm never gonna dance again Guilty feet have got no rhythm"

Meanwhile, upstairs...

"Uhh, Porir sounds like he might be having some trouble?" "Eh, I'm sure he's fine."

Kerri is no longer a kitten!

(My man is completely dissociating)

(Also, allow me to introduce you to Humberto the Mixologist. I love Humberto)

Nadia asked Porir to dance with her but Netta was spotted on the premises so he ghosted her. (Netta has no clue what's going on but she is still giving Nadia the stink eye).

So Nadia had to dance with Hilding instead.

Django and Aeneas have become unlikely friends!

#simblr #sims #sims 3 #the sims gameplay

[monochromefilms]

Original Fairytales/Twisted Au

Beta of chapter 2... ish.

Just the intro to three counterparts.

Warnings: nurses.... Terrible grammar, not pre read, ooc.

You woke up with a head splitting pain.

Your vision was a bit blurry until you re-focused, by then you were greeted to the sight of multiple of your friends in what you assume to be infirmary beds. A few were awake and being tended by nurses such as Azul, Riddle, Vil, Jack, and Trey. The rest were still sleeping.

“You’re finally awake.” Trey was the first to notice. Vil was busy talking with a nurse. Azul’s glasses were cracked and were currently being repaired by a nurse.

“Are you feeling okay?” Jack asked Yuu who looked at them blankly, trying to collect what happened and how they got here.

“I heard they were awake.” A new voice called from the infirmary’s opening. Three people.

All three seemed to be tall men. The first person had dark green hair and looked a bit like Trey. This confused the Night Raven Students. He had long hair that was tied by a white silk ribbon and his bangs were decorated by various bobby pins. His face had a clover on his right eye , although being covered by his hair, was seen visibly with white numbers on it, 12468. He carried a cart full of teacups and pots. The second was a man with mid length burgundy hair that fluffed at the ends with cold lavender-blue eyes. He looked ethereal with his facial features. The third had short platinum shade of heather hair that was slicked back but still spiked up at the ends. He wore a surgical mask with sharp judging eyes and a beauty mark near the left. He had a satchel carried on his left decorated with multiple pins and song lyrics that seemed to be printed on old torn paper.

All three had the same uniform. Grey dress shirt, silver vest, and black pants. But each had a different pin on their chest. The platinum haired man had a light purple conch, The burgundy haired man had a silver mirror, The green haired man had a playing card in the shape of a clover.

“Good evening Mother.” The platinum haired boy spoke to a nurse who smiled in response. “ Hello Dear.” She looked at the other boys, “ Narcissus,” The Burgundy haired man nodded his head. “ Apri. “ The green haired man nodded his head with a soft smile. “I’ve brought some tea on Lady Rosetta’s orders. It’s chamomile and mint to help calm them.” ‘So that’s what the stuff on the cart was for.’ Yuu thought to themself.

The lavender haired boy proceeded to pass the group of students in the infirmary and sat his stuff down at an empty table. He proceeded to put hand sanitizer and gloves on. “ My name is Ai Amphit. I just need to ask you a few light questions if you don’t mind.” He spoke with a posh-ish voice and acted like a doctor.

He began to roll over to Azul in his office chair, “How does his hair do that?” Azul was the closest person near the sleeping form of Idia. “Um,He was born like that…” Azul seemed to have mixed feelings on the boy.

While this was happening, Narcissus stood in the front of where the beds were laid while Apri ran around passing tea. “I just wanted to check on you.” Narcissus had a more velvety and gruff voice than Ai and Apri. “When Elliot and Vi explained to me what happened…”

Beds after beds after beds ran past Narcissus as he walked down the hall. The people that laid upon them wore a different uniform than Grim Academy so he assumed there was a prank played by a different school. That was until he was met with a very anxious and disturbed Vi. “What happened.” He demanded them to explain the line of students being carried to the infirmary. “People fell out of the mirror.” Vi explained looking wide eyed, “Someone used their magic?” He asked. “ No, I touched it…” Vi doesn’t have magic. Vi never did have magic. Damn, Vi couldn’t even summon a broom in Phys Ed. “So they just fell?” “Yes.” Maybe Vi did have magic….

“.. It seemed peculiar so I wanted to know what happened. Are you from a different school or some place in another world like Vi.”

‘Was that the person in the mirror?’

“AKHAK! “ Ortho suddenly sparked, “Big Brother!” He immediately ran/floated over to the unconscious Idia.

“Is… Is that a sentient robot?”

Yes Narcissus, Yes it is.

#Twst au #yuu au #twsited wonderland au

[luxmaeastra]

Hypaxia wasn't sure what finally pushed her over the edge. Maybe it was the fact that Narcissus was devolving before her eyes.

Maybe even Anastasiya was horrified and didn't know where Amarantha was. If she and Narcissus were even still speaking.

She walked to the seaside cliffs. She looked over the dips in the dirt, the wind that buffeted her dress and hair. She could almost see phantom impressions of their children as they'd run and learned to fly here. The way they'd all played and climbed the cliffs together.

The times she and Azriel had come before the children. She couldn't see the caves from this angle but she remembered them. The fires they'd made, the ways they'd kept warm. The way the firelight had looked as it had played over his skin, his eyes.

She jumped, flying down and down. She could feel him, finding him was easy enough. In one of the deeper caves, half hidden by boulder and overhangs.

He didn't respond as she landed near him. He sat on the edge of it, his fingers playing with something.

Her throat caught, the lump nearly choking her. A Protection Braid, one their children had made for them on an anniversary. It was a little uneven but Nehemiah had done her best and directed her brothers well.

She looked to the choppy sea, the waves that slammed into the cliff and sprayed them.

"I don't want us to end up like them. I am not ready to give up on this, on us. I can't -"

That wasn't an apology though was it? It was admitting the bare minimum. She sat down next to him, nails digging into rock.

A push and pull like the waves, that's how they worked. They gave each other space to calm down, to cool down.

So why did this time terrify her? Why did it -

Because he wasn't fighting for her. Because he wasn't pushing or digging into her to demand she see reason. Because he'd iced her out - and could she blame him? It wasn't the words, he'd heard worse from others. But for her to imply her pain was worse than his. That he somehow wasn't allowed to grieve for what their children wen through.

But how long would that take? Where was his anger? His want for revenge and retribution?

But then, had she grieved? Had she held any of their children after? Had she even checked in? Really spoken to them?

She looked to her hands, her vision blurring.

"You've taken care of them haven't you? You - you were the parent they needed while I -"

While she was consumed with rage and fury. The indignation for the world to keep testing her after everything she'd done to get here.

But had it been her test or theirs?

"You live through them. Seeing their accomplishments as yours Hypaxia."

He was right. He was right.

She stared at the ceiling, the tears falling down her face hot and shameful.

"You're right. You held this family together while I took their pain as if it was directed at me. I was a terrible - I am a terrible mate and mother. I abandoned all of you. I -"

You let me.

She exhaled shoving that voice back. She finally looked to him brushing the tears from her face.

"Is there a way to fix this? Us? The relationship with the children? I suppose do you know if they want that relationship with me? Is it too late Azriel?"

For her - their children, for them.

She couldn't bring herself to ask that question. Why he came home every night when he didn't need to. She wouldn't begrudge him for finding solace in someone or something else. She'd been selfish and terrible to him.

Why did he stay? For the children? Out of a sense of duty?

For her?

Was she still worth that loyalty??

Dark eyes rose to meet her own, his shoulders were hunched slightly as he found this the only place he did not need the barriers. Their children were not watching, no one could judge them or hold it against them. Their fracture was already clear enough, a divide in what they wanted.

He understood where Hypaxia was coming from, he knew she was ruled by her rage and fury after everything. It was what fed her, fuelled her. It was why she felt she needed a kingdom, power. But how had that helped her family?

Her family had vied for power and got it. They competed for a kingdom and were awarded it through Rite. But it did not stop the enemies, it did not stop those who wanted to hurt them. If she wanted it, then she could, but he did not want to stand there as a glorified consort. He had no interest in any form of rulership.

"I just did what we needed." He finally responded. He sat back as he watched her, as he allowed her this moment to unwrap it herself and reveal the truth that she had been ignoring.

The questions soon came, the ones he didn't know all the answers to. "I am sure there is a way to fix it, but it will not be easy. I don't know if you are ready, in the context I don't know if you're healed enough to take that all on at once. You are finally past the rage and are coming to terms with the pain, and you are seeing the carnage that rage as caused."

He rose from where he sat, moving it still beside as he took her hand. "It's not too late, but you need to take the steps Hypaxia. You need to heal yourself first."

#Muse | Azriel

[firespirited]

Gemini3 swim n dive Barbie made with leftover iceberg/buttercreme, mermaid, amethyst, bobby blue and sugarplum. Very slow 7h, very fuzzy from heat and pain but she kept me busy and feeling like I'd made something.

I almost named her sophrosyne as an obscure reference but Aquinas and the puritans ruined that. Teema Jaydee was another option. I mean i should have used the tooth fairy bald head I have but she's wierd looking.

I broke my copaganda boycott with "Lincoln Rhyme and the bone collector" (i remember the film was decent) and didn’t even realise until episode 2

when a character is saying "evidence is super important as that's how the police caught Ted Bundy and Son of Sam" and i nearly choked laughing (context is that law enforcement bungled it so bad, it took a traffic stop where bundy had a murder kit with him and son of sam was witnessed by a woman shooting folks shortly after she saw his car, the car he used for every getaway, get ticketed)

I mean it turned out to be BBC Sherlock in a wheelchair with a NYPD veneer, complete with "deus ex super-recall". It's hardly the worst police procedural out there (The bar has been set very low with Will from will and grace as a schizophrenic who goes off his meds to solve crimes with hallucinated victims and criminal minds magically profiling the right white male 30-40s with a puppet fetish or whatever wierdness of the week) but it was a decent distraction.

To be honest my brain broke from clichés after the mythology episode: we're told the killer likes greek myths, the first victim is an influencer implied to be vain drowned in her bathtub looking in the mirror with daffodils, oooh let me guess this one's arachne?! I'm kidding: they had to spell out that small daffodils are called narcissus before our expert tells us Narcissus drowned from being in love with his reflection in a pond (he didn't - he died from being unable to take his eyes away) ... and it all plays out like the seven deadly sins of se7en as if that can be transposed onto greek lit. They find the killer dressed up as Icarus yeah we're supposed to believe a killer with a greek god complex chose to wear an Icarus costume - of course it spells his fate. Wow so intrigue very writing much realism! 🐶

Meanwhile Clarice, a salient critique of 80s fbi culture with some solid characters and proper investigative work remains cancelled. The one cop show I caped for. [Hannibal doesn't count for so many reasons not least that the feds aren't just defeated but seduced by a guy making constant murder puns. It's a body-horror gay-romance cat and mouse farce with incredible food and cinematography.]

Getting much better at working with nylon, keeping the hair piles small and aligned, the hair slightly wetted. I just hope the colours work when mixed not just as seperates.

#saf #dolls #movie reviews #And also tv #Barbie #Reroot #I need an operculectomy on both wisdom teeth aka sophrosyniteres #And it doesn't help my tmj when I move wrong from tooth pain. #Lincoln Rhyme and the bone collector #Long post