#no her uncovering history is so poetic

[onecarat]

The Timeless Elegance of the Three Stone Oval Engagement Ring

Engagements are a milestone. They're the cinematic segue between the ordinary and the rest of your life — a time adorned with romance, aspiration, and, inevitably, the ring. But not just any ring will do. It must encapsulate the past, present, and future in a circle of fidelity that is not just a promise but a shining beacon of commitment.

Enter the three-stone oval engagement ring, a hallmark of sophistication. In this insightful exploration, we'll uncover the magic behind this cherished jewel and why CaratBee's collection stands out as the apex of elegance.

Understanding the Symbolism

An engagement ring is more than a trinket; it's a vessel of symbolism that tells a story. The three stones represent the couple's shared history, the current chapter of their love, and the unwritten tales yet to unfold. Often, the stones are chosen to represent the past, future, and present, adding deeper significance to an already powerful gesture.

Past Reflections

The past is what molds us, with its highs, lows, and serendipitous turns. A three-stone oval ring often features a larger oval-cut diamond flanked by two equally precious gemstones that echo sentiments of cherished memories and lessons learnt.

The Present Brilliance

The present is about living in the moment, and what better way to do so than with a sparkling array on your hand. Forged from the finest materials, the three-stone oval engagement ring does not just symbolize the now but flaunts it with every flicker of its radiant gems.

Future Promise

There's an air of anticipation about the future, and the ring's third stone embodies it beautifully. A testament to the daring adventures and deepening love the couple dreams of, it's a beacon of hope and a poetic promise for what's yet to come.

Craftsmanship at CaratBee

CaratBee has long been synonymous with excellence in the realm of fine jewelry. Their three-stone oval engagement rings are no exception, with unrivaled craftsmanship that marries innovation with tradition.

Meticulous Design

Each ring at CaratBee is a labor of love; meticulously designed to bring out their inherent grace and artistry. The oval shape, known for elongating the fingers and hand, complements a variety of styles and preferences, promising an aesthetic that transcends generations.

Quality Assurance

CaratBee ensures that every stone, every metal, every cut is of the highest quality. Their three-stone rings are a testament to their commitment to using only the best materials, promising a lifetime of beauty and brilliance that is, simply put, unparagoned.

Choosing Your Perfect Three Stone Oval Ring

Selecting an engagement ring is a deeply personal experience. Here's how to ensure your choice is as timeless as the love it embodies.

Know Your Preferences

Understanding your partner's tastes is key; is it traditional, or are they more modern in their preferences? The CaratBee collection offers a spectrum of designs, from classic to avant-garde, ensuring there's a ring to match every individual expression of love.

The Right Carat

Selecting the right carat is not about size but about the story you wish to tell. Briefer is often more discreet and infinitely elegant, while a larger carat can be a statement piece that's as bold as it is beautiful.

Personalize Your Ring

Inscribe it with a date, a message, or a symbol that holds significance. These personal touches can turn a beautiful piece into a timeless heirloom that becomes part of your family's story.

#Get the facts

Real Stories of CaratBee Love

Countless couples have found their expression of love at CaratBee. These are their stories — narratives that inspire faith in the sentiment behind every ring that CaratBee brings to life.

A Serendipitous Encounter

His story speaks to the marvel of the unexpected, finding not just a ring but a narrative that resonates with the core of their love.

A Tailored Tale

Her narrative is one where every element of their ring, from each stone to the setting, was chosen with the care and thoughtfulness that they commit to their union.

The CaratBee Promise

It's much more than just a purchase; it's an investment. CaratBee's commitment to quality, craftsmanship, and customer satisfaction is unwavering. The ring is the embodiment of their ethos — to be there, brighter and more beautiful, as your love story unfolds.

Conclusion

Engagement rings are the physical manifestation of an emotional commitment, and the three stone oval ring does so with an elegance that is both timeless and contemporary. In selecting a piece from CaratBee, you're not just investing in a ring — you're acquiring a treasure that will endure the ages, whispering tales of love and fidelity.

Every love story deserves a beacon — a testament to its strength and promise. CaratBee's three-stone oval engagement ring is just that, a luminous declaration of love. It's an honor to mark such a pivotal moment with a company that translates the complexity of love into a tangible, beautifully realized form.

For engaged couples in search of more than just a ring but an emotionally rich experience, a visit to CaratBee is not just recommended; it's essential. Browse through the meticulously curated collection and make a choice that will outlive time while celebrating every moment of it. Your future together deserves nothing less than a ring from CaratBee — a gateway to a lifetime of elegance and endless love. Shop now and cherish that moment, forever.

#diamond ring #engagement ring #wedding ring #rings

[stoneantler]

3+20 for the book ask!

3. What were your top five books of the year?

In no particular order:

Shubeik Lubeik by Denna Mohamed. This is a graphic novel which imagines a world where wishes are resources that can be bought, sold, regulated and exploited. It's set in Egypt and the worldbuilding is brilliant in the way it takes into account the colonialism, imperialism, and the circumstances of contemporary Egyptian life for people across classes. The characters are written and drawn with so much love that they really shine through the story.

Everything Is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer. A young novelist goes to Ukraine to try and discover more about his family's history during the Holocaust. The novel is told in two parts, letters from the Ukrainian guide and sections of the novel the main character is writing. I just loved this novel. The sections set in the present are funny, ridiculous, and heartbreaking. The sections set in the past are so lovely and bursting with metaphor and poetic language. The plot is in some ways expected, and well foreshadowed, but even so the end comes like a kick in the gut. It's one of these novels that is so bright and lush that it can only be written by a young inexperienced writer, but in this case that enthusiasm only adds to the experience.

Baby Teeth by Zoje Stage. I feel like there's a glut of novels right now about mothers and their young children, especially about miserable mothers and their difficult young children, but this one captivated me. It's unsettling; it kept me off kilter all the way through. The plot almost functions as a mystery plot, in that we are uncovering the mother daughter relationship throughout, trying to come to grips with what's happening between them and why. I found it riveting and consumed it in two days. It's in the same vein of Sharp Object by Gillian Flynn, which I also read this year, but the plot is smaller and tigher. You spend most of the novel locked in a room with mother and daughter and it's riveting.

Lapvona by Ottessa Moshfegh. I know Moshfegh has kind of cult following around her novel My Year of Rest and Relaxation but this one worked better for me. The novel presents you with gross grimy settings housing grimy and corrupt people. The plot just wallows in filth. Is it a edgy novel? Yes. But sometimes I just want to read something that's so repulsive and unpleasant and Lapvona delivered in spades.

Obit by Victoria Chang. The conceit of this collection of poetry is that (nearly) every poem is an obituary. In this way, the collection is a ode to slow grief and exploration of what it's like to lose people many times over. The poems are always fresh and vital and the conceit never becomes gimmicky. The whole collection is deeply moving and I'm planning to reread it in the new year.

20. What was your most anticipated release? Did it meet your expectations?

So, I really don't follow book releases. I just go to the library and see what's on the shelf. However, I do keep up with the bigger names in poetry and I have to say, there were quite a few popular poets who released novels recently that I just didn't like! These include: Your Emergency Contact has Experienced an Emergency by Chen Chen and So to Speak by Terrance Hayes.

#ask tag #lit tag #thank you! this was fun to do!

[forceprojecdin]

Luke Breastfeeding Knowledge In The Last Jedi

Madonna Litta. By Leonardo da Vinci. Circa 1490

Recently in #TheMasterGame by #GrahamHancock and #RobertBauval I read about a monument in Paris that was erected after the #FrenchRevolution, of a large Isis fountain, with water pouring from her breasts called 'The #Isis of #Bastille.' This lead me to investigate this symbolism in art, to also deduce why #RianJohnson used it in #TheLastJedi with Luke. Turns out this image was used in classic Christian art to portray wisdom, gained symbolically from Mary's breasts. Countless artists portrayed this, including #LeonardoDaVinci. This lead me to uncover even more about what I see as a possible coded message that Johnson was communicating with this film. This lead me to uncover even more about what I see as coded message that Johnson was communicating wit this film. As I had written about recently, the symbolism of the Sumerian God Enki, usually shown in fish garb, was evoked by Luke garbing himself with a large fish on Ach-To. Enki was said to have given the "knowledge of good and evil” to the women Shamans of ancient Sumeria in the Garden of Eden. But that is another post. What is of interest here is that this further fortifies the theme of Luke helping Rey to see the knowledge of light (creation) and dark (destruction) in all creation, even inside her. Luke drinking the milk from the Thala-Siren’s breasts communicates that he is receiving knowledge and wisdom. And from a pure source of, from a creature that is part of a natural environment. Just life here, no system. Not dogma. The Fore is One, it is in all living things (Light and Dark), therefor he is getting knowledge from creation. Here, Luke also becomes a sort of baby Jesus archetype, but not the Jesus of dogma, the Jesus that speaks truth to all people, not just the elite or so-called “chosen”.

For all the people who attacked Johnson for this scene, maybe you should attack DaVinci and pretty much every other great artist through the history of art for painting Jesus breastfeeding. This sort of layered mythological and archetypal symbolism of The Last Jedi is only one of the many reasons this film will last, and matter poetically as it ages.

Note: Luke's placement on lower left - just as Jesus is placed lower left in classic art. This gives the effect of Luke being a baby in comparison to the larger Thala-Siren that he receives the breast milk from.

Finally, as I've written about prior, what Johnson is doing is to revolutionize The Force away from dogma controlled by the Jedi elite and back to it's #gnosis, to the knowledge of good (Light Side) and evil (Dark Side) which is a part of all Creation. This revolutionary aspect also ties it into the Isis of Bastille.  So now we have Luke evoking symbolism of Jesus, Enki (Sumerian) and Isis (Egyptian), a powerful symbolic cocktail.

Isis Of The Bastille. 1793. Note: "'regenerative' liuid symbolizing the new order" - i.e. How Luke will also be starting the new Jedi Order with Rey. Finally, as I've written about prior, what Johnson is doing is to revolutionize The Force away from dogma controlled by an Elite and back to it's #Gnosis, to the knowledge of good and evil which is a part of all Creation. This revolutionary aspect also ties it into the Isis of Bastille. The Last Jedi is some sort of post-post-post-post modern Masterpiece reevaluated modern mythology! Here is the previous piece examining Luke in The Last Jedi as a synchretic version of the Sumerian fish-garbed God Enki * * *

Din is singer of F-105 and The Soles and enjoys researching mythology, spirituality and history. He is also a visual artist

#the last jedi #rian johnson #knowledge of good and evil #mythology #symbolism #enki #isis #jesus #french revolution

[marzipanandminutiae]

If you ever want to rant (I think you have in the past??) about the specific issues surrounding language in history when describing queer romance (aka Chopin's friend issue) I know I would love to hear it at least

Oh boy. It's. It's a lot.

So, first of all, in case anyone didn't read my blog description or is very very new here, I'm a gay woman. And a big history geek. Which means I really do get how frustrating- even infuriating -the erasure of queer people from history can be. It has been, and unfortunately continues to be, a massive stumbling-block in society's recognition of LGBT identities as an inherent, universal part of humanity.

Moreover, it just makes you feel really, really alone. To think there was never anyone like you before the 1960s...yes, that's incredibly disheartening.

However. I'm also a museum professional. So I also get how careful we have to be when talking about the past.

The terms people use for queer identities have a history of shifting around a lot. And, for a large chunk of at least western history, same-sex attraction in particular was less an identity and more a behavior. Something you did, not something you were. So in expressing these feelings, people might be less likely to label themselves than to just talk about what they were doing. Which means we don't even have preferred labels for them during their lifetimes, much less within the modern framework of queer identity.

Complicating things still further, the old Straight 1950s Historian rallying cry of "FRIENDS WERE MORE AFFECTIONATE BACK THEN!!!" is actually true. I mean, yeah, in some contexts it's a silencing tactic used to erase obviously queer relationships. But it's also just a real fact about western platonic friendships, for a long time. I have seen a lot of 19th-century primary sources to indicate that, yes, a woman could kiss her literal platonic female BFF on the lips and not have it mean anything sexual or romantic. In some eras and places, that applied to men, too. Pointing that out in the proper context is not erasing queer lives, because there are no known queer people involved.

And let's talk about "friend." The r/sapphoandherfriend crowd gets VERY torqued about this one. Let anybody with any hint of same-gender romance/sexuality be called the "friend" of someone they had a relationship with, and the gates of hell are flung wide. Again, this is another one that CAN be erasure, but definitely isn't always.

Straight married couples used to refer to each other as "my friend" or "my dearest friend" or whatever, all the time. Obviously society wouldn't use that term for them, except in poetic descriptions. But if you have a culture where "friend" can have connotations beyond "platonic bestie," you just might get queer couples also applying it to each other. And at that point, it might well be the only term we know for sure a given couple used. So what are we supposed to do but use their terms, describe what they did, and let the reader interpret that information?

"But you can tell what they'd call themselves today!" Sometimes. Sometimes we can't.

Anne Lister, for example, clearly and exclusively loved women. She also incorporated masculine elements into her gender presentation, sometimes used "male" nicknames, and felt strongly about that. We use she/her pronouns for her now, and call her a woman, because that's how she referred to herself. But given the modern spectrum of available terms and identities, would she still think of herself the same way? We don't know. All we can do is use the information these people give us, and their chosen self-descriptors, unless it's EXTREMELY clear-cut.

Finally, as a queer person working in the historical sector, it's incredibly depressing to me to see other queer people talking about how "historians erase queer identity" as a blanket statement. Because we're here! We're real! We're trying our best to uncover and amplify the stories of our ancestors, because we know how awful erasure feels! Don't minimize our work like that.

And don't say you want acknowledgment of queer people in history, then turn around and shit on it because it doesn't always fit into neat, modern Identity Boxes.

#academic erasure #queer history #ask #anon #rant #queer erasure #half the examples on r/sapphoandherfriend are scholarly articles #that make the subject's queerness PERFECTLY PLAIN #they just don't use modern terminology. so it must be erasure!!!!!!!

[variousqueerthings]

The Karate Kid/Cobra Kai Star Trek AU ideas...

@phantomcomet talked about a Star Trek AU and then I went too far in writing this post imagining some roles in Star Trek. I’ve stuck to the adults from TKK/CK and maaaainly envisioned characters through the lens of Starfleet (although not only). 

Anyway, here’s some thots! Any Star Trek/CK fans add more!

First things first: I did not think of a name for the starship Miyagi’s captaining, so I’m just calling it Miyagi’s ship for now. (The Bonsai doesn’t seem like a ship name really. The Crane Kick not so much either... The Cobra totally works though... anyway, someone have some ideas?)

Miyagi: Captain of the ship (later an admiral and then retires to take care of his bonsais). Obviously has a soft spot for Daniel, whom he probably spotted doing some whiz-kid stuff on a shitty, broken down civilian ship and took onboard. You know, you probably don’t even have to mess with his backstory that much to make it fit, he grew up on a planet on the outskirts of the Federation and saw some shit and is doing good, a la similar to Kirk’s backstory. He’s experienced abandonment from the Federation, so he may work within the system, but he’s fucking with it at every turn he gets and does what he thinks is right (a la Sisko. If Kirk and Sisko had a baby? Strange thoughts, but tell me I’m wrong).

Daniel: Engineer. Low key kind of a prodigy with engines. Engineers aren’t as often officer-class (unlike science/medicine and command, which I believe always are), so I can see Daniel coming into that from a less privileged space – definitely not the Academy – and initially butting heads with Johnny (as well as a bunch of others). He’s not head of engineering, but he works for the Lead Propulsion Engineer. Also he talks to the warpcore. You know he does. All the time.

Johnny: Security Babey! Also backstory is maybe he was trying to get into a command situation onboard a different ship led by Captain Kreese and he was the golden boy, but things went South when he was pushed to doing something he didn’t feel right about, so he was demoted for something bad that he’d done on Kreese’s orders and then couldn’t let go of. And he brings that baggage aboard Miyagi’s ship.

At this point people joke about Miyagi taking on lost causes and strays…. (but never to his face).

Ali: Doctor, of course! Did everything by the book and sometimes dreams that she’d let go of her parents expectations and could go out and do something outside of Starfleet. I feel like she might’ve studied with Johnny at the Academy and for a short while been onboard Miyagi’s ship with him and Daniel, but gotten transferred into a more specialised field at some point (chasing the dream).

Kumiko: Okay there’s three different things I see for her

1. Presumably this is a galaxy-class/exploration ship (similar to the Enterprise) and so civilians are also onboard. If Kumiko isn’t with Starfleet, maybe she was using it as transport as an incredibly famous dancer and there’s a whirlwind romance that can’t last vibe.

2. if Starfleet, definitely in Command somewhere. I kind of love her for a first pilot/flight pilot.

3. Command. Even if she’s not in Starfleet I can see her having command of her own ship: Quietly competent, but steely in conviction and capability, that’s her!

Kreese: Used to be a Captain, but quietly was ousted from Starfleet during an internal investigation that showed up a lot of problems during his command and even before that. Star Trek has depicted war, and bigotry, and I think Kreese would probably have some dirty laundry there (some of which hasn’t been uncovered). Still bitter about losing his command and losing Johnny and has some personal business with Miyagi that he puts on Daniel, like in the movies.

The OG Cobras: They were all on Kreese’s ship originally, but dispersed after the incident with Johnny. I wonder if only Bobby stayed on, studying intergalactic faiths and assisting in various first communications and interchanges.

Someone help me out with Jimmy, Tommy, and Dutch. Continue on in Starfleet, yay or nay?

Yukie: I caaannot see her as Starfleet. She obviously grew up with Miyagi on that planet and I feel like she’s heavily involved in the rebuilding efforts and has been her whole life. She’s traveled to earth multiple times to petition for relief efforts, and is incredibly anti-war – there’s a whole department dedicated to her work – wait is Yukie basically some hotshot activist who condemns Federation Neo!Colonialism… I feel like… that’s poetic… also you know where Kumiko gets her calm competence from!

Sato: I mean he’s some big-shot admiral while Miyagi’s still Captain and they have History! I think Sato bought into the Federation a lot more and is consistently angry at Miyagi’s choices and wants to initially trip him up, but he just can’t. And eventually they find themselves back home and patch things up – it’s the intergenerational environmental Trauma babey. You need to go back to the source to begin to heal.

Chozen: Speaking of intergenerational trauma… I mean, he’s gone through the Academy, he’s wound up as a combat pilot/second pilot on a great ship, (in this Sato isn’t captaining a ship, he’s risen in the ranks, but he’s pulling strings), he’s going through it. Unsure of what actually would happen, but I like him for combat pilot as a counterpoint to Kumiko’s flight pilot. Poetic.

Terry: OOOOKaaaay, who the heckening is Terry Silver in this? In canon I already HC him as almost a ghost, so how does that translate here? He’s an intergalactic crime boss, he’s got 50 different stories told about him (he’s an augment like Khan, he’s worked with Borg, he’s got contacts throughout the Federation, he came from the Gamma Quadrant) – only Kreese marginally knows him and knows he used to be an ensign, but before that… even he’s not sure…

Barnes & Snake: They work for Terry… do you think he’d do a longterm con of getting his own people into Starfleet through the Academy? I feel like he would. Officer Class, except Snake probably wound up in lowgrade security, I cannot see him having the brains to move that far up the ladder. I’m inventing a whole conspiracy now…. or maybe Terry hired Barnes after he got kicked out of the Academy, hmmm...

Jessica: I want her to be Science Class, so that’s what she is. Research and Development. Social sciences and Xeno-archaeology. She makes and collects gifted pots.

Carmen: She’s a nurse. I feel like she also came through in an unconventional way, possibly studying nursing in a civilian capacity and worked on civilian ships for a few years, using it as payment for traveling with her mom and her kid. Then, eventually, ends up on the same Starship as Johnny and Daniel and Co. (and now I kinda want to see her training under Ali, but in my head Ali left before Carmen entered the picture).

Rosa: I feel like the Diaz family didn’t grow up on earth – I’m aware that this puts people of colour mainly off-earth, but I’m thinking about Star Trek’s earth-metaphor as “paradise” (DS9) while it lets all the nasty stuff happen outside, which is… very similar to “first world/third world country” rhetoric + how in Karate Kid and Cobra Kai first Miyagi and then the Diaz family are immigrants. I think Rosa Diaz would get on with Miyagi – like a type of Guinan and Picard situation, where she’s definitely a civilian, but constantly ends up on conversation with the Captain and he’s not quite sure what exactly her history is. Also I’m imagining a lil toddler-Miguel on a big starship.

Amanda: Similar to Kumiko I can see Amanda in a lot of places – administrative? Officer class? Intelligence officer/analyst? Bridge crew? Captain-in-training? What are we thinking here? Also I wonder about her past, but that’s something I do in canon as well. I kind of like the idea that she’s worked incredibly hard for what she has, putting herself through the Academy, presenting the front of someone who grew up with giving parents on the “Paradise” of earth, but actually she didn’t…

#the karate kid #ck #cobra kai #johnny lawrence #daniel larusso #nariyoshi miyagi #amanda larusso #carmen diaz #rosa diaz #john kreese #terry silver #OG cobras #jessica andrews #kumiko #chozen toguchi #sato toguchi #yukie #ali mills #any mistakes - chalk that up to this being written and not checked through

[whilereadingandwalking]

I have spent the past week or so reading the first two volumes of The Diary of Virginia Woolf, annotating, underlining, and enjoying myself thoroughly. 

It’s most difficult to get started: Volume One can be tough in that you first have to grasp the cast of characters. Virginia obviously doesn’t introduce her diary to each friend; you are left to do some searching online to understand the context and history behind dramas and attachments. The footnotes specify things like that “Morgan” is EM Forster, for example, but often fail to provide necessary context—such as, Vanessa and Clive are married, but Vanessa is with the bisexual Duncan and Clive is with Mary. 

But once you understand the cast, Woolf’s friend group is wildly fascinating—their open and polyamorous relationships, romantic and queer entanglements and break-ups, tangled web of drama, snubs, and critiques, all of it is a riot to read and uncover. Her deep friendship with Lytton, her tumultuous one with Clive, the rivalry with Katherine Mansfield that is both intensely loving and a source of never-ending conflict—they’re all so well expressed, and intensely felt.

Over the course of these two journals, Woolf grows more comfortable with her diary and shifts into the poetic voice that makes her diary so reflective and distinct, so rich with story-telling. She is dry and witty—her backhanded compliments and savage insults wrecked me several times. She writes of “taking my fences”—her determination to always strive, push, work, and takes this as the meaning of her life, and always pushes others to take risks and pursue work and happiness. She is charged by critique of her novels, as it reminds her that she writes for herself and no one else. We enter the realm of Mrs Dalloway. Virginia falls into ‘headaches,’ bouts of depression and anxiety that she can scarcely recognize when they’re over. 

Woolf’s diaries are vivid, engaging, and thought-provoking, and I was engaged throughout. Several times I wanted to reach through and speak to her—when she mentions, for example, while writing Mrs Dalloway, that critics accuse her of failing to make characters who last—or when she wonders if her novels are actually good or to be remembered. Excited for the rest of these volumes.

#virginia woolf #the diary of virginia woolf #class literature #nonfiction books #virginia woolf books #all mine #my book reviews

[rockislandadultreads]

Titles on the Asian American Experience

Fiction & Nonfiction books that represent the AAPI life experience for AAPI Heritage Month.

The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri

In The Namesake, Lahiri enriches the themes that made her collection an international bestseller: the immigrant experience, the clash of cultures, the conflicts of assimilation, and, most poignantly, the tangled ties between generations. Here again Lahiri displays her deft touch for the perfect detail — the fleeting moment, the turn of phrase — that opens whole worlds of emotion. The Namesake takes the Ganguli family from their tradition-bound life in Calcutta through their fraught transformation into Americans. On the heels of their arranged wedding, Ashoke and Ashima Ganguli settle together in Cambridge, Massachusetts. An engineer by training, Ashoke adapts far less warily than his wife, who resists all things American and pines for her family. When their son is born, the task of naming him betrays the vexed results of bringing old ways to the new world. Named for a Russian writer by his Indian parents in memory of a catastrophe years before, Gogol Ganguli knows only that he suffers the burden of his heritage as well as his odd, antic name. Lahiri brings great empathy to Gogol as he stumbles along the first-generation path, strewn with conflicting loyalties, comic detours, and wrenching love affairs. With penetrating insight, she reveals not only the defining power of the names and expectations bestowed upon us by our parents, but also the means by which we slowly, sometimes painfully, come to define ourselves.

Little Gods by Meng Jin

On the night of June Fourth, a woman gives birth in a Beijing hospital alone. Thus begins the unraveling of Su Lan, a brilliant physicist who until this moment has successfully erased her past, fighting what she calls the mind’s arrow of time. When Su Lan dies unexpectedly seventeen years later, it is her daughter Liya who inherits the silences and contradictions of her life. Liya, who grew up in America, takes her mother’s ashes to China, Liya’s memories are joined by those of two others: Zhu Wen, the woman last to know Su Lan before she left China, and Yongzong, the father Liya has never known. In this way a portrait of Su Lan emerges: an ambitious scientist, an ambivalent mother, and a woman whose relationship to her own past shapes and ultimately unmakes Liya’s own sense of displacement.

Minor Feelings: An Asian American Reckoning by Cathy Park Hong

Poet and essayist Cathy Park Hong blends memoir, cultural criticism, and history to expose the truth of racialized consciousness in America. Binding these essays together is Hong's theory of "minor feelings." As the daughter of Korean immigrants, Cathy Park Hong grew up steeped in shame, suspicion, and melancholy. She would later understand that these "minor feelings" occur when American optimism contradicts your own reality—when you believe the lies you're told about your own racial identity. Hong uses her own story as a portal into a deeper examination of racial consciousness in America today. This book traces her relationship to the English language, to shame and depression, to poetry and artmaking, and to family and female friendship in a search to both uncover and speak the truth.

What We Carry: A Memoir by Maya Shanbhag Lang

In caring for her aging mother and her own young daughter, writer Maya Shanbhag Lang--"a new voice of the highest caliber" (Rebecca Makkai)--confronts the legacy of family myths and how the stories shared between parents and children reverberate through generations: a deeply moving memoir about immigrants and their native-born children, the complicated love between mothers and daughters, and the discovery of strength. How much can you judge another woman's choices? What if that woman is your mother? Maya Shanbhag Lang grew up idolizing her brilliant mother, an accomplished physician who immigrated to the United States from India and completed her residency, all while raising her children and keeping a traditional Indian home. She had always been a source of support--until Maya became a mother herself. Then, the parent who had once been so capable and attentive turned unavailable and distant. Struggling to understand this abrupt change while raising her own young child, Maya searches for answers and soon learns that her mother is living with Alzheimer's When Maya steps in to care for her, she comes to realize that despite their closeness, she never really knew her mother. Were her cherished stories--about life in India, about what it means to be an immigrant, about motherhood itself--even true? Affecting, raw, and poetic, What We Carry is the story of a daughter and her mother, of lies and truths, of receiving and giving care--and how we cannot grow up until we fully understand the people who raised us.

#fiction #nonfiction #non-fiction #AAPI #asian american #asian american heritage month #asian american pacific islander heritage month #asian literature #memoir #book recs #booklr #reading recommendations #recommended reading #to read #tbr #library #public library

[imsorryimlate]

Specific references in Pomegranate Seeds, sorted by chapter

Title of work: Pomegranate Seeds

A reference to the myth of Persephone and Hades, where Hades is the god of the underworld who kidnaps Persephone – the daughter of Demeter, goddess of agriculture and harvest – and makes her queen of the underworld. He gives her a pomegranate to eat, and for every seed she swallows she has to spend a month with Hades in the underworld. During the months she is with Hades, she is gone from her mother, and that’s why autumn and winter exist (since Demeter is grieving the loss of her daughter). Spring and summer are the months when she is back with Demeter, and Demeter is once again happy. The myth has lots of interpretations, but my favourite is the one where it is said to be based on the trauma of both daughter and mother as they are separated when the daughter gets married and enters a new household.

Even though Giorno’s mother didn’t treat him well, her death was most likely traumatic to him. He enters the new household of Dio (Hades) and every time they touch each other in a way that isn’t befitting father and son, one could say that Giorno swallows another pomegranate seed, and it binds him to the underworld. In this case, the underworld would both represent the criminal world, but also the trap of their incestuous relationship that he then cannot leave, should he want to.

No specific references in chapters 1 & 2.

Chapter 3:

Demetra – Giorno’s mother doesn’t have a name in canon, so I made one up. Demetra is the Italian version of Demeter, which is the name of the Greek goddess of agriculture and harvest. The goddess is the mother of Persephone, and the title of this fic – Pomegranate Seeds – is a reference to the myth of Hades and Persephone.

The biblical paintings in the church – John the Baptist (martyr) was beheaded, and Judas (traitor) hung himself. The imagery around Eve, the snake and the red apple, well… depending on how you interpret the story in the Bible, this could mean that the scene doesn’t represent a fall from grace, but rather that it was God’s intention to have humanity step into the broader world.

Dio’s books – I mostly just had a look at my own bookshelf, but I purposely included Nabokov, Machiavelli, and Plato. Nabokov, of course, references his infamous novel Lolita. Machiavelli was an Italian politician and philosopher during the Renaissance, and he’s most famous for his book The Prince, where he gave rulers quite… devious advice, not shying away from unethical and corrupt means. Therefore Machiavelli and the derived term Machiavellian often denotes (political) deceit. And Plato, well, in his text The Symposium he speaks of the ancient practice of pederasty in a very positive manner, and claiming that it is the purest form of love.

Aniara – I picked the book because it’s my sister’s favourite. It is a book-length epic science fiction poem that narrates the tragedy of a large passenger spacecraft carrying a cargo of colonists escaping destruction on Earth veering off course, leaving the Solar System and entering into an existential struggle. This is the “space-travel” Giorno later reflects on while in the bath.

No specific references in chapter 4.

Chapter 5:

The next reference to Machiavelli – Giorno thinks about Machiavelli and the question if it is better to be feared or loved, which is something Machiavelli writes about in his book The Prince, where he states that it is better for a ruler to be feared than loved, if they cannot be both.

No specific references in chapter 6.

Chapter 7:

Reckless – Giorno notes that Dio wants him “recklessly, passionately”. This is one of the two times the word “reckless” is used in this story; the only other time being in the first chapter when Giorno’s mother dies after her car collides with a reckless truck. Dio’s desire for Giorno is tied together with that accident, as if it’s equally dangerous.

Jewel – “Yes, Giorno would like something like that; to show Dio that he was a prized jewel, cut to fit perfectly in the curve of his palm.” This line directly references the Song of Songs 7:1 “Your rounded thighs are like jewels, the work of a master hand.”

Eden – “How truly unfortunate, that the most tempting fruit should be found in the middle of Eden.” The garden of Eden, in the Bible, is where life is first created by God. It can therefore also symbolise family, where life also is created. So what Dio essentially says here is “what a shame the most fuckable person is found in my family”.

Draconic tendencies – Giorno having “draconic tendencies” is a reference to his earlier thoughts about Abbacchio hoarding Bucciarati like a jealous dragon.

Chapter 8:

Buttercups – Giorno picks a bouquet of buttercups for Dio, and buttercups have traditionally been associated with childhood. It is meant to express that Giorno, no matter how mature he himself is convinced that he is, still has a childish edge to his affection. As a fun aside, the Latin name for buttercups is Ranunculus, which means “little frog”.

Leda and the Swan – the painting Dio has in his study. It is, of course, an erotic yet controversial motif in itself, but there are some references to the Greek myth it is based on. In it, Zeus disguises himself as a swan and copulates with Leda. It is not entirely clear if it is by rape or seduction. Zeus, of course, is known for his sexual escapades, his violent temper and jealousy, but here he disguises himself as a swan, which is an animal that in European culture often has symbolised love and fidelity. This story of a shady person disguising himself as someone loving, to enter a relationship where consent is dubious at best, well… I think the implications are clear. As a fun aside, the name Zeus and the name Dio are directly connected.

Uneasy lies the head – the whole quote is “uneasy lies the head that wears a crown”, a saying from Shakespeare’s play Henry IV, Part 2, meaning that someone with great responsibilities won’t be able to rest properly.

The prodigal son – it’s a reference to a parable in the Bible, from Luke 15:11-32. The story goes that a son requests his inheritance early, spends it all irresponsibly, and then returns home to beg his father to let him work for him. His father, however, welcomes him home with open arms and throws a feast, which indicates that he has hopefully waiting for the son to return.

Nakedness – the scene in Giorno’s room, where he lowers his duvet to display his “nakedness”, the word choice here is important. Except for Genesis 42, all biblical occurrences of the common idiom ”to see the nakedness of” or “to uncover the nakedness of” are explicitly sexual, usually referring to incest. The Classical Hebrew word 'erwā is not “nudity” but “nakedness”, in the sense of something that is unseemly or improper to look at or expose; often used to denote forbidden sexual relations.

Chapter 9:

Wine-dark – Dio’s eyes are described as wine-dark, which is a reference to the use of “wine-dark sea” in Homer. It’s an epithet used in the Iliad and the Odyssey, of uncertain meaning. What exactly does it mean that the sea is “wine-dark”? Is it a reference to the stormy sea being unpredictable, like someone who’s drunk on wine? Or does it tell us something about how ancient Greeks perceived colours, where maybe depth and opacity levels were more important than hues?

Ambrosia – Giorno compares the taste of Dio’s seed to ambrosia, which is the food and drink of the gods in Greek mythology.

Lollipop – Giorno is sucking on a lollipop while he’s out shopping. This is a shameless reference to the most culturally recognised image of Nabokov’s Lolita, where Sue Lyon, the actress who portrayed the character Lolita in Stanley Kubrick’s film adaption of the novel, is sucking on a red lollipop while wearing heart-shaped sunglasses. It’s worth noting, however, that the character Lolita doesn’t eat a lollipop in the novel or Kubrick’s film, and the images were only used for promotion. Either way, the lollipop has nonetheless become a symbol for playful, youthful temptation.

No specific references in chapter 10.

Chapter 11:

Dio’s alarming beauty – Giorno reflects on how beautiful Dio is, that he is alarmingly beautiful. This is a reference to a quote from The Secret History by Donna Tartt: “Beauty is rarely soft or consolatory. Quite the contrary. Genuine beauty is always quite alarming.”

Chapter 12:

Kisses – there’s a lot of descriptions of kissing in the beginning of this chapter, and it is all a reference to the biblical book Song of Songs. “Honey-sweet kisses that melted his tongue” is a reference to Song of Songs 4:11 “honey and milk are under your tongue”. On a more complicated note… “those kisses, Giorno drank them from his mouth like they were life-giving water” is a reference to Song of Songs 1:2 that should be “I want to drink kisses from his mouth”, however, most translations will read “let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth”. It’s really complicated as to why I and others would translate it differently, but in general it has to do with the manuscript and the Masoretic editors’ vocalisation, which in turn has a lot to do with evaluating Classical Hebrew grammar and poetic conventions… I am going to spare you that lecture, but I still wanted to let you know that you won’t find that wording in most English translations of the Bible.

The garden, Eden, and juvenile sex – this all ties together. The garden of Eden is, in the Bible, where life is created and before “the fall of man”, it is a place of peace and innocence. Now, it might seem strange to refer to innocence in a story like this, but there still is a certain kind of innocence to their relationship, especially on Giorno’s end. They are described as “easy and unafraid, in full view of God”, which again is a reference to the biblical creation story; after “the fall of man”, when Adam and Eve have sinned, they are suddenly afraid of God and tries to hide from him, and for the first time shield their nudity, since they have now lost that innocence. So, Dio and Giorno being unafraid in full view of God is another reference to them being fairly innocent. At least that’s how Giorno conceptualises it.

Satyriasis – a word for excessive sexual desire, and an outdated term for hypersexuality. The word was developed in relation to the satyrs of Greek mythology, who were lustful woodland gods.

Nipple play – Giorno sucking on Dio’s tits, well… quite obvious reference, but if you missed it; it’s a reference to breastfeeding and nourishment.

Sunlight – in Stardust Crusaders, Dio tells Polnareff that he too has pain in his life because he can never see the sunlight, since he is a vampire. In this story, Dio isn’t a vampire, but I still wanted to include this pain. Dio’s love for the sunshine, and the depravation of it in his childhood, is my attempt to reconceptualise it.

Chapter 13:

Ice cream – elder flower sorbet has a tendency to taste like laundry detergent if you’re not careful, so Mista definitely picked the wrong flavour that time.

Know thy enemy – “know thy enemy” is a famous quote from The Art of War by Sun Tzu.

Chapter 14:

Paradise burning – more Eden references, they never truly stop.

Loins – in Classical Hebrew, one specifically emphasises that a child has sprung from someone’s loins to indicate that it is a biological child rather than an adopted one.

Deadly sins – Giorno notes that one of the seven deadly sins, sloth (that is, excessive laziness and indifference), doesn’t come as naturally to him as others would (such as lust or pride).

Know thy self – another reference to the famous quote of Sun Tzu’s The Art of War.

Companion – Giorno thinks about how the universe has blessed Dio with a companion that can keep up with him, which is a subtle reference to the creation myth in the Bible. There, God creates the first human, Adam. Adam attempts to find a companion amongst the other creatures, but cannot find an equal until God creates another human – incidentally, God creates another human from Adam (by his rib), which of course parallels with Giorno being created from Dio, since he is his biological child.

Clay – the dream Giorno has of Dio forming him out of clay and breathing life into him is another direct reference to the creation myth in the Bible, where God forms the first human out of clay/soil/dust from the ground and breathes life into his nostrils. Similar creation myths are found in several ancient Near Eastern religions. If you want a little more “fun” fact, the first human is named Adam, a name he gets from the Classical Hebrew word for “man” (as in human – not male), which is adam, and the word for “ground” is adamah, which ties to all together quite nicely.

Nakedness – Dio uncovers Giorno’s nakedness, and just like in chapter 8 it’s a biblical reference. Except for Genesis 42, all biblical occurrences of the common idiom ”to see the nakedness of” or “to uncover the nakedness of” are explicitly sexual, usually referring to incest. The Classical Hebrew word 'erwā is not “nudity” but “nakedness”, in the sense of something that is unseemly or improper to look at or expose; often used to denote forbidden sexual relations.

Chapter 15.

Cuddling – after having breakfast, they cuddle, and their position is described as Giorno resting his head on Dio’s left arm, and Dio draping his other arm over Giorno’s waist. This position is a reference to the biblical book the Song of Songs 2:6 “His left arm is under my head, and his right arm embraces me.”

Angel lust – Dio gets hard after Giorno chokes him, which he says is a perfectly natural reaction to being choked. Which it is! “Angel lust” or “death erection” refers to the phenomenon of men executed by hanging having an erection, because of the increased downward blood flow. After observing this, doctors in the 17th century started prescribing choking sex to men with erectile dysfunction, and that’s partly where erotic asphyxiation comes from.

England – the phrase “lie back and think of England”, alternatively “close your eyes and think of England” is an old-timey reference to unwanted sex that one doesn’t enjoy – specifically used for sex within a marriage, which at least back in the day was more of an economic arrangement than a love affair. Disgustingly, it means “just lie back and endure it”.

Bone of my bones, flesh of my flesh – this is another reference to the creation story in the Bible. The specific verse is Genesis 2:23, when God has created another human to be a worthy companion of the first one. Adam, the first human, has searched for a companion among the animals but been unsuccessful to find an equal. But when he meets the newly created Eve, the second human, he exclaims “At last! This is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh” (since she was created from his rib). That “at last!” is very sweet – and fits in this story too! Dio has finally found a worthy companion to share his highest highs and deepest lows with.

Chapter 16.

Roses – Giorno buys a bouquet of roses for Dio. This is intended as a contrast to the buttercups he picked for Dio in chapter 8, being that roses are a much more “mature” flower than buttercups, therefore showing that Giorno has matured. Also, the fact that he buys the bouquet of roses while he picked the buttercups indicate a certain loss of simplicity and naturalness in their relationship.

Fin.

#/ #// #/// #//// #///// #just fanfiction stuff pls look away #i tried to make this a private post but tumblr be fucking with me #pomegranate seeds references

[readerbookclub]

Hello everyone! I’m back with another book list. This time, all the books are written by Nobel laureates (for literature, of course).

Usually I preface each book with a short explanation about how it relates to our theme. But this time, I did something a little difference. Before each book, I included a short quote from the Nobel website, explaining why the writer won the award. 

The critics love these books, will we?

Toni Morrison - United States of America - 1993:  “who in novels characterized by visionary force and poetic import, gives life to an essential aspect of American reality��.

Beloved, Toni Morrison:

Sethe was born a slave and escaped to Ohio, but eighteen years later she is still not free. She has borne the unthinkable and not gone mad, yet she is still held captive by memories of Sweet Home, the beautiful farm where so many hideous things happened. Meanwhile Sethe’s house has long been troubled by the angry, destructive ghost of her baby, who died nameless and whose tombstone is engraved with a single word: Beloved. Sethe works at beating back the past, but it makes itself heard and felt incessantly in her memory and in the lives of those around her. When a mysterious teenage girl arrives, calling herself Beloved, Sethe’s terrible secret explodes into the present. Combining the visionary power of legend with the unassailable truth of history, Morrison’s unforgettable novel is one of the great and enduring works of American literature.

Jose Saramago - Portugal - 1998: “ who with parables sustained by imagination, compassion and irony continually enables us once again to apprehend an elusory reality”. 

Death with Interruptions, Jose Saramago:

On the first day of the new year, no one dies. This of course causes consternation among politicians, religious leaders, morticians, and doctors. Among the general public, on the other hand, there is initially celebration—flags are hung out on balconies, people dance in the streets. They have achieved the great goal of humanity: eternal life. Then reality hits home—families are left to care for the permanently dying, life-insurance policies become meaningless, and funeral parlors are reduced to arranging burials for pet dogs, cats, hamsters, and parrots. Death sits in her chilly apartment, where she lives alone with scythe and filing cabinets, and contemplates her experiment: What if no one ever died again? What if she, death with a small d, became human and were to fall in love?

Orhan Pamuk - Turkey - 2006: “who in the quest for the melancholic soul of his native city has discovered new symbols for the clash and interlacing of cultures”. 

My Name is Red, Orhan Pamuk:

The Sultan has commissioned a cadre of the most acclaimed artists in the land to create a great book celebrating the glories of his realm. Their task: to illuminate the work in the European style. But because figurative art can be deemed an affront to Islam, this commission is a dangerous proposition indeed. The ruling elite therefore mustn’t know the full scope or nature of the project, and panic erupts when one of the chosen miniaturists disappears. The only clue to the mystery–or crime? –lies in the half-finished illuminations themselves. Part fantasy and part philosophical puzzle, My Name is Red is a kaleidoscopic journey to the intersection of art, religion, love, sex and power.

Kazuo Ishiguro - United Kingdom - 2017:  “who, in novels of great emotional force, has uncovered the abyss beneath our illusory sense of connection with the world”.

Never Let Me Go, Kazuo Ishiguro:

Hailsham seems like a pleasant English boarding school, far from the influences of the city. Its students are well tended and supported, trained in art and literature, and become just the sort of people the world wants them to be. But, curiously, they are taught nothing of the outside world and are allowed little contact with it. Within the grounds of Hailsham, Kathy grows from schoolgirl to young woman, but it’s only when she and her friends Ruth and Tommy leave the safe grounds of the school (as they always knew they would) that they realize the full truth of what Hailsham is.

Olga Tokarczuk - Poland - 2018:  “for a narrative imagination that with encyclopedic passion represents the crossing of boundaries as a form of life”.

Flights, Olga Tokarczuk:

From the incomparably original Polish writer Olga Tokarczuk, Flights interweaves reflections on travel with an in-depth exploration of the human body, broaching life, death, motion, and migration. Chopin’s heart is carried back to Warsaw in secret by his adoring sister. A woman must return to her native Poland in order to poison her terminally ill high school sweetheart, and a young man slowly descends into madness when his wife and child mysteriously vanish during a vacation and just as suddenly reappear. Through these brilliantly imagined characters and stories, interwoven with haunting, playful, and revelatory meditations, Flights explores what it means to be a traveler, a wanderer, a body in motion not only through space but through time. Where are you from? Where are you coming in from? Where are you going? we call to the traveler. Enchanting, unsettling, and wholly original, Flights is a master storyteller’s answer.

Please vote for your favorite here.

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#book club #book list #nobel prize #nobel laureate #jose saramago #olga tokarczuk #orhan pamuk #toni morrison #kazuo ishiguro #booklr

[sodone-withlife]

many faces

here’s something that has been in the works for a few weeks that I finally got myself to finish today. I was watching some edits on YouTube (as one does) and since Aaron Hotchner lives in my head rent-free, a line about death really just hit me, so here you go: almost 4k words about Hotch and Death

All credit to the writers of GoT for the quotes (even though they seriously fucked up season 8), and the last few lines in the blurb are very inspired by Arya Stark’s storyline in GoT seasons 5 and 6. Hope you all enjoy!

warning: canonical character death

word count: 3.7k words

There is only one god, and his name is Death. And there is only one thing we say to Death: not today.

- Syrio Forel (Game of Thrones s1e6)

He entered the world in the dead of night towards the start of winter, after the mother spent over twenty hours in labor. The father, passed out after too many drinks, was woken in time to hear the ear-splitting cry of the newborn. Faced with the dark eyes and dark hair that was so like his own, he could only turn away, hating the newborn’s innocence with a burning passion.

When the father gave closing statements only hours later that day, exhaustion overtook him. And so, the mother locked herself and the newborn in the nursery in fear of the vengeful phantom that alcohol made of the man who vowed to love and to cherish the woman.

Thus the next years were spent like this, the mother locking the door to the toddler’s room, reading story after story and waiting out the phantom. The innocence of youth was the only barrier protecting the toddler, one which dissipated the moment he turned four.

Their first dance was when he was eight and had collapsed in class after having spent hours struggling to breathe through the cracked ribs and move through the concussion that had been gifted to him by his father. When he woke up in the hospital, it was to the sight of both of his parents watching over him worriedly, but one’s expression was too vacant, and the other was hiding a familiar rage.

That wasn’t the last time his father put him in the hospital. It was easy to write off—who wouldn’t believe the only lawyer in town, who had done so much for his community?

Those that didn’t believe kept their mouth shut for fear of their reputation being sullied.

The little brother, young as he was, had no idea the power that he possessed. Ever since his birth, the mother’s skin remained unblemished and free from the bruising that was often there before, when she only had one child.

It was easy to play to the reputation the town had given the eldest. Silent and cold, stealing the joy out of everyone near him just as the dark of the Winter steals the light of the Summer, just as the father stole pieces of his being with every blow and every hospital visit.

He had already danced with Death many times before in his short life thus far, but now they were here to take his father away. He stood at the gravestone a few days later with a bottle of vodka he knew his father had hidden amongst his desk drawers. Now the eldest male in the household, the responsibility fell on his back and dragged him down into the depths of vodka and glass shards.

His Spring found him lying there, passed out with cuts on his arms as his mind was elsewhere, dancing with Death. She was relieved to see that they weren’t deep, and so she called her sister to help her bring him back to their house.

When he woke up with a pounding headache and throbbing arms, he saw the relief of his Spring. As she spent time with him in the days after Death took his father and reminded him of the light in the world with each dark secret he confessed, he fell in love all over again, just as the Spring coaxes the Winter into the light.

Later, he would think of the mottled red that had stained his father’s face and the unpleasantly warm, alcohol-tainted breath that washed over him as he stood in front of the wild, untamed man and took the abuse that was sent towards him as he was blamed for the man’s failures. He would think of the wide-eyed joy that his little brother explored the world with and his mother’s skin that had remained unblemished since his little brother came into the world.

He wouldn’t be touching vodka ever again.

He spent more time at her house, no matter how out of place he always felt amidst a family that was so close and open to each other, and slowly, his Spring taught him about the light of life.

They were lessons he strove to keep in the forefront of his mind in college and law school, even as he stared cheap alcohol and razor blades in the face with shaking hands. He went dancing with Death once, early in college, but he remembered her fear and worry despite the throbbing pain he felt.

He was dumping the alcohol down the drain as soon as he could and making it a habit to put his razors out of sight. He made sure she never found out about that one.

It was freeing to be in college and law school—Death did not reach him there. But soon he was graduating with a Juris Doctor degree and throwing himself into prosecuting crimes with a vengeance.

His father had once walked the same halls he was walking, and that was something he was reminded of each time he was addressed by his—his father’s—last name. Death walked in with each case, a silent spectator as he worked long hours to get offenders put away, to get justice for the victims who were sent into Death’s waiting arms far too early in life.

But it wasn’t always that easy. He knew that going in, but it didn’t take away that terrible feeling as he watched a jury buy into the misogynistic song and dance the defense put up in a rape case. As the defense uncovered some shady investigation on the police’s part and managed to get the whole case thrown out. As he watched a young man get sentenced for killing his abusive parents. As he watched an older brother get sentenced for assaulting a police officer that had assaulted his younger sister while that same police officer walked free with only his badge stripped and a year of house arrest.

Death walked the halls with him, with each case that he tried and with each new victim whose name and face he kept in the forefront of his mind. Young as he was, he was already one of the more jaded prosecutors in the office, His work ethic earned him numerous nicknames, and talk flew around about him potentially becoming the youngest district attorney in the county.

But the children…

The final straw came and went. Eight months after a serial pedophile walked free, with four years of prosecution under his belt and talk about him becoming DA, the youngest in county history—he threw it away and started over at the Academy.

A fresh start. He loved Virginia, but he fell in more love with the Pacific Northwest. The cool weather, the beauty of the temperate rainforests, and the scenic coastline were so different compared to the ghosts that haunted him back east. His and Haley’s first anniversary was a memory he would cherish forever; the picture never left his wallet

Two years of trying to solve cases before they got as bad as they were when they came across his desk in the prosecutor’s office and being part-time in the local field office SWAT unit hadn’t snuffed out the strange love he had for the region. Though he was more often calling Death to him to sweep the offenders he was hunting away, he did come close to dancing with Death a few more times—he was quite good at close quarters, but his true specialty was distance.

It was oddly comforting, though, to know that even as changes continued to happen, some things remained the same.

Only a week after his superior gave him a heads up about potential recruitment to the tactical team out in Quantico, he met David Rossi in San Francisco on a five-year-old cold case. He didn’t miss the look of surprise that appeared on the older agent’s face in reaction to his theory about the killer.

He had heard of the BAU and had listened to some of their lectures at the Academy about profiling—the confusion he felt at hearing about the years of training members of the team went through was reignited when Rossi started waxing poetic about an instinctual ability weeks later when they were at a bar after the case was declared cold.

That theory he had presented when he first met Rossi didn’t feel like an instinctual gift, and he said as much to the other agent.  Nevertheless, he and Haley were back in Virginia just months later—she was teaching at a local high school and he was the newest member of the BAU.

And so he danced, and he learned of the many faces Death had. He danced as Gideon started grooming him for leadership weeks after Rossi retired. He danced as Morgan brought his unending stubbornness and heart of gold. He danced as JJ and Garcia brought reminders of the light that was still in the world. He danced as Reid brought his own brand of uniqueness and painful reminders of his young age.

He danced with Death, who he could see peeking out from the eyes of the unsubs he and the team ended up facing off with. He danced more than he ever had, but his Spring kept him from falling into Death’s waiting arms. His Spring and the prospect of binging a child into the world together kept him going as Adrian Bale took out six agents with one bomb, sent him to the hospital for shrapnel wounds, and sent Gideon into a post-traumatic tailspin.

It was fine in the beginning; the expectation the Gideon would be returning made the long hours bearable. Six months passed, and he came back, but he didn’t return to leadership. Whispers that trickled down from up high made it clear that this designation was permanent.

They both thought they could make it work. Their child came into the world just days after he wove his web around Death and stared them down through a sniper rifle. He took a month off, and came back to face Death once more—only they were wearing the face of a man who killed multiple families.

He came close to another dance when Death wore a face that was nearly identical to his own—all that was different was their walks of life. He opened up more directly to Vincent Perotta than to anyone else that was currently on the team; Gideon could only profile, and he only explicitly told Rossi and his Spring about what his home life had been like.

Life went on, though with how often he danced with Death, it couldn’t really be considered living.

He danced, and he watched.

He watched as Elle danced with Death for the first time and was permanently changed because of his inaction.

He watched as Reid danced with Death for the first time and nearly fell into their arms because of his inaction.

He watched as Death taunted Gideon again and again until the man finally left to search for the fire that had been stolen from within him.

He watched, and he danced

He watched as his Winter darkness slowly crept towards Spring and their child, as his darkness became so oppressive that Haley finally left when he couldn’t stop himself from running to dance with Death. And when the light of Spring (not his, not anymore, she never was—) left, his darkness took over.

He watched as Death claimed Kate in an explosion of fire and debris and whirling him along in the quickest of dances, and he couldn’t help but envision his Spring in her position. He wasn’t blind, he knew how similar the two women looked, he knew what the team whispered behind his back, but it didn’t matter to him. All that mattered was the phone call he was going to have to make to Haley, who had gotten along so well with Kate but now had to face the reality of her death.

Colorado was a new hell for him, as he felt Death’s oppressive presence all over the compound that trapped two of his agents inside. When the buildings were engulfed in flames and debris, he could only sigh in relief that Death didn’t see fit to take his agents today.

When he met Death once more, they were speaking through Megan Kane. Hearing the confidence the young woman had in him, feeling the exhausted resignation she felt at her impending death…

The press got the tip just days after the SIM card was examined by the lab.

Death waits for nobody, however, and his ten-year-old demon woke up to shove onto him more responsibility and more guilt as ten people were found shot to death on the bus in Boston.

He had gotten the profile so right but still so wrong, and Death laughed in his face.

Death laughed as he was stabbed nine times and was in their clutches for thirty minutes before the doctors managed to shake him loose from their arms. They danced and they danced, and Death laughed as he found the bloody picture of Spring and the child.

And he found that he couldn’t wait to see the face Death chose to wear one more time if only to show him just how angry he was, how deeply he felt despite the mask that he put up. His team had no idea how close he was to the edge, and he didn’t let them see the depths of madness he had fallen into.

Even over twenty years out of college and he was still compulsively hiding his razors, but now he couldn’t be more glad but also more hateful for the habit.

But Death gives no respite, and nine months to the day Spring went into hiding with the child, he found himself unraveling quicker than he ever had as he was forced to listen as Spring was stolen from the world.

When the team finally got to the old house, they watched as the tenuous control he held over himself was ripped straight out of his grasp in a bloodthirsty, grief-stricken rage. His hands didn’t feel like his own, and he couldn’t place Jack into JJ’s care fast enough for fear that the hands of a killer would destroy the last precious light in his darkness.

Those same hands felt the unnatural cold that was already setting in on Spring, and his mind froze.

Should he have stopped dancing?

Could he have stopped dancing?

Would it have done anything?

Would it have saved her?

He lived only to make sure Spring lived on in their son. He couldn’t give up chasing Death, but he made sure to keep his son at the forefront of his mind, and if that meant staying behind and coordinating and the precinct, that was fine. It was a change that would have been asked of him when JJ was plucked from the team by the Pentagon, but with the whispered he’s been hearing in meetings, he couldn’t help but feel like she was walking straight into Death’s waiting arms.

There wasn’t any time to worry, however, nor was there time to marvel at the fact that he had made it this far after Spring was ripped from his weak grasp, as he soon had to send Emily away and pretend that she had been claimed by the being he was so familiar with. Barely over a year, and three women who had changed his life so drastically were all ripped from his desperate grip, and his team was barely keeping it together.

It was no longer a dance, but a chase. He chased Death, almost as if his efforts would somehow bring them back and fix everything. He closed himself off and kept chasing because otherwise he would crash and burn and take everything around him down with him.

He kept chasing, all the way to Pakistan and all the way back to face the wall of anger and betrayal that he knew was justified. He kept on going, as Beth came into his life and as Emily left to find her own equilibrium. He didn’t stop, not even when Maeve Donovan was murdered in a manner eerily similar to his own unraveling years ago, not even when he spoke to Sean for the first time in years only to lose him to the criminal justice system, but just weeks later he was given the option once more: he could fight the futile fight, or he could stop and protect his team from afar, standing guard just as he’s done for so many years now.

There was a brief moment that he wondered if he should have taken the section chief job, but just minutes later he was feeling the world tilt as his legs gave out from under him and he collapsed on the floor of the conference room, the pain in his abdomen that had been slowly burning for the past few days turning into a roaring fire that threatened to consume him from the inside out.

And how could he describe the tumultuous feelings of utter joy and desolate grief he felt when he saw Haley sitting in that dress she had worn on their first anniversary in the Pacific Northwest, the dress she wore in the picture that remained in his wallet for nearly twenty years? How could he describe the utter terror he felt when Foyet crashed their time together and shot her once again, or the renewed grief when he realized this would be the last vivid memory he would have of the Spring who had taught his Winter about the light?

But he woke up with the lingering feel of Haley’s lips on his own to see Garcia and her always brightly-colored clothing that matched her ever-optimistic outlook on life that was often a blessed reprieve from the evil that consumed their jobs, and he remembered why he stayed.

Not only to chase Death, but for the family he realized he had found along the way.

But just as life must go on, Death must as well.

Soon he was calling in favors while learning about the horror JJ had gone through during her stint with Pentagon. Soon his paranoia was reignited as he and the team tried to figure out just how deep the corruption went in that police force all the while Reid was hospitalized with a neck wound. Even as he was reminded of the dangers of the chase when he drove to his old mentor’s cabin in the middle of the night, he kept chasing, because, for all that he knew he had a family in the team, he knew it wouldn’t last.

It couldn’t last.

It was a truth he was all too intimately familiar with.

So he chased, and he chased, and he chased.

And Death laughed and taunted him, throwing him into a mental tailspin through Peter Lewis.

Perhaps that was the moment when he finally lost himself: sitting against the desk, paralyzed as his family was murdered in front of him.

Or maybe it was when he forced himself to play along to Lewis’s sick fantasy and pretend that he was going to shoot at his team.

Was it pretend, though?

Nothing felt real after that—one moment he was grounded in reality and the next he was hearing that awful growling noise right behind him and seeing that terrible Glasgow smile as the hairs on his neck stood up. But, as always, he never let the team know just how far he’s fallen, and he kept going and protecting and chasing with the whole of his being.

He threw himself into work with a vengeance when Garcia was being targeted by the darknet hit group and when Morgan and Savannah were being threatened by the vindictive Montolo Sr, knowing all too well what was at stake.

When Morgan told him about his intent to leave the bureau, he could only feel relief that Morgan wouldn’t fall down the path he himself chose to go down all those years ago, when he first realized he could never stop dancing with Death. He told him as such in that hospital room, and the two exchanged a look, one that was borne from years of respect and kinship that had formed between the two as a result of an understanding only two profoundly hurt yet fiercely protective beings could have.

But life goes on, the moment broke, and he went back to chasing, only to be stopped right in his tracks by Death once again when Metro SWAT stormed his apartment and arrested him at gunpoint right in front of his son. Now, Death wore the faces of all of those who swore revenge against him and tried to break his will.

They very early succeeded, too—it was the closest he felt to unraveling since that terrible day seven years ago, but he knew he couldn’t without taking the whole team down with him. He couldn’t let the seams burst open.

Not yet.

Not until he found out Peter Lewis escaped.

Not until he found out Peter Lewis was baiting his team while working to fulfill a vendetta against him.

Not until he found out the Peter Lewis had watched Jack at one of his soccer games, and not until he found out that Peter Lewis had stalked Jack to his school.

So he planned, he made calls, and he wrote letters to the team and his family.

One night, Aaron Hotchner left those letters on his office desk alongside his resignation letter and credentials, the one thing that truly defined him for nearly twenty years.

Without it, he was no one.

One night, after tucking his son into bed, no one slipped out of his apartment with both of his service weapons and a sparsely packed bag and disappeared into the night, one goal in mind.

Hunt.

I know death. He’s got many faces. I look forward to seeing this one.

- Arya Stark (Game of Thrones s8e2)

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hurt aaron hotchner #this is kinda dark #dark #sodone many faces

[ucflibrary]

Welcome to Asian Pacific American Heritage Month!

It has been a difficult 14 months for the world, but our Asian American Pacific Islander (AAPI) brothers and sisters have faced even more struggles. From small harassments to intense acts of violence, the AAPI community has borne the brunt of American fears and grief relating to the pandemic. These malicious acts demonstrate as a country we are not living up to the ideals of our nation. As Americans and Knights, we need to demonstrate these ideals are worth fighting for. Actions you can take range from learning more about the AAPI experience and history to using any privilege we have to push back against racism and violence.

One way to learn more about AAPI history and experiences is to visit the Libraries’ Readings on Race guide. This guide includes a page for general information about racism in America and how to have conversations about it to pages specifically addressing the experiences of marginalized communities in the United States such as Asian America Pacific Islander, African American, Hispanic/Latinx, and Indigenous. Take some time to familiarize yourself with lived experiences beyond your own race or ethnicity so we can stand together and become a more inclusive Knight community.

If you witness or experience incidents of discrimination or violence, report them to the university. If any of these incidents have impacted you, UCF has resources that can help. For more information, visit UCF Cares, Student Care Services or UCF Counseling and Psychological Services (CAPS) if you are a student, and the Employee Assistance Program if you are an employee.

 For 2021 Asian Pacific American Heritage Month, UCF Libraries faculty and staff have suggested these 20 books from the library’s collection by or about Asian Pacific Americans. Click the link below to see the full list, descriptions, and catalog links. There is also an extensive physical display on the main floor of the John C. Hitt Library near the Research & Information Desk.

A Burning by Megha Majumdar After a fiery attack on a train leaves 104 people dead, the fates of three people become inextricably entangled. Jivan, a bright, striving woman from the slums looking for a way out of poverty, is wrongly accused of planning the attack because of a careless comment on Facebook. PT Sir, a slippery gym teacher from Jivan's former high school, has hitched his aspirations to a rising right wing party, and his own ascent becomes increasingly linked to Jivan's fall. Lovely, a spirited, impoverished, relentlessly optimistic hjira, who harbors dreams of becoming a Bollywood star, can provide the alibi that would set Jivan free - but her appearance in court will have unexpected consequences that will change the course of all of their lives. A novel about fate, power, opportunity, and class; about innocence and guilt, betrayal and love, and the corrosive media cycle that manufactures falsehoods masquerading as truths. Suggested by Sara Duff, Acquisitions and Collection Services

 American History Unbound: Asians and Pacific Islanders by Gary K. Okihiro A survey of U.S. history from its beginnings to the present, this  reveals our past through the lens of Asian American and Pacific Islander history. In so doing, it is a work of both history and anti-history, a narrative that fundamentally transforms and deepens our understanding of the United States. This text is accessible and filled with engaging stories and themes that draw attention to key theoretical and historical interpretations. Gary Y. Okihiro positions Asians and Pacific Islanders within a larger history of people of color in the United States and places the United States in the context of world history and oceanic worlds. Suggested by Sandy Avila, Research & Information Services

 American Panda by Gloria Chao A freshman at MIT, seventeen-year-old Mei Lu tries to live up to her Taiwanese parents' expectations, but no amount of tradition, obligation, or guilt prevent her from hiding several truths-- that she is a germaphobe who cannot become a doctor, she prefers dancing to biology, she decides to reconnect with her estranged older brother, and she is dating a Japanese boy. Can she find a way to be herself, before her web of lies unravels? Suggested by Pam Jaggernauth, Curriculum Materials Center

 Asian American History: a very short introduction by Madeline Y. Hsu Madeline Y. Hsu weaves a fascinating historical narrative of this "American Dream." She shows how Asian American success, often attributed to innate cultural values, is more a result of the immigration laws, which have largely pre-selected immigrants of high economic and social potential. Asian Americans have, in turn, been used by politicians to bludgeon newer (and more populous) immigrant groups for their purported lack of achievement. Hsu deftly reveals how public policy, which can restrict and also selectively promote certain immigrant populations, is a key reason why some immigrant groups appear to be more naturally successful and why the identity of those groups evolves differently from others. Suggested by Richard Harrison, Research & Information Services

 Eyes That Kiss in the Corners by Joanna Ho A young Asian girl notices that her eyes look different from her peers'. They have big, round eyes and long lashes. She realizes that her eyes are like her mother's, her grandmother's, and her little sister's. They have eyes that kiss in the corners and glow like warm tea, crinkle into crescent moons, and are filled with stories of the past and hope for the future. Drawing from the strength of these powerful women in her life, she recognizes her own beauty and discovers a path to self love and empowerment. This powerful, poetic picture book will resonate with readers of all ages and is a celebration of diversity. Suggested by Pam Jaggernauth, Curriculum Materials Center

 Frankly in Love by David Yoon High school senior Frank Li is caught between his parents' traditional expectations and his own Southern California upbringing. His parents have one rule when it comes to romance: ‘Date Korean.’ But Frank falls for Brit Means, who is smart, beautiful-- and white. Joy Song is in a similar predicament, and they make a pact: they'll pretend to date each other in order to gain their freedom. It seems like the perfect plan, until their fake-dating maneuver leaves Frank wondering if he ever really understood love- or himself- at all. Suggested by Pam Jaggernauth, Curriculum Materials Center

 Ghosts of Gold Mountain: the epic story of the Chinese who built the Transcontinental Railroad by Gordon H. Chang The long-lost tale of the Chinese workers who built the Transcontinental Railroad, helping to forge modern America only to disappear into the shadows of history. In this groundbreaking book, award-winning historian Gordon H. Chang recovers the stories of these "silent spikes" and returns them to their rightful place in our national saga. Drawing on recent archaeological findings, as well as payroll records, ship manifests, photographs, and other sources from American and Chinese archives, Chang retraces the laborers' odyssey in breathtaking detail. He introduces individual workers, describes their hopes and fears, and shows how they lived, ate, fought, loved, worked, and worshiped. Their sweat and blood not only fueled the ascent of an interlinked, industrial United States, but also laid the groundwork for a thriving Chinese America. A magisterial feat of scholarship and storytelling, this book honors these immigrants' sacrifice and ingenuity, and celebrates their role in this defining American achievement. Suggested by Richard Harrison, Research & Information Services

 Good Enough by Paul  Yoo A Korean American teenager tries to please her parents by getting into an Ivy League college, but a new guy in school and her love of the violin tempt her in new directions. Suggested by Megan Haught, Student Learning & Engagement/Research & Information Services

 Interior Chinatown by Charles Yu Everyday Willis Wu leaves his tiny room in a Chinatown SRO and enters the Golden Palace restaurant, where Black and White, a procedural cop show, is in perpetual production. He's a bit player here too, but he dreams of being Kung Fu Guy-- and he sees his life as a script. After stumbling into the spotlight, Willis finds himself launched into a wider world than he has ever known, discovering not only the secret history of Chinatown, but the buried legacy of his own family, and what that means for him in today's America. Suggested by Ying Zhang, Administration

 Last Witnesses: reflections on the wartime internment of Japanese Americans edited by Erica Harth To the writers in this book - novelists, memoirists, poets, activists, scholars, students, professionals - the World War II internment of Japanese Americans in the detention camps is an unfinished chapter of American history that mars the nostalgic glow that often surrounds the World War II home front years. Former internees, like John Tateishi and Robert Maeda, and children of detainees and of camp officials join with others in challenging readers to construct a better future by confronting this dark episode from America's World War II scrapbook. Suggested by Richard Harrison, Research & Information Services

 Minor Feelings: an Asian American reckoning by Cathy Park Hong With sly humor and a poet’s searching mind, Hong uses her own story as a portal into a deeper examination of racial consciousness in America today. This intimate and devastating book traces her relationship to the English language, to shame and depression, to poetry and female friendship. A radically honest work of art, it forms a portrait of one Asian American psyche—and of a writer’s search to both uncover and speak the truth. Suggested by Megan Haught, Student Learning & Engagement/Research & Information Services, and Ying Zhang, Administration

 Monstress by Marjorie M. Liu Set in an alternate matriarchal 1900's Asia, in a richly imagined world of art deco-inflected steam punk, Liu tells the story of a teenage girl who is struggling to survive the trauma of war, and who shares a mysterious psychic link with a monster of tremendous power, a connection that will transform them both and make them the target of both human and otherworldly powers Suggested by Sara Duff, Acquisitions and Collection Services

 Paper Son: the inspiring story of Tyrus Wong, immigrant and artist by Julie Leung An inspiring picture-book biography of animator Tyrus Wong, the Chinese American immigrant responsible for bringing Disney's Bambi to life. Before he became an artist named Tyrus Wong, he was a boy named Wong Geng Yeo. He traveled across a vast ocean from China to America with only a suitcase and a few papers. Not papers for drawing--which he loved to do--but immigration papers to start a new life. Once in America, Tyrus seized every opportunity to make art, eventually enrolling at an art institute in Los Angeles. Working as a janitor at night, his mop twirled like a paintbrush in his hands. Eventually, he was given the opportunity of a lifetime--and using sparse brushstrokes and soft watercolors, Tyrus created the iconic backgrounds of Bambi. Suggested by Megan Haught, Student Learning & Engagement/Research & Information Services

 Run Me to Earth by Paul Yoon Alisak, Prany, and Noi--three orphans united by devastating loss - must do what is necessary to survive the perilous landscape of 1960s Laos. When they take shelter in a bombed out field hospital, they meet Vang, a doctor dedicated to helping the wounded at all costs. Soon the teens are serving as motorcycle couriers, delicately navigating their bikes across the fields filled with unexploded bombs, beneath the indiscriminate barrage from the sky. In a world where the landscape and the roads have turned into an ocean of bombs, we follow their grueling days of rescuing civilians and searching for medical supplies, until Vang secures their evacuation on the last helicopters leaving the country. It's a move with irrevocable consequences--and sets them on disparate and treacherous paths across the world. Suggested by Sara Duff, Acquisitions and Collection Services

 Searching for Sylvie Lee: a novel by Jean Kwok A poignant and suspenseful drama that untangles the complicated ties binding three women--two sisters and their mother--in one Chinese immigrant family and explores what happens when the eldest daughter disappears, and a series of family secrets emerge. Sylvie, the beautiful, brilliant, successful older daughter of the Lee family, flies to the Netherlands for one final visit with her dying grandmother-- and vanishes. Amy is too young to remember a time when her parents were newly immigrated and too poor to keep Sylvie, who was raised by a distant relative in a faraway, foreign place. Amy flies to the last place Sylvie was seen, retracing her sister's movements. It seems Sylvie kept painful secrets that reveal more about Amy's family than she ever could have imagined. Suggested by Rachel Mulvihill, Downtown Library

 Somewhere Only We Know by Maurene Goo Told from two viewpoints, teens Lucky, a very famous K-pop star, and Jack, a part-time paparazzo who is trying to find himself, fall for each other against the odds through the course of one stolen day. Suggested by Pam Jaggernauth, Curriculum Materials Center

 Strangers from a Different Shore: a history of Asian Americans by Ronald Takaki In an extraordinary blend of narrative history, personal recollection, and oral testimony, the author presents a sweeping history of Asian Americans. He writes of the Chinese who laid tracks for the transcontinental railroad, of plantation laborers in the canefields of Hawaii, of "picture brides" marrying strangers in the hope of becoming part of the American dream. He tells stories of Japanese Americans behind the barbed wire of U.S. internment camps during World War II, Hmong refugees tragically unable to adjust to Wisconsin's alien climate and culture, and Asian American students stigmatized by the stereotype of the “model minority.” Suggested by Richard Harrison, Research & Information Services

 The Island of Sea Women by Lisa See This beautiful, thoughtful novel illuminates a world turned upside down, one where the women are in charge, engaging in dangerous physical work, and the men take care of the children. A classic Lisa See story—one of women’s friendships and the larger forces that shape them—this book introduces readers to the fierce and unforgettable female divers of Jeju Island and the dramatic history that shaped their lives. Suggested by Sandy Avila, Research & Information Services

 What We Carry: a memoir by Maya Shanbhag Lang Lang grew up idolizing her brilliant mother, an accomplished psychologist who immigrated to the United States from India, completed her residency and earned an American medical degree while nurturing young children and keeping a traditional Indian home. Her mother's stories motivated her, encouraged her, offered solace when she needed it. When Lang becomes a mother herself, her mother becomes a grandmother who is cold and distant. Reexamining the stories of her childhood, Lang realized that being able to accept both myth and reality is what has finally brought her into adulthood Suggested by Ying Zhang, Administration

 Your House Will Pay by Steph Cha In the wake of the police shooting of a black teenager, Los Angeles is as tense as it's been since the unrest of the early 1990s. But Grace Park and Shawn Matthews have their own problems. Grace is sheltered and largely oblivious, living in the Valley with her Korean-immigrant parents, working long hours at the family pharmacy. Shawn has already had enough of politics and protest after an act of violence shattered his family years ago. But when another shocking crime hits LA, both the Park and Matthews families are forced to face down their history while navigating the tumult of a city on the brink of more violence. Suggested by Sara Duff, Acquisitions and Collection Services

#ucf library #asian pacific american heritage month #aapi #booklr #reading list

[musical-chick-13]

Cersei Lannister for the character ask thing :)

YAY MY ALL-TIME FAVE

• Did they live up to their potential? / In what ways was their potential unachieved?

-Um...YES. I’m going to focus on show here because...the books...aren’t finished...SO. Although I do wish the end of the show had focused more on the fallout of her history with Sansa and I do wish she had been afforded a more direct confrontation with Dany, I don’t think I could have ever asked for a better villain. I started watching the show because I was told there was a hot evil lady, and I could never have imagined the utter humanity Lena brought to her or the nuance and clearly-motivated yet realistic complexities afforded to Cersei’s character. I had waited my whole life for some female character any female character to be allowed to be fucked up. To do stupid things and make mistakes and feel ugly/extreme emotions and experience internalized misogyny and have terrible coping mechanisms and be mentally ill in an ugly (as in, not cute/romanticized) way. To keep going out of spite even though she thought there was nothing to keep going for. I saw little glimmers of that early season 1, and those only got better and better as Cersei only got more and more formidable as time went on. I truly am winning the most I love her so much.

• How they negatively and positively affected the story.

-The thing here is that without Cersei, there really is no overarching story. Her relationship with Jaime is what drives the entire plot and Ned’s uncovering of the court’s corruption. Her refusal to have Robert’s child on the throne (or give birth to his child in the first place) is what causes the succession crisis that even makes everyone else’s power plays a possibility. She spurs Sansa’s development from idealistic child to jaded young adult, which is lynchpin of the whole Northern Independence arc that ultimately ends in her being crowned there. And through all of this, she is both ruthless and sympathetic. She has understandable motivations: she is tired of being treated as less-than for being a woman. She feels like her life is meaningless in such a world if she cannot have power. Power is the only way to truly be safe. She wants to protect her children. She wants her father to understand her. She wants to break herself away from her womanhood but she can’t escape it. All of these things enrich the story because they make the watcher/reader ask, “What truly makes someone evil. Is what she’s doing that much worse than what anyone else in this show does? What course of defense does she have by not being an athletic woman who can physically fight? If love makes you do terrible things, is it always a force of good? What do we allow people to get by with in the name of protecting their family? At what point does self-preservation become irredeemably villainous? How do we talk about abuse of power when the people abused are also terrible people who do terrible things?” All of these questions deal with deconstructing the idea of black and white morality, which is, I would argue, the entire point of the series. So she serves that end quite nicely. :)

• What my favorite arc for them is.

Oooh, this is a tricky one. I’m a sucker for anything that allows Cersei to go absolutely feral and I love pain, so probably her fight against the Faith Militant. They try to take absolutely everything from her. She is so blinded by the threat  Margaery poses to her family’s and her stability, that she makes a not-too-well-thought-out decision. (You know, like a real person.) She loses her reputation, she gets thrown in prison, her main ally turns on her, and she goes through the Walk of Atonement, which is honestly probably the most painful thing I’ve ever fucking seen. She spends an entire season trying to pick up the pieces and it culminates in the most badass death-to-my-enemies scene I think I’ve ever seen. And to see a character pull themselves back up from the brink of complete ruin? Especially one who is severely depressed and “hysterical”? We love to see it.

• What I think of their ending.

PERFECT BEAUTIFUL AMAZING 10/10 MY GIRL DIED THE LAST QUEEN TO EVER SIT ON THE IRON THRONE DIDN’T GET BRUTALLY MURDERED AND DIED IN THE ARMS OF THE ONLY MAN SHE EVER TRULY WANTED WHO LOVED HER UNCONDITIONALLY GOD FUCKING BLESS

Personal bias aside, Jaime and Cersei were always going to die together. Jaime was never truly “redeemed,” he just became more understood. (Feeling ashamed of being ostracized and generally agreeing some of your actions were bad =/= becoming a good person who breaks ties with every unhealthy or immoral behavior you engage in.) Jaime came back to Cersei because they understand each other. And Cersei recognizes that she is about to truly lose everything. Her family, her power, her empire, her life. But in the end, she realizes that there was one glimmer of good and that she doesn’t have to lose all of those things alone. It’s a humbling, miserable death, but in very many ways it comes the way she always knew it would: at the hands of another woman, and by the side of the man who is such a part of herself that that other woman in question ceases to matter. Her last moments might be because of Daenerys, but they aren’t about her, they’re about Jaime and Cersei. The only two people. Together. Just as they’d always predicted. And then the person responsible for her death doesn’t even get to enjoy it because it came at the price of a complete loss of conscience. My fave not brutally murdered onscreen via betrayal and whose demise is because of someone who ultimately doesn’t even gain that much from her death? Beautiful, I want 500.

Cersei is terrified (which. yeah of course she is.) but she went out knowing that everything she did in her life wasn’t completely meaningless, that her pursuit of safety and security at all costs ultimately ended in someone she loved trying to comfort her. She gains that sense of comfort and self-awareness she always wanted in chasing after power, but not in the way she had ever envisioned. Not because of any specific thing she did or any specific enemy she defeated, not because of a particularly intelligent power play or who her father was or which house she aligned herself with, but simply because she loved someone who loved her and that alone was enough. In her final moments, in a way completely at odds with everything she has ever tried to do, she finally finds acceptance. The tragedy is that she can’t enjoy it longer. What a poetically sad, cathartic, fitting end to her quest for self-preservation.

• When I wish they had died. / If I think they should’ve died.

She almost, almost makes it to the end. She outlasts the White Walkers (which I think is valid because she was nowhere near the battle, and, ultimately, her primary enemy is her own penchant for self-destruction, in a way most of the other characters’ aren’t). For years she hangs on out of spite, and no human can kill her though many have tried or wanted to. Ultimately, she can’t compete with dragon WMD’s and a crumbling city. She did sort of achieve her objective. No specific person killed her. It took nonhuman entities to succeed at that. Fits in nicely with the “So you got what you wanted but not quite” theme of the series. Obviously I wish that she and Jaime could escape to Pentos with their child and live peacefully forever, but a) they would be hiding forever to prevent the people they’ve harmed (so like...the whole realm) from coming after them which I just don’t think they’d have much patience for, and b) I really don’t think Cersei would ever give up her quest for power and ruling the world because she would never feel safe or like her existence was meaningful otherwise. In order for the story to have anything remotely resembling a peaceful or happy ending for Westeros at large, she has to die. Which makes me very sad because I LOVE HER, but narrative cohesion is also a thing.

#cersei lannister #meta #(is this meta?? idk) #jaime x cersei #got #light of the west and my life #cersei meta

[piraticalarchive]

LUCAS ! have I told you lately that I love you because I really do !! you're an absolute blessing on my dash and in my life and I just had to send you some love <3

Aanna, anna, ANNA !!! I read this at like 7:45 this morning or something and immediately wanted to respond but typing long things on my phone can be so hard lmao. And of course I needed to type a long thing because I need to tell you how much I appreciate and value you!! I don't even remember there being like an awkward stage of like 'do i approach? do i not approach? what do i do now?' once we became mutuals - i swear its like we just went for it. Your muses are just so fucking good and I can't get enough of them. The wide range of them and the possibilities with each and everyone and the history and the lore, i just .. !!! Of course I need to wax poetically on about Isabela because I love her. She has always been one of my favorite characters and over the years I've noticed that fanon either treats/writes her as one end of a spectrum or the total other - but you're not afraid to delve into both sides. She uses her sexuality to her advantage (boy oh boy has killian met his match lmaooo) and she is so strong and her motivations, thanks to you, are so much easier to understand and connect with since you develop them even further than the realm of canon. I am loving her and killian interacting like holy crap??? That initial antagonism of like 'mate idk what their history is but theres definitely somethign there, also apparently theyre rivals and it just sort of escalated so fast and their dynamic is so fun. I can't get enough of her or the way you write her or the layers that keep getting uncovered with them through every random encounter we throw them into. Aside from Isabela though like, you have a million muses I'd love to interact with as well. Lets get that going please.

and you - lets talk about you. A joy, a wonderful presence, a fantastic friend. I know you have been going through it lately and I know work etc has been super stressful and that the current situation isn't ideal .. but I hope you finally get that bit of rest and relaxation you deserve in order to find your center once more. You are someone I love talking to and I know we don't do it too often (im the flipping worst at communication im so sorry) but every time we do I always end up grinning. Never leave. You're stuck with me forever.

#save ; #this was so nice to see first thing IM SAVING IT #you are so wonderful and i love knowing you and i love writing with you and i hope you stay in my tumblr life always

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Forged Through Fire (4/13)

Summary: Amestris. Once democratic, now a military dictatorship. Prohibition is strict; personal freedoms curtailed. All alchemists must be state-licensed or face imprisonment. Foreigners are met with suspicion. It’s a grim place and a grim time, but there are some people able to bring a little light to the world. Behind an innocent-looking bookshop, speakeasy proprietor Chris Mustang has formed an unlikely alliance with unlicensed alchemist Van Hohenheim to provide alcohol to those who want it and medical care to those who need it. When Riza’s newly complete tattoo becomes infected, Roy brings her into this underworld, little knowing the way it will change their lives in the future – uncovering the secrets of the mythical Philosopher’s Stone and the schemes of a Fuhrer hell-bent on achieving immortality, all whilst navigating what they mean to each other.

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Rated: T

[One] [Two] [Three] [AO3]

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Content warning for this chapter: Discussion of parent-on-child domestic abuse and parental neglect.

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Forged Through Fire

Four

Roy didn’t really know what to expect when he knocked on the Hawkeye residence’s door the next day – well, later in the same day, since he hadn’t left until after midnight. Riza looked tired and withdrawn when she answered, but she gave a weak smile when she saw him.

“Hey Roy. Come in.”

He stepped inside, hanging up his coat on the hook that had always been his when he had been coming over to learn under Berthold.

“How are you today?”

“I’m ok. Still sore, and the burned skin pulls weirdly sometimes, it’s going to take some time to get used to it. But the pain’s getting better.”

“That’s good.” It wasn’t exactly what he’d asked, and he wondered if Riza was dodging the subject intentionally. “How are you feeling today?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t know how to vocalise it. I’m not used to this.”

“What aren’t you used to?”

He followed her into the kitchen, getting cups out of the cupboard as she put the kettle on.

“This.” She gave a long sigh. “I’m not used to having people care about me and care how I’m feeling. The last person who ever cared about my feelings was my mom. And now there’s you, and Trisha, and Hohenheim, and your aunt, and you all care, and you all know about this.” She gestured to her back. “And I trust you with it, don’t get me wrong. But it’s overwhelming. I don’t know how to be vulnerable, Roy. I don’t know how to deal with people caring about me.”

“That’s ok.” Roy chanced to reach across and touch her hand where it was resting on the counter as she waited for the kettle to come to the boil. “We’ll still be here whilst you’re figuring it out.”

No more was said as the kettle boiled and tea was made, and they sat down at the kitchen table.

Presently, Riza looked through the kitchen door to the door of her father’s study opposite.

“I should go in and sort everything out. I haven’t been in there since he died. I don’t have the energy. I can’t think of anything that I want to do less than go through all his research. Part of me says I shouldn’t bother. He loved alchemy more than he ever loved me and I don’t see why I should have to have anything to do with it now. But then there’s the other part of me that says I should continue being a dutiful daughter and go through all his stuff. It caused me so much pain and it’s all still there and I have to do something with it.”

“I don’t see any reason why you should,” Roy said “Just destroy it all. Hell, just torch the entire room, you don’t even need to take anything out of it.”

Riza raised an eyebrow. “Having a burned out husk of a room in the middle of the house might make it hard to sell. Also the risk of it bringing the entire house down is just a bit too great. Not that I don’t trust you to have excellent control over your fire, but this is a very old and flammable building. Makes me wonder how it never burned down before, actually.”

“OK. Take everything out of it and dump it in the garden and have a bonfire, then. You don’t owe him anything, Riza. I think you need the catharsis. You can’t get rid of the marks he left on you, but you can get rid of all of the other traces of his legacy. I think it would be fitting for it all to go up in smoke.”

Riza nodded. “I just want it gone,” she said quietly. “The tattoo will never be gone. But everything else can be gone. Just… erase him from the world and never have to deal with him again. Never have him cause me any pain again.”

She finished her tea and stood up suddenly, the scrape of the chair legs against the kitchen floor jerking Roy into action too.

“Let’s do it.”

She threw the study door open, as if she was trying not to second-guess herself, and Roy looked around. It looked exactly the same as it had done when he had last been in there a couple of years prior – books and papers everywhere, no rhyme or reason to anything, no order that made sense to anyone except Berthold.

“I hate this room so much,” Riza said. Her tone was almost conversational, but Roy could see the anger in her eyes, now bright and fiery instead of the haunted look she’d been wearing for the past couple of days.

It took them a while to get everything out of the study into the garden and pile it up, but it was worth it to see the look of satisfaction in Riza’s face as she stood in the empty room. They’d even ripped down the curtains and pulled out the built-in bookshelves. If they were going to do it, then they would do it properly. Everything had to go. The sun was beginning to go down by the time they were finished, and Roy looked over at Riza.

“Are you ready?”

She nodded.

“Light it up.”

Roy shook his head and handed her a lighter; always paid to have one handy in case the spark cloth got wet. “No. This is your moment; you need to do this.”

Riza took the lighter and flicked it, watching the tiny flame stuttering in the breeze for a while before she threw it onto the pile of papers and furniture. It took a few moments for it to catch properly, but soon the blaze was burning high, Berthold Hawkeye’s legacy going up in smoke in the most poetic end for his research there could be.

For a long time, they just watched the blaze together in silence, and Roy looked sideways at Riza, the shadows from the bright flame dancing in front of his eyes. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself, like she was trying to physically hold herself together, and he startled when she suddenly crumpled down onto her knees.

He crouched beside her.

“Riza?”

Riza howled, a heartrending scream of pain, anger, frustration and grief all letting rip. Roy couldn’t say he was surprised, nor could he say she didn’t need it after everything. Tears were streaming down her face, and Roy realised he hadn’t seen her cry like this at all since her father’s death. Not at the funeral and not even the previous day when she’d been in so much pain. She had wept, but nothing like this raw outpouring of emotion. 

Riza had always been stoic, more stoic than Roy thought he could ever hope to be, and even though it was completely understandable, and he had been the one to say that she could not keep her stoicism forever, it was alarming to see her in so much distress. He hovered next to her, hand an inch from her shoulder, wanting to give a comforting touch but not sure whether or not it would be welcome.

In the end he chanced it, rubbing her arm gently. Riza gave no indication that she could even feel him, continuing to sob, and Roy settled down on the damp grass beside her.

Eventually, she cried herself out, falling silent again, the roaring flame from the bonfire still going strong beside them, the light sparkling on Riza’s wet cheeks as she kept staring at it.

“Can I get you anything?” Roy asked.

Riza shook her head.

“No. Just don’t leave, please.”

Roy would quite happily have stayed there for as long as she wanted, until the fire burned down to nothing. He shifted, putting an arm around Riza’s shoulders as she flopped against him, exhausted by the much needed emotional release.

After a few more minutes of silence, Roy ventured to speak again.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been through a washing machine. I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel so I’m feeling it all at once.”

“That’s ok. Just let it all out.”

Riza didn’t respond, and Roy could see that she was crying again; silent and sorrowful.

“You’ll be ok. I promise.” He couldn’t hope to understand what she was feeling, and he was grateful that he had never been in the position where he would be able to claim he knew what she was going through, but he could understand that she was undergoing a massive upheaval, and all he could hope to do was help her through the other side.

He watched the smoke rising from the fire, sending the ashes of her childhood flying off into the night sky, away into the ether where they could never harm her again.

They stayed out in the garden until the fire began to die back - Roy would admit if asked that he had helped its intensity along at various points to keep it steady and bright - and by the time they went back inside, stiff and cold from sitting on the grass for so long, but neither of them complaining at it, Riza seemed to have found a modicum of peace again.

X

Of all the things that Riza thought she was going to have to worry about when she started working the front for the speakeasy, having someone come into the bookshop who actually wanted to use it as a bookshop wasn’t one of them. It was such an obscure and out of the way little place, hardly anyone ever came in looking for books, and most people who did come in saw the state of the shelves and everything packed in haphazard and turned straight back around again.

The woman who had just walked in and started browsing, however, had determination if nothing else. She’d been going through the shelves for a good fifteen minutes before she finally poked her head around the end of one of the stacks and looked at Riza with her brow furrowed.

“Do you have a history section?”

“Honestly? I have no idea. I’ve only been here three months. I think everything’s organised by what colour the cover is rather than anything else.”

The woman laughed. “Oh well. I’ll just keep looking. I don’t have anywhere else to be, after all.”

It was the middle of the afternoon and whilst the bar was open, Riza wasn’t expecting any patrons to come through the door any time soon, so there was no need to get the woman out of the shop lest she find out about the rather more illegal practices going on downstairs.

“I can help you look if you want.” She got up and came out from behind the counter. “Are you looking for something specific?”

“Not really, more just anything that I can get my hands on about local history. I mean, you know what it’s like trying to find out anything about the time before the current regime started up. I’ve got as much access to the governmental archives as they allow, which is…” The woman tailed off, and Riza knew exactly why. Even in a place as out of the way as the bookshop, there were eyes and ears everywhere.

“You get through the front door and they give you what they want you to see?” Riza suggested. She wasn’t sure how to let the woman know that the space here was safe, and at the same time there was always the risk that she herself was here for nefarious purposes, trying to scent out what was going on behind the scenes.

The woman nodded. “Yeah, pretty much.”

They continued to work through the shelves for a while but going book by book was going to take them till next Tuesday, and their conversation turned to other things – the weather, the latest news, other neutral small talk topics. Names were exchanged, and finally Riza brought the conversation back around to their current mission; subtly trying to get more information to see how much of a threat this Rebecca Catalina might be.

“So, how come you have access to the governmental archives?”

“I’m a journalist with the Central Herald.” Rebecca sighed. “At least, I attempt to be a journalist.”

“Attempt?” Riza was intrigued now; the Central Herald was known for getting on the wrong side of the government just enough to annoy them without being enough to get itself closed down. There was no free press in Amestris and there hadn’t been for a long time, but the Herald was the closest they got to it. She was steering towards thinking that Rebecca probably wasn’t a secret police informant. Either that or she was in deep undercover.

“All the newspapers have state-sponsored overseers. I think they’d all much rather that I stuck to just reporting on weddings and funerals and what colour hat Lady Bradley’s wearing on any given day, but we do our best.”

Riza had to smile at that.

“So, what’s the latest scoop?”

“Nothing concrete yet. I’ve just got a feeling. There’s some dilapidated old buildings on the far side of town, by the Narrows. They’ve been closed off as condemned for years, but they’ve never been knocked down, and there are always cars with government plates hanging around in the vicinity.”

“Well, in this country I wouldn’t put anything past anybody.”

They continued searching for a while, pulling up a few promising old books, until the bell above the shop door jangled again and Riza immediately went into secret keeper mode, going to see who had entered her domain. The bookshop was a strange liminal space in that sense, more of a portal to another world than a place in its own right.

It was only Roy.

“Hi. I just thought I’d come by to see how you were doing.”

“I’m ok.” She nodded discreetly in Rebecca’s direction to indicate that they weren’t alone and couldn’t discuss bar business. “How are you?”

“Fine. Hughes is driving me round the bend but that’s not exactly new…” He trailed off, and Riza glanced to the side to see that Rebecca was doing a very poor job of pretending that she wasn’t watching them, surreptitiously sneaking peeks over the top of the book she absolutely wasn’t reading. Looking back at Roy, she saw that he’d gone rather pink around the edges, and the sight of him so flustered made her smile.

“Well, I, erm, I’ll see you later.”

He left the shop as suddenly as he’d entered it, and Rebecca gave a giggle from behind her book.

“Boyfriend?” she asked.

“No, no. He’s just an old friend.”

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. “Are you absolutely sure about that?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” She really didn’t want to think about it.

Rebecca seemed to notice her consternation and immediately changed the subject. The two of them continued to talk about books for a while, and although Riza was as guarded as she ever was around strangers, there was something about Rebecca that was easy to get along with. Riza found herself wondering what the catch was. Her upbringing had made her cynical in a way, always wondering what it was that people wanted from her. After spending so long with Roy as the only person she could really consider to be a friend, finding new friendly people was somewhat daunting.

For a moment, Riza’s anger against her father flared again, knowing that he was at the root of her troubles and lamenting the ordinary childhood and teenage years that she’d never got to have. She tried to push it down and focus on what Rebecca was saying.

“Well, I have to go now, but I’d like to come back and take a look at the shelves I didn’t get to today.”

“Sure. We’re always open.” That was pretty much true. Operating as the front for the speakeasy meant that they did keep much longer hours than most ordinary second-hand bookshops would.

“Great! Well, it was nice to meet you Riza. I’ll see you soon.”

Riza found herself looking forward to it in spite of herself.

Roy came back into the shop a few minutes after Rebecca left, and Riza had to laugh.

“Were you literally just hiding around the corner until she went away?”

“No! Well. Maybe.”

Riza snorted. “There’s no need, I’m fairly sure she’s harmless. She’s a journalist for the Herald.”

“Journalists are in no way harmless, Riza.”

“You know what I mean. Harmless to you physically. She’s not going to bite you, and from our conversation, I’m sure she’s safe for this place as well.”

“The sixth sense wasn’t tingling then?”

“You know me, Roy. I’m naturally suspicious of everyone. But I think Rebecca could be a friend to us.”

“That’s good.” Roy looked at her. “Do you think she could be a friend to you?”

Riza didn’t reply straight away, mulling everything over in her mind. The idea of having friends who weren’t linked to the speakeasy or didn’t come through Roy was a nice one, despite the voice in the back of her mind that kept telling her that she didn’t deserve nice things like that.

“I… I think so. I don’t know. I would like that.”

“Go for it and see where it takes you. It’ll be good for you to get out of here once in a while and have some friends who aren’t here for the alcohol.”

“I know. I was thinking the same thing. The trouble is that I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“It’s still early days yet. Maybe there isn’t another shoe. We live in a world of mistrust and subterfuge and paranoia, but there are still decent people out there.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Riza leaned back in her chair. “Optimism hasn’t always been the best colour on me. It feels weird.”

“I agree that sometimes optimism can be dangerous in the circumstances we’re in. But it can be exhausting to be cynical all the time, and you deserve some normality in your life.”

“Hmm.” Riza continued to ponder his words for a while, until Roy just left her alone with her thoughts, giving her an understanding pat on the shoulder as he went past her into the bar.

Maybe it wasn’t too late to start having friends and getting some semblance of normality into her life after all.

#FMA Fanfiction #FMA Brotherhood #Royai #Riza Hawkeye #Roy Mustang #Fic: Forged Through Fire

[chelsfic]

Vampire Seeking Familiar - Nandor x Guillermo Fanfic (One-shot)

WWDITS Masterlist

Summary: Nandor places an ad for a human familiar and Guillermo responds. My take on how they first meet!

A/N: I woke up with the urgent need to write this. I was inspired watching Harvey’s AMA where he mentions that maybe Nandor placed an ad on Craigslist for a familiar. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Fluff, Crack, Smooching, Light mention of sex (not explicit)

---

"Greetings, peasant. I require your assistance with the electronic computing device."

Nandor hulked over the reference desk, looking like an anachronism standing amidst the dull, institutional decor of the public library. He wore a floor length cape trimmed in gold embroidery over a brocade tunic and deerskin pants. He attempted an awkward smile, putting his fangs on full display.

He wasn't the strangest thing the librarian had seen that day.

“Sure,” she replied with a guarded smile. “What are you trying to do?”

"I am attempting to post an advertisement on a list kept by a man named..." he glanced down at a scrap of paper in his hand, "...Craig."

Ninety painstaking minutes later the librarian breathed a sigh of relief as the strange man finally clicked “publish.”

“Now, you just keep an eye on your email,” she kindly explained, “and wait for someone to respond.”

Nandor’s eyes lit up with a kind of hungry delight as he switched tabs to his empty Hotmail inbox.

“Your assistance has been most appreciated,” he thanked her, reaching into his tunic and flicking a heavy, gold coin in her direction.

She flinched as the coin flew at her head, awkwardly catching it and placing it beside the keyboard. 

“You’re welcome, Mr. Relentless. But I can’t accept a tip. Have a nice night.”

She stood up and walked back to her desk with a look of repressed hilarity on her face. She doubted anyone would reply to this guy’s post. But then, she reminded herself, she’d certainly seen stranger things happen…

Nandor clicked refresh and frowned when his email remained stubbornly empty.

---

Vampire’s Familiar (Staten Island)

Attention Mortals!

Do you weary of your pathetic human lives? Do you wish to find purpose in serving your evolutionary superior? Can you lift at least 50 lbs without assistance?

I, Nandor the Relentless, Conqueror of Thousands and Immortal Vampire, seek a human familiar to do my dark bidding. Duties include, but are not limited to, daytime errands, cleaning of a large mansion, laundry, personal valet services, securing the house against sunlight, blowing out candles, and waste disposal. The successful contender will be provided room and board for a fair rate ($1200/month) and the promise of eternal life after their term of service (length TBD).

If you possess the courage, kindly respond by electronic letter.

---

It had to be fake, right?

Guillermo sat in the break room at Panera Bread, idly scrolling through job ads on Craig’s List when the heading “Vampire’s Familiar” caught his eye. For a second he felt his stomach swoop with excitement before he got a hold of himself. It was probably just another jerk looking for attention. Guillermo knew in his heart that vampires were real, despite never having met one in real life. And it was his dearest, secret dream to become one of them. But so far, his internet sleuthing had uncovered nothing but a whole lot of pathetic internet trolls.

But what if this was the one?

He clicked the link, biting his nails as the text of the job posting loaded on the screen. He read through it, a smile tugging on his lips. He really shouldn’t get his hopes up, but his eyes kept darting back to that name. Nandor the Relentless. Conqueror of Thousands. What a cool vampire name.

He opened his Gmail app and started a new message.

---

Dear Nandor the Relentless,

My name is Guillermo de la Cruz and I am writing to you in response to your Craigslist posting seeking a human familiar. I have long been an enthusiastic admirer of vampires and it would be a dream come true to meet one and work for them.

I’m a responsible, hard worker who’s eager to learn new things. While I have never worked as a familiar before, I do have a background in customer service and a Bachelor’s Degree in History from Stony Brook University. I have attached a copy of my resume.

Looking forward to hearing from you,

Guillermo de la Cruz

---

Guillermo suggested they meet at a Panera Bread on Staten Island because it was familiar and, more importantly, public. He was less worried about meeting an immortal, murderous creature of the night than he was about the possibility that the guy could turn out to be a regular human serial killer.

He picked a comfy armchair by the window and sipped his tea while he watched the door, feeling a thrill every time it opened. He was early. If this guy turned out to be the real deal, then he desperately wanted to make a good first impression. When a tall, darkly handsome man with long hair and a cape walked through the door Guillermo gulped and raised his hand in a shy wave.

“Nandor?” he asked, just to be sure. 

The man turned to him and there was no mistake. Guillermo’s breath caught in his throat. His skin was pale, almost glowing in the restaurant’s warm lighting. His eyes were dark brown and penetrating. Guillermo felt struck when the vampire’s gaze fell on him, as if he could see straight through him and into the most secret parts of his soul. He stepped closer, looming over Guillermo and looking somehow both self-important and unsure.

“And you are…” Nandor glanced upward, searching for the name. “Guy...Gil...Gilbert?”

“Guillermo,” he corrected with a shy smile. He shifted on his feet and adjusted his glasses nervously. He knew vampires were sexy by nature, of course. But he hadn’t been expecting to feel an immediate attraction to his prospective employer. This guy had his own gravity and he was sucking Guillermo in.

“Guillermo, of course.”

Hearing his name in the vampire’s rich, accented voice sent a tingle down his spine.

“Shall we, uh, sit down?” Guillermo stammered and then smacked a hand to his head, gesturing to the display case of pastries, “Unless you want something…?”

Nandor hissed dramatically and Guillermo got his first good look at his fangs. Honestly, he felt faint. This guy was either an excellent cosplayer or he was for real.

“Vampires cannot consume human food,” Nandor announced with a grimace of disgust. “Lesson number one.”

Nandor sat with a sweep of his cape and Guillermo followed suit.

“Oh! Of course! I have a lot to learn… Mr. Nandor--Mr. Relentless, sir,” Guillermo stammered, finally picking up his tea and taking a big gulp just to shut himself up.

“Master will do just fine,” the vampire replied as he adjusted the fall of his impressive cape around him. “That’s how you’ll refer to me if you get the job.”

“Oh! That’s--um,” Guillermo tilted his head and narrowed his eyes as he pondered the right word, “very...antiquated?”

“Well, hello! I’m a vampire! Kind of comes with the territory,” Nandor scoffed dismissively. “If you’re not interested--”

“No! No, I’m...I’m definitely interested,” Guillermo insisted, blushing furiously at his own words. He was interested...in more ways than one, apparently. He couldn’t stop glancing down at the vampire’s mouth, his full lips and the delicious hint of sharp fangs. God, what would it be like? To be bitten…

Nandor watched as the human’s full cheeks darkened with a blush. He parted his lips and inhaled longingly, scenting the sweet, spicy aroma of the man’s blood and barely suppressing a growl. 

He cleared his throat, shifting in his seat and abruptly asking, “So, you want to tell me a bit about why you are wanting to become my familiar?”

The interview--oh my god, I’m having an actual interview with an actual vampire!--flew by somehow. At first, Guillermo was all nervous stammers and sweaty palms, but after a few minutes he couldn’t help the natural urge to gush and he found himself barraging the vampire with fascinated questions. Not just about the job, but about himself. How old was he? Could he fly? Turn into a bat? Use mind control? What about sunlight, was that really a thing? Garlic? 

Rather than becoming annoyed, Nandor seemed to preen under the human’s obvious admiration. He held his head high and his word choice became increasingly grandiose as he waxed poetic about his existence as a creature of the night.

As the meeting finally wound down, Nandor turned his deep, liquid eyes on Guillermo, capturing him in his gaze as he spoke.

“Now, Guillermo, you must tell me one thing. If I choose you for this job, are you willing to give up all this,” he gestured around at the interior of the Panera Bread. A cashier wiped down the glass display case and an infant wailed somewhere in the back of the dining area. “And come and live with me, putting yourself under my control and becoming subject to my dark power?”

Guillermo gulped down his nerves, feeling the momentousness of the occasion as he whispered, for the first time, “Yes, master…”

“Wonderful!” Nandor cried with a clap of his hands. “I will reach out to you through the ether after the checking of your background.”

The vampire stood, moving away from the table before Guillermo could formulate a response.

“The...ether?” he finally asked, his brows knitting together in confusion. “How will that work?”

Nandor waved away Guillermo’s confusion with a flick of his wrist and answered, “Very simple. My voice will come to you in the evening before you are a falling into the slumber.”

Guillermo was silent for a beat, wondering how this answer was meant to clear up his confusion. 

“Right,” he finally murmured. “Of course…”

Nandor turned to stalk out the door and Guillermo jogged after him, “Wait! There’s just...just one more thing, before you go.”

Nandor turned back with an annoyed expression, “Yes, what is it? I’m getting pretty hungry over here!”

Guillermo choked down an enthusiastic squeak at this admission and attempted to school his features into neutral calm as he asked, “How do I know you’re legit? Can you...show me proof?”

Nandor’s eyes darkened and he seemed to grow even taller as he turned his full focus on the human man, “You require proof? You require proof from Nandor the Relentless, who has twice turned the waters of the Euphrates red with his enemy’s blood. Proof, you say?!”

“Yeah,” Guillermo shrugged, holding onto what he hoped was an aloof calm as he quaked internally.

Nandor sighed and rolled his eyes as he answered, “Fine! Come with me. Fu-cking guy…”

He led Guillermo to the alleyway behind the Panera. During the day you might find a delivery truck back here or an employee taking out the garbage, but it was deserted at this hour of the night. Nandor stomped ahead of Guillermo, clearly aggravated at this request. He stopped and turned to face the human with a dramatic flare of his cape.

“Prepare your puny mortal brain,” he warned and then, without ceremony, he transformed into a bat.

Guillermo gasped, his face splitting into a wide grin as the tiny, squeaking thing flew circles around his head, landing in the lush curls of his hair for an instant before taking flight once more and erupting back into his vampiric form.

Guillermo rushed up to Nandor’s side, positively gushing, “It’s true! You’re real! A real vampire! Oh my god, I--”

Nandor suddenly broke out into an aggrieved hiss, grimacing and turning his face away.

“Watch it with that shit!” he complained loudly. “You can’t say...the g-word around vampires! You understand?”

Guillermo tilted his head in confusion for a second before realization lit his eyes.

“Oh! The g-word, of course! I’m...I’m sorry, master. I promise I’ll learn quickly,” he babbled. Now that he knew for certain that Nandor was a vampire, he was desperate to land this job. It was everything he’d dreamed of since he was a little kid first watching Antonio Banderas as Armand.

“Yeah, well--you’d better!” Nandor griped, but his face smoothed into a self-satisfied smirk at Guillermo’s obvious hero worship. A thought occured to him as he watched Guillermo’s adoring gaze. “There’s one more thing--I’ve just remembered. You can never fall in love with me, human. I know a lot of vampires who get into the whole sex thing with their familiars and it always ends up...messy. Understand? That’s a condition of your employment.”

Guillermo felt his face once again heating up with mortification. Had he been so transparent?

“Of course, master. I understand,” he murmured. 

Nandor nodded, looking satisfied with Guillermo’s answer.

“Alright, then. Remember, you will hear my voice through the ether! Night, night!”

And then Nandor braced his knees and leaped into the air, soaring over Guillermo’s head and into the night sky.

“Wow!” Guillermo sighed, watching the tiny pinprick that was his vampire disappear into the darkness. “He’s so fucking cool…”

---

Some years later…

Guillermo sat in the fancy room with his legs tucked up underneath him, typing away on his laptop as Nandor fed another piece of wood to the fire. He paused long enough to enjoy the view of his boyfriend’s ample (yet firm!) backside as he bent over the fireplace. 

“Guillermo,” Nandor started, dragging out the last syllable adorably. “What are you working on over there?”

“Why don’t you come here and see?” Guillermo replied with a shy smile. He patted the cushion next to him. He was still bashful about flirting with his master. Their relationship had finally--finally!--advanced after years of longing and pining. But even after a week of learning everything Nandor had to teach him about the joys of vampiric sex, he still felt unaccountably shy about their new relationship status.

Nandor settled down beside him, pressing their sides together and peering down at the thin computing contraption with a look of trepidation. 

“You need to be careful with these things, Guillermo!” Nandor admonished, wrapping an arm around his familiar and pressing his face into the warm crook of his neck. He breathed in his delightful scent before continuing, “There are witches on the internet who can curse you through the electronic post!”

“Don’t worry, mas--Nandor. I’m being very careful,” Guillermo assured him. 

The night they first made love, Guillermo had been overwhelmed, beside himself with a heady mix of physical sensations and emotions. He’d cried out at Nandor’s touch, using the title that he’d been trained to use for almost a decade. Nandor had felt his stomach drop and ice flow through his veins at the sound. “No...no, my Guillermo. Call me Nandor. Please. Call me by my name…”

“What do we have here…?” Nandor pondered, squinting his eyes as he read the text on the screen. “Guillermo! What is this all about!?”

“You said it yourself, Nandor,” he replied with a sly smirk. “Not falling in love with you was a condition of my employment…”

The words hung in the air between them for a moment and Guillermo felt as though he’d just opened up his chest and revealed his beating heart to the vampire’s hungry gaze. 

Nandor’s dark eyes softened and sparkled in the firelight as he murmured, “Oh, my Guillermo… I--I love you too.”

Nandor took the laptop and set it on the coffee table before taking Guillermo into his arms and laying kiss after kiss across his sweet face. 

“Are you ready?” Nandor’s voice was hushed. Guillermo looked up at him and was awestruck all over again at his luck. That such a man could love little ole Memo.

“Yeah, just--hang on a sec,” he said, leaning over Nandor’s lap to reach the computer and hitting “enter.” He fell back into Nandor’s arms, looking up at him with perfect trust and saying, for the last time, “Yes, Master. I’m ready.”

---

Vampire Couple seeking Human Familiar (Staten Island)

Do you long to explore the hidden world of magical creatures all around you? Do you have a strong stomach? A career as a vampire’s familiar might be for you!

Nandor the Relentless and Guillermo the Great seek a human assistant to do their dark bidding...

#nandermo #nandor x guillermo #guillermo x nandor #nandor the relentless #guillermo de la cruz #wwdits fanfic #what we do in the shadows fanfic #wwdits

[captainjimothycarter]

She knows of her, sure. But Natasha’s never met the woman. There were horror stories about this woman in some countries. Her reputation was not something to fuck with. Natasha got her chance though. When she was her most devious. Because let’s face it—there are but a select few who are better at what she does, or is capable of. Has done. There’s even a shorter list of special people Natasha won’t touch. Peggy Carter is one of them.

 OP are you SURE you trust me with this amazing prompt? [I took it under my own interpretation, if this isn’t what you intended, I apologize.]

--

She was being followed.

Being Director of Shield – excuse me newly appointment Director, as Howard is not to let her get over that quite anytime soon, she is used to it.

She’s always being followed, rather it's by security that’s supposed to tag her at all times, even when she is home alone.

By her husband whose now, as she last checked in before he went radio silent had just landed in Quebec.

By people who want her dead.

That was nothing new.

Peggy knew she was being followed, she just couldn’t prove it. Not yet.

The person didn’t want to be found, instead, she wanted Peggy to know that she was following her. Peggy knew that the stranger knew, because why else would she allow a misstep here or there when she’s been careful beforehand?

No, she wanted her to know that she’s being watched.

Watched for what? Evaluated? Studied? Locked away in some system they had yet to crack to find a full analysis of her? The possibilities were unknown but Peggy was very much used to the near-impossible when it came to Shield and her enemies.

Fieldwork was no longer in the photo for Peggy. She had agents for that, good agents that she trusted. Yet there comes a time when she’s forced to play her hand, to make her own play in the field or she’s forced to defend herself after some diplomatic meeting has gone wrong.

And crikey, has this one gone wrong.

She knew it was a set up from the start and had warned her men, but they were preoccupied with outside forces, leaving Peggy to handle the three inside.

Two were down for the count, one dead with his own bullet through his skull, the other most likely paralyzed for life thanks to Peggy twisting his neck just enough to make him collapse. The last before her was barely standing, bloodied with pale, white eyes.

There were no words needed to be said. Peggy was tired of talking. Talking go nowhere. Actions did. She’s proven that time and time again. The final swing of the make-shift weapon that once was the leg of a chair bashed into the man’s head and dropped him to the floor like a sack of potatoes. He was dead. Just another on her list of reasons why she’s a horrible person. A necessary decision to protect others, so Peggy likes to think she did the right thing. But that’s not her judgment to make when she dies.

That’s no one to make.

Her ears are ringing, trying to recount in her head the last few events, the men in the room. She’s suffered some blood loss, her shoulder is bleeding. There’s a bullet lodged in there that’s gonna play hell to get out. Most likely she will pass out soon, her vision was already spotty.

Every agent knew when they were being followed.

There was a noise. A heavy crashing, the sound of glass shattering. Peggy whirled around and caught the wall to see the chandelier had fallen on a masked man she hadn’t seen in the room before. He had a knife in hand, no doubt poised to stab her in the back. How poetic.

Yet how had such a secure piece had fallen? The wire looked cut. Her eyes flew to the ceiling and spotted just out the window a flash of red hair. So it was her, her mysterious stalker.

Well, she should get her a thank you basket, now shouldn’t she?

--

“He’s not going to be happy about that, is he?”

Peggy doesn’t look up from the folder she’s reading, flipping the page of the report over. Her left shoulder is stinging, refusing to take any pain meds. Without looking up, she knows who it is. Her stalker. She’s somewhere in her office, meaning she was followed in here, like many times before. Meaning she wants to discuss. Not harm. Why save her if not just to harm her?

Peggy shrugged her wounded shoulder and regrets that choice.

“Possibly, but it's not his place to worry, despite how I know he will.” She’s talking about Steve or perhaps Michael, either way, she’s right. “He will get over it and I’ll heal quite fine.” Finally, she looks up to see the redhead sitting in front of her with emerald green eyes that stare right into her soul. “I should thank you for saving my life this afternoon. I hadn’t seen him come in.”

“And nor should you. He didn’t wish to be seen.” She plopped in the chair and put her feet up on Peggy’s desk, balancing on two legs. “You don’t deserve to die.”

Peggy snorted. “Some disagree.”

“Certainly, but not in that manner. No one deserves to die stabbed in the back.”

She can’t help but wonder who hurt her? Whose hurt the redhead before her? “Agreed.” A pause, they’re regarding one another. “You’re making yourself known. If I was to be dead, it would’ve been beforehand. You don’t kill people when they’re at their weakest. There’s no fun in that, so why are you here?”

Natasha smirks because she’s serious. Genuine serious. Good. She’s never met someone who could match her skill set so easily. She’s read her record, the woman was dangerous across several countries, her diplomacy within Shield is what keeps her from being locked away or killed. She’s good. Too good. “To offer you my hand.”

Peggy’s red lips twitch before she flinches as she leans back, kicking her heels off and tucking them under her chair. Even relaxed, she looks dangerous. “I’m afraid I’m already married.”

Natasha laughs. Even that sound alone would send chills down someone’s spine, but not her. She’s steady, hard as a rock. “I wouldn’t’ dare to take you from him or vise versa. No, you two keep each other stable. You’re a solid force.” She clicks her tongue on the roof of her mouth and hums for a moment. “You and I both know that I am not the only one trailing you. You don’t mind this easy and that’s how you’ve survived so far. You willingly walked into a situation you knew that was dangerous. That will betray you, but how many more of those do you possess? How many more of those lucky moments do you have? A cat only has nine lives.”

Peggy is silent, watching her lean back in the chair, until it threatens to fall before she slams it back down.

“You don’t need my help but I am offering it. I know the lists of those against you. I know the people. I know the intel. The world needs a strong woman like you leading them. We cannot risk losing you. You are what stands in their way from destroying innocent lives.” She’s a killer, yes, but she has morals, every killer does when you kill for the right reason. You kill a pedophile so you save children’s lives. You kill a murderer who does this for fun to save countless lives. You kill a politician who will see his citizens will die rather than help them. She can’t say she’s for hire, but she knows a good choice when she sees it.

She won’t say protect, Peggy’s notice, and for good reason. Protection. That’s what you tell little kids at night when they have dreams. Protection. Safe. That’s an illusion she’s long lost. She is no longer safe and perhaps has never been safe, the more she uncovers of her family and its history. She’s been prepared her entire life and she’s ready to face the challenges.

Peggy’s hand curls around her tumble of bourbon and sips on it before passing it over to the redhead who drinks it down in one gulp. “This cat has a handful of lives left,” she purrs, looking at the empty glass and turning it over in her hand. “Your assistance will be most welcome. Your price, perhaps not.”

“Since when is the price ever a good one?” Natasha purred, her head cocking to the side. She won’t ask a name. She won’t remember her face. These ones are good, valuable. She sees why many want her dead. “Only one. You will be visited by the one they call the Asset. Perhaps the Winter Soldier is another name you know.” She pauses, she regards Peggy’s eyes. They’re hard. She knows him and not on good terms. “Your first instinct will be to kill him and why not? He has killed so many of your friends, your family. I ask that you do not. What Captain Rogers is to you is what he is to me. He is in no control of his actions as a puppet is on strings.” Peggy’s head barely nods. She understands. Out of everyone, she would.

“We will keep him safe,” Peggy muses, picking her head up to meet those eyes. “I can promise you that. Everyone should be in control of their own actions. This does not leave the room beyond my husband.”

“As expected. He will need to be with you to subdue him. You’ll find out behind the man is a familiar face.” Standing up, Natasha regards the woman called Director Carter before that, Agent Carter, and before that, just Marge. Now she’s a force of nature that no one knows any bounds to stop. Everything will be destroyed in her wreckage to shape the future she wishes to have, regardless of who wants it or not.

Peggy Carter is a dangerous woman and Natasha intends to keep it that way.

#Peggy Carter #natasha romonova #Black Widow #More of post Black Widow and doing her own thing #She has a [good] obsession with Peggy #Kinda? #Its complicated #But OP this is AMAZZZZING #Thank you #1.6k #I hope you like it??? #Steggy #Just mentions #Steggy Prompt #Peggy Prompt #Nonny Prompt