#somerset offers

[turnertable]

I’m suffering the post-concert blues from a festival I didn’t even physically attend, only through a TV (Glastonbury of course!) and was wondering if I could put in a request for just some general fluff between Alex and the reader after his show with the monkeys at glasto this year? Maybe reader being just extremely proud and some tired but cute as fuck fluffiness. I’m not great with actually putting my ideas into words and describing them, sorry! Hope you understand what I’m on about <3

written by meee, first fic. sorry if it's shit

warnings: none, just silly sick Alex fluff

word count: 2k

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Sick Day at Glastonbury

(Alex Turner x Reader) (the car era !)

(gif credit to @alexturner )

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The final chords of R U Mine? buzzed across the field of Worthy Farm, Somerset and Alex finally breathed out after all the excitement of the Glastonbury Festival. "Third time's a charm." Alex said under his breath as he did his bows and blew the kisses like usual, turning to his bandmates to leave the stage with a smile. His voice was on the brink of collapse but the attention was enough to make him want to do it all over again.

At the side of the stage, stood her. His pride and joy, the one person he needed to prove himself worthy to still, to impress. Even with the mirrorball right there, somehow she glowed brighter. Y/N could hardly contain her excitement as she cheered him on at this final hurrah, like she hadn't been screaming his name after every song as a measure of her pride in the band. The anticipation of seeing each other again was magnetic and it only took a few steps.

As the Monkeys left the stage, Y/N offered a soft smile and congratulations to Jamie, Matt and Nick, her voice hoarse from the screaming which the boys could understand and offered her hugs before running off to their girls desperately. Y/N loved Alex to the ends of the earth but dating a lead singer did mean you were left at the side of the stage the longest because he was always the one to cue the lights to go down, this was almost a game to see how long he'd take at each gig she attended. Eventually, Alex got off the stage and smiled so wide at the sight of her, running over and picking her up excitedly.

"Babeh!" He chuckled a bit at his excitement as she clung to him. "We did it!" His voice was getting hoarse since he was supposed to be on vocal rest. Y/N pulled him for a kiss to shut him up which Alex of course didn't mind, it was the only polite way to keep him quiet.

She got down and looked at him like he was a god, noticing his messy hair after and giggling. "Al, you look like a lion" She tried to tame it slightly but it was too far gone plus he looked too cute to try to amend perfection. He smiled back like she was an angel before him and shrugged.

"You seem t' like it tho.." Alex hummed as he wrapped an arm around her waist, attempting to lead her backstage so they could both rest after all the raucous. She smiled and looked down, nodding, "perhaps…" as she followed Alex back to the dressing room, letting him rub her side as the crowd became quieter and quieter.

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Alex opened the door and held it for Y/N, "Ladies first, me love." Y/N slightly swooned at his gentlemanly moves. Even if she was used to his actions, the looks and gravitas of Alex Turner would forever be a shock of her system. She waltzed in and essentially fell onto the sofa from the exhaustion of jumping around for 2 hours, making Alex chuckle softly at the sight.

"You ok, babeh?" He sat on the arm of the chair, coughing as his voice squeaks due to the laryngitis he was facing; frankly the fact he even went out on stage was a feat for only the best. Y/N offered him a sympathetic look and a nod, mumbling out a small "tired." with a whine.

As they shared a moment of mutual sympathy, Alex attempted to pull Y/N to sit up gently so she could lay in his lap from the sofa as he rested his voice, just so she knew that he was there for her, even if he couldn't say it. Y/N complied and Alex's hand found it's way into her hair to softly stroke it as he looked down at her with awe and love. She was his, the muse in every word he wrote, the light of his life. He just hoped she knew it.

Y/N shut her eyes and hummed to herself to fill the silence of where Alex's words would usually occupy, much to his joy. Everything felt perfect in this moment. If the festival hadn't felt like a milestone, this comedown was a haven well deserved. Alex's gaze never left her face, studying it like it was the first time he'd ever seen it: tender touches traced her jaw and cheek. This made Y/N giggle slightly, remaining serene amazingly.

"Alexander, that tickles." One of her eyes opened up for a second to see his reaction with a sweet smile. What voice Alex had left was a breathy, squeaky mess so to avoid being compared to his younger self, he offered a cheeky shrug and a poke on the cheek. Y/N noticed and thought to herself: "Do you want some tea?" She tried to sit up as she voiced her concern for him.

This wasn't just an offer of a beverage and the pair of them knew that: Y/N wanted to look after a very sickly Alex. Being the man of the relationship, he had been handling laryngitis "well" or in actuality, he hadn't been able to have a smoke for a week and lay on the tour bus bunk for hours at a time. However this was not a usual Alex is ill situation, it was Glastonbury and a continuing tour after it: there was little time for reluctance nor resistance to being looked after for Alex. He nodded and let her go to the kettle as he sat on the sofa silently, putting his feet up which Y/N smiled at softly as she turned back to look at him, exchanging a look of "it'll be ok baby".

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On the table that housed the kettle, also sat the record player which Alex always requested on the rider: a man who loved his profession didn't cover it. If Alex wasn't performing, the 8 track or gramophone filled the fleeting seconds until the next time he was on stage. Naturally Y/N got the record from before the show back on, much to Alex's enjoyment as he hummed out as if to say "good job" and leaned his head back. Y/N leaned against the table as the kettle boiled, watching her boyfriend relax and grinning to herself at the sight of Alex Turner relaxing for once in his busy life.

"You good?" Y/N joked, checking he was alright since this was odd for her to see. Alex offered her a thumbs up and a stupid smile, making Y/N actually laugh and narrow her eyes at his need to one-up her joke. Alex's wide smile and her genuine chuckle was rudely interrupted by the click of the kettle going off, leading them to both jump at it which only prompted another soft laugh and gaze between them. Y/N turned back to the table to make their tea, making sure to do it perfectly for Alex, he only deserves the best.

"Now I know it's not beer or the best rolled, organic cigarette but… I think I make a good cuppa." Y/N said all cutely as she set the drink down on the coffee table in front of the sofa. Alex smiled softly and sat up, gazing at her with such a grateful look. No words were needed for Y/N to understand how much Alex loved her and appreciated this. She scurried off to get her tea and came to sit with him, leaning on his shoulder to stay close to him and holding her cup in her hands to stay warm.

"I don't know if you need to hear this because I think the crowd said it for you.." Y/N whispered to him as she continued, "but I'm so fucking proud of you, there's no band that could do that 3 times that well as the monkeys…" Alex immediately turned to her and kissed her temple with need after that reassurance, not being able to thank her vocally. Y/N lit up and sipped her tea before cuddling into him more and sighing. "I'm glad I'm here, to watch you do this…" Y/N just gushed on and on about the band and himself, not quite finding the words specifically but talking like she couldn't ever stop praising him.

Alex's smile felt permanent as far as he was concerned, just the way she made him feel was like a drug and he was so ready to be able to talk properly again so he could tell her that but alas, here he was, non verbal with tea in his hands and a sore throat. "I love ya." Alex squeaked out and blushed slightly, "Sorry luv, it's like we're back int boardwalk, aye?" He continued into the joke to hide the disdain he had for his voice right now.

Y/N smiled brightly and shrugged, "I'd still kiss 20 year old Alex, don't you worry. His voice was cute too…but don't let him out just to talk to me. Vocal rest, Turner." She scolded him slightly but it was all in the name of love and wanting him well again. Alex nodded and smirked at the comment, looking her up and down to be funny, making Y/N tap him softly. "Behave yourself, not like that." Alex was content with that answer and sipped his own drink, listening to the music that filled the room.

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As cups drained and cuddles were exchanged, Alex and Y/N's eyes became heavy with warmth and comfort; "Do we need to go back to the hotel?" Y/N mumbled out, followed by a yawn. Alex hummed in response as he nodded with shut eyes. Stretching and leaving Alex's arms, Y/N giggled slightly, "are we that old now where we won't even enjoy Glastonbury after hours?", causing Alex to crack up a bit. Alex looked at her and shrugged like "yeah and what about it?, the smug persona hadn't left since the last time they were at the festival, just it wasn't to get a girl but in fact, a bed to sleep in with the love of his life.

"Back in a sec." Y/N got up and went to leave to find Steve or anyone from the crew to get the pair of them a ride to the hotel. It was a benefit of dating a rockstar, she got what she wanted with more included but honestly Alex's needs were shared right now. Once the ride was confirmed, she returned to Alex and packed their stuff they desperately needed, anything that the crew wouldn't be able to get them later. Alex came to help and yawned as they waited for the knock on the door to leave. His hand found its way to her waist again, it was his way of keeping her safe within the feeling of fame; plus he knew she liked it. She smiled up at him and rubbed her eyes as the knock came at the door as the cue to go.

They snuck out of the dressing room and out of the back to their security, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible in this massive festival where Alex was already under a lot of pressure. If he was seen ill and half asleep, the NME would have it on the website in an hour. They stayed hidden, heads down and walking fast to that car on the other side of the festival. Luckily, the paps only caught what they couldn't see as the pair stepped into the car and sped off to their hotel.

Alex sighed out and looked over at Y/N who was already looking at him. That knowing gaze was unstoppable at that point. It took a lot to get the rockstar away from the music but for Y/N, the golden boy of Glastonbury Festival would call it a night.

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#arctic monkeys #alex turner #alex turner x reader #alex turner x you #alex turner fluff #alex turner x y/n #arctic monkeys fanfic #alex turner x fem reader #alex turner imagine #alex turner one shot

[dwarfanonymice]

My two cents that nobody will read.

I liked the series. It was entertaining and interesting. I know it is called Mary and George. Kudos to them to have the guts to show a queer relationship that shaped English history. But the historian student I once was will not rest.

Mary and George:

not historically accurate: Somerset was dismissed with a letter in 1615 after a quarrel and replaced with George immediately. The Overbury trial sealed his fate.

not expanding correctly on James and George's love: we have proof of that, even flamboyant proof.

Mary's role in his son's life wasn't that active: she had bigger fish to fry with the others and she wasn't a lesbian. We have proof. With all the real lesbians and gays and queers of the period, why do we still need to invent them?

The biggest Queen was the King. In Tony Curran's words. He had surely anxiety problems (with his life how could he not) and he suffered of mood swings.

George had three kids and James wasn't that jealous of his wife: she was regularly at court (I know that the night before the wedding James had a breakdown but they were steady with their affections and he got over it).

George and James were promiscuous but so in love with each other that nobody doubted, not even them. Proof in their letters till James' death and in the reports the Venetian ambassador wrote (you can count on Venice's gossip. It was accurate: the Republic's survival depended on it).

No love letters.

Not showing the secret passage.

Not showing that famous speech comparing them to Jesus and John.

No historically accurate petnames.

Buckingham was incompetent on important matters but not a himbo.

Buckingham didn't kill James: there's no proof about this dark legend. He offered him a cup with some medicine in it according to one report. The king suffered from malaria (or what his doctors thought it was malaria) and George didn't kill him in that way in front of a witness like that.

Not showing the part where he stayed on as Charles I's main advisor for some years before being killed: it almost appears he was killed after the coronation.

Not showing La Rochelle's debacle, his games at the French court with Anne of Austria (we have proof of that) and how unequipped he was against Richelieu.

The fashion wasn't that dark. The show is too dark and Nick would have looked attractive with those beards too. Also Somerset had a wrong beard and all (even the Spanish) didn't have those close cropped beards in that fashion. Were are the flamboyant moustaches?

Not showing Charles' wedding with Henriette Marie of France and the fact that George was probably in that marriage too. In what capacity they only know.

Wrong hair colour for Somerset and for Buckingham. One had red hair, the other auburn. Curly or wavy was the fashion.

Not showing that Buckingham was a good friend of Queen Anne. We have proof in affectionate letters in which she asked him to be "always true" to her husband. George was knighted in her bedchamber and she called him "her dog". She didn't care for Somerset. At all.

Sorry for all of this. I encourage you to watch it but after years I am still waiting for a series that will have the guts to show the historical facts for what they were. They were surely wilder than what we see.

#mary and george #I have nothing against the actors #It was very well acted #good job everyone #still waiting for a James and George though #17th century England

[duxbelisarius]

The Dragon has Three Heads or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Believe That Young Griff is the Real Deal

Before going any further, I want to warn anyone reading this analysis that it will contain spoilers for A Dance With Dragons, so proceed at your own risk.

This essay came about from an 'epiphany' I had while reading ADWD on break at work, specifically chapter Daenerys VII. In this chapter, Quentyn Martell and his companions present themselves to Daenerys and offer her a marriage alliance with Dorne. This being the day of her wedding to Hizdahr zo Loraq, Dany refuses and makes note mentally of Quaithe's earlier warning about not trusting "the Sun's Son." The identification seems simple enough, with House Martell's sigil featuring the sun and Quentyn being the son of Doran Martell, Prince of Dorne, but there are serious problems with this conclusion.

The issue with labeling Quentyn Martell the Sun's Son stems from how Dany reaches this conclusion; for starters, this is the original quote given by Quaithe in Daenerys II:

"No. Hear me, Daenerys Targaryen. The glass candles are burning. Soon comes the pale mare, and after her the others. Kraken and dark flame, lion and griffin, the sun's son and the mummer's dragon. Trust none of them. Remember the Undying. Beware the perfumed seneschal."

And this is how Dany identifies Quentyn as the Sun's Son in Daenerys VII and VIII:

Something tickled at her memory. "Ser Barristan, what are the arms of House Martell?"

"A sun in splendor, transfixed by a spear."

The sun's son. A shiver went through her. "Shadows and whispers." What else had Quaithe said? The pale mare and the sun's son. There was a lion in it too, and a dragon. Or am I the dragon? "Beware the perfumed seneschal." That she remembered. "Dreams and prophecies. Why must they always be in riddles? I hate this. Oh, leave me, ser. Tomorrow is my wedding day."

...

The pale mare. Daenerys sighed. Quaithe warned me of the pale mare's coming. She told me of the Dornish prince as well, the sun's son. She told me much and more, but all in riddles.

George has talked about the fickle nature of prophecy in the books and publicly, citing the Duke of Somerset's death at the Battle of St. Albans in Shakespeare's Henry VI as an example of why the literal or easiest interpretations are not always the most reliable. While Dany's conclusion that Quentyn is the 'Sun's Son' seems straightforward, she bases it solely on Barristan's description of the Martell arms. Her reasoning is mainly to justify marrying Hizdahr by dismissing the Martell offer, as Dany herself barely remembers Quaithe's warning and bemoans her 'riddles'.

Assuming that the 'Pale Mare' refers to the 'bloody flux' that the Astapori refugees bring to Meereen, and that the Kraken, dark flame, lion, griffon and mummer's dragon refer to Victarion Greyjoy, Moqorro, Tyrion, Connington and Young Griff respectively, the sequence of Quaithe's warning makes no sense with Quentyn as the 'Sun's Son.' At the end of ADWD, Tyrion is outside the walls of Meereen while Victarion and Moqorro are en route with the Iron Fleet, and Connington and Young Griff are in Westeros. If Dany's return to Meereen from the Dothraki Sea is followed by her journeying westwards, then this sequence makes sense. Victarion will likely destroy the Slaver's fleets and is seeking Dany's hand in marriage, while Moqorro is with him for the purpose of acknowledging her as Azor Ahai and encouraging her to free the slaves of Volantis. Given Tyrion's association with Varys, Illyrio, Jorah and now 'Brown Ben Plumm,' and his family's role in Robert's rebellion, it makes sense that he would not immediately seek out Daenerys on her return to Meereen. Connington and Young Griff await her in Westeros, but Quentyn as the 'Sun's Son' precedes all of them, breaking Quaithe's otherwise sensible sequence. If Quentyn were the 'Sun's Son' he could just as easily have been paired with the Kraken, since both are sent by the heads of their houses to offer her an alliance, while Tyrion and Moqorro travel together on the Selaesori Qhoran (the 'Perfumed Seneschal') and Connington and Griff are in league with Varys.

The far greater issue with Dany's interpretation is that we have access to Quentyn's POV, and there is nothing to suggest that he seeks to betray Daenerys. His purpose was to approach Dany with a marriage alliance, to assist her in reclaiming her crown; his party was even sent by Tatters to scope out the situation in Meereen for a possible double-crossing of the Yunkai'i, specifically to aid Dany. The only thing close to untoward that he does is attempt to claim one of her Dragons, and this was a desperation move driven by his insecurities and his fear of returning to his father empty handed, which would mean that his fallen companions died for nothing:

"What name do you think they will give me, should I return to Dorne without Daenerys?" Prince Quentyn asked. "Quentyn the Cautious? Quentyn the Craven? Quentyn the Quail?" (The Discarded Knight, ADWD)

Volantis, Quentyn thought. Then Lys, then home. Back the way I came, empty-handed. Three brave men dead, for what?

...

His father would speak no word of rebuke, Quentyn knew, but the disappointment would be there in his eyes. His sister would be scornful, the Sand Snakes would mock him with smiles sharp as swords, and Lord Yronwood, his second father, who had sent his own son along to keep him safe … (The Spurned Suitor, ADWD)

Disqualifying Quentyn as the Sun's Son leaves us with only three options, of which only one really works. Trystane is the only other son of House Martell aside from Quentyn via Prince Doran, and given his limited roll in the story thus far I think it's safe to cross him off the list. Doran could theoretically work as the 'Sun's son,' as his mother was Princess of Dorne before him; given that Quaithe describes the figures as going to Dany, Doran's limited mobility and poor health would disqualify him. This leaves us with only one 'son of a sun,' that being 'Young Griff,' aka Aegon VI Targaryen, the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell, Princess of Dorne.

This association of Aegon with the Martells via his mother fits with the copious amounts of imagery linking him to the Rhoynar and to 'Egg' aka Aegon V of "Dunk and Egg" fame, specifically that character's travels in Dorne. Tyrion finds him living on a pole boat in the Rhoyne River, home of the ancient Rhoynar culture that Dorne descends from. The Shy Maid is operated by Yandry and Ysilla, so-called 'orphans of the Greenblood' which are another allusion to Dunk and Egg's travels on the Greenblood River in Dorne:

A poleboat had taken them down the Greenblood to the Planky Town, where they took passage for Oldtown on the galleas White Lady.

...

When they’d been poling down the Greenblood, the orphan girls had made a game of rubbing Egg’s shaven head for luck. (The Sworn Sword)

In Tyrion IV of ADWD, a massive horned turtle appears in the river by the Shy Maid, an obvious reference to the Rhoynish 'Old Man of the River,':

It was another turtle, a horned turtle of enormous size, its dark green shell mottled with brown and overgrown with water moss and crusty black river molluscs. It raised its head and bellowed, a deep-throated thrumming roar louder than any warhorn that Tyrion had ever heard. “We are blessed,” Ysilla was crying loudly, as tears streamed down her face. “We are blessed, we are blessed.”

Duck was hooting, and Young Griff too. Haldon came out on deck to learn the cause of the commotion . . . but too late. The giant turtle had vanished below the water once again. “What was the cause of all that noise?” the Halfmaester asked.

“A turtle,” said Tyrion. “A turtle bigger than this boat.”

“It was him,” cried Yandry. “The Old Man of the River.”

And why not? Tyrion grinned. Gods and wonders always appear, to attend the birth of kings.

When Tyrion and Haldon visit the Painted Turtle inn to find information about Daenerys' whereabouts, we have an interesting description of the inn from Tyrion:

The ridged shell of some immense turtle hung above its door, painted in garish colors. Inside a hundred dim red candles burned like distant stars. (Tyrion VI, ADWD)

We once more have Rhoynish symbolism in the turtle, while the 'garish colors' are reminiscent of Young Griff's hair, which is dyed blue in the Tyroshi fashion. Tyrion's description of inside the 'Painted Turtle' is one of dim red candles burning like stars, which can be seen as an oblique reference to the red rubies on Rhaegar's black breastplate, thereby associating the red of Targaryen heraldry with the cultural symbols of the Rhoynar.

The 'Dunk and Egg' imagery goes further, with both Egg and Aegon wearing distinctive straw sun hats, and being accompanied by their Hedge Knights from the Stormlands, both of whom have titles derived from their own simplistic personalities (Duncan the Tall, Rolly Duckfield). Moreover, Egg's journeying to Dorne ends up giving him refuge from the Spring Sickness that ravages Westeros, while Aegon's time in Essos serves as a refuge from Robert's spies and the chaos of the War of the Five Kings. While these similarities might be viewed as a doomed attempt by Varys to recreate Egg through Aegon, I think the purpose of these parallels is to establish both princes as following similar trajectories: both are sons of a Targaryen prince (Maekar, Rhaegar) and a Dornish noblewoman (Dyana Dayne, Elia Martell); become King of the Seven Kingdoms through unexpected circumstances: and if George plans to end ADOS with a mini-Dance of the Dragons, I would expect Aegon VI to meet a fiery end like Egg did.

If Young Griff is actually Aegon VI Targaryen as well as the 'Sun's Son,' this leaves the 'mummer's dragon' without any clear identity. Part of this is due to the conviction that Dany's identification of the cloth dragon from the undying visions with a 'mummer's dragon' or puppet dragon must be correct. In truth, there are countless cases from ADWD alone that show us that a mummer's object is not necessarily a puppet, but more broadly means something which is not as it appears:

I know one stands before me now, weeping mummer's tears. The realization made her sad. (Daenerys III, ADWD)

"Not here," warned Gerris, with a mummer's empty smile. "We'll speak of this tonight, when we make camp." (The Windblown, ADWD)

"My lord, I bear you no ill will. The rancor I showed you in the Merman's Court was a mummer's farce put on to please our friends of Frey."

...

I drink with Jared, jape with Symond, promise Rhaegar the hand of my own beloved granddaughter … but never think that means I have forgotten. The north remembers, Lord Davos. The north remembers, and the mummer's farce is almost done. My son is home." (Davos IV, ADWD)

His reign as prince of Winterfell had been a brief one. He had played his part in the mummer's show, giving the feigned Arya to be wed, and now he was of no further use to Roose Bolton. (The Turncloak, ADWD)

Fat Wyman Manderly, Whoresbane Umber, the men of House Hornwood and House Tallhart, the Lockes and Flints and Ryswells, all of them were northmen, sworn to House Stark for generations beyond count. It was the girl who held them here, Lord Eddard's blood, but the girl was just a mummer's ploy, a lamb in a direwolf's skin. So why not send the northmen forth to battle Stannis before the farce unraveled? (A Ghost in Winterfell, ADWD)

Mummer's tears and smiles are obviously false emotions, being affectations put on to hide what someone truly feels. Wyman Manderly is engaged in a mummer's farce wherein he pretends to be loyal to King Tommen and Roose Bolton, but in truth is scheming to restore the Starks to Winterfell and assist Stannis against the Boltons. Roose Bolton, Petyr Baelish and the Crown have in turn engaged in their own mummer's farce by sending Jeyne Poole north to wed Ramsay Snow in the guise of Arya Stark, "a lamb in direwolf's skin." If the 'mummer's dragon' is in fact a dragon that has been made to appear as something else, then Jon Snow more than fits this bill. By birth he should be a Targaryen, having been fathered by Rhaegar Targaryen upon Lyanna Stark; instead, his fortuitous Stark features inherited from his mother, and Ned's claiming Jon as his bastard and raising him amongst his children at Winterfell, has allowed Jon to hide in plain sight from those who would kill him for being Rhaegar's son.

The significance of Dany, Jon and Aegon being the three heads of the dragon is due to their mirroring a less conspicuous triad in George's World: elemental magic and it's connections to the Long Night. We are aware of three forms of elemental magic in the story, being pyromancy, cryomancy and hydromancy. Pyromancy is the most obvious, being the control and use of fire as we see with followers of Rhllor, and also tied to dragons. Cryomancy or ice magic appears in the powers of the Others and in the Wall separating the Seven Kingdoms from the lands beyond. Finally we have hydromancy or water magic, which was used by the Rhoynar against the Valyrian Freedhold and by Nymeria's Rhoynar settlers to support their communities within the deserts of Dorne. Company of the Cat has an excellent video discussing these three 'schools' of magic, but to summarize what she's said: Blue, Red and Green are the colours commonly associated with Ice, Fire and Water/the Sea in ASOIAF; in addition to being featured on the arms of ancient houses such as Massey and Strong, these elements are in turn associated with three magical items in the books. The first, The Horn of Joramun, can raise and lower The Wall (Ice); Dragonbinder, a horn that was likely used alongside similar horns to control the volcanoes of the fourteen flames in Valyria (Fire); and the 'Kraken summoning horn' which is most likely the Hammer of the Waters, since the Hammer raised the seas to swamp the 'Arm of Dorne,' which would have filled the seas fill with corpses of the dead and 'summoned' krakens, which would have fed on the bodies of the drowned.

The Valyrian, Northern and Rhoynish heritage of Dany, Jon and Aegon ties them to these three forms of magic respectively, and by extension to the Long Night. We are given three accounts of the Long Night between ASOIAF and TWOIAF, which I dub the 'western,' 'far eastern' and 'near eastern' versions. The 'western' account concerns the First Men, the Night's Watch, the Last Hero and the Others; the 'far eastern' account covers the 'Jade Compendium' and the Yi Tish account of the Blood Betrayal; and the 'near eastern' or Rhoynar account in which the children of Mother Rhoyne sang a song to return light to the world. Aegon is tied to the Rhoynish account through his mother's heritage, with references to the Rhoynish account in the 'Old Man of the River' appearing in ADWD and Dany's vision of Rhaegar talking about Aegon's 'Song' (that of Ice and Fire):

The Rhoynar tell of a darkness that made the Rhoyne of Essos dwindle and disappear, her waters frozen as far south as the joining of the Selhoru, until a hero convinced the many children of Mother Rhoyne, such as the Crab King and the Old man of the River, to put aside their bickering and join in a secret song that brought back the day. (TWOIAF: Ancient History: The Long Night)

...

“Will you make a song for him?” the woman asked.

“He has a song,” the man replied. “He is the prince that was promised, and his is the song of ice and fire.” (Daenerys IV, ACOK)

Jon's connection to the Northern account is obvious given his Stark lineage and service in the Night's Watch, as well as his dreams in ADWD:

Burning shafts hissed upward, trailing tongues of fire. Scarecrow brothers tumbled down, black cloaks ablaze. "Snow," an eagle cried, as foemen scuttled up the ice like spiders. Jon was armored in black ice, but his blade burned red in his fist. As the dead men reached the top of the Wall he sent them down to die again. He slew a greybeard and a beardless boy, a giant, a gaunt man with filed teeth, a girl with thick red hair. Too late he recognized Ygritte. She was gone as quick as she'd appeared.

The world dissolved into a red mist. Jon stabbed and slashed and cut. He hacked down Donal Noye and gutted Deaf Dick Follard. Qhorin Halfhand stumbled to his knees, trying in vain to staunch the flow of blood from his neck. "I am the Lord of Winterfell," Jon screamed. It was Robb before him now, his hair wet with melting snow. Longclaw took his head off. Then a gnarled hand seized Jon roughly by the shoulder. He whirled … (Jon XII, ADWD)

Finally, Dany is directly referred to as Azor Ahai in the books while her visions from Daenerys IX of AGOT connect her bloodline to the Great Empire of the Dawn. The eye colours of the figures she sees match the titles of four of the eight emperors of the GEOTD, Opal, Jade, Tourmaline and Amethyst, with the Bloodstone Emperor killing his sister the Amethyst Empress and causing the Long Night. Azor Ahai and the Bloodstone Emperor are themselves connected, and I recommend David Lightbringer's Nightbringer series and "Azor Ahai the Bad Guy" video for a concise explanation. It's worth noting that David is well within the Faegon Blackfyre camp, but I think his theories here more than fit my own conclusions also.

Aegon being one of the three heads also fits in with the symbolic relationship between water, fire and ice and the green, red and blue colour scheme. As Company of the Cat points out in her video about the magic horns (timestamp 26:52), green is a secondary colour made from a 'cool' and a 'warm' colour, placing it in the middle of the spectrum while red and blue are polar opposites. Similarly, fire can melt ice back into water and water in turn quenches fire, situating Aegon at a middle ground between Jon's ice and Dany's fire. Whereas Jon's only aspect of himself that ties him to House Targaryen is his father and otherwise he is firmly associated with his mother's house, Dany is tied symbolically to her Targaryen identity in the books, being a product of Targaryen incest, the first to hatch dragons in over a century, and her ties to fire through her 'rebirth' on Mirri's pyre under the Red Comet. While Aegon's physical appearance and his father tie him clearly to House Targaryen like Dany, the support of his mother's family alongside his Rhoynar lineage and symbolism place him in a similar situation to Jon, besides their being half-brothers. This also calls to mind the three accounts of the Long Night: if Jon is the Last Hero leading the Night's Watch and Dany is Azor Ahai driving out the darkness with her 'lightbringer' (ie her dragons), Aegon is the unnamed hero who rallied the children of Mother Rhoyne to sing a secret song which brought back the day. To quote alexis_something_rose's essay about Young Griff, "I can wager who will be bickering and who will tell them to set their differences aside and join together in a secret song that will bring back the day."

Whether or not all three or some combination of them will play a decisive role in defeating the Others, or if that will be Bran's part to play, I believe strongly that Dany, Jon and Aegon will be the 'three heads of the dragon.' If 'Young Griff' is truly Sun's Son, Aegon son of Rhaegar, his joining with Dany and Jon represents a unification of the three Dawn Age narratives of the Long Night and it's eventual end. Uniting the icey North, the dragon lord's fire and the songs of Mother Rhoyne would make the endgame a true 'Song of Ice and Fire.'

#aegon vi targaryen #young griff #faegon #jon snow #daenerys targaryen #elia martell #quentyn martell #lyanna stark #rhaegar targaryen #asoiaf #asoiaf spoilers #asoiaf speculation #dorne #rhoynar #azor ahai #george rr martin #house martell

[whencyclopedia]

The Sweet Track

The Sweet Track is a Neolithic timber walkway, located in the Somerset Levels, England. It was originally part of a network of tracks built to provide a dry path across the marshy ground. The Sweet Track ran between what was then an island at Westhay to a ridge of high ground, close to the River Bruce. The remains of mounds have also been found at Westhay, indicating the remains of a settlement.

About 1.6 kilometres (1 mile) long, the Sweet Track was discovered in the 1970s CE during a peat excavation by Ray Sweet, (who also gave the track its name). Using dendrochronology (tree-ring dating) the track has been dated 3807/3806 BCE. For many years it was thought to be the oldest trackway in Northern Europe, until 2009 CE when a slightly older one was discovered in Plumstead, London.

The Somerset Levels are an area of wetlands and peats. The conditions of such areas can naturally lead to the preservation of organic materials. Materials become encased in a wet and airless environment, thus preventing, to a degree, decomposition. Wooden artefacts and structures have been recovered from the Levels, as well as the two well-preserved Iron Age villages of Glastonbury and Meare.

The track would have been built by a community of Neolithic farmers living in small settlements. Farming had spread from the Middle East and by this point was firmly established in Britain. According to pollen evidence, the whole of Britain would have been covered in forests at this time. The Neolithic peoples would have burnt and cleared the forests to have the land on which to grow their crops, mostly grains. A fair degree of organization is evident in the stockpiling of wood and construction of the tracks, and some members of the community would have had to have skills in woodworking. Using stone and flint axes, the trees for the track were cut on dry land with different cutting techniques used, depending on their age. Older oaks were cut vertically whilst younger trees tangentially. Modern research has been carried out using replica axes and the cut marks have also been studied to establish the methods of cutting used. The planks of wood were put together in the marsh, the final construction taking about a day to complete. Long poles were driven slantwise into the ground and then planks were laid in between, held in place by vertical pegs. The planks were made of oak, ash and lime. The poles and pegs were made mainly of hazel and alder. There are also remains of another track, known as the “Post Track”, which dates 30 years earlier than the Sweet Track, 3838 BCE. It ran roughly parallel to the Sweet Track, possibly used by the builders of the Sweet Track as an access route.

Artefacts have been found beside the track, among them, pottery and axe heads including one made of jadeite. Whether they had been deliberately buried, perhaps as an offering, or just lost, remains unknown. There have been many Prehistoric trackways found in England, but more than half reside in Somerset. Included in these are the Abbot's Way, Eclipse, Honeygore, Meare Health and Garvins tracks. They were constructed using varying styles, such as corduroy - laying short logs parallel to each other and side by side. The Sweet Track is the most well-known of these. It has been declared a scheduled monument (of national importance). Most of it remains in its original location and requires constant conservation to keep the wood in its damp condition. There are reproductions and a donated section now resides in the British Museum, London.

Continue reading...

#History #Neolithic #TheSweetTrack #SweetTrack #WHE #[ #]

[ao719]

…Sometimes Not (Part 3)

Maybe It’s Supposed To Be This Way

This is a submission for @choicesflashfics, using prompt #3, “How long have you been standing there?”

Song inspo: Wish You The Best - Lewis Capaldi

A/N: This is an au mini series to my Always You story. Thank you @burnsoslow for prereading and helping me work out a few sections! Please excuse any errors.  

Book/Pairing: TRR; Liam x OC (Reyna)

Rating: T • Warnings: None but some language.

Word count: 2500

Catch up here

With his eyes closed and head tipped back, Liam stood beneath the spray of the shower, letting the hot water relax his muscles and wash away the sweat from his early morning run. It was Saturday, and after a week full of non-stop meetings and appearances, he was looking forward to a day off.

After finishing in the shower, Liam stepped out and grabbed the towel from the hook, wrapping it around his waist as he moved to the sink. He swiped his hand down the mirror, wiping away the condensation, and met his blue-eyed reflection.

Liam barely recognized himself; he hadn’t in a long time. And he didn’t need to ask himself what — or rather who — was missing in his life to have altered him so much.

After getting dressed, Liam padded down the hall from his bedroom to the kitchen; when he rounded the corner, he smiled. “Good morning.”

Riley turned, slipping her phone into her pocket. “Morning,” she smiled. Liam kissed her cheek before moving to the coffee pot. “How was your run?”

“Good,” Liam nodded, turning to her a moment later. “Want to join me for breakfast?”

“Oh, uh … I already ate,” Riley smiled ruefully. “I’m about to head up to Somerset, so I just grabbed something small.”

Somerset was the duchy bequeathed to Riley upon their engagement; she seemed to enjoy herself there, spending a lot of her free time at the estate. “Oh, well … I don’t have anything going on this weekend,” Liam said. “Maybe I’ll join you.”

“No,” Riley said a bit too quickly, and he furrowed his brows. She chuckled and let out a breath. “I mean, I’m about to leave now, and you’ll probably be bored out of your mind. I’ve got a silly flower festival to attend most of the day that the locals are putting on, so …”

“Oh … ok,” Liam nodded.

Hearing the hint of disappointment in his tone, Riley stepped up to him. “I’ll be back tomorrow. How about we do something then?”

“Yeah,” Liam forced a smile. “Sure.”

Riley perched on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his in a lingering kiss, careful not to jostle the coffee in his hand. She drew back with a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Liam watched her walk away; when he heard the door to their quarters latch shut, he let out a breath.

Throughout their first year and a half of marriage, things with Riley hadn’t exactly progressed to where Liam initially hoped they might — hoped because it would make things so much easier. He knew of Riley’s feelings towards him because she told him, and he tried using that knowledge to make himself feel the same. He was trying to build something out of scraps because that’s what his guilt told him he needed to do. They shared moments from kisses to even being intimate, moments every normal married couple had, and they were moments where he thought perhaps there was some spark beginning to ignite, but he hadn’t quite figured out if it was because he was truly feeling something or if it was just pity and remorse.

Liam may not have loved her, but Riley had generously offered to be his wife when he seemed to be out of options. Because of that, he couldn’t get past the guilt, feeling that she deserved so much more than what he was giving. So eventually, he started making more of an effort to build their relationship into something better for her. He tried spending more time with her, just the two of them, hoping that would help them to fall into a place to elevate their marriage. The more he tried, however, the more difficult it seemed; it felt like most of the time, his attempts were met with excuses, much like that morning. Riley claimed to be busy or would express needing some time to herself to decompress after a long week. He wasn’t one to press, so he gave her whatever space she wanted. And he tried telling himself that his disappointment was because he wanted to try to build something with his wife … and not because he was lonely … and missing someone else.

Liam walked out onto the terrace of his quarters; on the table sat a tray of breakfast breads and various fruits along with two papers. He lowered himself into the chair and set his coffee down as he lifted The Cordonian Herald and grabbed the paper underneath. He unfolded The New York Times, scanning over the front page; he started reading it years ago after helping Gideon with one of their famed crossword puzzles during a trip to New York with his father. He’d had a subscription ever since, and because of the time it took to ship across the ocean, he always read the Sunday edition from the previous week every Saturday morning. Sure, he could read and do the crossword online, but he liked having the physical copy in hand, so he didn’t mind being a week behind.

As he spread some apple butter onto a morning roll, Liam casually flipped through the pages. He took a bite of his bread before swallowing it down with a sip of coffee as he flipped to another page; as he set his mug down, a photo in the paper caught his immediate attention, and he swore he felt his heart stop.

There, in the Sunday Styles section, at the center of other wedding and engagement announcements was an article detailing the coming together of two of New York’s finest families.

And above the article was a photograph of Reyna … and her fiancé.

It had been almost two years since Liam last saw or spoke to Reyna; one year and 10 months to be exact. Every day, week, month, and year that passed without her seemed to chip away at him, taking a piece of him with it. He missed her more than he knew how to even put into words. He missed her smile and laugh, their late-night phone calls and video chats, their inside jokes and playful banter.

Everything. Liam missed everything about her — about them.

Liam tried not to think about Reyna, but despite his best efforts, most of the time his attempts were futile. He’d gotten a little better about being able to shove those thoughts away quicker over time, but a piece of her always seemed to linger there. He chalked it off to not knowing anything about her anymore, about how she was, about her life. He knew nothing.

Liam had gotten updates about Reyna from Gideon from time to time after learning about her spiral when she returned to New York after Leo’s botched coronation. He’d been so worried about her during that time, he needed those updates for his own sanity, to know she was safe and taking care of herself. They stopped about a month before his wedding, however, once he knew she was doing ok. He couldn’t bring himself to ask for updates on the life she was living without him. It was too hard. He convinced himself that not knowing was for the best.

This update Liam stumbled upon by complete accident, and at that moment he wished he hadn’t. Reyna was engaged. Engaged. And he felt like he couldn’t breathe, losing the ability to read the fine print through his blurred vision. To her boss, he incredulously thought to himself as he aggressively blinked back the tears forming. He only knew who Luca Moretti was from Gideon when he told him about her job back when she first got it, that she would be working for the son of their family friend slash lawyer. He had no idea that they … they were a thing. More than a thing, it would seem.

Reyna was engaged.

Despite knowing he had absolutely no right to feel any kind of way about it, Liam swore he could physically feel the remnants of his heart shatter as he stared at the photograph above the announcement. He focused his eyes on her as he chewed the inside of his cheek, unable to stop his tears from falling.

Reyna was engaged, and she looked … happy. She moved on.

And he needed to do the same.

Wiping his cheeks, Liam blew out a breath before closing the paper and tossing it aside. He had no choice but to let Reyna go for good. They were over; there was nothing left for them. And maybe this was what he needed to truly put things into focus, to put all of himself into building the life with Riley he’d been trying and failing to.

Standing from the table, Liam walked inside and pulled his phone from his pocket. “Bastien … I need a car prepared to take me to Somerset.”

Despite Riley’s protest earlier, maybe this is what she needed from him; maybe she needed him to show up for her on his own, to fight to spend time with her. Maybe it was extra effort she wanted and needed, something he’d not realized until now.

****

A while later, Liam stood on the balcony of the master suite in the Somerset estate. When he arrived, he was surprised that Riley hadn’t yet, but he thought perhaps she went straight to the festival first.

Liam was taking in the view of the gardens below when he heard the bedroom door open; he turned toward the set of double doors leading back inside, but instead of surprising Riley, it was he who got the surprise.

Stumbling into the master suite, locked in a heated kiss with their hands all over each other was Riley … and Drake.

Liam stood stunned, unable to say a word as he watched his wife and best friend — his wife, who was supposed to be here alone, and his best friend, who had told him he would be out of town that weekend.

It was clear from watching them that this wasn’t a first-time occurrence. And suddenly, all of Riley’s excuses came flooding back as Liam’s hands fisted at his sides in mute rage. He’d been so blinded by guilt, he hadn’t even seen the obvious signs.

Drake drew back from her lips with a grin and reached for the hem of her shirt, but stopped short when something caught his attention. He lifted his gaze and his eyes widened when they locked on Liam standing in the balcony doorway.

Riley tried to kiss Drake again, but he stepped back. “Stop teasing me,” she giggled. When he didn’t react, she furrowed her brows before turning to see what he was looking at; her complexion paled when she saw her husband.  

“Li, what … how long have you been standing there?” Drake asked.

Liam’s eyes narrowed. “You come in here kissing my wife, and all you can think of to say is to ask how fucking long I’ve been standing here?”

Riley shook her head. “Liam, it’s not—”

“Do not insult my intelligence by trying to lie to my fucking face after you’ve been caught,” Liam interrupted, his voice cold.

Drake swallowed thickly when Liam’s steely gaze cut back to him. “Li, I—”

“How long?”

“Listen—”

“HOW LONG?” Liam roared, his anger rising as Drake tried to deflect the inevitable conversation. Drake mumbled something under his breath as he dropped his gaze. “Speak up,” he growled as he stepped closer.

“Since … the Social Season,” Drake answered more clearly.

Noticing the way Liam’s expression twisted with fury at Drake’s response, Riley stepped toward him. “Liam, please,” she pleaded. “I know what you’re thinking, but—”

Liam recoiled away. “I’m thinking that I had hoped we could eventually build a real marriage because you made me think you actually fucking cared! And you,” he spat as he looked at Drake. “You were my fucking brother!”

In a brief moment of clarity, Liam realized that this — his anger and reaction — stemmed from the person he cared about, missed, and loved more than anything and anyone else not being in his life … and having moved on from him.

Suddenly, everything he’d been shoving down and trying to bury for the last two years erupted to the surface along with the emotions he was still reeling in from that morning and now this new layer of betrayal. He never saw any of it coming; he could never have imagined what his life would turn into.

And now Liam was left with nothing to show for what he sacrificed and gave up except heartache, disloyalty, and loss.

It all mingled, creating a storm inside.

In the next moment, one of blind rage, Liam surged forward; his fist came across Drake’s jaw with an audible crack, sending him to the floor as Riley yelped in surprise.

*******

Sitting in his study, Liam stared out the window, watching the rain fall outside. It had been four months since that day in Somerset. More had come to light and a lot had happened because of it.

Liam spoke to Drake the day after the confrontation when he came to see him at the palace, wanting to try to clear the air; he didn’t want to talk to him, but he had questions he needed answers to. He learned that Riley had manipulated everything from the very beginning, telling Drake one thing and him another, using them both.

Despite Riley being the master puppeteer, however, Drake was no mere marionette.

Liam also learned that Drake was under the impression that Riley had plans to “handle their situation.” They were plans that would have publicly humiliated Liam. While they never came to pass, which all seemed to be a part of her scheme, Drake sat idly by, with no intention of telling Liam the truth.

Liam felt deceived by both Riley and Drake, but that betrayal from Drake hurt the most.

Drake knew everything Liam had gone through over the last couple of years. He’d been there to listen to him vent, watched him break down when he felt like his world was falling apart, and he knew of the guilt he’d felt for not giving Riley what he thought she deserved.

Despite all of that, rather than having Liam’s back like he said he did and always would, Drake had spent the last two years hurling knives into it instead.

A knock on his door pulled Liam’s attention, and he cleared his throat before calling for them to enter. Rashad stepped inside a moment later. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”

Liam offered a subtle smile. “Not at all.”

“I wanted to give you this …” Rashad set down a packet of papers in front of him. “It’s done.”

“Thank you,” Liam replied as he stared down at the documents.

The divorce was finalized.

At first, Liam had been so shell-shocked, he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do or how to move forward. Riley came to see him that night after the confrontation; she cried, said she was sorry, and begged him to forgive her. He asked her to leave, and a few days later, he came to a decision, one that, for the first time, was best for him.

Liam spoke to his father, council, and advisors so they knew of his plan beforehand. By the end of the following day, he’d filed for divorce and released a public statement in order to stay ahead of it.

Liam didn’t speak to Riley throughout the proceedings, communicating only through lawyers; she’d been staying in a hotel but left to go back to New York two months ago. He hadn’t spoken to Drake since the day he came to see him, but last he heard, he was in Texas … alone.

Now, Liam was a free man, no longer tied into a marriage that never should have happened to begin with. And he found himself right back where he’d always been, with Reyna heavy on his mind and heart. The only difference was that no guilt accompanied his musings now. He’d thought about reaching out, but after all the time that had passed, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

The only thing Liam could do was hope that Reyna was happy while he loved her from afar and cherished their past … because distance and memories were all he had left.

***************************************

Perma Tags (if you’d like to be added or removed for this story, please let me know): @zaffrenotes​ @cocomaxley​ @emichelle​ @sweetest-marbear​  @indiacater​ @gibbles82​ @the-soot-sprite​ @esmckenzie​ @dcbbw​ @burnsoslow​ @deb-1106​ @bbrandy2002​ @txemrn​ @charlotteg234​ @kat-tia801​ @neotericthemis​ @foreverethereal123​ @choiceskatie​ @sirbeepsalot​ @gnatbrain​ @openheart12​ @sincerelyella​ @superharriet​ @queenrileyrose​ @aestheticartsx​ @kingliam2019​ @indiana-jr​ @bascmve01​ @rainbowsinthestorm​ @emkay512​ @marshmallowsaremyfavorite​ @forallthatitsworth​ @walker7519​ @iaminlovewithtrr​ @amandablink​ @mainstreetreader​ @mom2000aggie​ @princessleac1​ @21-wishes​ @appleone​ @tessa-liam​ @pixelatedpassion​ @malblk21​ @queen-arabella-of-cordonia​ @lovingchoices14​ @nestledonthaveone​ @forthebrokenheartedthings​ @nomadics-stuff​ @differenttyphoonwerewolf​

#the royal romance #trr #choices trr #choices the royal romance #liam rys #king liam rys #trr liam #king liam #liam x oc #trr liam x oc #choices liam x oc #king liam x oc #liam x mc #trr liam x mc #choices liam x mc #trr fanfic #trr fan fiction #trr fanfiction #trr fan fic #choices trr fanfic #trr au fanfic #trr au #choices trr au #cfwc fics of the week #choicesflashfics

[aufi-creative-mind]

How did Link's dad become a commander?

OOOOH yes!! That is a story and a half to tell!

I dubbed this story as "The Yiga Conspiracy". And it is partially inspired by HW: Age of Calamity!

Particularly with the Yiga Incident quest in the town at the base of the Great Plateau and involves Astor who is a Hylian priest in the BotW timeline but was slowly corruped by the leaking Malice/Gloom. Especially after receiving a divine prophecy of the Calamity's return that earned him the title of "Prophet" and later "Fortune teller".

And this is what Astor looks like:

-

So how Link's dad - Jun Satoru - became the Commander of the Royal Guard started with his first meeting with Astor when Link was 6-7 years old.

At the time, Link's mother - Selene Somerset - had passed away from a deadly sickness. And around the same time, the Queen of Hyrule (aka Zelda's own mother) had also suddenly passed away. Jun was already a Royal Guard knight around this time but due to the Queen's sudden death, Jun was having a hard time finding a Hylian priest to perform the funeral rites for his wife's burial. And that's where he met Astor who offered his services.

Jun did recognise Astor as the "Prophet" and one of the advisers tin the Royal Court. He was surprised that Astor wanted to help him when many of the Bishops and Priests were busy with preparing for the Queen's funeral. Astor simply said that the Queen's passing wasn't his sole priority and that there were others like Jun and his family who are also going through their own losses. And he simply wanted to help.

After the funeral and cremation, Jun thanked Astor for his services and gained the impression that Astor, despite his prestige role and title, the Hylian Priest was a quiet and reserved man who was diligent with his faith.

Fast forward to 4-5 years later...

Jun has raisen up the ranks of the Royal Guards and has been promoted to becoming the Commander's assistant / right-hand man. The Commander around this time was an older man named Garrett Louton ( @garryktevar's OC) and he looks like this:

At the time, there was a raise of monster activity as well as sightings of Yiga activity near and around Central Hyrule with rumours that they plan to target members of the Royal Family. So Commander Garrett had put Jun in charge of investigating the Yiga Clan and their movements.

During the 5th Death Anniversary of the Queen, although a small private affair for King Rhoam and his then 11 year old daughter, Princess Zelda. Jun was present during the small ceremony as one of the Royal Guard knights in charge of their security. It was around this time that he met Astor again. This time, Astor was a Bishop and looked more sickly than the last time Jun saw him.

After the event, Jun noticed that Bishop Astor started to pay more attention to him for whatever reason. And then the stranger and deadlier encounters started happening. And in one incident, Jun was ambushed by a group of Yiga Assassins, disguised as regular civilians within the walls of the Castletown. Something about him being "the prophesied Hero". Jun however was able to deal with the Assassins with his own Flurry Rush ability.

Though an interrogation, Jun finds out that these Yigas were taking orders from a figure named the "Fortune Teller" and after some detective work, he was able to shadow one disguised Yiga member into the abandoned underground sections beneath Castletown and found the Yiga's hidden Castletown base.

Along with Astor, who appears just like his AoC versions and was holding the same Ancient Gear Orb that was glowing with Malice.

With this new and shocking information, Jun reports to Commander Garrett about Astor's true nature and allegience with the Yiga Clan. The Commander then reports to the King who was just as shocked by the betrayal and orders for Bishop Astor's arrest for treason. Jun was put in charge of Bishop Astor's arrest and confronts him in the Catherdral in Castletown.

But when the Bishop was confronted, it was then Astor decided to reveal his true character and unleash his Malice powers. And this display of corruptive power was the signal to the Yiga Incident in Castletown where multiple members of the Yiga, disguised as civilians, began to attack the town.

When this happened, a 10 year old Link and his sister, Aria were also in Castletown with their Uncle Rakurai. They were there to visit their Dad in Castletown from their hometown of Hateno Village when they all got caught up in the sudden Yiga attack. Their Uncle Rakurai - who was a fast moving Army courier - was quick to protect his niece and nephew.

At some point, as Jun rushes through the now besieged town to got back to the Castle, he meets up with Rakurai and Aria but Link was missing...

...Link had been cornered to an dead end alley by a pair of Yiga Assassins and was only holding a wooden sword. When his Dad, Jun comes to his rescue and was able to take down the Yiga Assassins in a blink of an eye. To Link's awestruck amazement, to see how fast and powerful his Dad was.

Once he was sure that his two kids are safe, Jun and his fellow Royal Guard immediately rushed back into the Castle which was also inflicted by Yiga assassins who disguised themselves as servants and low-ranked soldiers. But thanks to Jun's earlier investigations, the Royal Guard knights under the directive of Commader Garrett were able to quell much of their efforts but there have been a few close calls including one incident where Princess Zelda had to be whisked away by Sheikah warriors.

In the end, under King Rhoam's lead, they confronted the now Malice-powered Astor in the Great Hall area with both Commander Garrett and Jun along with a bunch of Royal Guard and Army knights to confront the corrupted Astor who was using his Malice Gear-Orb to summon monsters and Malice clones of soldiers.

It was a hard fought battle where Commander Garrett was severely injured after taking a hard blow from a Malice attack.

And it was during this fight that Jun finds out why Astor was so fixated on him - and it was from a brief vision that Astor foresaw of a future Jun holding the fabled "Sword that Sealed the Darkness".

But in the end, King Rhoam ends the fight when he destroyed Malice Gear-Orb. The corrupted artefact's destruction caused Astor's body to be consumed by the Malice from within and implodes into ashes. (Ganondorf's laugh echoing in air).

And that ends the Yiga Conspiracy Incident.

In its aftermath, the remaining Castletown-based Yiga members were either arrested or fled to their main base in the Gerudo Desert. Commander Garrett, due to his injuries, was forced to retire and chose Jun to be his successor as the new Commander of the Royal Guard.

And that's the story of how Link's Dad became the Commander.

Link was 11 years old when he was present in the small ceremony for his Dad becoming the new Royal Guard Commander. And was determined to become a powerful knight just like him!

One year later... Link found the Master Sword.

#answered #legend of zelda #botw family and legacy #botw totk family and legacy #botw precalamity #botw pre calamity #age of calamity #link #link's father #jun satoru #royal guard commander #botw royal guard #botw astor #aoc astor #the yiga conspiracy #yiga clan

[grapenehifics]

Not to tell you about *every* time I hear Solsbury Hill on the radio but…

Can you tell us why you picked it as the title for your fic? I feel there’s more to your reasoning than “grab your things I’ve come to take you home” and I’d love to hear your thoughts [it’s also maybe pretty obvious(?) but I’m really, really shit at 1) song lyrics 2) song meanings and 3) applying them to other contexts 🙈]

My friend, there is almost nothing I would rather talk about than the intersection between Peter Gabriel*, Genesis, Solsbury Hill the place, Solsbury Hill the song, and Solsbury Hill the fic.

(*Peter Gabriel, and all the members of Genesis, are real people, and would probably tell this story very differently. But they're not here to correct me [oh god, at least, I hope not], and this is how I heard the story, and I am going to tell it the way I know it. Apologies to all those living or dead.)

Sometime in the late 1960s a group of British schoolboys formed the prog rock band Genesis, and by the early 1970s they were...maybe not world-famous, but huge by prog rock standards, anyway, with a couple of albums and a tour. The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway came out and it was a big enough deal that they got offered an American tour, too.

They were all still pretty young (they'd started basically in high school) and Peter Gabriel, their lead singer and main songwriter, had recently got married and he and his wife had a baby (this will become relevant in a second). So they go on the American tour and maybe about halfway through Peter turns to his bandmates and is like, "so...I'll finish the tour with you, because I promised I would, but when we get back home I'm quitting the band."

The other guys were stunned, obviously, because this was the moment they'd worked for. They'd already gotten through all the shitty garage band years, which is where most people give up, and now they were at the good part! They were on an international tour! The money was good! Their albums were selling! They had more fans than they'd ever thought they'd have! What on earth would possess someone to want to give all that up?

(The part of this story that is less-charitable to Peter Gabriel is that one of the answers he gave was 'more creative freedom' and his band was like...but you already write all our songs? What possible *more* creative freedom do you think you need?)

It wasn't just the band, though. His managers and the record company and everyone all told him that was a terrible, terrible idea, and there were a sizable contingent of Genesis fans who just refused to follow him to his solo career because they were mad at him for walking out on Genesis, wrecking the band, how dare he be so ungrateful...

(Genesis did fine without him, actually. Phil Collins took over on vocals and they had another couple of albums and some hit songs before going kind of weirdly soft-rock in the 80s.)

Also - and this is an important detail - when he left the band, there was no solo career. He didn't have any songs. I don't think he even had an agent. He was kind of on the outs with the industry for pulling that stunt. He spent the first year after he quit - while Genesis was recording a new album without him - just hanging out at home with his wife and baby daughter.

Eventually he did get back in the studio, and one of the songs on his first solo album was Solsbury Hill, largely regarded to be the most autobiographical of his songs (Solsbury Hill is an actual, physical hill in Somerset, near where he grew up). It's pretty blatantly about quitting Genesis, including being unhappy in the band:

So I went from day to day Though my life was in a rut

I was feeling part of the scenery

And liberty, she pirouette When I think that I am free

and trying to get up the courage to leave even knowing it would almost universally be regarded as a really dumb move and would very possibly end his entire music career even though he was still in his twenties:

My friends would think I was a nut Open doors would soon be shut

But eventually doing it anyway:

To keep in silence I resigned

I walked right out of the machinery

I will show another me

Then he writes about how, even though it was scary and he didn't know what the consequences were going to be, he was glad he did it:

Though my life was in a rut 'Til I thought of what I'd say Which connection I should cut

Today I don't need a replacement I'll tell them what the smile on my face meant

And he personifies all this as a person, or more accurately hearing a voice (while climbing Solsbury Hill, hence the title), and the progression of what the voice tells him mirrors the rest of the lyrics. First it's:

"Son, " he said "Grab your things, I've come to take you home."

and

"Hey, " he said "Grab your things, I've come to take you home."

But the final lines are the singer answering back:

"Hey, " I said "You can keep my things, they've come to take me home."

And not to belabor the metaphor, but that's what I see as the equivalent of the first quarter or so of Solsbury Hill the fic, at least the beginning to the Bakersfield hospital chapters. Peter Gabriel and Anakin both got the exact thing they thought they wanted - a record deal, a tour, money, fame, wealth - and then turned out once they had it, they actually didn't really want it all that much anymore, and the reality of it wasn't worth keeping it.

But also mixed in there is some shame, right, because to everyone else it looks like you have it all. Every kid around the world with a guitar and a garage bands wants what you have. Every kid on their school swim team watching the Olympics on TV wants that. And now you've got it, and you're just...going to hand it back? Say it's not good enough? This thing that feeds your family and lets you see the world? How dare you spit on that!

But all they really want - in both stories - is more time with the people they love. And yes, in both cases, there are ways to fix that - Peter Gabriel could have taken his wife and baby with him on tour, Anakin could have not fired Obi-Wan and taken up with Palpatine - but in the middle of that situation and looking down the barrel of year after year of touring and competition and the toll it takes on your body and your mental health - suddenly the smart play starts looking like turning you back on it, tearing the whole thing down, and starting over. Even if it means living without the money and the fame and the recognition and universal goodwill. Who cares. Keep it all. Keep my things; I don't need them; I just need you.

I'm going home.

#solsbury hill

[eleanor-bradstreet]

Marzipan

Characters: Anthony Bridgerton, Sophie Beckett Rated: G Word count: 2.5k

Summary: Just a conversation between my favorite in-laws.

Everyone seemed to be speaking at once. Even though Sophie knew each of her relatives were waiting their turn to talk, they leapt so eagerly after each other that any pause was indiscernible. Everyone was so fervent in sharing their own news, it started to sound like a wall of noise. She and Anthony were the only two who remained silent. She watched her brother-in-law at the head of the dinner table patiently nodding at each speaker, but his jaw was flexing in that way that signaled his mounting stress.

First it was Kate, looking exhausted, bemoaning how little Charlotte kept falling into tantrums that would not relent. Then Colin, arrived without his wife, repeatedly explaining how the roof of his townhouse was in need of repairs and how costly it would be. The aim of his musings was not subtle. He was clearly hoping to gather family funds for the expense. Next Violet, reminding them all that Eloise and Phillip had invited them to Romney Hall for the twins’ birthday and that gifts would need to be purchased. Lastly Benedict, sitting dejectedly in the rare cloud of gloom that only overtook him before his work went on display somewhere. He had entered a landscape into a charitable auction at Somerset House which began the next day. Even though he was long past making a name for himself as a distinguished artist, any time he revealed a new piece and particularly when that piece’s worth would be judged, he became restless and withdrawn. As his mother asked him about his entry he stared at the table, rambling that it wasn’t to his satisfaction and no one was obligated to bid on it and he hoped its purchaser would ultimately burn it.

Sophie let him grumble on. She had tried to soothe his concerns in every manner she knew how, all to no avail. This was simply part of his process and she had lost the energy to contend with it. So she sat in silence, listening to the complaints and worries and to-do lists of the family. She had been looking forward to dinner at Bridgerton House but now felt guilty for adding more dour conversation to the evening. Watching Anthony’s face, she could see how each matter piled upon him. She was reminded of when Araminta would confront her with a list of chores, demanding more tasks than were humanly possible to complete in a day and stressing that each one must be given top priority. She saw the same slump in Anthony’s shoulders as she had felt then, the same tight-lipped assent, and her heart went out to him.

When the meal finally ended the Viscount mumbled something about business and disappeared into his study. The rest of them gathered in the smoking room, Colin and Benedict breaking into the brandy while Violet and Kate discussed the children. With the excuse of seeking out a book to read, Sophie ducked out of their company and retrieved her cloak, pulling out the small box she had brought with her. It was a gift for Anthony, or rather, for the both of them. An assortment of brightly colored marzipan fruits. They were the only two people in the entire Bridgerton clan who enjoyed them and they seized every opportunity to share. They often kept their indulgences secret so as to avoid the tired ridicule lobbed at them by their spouses. 

They had their reasons for loving the sweets which they had only seen fit to confide in each other. For Sophie, they were the only treat she had tasted for the first two decades of her life. Both her distant father and cruel stepfamily had despised the candy as much as the Bridgertons, but curiously always kept trays of it available for company. Being who she was, no one ever offered her sweets and she found that the marzipans were the one thing that would go unnoticed if nicked. So it was the only treat she allowed herself to avoid being rapped on the knuckles. The candies took part in Anthony’s early memories too. Afternoons spent with his father who used the small shapes to teach him the names of the fruits. When he had pronounced each one correctly, he earned the reward of eating it and had never lost his fondness for the flavor.

Package in hand, Sophie knocked on the study door and stepped in when Anthony replied. He was seated behind the massive desk, the picture of duty, intently scribbling between stacks of parchment. He blinked when he saw her.

“Sophie. What can I do for you?” His tone was polite but she knew him well enough to hear the undertone of vexation. He was begrudgingly ready to add her problems to his endless list of responsibilities.

Happily, she had none to give him. She smirked and held out the box. “Help me with these?”

After a moment’s confusion, his face lit up and he smiled back. She handed him the gift and he cut the ribbon off with a letter opener. 

“Ladies first,” he lilted, holding it out for her selection. She chose a lemon and took a bite, standing by the corner of the desk. He picked an apple and popped it whole into his mouth. They savored in silence for a moment, grinning at each other.

“I don’t want to distract you from pressing matters, but it seemed you could use a reprieve.” Sophie explained.

Anthony nodded, the crease returning to his brow as he began to shuffle through his papers. “I have been…tired of late. I thought it was difficult to manage everything when my siblings were children. But now with all of these marriages, nieces, nephews, my own children, the estate, it’s…” He rubbed a hand across his eyes. “Many calls on my funds.”

“And your patience?” She quirked an eyebrow at him.

Unlike other members of his family who might have asked the question in judgment, he knew Sophie asked out of concern. He sank back in his chair and grimaced. “Did it show?”

She shrugged. “No more than usual.” The smirk she shot him was so reminiscent of his brother, he had to chuckle.

Then he went back to signing. He had inked his name on so many pages that week, it was starting to look like a foreign alphabet to him. “Well, everyone’s perception of me is the least of my concerns, as long as the coffers are filled.”

Sophie stepped forward. “Anthony, please tell me you do not mean that. You know your family sees you as more than a purse.”

He continued writing without looking up. “Mmm. I’m sure I’m a disappointment as a brother too.”

She frowned. “You are my brother now and I wouldn’t say that.”

“You were spared from growing up with me.” He huffed.

“Perhaps that gives me the clearest perspective.” Her tone was soft, but so insistent it forced him to look at her. She settled into the chair across from him. “I won’t deny you a moment of self pity. But I won’t tolerate your self doubt. It is evident to anyone with eyes how much you have done for this family and how wholly you have succeeded. Would your siblings even have their grand homes, their respectable marriages, their roofs that need repairing, if you had not managed your estate so well? Would they all gather together so frequently and with so much obvious joy if you had not kept them all from fracturing over hardships these many years?” 

Anthony swallowed hard, something stirring in his chest. A part of him knew she spoke the truth, but it was muffled beneath the well-practiced voice that had denied it for his entire adult life. Then Sophie fixed her eyes on his.

“Would I be here?” She asked softly. “Or would your brother have fled the country to scandalously marry a maid, never to be seen again? Other gentlemen in your position would have cast me out. Other gentleman in your position did cast me out.” She paused, remembering her absent father, her cruel employers, and how Anthony was the one head of household who had ever treated her with kindness. “But you embraced me. For the love of your brother and your dedication to your family. I’m sure it feels as if your days are nothing but shuffling coins and signing contracts but what you are doing is protecting us. Saving us. And we love you for it.” She gave him a small smile, eyes welling with the gratitude she hoped to express.

He stared back at her, blinking back his own tears. When he had first met Sophie, he couldn’t imagine anyone with whom he had less in common. Then over the years as his sister-in-law, she had proven him wrong again and again to the point that she became a trusted confidante, a dear friend, and the only person who would speak to him with such raw, uncomplicated honesty. Simon would keep him in check, but they both carried the bravado of their titles into their conversations. Kate of course knew the furthest depths of his soul, but matters of the heart and mind often became entangled with each other and the myriad sacrifices and obligations of marriage. With Sophie, there was no pretense. She had nothing to lord over him and he could let the trappings of his position fall away around her. She was the one person in his family to whom they meant nothing and he cherished her for that. He had worried he would rue the day when he finally relented and gave his blessing to her marriage with Benedict. Now, he knew it was one of the days that had permanently altered his life for the better.

He returned her smile, his voice cracking. “Have I told you how grateful I am for you?”

Sophie sniffed, her heart warmed through. “Not lately, but I forgive you.” They laughed, blinking away their tears as the mood lightened. “I do wish there was more I could do to help.”

Anthony sighed, shifting papers once again. “I know you have a head for figures, but all these expenses require my signature, I’m afraid.” 

“What about the children? Alex misbehaved in precisely the same way as Charlotte when he was her age. I could share my tricks with Kate.”

He smiled. “That would be very appreciated.” 

Sophie nodded and leaned forward to pluck another candy from the box. She stood and paced slowly before the fireplace as she chewed.

Anthony took a second treat for himself. “How long are you staying in the city?” He asked, mouth full.

She shrugged. “However long it takes for Benedict to work through his anxieties about the gallery auction. He’ll be buzzing around trying to overhear how his work is being received.”

The endeared annoyance in her tone was obvious. Anthony licked the sugary paste off his teeth and rested his elbows on the arms of his chair. “You know, one of the Somerset directors is an acquaintance of mine.”

Sophie whipped around with a scowl. “Anthony, don’t. You must let him do this on his own. Even if that means letting him fail.”

“I only wish to help.”

“I know that.” Her voice softened and she walked back to him. “Help him by attending the showing. Tell him what you think of his work.”

He nodded, contemplating. “I admit that is something I’ve often failed to do.”

“You are busy, he knows that.”

“I’m not sure he’s ever forgiven me for the fiasco with the Academy.” He mumbled.

“He has.” Sophie reassured him, having had this conversation with Benedict many times as she helped him forge more confidence in his work. “He knew your heart was in the right place. He can be distant because he’s trying so desperately to prove his worth on his own merits.” She began to pace again, a degree of exasperation rising to the surface as she rambled, half to herself.  “He wants to feel that he has truly earned everything and isn’t just praised for his name. But even when I show him all the evidence that he has earned it, he can be so insecure that he refuses to accept it. Sometimes I simply…” She cut herself off, turning back to Anthony, embarrassed and guilty. “I’m sorry. This is not your concern. This is the last thing you need.”

Anthony got to his feet and carried the box to where she stood. “My brother’s happiness is my concern. As is yours.” He held out the marzipan and they each took one more. “I know how he can be. You can always come to me if you need a sympathetic ear.”

Sophie smiled gratefully as she chewed. Her eyes roved, assessing his face as she shook her head. “The two of you.” She murmured.

“What about us?” He grinned. “Miserable louts through and through?”

She laughed. “Of your own making, you can be. You who care too little about how your work is perceived, and him who cares too much. But in one way you are the same.”

He cocked his head. “And what way is that?”

“That you care for each other.” She smiled. “You want to see each other happy despite how you struggle to communicate it. You Bridgertons may share one brain cell between you but the loyalty and kindness of your hearts is unquestionable.”

Anthony glared at her with mock warning. “Careful with your derision. I’ll remind you that you are a Bridgerton too. As are my wife and all of our children.”

“Yes, and I dare say we have multiplied the smarts in this family by joining it.” With a devilish smirk she moved away, scanning the nearby bookshelves for something to bring back to the smoking room. 

Anthony snorted, crossing his arms. “Do you speak to your husband with such boldness?”

Sophie shrugged, examining a volume. “He can hold his own. But I save my choicest barbs for my worthiest adversary.” She flashed her eyes back to him and they both grinned.

Anthony walked to his desk, energized. “I will go to Somerset House for the auction tomorrow. If you might spend the day with Kate and the children, I will use the peace to finish all of this,” he waved at his papers. “Then I’ll join you in the evening.”

“Excellent.” Sophie beamed, grateful to see the resolve back in his posture and to know they had formed a plan that would hopefully address everyone’s needs. She always left her conversations with Anthony feeling better. He lent her strength and she hoped that she lent him some clarity and assurance in turn. She stood at the door. “I shall need an escort while my husband is showcasing his talent. I’m sure if a Viscount were to criticize some of the competing pieces the other patrons would think more carefully about their bids, yes?”

He met her conspiratorial eyebrow with a broad smile. “Indeed. Goodnight, sister.”

With a small nod she moved to slip out but he paused her with his final words, uttered softly. “Thank you.” She turned back, heart filled by the emotion that shone out of his eyes. “Thank you, brother.”

Tagging: @angels17324 @bridgertontess @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky @colettebronte @faye-tale

#bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #sophie beckett #sophie beckett fanfiction #bridgerton family #fluff and feels

[cellabella-illuminates]

Happy April, everyone!

St. Catherine of Siena's feast day is April 29th - if you have anyone in your life who is a fan of this Doctor of the Church, you could gift them this print on her feast day because I finally put them in my shop!

About my illustration and print as well as a little about St. Catherine of Siena:

This is a 5” x 7”  limited edition giclée print (ten editions) on Epson Somerset Velvet - 255 gsm, certified archival paper. Each print is signed, titled, and numbered. Also, the halo on each print is hand-painted with gold gouache, giving each print a unique reflective quality. Shipping and archival picture-framing tips are included.

St. Catherine of Siena, a third-order Dominican from the 14th century, is one of the first female saints named a Doctor of the Church; patron saint of Europe, Italy, journalists, mediators, and people ridiculed for their faith.

In this image, Saint Catherine is standing between Italy and France (Italy is behind her and France is in front of her). She is holding a crucifix in her right hand, as well as a pink rose and a lily, symbols of love and purity. She is extending her left hand toward the border of France (and the viewer) calling the Pope back to Rome. 

This is referencing the time during which the Pope had left Rome for the French city of Avignon, which had resulted in a crisis within the Church called the Great Schism of the West, in which multiple men backed by different kings claimed the papacy. Through her letters, Catherine persuaded Pope Gregory XI to return to Rome from France, persuading also other rulers to recognize the true pope. In addition to calling the Pope back to Rome, she was essential for diplomatic missions to negotiate a peace with Florence. St. Catherine had a gift for telling men to get off their asses and bringing peace. In my illustration, she is reaching out to the viewer, looking directly at them, reminding them of the same thing: get up and do what the Lord has called you to do.

On her head is a crown of thorns, symbolizing a vision she had five years before her death in which Christ offered her a golden crown, symbolizing earthly riches, or a crown of thorns, symbolizing the glory of heaven through suffering in this life (St. Catherine chose the latter). She is also shown with the stigmata on her hands, which she also received in a mystical vision five years before her death.

#st. catherine of siena #catholic #catholic tumblr #catholic art #catholic artist

[goldenboygate]

“Not in front of your parents lando!” Maybe first summer with the norrises

n s f w under the cut

The heat was getting to Carlos, which was kind of weird since he grew up in Madrid, where it frequently reached the heights of 30° during the summer.

But summers in Somerset were something else, at least when it wasn't raining. It wasn't so much the heat that was making it almost unliveable; it was the humidity.

Carlos looks at the thermometer. 21° stared back at him with big bold letters. He peers at the upper right corner of the monitor, where the humidity counter is sneakily tucked away. 73%.

He bristles at the number. No wonder it feels scorching.

His tongue tastes the salt as beads of sweat trickle down his face, coming to a stop on his lips.

The shade from the patio cover offers minimal relief, and Carlos sinks into the sofa. The Norris estate is vast, and Carlos can hear Cisca and Flo's laughter from somewhere beyond the cherry blossoms.

Lando's parents are by the fire pit getting ready to barbecue some steaks that Adam bought from the farmer up the road. It's bliss, being so far from civilisation.

There are fields as far as the eyes can see. In the distance, there are green hills laden with oak woodlands. The faint sound of a gurgling river can be heard; it runs into an artificial channel that drains nearby farmland.

It's beautiful here, and even more beautiful to experience all of those with Lando. When he had first asked Carlos if he wanted to spend a part of his summer break at his parent's estate, Carlos hadn't been so sure.

Their relationship is still new, still fragile. Not in the sense that either of them has doubts about it; no, Carlos will never have doubts about loving Lando. But their careers are fragile. Lando is only in his second season, and Carlos is about to leave their team to join another prestigious one. He doesn't know how Ferrari will react to him being in a relationship with another driver.

They're going to tell everyone one day. When Lando is more established in the sport and when Carlos has cemented himself in Ferrari. When he's indispensable.

He smiles as he thinks about Lando, about loving Lando.

It had crept up on him, slow and steady. One moment he was shopping for necessities for his Woking apartment with his girlfriend, and the next, he had Lando pressed to the wall in the MTC's simulation room.

Kissing Lando set every single nerve ending on fire. At first, he thought it only felt like that because it was new and forbidden, taboo. They were both men, Carlos had a girlfriend, had his whole life planned out.

But he soon figured out that it was everything, that Lando was everything. Carlos cherished every single moment they got together. Loved caressing the dimples just above Lando's buttocks, dreamt about how Lando's breath caught in his throat as Carlos's fingers ghosted the inside of his thighs, and soon found out that he couldn't live without Lando's lips on his neck.

The breakup had been difficult. Isa was nice, beautiful, intelligent and, on paper, the perfect partner for him. But he had done enough damage by loving Lando in the dark while stringing her along in public, and it was for the best.

But breaking up with Isa didn't automatically mean that he could love Lando in the light.

They took it slow, eased their way into a routine where it was just the two of them before introducing each other's families into it. It had been easy, the transition. Carlos' family already loved Lando and looked at him as one of their own, and the fact that Carlos loved him just made it all the better.

Lando's family had been a bit more hesitant. It had nothing to do with Carlos being a man. They had known about Lando's orientation since he was a young teen. What Cisca, and especially Adam, were wary of was the age gap. Especially since Lando was a mere 19 years old when the relationship started.

It had taken some time to earn their trust, to make them understand that Carlos understood. That he understood why they were hesitant and on guard when it came to the man that loved their boy.

They had been together for over a year now, and Lando's parents had relaxed during that time. Had accepted that Carlos was not only Lando's teammate but his partner in everything.

That didn't mean that Carlos didn't try everything he could to make sure that he was the most respectful version of himself every time they were around Lando's family.

Carlos closes his eyes as he takes in the scent of the newly cut grass. He had been put to work during his stay, but he didn't mind.

Suddenly, the beams of sun that managed to reach the patio disappear, and Carlos can feel someone leaning over him. A gentle kiss is placed on the tip of his nose, and a soft giggle resounds in the air between them.

Carlos opens his eyes to the most beautiful sight. The humidity is wreaking havoc with Lando's curls, and they're big and fluffy. His dimples are pronounced as he grins down at Carlos, and Carlos has a feeling he's up to no good.

The way Lando's pupils are dark and blown and how he bites his lip as he looks at Carlos makes him realise that he's entirely correct.

"Lando."

Carlos draws out his name, a warning. He knows Lando, knows every single tell he has and knows that he can lead Carlos astray with only the fluttering of his eyelashes. He's wearing loose shorts, but Carlos can still see the bulge, and it makes his own cock twitch.

Lando leans over him again, one hand on his shoulder while the other goes lower and lower and lower until his knuckles graze over Carlos' crotch.

Now it's Carlos' turn to bite his lips. A moan almost escapes his lips, but he manages to hold back. Lando puts his lips on Carlos' earlobe and presses a soft kiss to it before whispering.

"I fingered myself in the bathroom. I'm ready." It's an order, one that Carlos is barely able to deny.

“Not in front of your parents, Lando!” It's strangled; all of his energy is going into keeping his composure.

It's of no use. Lando unzips Carlos' shorts and takes his hard cock in hand, stroking it twice. He lets saliva drip down on it, smearing it with his hand, and before Carlos even realises what's going on, he turns around, pushes the waistband of his shorts under his exquisite ass and sits down in Carlos' lap, sheathing himself down on his hard cock.

It knocks the wind out of Carlos' lungs. Lando is tight, he's always tight, but it's clear that he's opened himself up. The thought of Lando in the bathroom fingering himself open so that Carlos can fuck him out in the open, metres away from his family, ignites something in Carlos, and he grips Lando's hips.

He lifts Lando as subtly as he can and then pushes him back down. It's barely anything. There's no slamming of hips or pounding. It's delicate, noticeable only to those who dare step onto the patio, and Carlos prays to every single God there is that no one does.

Lando's fingers dig into Carlos' legs at an awkward angle, and Carlos can hear his breath stuttering. It's always beautiful, fucking Lando. He's always so open, so animated. Carlos has been able to cum purely from the sounds that Lando makes as he's being fingered.

But this is something else. This nonverbal communication between them. How Lando's fingers dig into Carlos' flesh, how he barely remembers to breathe as Carlos fucks into him slowly and languidly, and how moves his head to the side so that his neck is exposed. It's an invitation, a signal for Carlos to put his lips on him. It's something Lando does when he's either too tired or aroused to talk.

It's also Carlos' safe space. It may sound silly, but Lando's neck, sleek and thick and strong, is one of the most beautiful parts of Lando. It's a sign of his hard work and how far he's come, and Carlos adores it. It's also the place where Lando is most sensitive. Carlos loves raking his teeth over the soft skin and pressing his lips over his pulse point,

He loves loving Lando.

Carlos can feel his toes going numb, a prickly sort of feeling making its way up to his legs. He digs his fingers into Lando's hips and slams into him three times. Lando cums at the second thrust, his shorts wet and sticky.

Carlos cums at the third thrust. Lando stands up, Carlos' cock sliding out of his hole, and Carlos puts it back in his shorts. Lando pulls his own shorts back up and then settles back down in Carlos' lap, this time so that they're facing each other.

They ride out their orgasms together, foreheads touching and a shit-eating grin on Lando's lips.

Carlos can still hear shrieks from Lando's sisters and his parents debating how long the steaks should stay on the grill.

Nothing matters, though. Nothing matters except Lando. And at that moment, Carlos truly realises that he will spend the rest of his life making sure Lando's smile stays intact.

#carlando #carlando ficlet

[richmond-rex]

There is also good reason to connect [Elizabeth of York] with the splendid early fifteenth-century Hours of Margaret Holland, duchess of Clarence, which includes an added prayer on behalf of 'thy unworthy handmaiden Elizabeth'. Although the original owner of this richly illuminated manuscript ended her life as the widow of Henry V's younger brother, Thomas, duke of Clarence (d. 1421), she was by an earlier alliance also the widow of John Beaufort, earl of Somerset, the elder legitimated son of John of Gaunt, and thus the grandmother of Margaret Beaufort.

— Janet Backhouse, Illuminated Manuscripts associated with Henry VII and Members of his Immediate Family | The reign of Henry VII: proceedings of the 1993 Harlaxton symposium

The decoration of the book includes arms of the Beauforts, of the royal family as borne by Thomas, duke of Clarence, and of the owner's own paternal family of Holland, through which she was a kinswoman of the royal house in her own right. It thus offers a very graphic demonstration of Henry VII's illustrious descent through his mother's family and it is tempting to suppose it may have been Margaret Beaufort herself who diverted it to the use of her daughter-in-law.

#a gift for elizabeth? very possible imo #elizabeth of york #margaret beaufort #historicwomendaily #margaret holland duchess of clarence #historian: janet backhouse

[theterrorreversebang]

Presenting, for your viewing and reading pleasure: the final collection of the first-ever Terror Reverse Bang, a feast of gorgeous artwork, beautiful fic, friendship, laughter, tears, ...some horny. OK, a lot of horny.

You can find the AO3 collection for the event here. Summaries and links to the artwork below the cut.    Thank you all for going on this fantastic journey with us. Eat well and enjoy. - ❤️, Charlie and Vio 

a most noble and enjoyable pursuit (T, multiple ships, 10.6k) artwork and concept by shloodles fic by vfrankenstein

Cornelius Hickey discovers something in the orlop deck that nobody was ever meant to find. Poetry, stupidity, and romance ensues.

anamnesis (M, fitzier, 42k) artwork and concept by camecrawlingback - art 2 fic by crownlessliestheking

The only things the commander leaves behind are these: A scrap of paper with writing that is not his own, and proudly monogrammed boots, now caked in verdurous filth. Both items will be pored over, and over. The boots, encased and displayed as a memorial to Franklin's expedition, in the time where they were yet named and not merely numbered. And the paper will be picked up and encased in glass to be read but never touched, the ink determined to be not ink at all, the words never fading though grief and greed blinds readers to its warning: WE ARE GONE.

and it is now, and it is here (M, fitzier, 30k) artwork and concept by oughtnots - draft fic by 20thcenturyvole

Before the ships are trapped in the ice, James Fitzjames sees a terrible vision of the future, a harbinger of his own death. Before the ships are trapped in the ice, Francis Crozier is visited by a tender apparition, an angel wearing James Fitzjames' face. They are both seeing the same vision. Whether they can heed its warning is another matter entirely.

antipode (T, fitzier, 8.4k) artwork by asparklethatisblue fic by themainthings concept by drfronkensteeen

An antipode of any place is the point on the earth's surface diametrically opposite it. North. Then. James Fitzjames prepares for a walk. South. Now. Francis Crozier witnesses a glacier.

anything you can do (jopson does better) (T, joplittle, 15.5k) artwork and concept by necromcom fic by bastaerd

“There were only a handful of men in attendance– these lessons are often sparsely attended, as you know, but those who do attend come with the intent to improve upon not only their artistic skills but their powers of observation. Today there were… let me see.” Irving looked up at the ceiling and his mouth moved mutely as he recounted to himself the day’s class roster. “Hartnell, Peglar, Armitage, Gibson, Strong, and one other, I believe. Ah. Manson. A class of six.” Little nodded. “Was it one of them?” he asked. “No, no. They applied themselves to their work. It was only that- well, part of the way through the lesson Mr. Jopson arrived.” (or, Jopson's billion talents and the one thing he's dogshit at.)

beyond belief (T, multiple ships, 16.5k) artwork and concept by zdrzemka fic by Jellyfax

In the summer of 1845 'The Royal Society for Improving Natural and Unnatural Knowledge' at Somerset House in London posted a request for teams of Unnaturalists to uncover the nature of a beast spotted in the Highlands, terrorising the ironworkers on the North shore of Loch Camock. Funded by coal magnate Meyrick Holme, a reward of £500 was offered for proof of its existence, and £1000 was offered for the capture and delivery of the creature to the Royal Society. Two teams of monster hunters at the forefront of British Unnatural interests took up the gauntlet, and the hunt was to become a race against time and each other. But this is not really that story, but rather all the stories that lead up to it, and all the Monsters (Natural or Unnatural) found along the way. alternative title: "What if the Grandpa from Princess Bride was reading 'The Cryptid Factor: 1845' instead (but there was still kissing and melodrama and animals of unusual size hiding out in forests)"

blind tiger (M, bridglar, 24.5k) artwork and concept by neptuniite - art 2 fic by shortcrust

It is late in the winter of 1926 in Norfolk, Virginia. John Bridgens is a mediocre agent for the Bureau of Prohibition, and Harry Peglar is an excellent bootlegger.

bones in the ocean (T, fitzconte, 11.5k) artwork by vandrawsing fic by pointyshades concept by tullia

There were a few things James knew to be true: he had been dead, and now he was alive. Then there were the things of which he was not certain: were there others afflicted by his condition?

cliffgate (T, goodgore, 18.3k) artwork and concept by agatadraws fic by whalersandsailors

At the end of the long war with France, Graham Gore takes a holiday to Scotland in search of a place to find peace and to bury his past. But something is off in Cliffgate and her rolling hills: a secret as old as the earth, rivers, and trees. And local doctor Harry D.S. Goodsir seems embroiled in the middle of it all.

don't let them scare you; they are only my dreams (M, edward little & silna's father, 7.9k) artwork and concept by astralwhat fic by camecrawlingback

Edward Little has a nice dream. He also has some weird ones.

dreams of doom (M, multiple ships, 8.8k) artwork and concept by midnightmagpies fic by bilgewater01

When the haunted schooner Octavius sails into Crozier's dreams—and then into view of the stricken men on Erebus and Terror—the captain's suspicions, paranoid yet not without reason, turn towards Mr. Hickey. And then Crozier's men begin to die, murdered by the entity that only Hickey truly understands, and Hickey is not there to see their destruction.

francis and the frog prince (E, fitzier, 19.2k) artwork and concept by vandrawsing fic by sadsparties

James the frog has always wanted to be a prince. He wishes more than anything to have long legs and fancy hair, and horses to ride and clothes to wear. His dreams come true with the aid of a witch, but James soon learns that being a prince is more complicated than it seems. And what do you mean he must find his true love?

free o'er the bright blue sea (E, joplittle, 10.3k) artwork and concept by mitarashi8 fic by orchidae

Tom Jopson needed to make good money as fast as possible, that’s why he became Head Waiter on the Terre d’or, Franklin Ross cruise lines' brand new Mediterranean cruise ship, Captained by Francis Crozier. He figured a ship full of people would keep him focused and busy enough, too bad he keeps randomly bumping into First Officer Edward Little who is so damn distracting.

friday, i'm in love (E, joplittle, 52k) artwork and concept by mitarashi8 fic by manicpixiedreamjop

Mr. Little,Thank you so much for reaching out. While we are incredibly busy here at Mrs. Jopson’s Cleaning Services for the next few weeks (everyone’s excited about spring cleaning, what can you do!), I would be happy to get you on our schedule as early as the second week of April. When Edward’s therapist recommends he hire a cleaning company to help mitigate some of the guilt and anxiety that comes from his flat getting messy when he’s busy or depressed, he expects the "Mrs. Jopson" that he hires to be a sweet, middle-aged woman. He certainly does not expect the young, beautiful man who shows up in his flat, makes Edward's notoriously antisocial cat fall in love with him instantly, and makes Edward feel things he hasn't felt in years.

gods of fear and darkness (M, fitzier, 11.9k) artwork and concept by asparklethatisblue - art 2 fic by shakespeares_girl

After an unwanted arranged marriage to the King of the Underworld, James begins to show signs of a mysterious illness that only grows worse as time goes on. As James explores his new home and begins to grow close to his husband, Francis, and make friends in his new realm, James finds that he enjoys his new life and isn't ready to give it up. But with no cure and his symptoms growing worse first daily, then hourly, James doesn't have much time to unravel the mystery of his illness, or how it may connect to a long-buried trauma from his past ....

leave the light on (M, fitzier, 19.1k) artwork and concept by pretendingday fic by cajunroe

“Rumor has it, you found him eating bones on a beach. Keeping it up?” Francis nearly smiles but remembers just who he’s talking to in time. “You would be surprised how little the rumors of my life mean to me, Fitzjames.” He sets his haul on the table and seeks about putting everything in its place. “Oh, I do not think there’s anything about you that does not surprise me, Francis.”

long after the thrill of living is gone (M, multiple ships, 14k) artwork and concept by sixpounderss - art 2 fic by dimmockdock

Billy Gibson's main goal for his junior year of high school: survive. With the Toms by his side, that shouldn't be hard. But when a mysterious new kid shows up and draws Billy's eye, things start the change.

maths, marksmanship, & manly bonding (T, irving/tozer) artwork and concept by entangled_system

no better shoulder (T, silna & silna's father, 12k) artwork and concept by 20thcenturyvole fic by orchis

When the strangers whose ships are stuck in the ice wound her father, Silna has no choice but to accept their help until her dad heals or she can convince the men to leave. Unfortunately, they don't seem willing to listen to her. As tensions rise among the crew and Tuunbaq continues to lurk out on the ice, the danger grows for everyone involved. A Silna's dad lives AU.

nothing fades like the light (M, thomas hartnell, 8.5k) artwork and concept by silvermagpies fic by scarecrowfan

In January of 1846, Tom buries his brother on Beechey Island, but a part of Johnny seems to linger with him, a constant presence in his thoughts. Two years later, scurvy and lead poisoning have spread among the sailors. As they all struggle to survive their march from the ships, Tom's sense of time deteriorates and the edges of his memories blur. Is his brother's spirit truly with him, or is the failing of his body merely taking its toll? A Thomas Hartnell character study.

sacred and terrible divinity (M, fitzier, 28,9k) artwork and concept by 20thcenturyvole fic by midna_ronoa

The Empress of the Nine Houses in all her kindly glory summons eight necromancers and their cavaliers to take part in what will be the trial of their lifetimes: acquiring immortality. Soon after their arrival Francis Crozier, Head Archivist and Speaker of the Death of the Fifth, will have to decide where his allies and enemies lie in a game, that even if innocent at first, holds many more stakes for the known universe that one may have thought at first.

silent lands (T, silna & goodsir, 8.2k) artwork and concept by pileofsith fic by moonwalkingcrab

As Silna wanders across the land, tugged forwards by a mysterious presence, she contemplates the future and her place in it, if any.

the frozen shore (M, multiple characters, 17.5k) artwork and concept by pileofsith fic by acephalous

It's hungry and it wants to live (a 'The Thing' AU).

the gentleman soldier (E, hickeytozer, 8.6k) artwork and concept by malcifer fic by rhubarb_crumbl

Solomon finds Hickey to be a distraction from the darkness closing in around them, and realises that Hickey might need something to focus his mind on too.

the hidden paw (T, fitzier, 10.5k) artwork and concept by asparklethatisblue - art 2 fic by fadladinida

Francis heard a small mew and looked down to see a cat waiting expectantly on the doorstep. “Mew,” said the cat, apparently affirmatively, as it- he- trotted up the step and straight into Francis’ flat. Francis' fledgling friendship with his former office nemesis is put into doubt after a disastrous dinner date, but when a mysterious cat turns up at Francis' door, it quickly becomes apparent that both their relationship and the strange cat are not entirely as they seem.

the miracle; or, un unlikely series of states in a mechanical universe (E, goodsir/multiple, 7.5k) artwork and concept by bilgewater01 link to the fic

During congress with his mistress Lady Silence, Assistant Surgeon Goodsir discovers that his Membrum Virile, applied rectally, is a Panacea for any and all ailment and disease, as the woman grows back her tongue. He vigorously confirms this finding with Seaman Morfin, who is greatly troubled by his headaches; then is granted permission to perform his miraculous cures on all men in need.

this time tomorrow (M, bridglar, 19k) artwork and concept by silvermagpies fic by poorly_animated

John Bridgens meets Henry Peglar one evening when he nearly runs him over on his bike ride home. Henry doesn't particularly mind being almost run over by a handsome professor, so they walk together, and make plans to keep meeting. When John mentions Henry to his officemate, though, they discover something strange. Henry Peglar is dead.

unsportsmanlike conduct (T, fitzier, 10.8k) artwork and concept by pretendingday fic by othersideofthis (hikaru)

The Greenhithe Terrors are the worst team in the EIHL, and their last-ditch attempt to save their season involves trading for one James Fitzjames. It's too bad that the league's golden boy also doesn't seem to know that there's no "I" in team.

vanished hands and voices still (M, fitzier, 9.5k) artwork and concept by e-merald-terror fic by hangingfire

Or, The Convalescence of James Fitzjames In another timeline, two dozen of Sir John Franklin's men returned from the Arctic. In this timeline, James Fitzjames didn't die. But his great gilded life has collapsed in the wake of the disastrous expedition. Haunted by his failures and the deaths of his men, harrowed by the trauma he has suffered, he takes refuge with his foster-brother's family in Brighton.

your turn (T, hickey/irving, 21k) artwork and concept by pileofsith fic by hypallepse

When John Irving was steeling himself for another dreadful weekend in the Swiss Alps, he only thought he'd have to deal with integrating George's new boyfriend into their strange group. Nothing could have prepared him to have the same new boyfriend's ex-boyfriend crashing the party and turning his whole life around. When Cornelius Hickey decided to crash Billy's new fake life so he could get his boyfriend back, he never expected he'd have to learn how to ski or, even worse, care about another self-centred prat.

15 Recipes Arctic Explorers Can't Live Without (M, joplittle, 6.1k) artwork and concept by entangled_system fic by krewka

In the spring of 1850 Thomas and Edward convalesce in the English countryside. Recovery, relationships, and retirement create an unsavoury mix, made all the worse since no one really knows how to taco 'bout it.

#the terror #the terror amc #amc the terror #the terror reverse bang #the terror reverse bang 2023 #the terror reverse bang 2023 masterpost

[apinchofm]

word prompt - dress

"Kate, could you help me with this fastening?"

"Of course."

The gown was long and heavy, layers of white silk and tulle upon her already and it still was not complete for the veil and final overlay was being made. But Edwina wishes to see how she fits in the moment.

Kate could not help but exclaim: "Oh, you look so beautiful!" as Edwina came out from behind the screen.

"It is not even finished yet," Edwina smiles bashfully, "Thank you."

Kate notices her sister's silence, for her younger sister was so chatty when excited.

"Tell me what the matter is, Eddie," Kate asked gently.

"I suppose the whole ordeal is nerve wracking." Edwina admits, rubbing her hands together.

"Ordeal?" Kate chuckles at the phrasing, "Edwina, you are not going to the gallows. You are getting married."

Edwina's smile faltered, "Yes, I am."

"Do you have doubts, bon?" Kate wondered, "Is it Friedrich?"

"No, not about Friedrich." The man crossed a battlefield to see her again; she did not doubt him for one moment. He loved her and she loved him and wanted to spend the rest of her life with him.

She feels Kate's hand run soothingly across her back, "Is it the spectacle?"

Edwina smiled mildly. Fireworks and doves and imported flowers and all of it was overwhelming. Friedrich did not want too much of a fuss either, but his station demanded it.

"Oh, it is silly. I cannot help but think about the last time I was being fitted for a wedding dress." Edwina says, "The last wedding I was excited for."

She still had the dress. It was shoved at the bottom of a trunk, for she could not find the will to burn it or throw it away.

She sees Kate frown, "I am sorry." Edwina immediately said, "I did not want to upset you. It is my silly mind, that is all."

"It is not silly to feel anxious." Kate said gently, "The whole situation, well, it was a mess. It is normal to have a sense of trepidation."

She held her hands from behind, squeezing tightly and Edwina felt so comforted by her mere presence.

"Do you like Friedrich?" Edwina asked, meeting her sister's eyes

Kate had been wary of Friedrich, when they met upon his journey to England. He had not made the best first impression, rather short with everyone who was not Edwina - he was tired from war and negotiations. But he had endeavoured to spend as much time with his future in-laws, wanting them to warm to him. He even purchased a residence in Somerset for their mother's birthday, for she was to be a countess and a countess needed her own household.

Kate still held out her verbal approval.

"I think the most important thing is that you love him," Kate said carefully.

Edwina looked at her sister in the mirror. Taller than she was, as always. Their eyes. They had always had the same eyes, passed down from their Appa.

Edwina huffed and turned her, "Your opinion still matters to me. And I know you are still unsure of Friedrich. I know it!"

Kate nods, offering a small smile, "I suppose I was rather hurt that you had not told me about him sooner. The secrecy of it all."

"It was not that." Edwina promised, "No, not at all. It was rather nice to have a reprieve from...all of it. One person who did not treat me as a doll or someone in need of handling."

Kate sighed. It had been true enough, with everyone unsure of what Edwina had been thinking and the disastrous beginning of her season (she had told Anthony not to interfere!) And then she was engaged, having had a secret friendship and romance with a prince.

"Well, he loves you. That is reason enough to like him," Kate conceded, "Even if he is rather impertinent and forward."

"He is not forward. He is...German." Edwina defended, making the both of them laugh.

"And I hate him for whisking you to Berlin!" Kate joked, "But I only want you happy, bon."

Edwina sniffled, "I love you, didi."

Kate smiles, wrapping her arms around her, "Everything will be amazing. And this is no soothing lie." She promised.

#edwinaweek #day two #edwina sharma #kate sharma #bridgerton #bridgerton fic #writing prompt

[mask131]

Arthurian myth: King Arthur (1)

Loose translation of the article "Arthur (Artus)" from Catherine Rager's "Dictionnaire des fées et des peuples invisibles dans l'Occident païen" (Dictionary of fairies and invisible people in the Pagan Occident).

ARTHUR (Artus)

Mythical king of a cycle of romans, the tales of the Round Table, also known as the Matter of Britain, which blossomed throughout all of Europe from the 12th to the 15th centuries. Among those texts, we find numerous romans by Chrétien de Troyes, and The History of the Kings of Britain by Geoffroy of Monmouth, alongside its very loose translation Le Roman de Brut by Wace, itself rewrote by the priest Layamon in his poem Brut, and later, by Malory in his La Mort d'Arthur. Arthur was originally a historical warlord killed around 537 at the battle of Camlann, but he then became a super-human character identified to another Arthur, the great god of the pantheon of the Britons, and thus symbolizing the fight of the old kings of Great-Britain against the Saxon invaders.

The father of Arthur is the king Uter Pendragon who, despite his human appearance, seems to be a figuration of an Underworld king. He claims to be Constantine's descendant - the Celts, during this era, were Romanized. Arthur's half-sister is the fairy Morgane. As for his wife, the incomparable Guenievre ou Guinevere, her name means in its Welsh form (Gwenhwyfar, Gwenhwyvar) "white spirit", "white ghost". Some considered that Guenievre, who is recurringly kidnapped, is a resurgence of the Greek goddess Persephone. Their son, Llacheu, has the gift of second-sight/clearsight, as he knows the secret of material elements and of nature.

The relationships between Arthur and the Otherworld make him a magical character. In the roman of the Saxon Layamon, Brut, we see elves assist to his birth and gift him - he will be powerful, wealthy, generous and have a long life.

As many other heroes, Arthur receives his sword, Excalibur, from a supernatural creature. It is the Lady of the Lake that offers it to him. Indeed, the weapon he took away from its rock had been broken during a previous battle. Merlin, to replace it, brought the king to the shore of a lake, where an arm with white silk came out of the water, offering him the magical sword ornate with dragons - it is Excalibur, the Caladbolg of the Irish Fergus, a sword forged in Avallon. Before his death, the king will task sir Bedevere with bringing back Excalibur to the lake, where the mysterious arm appears again out of the water and takes it back. The Lady of the Lake always offers her protection to the king.

Arthur rides a black horse, a color associated to the realm of the dead: he can, as such, cross the waters that separate the afterlife from the realm of the living without his horse going wild with terror. The Book of Taliesin, a Welsh text of the 13th century, tells how the king went to the Underworld and brought back from it a magical cauldron (prefiguration of the Grail) which offers to knights an endless supply of food, but stays empty for the cowards.

Arthur is a purifying hero who gets rid of the monsters that plague the universe, just like Hercules, Theseus, Finn mac Cumhail or Cûchulainn. His first exploit was to kill the boar Twrch Trwyth which was ravaging Wales (Mabinogion of Kulwch and Olwen).

Once king, Arthur represents a solar-themed strength and wisdom. Advised by Merlin the enchanter, he establishes a rule of peace and justice (for twelve years according to some, for forty according to others), and presides at Carduel the Round Table, whose nature confirms that Arthus is both belonging to the supernatural, and an image of the Sun. His court can be found at Camelot - which might be Cadbury Castle, in the Somerset, but is before all the idealized town, the perfect city, the seat of knowledge, poetry and alchemy. The court keeps moving depending on the tales. The lord regularly sends his knights fight for just causes (and, after the Christianization of the legend, for the quest of the Grail containing the blood of the Christ), but himself rarely appears as a warrior. He sometimes even appears to figure a god of war who is above the mere battle, similarly to the goddess Badb.

For a marvelous life, a prodigious end: in his Vita Merlini, Geoffroy of Monmouth tells how the king, killed by the treacherous Mordred, his nephew and likely incestuous son, is carried on a magical boat by fairies that came from the Atlantic (where the realm of the dead is located). He is accompanied there by the Lady of the Lake and by three queens: the queen of Northern Wales, the queen of the Terre Gaste, and Morgane. Healed of his wounds by the latter, he stays with her, the Lady of the Lake, and their six sister-fairies, in the island of Avallon, "The Isle of Apples", which is sometimes a name for the Sidh/realm of the fairies, sometimes synonymous with the Blessed Islands or Fortune Isles. In Layamon's Brut, it is elves that take to Avallon the dead king, and it is the elf-queen Argante that brings him back to life. In truth, he returned to the place he belongs to, this Otherworld where there is no death, no suffering, no decadence, but only youth, feast and joy. His people hope for his messianic return, either in times of war, or simply so that he can offer them wise advice. In Cornwall, king Arthur supposedly appears in the shape of a black bird with red-colored beak and claws.

Old texts from which Rabelais took his inspiration mixed together the legend of king Arthur and the one of the giant Gargantua.

In Guillaume Apollinaire's burlesque "Arthur roi passé roi futur" (Arthur, king past, king future, 1914), king Arthur returns, wearing a shining armor, to Buckingham Palace where Georges IX is ruling. After having tested the authenticity of the ghost, Georges IX abdicates and lets the throne return to the old lord of England.

#arthurian myth #arthuriana #king arthur #arthurian legend

[teaspoonnebula]

Jerome K Jerome, describing Arthur Conan Doyle having a very Scooby Doo adventure:

Doyle had always a bent towards the occult. He told me once a curious story. It led him to conclusions with which he may now disagree. He and another member of the Psychical Research Society were sent down to an old manor house in Somerset to investigate a "phenomenon," as it is now termed—"ghost story," our grandmothers would have said. There lived in this house a retired Colonel and his wife with their only daughter, an unmarried woman of about five and thirty. For some time past, strange noises had been heard: a low moaning, rising to a wailing sob, and a sound as of a chain being dragged across the floor. Night after night, the noises would be heard. Then, for a while, they would cease. And then they would come again. The servants—so the old gentleman explained—were being frightened out of their lives: most of them had left; and even the dogs were becoming jumpy. Doyle and his friend were to say nothing about the Psychical Research Society. They were to come merely as guests, friends of the Colonel's, that he had run across in London. He had not told his wife and daughter. His idea was that no woman could keep a secret. The Colonel himself pooh-poohed the whole thing. He put it down to rats. But his wife's health was becoming affected. He was evidently more worried than he cared to show.

It was a lonely house. Doyle and his friend arrived there in time for dinner. In the evening, they played a rubber of whist with the Colonel and his daughter. It was before bridge was invented. The old lady looked on while knitting. They seemed a most devoted family. Doyle and his friend, pleading drowsiness, the result of country air, retired early. That night nothing happened. On the second night, Doyle, suddenly waking about two o'clock in the morning, heard the noises exactly as described: the low moaning, rising to a wailing sob, and the dragging of a chain. He was out of bed in a jiffy. The other man, whose turn it had been to keep watch, was in the gallery overlooking the hall, from where, he felt sure, the sounds had come. The old lady and gentleman joined them, almost immediately; and the daughter a few minutes later. The daughter, while comforting her mother, whose self-control seemed to be at breaking-point, declared she had heard nothing; and was sure it was all imagination, the result of "suggestion"; but admitted, after the old people had gone back into their room, that this was only pretence. She burst into a violent fit of weeping. Doyle's medical training came to his aid. The next night they laid their plans; and discovered, as Doyle had suspected, that the ghost was the daughter herself.

She was not mad. She protested her love both for her father and her mother. She could offer no explanation. The thing seemed as unaccountable to her as it did to Doyle. On the understanding that the thing ended, secrecy was promised. The noises were never heard again. The mysteries are with the living, not the dead.

#arthur conan doyle #jerome k jerome

[officiallordvetinari]

Below are 10 articles randomly chosen from Wikipedia's Featured Articles list. Brief descriptions and links are below the cut.

Bride of Frankenstein is a 1935 American science fiction horror film, and the first sequel to Universal Pictures' 1931 film Frankenstein. As with the first film, Bride of Frankenstein was directed by James Whale starring Boris Karloff as the Monster and Colin Clive as Dr. Frankenstein. The sequel features Elsa Lanchester in the dual role of Mary Shelley and the bride.

Chew Stoke is a small village and civil parish in the affluent Chew Valley, in Somerset, England, about 8 miles (13 km) south of Bristol and 10 miles north of Wells. It is at the northern edge of the Mendip Hills, a region designated by the United Kingdom as an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, and is within the Bristol and Bath green belt.

David Hillhouse Buel Jr. (July 19, 1862 – May 23, 1923) was an American priest who served as the president of Georgetown University. A Catholic priest and Jesuit for much of his life, he later left the Jesuit order to marry, and subsequently left the Catholic Church to become an Episcopal priest.

Denbies is a large estate to the northwest of Dorking in Surrey, England. A farmhouse and surrounding land originally owned by John Denby was purchased in 1734 by Jonathan Tyers, the proprietor of Vauxhall Gardens in London, and converted into a weekend retreat. The house he built appears to have been of little architectural significance, but the Gothic garden he developed in the grounds on the theme of death achieved some notoriety, despite being short-lived.

Courbet was the lead ship of her class of four dreadnought battleships, the first ones built for the French Navy. She was completed shortly before the start of World War I in August 1914.

The ketogenic diet is a high-fat, adequate-protein, low-carbohydrate dietary therapy that in conventional medicine is used mainly to treat hard-to-control (refractory) epilepsy in children. The diet forces the body to burn fats rather than carbohydrates.

The football match between Manchester United and Ipswich Town played at Old Trafford, Manchester, on 4 March 1995 as part of the 1994–95 FA Premier League finished in a 9–0 victory for the home team. The result stands as the joint record, with Southampton having subsequently lost by the same scoreline at home to Leicester City in 2019 and away at Manchester United in 2021, while Bournemouth also lost 9–0 to Liverpool in 2022.

M-185 is a state trunkline highway in the U.S. state of Michigan that circles Mackinac Island, a popular tourist destination on the Lake Huron side of the Straits of Mackinac, along the island's shoreline. A narrow paved road of 8.004 miles (12.881 km), it offers scenic views of the straits that divide the Upper and the Lower peninsulas of Michigan and Lakes Huron and Michigan.

Santa María de Óvila is a former Cistercian monastery built in Spain beginning in 1181 on the Tagus River near Trillo, Guadalajara, about 90 miles (140 km) northeast of Madrid. During prosperous times over the next four centuries, construction projects expanded and improved the small monastery. Its fortunes declined significantly in the 18th century, and in 1835 it was confiscated by the Spanish government and sold to private owners who used its buildings to shelter farm animals.

Sarcoscypha coccinea, commonly known as the scarlet elf cup, or the scarlet cup, is a species of fungus in the family Sarcoscyphaceae of the order Pezizales. The fungus, widely distributed in the Northern Hemisphere, has been found in Africa, Asia, Europe, North and South America, and Australia.

#going back to basics on this one #I'd appreciate reblogs