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bnuuys-writing · 9 months

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Chapter One. The Castle Within The Fog.

HERE YOU GO VIL SIMPS! The first chapter of Howl's Moving Castle Vil x F!Reader!!

I am having fun making this, it was a little hard to start but WE GOT THIS! I hope you enjoy reading the first chapter!

TW: Creepy men, self image issues

-Bnuuy Out!

The fog was dense upon the hills, rolling over shepherds and their sheep, edging them back home towards their farmhouses as something waltzed within its secure density. Hissing, thumping and whirring could be heard through the fog, for it could only hide but not mute the sounds of a moving castle. Specifically, Vil Schoenheit’s moving castle. For everyone knew about the Sorcerer’s moving castle, and wondered where his loyalties were during these troubling times. Yet, no one could ever tell the proper story of Vil’s Moving Castle, only rumors fluttered about him and his mysterious ways.

You sighed as you looked out the window, watching plumes of black smoke roll past your window as a train passed by your quaint little shop. Or at least the shop you work in currently, weaving and decorating hats for the world to buy. A single wish always being pushed into the hat by your words, of how beautiful it will be, or that the owner will love said hat forever, or even in some cases; that whoever purchases this hat will find their true love. You always thought pushing these little wishes onto the hat would make the owner a little more happier with life, for you were certainly lacking a bit.

“Y/n! We closed up the shop a little early! Why don't you come to the festival with us?” One of your coworkers piped up, looking into your little room filled with hats and decorations. A small smile was on her face as she looked you up and down from where you were sitting and tilted her head. Of course, all these women were absolutely beautiful, having grown within their respective middle aged lives, and they seemed as if they hadn't had a care in the world; As if, they themselves, had no insecurities for who they are or what they looked like.

“No, thank you though. I should probably stay here and finish this hat. You go on and have fun.” You replied, smiling at her as you returned your gaze back to the hat within your hands. It was the perfect shade of pink, with a violet ribbon wrapping around the middle of it, where you were sowing in red berries with a few leafs upon it, and one beautiful pinecone. Whoever purchases this hat will be the finest lady come wintertime. You could hear all the voices of your coworkers speaking, how they were all ready to go and how excited they were until one piped up about seeing Vil’s castle within the rolling hills, hidden beneath the fog.

You gaze tore away from the hat once more as you looked outside your window. No more black smoke clouding your gaze as you looked off into the hills that were encased in mountains behind them and within those hills; There it was. Vil’s Moving Castle. So far and small, you could barely see it within the fog but with certainty, you could see its spindly legs moving back into the fog to hide away from the warplanes flying above. Although you tried to ignore it, you could hear your coworkers speaking about Vil Schoenheit.

“Did you hear about Fartha, the girl from South Haven? They say Vil tore her heart out!”

“Now I’m too scared to go out!”

“What? Well don't worry! They say he only preys on pretty girls!”

You could hear their giggling and you could only sigh, rolling your eyes as you returned to the hat within your hands. WIthin the next minute, you could hear the bell at the front door ring, then a click. Signaling that the women of the shop have all left to go out and have some fun within the parade, the festival, the goodest of all times for there was tension peace between the two countries. One wrong move and there will be a whole war breaking out. You only sighed as you looked down at the hat in your hands, wondering what else could be placed upon the lonesome looking hat before shaking your head. You had plans that you needed to follow through on.

Grabbing your hat and making your way to the nearest mirror, you tried smiling, flaunting off the pale hat with only a few buttons on the top, draped in a pink ribbon, yet nothing seemed to work. A part of you telling you it wasn't worth it, that you didn't look pretty nor good enough. You hated this part of yourself, as you seemed to cover your eyes with the hat, having pulled it down hard over your head as you began to make your way out, adjusting the hat as needed. It wouldn't matter anyway, because you didn't want to get stuck within the crowd, you traversed into the empty alleyways of the streets.

You could hear the loud fanfares of the trumpets, of the drums and the marching of the soldiers, the cheering crowd, and the humming engine of the tanks rolling by while the warplanes flew overhead, bearing the flag of your country. Yet, you refused to be out there within the crowd. Holding a piece of paper of where you were destined to go, you looked up every once and a while just to stop and see street signs, passing the occasional guard as well and ever seeming to rush by them with a startled gasp. You never wanted to be left alone with a guard, and you wished that your luck would deliver you unto the cafe you were supposed to meet your sister at.

Yet, your luck couldn't have been any worse.

Glancing up from the paper, you immediately took a step back as you looked up a little higher just to see a guard leaning on the wall, effectively blocking your way from passing forward. Alarms began to ring within your head as you stared up at the unfamiliar man who just seemed to smile down at you, something behind his eyes screaming interest towards you.

“Hey, it seems like a little mouse has lost its way.” He started out, trying his best to act suave towards you. Yet, you were not having it as you became more uncomfortable by the fact of this man keeping you here within this lonesome alleyway.

“Oh no, I'm not lost.” Your voice wavered slightly as you took another step back, trying to keep yourself distanced from the guard leaning on the wall only for another to appear at his side.

“This little mouse looks thirsty, we should take her for a cup of tea.” By now, the two guards have completely blocked your pathway, both smiling down at your form as you seemed to become even more unnerved. There was no one to hear your cries for help if you did even try.

“No thanks, my sister is expecting me.” You lowered your head slightly, trying to keep the fear within your eyes hidden as you just stared at the wall behind them. You didn't dare try to meet their gaze again as the other guard seemed to lean over just to inspect you, getting close and personal.

“She’s pretty cute for a mouse…” He spoke out, smiling at you as you disregarded any eye contact with him as well.

“How old are you even? Do you live around here?” The first guard spoke once more as they both took a step forward to get closer to you, in which you could only respond by taking a step backwards, pulling your arms closer to your chest as you kept your head down.

“Leave me alone!” You blurted out, trying to sound like stone. You tried to save yourself from the misery of this ending right here. You needed to escape, or just to run, there was no one to hear you.

“You see,” The first guard spoke up, laughing over at his buddy. “Even your mustache scares all the girls.”

“So? I think she’s even cuter when she is scared!” As the both of them turned their gazes back to you, evil glints within their eyes as you knew you were a goner now.

“There you are sweetheart, sorry I'm late. I was looking everywhere for you.” Almost like a calling from the divine, a gentle grasp wrapped around you as if you were being wrapped up within a warm blanket. Something- No, Someone, was here to save you! Feeling the hand on your shoulder, and you being pulled closer to the chest of the man saving your life, you could only tense up with your shoulders rising and a look of shock spreading on your face.

“Hey, hey! We were busy here!” The first guard spoke up, clearly irritated by the fact that this stranger appeared out of nowhere only to interrupt the time with you. The hand slid off of your shoulder as now the forearm was resting on it, for whoever this stranger was; they seemed to make it look exactly like he knew you. You were grateful for the help to get these goons away from you but now you had another issue at hand. How were you going to repay this man for the help he is offering you?

“Are you really? It seemed to me that the two of you were just leaving.” With the hand that was once resting on your shoulder, and with a flick of the finger. The two guards seemed to straighten out and with another flick from this mysterious man's finger, they began to march away from the two of you as the man dragged his hand off of you and into the direction that the guards were going. Then, once more, his hand returned to your shoulder. Relief seemed to sap its way into your muscles, for the fact that this man had saved you from two people that most definitely shouldn't be guards. The man finally spoke up once more as you glanced up at him finally. “Don't hold it against them, they’re actually not all that bad. Where to? I’ll be your escort this evening.”

By the heavens above, this man was gorgeous. With beautiful blond hair that faded into a lilac purple, let loose and letting those beautiful locks rest against his shoulders. Clearly, this man was not from here by the way he dressed, yet he did have a taste in fashion. What you couldn't deny were his beautiful lilac eyes that seemed ever happy to see you, as if they had a secret within them that you had yet to discover.

“Oh! I'm just… Uhm- Going to the bakery…” You answered out, baffled about how gorgeous this man looked in front of you. As the man leaned a tiny bit closer to you, you could only lean backwards slightly to avoid any accidents that could have possibly happened.

“Don't be alarmed, but I'm being followed. Act normal.” What was normal when such a handsome man just saved you and is now escorting you to the bakery you were going to meet your sister at? With one hand cradled to your chest, and the other now wrapping around the man's arm as he gently led you down the alleyways to the bakery. Unbeknownst to you, black slimy goop figures began to appear out from the walls, yet the strangest thing is that they were all wearing hats!

More began to appear behind you and then in front of you, as they seemed to look at your general direction and follow the both of you. Fear bubbled up within your stomach yet this stranger seemed ever so calm! How could he be so calm?!

“Sorry, looks like you’re involved.” This man whispered out to you as you could only gasp in alarm, clinging tighter onto the man's arm as you two ducked into a separate alleyway, causing the two opposing forces of goop men to slam into each other. Though, with reinforced goop men in front of you and more behind you, they began to charge forward to where you stood with this mysterious man. Yet, you were now running with this man towards the figures at the end of this alleyway.

“Hold on!” Within seconds, you felt an arm wrap around your upper waist and at the last second before you two were smashed into the goop figures, you both seemed to jump as you were now soaring through the air. Anxiety and filled with fear, you clung onto the man who could only smile down at you, one of his hands holding onto yours while the other still held you close to him by your upper waist. “Now straighten your legs and start walking.” His voice was so smooth as you did as he told you to do. You… You were flying! Floating? Walking on air?! You didn't care, you were above the crowd and you were walking through the sky!

Delight, yet fear bubbled through your system as you couldn't believe it! Both hands clasped around his own, you were left in a state of surprise you didn't know how to even react to this moment! Who was this person, and how could they have such great magical talents?!

“See? Not so hard, is it?” The man spoke out once more, chuckling at your surprised reaction as you continued to walk with him through the sky. With a synchronized step, you both stepped on top of a pointed roof that was in the shape of a ball, and propelled yourselves forward. “You are a natural.” He stated out, looking at you with a pleased expression in which you could only look back at him and smile, a feeling of reassurance flooding your system as you were no longer feeling anxious.

The crowd didnt even seem to give you two a glance as they continued their merry way of parading through the festival. Though, the bakery was coming in sight as the strange man landed on the hand railing as he lifted you up ever so slightly just to sweetly and delicately place you onto the balcony. Everything seemed so surreal, that you could only just stare up at him in a mix of awe and confusion, your cheeks dusted pink as you were also a bit sheepish to have been escorted in such a way by a strange, magical, not to mention; a very handsome man.

“I’ll make sure to draw them off. But wait a bit before you head back outside.” He smiled down at you as he slowly slid his hand out from holding yours as you could only stare up at him with that same expression. One filled with so much awe, and you could feel your heartbeat pounding against your chest. With a nod of your head, a small ‘okay’ coming from your mouth, he seemed ever pleased by your reaction.

“That's my girl.”

With that, the man jumped backwards off the railing, floating downwards into the mass of a crowd. Yet, when you looked over the railing to try and find him again, he was no longer there. As if he were a figment of your imagination.

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secular-jew · 9 days

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What should we learn from Benjamin Achimeir?

Posted on April 13, 2024 by Forest Rain

Yesterday we were told on the news that 14 year old Benjamin Achimeir went missing. He left his home early in the morning to herd sheep. His home is in the Benjamin region, named after the ancient Jewish tribe of Benjamin who lived more or less in the same area during biblical times.

A missing shepherd could be someone who walking on the hills fell and was injured and unable to call for help. Or someone attacked by terrorists.

Today Benjamin’s body was found. He wasn’t taken hostage, he was murdered and thrown nearby. He was stoned, tortured, beaten, stabbed and his skull was crushed by a large rock. A 14 year old boy.

Now the reports are of “settlers” aka Jews who live in the region, “rampaging” in the closest Arab village, the place where one logically assumes the murderer or murderers came from. It is worth noting that the reported “rampaging” includes setting fire to houses and cars, not murdering people.

Those who live in civilized places will respond in horror “Oh, no, one mustn’t take the law into your own hands,” and “two wrongs don’t make a right.”

Which is true. I believe those things. The problem is that this isn’t a civilized area and there is a big difference between theory and survival.

Let’s unravel some of the complications here:

“Settler violence”

This term encapsulates multiple lies.

The first is that Jews living in their ancestral homeland somehow are settlers who don’t belong there. The idea that “settlers” are Jews who live in the Benjamin region and not the Jews who live in Tel Aviv is an idea born from elites who don’t listen to what the Arabs say about us. To them, every Jew living in Israel is a “settler”. We saw this on October 7th when Hamas called the people of Be’eri and other kibbutzim in Israel “settlers”.

The next lie is that Jewish violence against Arabs is a common occurrence. This is an absolute lie, supported by warped statistics that include instances of Jews defending themselves from terrorists trying to kill them. For example, terrorists that were injured in these instances were counted as a case of settler violence and if they subsequently died in the hospital, it was counted as a second instance of violence. Another example of these outrageous lies with statistics is that every Jew who ascends the Temple Mount is counted as an instance of “settler violence”

“Taking the law into your hands is wrong”

Israel is a nation of law and murdering people is not allowed. Obviously. The law is supposed to protect all citizens. The problem is that the law isn’t fully enforced to protect Jews, particularly those who live in Judea, Samaria and the Benjamin region – people who stand in between the Arabs of the PA territories who promised to repeat October 7th and the Israelis living in the center of the country. The Arabs of the PA territories have proven their desire as they have committed small scale attacks for years. Their culture and education are identical to that in Gaza. Elections in PA territories have been postponed for over a decade because it is known that the people would elect Hamas. Gaza is Hamas. So is the PA.

Further complicating the situation is the decisions and attitude of the IDF general in charge of the region. The residents living there have been crying out for help, for years. According to them, many of his decisions about how to manage the area are more focused on maintaining Arab rights to freedom of movement than protecting Jewish right to not be murdered. Most recently he was criticized for a military exercise that proposed a scenario where “settlers” kidnapped an Arab child and the army needed to intervene. A scenario that never happened, one that would never happen and is exactly the opposite of what actually happens – as we see in the murder of Benjamin Achimeir. So here we have a terrible situation where Jews are under attack and the State is not defending them. If you were in such a situation, what would you do? Sit and wait for the next attack or make sure your attackers know they cannot attack with impunity?

What will be reported?

Most of the media will focus more on the “settler violence” than on the fact that a 14 year old boy was murdered for the crime of being a Jew in his ancestral homeland.

For Muslims, Jews returned to our ancestral homeland are a problem because it proves their religion wrong. God did not replace Jews with Islam. We were exiled but we were also returned.

For Progressives (in America, Israel and Europe) Jews who are both religious and connected to the Land, Jews who are willing to be a “Nation alone” are the last major threat to the new world they are trying to create. People that still live according to biblical guidelines are in stark and violent contrast to those who say that there is no difference between man and woman, nations, facts and feelings or even right and wrong. THAT is why “settlers” are a red flag to so many.

The murder of a child should make everyone pause. The murder of Benjamin Achimeir should make us all consider what is necessary to enable Jews to live freely in our ancestral homeland.

#israeli #israel #secular-jew #jewish #judaism #jerusalem #diaspora #secular jew #secularjew #islam #judea #Samaria #terrorism #terrorists #murder is murder #murder #Palestinians

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imaginedreamwrite · 9 months

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Happier Than Ever

Part 4: Fate Thou Art Twisted

“My base is your base.” The words were reminiscent of what Colonel Vargas had said before, when Ghost mentioned Commander Graves of the Shadows assisting in finding Hassan.

The join task force would hunt Hassan down in the hills he was hiding in, leaving no single crevice in that hideout uncovered. There was no probability of failing, this mission had to be a success, and whatever missiles Hassan had, needed to be found.

With the weight of more than just American lives on the line, the task given by General Shepherd and Laswell couldn’t afford any small measure of force. There would have to be an unseemly pressure put on Hassan and the hills he was hiding in.

“You good for this?” Soap had questioned you again, as if you had the opportunity to back down, as if you could change your mind and head back to the US. “You’re heading into gunfire.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” Your heart was racing, and dread had settled in your stomach. It was your 4th mission with Ghost & Soap, and you’d yet to gather or steel your nerves. Not like they had, and not how you particularly should have.

You followed Soap & Ghost into the armoury, standing nearby as they grabbed ammunition and assault rifles, checking the weapons over. There was no shortage of artillery here, heavy and handheld weapons to kill or disarm, another necessary adage to the mission.

While you were a medic, and you had completed your nursing degree, you weren’t necessarily a soldier. You had gone through your 6 weeks basic training, you had learned to survive in a war zone, as best as Alex Keller could teach you.

You had gone through your crash courses, you had gone through as much training to solidify your skills as a combat medic. Pushing yourself through every necessary test to get your rank as private, you hadn’t faltered.

You completed your training, but you were not like Soap & Ghost. You wanted to put your focus on keeping them alive, on keeping them breathing.

“Take the damn gun.” A smaller rifle was handed to you, an order from Ghost.

As your CO, he had been responsible for yourself and Soap, and any fatalities were purely his responsibility. “And keep your head on straight.”

“An XM7,” Soap had spoken over Ghost, tapping the barrel of the gun with his fingers, twice, and then looked over his shoulder, “sergeant Parra is taking you to the med-bay. Get whatever supplies you need, we leave in 10.”

He already had his gear on, with the Kevlar bulletproof vest that bared the flag of his country, his rank, and the emblem belonging to Los Vaqueros. His vest was similar to Ghost & Soap’s, the indicators that would lead anyone to know that they were soldiers.

Unlike the soldiers' bulletproof vests, your tactical vest was emboldened with MEDIC, in English, in bright white letters at the front, with MÉDICO, in Spanish, below.

As on the front, there were the same distinguishing patches on the back of your vest, accompanied by a caduceus, a snake, and a pair of wings to symbolize your status as a healer rather than a fighter. A commonality among the three of you was the flag from your countries, a patch that identified just how international this mission was.

“Leave in ten.” You nodded your head, acknowledging the order Ghost had given you, and then you stepped toward Sergeant Major Parra.

He was waiting for you, and had reviewed you once, before he directed his attention behind him with a nod of his head.

When you first approached, you noticed his hands were held behind his back, though when he began walking with you, they dropped to his sides. As you walked with relative silence between you, you glanced over at him, rather of the identifying soulmate mark on his wrists.

One, you noted, was already emboldened and lined with black. One of the phrases was securely etched into his skin, as usual with marks like that, meaning he had found one; however, there was another out there.

You diverted your attention once you had reached the doors of the med-bay. The small clinic was dark upon your approach, something that had been rectified when you’d stepped inside. The automatic lights turned on, and you were greeted with shelves upon shelves of medical equipment.

“Take what you need.” Rudy Parra had leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched you, waiting for you to gather some things.

“Yes sir.” You stepped toward one shelf, looking over the different kinds of bandages and gauze there was, and then further to the threads for stitching.

You grabbed what supplies you hadn’t already had, mostly newer gauze and bandages, some cold compresses and extra thread, before you took a side-eye toward the narcan. You reached for the glass vial, looking over the label before you closed your fingers around the bottle and shoved it into your bag.

“You don’t seem like the type to be in a fight like this,” Rudy’s voice had caught you off guard, and you’d looked over your shoulder toward him.

“I’ve got more interest in being a medic, or combat nurse, than I do physically being caught in gunfire. But… I’ve always wanted to be in medicine, I’ve always wanted to be a nurse.” You moved down the shelves and then hummed under your breath.

“Looking for something?” His accent was light, his voice was relatively calm as he stepped further into the med-bay, closer to you.

“Necesito un frasco de morfina.” It was just natural for you to ask in Spanish, given that he was a native-born Spanish speaker, and you’d never questioned yourself until Rudy looked at it with furrowed brows.

“Hablas español?” He reached above you, grabbing a few glass vials of the drug you were looking for, handing them down to you.

“Yeah, I’m… I wouldn’t say I’d be as fluent as someone who was born in Mexico, but I learned Spanish from the time I was 7 to 18.” You thanked him and placed the vials into your bag, feeling at odds with yourself for letting your second language slip.

“Es necesario en los Estados Unidos, no?” He didn’t question why you weren’t forthright with your ability to speak Spanish, rather, he’d questioned you about something related.

“The United States has a lot of Spanish speakers in the country. I don’t know if it's mandatory to learn it in school in every district, county or state, but in my school it was.” You took another look around the med-bay, double-checking your supplies and what you’d taken, before you zipped the top.

“Tu español es muy bueno.” Rudy held the door open for you when you finished.

“Gracias.” You stepped by him as he allowed you to step out first. It was while you were stepping by him that you tilted your head, eyeing the edges of his second soulmate mark.

The words were lined with an edge faint black, as if he had come in proximity to his soulmate, but the words themselves weren’t spoken. They were in Spanish, and while you had said the words in your head, you whispered them under your breath.

“Todo puede ser lanzado al aire al menos una vez?” You whispered faintly under your breath, almost entirely incomprehensible.

You glanced toward the mark again and then looked away, your eyes drawn toward Soap & Ghost as they stood by the fleet of humvee’s. They were geared up, as usual, bearing weapons that were far more formidable than your own, even though yours had the same potential to maim and kill.

“PT!” Soap called your rank from across the open space, directing you toward a series of vehicles parked and waiting. “Move your ass!”

“Yes sir!” You walked directly to your CO’s, your gun by your side and ammo stashed in the pockets of your tactical vest.

There was a certain amount of tension in the base that was directly tied to the mission to find Hassan. It was a tension that overshadowed any previous anxiety you had, with the knowledge that this could be someone’s last day breathing.

This could be your last day breathing.

“Get your head screwed on right, lass. This could get ugly.” Upon approaching Soap, he motioned with a single nod to get into the vehicle beside Ghost, the position open for you.

You’d tossed your bag to the floor of the humvee and climbed inside, taking your place beside Ghost, while another soldier had taken his place to the right of you.

Ten minutes had been enough time for you to grab what you needed, to secure necessary and life-saving tools to keep them safe. It was also enough time for you to reveal yourself as someone who could not only understand Spanish but speak it fluently enough to carry a conversation.

You hadn’t been aware of Soap or Ghost wanting you to keep your ability to speak Spanish a secret forever. Nevertheless, there was a certain expectation that you’d act as their translator, and it was impossible to do so without someone, at some point, knowing you were bilingual.

“You good, kid?” Soap turned in the front passenger seat, looking back at you as Colonel Vargas drove. “You ready for this?”

“You’re three years older than me, if you call me kid, can I call you senile?” Your back and forth with Soap was ordinary for the two of you.

It was partially due to his boyish charm that never faded, and your relationship that was like brother and sister. You were friends, but it also felt like you were family.

Your comment drew a cold response from Ghost, a side-eye that you had grown used to when in his company. At this point, you hadn’t even known if he was aware of what he was doing, or if it was some natural reaction to the people around him.

However, if Ghost had given you a dirty look, then Soap was almost gleeful about the comment.

He had laughed, as he usually did, and shook his head, flipping you off over his shoulder. He was eased, far more than you were, yet not as calculated as Ghost was at the moment. He was the neutral point between the two of you, the balance between your anxiety laced anticipation and Ghost’s cold composure.

The drive away from the compound and base was quick. The trip toward the hills outside the city, that had been overrun by the Cartel and had been the hiding place of Hassan, had taken less than twenty minutes. The overhanging cliff side and rolling hills had come upon you, with a single road in and out of the encompassing stronghold.

As the vehicles had come to a stop, Colonel Vargas voice came through the earpiece in your right ear, the order firm. “Team leaders circle up on me. Weapons hot Vaqueros. Let’s move.”

You had followed Ghost out of the humvee, your medical bag and supplied thrown across your shoulder to drape on your hip. The XM7 rifle was heavier than you anticipated now that you were on the cusp of the first assault to find Hassan.

“You’re with me, private.” Ghost addressed with his usual calculated and neutral tone, an order that you couldn’t disregard.

You regarded his order with a nod of your head, and adjusted your grip on your rifle. You’d been placed here as a medic and your job was to keep them alive, you had the tools and the training to save their lives to the best of your ability in the field.

You had 6 weeks of basic training, you had been taught how to handle weapons. Alex Keller had taught you everything he could in six weeks to prepare yourself for missions like this. It was always a possibility that you would have to lean more into the military training rather than medical, and this was one of the moments you had been trained for.

Regardless of whether you wanted to classify yourself as a soldier or not, you were going to have to defend yourself if someone had come upon you without being stopped by the soldiers that had come before you.

“Where are they holding Hassan?” Soap approached Alejandro and Rudy, and almost immediately got an answer.

“White two-story building. Back of town.” Alejandro raised his hand, directing Soap’s attention to the village tucked behind 7 foot white sun-stained walls.

With the direction given, the soldiers had begun to move, their weapons raised and their guards up. They approached the first gate that kept the village contained, a thick wooden double set of doors that had remained barricaded.

“Todos los vencedores en espera.” Alejandro had spoken into the comm system, his voice echoing in your head as you approached the last soldier, hanging behind like you had usually done.

“Tres, dos, uno...ejecutar.... ejecutar!” The order was given, and the doors had been kicked open, the soldiers pouring into the compound.

A sense of resolve had taken over every sense you had, and your instincts lead you. You tuned out the world, centred your mind, and followed Ghost and Soap as they stormed the abandoned town like planned.

The houses were empty and used as storehouses or labs for whatever the cartel wanted. The civilians had fled the town, no safety within the walls of the village that was now taken over by the Las Almas Cartel.

“Down! Get down!” The first rounds of gunfire erupted, and you ducked behind cover as commanded, the tang of smoke from the ammunition spent stinging your nose.

This, all this around you, was the shadowy underbelly of the beautiful city.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*

You kept yourself quiet, studious as you dug through your bag and compartmentalized the hours between hitting the ground in Las Almas, and the moment you were in now. The gunfire in the abandoned village had resulted in finding out that Hassan had been there in the hideout, until he was moved.

Further up the river and in a secondary hideout is where they had found him hiding, with the assistance of Commander Graves and the Shadow Company. The joint Taskforce had succeeded in securing the terrorist to be questioned; however, there was little to be said about the methods of interrogation he may be hit with.

You had done the task given to you, you had succeeded being a combat nurse after another gunfight. Bullets were removed, gashes and wounds were secured and cleaned, and no one had lost their lives. It was a “success” by the standard; however, there was more to this task than anyone had even known.

You, as you sat on the sidelines and dug through your bag, had rattled nerves. It wasn’t just due to the gunfight you’d survived, it wasn’t just a circumstantial effect of patching up soldiers in the field.

No, this was something entirely different. And when all eyes were off you, you looked at your arms and felt your chest constrict.

“Maldito cabrón,” had been harshly yelled through the gunfire by the leader of Los Vaqueros, a fact that hadn’t hit you until you had a moment to think.

“Maldito hijo de puta,” had come through the communication system, something spoken by a voice you thought was Rudy Parra’s.

Both men, both Mexican special forces officers, had spoken the keywords to solidify themselves as your soulmates. And those key identifying words were ensconced in thick black lines, emboldened and complete. It was a moment that was life altering, coming at the worst possible time for you, and for them.

Still, you remained quiet about this revelation, and you distracted yourself by paying attention to the brief interrogation of Hassan, and the sound of his feet being dragged across the gravel. The only light had come from the yellow hued headlights of the truck and humvee that were driven here, one of which was Hassan’s escort.

“On your knees.” Soap had grabbed Hassan’s right arm, escorting him to the focal point before a camera as Alejandro removed his hood.

“Y’all got a clear picture?” Graves crouched under in front of a truck, adjusting the angle to get Hassan completely unveiled by the camera.

“Crystal.” General Shepherds voice echoed through the comm, and you leaned forward with your elbows on your knees, hands tucked under your chin.

“All set.” Laswell was the next to speak, the next to address in this interrogation effort, while Hassan was kept hostage.

“Alright. We are live, folks.” Commander Graves stood straight and walked toward Hassan, almost arrogantly, before stopping in front of him.

You were aware of Ghost’s position near the back of the truck, a position he took as a guard in case Hassan decided to bolt. Soap and Alejandro were standing behind Hassan, far enough away not to distort any recognition tactics.

“You speak Arabic?” Hassan’s hands were held behind his back, a set of stiff cuffs keeping him bound.

“No.” Graves stopped in front of Hassan, hands on his hips and a look of compressed disapproval on his face.

“Farsi?” Hassan’s lips began to form a smirk, another arrogant expression that was almost fitting for the mad bastard.

“No.” Graves replied with annoyance, and as he did, you could hear howling coyotes and the noises of nature at night in the background.

It was another reminder that although beautiful, there was more wilderness to this place than you realized.

“Of course not. Then I’ll speak your bastardized Medieval English because you are all uneducated street dogs.” He looked around at you all, that same cocky half-smirk on his face, even as Graves stepped closer.

“Ahh, see...we’re getting off to a bad start, Hassan.” Graves, ever disappointed, kicked some gravel toward Hassan and shook his head.

“You’re talking to a Quds Force officer.”

“You're the commander of a foreign terror organization.” Graves continued the interrogation, a sight that you had briefly tuned out when you looked back at your wrists, and the soulmate identifying words that had now become a reality.

Fate had decided that it was time for you all to be intertwined. Fate, the fickle bitch, was not going to wait any longer and this was the time for you three to come together.

Regardless of circumstances or opportune timing.

Wildlife and coyotes yipped again, signalling more scurrying from the distance as the night carried on. You had lifted your head, directing your attention from the soulmate marks to the man being questioned. The terrorist still on his knees while Soap and Alejandro were nearby.

“I’m a hostage here, this is illegal.”

“You’re a prisoner of war.” Alejandro’s accent and husky voice had drawn your attention to the fearless leader, and dull heat boiled in your stomach as the recognition re-centred itself.

“Iran is not at war with Mexico. I’ve broken no laws. These men and their commanders are the lawbreakers.” He pulled against Alejandro’s hand, tugging twice before he was settled back into a place of submission at the colonels hands.

“You and your beloved general Ghorbani broke every—“ Soap had spoken, and a physical and verbal reaction from Hassan had made both men nearly lose their hold on him.

Hassan had stood with rage, he spoke with fury as he cut Soap off. “DO NOT SPEAK HIS NAME!”

“You executed him, and you will pay for your crimes—“ Hassan had looked at Soap, at all of you, like you were the scum of the earth.

You averted your eyes and shifted positions where you sat, just as heat blistered your stomach from the inside out. It was a visceral reaction to the settling bond that had been melded. Nothing more complicated than breathing, it was almost as natural.

The curse words in Spanish, inked on your skin as a gift from Fate, had now been completely visible and strengthened after being spoken. You wondered if you had managed to say the trigger words for them. If you’d managed to give them what they needed to feel this same heat.

“—without proof, we need to turn him loose, see where he leads.” Shepherd spoke again, a kind of finality in his tone.

“He’s right here, you can’t be serious.” Soap had taken an approach you knew was palatable, one that even you had felt.

If they let him go, would they find him again?

“Did we get anything from his phone?” Ghost spoke after looking down at the phone in his hands and then glancing toward the camera.

Laswell had remained silent for a single moment before she replied with something good, something minutely hopeful. “Affirmative. We got a hit.”

“Good, now take him back and let him go.” Shepherds order was forcibly accepted, and with a nod of his head, Ghost had signalled to Alejandro.

The bag was pulled, with force, over Hassan’s head and the terrorist was yanked to his feet. “Hasta el culo. vamos.”

He was being led away by Alejandro, the interrogation over. With this whole incident wrapped up open-ended, you had also risen to your feet. You yanked your medic bag up from the gravel road and slung the strap over your shoulder, feeling the thud against your hip.

“You really have to let him go?” You questioned Ghost, glancing slowly from Soap to himself, stepping toward the vehicle. “That’s bullshit.”

“That’s an order.” Ghost spoke plainly, matter-of-factly, tugging on the door handle to the truck. “Get your ass inside.”

“Todo puede ser lanzado al aire al menos una vez.” You muttered under your breath as you got into the truck, sliding to the rear driver's side.

“English, L/N.” Ghost took the rear passenger seat and slammed the door behind him.

“Everything can be airdropped at least once.”

#Alejandro Vargas x female!Reader #Alejandro Vargas x reader #Alejandro Vargas x nurse!Reader #Alejandro Vargas x female!Reader x Rudy Parra #Rudy Parra x reader #Rudy Parra x female!Reader #Rudy Parra x nurse!Reader #Rudy Parra x female!Reader x Alejandro Vargas #Rudy Parra x reader x Alejandro Vargas #cod modern warfare #cod fanfic #COD fan-fiction #Happier Than Ever #Happier Than Ever series #Happier Than Ever masterlist #Happier Than Ever part 4 #soulmate au #soulmates

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shybunny · 1 year

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🔞 this post contains erotic writing intended for adults. do not interact with this post if you are a minor/under eighteen

🐲 dragoness, wlw, heat/rut, size kink, fisting, cunnilingus, enemies to lovers, humping the furniture, cumming under clothing

i lost the ask but this is for the anon who wanted me to write a lesbian dragon

There have been reports of a dragon stealing sheep and causing mischief on the edges of the kingdom. You don your armor, buckle on your sword, mount your horse, and ride out into farm country to investigate. The farmers are overjoyed to have a renowned dragon slayer come to their aid. They put you up at the local inn free of charge, and ply you with all kinds of humble gifts.

On the next morning, you ride out to the cave where the dragon is rumored to stay. The frightened shepherds in the nearby hills claim that they’ve heard all kinds of moaning and groaning coming from inside. You don’t know what you’ll find, but you prepare yourself for the worst.

You creep through the warm, humid darkness with your sword at the ready. You can hear a lot of low grunting and panting, and you follow the sounds to the deepest part of the cave. Finally you stumble upon the beast herself, and the sight of her makes your whole body grow hot. Your sword slips from your fingers. Her long body is mounted on top of a low rough rock, and she’s thrusting her large hips against it, her long tail whipping back and forth. Her thick juices are dripping down the rock beneath her bucking hips, and the guttural moans you heard are rolling out of her own open mouth.

She hisses when she catches sight of you, but she doesn’t slow her frantic rutting. You realize she must be in one of her rare mating periods, and unable to find a mate, she’s trying to take care of herself. You can’t stop watching her. You feel your own cunt getting hot and wet at the sight of her desperate need.

When she notices that you’re still staring, she bares her long teeth in a feral smirk. She slides off of the rock to the stone floor and rolls onto her side, exposing her scaley belly. Then she lifts her leg and presents the long swollen slit of her cunt to you. It’s dripping wet with her juices, and her large clit is peaking out of its hood at the top of her glistening folds.

You can’t resist the invitation. Against all sense, you approach the dragon, and fall to your knees in front of her cunt. You reach out to her and hesitantly stroke your hands through the soft wet folds, feeling her shuddering under your touch. With her heavy gaze on you, you curl one hand into a fist and work it through her dripping entrance, slowly sinking your whole forearm into her. Your other hand goes to the hood of her clit, stroking the sensitive organ through the thick skin. She groans gutturally, and her large hips buck against you, trying to fuck herself on your arm. Her long neck bends around so she can snake her head beneath your tunic, between your legs, and she starts to lap at your cunt through your thin hose with her long wet tongue. You’re both moaning against each other as you fuck each other, her huge tongue stroking hot and wet against your cunt, her walls trembling around your arm. The faster you rub her clit, the harder she licks your cunt, the harder her walls clench around you, until her big hips go rigid with tension and her cunt grips your arm like a vice, and as she moans long and loud between your legs, your throaty voice joins with hers and you cum through your hose, cumming against her tongue through the thin material.

Her whole body shudders as you drag your arm out of her cunt, glistening up to the elbow, and then you let yourself fall back against the stone floor. She raises her heavy head over yours and strokes your cheek with her tongue.

“Well done, little one,” she says in her smokey, good-humored voice. You feel her tail curling possessively around your leg. “I may have to keep you.”

#dragon x reader #exophilia #mating cycles #heat/rut #size kink #wlw nsft #nsft text #nsft #smut #request 🐇

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thelensart · 6 months

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Hello, Aceweek!!

Basically all of my characters could be read as ace in some kind of way, but let’s focus on one of them.

This big, tall pine tree right here is Uxue. She’s a solitary shepherdess who, in her story, fights against a curse laid upon her by her own mother, an overprotective and stubborn sorceress who, with the best intentions, cripples her ability to make a name for herself.

I always thought of Uxue is canonically autistic, and most of her personality traits, body movements, mood, and way of directing herself regarding the world, is based off my own experience as a very socially retracted autistic trans woman, reason why I gave her such an unusual look, although I never thought of her as a transgender. She’s not very talkative, certainly isn’t social at all, instead preferring to work her days away in the hills with her sheep, from place to place, but always in the familiarity of the wilderness. Her best skill, or “special interest”, one might say, is gunslinging. She’s quite a good shot and revolver-trickster, although the curse laid on her doesn’t quite let her reach her full potential. This in particular is a parallelism, through fantasy magic, to the way many of us in the spectrum feel about our special interests, unavailable to develop them under the crushing weight of a system that demands productivity out of us.

As for her asexuality, the bread and butter of this post, from the moment I began to sketch her first drafts, I wrote her as asexual on a gray area, which correlates with her autism, just like in my very own experience. Her general reclusiveness, the harshness she feels on interaction with another people, does cause her a certain yearning to be loved by someone quite close, and that someone is a shepherdess from a land afar, called Marcela. She visits her from time to time, to spend some lovely days out shepherding together. I never thought of them as girlfriends, nor as close friends, because I never felt like labeling these two would be half interesting. While I never actually made it canonical, both of them can be read as aromantic. My own experience with aromanticism, discovering I was on that spectrum, that romantic love was a world I didn’t quite understand but I was capable of loving someone back very dearly, influenced that ambiguous subtlety between the two quite a lot. Regarding explicit sex, while Marcela certainly isn’t asexual, and in fact, is quite promiscuous, she understands Uxue’s needs due to her good socialization skills, and such needs are to stay away from conventional sex. Uxue, much like me, doesn’t generally like being touched, yet she loves physical contact with someone she trusts a lot, and feels comfortable engaging in soft displays of affection and vulnerability. Much like a lot of us autistic folks around, Uxue has a hard time displaying affection in standard ways, but I intentionally wanted to write her as a woman of many faces. She might be solitary and sometimes uncaring, but she is terminally, tragically sweet, even though one might have to peel off a lot of layers before seeing that side of her. This is something I wrote for her after yours truly met the person who did tear down my own barriers. Here are these two on my sketchbook:

But what’s these strange names and strange clothes Uxue is rocking around? As an end note, if I may, I’ll nerd out about the place she’s from. In this universe, a vague post-apocalyptic fantasy, the factions’ culture, dressing customs, and bestiary, are based off very loose interpretations of Iberian pre-roman folklore and more recent, regional folklores. Uxue belongs to a tribe which is vaguely based off the valley of Roncal, in Navarra. Here are some very loose sketches of her general Basque-inspired vibes.

Her name, in Basque, means “dove”. One must point out that Navarra and the Basque country, while sharing a language, have different cultural customs and identities. Although, in the story, Uxue’s faction, especially regarding the bestiary, is an amalgamation of both. Uxue is a good gunslinger because her tribe has a tradition of solving the problem of menacing creatures, all pulled from Basque-Navarrese folktales, by prioritizing speed and aim. This was an idea that came to me after investigating the area to make the factions. Near Roncal, there’s the royal arms factory of Orbaizeta, one of the most important weapon manufactories of Spain during the late 18th to late 19th centuries. Today, it’s abandoned and overgrown. That and a general knowledge among the Spanish that Basques have a tradition of steelworking, gave me the idea of a post-apocalyptic culture famous for the quality of their guns and the skill of the wielders.

And that's all, folks!

Don't get spooked!~

#acespec OC #ace week 2023 #oc #artists on tumblr #asexual characters #queer #LGBTQIA+#queer artist #art

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scotianostra · 5 months

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youtube

9th December 1770 saw the birth of the poet and novelist James Hogg.

Hogg is primarily known today not only as the author of a series of pastoral poems, but also as the writer of the novel, Confessions of a Justified Sinner, widely regarded as the first piece of modern Scottish fiction.

A contrary figure in real life, Hogg almost bankrupted himself in attempts to be a successful shepherd - leading to his literary friends dubbing him "the Ettrick Shepherd".

There were two main strands to Hogg’s early cultural experience: folk traditions and religion. The family were church-goers and his father was an elder, while his mother was steeped in the oral tradition, relating to her children folk tales and songs of kings, knights and supernatural beings.

With no media ,as we know it back then Hogg would have listened reel off tales of Scottish history and legends as he was growing up. As a young man Hogg worked as a shepherd in Selkirkshire and Dumfriesshire, becoming interested in literature in his early twenties, when he attempted writing songs and poems, some of which were published in The Scots Magazine. He moved to Edinburgh in 1810 to pursue a career as a full-time man of letters, after having published poetry and non-fiction while maintaining his day-job as a shepherd. However, in 1813 he returned to Selkirkshire, where he lived and worked in the Duke of Buccleuch's Altrive Farm in Yarrow.

He continued to publish regularly while maintaining a contentious relationship with the Edinburgh literati, including his friend and some-time mentor, Walter Scott.

Many of Hogg's stories and poems appeared in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, or Maga as it was affectionately known.

Hogg continued to write, publish and farm until his death in 1835. He was buried in Ettrick Churchyard, appropriately next to his grandfather, Will o’ Phaup, who is reputed to have been the last man to converse with the fairies!

Among Hogg's most famous works was Jacobite Relics - originally commissioned by the Highland Society of London in 1817, it included Lament of Flora McDonald, sung here by Kenneth McKellar

Far over yon hills of the heather sae green An' doun by the corrie that sings to the sea, The bonnie young Flora sat sighin' her lane, The dew on her plaid an' the tear in her e'e. She look'd at a boat wi' the breezes that swung, Away on the wave like a bird on the main, An' aye as it lessen'd she sigh'd an' she sung, "Fareweel to the lad I shall ne'er see again; Fareweel to my hero, the gallant and young, Fareweel to the lad I shall ne'er see again."

The moorcock that crows on the brows o' Ben Connal, He kens o' his bed in a sweet mossy hame; The eagle that soars o'er the cliffs o' Clan Ranald, Unaw'd and unhunted his eyrie can claim; The solan can sleep on the shelves of the shore, The cormorant roost on his rock of the sea; But ah! there is one whose fate I deplore, Nor house, ha' nor hame in this country has he; The conflict is past, and our name is no more, There's nought left but sorrow for Scotland and me.

The target is torn from the arm of the just, The helmet is cleft on the brow of the brave; The claymore forever in darkness must rust, But red is the sword of the stranger and slave; The hoof of the horse, and the foot of the proud, Have trod o'er the plumes on the bonnet of blue; Why slept the red bolt in the breast of the cloud, When tyranny revell'd in blood of the true? Fareweel my young hero, the gallant and good, The crown of thy father's is torn from thy brow.

#scotland #scottish #makar #poet #writer #history #Youtube

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fictionadventurer · 6 months

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I saw your post from 2020 about your Four Quadrants and I absolutely love them! I have wanted to get into Chesterton for a while but have never actually done it bc I have no idea where to start. I decided that you’d be likely to know where I should start based solely on my relating so much to the rest of what your post said. Do you have recommendations?

There are several answers to this question, depending on what type of writing you're interested in, because Chesterton wrote in a lot of different formats.

Novels: My favorite (and the one that feels most "Chestertonian" in the sense of embracing the joys and paradoxes of modern life) is Manalive, which is about a boarding house full of disaffected young people whose lives are upended by the arrival of the energetic and eccentric Innocent Smith, who may or may not be a dangerous lunatic. I'm also fond of his first novel, The Napoleon of Notting Hill, which is set in the far future of 1984, where the actions of two eccentric guys get London caught up in medieval warfare. That book addresses Chesterton's common theme of the tension between taking life too seriously and not taking it seriously enough, but it is a very odd book that's a bit more of an acquired taste.

Short stories: Chesterton's most enduring legacy in pop culture is the Father Brown mysteries--one of the few detectives at the time that wasn't just a Sherlock Holmes clone. These stories are half mystery and half philosophical essay, and I love them (and they're nothing like the TV show). I always tell people to start with the first collection, The Innocence of Father Brown, because the first four stories there--"The Blue Cross", "The Secret Garden", "The Queer Feet" and "The Flying Stars"--form an arc that should be read in chronological order, and the rest of the stories can be read in pretty much any order.

Poetry: Chesterton's big achievement is "The Ballad of the White Horse", a novel-length epic poem about the legends of King Alfred the Great and his war against the Danes. But if you don't feel like reading something so long, his other masterpiece is "Lepanto", a stirring poem about the Battle of Lepanto that saved Europe from a Turkish invasion (though that one is much better if you know the historical context). He also wrote this short, rather biting anti-war poem "Elegy in a Country Churchyard".

If you want something not about war, Chesterton was known for his love of Christmas, and he wrote several excellent Christmas poems, including "A Christmas Carol", "The Wise Men", "Gloria in Profundis", "Joseph" , and "A Child of the Snows".

(As long as we're talking about Christmas poems, I'm going to mention that his wife, Frances, was also a poet, and she wrote a Christmas poem every year for their family Christmas card, which include, "How Far Is It To Bethlehem" and "The Shepherds Found Thee By Night".)

Essays: Tremendous Trifles contains several of the humorous, insightful essays that are among the first things I think of when I think of the Chestertonian mindset, including "A Piece of Chalk", "The Advantages of Having One Leg", and "On Lying in Bed" . Perhaps my favorite Chesterton essay, "On Running After One's Hat" isn't in this collection, but feels like it should be.

Nonfiction: "Orthodoxy" is probably Chesterton's most famous and most accessible religious book, which outlines the worldviews that led him to embrace Christianity.

This last recommendation doesn't fit into any of the categories, but I can't finish a Chesterton introduction post without begging you to read this letter he wrote to his wife, Frances, not long after their engagement, because it may be one of the best love letters ever written.

#answered asks #g.k. chesterton #poetry #frances chesterton #father brown #manalive #the napoleon of notting hill #the ballad of the white horse #lepanto #orthodoxy

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thenewgothictwice · 4 months

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Raja Shehadeh, from the chapter "Monasteries In The Desert: Wadi Qelt to Jericho," in "Palestinian Walks: Notes On A Vanishing Landscape."

"... we reached Fawwar spring. In Arabic the name means 'bubbling,' from the fact that this spring gushes and stops at regular intervals like a fountain.

As we walked away from the sound of the water and came to a quieter section I noticed that Rema, who is an anthropologist, was scanning the horizon. When I asked her if she was looking out for settlers she said she wasn't. She was missing the Bedouins whom she used to meet and chat with on walks in this area. She knew a lot about the kind of life they led in this canyon, where they had grazed their sheep for years. Now they had been chased away by the Israeli authorities. 'It is as though the life had been sapped out of these hills,' she said. Most accounts by travellers who have walked in this area describe how they were struck by the bareness of the hills surrounding the lush valley and the preponderance of the Bedouin shepherds roaming them. Now only the bareness remained.

I thought of the absent Bedouins as I walked. Theirs was a different vision of the land. They saw it as an integral whole. In the summer they pitched their tents over high ground where it was cool, and in winter they descended to the Ghor to reduce the likelihood of their newborn goats and sheep dying from the cold. In a country where there has been such a scramble over land they hardly ever bothered to register any in their name. How could they when they didn't concieve of it as divisible plots?"

#raja shehadeh #from my book collection #personal readings #palestine #palestinian literature #free palestine

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officialyourdailyinspiration · 23 days

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A Prophecy against Israel’s Shepherds

1 And the word of the Lord came to me, saying, 2 Son of man, prophesy against the shepherds of Israel, prophesy, and say to the shepherds, Thus saith the Lord God; O shepherds of Israel, do shepherds feed themselves? do not the shepherds feed the sheep? 3 Behold, ye feed on the milk, and clothe yourselves with the wool, and slay the fat: but ye feed not my sheep. 4 The weak one ye have not strengthened, and the sick ye have not cherished, and the bruised ye have not bound up, and the stray one ye have not turned back, and the lost ye have not sought; and the strong ye have wearied with labour. 5 And my sheep were scattered, because there were no shepherds: and they became meat to all the wild beasts of the field. 6 And my sheep were scattered on every mountain, and on every high hill: yea, they were scattered on the face of the earth, and there was none to seek them out, nor to bring them back.

7 Therefore, ye shepherds, hear the word of the Lord. 8 As I live, saith the Lord God, surely because my sheep became a prey, and my sheep became meat to all the wild beasts of the field, because there were no shepherds, and the shepherds sought not out my sheep, and the shepherds fed themselves, but fed not my sheep. 9 For this cause, O shepherds, 10 thus saith the Lord God, Behold, I am against the shepherds; and I will require my sheep at their hands, and will turn them back that they shall not feed my sheep, and the shepherds shall no longer feed them; and I will deliver my sheep out of their mouth, and they shall no longer be meat for them.

The Good Shepherd

11 For thus saith the Lord God, Behold, I will seek out my sheep, and will visit them. 12 As the shepherd seeks his flock, in the day when there is darkness and cloud, in the midst of the sheep that are separated: so will I seek out my sheep, and will bring them back from every place where they were scattered in the day of cloud and darkness. 13 And I will bring them out from the Gentiles, and will gather them from the countries, and will bring them into their own land, and will feed them upon the mountains of Israel, and in the valleys, and in every inhabited place of the land. 14 I will feed them in a good pasture, on a high mountain of Israel: and their folds shall be there, and they shall lie down, and there shall they rest in perfect prosperity, and they shall feed in a fat pasture on the mountains of Israel. 15 I will feed my sheep, and I will cause them to rest; and they shall know that I am the Lord: thus saith the Lord God. 16 I will seek that which is lost, and I will recover the stray one, and will bind up that which was broken, and will strengthen the fainting, and will guard the strong, and will feed them with judgment.

17 And as for you, ye sheep, thus saith the Lord God, Behold, I will distinguish between sheep and sheep, between rams and he-goats. 18 And is it not enough for you that ye fed on the good pasture, that ye trampled with your feet the remnant of your pasture? and that ye drank the standing water, that ye disturbed the residue with your feet? 19 So my sheep fed on that which ye had trampled with your feet; and they drank the water that had been disturbed by your feet.

20 Therefore thus saith the Lord God; Behold, I will separate between the strong sheep and the weak sheep. 21 Ye did thrust with your sides and shoulders, and pushed with your horns, and ye cruelly treated all the sick. 22 Therefore I will save my sheep, and they shall not be any more for a prey; and will judge between ram and ram.

23 And I will raise up one shepherd over them, and he shall tend them, even my servant David, and he shall be their shepherd; 24 and I the Lord will be to them a God, and David a prince in the midst of them; I the Lord have spoken it.

The Covenant of Peace

25 And I will make with David a covenant of peace and I will utterly destroy evil beasts from off the land; and they shall dwell in the wilderness, and sleep in the forests. 26 And I will settle them round about my mountain; and I will give you the rain, the rain of blessing. 27 And the trees that are in the field shall yield their fruit, and the earth shall yield her strength, and they shall dwell in the confidence of peace on their land, and they shall know that I am the Lord, when I have broken their yoke; and I will deliver them out of the hand of those that enslaved them. 28 And they shall no more be a spoil to the nations, and the wild beasts of the land shall no more at all devour them; and they shall dwell safely, and there shall be none to make them afraid. 29 And I will raise up for them a plant of peace, and they shall no more perish with hunger upon the land, and they shall no more bear the reproach off the nations. 30 And they shall know that I am the Lord their God, and they my people. O house of Israel, saith the Lord God, 31 ye are my sheep, even the sheep of my flock, and I am the Lord your God, saith the Lord God. — Ezekiel 34 | Brenton's Septuagint Translation (BST) The English translation of The Septuagint by Sir Lancelot Charles Lee Brenton (1851). Cross References: Leviticus 26:5; Leviticus 26:13; Numbers 16:9; Deuteronomy 30:3; 1 Samuel 2:29-30; Psalm 23:1-2; Psalm 46:7; Psalm 72:12; Psalm 78:52; Psalm 147:3; Proverbs 25:26; Isaiah 4:2; Isaiah 55:3-4; Jeremiah 30:10; Ezekiel 22:25; Ezekiel 33:33; Matthew 9:36; Matthew 25:32; Mark 6:34; Luke 13:14; Luke 19:10; John 10:8-9; John 10:11; John 10:16; Acts 14:7; Acts 20:29; Revelation 7:17

#a prophecy against Israel's shepherds #the Good Shepherd #The Covenant of Peace #Ezekiel 34 #Book of Ezekiel #Old Testament #BST #Holy Bible #Brenton's Septuagint Translation

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thehumanpuffball · 2 months

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Myth is Man (1)

Throughout history, humans have always loved stories. They, in some cases, form intrinsic parts of how we teach about our norms and values. A rather famous example would be the moral tale of “The Boy Who Cried Wolf,” a very apt name in my opinion. Anyone who went to a British primary school most likely knows this one off by heart, but I do not know about other countries so here is a shortened version of it:

A shepherd boy tends to the flocks of sheep on the side of the hill at night. He works when all of the shepherds have gone to bed and his job is to protect the flock from the wolves that would otherwise eat the sheep. If he sees a wolf coming to eat the sheep, he must cry out at the top of his lungs “WOLF!” and the townspeople would come running up the hill to scare it away. One night, the boy gets bored, and he thinks that it would be a good idea to shout to the town that there is a wolf. Of course, all those who could, come running up the hill to protect the sheep which will feed them in the winter, but alas, the wolf is not there. Another night comes and the boy does the same, the wolf is still not there, and the townspeople all get angry as they have been called out of bed repeatedly in order to scare away a wolf which doesn’t exist. On the third night, there is a wolf, and the boy cries out to tell them, in hopes that they will run up the hill to save the flock. Nobody comes. He tries again but it is all in vain. Nobody is coming.

The next morning, the shepherd comes back to the hillside, and he says to the boy “Where are the sheep?”, for they had all been taken by the foxes. The boy replies with “I called for the townspeople, but nobody came.

This story is told often to primary school children because it highlights the importance of not lying as when the boy in the tale lies people stop believing him and when he needs help, he does not receive it.

There are so many of these stories and they are told in assemblies everywhere. They are such an important part of our lives growing up as the characters going through these very obvious and tangible events can be used in order to teach children about morals and about right and wrong more effectively than a list of rules can. Writing and storytelling is one of the oldest human artforms, our brains love a good story, once they kept us together around campfires, and now they keep us together in book clubs and at Halloween when we tell ghost stories with our friends in the dark. Fandom is also a form of this, a group of people brought together by the pure joy of loving a piece of media and wanting to talk about it.

Furthermore, it is crucial that we celebrate all writers, because not only can we find joy, peace, and delight in fiction, but we can also understand some of the more awful things in the world a little better using fiction. I know that my perception of religion and where I stand on it was somewhat guided by my reading of the His Dark Materials trilogy which has some beautiful messages about the dangers of control of only one religion, but the wonder that can be created when different people with different life experiences and beliefs all put their ideas together, and the importance of discussion and open mindedness. This part goes for writers too, it is so crucial that people keep writing the stories that they want to write, not what will sell, because every book has a soul. A writer behind those pages who put so much emotion into these characters, crafted people from the electrical and chemical signals in their mind.

Storytelling is a major part of being human, it always has been and (hopefully) always will be. Whether you are a bestselling author, or you like to make up little scary stories to tell your friends at sleepovers, your story is part of a long, long tradition, and is valuable, and beautiful.

#writing #stories #the boy who cried wolf #my words #spilled thoughts

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theputterer · 4 months

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Good Things In 2023

It’s that time of year again! Time to remember all the good things that happened in 2023. I’ve done this since 2017, and highly recommend doing this as a fun way to reflect (and to have something for future reference when you are feeling Down.)

woof ok here we go

PERSONAL

I visited two countries I haven't been to before: the Netherlands and Iceland!

The Netherlands: mostly Amsterdam but did also pop down to The Hague for a day. Did the Van Gogh Museum, the Anne Frank House, the Rijksmuseum, the Bloemenmarkt, a canal boat tour, the Royal Palace, the Mauritshuis.

Iceland: I was there for less than 48 hours but I saw THE NORTHERN LIGHTS!!!! they were subtler than I expected but so cool. also did the Perlan Museum and a Lava Show, which ruled.

Related: I turned 30 this year!

My dear friend Sam came to visit me in Dublin in June! The highlight of her visit was going with her to see Hozier at Malahide Castle.

Speaking of which, Hozier dropped UNREAL UNEARTH which isn't personal, per se, but is very personal to me

My sister visited me in November! We squeezed a lot in her time here, but highlights were Glendalough, the Hill of Tara, and the Galway Christmas Market.

A few aunts went on a trip to Ireland this fall and I joined them for a bit up in Donegal, as well as a day trip to Derry, which I'd not been to before.

Completely fucking forgot about this but I did write a 158k word long ROGUE ONE / FRINGE AU, ENDLESS FORMS MOST BEAUTIFUL. it was a real fuckin bitch to finish, let me tell you that

I got really into MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE over the summer (don't ask) and wrote a couple short pieces inspired by the most recent movie, DEAD RECKONING - PART ONE: LADY LAZARUS and WORTHY THE NAME OF SIR KNIGHT.

I jumped back on my bullshit in October and wrote a long, extended epilogue to my BINARY STAR SYSTEMS trilogy: TWO DESERTS. the way the series ended was always correct and good but it was fun to write this extended epilogue focusing on the fallout, the question of what it's like to live past the end of your myth.

Anything bolded below is something I particularly enjoyed and recommend.

MOVIES

2023 movies I saw and liked:

M3GAN

KNOCK AT THE CABIN

BONO AND THE EDGE, A SORT OF HOMECOMING WITH DAVID LETTERMAN

DUNGEONS AND DRAGONS: HONOR AMONG THIEVES

RENFIELD

THREE MUSKETEERS: D'ARTAGNAN

JOHN MULANEY: BABY J

SISU

THE LITTLE MERMAID

SPIDER-MAN: ACROSS THE SPIDER VERSE

ASTEROID CITY

INDIANA JONES AND THE DIAL OF DESTINY

MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE: DEAD RECKONING - PART ONE

BARBIE

OPPENHEIMER

PAST LIVES

ELEMENTAL

A HAUNTING IN VENICE

CHEVALIER

KILLERS OF THE FLOWER MOON

BOTTOMS

THE ROYAL HOTEL

DREAM SCENARIO

ANATOMY OF A FALL

THE HUNGER GAMES: THE BALLAD OF SONGBIRDS AND SNAKES

EILEEN

NAPOLEON

GODZILLA MINUS ONE

FERRARI

2022 movies I saw and liked:

TAR

THE LOST CITY

WOMEN TALKING

THE LAST OF US

PEAKY BLINDERS

BOOKS

super embarrassing how few books I read this year:

"Survival of the Richest: Escape Fantasies of the Tech Billionaires" by Douglas Rushkoff

"Donegal Folk Tales" by Joe Brennan

"Listen to the Land Speak: A Journey into the Wisdom of What Lies Beneath Us" by Manchan Magan

"Hell Bent" by Leigh Bardugo

"The Book of M" by Peng Shepherd

"The World We Make" by NK Jemisin

"The Echo Wife" by Sarah Gailey

"Daisy Jones and the Six" by Taylor Jenkins Reid

"White Cat, Black Dog: Stories" by Kelly Link

"Yellowface" by RF Kuang

"Ithaca" by Claire North

"Killers of the Flower Moon: The Osage Murders and the Birth of the FBI" by David Grann

"A Heart That Works" by Rob Delaney

"Rebecca" by Daphne du Maurier

"The Crying Book" by Heather Christie

"In the Dream House" by Carmen Maria Machado

"Rogues: True Stories of Grifters, Killers, Rebels, and Crooks" by Patrick Radden Keefe

"Fleabag" by Phoebe Waller-Bridge

"The Hurricane Wars" by Thea Guanzon

OTHER GOOD THINGS

*some of these things are Good as in well-written or well-made, but maybe not Good in topic.

"Eurydice" by Adrienne Su

"What Happens to a School Shooter's Sister?" by Jennifer Gonnerman for The New Yorker. A high school student murders his parents and several students at his school, and his sister is left to pick up the pieces. really powerful story on unconditional love.

"A Friend Died, Her Novel Unfinished. Could I Realize Her Vision?" by Leslie Jamison for The New Yorker. the grief of losing not only a dear friend but her art as well.

"Fuck you, I don't know?"

Werner Herzog pronounces Eeyore.

George Washington's Dream for America, an SNL sketch.

Judi Dench performs Shakespeare.

"Walking Brittany Home" by Devin Faraci for Washington Post. a really beautiful piece on death and love.

This thread on the struggle of trying to be fashionable in Ireland.

"The Return of the Marriage Plot: Why everyone is so eager for men and women to get hitched" by Rebecca Traister for The Cut.

"We Were Never Supposed to See Our Own Faces This Much" by Lola Christina Alao for Dazed Digital. on social media and personal reflection.

sunwoof

this story about Jimmy Buffett I loved

"She Wasn't Able to Get an Abortion. Now She's A Mom. Soon She'll Start Seventh Grade" by Charlotte Alter for Time. the cruelty is the point.

had a pilot named Ken yesterday and he introduced himself by saying his job is plane

"Cillian Murphy might be the star of a massive movie atm but to me he will always be the guy that showed up in the rain to our abortion rights marches"

"The 'Troubling Reverberations' at the End of OPPENHEIMER, Explained" by Bilge Ebiri for Vulture. it's an absolutely devastating ending, but the fact remains: there was no other way to end it.

this obituary for the great Sinéad O'Connor.

Kiké Hernandez returned to the Dodgers!

this behind the scenes video from the filming of MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE: DEAD RECKONING - PART ONE where Tom Cruise's co-stars watch him drive a motorcycle off a cliff.

"How Christopher Nolan Learned to Stop Worrying and Love AI" by Maria Streshinsky for Wired. good interview with Nolan, one of my favorite filmmakers / artists. (anyone who's ever read anything I've written is probably like yes, this is very obvious.)

"The Perils and Promises of Penis-Enlargement Surgery" by Ava Kofman for The New Yorker. an absolutely BONKERS but super important piece!

a new ending to RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK, lmao

"The Return of Ryan Gosling" by Zach Baron for GQ. really great profile writing going on here!

"LOST Illusions: The Untold Story of the Hit Show's Poisonous Culture" by Maureen Ryan for Vanity Fair. LOST is one of my favorite shows and has been super influential on my work. (again, this is probably very obvious). this piece is devastating in how it reveals the terrible racism and sexism behind the scenes of a show I have loved. important.

Henry Kissinger died this year (GOOD THINGS BABYYY) and this piece by Nick Turse, which came out in May, is a good explainer on why that's such good news: "Kissinger's Killing Fields".

"Talking With 'Swiftie Dads' at a Taylor Swift Concert" by Eileen Cartter for GQ. I thought this was very sweet.

The New York Times had an interactive feature about Connie Chung and her impact on young Chinese-American women, particularly the ones named after her. I love this video of her meeting some of them.

"Will A.I. Become the New McKinsey?" by Ted Chiang for The New Yorker. Chiang is best known as the writer of STORY OF YOUR LIFE which was adapted into ARRIVAL, so it's wise to listen to him when it comes to tech and science.

Loved this speech Mark Hamill gave about Carrie Fisher at her Hollywood Walk of Fame induction ceremony.

Accents white people can still do.

this absolutely incredible slapstick esque unintentional comedy scene.

As always, tagging anyone who’d like to do this!

@magalis @callioope @earnestfeeling @illuminahsti @fortysevenswrites @vaderkat @leaiorganas @garethsedwards @rifle-yes @buffyrat @alittlemomentum @i-am-slain @rogue-rook

#personal #about me #good things

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