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#death essence deer
antlerqueer · 4 months
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sorry im literally putting all of my complaints about ppl's critiques of leave the world behind here bc it's alll..... like what? so i literally looked up interviews from sam esmail and rumaan alam and i'm not crazy!!! the things i was like "this is the opposite of what was going on??" were actually the opposite of what was going on.
Some criticism I've seen is people saying "the movie mocks Rose's dependence on technology with the final scene" but it was like... Rose's journey was seeking her own solution to not wanting to be miserable and inside and waiting for death?? And she found it??
Quote from Sam Esmail, from Rolling Stone (emphasis mine):
During the early days of the pandemic, I remember how we were all very scared. We were scared for our loved ones, we were scared for one another, we were scared for ourselves. People were dying on a daily basis and we were locked in and trapped. There was this real sense of fear and anxiety. And then Tiger King dropped on Netflix and that was all we could talk about for weeks.  As silly as that show is, I love that we as a community dropped our differences to engage with this story and to laugh with it and talk about it. I just found that very human. I love when you can mix tragedy and comedy like that because I do think the essence of tragic comedy speaks directly to who we are and to the human condition.  So when I was constructing this story, I felt that throughout all this bleakness, to have this character, Rose, escape into something comfortable — I thought that was just something that felt like a kind of universal touchstone.
Rumaan Alam, the author, also says this to Variety:
I say it’s funny, but I don’t think it’s a joke. I don’t think it’s a joke on Rose. I don’t think it’s a joke on the audience. I don’t think it’s a joke on “Friends.” It’s a reminder that art is kind of a salve.
Sam Esmail LOVES media. He's not fucking condemning a child for wanting comfort????? Anyway. The dependence on technology isn't a point of inherent criticism, it is a point of what do we do when our survival is reliant on technology but we lose it. It's part of the horror. It's scary.
Literally, a quote from Esmail in GQ:
[It] really kind of underlines the theme of this reliance on tech, and once it goes away, what are we left with? And that in its own way is pretty terrifying.
I've seen it said Julia Roberts's character was "redeemed" in the film from her bad actions, which I so heavily disagree with, and so does Rumaan Alam, in the Variety interview:
In that final scene between Julia and Myha’la, they don’t embrace. Even prior to that, when they’re in that little shed and come to a détente, Ruth acknowledges that there’s some truth to the things that Amanda has said, that they’re in agreement about something, but it doesn’t end with a hug. It’s not that kind of story.
(A detente is "the easing of hostility or strained relations" - not a reprieve or a reconciliation, but an easing.)
These characters don't have to like or forgive each other to agree that there are things more important to survival and making it through than Amanda being overbearing and racist. Ruth lost her mother and even though Amanda steps in and maybe saves her life (we don't know what the deer were gonna do) that is not an apology! And it's not treated like one because we don't see any sort of forgiveness from Ruth!
And then the whole "it's an attack from a foreign government making the US a victim" shit. Like... GH theorizes, out loud, that this could be the US government's doing? Anyway.
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iiconicxpersona · 11 months
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My Girls. Joel x Ellie x fem!Reader
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Summary: Reader and Ellie encounter David and James while out hunting and searching for supplies for injured Joel. After their traumatic experience at Silver Lake, Joel is left to pick up the pieces of Reader and Ellie's shattered souls.
Warnings: SA, mentions of r@p3, abuse, cursing, ANGST AF
Word count: 2.5k words
"Ellie, are you sure you don't want me to go with you? I can always scout for supplies after we get back?" You asked as you walked further down the snow-covered road.
Ellie hugged Joel's rifle close to her and walked alongside you. "I'll be okay. Joel's been teaching me how to hunt, and I want to try to do this on my own. Besides, we're losing daylight, and you know more or less what to look for than I do." She half smiled.
You nod in agreement. Deep down, your intuition told you that maybe separation isn’t a good idea, but you want to show Ellie that you can trust her. "Okay, well, stay close by, and we'll meet back here before sundown. If you run into any trouble or anything, radio me." Using your index finger, you motioned to the walkie-talkies clipped to your pockets.
"Okay, I will."
The idea of letting Ellie and Joel out of your sight, even for a moment, scared you to death, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and right now, you and Ellie were desperate.
Joel had been stabbed in an ambush the day before. He tried his best to tough through the pain from the open wound, but he lost too much blood and fell off the horse halfway to the nearest town. It took every bit of strength you and Ellie had to put him back on the horse. You sat in front of his limp body to hold up his weight while Ellie squeezed on the saddle behind him to help you hold him up until you found shelter in an abandoned neighborhood. Thankfully, none of the doors were locked, making it easier to drag Joel inside and down to the basement, where an old mattress lies in the middle of the room. The pain from the open wound and Ellie sewing it shut with a needle and thread she found in the house was enough to knock Joel into a slumber. But now his wound is infected, and everyone is starving to death. So, while Ellie decided to hunt for food, you must find medicine or anything else helpful.  
At the same time, you kept an ear open for clickers, scavengers, or calls from Ellie. You scout three houses with little to no luck besides bandages and aspirins. That isn’t enough to aid Joel's injury, but it’s a start. At least the aspirins could help break his fever.
You were heading to scout another house when a gunshot fired from the distance. Your pulse racing began deafening your ears, and your adrenaline kicked in as you ran in the direction where you last saw Ellie walking.
"Ellie? What was that? Are you all right?" You frantically asked on the walkie-talkie only to get static in return. She was still too far out of range. "Goddammit, Ellie! Answer me!" But again, there was static. "Shit! Fuck!" You breathlessly cursed to yourself as you continued running forward, unsure where you were going, but time was of the essence.
Trails of blood and footsteps finally caught your attention, and your heart sank to the pit of your stomach. Your mind was already imagining the worst. You knew you shouldn't have left her alone, and if Joel were here right now, he'd be cursing you and himself out for even allowing this to happen. Desperate for some answer, you tried to call Ellie on the radio again as you followed the bloody trail.
A small, nearly demolished shack became the stopping point, and judging from the smoke leaving what once was a roof, there was someone inside with a fire. You slowly crept closer to the shack and took cover behind the wall. You could hear two people talking, and one of the voices belonged to Ellie.
The trail of blood led up to a dead deer lying behind the older man Ellie was talking to, and you felt relief that she wasn’t physically harmed. You watched as she calmly spoke to the man neither of you had seen before. His back was towards you, and from a small opening, you aimed your rifle straight for his head in case he decided to try anything funny. Ellie had the same mindset as she kept Joel's rifle aimed at the man, but she slowly dropped her defenses as he kept talking. The man gave the impression that he was a good guy.
"I sent four of our people to a nearby town to scavenge what they could, and only three of them came back. And the one that didn't was a father. He had a daughter just like you, and her dad was taken from her. Turns out he was murdered by this crazy man, and get this... That crazy man was traveling with a woman and a little girl." 
Just then, your and Ellie's defenses shot sky high as her grip on the rifle tightened, and her aim pointed back at the man.
"You see? Everything happens for a reason. James, lower the gun."
That was when you and Ellie noticed the second man standing on the other side of the shack with his gun aimed straight toward Ellie. Suddenly, you began to see red as you shifted from around the wall and aimed your rifle straight at James. "Stay where you are! Drop the gun, or I will put one between your eyes, asshole!" You demanded James as he kept his gun pointed right at you.
The man chatting with Ellie chuckled at you and looked back at her. "I'm guessing this is your mother?" He sighed. "Okay, no need for hostility today. James, lower your gun. We're not a threat to these women."
"David, they're the ones who killed Alec." James kept his gun pointed at you.
"They didn't kill anybody, so lower the gun and give them the medicine they need for their friend," David demanded in a relatively calm tone. James hesitated while looking between the three of you before gazing at David. "James, I'm not coding anything. Lower the gun and give them the medicine now." David demanded.
James slowly lowered his gun and tossed Ellie the small black bag. You not once took your aim off James, nor did Ellie off of David as she slowly searched for the bag before making her way to your side.
"I know you two aren't with a group. You won't survive out there. I can protect you."
You kept your eyes locked on both David and James as you and Ellie headed back to the house Joel was hiding in. "I told you to call me when you needed help." You scolded once you were far enough and noticed the two men did not follow you.
"I know. I'm sorry, but-" She began, but you cut her off.
"No 'buts' Ellie! You should've called me or at least come to find me first! Do you realize those men could've taken advantage of you or worse? You're still just a kid, Ellie, and I wouldn't be able to live with myself if anything happened to you!"
Your words had hit Ellie straight in the heart. You and Joel had treated her like cargo; Joel even told her that's all she was to you two. But deep down, she always hoped that that wasn't true. Maybe you and Joel cared for her, maybe not as family, but at least a friend. You two offering Ellie a choice between you and Tommy taking her to the Fireflies was hint number one that she was right, but your words confirmed the possibility that she meant more than just cargo.
You caught a glimpse of the single tear leaving her eye and felt a sudden wave of guilt wash over your entire body, but she tried to quickly wipe it off as the two of you walked in silence.
───※ ·❆· ※───
After giving Joel a shot of the medicine and changing his bandages, you spent the remainder of the night keeping watch while Ellie snuggled next to Joel for comfort and to keep him warm. The sight of them lying together warmed your heart, and the idea of starting a new life with them back in Jackson flooded your mind for a split second. However, the three of you were on a mission: take Ellie to the Fireflies and use her immunity to save what was left of the world. You and Joel agreed that the whole concept sounded too good to be true, but it may be worth it if the Fireflies could provide you with what you need to go your separate ways. Maybe.
───※ ·❆· ※───
The next day seemed to go by too fast. You and Ellie devised a plan to get David and his men as far away from Joel as possible. Ellie would take the horse to lead half of the men in one direction, and you led the other half out on foot in another. Joel would remain barricaded in the basement, but Ellie would leave her knife in his hands and warn him to stay awake and keep alert in case anyone would find him.   
Before you left Joel, you gently kissed his lips and said a quick mental prayer for the three of you before rushing out of the basement to follow through with the plan.
───※ ·❆· ※───
"HEY MOTHERFUCKERS!" Ellie shouted before shooting her gun at the group.
Just as you hoped, the group split in half and ran after the two of you. David's intentions were clear to you since the day before: he wanted Ellie. You knew that look. You had fallen victim to that look twice back. You were ready to kill him if he touched her, but you needed to focus.
The men behind you were coming up fast as they shot at you to slow you down, if not kill you. You managed to kill one, but two more were still hot on your tracks until they lost you between the trees. Your aim on one of the men was right on target, and just as you were about to pull the trigger, you heard a gunshot and the sound of the horse falling to its death. You ran towards the noise until David caught up and hit you across the temple with his pistol.
───※ ·❆· ※───
As your vision slowly adjusted to the small, dark room, the stench of death filled your nostrils, and you couldn't help but cough and gag. "What the hell?" You whispered to yourself.
Before you could examine the room, the two men who chased you shoved the door open and let themselves in. The harsh wind from the blizzard outside further wakes you up. "Ah, there she is." One of them chuckled before they shut the door behind them and quickly made their way toward you. You tried to fight them off, but the more muscular male hooked your upper body tight between his legs while the other sat on your thighs. "Oh, so we got a fighter; I like that." The man sitting on your legs pulled out a knife from his waistband, and the sight of the sharp blade made you try to fight even harder.
"NO, PLEASE DON'T!" You screamed. Your PTSD kicked into high gear.
"Don't scream!" The man demanded as he held the knife to your face. "Now we were going to kill you, especially for what you and your friends have done to our friends, but David still thinks there's hope for you and the kid. So, while he tries to convince her, he wants us to convince you to give up your friend and join us."
Ellie. Oh god, he has Ellie. "If any of you assholes touch her, I'll ki-"
Your words were cut short when the man with the knife punched you. Your head fell to the side, and ringing filled your ears, but that was when you noticed the decapitated bodies hanging from the ceiling. "I knew this bitch would be difficult." "Maybe we should just kill her." The two men mumbled to each other. "No, better yet, let's see what David's God blessed this woman with underneath all these clothes first." The man with the knife chuckled.
You began groaning and attempting to wiggle free from the men as fear took control of your body. The man on top of you used the knife to cut open your jacket and blouse until your bra was on full display. "Oh yeah, we're gonna have fun with this one." He chuckled. You began to cry out, but that only made the man hit you harder as he struggled to remove your clothes.
"Dude, hurry the fuck up before David shows up!" The man holding your upper body demanded.
"Hang on! This bitch is a fighter!" He laughed as you continued to cry for help. "Make yourself useful and shut her the fuck up!" He demanded the man holding your upper body before lowering himself to pull off your pants. The man holding you covered your mouth with his hand, and that's when you finally saw your opening. You bit down on the man's hand hard enough to bite off a chunk of his skin, with his blood coating your face before he let go of you, screaming in agony. At the same time, you wrapped your bare legs tightly around the other man's head and snapped his neck. The dead man had a gun in his waistband, and you grabbed it and used it to kill the man holding you down.
You stood there momentarily staring at the two men in shock until you remembered Ellie was still out there. You rushed to put your pants and boots back on, holding tight to the gun as you stumbled out of the shack. Your adrenaline is too high to feel the blistering winter hitting your exposed skin.
───※ ·❆· ※───
After running and panicking in circles, you approached the burning building in the distance. At this point, your body began to fight you as the adrenaline rush slowly wore off. You tried to run towards the building, but you no longer had the strength.
Once you were close enough, you could see Joel hugging Ellie, and for a moment, you thought your mind was playing tricks on you. It wasn't until Ellie saw you, quickly ran over, and embraced you in a tight hug that you realized it was real. She was here. He was here. And for the most part, they were safe.
Your hands slowly touched Ellie's head before you wrapped your arms tight around her and held her close while you both cried. Joel slowly approached the two of you and took you both in his arms. His mind was racing, and his heart was breaking at the sight of your bloody, swollen face and ripped clothing. He took off his heavy coat and wrapped it around you and Ellie before holding you close to his chest. Neither you nor Ellie could stop crying in Joel's arms once you both turned to embrace him. Guilt flooded him at the thought of being unable to protect either of you from the men in this god-forsaken town. A mistake he swore then and there to himself that he would never make again.
"My girls," Joel whispered.   
Author's note: Holy shit this was LONGER than I expected it to be, but I have been wanting to write a TLOU fic for a while. I hope you guys like it and if you want me to write more please let me know!
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lokibuswrites · 3 months
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Chapter 2/2: like a ghost in the silence
Fic: deathbeds (titles and lyrics from Deathbeds by Bring Me The Horizon)
Here's the first chapter :)
summary: That little kiss you stole, it held my heart and soul // And like a deer in the headlights, I meet my fate // Don't try to fight the storm, you'll tumble overboard // Tides will bring me back to you word count: 1.1k ship: ghostsoap (John "Soap" Mactavish/Simon "Ghost" Riley) rating: Teen and Up warnings: drunk kissing (first chapter); Main Character Death (second chapter)
ao3
He has always known it would end like this. A death of old age is not reserved for men like him. He’s already been buried once, the second time won’t be a mistake, and there’s a rifle in his hands today, not a jawbone.
The first bullet hits him in the leg, not fatal, but slowing him down enough that the second one has just enough time to fight through the layers of his sleeve when he raises his weapon to take out another enemy, burying itself deeply into the vulnerable skin of his inner biceps. Ghost doesn’t stumble from the impacts, adrenaline keeping him on his feet and the pain moderately in check. It feels like a sudden low tide, the sea disappearing in mere moments, promising a danger far greater than any armed man.
The tiny spots in his vision multiply by the second until he only has pinpricks of sight left, but somehow, he makes it to the chopper. His breathing is more than laboured, and the energy is oozing from him just as quickly as his blood. Soap, who must’ve arrived only a few seconds earlier, bodily pulls him through the door, careful hands immediately finding the dark stain on Ghost’s upper arm.
and on my deathbed, all I'll see is you
the life may leave my lungs, but my heart will stay with you
Injured soldier. Status report?
“LT, how copy?” The panic is obvious in Johnny’s voice, distorting it into a high, reedy thing, but Ghost’s tongue is too heavy to answer.
His stomach swoops when the aircraft leaves the ground, head full of soaked cotton. Something’s burning, his muscles, his skin, his nerves, he can’t be quite sure. He’s shaking, coldness seeping in. Distantly, he knows all of these things are bad signs. Dire, even. But as he lies on the floor, the metal leeching heat from his unarmoured back—someone took his vest off?—all he can focus on is Johnny’s slightly blurry face and his breathtakingly blue eyes.
GSW to the left calf, minor. GSW to the right biceps, critical.
“LT, HOW COPY?”
He’s losing a lot of blood. Apply pressure. Where’s the goddamn tourniquet?
Ghost flinches at the tone and tries to make his vocal tract obey. There’s an incredibly tight pressure around his injured arm, someone twisting a tourniquet, but the wound is high—it must be difficult to find space even higher on his arm to staunch the bleeding. The pain shoots up into his shoulder like lava coursing through his veins, one of the worst pains Ghost’s had to endure this year. But the words are more important. His mouth is dry, and for a moment he considers asking for water, but time is of the essence here, he knows that. He opens his mouth, not knowing what will come out.
“Y’ kiss’d me.” He sounds out of it even to his own ears, a slurred, garbled mess, but Soap must understand, because he looks utterly confused, caught between worry and fear.
that little kiss you stole, it held my heart and soul
and like a ghost in the silence, I disappear
don't try to fight the storm, you'll tumble overboard
tides will bring me back to you
“What? When?”
They both know his brachial artery has been hit. Not severed, because then he’d be dead already, but they’re in the middle of a warzone and he’s losing substantial amounts of blood. It’s not looking too good. His body feels off. Might be going into shock. The sound of waves joins the feeling of water in his lungs. Pressure. The mission was in northern Kazakhstan.
“Back ‘n May. Y’w’re drunk.”
Exhibiting multiple symptoms of shock.
“Tol’ me y’ loved me.”
There’s two hands on his face, warm and rough and familiar against his clammy skin. Someone else is feeling for his pulse at his throat, and a third person is pushing a needle into his uninjured arm. Probably saline, since they don’t have blood bags on this chopper. Salt water to replenish the vanished tide. It will be all for naught; he can feel his heart racing like his life depends on it—and it does, but the pace is not helping the blood loss. He collects his strength in the hand closest to Johnny, his right one. Sand itches under his nails as he lifts it onto the other’s knee. He can’t decipher the exact sensations beneath his fingerprints, but it’s warm. A comfort.
the waves will pull us under
tides will bring me back to you
Pulse is weakening.
“I do.” Something wet drips onto Ghost’s face, his mask long pulled away, and when he hears a loud sniffle between the ringing in his ears, he realises Johnny must be crying. “I do love ye, Simon.”
Oh.
Caught between sinking and drowning, dying and giving in.
Fuck, stay awake, Ghost! Ghost! Simon!
Everything’s heavy. He stares into Johnny’s car crash eyes, impossible to look away from, until his vision fades to black, then a blinding white.
and like a deer in the headlights, I meet my fate
Words fight against the fortress of his lips even though he wants nothing more than to let sleep—death—take him. But some part of him is aware that he can’t leave Johnny behind like this.
“I’m sorry.” Everything’s light. He doesn’t feel his hands anymore. “I love you.” Johnny’s eyes flash before his, and he knows it’s his mind playing tricks on him, because there’s stark crow’s feet in the corners, deepened by many more years of smiling, and grey hairs mixed into Johnny’s dark brows. He feels his breath hitch, unprepared and overwhelmed by the sea suddenly returning with all its might, violently flooding his senses with the love of his life. Warm skin beneath his hands, promising eternity. Soft lips meeting his own, pulled into that gorgeous smile he would do anything to see again. And his scent, that wonderful scent he already misses. Deep and gunpowdery and home.
“I hope—” a stuttering inhale, his throat tight with pain, heart clenching and stumbling, “—tha’ the tides’ll bring me… back to you.” He wishes he’d had more time to prepare his most important words. He wishes he’d just told Johnny about the kiss that morning, despite the hangover, despite his weakness, despite his fear. Then they would’ve had so much more time. Not enough, but no amount of years could have ever been enough to fit the sea. The tides, the tides. His forehead is warmed by lips and wet with tears. What a weird way of death to welcome him.
and like a ghost in the silence, I disappear
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onesapphireeye · 1 year
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in your warmth
Aegon reveals that he has been going to counseling and is committed to getting better and being a better father and husband. You, as always, forgive and forget too easily.
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modern!aegon x reader + "you have a pretty face when you aren't yelling at me."
warnings: use of she/her for reader. angst that turns happy. metaphoric mentions of murder. aegon is/was an alcoholic. mentions of separation.
nori says: why is my brain like this?????? how did i get this from that prompt? lmao idk, but warmth by bastille was on repeat. i tried to make the reader a softer personality than usual. not beta read, as always!! you know how we do around here! xoxo.
word count: 2,000~
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If your life was a movie, its genre would be a crime documentary. They'd portray you as the kind of person who lit up a room, whose once-brilliant smile had been dulled by years of living with a man who robbed everything from you. Someone whose great ambition in life lay in shreds, mangled by the ghosts of her former hopes.
No, Aegon hadn't killed you, but he had stolen your essence.
You sunk into despair as you reflected on how he'd taken away your vibrant spirit and quieted your voice. Conversations were now limited to cold, bureaucratic texts, and you felt like a shadow of your former self.
You just knew audiences would weep at their screens and feel their hearts break for the pretty wife. They'd ask why justice had not been served? Wonder if her husband's family had powerful connections?
You didn't want to be seen as a deer led to slaughter.
As much as you wanted to be courageous like Amy Dunne from Gone Girl and make a break for freedom, you never could think of a good plan. 
How would you go about faking your own death?
Where would you go afterwards?
You didn't want to get away; instead, you desperately wished for a way to turn back the hands of time. Aegon had been your first love and you still cherished him in your heart. 
Pain lanced through you at the thought of your twins. As much as they completed you, you missed the days before their births when life was so much simpler. You felt like a disgusting mother for even thinking it, but Aegon had been so untroubled then. Becoming a father had made him so terrified of repeating his own father's mistakes that he chose to ignore his worries instead. 
Your conversations seemed always fraught with tension and fear, though he would put on a forced smile to comfort you and convince you that everything was alright. He would tell you how happy he was, but each word was coated in the need for alcohol, a way of dulling the pain of his struggle.
What finally prompted you into action, was when you had come home after a spin class to a house filled with the stench of booze and your children huddled miserably next to the motionless form of their unconscious father. 
You had tried everything to help him, but he refused to quit drinking and you weren't willing to have your kids suffer like he did as a child. His stubbornness had forced you to separate and take a job outside the home in order to support them.
You wanted full custody and felt like Aegon had abandoned you in your time of need.
Aegon had not been picking up your calls, and you found out through his sister that his solution to the struggle of parenting two children was to find another woman to do the job—his mother.
She had been taking them overnight, shielding you from the truth in order to "spare your feelings". You knew enough about their family to know that her intentions were really to keep up appearances for Aegon, yet it tore you apart all the same. 
How could your opinion of him decrease any further? You felt broken and alone, with no one to turn to.
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OUTGOING: I know it's late and this is pretty last minute but do you think I can drop by to get you to sign some forms? I wouldn't bother you with this, but they need a wet signature for legality.
AEGON: I'm in the middle of something right now
AEGON: Can we meet up tomorrow evening? There are some things I need to tell you about
AEGON: Do you want to meet at Visenya's? My treat for your time
OUTGOING: 6pm works for me?
AEGON: It's a date
OUTGOING: It's not a date, Aegon. Just a friendly dinner.
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As you drove into the parking lot of Visenya's, your heart raced and your breath caught in your throat. You were here to meet Aegon and the combination of anticipation and nerves was hard to manage.
It was a familiar place for the both of you, and the memories came flooding back. You could still taste the red wine on your lips from the night you accepted his marriage proposal here and the sweet chocolate cake from your first date left a bitter aftertaste. Looking up at its doors, you wondered why he chose this venue.  
Your attention was drawn to Aegon's beloved Sunfrye, a 1962 Ferrari 250 California SWB Spider by Scaglietti, custom painted an aged gold gleamed in the darkness, mocking your pain. You knew more about this car than you'd ever wanted, thanks to all the time Aegon spent talking about it. And you sat there every time like a dutiful idiot, happy to share anything with him.
You wanted to rip Sunfyre apart with your bare hands, to feel something other than the sadness overwhelming you, but instead, you bit back a sob. Tears gathered in your eyes as you battled against the urge to key the car out of spite. You could almost picture him on his hands and knees before the vehicle; blubbering in anguish at your destructive creation.
Aegon hadn't even been on time to your wedding, so you were surprised to see he was already here. Your foolish heart wondered if this was a sign. You didn't want to turn one of your rare meetings into a fight because of a burst of vindictive pleasure.
You swallowed your apprehension and walked inside the restaurant, fifteen minutes after the set reservation time.
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Giving your name to the hostess at the front, you were guided to the table where Aegon sat. Your face split into a smile at the sight of him. His skin glowed with a vibrant radiance, and his eyes shimmered with life-not from alcohol. His white blonde hair was brushed back, revealing his dazzling features. The usual bags under his eyes were gone, leaving him looking more alive than you had ever seen him before.
Your heart did a flip as you realized how much better he looked, and it filled you with warmth to know he could be happy.
"Hi," you said softly, placing the envelope on the table between you two.
"Hi!" Aegon stood abruptly, gallantly helping you take off your outerwear before pulling out your chair for you. You took a seat, feeling slightly anxious in his presence after so much time apart. As he moved away, his hands grazing your shoulders sent electricity coursing through your body, making you feel slightly more at ease.
He sat back down across from you an gave you an endearing smile, your lips curved in a small smile in response. You could tell that he was just as nervous as you were, but was trying to be brave. It made it easier to relax, knowing that you weren't alone in feeling that way.
You settled into your seat, looking into each others eyes and reveling in the moment.
"You look gorgeous. It's been ages since I've seen you light up like this." He used to be a charmer, until he lost sight of what was most important.
Your gaze flicked down, you were hesitant of looking him in the eye, in case your expression gave away how much you still appreciated compliments from him. "Sometimes I wonder if we would still be together if you had said more nice things." You had to fight your younger self, the person who was so weak and willing to forgive his wrongdoings. "I apologize, I shouldn't have said that. Let's just enjoy this moment and talk like normal people."
You had always been gentle with this man-- you still loved him, despite all of your pain-- asking for a divorce had come as a jolt to everyone. No one knew Aegon's sweet little wife had a will of steel, because you had even been so compliant in his meticulous demolishing of your own spirit.
You didn't know how to start. "You said you had something you wanted to update me on?"
"I've been going to AA meetings." Your eyebrows shot so high they almost disappeared into your hairline, your mouth a gaping maw of disbelief. He continued when you didn't say anything. "I've made mistakes in the past, and I can't promise that I won't make mistakes in the future; but I can promise that I'll learn from them this time."
You could almost sense the hopefulness radiating off of him, he was determined to be better and make things right.
"I'm so proud of you," You whispered softly, "It takes a lot of strength to take a hard look at yourself and try to make a change. Believe me, I know exactly how hard it can be." Your hearts swelled with emotion, overwhelmed by the fact that you two could have such an honest, heartfelt conversation.
"I didn't just do this for myself. I did this for us." His eyes glistened with intense emotion, "I have so much love to give and I just want to give it—the right way. I'm finally ready to learn, but I need you to show me. Please., I want to come home." He was pleading with his entire being.
Your heart was pounding wildly in your chest and before you knew it, your hand had reached out and entwined with his.
You looked him in the eyes, "I love you Aegon, more than I should. And I'm here, ready to learn along with you." His warm hand in yours let you know that this was real, that despite all the struggles and arguments, you both still had feelings for each other. "But you can't just come home, not yet."
You watched his face fall as he nodded in understanding. You hated seeing him look so defeated, but it was important to take things slow. You needed to make sure that this wasn't just a momentary flash of love. 
There was a lot of work to be done before you could tell all your families and the kids that you two were reconciling. It would take time, patience and understanding but if it meant that you two could finally have the happy ending that you both deserved then it was worth it.
As Aegon went on about what he had gone through since the separation, you couldn't help but be astonished at how much he had changed. He opened up to you as if you were a long-lost friend, sharing pieces of himself that he never would have let out before. You embraced every word like it was a token of love from him and hung onto it with all that was left within you.
After a few hours of talking, he seemed exhausted from pouring out so much of himself that needed to be released. You felt something shift between you two; something was healing, something that couldn't come back to its original form: a marriage connected by love. But instead, it could be connected by something more beautiful; honesty, respect, understanding and care.
You both looked down at the envelope that still lay untouched on the table between you two.
His free hand began to reach across the table to grab it, and you stopped him. "Don't worry about those."
He gave you a warm smile and gazed into your eyes; something had stirred within you that had been dormant for far too long. "You know, you have a pretty face when you aren't yelling at me."
"Please don't start making jokes." You squeezed his hand tightly before letting go and both of you sat in silence for a few moments, feeling the tension between you two dissipate as you sipped on your drinks.
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norinote: remember you can send me prompts from here or your own ideas! xoxo.
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y-rhywbeth2 · 4 months
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Lore: Tieflings
Link to Disclaimer and other lore babblings
Featuring: The two types of tiefling (Orin belongs to one of them, actually) The other races' equivalents to tieflings Various ancestors of tieflings The 2e tiefling trait chart that I miss with all my soul My inability to be 100% neutral about certain 4e changes Tiefling Homelands, such as they are
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Tieflings belong to a category known as the Planetouched; mortals descended from beings native to the outer planes. TIeflings are descended from the evil-aligned Lower Planes and at this point can be split into the newer Asmodeus tieflings and the original "generic" tieflings. (Other races have produced fiendish planetouched. Tanarukk are orcs of fiendish descent; Elven-demon hybrids called the fey'ri, or daemonfey; Dwarven descendants of the offspring of devils are maeluth; and wisplings are halflings of demonic descent.)
The original, generic tieflings are humans with a fiend or an evil deity from one of the Lower Planes in their family tree.
They appear as regular humans, usually with only one or two odd traits giving away their ancestry. Black feathers growing from their shoulders, glowing red eyes, a tail, making plants decay in their presence... wings...
The bloodline begins with the half-mortal child of a fiend or deity (a cambion, or a bhaalspawn, for example). They go on to have offspring with mortals and the child is a tiefling. The tiefling grandchild's line may continue to dilute with human blood until it seemingly disappears...
...until suddenly, possibly hundreds of years later, a family's new baby is born with six fingers or a tail or something and the village is talking about drowning the "devil" in the village stream. With a lack of understanding of what's happening, and a lot of fear, the family themselves usually reject their own child. There are only a few places in the Realms where a planetouched birth isn't considered an aberration (I'll talk about them towards the end).
The outlook for tieflings is... not good.
"Occasionally a tiefling is born to someone indifferent to its appearance, determined to redeem it, willing to exploit it, or evil enough not to care about its nature, and these tieflings are most likely to survive to adulthood." - Races of Faerûn
Even if their physical traits are not obvious, tieflings become aware from an early age that they are different, as the essence of the Lower Planes in their blood tries to compel them and they often have "strange needs, desires or urges." They can ignore these urges to be any alignment they so chose. Unfortunately, as the world around them hates them, they tend to grow up to be bitter and mistrustful; they're not terribly inclined to help people they expect to run them off in an angry mob. Some of them embrace their impulses, seeing as they're just going to be seen as monsters anyway.
Their ancestry can be from various categories:
Deities: Beshaba, goddess of misfortune is one of the more known ancestors of tieflings. Her descendants are marked by white hair and deer antlers growing from their heads. Mask, god of thieves is another ancestor; Maskarian tieflings cast no reflections. Bhaal's tieflings show no outward signs, but have inclinations towards violence and an obsession with death.
Baatezu; Devils, the Lawful Evil fiends of the Nine Hells. Erinyes (fallen angels with black wings), gelugons (ice insects) and pit fiends (giant scaly red monsters with horns) are the most common ancestors. They enjoy strict hierarchies, complicated plots, rules and contracts with lots of smallprint.
Tanar'ri: Demons, the Chaotic Evil fiends of the Infinite Layers of the Abyss ("If there's anything you don't like, you'll find it here."). The most common demonic ancestors are Mariliths (giant sexy snake warrior ladies with six arms and swords) and Succubi (who were strictly demons, until 5e decided the devils needed a soul-stealing sex monster even though they already had those and they were the exact same thing as a succubus (Brachina)). Where devils enjoy playing with contracts and mind games and the slow descent into corruption, demons are pure hunger/lust and chaos and usually go for the fast track to corruption. Orgies and mindless over-the-top violence, both at the same time, if possible. ["Devils and demons hate each other" is the biggest understatement the universe knows, and the two have been at war since basically the dawn of time. It's called the Blood War and it will never end. They are instinctually driven to destroy each other, and this is also built into their tiefling descendants.]
Other: Fiends who fall into no other category. There is actually a third category - Yugoloths, the Neutral Evil fiends, but they don't seem to make tieflings that I've seen. Night Hags are a common enough ancestor, and tieflings descended from them often have blue/violet skin, likened to the colour of bruises. Rakshasa are another one; cat eyes and occasionally fur turning up on them.
3.5e gave them a set of traits they all shared: higher reflexes; a boost to their intelligence stat (for some reason?); the ability to see in total darkness; to create areas of pitch black supernatural darkness; they were less affected by the cold and electric shocks, and their flesh and skin was slightly fire retardant. Sometimes they had an affinity for certain animals, or had wings.
Back in 2e, Tieflings were all unique and could manifest some of any number of random traits. Behold! The chart!
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And then, amongst the various shit that went down as the setting was burned down around us all in 4e, Asmodeus - Archdevil of the Ninth Hell, Ruler of the Nine Hells - killed the god Azuth and elevated himself to godhood. He "defeated" the Tanar'ri in the (eternal!) Blood War and celebrated by having a circle of warlocks known as "the Toril Thirteen" to create a new strain of tieflings descended from him to remind the world to fear him. This would be fine, except he did this by ruining overwriting all the pre-existing tieflings so that they would now all be descended from him and ALL have their varied, often subtle, appearances be changed to be red skinned people with goat horns and tails regardless of if that made any FUCKIGN sense. How do you overwrite a Night Hag or Mask or.the goddamn Mulhorandi pantheon The hells and Asmodeus have zero - ZERO, connection! He has no claim-.
*ahem*
Asmodeus exerts no control over "his" tieflings, however, they are simply marked by his power. People do not like them any better than the originals, but less of them are getting killed at birth now due to being born into families of other tieflings.
The ancestry of these tieflings does not dilute over time. The child of an Asmodeus tiefling is another tiefling.
By 15th century DR (5e) the Blood War is back on and the original tieflings have begun to re-emerge in Toril, but the majority are still the Asmodeus type.
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The generic tieflings are rare enough that the majority can go their entire lives without meeting another of their kind. Asmodeus' tieflings are uncommon, but prone to being found in small groups.
Tieflings are "persecuted and feared in most of Faerûn." (Though the gods don't give a damn, and are happy enough to manifest to them in dreams in tiefling form to the delight of the religiously inclined)
There are, however, places where they are more common.
Back before it blew up (4e!) Thay had an unusually high tiefling population. "Thayan tieflings [were] usually the grandchildren of powerful wizards, birthed as part of some power scheme, and usually [spent] their lives as slaves or pawns to both sides of the family." Obviously, these tieflings became Asmodeus tieflings due to the ritual. Afterwards the lich Szass Tam decided to turn everybody undead. Some living people returned to Thay, once it was habitable again post-Spellplague (despite still being full of liches and vampires), so there may be some Thayan tieflings remaining. TIefling descendants of the refugees of Thay can also be found in the surrounding countries. Aglarond, mostly, since Rashamen has a decidedly negative history with Thay. Mulhorand is another land with a tiefling population. Mulhorand is Ancient Egypt. Not like fantasy-equivalent to Ancient Egypt, like they're actually the descendants of Ancient Egyptians who ended up in Toril (side effect of ancient wizards kidnapping people from other worlds to enslave). Mulhorandi planetouched are the descendants of the local gods, who once ruled the country themselves when it was first founded, and the mixture of aasmiar, genasi and tieflings is significant enough to make up 2% of the total population. In the case of tieflings, that usually means their grandfather/ancestor is Set, Anhur or Sobek. Historically the priesthoods of Mulhorand enjoyed bickering, which would've been annoying as the descendant of their god/their god's enemy, but the pantheon has told them to knock it off nowadays.
Mulhorandi tieflings have their own naming conventions, taking surnames based on their ancestor; Zia or Sia preceding the god's name. Ziasobek or Sianhur, for example. In the North, Neverwinter was once host to a cult dedicated to Asmodeus (the Ashmadai) that lead to a rise in tieflings, and since that offers an opportunity to blend in with their own kind the city attracted more tiefling immigrants, and as such has a fair sized population now.
I'm also taking a third option: immigrants from the outer planes would be unusual, but tieflings are out there and some of them may decide to move to Faerûn for some reason.
Sigil is a city at the centre of the universe built into the inside of a giant ring at the top of an infinite spire that has no beginning or end. It's also the nexus point of the universe, is covered in portals and its markets have goods from everywhere in known existence. It's population also comes from everywhere in existence, so tieflings are not such an oddity. Culturally it's rather like a fantasy parody of corrupt cockney Victorianesque(?) London, if the entirety of D&D moved there.
Tieflings can also be found living in the Lower Planes themselves, usually as canon fodder in the Blood Wars.
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hebrewbyinbal · 2 months
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Adar, a month brimming with joy, good luck, and tradition, offers more than just the celebration of Purim.
It's a time when we embrace happiness, as the famous saying from the Talmud, מִשֶּׁנִּכְנַס אֲדָר מַרְבִּין בְּשִׂמְחָה "When Adar begins, joy increases" highlights the essence of this period.
Adar can appear twice in a leap year - which this year is - leading to Adar Aleph and Adar Bet, adding a unique characteristic to the Jewish calendar that occurs roughly every three years.
In this month, we remember Moses, who passed away on the 7th of Adar at the age of 120, marking both his birthday and the day of his death. This duality adds depth to Adar, as even Haman the wicked, in his plot against the Jews, chose Adar for its association with Moses' death, unaware that it also celebrated his birth. This oversight turned Adar from a month perceived with potential misfortune to one of victory and joy.
The name Adar itself signifies strength and majesty, used in modern Hebrew as /a-'deer/ אדיר, meaning - mighty.
Adar is astrologically linked to Pisces, the fish, a symbol of blessing and prosperity in Judaism, as it is believed that the evil eye has no power over them. This symbolism infuses the month with an added layer of good fortune and protection.
Another surprising aspect of Adar is its link to the story of Purim beyond the obvious. While the miraculous turn of events for the Jewish people during Purim is celebrated in Adar, Haman's actual downfall occurred in Nisan, during Passover, linking Adar to themes of liberation and renewal.
Adar also marks the historical moment before the Exodus from Egypt, as the last month the Israelites spent in bondage. This positions Adar not just as a precursor to Passover but as a significant period of transition and anticipation for freedom and renewal.
Merging these elements, Adar emerges as a month rich in history, spirituality, and celebration. From its double appearance in leap years to its deep ties with biblical stories and symbols of luck and blessing, Adar encapsulates themes of joy, resilience, and redemption, making it a uniquely special time in the Jewish calendar.
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sirius-void · 6 months
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Misfits and misfortune.
Short description: Teen! Reader recovers from their sickness and Philip leaves to get more palisman.
Third person oneshot.
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TW! - Death, captivity, more palisman consuming?
Reader had finally recovered! Sadly they weren't speaking, at all. They were curled in a ball with the raggedy cloak he had gotten them around their small body. There was a dull throbbing pain in his right arm, but he shan't focus on himself right now.
Reader should be his main focus, even though the illness has passed, who knows what else could happen! What if they get an infection? Or some type of disease from this hell? Surely they'll eventually thank him for all of this. 
It's just been a pain how they've been acting. When he offered them some food they pushed him away, and when he tried again they bit him! Luckily for him the bite wasn't too bad, barely broke the skin actually.
They were yelling and screaming earlier, now they were just... silent! "Reader? I know you're still awake." He prodded them. "Mm." They turned away. Why must children be so fussy?
He quietly groaned and grabbed their arm with his right hand and then cupped their cheek with his left. They looked at him with anger and sadness. He sighed and tried to explain why this was for the best, but they only looked away and huffed.
With a quick eye roll, Philip stood up and left the cave. He knew two things. One, Reader needed to be convinced somehow. And, two. He needed more palisman. He didn't want them to face that monster of his.
It took half an hour to get to the town, and when he was there he saw a duo composed of two witches, one of them had a white face with horns sticking out of the sides of their forehead, and the other had dull pink hair and light pink skin.
They carried their own palisman, the pink one had a strange reptilian with wings and the other had a purple deer. He'd walk up to the two and tell them a story, of course, it was convincing. "...My friend is deeply scarred after we faced off against a horrific beast, I had to scoop them up and run before it tried to hurt us further!"
"So, could you please assist me in getting rid the monster?"
The pink haired witch looked at their demon-looking friend and shrugged, the horned witch nodded. "We'll help." The pink one said. He showed them the place where the 'beast' attacked them.
The three of them had walked forever to get there, and once they were, he told them more about the creature. "It had terrible rotting antlers and its teeth were sharp, its eyes glowed like it was from the depths of the boiling sea!" While speaking he
instructed the two to go check the area in front of them, once both of them walked in front of him and their backs were turned, he pulled out an ice glyph and touched it to the back of the horned witch, they let out a surprised cry as ice froze from their back to their head, the witch dropped their staff as they tried to use a quick fire spell to melt the ice
but it only made things worse. The pink haired witch used a spell with their palisman but he hid behind a tree and prepared a fire glyph. Once ready he got out of his hiding spot and used it, the fire coated the witch in flames and he heard it scream as it scrambled for life.
He picked up the two palisman and walked off. He would've checked, but time was of the essence. He came back to the cave an hour later, two staffs in hand and when he was finally inside he snapped the devilish creatures off the wooden poles and cracked one of them open.
He breathed in the green substance and let out a sigh of relief, the green sludge reforming back into his arm. This satisfied him and he placed the other one down on a desk and walked back to the area Reader was staying in.
He heard scrapping and saw them scratching away at the vine. Their nails were bloodied and if gone on any longer, they'd definitely fall off. He stopped them by grabbing their arms and saw how bad it was. He reinforced the vine with another and turned his attention back to the scared teenager.
He looked at their eyes, glossy and red from tears. Then, at their fingers. This child- he swears to himself that they'll not die from anything in this hell but more so themself!
He held their hands in his for a moment before getting up and going to his desk area. He grabbed some wrapped up bandages he got not too long ago and came back to them.
While wrapping their fingers in bandages, he heard their quiet sobs as they looked away. "Reader.. you know I'm doing this for the better of you, right? " Philip's eyebrow raised. "I wanna go home.. I miss Luz-" Reader was cut off.
"I know- I know, but, until I can find a way back home for both of us, we'll have to stick together." Reader mumbled under their breath. "That's not what I mean."
He tutted, shaking his head. "Those monsters are not your friends or family. Dear lord, they must've convinced you otherwise." They were getting tired of Philip's shit.
With a quick chomp down on his arm, they left a deep bite mark. Blood soon began to leak and he grumbled a bit before saying. "Quit it, will you? I swear I'll have to muzzle you, soon." He joked, but maybe investing into getting one could possibly help them with their biting problem.
Reader on the other hand was on the verge of a panic attack, but they knew Philip would probably just use this as another way to try getting closer to them.
And, god, they did not want that to happen. Philip just watched as he finished patching up their fingers. "There all better." He patted their head. "Stop talking to me like I'm a kid-" "But, you are?" He pointed out. "You suck at understanding what I say."
They replied moodily. Philip just let out a soft chuckle, ruffling their hair. "Now, if you need anything I'll be doing some work." He went off to go do whatever.
Reader turned their gaze down to the green vines. What did a fire glyph look like again?
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First part - part one
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wellwhatisnttaken · 11 months
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Through Miles Of Clouded Hell
Part 1
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For as long as Lucien could remember, the world had been dead. A gradient of brown and gray rot. The woods near the palace were a collection of dead trees, bark soggy and soft. The sun rarely shone on his Kingdom, watery overcast being the best they could hope for, with raging, destructive thunderstorms being the worst.
As a youngling, his mother had told him tales of why nothing ever grew, why the land was cursed to rot and decay. The way his mother told it, There was a female. The most beautiful female that had ever lived. She and her sisters were descended from the gods of old, with bronze hair that swept the ground when she walked. She lived with her sisters in a cottage on the edge of the heavenly city. The sisters were the fairest of all the fae, each known for their own special talent. The oldest wielded silver fire. It was her who kept the fires burning during wartime, her who kept the lanterns lit and the people warm. The youngest, she spoke in riddles and curses. She broke curses on those who brought her starlight, and with her Wick tongue, condemned those who did evil.
But the middle sister. She was the most powerful. She was connected to the very ground itself. Flowers bloomed in her footprints, crops thrived under her gaze, and trees shot sky ward under her touch. She was the very essence of life itself. She could breathe back life into the sick, and could just as easily snatch it away. Her name was Elain Lifebringer. It was her who tended to the mother tree at the heart of the heavenly city. Everyday she would visit and commune with the sacred mother spirit and tend to her tree. The mother tree was the source from which all life originated. Its trunk was wider than entire forests, and its hight reached far past even the most outer reaching of Heaven.
Elain Lifebringer was content to live with her sisters and tend to the lands and gardens and the mother tree. But the kings son wanted her for himself.
He had tried talking to her, courting her, even following her around. He became obsessed with her. One day he brought her a deer that had be nibbling on her flowers in the garden outside her cottage. He had slit its throat in front her as an offering, proving to her that he could vanquish her enemies. As the blood of the doe spilled across the lush grass in front of her home, she saw him for the cruel male he was, and horrified by his actions, she spurned him. She banished him from her home and cursed his name. But he did not give up so easily. The kings son was spoiled and haughty, used to getting what he wanted. And even if he could not have her now, she would eventually be his.
So, he devised a plan to rid her of the distractions clouding her judgment, ensuring that she works finally realize that they were meant to be.
Later that moon cycle, In the dead of night, the kings son stole away Elain’s sisters, and brought them to the mother tree. It was there that he strung them up. When Elain woke, she scrambled into the city, frantically searching for her sisters, only to find their blood soaking the rots of her beloved mother tree. They say her wails can still be heard on the wind if one listens hard enough, and that the ocean’s poured from her eyes, her tears creating the rushing rivers. The kings son stood over her kneeling form, a proud look on his face, for they could finally be together. But as she looked up, she felt death unfurl in her chest.
By now the people of the city had gathered in small crowds to witness what had happened, and Elain stayed her hand. Waiting for someone to speak out against this monster. But no one did. Faces that her and her sisters had grown up with, cared for, sheltered, and loved, stayed silent in the face of the murderer prince. So Elain picked herself up and went to the tree. Blood soaking the soles of her bare feet and the ends of her bronzed hair, and as the mother tree enveloped her, she roared a curse upon the land
No life shall grow
Nor rivers flow
No trees of green
Nor harvests seen
Your heart is black
I take it back
All the life poured from my hands
I curse death forever on these lands
It is said that the rot took hold of the land shortly after the tree petrified her. Black tears rolled down her now wooden face, and dripped onto the soil, spreading death as they soaked into the roots.
His mother had told him, that Elain LifeBringer could be awoken, if one true of heart, kind of spirit and brave of soul planted an offering of sacrificial love into her open mouth.
Lucien didnt know of any of this was true. Perhaps his mother had just been making up stories to distract him from his father’s cruelty. But his father was gone, and he was the king now. And unlike his father, he could not watch his people starve and die in silence. He wished there was another way, but he could never forgive himself if he didn’t try.
He would go to Elain Life Bringer, and he would bring her back. For his mother, for his people.
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Let me know if there’s interest in more of this story! Im really feeling it tbh.
Tagging some friends so i dont get lost on the dash also shameless self promotion
@iftheshoef1tz @separatist-apologist @yourethehero
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kaftan · 9 months
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Yellowjackets x The Land of Silence by May Sarton. ID under the cut.
[ID: 14 screencaps from Yellowjackets, with a line from The Land of Silence edited over each one.
Image 1: "Time beats like a heart; we do not hear it" / Pit girl's blood draining into the snow. Image 2: "But we are nourished as by sleep after pain." / The yellowjackets walking off after having seemingly consumed pit girl's flesh. Image 3: "Death is so close to life that we can bear it." / Jackie dropping her heart necklace into Shauna's hand on the plane. Image 4: "The smallest veins drink time and breathe again." / Shauna smiling down at what she thinks is her breastfeeding baby. Image 5: "Now I am here in the land of silence," / An image of the wilderness: forest to the left, lake to the right. Image 6: "Of the near dove and the distant hills," / Van holding up Tai's hand in the lake as Tai looks down at her dirt-stained fingernails. Image 7: "I know that the surface is the essence," / The bloody-antlered deer, Lottie's first hallucination. Image 8: "No stripping down what is already bare," / The yellowjackets gathered in the attic as a blindfolded Shauna holds a knife on a string for the seance. Image 9: "No probing what is absolutely here." / Van holding the deck of cards as they prepare to draw for the first time. Image 10: "This is the land of bones and violent dreaming" / The yellowjackets laughing at the bacchanal as they begin to eat. Image 11: "Where heaven is woven in and out of hell" / Shauna and Akilah wrapping themselves around Travis during the doomcoming orgy. Image 12: "And each not essence but actual and near." / The queen card appearing in the adult timeline underneath a note that reads 'I am grateful for my friends.' The top of the text is cut off, so only 'for my friends' is visible. Image 13: "Even more than love we search for faith" / A collage of four screencaps: Lottie pricking her finger for the blood tea, Travis setting Javi's wooden figurine on the mantle, Tai pressing the deer bone into Shauna's hands, Lottie holding Laura Lee's cross necklace in a hallucination. Image 14: "Who in this high air must gasp for breath." / The yellowjackets face the cabin as it burns.
End ID]
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feminaferitas · 24 days
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supernatural/monster au character backgrounds
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v: it's not evil - just hungry, available for shauna/jackie/misty/nat note: full background/social and timeframe setting for verse/threads is flexible dependent on plotting with partner
Cast: Shauna the psychopomp, Jackie the siren, Natalie the dhampir, Misty the hag-touched.
Shauna Shipman: Psychopomp
A psychopomp, or in essence, a reaper, is a melancholy and misunderstood figure. Associated with death but never the cause of it, Shauna is feared all the same. She arrives at the site of death and quietly begins the work of preparing the soul for its next stage of being. She does not judge or condemn the dead, but simply makes the transition to the afterlife a little easier, perhaps a little kinder. Her hunter's knife is the scythe by which she severs the threads to the mortal plane, whether or not there is a body left to carve. It is somber, solitary work to clean up the place where a life once was, but she dutifully does her work no matter how many believe her to be a butcher.
Shauna often does not know those she is tasked with ferrying, but if she learns anything of them, she writes down details of who they once were in her journal. Much of a life is lost to time, but she tries to remember the ones she helps.
She sometimes takes the form of her young self, and sometimes she is older, but Shauna exists outside of linear time and most frequently appears to be her teenage self (even if she never really was a teenager). She can also manifest in animal forms, occasionally a deer or a flock of birds waiting just beyond the body.
Shauna doesn't appear naturally to the living, unless they have some connection to the otherworldly -- the killers, those who have had near-death experiences, and others who have witnessed a lot of death may be included in this, but there isn't an exact science to it.
Jackie Taylor: Siren
What she lacks in skill and acuity she makes up for in influence. Sirens have that sort of hold on people, after all. For the longest time, Jackie never really understood why she always got what she wanted -- she just knew the universe conspired to make it happen. It wasn't until she told a guy in high school to "go fuck himself" that she finally realized there was something more to her words and her voice. That said, not everything she says is compelling -- Jackie has learned to hone "the voice" she uses to influence and beguile. In the meantime, it doesn't hurt she's gorgeous and well-liked. And that wasn't because she forced anyone to believe it... right?
Contrary to popular belief, she's not the type of siren that people think should be related to mermaids. They're more classically bird-women, but Jackie doesn't manifest any avian traits (apart from sometimes getting really sharp manicures, but that's purely aesthetic).
Jackie is skilled in vocal mimicry and even if she's not the world's best singer, her influencing abilities can be dangerous to weak-minded individuals. If she's swapped spit with you too, she's likely to have a stronger hold. If she's silenced, gagged, made to bite her own tongue, or deafened, her powers lose their effect.
Jackie also has synesthesia and can clearly see and distinguish the source of sounds (granted that they're not overpowering -- she can be prone to overstimulation).
Natalie Scatorccio: Dhampir
A cursed child often born of a vampiric father and a human mother. A mix of both worlds, belonging to neither. Natalie has always been an outcast in every sense of the word, right down to her very biology. And as she slowly learned the truth about her parentage, things began to become clearer. As vampiric offspring are wont to do, Nat was responsible for the death of her father, but it didn't do anything to solve her own affliction. It did, however, free her mother from his thrall -- but her mother still resents her daughter for what she did, even if it was ultimately a good thing.
As a dhampir, she has a weakened mix of the strengths and vulnerabilities as a vampire (though of course, stakes to the heart and decapitation will do the trick). Natalie is prone to sunburns and is sensitive to light, but is slightly stronger, faster, and more durable than humans. Religious iconography does still impact her, though she does not need invitation over thresholds and is not weak to running water.
Her blood and bile are toxic to full-blooded vampires, and her own appetite for carnage can mostly be suppressed, but she does still need to drink blood every so often, especially when injured or weak. (This is a mix of dhampir lore sources, I don't love when they're just All Vampire Awesomeness with No Weaknesses.)
Natalie will stop aging on a human timescale when she hits adulthood, if she lives that long. In the meantime, she indulges in nightlife, intoxicants, and other experiences to try to numb the pain and distract from the fact there's nowhere she truly belongs.
Misty Quigley: Hag-touched
She wasn't born a witch, and she's not innately magical. But Misty saw the sorts of powers that existed just beyond the fingertips of most normal lives and wanted some of it for herself. For those who aren't lucky enough to have natural magic, well, there's always a hag coven. Misty found a gathering of powerful women who were willing to make a bargain and bring the blonde into their society. And Misty prefers this type of wicked handiwork to simply waving fingers and casting spells. Just... don't leave strands of hair or fingernail clippings where she can find them for her "experiments".
Inspired by various hag folklore and D&D depictions, Misty's magic is based in exchange and component value -- she excels in curses, inconveniences, and changes in fortune, but she's not entire malevolent. She isn't wholly benevolent either, extracting some sort of price from those who seek her aid. And if they don't, she just has fun making whatever mischief she can -- often targeting individuals to whom she later proposes the solution to their woes.
Also, not all hags are old and ugly -- Misty resents that idea, thank you!
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Chapter Recap 1: The divine root conceives, its source revealed; Mind and nature nurtured, the Great Dao is born
Hello to everyone, and thank you for a good showing on this first official “meeting” for the Journey to the West reading group. Many thanks to everyone who participated! You comments, memes, art, and meta was all wonderful. To end the day, I will provide a quick chapter recap for anyone who may want or need it. I  hope you all find it useful. Here’s looking forward to next week’s session.
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Chapter 1 covers a LOT, beginning with the primordial figure Pan Gu’s construction of the Universe, the creation of Heaven, Earth, and Man, before we then zoom into Flower-Fruit Mountain. The focus is here put on an immortal stone which, “nourished for a long period by the seed of Heaven and Earth and by the essences of the sun and the moon,” becomes “pregnant with a divine embryo” (i.e. a stone egg), which later on, being “exposed to the wind,” is “transformed into a stone monkey.” Thus is the hero of Xiyouji created!
We then follow the stone monkey as he lives a life of feasting on the fruits of the Earth that Flower-Fruit Mountain provides and becoming friends with everything from tigers to deer to gibbons. And then one fateful day, while playing with a group of monkeys, all these simians decide to follow a mountain stream to its source. Encountering a great waterfall, the monkeys declare that “‘If any of us had the ability to penetrate the curtain and find out where the water comes from without hurting himself, we would honor him as king.’” The stone monkey is the only one to take on the challenge, and, jumping through the waterfall, he discovers a sizeable cave all ready and furnished. The stone monkey, delighted with his discovery, soon convinces the rest of the simians to jump through the waterfall and join him in the cave so that they might “spare ourselves from being subject to the whims of heaven,” i.e. the weather. And so the stone monkey “ascended the throne of kingship” and “assumed the title, Handsome Monkey King.”
The Handsome Monkey King and his subjects, “a flock of gibbons and baboons,” enjoy “their independence in perfect happiness” for “three or four hundred years.” Yet one day during a feast, the king “suddenly grew sad,” soon after explaining to his alarmed subjects that his sorrow comes from fact that though “‘we are not subject to the laws of man today, nor need we be threatened by the rule of any bird or beast, old age and physical decay in the future” will bring an end to their happiness. The monkeys are left weeping, “each one troubled by his own impermanence.” Yet from “among the ranks a bareback monkey suddenly leaped forth” and informs the Monkey King that the Buddhas, the immortals, and the holy sages “can avoid the Wheel of Transmigration as well as the process of birth and destruction, and live as long as Heaven and Earth, the mountains and the streams.” The Monkey King immediately resolves to “find these three kinds of people” so that he can learn how to escape death and be young forever. The monkeys are delighted at this idea, and declare that they will “send the Great King off with a great banquet.”
After an entire day spent drinking and feasting, the Monkey King has his subjects make him a raft, and he sets off in search of the immortals. When he arrives on a distant shore, he soon afterward catches and strips a man of his clothes so that he can wear them himself, “aping the way humans wore them.” The Monkey King then made his way “though counties and prefectures, imitating human speech and human manners,” always “bent on finding the way of the Buddhas, immortals, and holy sages, on discovering the formula for eternal youth.” Yet his search seems fruitless, as “the people of the world were all seekers after profit and fame; there was not one who showed concern for his appointed end.”
The Monkey King is unsuccessful in finding the immortals on one continent, though he spent eight or nine years searching. So he builds himself another raft and drifts across another ocean to another continent. Here he comes across a magnificent mountain, and here encounters a woodcutter that he mistakes for an immortal. Yet this man is neighbors with an actual immortal, and is thus able to tell the Monkey King how he can find “‘the Cave of Slanting Moon and Three Stars. Inside the cave is an immortal by the name of the Patriarch Subodhi, who has already sent out innumerable disciples.”
Finding the cave exactly as the woodcutter told him he could, the Handsome Monkey King nevertheless doesn’t dare to knock. And, being a monkey, he instead “jumped onto the branch of a pine tree, picked a few pine seeds and ate them, and began to play.” Yet doing so works out in his favor; an immortal youth, coming out both because his shifu told him to and to see who was making a disturbance, soon afterwards brings the Monkey King inside to meet Patriarch Subodhi.
As soon as he sees Patriarch Subodhi, the Handsome Monkey King “prostrated himself and kowtowed times without number, saying ‘Master! Master! I, your pupil, pay you my sincere homage.’” And indeed, after being questioned on where he came from, how he got to the immortal’s cave, and even on how he looks and moves, the Patriarch gives the Monkey King the religious name “Sun Wukong,” or “monkey awakened to the void,” accepting the simian as his pupil.
And so we leave the stone monkey, the Handsome Monkey King, the newly named Sun Wukong, at the beginning of his Daoist cultivation. We’ll see how successful he is at it next week.
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blackthornwren · 2 years
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My thoughts often turn towards cannibalism and blood drinking funerary customs, but also of interest are the old customs contained in the traditional wake - the death winding sheet to cover the body, the sharing of grief with the group, the place of honor to be seated around the head of the beloved dead. And the meal - the importance of the meal was to consume the food in proximity to the corpse so that the ones left behind may take on the admirable qualities of their loved ones.
It's not a concept related only to death wakes. The belief existed with the consumption of animal meat - for example, consuming venison (deer meat) would imbue the eater with swiftness, the hare would provide traits of timidity - which is why they would not eat hare.
The body of the loved one was buried with food and light for the journey of crossing over. A candle, wine, and other goods in the casket ensured that they had all they needed for this next task. Notably, none of these items included any tools needed to escape from fairy - perhaps they thought a soul imprisoned could not free itself from captivity.
The ritual consumption of the meal and the sharing of the pipe tobacco is all about the intention of receiving the best qualities of the dead, to carry on and pass down those behaviors and traits that were found to be admirable in life. The point was to take on aspects of the deceased and emulate them as their remaining loved ones moved ahead without them.
The procession was an ordeal - the living walked as far as they could with the dead. It was also a chance at the dead having their final say before being interred. If a person had been murdered, the procession could lay the body outside of the home of the murderer. The dead always got the last word. Taking into consideration the superstitious natures and otherworldly beliefs of the people, it's a wonder anyone would commit murder at all.
The body of the dead, its appendages, fluids, and various accoutrements were regarded as powerful talismans and magical instruments. If the head was the seat of the soul, the fat of the body carried the essence of the dead and was claimed to have miraculous healing capabilities; as did the winding sheet. The spancel strip is a particularly gruesome bit of folk magic used in love charms. The flesh of a corpse was skinned off in one long continuous strip from the sole of the foot up the outside of the leg and up and over to the other side, then down to the insides of the legs - essentially, ending where they started.
The length of skin was tied around the intended. If he woke during the spell, he was cursed to die in 12 months. If the girl could tie the flesh round him without waking him, he would be hers.
Between the wake, the saining of the corpse, the procession, and the inherent magic that accompanies the mystery of death, there's a vast difference than what is typically carried out today (at least in my small corner of the world).
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When a person dies in Achaivaiam, he or she only appears to die. The dead are still very much alive. All life always has existed and always will exist, but it takes ritual work to ensure that it continues within the Chukchi circle of rebirths and is not overtaken by tannit.
All beings: animals,the deceased, inanimate objects, and “even the shadow on the walls” (Bogoras 1904–1909: 281) are said not only to possess intentionality but also to live in societies, and consider themselves to be human beings.
As with many other Arctic and sub-Arctic peoples, the Chukchi cosmos is organized around the principle of rebirth (Bogoras 1904–1909; Bronz and Willerslev 2012; Mills and Slobodin 1994; Obeyesekere 2002; Willerslev 2000); a dead person’s soul will cycle back to be reborn in a neonate, who can therefore be identified as an ancestor returned.
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On a September night Vova, a 45-year-old father and husband, died of tuberculosis in his home. We are told, however, that only his body has died; Vova can still hear, communicate, and feel hunger, thirst, and emotions since the invisible side of his being is considered as remaining alive. We call this the soul, but had it not been contained by his name it would merely be the anonymous essence or existence: va’irgin.
To please Vova and secure his comfort, a room in his house is emptied and he is placed on reindeer skin in the center with his head resting on a pillow. There is a clear resemblance here with a typical reindeer sacrifice where the deer is also placed comfortably on a bed of willow branches. A crucifix and a stone are placed on Vova’s chest, the first to chase away the ke’let, who are said to gather around the dead body to eat its soul, the second to ensure that he does not stand up and walk around, and begin to consume the people around him. He is surrounded by a minimum of four women, preferably more, who are placed strategically along each side of his body to serve as “protective armor.” (see Figure 1) None of the protectors leave Vova’s side without ensuring that another woman takes her place. Spirit food, enel’vit, in the form of fur from a white rabbit mixed with reindeer fat, is placed in the window of the room to feed any spirits in the hope that they will then allow Vova a safe passage.
Vova stays in his house for three days while all the preparations for his further journey are taking place. During those days the house is full of guests, who come and go as they please. They bring tea, sugar, candy, tobacco, and other luxuries to his wife, which she then serves to the guests. The guests place packets of cigarettes on Vova’s stomach on top of the blanket. When they later wish to smoke, they help themselves from this pile of cigarettes as if Vova himself who—as a good host— were offering them. The visitors all chain smoke to prevent the smell of Vova’s decomposing body from filling the room.
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On the third morning, family and friends share their last meal with Vova. Then he is dressed in his death suit. It is only the women who are allowed to participate in dressing Vova, so the men retreat to the outdoors. The dressing is a dangerous affair due to Vova’s semi-sacred status, and the women dressing him face potential retaliation. The women therefore disguise themselves by imitating ravens: they put on feathers made of hay and they croak like ravens (see Figure 2), as they will also do later on the pyre. The raven is the creator and trickster in Chukchi mythology. His name is Ku’urkil, or the “self-created one” (Bogoras 1904–1909: 315). He is like a great shaman that possesses enormous powers to make things in the world. Yet he is also a fool who does this by default, someone people can trick to take on their blame. By becoming ravens the women signify the power to transform Vova’s body from one being to another, but as a consequence of the inherent moral ambiguity in sacriice or any killing, they also ensure that they will not be held responsible for any anger caused. Further precautions are taken by sewing Vova’s hood together so that he is blindfolded and does not recognize the intruders.
As already described, the prototypical notion of the ancestral world is that of “experience reversed.” For this reason, Vova is dressed opposite to what is normal: the left boot is put on the right foot and vice versa, the same goes for the mittens. Furthermore, his spear and walking stick are made in miniature because small turns big on the other side. When Vova is fully dressed in his new body, everyone present says good-bye to him by walking around him in the direction of the movement of the sun. As they walk over his legs, everyone kicks his knees three times with the back of their feet while roaring like bears (Chukchi: kainu). According to Bogoras, brown bears are considered akin to man among the Chukchi. They are, so to speak, human beings clad in bearskin and are believed to be shamans (Bogoras 1904–1909: 325). This understanding is widespread throughout inner Asia, and Joseph Campbell noted, that it has been found in the entire North from Finland and Northern Russia through to Hudson Bay and down the West coast to the tribes of Tlingit and Kwakiutl (Campbell 1959: 339).
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The two women imitating ravens step up onto the pyre, and while imitating the sounds of the bird they cut open Vova’s stomach as if slaughtering him like a sacrificial reindeer. By cutting Vova’s stomach open, the necessary destruction of his physical body is set in motion, which will enable his soul to be re-leshed on the other side.
Since the ritual killing of Vova is both a morally problematic and risky affair, it is something that needs to be carried out in a hurry. Therefore, as soon as their deeds are done and the smoke from the ire is thick enough to conceal their true identity, the raven bodies are cast into the flames and the women jump down from the pyre and join the other participants. In haste they purify themselves with the ashes of another small ire in case any ke’let have attached themselves to them.
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As the ire consumes Vova’s body, the participants become increasingly joyful. They begin playing the roles of ke’let (see Figure 6), involving what is called the “game of coal” (Chukchi: inaykeletok). Men and women chase and capture one another other to color each other’s faces black with coal. This is yet another shape shifting, which enables the transformation of Vova’s life-form to take place. The ke’let, as the consumers of human souls, are temporary enacted as happy helpers in the destruction of Vova’s present bodily form and thus his life’s continuation on the other side. While the ke’let jump around and Vova’s body continues to burn, a few elderly women sit with their backs towards the pyre and sing songs of his successful journey.
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During the cremation, the two realms, that of the living and that of the ancestors, have effectively merged. While this is necessary to allow for a successful transference of the deceased from one to the other, it is now of utmost importance to ensure that these realms are re-separated into their proper place. If not, the deceased will, in the words of an elderly Chukchi woman, “start walking the streets of the village, taking their living kin with them to the ancestral realm.” Therefore, when the pyre has burned down it is time for the living to leave the place. Each participant takes a twig home with him or her to burn. In this situation the twig is a visible manifestation of the soul of the living, and thus a secure way for them to contain it and take it home. As they leave the same way they came, two women sitting on each side of the road cleanse the participants by touching them with alder twigs as they pass by. Then the two women close the road by planting small twigs into the ground and placing stones in front of them. In the reversed world of the dead, these will be experienced as impenetrable forests and mountains that will prevent the deceased from following his living kin and friends.
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Entering the sacred space of Shamanka (”Shamaness”) to perform the “second burial” must be done with care. One must step gently and throw a stone where the pyre was in order to scare away any ke’let. The remains of the deceased (the ashes and pieces of bones together with the three stones placed between the poles, which made the foundation of the pyre) are gathered by sweeping them together with alder branches, then they are encircled with a lasso-ring. The lasso is said to “catch the place” of the ancestors. A twig as well as tea, tobacco and other small offerings are placed inside the lasso-ring, and the participants then have tea around the encirclement. The twig represents the souls of the living, who have the last cup of tea with Vova. When tea is finished the twigs are taken home and burned to ensure that none of the participants’ souls remain in the ancestral realm.
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This is the end of the second burial. At this point the previous body containing the life force of the deceased has been destroyed, the meat has been separated from the soul, the relationship with Vova has been closed with a last goodbye tea party, and he is now free, and should be able to endure his long journey to the ancestral realm. 
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The men create a mini-herd of reindeer by placing the vital bone parts—the antlers with the skull, the femurs, jawbones and the irst cervical bone—in a row on the ground. The reindeer skulls and bones are cautiously placed in the correct order by the herders, according to their real life placement and personality within the herd; so that the leader of the herd leads the convoy, and the followers follow. Their heads are directed towards the north, which, as previously mentioned, marks the entrance to the ancestral world.
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Only now that a private identifiable reindeer is sacrificed can Vova journey to the ancestral world together with the reindeer belonging to his kin, and only now can his name-soul and those of the others that died during the past year resettle into a life among the ancestors.
“Regenerating life in the face of predation. A study of mortuary ritual as sacrifice among the Siberian Chukchi” JEANETTE LYKKEGÅRD AND RANE WILLERSLEV
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alastor-the-demon · 2 months
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Ha. HA HA! AHAHAHAHA!
Fool!
Death? You guess death?
In realms unseen, where shadows dance,
A mystery shrouded in life's expanse.
It breathes in silence, whispers in night,
A spectral essence, hidden from sight.
Through mortal coils, it takes its flight,
Yet, eludes the grasp of mortal plight.
A vessel of thoughts, emotions entwine,
Within the core, a secret divine.
It journeys through time, a fleeting wisp,
A cosmic puzzle, a riddling twist.
Neither born nor bound by earthly goal,
What am I?
Your Very Soul!
*The anon’s eyes glow as chains begin to tie and bind your soul to theirs, the anon cackling like a madman as they do.*
Your soul is mine now little deer~
Til next we meet.
- ❔Anon
Hm.
*He grinned*
A deal is a deal. Enjoy my soul, my friend...
Enjoy it while it lasts..
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dergeistvond · 9 months
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Jeff Koval and Abigail Hobbs have the same essence really if you consider it, just saying. From the deer motif to the imminent fate, they're the sacrifice for bigger predators to thrive through. From the start, something just isn't quite right, death is waiting and all they can do is walk towards it, and take it.
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bobby-john-spn · 1 year
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This is what I’m using to study English terms!!
Short Story Terms Review
PLOT -- the plan of action in the story. Plot is what happens in a story. Plot can be analyzed according to stages called the Seven Elements of Plot (SPN EX - The plan to take out Chuck)
Motivating Incident - the reason for the action of the story to begin. The motivating incident crates a problem for the protagonist which he or she must solve (SPN EX - Mary’s death)
Conflict -a struggle between opposing forces. This element is the very essence of a short story. In a short story, one of two types of conflict (or both) may be present
EXTERNAL (from the outside) - This is physical conflict: person against person, beast, nature, environment, or the supernatural (SPN EX - any of the episodes with fights between monsters and the boys)
INTERNAL (from the inside) - this is the mental conflict: person against self - a struggle with the character’s conscience or soul (SPN EX - Deans hatred for himself, sam’s fight with hallucinations)
Complications - are situations or events that prevent the protagonist from solving his/her problem (SPN EX - The colt going missing)
Suspense - a feeling of uncertainty experienced by the reader about the outcome of the plot or about the protagonist's future. (SPN EX - Deans doubt that sam will be able to complete the trials)
Climax - the last point in the story where we question the outcome. Once this point is reached, the story usually ends quickly (falling action). The climax is often the moment of highest suspense. (SPN EX - CARRY ON MY WAYWARD SONNN)
Outcome - The ending of the action, the solving of the protagonist’s problems. (SPN EX - SAMS SWAN DIVE)
Denouement - The ending taken a step further or explained. (Not all stories have a denouement.) (SPN EX - Chuck singing Fare Thee Well)
EXAMPLES TO REMEMBER(My Cat Can’t Swallow COD) (My Company Can Ship C.O.D)
MY IDEA (Monkeys Can't Catch Snakes, Cougars, Or Deer) (Miracle, Cas, Charlie, Sam, Crowley, Omen, Dean)
CHARACTERS -- The fictional persons (or maybe creatures) who carry out the action of the story. When you discuss character(s) in a short story, it is useful to know these terms:
Protagonist - the main character in the action of the story (SPN EX- Dean, Sam, Cas)
Antagonist - the forces against the main character in the story (SPN EX- Roman, Azazel, Chuck)
Flat character - usually a minor character who has only one apparent quality (SPN EX- any of the victims family)
Round character - a realistic character having many sides to his/her character (SPN EX- Bobby)
Static character - A character who does not change in the course of the story (SPN EX- Rufus, Roman)
Dynamic (developing) character - a character who undergoes permanent change in the story (SPN EX- Crowley)
Stock or stereotype character - a familiar character type, such as the monster or the clown or the country boy or the absent-minded professor (SPN EX- the bad monsters)
SETTING -- the time and place of a story. The time of a story involves when the story takes place -- it can be the time of day, month, or tear, the season of the year, the time in history, etc. The place of a story involves where the story takes place -- it can be inside or outside, in a city, or a town or in the county, etc. (SPN EX-, November 2, 1983 in Mary and John Winchesters house)
THEME -- the meaning or purpose of a story Theme involves the values that we see in the story, the central idea (behind the characters, setting and plot) that the writer wants us to understand. The theme usually gives us an insight into life. (SPN EX- Saving people, Hunting things, the family business)
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