#he grew it out in honor of his son (who he thought was dead)

[forever-eternal]

Hello 👋. Its 4 a.m and I can’t sleep. Have five of my Family Ties States.

#welcome to the table #wttt #welcome to the table au #family ties au #wttt delaware #wttt pennsylvania #wttt new jersey #wttt georgia #wttt connecticut #Penn looks like FreshWolf’s because its a superior design actually #delaware and conneticut are married :) #:3 #my art <3 #Penn had short hair until the Civil War btw #he grew it out in honor of his son (who he thought was dead) #Good Dad 👍 doing bis best #Georgia is built like an actual bear but I’m terrible at art so #he doesn’t look quite right 😔

[five-rivers]

Ancestral Chapter 21

Probably the last one for this month, if not this year. Written for ectober day 27: circus gothica (yes, I am behind).

.

Somehow, Danny wasn’t even surprised at this point.  

"Yeah, I, um.  I met the guy, once?"

"Sorry?" said Gwensyvyr.

At the same time, Jazz asked, "Who?"

"Pariah Dark," said Danny.

"He is supposed to be sealed."  Gwensyvyr's form briefly flickered back to her battle regalia.  This close, Danny could see that each of her braids had a spiked chain woven into it, starting low enough down that the spikes would bounce off the back of her armor, not the back of her head.  

"He was," Danny hastened to reassure her.  "He is.  He just.  Got out for a little bit.  Last year."

Gwensyvyr leaned back, her elbow phasing slightly through the chair.  She covered her mouth with her opposite hand.  "It seems my suspicions might not be as far-fetched as I thought before.  If he was out at all, they might have–" She stopped.  "You still need to know the whole story."

Matthew's phone began to tweedle.  He snatched it up with a look of panic on his face.  "Sorry!  I need to take–" The panic transformed into a kind of exhausted horror as he stared at the phone.  "Does our honored ancestor know about phones?  I mean…"  He looked back and forth between Danny and the phone, which was still ringing.  

"She knows about phones," said Danny, unsure whether to be amused or not.  

Matthew seemed to take this as permission, because he answered the phone.  “Yes, did you find it?”  He was silent for a moment.  “No?  Do you know what happened?  Could he have moved it to some other spot?  No, no, I understand.  If possible, please keep looking.  It’s very important.  Goodbye.”  He put down the phone.  “That was Aldryk Wylfred, his father was one of grandfather’s close friends.  He’d been named a Knight of the Key, and given one of the Great Gate Keys to safeguard…  His key is missing.  I’m waiting on the other Knights of the Keys.”

“I had hoped it was not so.”

“Is… no one going to ask why Danny knows someone that Queen Gwensyvyr fought?” asked Leo.  “Or how?”

“Well, he was a ghost at the time,” said Danny.  “But we really ought to…”  He waved at Gwensyvyr.  “Listen.  And stuff.”

Yeah, he wasn’t going to be able to get away with that for much longer.  

“Thank you,” said Gwensyvyr.  "But if you met Pariah Dark, you know what he became."

"King of Ghosts."

"He thought of himself that way, yes," said Gwensyvyr.  "It is not something Artyr and I considered, when we killed him.  Nor did any of the ghosts and spirits who haunted him and wanted him dead as badly as we did."

“His name really was Arthur, then,” said Lewis, who had taken out a notebook at some point.  "Your husband."

“In his birthplace, perhaps.  He was named after a famed king of that land, long dead, as I understand it, then and now.  It has made our respective legends rather confused, at times.  

"With me, he was always Artyr.  He was trained as a blacksmith, which was why they kept him.  Such skills are valuable still, as you well know.”  She nodded to the ritual knives many of them had set on the table, and then again to the knives Irene had set the table with.  "He made the very first of those.  To kill Pariah."

"Why?" asked Danny.  "Why did you need that?  Wasn't he human, then?"

Gwensyvyr shook her head.  "Not entirely," she said.  "Not anymore.  He had his men desecrate the pool.  Mine was not the only blood spilled in it that day, and they did more than that.  They threw trash into it.  They blocked off the spring.  They did things in it too foul to speak of.  They cut down the tree and burned it.  But not before Pariah and his sons ate every single apple that grew on it that year."

"They were syvyrys," said Danny.  "That's why you needed a knife that could cut a ghost."

"Not like I was and not like you are, but, yes.  They had already had some measure of magic to them - that is how they cut down the nine of us priestesses.  Numbers alone did not do that.  But the apples gave them terrible power.  

"They took me and the others they had chosen as slaves - beautiful girls and men with valuable skills, for the most part - back to their homeland.  The islands were not the only place he had taken slaves from, though they were always quite careful not to ever take so many as to be outnumbered.  So, there, I met Artyr.  There, we plotted.  There, I came into my powers.  There, I killed Pariah Dark.

"But to my continuing regret, I did not kill his sons."

"You think they have something to do with all this," said Matthew.

"Or their descendants," said Gwensyvyr.  "They are the only syvyrys I ever knew of who could use blood blossoms like that.  They were always doing some new, terrible thing.  We had more spirits on our side than they did, even with their ridiculous cult, so they spent much of their time making new weapons against them.  They had ways to keep themselves and their spirits safe from blood blossoms that we never learned.  They had ways to imbue objects with their powers.  At one point, they used some alchemy to make this sphere of red glass that could control most ghosts and even tugged on my mind…"  She trailed off.  "You've encountered that, too, haven't you?"

Danny squirmed.  "Maybe."

"How?" asked Gwensyvyr.  "Why?"

"It was–" He looked at the rest of his family.  "It was– This crazy circus ringmaster had it and was using it to make ghosts rob banks and jewelry stores for him."

"Are you talking about Freakshow?" asked Jazz.

"Freakshow?"

"His real name was Frederick Isaac Showenhower," offered Jazz.  "At least, that was his pen name."

"Amazing," said Gwensyvyr.  “We ought to sit down and talk about all of the history you managed to run into despite living an ocean away and under a different name.  But– Showenhower.  That has a German root, doesn’t it?  There was some suspicion that the younger son had fled to that area after betraying his brothers…  I’m getting ahead of myself.  

“While Artyr and I worked at cleansing the sacred pool, reviving the tree, and healing the other damage done by Pariah’s attack, Pariah’s sons built up a cult around their father’s ghost.  A group of fanatics that stayed loyal even in death.  

“They attacked Avlynys again when I was pregnant with my second daughter, seeking revenge and the power of the sacred pool.  Imagine for a moment, such a battle between syvyrys and spirits.  The sky was shattered with lightning, the air green with power.  Trees uprooted themselves to take part in the fighting.  The dead sacrificed themselves to take up their buried corpses.  I myself fought Pariah in his glory, bolstered by prayers and sacrifice, wearing a crown of fire and a ring forged from the souls of a hundred berserkers.  I banished him through the pond, whose door had been stuck open since it drank of my blood.  

“It broke the ground beneath the pond and spring, and the spring sank deep underground where, to the best of my knowledge, it still rests.”

“That’s the portal in Andyr?” asked Danny.  “Just checking to make sure.”

“The pond, yes,” said Gwensyvyr.  “Kyr Argyn was built on the rift - we also used it as a silver mine for a while.  Very useful, for a newly-formed country.”  Her lips twitched up.  “Artyr also enjoyed the chance to learn silversmithing.  I do appreciate your attempts to get back the Kyp Styrryse, Lwys.  It took him a hundred years to get that good.”  She made a face.  “It was also a great aid when maintaining the pool.  Having it again would be very good.”

“Oh,” said Lewis.  “I, well, I’m working on it.  But– A hundred years?”

“Artyr died in that battle, but he did not leave.  We had three more children, after, though they were… strange.  Even now, he has not left, though he sleeps with many of the other spirits of this land.

“After we had driven off Pariah’s sons, we found the pool again.  It took time and a great deal of effort even with magic, and once we did, we were determined that no one should use it for evil ever again, and that even if all of us should die - me, and my children, who numbered three, only, at the time, and my closest friends - it should be safe.  But we could not simply bury it and leave it.  It was not yet clean and still too powerful.  So, we made nine Great Gates and nine Great Gate Keys, to guard all the paths that could reach it.  We pledged our family to the cause of safeguarding it and tending it, and we named ourselves after those gates, those doors, so we would not forget.”

Gwensyvyr paused significantly.  

“We’ve done that, haven’t we?” asked Matthew.  “Even before Uncle Leon died.”

“It was a good while before that, too, to be fair,” said Gwensyvyr.  “In truth, I think it started as early as my great-grandchildren’s time.  A hundred years of fighting with the sons and grandsons of Pariah…”  She trailed off and shook her head.  “Alys wanted peace, and thought that both sides were worn down enough that she could get it.  She married her daughter, her only child, to one of Pariah’s scions.  But Kythrin chose never to have access to the sacred pool, or take up her duties to it, and so never to become queen herself.  The throne and its duties went to her cousin, and her husband killed her and took their children to Britain, where he made a pest of himself for the rest of his natural life, despite efforts to end it prematurely.  

“One of the children came back.  We were overjoyed, but…”  Gwensyvyr’s face soured.  “Once welcomed, they used the pool to try and call up Pariah once more.

“That is when the pool and the journey andyr Kyr Argyn became so entwined with the succession.  Before that, we had helpers, who came freely.  They were not the priestesses of old, but they had some knowledge, and it made the burden easier for the family.  After… we did not trust so easily.  

“Later, many years on, Queen Arynryd saw the danger in this and founded the School of Heroes in an attempt to gather those that could be trusted.  That was the original point of it - not to be a pre-approved pool of heroic suitors to pick from to prevent inbreeding in the royal line.”  She rolled her eyes as a faint susurrus of ohs rose up around the table.  “Although, I will grant that it has been useful for that, on occasion.”

Gwensyvyr shook her head.  “After that incident, though, many of us were worried that Pariah might return, so I and some others went through the pool, and directly into a war.  I am not sure how long it lasted.  Time was strange, there, in the otherworld.  But it was Pariah and his fanatics against all other spirits, and we felt that, as his old enemies, we must join in.

“When Pariah was sealed, we returned, but we found that more than a generation had passed, and Pariah’s brood had made war on us again, and that they had even roused the Normans to do the same.  A whole…”  She paused, looking away.  “While we were gone, a whole branch of the family had been wiped out.  Only the youngest, one too young to go to war, survived.  And though King Ydmynd completed the trials, and as an adult, with a child just born, he decreed restrictions, and that no one should go into Andyr or to the pools except for the Trials.”

Gwensyvyr stared at the table.  “I did not intervene.  I thought it would be enough, as people had children, and those children wanted to take up the family task.  I thought the pool healed enough, and the gates strong enough.  It was not Ydmynd’s fault, mind.  He was young, and he’d had a harrowing time of the trials, with so many of us gone to fight Pariah in the beyond, and all his family dead.”

She paused again, giving Danny time to catch up and think about what that must have felt like, for Edmund.  To think about how every day they seemed to be getting closer to that point themselves.

“There were some benefits to the developments as well.  The decrees were not because of fear, only,” said Gwensyvyr, softly.  “Athlyng Elysyvyt was kidnapped young and educated by the Danes, who wanted to put her on the throne, but without the Trials, she had no claim to it.  We avoided long periods of regency, and the crises that come with child monarchs.  A few times, Pariah’s living fanatics were caught trying to get into Andyr.

“Then, too, not everyone followed King Ydmynd’s decrees, especially after he, in turn, died.  There were strong syvyrys in those years, too.  Even so… even so, we thought it might be best to let the living find their own way, in most cases.  There is a reason I did not stay queen after my death, though I was, clearly, still there and still visible, as magic had suffused Avlynys through the sacred pool far more in those days than it does now.  

“There were things to do, regardless.  Even in death, even with the pool behind the Great Gates, we still had to protect the island and the pool from enemies.  And…”  She sighed.  “When there were no more enemies, and we found ourselves growing weary, many of us chose to rest.  Even I cannot be everywhere at once.  I often chose to shadow my family, rather than any greater purpose and as time passed, and the pool wasn’t tended to, its power faded.  I thought that a good thing, that it was finally returning to how it used to be before my first death, but lately we find we cannot even go there, and…  Now we are here.  A thousand years of attrition and inattention later, we are here.”

“And… that’s it?” asked Danny.

Gwensyvyr spread her hands out.  “I am not going to attempt to recount the entire millennia, much less the portions of it that are in living memory.  Although maybe I should.  I always thought the nationalist movement had a little too much in common with some of the things Pariah’s fanatics got up to.”  She tapped her lips.  “And the Germans sent us a remarkable number of curses during the second of the Great Wars, despite how terrible they were at it, and despite hardly anyone being able to do that at all in the twentieth century.”

“We expelled the nationalist movement.  Their whole organization was outlawed, after the Brygytyn attacks.”

“Matthew, you know as well as I that you never entirely get rid of people like that.”

Iris raised a hand.  “So, our consensus here is that our premier pharmaceutical institution is run by deranged cultists who specifically hate our family for killing their, what, their god?  And they might be Nazis on top of that?”

“Not Nazis,” said George.  “Those were specifically German nationalists.”

“There are American Nazis, too,” pointed out Iris.

“I wouldn’t call it a consensus,” said Gwensyvyr.  “But they must, at least, be involved, and I find the timing suspicious, if he was out of that sarcophagus for any length of time.  I would say that the spirit who attacked just now was one of them, likely being punished for failing to kill you earlier, Matthew.”

“So, what do we do?” asked Danny.  He was, personally, all for going out and beating up whoever was behind all this, but he didn’t know who was behind all this.

“The Trials,” said Matthew.  “If we did them, if we got rid of whatever was blocking you, could you…  How many of our ancestors are here, awake?  Could you help?”

Gwensyvyr smiled, teeth sharp, ghostly fangs.  “We would like nothing better.”

#danny phantom #ectober #ectoberhaunt #ectoberhaunt23 #ectoberhaunt 2023 #ectober 2023 #ancestral fic

[psychicbluebirdmiracle]

How Personalities Can Be Learned

(An essay I wrote for general psychology almost two years ago)

Personality is how we refer to people’s behavior, decisions or how they might feel about certain things; it is a group of someone's personality traits. A personality might cover a lot of things about a certain individual, like how sociable they are, how they may be more prone to being angry than others, or how they will like certain things that others might dislike. The word “personality” is thought to have been derived from the Greek “personas,” which were masks worn in theaters to show the characters’ personalities and emotions.

Personality learning theory is the thought that our personalities are derived from events and people around us and are more focused on the external behaviors than the subconscious. There are two different perspectives to take when looking at this theory: the behavioral perspective and the social-cognitive perspective. The behavioral perspective believes that all personality traits are learned from the environment around a person and that no one is born with a personality, while the social-cognitive perspective emphasizes thinking, reasoning, learning, and cognition. Observational learning is defined as learning traits from observing others (Spielman et al., 2020). According to an article on social cognitive theory at Boston University School of Public Health, Reciprocal Determinism is described as the central concept of social cognitive theory and “refers to the dynamic and reciprocal interaction of person (individual with a set of learned experiences), environment (external social context), and behavior (responses to stimuli to achieve goals)” (LaMorte, 2022). Some notable Psychologists associated with this theory are B. F. Skinner, who took a behavioral perspective on this theory; Albert Bandura, who took the social-cognitive perspective; and Julian Rotter, who proposed the concept of locus of control.

A brilliant example of a learned personality comes from Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko’s show Avatar: The Last Airbender in the character of Prince Zuko. Zuko is an aggressive and ambitious teen who is desperate to win his father’s approval but struggles with what is right and what he is expected to do. He grew up as the prince of the fire nation, the most powerful nation in the world. He had an abusive father and a mysterious mother who was willing to risk her own life to save her son. His corrupt grandfather was Fire Lord until being killed by Zuko’s mother to protect Zuko after the grandfather threatened to kill him. His younger sister struggled with mental illness. His uncle became a father figure to him. When Zuko was thirteen years old, as punishment for talking out of turn during a war meeting, his father challenged him to a dangerous competition known as Agni Kai. When Zuko refused, his father severely burned his face, leaving a permanent scar, and banished him from the kingdom until he could capture the avatar. This was considered an impossible task, since the avatar had been presumed dead for a hundred years.

Over the course of the show, you see how his personality is formed and changed by the circumstances and people he finds himself around. Through flashbacks, you see that he learned to be aggressive from his abusive father, who was the corrupt Fire Lord of the most powerful kingdom in the world. His father’s abuses included permanently scarring his face and banning him from the kingdom for talking out of turn. This pushed Zuko to be more aggressive to earn his father's approval, to be more like his father who he admired, and to cope with the struggles put on him by his father. Through watching his father be aggressive, Zuko learned to mimic his father and showed observational learning. He learned to be ambitious from his father as well. All Zuko wanted to do was bring honor to his father and make him proud, but his father’s constant disapproval pushed him to practice his firebending constantly until he became one of the greatest benders alive. Zuko then spent almost three years chasing the avatar, which mimics his father’s ambition. Watching his father’s consuming ambition while stealing the throne from Zuko’s uncle definitely pushed him along to become more cutthroat, which again shows observational learning.

Zuko also showed reciprocal determinism as he learned not to focus so much on earning his father’s approval. Instead, he came to focus more on doing what’s right after having everything not turn out the way he wanted. Another notable example of Reciprocal Determinism was when his father banished him. He became angry and bitter and began to take his frustrations and feelings out on his subordinates.

In summary there are many ways that a personality can be learned, and Zuko from Avatar: The Last Airbender demonstrates many of those. His interactions with his environment and those around him help shape who he becomes by the finale.

References

Boston University School of Public Health. (2022, November 3). The Social Cognitive Theory. MPH Online Learning Modules. https://sphweb.bumc.bu.edu/otlt/mph-modules/sb/behavioralchangetheories/behavioralchangetheories5.html).

DiMartino, M. D., Konietzko, B., & Ehasz, A. (Executive Producers). (2005-2008). Avatar: The Last Airbender. [TV series]. Nickelodeon Animation Studios.

Spielman, R. M., Jenkins, W. J., & Lovette, M. D. (2020). Psychology 2e. OpenStax.

#Fun fact i got a 96 on it for not citing it properly lol #otherwise my teacher said it was perfect and he loved it because atla is great XD #atla #avatar the last airbender #avatar #zuko #prince zuko #personality #essay #psychology

[thinkingoflawrence]

The Missing Piece of Us

—-

——

Summary:

Gabriel and Y/N Reyes were happily married, until an event changed their lives.

Words: 1.488

—

He was dead, he was really

dead. You were in front of his grave, which said, "Here lies Gabriel Reyes commander Blackwatch" with the Blackwatch logo above it.

It was a plate on the ground, next to Jack's grave. You still couldn't accept the fact that your husband was gone.

Tears start to fill your eyes again as everything hits you again. He really was gone—your husband, the father of your son, your love of your life—gone. The same thought swam constantly through your mind.

Your son hugs your leg, trying to comfort you, as a breeze of wind just flows by the two of you.

Memories start to flow through your mind of all the happy moments you shared with Gabe. Your first date was at some coffee shop, and even though he hated it, he did it for you.

Or the moment he asked you to be his wife after he came back from an Overwatch mission at your shared home. All these moments suddenly flood your brain, "I miss you, Gabriel... I miss you so much," you said before you broke down in front of his grave, as suddenly a hand touched your shoulder. You expected it to be the hand of your son, but it was Angela, a colleague of Gabriel's. She looked down at you comfortingly as she rubbed your bag and took you into her arms with your son.

"It will be okay, Y/N. Let it out," Angela said softly as she kept rubbing your back. "Shhh, it's okay." She herself had some tears in her eyes, she wished that she could've done something for Gabriel.

After you got calmer, Angela handed flowers to you and your son to place on Gabe's grave.

The two of you place the flowers on the gravestone on the floor and take a last look in silence. Before you take a photo of you and Gabriel from the day you gave birth to your son out of the pocket of your jacket and place it next to the flowers,

As you walked away from Gabriel's grave with Angela and your son, you couldn't help but reflect on the life you shared with him. The memories flooded your mind, both the happy ones and the challenging ones. You remembered the adventures you had, the battles he fought, and the love you shared. It was clear that Gabriel would always hold a special place in your heart, and his memory would continue to bloom and influence your life. Over the weeks and months that followed, you focused on being there for your son, just as Gabriel would have wanted. You became a pillar of strength for him, providing the love and support he needed to navigate through life without his father. It wasn't easy, but you drew strength from the memories you shared with Gabriel.

You made a commitment to keep Gabriel's memory alive for your son.

You told him about the missions and other stories from his father, showed him pictures, and taught him the values and principles that Gabriel held dear.

As time went on, you found moments of happiness and healing.

You found a new love—someone who brought that happiness back into your life. Of course, no one could replace Gabriel, but you found the strength to move on. You will always keep Gabriel in your honor and in your heart. Your son grew, and you could see glimpses of Gabriel in him, both in his appearance and his personality.

---

One rainy day, you walked back home from the cinema with your new husband and your son. The three of you had just enjoyed a family outing to watch a movie that your son had been eagerly anticipating. The rain had started to fall during the film, and as you stepped outside, the streets glistened with the reflections of streetlights on the wet pavement.

Luckily, you packed an umbrella right before you left for the cinema. You pulled the umbrella out of your purse and opened it.

Your husband offered to hold it for you, and you wouldn't say no to that, so you gave him the umbrella, and he placed his other arm around you, and you held your son close to you so you three could all fit underneath the umbrella.

The three of you started walking home, but you got the weird feeling of being watched or followed. You look around to see if you can catch anyone looking at you or following you, but you see nothing...

You kept walking until you finally arrived at the door to your apartment, but you still felt watched. You'd decided to ignore the feeling and thought you were just imagining it.

Your husband unlocked the door, and your son ran in, and your husband followed. You were about to follow too, but you decided to look behind you and saw a dark figure disappear in a dark alley on the other side of the street. Maybe you were being followed... maybe you were right...

You decided to just ignore it, close the door behind you, and get changed. Your son and husband were already out of their jackets and outside shoes on their way into the kitchen.

You took your jacket and shoes off and went to follow the two of them.

Time has passed since your son went to sleep, or you think he is sleeping he also could be playing on his computer, but you and your husband are on the couch watching some Bake Off that was playing on the television.

You were in the arms of your husband, relaxing, and as you looked over, you saw him fall asleep. You couldn't help but smile at his sleeping figure. You needed to get something, so you carefully stood up and went into the kitchen. You looked out the window and saw that it had stopped raining. Suddenly you heard a knock on your door, which startled you a little before you slowly walked to open the door, wondering who knocked on your door at this hour.

As you opened the door, you were greeted by... nothing. No one stood there, and you thought someone pulled a prank on you, so you looked outside left and right to check if there was someone, but... there was no one.

Before you could go back inside, you realized that two were lying on the door mat.

Curiously, you picked the items up, and you looked at them closely and saw that it's ... the photo you left at the grave of Gabriel and a note that reads:

"My flower, I want you to know that I will always love you. I'm very proud of you.

- Yours forever

Gabe"

The note was like a ray of hope in the darkness, and you couldn't help but be overwhelmed with a mix of emotions. The reappearance of the photo you had left at Gabriel's grave, along with the heartfelt message, left you both confused and elated.

You take the two items inside and close the door again. You go to your bedroom and open a drawer door to pull out a box, a box full of things from Gabriel.

As you carefully placed the items in the box with all the memories of Gabriel, you couldn't shake the feeling that there might be some truth to the note. The use of his endearing nickname for you, "My flower," and the loving message seemed too personal to be a cruel joke. It stirred up memories of the love you had shared and the unique bond you had with Gabriel.

After all that, you sat down on the bed and just stared at the wall, all the memories coming up again. You let the tears flow and covered your face with your hands as you kept on crying.

You didn't expect anyone to hear you, but you hear the door opening, and as you look, you see your son. "Mom, are you okay?.." he said softly as he slowly approached you.

You thought you finally got over his death, but all this made everything come up again, and the thought that he was still alive comes up in your mind again.

"I just... thought about your father again. It just came up... I'm alright.." you said with a shaky voice, trying to put on a fake smile for her son, but this couldn't fool him. "Mom, I can see you're not okay." He approached you and gave you a hug.

As your son wrapped his arms around you in a comforting hug, the tears kept flowing. You were no longer sure what to think, but the combination of grief, confusion, and hope was overwhelming.

Your son's embrace felt like a lifeline, a heartwarming reminder of the strong and loving family you had created with Gabriel, and that strength still prevailed. And always remember, you are loved.

#fanfic #overwatch #reaper x reader #gabriel reyes x reader #angst #angst overwatch

[thevelaryons]

Adam: The Snake & The Tree of Knowledge

Or rather, Addam and the Sea Snake. These two characters have certain connotations in the dynamic written between them. Addam is referred to as “the Sea Snake’s heir” and as expected of that title, his position as the heir to Driftmark defines much of his arc as a Velaryon, his relationship to characters around him, and his connection to his family.

The story goes as follows: The snake tempts Adam & Eve with the forbidden fruit from the Tree of Knowledge which invokes God’s wrath. This leads to them being cast out of Heaven as a result.

Well…. The Driftmark succession during the Dance of the Dragons actually follows a rather similar pattern for Addam.

Any man who could master a dragon would be granted lands and riches and dubbed a knight. His sons would be ennobled, his daughters wed to lords, and he himself would have the honor of fighting beside the Prince of Dragonstone against the pretender Aegon II Targaryen and his treasonous supporters.

— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons

The promise of social advancement is allowed (as were many other foods in Heaven) but anything beyond that is the forbidden fruit in this allegory.

It was Laenor’s own father, Lord Corlys himself, who brought the boys to Prince Jacaerys for the Sowing.

— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons

The Sea Snake brings forth the offer:

Not long after Addam of Hull had proved himself by flying Seasmoke, Lord Corlys went so far as to petition Queen Rhaenyra to remove the taint of bastardy from him and his brother. When Prince Jacaerys added his voice to the request, the queen complied. Addam of Hull, dragonseed and bastard, became Addam Velaryon, heir to Driftmark.

— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons

The power dynamics between Corlys and Rhaenyra actually fluctuate throughout the Dance, even before the war began. They are mutually aligned and they are also using each other. Both those statements hold true for them.

In regards to Addam, Corlys is able to push for the Driftmark succession in his favour because he holds the power over Rhaenyra at that point in time (he can threaten to abandon her cause if his decision is not adhered to). Whereas previously, it was Rhaenyra who held power over him (Corlys on his sickbed is easy enough to force a decision out of regarding the succession).

Rhaenyra has been described by GRRM as someone who never forgets a slight. The same woman who previously had a man fed to her dragon to ensure the Driftmark succession for her son now has to see her other son passed over as heir for her dead husband’s bastard (it does not matter if Laenor was the biological father of the boys; what matters is the public perception that her husband has fathered bastards on another woman and these boys now stand to inherit the position that would otherwise have fallen to her younger son). Still, she can’t do anything about it because it is Corlys’ will that overrules her now (as we see in several instances throughout the war).

But, being as much of an opportunist as Corlys, Rhaenyra can just bide her time for that perfect moment.

Yet Queen Rhaenyra did not act at once, but rather sent for Mysaria, the harlot and dancing girl who was her mistress of whisperers in all but name. With her skin as pale as milk, Lady Misery appeared before the council in a hooded robe of black velvet lined with blood-red silk, and stood with head bowed humbly as Her Grace asked whether she thought Ser Addam and Nettles might be planning to betray them. Then the White Worm raised her eyes and said in a soft voice, “The girl has already betrayed you, my queen. Even now she shares your husband’s bed, and soon enough she will have his bastard in her belly.”

Then Queen Rhaenyra grew most wroth, Septon Eustace writes. In a voice as cold as ice, she commanded Ser Luthor Largent to take twenty gold cloaks to the Dragonpit and arrest Ser Addam Velaryon. “Question him sharply, and we will learn if he is true or false, beyond a doubt.”

— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons

Addam is the heir to house Velaryon, who is of course loyal to Rhaenyra. Everything Addam has is because of house Velaryon (which Rhaenyra has allowed) so there’s really no incentive for him to be a traitor. Yet he’s still accused of treason. An often overlooked detail though is that Mysaria never made any accusations against Addam. It was Rhaenyra herself who passed judgment on him.

The words spoken by Corlys right before Rhaenyra decided whether she would take action against Addam actually reference his position as house Velaryon’s heir:

Lord Corlys went much further, declaring that Ser Addam and his brother, Alyn, were “true Velaryons,” worthy heirs to Driftmark.

— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons

The snake presented the temptation of the forbidden fruit from the Tree of Knowledge (Driftmark) and in doing so incurred the wrath of God. In the end, Adam fell from grace.

Of course, as is the case with parallels GRRM makes in his writings, it’s not always 1 = 1. There’s a twist. Similarly, in this comparison, the snake is a bit more sympathetic figure who seeks to help Adam. There is even a means for Adam to “redeem” himself before his God:

Ser Addam flew far and fast, descending on castles great and small whose lords were loyal to the queen, to piece together an army.

— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons

For Addam, the Tree of Knowledge (which exists as a temptation), would be a connection to his father’s side of the family (claiming Seasmoke, having the Velaryon name, being made heir to his family’s seat).

Speaking of trees, there are in fact literal trees in ASOIAF that are said to impart knowledge:

“The chosen ones are not robust, and their quick years upon the earth are few, for every song must have its balance. But once inside the wood they linger long indeed. A thousand eyes, a hundred skins, wisdom deep as the roots of ancient trees. Greenseers.”

[…]

“The singers of the forest had no books. No ink, no parchment, no written language. Instead they had the trees, and the weirwoods above all. When they died, they went into the wood, into leaf and limb and root, and the trees remembered. All their songs and spells, their histories and prayers, everything they knew about this world. Maesters will tell you that the weirwoods are sacred to the old gods. The singers believe they are the old gods. When singers die they become part of that godhood.”

— A Dance with Dragons, Bran III

In the book, Addam does seem to have some connection to these trees of wisdom:

Singers say Ser Addam had flown from King’s Landing to the Gods Eye, where he landed on the sacred Isle of Faces and took counsel with the Green Men.

— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons

In the south the last weirwoods had been cut down or burned out a thousand years ago, except on the Isle of Faces where the green men kept their silent watch.

— A Game of Thrones, Catelyn I

There is also the detail about Addam being buried at Raventree Hall (the Blackwoods are known to bury the dead beneath a dead weirwood tree):

At moonrise the riverlords abandoned the field to the carrion crows, fading back into the hills. One of them, the boy Ben Blackwood, carried with him the broken body of Ser Addam Velaryon, found dead beside his dragon. His bones would rest at Raventree Hall for eight years.

— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons

Very fitting for a character whose name means ‘son of the earth’ to be laid to rest in the ground. Even with his later burial at Hull, his bones remain beneath the earth.

The words said to the other Adam by God, upon his fall:

“By the sweat of your face you shall eat bread, till you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; for you are dust and to dust you shall return.”

Velaryon burial typically happens at sea, as appears to be the case for other seafaring families too:

“We came from the sea, and to the sea we must return.”

— A Feast for Crows, The Prophet

It’s notable that Addam, who is written to be ‘the most Velaryon character’ in life, is given a burial in death that is neither of house Velaryon practice nor Valyrian in nature (such as cremation). It’s just another way GRRM chose to depict him as distinct from the rest of his family.

#valyrianscrolls #asoiaf #addam velaryon #corlys velaryon #rhaenyra targaryen #meta

[shiyorin]

This is WIP "Addiction", and like I said All -------> Reader :v

(I love all your silly ideas.)

Amongst the Primarchs, feelings of desire and affection were weaknesses best buried deep. Honor and duty formed the pillars of their lives, with little room for softer sentiments.

In the quiet corners of their minds, each Primarch nurtured a secret longing for the same person, about you, an Imperial Agent.

When you enter their chamber, their eyes find you out, drinking in your graceful form and aloof. When you departed, their thoughts lingered on fleeting glimpses of skin, a curve of the lips suggesting a hidden smile.

They told themselves your presence meant nothing, you were but a tool, and deserved neither their notice nor care. But you remain etched in their memory, haunting the desires they dared not speak aloud.

When your name arose in conversation, each of them listened with keen interest under the guise of strategy or necessity. They poured over reports bearing your sigil, seeking any new morsel of insight, awaken dormant longings within their hardened hearts. They contemplated all the things they imagined you might be, a prize to be won, a mind to bend to their will, a body to claim, a fleeting moment of solace. Fantastical musings, soon banished with derision at their own foolishness.

The Primarchs would banter and plan wars, oblivious to how each mind wandered elsewhere, to fleeting imaginings of limbs entwined, hands caressing cold skin brought to strange warmth, lips parting in sighs never meant for them. You, who had awakened desires long thought dead within unyielding souls.

But such impossible visions must remain unspoken, poisonous fruitless imaginings better left buried. They continued on, concealing aching desire behind masks of duty and pride. All wondering if any hint of their secret longing would betray itself, should you ever truly look upon them and see.

*******

The Emperor sat upon his golden throne, deep in thought. Unknown to his sons, he was aware of their hidden longings for an Imperial Agent. And this one who had unknowingly captured the hearts of his mighty sons. The Primarchs, great generals crafted to span galaxies and shape Imperium, now found themselves longing for the simple nearness of one so seemingly without artifice.

Their feelings were neither surprising nor shameful, but had the potential to cause discord if left unchecked. Discreet intervention may be needed.

The Emperor chuckled softly. "It is the way of things." He said to you. "Great beasts in nature preen and prance, trying their best to impress the one they desire. They become awkward, stubborn creatures, guided not by reason but longing."

He remembered well those struggles, those endless games of courtship played out in the guise of duty and honor. And though his sons were made for mightier things, part of him rejoiced to see stirrings of love within their stony hearts.

"My Emperor, forgive me for my ignorance but I don't understand." You confused.

The Emperor smiled. "Like peacocks displaying their plumage."

You are oblivious to the Emperor's hints. Still remained focused solely on relaying information, missing the sign in his words.

The Emperor sighed. "As dawn breaks and the flowers blossom." He continued. His words grew more obscure, comparing his sons to suitors hoping to catch the eye of a beloved. Yet still you did not grasp his meaning.

The Emperor suppressed a chuckle. "As seeds drifting on the wind, hoping to find purchase in fertile soil." he said wryly. You listened, but still blind to its context.

The Emperor's smile widened. "How unfortunate that so many should work, while you remain oblivious to their achievement."

You bowed, taking leave in confusion. The Emperor sighed. His sons' affections were obvious to him, but they themselves were blind. You were untouched, seemingly unable to perceive how you had captivated the hearts of beings never meant for softness.

Although his great plans were set in motion, he saw now how one small change, one cracked egg in the nest, could unravel it all. The tiniest mortal, a mote of forgotten dust, now held the hearts of his greatest designs within the unaware hands.

He wondered, if you ever understood. If amidst all their plans and war, your simple "Yes" might reweave their fates in ways beyond any vision, any cunning or will he possessed.

The Emperor paused, considering. Perhaps it was for the best that his subtle hints fell on deaf ears. What good would come from you knowing the power you held, without ever asking for it?

#WIP #lol #:v

[thebadgerclan]

Greatest Shame

Pairing: Simon Basset x reader

Summary: Simon finds a letter from his father...

The bed was cold when you woke, the sheets rumpled on your husband’s side of the bed.  You pulled yourself out of bed, drawing your dressing gown over your shoulders and pulling your slippers onto your feet.  Clyvedon was an old building, its stone corridors prone to drafts, which caused you to shiver as you exited your bedchamber.  The halls were dark, but as you meandered, you saw a flickering light coming from Simon’s study.

You found your husband seated at his desk, a letter in his hands, his brow pinched as he read.  You cleared your throat to announce yourself, and Simon looked up at you.  “Why are you awake, my love?”  “I might ask you the same thing, Simo,” you countered, perching yourself on the edge of the desk.  “What do you have there?”  Simon sighed, handing you the letter.  It pains me to know that you will inherit the title, the words said.  Never in all my years did I imagine a half-wit would one day be the Duke of Hastings, but here we are.  If only your wretched mother had not died after your birth, she may have been able to give me a competent heir, one who does not stammer over the simplest of sentences.

Alas, you live to be my only son, and I shall never live down the shame, horror, and disappointment I feel from that fact.  Do you know how pleased I was when you were born?  Oh, I was over the moon, I had a son!  A son, an heir, a boy who I would raise to become the next great Duke of Hastings.  Then you grew, and you did not speak.  And when you did, it was the most pathetic sound I’d ever heard.  You may live with the knowledge that your failings and disappointment shall haunt me until the day I die.

If I could turn back time and change one thing, it would be your existence.  I would have taken a new wife, sired a new heir, one who would have been competent enough to speak before the age of four.  If these are the last words from me you ever receive, let them be this: You remain my greatest shame, my greatest failure, and my greatest disappointment.  You resisted the urge to crumple the paper and toss it into the fire; that would be Simon’s honor and his alone.  “Oh, my love,” you whispered, rising to your feet and settling yourself in his lap instead.

Simon let out a sob and buried his face in your chest, holding you tightly to him.  “When I could not sleep, I came into the study to look over some ledgers, thinking they would bore me into drowsiness.  Then I found the letter.  I thought I was beyond his cruelty, his words making me feel this way, but every time I find something like this, I am reminded of how much he hated me, and the wound reopens.”  You gently stroked your husband’s back, kissing his head tenderly.

“Your father is quite lucky he was dead before we met,” you said, and Simon lifted his head, his face confused.  “What?”  “For I certainly would have killed him for how he treated you.”  Your husband managed a small laugh, and you pressed a kiss to his lips.  “You, Simon Arthur Henry Fitzranulph Basset, are the most intelligent, caring, brave, chivalrous, kind hearted, well-mannered, devoted man I have ever known, and it was your father’s loss that he chose not to know you.  You are not stupid, my darling, and you are not a disappointment.  What you are is a strong man who has overcome every challenge set in his path, and I will always be immensely proud of you for that.”

Simon felt tears welling in his eyes, but they were tears of joy, tears of love for you.  “You are too good to me, Y/N, I do not know what I did to deserve you.��  You pressed a tender kiss to his lips, resting your forehead against his.  “You are you, Simon,” you said.  “That is all I will ever need.”  Your husband extinguished the candle and lifted you into his arms, carrying you back to your bedchamber.  He was able to fall into a contented sleep with you cradled in his arms, any thoughts of his wicked father replaced by those of you, his beloved Duchess.

#simon basset x reader #simon hastings x reader #bridgerton fanfiction #the duke of hastings x reader #bridgerton reader insert

[xain-russell]

Imma gush about the ending of GoW Ragnarok in specifics actually. Long rambling ahead.

Kratos honoring his promise to Freya and letting her decide what they do with the man who robbed her of everything and abused her for years is so good. Also the fact that Freya got to literally strangle Odin while he continued to fail and try to manipulate her with words of love was just *chef’s kiss* beautiful. All the same, I’m glad she decided that the humiliation and breaking was enough for her. Odin was effectively dead, she didn’t need to torment his soul or anything once she beat him and made sure he could never hurt anyone like he hurt her ever again.

All the same, Sindri coming in and smashing the soul marble with Odin trapped inside felt really cathartic. It’s just a shame all that hate and rage Sindri has didn’t seem to die after the fight ended. That dead look he had, even after Brok’s funeral, and refusal to let anyone so much as comfort him, is gonna haunt me for days. If anyone got completely shafted in this story, it was Sindri, and I hope there’s some closure to be had with him in the post game, but it’d be a poignant ending to his and Brok’s story if this was where it ended.

Thor and his family were an interesting tale. I loved Thrúd, hope she gets to be an actual Valkyrie. Thought I’d hate Sif but she turned out to be cool in the end. Thor though? It’s really hard to watch the broken man that Odin turned his son into. Thor is just there to be the big dumb drunk hammer that Odin swings around and it’s heartbreaking to see him choose not to stand up to his father and lets himself turn back into a drunkard. That scene where Thrúd and Atreus drag Thor out of the bar and she gives her dad a chewing out was the moment I hoped he would turn around and become the man who could be a protector. But alas, it isn’t until the very end that he finds his strength and Odin kills him for it.

Odin is a piece of shit. I’ve known people who use kindness to lure people into giving them what they want and then turning into an abusive monster when people don’t or can’t give anything. It’s cruel, and every scene with him had me on edge, wanting to stay far away from him. I’m glad he died begging for mercy, pitifully denying that he was the cause of all the misery surrounding him. And even after the three protagonists agree that destroying Odin’s soul was unnecessary, I’m glad that Sindri got the final say, and no one judged him for taking his vengeance.

Atreus is such a gentle and compassionate kid, and I’m glad he grew into fully committing himself to that compassion. I’m sad that he elected to leave at the end, but that confident and kind smile he gave to Kratos made me feel like, yeah, he IS ready. I hope we see him again. Maybe ad the protagonist of the next series of games?

Kratos getting a shrine where he’s shown to be a god that is loved and respected was the point where I started sobbing. After everything, all the pain of his upbringing, his years as an unstoppable and cruel olympian god, and his new life in the north and growth as a father, Kratos finally finds his own equilibrium, and gets the assurance that he can be a good god. I’m happy for him. I truly am.

#god of war #gow ragnarok

[graysoniconography]

Saint George the Great Martyr

Icon by me

The Holy Great Martyr George the Victory-Bearer, was a native of Cappadocia (a district in Asia Minor), and he grew up in a deeply believing Christian family. His father was martyred for Christ when George was still a child. His mother, owning lands in Palestine, moved there with her son and raised him in strict piety.

When he became a man, Saint George entered into the service of the Roman army. He was handsome, brave and valiant in battle, and he came to the notice of the emperor Diocletian (284-305) and joined the imperial guard with the rank of comites, or military commander.

The pagan emperor, who did much for the restoration of Roman might, was clearly concerned with the danger presented to pagan civilization by the triumph of the Crucified Savior, and intensified his persecution against the Christians in the final years of his reign. Following the advice of the Senate at Nicomedia, Diocletian gave all his governors full freedom in their court proceedings against Christians, and he promised them his full support.

Saint George, when he heard the decision of the emperor, distributed all his wealth to the poor, freed his servants, and then appeared in the Senate. The brave soldier of Christ spoke out openly against the emperor’s designs. He confessed himself a Christian, and appealed to all to acknowledge Christ: “I am a servant of Christ, my God, and trusting in Him, I have come among you voluntarily, to bear witness concerning the Truth.”

“What is Truth?” one of the dignitaries asked, echoing the question of Pontius Pilate. The saint replied, “Christ Himself, Whom you persecuted, is Truth.”

Stunned by the bold speech of the valiant warrior, the emperor, who had loved and promoted George, attempted to persuade him not to throw away his youth and glory and honors, but rather to offer sacrifice to the gods as was the Roman custom. The confessor replied, “Nothing in this inconstant life can weaken my resolve to serve God.”

Then by order of the enraged emperor the armed guards began to push Saint George out of the assembly hall with their spears, and they then led him off to prison. But the deadly steel became soft and it bent, just as the spears touched the saint’s body, and it caused him no harm. In prison they put the martyr’s feet in stocks and placed a heavy stone on his chest.

The next day at the interrogation, powerless but firm of spirit, Saint George again answered the emperor, “You will grow tired of tormenting me sooner than I will tire of being tormented by you.” Then Diocletian gave orders to subject Saint George to some very intense tortures. They tied the Great Martyr to a wheel, beneath which were boards pierced with sharp pieces of iron. As the wheel turned, the sharp edges slashed the saint’s naked body.

At first the sufferer loudly cried out to the Lord, but soon he quieted down, and did not utter even a single groan. Diocletian decided that the tortured one was already dead, and he gave orders to remove the battered body from the wheel, and then went to a pagan temple to offer thanks.

At this very moment it got dark, thunder boomed, and a voice was heard: “Fear not, George, for I am with you.” Then a wondrous light shone, and at the wheel an angel of the Lord appeared in the form of a radiant youth. He placed his hand upon the martyr, saying to him, “Rejoice!” Saint George stood up healed.

When the soldiers led him to the pagan temple where the emperor was, the emperor could not believe his own eyes and he thought that he saw before him some other man or even a ghost. In confusion and in terror the pagans looked Saint George over carefully, and they became convinced that a miracle had occurred. Many then came to believe in the Life-Creating God of the Christians.

Two illustrious officials, Saints Anatolius and Protoleon, who were secretly Christians, openly confessed Christ. Immediately, without a trial, they were beheaded with the sword by order of the emperor. Also present in the pagan temple was Empress Alexandra, the wife of Diocletian, and she also knew the truth. She was on the point of glorifying Christ, but one of the servants of the emperor took her and led her off to the palace.

The emperor became even more furious. He had not lost all hope of influencing Saint George, so he gave him over to new and fiercesome torments. After throwing him into a deep pit, they covered it over with lime. Three days later they dug him out, but found him cheerful and unharmed. They shod the saint in iron sandals with red-hot nails, and then drove him back to the prison with whips. In the morning, they led him back to the interrogation, cheerful and with healed feet, and the emperor asked if he liked his shoes. The saint said that the sandals had been just his size. Then they beat him with ox thongs until pieces of his flesh came off and his blood soaked the ground, but the brave sufferer, strengthened by the power of God, remained unyielding.

The emperor concluded that the saint was being helped by magic, so he summoned the sorcerer Athanasius to deprive the saint of his miraculous powers, or else poison him. The sorcerer gave Saint George two goblets containing drugs. One of them would have quieted him, and the other would kill him. The drugs had no effect, and the saint continued to denounce the pagan superstitions and glorify God as before.

When the emperor asked what sort of power was helping him, Saint George said, “Do not imagine that it is any human learning which keeps me from being harmed by these torments. I am saved only by calling upon Christ and His Power. Whoever believes in Him has no regard for tortures and is able to do the things that Christ did” (John 14:12). Diocletian asked what sort of things Christ had done. The Martyr replied, “He gave sight to the blind, cleansed the lepers, healed the lame, gave hearing to the deaf, cast out demons, and raised the dead.”

Knowing that they had never been able to resurrect the dead through sorcery, nor by any of the gods known to him, and wanting to test the saint, the emperor commanded him to raise up a dead person before his eyes. The saint retorted, “You wish to tempt me, but my God will work this sign for the salvation of the people who shall see the power of Christ.”

When they led Saint George down to the graveyard, he cried out, “O Lord! Show to those here present, that You are the only God in all the world. Let them know You as the Almighty Lord.” Then the earth quaked, a grave opened, the dead one emerged from it alive. Having seen with their own eyes the Power of Christ, the people wept and glorified the true God.

The sorcerer Athanasius, falling down at the feet of Saint George, confessed Christ as the All-Powerful God and asked forgiveness for his sins, committed in ignorance. The obdurate emperor in his impiety thought otherwise. In a rage, he commanded both Athanasius and the man raised from the dead to be beheaded, and he had Saint George again locked up in prison.

The people, weighed down with their infirmities, began to visit the prison and they there received healing and help from the saint. A certain farmer named Glycerius, whose ox had collapsed, also visited him. The saint consoled him and assured him that God would restore his ox to life. When he saw the ox alive, the farmer began to glorify the God of the Christians throughout all the city. By order of the emperor, Saint Glycerius was arrested and beheaded.

The exploits and the miracles of the Great Martyr George had increased the number of the Christians, therefore Diocletian made a final attempt to compel the saint to offer sacrifice to the idols. They set up a court at the pagan temple of Apollo. On the final night the holy martyr prayed fervently, and as he slept, he saw the Lord, Who raised him up with His hand, and embraced him. The Savior placed a crown on Saint George’s head and said, “Fear not, but have courage, and you will soon come to Me and receive what has been prepared for you.”

In the morning, the emperor offered to make Saint George his co-administrator, second only to himself. The holy martyr with a feigned willingness answered, “Caesar, you should have shown me this mercy from the very beginning, instead of torturing me. Let us go now to the temple and see the gods you worship.”

Diocletian believed that the martyr was accepting his offer, and he followed him to the pagan temple with his retinue and all the people. Everyone was certain that Saint George would offer sacrifice to the gods. The saint went up to the idol, made the Sign of the Cross and addressed it as if it were alive: “Are you the one who wants to receive from me sacrifice befitting God?”

The demon inhabiting the idol cried out, “I am not a god and none of those like me is a god, either. The only God is He Whom you preach. We are fallen angels, and we deceive people because we are jealous.”

Saint George cried out, “How dare you remain here, when I, the servant of the true God, have entered?” Then noises and wailing were heard from the idols, and they fell to the ground and were shattered.

There was general confusion. In a frenzy, pagan priests and many of the crowd seized the holy martyr, tied him up, and began to beat him. They also called for his immediate execution.

The holy empress Alexandra tried to reach him. Pushing her way through the crowd, she cried out, “O God of George, help me, for You Alone are All-Powerful.” At the feet of the Great Martyr the holy empress confessed Christ, Who had humiliated the idols and those who worshipped them.

Diocletian immediately pronounced the death sentence on the Great Martyr George and the holy Empress Alexandra, who followed Saint George to execution without resisting. Along the way she felt faint and slumped against a wall. There she surrendered her soul to God.

Saint George gave thanks to God and prayed that he would also end his life in a worthy manner. At the place of execution the saint prayed that the Lord would forgive the torturers who acted in ignorance, and that He would lead them to the knowledge of Truth. Calmly and bravely, the holy Great Martyr George bent his neck beneath the sword, receiving the crown of martyrdom on April 23, 303.

The pagan era was coming to an end, and Christianity was about to triumph. Within ten years, Saint Constantine (May 21) would issue the Edict of Milan, granting religious freedom to Christians.

Of the many miracles worked by the holy Great Martyr George, the most famous are depicted in iconography. In the saint’s native city of Beirut were many idol-worshippers. Outside the city, near Mount Lebanon, was a large lake, inhabited by an enormous dragon-like serpent. Coming out of the lake, it devoured people, and there was nothing anyone could do, since the breath from its nostrils poisoned the very air.

On the advice of the demons inhabiting the idols, the local ruler came to a decision. Each day the people would draw lots to feed their own children to the serpent, and he promised to sacrifice his only daughter when his turn came. That time did come, and the ruler dressed her in her finest attire, then sent her off to the lake. The girl wept bitterly, awaiting her death. Unexpectedly for her, Saint George rode up on his horse with spear in hand. The girl implored him not to leave her, lest she perish.

The saint signed himself with the Sign of the Cross. He rushed at the serpent saying, “In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” Saint George pierced the throat of the serpent with his spear and trampled it with his horse. Then he told the girl to bind the serpent with her sash, and lead it into the city like a dog on a leash.

The people fled in terror, but the saint halted them with the words: “Don’t be afraid, but trust in the Lord Jesus Christ and believe in Him, since it is He Who sent me to save you.” Then the saint killed the serpent with a sword, and the people burned it outside the city. Twenty-five thousand men, not counting women and children, were then baptized. Later, a church was built and dedicated to the Most Holy Theotokos and the Great Martyr George.

Saint George went on to become a talented officer and to amaze the world by his military exploits. He died before he was thirty years old. He is known as Victory Bearer, not only for his military achievements, but for successfully enduring martyrdom. As we know, the martyrs are commemorated in the dismissal at the end of Church services as “the holy, right victorious martyr....”

Saint George was the patron saint and protector of several of the great builders of the Russian state. Saint Vladimir’s son, Yaroslav the Wise (in holy Baptism George), advanced the veneration of the saint in the Russian Church. He built the city of Yuriev [i.e., “of Yurii.” “Yurii” is the diminutive of “George”, as “Ivan” is of “John”], he also founded the Yuriev monastery at Novgorod, and he built a church of Saint George the Victory Bearer at Kiev.

The day of the consecration of Saint George’s Church in Kiev, November 26, 1051 by Saint Hilarion, Metropolitan of Kiev and All Rus, has entered into the liturgical treasury of the Church as a special church feastday. Yuriev Day is beloved by the Russian people as an “autumn Feast of Saint George.”

The name of Saint George was also borne by the founder of Moscow, Yurii Dolgoruky (+ 1157), who was the builder of many churches dedicated to Saint George, and the builder of the city of Yuriev-Polsk. In the year 1238 the heroic fight of the Russian nation against the Mongol Horde was led by the Great Prince Yurii (George) Vsevolodovich of Vladimir (February 4), who fell at the Battle at the Sita River. His memory, like that of Igor the Brave, and defender of his land, was celebrated in Russian spiritual poems and ballads.

The first Great Prince of Moscow, when Moscow had become the center of the Russian Land, was Yurii Danilovich (+ 1325), the son of Saint Daniel of Moscow, and grandson of Saint Alexander Nevsky. From that time Saint George the Victory Bearer, depicted as a horseman slaying the serpent, appeared on Moscow’s coat of arms, and became an emblem of the Russian state. This has strengthened Russia’s connections with Christian nations, and especially with Iberia (Georgia, the Land of Saint George).

(www.oca.org/saints/lives/2015/…)

Saint George the Victory Bearer and Great Martyr, pray for us!

#byzantine #Byzantine icon #christian #Greek #Greek orthodox #icon #iconography #martyr #orthodox #Orthodox Church #Russian #Russian orthodox #saint #Saint George #saints #christian iconography #Eastern Orthodox #Russian icon #Greek icon #Eastern Orthodox Church #orthodox icon #Saint George the martyr #great saint #orthodox martyr #Wonderworking saint #trophy bearer #English saint #saint icon #orthodoxy #christianity

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

Dark Forest Resident: Squirrelscar

Aliases / Nicknames: Killer, Stain of WindClan, My Love, Papa, Best Mate in WindClan, Squirrelstar

Gender: male

Sexuality: heterosexual

Family: unnamed mother, Branchmoss( father), Shimmerwhisker (stepmother), Sloebeak, Strawfreckle, Stumppaw (sisters), Wheatpelt, Peat (mates), Scorchkit, Treeblaze, Rosykit, Birchsmoke, Troutshine, Tigerpaw, Brindlekit, Daisypaw, Coniferpaw, Oliveshiver, Silkstar, Dahliatooth (daughters), Caterpillarsplash, Bravekit, Nightkit, Coalpaw, Honeyfern, Patchkit, Adderthroat, Boughmouse, Oakbubble, Stoatquiver, Lightningshimmer (sons), Elmpaw, Olivekit, Pinepaw, Fleetkit, Drizzlekit, Siltstalk, Blossomkit, Lightkit, Irispaw, Brokenthud (granddaughters), Whisperacorn, Bigdapple, Canopykit, Poppykit, Nutdrop, Canopyember, Butterflypaw, Weaselkit Fishpelt (grandsons), Mothpaw (great-granddaughter), Burdockpaw, Branchkit (great-grandsons)

Other Relations: Bayheart (mentor)

Clan: WindClan

Rank: leader

Characteristics: loving, brave pathfinder, good teacher, has exceptionally shitty luck

Number of Victims: 2

Number of Murders: 2

Murder Method: tripping, throwing onto Thunderpath

Known Victims: Foxash, Treestar

Victim Profile: warrior, leader who constantly reminded him of his first crime

Cause of Death: 1: badger 2: whitecough, old age 3-9

Cautionary Tale: ??

Story:

Honestly, the Clan had no idea how he pulled it off. Killing a full grown warrior as a newborn kit? Without help? Who in their right mind would believe it?

But believe it the Clan did, and so he was treated like a criminal for the first full-season cycle of his life.

After that, things settled down, but some things never changed.

When he and Wheatpelt welcomed a litter of three, he went to his family to tell the good news, only for his father and step-mother to tell him to get out of their sight.

Unfortunately, his good luck didn’t last.

His Scorchkit, his baby, dead of kittencough! He wailed and cried over the little body for hours, then redoubled his care of his remaining kits.

Those two kits grew into great warriors, and he and Wheatpelt soon decided to have a second litter, which blessed the couple with six kittens!

Unfortunately, StarClan was not feeling kind that Leaf-fall. Not only were two of his precious kits stolen from his life, but his sisters to boot!

A mere two moons later, Rosykit, on the eve of her apprentice ceremony, died of yellowcough.

Then Coalpaw, lost to greencough.

And then, the turning point.

He approached Treestar to ask for something, and the leader sneered down his nose, and said:

“You will never be able to outrun your guilt.”

His world stopped.

He wasn’t strong enough to protect his babies, barely strong enough to protect himself, and this rotting maggot had the audacity to bring up the crime he had committed before his eyes were even open!?

His long-lasting temper was starting to fray, which was worsened when Patchkit died of a claw wound. He once again went to Treestar, his idol, only for Treestar to say ‘The blood of your victim stains your paws. I hope it haunts you.”

Distressed, he spoke to his firstborn son, only for Caterpillarsplash to say that he never found Squirrelscar convincing as a warrior.

When he went to his Wheatpelt, his love, his one and only, she turned away in anger, saying that she could’ve trusted him once.

And then it clicked.

They thought he murdered his own son, his own precious kit.

Much like the murder that tarnished his infancy, how he didn’t snap then was a mystery.

But eventually, he couldn’t stand the backhanded comments about the deaths of his babies.

Treestar was found on the Thunderpath with his lives stripped clean out of his pelt.

Much to the shock of everyone, and in a move that probably made Treestar do flips in his grave, Crouchstar promoted Squirrelscar to deputy!

He never expected to go so far, so fast.

Suddenly, he was no longer the Clan pariah. He was respected, honored even.

His kits had kits, precious little bundles of fluff nonetheless afflicted with his cursed luck.

It was rare for his kin to make it to adulthood, but something else was about to change dramatically.

Crouchstar died, leaving Squirrelscar--now Squirrelstar--to take over the Clan.

His lives ceremony was… something else.

Coniferpaw, his daughter, gave him a life for happiness.

Ferretglide gave him a life for sympathy.

Mapledawn, his son, Adderthroat’s, mate gave him a life for clear judgment.

Magnoliawhisker, a former medicine cat, gave him a life for duty.

Almondacorn gave him a life for courage.

Springdapple, the mentor of his son, Boughmouse, gave him a life for strength.

Jaggedtuft, the mentor of his grandkit, Butterflypaw, gave him a life for endurance.

Siltstalk, his first grandkit to reach adulthood, gave him a life for friendship.

Finally, Crouchstar gave him a life to overcome his fears.

Through his lives ceremony, he should’ve been happier, but he kept looking for his lost family. Where was Wheatpelt? Where were the rest of his babies?

He moped, but was soon distracted by his new responsibilities.

Until Peat, his second love, died, birthing their last litter of three.

He started slipping after that, dozing off from reality as the Clan seemed to fall apart.

When Oakbubble died, rather than promoting a competent warrior, he promoted his own daughter, Silkspeckle, to the position instead, letting her run things while he moped in the sun.

Many would later say that he died of a broken heart.

But others would say he was haunted. Many would claim to see a dark tabby figure lurking beside him, whispering poison into his ears.

Additional Information:

--Submission by @ambitiousauthor

--I think I mentioned on another post where a newborn kit killed a warrior that it's probably some luck like the warrior went to see them and just so happened to have an aneurysm when they entered the nursery or the kitten touched them, or they died the same day--but the Clan is super stupid and superstitious that they believe the baby caused it.

#dark forest profile #dark profile #dark forest oc #dark forest #squirrelscar #squirrelstar #dark forest leader #dark forest warrior #dark submission #dark forest submission #warriors oc #warrior cats oc #lifegen oc #lifegen #long post

[drowninginblox]

My thoughts on Cole Cassidy/Jesse McCree‘s real name

I want to talk about this ever since Jesse got a rebrand but I haven’t really had the space to talk about it. Or whenever I try to talk about it it just came off as a little weird. So this is me trying to alleviate that urge to ramble.

Again…

Sorry

By the way, all of my thoughts are going to be taking place in Canon. I already know about Blizard being dicks, and all that other crap. All of what I am going to word vomit is my own in universe justification for Jesse deciding to change his name or going back and using his real name.

So. Cole Cassidy.

Not his real name

I don’t like the idea of Cole being his real name. Not because it’s a bad name but because of the headcannons I have about his family.

I like to think that Cole grew up in a very rough and tumble household you know? Dad wasn’t really there and if he was, he was a shitty parent. And mom, if she was there, either worked her ass off to take care of her kid and deadbeat husband, or was just as much as of a dead beat as dad.

Regardless of the tragic backstory, I don’t think Jesse would willingly go through with the name he was born with

If anything, I think he would carve a new name for himself one that history will remember- hence Jesse McCree

TLDR very much Eugene Fitzherbert

Who does he tell about his real name/changing his name?

I don’t think he tells anyone in overwatch his real name. I think they all assume that his “real name” is Jesse McCree for the longest time because that’s what he refers to himself as and that’s what The Wanted posters say

That, and I think he has documentation under that name to further solidify it. (thanks, Ashe)

But if he had to tell anyone in overwatch, and I mean anyone, I think it would only be two people maybe three.

Those people being in no specific order

Angela Ziegler

Genji Shimada

Anna Ahmari

If you’re in overwatch fandom, I think you can assume why each of these people would qualify for the honor of knowing his real name. But for the sake of me rambling, I’m going to indulge in my thoughts and feelings, as to why each person knows

For Angela, I think it would be in a life or death situation. Very much when he lost his arm. If he sincerely thought that he was going to die I think that he would confess a few things to Angela. One being Jesse McCree isn’t his actual name. Now would it be the first thing he would tell her- absolutely not, but it would definitely be one of those things. He’d do it to have overwatch get in contact with his mother if he does pass in the line of duty. (I have some headcannons about his mom, but that’s a whole ‘Nother conversation.)

For Genji, I can see it both as a life or death situation, or as a very niche, private, casual conversation. Just for the exclusivity of Genji knowing who Jesse was before he got into overwatch. Trust issues and all that from one Jussie and Genji, or for us getting to know each other.

Now for Anna. Again, life or death situation. However i prefer to think this would be a accidental happenstance. Very much a “I got drunk and told my mom somethings she shouldn’t have known.” I think that if he were to disclose this information to her, he would also add how much he hates his dad and/or extended family.

Regardless, of who he tells no one will tell anyone else about this information

And no, I am not giving Gabe the benefit of the doubt when it comes to knowing Jesse’s true identity. I don’t care about the father/son relationship HCs. I think that Jesse’s real name is a one of those things that Jesse doesn’t feel comfortable telling Gabe. And that is completely fine!

Now, when it comes to changing his name- the first person he would tell after all this time would probably be Genji.

Then Tracer. Then anyone else who is new or hasn’t gotten the memo yet.

Going off of this train of thought, I think Reinhart would have a hard time getting it down. Not out of disrespect! Just out of hazy memory, and- like- the habit of referring to Jesse as Jesse for so long. The same can be said for junkrat as well. Mostly cus he probably refers to him as cowboy or Clint Eastwood (cus of Roadie)

Outside of overwatch, I think the people having the hardest time getting down this new name is the media. Hell I think the talon is more progressive than the media. Most of their team are gay so

Now we’re onto my favorite part- how do I utilize this fact in my fics

Ever since blizzards, melt down/the overwatch two trailer, I’ve been setting most of my fics in that time of the team is still getting together, but they aren’t on the same page yet

To elaborate- the team that we see in Paris are currently all traveling in a pack. Meanwhile, the rest of the people who are on the overwatch roster i(n game) are currently in groups/on their own in different parts of the world

For example, Jesse and Hanzo are traveling together. Mainly for my own shipping pleasure! (Fic coming out about that soon by the way)

I also like to think that road hog and junk rat are finally getting out of that outback after being inprisoned by the junker queen

The junker queen maybe trying to conquer the world. Effectively canoeing her way off of Australia and into New Zealand

The new Kitsune character and Dva are meeting up somewhere. Probably at like a fan meet in greet or something (I have a lot of head cannons about the kitsune girl)

Just a lot of smaller stuff like that you know?

So, in this weird scattered-about moment in overwatch lore/limbo, I like to think that some people know when other people don’t and that’s OK. Sometimes people won’t know until last minute, especially in overwatch’s line of work.

In fact, you can see in my latest my HaiNoon/ McHanzo or… Ig McGenji fic? BITE. I mean Bite. (Bite is such a gray area my God. Like it has McHanzo implications, but it also has McGenji interaction for the main meat of it so you know… I’m rambling!)

Bite has -throughout the fic- Cole acknowledging himself as Cole, but he’s letting Genji refer to him as Jesse.  it is until the end of the fact that Jesse corrects Genji. In that same story, while I was writing it, I was thinking about what the other characters refer to Cole as. And I don’t think he’s gotten the time or courage to tell them what name he wants to be preferred by yet.

They were on the battlefield like not even a few days ago for crying out loud. Priorities need to be set.

So yeah

Thanks for reading.

#jesse mccree #cole cassidy #rambles #fandom rambles #small but important to me

[fireember345]

Unicorn Wars; A God Born Sequel Idea

Unicorn Wars; A God Born Sequel Idea

Do not own Unicorn Wars

Just came up for the idea for the sequel.

It starts at the aftermath of the war when the soldiers of the Teddy Bears and Unicorns are dead, and the monkeys follow their God. The God is empty, hollow, cleared of any thoughts or feeling as they stumbled to who knows where, until stumbling into a cave. They learned from memories of Bluey and Tubby how to make fire as their head ache from the pain. The monkeys continue to bring food and supplies as the God was trying hard to think. They keep seeing the faces of Bluey, Tubby and Maria, all calling out their names, until the God made a name for themselves, Bluturia.

They learned how to make clothes and built a house as the monkeys continued to obey their every command. They soon discover powers like growing wings to fly, summoning light and using the elements to their whims. Soon surviving unicorns who didn’t take part in the war uncover the energy of Maria who was missing. They find Bluturia, feeling Maria inside them and stole him away from the monkeys to learn their power of nature from within.

Through the unicorns, Bluturia remembered compassion, nature, and love, seeing the memories of Maria and Tubby. The God ask this of the unicorn while their hair grew long, to his ankles why he remembered people he never met. The unicorns explained that Tubby and Maria, he was reborn from them and one other through violence, hate, anger, envy, love, guilt, compassion, empathy, honor, sacrifice and many other parts of the of his soul. Something created them into one being, what is the question.

Meanwhile, the goop monster from the chapel is looking for Bluturia to devour while trying to eat everything in its path.

Bluturia continued to live with the unicorns to understand their way, unsure why they felt hatred towards them. He kept hearing the whispers from Bluey to kill them all to the point that they were painful. They were soon discovered by bears, looking for their leader Bluey after the bloodshed of their people, while trying to rebuild the bear military after they were all wiped out.

They tried to kill Bluturia, but they mains and even kills a few of the bears, trying to tell them that they were Bluey once, even going as far as telling them things that not even Bluturia was sure they knew. The priest bears with the soldiers realized that Bluturia is Bluey and that he was reborn a god like the prophecy predicted. They take Bluturia before the unicorns could reach them.

The bears worshiped Bluturia as memories of Bluey came, his hatred of his mother, the sorrow from his father, the envy of his brother, the deep hatred inside them. The God was given a palace as the bears vowed to forever serve them, and to kill any remaining unicorns after learning that they are still there. Every piece of Bluturia’s soul was at war with one another and sought out the only living relative he had, his father.

When Bluey and Tubby’s father sees him and sees his sons within him, he was devastated and wrapped in guilt for not being a better father to either of them, but that he loved them both no matter what form they took, causing Bluturia to cry.

Bluturia then visited the grave as Tubby questioned Bluey within Bluturia why he killed their mother. Bluey confessed that he knew of their mother’s affair and that she favored Tubby over him. He hated how every good thing happens to Tubby, yet he had to work to be better. But Tubby informed Bluey that their mother loved them both more than anything and was consumed with guilt by her affair, never gaining the courage herself to just simply divorce her husband and do the decent thing.

Bluturia awoke to find the bears looking for him as they pleaded their God to protect them from the monster the unicorns unleashed in revenge. The monster was attacking everywhere that Bluturia went as Bluturia remembered the monster from the chapel through Maria. The monster was coming from them and no one else.

The monkeys found Bluturia as they were confused in serving him or serving the monster while the unicorns and bears blamed each other for the monster and were preparing for war again. Bluturia was at war with himself, Bluey want them to kill the unicorns and side with the bears while Maria wants them to send the bears away and side with the unicorns! They tried to kill each other but couldn’t.  Tubby was the only one who helped them, telling Bluturia that they have the power and what they must decide for themselves.

Bluturia then saw the universe as a whole and gain the final thing they needed, epiphany and balance. Bluturia stopped the fighting of the unicorns and bears, ordering them to work together to overcome the monster or all will die. Overwhelmed by their divinity, they put aside their anger towards each other to fight the real threat to their world.

Bluturia confronted the monster and in an epic fight, banished it to the darkest pit.

Bluturia realized they couldn’t stay as they evolved beyond the bears and unicorns and thus left with a palace to reign as a God, never to interfere but influencing others to make better decisions.

#unicorn wars #plot ideas #sequel fic #gods #war #fan fiction #series idea #idea

[zoklaperzys]

💭 + his thoughts on Rhaegar and the Targaryen dynasty as a whole, especially after he finds out he's technically a part of it

𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓸𝓷𝓼 — send 💭 + a topic to receive a headcanon about said topic.

Well,   we   know   that   growing   up,   Jon   pretty   much   played   to   and   admired   Aemon   the   Dragonknight.   What   he   knows   of   the   Targaryens   is   very   curated   and   very   scarse,   I   think   Ned   did   that   on   purpose   and   it   makes   sense   for   him   to   keep   that   part   of   history   at   bay   due   to   Lyanna   and   the   secret   he   was   meant   to   keep.   He   grew   up   knowing   what   all   the   other   Stark   kids   knew;   Rhaegar   crowned   Lyanna   as   his   Queen   of   Love   and   Beauty   and   then   kidnapped   her,   the   next   time   Ned   found   her,   she   was   dead.   (That's   how   he   was   told   the   story   anyways).   He   heard   other   things   of   him   from   people   and   it   ranged   from;   he   was   obsessed   with   prophecies   to   retails   of   the   tournament   or   the   fact   he   died   at   Robert   Baratheon's   hands.  

For   the   Targaryens   as   a   whole   he   sees   them   as   these   mythical   sort   of   God-like   people   who   flew   too   close   to   the   sun   and   payed   the   price.   Now,   learning   he   is   part   of   that   dynasty,   that   legacy   is   a   hard   pill   to   swallow.   The   initial   reaction   is   of   disgust.   There   was   something   honorable   about   being   Ned   Stark's   son,   bastard   or   not,   people   saw   some   honor   in   it.   Finding   out   he   is   Rhaegar's   he   feels   like   there   is   a   whole   other   weight   to   it   (the   iron   throne   yes,   but   also   the   realization   that   Rhaegar   put   aside   a   wife   and   kids   to   be   with   Lyanna   and   he   is   the   end   result   of   that,   a   bastard   in   his   eyes,   always).

  He   might   have   some   anger   regarding   the   fact   but   he   eventually   grows   to   make   peace   with   two   things;   Rhaegar   is   his   father,   he   shares   his   blood   and   he   might   had   been   more   than   just   the   tales   he   was   told   and   secondly,   it   does   not   change   the   fact   he   is   Ned   Stark's   son.   It   helps   explain   some   of   his   dreams   and   fascinations   in   life,   despite   Ned   doing   his   best   to   stop   it.   In   the   end,   he   is   both   wolf   and   dragon   but   he   obviously,   feels   more   connected   to   his   stark   side.

#━━ ✷ 〉 study / he changes everything. #━━ ✷ 〉 answered asks / what did you see when you died. #jon and his 10 rounds he does around this topic

[ruiniel]

Esteemed uncle,

For long our hosts have dwelt divided yet close upon these shores that have become our new home. We cannot undo the past however much I wish it but were you willing, I would take steps to mend the distance yawning between us. I remember you saying once, before we had set out of Tirion to meet our fates, that strength lies in unity. Your words stayed with me then, and I still find truth in them.

If you would consider it, I wish to invite…

His tengwar ran in strange, engorged swirls upon the surface with the scratch of the quill, skidding haplessly towards the right. He could do it. He was doing it. And if he failed, he would try again. His brow furrowed in concentration and his fingers cramped, but he continued with the same relentless obstinacy that had served him both well and ill throughout his life. Finally, the first draft was written, and ruefully Maedhros thought it would need redoing, possibly by fingers more skilled than his at the moment. He dipped the quill in ink and pressed upon the paper.

Sincerely,

Your kin, Nelyafinwë Fëanárion, High King of the Ñold

His shivering hand paused on the stem of the letter, and the quill bled like a wound onto the paper; the tip broke with a crisp sound that morphed into the clink of chains as hoarse sniggering rose in vile uproar.

… the High King of the Ñoldor…

The script blackened before his eyes and sank into a widening pool of ink that reminded of smooth obsidian tiles. Crooked pillars loomed above his head and shadows leered from putrid corners. Words muddled and churned, and his throat bobbed as the ground beneath him turned to unforgiving adamant, and the wailing of iron rang as it was cast about his feet.

The baleful scrape of a metallic voice scoured like barbed wiring through his mind, worming its way into his sickened heart. He shuddered in the long robes of ragged scarlet that adorned his shoulders, shivering naked underneath as long, sinuous fingers grasped his shorn hair and forced his gaze downward.

A ghastly purr sounded from behind him, laced with scorn and cutting, acidic hatred. “It is my honor to present to you, the son of the renowned — and happily dead, as most of you know — artisan Fëanáro, possibly the most prideful smear of dirt that graced the soles of our boots to date.”

A kick to the back of his knees tore a gasp from his lips as he fell, brittle bones crunching under his weight on the hard floors. The abhorrent, vicious touch dug into his shoulder as he beheld the gathering of slithering tongues and slack-jawed maws; fell eyes of various shapes and sizes watched him with a foul and all too hungry interest.

“Our guest of the evening is Nelyafinwë, Finwë the Third. The well-shaped one, as it were, who once upon a time, before our timely interference, was on his way to becoming the High King of the Ñoldor over our own Middle-earth...”

The voice poured like honey over mandrake, and the smile upon Morgoth’s chief servant was all fangs and malice as beasts jeered and howled, and so loathsome were their stares upon his bent form, so humiliating the reeking robes wrapped around his filthy, broken skin; fright unending fluttered in his innards as he knelt before the eldritch expanse of Angband’s vast halls, paraded like some perverse curiosity, to be gawked and trampled upon by its abominations.

Maedhros choked on an angry, wretched sob, and his knuckles whitened, his hand fisting around the quill, crushing the frail feathering and shaft. The shadows grew and roiled around him, constricting in their rising power; he drowned in them.

#random fic snippets #psychosis

[akamikazae]

Love me Mercilessly Kakashi x Akami Chapter 25: Kintsukuroi word count: 6.7k tw: grieving, implied/referenced suicide, implied/mentioned sex

Kakashi struggles to mourn for his father on Sakumo's birthday, he finds comfort in and old friend and a new one.

She headed towards the single tombstone isolated from all the rest. She cleaned the grave and laid the bouquet before the headstone. She was never quite sure what kind of flowers to buy, but as always White Lillies for the White Fang seemed appropriate. 

She kneeled in the crisp green grass that grew undisturbed and waited. Of all of the days Kakashi came to mourn, to wallow in his grief, this day was always the hardest. Akami never cared much for visiting the Cemetery, the dead weren’t here anyway. She didn’t believe in an afterlife or gods, or any of that. When you were gone, you were gone and that was that. Bidding the dead farewell like this was only punishment for the living. 

Kakashi wouldn’t be late today...

“You didn’t have to come this year,�� Kakashi mumbled, kneeling beside her. 

“Yes I did.”

“You didn’t even know him.”

Kakashi was right, Akami never met the man. She couldn’t even say she’d seen him in passing. Sakumo died nearly three years before she came to Konoha. Akami admired him though, she liked a man that thought for himself. And of course she knew who he was long before knowing him as Kakashi’s father; heard tales of that infamous blade. She looked into repairing the Saber many times but Kakashi didn’t want to fix it. So despite herself she let it be. But it didn’t really matter, she didn’t come here for Sakumo.

“No, but he gave me you. That’s enough.” She said, offering Kakashi her hand. 

Kakashi didn’t take his eyes off the headstone, reading the date over and over. He didn’t need his sharingan to remember today, September 3rd. His father’s birthday was engraved into his heart much like the limestone that sat before him. He accepted Akami’s hand as his eyes followed the curve of the 3 yet again. 

He made himself come every year. Kakashi wasn’t sure anymore if it was because he wanted to or if he was duty bound to pay his respects with what little honor and dignity he still had left. 

He never realized what exactly that burning feeling was that radiated through every muscle and nerve in his system, that burrowed deep in his bones. The one that begged to be set free, and only lessened when he could scream into the night sky, or pummel an advisory with his bare hands. But it always came back, always grew stronger. He hadn’t recognized that slow churning of anger, not until Akami beat it out of him that day years ago. 

Kakashi had long since forgiven his father for what he did on the battlefield, Obito made him see the sense in that. What Kakashi couldn’t come to grips with was how his father had abandoned him . He was supposed to value his comrades, his friends. Kakashi was all Sakumo had left and yet he chose to leave his only son behind. 

Kakashi, like with all things in his miserable life, blamed himself. Maybe his father cursed him that day, to live alone and have the people he loved taken, to abandon him the way Kakashi shunned his father, the way the men he risked his life and reputation for had ostracized him. Or maybe Sakumo thought he was doing his son a favor, righting his wrongs, clearing the family name from the dishonor he brought to the Clan-but he was wrong. He never should have left. 

I never should have let him.  

Kakashi’s grip on Akami’s hand tightened like a vice, she didn’t flinch or try to wiggle free. She saw it coming the same way she did every year. Instead she rested her head on his shoulder. 

“Do you want to be alone?” She whispered. He inhaled shakily through his nose and the grip on her hand grew impossibly tighter.

“No,” he said through clenched teeth. 

Akami cradled his hand within both of hers and kneaded it until the tension faded, until he loosened his grip strong enough to crush bone. Then and only then did he rest his head on top of hers. Taking another labored breath. 

Kakashi didn’t say anything, she knew he wasn’t embarrassed to speak in front of her. She’d never make him feel embarrassed for that. For reading porn in public yes but not for talking to the dead. 

The first time Akami came here with him, Kakashi was mad. It was shortly after Rin died. He made her leave. The second time she watched him head off to the Cemetery—after Kushina and Sensei had been laid to rest—she followed him. Visited their graves with him and watched as he slunk away to the far corner and crumpled in front of a lonely headstone. It wasn’t until the fourth or fifth time that he wordlessly asked her to accompany him. She stood behind him while he sat in silence, kneeling before that single grave. After that she came with him whenever he asked, and even when he didn’t. 

One warm autumn day, much like today in fact, Kakashi was different. This day in particular seemed excruciating for him. Like he didn’t want to go but he was being forced to by some other worldly power. 

Akami waited for him to walk over to the lonesome headstone but he just stared from where they stood at Rin’s grave. His hands trembled and his grasp on the flowers was suffocating. Akami pried them from between his fingers and headed to the grave herself. She placed them to the side and cleaned the tombstone. In doing so she read it for the first time. 

September 3rd…it was his birthday.  

Akami kneeled and waited as Kakashi tentatively joined her. They sat in silence, a silence filled only with Kakashi’s suppressed tears and constricted breaths, and the soft rustling of dead leaves as the wind dragged them through the vacant Cemetery. Akami couldn’t listen to it anymore and for the first time in their almost daily visits she straightened her shoulders and clasped her hands together, like she had seen him do hundreds of times. She took a deep breath, shut her eyes and mumbled to grave, finally introducing herself. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Hatake-San. I don’t know if Kashi has mentioned me, maybe it’s better if he hasn't. I'm not always the nicest.” Akami could have sworn she heard that soft exhale of Kakashi’s sad smile. “I can’t promise you I won’t hit your son again or say something I regret. But you gave me my best friend and for that I’ll always be grateful. So I can promise that you don’t need to worry, I’ll look out for him now.” 

She found it easier to tell Sakumo that she would always be there for Kakashi; so long as he and this world would have her. And ever since then Akami hadn’t missed a single birthday– this year would be no exception. 

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#happy birthday sakumo #sakumo hatake #sakumo #kakashi #kakashi hatake #love me mercilessly #kakashi and sakumo #naruto #fanfic #hatake kakashi #naruto shippuden #kid kakashi #grief #angst #hurt comfrot #emotional hurt/comfort #fluff #ao3 update #ao3feed

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Reading The Dark Prophecy: Chapter 19 (SPOILERS)

"You cannot commit murder. Any death you cause is the will of the gods and entirely beyond reproach." That's an... interesting take on things. I never thought of that before, but from a mortal's perspective, that might be the case. However, we are judging the PJO gods as people, and thus murder on their part is still murder.

"It's true I had laid waste to whole cities with my fiery arrows. I had inflicted countless plagues upon humanity." Yeah, I think individual murders are the least of your crimes and maybe these acts of mass destruction should be what you're repenting for instead. I guess the latter could be connected to the plague spirits and how some disease has to be let loose to keep them in check, but the "burning down whole cities" thing is still unnecessary. "Once Artemis and I slew a family of twelve because their mama said something bad about our mama." I know that myth. Queen Niobe. During a ceremony honoring Leto, she bragged that she shouldn't have to partake because she was superior, having seven sons and seven daughters (sometimes six of each, it varies). And then Artemis and Apollo killed all her children. And the dad either killed himself or was killed by Apollo. And then Niobe turned to stone. The end. This is vaguely linked to the seven girls and seven boys that were annually sent as sacrifices to the Minotaur. Anyway, this is still a tragedy and unbelievably petty, but still pales in comparison to all the other stuff Apollo and Artemis have done. Mostly Apollo, 'cause I haven't heard about Artemis causing too many natural disasters (though I'm pretty sure she sent a giant boar to trample a city once, don't quote me).

"None of that did I consider murder." You... you sure about that? Okay, the burning cities and plagues are just you carrying out your duties as the harbinger of natural disasters, but Niobe's family isn't murder? That was definitely murder.

"I was Narcissus, Caesar's trusted personal trainer." Eh? Same Narcissus as the reflection guy? I didn't know he was employed! So he must've been a trainer before he got cursed. If this is just another dude who just happens to be named Narcissus, I'm gonna sound real stupid... Nah, this is a valid question.

"We can take him" Oh no, so that's why what Meg said sent him spiraling.

"considering his mistress and prefect had poisoned his wine at lunch." Lmao is everyone around him just trying to kill him dead? Lemme guess: he grew paranoid when there wasn't any reason to be and then the violence from that paranoia became a self-fulfilling prophecy so people actually started trying to kill him because of how horrible he was and now the paranoia comes from actual danger.

Okay, I realized something last night: Commodus's character art kind of makes him look like the type of shady love interest you'd find in books/movies like 365 Days that, despite his violence and paranoia and lack of respect for boundaries, the leading lady will inevitably irrationally fall for, doesn't he? (This has nothing to do with the actual character; it's just what the character art reminds me of.)

"Not that he knew my true identity" Why doesn't Apollo visit him as himself?

"I'm done thinking about consequences!" He's done? Did he ever start thinking about the consequences to begin with?

"Then I closed my hands around his neck. 'I'm sorry.'" So what's it gonna be: drowning, strangulation, or snapped neck? How did Commodus get the chance to become a god if he died here? Are all the Triumvirate emperors escaped souls?

"You. Blessed. Me." Fuuuuuuuuck.

"I simply couldn't look at the surface of any pool without imagining Commodus's face, stung with betrayal, staring up at me." So, as a god, do you just keep accumulating regrets forever until you can't look at anything without remembering some horrible deed you did? 'Cause that sounds absolutely comical.

"WE CANNOT REMAIN." We cannot remain at the Waystation? It's not safe?

"his carotid pulse" CAROTID (n.): each of the two main arteries that carry blood to the head and neck / (adj.): relating to or denoting the two main arteries which carry blood to the head and neck, and their two main branches

"Was there anyone I hadn't betrayed and disappointed? Any relationship I hadn't destroyed?" No. Sorry, did that come out harsh? I'm sure there's at least, like, one singular-- no, probably not.

"I was Al's . . . liaison to the African American bootleggers." Again, how old was she when she joined the Hunters?

"I have no idea what that means." For a god of poetry, Apollo sure does let a lot of metaphors go over his head. I wonder if losing his powers somehow affected his reading/listening comprehension.

#reading trials of apollo #reading the dark prophecy #reading toa #reading tdp #toa spoilers #trials of apollo spoilers #trials of apollo #the dark prophecy #percy jackon and the olympians #apollo pjo #apollo #lester papadopoulos #artemis pjo #artemis #niobe #greek mythology #narcissus pjo #narcissus #commodus pjo #commodus #emperor commodus #josephine pjo #jo pjo #pjo #toa #pjo hoo toa #rrverse #riordanverse